Chapter 1: ~Chapter 1~
Chapter Text
“Decades ago, a war took place on our once peaceful lands.
However, this wasn't just any war, for it was the largest, most deadliest fight monsters, and humans alike, had ever seen. The conflict itself was caused by fear: humans were scared of us monsters, and the power we wielded. It's common knowledge that a human’s soul is incredibly stronger than a single monster’s soul, but that does not mean we are weak, quite the opposite in fact. What monsters lack in soul power, we make up for in raw, natural magic. Humans can also harness magic, with enough effort, but it will never be as pure, nor as strong, as a monster’s magic.
Humans, being selfish and greedy, believed they could absorb our power by killing us all. This influx of power would make them unstoppable. So, they attacked us.
We fought back valiantly and, ultimately, won the battle. We lost many of our kind because of this terrible battle, and certain monster species have since gone extinct. However, we were prosperous compared to our foes; partly because after the Great Battle, almost no humans remained. They were all but wiped from existence. To this day, their numbers are still remarkably low compared to monsters, making them…”
Nightmare yawned, staring with boredom at the small nanoscreen in front of him and his twin, Dream. The two princes were sitting in the royal gardens behind the large castle. It was early spring, so the garden was exploding with vibrant greens, and flowers were popping out of the fresh soil, blooming and filling the air with a faint floral scent. It was a warm, and sunny day, Nightmare and his brother were shielded from the warm rays by the leaves and branches of the largest tree in the garden, one they affectionately called “grandpa oak”. Around them, castle staff were buzzing about like honey bees, tending to the flowers, shrubs and other plants the young boy didn't know the name of. The grass was soft beneath him, and the warmth was beginning to make him restless. The last thing he wanted to do right now was watch a tiring lecture about the kingdom's history. Unlike his twin (who was technically ten minutes older, and who took every chance he got to remind Nightmare of such), he honestly didn't have much interest in how BlightView, the city his parents dutifully governed over, came to be, or how it runs now. Dream seemed to be absolutely enthralled when it came to these sorts of lessons, which was clear to see by the way his large, star shaped eyelights shone on the screen, seeming to sparkle.
While Dream and Nightmare were twins, they were not identical. Dream had bright, yellow, star shaped eyelights, while Nightmare had two circular ones, one being a shockingly bright blue, and the other a simple purple. The other obvious difference between the boys were their birthmarks: Dream had a small, yellow star on his left cheek, and the other prince had a crack over his right eye.
Flopping down onto the grass, the boy sighed. His twin huffed slightly, looking back at him briefly and pausing the video their parents had told them to watch. “Nighty, come on. You can't pay attention if you're laying down!”
The younger of the two twins stuck out his tongue, gaze lazily roaming around the garden again and stopping when he spotted his father in a hustle. He was walking along the path with his royal advisor, a tall skeleton named W.D. Gaster. Nightmare remembered asking what the W.D. stood for once, only to be brushed off and told that it wasn't important.
The advisor himself was much taller than the king, and Nightmare was pretty sure he was older than his dad as well.
Grinning, he nudged his brother. “Papa's out!” That quickly caught Dream’s attention, his eyelights snapping to where their father was. “Race you to him?” He added, grin turning mischievous.
With a giggle, Dream grabbed the Nanoscreen, shoving it rather carelessly into his small yellow backpack. “You're on!”
The two boys sprung from their spots, running towards their father. They weaved through the staff, nearly knocking over a young gardener, yelling out to their parent, much to Gaster’s annoyance.
The king laughed, noticing his two sons easily. He kneeled, the two princes colliding into him. Once the two boys stopped giggling, the king spoke up. “Did you two finish your assignment for today?”
Nightmare pursed his ‘lips’, shaking his head. “It was boring.”
His father chuckled, rubbing the top of his skull. “It's important for you to learn about our history, Nightmare, you boys will be kings one day.”
Above them, Gaster cleared his throat, clasping his hands. “Your majesty, with all due respect, we still have plenty of things to get done today.”
Their father sighed, letting go of his sons, and stood. He dusted off his white pants, though the knees on the pants remained a subtle brown. With a sad smile, he said, “Why don’t you two head inside for an afternoon snack? Gaster is correct, we must get back to our duties.”
With that, the two grown skeletons began walking away, their conversation starting up again. Nightmare wondered briefly what work a king, of all people, had to do, and why Gaster had been so insistent that they get back to work so quickly. This wouldn’t have been the first time the prince had questioned whether or not the advisor actually liked him and his brother or not, and he doubted that’d ever change. The monster always seemed to have an air of displeasure around him. Beside him, Dream was tugging on his hand, drawing him out of his thoughts. “Come on Brother, Mr. Kyo told me they were baking apple tarts today!”
He smiled, letting his older twin pull him towards the castle. He decided firmly that it didn’t matter to him if Gaster liked him or not, he had his brother, and that’s all that mattered.
*****
“....Night….”
“...Nightmare…”
“Nightmare! Wake up!”
Nightmare jolted awake, a squeak escaping him when he noticed his brother hanging upside down from the top bunk of their bed, glaring at him. The light from both of the boys’ eyelights barely illuminated the sheets covering Nightmare, and the white moonlight was shining in through the windows, the blinds having been left open before the princes went to bed that night. “You sleep like a freaking log.”
Dream sat up, scooting down the ladder to sit next to his twin as he yawned. “Sorry… Why’d you wake me up? It’s still dark out.” Nightmare mumbled, rubbing his right eye socket.
The question seemed to make the yellow eyed monster nervous, he idly fiddled with the hem of his pajama shirt. “... I heard Mama scream. And Papa.”
Nightmare cocked his head to the side. “What?”
The prince huffed, puffing out his cheeks. “I don’t know, ok!? I wanna check on them, and-”
“You’re scared of the dark?”
“...Yeah.”
Nightmare sighed - sure, he loved his brother dearly, but sometimes he came off incredibly childish. I mean, they were 10! What 10-year-old was ever scared of the dark? “Ok, I’ll go with you to Mama and Papa’s room, but they’re going to be fine, you know.”
The two boys left their room to the dimly lit corridor outside. The castle’s architecture was styled to look like it was from the middle ages, but the technology inside was highly advanced, and none of the fires were actually real, only illusions created from magic. Nightmare reluctantly took his brother’s hand when he felt him reach out for it, huffing in embarrassment. No wonder everyone in the castle treated them like babies.
The walk to their parent’s room was quick, and when they found themself standing in front of the royal bedroom, they felt a sudden, sharp jab to their souls. The door was surrounded by guards, some with tears in their eyes, all of them talking in hushed whispers. Dream pulled away from his twin, pushing past the guards, pulling their attention to them. With a start, Nightmare followed him, ignoring the guards attempting to stop him and his brother.
The normally neat and tidy room was in shambles; lamps and vases were shattered on the ground, the curtains and bedsheets ripped and laying in heaps on the ground. The heavy aroma of something coppery assaulted Nightmare’s nose as he stood at the entrance of the messy room, making the small prince feel nauseous. The only other time he had smelled blood like this was when he had been 7, and a guard had come back from a particularly violent bar fight in the city. He and his partner had been sent out to put a stop to the rowdiness after getting multiple calls from the surrounding area. The guard, who’s name Nightmare had forgotten, had come back with a deep cut on his arm, caused after a patron had pulled a small switchblade on the monster.
That was the first time the twins had learned about what really happened when a monster died (The guard himself didn’t die, but their parents figured this was a good way to easily bring up the topic without it being too jaring). The whole thought of a monster turning to dust seemed absurd to Nightmare at the time. But now, seeing the flaky, white dust that covered the bed and surrounding ground, it seemed more terrifying than unrealistic.
Gaster stood next to the bed, and although it was probably close to 2 in the morning, he still wore his fitted suit, unwrinkled and unchanged from early that day. He looked too tall in the room, and it felt like the air around him was heavier and thicker than anywhere else, waves of negativity rolling off of him. He watched the princes stare at the clutter with wide, scared eyes.
“You two weren’t supposed to come here.” Gaster’s voice was steady and unemotional. It made the younger of the two princes think of a robot, and if the situation had been anything but this, he would have laughed at the mental image of the Royal Advisor being a machine.
“Where’s Mama and Papa?!” Dream’s voice wavered, tears pooling in his eyes. The older monster looked down at him with a condescending gaze. The man took a moment to respond, but when he did, Nightmare felt like his whole body would crumble to dust on the spot.
“My apologies, my prince, but the king and queen have been murdered. They are dead.”
Dream let out a small sob, sinking to the floor. Nightmare watched his brother curl up on himself, feeling his own breathing speed up. This had to be a joke. There was no way this was real! A heavy ball was forming deep in his gut, unstable like a hurricane. It lashed out like a whip, striking Nightmare’s soul and spine with a sharp, agonizing lash. He balled his small fists, fighting back his tears. “No. You’re lying!”
“I can assure you that I most certainly am not.”
“Yes, you are!” The hurricane was growing, dangerously close to consuming Nightmare’s soul in its rage. It lashed out again, striking the middle of the boy’s spine with more force than before. He bit back a yelp.
“Your majesty, we must ask you to calm down-” It was one of the guards behind him who was talking, and the sound was grating on Nightmare’s ‘ears’. The hurricane inside him suddenly burst, a shockwave of pain coursed through Nightmare’s body, a scream ripping from his throat. He collapsed to the ground, body twitching as pain continued to roll off his body. His spine was the worst of it, seeming to pulse and burn, as if something were trying to escape from inside his bones.
He felt someone move to his side: Dream. His brother was saying something, probably asking what was happening and if he was ok, but he sounded distant and muffled to Nightmare. His skull felt full of water, heavy and anything he tried to think of that could explain what was happening to him was quickly swept away by the violent waves. His vision was growing cloudy, his body being overwhelmed by the neverending hurricane.
The hurricane won the battle, flooding his body completely, overriding all his senses.
The world around him went dark as he collapsed to the ground.
*****
He awoke in the white walled infirmary on one of the sterilized beds. The sheets were strangely crisp and itchy against his cold body. He was rarely in this part of the castle: the infirmary was on the second floor of the castle which was dedicated to the guards. The Armoury, bunk rooms, and an entrance to both the underground dungeon (which was rarely used anymore) and to the outdoor training area in the courtyard.
His head felt heavy, and his soul and spine ached as if he had been physically beaten. Next to the bed, circled up on one of the metal chairs, was Dream. He was fast asleep, making Nightmare wonder what time it was, and how long he had been out. What had even happened to him in the first place? As far as he could remember, nothing like this had ever happened to him before - thinking about it, he was pretty sure he had never passed out like that either, until now.
“Ah, Prince Nightmare, you’re finally awake.” The boy jumped slightly, not noticing Gaster had entered the room and was standing by the door. He opened his mouth to speak, but the older monster held out his hand. “I’m sure you have plenty of questions about what you just went through.” He took a seat, crossing his long legs. “I had advised your parents that they should have talked to you about this in your early years, I had a strong feeling this would happen. Sadly, it’ll have to be me to walk you through your unfortunate condition.”
“Condition?” Both Dream and Nightmare were given regular check-ups all throughout their life, and they had always been told they were perfectly healthy (Except for that one time Dream had a horrible flu that lasted a little over a month).
“Yes. You see, when you and your brother were born, the doctors that checked over you noticed something odd about your soul. You see, your majesty, when you experience a large amount of negative emotions, such as anger, grief, and even fear, your soul starts creating an excess amount of magic. As you get older, your body naturally creates more magic for you to survive, so when you create more than you need, it makes more… well, dangerous is not the correct word, but problematic. Your body will need to find a way to release that magic, or it will build up inside you. That’s what caused you to pass out, your body doesn’t know how to clear itself of your built up magic.”
“But why? This doesn’t happen to Dream, why does it happen to me?!”
“I’m afraid we don’t have an answer to that. However, I do have a few ideas of how we could find a way to stop it from happening.” He glanced at the still sleeping boy beside him. “I have not talked to your brother about this, but your parents and I had a conversation long ago about what would happen if they passed on before you two boys were of an age to rule. They said they would want me to take care of you, and rule as king until one of you marry.”
To say Nightmare was surprised was an understatement. Even though his parents had been king and queen, and he’d heard them express their worries of someone trying to hurt them in the past, he never would have guessed that they would plan what would happen if they died! Also, they wanted Gaster, of all people, to care for them? Sure, he was the Royal Advisor, so him taking over as king did technically make the most sense, he would know the most about what his parents did and how to do their job, but the man himself had never shown any real interest in the boys, let alone any kind of friendly care. “Does that mean you’re our dad now?”
A flash of distaste crossed the older skeleton’s feature, but he quickly covered it with his neutral expression again. “I suppose so, yes. If the two of you wish, you can refer to me as your father. Perhaps it’ll even help you to recover from this incident faster.” He stood back up, towering over the 10-year-old-boy. “We’ll start working on those tests next month, to give you time to recover.”
With that, the new king left, leaving Nightmare alone with his sleeping brother (how he could sleep in that stupid chair, he had no idea) in that blindingly white room.”
*****
Six months.
Their parents had been dead for half a year now. The kingdom was still in mourning, and adjusting to the new ruler. So far, Gaster hadn’t made any serious adjustments to how things were run in Blightview, but for all Nightmare knew, he was only biding his time.
There were changes, of course. His brother, for one, had changed. It wasn’t much, but it was deafening to Nightmare. Before their parents’ death, Dream had still been childish, had still enjoyed watching cartoons and stealing tarts from the kitchen. Now, while he would still act like a kid before bed or before they had eaten breakfast in the morning, and was still as optimistic as a ray of sunlight; he was focusing on his studies even more than before, and in general seemed to be trying to act older than the two of them really were. Nightmare hadn’t noticed how much he loved his twin’s kiddy side until it was almost completely gone.
There was also Bethenny Hunt now. A little after Gaster had started really taking over as ruler, he hired a caretaker for the two princes, claiming he didn’t have any time to make sure they weren’t getting into trouble. They’d never needed a nanny before, but Nightmare couldn’t really complain. Bethenny was kind to them, helped them with anything they may need, and could listen to them for hours on end (She probably didn’t have an actual choice on that, but it was still nice to think she was doing it solely because she cared). She was also the only human he had ever met, and he was sure she’d be the only one he’d ever meet.
The last change was one Nightmare didn’t like as much: Gaster’s “tests”.
When he had first brought the idea up to Nightmare, he had been envisioning Gaster taking a closer examination of his soul, checking his other vitals, maybe even making him say “Ah” so he could look down his throat like other doctors did.
Instead, Gaster had taken him to a small laboratory in the basement, one Nightmare had never seen before. He had explained that it was his own personal lab, and it was in such a secluded area because he wanted his privacy.
The room itself wasn’t all that big, and was only lit by a single hanging light in the center. Under that light was a surgical table with restrains screwed into them for the wrists and ankles. A rolling metal cart was next to the table, surgical tools set out neatly on the top, and there was surely more hidden away in the cart’s drawers. There was a small jutted out square in the center of the room. It looked like it was covered in a mirror, but going by the door right next to it, it was most likely a one way mirror. Lastly, hidden amongst the shadows of one of the corners of the room, was a large machine. Nightmare could barely make out any actual details on the mechanism, but he knew it wasn’t anything he wanted near him.
Gaster got the small prince to lay down on the hard table. Nightmare watched Gaster secure the restraints, locking him in place, a ball of fear forming in his throat.
For the next hour or so, the man poked and prodded at Nightmare with needles and other instruments the boy didn’t understand. By the end of the session, the king sternly told the prince that he could never tell anyone about what happened in this room, and Nightmare, too scared of what might happen if he disobeyed, promised not to.
Nightmare would go down to that cold, dark room once or twice a week, and each time the “test” seemed to get more extreme. Today, Gaster said he was going to do something special. The idea of what he was planning was enough to make Nightmare nervous enough to throw up.
“Darling, are you feeling alright? You haven’t even touched your soup.” Nightmare blinked, turning to Bethenny, who sat patiently beside him, watching with concern. Truth be told, he wasn’t hungry, but he knew the pink-haired women would only get more worried if he said that. Monsters didn’t technically need to eat - their bodies were almost all magic, so the food didn’t fuel them like it did with humans, but it still tasted good, so most monsters ate anyway.
Dream had finished eating a while ago, and Nightmare could see him playing in the garden with one of the guards-in-training. The boy, Cross, had apparently been found in the street, and was taken in by one of the guards after expressing his dream of being one himself. Even though he was only a year older than the princes, Nightmare was pretty sure he had heard they were already teaching Cross the basics of fighting and using his magic for both defense and in battle. He was also pretty sure his brother had a huge crush on the boy; especially considering how much time the two spent together and the way Dream’s cheeks would turn soft yellow whenever Cross got just a bit too close; and how much the boy loved to gush about the other skeleton, it was pretty obvious at this point.
“Ah, your majesty, it’s a pleasure to see you.” Nightmare turned, eyelights landing on Gaster’s tall figure in the entrance. He was smiling for once, but there was something about it that unsettled Nightmare more. “Is it time for prince Nightmare’s appointment already?”
Gaster stepped forward, placing his cold hand on Nightmare’s shoulder, sending a shiver down his spine. “It is. I would like Dream and yourself to come with us this time, however.”
The young prince blinked in surprise. The king had made it very obvious that Bethenny and his brother weren’t supposed to even know about the room, let alone what Gaster did down there to his adoptive son. Regardless, the human woman agreed. She couldn’t say no without risking her job, Nightmare was sure, and went out to usher Dream back inside. The boy went with only minor pouting, saying goodbye to his beloved friend.
Bethenny and Dream were shooed off to the one-way mirrored room at the back of the lab, then Nightmare was strapped to the table. Through a speaker, Bethenny had asked if he was alright, but Gaster waved her question off. He told them that everything he was doing was safe, and was for Nightmare’s benefit.
If that was true, then why was he so scared? His bones felt on fire, preparing for whatever Gaster decided to poke into them today. Instead of taking something off the metal cart, like usual, he pushed it to the side. He grasped onto the large machine that hadn’t been touched before. Nightmare could see that it was covered in dust, the non-monster kind, and it creaked as the large skeleton pushed it so one of the bulky arms stood above the prince’s skull. At the end of the arm was a mask, looking similar to a gas mask, but there were tubes in the eyes and mouth area.
He jerked against his restraints, struggling to get away. He didn’t want this, there had to be a different way to help him! Gastered gloved hands fell swiftly against Nightmare’s cheek, the sound of the slap echoing in the dark room. The door to the viewing room rattled - had Gaster locked them in? What was his motive in this? “Behave.” He moved to the back of the machine, flipping it on. He then moved the mask closer to him, latching it to the back of his skull. He gagged and thrashed, everything was dark as the plastic tubes entered his eye sockets and mouth. He could feel the hurricane building in his gut for the first time in months. He could hear the machine whir to life, something inside it was moving, it sounded like it was a liquid. There was a thunk, and suddenly a bitter tasting fluid flooded in through the tubes. Nightmare’s scream was choked down, tears pricking his eyes; the hurricane had grown to be much worse than it was the first time he had felt it, beating against his spine and soul. His bones were melting, he was sure of it - they felt on fire, and his spine felt like it was being torn in two. Someone was screaming, he wasn’t sure who, though. Perhaps it was Bethenny. Or Dream.
Most likely it was him.
Then something burst from his back - it was long and Nightmare could feel its magic flowing through it, he could feel it curl around him with sharp edges. Then another, and another and another. There were four, all spasming and trying to stop whatever was happening to the body they were attached to. Something was covering his right eye - it was sticky and dripped down Nightmare chin. The hurricane itself had calmed down, apparently whatever had torn through his spine had greatly helped - it was changing now, too. It wasn’t fear, or sadness anymore.
It was rage, pure and unkempt.
With a scream, the tentacles wrapped around the restraints, yanking them from their screws and throwing them to the ground with a clang. Next was the machine - Nightmare grabbed onto it, yanking it off his face and chucking it into the wall. Bits and pieces flew off, smoke stemming from the now ruined contraption.
Nightmare rolled off the table, his new appendages curling around him protectively, ready to lash out. Gaster was pressed against the cracked mirror, staring at the prince with… fascination? His rage spiked. How dare he?! Was he proud of this?
One of the tentacles lashed out to him, Gaster was quick to summon a hand to stop him, but the tentacle shattered it easily, striking the king in the shoulder. His eyes widened, obviously surprised the ten year old could overpower him so easily. Blood soaked into his white shirt.
“Why you-” The door to the viewing room burst open, Dream running into the room, quickly latching onto his younger twin.
“Nightmare! Stop it, stop it please!” He was sobbing, each tear smothering the fire of rage in Nightmare’s soul. Slowly, he hugged the other prince gently, the tentacles retreating back into his spine, whatever had been covering his eye and the rest of his bones also disappeared.
Without the anger, the fear returned, worse than before. What had he done?! What had he become because of this odd condition? He sobbed, clinging to the back of his brother's shirt.
Gaster was panting, his magic making the air around him fizzle. Nightmare tried to shrink away - he knew he had done something very wrong.
“Your majesty-”
“Dream, away from him. Now.”
Dream sniffed, wiping his tears. “But father, he’s-”
“He’s dangerous. He tried to kill me.” His gaze on Nightmare was like venom - had he really tried to kill him? Sure he had been angry, but he would never actually dust another monster.
Would he?
“He is too dangerous to be left in the public, Dream. We must lock him up. It is what’s best for him.”
“But-”
“If you want what’s best for your people, Prince, you will listen to me.”
*****
“Where are you taking me father?”
Dream watched Gaster’s back as he took him back down to the laboratory in the basement - the last time he had been here, his brother had had a full blown breakdown, and was now locked up for his “safety”.
All alone.
The thought sent a wave of guilt over the prince. He knew he should have done more to stick up for him, but truth be told, he was scared of Nightmare after seeing what he was capable of. Admitting that made Dream sick - he knew deep down his brother would never hurt him. And yet, there was still a hook latched to his stomach that would yank and pull at him to run away wherever he got just a bit too close to the other prince.
“We need to take care of something. After seeing what Prince Nightmare did, well, it could leave lasting impacts on your mental health. It was rather traumatic.” He opened the heavy metal door, gesturing for Dream to go in. The room had been cleaned from the attack, the mirror was replaced and the broken machine, whatever it had been, had been completely removed. “I am going to give you something that will help you deal with it.” He picked up the small monster, placing him on the hard surgical table. The same one Nightmare had been chained to only a few days ago. “Do you trust me to do that?”
After a moment, Dream nodded. “Yes, I trust you father.”
“Good.” He took out a syringe filled with a bright pink liquid. “This will only pinch a bit.”
He pressed the sharp instrument to the prince's bare shoulder, pushing the strange liquid into his bones.
And everything around him went dark. Or that’s what he would remember later on. He would also remember something new: his brother had always been cruel and had hurt him before.
Gone were the memories of them happily playing, of promising to always be together; they had been replaced with a cold hatred.
Gaster’s plan had succeeded.
*****
Nightmare pressed his head to his pillow, rubbing the magic shackle that was secured tightly to his neck. After his incident in the lab, Gaster had brought him to the tallest tower in the castle, one he honestly hadn’t known about. He’s beginning to realize there’s a lot about his home he didn’t know about. The door was mechanical with a keypad on the outside, his adoptive father explained that only he and Bethenny would know the code and be able to visit from now on.
The room itself wasn’t all that bad. The walls were painted a dark purple, and the floor was carpeted. In the center of the room was a low wooden table. There were unlit candles placed on top, along with a small cup filled with pens and pencils. Next to the door was a small cupboard filled with paper and other craft materials. Right next to it was a dresser for his clothes. Beside the dresser was a door to a clean, white bathroom that held a counter, toilet (that Nightmare didn’t need, unless he were to vomit) and a bathtub. There were also more candles - Nightmare couldn’t see any lights or switches, so he was guessing the candles would be his only light source at night. The idea made him shiver - funny how he used to complain about Dream disliking the dark, and here he was, scared of being stuck in the dark. Next to the bathroom door was his bed. It was neatly made with soft purple sheets, and the pillows were soft and fluffy. On the wall behind the bed was a large tapestry of the moon. On the adjacent wall were two large bookshelves filled to the brim with fairy tales, history books, sci-fi’s, romances and everything in between. There was also a singulare window that looked out over the city. The window was blocked by thick metal bars, as if Gaster was scared Nightmare would jump out, even if the fall would mean certain death.
Before the king left the room; which would leave Nightmare in isolation, for what he guessed would be hours, he’d put the shackles on the young prince. There was one on his neck, wrists and ankles; Gaster told him that they were made for dangerous criminals who couldn’t be trusted to control their magic (That little tid-bit felt like a job to the soul, did his father really think of him as a dangerous criminal?) “This way” He said. “You will not be able to hurt yourself or anyone in the room.”
He’d been in this room - or would it be more accurate to call it a cell? - for two weeks now. Two long, lonely weeks. Bethenny would come to him multiple times a day for meals and school lessons. She told him that Gaster had made an announcment that he had attacked the king and prince, attempting to murder him, and that he was now, sadly, dead - which, of course, was a flat out lie, but there would be mass panic if the kingdom knew he was still alive and relatively well, health wise.
He’d only seen his brother once, and he was different. Much different. Before, he had been reluctant to believe Nightmare was dangerous, he didn’t actually want to lock up his twin. But now he seemed to full heartedly believe everything Gaster told him: that he was a liar, a traitor, and incredibly dangerous to the both of them. Dream had gone from loving his brother, to absolutely hating him.
And that’s what hurt Nightmare most.
A firework went off outside Nightmare’s blocked window. With sluggish movements, he sat up and walked over to the window, sitting on his knees and watching as the colourful explosions lit up the sky.
This happened every year since the twin princes were born. Every year on their birthday, the whole kingdom rejoiced.
This year, Nightmare didn’t feel the excitement he usually did. He was not given cake, or birthday presents, and no one sang happy birthday to him. He was not congratulated for turning eleven.
This party wasn’t for him; he was the forgotten prince. The lost soul.
Chapter 2: ~Chapter 2~
Notes:
For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on Instagram or Tumblr
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The room was flooded with darkness, like a lake of ink had been drained in through the top, filling it like a cup. Ink stood in the center of the square room; he only had his sleep wear - gray shorts and an oversized shirt that belonged to his fiance, Error. Like this, the birth marks that covered his bones were clearly visible - swirling patterns cover the pristine white surfaces, telling a story even Ink didn’t know.
He was alone in the darkness, making his soul hum with anxiety. He and Error had been together for years, and there was rarely an instant where they were away from each other, besides from going to their jobs. He knew Error hated being on his own, of feeling abandoned. After what had happened when they were younger, he couldn’t blame him. That being said, Ink always made it a priority that Error knows where he is or where he’s going, and his partner does the same for him.
So where was Error? His gaze roamed around the room, trying to figure out where he even was in the first place. The walls were barren, no windows, no pictures, not even a door as far as Ink could tell. So this obviously wasn’t at home - if the lack of openings wasn’t enough evidence, the lack of pictures certainly was. Ink had made sure their entire house was covered with them, some being just pictures taken of the two boys, either when they were adults or during their childhood, and some simple paintings Ink had found in vintage stores he stumbled into throughout town.
Beside him, something began to drip from far above. The drips were large, and they were rapidly turning into a full out pour. Reaching his small hand out, the black liquid splashed through his phalanges, staining them. He pulled his hand away as if the black ink had burned him.. Other leaks had started round him, the black liquid slowly filling the boxed room, the already reaching up to his ankles, filling and filling.
Higher.
And higher.
Ink gasped, arms flailing to keep his head about the still rising liquid. It felt heavy around him, pulling him down into the darkness. His soul was pounding in his ribcage, desperation clawing at his insides.
Something wrapped around his leg - a gloved hand - and yanked him down. Ink yelped, suddenly surrounded in the dark - it filled his eye sockets, moving into the spaces between his bones, devouring him.
Ink jolted awake, eyes wide as he drank in the cold night air. He was in his and Error’s bedroom, the hint of the sunrise kissing the horizon through the window. The ebony skeleton beside him was sitting up, having been awakened from Ink’s panic, his steady hand placed on his lover's back. Error was shushing him softly, speaking in soft tones as he reassured his fiance that he was ok.
Eventually, Ink’s breathing calmed down, and he curled up to Error’s chest, pressing the side of his skull to Error’s chest, listening to his soul beat. Error had always been much taller and bigger than Ink, and it had always been a comfort to the small monster.
Error was basically just one big teddy bear.
“Another nightmare?” The ebony monster’s already deep voice was gruff from sleep, the vibrations from his ribs sending a shiver down Ink’s spine. He nodded.
Ever since Ink was a child, he’d been plagued with frequent nightmares, the doctors had alway told him it was a side effect of the medicine he had to take for his soul - he was born with a rare condition where his soul didn’t have the ability to create the type of magic needed for monsters to express and experience emotions. After going to many different doctors and specialists, and having countless tests done on his soul, they were finally able make a medicine that could actually help the boy. For the most part, he’d gotten used to the night terrors, rarely did they bother him all that much. He’d wake up, usually without jumping into a sitting position and panting like he just had, and he’d just silently snuggle up to Error’s chest. Though, they had been much worse for the past few weeks, causing him to wake up in a cold sweat.
“Wanna talk about it?” Ink shook his skull, wrapping his arms around his fiance's neck. He took a deep breath, his nerves still on edge from the most recent dream. He wasn’t even sure why it had scared him so bad, he’d surely had worse dreams, but there was a deep feeling of dread that came with the memory of it. Ink stubbornly pushed the thoughts away, deciding to focus on Error’s steady hand on his back instead, rubbing gently, to his calm breathing, and to the way he smelled softly of their soap. He never pressured Ink to talk about these things, something he was very grateful for. Though this time, he knew he should say something - the way the feeling of dread still clung to his soul must be a sign that he can’t just keep trying to forget the dreams.
And who knows, maybe talking about it will help make them stop. “Maybe later.” He corrected himself, scooting off of Error’s lap, much to the other skeleton’s annoyance. “I’m going to have a shower first, clear my head.” He pressed a kiss to Error’s cheek, and pulled the heavy bed sheets off himself.
“Want me to join?” There was a suggestive tone to the monster's voice as he wiggled his eyebrows, causing Ink to snort. He slid off the bed - he was only wearing one of Error’s shirts and a short pair of gray shorts, while Error was only wearing loosely fitting gray sweatpants, leaving his yellow and red ribcage bare.
“Try to keep it in your pants sweetie.” Ink said with a giggle, causing his fiance to chuckle playfully. He pulled off his shirt, glancing at the alarm clock. 6 am. At least it wasn’t too early.
It was Saturday, so the two could spend the whole day together - Ink couldn’t remember the last time they’d had a proper date, though he had a feeling it was when Error proposed about 8 months ago. With all the wedding prep mixed in with them just wanting to spend time cuddling at home, they hadn’t paid much thought to going out. Ink supposed that’s what happens when you’ve been with someone as long as they’d been together - a little over 10 years now, and that’s not counting how long they were friends before that. It would be nice to go out for once though, perhaps he’d be able to convince Error to go out to a nice restaurant for supper that night. They could go to that nice sushi place downtown.
Error kissed the top of his skull, surprising the shorter monster - he hadn’t noticed him stand up. “I’m gonna go start breakfast, ok?” Ink nodded, watching him leave their room and down the hall, where he would go down the stairs and into their tidy kitchen.
Smiling softly to himself, Ink stepped into the bathroom connected to their bedroom, pulling off the rest of his clothes and turning on the water, waiting patiently for it to heat up.
*****
Ink spent more time in the shower than he had meant to - he had easily gotten lost in his thoughts under the heat of the water, though he wasn’t anymore relaxed than he had been before. It was like a sinister cloud of dread was tied to his wrist, looming over him. If he was being honest with himself, it felt like his body, his soul, was expecting something bad to happen.
He slipped on one of his turtleneck sweaters, the baby blue one that was just a little too big for him, and a pair of simple black leggings. Pushing aside his paranoid thoughts, he hummed softly as he looked into the bathroom mirror. If he and Error did go out, like Ink wanted, he’d definitely need to change into something a bit more formal, but for the time being this would work.
As he made his way to the kitchen, the smell of pancakes filled the air, sending a spark of excitement to his soul. Growing up, neither he or Error could cook very well, but in recent years Error had improved a great deal. And sure, he knew that technically neither of them needed the food - the only time a monster would actually need to eat is if they were hurt, and that would only work if they were eating magic infused food, which was rare these days (too much work to try and make) - but since they could still taste the food, they still pertook in regular meals.
Their kitchen was relatively tidy, aside from the few dishes in the sink waiting to be washed. Old style wallpaper with a sunflower patterned covered the walls, and the floor was tiled yellow and white. Left of the stove was an open window, sun rays from the rising sun trickled in through the open blinds, casting a warm glow over the room. Error stood in front of the stove, in one hand he felt a spatula, and the other was on his hip - he still hadn’t put on a shirt, but he did have an apron on now. On the stove in front of him were two frying pans, one with bacon sizzling, and the other held a pancake waiting to be flipped.
“No eggs?” Ink teased, coming up beside him, leaning over slightly to gaze at the cooking food. Error’s nose scrunched up in response.
“No way, you know I think they’re gross.”
With a laugh, Ink opened one of the wooden cabinets above the counter, pulling out a small bottle filled with glistening tablets. He unscrewed the top, quickly popping one into his mouth, feeling it tingle and dissolve. He watched Error flip the pancake, revealing one golden side. “We need groceries by the way. I figured I’d go out after breakfast.”
Ink groaned, sinking into one of the chairs next to the dining table. “Grocery shopping is so boring though.” With a chuckle, the ebony skeleton scooped the crispy bacon onto a clean plate, turning off the burner before setting the pan in the sink to soak.
“I know, that’s why I’ll just go by myself, we only need a few things anyways.” Ink fidgeted in his seat, watching Error’s back as his paranoid thoughts flooded back. What if something happened while Error was out on his own? He didn’t know what he’d do if he were to lose Error now. He didn’t want to know! He could feel his breath quicking, panic building up in his soul. When they were still in highschool, Ink almost lost Error because he hadn’t noticed something was wrong, he couldn’t let that happen again, he-
“Ink. Ink, sweetie, calm down, what’s wrong!?” Two large hands clasped around Ink’s smaller ones, Ink’s eyelights snapped up to Error’s. The skeleton was kneeling in front of him, brows drawn in worry. Ink sniffled, feeling a fat tear roll down his cheek as he slipped off his chair, curling up to his chest. “... Your nightmare was that bad, huh?”
Ink shook his skull, holding Error tighter. “It really wasn’t… it’s just… I feel like something bad is going to happen.” Error hummed, pressing a long kiss to his forehead.
“Nothing bad is going to happen to me or you, hun. Our wedding is in two months, we’ve already been through all the bad shit, remember?” Ink rubbed at his eyes, nodding slowly. He knew Error was right - both of them went through their own problems in highschool, but now they were together, and above all they were going to be officially married soon. Logically, there was no need for the small white skeleton to be worried.
But deep down, he couldn’t shake that feeling of paranoia.
*****
After a bit more comfort, and plenty of kisses, Error left to go pick up the food the two boys needed, leaving Ink alone in the silence. He switched on the TV as he slumped into the worn blue sofa. True, he was sure Error would have let him come with if he had asked, but he really did dislike shopping for groceries, plus he was stubborn and was not willing to give into his fears.
Error would be fine, he even promised to be extra careful.
A newscast was being shown on the TV, another royal press conference, it seems like that’s all that’s ever on nowadays. Personally, Ink didn’t understand why. Yes, the prince was 23 now, and the poor boy was getting asked day and night about when he planned on marrying, or asking about his relationship status in general. And boy, were the television stations milking the situation to death; rumours were even going around that Prince Dream was dating his own personal guard, a skeleton named Cross, after a journalist somehow captured a blurry picture of the two holding hands on the royal grounds. After all, a gay prince is the perfect thing to expose for ratings.
Ink sighed at the screen, the young prince looked overwhelmed as the press yelled questions to him, while the guard, Cross, was clearly trying to mask his annoyance. He couldn’t help but feel pity for the two boys - even if they were together, it was obvious neither of them wanted it public yet, and therefore was none of the press’ business. Even if it was public, it didn’t give anyone the right to try and pry. Annoyance washed over Ink as he switched off the TV.
He groaned, rolling onto his back. Maybe he could watch a movie? Or draw, it’d been a while since he’d really sat down with a pencil and a pad of paper. With a happy hum, he sat up, leaning to the side where he usually kept his sketchbook and-
Two loud, even knocks came from the door, causing Ink to jump slightly, anxiety suddenly clutching his soul. Did Error forget his keys? No, Ink remembered handing them to him before he left, and he clearly heard the car start up and drive away. Taking a deep breath he stood up, he knew his nerves were playing a trick on him, it was probably just a little kid selling cookies or something of the sort.
His guess wasn’t even close.
Two royal guards stood with straight backs and clean uniforms outside the door, both easily as tall or maybe even a bit taller than Error. The one closest to the door was a fish like monster - she had long red hair pulled into a ponytail, and red fins protruded from the sides of her head, not to mention her skin was covered in shimmering blue scales. Her left eye was blacked out, a blue pupil the only thing visible - Ink wondered if that was caused from a fight - and the other had a yellow sclera and red pupil.
The second guard who stood just slightly behind the first, was another skeleton, like Ink. However, unlike Ink, this skeleton didn’t have eyelights, just two eye sockets that seemed to move depending on where he looked. Both of them wore the royal uniform with the royal crest pinned to the left side of their chest - the only difference was that the second guard had a ripped red scarf tied to his right arm.
“Hello there, is there a Mr. Ink Agate present?” The woman spoke first, her tone was brisk, making Ink wonder if she actually didn’t want to be here, talking to him.
It wasn’t like he wanted to talk to her either. Nothing personal, but he wasn’t a big fan of the royal guard, the air around them always seemed to be alive from the magic rolling off them. “Yes, that’s me.”
“Perfect” She smiled down at him, revealing a row of shark like teeth. "My name is Undyne, and this is my partner, Papyrus.” She jabbed her thumb over her shoulder to the other guard, who smiled and gave him a small wave. “Now I’m sure you’re wondering what we’re doing here on this beautiful summer day.”
“I am, actually.” Ink forced a smile, doing his best to be polite despite the fear nipping at his soul. “Would you like to come in? I could make some tea?”
Undyne shook her head. “No need, sir. His majesty has requested to see you personally, immediately. We are here to escort you to the palace.”
If it were possible, Ink was sure his face would have paled. “I-I’m afraid there must be some sort of mistake, why would the King want to see little ol’ me?” He was cursing himself for note going with Error when he left earlier, then he could have avoided this whole mess. Or at least he wouldn’t have had to deal with it alone.
“That is information his majesty withheld from the two of us. We do know our orders, however. Now I must ask that you make your way to the cart behind us.” Ink leaned, eyes catching on the vehicle the female guard was talking about; it was styled to look like an old horse drawn buggy, like most castle vehicles, but Ink knew under all that faux wood was a complicated set of machinery and magic.
Ink wrung his hands together, fighting the urge to throw up. This was all too much. “Alright.. But I need to write a note for my fiance so that he doesn’t worry…” He left the door open, quickly grabbing his forgotten notebook and yanking a page out.
“Ah, congratulations on the engagement.”
Ink thanked her, quickly writing a small message on the paper, placing it on the kitchen table where he was sure Error would see it. Truthfully, he hoped he’d be home before the ebony skeleton, but he’d rather be safe than sorry. With that done, he pulled on his jacket, locked the door behind them and followed the two larger monsters to the carriage.
Ink sat adjacent to the two guards, and he noted that both of them seemed rather… relaxed. He’d always pictured guards to be uptight. “How long have you and your fiance been together?” It was the skeleton who spoke up this time - Undyne had said his name was Papyrus, right?.
Ink smiled, his thoughts shifting to his dear Error. “We’ve been dating for 10 years now.” His gaze dropped to the small ring on his left hand. “Our wedding is in two months, things have been pretty crazy with all the planning, though.”
Papyrus laughed. “I’m sure they are. My adopted mother and father didn’t marry until they adopted my brother and I, and even though I was pretty young at the time I remember them being incredibly busy and a bit panicked about the whole festivity.” There was something in his smile that looked almost wistful, a spark of regret. The smaller monster wanted to ask what happened, but quickly scolded himself for almost letting his curiosity get the better of him. It wasn’t any of his business. Still, he wanted to make some conversation, and Undyne seemed preoccupied with something on a small tablet in her lap.
“You said you had a brother? Both me and Error, my partner, are only-children, but I’ve always wondered what it would be like to have a sibling.”
This time, sadness flashed over the taller skeleton’s face, his smile dropping for only a moment, before it was back in full force. It didn’t look as genuine this time. “Yes, my older brother. We are not… as close, as we once were, I’m afraid to say. I also have two other siblings - mom and dad adopted us all, only my brother and I are actually related.”
“You have a pretty big family then, huh?”
Papyrus nodded. “Frisk is the youngest, they’re only ten, then there’s chara, who’s sixteen. I’m the second oldest, but Undyne has pointed out on many occasions that I’m still young at 21.” He nudged the fish monster, earning a snort. “And my brother is the eldest. He’s 28 now.”
Ink bit his lip, a bit jealous. Papyrus was 5 years younger than him and yet Ink looked like a child next to him! It was the same thing with Error (though he was a year older). He knew he was stumbling with his words, the guard made talking look so easy, but Ink always floundered when talking to new people - sure, he could fake it and make small talk for a bit, but his act quickly fell apart after a topic had been exhausted.
“We will arrive at the castle in a few minutes.” Luckily, Undybe cut in before Ink could dwell too much more on what he should say, clipping the small screen to the belt of her uniform. Sadly, her statement only made anxiety well up in his stomach. He could barely talk normally with these two guards, how was he supposed to make conversation with the king of all people?! Why was he even needed here in the first place? “I’m sure this is all very nerve racking for you.” Was it that obvious? “But I can assure you there is no need to worry. The king is a very kind and logical monster.”
Ink truly hoped Undyne was right.
*****
Walking through the castle was like walking through a fairy tale.
The whole thing was surrounded by a 10 foot wall, and the gate was styled to look like a drawbridge that would have used years and years ago. Not only was the entire castle made to look like something out of a fairy tale, but it was huge too. Ink had seen pictures and videos of the palace countless times, but the size and colours - the golds, blues, and purples -weren’t nearly as clear through the screen as they were like this. The inside was just as grand: delicately classical looking, with a touch of technology here and there. Papyrus and Undyne lead him to the ballroom, Ink wondered how they didn’t get lost within the castle’s twists and bends: within 10 minutes of entering the castle Ink found himself lost and, if you asked, he would not be able to find his way back to the front gate.
The castle was also buzzing with activity, much like a bee hive. Servants passed by the trio, each with their own tasks, their own duties. There was a human woman who passed them, giving a short greeting to the guards, who warmly responded. She was wearing a short black dress and tights, a white apron tied around her waist, a tray of food set in her small, delicate hands. The thing that stood out more about the girl was not her lively gray eyes, or the fact that she was just barely taller than Ink; it was that she had long, bright pink hair that fell in waves around her hips. Ink barely recognized her as the prince’s caretaker (why a 23 year old would still need a nanny eluded him, but perhaps her duties had changed as the prince grew up.).
Finally, they reached the throne room. It was longer than it was wide with a domed roof, the sides were lined with arches and stained glass windows, which casted coloured rays of light onto the reflected tiles. Above them were large, gold chandeliers, all unlit. A red carpet led to the large throne at the far side of the room. Ironically, the King himself wasn’t even sitting in the large chair. He stood next to it, talking with the prince, whose personal guard was stationed calmly beside him.Next to the King was a small, yellow lizard monster. Ink quickly recognized her as Dr. Alphys, the royal scientist. Much to Ink’s surprisement, she looked even shorter than himself. Cross noticed them first, eyes flickering first to the guards, then to Ink. The King and Prince noticed them next, Papyrus and Undyne sank to one knee, bowing their heads; in a wave of panic, Ink quickly did the same.
There was a laugh from the other side of the room. “Now now, no need for that Mr. Agate. Please, stand up.” Ink did as he was told,nearly toppling over onto Papyrus. King Gaster was already making his way to him, Alphys following not far behind. The prince was watching the small white skeleton curiously, while Cross seemed more suspicious. As he extended a gloved hand to him, Ink gingerly shook it, his bones rattling softly. “It is a pleasure to meet you, I have much I wish to discuss with you.” He turned his skull to the side. “My son, we will continue our conversation later on, you are dismissed.”
With a small nod and something said to Cross - Ink was too far to make out what they said - the skeletons took their leave, the Prince giving Ink a warm smile as they passed. The King placed a hand against Ink’s back, making him go stiff. Something wasn’t right about this. He wasn’t supposed to be here. “Let us take a walk, Mr. Agate.”
“Ink is fine, your majesty.” They left the room, and Ink let the King begin to guide them through the halls. Alyphs stayed at his side, making him wonder if she served another role, other than scientist, and Undyne followed silently behind. Papyrus must have also been dismissed for now, Ink guessed, though he missed the skeleton’s warm personality.
“Ink it is then. Forgive me if I come off as brash, but I assume you had other engagements planned for today, so I shall get right to the point.” At least that would mean Ink could leave soon, which he definitely liked the idea of. That feeling of dread was hanging over him again, stronger now than before. “I am very interested in your soul, Ink.”
Relexifly, Ink’s hands shot up to his chest, as if that would somehow protect the beating soul hidden in his rib cage. “W-what?”
“As king, I make it my duty to know anything that goes on in my kingdom that could be of value to me. I was made aware of your condition a few months ago, and I strongly believe it could aid us in our soul research here in the castle. All that I ask is that you let us conduct some tests on your soul.
Of course, there would be a large sum of money as an award for you, if you were to comply.”
All throughout Ink’s childhood, he’d had doctors hovering over him, conducting their experiments, their test. After his 18th birthday, he decided he was done being their guinea pig, and would only go in for the normal soul check once a year, and he’d only go to one doctor: Dr. Thaz. If the King knew about his soul, Thaz is the only person who would be able to give relatively recent data on him. Ink couldn’t help but feel a bit betrayed by the old monster. “I’m terribly sorry, your majesty, but I’m afraid I have to decline the offer. I’ve been tested on all my life and frankly, I’m tired of it, I simply want a normal life with my fiance. I do hope you can understand.” He turned his skull upwards, but his smile quickly fell, fear crashing over him.
The king’s pleasant smile was gone, replaced with a deep scowl. The air around him darkened, and became heavier, vibrating with magic. “Undyne.” His voice even seemed deeper, anger seeming to seep out of him like blood flowing out of a cut.
With a quick, smooth motion, Undyne was behind Ink, her large arms grabbing him from behind and hoisting him off the ground, one hand pressed to his mouth. He thrashed against her, to no avail. Where were all the servants he had seen before when he needed help?
The sudden realization that this was happening crashed over him like an avalanche - what were they going to do to him?! Tears welled up in his eye sockets as he continued to struggle. All he wanted was Error, his Error. He wanted to go home, he never should have come here. And Error - oh god, if something happened here, if Ink really died here, what would happen to Error? Would they tell him the truth of what happened or would they fabricate some outlandish story?
Undnye had knelt down, easily holding Ink’s trembling arm out as Ayphys pressed a syringe into his bones. His skull suddenly felt full of cotton, eyelids heavy. He was going to pass out.
“I’m terribly sorry it had to happen this way, Ink. But I need you to understand, this is what’s best for the kingdom.” The world around Ink pittered into inky blackness, his soul thrashing even more than his body had been a mere minutes ago.
Perhaps he had been wrong to assume that the feeling of paranioa was a warning that Error was going to be harmed today.
*****
“Hey hun, I’m back!” Error called into the house, his hands full of bags as he pushed the door closed with his hip. It had taken him about an hour to get everything, longer than he had planned. The store had been busy today, everyone and their mother decided to go out today as well.
His eyebrows drew together when Ink didn’t respond. The house was too quiet, he had learned a long time ago that Ink didn’t like bare, white spaces or the quiet very much. Hence all the pictures in their home. Maybe he was upstairs having a nap, both of them were up pretty early because of his nightmare.
He set the plastic bags onto the wooden kitchen table, eyes catching on a small folded up note, his name written on the front in Ink’s large handwriting. He picked it up, flipping it over and reading it, a heavy weight settling in his soul.
Something about this wasn’t right, why would Ink be summoned to the castle by the king of all people? Unless… could it have anything to do with his soul? That had to be it, that’s the only thing it could be. But why? He let out a huff, quickly throwing anything cold into the fridge or freezer, then ran back out to the car. Even if he was overreacting, Ink’s words came swirling around his head - “I feel like something bad is going to happen.” - making his soul ache and pound in his ribcage. What if this was the bad thing? He cursed himself, he should have gotten Ink to come with him; yeah, he would have most likely complained, but at least he’d actually know where he was!
Two guards were posted outside the gate, Error guessed it had been stupid of him to think getting in would be easy, there was one skeleton, same height as Error by the looks of it, and the other was a rabbit monster, a few feet shorter than the skeletons.
“I need to see the king.” No point in beating around the bush, he guessed.
The first guard, the skeleton, raised an eyebrow. “No one is allowed to see his majesty without an appointment.” Error bit back his anger. He didn’t care if he needed an “appointment,” he just wanted his fiance back at home. “Might I get your name, sir?”
“Error Sona.” He still felt weird saying his last name, the only thing that still connected him to his past, to his father. He and Ink had already decided he'd be taking Ink’s last name, and he had to mentally stop himself from saying ‘Agate.’ “My fiance, Ink Agate, was brought here earlier today to see the king. I’m here to pick him up.”
Recognition passed over Papyrus’s features, and he nodded slowly. “I see. I was one of the guards sent to escort Mr. Agate here.” He glanced around, biting his lower lip. “Please follow me, I’ll take you to his majesty.”
The second guard reached out, placing a hand on his partner's arm. “Papyrus, you can’t do that, it’s against protocol!”
The skeleton, Papyrus, shook him off. “It’ll be fine, the king wanted to see his fiance, surely there’s nothing he’d say to Mr. Agate that Mr. Sona here can’t know.” Sighing, the bunny monster pulled his hand away
“Just be quick, and don’t blame me if the Captain gets mad at you.”
If Error hadn’t been so stressed, and down right mad, he most likely would have enjoyed walking around the castle, but his mind was clouded. “Why was Ink brought here? Neither of us have anything to do with the crown.”
“I’m afraid I do not know that, sir. He only told us to bring him here. Though, I will agree that it’s odd he hasn’t gotten home yet. It’s been about an hour.” Error’s soul dropped. An hour. He gritted his teeth, pushing down his worries. Ink was fine, he had to be fine.
“In here.” Papyrus gestured to a large, steel door, swiping the tablet that had previously been clipped to his belt under the scanner. The door opened with a click, the room behind was a white washed lab, the king standing with his back to the door, a vial in one hand, and the royal scientist at his side, writing something down. “Your majesty.” The guard brought a fist to his chest, bowing his head.
The king turned, eyes landing on Error, a look of annoyance settling on his skull. Error wanted to scoff, like the king had any right to be upset. He was the one who had taken his Ink. If he had been anyone else, the ebony skeleton would have landed a punch to his face in a heartbeat. He really didn’t want to end up in jail though, so he squashed the urge down.
“Papyrus, who is this?” He sounded mad, making Error bite down a smirk.
“Ink Agate’s fiance, your majesty. He is here to pick him up.”
The larger monster’s eyelights scanned his unexpected visitor, then he waved a hand to Papyrus. “You are excused, return to your post.”
Now that it was just three of them alone in the room, the King clasped his hands in front of him. “I understand that you are here for your partner.” Error nodded, his tone seemed light, almost like he found this funny. “I’m afraid that cannot happen. You see, Agate’s soul is very unique. I tried offering him a deal where he would be allowed to go home after any tests I conducted but he declined. We need that information, it is incredibly valuable.”
Rage bubbled in Error, throwing his calm, polite act out the window. “You kidnapped him?!”
“Kidnap is such a strong, ugly word. I am simply… keeping him as my guest until I have the information I need.”
“The press will flip when they hear about this. It’s illegal! You can’t do anything to his soul without consent!” He stepped forward, his magic responding to his anger. Something pressed against his wrists, pulling him back. Chains. The king was holding him back, a cruel smile pressed into his lips.
“You truly believe they would believe your word over mine? I can do whatever I want as long as no one knows. And Mr. Sona, you are not someone who can hurt me.” The ebony monster pulled against the chains. “The guard captain is already on her way to escort you out of my castle, without any charges, of course. However, mark my words, if you come back or try to interfere again, there will be consequences.”
*****
Error paced back and forth through the living room. He wanted to scream, yell at the top of his lungs about how all of this was bullshit. How could this happen?! Things were supposed to be good now, and here he was, alone at home while the love of his life was locked up somewhere in a huge castle. It seemed surreal, like something out of one of those fantasy movies Ink loved so much.
What did the main characters always do in those? They fought back, of course. Error couldn’t do that, he was strong, sure, but definitely not strong enough to fight the king and all of his guards. Plus, he’d be seen as a traitor to the crown if he even tried.
His mind drifted - when the characters in movies weren’t strong enough, they made a team. One big team with one goal, to defeat the villain. Error remembered reading about the protests against the crown in the edges of the city. It was by far the worst part of town, everything was rundown and people were living on the streets everywhere you look. Error used to assume it was that way because that just happened to be where those monsters all went, but after seeing how the king really was; he was more inclined to believe it was like that because the king didn’t care enough to help his people.
That could mean more people felt like he did: he hated the king. It could mean he could make a team of sorts, too. He knew it was crazy, and farfetched, but it was all he could do now.
He was ready to start a goddamn revolution if he had to.
And it was starting to look like he had to.
*****
He was underwater.
Or at least, that’s what it felt like, with his skull seemingly full of cotton, his limbs heavy and unmovable, his vision still blurred from whatever drug had been injected into his bones. He was laying on something cold, like metal. An operating table? There was a light glaring down at him, making it even harder to examine his surroundings.
“He’s awake.” A female voice on his left said. He couldn’t recognize it, nor could he see who it came from after craning his head to the side.
“I see that. Prepare another dosage please, not enough to make him completely unconscious this time.” That voice was familiar. It was deep and gruff, too deep to be Error’s though, he knew that for sure.
The King. Memories flooded him, and he realized he must be in W.D.’s personal lab. He jolted, but was held down by restraints. “Now now, Ink. Please remain calm, my assistant and I have no intentions of killing you.” His assistant placed a hand on his left arm, her hand small and scaly, and pressed another drug into him.
The next few hours, or what he guessed were hours, were blurry. Ink remembered them taking out his soul. They took notes, examining it and prodding at it until it responded by cowering away. It felt wrong, he didn’t want this. He wanted Error. He tried to focus on that, tried to picture the other monster, but the drugs made it difficult to think of anything other than the present. Slowly, the tests got worse. They used needles to puncture his trembling soul, filling it with god knows what. At some point, he couldn’t remember exactly when, but he saw the king's gloved hands grind up his pills, the same ones he had taken this morning, into a thick liquid.
They injected it into his soul, like everything else. This time he felt it, even through his numb, drug induced haze. He vaguely remembered screaming and thrashing, he was sure his soul was burning, crumbling apart right there in this strange, chemical smelling room.
Then, he died.
Well, no, he didn’t, but he thought he did.
He was proven wrong when his eyes fluttered open, his bones aching. He felt wrong. Everything was wrong.
He was in a different room now. It was as big as his and Error’s living room, and he was laying on a soft bed with purple sheets. There was a round table in the middle of the room, a skeleton with two different coloured eyes, one blue and the other purple, sitting on one of the cushions next to it. One of the walls was lined with bookshelves.
“You’re awake! Thank goodness, I was really worried when father brought you in here unconscious.” There was something familiar about the boy. “Um, are you alright?”
“I dunno.” Ink’s words were slurred as he sat up, pressing a hand to his skull. What time was it? Sunlight was shining outside, so it wasn’t night. How long had he been asleep? “Where am I?”
“The prince’s ‘room,’ of sorts.” A different voice said from somewhere close to the metal door that seemed to be bolted in place. It was the servant he had seen before, the one with pink hair. “My name is Bethenny, deary. I know this is very confusing, but this is Prince Nightmare.”
Ink’s eyes snapped back to the monster. The prince? “I thought the prince was killed years ago?”
Bethenny shook her head. “That is what his majesty told everyone.” She slowly explained the truth to Ink, about the prince’s condition, about the room room, and why it was hidden from everyone. “I… I know I should have done something to stop this, perhaps then this room wouldn’t have been made, and you wouldn’t have been brought here too. Foolishly, I was too scared to.”
Ink swallowed hard. He remembered hearing about the second prince's execution. He could also remember thinking it was the right thing to do. Now, he couldn’t help but feel ashamed. “I’m sorry.” Was all he could say to the younger boy, who only smiled sadly.
“I don’t think you’ve told us your name yet?” The prince - was Ink supposed to just call him Nightmare? - was rubbing his hand over one of his shackles.
“Ink.” His head felt clearer now, though he could still feel the drug working its way out of his system. He placed a hand to his chest. His soul felt heavy, though other than that he couldn’t feel any differences. “I need to leave here. M-my fiance, he’s going to be worried sick.” He was greeted with looks of pity.
“Ink, I’m sorry but… if father brought you here… he’s not going to let you out.” The older monster flinched.
No.
No.
He had to leave, he was supposed to be at home, with Error. This wasn’t fair! He want to scream, to bang against the door, to make them let him go, just let me go, let me go let me-
The rage left him. Everything left him. He was numb. Emotionless. He’d only felt this once, when he was little and he had forgotten to take his medicine before going to school. He moved off the bed, walking to the window and sitting in the corner a few feet from it. Is this what Gaster had done? Made his feelings come and go? He heard Nightmare ask with panic what had happened, but he ignored him.
He didn’t care.
His feelings didn’t come back until the sun had gone down; after Bethenny had helped Nightmare light the candles littered throughout the room before she then left for the night. His emotions hit him like a freight train. He shook from the force of it as he sobbed into his knees. He was filled with so much anger, regret, fear and sadness; they swirled around his now, even more, broken soul. Nightmare was kneeling next to him, trying to calm him down but Ink pushed him away. He didn’t want to be here with this prince, with this monster who’d been lied about and forgotten by the rest of the kingdom. All Ink wanted was Error, for everything to go back to normal.
Eventually, Nightmare gave up trying to comfort the distressed monster. He set two folded blankets next to him before settling into his own bed, turning to the wall. Ink slowly took one blanket, laying it out on the ground, the pillow on top. He laid down, pulling the blanket to his chin.
He hated it. He had never felt like this before, felt this hopeless.
All he could do was question why this happened to him. Didn’t Error say that things were supposed to be good now? They were supposed to be getting married! And now he was trapped, with no way out, with a messed up soul that sometimes let him feel, but would strip him off those precious emotions at random.
If he was being honest, he half wished the king had taken his feelings fully away if his plan had been to make him prisoner in the first place. At least then he wouldn’t feel so broken and helpless.
Eventually, he fell into a restless slumber, clinging to the blankets, his cheeks stained from his tears.
Notes:
I honestly almost cried while writing this chapter, I feel so bad for Ink qwq
~Thank you all for reading!~
Chapter 3: ~Chapter 3~
Notes:
For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on Instagram or Tumblr
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Father, can Cross join me in the picture this time?”
Cross felt his cheeks heat up as he snapped out of his thoughts. Yearly, around this time of the year, Dream and the King had portraits taken of themself, and they were hung on one of the castle halls. The royal family was always having pictures taken of them, whether it be for an article or another picture in the castle, or for whatever reason the King thought of. Truthfully, Cross didn’t understand the need, but he wasn’t one to complain.
He stood behind this week’s photographer, a small chameleon type monster, whose name was Leaf or something of the sort. The small monster - he had to be about 5 feet or so - looked nervous as he set up his camera. Beside Cross was the captain of the royal guards, Undnye. Her and Cross were pretty close, all things considered, since they had trained together. The few times the skeleton actually had free time, and he wasn’t spending it for alone time with Dream, he’d go find her somewhere in the guards’ bunks. Sometimes she’d be with one of the newbies - Cross was pretty sure his name was Papyrus, and he was definitely one of the youngest guards. Undyne had taken a quick liking to the boy, so Cross always did his best to be friendly to the other monster.
The fish monster nudged him with her elbow, wiggling her eyebrows. Cross sighed, trying to keep a straight face despite the purple on his cheeks.
“This is a portrait Dream. You should be the only one in the picture.” The King’s voice was somber, like always, as he adjusted the yellow sash draped across Dream’s shoulder and chest.
“But Cross is my-” A finger twitch, a warning. Both Cross and the Prince knew Gaster wasn’t fond of their relationship; Dream always blamed it on the fact that his father was old fashioned, but deep down the guard had a feeling that the king just didn’t really like him in general. Only the three of them knew about the relationship; plus Undyne and Papyrus (Cross accidently slipped up and told them on the fish monster's birthday after he had had a bit too much to drink) and the King very much wanted to keep it that way. Hence why he was still upset over the press catching them in the garden. Which, honestly, was bullshit in Cross’s opinion. Dream bit his lip. “He’s my personal guard, I think it’s only fair that I get one picture with him, wouldn’t you agree?”
The older monster sighed. “Fine. One picture.” Dream’s smile brightened, his cheeks dusted with a light yellow. He waved Cross over, his excited energy seeming to float around him like a cloud.
“Dream. this isn’t necessary-” The taller skeleton mumbled once he was close enough, standing next to him. The prince shook his head slightly, hand brushing against his arm.
“Shush, I think it’d be best to have at least one picture of the two future kings before marriage.” His voice was soft, quiet enough that only Cross could hear, making his soul flutter. Marriage always seemed so complicated for the two for more than one reason; for one, everyone expected the future king to marry a girl, a princess at that, not a commoner. Even if Cross was close to the royals that didn’t change that he was just another monster. Plus Dream’s father, who wouldn’t support the marriage as much as he would if Dream married who he was ‘supposed’ to (Cross had a feeling Gatser already had a list of available princesses from neighbouring kingdoms)
Truth be told, the thought of being king scared Cross.
Dream was smiling into the camera, he was close enough that it would have been easy to wrap an arm around him, or place a hand on his shoulder, like Cross had seen other royal’s do in their pictures with their partners. Instead, he kept his back straight, mouth drawn in a line - there had been only one time where some of the guards had to take a picture like this, and all of them had been told to remain professional - no smiles, no joking around. So is the life of a guard, Cross had reasoned then, all work and no play. His eyelights ideally wandered to the skeleton beside him.
One of the things he loved about Dream is just how easily he radiated warmth, just like he was doing now. He always seemed so happy to be around Cross, the king, even those dumb reporters. He was the perfect fit to be king; kind and caring, but also hard working and diligent. He felt his lips tug upwards in a small smile. Sure, being king and in charge of so many lives is terrifying, but that fear would be nothing compared to the joy of spending the rest of his life with his golden flower.
The camera clicked and flashed, startling Cross enough that his magic flared momentarily. Dream gave him a puzzled look, it wasn’t like him to get distracted, Cross shrugged, easily settling his magic before anyone else noticed. “Are we done now father?”
“For now, yes. You are dismissed.” His eyes were glued to a small netscreen in his hand as he waved the photographer away. He handed the screen to Alphys - the small lizard always seemed to be with him, yet Cross knew very little about her. He knew her and Undyne had a little thing together, and he suspected that the scientist acted as a sort of advisor for the king. Other than that she seemed pretty shy. The King’s eyelights settled on his adoptive son, hands folding in front of him. “I believe there was something you wished to discuss, correct?”
Dream nodded, quickly slipping into his more diplomatic self. “I wanted to visit the city center on my own - with just Cross. I’ve seen the reports that there’s been more bar riots in the outskirts of the city and I thought if the people saw me out and about, like the rest of them, it would settle some of them down.”
Cross had also heard about the so-called riots; they started a little over a week ago, a few days after that small skeleton showed up to the castle. What had his name been? Something Agate? The monster had been tiny next to the two guards, and as Cross and Dream had passed him, it was easy to sense that he wasn’t all that strong, either. Monsters over a certain power level had a constant aura of power around them - the king and all the guards, Cross included, to name a few. That being said, only monsters who were actually trained to look for these “aura” could feel it. The royal guards were all taught it so that they would never be taken by surprise by an attacker’s power level.
“You’d be putting yourself at risk, Dream.”
“I’d have Cross with me, I’d be fine.” He couldn’t help but feel a small spark of pride over how much faith the prince had in him.
The king clucked his tongue, glancing to the mentioned guard. After a moment of thought, he sighed and turned away from them. “Alright. I want you back at the castle within two hours.”
*****
There were dark clouds forming in the distance, and there was a chill breeze blowing over the city, making Cross glad he had insisted that Dream grab a jacket before they left the castle. He had also made sure that he actually had his sword strapped to his hip, though if they were attacked he was for more likely to use his magic than the actual weapon, but it was reassuring nonetheless.
The city center was really just an overhyped shopping area, stores, cafes, restaurants and parks surrounded the area. It was a maze of streets that took years of living in Blightview to really understand, and it made Dream almost giddy. It was rare for either him or the King to leave the castle like this, and Cross had to admit that it was cute how excited he was.
Monsters all around them had stopped to gape at them as the prince gushed at the sights, the guard ignored them, happy that they were just watching and not causing a scene. “We should get cake, what do you think?”
“You know there are bakers at the castle who would jump at the opportunity to make you a cake. Or anything, for that matter.” He smirked at the shorter skeleton who huffed, gently shoving his arm.
“That’s not the point. If we went to one of the smaller bakeries, it could really boost their business.”
“Ah, so that’s what this is about then?”
“No! I-” He bit his lip. He sometimes fumble over words in situations like this, Cross didn’t know if it was because he was annoyed or flustered. Maybe both. He suddenly lowered his voice, leaning closer to his boyfriend. “Truth be told I only wanted to do this because it’s something normal couples would do, and we never get to do that sort of thing.”
Cross hummed, eyelights catching on a bar across the street.’Gold Gardens’. It wasn’t too late yet, and yet the place already seemed packed, and there was some kind of flyer on the door, too far away for Cross to be able to read it. “You know I’m fine with not being able to do stereotypical things hun.” He brushed his pinkie against Dreams, interwinning them for a moment. “I’m happy to just be with you.”
Dream smiled softly up at him, blushing. “It’s a shame I can’t kiss your cheek, they’re a beautiful shade of purple.”
He snorted. “Speak for yourself lemon cheeks.”
Someone screamed across the street, instinctually Cross steadied his body, magic crackling and swirling around his hands and he scanned for the source of the noise. Running towards them was a gaggle of teenage monsters - all girls, by the looks of it. Cross sighed, snuffing out his magic for the second time that day. He’d need to spend some time releasing some of the pent up energy that night, he knew it wasn’t healthy to continuously activate his magic like this without releasing it. Maybe Unydne would be up for some sparring?
“Prince Dream!”
“Can we get a picture?”
“Oh my god, you’re soooo hot!”
Dream laughed softly, talking easily to the girls. He was good with people, Cross didn’t know how he never snapped at anyone; but then again, he’d never really seen Dream get mad or annoyed at anyone. The teenagers giggled, thanking the prince for the photo and gushing. Dream thanked them, trying to end the conversation politely, he glanced up to Cross for help. Before the guard could speak up - he could just make up a simple lie about why they needed to return to the castle - one of the girls finally noticed him, eyes widening.
“Is it true? Are you two really dating?” Cross’s eye twitched as he bit down hard on his cheek. Why did everyone have to ask that? They weren’t public because they wanted to avoid these questions - among other reasons, namely the King - so why were people still trying to grasp at this?
Dream’s eyes were pleading with him, he may be good with people but he was terrible at lying, hence why he always skirted along the questions the reporters ask, never really answering them but not ignoring them altogether “My apologies ma’am.” Cross’s voice was tight and short, straight to the point. “But his highness must be getting back to the castle now.”
Truth be told, they still had over an hour before they actually needed to go back, but Dream happily latched on to the white lie.
*****
“So you ran into fangirls?”
Cross groaned, rolling his eyes as his and Undyne’s magic collided, sending sparks flying. He was right about needing to spend pent up magic, by the time dinner had rolled around his head had been pounding from the bottled up energy. Luckily, Undyne was always happy to participate in some friendly competition.
They were behind the castle, a section of the castle grounds used specifically for guards and training, or sparing like the skeleton and fish monster were doing now. Cross had formed a sword, one of the items he was most comfortable forming, the feeling of it solid in his hands despite looking a bit translucent, wisps of light purple and red energy curling towards and around the object and Cross’s body. Across from him, his opponent held a bright blue spear in her hands. Unlike the skeleton, Undyne’s magic crackled and sparked around her, like a lightning storm. Papyrus sat a few feet away, tossing a bone between his hands; he had insisted on coming, saying that it could be educational to watch them. Cross hadn’t had the energy to object.
“Sure, if that’s what you want to call them.” Undyne swiped left, Cross shifted to raise his blade to block. More sparks. “They’re fucking annoying.”
The fish barked out a laugh, nearly catching her friend off guard as he ducked, leg shooting out to knock him off his feet. He jumped back, aiming his magic at her side. Summoning a second spear, she blocked his attack, using the momentum to momentarily break Cross’s concentration. The sword flickered in his hands. “You have fangirls too; have you seen what's on the internet?”
“I wish I hadn’t.” He’d never be able to fully forget the lewd fanart and fanfiction he had found of himself.
Undyne thrusted forward, aiming for his right side. Cross brought down his blade to deflect the spear. He stumbled back when the spear vanished, reappearing in the woman’s other hand and tapping his chest. “I win.” She grinned, her shark like teeth proudly displayed. “You’re off your game tonight, usually that trick doesn’t work on you.”
The skeleton huffed, letting his magic fade. At least his head didn’t hurt anymore. “I just have a lot on my mind.” He dropped down onto the ground next to Papyrus, who handed him a water bottle.
“Need to vent?” Cross had to admit that the younger skeleton was very considerate and thoughtful of others. Though that did make him a bit worried about how he’d react in an actual battle.
He took a swig from the bottle before tossing it to Undyne. “Dream brought up marriage today.”
The older monster whistled. “Damn, does that mean you’re going to be incharge soon? That’ll be a bummer if I need to take orders from a bonehead like you”
Cross snorted. “Yeah, and my first order will be to change all of your guys’s outfits. I think bright pink tu-tus will be perfect.”
“I look great in pink.”
“So do salmon.”
“Fuck you!”
The two laughed, Cross leaning back to lay down. There weren’t as many lights back here, making the few stars peeking through the clouds visible. “To be honest, I don’t know how to feel about it.”
“Don’t you love him?” Papyrus’s voice was soft next to him.
“Of course I do.” He took a deep breath, eye’s focusing on a cloud drifting slowly above them. What would it be like to be a cloud, simply floating wherever the wind took you? “I don’t know how to rule a kingdom; while Dream has been slowly taught what to do all his life. That’s why royals marrying other royals is the norm: both know what to do. Plus there’s social benefits and alliances and all that shit to consider.”
“Maybe.” Papyrus started after a moment of silence. “But Blightview has always been the city to set examples for others. If you two married for love and not social standings, if we had two kings and not a king and a queen, other kingdoms will follow in your footsteps. Love could become the norm.”
“That’s very hopeful Paps.” Undyne nudged his skull gently, the younger monster grinning.
The door to the castle was shoved open, grabbing the attention of all three guards. Dream stood panting in the doorway, tears staining his cheeks as his eyelights were glued to Cross. Even from a few feet away, he could tell that the shorter monster was shaking. Cross was on his feet immediately and at his side, pulling him to his chest as Dream let out a strangled sob.
Cross shushed him softly, hand rubbing slow circles on his back as the prince clung to the front of his uniform. Undyne gave him a short nod when he caught her eye, a silent reassurance that he could, and should, go with Dream.
They got plenty of curious looks as Cross led Dream to his bedroom, his skull still pressed against the taller monster's chest. By the time Cross had shut the door and lifted the Prince onto his bed, he had stopped crying, sniffling as he nuzzled closer to Cross. “What happened?” He made sure to keep his voice low and gentle, taking the simple crown off his skull and setting it down on the table next to the bed.
“... I had an argument with my father.” He sat up, rubbing his eyes. “I tried to talk to him about this. He… wasn't happy about it. It’s so frustrating, he can’t even seem to understand that even if we weren’t together, I wouldn’t want to marry a princess.” Cross hummed, taking his hand, rubbing his thumb over his knuckles.
“Like you said hun, he’s old fashioned.”
Dream sighed, sinking back down to his partner’s chest. “I know. I just… everyone is getting more and more impatient with me the older I get, they want me to make a decision and marry, and I don’t know what to do about it.”
“I think...” Cross cupped his face, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “You’ve had a busy day, and just need a good night’s rest. We can deal with this in the morning.” Dream giggled softly, a small smile returning to his round skull.
“Most people wouldn’t expect a royal guard to procrastinate.”
“I’m tired, so sue me.” He nuzzled his cheek, erupting more giggles from the smaller monster.
Dream pressed against Cross’s chest after the two had changed and settled into the rather large bed, his breath ghosting the larger skeleton’s ribcage. “You know I love you, right?”
“Of course I do sunflower.” He opened one eyelid, looking down to the monster snuggled up to his chest. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Every other couple can do cute things together, like go on dates and hold hands. We can’t do any of that unless it’s behind closed doors.” Dream’s eyelights were wide as he looked up, mouth drawn into a small frown.
“Every couple is different hun.” Cross brushed his knuckles over his cheek. He could hear the castle staff rushing past the closed door. Guards would be patrolling the outer wall of the castle by now. Undyne and Papyrus had their shift later that night, around midnight. “Some stuff works for certain people, but doesn't work for others. Truth be told, I’m not a big fan of PDA anyways.”
Dream was quiet for a minute before he spoke up again, voice barely above a whisper. “Do you even want people to know we’re together?”
“I do. If we could I’d be fine with going public about us - sure, the questions would kind of piss me off but I’d eventually be able to ignore them.” He stifled a yawn, watching as Dream hummed to himself.
“I want to do it. I’m tired of… hiding. I’ll talk about it with my father tomorrow, we have a session planned anyways.” Cross had always wondered what these “sessions” were, Dream had mentioned them multiple times, but was always reculent to really talk about them. He said that it was because he didn’t remember most of what happened, just that they talked for a bit then Gaster did some things to help him deal with the incident with Nightmare years ago.
Which was another thing Cross still couldn’t fully wrap his head around. Before the second Prince had been executed, Cross had known him briefly. He hadn’t seemed bad at the time, just a normal kid, albeit a bit shy around the guard-in-training. The twins had seemed close too, always smiles and playing together, happily including little Cross in their strange games. Dream’s memories of his brother differed quite a bit from Cross’s own personal memories: Cruel and rude, even as a child, Dream once said the attack against himself and Gaster wouldn’t have been so shocking if he hadn’t been so trusting of his brother.
Cross had decided it was best not to question it too much. Dream would have known the other prince better than him, and if he was right about his brother, then everything he thought he knew could be all a lie. An act.
“You sure he won’t freak out over that?”
“I don’t know. Everyone is waiting for me to step up as king and announce an engagement. If I have to do that, I at least want it to be someone I actually care about.”
Cross pressed a soft kiss to his temple, earning himself a happy coo from the other. “I love you.”
“I love you too Cross.”
*****
“It’s what I want, I don’t see the problem.” Dream crossed his arms, huffing. If this had been any other situation, he knew very well that his father would scold him for acting so childish. Perhaps he still will, going by the way his lower eyelid was twitching.
“Must you be so naive?” The king brought a gloved hand up to his skull, messaging his temple. “We discussed this last night, it is not the correct thing to do, you must-”
“My real mom and dad married for love, why can’t I?!” He regretted his choice of words the minute they left his lips, his hands clasping over his mouth. Gaster’s eyes widened, before narrowing, lips pulling up into a snarl. “I’m so sorry, I really don’t know where that came from-” The older monster grabbed onto his arm, pulling him towards the stairs. He could remember the first time he walked down the stairs, actually remembered being scared for his ‘poor’ brother. The thought sparked anger in his soul, but was overshadowed by his new fear.
“I should have done this as soon as you showed interest in that pathetic guard.” His voice was almost a growl, filling Dream with a sense of dread.
“What are you talking about? What are you-” He yelped as his adoptive father shoved him onto the cold table still implanted in the center of the room. The same one he had used to restrain Nightmare. The prince drew back in disgust, but chains formed around his wrists and ankles, pulling him flat on his back. The restraints tingled with energy against his bones. Magic. “Father, stop this!”
“This should teach you to not disobey me.” He was holding a small syringe, hovering over him. His eyes seemed so emotionless, so cold.
This felt so familiar to Dream, but he couldn’t understand why. It was like he was on a diving board, the water so far below him, but he knew there was something important in those rough waters. He just needed to jump, but everytime he neared the edge and looked down, his stomach leapt to his throat, his lunch threatening to come back up.
The King roughly grasped his arm, pricking his shoulder with the needle. Dream jerked away, but whatever was in the shot worked quickly, his vision blurring and his body going limp. He could hear Gaster moving around beside him, unable to turn his skull to actually see what the other skeleton was going to do next.
It finally dawned on Dream why this was so familiar. This has happened before. This is why he could never remember these sessions.
It was also why he wouldn’t be able to remember any of this afterwards.
******
Cross rocked back on the balls of his feet, blowing out a puff of air. He was standing outside of Dream’s room, after all of his meetings with the king, he’d come here to regroup with Cross and they’d go on to do whatever else the young Prince had left to do that day.
He was 5 minutes late.
Dream was never late.
He knew better than to worry, he knew that the skeleton had planned to have a rather important conversation with the king, but that was also the exact reason why he was worried. After seeing how upset he had gotten last night, Cross really didn’t want to see a repeat of that.
“Um, excuse me, you’re blocking my door-”
Cross’s eyelights snapped to the slightly shorter figure in front of him and nearly laughed. He had been too distracted by his thoughts to notice Dream come up to him. A smile spread across his lips, chuckling softly. “There you are. I was starting to get worried you’d gotten lost or something.”
He had to admit, Dream looked different; his eyelights seemed dimmer, faint dark rings under each eye socket, a confused frown instead of his usual cheery grin. He looked tired. “Do I know you?”
A sharp pain stabbed Cross’s soul, his smile dropping instantly. “That’s not funny Dream, stop messing with me.”
The Prince's eyes caught on his uniform, before making their way back to his face. “I’m afraid I'm not ‘messing with you.’ Are you one of the new guards? It’s a pleasure to meet you but I do believe guard training is done in the courtyard not in front of the royal bedrooms.” Even the way he talked was wrong. The pain grew to something Cross had never felt before. Desperation. “ I will excuse your lack of formality this time, but next time, you would do well to remember I am royalty and will be addressed as such. Now, please excuse me, I have work I must get to.”
Cross gripped Dream’s smaller hand, not wanting to let him go. “What did he do to you? We’ve been together for years-”
He jerked his hand away from the guard, eyebrows narrowing. “As I said, I don’t know you sir. Now please, return to your post.”
With that, Dream turned and walked off, whatever he had needed from his room clearly forgotten. Cross wanted to scream - the King had to have done something. That was the only way to explain this, the only way to explain those stupid sessions. He knew he shouldn’t have trusted them, and yet he just sat back and let this happen.
They were supposed to be announcing their relationship.
The monster let out a howl, ramming his fist into the wall. It cracked under the force, a few bits crumbling to the ground. Cross huffed, pushing away from the wall, anger rolling off him in waves along with his magic.
The angry monster shoved the large doors to the throne room open, eyes zeroing in on the king. He had been right to assume this was where he’d be, and luckily he was alone, aside from Alphys. “What the fuck did you do to Dream?!” Cross crossed the room in large strides to the tall monster, pushing away his urges to attack him, to claw at his eyes and demand that he give him his Dream back.
“Ah, I take it you ran into my son?” He turned to him, stepping closer, their magic clashing. “I simply made him forget any unnecessary obstacles that was stopping him from being as efficient as he could be.” Cross snarled.
“So you stripped him or everything that actually made him a person?” He clenched his fists, feeling the tips of his phalanges dig into his palms. “Just so he could be your personal robot that will do anything you tell him?”
The King rolled his eyes, waving a hand. Dismissing him. It only angered Cross more. “I don’t have time to try to explain this to you. I’ve decided that you are no longer needed here, you are no longer a part of the royal guard. If you are to leave quietly, and peacefully, I will not charge you with treason for speaking so disrespectfully to your king.”
God, had his face always been so punchable? Cross bit his tongue, as mad as he was, he didn’t want to deal with getting in any legal trouble. “Fine. I’ll leave.” But this won’t be the last time the king sees him.
Cross knew better than to tell the king that, though.
*****
To say Undyne had been surprised that Cross was leaving would be an understatement. She almost seemed as mad as he had been, but he had all but ignored her. Truth be told he wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone right now, he still felt like he was fuming. Even now, as he leaned against a lamppost in the now almost empty city center, an old jacket covering his arms and done up to his chin, covering the top half of his old uniform. The air was much cooler now, and fewer people roamed the streets; no more children were out, and most people seemed attracted to the nearest bar, Gold Gardens. Cross could hear the patrons yelling even from his spot across the street, his mild headache threatening to turn into a migraine. His eyes were stuck on the flyer he had seen earlier, the paper fluttering every few minutes as a gust of wind blew by.
Eventually, Cross pushed his body off the post, crossing the street to the already full bar, both to finally figure out whatever that damn flyer said, and to get a drink - he needed something to relax him, even if it was just for the night.
Grabbing onto one corner of the paper, Cross let out a small snort. Revolution propaganda - how often did stuff like this go around? He was pretty biased now, but he could understand why people would want this now. He still found it stupid though - civilians against the actual crown? No way they’d win, it’d only end in thousands of unnecessary deaths.
The monster let the paper fall back against the door. Stepping into the crowded bar, the smell of sweat and alcohol practically slapped him in the face. The building looked bigger from the outside, and it was stuffy inside. Cross pushed down a groan, pushing his way past sloppy drunk monsters.
There was a black skeleton leaning against the bar, he seemed only a few inches taller than Cross, his eye sockets a deep red with blue stripes extending from the bottom of his sockets to the bottom of his skull. He seemed uncomfortable even being there, flinching ever so slightly whenever a patron got just a bit too close to him, or someone’s drink almost spilled. Despite this, Cross quickly picked up the faint aura of energy surrounding him. He was strong, no doubt about it.
“Look, I don’t want to be here either, and I’m not asking you to actually support me, I just want to put a few flyers up.” So he was the one responsible for those? He sure as hell didn’t look like someone who would want to start something as serious as a revolution. Cross took a seat a few feet away, close enough to listen in, but not close enough to be suspicious.
“You don’t seem to understand, so let me explain again.” The bartender had a slight twang to her voice, her hands in fists on her wide hips. “Havin’ those flyers in here is basically sayin’ I support this kind of nonsense. Bad for business. You’re lucky I even let you put up that one outside.” The black skeleton sighed, shoulders slumping.
“Fine, whatever. It’s a good cause, you know.”
“Sure, ‘cause war is always a good thing to support.”
The man huffed, stepping away from the wooden bar. His eyes briefly caught Cross’s, a look of anger and determination sparked within them. Without another word, the monster made his way out of the bar, shoving past others.
“Sorry ‘bout that. What can I get ya, hon?” Cross ignored her, standing up and following the stranger.
He was standing a few feet away from Gold Gardens, leaning against the side of a brick building, hand pressing against his stomach. Definitely wasn’t a fan of alcohol, it certainly was a sign of dedication for going into a bar, of all things, if he knew just the smell of the stuff made him sick. His head snapped upwards as Cross approached him. “What do you want?”
He gestured with his skull to the bar behind him. “You’re the one who put up that flyer?”
“I am, what about it?” His magic aura sparked, he was certainly on edge.
“Relax, I don’t want any trouble.” He waited a second for the man’s magic to relax again. “I want in. My name is Cross, I used to be a part of the royal guard.”
“I know. Everyone knows who you are.” His hand wrapped around a small, round locket hanging from his neck. “Name’s Error. Why the hell would you want to join us? As far as I know, you’ll be a mole.”
“I could give you info on how things are run at the castle: our tricks and protocols. And the king doesn’t want anything to do with me, I won’t be in contact with anyone.”
“And how do I know I can trust you?” Error crossed his arms, eyes narrowing. Cross didn’t blame him for being suspicious, he knew he’d be the same way if their roles were reversed.
He thought for a minute, wracking his brain for a good reason for this stranger to trust him. Truth be told, there weren’t any he could think of...well, expect for one. “The Prince and I. We were dating. The King - Gaster, did something to him, brainwashed him or some shit. That’s why I want to join you. I want to save him.”
Error looked shocked, something in his eyes softening for a minute. “...I’m doing this to save someone too. My fiance; the king kidnapped him about two weeks ago. God, I just want him to be ok.”
Cross’s eyebrows shot up. “Is his last name Agate?”
The darker skeleton’s eyes filled with mistrust almost immediately. “... Yeah. Ink Agate. How did you know that?”
“I saw him. Only once though, but if you say Gaster kept him at the castle. He wasn’t in the dungeon, I know that for sure. And there’s only a few places in that castle I could see him being. Places no one but the royals and certain staff would have access to.”
Error was quiet for a moment, Cross could almost see the gears turning in his skull, weighing the pros and cons. “Fine. You can join. But if you do anything to make me regret this, you’re dead.”
He snorted. “Yeah, yeah, I got it.”
Funny, a few minutes ago, Cross had been on the side of that bartender - that this revolution was a bad idea, that it would surely end horribly.
Yet here he was, joining the damn thing. Maybe it was the determination in this monster, Error, that made him want to do it. Maybe it was the small hope that this would help him get Dream back. Whatever the reason was, Cross felt his soul pound in his chest with anticipation.
He’d get Dream back. Dream and his memories.
He was filled with determination.
Notes:
I had fun writing this chapter, and it's my first time writing something a bit more action wise, so I hope I did well! ^^
Chapter 4: ~Chapter 4~
Notes:
For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on Instagram or Tumblr
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
You’re up early.”
Sans hummed softly, sitting down next to his father on the porch of their house, a warm cup of coffee in his hands. The sun was still rising, bathing the yard and old cottage in orange and yellow light, birds chirping around them from the safety of the trees. Truth be told, Sans had barely gotten any sleep, and when he noticed light shining in through his blinds, he had simply stopped trying and decided to get up. His eyelids still felt heavy from the lack of sleep, but he knew the coffee would perk him up. “Guess I’m just feeling like a duck today.”
The second monster - a gentle, large goat monster - raised an eyebrow. “And why’s that?”
“‘Cause they wake up at the quack of dawn.” That earned the skeleton a snort and a quiet chuckle from the older monster.
Asgore Dreemurr and his wife, Toriel, had adopted Sans and his younger brother 16 years ago; Sans being 12 at the time and Papyrus only 5. He couldn’t remember how the two of them ended up on the streets - most likely because he’d subsciously repressed all memories from before the two goat monsters had found them - but he did remember he hadn’t exactly trusted the two adults right away. For the first 3 months of living with the Dreemurrs, back when they still lived in BlightView, Sans made sure both he and the younger skeleton kept a backpack filled with some of their clothes under their beds, just in case they needed to run away. Slowly, young Sans warmed up to the two adults, eventually coming to call them “mom” and “dad”.
Seven years after the skeleton brothers came to live with them, and a little after Sans had graduated from high school, the Dreemurrs adopted two young children again. This time, both of the kids were human; one was a red-eyed girl named Chara who, despite only being nine, could be quite a violent child, having gotten into multiple fights at the orphanage. The other child, Frisk (who has used they/them pronouns since they were nine), wasn’t biologically related to Chara, but she always referred to them as her younger sibling. The younger of the two had been born blind and, because of it, needed more help doing simple tasks than other children. Papyrus quickly bonded with their new siblings after they moved in, just as he had with Toriel and Asgore; but Sans quickly bonded more with Frisk than Chara, finding it easier to entertain the younger of the two (plus Frisk always laughed at his puns while Chara always tried to criticize him or just groan).
Back when Sans turned 22, he got accepted into one of the more advanced and well known universities in BlightView: Snowdin University. It was a great opportunity for him to finally dip his toes into the world of soulology and related sciences. At the time he had enjoyed all the studying - truth be told, he had loved every bit of it. Something about learning new things and getting to work with his hands sent a jolt to his soul.
He was still a bit disappointed he had to drop out.
Shortly into his first year, he and his brother had their first real argument - sure, there had been times while growing up that they’d bickered here and there, all siblings do - but this argument was different. Growing up the younger skeleton was obsessed with anything and everything that related to the Royal guards, and that obsession only grew the older he got. Sans, on the other hand, found the guards to be corrupt and, more likely than not, they wouldn’t actually help the people when they were in trouble. Sans had seen what the slums were like, what the poor monsters there had to go through. The only thing he didn’t see were those “great” guards doing anything to help them. So, when Papyrus came to Sans explaining how he wanted nothing more than to be a guard himself, Sans flipped. The last thing he wanted was for his little brother to be tainted by them, but Papyrus didn’t see what was wrong with the government -the obvious favouritizm for families who had more money, the way most of them would break laws only to never being prosecuted for it- it all went over the younger monster’s head. The last time Sans actually saw and talked to his brother was at their mother's funeral a year later. After that, Papyrus left and made good on his dream: he joined the royal guard.
It was a bad time for him to leave, but Sans couldn’t blame him from running away considering he tried to do the same thing. For a little over a year he plunged headfirst into his studies, he stopped talking to Papyrus completely, and Asgore was lucky to hear from either of the skeletons at least once a month. Then, during his christmas break he’d decided, at the last minute, to visit his family. After seeing the condition his father was in, he quickly regretted the past year. The skeleton dropped out of university and came to live with the rest of his family full time, helping them move out of the city and onto a quiet farm almost 30 minutes outside of town. About a 20 minute walk away, there was a large tree on a low hill, perfect for picnics and star gazing.
“Papyrus called yesterday.”
Sans hummed, bringing his cup up to his lips, a familiar weight settling on his soul. “You should talk to him again.” The goat monster’s eyes watching him through his small black framed glasses, Sans’ eyes dropped down to the dark liquid in his mug. To this day, he still had that childish mindset of always wanting to please his parents, to make them proud. He knew Asgore would have preferred he’d stayed in school - he had been only a year away from graduating, and with how fast he had been working he probably could have finished sooner.
“I know.” Was all Sans could think to say - funny, when it came to souls or puns he could talk for hours, and yet whenever it came to this topic, his brother, he struggled to string a sentence together. He knew what he was supposed to say, that he forgave his brother and would try to rekindle their relationship and call him. Yet, the words would never leave his mouth. Maybe it was petty, but he was still hurt that his brother hadn’t listened to his worries and advice.
The front door suddenly opened, saving Sans from having to think more about his confusing emotions. Chara yawned, flopping down onto the wooden deck between the two boys. “Morning sleepyhead.” The 16 year old grumbled, pulling her pale legs to her chest.
“I don’t want to go to school today.”
“Are you sick?
“...yes?” She clutched her stomach. “Incredibly sick. I don’t think I’ll be able to go at all next week either.” Sans snorted, rolling his eyelights as his sister overdramatically coughed.
He stood up, slipping back into the house when he heard his father begin to chide Chara on how important her education is and blah blah blah. He didn’t disagree with him, but he was too tired to sit through a lecture. His attention was brought to the stairs that Frisk was attempting to walk down; one hand was gripping the railing and the other was pressing a small flower plushie they’d affectionately named Flowey to their chest, face contorted in concentration. Chara probably woke them up, she wasn’t a morning person and tended to be rather loud while waking up. “Need some help kiddo?” Their head whipped up at the sound of his voice, a small smile forming.
“Good morning Sans.” They giggled as the monster easily lifted the 10 year-old up, their small hands grabbing his shoulders for support. “Are you ok? Your magic is dim.”
Despite having been born blind, Frisk had the unique ability to “see” other’s magic. They explained it as a type of aura they more or less felt, rather than visibly saw. That being said, they always knew the colour of someone’s magic, and so began the tradition of Sans explaining the sky every morning to the smaller child using their family’s magic colours as reference.
“I’m fine buddy, just a bit tired.” It wasn’t really a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either. “Whatcha want for breakfast?”
He set his sibling down at the kitchen table, turning his attention to the fridge; he could still hear Asgore and Chara talking on the deck, but he knew she’d have to come in soon to eat, shower, and do whatever else teenagers do to get ready. “Omelet!”
Sans let out a small laugh at the child’s excitement, pulling out the carton of eggs. They were getting low on groceries, he would probably go grab a few things after dropping Chara and Frisk off at school. “Eggsellent choice.”
The skeleton cracked two eggs into a small dish, pulling out a fork to whisk them. Frisk was resting their head on the table, humming softly to themself as their fingers danced over the soft, old toy. As far as Sans knew, they got it from their biological mother, though he had a feeling Frisk had been too young to remember the origin of the toy, just the sentimental value. “What’s the sky like today?”
“Orange, like dad, at the bottom.” His gaze shifted to the window as he turned on one of the stove burners. “Fading into a light blue, there’s not too many clouds out either.”
With a loud huff, Chara shuffled into the dining room. “This is bullshit.”
“Language.” Sans smirked, his younger sister glaring and flipping him off.
“What I mean is, how come you can just drop out and yet Frisk and I are stuck having to go to school?” She crossed her arms, puffing out her rosy cheeks. Her face was dotted with freckles and once Sans, in hopes of annoying his younger sister, said that they were like stars in the sky and that he could totally see the big dipper on her nose. That was the first time anyone had ever thrown a math textbook at him.
“I like school though”
“That’s because you're not in high school Frisk. Everyone is so annoying there and the couples-” Her nose scrunched up. “Disgusting. I swear to god, Sans, the amount of times I’ve seen them grinding on each other in the hallways-”
“What’s grinding?”
Ignoring Frisk because he was not ready to have that kind of conversation with his 10 year-old sibling, Sans snickered. “Teenagers are horny, your point being?” The girl only gumbled, sinking further into the wooden chair. Sans flipped the omelet over in the sizzling frying pan. “And I dropped out for a reason Chara; plus, I’m an adult.”
“You don’t act like an adult with all your dumb jokes.”
“What do you mean? I’m a comedi-hen.” Chara groaned loudly behind him.
“It’s too early for this-” The chair creaked as she stood up, walking into the kitchen and pushing Sans’s shoulder. “How come Frisk gets a special breakfast?”
“First come, first serve. Plus they’re 10 and blind, so.” He turned off the burner, pulling the pan up and grabbing a clean plate. “Where’d Dad go by the way?”
“To get dressed, he said that I needed to go eat.” Grabbing a bowl, she dumped some cereal into it. “We need more of this, we’re almost out.”
Sans slid the omelett out of the pan and onto the plate. “I know, I’ll go shopping after you two are at school.”
After cutting up the omelette, he set the plate down in front of Frisk, and slipped into the chair next to them. He carefully slipped a fork into their hand, guiding it to the food. “Eat up kiddo, you need your strength.”
Chara sat back down, nearly spilling her cereal. “So I heard that someone’s going to start a revolution in Blightview.” The skeleton monster across from her raised an eyebrow. “Apparently there’s flyers and everything, plus I read an article-”
“Another gossip article? You know not everything on the internet is true.” He nudged his sibling’s hand, helping them stab another piece of food.
“I thought you would be more excited for this, aren’t you pretty anti-government?”
“I’m not anti-government, I just think some things are corrupt and need to be done differently.” The idea of a revolt was a bit intriguing, if Sans was being completely honest with himself. A revolt even sounded like something he could see himself joining. If it was real.
He was used to seeing people making rumors about so-and-so doing something, or a new rebel group, or which celebrities are dating (A good example of that would be the whole internet going crazy over the prince and his guard, who mysteriously disappeared recently. A dark part of Sans wondered if the king had him killed). It was all just drama manifested to entertain the city, and most of it turned out to be fake. He doubted this time would be any different.
“Whatever, I thought it was cool.”
“Wouldn't people die if that was true though?”
Sans and Chara shared a look, an uncomfortable silence falling over the table. There were only two things that they all silently agreed not to talk about at their home: The fact that they never see Papyrus anymore, and death. Clearing his nonexistent throat, the skeleton broke the silence, “Maybe, but we don’t need to worry about that ‘cause it won’t happen.” He ruffled their hair, noticing Chara raise an eyebrow out of the corner of his eye.
Even if he wasn’t right about it not happening, it was better if Frisk didn’t worry about it, they’re still a child after all.
*****
Sans adjusted the seatbelt across Frisk’s chest, setting their cane down on the seat beside them. After making sure they had all their things and that he hadn’t forgotten anything, he slipped into the driver's seat of his car. “You have everything?” Chara nodded from the passenger seat, arms crossed and her backpack pressed against her legs on the floor of the car. “Brighten up, at least it’s Friday, right?”
The girl shrugged, watching their house fade into the distance as Sans pulled out onto the road. “I have a science test today.”
The skeleton perked up, his almost constant smile growing. “Oh? Ion sure you’ll do great.”
Chara gave him a deadpan look. “Did you just-” Sans laughed, feeling rather than actually seeing the human’s red-eyed glare. “Oh, you are the worst!”
“What? I just think that you’re in your element when you write tests.” She smacked his arm, nearly screaming when the car filled with his and Frisk’s laughter.
The drive to the city went by quickly, and soon Sans was alone in a grocery store, attempting to remember what they needed. He always seemed to remember things better if he wrote them down, that's how he always used to study for exams. Writing and rewriting his notes for hours on end until he could recite them in his sleep - he’d end up with killer wrist pain the day after the test, but he got a good grade, so it had been worth it.
His eyelights drifted to a small flyer taped to one of the shelves; taking a closer look, he nearly burst out laughing. It was one of those “revolution” posters Chara had been talking about that morning. Maybe it hadn’t been all fake. He took hold of the paper, pulling it off the mental shelf, folding it and putting it in the pocket of his jacket. He could look more into it tonight, maybe he really would be joining a rebel group. That would certainly spice up his daily life.
He moved to another aisle, pausing when his eyes caught on the only other monster there. He was a black skeleton, a beige scarf pulled up to his chin; he was kneeling in front of the baking supplies, a stack of the revolution posters beside him. “So you’re the guy putting all those up?” The skeleton jolted slightly, gaze snapping up to meet Sans’s eyes.
The man grunted, finished taping the flyer to the shelf and standing to his full height - damn, he was tall. Sans’ skull just reached his nose. “What’s it to you?”
Pulling the folded paper from his pocket, he flashed it at the taller monster. “That’s a lot of dedication for something that might not even work. You actually going to go through with it?”
“Yes.” There was no hesitation in his voice, and Sans would be lying if he said he wasn’t impressed. “You kept one of them, you planning on joining?”
The white skeleton paused, slipping the paper back into his jacket. “I dunno.” And he really didn’t. A part of his soul sparked at the opportunity, a small bit of hope thinking about how this could be a way to really show how toxic the government is, a way to show just how many people weren't happy with how things are. On the other hand though, he didn’t want his family to be involved with any of this.
The black skeleton looked him up and down, pulling out a notepad and pen from one of the pockets on the brown vest he wore. “Name’s Error by the way.”
“Sans.”
“Well, Sans,” He ripped out the paper, pressing it into the palm of the other’s hand. “Call me if you make up your mind. We could use all the help we can get.”
The white skeleton watched as Error picked up his stack of papers again and left the aisle before looking down at the paper where a string of numbers was written in messy handwriting. He felt like he’d just been a part of some drug deal - he couldn’t help but wonder why this man, this Error person, was so determined to do this. His resolve was way too strong for it to be just a case of wanting to do some good in the world, maybe he was doing it for someone? That’s the same reason Sans wanted to join, wasn’t it?
At least he wouldn’t have to do any digging if this was the real deal or not, but now his skull was practically swimming. He massaged his head, already feeling a headache forming.
He could already tell that tonight would be another restless one.
*****
He was standing in a golden hallway, sunlight filtering in through the stained glass windows that lined the walls. There was a child standing in the hallway with him, but they were covered in shadows, the gleam of a knife and the shocking red of their eyes the only details Sans could make out. He was mad at them, he didn’t know why, but he did know he needed to stop them.
The child sprinted towards him, head down so that their shaggy brown hair covered those blood red eyes. Sans sprung into action, his hand shooting up as rows of sharpened bones shot through the ground, breaking the reflective tiles that lined the floor. The human dodged them effortlessly, as if they’ve done this before. Shaking off his surprise, his hand flew out again, this time wrapping his magic around their soul, coating it with his blue magic. He directed his hands to the side, moving them up and down, changing the humans gravity to try and throw them into his bone attacks; but each time they would manage to jump before they could even be scratched.
Fighting down a groan of annoyance, he let the human fall to the ground. He was starting to get tired, and it seemed like nothing he did could stop this child. With a grunt, he summoned a ring of gaster blasters around them and, one after another, the giant skulls let out a blast of pure, hot magic.
Dust floated out from the debris as Sans fell to his knees, panting; simply using one of the blasters was straining, but so many at once? He was absolutely exhausted. He brought his eyes up to look at the damage just in time to see the child sprint out from the cloud of dust, their blade pointed out in front of them and pointed directly at Sans. Panic surged through his soul as he willed his legs to push him up, for his magic to pull him into that empty backless that was the void and move him a few feet away, for anything-
He wasn’t fast enough. The knife slipped through the gaps of his ribs, implanting itself directly into his soul. He gasped, pain shooting out throughout his body from the very center of his being. For the first time during this whole fight, he got to see the face of his attacker, and it was enough to make him sick.
It was Frisk who grinned widely on the other end of the knife, their eyes a deep, rage filled red.
Sans’ eye sockets sprung open, a choked gasp leaving his throat. His hand flew up to his ribcage, grabbing the light fabric of his shirt, his soul pounding. His forehead was slick with sweat as his breathing began slowing down, recovering from the nightmare. He cursed softly, it was the third time that week he had had the same nightmare, and everytime it left him feeling panicked. He sat up, glancing at the clock: 3 am. As quietly as he could, he slipped out of his bed, pushing his worn out pink slippers onto his feet, and pulling out the box of cigarettes and a lighter from his sock drawer, along with his phone from off his night stand. He’d lost count of how many times Asgore has ridiculed him on why he shouldn’t smoke, hence why Sans now made sure to keep this stuff hidden. For monsters there were no health risks from smoking, unlike humans, but it’s still frowned upon by most. Either way, they were the only things that calmed Sans down in times like this, and he’d take a few people looking down on him if it meant he wouldn’t stay strung up.
Slowly, he made his way down stairs and grabbed his jacket, pulling it over his arms. Creaking the door open, he moved out into the cold night air, sitting down on the wooden deck and setting one of the smokes on his lips and carefully lighting it. His mind wandered as he blew out a cloud of smoke, turning back to the grocery store. He needed to make up his mind, he knew that. If he joined, he’d be able to really stand up for what he believes, he could possibly bring his brother back - or at least it might help him see Sans’ point of view - and he’d be protecting the rest of family from anything bad the government might do in the future. But it could also be dangerous, he’d essentially be putting his life on the line if this escalated into a full out war.
Was he willing to risk his life to protect his family?
He pulled out the scrap of paper with Error’s number, punching the digits into his phone.
Of course he was.
The other monster answered after three rings, sounding groggy. “Hello?”
“Hey. It’s Sans. From the grocery store.” He took another puff from his lit cigarette, watching the twinkling stars above him. He’d always loved space and stars and anything to do with it, he’d almost chosen astronomy as his major.
“Oh, you.” He could hear the other monster yawn. “I really hope this is worth waking me up in the middle of the night.” He supposed he probably should have waited until morning to call.
“I want to join.”
There was a pause, and then a tired laugh. “Great, thanks. Go to the Gold Gardens in the city center tomorrow around midnight - if you don’t know where it is, it’s easy to find. Me or someone else will be there to take you to our camp. Got it.”
“Mhm.” He pushed his smoke into a stone, snuffing it out.
“And Sans?”
“Yeah?”
“It's good to have you on the team.”
*****
Sans shifted on his feet outside of the loud bar, the light from the building shining out onto the street. Error had been right about it being easy to find the place; it was the easily the busiest bar in the area, and the sign was covered with tacky gold vines. The hardest part had been actually leaving his home without waking anyone up, which he didn’t do successfully. Frisk had woken up when he was going down the stairs; he had gotten them a glass of water then helped them back to bed, and for once he was happy they were blind. That way they couldn’t see that he was fully dressed. He really hoped that his car hadn’t woken anyone else up, he wasn’t sure how he’d safely explain this.
“You actually came, I’m surprised.”
Sans turned to the voice, quickly recognizing Error amongst the shadows. A small round locket shimmered when the light from the bar hit it. “Expected me to chicken out?”
“Kinda. Wouldn’t be the first time it happened.” He eyed the bar, eyebrows furrowing for a minute. “Come on, we should get going.”
“Should I be scared about where you’re taking me?” He followed the dark skeleton as he began walking down the street. The city looked so different in the dark, he’d gotten so used to seeing people crowding the sidewalks, seeing them deserted like this just felt wrong. When Error didn’t answer his first question, just grunted softly, he decided to try his luck at another one. “Why’d you decide to do this? Going from your determination, I’m guessing it’s something a bit deeper than just wanting to be a hero.”
Error glanced back to him, then sighed, one hand coming up to cup the locket. “The king kidnapped my fiance.” He grew silent again, seeming to be lost in thought. “I just want him back.”
A pang of empathy hit Sans’ soul, it was easy to tell that this man was hurting. A part of him was at awe of just how dedicated Error was to whoever this mystery monster is. “That’s… I’m sorry.”
“... Don’t. You’re joining the rebellion, that’s good enough. I don’t want any pity.” He quickened his pace, and the two once again fell into silence.
Turns out the rebel camp was in an abandoned orphanage near the edge of town, bordering on the slums; the building wasn’t old enough to be falling apart yet, but vines were beginning to climb up the brick walls. The yard was overgrown, and there were already a few tents set up, monsters lingered all around the area. Error had recruited more people than Sans had expected, and it was a rather unassuming place, too. The wall surrounding the orphanage gave all the monsters within a small bit of protection from onlookers.
Sans’ eyelights caught on another skeleton sitting by a fire, tossing a blade formed from red and purple magic: he recognized the man imminently, anyone would. Cross Viva, previously the prince’s personal guard and possible lover. Looks like he wasn’t killed after all.
“This is the main base for us all, we’re still getting things set up, as you can see. We’re working on cleaning out that building so anyone who doesn’t have a good home can have a place to sleep. Or anyone who just wants to stick around.” He gestured to the three story building. “We have a hundred or so people so far. Most of them are from the slums. I’m hoping our numbers will get higher soon though, the more people the better.” He turned his body fully to Sans, crossing his arms. There were faint scars there, but he quickly pulled his gaze away from the red bones, not wanting to be rude. “You sure you want to do this? I don’t want you changing your mind if shit suddenly hits the fan.”
Sans gave his best ‘I’m ready’ smile, nodding his skull. “I’m sure. I got people I want to protect, and this seems like the best way to do that.”
Error gave a small smile. “Good to know. I’ll hold you to that. I need to get back to work, if you have any other questions, go talk to Cross over there. Plus you have my number - please don’t spam me though.”
Sans gave a thumbs up as the other monster retreated. He took a deep breath, looking around the dark area. Now all he has to do is make sure Frisk, Asgore or Chara don’t find out that he’s a part of this.
How hard could that be?
Notes:
I know this chapter is a bit shorter than the others but I hope you all liked it none the less! ^^'
Chapter 5: ~Chapter 5~
Notes:
For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on Instagram or Tumblr
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Killer shifted under the thin grey blanket, a shiver coursing through his small frame. The cold air was beginning to nip at his cheeks and bare toe, he was sure they’d be turning black if he was a human. It was Christmas night, and he could see snow falling through the broken windows and gaps between the wooden boards of his home. His mother had told them they’d only be living here until they had enough money to get a better home - honestly, he just wished they had a real door and glass windows to stop the chilled air from getting inside. They didn’t have much for belongings, either: two blankets, the gray one that he was using now, and a torn blue one, a large mattress for them to sleep on, and an old teddy bear a nurse had given him when he was first born. He also had the necklace his mother had given him when he was two: it was a bright red and looked like a target. It was simple, but Killer loved it. It was from his mom, after all.
Despite the cold gusts of wind that swept in through the door frame and shattered windows that made the young boy's bones rattle, and the dull pain coming from his growing fangs, Killer was excited, and happy. After his father suddenly left two years ago, when Killer had only been 10, his mom had started acting differently. She smiled less, talked less and even moved less, spending most days sitting on the mattress and staring black eyed at the empty door frame. They also stopped celebrating Christmas, or his birthday or any other special days. His mom’s sudden numbness scared Killer at first - he tried “finding” (aka stealing) her favourite flowers, grabbing (stealing) her favourite baked treats when passing a local bakery. Nothing got a reaction, the flowers wilted without being held once, the treats went stale and eventually were eaten by Killer as to not waste extra food. After almost half a year, the boy started accepting this as his new reality. He became good at taking care of himself and his mom. Thanks to how small he was, it was easy for him to snatch certain things to keep them going. All of this meant the boy had a lot of time alone with his thoughts, which helped water and grow his hate for his father. It was his fault that his mom was like this now. Killer didn’t even know why the older monster left, but it must have been a stupid reason. Stupid people do things for stupid reasons.
But things were changing. His mother had promised they’d have a proper Christmas, with food, presents, songs and laughter. His mother would smile and rub the top of his skull lovingly. They’d be like a normal family, like the ones who lived outside of the slums. They could be normal too, at least for a day.
So when he had woken up that morning and found his mother nowhere in sight, he assumed it was because she left early to get everything ready.
It was dusk now.
He shook his skull, pulling a smile back on and tightening his grip on the blanket around his shoulders. She was coming back. She promised. Unlike his dad, she would never leave, she would never break her promise.
She loved him.
She had said so last night, right before the 12-year-old fell asleep.
She never did come back though.
Killer waited there for a week before he finally let himself accept the truth. His mother, the woman he thought would always be there for him, would always love him, was gone.
She was no better than that asshole who’d left two years prior. He let out a guttural scream, throwing the blanket from his shoulders, kicking the mattress as hard as he could. He yanked his old ratty teddy bear from its normal spot, clawing at the head and limbs, the fluffy stuffing covering the ground like a blanket of snow, tears streaming down his dirty cheeks in thick drops. Rage boiled in his stomach, it made him feel hot, like a bomb ready to blow.
He was mad at his father for leaving and turning his mom into a shell of a person.
He was mad at his mother for lying to him.
But most of all, he was mad at himself, because deep, deep down in his soul, he knew this was his fault. If he had just been a better son, they would be here. No matter how hard he tried to blame his parents for this, no matter how much he said they were the villains, he’d always known all of this was his fault.
This was the first time Killer realized that love wasn’t for everyone. Some people just didn’t deserve it, or maybe they were just unlucky. But the boy knew he was one of those people now, he knew that if he ever let himself love again, trust again, he would only get hurt.
*****
Eleven years later, Killer still held that anger, but he’d found ways to push it down until the bonfire was just a few embers. He’d left that old house in the spring, after all the snow had melted. He set up his new home on top of a four story building near the outskirts of the slums, “the shiny half of the dump” as Killer liked to call it. The hardest part was stealing a few wooden planks, nails and a hammer to actually make a small little hut on the roof - he’d nearly gotten caught when the owner noticed him, but luckily the skeleton could run much faster, even while carrying wood almost double his size. For only being a 12 years old, he still thought he did a pretty good job with the small shelter. Even though it only had three walls and a roof, and made winter a real bitch to deal with. Snatching blankets had been a breeze, plus he’d gathered a few small tables and random items he thought looked neat over the years.
It was the closest thing he had to a home now, so he was happy with it.
Besides, it was nice to sit down on the edge of the building and see the bright lights from the rich parts of town. Bright blues, greens, yellows and sometimes pinks would rise into the sky from the tall buildings and billboards. Sometimes he wondered what would happen if he fell off that ledge, plummeting to the ground. Would the fall kill him? Or would he lay there with cracked bones until someone found him? Maybe he’d slowly disintegrate into white dust and be swept up by a gust of wind.
He wouldn’t though. Not on purpose, at least. If he died it would mean his father and mother would win - surely they left because of him, so if he died they’d be getting what they wanted, and Killer would never let someone who wronged him win. Just the thought made his soul blaze with anger; if he could, he’d kill the two bastards. They were the ones who’d left him, abandoned him.
Most of the time he did his best to avoid thoughts like that. If he ever did fall into that pit, he’d focus on the anger. That was better than feeling worthless.
A stray cat pawed at his foot, pulling his attention back to reality. He grunted, waving a hand to shoo the small creature. The cat nuzzled his bones, causing the skeleton to huff. “Go away, I don’t want you here.” He moved his legs closer to his body, wrapping his bed sheet around his body. He was sitting on the pile of heavy blankets in his shelter he called a “bed”, in the winter he’d actually use all of them to keep himself warm. The sun was setting, washing the city in oranges and reds, the sky beginning to turn a deep purple. The cat had curled up next to him at this point, and he sighed. He definitely wasn’t getting rid of this one anytime soon.
Slowly, he reached out and stroked the animal’s back, hearing it purr in response. “You all alone too?” The small cat meowed back.
After Killer had left his old home, he’d also changed his entire look. It took a few painful tries, but he eventually managed to sew together a shawl-like piece of clothing from stolen fabric and thread; it wrapped around his entire body and hung down to his knees, and he made sure to add a hood to cover his face. He liked the anonymity it gave him, plus, if he was honest, it made him feel cooler than the homeless 23-year-old monster that he was.
He coughed suddenly, his body hunching slightly from the force. The cat startled, jumping up and hissing before scurrying away. Killer rolled his eyes, ignoring the small pang of regret, as he moved his hand away from his lips. Black magic dotted his milky white phalanges, he cursed softly under his breath.
A year after Killer had been on his own for the first time, he started coughing and throwing up this strange black magic. At first it terrified him: he knew it was magic, but unlike the solid, dull red forms his magic usually took, this was pitch black and had the consistency of maple syrup. Not only that, but it always hurt when it came up, leaving a burning feeling in his throat. Sometimes it would even leak from his eye sockets like thick tears, making them burn and itch. The worst part was when people started to notice because they’d ask if he was ok or they’d ask what was happening to him; and it was downright annoying. Killer didn’t even know these people, so why would they act like they care? His theory was that it made them feel better about themselves.
He coughed again, more magic spraying onto his hand. He groaned, it happened randomly, but it always seemed to get worse if he was mad or upset. He wiped his hand clean, pulling his mask off his chin and back over his mouth. The only reason he wore the thing was to hide the black goo whenever it happened. The mask was a simple red and, thanks to the smile sewn into the fabric, it looked like he was permanently grinning. He had a feeling it unnerved most people: a 4’6 tall man who always covered his face with a hood and was always smiling. He once even heard someone call him “little gremlin man” under their breath.
Sighing, Killer stood up from his spot, he needed to move around and clear his head. Maybe he’d be lucky and be able to snag himself a drink at that new bar, what was it called? Golden Garden or something like that?
Killer easily scaled down the building, slipping down a pipe that was nailed to the side. Sitting outside of a worn down house next to what Killer guessed used to be an apartment complex, was an old turtle monster sitting in a rocking chair. The old man looked him up and down and grunted. “You still stealing?”
“No no, I’m just living on the streets for fun now.” Killer leaned against the brick building, crossing his arms. “Why do you care?”
“A youngin like yerself shouldn’t be living on top of a crumbling building. You should get a job.”
“Oh my god, I never even thought of that! Thank you soooo much for your totally not obvious advice” He pitched his voice up a bit, milking his reply in the most dramatic way he could.
The turtle just glared. It wasn’t the first time these two had run into each other, and each time he would try to give Killer some “life saving advice”. Needless to say, it annoyed the crap out of the skeleton. “I care ‘cause you’re wasting yer life by living out here. Never even seen you with anybody, got no lover?”
Killer bristled, eyes narrowing. “I don’t need anyone else. They’d just get in my way.”
“Have you ever had a friend?”
Rage flooded Killer, his magic flaring up dangerously. Still, the old man held his stare, rocking back and forth in the creaky old chair. His hand shot up as he scowled under his mask, sticking up his middle finger to the man. The monster laughed as Killer turned his back, leaving as fast as he could without actually running.
Who was he to scold Killer? It wasn’t like he ever saw the old guy with anyone else either. The last thing Killer needed were people playing with his feelings, clouding his head with worries and fears. Besides, every one always left, and getting attached would only get him hurt.
The streets of BlightView were dark by now, only illuminated by the few streets lights and lights shining from the windows of houses. He was in one of the residential areas of the city, and he knew the closer he got to the shopping areas there would be more lights and sounds, and of course more people. He didn’t really need anything from that part of town at least, though he could use a drink after talking to that monster.
Killer groaned, rubbing his temple and ducking into a shadowed alley. It would be loud at any bar he went too, plus trying to get free drinks was a pain in the ass. Not to mention that some places didn’t even let him through the front door. He could try to grab something from a convenience store, but even that could be risky. It became harder to steal from those sorts of places the later it got - the darker it was, the less people were shopping, and less people shopping meant the workers paid even more attention to the few people in the store. The monster sunk down to the ground, wrapping his arms around his knees. He didn’t really want a drink anymore, he really just wanted something to calm his nerves. He was on edge, his magic buzzing irritatingly, the words from the turtle monster swimming in his head.
No, technically he hadn’t had any real friends since he was a kid; he knew most of the people who lived in the same area of the slums as him, but all of them more or less avoided each other unless there were protests. Sometimes during Christmas a bunch of slum monsters would get together and hold a feast for everyone in the area - Killer had never gone to one though, even when he was invited. He gently ran his fingers over the necklace hanging around his neck. After his mother left, he’d gotten rid of everything that made him think of her. Everything but the necklace.
He didn’t fully understand why he kept it, but he just couldn’t throw it away. Maybe deep down he knew he missed his family. Deep down he’d always wonder what he could have done so that they would have stayed. His grip tightened on the necklace. Even if he missed them, there was still that heavy rock of hate and anger in his soul.
So what if he was jealous of all the dumb people in this city who had happy families and warm homes?
So what if, deep down, he wished someone loved him too? Even if they did, Killer would just push them away, scared of the unknown. Scared of being hurt?
So what if he was tired,angry, and sad; all at the same time? No one cared about the poor homeless boy.
His cheeks suddenly felt wet and cold, bringing up a hand he confirmed that yes, he was crying, alone in a dark alleyway. He let out a short cry, slamming his fist into the pavement.
He hated feeling like this, he hated that he still let his feelings get to him. He hated his parents for leaving and fucking up his mind. He hated the world, he hated the stupid city.
His stomach suddenly lurched, his hand flying up to yank his mask off as he turned to the side and vomited up black magic. He groaned as the nausea passed, slowly pushing on the ground and onto his feet. Clearly being out wasn’t doing him any good, and though the idea of having to pass by that old man again was enough to make him want to slam his skull into a wall, it was probably best he head home for now.
Wiping his lips and moving his mask back into place, Killer withdrew from the shadowed alley. There was another skeleton across the street, his eyelights - one blue, one white - hooking onto Killer’s. There was a cigarette between his lips, and the long dark blue trench coat he wore blew around his legs with the gentle breeze. He raised one hand, giving Killer a small wave; he nodded back, speeding up his pace. He couldn’t remember seeing that particular skeleton around here before. Sure, it was a big city but most people stuck around certain places, and Killer was good at picking out familiar faces.
“Probably some tourist or something.” He mumbled under his breath, shooting a glance behind him. The monster was gone. “A fucking weird one too.”
*****
Killer grumbled, rolling over onto his side, hugging a folded blanket tightly to his chest. He didn’t know what time it was - funny how you lose track of that sort of thing when you never have access to a working clock - but considering the sun was blaring down on the metal roof, and there were obnoxiously loud kids screaming and playing down on the street, he’d have to guess it was around noon. He pressed his skull into the plush blanket he was clinging to (He’d never admit it, but he always needed to hug something to fall asleep), mumbling curses under his breath. His head was pounding, and he could taste the bitter tang of his magic on his tongue. At least that explained why his throat was so sore.
He slowly opened his eyes, wincing at the bright sun, and ran his fingers along his mouth. They were stained black when he pulled them away. “God damn it...” He pushed himself to a sitting position, grabbing a spare sheet and wiping at his lips, then secured his mask in place.
He moved to his feet, stretching his arms up, working out the aches in his spine from sleeping on the hard roof. He grimaced as a particularly loud kid yelled, a wave a pain surging in his skull. It wasn’t uncommon for monsters to let their children play in the streets, especially in the slums. Killer just really wished someone would teach them not to scream so damn much. He was really tired of waking up with headaches and having to listen to them basically yell all day. It was like being repeatedly hit in the head with a hammer.
Another shriek, but this time Killer froze instead of cringing in pain. It was a scream of fear, not joy.
Killer pushed off his feet, nearly tripping over the edge as he looked over. If there had been other children, they all ran off, leaving only one left. It was a blue, bird-like monster, maybe about 10 or 11 years old, and they were pressing themselves to the ground, trembling as a royal guard stood over them. The guard had to be in their mid thirties, and they were covered in red fur with white spots. Anger bubbled in Killer; he may not like how loud the damn kids got, but that sure as hell didn’t mean he’d just stand around and watch one get hurt. He bolted to the pipe on the side of the building, sliding down and running to the child. The guard’s hand was raised, poised to strike, right as Killer kneeled in front of the blue monster, summoning a shielding bubble around them both.
The guards hand came down against Killer’s magic, pulling back when it sparked against his fist. He snarled, eyes narrowing. “Get out of my way.”
The child was grasping at Killer’s arm from underneath his shawl, trying to hide behind him even though they were roughly the same size. Stupid height. He pulled on his cockiest grin, even though technically no one could see it. “Nah. Funny thing, I don’t like seeing innocent children get beat by a middle aged man twice their size.”
“She was disturbing the peace.” The older monster scowled. “The king has ordered we start being more forceful on you heathens, teach you some manners.”
Killer scoffed, feeling the child behind him press against his back. “Oh yeah, you’ll definitely get us to do that by literally abusing us.” He let his magic curl around his left hand, tingling and sparking until it formed into a sharp knife. “You know, maybe if you and your ‘king’ helped us get real houses and proper jobs, we wouldn’t be such, what was that word you used? Oh yeah, ‘heathens’” He hissed out the word, twirling the red knife in his hand.
The red-furred monster grunted, looking from the knife to Killer’s face. “You can’t kill me.”
“Wanna bet?” The skeleton let out a surge of energy, sharpened bones forming around his shield, making the royal guard back up, nearly snagging his arm on one of the points. A crowd was forming around the three monsters, gawking at the scene. Everyone in the slums hated the people in the royal castle at least a little, they all made that clear through protests and graffiti, but it was rare for an actual guard to come to this part of town, let alone someone actually threaten one.
The guard in question just sneered, though there were beads of sweat forming on his brow, a look of panic in his eyes. He mumbled under his breath, straightening his back. “You won’t get away with this, it’s illegal to threaten a guard.”
“Last time I checked, it was also illegal for guards to hurt innocent monsters.” The monster didn’t give a snarky remark this time, just spat on the ground in front of Killer then turned, beginning to walk away.
The skeleton sighed, letting his magic relax and fizzle away. He stood up from his kneeling position, a cramp forming in his knees. The kid still held onto him from the dirty ground, looking up with wide eyes.
“You.. you saved me?” Their voice was soft, and Killer felt heat creep up the back of his neck, he shook his arm in an attempt to get the kid to let go.
“Whatever kid, now let me go-” Fuck, people were moving in closer now, praising him, thanking him. He needed to get out of here, and fast. The bird seemed to have other ideas, simply holding on tighter. “I mean it kid, let me go.”
“Mama will want to thank you, she’ll bake you a pie! Or… or something- hey!” Killer pried the child’s hand off of his arm, ducking under the arms of the growing crowd.
He could feel their eyes on him, making his metaphorical skin crawl. He squeezed his way in between houses and alleyways until he felt he’d gone far enough that no one should bother him. He didn’t regret helping the child. Truth be told, it pissed him off that the royal guards thought they could do anything to the monsters who lived in the slums and get away with it. He wouldn’t have minded actually turning that stupid guard into dust, as morbid as that sounded. He did, however, wish the three of them hadn’t made such a scene. He’d have to lay low for a while unit this dumb attention wore off. Eventually something more dramatic would pop up and capture everyone's attention and he’d be free to move around in peace again.
“Heya buddy.”
Killer startled at the voice, spinning to the figure who had suddenly appeared next to him - why hadn’t he been able to hear him approach? It was definitely the same skeleton he’d seen last night, a lazy grin resting on his skull.
“What do you want?” Killer flexed his hand, letting some magic roll off and wrap around his fingers, waiting for him to shape it into a solid form. Was this dude following him?!
The stranger held up his hands, his smile still in place while his eyebrows somewhat furrowed. “Woah, relax pal, I’m not here to fight you.”
“Then why are you here? Don’t know if you know this, but most of us in this part of two don’t take kindly to stalkers.” He spat out the word, looking the skeleton up and down. He certainly didn’t look very threatening, nor was he much taller than Killer.
“I’m not stalking you, I just happened to be in the area when you put on that little show back there.” He gestured behind them with his skull towards the way Killer had come from. “Pretty brave thing you did back there.”
The man brought his hands down, stuffing them into the pockets of his trench coat. Begrudgingly, Killer let his magic fade away; as weird as this guy was, he obviously wasn’t a threat. “Anyone would have done it.” He shrugged, not comfortable with the praise.
The other monster hummed. “And yet I didn’t see anyone else step up and stand up for the kiddo. My name is Sans.”
“... Killer. Are you done yet? I have things to do.”
Sans laughed. “‘Killer’ name you got there bud.” The shorter of the two monsters bit back a groan. “But I actually wanted to talk to you about something important.” Well that certainly caught Killer’s attention, leaning in a bit closer to the other monster as he lowered his voice. “A rebellion is forming, it’s run by this guy named Error - pretty cool guy - and we’re set up in an old orphanage west of here. Me and a few other guys are supposed to be recruiters for the time being, and honestly, we could use more people like you.”
Killer raised an eyebrow. “More homeless people?”
“More people who aren’t afraid to stand up to the authorities; who aren’t afraid to fight for our cause.”
The shorter of the two monsters rocked back on his heels. A rebellion would have a lot of people in it, and people were annoying as hell, but a chance to fight some stupid guards? A chance to make sure no other kids were abandoned by their stupid parents? Sign him the fuck up. Besides, it’d be fun to knock those damn guards down a few pegs.
“Yeah. Sure, I’ll join.” Sans’ smile grew, slipping a paper out of his jacket pocket.
“Here’s the address. I look forward to seeing ya there.” And suddenly he was gone. The skeleton quite literally disappeared before Killer could look up from the slip of paper.
“A rebellion, huh?” Sans said the leader was named Error, the monster certainly had a weird ass name, and that’s coming from someone named Killer of all things. He guessed he should head to the address now, but he really needed a break from people. If the address isn't some kind of trick, it wasn’t exactly in the slums, but very close to it. If Killer was correct, it’d be about a half hour walk from his little hut to this ‘orphanage’, or whatever Sans had said it was. He could spend the rest of the day doing his own thing, and then at sunset he could begin making his way towards this supposed camp. If his walk there wasn’t delayed by any dumbass people, he should be able to make it there before it’s fully dark.
*****
“Looks like Sans wasn’t lying after all…” Killer mumbled, standing in front of the large metal gate that opened into a bustling camp. Even though he hadn’t gone in yet, he could tell people were moving around with boxes and supplies, setting up tents, talking to others. Light illuminated over the wall, and Killer was sure he could even hear some laughter.
He needed to go in and find this Error person, finalize his recruitment or whatever the fuck it was that needed to be done. Yet, his feet were glued to the pavement, his body locked in place. He wasn’t scared, that couldn’t be it. Maybe he was just worried about being around too many people. Maybe-
A sturdy hand landed on his shoulder, making Killer jump. He whipped his head around, Sans was standing next to him, the same shit eating grin as before on his lips. “Hey, you made it.”
“You need to stop doing that man, for fuck’s sake.” The other skeleton just laughed.
“Just finished my shift. Come on, I’ll help you find Error” Sans patted his shoulder, moving past him and through the metal gate. Killer followed after him, feeling like a helpless child. He didn’t really know what to think of Sans so far. He seemed like a good guy, a horrible sense of humour, but a good guy nonetheless. Still, Killer’s soul was screaming at him to not trust anyone here. The last thing he needed was more cracks in his soul.
The two skeletons weaved through the groups of monsters, towards the largest tent. It was a pale red, a little off from the center of the courtyard; in front of it stood two more skeletons, one that was black with surprisingly bright red eye sockets, and the other was pure white, a jagged scar just below his eye. That one looked familiar to Killer, but he couldn’t quite place his finger on why. There was a white, plastic table in front of the two, and they were leaning against it, appearing to be talking about something. The dark skeleton’s eyes caught on Sans and him first, his back straightening. “Sans, you’re back.” Good god, he was tall - Killer guessed that he had to be about 6 feet tall. “Who’s this?”
“New recruit. Said his name is Killer.” Error stuck out his hand, and Killer took it, trying to ignore the fact that he bent down a little to do so. “The little guy-” He shot a glare up to Sans. “Nearly started a fight with a royal guard today while protecting a kid, figured he’d be a good addition to the team.” The shortest skeleton’s eyes caught on something under the other skeleton’s jacket, his body going rigid.
It was a guard’s uniform. That explained why he looked so damn familiar: it was Cross, the stupid Prince’s “personal guard”
Killer yanked his hand away, Error’s eyebrows shooting up. “You let a fucking guard in here?!”
Cross’s eyes narrowed, matching the new monster’s glare. “I’m not one of them anymore.”
“Then why are you still wearing that stupid uniform?”
“That's enough!” Error let out a deep sigh, rubbing his temple. “No fighting, understood?” Killer grunted, giving a short nod. “I’ve already made it clear what will happen to Cross here if he stabs us in the back, besides, having someone who used to work in the castle could be used to our advantage.”
“Why? You planning on breaking into the literal castle or something?” Killer crossed his arms, suddenly feeling defensive. He didn’t like the fact there was someone who had been so close to the royals on the rebels team, but the tall skeleton did have a point.
Sans shot a finger gun at him, leaning against a crate. “Exactly the plan, little buddy.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“The plan is to first do a few protests outside of the castle, we have blueprints of the interior already, but we need to find a good way to get into the castle undetected.
Killer perked up a bit, a spark of confidence blooming in his chest. “I’m good at getting in and out of small places. And climbing. If we could find a vent or something on the side of the building, I could squeeze through.”
Error hummed, kneeled and pulled a rolled up piece of paper from under the plastic table. Rolling the paper open on the flat surface of the table, he leaned forward. “As far as I can tell, the ductwork for the castle’s heating system isn’t on here for some reason.” He pointed to the detailed blueprints of the castle. “But if we distracted everyone, you think you’d be able to find an opening?”
“Theoretically, yeah.” Killer scanned the blueprints. “But why do you even want to get in so bad?”
“Are we seriously going to let the child join?” Cross mumbled, glowering at the smaller man.
The skeleton flipped him off. “I’m 23, asshole.”
“Oh great, I can tell you two are going to get along so well.” The black skeleton rolled his eyes. “And yes, just like you, Cross, he could be useful.” He pointed to a tower on the blueprint, attention turning to Killer. “My fiance was kidnapped by the king before all this happened.” A pang of jealousy hit the smaller man like a truck, but he quickly pushed the feeling down. “Cross here has been through every inch of the castle except this tower. Apparently no one but the king, prince, and prince’s caretaker is allowed up there, and Cross didn’t see Ink anywhere else. So he has to be here.”
Sans butted in, pressing a hand to his ribcage above where his soul is. “All this for love, even Cross is here because he’s deeply in love with the prince who’s been brainwashed by the evil, evil king. Sooo romantic.” Error gave the over dramatic skeleton a deadpan look, while Cross’s cheeks turned a light purple. Killer just scoffed, ignoring the jealous ache in his soul. He didn’t need anything like love, he’d gotten by just fine without it until now.
“So, what? After you get your partner back, are you just going to give up on all this? Go back to living your happy, suburban life?”
Error paused, taking a moment to think before answering Killer’s question. “No. I’ve seen too many fucked up things that were caused by King Gaster’s rule to suddenly walk away from all this after I get Ink back. I’m in it till the end.”
“So are we.” Sans rested his arm on top of Killer’s skull, who batted him away with annoyance. “Awww, we’re like one big family!”
“I will never be in a family with him.” The masked skeleton thrusted his thumb at Cross.
“What the fuck is your problem?”
“My problem is that people like you have done literally nothing good for anyone in the slums. While you all get to live in your pretty castle, we’re all stuck out here in the cold; suffering and dreading every new day!”
“That’s not my fault!”
Error slammed his fist against the table. “I thought I said no fighting? I don’t care if you see us as a family or not, we’re still a team and we all need to act like it. So put your petty differences aside and stop acting like children! Am I understood?”
Both monsters nodded, mumbling soft ‘yes’s, resulting in the black skeleton shaking his skull softly. “Back to what I was saying. We’re already getting ready for the first protest, signs and routes are being planned out. It’s already been two months since Ink went missing, and I don’t want him stuck in there for much longer.”
“We need to pace ourselves though.” Cross pressed a hand onto the table, eyeing the blueprints. “If we don’t space out our demonstrations, the royal guard will be ready for us each time we strike. If we take time between each demonstration, we’ll be more likely to catch them off guard. The more unpredictable we are, the better.”
“Ink could be getting hurt in there, and you want me to-”
“I want you to be logical about this. You won’t be able to help him if we all get locked up too.” Cross held Error’s gaze, eyes concentrated and steady. “I know how the guard works, all attacks and defenses are planned on statistics. If we show up when they aren’t expecting us, they won’t have a solid plan. They’ll be weaker.” The darker monster looked away, hand clasping the locket around his neck. Killer couldn’t help but wonder what significance it held for Error.
“... You’re right. We need to be level headed and plan this right.”
“Look, I know you just want to get Ink out of there, trust me, if I could I’d charge through the doors right next to you and get Dream the hell out of there. But they’re depending on us, so we need to make sure we don’t fuck this up.” Cross placed a hand on the slightly taller monster’s shoulder.
Error pushed the hand away, his hands falling to his sides. “I think that’s enough planning for tonight. Killer, if you want to stay on the grounds, there are still some open rooms in the orphanage. Just write your name under which room you want in the book on the table right inside the lobby. Or go home, doesn’t matter to me.” He rolled up the blueprints again, pushing them back under the table and then sinking into his tent without another word.
“Poor guy. Apparently he and his boyfriend, Ink, have been together for over 10 years, so this must be so hard for him.” Sans half whispered. Killer ignored him, turning towards the double doors to the orphanage. Sure, he’d gotten used to living in a shack on the roof of an old building, but he sure as hell wasn’t about to turn down an actual room, with an actual bed.
After signing his name messily in the notebook Error told him about, he moved silently to his new room, flopping onto the bed as soon as the door was closed. It was old and a bit dirty, and creaked when he moved, but it felt like heaven after sleeping on a hard, metal roof for so many years.
He ended up passing out before he could even take off his mask, his body instinctively wrapping around one of the old pillows.
Notes:
I absolutely loved writing this chapter, I love my sassy gremlin son
On a more serious note, my heart goes out to all black individuals facing racism. It's unfair and so so wrong, and I can't express how proud I am of our generation fighting back. Black lives matter
Chapter 6: ~Chapter 6~
Summary:
!Trigger warning: Self harm!
Notes:
For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on Instagram or Tumblr
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Hey Ink?”
The skeleton in question looked up from the paper he was sketching on, eyelights landing on the only other monster in the room: Nightmare. The younger monster was watching him curiously from his sprawled out spot on the carpeted ground, the book he had been reading still open in front of him.
Ink had been locked up in this dreadful room for about three months now, and it was still something that made his “skin” crawl. Not to mention finding out the other prince was still alive, and not dead like everyone had been told - who wasn't evil either. If anything the other monster was just really awkward and shy, though he did seem to do his best to be warm and friendly to Ink. Maybe he was just happy to not be alone anymore.
“Yeah?” Ink set down his pencil, resting his chin in the palm of his hand. He’d had another emotionless moment - what was he supposed to call them? Attacks, maybe? - a few minutes ago; hence the reason he was now drawing Error on a scrap piece of paper. A small fear was nagging at him that if he didn’t immediately do something that reminded him of his fiance afterwards, he’d forget about him.
“...What was he like?” Nightmare sat up, pointing at Ink’s messy drawing. “You haven’t really talked about him - uh, I know it might be h-hard for you to talk about it though, so it’s fine if you don’t want to! It’s just- um, I-I…”
Ink waved him to come closer, a tired smile on his lips. He knew he had been extremely hard on Nightmare for the first few weeks; always pushing him away and refusing to talk to him even though it was obvious the monster just wanted a friend. Ink was trying to be more open now that he realized he could be stuck in this hell hole for a while. His company had been nice, the prince turned out to be pretty talkative when talking about things he liked. “It’s fine, really. I miss him a lot but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to brag about how great he is.” The younger monster scooted next to him, sitting cross legged. “I told you his name at least, right?”
Nightmare nodded. “You said it was Error.”
“Right, so… hm, where to start.” Ink tapped his chin, thinking for a moment. “We first met when we were kids. His family moved in next door to my mom and I, and we were in the same class. We clicked immediately, and became best friends. When I realized I was gay, he helped me deal with the bullying. … I was actually bullied a lot, but Error was always there to help me…” He shook his head, swallowing hard. As nice as Nightmare was, he wasn’t comfortable spilling both his and Error’s mental problems just like that. “Anyways, after we started high school it didn’t take me long to develop a crush on him. And I mean, who could blame me? Tall, handsome, super sweet. Oh and you should see him with his reading glasses, it’s adorable!”
Nightmare giggled. “He sounds wonderful.”
“He is.” Ink sighed, heat forming on his cheeks. “We didn’t start dating until our last year of school, and we’ve been together ever since. … Our wedding was actually supposed to be last month.” His gaze fell to the ring still on his finger. He had refused to take it off since waking up here in fear of losing it.
“Oh.. I’m sorry...”
Ink blinked away his growing tears, ignoring the statement. “Being locked in here makes it impossible to date, but you must have some kind of fantasy of what you want, yeah?” Nightmare blushed, looking away. “Oooooh, so you do. Spill it!”
“Well… my views on romance probably aren’t super realistic, since all I have to base them on is the books in here and your strangely perfect story, but..” He grinned to himself, falling backwards onto the ground. “I imagine they’re super romantic, the kind of person who buys flowers and chocolates for their anniversaries. And they help elderly people and children across the street, oh! They’d definitely be a family person! We could have a big family and- ah, I’m rambling, aren’t I?”
Ink laughed. “Well you definitely know what you want.” He couldn’t help but feel bad for the younger monster. Being locked up for half his life is really going to make it hard for him when he finally gets out. Plus he’s far too trusting and naive. Still, Ink didn’t want to crush his little dreams. “I’m sure you’ll meet them one day.”
“Oh, I do hope so. I just wonder what their name will be…”
******
Killer groaned, glaring at the poster board and permanent markers in front of him like they had just murdered his whole family. “I didn’t join this to do fucking crafts.”
Sitting on the grass beside him, Sans hummed. “Come on buddy, these posters will help with the protests. ‘Hue’ don’t even have to do much, just write a few words.” Killer turned his glare to him, grabbing the marker and throwing it at the other monster's skull. Sans laughed when it bounced off, landing a few feet away in the grass.
“Can’t you two be serious for five minutes.” Cross said with a groan, focusing on glueing his poster board to a wooden pole. Killer just snorted.
“Can you not be a complete asshole for five minutes?”
“Go fuck yourself”
“You two are going to drive me insane.” Error sat on the ground next to Sans, dark circles were starting to form under his eye sockets. “Haven’t I told you to cut it out already?”
The smallest skeleton ignored him, leaning back and laying in the grass. “You look tired.”
“Yeah, well, running something like this isn’t easy.” He sighed, placing a hand to his temple. “Is everything ready for tomorrow?”
It had been a month since Killer joined, and truly, nothing super eventful had happened yet. He had expected this to be action heavy, fight-for-your-life kind of shit, but the most he had done was make dumb signs and posters. At least tomorrow was their first real protest, and Killer had the most important job: finding a vent into the castle. It was a bit stressful, but he knew he’d be able to do it. He had been breaking in and out of buildings since he was ten.
“Yes, only somebody won’t suck up his ego and make a goddamn sign like the rest of us.” Cross shot a look at Killer, who responded by giving him the finger.
Error rolled his eyes. “I’m ignoring the last part because I really don’t have the energy to deal with either of your guys’ bullshit. Have you talked to each group about their routes?”
Error had divided everyone into four groups to keep better track of them: he was in charge of group one, Cross had group two, group three was led by Sans (Killer didn’t understand that one, the guy seemed far too childish to be a leader, but it wasn’t his choice so he hadn’t said anything.) and somebody named Zin was leading group four. Killer hadn’t met Zin yet, but apparently Error used to work with them before all this happened. The main idea was that each group would come from a different area to spread out the guards - typically a better strategy for battle, but Cross and Error thought it’d be a good idea to get people used to it before their lives are in actual danger.
“Yes, again, and all of us know the way,” Cross looked at Sans skeptically. “Right?”
The laidback skeleton snorted, flashing his signature grin. “Yup, I remember pal. No need to worry about me.”
“Yeah, well, your whole… relaxed, ‘I don’t give a shit’ vibe makes me worry. A lot.”
“He’s fine Cross.” Error cut in, ideally picking at the grass. “He’s proven that he’s responsible, and need I remind you that he’s literally the oldest one here?”
Sans barked out a laugh. “Ha, he pulled the age card!”
Cross huffed, standing up, his now finished sign left forgotten on the ground. “Whatever. I’m going to my room.”
Killer watched the monster leave, glaring at his back. “He can’t see you Killer, give it a rest.” Error gave him a tired look. “Why can’t you two just get along?”
“He's a guard.”
“Was a guard. He hates the King as much as any of us.”
“Yeah, only because he cockblocked him.”
“Woah there buddy-” Sans whistles. “That’s not very kid friendly of you to say.”
The smaller skeleton rolled his eyes. “Yeah well, I’m not wrong. The only reason he’s here is because the King ‘brainwashed’ the Prince. How do we even know that he’s not lying?”
“Because I trust him, so far he’s given us literally no reason not to. And the guy obviously loves Prince Dream, that's why he’s here. I’m here because of my love for Ink. Hell, even Sans is here for family love.” Error paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Maybe if you took that stick out of your ass and stopped seeing love as some kind of big curse, you’d understand.”
Killer stiffened, a painful wave washing over his soul like pins and needles. He wanted to yell back, tell him how wrong he was, how there was nothing wrong with him. But he knew Error had a point, not about the stick up his ass part, but definitely the part about love. He really didn’t understand it, he didn’t think he ever would. It’d been years since he saw love as a good thing, and here he was, surrounded by people who cherished the feeling.
Killer knew he’d never feel that, and he couldn’t stop the jealousy and pain that came with that realization.
He stood up, walking away, deciding that was better than screaming and drawing attention to them. Besides, he suddenly felt exhausted. He heard Sans say something to the black skeleton as he left, something about going ‘too far’.
Killer ignored them.
*****
Ink screamed, eye sockets shooting open as he’s violently pulled out of his nightmare. His body sprung up, his knees pulled to his chest. He was hyperventilating, desperately pulling at his blanket. Usually if he had a nightmare, Error would be there to comfort him, but obviously he couldn’t be there anymore. Ink was slowly getting less and less sleep because of the nightmares and they ended the same way every time.
Like a switch, his panic and fear left him, leaving him numb, empty. His thick, black tears still flowed, and Nightmare was staring worriedly from across the room. “Are you ok…?”
Ink didn’t answer, standing up. He was sick and tired of this, of losing his feelings, of feeling so numb. He staggered to the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind him as Nightmare protested, asking repeatedly what he was doing. The smaller room was only lit by a few candles; which was probably a fire hazard, but Ink wouldn’t be surprised if everything in the castle had fire resistance magic cast on it. Or maybe the flames were harmless magic. He watched himself in the mirror, the light from the possibly fake candles shining on his bones.
He didn’t even look like the same monster anymore; there were dark bags under his eyes, and the clothes Nightmare had given him were far too big. He had pinned a older blanket around his shoulders and at the time it had helped him feel calmer and more relaxed, now it just looked stupid. If Error even did somehow find him in this hell hole, and manage to get him out, would he even recognize him?
Would he still love him?
Without thinking twice, Ink let his magic form into a sharpened bone in his hand, slowly bringing the point to his left wrist.
He let the sharp bone glide across his ulna and radius, a bead of blood rolling down and falling to the ground. The air felt cold against the cut, in his current state it was almost addicting. The metallic smell, the slow drip to the ground. Ink slowly made another cut. And another, and another. The physical pain took away some of the numbness, he could actually feel this after all.
Eventually, he did snap out of it, his emotions crashing down on him, knocking his breath away. He pushed off the ground, his magic disappearing in his panic, his hands shaking and he looked at what he’d done; eight clean, bloody cuts looked back up at him, his stomach churning. He choked out a sob, stumbling backwards and grabbing onto the wall for support.
Error would hate him.
God, what had he been thinking?! He knew what Error had gone through when they were teenagers, why wouldn’t he be angry that Ink did this to himself?
“Ink?!” He’d nearly forgotten about Nightmare in the other room. More tears fell from his eye sockets, most definitely staining his cheeks more. He didn’t even try to answer, knowing his voice would waver or be completely drowned out by his tears. “What’s going on in there? Are you alright?!”
Ink slowly moved to the door, unlocking it and letting it swing open. He stared at the ground in shame as Nightmare took him in, his blue and purple eyelights on his still bloody arm. “... I didn’t mean to, I… I wasn’t thinking… ”
The prince slowly reached a hand out, placing it on Ink’s shoulder - he was visibly shaking, though Ink couldn’t blame him. Despite being two years younger than Ink, Nightmare was still a few inches taller (much to Ink’s annoyance), and he couldn’t help but feel tiny next to the Prince like this.
Nightmare took a deep breath, trying to look calm despite the way his hand trembled on the other monster’s shoulder. “... Go sit down. Press something to… to the cuts. I’ll call Bethenny.”
Ink snorted, letting the younger skeleton guide him to his makeshift bed. “‘Call Bethenny’? What are you going to do, scream until she hears you?” Nightmare didn’t answer, gently pushing onto the sheets. “She won’t be able to hear you. There’s no point, anyways…”
“Nonsense.” He walked to the iron door, pushing aside a stack of books. Installed into the wall was a small, round button. “Father had this made so that I could call her if something went wrong. Faux comfort, I suppose.” Nightmare pushed the button with a small click. “I haven’t used it since I was young, hopefully it still works- I said to put pressure on the wound, Ink.”
With a sigh, he did as he was told. “You can definitely tell you were supposed to be a king.”
“I wasn’t, I always knew Dream would be crowned before me.” He gave a small smile, sinking to the floor next to Ink, putting his hand next to Ink’s. “Mama and Papa - my real parents, not Gaster - taught us what to do in high stress situations, heh, neither of us used that information when we were little though.”
“...You must miss them.”
“Of course I do, but… I deserve this. All of it. I made a mistake, and I must atone for that.” His eyes dropped to the shackles on his wrists. “I don’t like this, but I suppose no one is going to like punishments.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong though! At least from what you and Bethenny have told me, you have an illness, you-” Nightmare flinched away, eyes widening. “... Sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled.”
“... It’s alright, this shouldn’t be about me anyways. Are you sure you’re ok? This is-” The door suddenly whooshed open, Bethenny looked frantic as her eyes landing on the two boys.
“What ever happened?” The pink haired woman gasped, noticing the blood. “Oh, deary, are you alright?” Nightmare scooted away, the human taking a seat on the ground. She pulled bandages out of her apron pocket - did she always have those there? Why was she even still wearing her uniform in the first place? - and pulled the now stained blanket away. “Nightmare, go wet a cloth in the bathroom please.”
The younger monster got up without question, quickly moving to the washroom; Ink heard him gasp when he saw the blood still splattered over the tiles. He watched the ground and Bethenny looked over his cuts, shame building in his chest. “I’m sorry, I… I don’t know what I was thinking, everything was… dull.” The human shushed him softly, pulling him into a gentle hug.
It made Ink freeze, a memory of his mother forming in his mind - he’d never noticed how similar Bethenny was to her before now. The thought alone brought him back to tears, clinging to the woman tightly, her hand rubbing small circles along his spine. “You don’t need to explain yourself, I understand that all of this is extremely hard for you.” Through his tears, Ink noticed Nightmare watching from the bathroom door, trying to avoid staring. A sob ripped though his throat as Ink buried his face into Bethenny’s shoulder.
“I just want him back, I-I wanna be normal again..”
“I know sweetie, I know…” Her voice was low and soothing, gently rocking side to side, letting the skeleton cry into the fabric of her clothes. “Don’t lose hope though… do you want to know what I heard?”
Ink sniffed loudly, nodding.
“I heard a rebellion is forming on the edge of town, and gossip says it’s run by a dark skeleton who uses the alias ‘The glitch’” She cupped his skull, whipping his tears.
“‘The glitch’..? That’s… that’s Error’s nickname! I used to call him that to tease him all the time! Do you think it could really be him??” Ink sniffed again, pulling away and rubbing his eyes.
“I think there’s certainly a chance that it is.” She beckoned Nightmare closer, taking the still dripping washcloth from his still shaking hands. “It’s all just rumours for now, but let’s make this our little secret.” She winked, dabbing Ink’s cuts.
He softly hissed in pain, but kept his smile up. “Who would we tell? There’s only us three in here.”
“I suppose that is true.”
The conversation faded after that, but Ink’s thoughts were running a mile a minute as the human gently cleaned his arm. It had to be Error, it can’t just be a coincidence that the leader's alias is the exact same as the childhood nickname. Besides, it wouldn’t surprise Ink if Error reacted that way - he’s always been so damn protective, though this is… extreme. He was grateful, of course, the only thing he wanted was to be back with his Error, but a rebellion could get dangerous. What if Error was dusted before he’s able to save Ink?! Plus, he couldn’t stop the worry nipping at the back of his mind that it’s not Error, that it’s just some random monster and all of this has nothing to do with the short skeleton, or maybe, if it really is his finance, what if Error doesn’t love him after he sees what Ink has done? What he’s become?
The small monster took a deep breath, slowly counting to 10 to silence his anxiety. He watched as Bethenny carefully bandaged his lower arm, focusing on her words from before: don’t lose hope.
He couldn’t control the future, so for now he’ll try to just focus on hoping that everything will be ok.
That being said, he knew it wasn’t going to be easy. The still fresh cuts on his ulna and radius were proof of that.
*****
“Remember, you are not to engage with any guards you see.” Error’s voice carried surprisingly well over the large group of monsters in front of him. He was standing on a small, wooden box, which, given his height, probably wasn’t necessary but Sans had insisted he use it anyways. “My group and group three will walk together for the first half, then we split into two, same with group two and four. Remember who your leader is! We’re not babysitters, you’re all grown adults, don’t make us responsible for you if you wander off or get lost. Does everyone understand?” He watched the crowd, seeing multiple monsters nod before hopping off the crate.
It took a few more minutes to get everyone organized before he and Sans headed out with their respective groups; Cross and Zin were instructed to leave 5 minutes after them. They started off silently marching, but as they slowly entered more populated areas, monsters in the crowd started chanting “Not my King! Not my King!” Error wouldn’t lie and say that having all these people behind him didn’t make him feel powerful; even though his anxiety was whispering in his ear about just how many people were watching him now, of how many things that could go wrong.
“Hey.” Sans nudged his arm with his elbow, snapping Error out of his thoughts. “You ok? You seem kinda spacey today.”
“I’m fine, just kinda tired. Didn’t get that much sleep last night, probably just stress.” He wasn’t necessarily lying, he had woken up around 3 in the morning and been unable to fall back asleep. Something had just felt wrong, like he needed to fix something.
The shorter monster flashed him a smile. “You worry too much buddy, you’re doing a great job at this. Plus, I know we’ll get Ink back. I feel it in my bones.”
A groan rose up between them, and Error looked down to find Killer walking between them (he’s so short, Error was honestly relieved the poor guy hadn’t been trampled.) “Again with the shitty jokes? Isn’t this supposed to be serious?”
Honestly, Error wasn’t sure if he liked the small monster or not. He was happy that the guy was helping them, he was grateful to everyone that joined, but it was obvious Killer had gone through things that have skewed how he sees things. Love and relationships being the main one. He definitely pitied the guy, but he couldn’t find a good way to really connect with him. At least he seemed to have pretty good morals.
“Just trying to lighten the mood little buddy.” Killer groaned again.
“We’re getting close to the split off point.” Sans nodded, adjusting the homemade sign on his shoulder. “Wait until my signal before turning back towards the camp.”
“Roger that Cap’n”
“And Killer,” The skeleton in question looked up at Error. “You know what you need to do?”
“Yup, it’s not like you’ve told me a hundred times.” Noticing how Error stiffened, Killer sighed, softening his tone. “Stay out of sight, and come back to you as soon as I find a safe way in. We’re all ready.”
The black skeleton took a deep breath, attempting to calm his nerves a bit. “Good. Let’s do this then.”
*****
Dream watched as a crowd of people chanted outside the castle walls from the glass doors on the second floor. He was in the main sitting area, and these doors lead out to a decorated balcony that hadn’t been used in months.
The monsters all looked so angry, yet his father had already told him multiple times not to worry. He had noticed the king, his father, had been acting differently recently as well, more stern, and he’d stopped letting Dream talk to any reporters, or even leave the castle. He claimed it was because he wanted the prince to be able to focus completely on his work, but Dream suspected there was more to it than that.
That wasn’t the only thing making the young monster worry. Recently he’d been feeling off, not in pain, but something felt out of place, like he’d lost something. His mind always wandered to that strange new guard he’d seen over three months ago whenever he focused on the feeling, but he couldn’t wrap his head around the reason why. Had he been too hard on the monster? No, that couldn’t be it, father had taught him that it was best to be stern with the staff if they’ve done something wrong. Dream had tried to bring it up with Dr. Alphys, yet she had brushed him off, ending the conversation suspiciously fast and then running off.
Perhaps he wouldn’t be so worried about the feeling and lingering thoughts if they didn’t cause his soul to throb in pain.
Glancing around to make sure no one was around - that was another thing that had been strange in the past few months, Bethenny wasn’t around as often - then carefully unlocked the clear doors, stepping out into the fresh air. Leaning over the ledge, to get a better look at the protesting monsters, his eyelights suddenly latched onto someone within the crowd.
The guard from before.
Cross!
Dream suddenly gasped, clutching his chest as he stumbled back from the railing. It felt like he had just been stabbed in the soul, the pain pulsing throughout his body. Why did he know that name? And why did he think it when he had seen the guard?! A headache was forming behind his sockets as he steadied his legs, taking deep breaths. The pain was slowly fading away, but Dream couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew that guard, that he was important to him for some reason.
That his name was Cross.
He must be losing his mind, none of this made sense. Unless…
Dream jumped as a hand was placed on his shoulder, his skull spinning to find Gaster standing next to him.
“I believe I told you to stay inside.”
The Prince nodded, pulling a rather forced smile to his lips. “That you did, father. My apologies, I simply came out to get a better look at the protestors. You caught me just as I was about to go back inside.”
The king raised an eyebrow, seeming to analyze his son; Dream prayed that he nervousness wasn’t showing. After a minute, Gaster spoke up again. “Very well. However, you should not bother yourself with these petty riots. You have more important things to do.”
The Prince bit his tongue to stop himself from correcting his father on how these most certainly were not riots. At least, not yet. “Understood. I shall be in my room if you need me.”
He slipped past the taller monster, moving quickly through the halls with his head down. Was he going insane? There was no way he could actually know that guard.
After all, he’d surely remember that, wouldn’t he?
*****
Pressing his small body against the ground between two bushes, Killer watched as a guard passed him. He took in slow, steady breaths until he was sure the monster was out of sight, then he slowly stood back up, making sure to stay close to the wall.
There weren’t as many royal guards patrolling this part of the castle as he had assumed there would be. His guess was that the groups of protestors were keeping them preoccupied. He wasn’t complaining though, it did make this a lot easier for him.
He would, however, be complaining loudly about how many goddamn leaves were getting stuck between his bones.
With a soft grunt, he kneeled down, running his fingers over the wall of the castle. No vent. Cursing softly to himself, he looked over his shoulder. He was starting to feel uneasy, he didn’t want to leave Error and the others protesting for too long. Who knows what the guards might do?
Cross had told everyone in the camp that they would never attack unarmed citizens, but there was no way Killer could believe that after seeing what happens in the slums almost every day. None - or more accurately, most - of the guards didn’t give two shits about the monsters living in BlightView. Killer would still claim not to like anyone in the resistance camp that much, but he really didn’t want anyone getting hurt during something that’s supposed to be peaceful.
Edging farther along the brick wall, Killer misplaced his foot, landing hard on the dirt ground. He hissed his pain, a stick coming dangerously close to entering his eye. Killer froze then, body becoming stiff as he waited and listened for any approaching footsteps. After he was sure no was coming, he slowly sat up and brought his hand to his face when he could feel something cool and wet rolling down his cheek. Blood.
“Well fuck me gently with a chainsaw…” He had been guessing it would just be his stupid magic acting up again, though the fact that his eyesockets weren’t aching should have been a dead give a way that that wasn’t the case this time. He dreaded having to tell the others that he scratched himself with a stick of all things. At least it shouldn’t leave a scar.
Something shiny caught the corner of his eye, and his eyebrows shot up when he turned his skull.
There beside him was a small vent, nailed securely to the wall.
*****
Sans’ voice was starting to go hoarse from all the chanting, and he wondered briefly how he’d explain to Asgore how he lost his voice. Maybe he could convince him that he had caught a cold.
He and his group had been going at this for about an hour now, and to his surprise, no one seemed to be getting tired. It was a good sign, it meant everyone here was dedicated to the cause. It did make Sans worry about Killer a bit; the little monster was certainly confident with his skills, but there was still a small chance he could get caught. Finding a way to break into a castle is a lot different than just going into a store.
And if he was caught… well, Sans didn’t know what exactly they’d do to him, but he’d certainly get thrown into the dungeon.
Sans’ attention was pulled to the side, where a straight line of guards were marching to stand in front of the group. Reinforcements. He didn’t really see the need for that, it wasn’t like any of them were going to attack the uniformed monsters but-
Sans froze, his tongue going limp in his mouth, his whole world seeming to come to a stop. Along the new line of guards was Papyrus, his little brother.
The same little brother he hadn’t talked to, or seen, in years.
He’d definitely had a growth spurt since the last time he’d seen him, he had to be 6 feet tall, but Sans should have guessed that that would happen; Papyrus had always been taller than others his age. He looked strange in the royal uniform, and the fact that the suit only had three clips must have signified that he was only a level lower than the Captain Sans has seen on TV. The taller skeleton had also tied a red scarf on his left arm, near his shoulder.
Sans recognized it immediately.
That scarf - now torn and well worn - had been a gift from Toriel and Asgore, they’d given it to the young monster during their first Christmas with the Dreemurr’s. The usually lazy skeleton’s soul pounded in his rib cage, screaming at him to grab his brother and make a run for it. But he knew, deep down, Papyrus wouldn’t understand the rebellion. Still, he needed to do something.
He pushed his way through the crowd, luckily no one got mad and yelled at him for doing so, until he was in the front, standing right infront of his brother. It took a moment, but Papyrus’s eyes eventually landed on Sans, they widened in shock and a look of horror fell onto his features.
The shorter monster pulled up his fake smile - one that he’d had years to practice, and he was sure could fool anyone - and shoved his free hand into his jacket pocket. “Hey bro, long time no see, huh?”
“Sans?! What are you doing here?” He wanted to laugh and cry, his brother sounded exactly the same as he remembered.
He gestured nonchalantly at the sign perched on his shoulder. “Supporting a good cause.” He lowered his voice. “Unlike you.”
Small orange tears formed in the corner of Papyrus’s eye sockets, and Sans immediately regretted his words. He knew it wasn’t his brother's fault that he believed the royals were good, that was what they were all taught to believe, after all. “Brother…” The younger skeleton suddenly stiffened his shoulders, taking on a new persona that Sans didn’t recognize. He remembered his brother as someone full of smiles and joy and optimism, a little naive but with good intentions. This new side of Papyrus was the exact opposite, completely serious, and hard, a frown set into his skull. “I’m sorry that you feel that way, but I can see there will be no changing your mind.” A flash of pain crossed his features. “I’m afraid to inform you of this, but our familial bond won’t get in the way of me doing my job.”
Sans flinched. He’d seen it coming, yet it still hurt to see his brother so cold to him. “Fine, it won’t stop me from doing what’s right either.” In his pocket, his phone buzzed three times. Error’s signal. He turned on his heel without another word to his younger brother, pulling a whistle from his pocket - Error had given all the leaders one - and blew into it twice, signaling to everyone that it was time to head back.
He pushed the thought of Papyrus out of his skull as he began the walk back to the orphanage, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket. Both of them had made their choices and chosen their sides, there was no point in fretting over it. He had more important things to think about.
Killer had found a safe way into the castle.
It was time to start planning.
Notes:
Things are really starting to kick up plot wise now :3 if y'all have any predictions on what's gonna happen feel free to leave them in the comments, I'd love to hear your thoughts
Chapter 7: ~Chapter 7~
Notes:
For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on Instagram or Tumblr
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The old wooden door creaked as Sans slowly opened it, hoping no one in the dark house had woken up and heard him. Once it was fully closed and locked behind him, he exhaled the breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding, his shoulders relaxing.
It was well after 2 am, and Sans was absolutely exhausted. It was like he had been getting even less sleep since joining the rebellion - especially after his encounter with Papyrus two months ago. He couldn’t get the look on Papyrus’ face out of his head. He’d never seen Papyrus like that, and it made Sans feel uneasy. Truth be told, it scared him. One of the reasons he joined was to get his brother back, but it turned out that task would be much harder than he had originally thought. Maybe even impossible.
He shook his skull, his hand coming up to cradle his forehead. He was regretting not having a smoke before coming inside. Not only did this shit keep coming back to cloud up his thoughts, today hadn’t been an easy day.
Right after the first protest, there hadn’t been any talk about when the next one would be, everyone was more or less celebrating and having fun. It had been nice to see so many people laughing, and little Killer had gotten more than a few compliments on his job well done (which had obviously made the younger skeleton uncomfortable, considering how he slipped away to his room shortly later). A few monsters had even brought out some alcohol, leading to multiple people getting drunk off their asses. Strangely, Sans couldn’t remember seeing Error during that time, maybe he’d gone off to get some sleep?
That aside, no real planning to break Ink out was done until today, and even calling it “planning” was a stretch. There had been a few small protests here and there throughout the city, but Error was getting antsy, and he wanted to do it as soon as possible. He suggested doing it next week, which prompted Cross to say they should wait one more month. “We can’t rush this, Error” Sans remembered him saying. “Especially since we’re literally breaking into the castle this time, the more we catch them off guard, the better.” This led to Error snapping at him, and eventually led to a full blown argument. Eventually Sans and Killer were able to calm both of them down - though Killer wasn’t very happy about having to help - and Error begrudgingly agreed to wait one more month.
The rest of the day felt like a blur, but keeping up his constant smile was starting to strain him. Luckly, he was home now and could relax, at least for a few hours.
Or not.
The kitchen light flicked on, startling Sans. Chara, still in her pajamas, stood next to the lightswitch, arms crossed and leaning against the wall. “Dad was worried about you, you know.” Her blood red eyes were narrowed, the fingers on her right hand twitching. A nervous tick.
“Was he?” Sans brought up his smile, forced it through his exhaustion. Hopefully it was still somewhat believable. “I’ll talk to him in the morning, it was my fault anyways. Lost track of time with some buddies.”
“You don’t have friends like that.” The younger human pushed off the wall, walking closer to him. “Tell me the truth, Sans.”
“I have friends.” The skeleton mumbled, using a hand to ruffle her hair. “It’s late and you should sleep, come on.”
“I know you joined it.” He froze as his smile fell, his soul suddenly beating against his ribcage. “The rebellion. Revolution. Whatever the hell you want to call it.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Chara huffed, grabbing onto his arm before he got a chance to walk away. “I’ve just been busy.” She pulled out her phone, swiping and tapping it before handing it to the older monster.
“Explain this then.” On the small screen was a video of Sans in front of Papyrus, it was obvious they were talking but whoever had filmed this was too far away to hear what they were saying (the chanting didn’t help either). Sans cursed himself - it hadn’t even occurred to him that videos and photos would be all over the media. At least Asgore wasn’t online often, but if this ever got on the news… “What the fuck were you thinking?”
“Language.” She smacked his arm. “And you weren't supposed to find out about this, where did you find this video?”
“YouTube.” She rolled her eyes. “Everyone at school kept telling me about it. ‘It looks like your brothers’ this and ‘Chara, have you seen the video? Your brother’s famous’ that. If Frisk and dad find out-”
“They’re not going to find out.” Sans pushed her hand away, adjusting his jacket. He had to admit, Chara knowing about this really put a wrench in his plan. “You weren’t supposed to find out either.”
“What, were you just going to hide that from us?!”
“Keep your voice down.” He hissed, putting a finger to his lips. “And yes, that was literally my whole plan. But it doesn’t matter. I’m an adult, it’s not like you or dad could stop me.”
“He’s going to be pissed though.”
“Hence why I hid it, sherlock.” The older monster sighed, trying to calm himself. He knew Chara was just worried - and it was a bit annoying, if he was being honest - but he needed to keep a level head. She was still a child, after all. “Look, it’s late, I’m tired. We can talk about this whole thing in the morning.”
Chara shuffled her feet, her thumb rubbing against the side of her phone. “I--”
“What’s going on down here?”
Both siblings' heads turned to the stairs where a confused Asgore stood in his “Best Goat Dad” pajamas, Frisk holding onto the hem of the shirt, rubbing their eyes. Chara tried to smile innocently, shoving her phone into her pocket. She technically wasn’t supposed to use it after 10:30 “Dad? Why are you awake?”
“I should be asking you two the same thing.” The goat monster’s eyes flickered to Sans. “When did you get home?”
“Just now. Sorry, I lost track of time and then accidentally woke up Chara. Should’ve been more quiet.” It was a blatant lie, and Sans felt a bit guilty for it, but it was better than the truth. He just hoped his sister would go along with him.
“... right.” Asgore was giving them a look that proved he didn’t really believe them, but at least he was letting it slide this time, much to Sans’s relief. “Go back upstairs with Frisk, Chara.” The brunette nodded, slipping past the two monsters to the stairs, going up to the second floor with her sibling holding onto her hand.
Once the two kids were gone, Sans tried to follow them, but not before a furry paw was placed on his shoulder. “Is everything alright?”
The question surprised him. “‘Course. Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Don’t think I haven’t noticed how often you’ve been out of the house, and the way you try to sneak around.” The older monster's eyes softened. “If something is wrong, you know you can talk to me, right?”
Sans bristled, brushing off his father’s hand. It wasn’t that he hated that Asgore was worried, but it did make him uncomfortable. He’d gotten so used to being the “big brother” of all his siblings, helping them with their problems instead of his own, and now actually speaking up about his depression and problems made him more than a little uneasy. It took him well into his twenties to finally talk to his father and get the help he needed. He was better now, plus he always made sure not to forget his meds. That being said, after Asgore found out, he did get more watchful over Sans.
“Dad, I’m fine. Trust me, I’m almost 30, I can take care of myself.” He smiled, this time it was genuine. He didn’t want the goat monster stressing over something he didn’t need to worry about. Sure, the guy wasn’t going to die anytime soon (as long as he stays healthy, Asgore, just like all monsters, could easily live to be over a thousand years old) but all of that stress could really wear him down and affect his soul’s health. “You worry too much, old man.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m your father, that’s my job.”
“Maybe for Chara and Frisk.” He nudged him gently. “Paps and I are adults though, we’re old enough to know we can talk to you if we need help.” He had to restrain himself from wincing at the mention of his brother. If their relationship had been shaky before, it was practically shattered now. “Let’s go get some sleep, I think we both need it.”
*****
“My dear citizens.” Gaster folded his hands in his lap, staring into the camera lens. His reflection stared back at him, but he knew that most, if not all, of the monsters in Blightview that could afford a screen was watching him. “It has come to my attention, that there is a certain problem that needs to be addressed.”
Honestly, it was ridiculous that this even needed to be said. For one, surely the protests would die down as soon as people realized just how good of a king Gaster has been. Besides, he knew damn well who was behind all this: that skeleton that had showed up after his first tests with Ink - what had been his name? Not that that mattered, he’d be taken care of eventually. After all this was done, he could easily send something to execute the monster.
“The recent riots are nothing any of you should worry yourselves about. I can assure you, this will not lead to a civil war. These are simply short tempered delinquents who are trying to prove their worth by going against society. They will not win, this kingdom has survived far worse than this. As your king, I will protect you, my subjects, so that you might live in peace and safety.”
“Now, there is one other thing I believe must be covered in this short broadcast.” With a quick flick of his wrist, he beckoned Dream to step into the frame.
“Hello everyone.” The prince smiled into the camera, but Gaster recognized that lack of personality in his eyelight. A side effect of the drug he’d been using on the boy. He doubted anyone noticed, you could only see it if you were really looking for it or already knew it was there. “I realize some of you have been concerned about my health because of my lack of interaction with the media. I want you all to know that I am fine, I have simply been busy as of late.”
“With that, we both wish you all a wonderful day. May the sun shine bright.”
“And may the grain of our fields grow strong.” Dream easily finished the mantra, and the camera was switched off. Gaster let his smile fall, no longer needing to keep up the act.
“Father, may I speak with you? Privately.” His eye lights flickered to his son. The boy was beginning to rub on his nerves - he had assumed after making him forget about that irrelevant guard and making him take on a more professional personality, he wouldn't have to deal with the younger boy's questions as often. As it would seem, he had been wrong.
“I suppose.” Gaster stood, watching as the Prince fidgeted with the hem of his gloves. Odd, he had been sure he’d made Dream more confident, the boy’s stumbling was beyond annoying.
The King followed the smaller monster out of the throne room, looking around the hallway - which was surprisingly empty - before sighing, wrapping his arms around his body. “I wanted to ask.. Well, it’s a bit complicated, um, but…”
“I’ve told you not to stutter Dream. A prince should know exactly what he is to say at all times.” He was slowly losing his patience with the younger monster. Luckily, they had a session in a few days, meaning he could take his frustrations out on the boy then without consequence.
“... right, my apologies Father. It’s just… have I ever hit my skull on anything? That caused me to, let’s say, forget some of the staff in the castle?”
Gaster’s eye socket twitched. “No. Why would you ask such a ridiculous question?”
“Two months ago, during that first protest, do you remember when I was out on the balcony?” Of course he did, it had annoyed the older skeleton to no end. Especially since he had told the young prince to stay in his room. “I saw someone within the crowd, he was a guard here for a short while, I think. I only saw him once, but it was odd. He acted like he knew me, but I had no memory of him… uh, back to my point, when I saw him, this name popped into my head. Cross. It was like I knew him, but couldn’t recall--”
Gaster's hand came down hard, the sound of it hitting Dream’s cheek echoing in the empty hall. The boy stumbled backwards from the force, his eyes widening as his cheek reddened, his magic making the area flush slightly. “You dare think I would lie to you? My own son? I’m insulted.” He spat his words out like venom.
Dream backed away, one of his hands cradling his cheekbone. “I-I’m sorry, I just thought… I…” Gaster took a step forward, the boy cowered away from him, a whimper leaving his lips. The way the king had been conducting his sessions with the boy made it so that even the slightest hit or slap would make the prince’s brain immediately think he’d done something wrong and blackout whatever info caused Dream to get hurt. It was honestly very efficient and Gaster was extremely proud of himself for it. “I… I don’t know what I was thinking, I apologize…”
“Go to your room. I’ll send someone to fetch you when it’s time for dinner, understood?”
“Yes Father…”
*****
“This is complete bullshit! What the fuck, people can’t actually believe this crap.” Killer gestured to Error’s laptop with the King’s most recent update pulled up for the four of them to watch, and voiced what the others were thinking.
“No one here will. But everyone else? Especially all the monsters who live in the suburban areas? They absolutely will.” The black monster groaned, closing the laptop. “It sure as hell is going to make recruiting people from those areas a lot harder.”
Cross tapped his thigh, his soul aching his chest. He hadn’t expected to see Dream in the video, and it had left him iching to do something: the prince had looked smaller somehow, and he personality was gone, leaving a blank state. If he ever got his hands on that bastard of a king…
“Hey, dude.” Sans placed a hand on his forearm, yanking the ex-guard from his thoughts. “You good?”
“I’m fine just… seeing Dream like that is unsettling.”
“Why, cause he’s not under you, moaning or some shit?” Cross glared at Killer, ignoring the way his cheeks warmed.
“He’s not a goddamn sex toy, I actually love and care about him. Seeing him like that, so devoid of life and joy and everything that makes him himself, hurts like hell.” He hissed, pushing Sans’s hand off of him. “But you wouldn’t understand what it’s like to care about someone, would you?”
Killer shifted, tilting his skull to look down at his feet. If Cross hadn’t known any better, he’d say the smaller skeleton looked hurt. Maybe his comment had been a bit harsh, but Killer had been at his throat since day one; Cross guessed that it was just a case of their personalities not clicking (plus the guard thing but that pissed him off, even if it was “justified” in Killer’s eyes).
“We’ll get him out soon, Cross, we just need to be patient and careful.” Sans bit his tongue, fighting the urge to point out just how hypocritical Error was being. If it wasn’t for Cross, he would have stormed the castle already, looking for Ink.
“Seriously? This is where you’ve been going everyday, Sans?” All four monsters whipped their heads around to find a human who had walked up behind them. She was wearing a green hoodie and a scarf that was a mix between yellow and green. She had on brown shorts with leggings underneath and her eyes were a startlingly bright red. “Pretty impressive, I have to admit.”
“I’m sorry, who are you?” Error looked between Sans and the girl, the skeleton in question groaning.
“Chara, what the hell are you doing here? Dad will-”
“Dad won’t find out, isn’t that what you said last night?” The human - Chara - made her way closer, crossing her arms and looking between the skeletons. “I want to help too.”
“We don’t even know who you are.” Cross scoffed. Chara was only a bit shorter than Sans and, if the ex-guard had to guess, one of his adopted siblings.
“Sans literally just said my name?”
Killer snorted“I like her, she’s got enough spunk to actually make it fun around here.” Chara smiled down at him, clearly glad for the support.
“She’s a child.” This was probably the first time Cross had even seen Sans without a smile, let alone the frown he wore now. “She’s my little sister.”
“I’m 16, I’m practically an adult.”
“We don’t have time for this.” Error sighed, rubbing his thumb and pointer finger over his closed eye sockets. “Go home kid, this isn’t some game.”
“I know that.” For someone who claimed to be “practically an adult,” she sure sounded whiney to Cross. “I can use magic though, I can help you guys.”
“I’m not letting a child join this.” Error sat down on a cardboard box, his elbows propped on his knees - he looked like a stereotypical dad. Cross snorted at the thought, earning him confused looks from the surrounding monsters.
“Well I’m not going to leave.” Chara stomped one of her feet against the dirt ground, shoving her hands into her pockets. “You can’t make me, it’s not like this is private property. Even if it was, what are you gonna do?” She smirked, rocking back on her heels. “Call the guards?”
Killer barked out a laugh. “You guys just got outsmarted by a 16 year old! I knew I liked you.”
“Thank you, uh, whatever your name is. Anyways, either you let me in or I just keep coming and joining in on your little riots without any of this gear.” She gestured around them,
“Just let her join, Error.” Killer hummed, sitting atop the table.
“How can you even suggest that?” Cross sneered. “She could die!”
“I’ve been on my own since I was 10.” Killer glared. “Kids aren’t stupid, and if you’re so worried just pare her up with Sans. Surely he can protect her if it’s needed.”
“This could lead to war, Killer, we can’t--”
“Fine.” Error cut Cross off. “ We’ll do what Killer suggested though. I always want you with Sans, no exceptions. You get hurt though, you’re going straight home. I don’t want to have a kid's death on my hands.”
“What? No, she’s a child, Error!”
“Cross, I’ve made my decision. I’d rather her be safe than just tagging along and possibly getting hurt because she lacks the right gear and support.”
“Dad’s going to kill me if he finds out you’re here.” Sans placed a hand on his forehead and closed his eyes. He looked pained, like he had a headache.
“He won’t like that you’re here either. Who are your new friends?”
Cross introduced himself like the others, but he felt awkward about the whole thing. Letting a kid join a rebellion just felt wrong. Plus he was a little pissy that Error agreed with Killer and not him, he was literally the only one with some kind of experience in this kind of thing.
Then again, he did have a point, the girl was too stubborn. Whatever, she’d be fine. Sans may be a bit irresponsible but he’d surely keep his family member safe - that’s why Error said he was here, right? Who knows, maybe the girl will change her mind after her first time of actually participating in one of the protests.
*****
Killer carefully pulled the vent cover away from the wall, setting in on the grass next to the screws and screwdriver. About a month ago he was laughing at Cross for tripping over a box, and now here he was, quite literally about to break into the royal castle, aka the most guarded place in the whole damn city.
“Life is so goddamn weird…” He mumbled to himself, laying flat on his stomach as he pushed himself into the cramped space.
It had been easier finding this vent than last time, not only had he already known where he needed to go, there were less guards patrolling. Turns out Cross’s plan to catch the idiots off guard had worked after all. Hopefully Killer would have the same luck inside, he really didn’t want to be tossed into an old, damp cell.
He pushed against the grate blocking him from actually getting inside. In hindsight, he probably should have thought of a way to deal with this before the present moment. Taking a deep breath, he rammed his shoulder into the metal, tumbling onto the clean carpet of the castle with a loud grunt. Rubbing his shoulder, which now ached due to the impact, a flicker of movement to his left caught his eye.
He quickly summoned his magic, a blade forming in his hand as he pushed off the ground, turning his body towards the movement. It was a human, her long hair was pink, and she had large grey eyes. Killer narrowed his eyes. “Don’t fucking move.”
“You’re with them…” She flinched as Killer stepped closer, knife aimed at her throat. “The protestors. You’re one of them, aren’t you?”
“Shut up.” The monster hissed. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t just kill you now.”
“... You’re here for the boy, Ink, aren’t you?” He hated her voice, so soft and sickeningly sweet. She sounded too much like his mom. “I know where he is, let me help.”
“Yeah, right. You’ll just lead me to those shithead guards.”
“I won’t, I promise. I want him out of here as much as you do.”
Killer rubbed his foot over the rug, growling to himself. He didn’t want to trust this lady, but, truthfully, he didn’t know where the mystery tower holding Ink was, and he was wasting time standing here in the open. “Fine. Don’t try anything.” He jerked his head to the side, gesturing for her to start walking.
Plus, killing her would give the rebellion a bad look, as far as Killer knew, Error was still trying to keep things friendly.
“My name is Bethenny, by the way.” Killer grunted, following her up a series of stairs and doors, knife still in hand. He’d lost track of time, his guess was that it’d been 10 minutes since he’d gotten inside - the castle was way too fucking big.
“Good for you. We almost there?”
“I had assumed you’d tell me your name as well?” Bethenny looked over her shoulder, smiling softly. Killer glared back.
“Not happening.”
She sighed. “Oh well, it was worth a shot… here we are.” She stopped in front of a large steel door, a small nondescript keypad next to it.
“Seems a bit much for one prisoner, don’t you think?”
The pink haired human tapped a password into a keyboard, a beep filling the silent stairway. “That’s because it wasn’t made to contain Ink.”
The door slid open, revealing a clean and rather nice room behind it. It didn’t look anything like a cell chamber, more like the bedrooms people in the suburbs would have, only bigger.
“Oh, Bethenny, I wasn’t expecting you to come back so soon, Ink and I were… who’s this?” There were two skeletons in the room, the first one was easy to figure out, he was obviously Ink. Killer had seen a picture of him in Error’s tent, so he already knew what to expect. The other skeleton on the other hand…
“This is… well I don’t know his name, he’s here to--”
“Killer. Name’s Killer. Error sent me.” Ink’s eyes widened as the other skeleton pushed himself up onto his feet. His left arm was bandaged, he made a mental note to make sure someone checked on that back at the camp. “Didn’t realize there were two of you in here, though.”
The second boy had cleaner clothes, two different coloured eyelights, and despite the fact that he was taller than Killer, he looked so small and fragile. He looked adorable.
Wait.
Fuck no, not now. He didn’t just think that, not about this random monster he’d literally just found.
“My name’s Nightmare.” Even his voice was soft. “I um… I’m sure you know me as, oh what was it you called me Ink?”
“Dead evil prince. Can we go?” The boy’s left eyelight was changing rapidly, and he was practically bouncing on the spot.
“Just hold on a minute, jesus.” Killer sighed, adjusting his mask. “I get it now. You’re the other twin, the one everyone thought was dead, blah blah blah. Why aren’t you dead then?”
“Father lied-”
“Oh, well that explains it all.” He couldn’t say he was surprised. If he’d been honest, he’d always been one of the monsters who believed the Prince was never killed in the first place, and it was nice to know he’d been right about something. “Sit down, what the hell are on your wrists?”
Nightmare gave him a confused look, his cheek flushing as Killer stood in front of him, examining the shackle on his arm. “You’re… not surprised?”
“Not really, kinda thought you were alive this whole time.” He cursed. “Hey, lady, these things won’t stop him from leaving the room, will they?”
“No, they just restrict the boy from using his magic.” She glanced out the door, her nervousness radiating off of her. Killer wouldn’t lie and say that he wasn’t getting anxious, he needed to get both Ink and Nightmare out of here before he got caught.
That was another thing, he hadn’t exactly planned to take two people back to camp. Getting two people out of the castle undetected would be hard as it is, but three?
“Good. I’ll get them off of you at camp.” He felt odd as the other skeleton stared at him with his flushed cheeks, and he couldn’t get rid of the thought that he needed to protect Nightmare. And that he was really freaking cute, but Killer was desperately trying to ignore both of these. “Get up. We need to go.”
*****
Ink was nervous. He was nervous about what Error would think when he saw him again, he was nervous that Error wouldn't actually be somewhere beyond this metal gate. But most of all, he was excited at the mere thought of being able to see his fiance again.
The way out of the castle and to this “camp” as Killer called it - by the looks of it, it was just an old orphanage - had been slow and stressful. Neither of the three monsters did much talking, a few times Killer spoke up to give them directions or make sure they weren't doing something that would get them caught. Nightmare seemed amazed to be out, even if they were just in dark alleyways and side streets. Ink wondered if the Prince had even been in this part of town before - he knew he certainly hadn't.
“You ready?” The smaller skeleton raised an eyebrow, one hand on the old gate. In any other situation, Ink probably would have been happy to have found someone who was shorter than him, but the truth of the matter was that Killer freaked Ink out: the mask, the strange “don't fuck with me” aura.
“Yes. Sorry, I’m...” He rubbed his arms, hand lingering on his bandage. God, he hoped Error wouldn't react badly. “I'm ready.”
Killer hummed, turning to Nightmare. “What about you? Those people probably won't react as calmly as I did about you being alive.”
“I know…” the Prince took a deep breath, a small smile on his lips. “I'm ready for it though. Plus, I don't think Ink wants to wait anymore.”
“Alrighty then.” With that, the monster pushed open the gate with a loud creak, the different monsters within the walls turning their heads to look at who had just come in.
Ink stepped through first, gently pushing past Killer, his eyelights rapidly scanning the crowd. He felt the air leave his lungs as his eyes finally landed on who he had been looking for: Error. He stood next to two other monsters and a human girl, his body leaning against a plastic table but his skull was turning up towards Ink.
The small monster let out a soft sob, his legs pushing him off the ground as he sprinted to the black skeleton; he laughed, moving away from the table and running towards Ink. Picking him up with ease, the two monsters sobbed and laughed, pressing their foreheads together.
“You're ok…” Error brought a hand to his fiancé’s face, cupping his cheek and stroking away his tears with his thumb.
Ink sniffed, putting his hands on the side of the black skeleton’s skull, giggling. “I'm ok…” He pressed a kiss to the Error’s lips, letting himself linger in the feeling of just being there with him again.
They pulled away, their skulls still pressed together, their eyes meeting. “God, Ink… I love you so much, I thought… I was so scared.” Error's voice was so soft, so close to breaking. “...what did he do to you?”
“We'll talk about it later…” Ink pressed another kiss to his cheek, his skull beginning to heat up as he realized just how many people must be watching them.
“Error.” The black skeleton looked away from Ink, eyes meeting Killer’s and then Nightmare’s.
“Who's this?” Never had Ink thought he'd see his fiance like this. Sure, he knew Error was good at getting jobs done and doing hard work, but he'd never tried to be a leader like this before.
The crowd's eyes, thankfully, shifted away from Ink and Error to the Prince. The poor boy looked unbelievably uncomfortable, but spoke up anyways. “My name is Nightmare, I-I'm the one of the twin Princes.” He paused when he heard someone in the crowd scoff, his body shrinking in on itself. “I-I…”
“The King lied about him.” Killer cut in, stepping in front of Nightmare - it looked to Ink like he was trying to protect the Prince. “He's been locked up for years and the King made up that whole story about Nightmare going batshit crazy. So you know, don't be an asshole, he's been through hell already.”
The crowd mumbled amongst themselves, then slowly began dispersing as Error made his way towards Killer and the Prince. Ink wrapped his arms around the other’s neck, resting his chin on his shoulder.
“You're going to need a place to stay, right?” Nightmare gave him a confused look, his head tilting to the side. “My name’s Error.”
The Prince smiled. “I figured, considering how Ink is clinging to you.” He giggled. “He told me about you when we were locked up.”
“Did he now?” The black skeleton gently nuzzled Ink’s skull, earning him a soft mumble, close to a purr. “Either way, we don't have any more free rooms left in the orphanage, but I'm sure you could stay with someone.” He looked pointedly at Killer.
The short skeleton sighed, rocking back on his heels. “Fine, whatever. He can stay in my room.” Nightmare’s cheeks blossomed with colour.
Error said a few more things to Killer and Nightmare, but Ink was starting to doze off at that point. It had been so long since Error held him, he just wanted to press closer to him, have his arms around him, feel his breath on the top of his skull as they slept. He felt like a teenager again, first realizing his feelings for the taller monster. At some point, Error had left the others and went into one of the large tents in the courtyard- his tent? - and set Ink down on the makeshift bed, sitting next to him.
Ink whined, scooting closer and onto Error’s lap. “...Ink.” His voice was soft, one hand on the back of Ink’s spine, rubbing up and down slowly. “What happened to your arm?”
The smaller monster didn't answer right away, turning his attention to his surroundings instead. The tent was surprisingly packed, boxes and supplies were everywhere. Opposite of the bed they were sitting on - it was a stretch to call it that, it was more of a mattress on the ground with multiple blankets - was a small desk and folding chair. The desk had a lantern on the corner, bathing the tent in warm light, and was cluttered with papers and maps.
Error waiting patiently for his fiancé to start explaining, still slowly rubbing his back. Eventually, Ink started to tell him everything the King had done - that first experiment when he combined his soul and his medications, the following “tests” where he would prod and poke at Ink’s very being, the fear he felt first waking up in Nightmare’s room, and the first time he had an attack. By the end of it, Ink was sobbing, one hand coming up to his bandages.
“It was three months ago..” He sniffed, trying to steady his voice. “It was during an attack, I-I thought… if I hurt myself, maybe I could feel my emotions again… I-I'm so sorry Erry, I know what you've been through and I s-still… I…” He choked out a sob, pressing his face to Error’s chest.
The black monster shushed him softly, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Oh Ink… I'm not mad..”
“...you're not?”
“Not at all. I know what that pain is like - I'm upset that you had to go through all of that, but I'm not mad at you.” He cupped his skull, moving his face so that Ink was looking at him. “If anything, I'm pissed at Gaster for hurting you.” He kissed him, and Ink relaxed into his arms. “We'll figure out what to do to help you with your soul, ok?”
Ink nodded, sniffing as he rubbed at his tears. “I missed you so much…”
This time, Error seemed to let out a soft sob. “God I missed you too… I'm sorry it took me so long to get you out of there…” He let out a shaky laugh, wiping one of his eyes. “I'll introduce you to the others tomorrow. Right now, I think we both need a good night's sleep.”
Error smiled gently as the other monster nodded. He pulled off his vest before laying down, pulling Ink to his chest. He moved the blankets on top of them, obviously not caring that both of them were still in their clothes.
“I love you so much Error..”
“I love you too Inky.”
*****
Killer didn't say much as Nightmare followed him through the orphanage, eventually opening one of the doors and gesturing for him to go in. The Prince was starting to worry that he'd somehow upset the shorter monster.
“Sit down, I'll get those shackles off now.” Nightmare did as he was told, taking the time to glance around the room. There really wasn't much there besides the bed and a small bag in the corner of the room.
Killer went to the bag, kneeled in front of it and rummaged through it for a moment. He came to sit next to Nightmare after he found what he needed. Sighing, he pulled his cloak off; without it, Nightmare could tell how slim the boy really was, and yet he still seemed strong and more than capable of handling himself (just going off of what he's already seen Killer do, climbing over fences was not as easy as it looked). He wore a skin tight - or would it be bone tight?- long sleeved shirt tucked into his grey pants. The shirt was an unsaturated red, almost brown, and two straps, a slightly lighter colour, crossed over his chest in a “X”.
Nightmare felt his cheeks warm as Killer took his hand, beginning to work on the metal around his wrist. Why did his soul flutter when he was so close? It wasn't like he actually knew Killer, so why did he feel the need to be close to him, to make sure he's ok?
Why did he want to hug him?
It couldn't be love, he'd read hundreds of books about that and it always happened after the two people were friends. Even Ink said that he and Error were friends for a long time before Ink even started crushing on him.
“Why'd they put these on you?” Killer pulled off the first shackle, tossing it to the side before starting to work on the next one.
“I, um, I have this condition where if I get too upset or angry or I feel too many negative emotions, my magic goes crazy, in a way. My soul starts making too much magic, and it… changes me. I get more aggressive and… powerful.”
Killer's fingers froze for a second. “Thought you said the King lied?”
“I-it was a lie! I never tried to kill anyone… I got angry, it was an accident I swear!” He hiccuped, tears forming in the corner of his eyes. He may not understand why, but he wanted Killer to like him, and not think he was a murderer.
The shorter monster's eyes flickered up to him. “... relax. I don't care if you did try to kill Gaster. Hell, I want to see the son of a bitch die.” Another shackle fell off. “Don't you? I mean, he locked you up.”
“That was my fault. Accident or not, I still shouldn't have lost control.”
Killer scoffed, moving one of Nightmare’s legs up and onto his lap. His fingers moved to hold the metal as he used a screwdriver with his other hand, he seemed so sure of what he was doing, so confident. “Bullshit. You literally just said it was a condition. You can't control that.”
Nightmare didn't answer, looking down to his hands. They felt tingly, he couldn't remember the last time he felt his energy run through them. He hadn't realized how constricting the shackles really were. Killer quickly finished with his ankles, and scooted closer to work on his neck. The Prince blushed more due to how close the other monster’s skull was to his. He'd read other novels too, and someone being close to another's neck always led to more...interesting scenarios in those books.
That thought alone made Nightmares' skull feel like it was burning.
Magic rushed to his skull, making him feel lightheaded. “There, done.” Killer stood up, and the Prince suddenly missed his weight on the bed next to him, his body swaying a bit. “How long did you have those things on?”
“Thirteen years...” He rubbed his temple, the dizziness was starting to fade.
The other skeleton hummed, putting his tools away.
“I want to help you guys.” Killer raised an eyebrow, standing back up.
“When was the last time you used your magic?”
“When I was Eleven?”
“Exactly. You're going to need to actually know how to fight with it if you're going to properly join us. You're just going to get yourself killed.”
Nightmare huffed, folding his hands in his lap. “Teach me then.”
Killer's eyes narrowed slightly. “I'm not a fucking teacher. “
“Please.” His voice wavered, his confident act slipping. He was terrified of joining, but he knew he needed to do something. “I can't just spend my whole life sitting in a room doing nothing.”
The monster crossed his arms, thinking for a minute before cursing. “What am I getting myself into… fine. I'll teach you the basics, don't go around telling anyone though. I don't want people thinking this is a common thing.” Killer groaned, flopping onto the bed, an arm coming up and covering his eye sockets. “God, I'm fucking exhausted.”
Nightmare watched him curiously. “Are we.. sleeping in the same bed?”
The other skeleton moved his arm to look at the Prince, one eyebrow raised. “Well I'm not going to sleep on the goddamn floor, so I guess so.” Nightmare blushed. “Are you sick or something?” Killer asked, looking away and pulling his mask off and tossing it aside.
He had fangs, is that why he was wearing that thing? “What do you mean?”
“Your face keeps changing colour.”
“O-oh.” Nightmare blushed more, he had hoped it wasn't that noticeable. “Maybe it's a side effect of taking the shackles off?”
Killer yawned. “Maybe.”
A few minutes later, the two skeletons were both tucked in under the bedsheets on opposite sides of the bed, Nightmare’s back turned to Killer. His thoughts were screaming at him. He'd never shared a bed with anyone other than his brother, let alone someone he found attractive (he couldn't deny that Killer was, in fact, very good looking in his opinion).
He felt two arms wrap around his waist, making his whole body tense, Killer’s warm breath brushing over the back of his neck. What was he doing?! Nightmare tried wiggling to get the other monster off, his face heating up more and more by the second, but Killer only held on tighter, mumbling something in his sleep.
This is what couples did, so why was Killer doing it?!
And, more importantly, why was it making Nightmare’s soul feel so warm and fuzzy?
He had to admit, the other skeleton’s heat was comforting, and slowly Nightmare’s eyelids grew heavy, and he fell into the most restful sleep he'd had in years.
*****
“I know what you've done, Ms. Hunt.”
Bethenny bit her lip, trying her best to suppress any emotion that might be showing on her face. The King sat in his throne, one leg crossed over the other. On one side of him was Dr. Alphys, and Undyne stood tall and proud of the other side. Besides that, the throne room was empty.
It had been a week since she'd helped Killer get Ink and the Prince out of the castle, and she would admit that she was lucky the King hadn't noticed sooner.
She knew that if she had left with the short monster, she could have avoided this whole thing.
But Bethenny didn't regret it.
She should have done something to stop Gaster the first time he brought her and Dream down to see what he was doing to Nightmare. That thought was always at the back of her mind, it was the one thing she regretted most. This way, she can say she was protecting Nightmare the way she should have done all those years ago.
She just hoped Cross would be able to save Dream without her help.
“I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about, your majesty.”
“Don't play dumb with me!” The older monster slammed his fist down on the armrest of his throne, his face contorting in rage.
Bethenny balled her hands into fists, taking a step forward. “Very well, your majesty. Yes, I helped Prince Nightmare escape with Ink, and it was the right thing to do! The things you did to those poor boys are just--” She was cut off by a piercing pain shooting through her right leg, falling to the ground her words melted into screams.
A sharp stake, made from the dull purple of the king's magic, was speared through her thigh. Her ripped leggings soaked up the blood as it dripped from the wound.
“You went completely against your king’s orders.” Gaster stood, walking so that he was staying in front of the kneeling girl, a cruel smile forming on his lips. “As punishment for your crimes, you will be killed.”
Another rod shot through Bethenny's left arm, lifting her off the ground. She wailed right before another shot through her gut. Another and another fired at her until she was limp in the air, her blood created a puddle below her and splattered along the walls.
As a final measure, Gaster pulled her soul from her chest. The green heart was barely glowing, already beginning to crumble. With a flick of his wrist, he shattered what was left of the woman.
Turning away from the body, he adjusted one of his gloves. “Have someone clean this mess up.” He directed the order to Alphys, who looked pale and was bent over ever so slightly, like she was about to vomit. The small lizard monster nodded, scuttling out of the room.
“And Undyne?” The guard straightened her back. “The next time those senseless rioters try to gather in front of my castle, I want you to order your troops to not hold back. I'm done playing nice with these delinquents.”
“Understood, your majesty. They will be taught a lesson.”
Gaster glanced back at Bethenny; he'd surely done a number on the human, perhaps he was more frustrated than he realized.
Oh well, the woman had it coming.
Now if he could only get his hands back on Nightmare or that annoying skeleton who started this whole thing.
Their punishment would be far worse than Bethenny’s.
Notes:
A offer a handful of fluff with a heaping helping of p a i n
I hope you all enjoyed the chapter, leave your thoughts below!
Chapter 8: ~Chapter 8~
Summary:
Warnings: mentions of past self harm, suicidal thoughts and domestic abuse. Slight NSFW/suggestive themes
Notes:
For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on Instagram or Tumblr
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"Feeling better?"
Ink groaned, pressing his skull into Error’s shoulder, hugging him from behind. The black skeleton was sitting down, so Ink didn’t even have to stand on his tippy toes to do so for once. “Kinda, at least I’m not numb anymore...” The taller monster hummed softly, bringing his hand up to rub Ink’s bandaged arm. “What are you working on?”
“Boring shit.” He turned his skull, kissing the smaller skeleton's cheek. “I’d much rather be doing something with you.”
Ink giggled, poking his fiance’s cheek. “Actually, about that. If none of this happened, we would have been married by now, right? And our honeymoon would be over?”
Error raised an eyebrow. “Well, yeah… hun, I want that too, but right now-”
“No no, I know that.” Ink cut in, blushing slightly. “What I mean is, um, we would have, you know… soul bonded by now.”
Error froze, his own cheeks turning a light blue. “What are you hinting at?”
“... I almost lost you once, Erry.” Ink moved away from the other monster’s back, standing in front of him to cup his skull with hands. “And it was so scary. I don’t… want to feel like that again.”
Error nuzzled one of Ink’s hands. “Neither do I.” Ink could feel his soul pounding in his chest. He knew Error would agree, but he had been worried that suggesting it so soon after Ink had come back - it had only been a week - would feel like rushing things. Error stood up, taking Ink’s hands into his own, larger ones. “Come on, we can’t do this in some messy tent. I want it to be special for you.”
“Won’t someone see us?”
The ebony skeleton picked up the smaller monster, earning himself a small squeak. “Probably not, it’s pretty late so most people will be either asleep or doing their own thing.” Ink wrapped his arms around Error’s neck, shivering slightly when they stepped out of the tent, the night air cool against his bare arms and legs.
After coming back, he and Error had made a quick trip to their home so Ink could have some proper clothes that fit him (yet he still wore one of Error’s shirts and a pair of shorts most of the time). They had talked briefly of staying there, and only coming to the camp during the day; but, considering Error was the “leader”, he figured it’d be best if he stayed there. And Ink didn’t want to be alone in their house, so he had agreed.
It honestly hadn’t been all that bad; the few people Error had introduced had all seemed nice, for the most part. Cross hadn’t seemed all that interested in talking to him, and Killer appeared to avoid everyone at all times. Nightmare had told Ink that he’d been around Killer a lot, they were sharing a room after all, and that the monster honestly wasn’t that rude. The prince had even called him cute a few times with rosey cheeks. In Ink’s opinion, it was pretty clear to see the younger monster had a crush. He liked Sans and his jokes though.
Ink jolted in surprise as he snapped out of his thoughts, recognizing a familiar voice.
“Where are you two love birds wandering off to this late?”
Standing right outside the metal gate, which Error and Ink were in front of, was Sans, slightly hidden within the shadows. A lit cigarette hung from his lips, bathing his features in a low, orange glow. There were light bags under his eye sockets, and he looked exhausted in the dim light of the moon.
“Sans? I thought you went home hours ago?”
The tired looking monster shrugged, dropping his smoke to the ground, putting it out with his heel. “Eh, just needed some time alone.” He waved his hand to them, his normal smile looking forced. “I should probably get home though, you two have fun.” Error held Ink tighter, his body tensing. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.” Sans winked, then disappeared in the blink of an eye. Ink still couldn’t get used to that; he’d seen him do it a few times now, and his guess was that it was a part of Sans’s magic, but that didn’t mean he understood it.
Ink drifted in and out of thought the rest of the way to their home, insecurities starting to set in. He hadn’t let himself actually look at his soul since Gaster had meddled with it, and now Ink was regretting that. What if it was misshapen? Cracked and shattered?
Error gently laid him down on their still made bed, pulling Ink from his thoughts once again. He mentally cursed himself for being so absent minded, he hadn’t even noticed that they were home. His fiance bought a hand up to cup his cheek, Ink instinctually leaning into the touch. “Are you sure you’re ready for this, Inky?” Error’s voice was low and gentle, a tone he knew the black skeleton only used when talking to Ink.
Was he ready? Of course he was, but just like the first time they were intimate, he was nervous Error wouldn’t like what he saw. But just like then, he knew what he wanted and he really didn’t want to wait any longer. “I’m ready, sweetie.” He kissed his boyfriend to prove his point, feeling Error pull him onto his lap. “So… how do we do this?”
The ebony monster shrugged. “Not sure. I guess we just start by pulling them out?” Ink nodded, grabbing onto the larger skeleton’s shirt.
“Can we take this off first?”
“Sure baby.” He kissed Ink’s temple, slipping off his shirt - he’d taken off the vest and scarf he’d started wearing daily earlier - as the smaller monster did the same. Ink ran his fingers along the yellow and red bones that made up Error’s rib cage, a subtle shiver running through the other monster. “Here, give me your hand.” Ink did as he was told, watching as his fiance took his small hand and pressed it to the middle of his ribcage. A soft, blue glow formed under his hand, along with a strangely familiar warmth. Error slowly let go of his hand, signalling for Ink to move it; as he did so, Error’s soul drifted over it, floating just over his palm.
The inverted heart was a deep blue, hairline cracks spread out over the surface, some were clearly old, having nearly disappeared completely, and others appeared to still be new, deeper than the others. It casted a blue light over the two skeleton’s skulls, and Ink couldn’t bring himself to look away.
“It’s perfect..” He said, barely above a whisper, his other hand coming up to gently brush his thumb over the edge of the blue heart, feeling it beat against his bone. A soft noise left Error, close to a whine, making Ink giggle as he smiled up at him, noting the blush on his partner’s cheeks.
Carefully, Error placed his hand over Ink’s ribcage, and let his soul show itself. He could feel the heat of it before Error even moved his hand, but when he did the smaller monster wanted to shrink away from what he saw.
Before, his soul had been a plain, boring white, with flecks of colour as a side effect to his magic. Now, it was a deep, black void, colours swirling within it like whirlpools. A constant storm. Not to mention the cracks, like rocky cliffs looking over the raging waters.
Ink wanted to cry, biting down on his lip hard as Error held both his hands under his soul, eyes glued to the heart. He wanted to apologize for it, because Error’s was such a pretty blue, his was perfect.
“It’s so beautiful…”
Before Ink could express his surprise, or even question how Error could say that, the black skeleton brought Ink’s soul up to his lips, pressing a kiss to its surface. A shiver coursed over Ink’s spine, a moan leaving his lips as his cheeks coloured. It felt right, not in the same way sex did, this was like when they kissed for the first time: warm, gentle, and perfect in everyway. Error kept eye contact as he directed Ink’s hands closer, their two souls almost touching, once Ink nodded the large skeleton let the hearts connect.
Ink gasped, his skull falling onto Error’s chest as he was suddenly hit with a wave of intense emotion, his partner’s memories crashing over him all at once. He felt Error clutch him tightly, pressing him closer as if Ink would disappear: when two monsters bonded, they each experienced the other’s memories, along with their emotions from that time. Ink could feel tears well up in his eyes as his beloved’s past flashed before him: the first time they met, the first time his father hit him, realizing he wasn’t straight and his fear of that. One certain memory stood out to Ink though - he’d read about this, too. Sometimes a person will have a certain memory that is extremely close to them, so when that person bonds, that memory will be one of the ones their partner will see the most of.
Error was standing outside of Ink’s home: it was only a week since the small monster had found him on their hill and bandaged his arms, a week since Error had seriously considered ending it all.
A week since he’d moved in with Ink and his mother, Winter, and away from his abusive father and emotionally absent mother.
He took a deep breath of the cool night air, watching cars drive through the quiet neighborhood. It was well past midnight, close to one in the morning, but he couldn’t sleep. Which wasn’t uncommon, but he felt weird scrolling through his phone when Ink was asleep. He didn’t want to wake him up.
Ink… it was getting harder and harder for him to push down his feelings for the boy. It was honestly a bit funny. They’d been friends for as long as he could remember, and here he was, realizing he had a huge fucking crush on him. His protectiveness, his comfort around him, everything made sense, the only problem was that Error was scared of admitting it to himself.
“Error…?” The black monster jumped slightly, turning to find a very groggy looking Ink at the door, rubbing his eye. “...What are you doing?”
“Couldn’t sleep… sorry.” He blushed slightly as Ink stood next to him, leaning on his shoulder.
“Don’t be… did you have a nightmare?” He yawns, and Error wanted to gush about how his nasal ridge scrunched ever so slightly when he did so, and how absolutely adorable it was.
Jesus, he was really smitten, wasn’t he?
“Nah, it’s really not a big deal.”
“... Error?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you happy here?”
The sudden change in Ink’s tone surprised Error more than the question itself. He rarely heard him so serious, usually his voice was high pitched and happy: the last time he heard this tone was when they were on the hill together.
“I…” He bit his tongue. How was he supposed to answer this? He didn’t want to lie, especially when Ink sounded like that. Then again, where did this question come from? “I think so. It’s… complicated, you know?” He felt Ink’s hand find his own, holding it tightly. “When I’m with you, when I’m here, I feel… I feel happy, and safe. Other times I… it's hard to explain.” He fought the urge to scratch his arms, anxiety building in his chest. He still wasn’t used to being open about any of this.
Ink was quiet for a long time, watching the road with Error before he finally spoke up again. “I’m happy with you too, you know… but I want to help you feel happy and safe no matter where you go..”
“I know…”And he really did. He still didn’t understand why Ink cared so much, but he was grateful for it nonetheless.
“Come on glitchy..” He pulled gently on Error's hand. “Let's go back to bed, ok?”
Ink let out a soft sob as the flashbacks finally ended, his body trembling from the amount of emotions he just went through. The sheer thought that Error really went through all that was enough to make him never want to let go again. The black skeleton’s broad shoulders shuddered, and Ink realized that he wasn’t the only one crying. He brought his hand up to rub slow circles along his new soulmate’s spine.
Error sniffled, his hand against the back of Ink’s skull. The two sat there in the quiet, both processing what they saw and felt, and the new feeling in their soul. Ink didn’t notice it at first, it was easy to miss if he wasn't paying attention, but it was clear as day. After soulbonding, a monster is able to feel what their partner is feeling, caused by the small piece of their partner’s soul now permanently attached to theirs. Error felt joy and pride, a strong sense of safety (much like how Ink was feeling as well) but there was a small spark of confusion. A hint of fear.
Ink didn’t understand that part as much.
As the monsters’ souls retreated back into their chests, once again hidden from view, the larger skeleton whispered: “I love you so fucking much Ink…”
“I love you so much too Error..” He giggled softly, nuzzling his boyfriend's cheek, slowly moving his hips in a slow circle, “Maybe… we could have a little fun before we go back?”
The ebony skeleton chuckled, the sound making Ink shiver. “Yeah?” With ease, Error pressed the smaller monster onto the bed, holding his wrists above his head. “I like the sound of that.~”
*****
Killer did not like Nightmare.
He was absolutely sure of that, and it’s what he’d tell anyone if they asked. He’d also call them a fucking idiot.
Sure, he always found himself with the prince, but that was only because Nightmare had taken a liking to him, for some reason; probably because it was Killer who’d actually gotten him out of his room/cell, and wouldn’t leave even if the small skeleton said something (which he hadn’t). And yes, maybe he liked that the prince seemed to look up to him and that they were always together, since that meant Killer could make sure no one was being a dick to the boy.
But that didn’t mean that Killer liked Nightmare.
Had he woken up the day after Nightmare first arrived spooning him? Yes. Did that cause him to suddenly have a panic attack and throw up a shit ton of magic because that was the most physical contact he’d had in years and, above all, terrified him because he didn’t even want to let go at first? Yes again.
But he didn’t like Nightmare.
Looking back on that day, he was sure as hell lucky that he woke up before the prince; he didn’t want him thinking Killer had some highschool crush - they’d barely known each other for two weeks, and the smaller monster had sworn off relationships so that was a big nope - and he definitely didn’t want to see him so panicked. Plus there was the whole puking black magic.
“Killer-” He let out an exasperated sigh, even though a small part of him was happy Nightmare was back from talking to Ink. He wondered what they even spoke about, especially now, since Ink and Error seemed literally inseparable lately. Killer had thought they were clingy before, but Error had literally been carrying his fiance most of the past week. “You said you’d teach me magic… so, when are we going to do that?”
A pang of something that hurt - Killer wouldn’t admit that it was disappointment - hit his soul. That very well could be the other reason the prince was following him around. The thought had popped into the small monster's head a few times already, but he always dismissed it.
Maybe that’s why he’d been proscrateding for the past two weeks.
“Yeah, I did.” Play it off, he told himself. Act like it wasn’t a big deal, like he didn’t want to keep being around Nightmare. Act like you aren’t scared of him leaving you after you give him what he wants. “Figured you should settle in first.”
“O-oh, well…” He shifted on his feet, his cheeks dusted with magic. Why does that keep happening? “I think I’m ready.”
Killer shrugged, jumping down from his perch on the old brick wall. “‘Kay. Follow me.” He supposed it wasn’t realistic of him to try to avoid this forever. Plus, he was being ridiculous. He should know not to get attached so quickly. Not that he was attached. He didn’t care.
… Maybe he cared a little bit...
“Where are we going?”
“There’s too many people here. Don’t worry, I’m not going to kill you or something.” He flipped off Cross when he noticed him within a crowd of people, the fellow skeleton glaring and rolling his eyes. He was so easy to piss off, it was almost funny.
“I would never think that. I trust you.” The Prince placed a warm hand over Killer’s shoulder, making the monster blush ever so slightly. He pushed the hand away, blaming his rosey cheeks on not being used to contact.
“That’s stupid. You shouldn’t trust people so easily.” He pushed the gate open, waiting for Nightmare to go through. After finding Error, he was by his tent with Ink, predictable, he gave the black skeleton a short wave to signal that they were going out.
“But you’ve given me no reason not to trust you, if anything, you’ve been very nice to me.” He most certainly had not. He refused to admit that he was giving the new recruit some kind of “nice treatment.”
He just let him stay in his room.
And tag along with him wherever he went.
Oh, and he was giving him magic lessons.
…Ok, maybe he was a bit nicer to Nightmare than the other monsters in the camp.
“Yeah, well.” He huffed, ducking into an alleyway. “That doesn't mean you should just… trust everyone who’s nice to you. Do you not realize how many of those shitheads are going to try and use you because you’re a prince?”
“Was a prince.” Nightmare corrected.
“What?”
“I haven’t really been in the role of ‘prince’ in years so… it feels wrong to claim the title.”
“You are one though, you can’t change that.” Killer shot a quick look over his shoulder, catching Nightmare rubbing his wrist as he followed.
“I know that but… I don’t feel like royalty anymore. I’ve been trying to get people to stop calling me ‘Prince Nightmare’ all the time.”
Killer scoffed, briefly grabbing the other monster’s hand to make sure he went the right way - he knew that he was taking a real roundabout way to get out of town, but it was a hard habit to break. “Yeah, it must be really hard, huh?”
That shut up Nightmare for a few minutes, his voice soft and obviously nervous when he spoke again, making Killer regret his words. That never happened before. “I’m sorry, I must seem so pretentious… do you… live in this area?”
“Yeah.”
“It doesn’t seem all that nice-- no offense!”
“None taken. No one wants to live in this shit hole, we just don’t have anywhere else to go.” With practiced ease, Killer lifted up the corner of an old chain link fence, grunting. “Under here.”
Nightmare gave him a confused look, but did as he was told, practically laying on his stomach to fit through. “Is this legal?” He questioned, watching Killer slide under after him.
“Dunno. Don’t care.” He dusted himself off, adjusting his mask to make sure it was still on properly. “Most things I do aren’t. For example, getting your ass out of the castle.”
Nightmare made a soft noise - something between a sigh and a squeak. “I guess that’s true, but what if we get caught?”
“We won’t, I’ve been out here more times than I can count.”
The rest of the walk was spent in silence, a nice change, and gave Killer some time to get his thoughts under control - which didn’t work. By the time they reached the small lake he’d been looking for, the short skeleton still felt the urge to hold the other’s hand. “Here.”
“Here? This is where you wanted to go?”
“Yup.” He took a deep breath, watching the clear water. He used to come out here when he was younger, it calmed him in a strange way, made him feel safe. In the distance, the lights from the city filled the sky and, on the other side of the lake, a lighthouse could be seen, miles away from where they were now. “The best part is that no one else is here.” He dropped to the ground, pulling his mask down to his chin. He felt a bit a bit more relaxed now that they were out of the city.
“So…”
“Show me what you can do.”
“Oh, um, o-ok then..” Cupping his hands, Nightmare’s face shifted in concentration, his eyebrows drawn. A ball of magic formed between his hands, swirling in whisps and seeming to pool between his fingers. Like liquid fire, a stark contrast to Killer’s sharp, agitated magic. His magic slowly pulled together, the Prince’s nose scrunching as he focused, his tongue poking out between his teeth. A small, flickering bone floated above his fingers, Nightmare smiling proudly at Killer. The smaller monster couldn’t help but give a small smile back.
He hated to admit, but the other monster was cute as fuck.
The bone suddenly fell apart, Nightmare’s magic disappearing as he let out a disappointed whine. “Sorry, that’s all I can do…” His small hands fell to the side, his lips very close to a pout.
Killer wanted to scream.
He’d been able to live his life for literal years without feeling like this, so why was it happening now? Not only that, but he barely knew this monster. He desperately needed to get his thoughts and, most importantly, his feelings under control. Letting himself get close to Nightmare will just end with him getting hurt. That’s always how things like this end for him.
“Your magic has been trapped without a way for you to release it for years, makes sense that you won’t be able to use it to its full ability right away.” Nightmare swayed on his feet, rubbing one of his eye sockets. “Also makes sense that you’d get tired after only using a little. Sit down.”
“I’m sorry.” He sat down next to Killer, linking his hands in his lap. “This must feel like such a hassle.”
“Yeah.” Nightmare shrunk in on himself. “But I promised to do it, and I can’t fault you for shit you can’t control. Don’t worry so much, if I really didn’t want to teach you I would literally just leave.”
“Sorry…”
“You apologize too much.” Nightmare bit his lip, clearly stopping himself from saying “sorry” yet again. “Look, you just need to… stop caring so much about upsetting people. You do you, and if people don’t like that, then fuck them.”
“I… I can try?” His cheeks were that green, that strange green that still confused Killer.
“So repeat it.”
The boy's eyes widened. “I’m not going to swear!”
Killer snorted, a smirk teasing his lips. “It’s just a word, if you’re that worried, I promise I won’t tell anyone.” He winked, the green spreading farther up Nightmare’s cheeks.
Wait.
Holy shit, why would he do that?! That was flirting, he just flirted with the monster he wasn’t supposed to have feelings for!
Not that he had feelings for Nightmare!!
It was just easy to tease him, Killer told himself. It didn’t mean anything.
Nightmare sighed. “I’ll do me, and if people don’t like that…um, f-fuck them.” He burst into giggles, covering his face. “I’ve never said anything like that before!”
A surprised laugh left the smaller monster, watching the Prince mumble to himself. “That excited over saying fuck? Wait until you hear some of the others I know.”
“Isn’t that the worse one?”
“Eh, depends on who you ask. Obviously there’s words that you just shouldn't say, you know, slurs.” What the hell had his life become? He’s explaining curse words to the lost prince, whom he found adorable. Not because he liked him, just because it was a fact. Anyone would think he's charming. “You can get really creative though. Motherfucker is a little bland, but it’s a classic, same with shithead. I like fuckface, personally.”
“How do you know all this? I’ve never read about those before.”
“Oh, most of them are things I’ve been called.” He shrugged. “You hear a lot of different shit when you live on the streets.”
Nightmare shivered. The sun was starting to set, and the temperature was slowly dropping with it. “I… imagine. It must have been hard…”
“Are you cold?”
“Hm? Oh, kind of. I’m ok though” Killer ignored the last part, already pulling off his cape/shawl and tossing it to the skeleton.
“It’s not much but it might keep you a bit warmer.” He noticed the Prince’s eyes catching on his torso, a light blush blooming on the smaller monster’s cheeks, not used to people being able to see his full body.
“Thank you Killer…” Nightmare wrapped the fabric around his shoulders, smiling softly.
Killer’s soul pounded in his ribcage. “Yeah, whatever, don’t mention it.” He laid down, his arms above his head, as he watched stars begin to reveal themselves.
“What’s it like? Living here?”
Why did he have to ask so many questions? At least the others never tried to be so nosey. “Eh. Depends on who you ask.” He was watching Killer with curious eyes now. Before he could explain what he meant, a violent cough wracked through him. He sat up quickly, his hand flying up to cover his mouth as a familiar burning sensation rolled through his throat. He felt the black magic splatter his hand, the coughs only seemed to be getting worse, the goo was beginning to drip between his fingers.
Fuck.
“Killer?! W-what’s going on, are you ok?!” The Prince reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder, but Killer swatted it away as his body lurched to the side. It felt like his throat was being stabbed as he threw up.
The smaller skeleton’s breathing was shallow as he sat back up, wiping his mouth, then cleaning his hand on his shirt, though the bones were stained a slight gray. “Fucking great…”
“... What happened??” Nightmare looked scared, his eyes wide, his body shaking (but that could be because he was still cold) and Killer was sure that if he wasn’t already white as a sheet, his face would be pale.
Still, he ignored the question. Just because he was being a bit nicer to Nightmare didn’t mean he was about to tell him all his secrets and be 100% honest. It was far easier to lie, or to just say nothing at all. Killer opted for the latter this time.
He stood up, brushing off the bits of grass that stuck to him. “Get up, we’re going back.”
“We are? But… shouldn’t we practise more?”
“No, it’s getting dark. We’ll come out earlier tomorrow and actually get some work done.” He pulled his mask back up to cover the lower half of his face, holding his hand out for his shawl; which Nightmare handed over with, what seemed like, reluctance.
The walk back to the orphanage was spent in silence, a strange tension hanging in the air between the two monsters. A part of Killer wanted to apologize and tell the Prince that he wasn’t mad at him, just to see his cute smile; but the other half of him screamed at him not to care. That’s what he was best at, wasn’t it? Being alone, not caring, pushing people away.
He listened to that half.
Afterall, even if he refused to admit it, Killer was dangerously close to liking Nightmare.
*****
“Where were you guys?” Cross asked Killer as he pushed open the iron gate, Nightmare not far behind him. They had been missing for about two or three hours, and even though Error said he knew they had left, Cross still found it a bit suspicious. Especially since he still wasn’t sure if he could trust either of them
“None of your business dickhead.”
Oh great, the little gremlin was in a pissy mood. Cross rolled his eyes, the man was insufferable, but he was even worse if he was already upset.
He watched as the two of them retreated into the building, turning his attention back to the magic blade in his hand. His magic was harder to control, betraying him by spirling from the form he’d made; it was a window into his mental state.
He wasn’t normally a jealous person, but seeing Ink and Error together had made him more than a little restless. He missed Dream.
He’d started falling asleep while holding a pillow just to stop having nightmares, or he just opted not to sleep. Truth be told, half a year ago he never knew how hard it was to sleep without Dream next to him.
Dream… his mind always found its way back to the Prince. He hadn’t seen him since that interview a month ago, but that was enough to haunt him. His eyes had just looked so emotionless… what had that son of a bitch been doing to him?
The blade burst into sparks of magic, his mind too distracted to keep it up anymore.
He was exhausted, but he was really trying to avoid having to sleep. Everytime he closed his eyes, he saw Dream, alone on the floor, bruised and bloody, with Gaster standing above him with a sick grin. Every time Cross would break out in a sprint to protect him, impale the King's ribcage with his magic, only to collide with an invisible wall. Dream would scream for him, tears streaming down his cheeks, a shaky hand extended to him. Gaster would laugh, the sound seeping into Cross’s bones, and stomp his heel down the Prince’s crumbling soul.
Everytime, Cross awoke in a cold sweat, his breathing rapid and unshed tears stinging his eyes.
“You ok?”
Chara, Sans’s 16 year old sister, stood beside him, head tilted upwards to look at his face. Personally, the older skeleton was still a bit miffed that Error had let her join. Other than being slightly annoyed with her presence, Cross didn’t really have an opinion on her.
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t really seem fine.” Her hands found their way to her sweater pockets, taking a step back when Cross glared at her. “... I’m not here to interrogate you on how you feel. I feel you don’t like me very much.”
Cross shrugged, turning his gaze away from her. “What do you want?”
“Sans told me why you’re here-”
“Oh, are you one of those fangirls too? For fucks sake, I don’t want to explain everything about mine and Dream’s relationship, we deserve privacy too.”
“I don’t care about that.” She snapped, catching the ex-guard by surprise. “I wanted to ask if you worked with a guard named Papyrus.”
“Pap? Yeah, but I wasn’t very close to him. He’s still pretty new.” Why was she asking about him? “Why?”
“... He’s my brother. Our brother.” Now that he thought of it, Cross could recall Papyrus mentioning his siblings before, never by name tho. “Sans saw him, before, uh, what’s his name? Ink? Came back, and he’s been acting weird ever since…”
“He seems fine to me.” His eye lights sought out the skeleton in question, finding him talking, rather animatedly, to Error and Ink, his constant smile still in place.
“I’m his family, I obviously know him better than you.” Chara rolled his eyes, watching her brother with him. She reminded Cross of Killer.
He didn’t like it.
“I just want to know if Papyrus seemed off the last time you saw him. He was always bubbly and happy when he still lived at home.” The human girl added.
“Nope, he acted the same as always. But it’s been over six months since I saw him.”
She stayed silent after that, sighing heavily. “Yeah, ok… thanks anyways.” She gave him a brisk wave before walking away, once again leaving Cross with his thoughts.
Back to figuring out if he should risk a nightmare by sleeping or continue to avoid his bed like the plague.
*****
Sans knew a thing or two when it came to souls.
He knew that the normal temperature for one is 36-37°C, much like a human’s body temperature, and that this wasn’t something taught in primary schools because it’s only needed in severe cases. Meaning, if a monster’s soul temp is drastically different from the average, more likely than not that person is suffering from a serious soul problem. Depending on the actual difference in temperatures, that monster’s very life could be at risk.
He knew that cracks in a person’s soul are completely natural and heal overtime, but the soul itself is a very fragile thing, it takes very little to shatter one, especially if the owner is not in a good mental state.
He also knew exactly how monsters tend to act around each other if they're new soulmates. And Error and Ink were showing all the signs.
He’d been trying to bring it up for about two weeks now - honestly he just wanted to tease them, as the jokester friend he felt it was his duty to do so - but they always seemed to be around someone, and Sans didn’t want to be a dick and say something like that in front of strangers. He’d debated not saying anything at all, but if they really did bond there was a good chance Ink was pregnant (He had no idea if Ink was the one who actually had less magic out of the two of them, but that was his hunch), and he wanted them to know they could come to him for help while this whole revolution thing is happening.
For once, the couple was actually alone, sitting at the plastic table in front of their tent, Ink on Error’s lap. Now was his chance.
“Sooooo,” He rested his elbows on the table, leaning over. The black skeleton’s eye’s flickered to him behind his red framed glasses, Sans had only seen him wear them when reading, they suited him well though. “You two soul bonded?”
Both of their eyes widened, though Error looked far closer to yelling at him while his fiance just looked surprised. “How did you know?” Ink’s voice was hushed, but the undertone of panic was clear.
“I studied soulology and stuff like that for two years, I was really close to graduating almost a year early when I dropped out.” He explained, a little embarrassed to admit he left school now, even if it was for a good cause. “There are certain things all monster’s do after bonding: they become super clingy and cuddly with each other, they end up bringing each other up in conversations more often, and they can often be caught staring at the other’s chest. All things you two have been doing for, what? The past two weeks now I think?” Ink’s face was bright with his blush, while Error seemed to be studying him, his own cheeks a light blue. “I won’t tell anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“You almost became a doctor?” The black skeleton asked, taking off his glasses.
“Huh? Oh, yeah. Had to drop out for family reasons though.”
The couple shared a look, Ink standing up after giving the taller skeleton a nod. “Can you come with us? In here.” Error lifted the flap to the door, gesturing for Sans to follow them in. Once inside, Ink
took a seat on the mattress, playing with the hem of the shirt he was wearing.
“Are you two having soul problems or something?” Sans rocked on his heels, watching the two other skeletons’ faces for a reaction. Ink watched Error with worry, seeming close to throwing up. The taller monster sat next to him, whispering something and rubbing his back slowly.
Cautiously, the two of them explained to Sans what had been going on with Ink’s soul: starting with how it was when he was younger to now. By the end, Sans was seated on the ground in front of them, brows furrowed.
“I remember learning a bit about your case, we never were told names though - patient privacy and all that - but we were all told to expect the unexpected, since everyone’s soul is different and they’re such hard things to understand.” Casting a look between the two lovers, he softly asked a question. “Can I take a look? No touching, I just want to see what’s going on, it might help me figure this all out.”
Ink took a deep breath before nodding his skull. “I’ve had other doctors look, and I trust you so…”
“Error?”
The skeleton in question raised an eyebrow. “Why ask me? You’re not looking at mine.”
“You two are bonded, I will be seeing a part of your soul through Ink.”
The smaller of the two held Error’s hand, who shrugged. “If you think you can help him, do whatever you need to.”
With that, Ink pulled his soul forward. It was like nothing Sans had seen before, the magic swirling in patterns and paths, sometimes spiralling away from the heart and vanishing into the air. In the center, the tendrils curled and uncurled around a small blue orb, the part of Error’s soul that was implanted in the small heart. After studying it for about 15 minutes, it could have been half an hour though, Sans gestured for Ink to return his soul to his chest.
“Well?”
“So, the thing about souls is that there’s a very, very thin spider web like seal around your magic - this is what lets souls keep that heart shape we’re all familiar with.” Sans started. “My guess is that because your body hasn’t been able to make the correct energy needed to create emotions like the rest of us, now that it can it’s just confused. It’s still trying to make the magic without the emotions to fill your soul, but your soul is fighting back with the magic that can create emotions. It's creating too much magic to fit in that seal, so whichever side is winning the fight is the one you experience. ”
“Can… can we do anything to fix it?” The smaller skeleton looked so scared, clutching his partner’s hand in a death grip.
“Theoretically, yes. We just need to find a way to even out your magic levels.” He stood up to stretch his legs. “... I can try to figure out a formula.”
“Really?? Oh, thank you so much Sans, you don’t realize how much that means to us…” Ink’s eyes filled with tears, but his smile was bright and full of relief. Sans gave a small smile back.
“Don’t mention it, I consider you guys my friends, so if I can do something that might help, I want to try. Congrats, by the way.”
“For becoming soulmates?” Error asked.
“That too, but I was more referring to the twins.” The two monsters stared back at him in confusion, a chuckle leaving Sans lips. “It’s still really early so I don’t blame you for not noticing, but the next time you take a look there should be two small dots, a pink and a teal one. Those are the beginnings of two souls.” Sans slipped out of the tent, laughing when he heard a squeal from Ink.
They were a cute couple, and Sans had no doubt that they’d be good parents.
*****
“We’re having twins!” Ink giggled, hugging Error and pressing his face to his chest. The black skeleton chuckled despite the worries clawing at his throat. “That means we were perfectly in sync!”
Error nodded, kissing the top of the excited monster’s head. “Yup, we’ll have two little babies.”
“... You’re worried, what’s wrong?” Error mentally cursed - now that Ink could actually feel what he’s feeling (to some degree), he couldn’t pretend not to be upset (not that he did that anymore, at least he tried not to).
“I… look, Ink, of course I want these kids, we’ve talked about this before and you know I’m all for having a family.”
“But..?”
“... But now… is a dangerous time for this.” Ink sighed, placing a hand over his chest.
“I know that… but we can be safe, right?”
“We have to be. I want our kids to have a safe future hun. … You should stay here during the protests.”
“What? No!” The smaller monster sat up, eyebrows drawn. “I want to help.”
“Ink-”
“At least until the babies start forming I can help! I’ll just stick near you. If I start feeling too weak to go out, then I’ll stay back. And when the bodies start forming, but that won’t be for, what, 4 months?” The two of them rarely argued, but they both knew they hated when it happened. Error blamed his willingness to give in on that fact.
“...Fine. You need to be extra careful now.” He stroked his fiance’s cheek, who leaned into the touch.
“I will Erry, I don’t want to mess this up any more than you do.” They sat like that for a moment before Ink’s bright smile returned, albeit a little shyer now. “I, um, I already thought of names…”
“Oh yeah? What are they?”
“Paperjam, PJ for short, and Gradient.”
Notes:
this week, I give y'all some sweet sweet fluff. Next time? You shall not be so lucky >:)
Chapter 9: ~Chapter 9~
Notes:
For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on Instagram or Tumblr
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Do you think it’s a good idea to bring the Prince?” Sans’s eyelights snapped up to the ex-guard leaning on the wall next to him, his sheathed sword strapped to his side, and followed Cross’s gaze to Nightmare. The monster was sitting cross legged on a stack of boxes - he looked way too close to toppling over - talking enthusiastically to Killer, a big smile on the Prince’s skull, his cheeks flushed. It was harder to read Killer’s expression, since he was wearing that mask of his - it unnerved Sans to no end, he liked being able to read other’s faces, but the small monster had an impressive poker face, plus that mask didn’t help in the slightest - but from what Sans could tell, Killer’s cheeks were dusted with a dull red.
“He said he wanted to come, plus he’s supposed to be with Killer the whole time. Just like how Ink’s supposed to be with Error and Chara with me - speaking of, have you seen her?” It had been a little over a week since Sans first checked up on Ink, and while he hadn’t made any progress on figuring out how to “fix” the small monster, they had given him all the info they could about Ink’s past medicine. Plus he’d noticed how protective Error was of Ink in recent days, even more so than before, and it was honestly adorable.
Cross ignored his question, eyes still glued to the two monsters. “And you trust them?”
Sans clucked his tongue, shrugging. “The Prince seems real sweet, and Killer is kinda rude but he’s still a good guy at heart, plus he’s shown that he’s trustworthy.” Cross hummed, finally looking away from them. “I don’t think either of them are bad Cross. You really need to get that soldier mindset under control and start trusting us all a bit more.” The taller skeleton nodded solemnly, Sans’s big brother instincts instantly kicking into gear at the sign Cross was upset. “Tibia honest, I think you could make some friends if you just brought your walls down a bit.”
Cross only snorted at the pun, shrugging his shoulders. “Yeah, maybe. We should get ready for the protest.” The larger monster pushed off the wall, giving Sans a meager wave. “If I run into Chara I’ll tell her to head your way.”
Sans watched Cross slip into the crowd of monsters, quickly losing sight of him.
He wouldn’t lie and say he wasn’t worried about the younger skeleton. His mood seemed to become darker and darker as the months passed. He wouldn’t blame Cross for being upset, the poor guy must be beyond worried about Dream.
But maybe he’d listen to Sans’s advice and start opening up.
Probably not though.
*****
Killer glared at another monster as they bumped into him, the horned monster taking a step back from the heat of his gaze. He and Nightmare had been put into Zin’s group - a part of Killer was grateful that he wasn’t put in charge of controlling a group like this, but he was also a bit pissed that he had to be stuck in the crowd; way too many people way too close to him. Next to him, Nightmare squeezed his hand, his discomfort clear on his features. Guess he didn’t like crowds either.
And he wasn’t letting him hold his hand because he liked him (yes, he was absolutely going to keep denying that), he only let him do it because the Prince almost started crying when they all grouped up like this, and holding Killer’s hand had helped him calm down a bit.
“Do you… do you really think I’m ready for this?” Nightmare’s voice was hushed, and he leaned down a bit so, hopefully, no one around them could listen in.
“Relax, it’ll be fine. I doubt you’ll even have to use your magic.” A hush fell over the crowd, Zin waving his arm from his place at the front of their group. “Look, see that? It means we’re going to head out next.”
As the crowd of monsters started the (agonizingly) slow walk, Killer felt Nightmare move closer to his side. Fighting back the urge to sigh, he gave the other’s hand a quick squeeze, his mind slipping into the ocean of thoughts swirling around his skull.
He wouldn’t lie and say he hadn’t been trying to avoid Nightmare since their little “scene” in the field last week, and he wouldn’t deny that he was being more distant than what was necessary. He’d made sure not to let the conversation shift to anything personal during their lessons (Nightmare was making steady improvement, but Killer would still be worried if he was put in a one on one fight), and would silently slip away when they made it back to camp. His height made it easy for him to disappear in the usual crowd of monsters gathered in the courtyard, weaving between bodies and fur, laughing and yelling. It was like old times, going unnoticed through the streets of Blightview, quick hands venturing away only to grab watches and necklaces that hung haphazardly from pockets and bags, sometimes they’d grab bits of food from carts when the owner was looking the other way.
Sometimes he’d go back out to those streets, but he’d stay in the alleys, like a silent observer to the lives the regular people were leading. Sometimes he’d just go home and find himself crying for reasons he hated himself for. Reasons he refused to let himself truly admit.
Sometimes, he’d just find his way to the top of the orphanage and he’d just sit there, the murmur of voices from below a constant hum in his ears as he let himself mindlessly wander between thoughts.
Then, usually late at night, he’d sneak back into the room he was sharing with Nightmare, most of the time the Prince would still be wide awake, sitting on the bed under the sheets, hugging his legs. He’d always look so relieved to see Killer was back; he’d start talking about what he’d done for the past few hours. Everytime Killer would ignore him and crawl under the sheets, his back turned to the other skeleton (he’d still wake up spooning Nightmare, but he couldn’t really control that).
And yet, no matter how often this played out during the week, Nightmare continued to greet Killer with smiles and easy chatter.
It confused Killer to no end.
But it also made him feel incredibly guilty for treating the other monster like shit.
Maybe that’s why he was letting Nightmare clutch his hand now, a small step towards fully apologizing, a step towards doing better. Though he knew damn well he wasn’t going to explain what happened with him on that field by the lake.
The fact that he was even considering trying to be nicer was already too new for him and made his metaphorical skin crawl. He’d been rude and cold and, honestly, an asshole, for most of his life. What was so special about Nightmare that made him feel this way?
It couldn’t be because Killer liked him, right?
A sudden, hot pain pierced his right shoulder, violently jerking Killer out of his thoughts and back to present time. “Ow, what the fuck?!” He hissed, prying his hand away from Nightmare to press it to the fresh wound; he knew everyone around them was staring, but Killer actively chose to ignore it, knowing he’d snap and cuss them all out if he paid too much attention. With a firm yank, he pulled the magic knife out of his shoulder, the weapon crumbling once it was no longer lodged between his clavicle and upper humerus, and turned his anger to whoever the fuck thought aiming for him would be a good idea.
The first thing he recognized was that they were already in front of the large, brick walls that surrounded the castle, the same walls he had to help Ink and Nightmare crawl under.
That felt like a year ago now, even though it had only been a little over a month.
The second thing he noticed were all the guards lining the wall, each one with a sword identical to Cross’s, the air buzzing around them with their magic - the sense of it was overwhelming.
No one dared to speak, but the tension hung over them like a weighted blanket, both sides standing by, a silent dare for someone to make the first move.
Killer wasn’t one to back down from a dare.
He had no idea which one of the dressed up assholes had hit him, so his eyes picked the easiest target - a tall, owl monster - his body reacted almost naturally: magic flowed to his hand, a familiar, solid knife forming under his fingers. His arm raised, and he brought it forward swiftly, the red blade soaring through the air, striking the monster in the center of their chest. Right where the soul would be.
Bullseye.
The owl screamed, buckling over as they clutched their chest, ripping Killer’s magic away, blood and dust staining the ground below them.
That’s when the real fight started.
For Killer, the dodging and striking and blood came almost like second nature - it thrilled him even, made him feel strong and powerful. Nightmare, on the other hand, didn't enjoy it as much. He was certainly trying his best, Killer would give him that, but the Prince looked ready to throw up whenever his eyes caught on a pool of blood, a cut, or Killer’s shoulder. The smaller monster found himself repeatedly using his magic to create a shield around Nightmare, making quick work of whoever was attacking him. He didn’t kill them, but made them hurt enough that they’d know to back the fuck off (though there were a few guards whose dust coated his hands and clothes, and he didn’t care enough to say sorry).
“ENOUGH!”
Everyone, from the guards to Killer’s group, froze at the familiar voice, their heads turning to the source. If Killer hadn’t been in the middle of it, he surely would have laughed at just how absurd they all looked, like someone pressed a pause button on their actions and flipped a switch to swivel all their heads to one direction at the same time.
On a balcony, well above the ground and wall, stood Prince Dream, his hands gripping the railing and his face twisted with rage. But the look wasn’t for the rioters, or the guards. It was centered on Nightmare, who looked back with a mix of horror and grief.
“What, was almost killing father and I not enough for you, brother?” The older twin spat, the word “brother” leaving his lips like it was venom. “You just take whatever you want, don’t you?”
At this point eyes were split between looking at the two princes, there were looks of pity, anger, surprise, and fear among the onlookers. Killer felt his anger bubble inside him.
“No…” Nightmare’s voice was quiet at first, but he quickly adjusted to meet the same tone as his twin, though his voice wavered and cracked, a sign he was close to crying. “No! That’s not true! I never wanted to hurt you, Dream!”
“Liar.” Dream’s expression darkened, his lips turned down in a scowl. “Don’t even try to manipulate me into believing your innocent act. I know your tricks!”
“NO YOU DON’T!” The younger twin yelled back, tears falling in thick drops along his cheeks, his fists balled at his sides. Killer had never seen him angry before. “You don’t know shit about me anymore, Dream, all because that… that fucking liar you call our father brainwashed you!” Looks like Killer’s constant cursing finally rubbed off on the Prince.
Dream only glared daggers back. “Guards, call off your attacks. Get back to the barracks to clean yourselves up.” He said with more formality than he had a minute before, but the harsh tone returned when he looked back to his twin brother. “You absolutely disgust me, I do hope you know that.” He turned on his heel, disappearing back into the maze of the castle.
The guards left as instructed, orderly and without fuss, but they were clearly unhappy about it. Killer stuck his middle finger up as he noticed the owl monster he had injured giving him a dirty look. His attention was quickly pulled away from them when he heard a sob and thump beside him, his head turning to find Nightmare kneeled on the ground, his skull held between his shaking hands; the Prince’s whole body was convulsing as he wailed.
“Nightmare-” Killer reached his hand out, but the other monster swatted him away, his head snapping up. The entire right side of his face looked like it was melting, the pure white of his skull turning a deep green as it dripped down, covering his eye socket.
“G-get away from me!” He sounded pained, and Killer took a step backwards. The Prince suddenly let out a scream, his body curling in on itself.
“I, um, I have this condition where if I get too upset or angry or I feel too many negative emotions, my magic goes crazy, in a way. My soul starts making too much magic, and it… changes me. I get more aggressive and… powerful.” Nightmare’s words flashed through Killer’s mind, making him fight down the urge to take another step back. Was this what he had been talking about, his condition?
Four tentacles shot out from Nightmare’s back and a scream shook his entire body, they looked to be the same consistency as whatever had been on his face, and they curled and uncurled from his body, snapping towards any sudden movement.
And then Nightmare stopped moving, stopped crying, stopped yelling. Slowly, he stood, his one eye light still visible glowed brightly, almost piercing against the green magic/goop that covered his once clean and pristine bones. He turned to Killer, intense waves of magical energy rolling off of him.
“Nightmare-” A tentacle shot out, smashing into the ground next to him, flecks of dirt and concrete hitting Killer. “Nightmare, stop it, this isn’t you-”
“Oh but isn't it?! Didn’t you hear my brother?” He laughed, but it wasn’t Nightmare’s laugh. It was dark and menacing and anything but the shy, soft spoken Prince Killer knew. “I’m disgusting, a liar!”
“No, you’re Nightmare.” Killer took another step forward, and another, and another. A tentacle once again stuck the ground next to him, but he didn’t stop until he stood in front of the other monster. “... you’re my friend. And I don’t treat you right all the time, because I don’t fucking know what I’m doing, but I like that I can call you that.” Oh my god, what was he saying?! He wasn’t a soft guy, he never said dumb shit like this! Hopefully Nightmare wouldn’t remember any of this. A single tear fell from the Prince’s still visible eye socket. “But this isn’t who you really are, and I need the real you right now.”
“Killer…” The tentacles snaked back to their owner, disappearing from view, along with the goop that had covered his bones. “Killer… I’m sorry, I…”Nightmare slumped forward, hugging Killer as sobs racked his body, repeating “I'm sorry” over and over again. The smaller monster (lucky he was stronger than he looked, and could hold up the other skeleton with relative ease) stiffened, unsure what to do - when was the last time someone had properly hugged him like this?
“What-” Zin had wandered up to the two skeletons at some point, obviously confused.
“We need to go back to camp.” Killer bit his tongue to stop himself from snapping at the other monster - he just wanted to get Nightmare back to the bed in their room, the boy desperately needed to relax. “So why don’t you do whatever the fuck you need to do to tell Error that, yeah?”
Killer ended up carrying Nightmare the whole way back, the Prince eventually dozing off in his arms.
*****
By the time they were back at the orphanage, Killer’s shoulder was throbbing with pain - after all the adrenaline wore off, it only started to bother him more and more and, in retrospect, carrying Nightmare probably hadn’t helped. Carefully nudging him, the Prince’s eyelids fluttered open, confusion masking his features. He set him down, making sure the slightly taller monster wouldn’t topple over, then winced, bringing a hand up to his wound.
There was movement and chatter all around, monster gossiping - rather loudly - about the attack and the Prince’s “transformation”. Killer’s head pounded, and he groaned as he pushed his way past them, sitting in the grass closer to the orphanage. Nightmare followed, eyeing the blood that had seeped into his clothes. “Your shoulder…”
Killer didn’t answer, pulling his shawl off and over his head, grimacing. His shirt was definitely stained, blood soaking the fabric and a small bit of dust clung to the sticky, red liquid. It wasn’t life threatening, he noted, but it would make maneuvering a bitch over the next few weeks. Nightmare was kneeling in front of him, watching intently.
“Let me help.” The Prince reached out, but Killer pushed his hand away, grunting. “Stop that, let me see.”
“No.”
Nightmare huffed, standing up and walked away, going towards Error and Ink’s tent. A few minutes passed before he returned and dropped back to the ground, carrying bandages, cotton balls and rubbing alcohol.
“I already said I don’t need help.” Killer hissed, narrowing his eyes.
“I know, but it would seem your stubbornness is infectious, and I don’t like seeing you hurt.” His cheeks turned that familiar green hue as he poured some of the rubbing alcohol onto a cotton ball. “So could you please take off your shirt so I can help?”
Killer groaned, rolling his eyes, but reluctantly did as he was asked, being more cautious talking off his shirt than he had been with his shawl. He noticed Nightmare cringe at the bloody cut, but he still carefully began to dab at it.
He was too close, Killer decided, when he felt the prince’s breath ghost over his bones, and he had to suppress a shiver. No one had seen him shirtless like this - it wasn’t like he’d ever had a reason to be toppless in public before, and he definitely wasn’t hooking up with strangers on a regular basis (most people don’t get turned on by small, homeless men, not that Killer blamed them) - and he felt anxiety gnawing at his soul. He knew every nick and scar along his ribs, every rough edge and every chipped bone, but the idea that anyone could look this way and see them, the idea that the prince of all people was so close to brushing the tips of his phalanges against his ribs, made his body scream in protest.
Nightmare was wrapping a bandage around his shoulder now, eyes focused on his work. His hands moved like they knew exactly what to do, like this was something he’d practiced. “You’ve done this before?”
“Hm? Oh, no, I haven’t.” He secured the bandage, sitting back on his heels. “I’ve just seen Bethenny do it before. I was really just trying to mimic what she would do..” He softly giggled, looking down at the ground.
Killer pulled his shirt back on, feeling immediately more comfortable now that he was covered up again, safe from prying eyes and judgemental stares. “You were close to her, weren’t you?”
“Oh, yes, very close… she felt far more like a mother to me than a nanny, especially in more recent years…”
“...You must miss her.” Killer’s mind drifted to the first year he lost his mother, to the pain and hurt and anger. Unlike him, however, Bethenny didn’t abandon Nightmare. And Bethenny actually loved him, while Killer’s mom…
He pushed the thought away, annoyed with himself for even letting them resurface.
“I do, but… we’re doing good here, and once we win, I’ll be able to see her again!” Nightmare smiled brightly, his eyes seemed to sparkle.
Killer couldn’t help but smile back, the Prince’s optimism rubbing off on him.
“Killer.” The smile fell almost as suddenly as it had appeared, the small monster’s attention pulled away from Nightmare, and onto Error who was only a few feet away, coming closer, with Cross behind him. “What happened out there? Zin kept saying to go talk to you.” The annoyance was apparent in the black skeleton’s voice.
“We had an encounter with Dream.” The smaller monster said simply, wanting to laugh at how Cross perked up at the mention of the other Prince’s name - it was almost cartoonish. “He said some bullshit to Nightmare, then Nightmare had an attack.”
“What do you mean? Did you have a panic attack out there?” Error’s eyes shifted to Nightmare, now standing in front of the seated monsters.
“No, no… it’s more complicated than that.” The Prince explained his condition to the two monsters, Error nodding his skull.
“Killer was able to pull you out of it, right? At least we know that’ll work, but it does make you a loose cannon… no offense.”
“None taken, trust me, I understand the effects of this…”
“You saw Dream though, he must of reconized you at least a bit, right?”
Killer scoffed, glaring up at Cross. “Yeah, he did. And you know what else he did?” He seethed. “Called him a disgusting, manipulative liar.”
“... That’s not Dream, that’s Gaster speaking through him, he’s-”
“He’s on their side Cross! Get your head out of the clouds, I don’t give a fuck if he’s been ‘brainwashed’, he still said those things! And he believes all of them! He doesn’t remember you, and you know what? I doubt he ever will!” Killer wasn’t sure when he had stood up, his fists clenched as he yelled.
“Shut the fuck up, you don’t even know him!”
“Yeah, and you didn’t see how he acted today to his own twin! You can pretend all you want that when you - special, privileged you - see him and he sees you, that everything will be sparkles and fucking rainbows, and just like that -” he snapped his fingers. “- Dream will magically remember you and suddenly switch to our side.” Cross gaze was like a forest fire, unapologetically filled with uncontrollable rage, but Killer refused to look away. “But the rest of us are living in the real world waiting for you to wake the fuck up, Cross. ‘Your’ Dream is gone and he’s never coming back!”
Killer didn’t register the punch at first, but when he hit the ground (on his bad shoulder, to make things worse) and there was a tell tale sting on his cheek, it was like someone finally tipped the pot that had been filled with Killer’s anger. Before, only a few drops had fallen out, but this time it was a full wave.
The knife was formed in his hand before he could think about, pushing off the ground and aiming straight for Cross, but a larger hand grabbed onto the back of his shirt, throwing him back to the ground.
“Both of you are acting like fucking children!” Error stated, anger soaking his tone. Nightmare stood next to him, watching with scared eyes, his hands over his mouth. “Go take a walk, have a nap, I don’t care! Just do something to get your skulls out of your asses so you actually act like adults!”
Killer sneered, standing back up, rubbing his shoulder. “Go fuck yourself.” He added, directing at Cross, before grabbing his shawl and leaving, making quick work of the walk to the metal gate, the eyes of onlookers watching him leave.
*****
Killer was an asshole.
It was something Cross had known for a while now, but he had tried to fight with that fact with what Sans always told him about the other skeleton: “He’s still a good guy at heart.”
What bullshit that was.
He could take the constant jabs Killer directed at Cross himself, he could take the cursing and gestures and glares. What he couldn’t take was what he said about Dream. It wasn’t the Prince’s fault the King had fucked with his head, it wasn’t his fault he’s being fed lies and lines to say.
Cross angrily wiped a tear that had dared to escape, throwing another punch down to his innocent pillow.
Cross knew damn well that it wouldn’t be an instant fix when he meant Dream again, he knew damn well the Prince would need mountains upon mountains of help to get over whatever Gaster was putting him through in that castle. Which was something Cross wanted for him, something he was willing to fight for, he’d do anything within his power to see Dream acting like his old self again. To see him happy.
He’d even die for it, if he had to.
But that obviously wasn’t a concept Killer could understand, or would ever understand, for that matter. It was crystal clear that he didn’t care about anyone but himself and thought all “love is fake” bullshit. Sure, he was spending a lot of time with Nightmare, but Cross wasn’t fully convinced the reason behind that wasn’t self serving. For all he knew, Killer was just trying to fuck him.
The ex-guard let out a low growl, flopping down onto the old bed in his make-shift room, the old springs squeaking under his weight. Exhaustion from the fight and the stupid agrument, along with the tidal wave of rage and grief still crashing around his soul was setting in, the fight leaving his body leaving him with only one option.
He cried.
He’d been trying his hardest not to, to give a straight face. That’s what he was supposed to do, wasn’t it? Keep a brave face until Dream is safe, to keep fighting and to not succumb to the building sorrow. But it had been seven months since Cross had seen Dream - really seen him, before Gaster got his grimy hands on him. Seven months since he’d seen his Dream smile and it was hard to keep a brave face when your hopes were starting to crumble around you.
Cross pressed his face to a pillow, he’s tears staining the fabric; he just wanted his old life back, he wanted to feel that easy happiness again.
He wanted his boyfriend back.
Eventually, Cross drifted off into a restless sleep, his cheeks still damp, and for once he wasn’t greeted with a nightmare.
This time, he was met with a memory.
He and Dream were sitting in the garden under a wooden gazebo, flower pots hanging from the domed roof by cords, orange sunlight filtering in and bathing the two monsters in a golden glow. Dream was talking about his day, his bright smile in place and his eyes glittering in the light.
He looked like an angel.
He was perfect.
And Cross couldn’t look away, couldn’t stop smiling. Couldn’t stop the next three words that left his mouth: “I love you.”
The Prince’s eyes widened, his mouth forming a perfect circle, yellow covering his cheeks. “What did you just say…?”
“I- sorry, I wasn’t thinking…” Cross felt his own cheeks burning up, his gaze dropping to the wooden floor.
“That’s the first time you’ve said that you love me.”
“... Yeah.”
A hand pressed to his cheek, lifting Cross’s skull. Dream’s golden eyes stared back at him, a giggle living his lips. “I love you too, silly.”
In that moment, everything was perfect.
Cross only wished he could go back and remember what it felt to have Dream in his arms again, to feel him laugh against his chest.
*****
The sun hung lazily over the horizon, colouring the whole city with reds, oranges and yellows; street lights and signs flickering to life as children came home for dinner with their families and adults went to bars and clubs. Voices and the sounds of cars seemed to drift to every corner of the city, making everything so unbelievably loud.
Well, almost every corner.
The alleyways and slums remained lifeless; still the same dark and lonely place. It was the kind of place Killer needed right now.
He was a bit calmer now, but his anger still bubbled in his stomach, he was like a walking volcano, ready to erupt.
And those footsteps following him were not helping.
“For fuck’s sake Error, you’re the one who told me to leave, why are you follow… oh.” A few feet behind him, Nightmare froze, eyes widening. It made Killer think of a deer caught in headlights, or a kid whose parents had just caught them with their hand in the cookie jar. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I was worried, you seemed so upset… and I wanted to make sure you were going to be ok.” The Prince’s voice was quiet, almost a whisper. It softened his anger ever so slightly.
“Yeah, well, I’m fine. You can go back to the orphanage now.”
“Oh, well…” Nightmare kicked a small pebble, eyes dropping to the concrete. “I don’t know how to get back… I’m pretty lost.”
Killer only raised an eyebrow and sighed. “Fine then, you can stick around…” Despite how he obviously tried to hide it, a small smile spread over Nightmare’s skull. “... Look, I usually don’t let people come here with me but,” Killer scratched his cheek, shrugging to feign nonchalance, even though it felt like his soul was doing summersaults. “You want to see where I live?”
The Prince nodded enthusiastically. “I’d love to!”
Killer snorted, starting to walk again, this time with Nightmare beside him. “It’s not that interesting, you know.”
The Prince giggled, clasping his hands in front of him. “You said most people don’t get to see it, so I feel special.”
Killer hummed, not sure what to say. It wasn’t like he’d ever had anyone to bring back to his house - if you could even call it that. Even if he did have friends to bring, why would he? Most would laugh, and it was supposed to be his safe place, like a hideout only he knew about.
Why was he so willing to let Nightmare see that?
Why did he actively want the other monster to see it? He certainly did, he hated admitting it, but he wanted Nightmare to see the parts of his life that others didn’t, he wanted Nightmare to feel close and connected to him.
But why?
“What happened to not needin’ anybody else, hm?” Killer groaned - he’d almost forgotten about his “neighbor”.
“Oh, hello!” Nightmare, being the oblivious monster he was, waved happily to the old turtle. “Do you know Killer?”
The older monster laughed, an amused grin on his wrinkled face. “You could say that.”
Killer rolled his eyes. “Don’t talk to him, come on, up here.” Nightmare glanced up at the pipe the smaller skeleton had pointed to, eyebrows drawn.
“We need to climb that?”
“It’s not as hard as it looks, I’ll help you.”
“Oi, kid.” The short skeleton pressed a hand to Nightmare’s back, helping him get in the right position to climb, and he shot a quick glare to the turtle. “I don’t know how ya got such a nice boy to like you, but you better not hurt ‘im, you hear?”
Killer scoffed, watching with a sense of pride as the Prince carefully began crawling up the steel pipe. “Yeah, yeah, whatever you say old man.” The skeleton did take what he said to heart, though, which he’d never done before. Truthfully, he didn’t know why the Prince had taken such a liking to him either, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to fuck it up - or he’d try not to, he wasn’t the best at being “nice” and “friendly” which was clear to see considering Killer literally avoided Nightmare for a week. He wasn’t about to let anyone else hurt him either.
Not because he liked him.
Maybe because they were friends, but nothing more than that.
They couldn’t be anything more. Ever.
Once on the roof, Killer dropped onto his pile of blankets, sighing and bringing a hand up to rub his temple. He was absolutely exhausted. “This is where you live..?”
His hand dropped, taking his mask off with it, and he eyed Nightmare, who watched him from the other side of the roof. Killer couldn’t quite place what his features portrayed: pity, judgment, and confusion were his guesses.
“Told you it wasn’t anything special.” Was all he said, quick to cover the shame building in his chest. What had he been thinking, bringing the prince, of all people, here? Nightmare would be used to lush carpets and clean walls and floors, soft furniture that was never stained; of course he’d be grossed out by the sad shack Killer called a home.
However, instead of backing away and saying he wanted to go back, he sat down next to Killer, scanning the three walls he’d made when he was a child. “It’s not what I imagined. In it’s own way, it’s homey.” The Prince patted the blankets under him as if it were a good dog, then gave his friend a small smile.
Killer’s eyebrows shot up, and he couldn’t stop the bewildered laugh that bubbled out of his chest. “You can’t be serious, this is a shithole. Literally a hobo shack.”
Nightmare’s cheeks flushed, his smile falling. “But it’s your home.”
“Doesn’t mean it’s nice.” Killer shrugged, secretly glad the other monster hadn’t said anything rude. “... today was a long day, huh?”
“Yeah...” Nightmare sunk farther into the blankets, pulling his knees to his chest. His eyelights were wavering, as if he were about to cry. “Can I tell you something?”
“Sure.”
“...I’m really scared of having an attack like that again. I don’t want to hurt anyone.” He turned his skull to meet Killer’s eyes, tears threatening to fall from his eye sockets. The shorter skeleton felt the need to hug him, but shoved the idea away, instead deciding to put a hand on his shoulder.
“You won’t. I was able to calm you down, right? We’ll just make sure you have a partner whenever you go out, they’ll help you when things get out of hand.” Nightmare sniffed loudly, shaking his skull.
“That won’t work. You and Dream… you’re the only ones who’ve been able to bring me back like that. Not even Bethenny could.”
Killer remained silent, slowly pulling his hand away. It made sense that Dream could, even if he was acting like a dick now, the two must have had a close relationship before they were split up, but why him? What made him so special? Sure, they spent a lot of time together, but they’ve only known each other for, what, a month now?
Why did everything have to be so confusing nowadays? Killer used to have a solid grasp on his life, he’d understood everything then. Now it felt like he was looking through a kaleidoscope: too many colours and shapes to make sense of anything he was seeing.
The only thing he kept telling himself was true was that he didn’t like Nightmare, that he was just a friend. Though, if he was being honest with himself, Killer knew it wasn't fully true.
Which confused him the most.
“Then… we’ll make sure you’re with me.”
Nightmare didn’t answer, his eyes moving to watch the sunset. From up here, you could see the sky fully as it faded to black, the sun’s disappearing light washing over the city and the two monsters. You could also see the billboards and advertisements that lit the streets of the richer parts of town.
“It’s so beautiful…”
“Yeah…” If this were a movie, and the two of them were the main love interests, Killer was sure he’d say “Just like you” and the two of them would share a passionate kiss and dramatically confess their undying love for each other. Yeah, no, there was no way that was happening. Plus Killer definitely didn’t want that. Why would he? “...I’m sorry for avoiding you recently.”
“Hm?”
He tapped his fingers on his forearm, staring intensely as the sky, though he could feel Nightmare’s large eyes on him. “After last week’s lesson, I started being really distant. … I’m bad with this shit, with people, and I know that’s not really an excuse but…” He licked his lips, his cheeks flushing. What was he even saying? Was he doing this right? Probably not.
“... I forgive you.” Killer felt a hand on his back, but he refused to meet the other monster’s eyes. “I kinda thought you were mad at me.”
“I wasn’t.”
Silence fell over them again, but Nightmare kept his hand on the back of Killer's spine, a warm reassurance that he was still there, he was real and breathing next to Killer.
He liked the feeling.
They watched the sky until it was almost a complete inky blackness, stars poking out and sparkling against the night sky. The air was cooler now, a sign of fall. It would be winter soon, Killer’s least favorite season. He hated the cold, even though he had a pretty high tolerance to it. Finally, Nightmare spoke up: “Did you mean what you said..? That you like being friends?”
“... I did.” Killer whispered, not fully sure Nightmare even heard him.
“... I like being friends too.”
When the other monster stayed silent, Nightmare asked another question - something he seemed to be full of tonight. He always had them to fill the silence, an endless supply of things that needed answers. “Is your shoulder ok?”
“It will be, it hurts like a bitch right now though.” A memory popped into his head, a low chuckle leaving him. “I noticed you’re learning to swear.”
The Prince’s cheeks lit up, his skull quickly turning the other way. “You’re a bad influence, that’s all.”
“Aw, but you just said you liked me.”
“... that’s true too” The sincerity in his voice took Killer by surprise, and he quickly dropped the subject, his soul fluttering in his chest.
Oh god, was he dying?!
… ok, so he probably wasn't dying, but the feeling was still echoed with pain. A pain that was barely there, but still so clear, still so sharp. The pain scared Killer, and he wanted the feeling to go away.
If it hurt, even just a little bit, that meant it was bad, right?
“Hey, we should have nicknames for each other!”
The proposal took Killer off guard, and his eyebrow shot up. It did bring his mind away from the feeling though, so he was a bit thankful for that.
“You know, friends usually have nicknames for eachother, so we should too!” Nightmare tapped his chin, humming in thought. “I’m thinking ‘Kills’ for you.”
Killer snorted. “Doesn’t that sound a bit dark?”
“There’s not many names you can make from ‘Killer’ that wouldn’t sound menacing.” He stuck out his tongue, making Killer laugh more.
“Fair enough. I’ll call you… Night then.”
The Prince’s cheeks flushed, and he gave Killer a gentle smile. “I like that.”
“...You know, we should probably head back to camp.” He mumbled, standing up with a groan, Nightmare following him with his eyes.
“Are you going to be ok to go back already?”
“Mhm.” He helped the other monster stand, carefully adjusting his mask to cover his mouth again. “Let’s go, I promise it’s easier to get down than it was to get up.”
*****
“Killer, Nightmare, can you two come here?” It was early the next morning - way earlier than Killer had gotten up before. Nightmare had woken up before him, like he did every morning, but he always pretended to be asleep until he felt Killer move away and sit up. He enjoyed feeling the smaller monster hugging him like that more than he probably should, and he was worried that if Killer actually knew that Nightmare knew, he’d stop doing it. Killer had woken up sooner than usual today though, complaining about how sore his shoulder was; when Nightmare changed the bandages he noticed a dark bruise forming. Now, Error was waving them over to the plastic table set up in front of his and Ink’s tent, which seemed to darken Killer’s mood even more.
The small monster gave Cross, who stood next to Sans around the table, a dirty look, the tension between the two of them after last night hanging heavy in the air. Chara was sitting in one of the folding chairs nearby, her legs hanging over the armrest, and she had a bowl of cereal, though Nightmare wasn’t sure what kind. Ink’s skull was resting on Error’s upper arm, his eye sockets closed - he was either close to falling back asleep or already sleeping. “What now?”
“Good morning to you too buddy.” Sans said, taking a sip out of the mug he was holding - Nightmare guessed it was coffee.
Killer rolled his eyes, gesturing to the papers laid out along the white table, some with notes written in messy blue ink. “What’s all this shit?”
“What we wanted to talk about.” Ink mumbled under his breath, causing Error to stall for a second, clearing making sure he hadn’t woken up his fiance. “I think it’s obvious what approach the King has decided to take - trying to beat the shit outta us so we give up.”
“Gonna take a lot more to knock this skeleton crew though.” Sans said, snickering into his cup. Nightmare couldn’t help but giggle too: personally, he loved Sans’ dumn puns and jokes.
“... yeah, sure. But we don’t have enough people for a full on fight with the guards-”
“There’s a shit ton of people here already, and besides, what else can we do? Print more of your little flyers?” Killer snapped, eyes narrowing.
Cross grunted, crossing his arms. He looked ready to punch Killer again. “Let him finish instead of interrupting next time.”
“Oh my god- this again?” Error slipped his glasses off his face, pinching his nasal ridge with his index finger and thumb. “What I'm trying to say is, we need a more well known person to represent the resistance. Cross was the first option, since he was seen frequently with Dream, but then we realized we have someone else here that’s far more recognizable and would really give the impact that we mean business.” His eyes landed on Nightmare.
His soul dropped.
They wanted him to recruit more people? He can barely talk to people already in the camp, how was he supposed to bring more in?
“We’ll help write speeches and stuff, don’t worry. Our hope was to have your first ‘presentation’ next week, we were just working on--”
“Are you out of your mind?! He’s not going to do that!” Nightmare hugged his sides, shrinking away slightly as Killer leaned over the table. “Look at him, he’s clearly uncomfortable!”
“He's the best shot we got of getting new recruits!” Cross countered. “If people knew that the King lied about him and had him imprisoned for years that’ll make them realize how terrible he is!”
“And what about those psychos who think Night’s just lying! They could try to attack him!”
“No one’s going to attack a Prince, dipshit, and we can-”
“I’ll do it.” Nightmare’s voice was soft and practically a whisper, but all heads turned to him (besides Ink, who still seemed to be asleep. “... If it’ll help, I’m willing to try anything.”
Error sighed, setting his glasses down. “Thank you.”
Nightmare clasped his hands together, feeling his soul pound. He didn’t know the first thing about public speaking, and there was a very possible chance that Killer was right about someone attacking him. And if he were to have an attack on stage…
It would ruin everything.
Suffice to say, it was a lot of pressure.
“Then I’ll go too.” Nightmare’s eyelights shot to Killer, a warm feeling sprouting in his chest.
“No offence, Killer, but you’re not really a people person.” Error muttered, collecting the scattered papers still on the table.
“No, I mean I’ll be like a bodyguard. Off to the side, out of sight. If shit gets hairy I’ll jump in and get Nightmare out of there.”
“... Yeah, sure, we can do that.”
Later on in the day, before he and Killer went for their daily magic lesson, Nightmare pressed a hand to his good shoulder. “Thank you Kills…” He didn’t explain why he said it, he felt as though Killer would just understand. Plus, there were so many things he wanted to thank him for, maybe a simple non-specific show of gratitude would be enough for now.
He hoped Killer understood, though he wasn’t sure since he sounded confused when he whispered back, “Anytime, Night.”
Notes:
honestly, I know this wasn't too angsty but I hope y'all enjoyed it, don't forget to leave your thoughts in the comments!
Chapter 10: ~Chapter 10~
Notes:
For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on Instagram or Tumblr
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Sans groaned as he scribbled out another equation, a headache beginning to pound at his temples. He’d been at this for hours now, crumpled up papers and messy notes spread out on the kitchen table around him. He knew he had told Ink and Error he’d figure this out for them, and he certainly still wanted to help, but he sure as hell didn’t realize it would be this hard. Whoever had first figured out how to make an actual medicine to help Ink had to have been a genius.
Setting down his pen, Sans reached for his - thankfully still full - cup of coffee, sipping the lukewarm liquid as his eyelights scanned the few notes he’d been able to make. Ink’s soul was still healthy, and the few resent cracks he had seen all looked to be healing properly, so at least they didn’t have to worry about shattering the small heart (Though, if Sans fucked up enough that very well could still be a possibility, but he was confident that he was smart enough not to let that happen). There were the twins to consider too, so injecting anything directly into Ink’s soul was out of the question - such a direct change could either severely damage the still growing souls or straight up kill them. Ideally, Sans should be able to make something similar to what Ink had before: medicine in syrup form or swallowable tablets.
Keyword being “ideally”.
Making medication that can affect the soul and not harm it was a difficult thing to do: souls were fragil and finicky, not to mention that everyone’s soul was unique.
A fuzzy hand pressed against Sans shoulder, the skeleton’s hand immediately coming up to cover Ink’s medical documents. “What’s all this?”
“Hm? Oh, just some stuff I’m helping some friends with.” Sans started pulling his notes into a neat stack, doing his best to keep any private information hidden - sure, his father wouldn’t intentionally snoop but everyone’s eyes wander sometimes. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were awake.” His eye lights flickered to the window, the sun rising behind the blinds, silently cursing himself for losing track of time. No wonder he had a headache.
“Have you been up all night?” Asgore asked, his deep voice coated in concern as he sank into the wooden seat next to Sans.
“No, just woke up early; that’s all.” A complete lie, he had definitely tried to sleep when he got home around 2am, but hadn’t even lasted an hour before being woken up by a nightmare. He’d been awake since then, and he was sure his father knew he was lying. The bags under his eye sockets were a dead give away.
“... these friends, have I met them?”
“No, they’re good people though. Real cute couple.”
“You should invite them over for dinner sometime.” The older goat monster suggested as Sans finished the last of his coffee. “I mean, I’m guessing they’re the reason you haven’t been home recently, and it’d be nice to know who you’ve been hanging out with.” A pang of guilt hit Sans like a ton of bricks. He’d been aware that his family would recognize how often he was away, but it had slipped his mind how it would affect them, especially his dad.
He knew how scared Asgore was about losing one of them. Toriel’s death had nearly killed him - a mix of their bond snapping and the grief. Sans could still remember how tired the goat monster had looked after losing their mother, his soulmate. He’d never quite been the same monster as he once was before the accident.
“Dad-”
“I’m not upset.” Asgore waved a hand, stopping his son before he couldn’t even start apologizing, an easy smile on his lips. “I’m happy you have friends, you’ve been spending for too much time worrying about all of us and not yourself. I do wish you wouldn’t stay out so late though.”
“... Yeah, I know. I’m sorry, I’ve just been...busy.”
Asgore hummed, patting Sans’s hand with his larger paw. “It’s alright Sans, just remember that you don’t need to hide anything from us, we’re all family.” There was that guilt again, a reminder that though his father would tell him that statement hundreds of times, there was no way he could tell them what he was really doing when he left the house. It was just too dangerous. He was still mad at himself for letting Chara find out about the rebellion.
“I’ll ask them to come over sometime, I’m sure they’d like to meet you guys.”
“Excellent.” Asgore’s paw came up to gently rub Sans's skull, a gesture that had become so comforting to the skeleton that, even as an adult, he welcomed it gratefully. “Now how about we make some breakfast, hm? We could make some pancakes with your mother’s recipe?”
Sans let out a soft laugh, a warmth in his chest - Toriel was always baking and cooking when he and his siblings were younger, and anytime they used one of her many recipes it always filled him with a sense of nostalgia. Maybe they could bake her butterscotch and cinnamon pie for Ink and Error if they agreed to come over.
“Hell yeah, that sounds like a great idea.”
*****
Nightmare was definitely ready for this.
He’d spend the last week reading and rereading the script he had helped Error and Cross make, and now he could remember the speech like the back of his hand, he could recite it in his sleep easily. Even if he couldn’t, he had the small paper folded up neatly in his pants pocket.
Killer was next to him, leaning against the iron gate of the orphanage, his foot tapping against the cement as they waited for Error to tell them they could go to the city center. The plan was that just the two of them would go - less intimidating if it wasn’t a huge crowd, plus more discreet. Nightmare was fine with that, he honestly hated crowds, and he fully trusted Killer to keep him safe if something bad happened.
But Killer couldn’t magically stop Nightmare from fumbling over his words, or stuttering. He couldn’t stop the way his fingers would tremble whenever he thought about stepping up and speaking to all those monsters. Their eyes would be glued to him; they’d see his temple slick with sweat and would feel his magic wavering, so close to tipping him over but not quite there. The nervousness was never enough to make his body change, but it was enough to make him feel like vomiting. On top of that, everyone here was counting on the prince to not screw this up.
Oh, who was he kidding? Nightmare was absolutely not ready for this.
“Hey.” A gentle nudge against his shoulder snapped him from the whirlpool of his thoughts. “You ok?”
“Not really.” Nightmare sucked in a deep breath, hoping the air would somehow push out the bad thoughts, and gave Killer a small smile. The smaller skeleton’s eyebrows furrowed.
“It’s going to be fine, you know.” Nightmare shrugged, dropping his eyes back to the ground. The weight of his crown made his skull feel heavy, even though the metal band barely weighed anything at all. He used to be able to wear it daily as a child without any problems, but now it felt wrong to have it on. Like it wasn’t really his. “Night, I’m serious. You’re just overthinking all of this”
“What if-” His voice cracked, making Nightmare’s cheeks flush. Taking another deep breath (which honestly wasn’t helping all that much), he tried again. “What if they hate me, Killer? Father- I mean, Gaster had them believe I’m a dangerous person for years…”
“Does anyone here hate you?”
“What? … No, I don’t think so?”
“They all believed the things Gaster said, but they realized they were wrong after you told them the truth.”
“Technically you told them…” Killer huffed, pushing off the gate to stand up straight, gently tugging at Nightmare’s hand until the Prince looked up to his face.
“That’s not the point. You’re not a bad person, the people out there may be dumbasses but even they’ll be able to see that.” Killer held Nightmare’s gaze, the shorter monster’s grip on Nightmare’s hand tightening.
The Prince nodded slowly, some of his worries fading into the back of his mind. He loved when Killer shed his aggressive nature enough to let this more caring, almost gentle, side of himself show. In a way, it made Nightmare feel a strange sense of pride, since he knew he was the only one who got to see that rare side. “Ok… ok, you’re right.”
“Well duh, of course I am. I’m always right.” The masked monster winked, making Nightmare giggle.
“If you two are done flirting, it’s time to go.” Killer jumped at the sound of Error’s voice, the black skeleton standing a few feet away with his arms crossed, and dropped Nightmare’s hand. The Prince resisted the urge to reach out and grab it again.
“We- we weren’t flirting!” Killer hissed. He was just like a cat, Nightmare noted and wondered if he purrs when he’s happy. That thought made him giggle to himself, earning two very confused looks from the other men.
“Yeah, sure, whatever you say. That’s not what it looked like though.” Error rolled his eyes. “Are you ready or not?”
“We’ve been ready for the past ten minutes.” Killer grumbled, rocking back on his heels. Were his cheeks red? No, they couldn’t be, Nightmare had to have been imagining things.
Error hummed, looking the two of them over. “Are you sure you’re ready Nightmare? You’re shaking.”
Was he? He hadn’t noticed. Swallowing a lump in his throat, he nodded. He wished he could go back to a few minutes ago when he felt calmer and not like he was about to fall apart on the concrete; when he could still feel the comforting pressure of Killer’s hand around his own. “I’m as ready as I can be.”
“...Alright, just remember, if the crowd starts becoming violent for any reason, or guards show up, both of you need to get back here as soon as possible without-”
“‘Without being followed’ yeah yeah, we know the drill, Error.” The ebony skeleton’s eyes briefly filled with annoyance but he just sighed, rubbing his temple. “We’re going to be fine Error, just relax. Go, I don’t know, hug Ink or whatever the fuck you couples do to calm down.”
Error snorted, his mouth twitching up into a smile. “Is that what you think we do? Just hug 24/7?”
“I don’t want to know what else you do, thank you very much.” Killer rolled his eyes, the tall skeleton breaking into a full laugh. “Come on Night, let’s go.”
Nightmare followed Killer as he weaved in and out of dark alleys, moving with a certainty that showed he’d done this before. For the most part, the smaller monster remained silent, mumbling a few warnings (“watch out, there’s a step here.” “Pipe there, watch your skull.”) every once and awhile. Eventually, they moved out onto an actual street, the ground made out of neatly placed rocks. The street was lined with shop carts selling anything from handmade clothing to freshly baked goods. Monsters crowded around the carts, some with bags in their hands, their eyes being drawn to the crown still placed on Nightmare’s head. He knew they recognized him, even if he was an adult now he still had the same eyes, the same scar, as when he was a child. Plus, he did have a bit of a round, baby face still (So did Dream, honestly.) Some of them watched the Prince with confusion and surprise, others flinched away, pulling their children closer to their bodies.
Trying to protect them from him.
It made his stomach churn.
“Hungry?” Killer was suddenly next to him - hadn’t he been in front before? - a red apple in his hand.
“Where did you get that?” Nightmare said in a hushed voice.
“The guy over there is really bad at his job.” The small monster was in front of him again, walking backwards so he could keep eye contact, tossing the fruit back and forth between his hands. Nightmare winced at the thought of him tripping - his shoulder still wasn’t fully healed yet. “And we need a distraction, if you haven’t noticed there’s a shit ton of people watching you right now and I don’t want anyone stalking us the rest of the way.”
“How will an apple help?”
Killer chuckled, and Nightmare suspected he was smirking underneath his mask. “You ever wonder why I wear this?” He gestured to the shawl that covered the top half of his body.
“...Because it looks cool?”
“Well, yeah, but there’s a more practical reason. Watch this.” Killer’s arms disappeared under the dark red fabric, along with the apple. Nightmare watched him carefully, subconsciously sticking out his tongue as he focused, trying not to miss whatever Killer wanted to show him. The shorter monster held his gaze, a mischievous glint in his eyelights.
The sound of glass shattering to Nightmare’s left broke his concentration, his head whipping up to look at whatever had made the sound. The glass display of a pastry cart was smashed, hairline cracks spreading out over the surface, a panicked monster who ran the cart seemly paralized in shock. A lone apple rolled on the ground in front of the wreck. Killer grabbed his hand, breaking out into a run and pulling them into the dark space between a shoe shop and convenience store. It wasn’t an alleyway, that was obvious by the way their rib cages were pressed together in the cramped space. Nightmare felt his cheeks warm, his skull only a few inches away from his friend’s.
“Did you see their faces? They were so surprised!” Killer barked out a laughing, his head rolling back to press against the wall. “Priceless!”
It felt like Nightmare’s mind was working in slow motion, unable to string any of his questions together: How did he know that would work? Were they going to get caught? And most importantly, why did Killer smell like campfire smoke and pine trees?
“... You’re smiling.” He finally managed to breath out, his voice barely above a whisper.
“What? How can you tell?”
“Your eyes squint a little when you smile.” Nightmare’s soul was fluttering in his chest, his previous worries forgotten for the time being, everything was just him, Killer, and this small space between buildings.
“...huh.” He was blushing, Nightmare was sure it wasn’t just his mind seeing things this time. “You’re… certainly observant.” He cleared his throat and suddenly, he was avoiding looking at Nightmare. Had he said something wrong? “We should keep going, if we don’t stay on track Error might faint from worry.” Carefully, Killer shimmied along the wall so that he was ahead of Nightmare, their bodies no longer touching.
Nightmare missed the warmth.
“This way, we’re almost at the city center.”
“Do you think it’ll be busy?” The tone shift in Killer’s voice was glaringly obvious to the Prince, far closer to his ‘no bullshit’ tone than the friendly one he’d had a minute ago.
“Usually is on a Friday. Puddle here, be careful.”
Nightmare stepped over the small pool of murky water, stepping into a more open space between buildings with a dumpster on his left. His concerns were a heavy brick over his soul again, his palms already beginning to sweat. Why couldn’t they have stayed in that passageway between buildings?
“Alright, here. You know the plan, right?”
“You, um, stay here and I go over to that fountain, s-stand up and give the speech. Answer a few… uh, sorry- I answer a few questions then meet you… meet you back here.”
Killer sighed. “Night, you’re trembling again.”
“O-oh.” He brought his hands up, confirming that yes, Killer was absolutely right. “I’m fine, really, just a little nervous.”
“‘Nervous’ isn’t literally shaking.” Killer’s hands came up to clasp around Nightmare’s, his bones cool and steady. “You look like you’re about to burst into tears.”
“... I need to do this, Kills. I’m not used to talking to people but if I’m going to be the spokesperson for the revolution, I need to get used to it, you know? Plus, I have you here to support me!” He did his best to give the shorter monster a convincing smile, but with the way Killer’s eyebrows stayed drawn, he was sure it didn’t work.
“...ok.” Killer let his hands drop to the side, backing away to press against the wall.
With one last look to his friend, and a deep breath, Nightmare stepped out into the open. A few monster’s watched him with confusion as he walked through the crowds, carefully stepping up onto the fountain ledge and nearly toppled over into the water. “Um… Hello?” A few more looks, eyes widening when they recognized who he was. Nightmare tried again, this time raising his voice to something his father, his real parent, not Gaster, would call a ‘presenting voice’. “Hello? Can I please have everyone’s attention?”
Heads from all different kinds of monsters turned to Nightmare, and he could feel their eyes boring into him, their gazes hot as the sun. He was going to melt, disappear under their stares. He’d slip into the cracks in the ground and everyone would forget him, go about their days. It was already happening, his limbs turning to rubber-
He caught Killer’s eyelights from the alleyway. His mask was pulled down, a smile on his lips, though his eyebrows were still pulled together. He gave a thumbs up. Nightmare could do this. He had to do this.
“I’m sure you all know who I am, I can tell from the way you all look. Scared, confused…” He swallowed, straightening his back. “... for those of you who don’t know, my name is Nightmare Azrael, the twin brother of Prince Dream. You were all told I was killed when I was eleven. That I had committed treason.” A mumble through the crowds. Nightmare ignored it, focusing only on his words, making sure they were all loud and clear. Confident. “That was a lie.”
Someone gasped, a confused hush falling over the square.
“Now, it is true that I have a condition that makes my magic unpredictable if I feel too much of an negative emotion, but I have never killed anyone, nor have I ever tried. The King, my adoptive father, locked me up in a cell where I was alone for years, my magic restricted and without any access to the outside world. Gaster has been lying to you for years. He’s still doing it! He is manipulating my brother to do his bidding, he doesn’t care for any of us. He is selfish and power hungry.”
A few nods from the crowd, someone yelled their agreement. It was working! “But we can stop him! Together, we can stop Gaster and bring my brother back, we can have a better BlightView! We can-”
It all happened so fast: a sudden pain in his arm, knocking him back into the water, the back of his skull colliding with the bottom of the fountain; screaming, the crowd running away; Killer pulling him from the water and saying something, but Nightmare couldn’t hear him. He sounded muffled and far off in the distance. He was set down on the ground, his hands grasping for anything, anything to hold onto to keep him grounded in the real world. His skull was pounding. A red light - Killer’s magic? - appeared in the corner of his vision, but it was too bright and made Nightmare’s eyes hurt to look at. Cautiously, his hand pressed against the stabbing pain in his lower arm. It felt warm and sticky, and when Nightmare pulled his hand away to look at it, it was coated in blood. Why was he bleeding?
“... Night… get… up..!”
Killer. Killer was talking to him, but he could barely make out what the other monster was saying. Get up? But he was so tired, and everything seemed too heavy to move. There was darkness creeping into his blurry vision: it was welcoming, like an old friend.
He let it embrace him, dropping into the black nothingness.
*****
“Shouldn’t he be awake by now?”
“Killer, relax. He’ll be fine. His soul wasn’t damaged, so he’ll recover just fine. Hitting his skull is still going to knock him out for a few hours though.”
Nightmare groaned, opening his eyes only to immediately shut them again due to the brightness. He was on a bed, a heavy blanket pulled over his body - there was a dull, constant ache in the lower half of his right arm, and it felt like there was a blade dug into the back of his skull. However, he could recognize the two voices that had grown silent. He attempted to open his eyes again, this time only wincing at the light.
He was in the room he and Killer shared, the window blind pulled shut and a bright light was above Nightmare - was that always there? Killer was sitting crossed legged on the bed next to him, his shawl laying forgotten on the floor, and Sans stood at the end of the bed, watching him like he was a wounded animal.
“What happened…?”
Killer scoffed. “Some fucker shot you, that’s what happened.”
“Killer-” Sans sounded like he was scolding a child, Nightmare had never seen him so serious before. “There was a guard in the crowd, when you did your speech. He shot you with a magical bullet in your arm, which made you fall back into the fountain and you hit your head.”
“I should have killed him. You were being nothing but peaceful and- he could have killed you. If you were human you probably would have died.”
“He would have a concussion, I doubt he’d die.”
“Still!” Nightmare grimaced at Killer's loud voice, and the smaller monster shrank in on himself. “... Sorry.”
Sans only sighed. “I’m going to get some painkillers and monster food for him, it’ll help him heal faster, plus the others will want to know if he’s ok.”
Once the door shut, Killer helped Nightmare sit up on the bed, propping the pillows up behind him. His head was still swimming, but at least he could think a bit clearer now. He had a hard time remembering what happened, it was still all so blurry. “How did we get back here?”
“I carried you.” Killer gaze was stuck on Nightmare’s arm, the bandages wrapped carefully around it were stained with his blood.
“... Killer, I’m sor--”
“I thought you died.” Killer blurted, his hands clenched into fists. Nightmare’s jaw snapped closed. “I tried talking to you and you just… wouldn’t answer and then your eyes closed… I thought I was carrying your fucking dead body back here and you'd turn to dust right there in my hands.”
Nightmare didn’t know what to say when the other’s head finally looked up to him, and he saw the tears lining the corners of his friend’s eye sockets; he’d never seen Killer cry, he’d never seen Killer so scared.
It made his soul ache.
“This… this is why I don’t do ‘friends’.” Killer continued, bringing a hand up to cover his eyes as his shoulders shook. “Everyone just… fucking leaves or dies! And then everything hurts and I-”
“Killer…” Nightmare made sure to keep his voice soft and pulled the other’s hand away from his face to hold it. His eye lights were so small, smaller than normal, and they buzzed with his anxious energy. He was like the polar opposite to the Killer Nightmare had gotten used to. This Killer was scared and hurt. This Killer only knew what it was like to be alone. “I’m not leaving. See, I’m still ok, just a little hurt.”
“This is just the start, it’s only going to get more dangerous…”
“And I’ll just get stronger.” He knew he was saying it to convince both of them, but Nightmare needed to be strong right now. He can be scared later, when Killer was feeling better and can rub his back and take him away to the lake, away from the worries and the people. “I’m not going anywhere, ok?”
“...Ok.” Killer sniffed loudly, wiping the few tears that I had fallen down his cheeks.
“I promise, Killer.”
The shorter skeleton didn’t say anything after that, but his shoulders were noticably less tense.
*****
Alphys didn’t like the king.
She knew that with all her soul, but she would never say so to his face; she knew what happened when people did that.
People who are vocal about their distaste in the king ended up like Bethenny Hunt.
That being said, Dr. Alphys did enjoy some parts of her job; specifically the actual science parts, where she got to work in the lab with her hands, and she actually felt like she was doing something good. The parts where she had to stand next to the king and agree with his horrible ideas, the parts where she had to hand tools of torture to him during his “sessions” with the Prince; those were the parts that made this job hard to do.
She still wakes up in the night after hearing Dream’s screams in her sleep.
Alphys was sure that’s why the King had given her this order, just to see her suffer more.
Why else would the King send his advisor to tell his son that his caretaker was dead?
She shivered as the image of Bethenny’s impaled body floated into her mind, rapping her knuckles against the Prince’s bedroom door.
“Come in.”
Dream was sitting at his desk when she entered, the surface cluttered - unusual for the usually neat prince - and he stood to greet his guest, smiling softly at the small yellow monster. “Dr. Alphys, it is good to see you.” There were dark rings under Dream’s eyes - was he not getting enough sleep?
“Likewise, your highness.” She gave a short bow, then gestured to the two armchairs in the corner of the prince’s room, a neatly organized bookshelf sat behind them. “May we take a seat? I have something very… troubling, to tell you.” Alphys had years of practice talking to royals to stop her stuttering, but anxiety still rolled around violently in her stomach. She still had no idea how she managed to become royal advisor to the king.
Dream only cocked his head slightly to the side. “Of course, is something wrong?”
The two sat, and the dinosaur monster clasped her hands in front of her. “... I’m afraid your nanny, Miss. Hunt has been executed for treason.”
The skeleton went rigid, his yellow eyelights shrinking to half their size. “Treason? I don’t understand, Bethenny would never…” He sucked in a breath, obviously trying to keep up a professional act. “What did she do?”
“She helped your brother escape, your highness.”
“... No, no that can’t be right.”
“I’m terribly sorry, but it is.” Alphys’ head dropped down, her tail curling around her feet as shame filled her. “I saw the execution.”
Dream remained silent for a long time, long enough that Alphys began to wonder if he was silently crying. He wasn’t, instead, he looked numb.
“This can’t be happening…”
“... Your highness, might I be 100% honest with you?”
“Yes, go ahead.”
She brought her voice down to a whisper, leaning closer to the prince. “You should not trust the king as much as you do. He is not as good as he pretends to be, and I’m worried you’re going to end up with the same fate as poor Bethenny.” Dream stood suddenly, nearly hitting Aphys’s snout.
“What do you mean?”
“Your highness-”
“Has father really lied to me? Be honest.”
Aphys bit her tongue. “... Yes. You mustn’t tell him you know this though, it’s not safe.”
“I knew someone named Cross, didn’t I?” His tone was panicked, a mix of confusion and fear in his eyes. The doctor felt nothing but pity for the poor skeleton: he deserved far better than this.
She wished she could help more.
“Yes. You two were very close.” She jolted at the sound of a knock at the door, her blood running cold. “Please, do not tell him I said all this, he will have my head.” She whispered, close to hyperventilating.
Dream looked between her and the door a few times before slowly nodding. “I won’t tell him.”
She breathed a sigh of relief, quickly leaving her chair and scrambling to the door, opening it to the King and Undyne, who was standing behind him. Alphys soul briefly swelled with affection at the sight of Undyne.
Another good thing about her job, she got to see her tall, muscular fish girlfriend very frequently.
“Stay out here.” Gaster said to his guard, stepping past Alphys and shutting the bedroom door before even saying a word to the smaller monster. She swallowed hard; had he heard anything that she had said?
“Hi sweetie.” Undyne pressed a kiss to the top of Alphys head, jerking her thoughts away from her concerns. “You look stressed, everything ok?”
“Oh, yes, everything’s fine, just work stuff.” Alphys soul buzzed happily in her chest, her tail wagging lazily behind her. “Are we still on for dinner for tonight?”
“Of course! I’m making spaghetti, remember?”Alphys laughed, how could she forget?
Undyne making any kind of pasta was always quite the show to watch, since she always insisted on doing everything herself, and usually ended with sauce covering the walls of Alphy’s home.
Undyne always made things more exciting than they really were, and Alphys loved her for it.
*****
“You don’t think Killer and Cross are going to kill each other while we’re gone, right?”
Sans chuckled, his eyes flickering to the ebony skeleton sitting in the passenger seat of his car, Ink giggling softly from the back. “Nah, Killer will be way too busy hovering over Nightmare to get pissy with Cross. Poor guy’s worried sick.”
“I think it’s cute how much he cares about Nightmare.” Ink hummed, shifting in his seat. He was wearing a simple blue dress with daisies on it, while Error wore a more casual button up, the same blue as Ink’s dress, and there was a daisy on the front pocket, (Sans wanted to gush how cute it was that they’re clothes matched, but opted not to in case it embarrassed them) and jeans. It was the first time Sans had seen either of them in more formal wear, and he had to admit it was sweet of them to dress up for the dinner with his family, albeit a bit unnecessary.
“I wouldn’t underestimate those two though, they’re always at each other's throats.”
“They’ll be ok for one night, Error, don’t worry.”
“Sans is right, hun.” Ink reached between the two front seats, putting his hand on his partner’s forearm. “Plus you’ve been overworking yourself, you deserve to relax for at least one evening.”
“... Yeah, ok.” Error took Ink’s hand in his own, and Sans ‘awed’ loudly. Ink simply giggled, his cheeks dusting with colour.
“Oh, hey, wait, I know where we are!” The smaller monster said suddenly, letting go of his partner’s hand to look out the window. “Erry, look!”
Error chuckled. “I see babe, we’re close to the hill.”
“‘The hill’?” Sans cocked an eyebrow, taking a right at a crossroad.
“Yes! If you had gone left you’d find a little hill with this big oak tree at the top - it’s so pretty at sunset - but Error and I have gone there lots of times on dates and stuff! It’s where he proposed!”
“We used to call it ‘our hill’, even though we obviously don’t own it.” There was a soft smile on Error’s face, a hint of blue on his cheeks as he watched out the window.
“Oh, yeah, my mom used to take me and my siblings there for picnics when we were younger.” He laughed softly. “Crazy, it never occurred to me that other people might have been there.”
“Maybe we were just meant to be friends?” Ink suggested, tapping a finger against the window. “Um, also what’s with the cane back here? I didn’t know if I should say anything but I’ve never seen you struggle to walk so…”
“Oh, that’s Frisk’s, they musta forgotten it when I picked them up from school on friday - they don’t use it around home. They’ve got the whole place memorized and they have us to help them.”
“Frisk?” Error was watching Sans from the corner or his eyes, his skull still resting against the door.
“My younger sibling, they were born blind. They can like, sense magic though, it’s really cool. Really friendly too.” Sans explained as he pulled into the driveway of his family's home, switching off the engine. “And here we are.”
“Aw, it looks so cozy! When you said you lived in a cottage, I hadn’t expected it to look like something out of a story book.” Ink latched onto Error’s arm as soon at the two left the car, his eyelights wide as he looked over the house.
Sans chuckled. “Glad you like it, wood you like to come inside though?” Ink snickered at the pun while Error snorted, but going by the amused smile lingering on his lips, Sans had a feeling he enjoyed the joke more than he wanted to let on.
The house was filled with the telltale smell of spices, the sound of sizzling, and pots moving in the kitchen; giving the entire cottage a comforting warmth. There was a glow coming from the living room, the voices of his sister and little sibling coming from the separate room. Sans gestured with his hand for his friends to enter, Ink practically dragged his fiance (who looked a lot more nervous than he had a few minutes prior) through the door in his excitement.
“Sans?” Asgore called from the kitchen, his deep voice seemed to surprise Ink, his eyes going wide. Sans fought down the urge to laugh.
“Yeah, it’s me Dad. And those friends I talked about, remember?” He called, pulling off his jacket.
“Oh! Hold on a minute, I’ll be right there!” A flicker of movement caught Sans attention. Frisk was at the entrance of the living room, small hands pressed against the wall. “Come here kiddo, don’t you want to meet my friends?”
The small human nodded, running towards their older brother; Sans winced when they almost tripped, picking them up before they could fall face first onto the floor. They waved happily, and Sans turned his body so they were actually waving in the direction of the two other skeletons. “Hi! My name’s Frisk!” They beamed.
Ink gave the small human a soft smile, though they couldn’t see it. “Hi Frisk, it’s nice to meet you! My name’s Ink, and this is my fiance, Error.” Ink pat the ebony skeleton’s shoulder.
The ten-year-old wiggled in Sans arms, signalling him to set them down. Doing so, they beelined for Ink, grabbing his hand and dragging him off to the living room. “Oh, ok, are we going to play a game?” The smaller monster kept up his friendly tone, but he looked back at the two other skeleton’s with confusion.
Sans laughed, watching them disappear into the other room. “Looks like they really liked him.”
Error nodded, nervously chuckling as he stuck his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Yeah, seems like it. Ink’s always been really good around kids, so that’s not surprising.”
“Ah, hello!” There was a blue towel thrown over his father’s shoulder, and he wore a purple plaid shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and overalls with dirt and grass stains on the cuffs. He stuck out his large paw to Error, his orange and blue eyes gleaming in the light. “My name is Agore, it’s so nice to finally be able to meet you.”
“Likewise.” Error reached out, shaking the goat monster’s extended hand. “Name’s Error, my fiance, Ink, already got pulled off by Frisk.”
“Frisk is always so happy to meet new monsters, they’re such a kind child.” Asgore said with a chuckle. “Make yourself at home, supper will be done soon.” The old goat disappeared back into the kitchen, leaving Error and Sans standing alone in the entrance of the house.
“I’m going to go find out where Ink ended up.”
Sans gave a thumbs up, rocking back on his heels. “Cool, I’m going to see if my Dad needs any help.” As Error slipped into the living room, Chara poked her head out, glaring at her older brother.
“What are they doing here??” She hissed, grabbing onto his arm before he could escape into the kitchen. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He’d honestly hoped Chara wouldn’t say anything about Ink and Error visiting, but of course she had questions. “Are you going to tell Dad-”
“No.” Sans kept his voice hushed, making sure no one else in their family overheard. “They’re just over for dinner, dad wanted to meet the friends I’ve been hanging out with everyday. They know not to say anything either.”
The redhead didn’t say anything after that, simply letting go of his arm and giving one last glare before disappearing upstairs.
Thankful, the dinner went by without a hitch. Error wasn’t the most vocal, but Ink made up for his silence with his seamlessly endless supply of stories from when the two of them were young. Asgore added a few tales of when Sans and his siblings were little too. Sans couldn’t help but notice the way Ink tensed slightly when the goat monster mentioned Papyrus, but he didn’t comment on it. Maybe he’d seen him while he was trapped in the castle?
It wasn’t until after they all had finished eating that things started going downhill.
And it all started with the door opening.
Sans recognized the red scarf first; it was tied around the skeleton’s upper right arm, the end tattered and frayed. The same red scarf Papyrus always had as a baby bones, only now it was showing its age.
Papyrus.
He stood up abruptly, eyes glued to his younger brother. He looked confused, eye sockets stuck on Ink, who had gone rigid, head down and staring at his plate, and Error. He knew them, Sans could see the recognition in his eyes.
He wanted to cry and hug him, but at the same time he wanted to scream and push him away.
“What’s going-”
“Can we talk?” Sans could hear the tenseness in his voice, the lack of emotion. He pulled his taller brother out of the house without waiting for an answer, his rage briefly bubbling over. He wasn’t supposed to be here, not like this, not now.
“What are they doing here??”
“They’re my friends.” Sans said, his almost constant smile dropping into a scowl. “What the hell made you suddenly decide to visit?”
“Dad invited me.” Papyrus’ eyebrows were drawn, his arms crossed around his chest. “...Sans, you shouldn’t be hanging out with those monsters, and you definitely shouldn’t be a part of those riots! You’re going to get yourself killed!”
“Oh yeah, you mean killed by your people who started attacking peaceful protestors?” The oldest of the two brothers shot back. “And you try to say we're the bad ones.”
“The king has done nothing wrong, you are all disturbing the peace, what else-”
“Oh get your head out of the clouds, Papyrus! This is why we never talk anymore; you still think life is some perfect fucking fairy tale and that no one can do any wrong!” Sans’s magic flared, hot and tight in his chest. He felt like he was burning up, and it hurt. It hurt to be so mad at someone he used to be so close to. It hurt to know he would never get his brother back. “This is real life, and all you’re doing is adding more bad into it! Stop pretending you’re the ‘good guy’ here, you’re just oblivious to anything that isn’t yourself!” Hot tears stung his cheeks.
“Sans-” The skeleton’s head whipped around at the sound of another voice; Error was holding Ink to his chest, his shoulders tense. He was no longer the same skeleton who was relaxed and laughing in the house, he was back to serious Error. “Let’s go.”
Sans didn’t object, helping Ink into the car - the small monster was trembling and tears rolled down his cheeks. He heard Ink mumble something about not wanting to go back, and Error shushing him and whispering comforts back as he sat down in the seat next to Ink, holding him as well as he could with both their seatbelts on. Before pulling away from the gravel driveway, Sans glanced back to the lawn; Papyrus still stood there, hands clenched into fists at his sides.
A single, orange tear slid down the younger monster’s cheek, a look of pure betrayal, pure hurt, in his eyes. He looked like a vase that had fallen off its shelf, shattered into millions of pieces too small to ever even consider trying to put back together.
The look left a stabbing feeling in Sans's chest, his soul splitting as another crack formed into his being. He hated hurting him, hated that he said those things to his brother.
He hated that everything he said were things he truly believed.
*****
By the time they drove back into the city, Ink was asleep next to Error, who was stroking his thumb over his partner’s hand. A heavy silence hung over the car like a storm cloud, making Sans’s nerves multiply, his fingers twitching on the steering wheel.
He had never been so relieved when Error finally spoke up. “Can you just take us to our house, Sans? I’ll give directions.”
“Yeah, ‘course. I still remember how to get there, it’s where I picked you two up.” He tried his best to keep a casual tone, but his voice was far more monotone than it usually was and he didn’t really have the energy to keep up a happy act. “Is Ink ok…?”
“He will be. Had a panic attack when he saw your brother back there, said that it was him and some other guard that came and took him to the castle.”
Sans cursed under his breath, another wave of anger rolling over his bones. The big brother part of his brain wanted to defend his brother, but he knew there was no point. He was tired of trying to keep the idea of his little brother being a good guy when that wasn’t the case right now. “I’m sorry, I had no idea he’d be there, or that he…”
Error sighed from the back seat, sinking into the seat. He looked exhausted. “It’s ok, it’s not your fault.” Sans took a left, slowing down at a stop sign. “He knows what you’re a part of, doesn’t he?”
“Yeah, we saw each other at one of the protests. It sounds stupid, but I honestly thought he’d understand why he shouldn’t be apart of the guards if he just… saw me there, heard what we had to say.” He chuckled, but there was no humour in it. “God, I was so naive, huh?”
Error didn’t answer, and the two of them sat in silence until Sans pulled up to their house, the sky black and dotted with stars - though you couldn’t really see any with the street lamps. “You can spend the night here, if you want.” The ebony skeleton finally said, carefully undoing Ink’s seatbelt and pulling him to his chest. The smaller monster stirred in his sleep. “We have a spare bedroom you can use.”
“... Yeah, that would be nice, actually, thank you.” The truth was, the last people Sans wanted to see right now was his family. Especially his father.
Error nodded, grunting as he got out of the car with Ink curled up to his chest. Sans followed them in through the front door, his eyes roaming the unfamiliar home. The door led straight into their living room, a blue sofa and a matching loveseat and chair occupied the left side of the room, a TV placed in front of them. Beyond that was the kitchen, a wooden table in the middle of the yellow tiled room. Error flicked on the light switch, bathing the living room half of the lower floor with light. “Make yourself at home, I’m just going to put Ink to bed. I’ll be back.”
Sans watched the taller skeleton disappear as he went up the stairs, his footsteps audibly above him. Pulling off his shoes, he stepped farther into the couple’s home, his eyes landing on a small framed photo on the coffee table. Curiosity getting the better of him, he stepped closer and picked up the frame to get a closer look. It was Ink and Error, they looked to be maybe 18, or 19, both of them in suits. Error’s suit was a deep red and unbuttoned to show a light red, almost pink, under shirt, the same locket Sans had seen him wearing nowadays around his neck. He was leaning down slightly, his arm around Ink’s shoulder, who wore a white dress shirt and pants, a salmon vest over top and a matching tie. Both skeletons were smiling brightly at the camera, a soft blush on their cheeks.
“I remember that.” Sans nearly dropped the photo in shock, not realizing Error had come back downstairs. He was smiling softly at the picture. “Ink’s mom took it on our prom night. God, Ink was so excited for that.” He chuckled at the memory.
“You two always look so happy together.” Sans said with a hum, setting the framed photo back down. “Thank you, again, for letting me sleep here.”
“It’s no big deal. Trust me, I get that family can be shitty sometimes.” His expression darkened, his eyelights still lingering on the photo. “Here, the spare room is upstairs.”
The room wasn’t too big: a bed sat pressed against the south wall, simple light blue sheets covering it, a round end table next to it. There was a dresser next to the door (Sans guessed it would be empty if he looked) and a table and chair was opposite of the bed. Error gave a brief good night, telling Sans to knock on his and Ink’s bedroom door across the hall if he needed anything. The ebony skeleton closed the door behind him, leaving Sans alone in the new room.
Sighing and turning off the light, Sans dropped onto the bed, not bothering to pull the soft blankets over his body. His bones still felt like they were burning from his anger, his chest felt tight. He tossed and turned through the night, eventually passing out from exhaustion.
A familiar golden hallway greeted him in his dreams, a red eyed child with a knife accompanying it.
Notes:
hope you all enjoyed this chapter, it was supper fun to write! As always, I'd love to hear y'all's thoughts in the comments <3
Chapter 11: ~Chapter 11~
Summary:
!Tw: Abuse!
Notes:
For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on Instagram or Tumblr
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Error grunted softly, eyelids fluttering open, his mind still muddled from sleep. He was in his and Ink’s bed, the baby blue walls of their room bathed in early sunlight, Ink still fast asleep next to him. With a yawn, the ebony skeleton rolled over onto his side, not ready to get up and start the day yet, and wrapped his arms around his small fiance, nuzzling the back of his skull. Ink softly sighed, shifting in Error’s arms as he stretched.
“Mmh… Erry? You awake?” The whispered words were slurred slightly, his hand brushing over Error’s.
“Nope. I’m sleep-talking right now.”
Ink let out a soft giggle, wiggling in the taller monster’s arms until he was facing him, his hands and skull resting on the bare red and yellow bones on Error’s rib cage. “Good morning sweetie.”
“Morning hun.” He pressed a kiss to the smaller monster’s lips, resting one of his hands on his hip bone. “How do you feel?”
“Tired. Kinda stressed.” Ink rested his skull against his partner’s chest. “... Safe. I’m sorry I freaked out and ruined the dinner yesterday…”
“You didn’t ruin anything Ink, it’s not your fault that asshole-” Error bit his tongue blowing out a breath of air, letting his shoulders relax. He didn’t want to get mad right now, especially when Ink hadn’t done anything wrong. “Besides, I’m sure Sans didn’t want to stick around after Papyrus showed up.”
“... I remember them yelling, I don’t know what they were saying though…” Ink’s nose scrunched up as he got lost in thought, idly tapping one of Error’s ribs with a finger. “Sans sounded really angry.”
“Yeah, apparently Papyrus knows the three of us are part of the revolution, and everything kind of blew up.” Ink pressed closer to Error, his shoulders tense. The ebony skeleton slowly trailed his hand down the other’s spine, hoping the small touch would relax him. “I let Sans spend the night in the spare room, figured he wouldn’t want to go back after an argument like that.”
The smaller monster nodded, nuzzling into the crook of Error’s neck. They stayed like that for a while, Ink’s smaller frame pressed against the larger monster, Error’s hand rubbing his spine. “Oh, also, I don’t remember getting home?” Ink pulled away slightly, gesturing to his bare rib cage. “Or taking off my clothes?”
Error chuckled, shrugging. “You were fast asleep when we got here and I didn’t want to wake you, so I just took off your dress and tucked you in.” He winked, noticing colour bloom on his lover’s cheeks. “We’ve both slept bare bones before so I just assumed it’d be ok.”
Ink puffed out his cheeks, poking Error’s chest. “Of course it’s fine, but what if, you know, Sans walked in?”
The black skeleton laughed again. “Babe, he’s older than both of us, I’m sure he knows better than to just walk into a couple’s bedroom unannounced.” He pressed a kiss to his partner’s forehead. “Speaking of, we should probably get out of bed.”
“... Can we shower together?” Error raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Oh, not like that! I mean, I just…”
“‘Course we can hun.” Unlatching himself from his fiance, Error sat up, his bones softly cracking as he stretched. Noticing Ink watching him with large eyelights and a distinct pout - his puppy look, Error’s weakness - he chuckled. “What, do you want me to carry you too?”
Ink reached his arms out, making grabby hands. He barely stopped himself from giggling, his right eye light switching between a heart and star. “I’m pregnant, you have to.”
Snickering, the taller monster shrugged. “Damn, guess I can’t argue with that.” Error stood, easily taking Ink into his arms; the smaller monster wrapped his arms around his neck, nestling against his ribs, sighing comfortably.
*****
Sans sighed, dragging his hand down the front of his skull. He felt exhausted, and he was sure he looked like shit. He could hear Ink and Error downstairs, and there was the distinct smell of breakfast in the house.
His mind drifted back to his brother and the argument, his body going rigid. He shouldn’t have lost his temper, the way his younger brother looked at him afterwards was more than enough to make him regret his words. Their father probably heard the yelling too - would Papyrus tell him the truth? Tell him what Sans was really doing during the day? He cursed softly, pushing off the bed. He hoped not, he hoped his brother would, at the very least, know that it would do no one any good if Asgore knew the truth. Honestly, the goat monster would worry himself to dust, the stress would be torture on his soul.
His bones felt heavy as he walked down the stairs, like they were filled with weights and not marrow and magic. Still, he pulled up his smile, pushing away his clouded thoughts for now. He didn’t want Ink or Error to think they’ve done something wrong.
“Oh, good morning Sans!” Ink was sitting at the kitchen table, wearing a simple blue shirt and jeans, and Error stood next to the stove, spatula in hand. “Did you sleep well?”
Sans shrugged, taking a seat next to the other skeleton. “Mhm.” Sure, it was a lie, but he didn’t want to be rude. “Do you need any help Error?”
“Nah, I got it. You like eggs, right?”
Sans chuckled. “Love ‘em.”
“Good, ‘cause it’s up to you two to eat them.”
“He hates eggs.” Ink explained with a giggle. “Usually, he won’t even make them.”
“Honestly, the only reason I’m making them is because you’ve been craving scrambled eggs for the past week, hun.” Error snorted.
“Oh, that reminds me! There’s something we wanted to talk about with you Sans.” Ink folded his hands in front of him on the table, practically vibrating in his chair. He seemed to be feeling a lot better than he was last night, Sans noted. “You’ve been so kind and helpful to us, with trying to find a way to fix what’s going on with my soul, to the twins… Error and I were talking, and we got to thinking: our kids aren’t going to have any aunts or uncles, since neither of us have siblings, so maybe you could be their pun-loving Uncle Sans?”
Sans’s eyebrows shot up, his smile becoming much more genuine. “Wait, really? You two are serious?”
“Yup, we get it if you aren’t comfortable with it though. It’s just an idea we’ve been throwing around.” Error added, scooping the finished scrambled eggs into a bowl.
“No, no, I’m totally ok with it!” Sans laughed softly, tapping his fingers on the kitchen table. “I’d love that, is what I mean. I’ve always liked being around kids, it would be awesome to be like an uncle to your guys’s baby bones.”
Ink clapped happily. “See, I told you he’d agree to it, Erry!” Sans laughed again, Error trying to muffle his amused chuckles as well.
“Yeah yeah, you were right again.” He set two plates in front on the table, then grabbed one for himself. “Try to calm down and eat though, hun.”
The rest of the morning was filled with warm chatter, making Sans’ worries melting away. He knew they’d be back in full force later, probably when he was in bed trying to sleep again, but for now everything was good.
*****
Usually, Papyrus had no trouble sleeping. As a royal guard, it was very important for him to be well rested, ready for anything. That being said, he usually doesn’t argue with his only brother before trying to go to bed.
He knew Sans wasn’t happy with him when he joined the guards, his older brother didn’t even try to hide his disappointment, even going so far as trying to convince Papyrus to give up on the dream. It had hurt, knowing someone so close to him was disappointed and not supportive and, at the time, Papyrus was convinced that Sans was just worried he’d get hurt. He thought Sans would eventually get over it and everything would go back to normal.
Looking back on that thought, Papyrus realized just how naive he had been.
With all that being said, the younger skeleton still couldn’t understand why his brother would even consider joining something like the rebellion group. Yes, he understood now that Sans was on the anti-government side of things, and that alone was enough to make Papyrus want to pull his hair out (if he had any), but a revolution? It was ridiculous! Innocent people will die, and it was just… delusional. King Gaster has maybe made a few mistakes in the past, but he’s a monster just like the rest of them, so it was bound to happen! He still cared about his subjects, still wanted what’s best for them all. He’s the king, he has to feel that way!
Plus, Sans had to have known he’d be up against his own brother - his own blood! Papyrus knew their relationship was rocky right now, but how could Sans be willing to fight against him? Did he really hate the younger skeleton that much?
Papyrus sighed, sinking down onto his bed. He couldn’t remember the last time he was in this room; it still looked the same. Turns out Asgore never packed up any of his stuff, just dusted and kept it tidy, as if he was waiting for Papyrus to come home. Like he always knew he would. The same race car bed - it was almost too small for him now - the same action figures standing on his bedside table, the same family photo on his wooden dresser.
It was an old picture now, a simple photo of all the Dreemurr kids with both their parents - Frisk was still so young, a bright smile on their little face as their mother held them up. Everyone was smiling. Everyone was happy. Papyrus couldn’t even remember the last time he’d seen Chara really smile, or Sans for that matter. He’d seen his brother smile, he was always smiling, but it wasn’t the same as the easy, carefree grin he wore in the photograph. Seeing those smiles, remembering the past… it made Papyrus feel both happy and very, very… somber.
He desperately missed those times.
He missed his brother’s stupid jokes.
A tear rolled down his cheek bone, and he weakly wiped it away, his soul heavy in his chest. Papyrus slowly slid under the covers of his old bed, pulling the sheets up to his chin. His father had told him he could spend the night after seeing the aftermath of his and Sans’s fight. As far as Papyrus knew, Asgore hadn’t heard from Sans yet, even though it was well past midnight by now. A groan left the tall monster’s lips as he rolled onto his other side. He felt ansty, a storm rolling around in his stomach. The last thing he wanted was to go to work exhausted and feeling anxious like this. He cussed softly, closing his eye sockets tightly.
He didn’t want to hate his brother, he really didn’t. Sans had always been there for him when he was growing up, always there to fend off bullies and to bring Papyrus’s spirits back up. Hell, Sans was the main reason Papyrus could even use magic the way he does nowadays.
But it was obvious that his brother had set all those memories aside. He’s chosen to be Papyrus’s enemy.
There wasn’t much of a choice. Papyrus had to do the same.
It would hurt, he knew that, but he was ready to do what was right for his king. And if that meant fighting his own brother, then so be it.
*****
Papyrus ended up only getting around four hours of sleep and, by the time he was dressed in his uniform and walking down the creaky stairs, he was berating himself for not trying harder to go to bed earlier. It was going to be a long day.
Rubbing his temple, Papyrus froze at the bottom of the steps. Asgore sat at the kitchen table, coffee mug in hand, watching out the kitchen window. The skeleton hadn’t expected anyone to be up yet, and had honestly hoped he’d be able to slip out of the house unnoticed. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see his family, he really did and would love to have the chance to catch up with them, but after last night the whole house felt wrong to him, like he wasn’t supposed to be there at all.
As much as he hated to admit it, he really did regret accepting his father’s invite.
“Good morning Dad.” The goat monster startled, nearly slipping his coffee as he turned to look at his son. There were slight bags under his eyes - turns out Papyrus wasn’t the only one who hadn’t gotten much sleep. Still, the older monster smiled up at the skeleton.
“You’re certainly up early.” Asgore gestured to the seat next to him, and Papyrus gingerly smiled and sat down, exceedingly aware of the slow passage of time. He’d have to leave soon if he wanted to make it back to the castle in time.
“I’m used to getting up around this time, there’s a strict schedule when it comes to the royal guard.” He pulled at the ends of his gloves, becoming increasingly uncomfortable. There was an elephant in the room, and both monsters knew it, and it was only a matter of time until one of them acknowledged it.“Did you sleep well?”
Asgore shrugged, waving a paw. “Not really, I’m worried about Sans. He still hasn’t called.” Ah, there it was, the elephant. “Have you heard from him…?”
“No.” The answer was sharp, said quickly like the word itself was burning his tongue. “After last night… I doubt my brother will be talking to me anytime soon.” A familiar ache formed in his chest, but Papyrus ignored it. He had to.
“I’ve never seen you two so upset with each other, you used to be so close.”
Papyrus’s hand clenched into a fist, his shoulders tensing. They had been close, but then Sans had decided that the government wasn’t good enough, all because it wasn’t perfect, because the king wasn’t perfect. They used to be close before Sans decided to hate Papyrus for following his dream.
The skeleton stood up suddenly, nearly knocking the chair under him onto the ground. “I should get going.”
“What? Papyrus, what’s wrong?”
He ignored him, quickly securing his boots in place and walking out the door.
He had a job to do, and it was clear the house didn’t want him there. Why stay? Why try to reconnect?
It didn’t change the fact that Sans would always hate him, always be disappointed.
It didn’t change that Papyrus hated him too.
*****
“Father…? May I speak with you for a moment?” Dream held his hands behind his back, hoping that would help hide the way they were shaking, and straightened his back. There was a feeling rolling around in the pit of his stomach that he was unfamiliar with: was it anxiety? No, he’d felt that before whenever he spoke in front of crowds of humans and monsters, or when he had a session with his father. This was different, it was a more violent feeling, more overwhelming. It was fear.
To make things harder, his skull felt like it was filled with a mix of bricks and cotton. It was both too heavy for his neck to hold up, but also too light and empty; ready to fly off like a balloon at the same time. What Dr. Alphys had told him last week was still floating around in his head, too. He knew Cross. Not only that, they had been “close”. Close how? Friends? Dream doubted that. He couldn’t remember the man, at least, not really; if he focused hard enough, flickers of memories would flash through his skull, snipits of old conversations. But just thinking of his name made Dream’s soul flutter, fill with warmth. His soul knew the man in a way that convinced Dream that they had been much more than “friends”
So why couldn’t he remember that?
And of course, there was his brother’s “speech” from four days ago. That’s what Gaster had wanted to talk about after Alphys left. Dream had seen the footage, and he couldn’t explain how it made him feel, especially after finding out his father had lied to him. He hated Nightmare because he was dangerous, he was reckless. But was he really? Was that another thing Gaster had lied about? He couldn’t shake the feeling of hate, of pure unfiltered loathing, he felt when he saw his brother standing on that fountain. But when he was shot, when he fell, when that other skeleton ran to him and looked so damn worried…
Dream felt that worry too. He felt guilty for hating someone who had been so close to him when they were young. He was scared he had died. He still was.
All this was making his skull pound with the promise of a headache.
“Hm? What is it this time?” The King looked up from something on his desk - the desk was larger than Dream’s, and had more documents piled on it. Though, there were no photos on it - none of him, or Dream, or anyone else from the castle staff. Dream at least had a photo with him and Bethenny (Nightmare was in the photo too, but the Prince had folded the picture in a way that hid the other twin from view).
“I… I must have amnesia.” He tried to keep his tone even, but even Dream heard the waver in his voice when Gaster cocked an eyebrow. “I knew Cross. I looked into the records of all the royal guards and… father, he was my guard! There’s no other logical reason as to why I can’t remember him unless-”
“We’ve had this conversation before, have we not?” The Prince flinched at Gaster’s harsh words, fear threatening to leap out of his throat.
“Well… yes, but… you never answered my question, you never said if I had or hadn’t hit my skull. Father, I know you have lied to me about this! I just want to know who-”
“You ungrateful brat.” Gaster hissed, standing to his full height, towering over Dream. The smaller skeleton gulped, taking a step back. “I teach, I give, I do everything I can to prepare you to be king, and this is how you repay me? By calling me a liar?”
“N-no I… I just want to know who Cross really is, I know he was special to me, I know-” A yelp left his throat as Gaster’s larger, gloved hand wrapped firmly around his neck, pulling him off his feet and slamming his body against the wall with unbelievable force. Dream kicked his legs, hands desperately clawing at the King's hand, his fingers dipping into the hole that lay under those dark gloves, in the center of Gaster’s palm.
“You are getting on my nerves, Dream. You do know what happens to people who enrage me, do you not?” The prince nodded his skull, gasping out a sob as tears started rolling down his cheeks. “They end up like Bethenny Hunt.” Gaster tightened his grip, Dream choking on the magic forming in his mouth, surfacing to fix whatever was wrong. Funny, his own body trying to heal and protect itself was ultimately making it harder for Dream to take a breath, choking every time he tried. He could feel the bruise foaming on his neck, the bones there threatening to crack under the pressure, his vision going fuzzy. “I’m so tired of wasting my time making you forget that useless guard if it’s not even working on your feeble mind. All you do is accuse me and act like you’re the one in charge.”
Gaster snarled, throwing Dream to the ground. He gasped for air, coughing up the magic that had flooded his mouth. His hand flew up to rub at his sore neck, tears still falling from his eye sockets. His bones rattled, making soft a clicking sound in the otherwise quiet room. The air was filled with the buzz of the older monster’s magic, looming over Dream like a dark cloud. “From now on, you will respect and obey me. Or else I’ll leave more than just bruises on your bones.” A dark chuckle. “I’m not afraid to break your bones, Dream. One by one. Would you like that? Do you want me to hurt you?” As if to punctuate his point, the king stomped his heel down, crushing one of Dream’s phalanges on the hand he was using to hold himself up. The skeleton screamed, dropping face first onto the carpeted ground, clutching his injured hand to his chest, a whimper leaving his lips. Marrow mixed with blood and yellow magic leaked out from where the finger was crushed.
“N-no, Father… I’ll be g-good, I promise…” His voice was frail, his soul pounding and aching in his chest.
“Good. Oh, and that’s another thing. Unless we are being filmed or watched by the public, you will address me as ‘your majesty.’ You never were and never will be my son, I’m ashamed to even think of having such a weak and miserable monster as my child. Am I understood?”
“Yes…” Dream sniffled loudly, bringing up his good hand to wipe away his tears. His vision was blurred slightly from them, and he couldn’t stop his bones from trembling. He was terrified.
He didn’t want to die.
“Perfect. Now get up, go clean yourself up.” He grinned, but there was no love, no happiness, in it. Just cruel, empty satisfaction. “Next time, I hope you know better than to ask me foolish questions.”
*****
“You’ve got to be shitting me.”
Cross sighed, shaking his skull as Killer glared up at him. He hated the way the taller monster always acted like he was a kid, or as if Killer didn’t fully understand the seriousness of the situation. “No, Killer, I’m serious. We need to lay low for a while, a few months at least. Maybe a few small protests around the city, but the guards are on edge, and they’ve started going out of their way to harm us.” The ex-guard’s eyes flickered over to Nightmare, and Killer felt his shoulders tense, overcome with the urge to move closer to the Prince who was sitting silently on a crate. “We need to wait for them to relax a bit, then we can go ahead and do our next big thing.”
“Cross has a point.” Error added, crossing his arms over his chest. Sans stood next to him, hands laid out flat on the plastic table, eyes roaming the notes and maps that cluttered the surface. Ink and Chara sat close to Nightmare, Chara on the grass ground and Ink on a crate like the Prince, his feet hanging off the ground. “It’s too dangerous to take serious action right now. It’s pretty clear the guards aren't afraid to kill us, we need the element of surprise again if we want to survive.”
“Yeah? Well they nearly killed Nightmare already!” Killer hissed out between his teeth, his face hot with anger. “We should be making a show that we aren’t something they can just fuck with!”
“That’s too reckless, Killer. I get that you’re upset, but-”
“An eye for an eye, right? Doesn’t have to be big, we already know I can get into the castle, I’ll just kill the fucker in his sleep.”
“An eye for an eye and the whole world goes blind.” Sans muttered, turning his head up to meet Killer’s pinprick eyelights. For once, the older skeleton wasn’t smiling. “You’ll get your chance to fight them eventually Killer, but if you let revenge fuel your decisions you’re just going to get yourself killed. And none of us want to see that.”
Killer grunted, crossing his arms defensively. He knew Sans was right about the part about getting himself killed, but god damn it, he hated the idea of the person who hurt Nightmare still out there, just waiting to do it again. “Then what do we do then, huh?”
“We lay low and wait a few months.” Error pointed to the marked map on the table. “Plan a few, small protests here and there so we don’t lose relevance, but we don’t go near the castle until we’re sure we’re ready.”
“Ready for what?” Killer gestured to Ink. “You got him back, you showed the public that Nightmare is alive and not a power crazed lunatic. What’s next?”
“Get Dream back…” Nightmare said softly, folding his arms around himself. Killer wanted to scoff, question why the hell Nightmare would even care about that yellow prick after what he’s done but, instead, he bit his tongue. It didn’t make sense to Killer, maybe because he sure as hell didn’t care about his family, but Nightmare still loved his brother. Killer knew that. Even if he wished the Prince would let it go since Dream had hurt him, called him things that would sit in the back of his mind like bombs ready to blow; the small monster didn’t have the heart to push him to forget about Dream. Not when he would smile and laugh when he told stories of his childhood. He didn’t want Nightmare to lose that strange, childlike glee like Killer had.
“Not yet.” Error sighed. “We need to somehow resurface some memories first. Just kidnapping him won’t do us any good, we need him to be at least somewhat willing to come here.”
“How are you going to do that? Chara finally spoke up, hugging her knees to her chest. It still felt a little odd to Killer that she was here - the only human in the bunch - but he had to admit she wasn’t too bad when it came to magic, though there was certainly room for improvement. “I’ve been watching the new casts from the castle and the speeches. He doesn’t show any signs of being upset or at all against the king.”
“If he really is brainwashed, like Cross said, then he would act however Gatser wants him too. He doesn’t remember Cross, and he doesn’t remember the good parts of Nightmare and those memories aren’t going to come back easily.” Sans tapped the table, eyes flickering between the monsters and the human around him. “But you can’t brainwash souls. They react to people the monster, or human, is close to in different ways. For example, even if Dream can’t remember Cross, his soul will still react in a positive way when Dream sees or talks to him. He'll feel a sort of warm, comforting feeling, a little buzzy.”
Cross raised a hand to his chest, eyes dropping to the ground. “The feeling of love…”
“Exactly, my friend.” Sans snapped his fingers, giving a small smile to Cross. “If you can provoke that feeling for long enough, some memories may come back to him. If we could get you two to meet on the battlefield, close enough that you could talk to him… bring up things you’ve done together, dates, conversations, anything that would create that feeling of love… then bingo. That could be enough to create a domino effect and he’ll be willing to join us here.”
“Then that’s what we’ll do.” Cross said with a little too much force, slamming his hands onto the table. “Once he’s here, we’ll really be able to help him, he can-”
“Woah, woah, woah, slow down Cross.” Sans held up his hands defensively, his smile dropping again. “This is all a theory. I’m pretty confident it could work but there’s a lot of things to consider. For one, we don’t even know if Dream will ever be amongst the guards in battle.”
“There could be side effects of whatever Gaster is doing to him to keep him brainwashed.” Error added.
“So it’s all hopeless.” Quirking an eyebrow at the oldest monster, Killer couldn’t help but notice the way Cross’s body sank in defeat at Sans’ words. Killer still kind of hated him, but he had to admit he felt a bit bad for the guy. If he was in this kind of situation with Nightmare…
Well, he didn’t love Nightmare (at least, that’s what he thought), but he knew he’d be trying his best to get him back too.
“Didn’t say that.” Sans hummed, standing up straight and stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets. “It’s the best plan we’ve got right now, but we need to be mindful of the things that could interfere.” The group fell silent after that, tension hanging over them like a thick blanket. Killer saw a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye socket - Nightmare sliding off the old crate, slowly moving closer until he stood next to the smaller skeleton. Killer didn’t say anything when he felt the other monster grab his hand, only to silently squeeze it in what he hoped was a comforting way.
“Hey… here’s an idea.” Sans spoke up first, unsurprising since he was usually the one to relax situations. The jokester of the group, the carefree one. “We’ve all been really focused on this stuff without any breaks for a while now, so, you know, I think we should take the rest of the night off and just have a little fun; act normal for a night.”
“Newsflash, none of us are normal anymore, pretty sure we’re wanted criminals since the crown literally wants us dead.” Killer pursed his lips under his mask, feeling Nightmare’s grip on his hand tighten.
“Hence why I said ‘act’” Smile back in place, Sans winked. Killer resisted rolling his eyes, even though he had to admit it was comforting to see the other monster back in his joking mood. “I know this cute, family run bakery on the other side of town - they’ve got great coffee and Muffet, the current owner, makes the best pastries I’ve ever had - and it’s right next to a park that has this river running through it, I used to study there all the time. I say we all go get some coffee or tea or whatever, get some snacks, and just spend an hour or two relaxing for once.” The monster looked between his group of friends, hands extended. “Any takers?”
“Yes! That’s a great idea!” Ink said, hopping off his crate, giving his fiance a knowing look. “Don’t tell me you took a break last week when we had that dinner, you need this Erry.” He latched onto his partner’s arm, leaning into his chest. “You’re going to stress yourself into an early grave.”
“...Yeah, ok. We can spend a night doing nothing.” Leaning down, Error pressed a kiss to his fiance's temple.
“I’ll come too.” Cross added softy, raising his hand. “I could use the distraction, I guess.”
“Well I have to come, since you’re my ride home.” Chara rolled her eyes, pushing off of the ground. There was a hint of a smile on her lips.
Nightmare tugged gently on Killer’s hand, bringing the small monster’s attention back to him. His eyelights were wide in their sockets, his lips twitching up into a smile. He was obviously trying to ask Killer if they could go with his eyes, and it made Killer snort. Why would Night ask him that? If he wanted to go he could go by himself. Still, he shrugged his shoulders, biting down a remark about how much of a puppy Nightmare could be. “Yeah, we’ll come too.”
“Perfect!” Sans claps his hands, strutting towards the iron gate of the orphanage. “All of you are going to get a spider donut, I’m not taking no for an answer.”
*****
“How’re you holding up?” Chara felt her heart thunder in her chest, crossing her arms over her chest, keeping her eyes glued to the ex-guard leaning his body against the tree in front of her. She wasn’t a nervous person, but Cross was literally the Prince’s lover, so of course she’s going to be a bit nervous talking to him.
Truthfully, she could have just crossed the bridge to the other side of the lake, where her brother was talking happily with Ink and Error. However, she didn’t want to intrude on them, and she was just happy Sans actually had friends his own age for once. She also didn’t care enough about whatever boring adult stuff they were probably talking about. She could have joined Nightmare and Killer on the bridge, sitting over the clear water, but then she would feel like a third wheel (As far as Chara knew, the two skeletons weren’t actually an item yet, but come on; the romantic tension around them was so thick you could cut it with a steak knife).
And that left her with Cross. He hadn’t said much on the long walk here and, after the short stop at Muffet’s Bakery, he’d split off from the group to stand here. Maybe he wanted to be alone, but Chara was left with no other choice, so there she was.
Cross cocked an eyebrow at her, frowning. “I’m fine? What do you want?”
She shrugged, sitting cross legged on the grass next to him. “Someone to talk to.”
“Yeah? Well, it looks like your brother and his pals are having a great conversation over there, so why don’t you go join them, huh?” Chara narrowed her eyes at the skeleton, determination swelling inside her chest. Oh, he was not getting rid of her that easily.
“And listen to more of his jokes? No way. I think I’ll stay right here.”
Cross snorted, his eyes finally dropping to look at her. “Fine, what about jackass and the prince over there?”
The redhead lagged at the nickname he’d given to Killer, but she shook her head. “Nope again. I’m not going anywhere.” She flashed a grin at the skeleton standing next to her, who only rolled his eyes.
“Suit yourself.” He huffed, crossing his arms.
It was a cool night, making Chara glad that she had her sweater. The trees' leaves were yellow, orange and red, a few falling to the ground whenever a gust of wind passed, signalling fall had arrived. The city’s lights shone through the few trees in the park, bathing the grass and trunks with blues and pinks. Still, the park was a lot darker than the main streets, mainly lit up by a few lampposts.
A few minutes passed, and it seemed Cross got bored with his silent act. Or maybe the way Chara just stared at him convinced him to say something (she was the second youngest in her family, she knew how to annoy people into paying attention to her). “I’ve seen you practicing your magic at the camp, you’re not half bad. Who taught you?”
“Sans. He wanted me to be able to defend myself if I got in a hairy situation.” She had been ten the first time Sans showed her that she could use magic too, and at the time she had been absolutely enthralled. She spent months researching the history of magic and how it affects monsters and humans alike. Long story short, she now knew way too many random and useless magic facts.
Cross hummed, eyes watching a billboard that just barely poked through the trees. It was advertising some kind of magic energy drink, supposedly it boosted someone's abilities indefinitely. Sounded fake to Chara. “Some improvement and proper training would do you some good.”
The human girl scoffed. “Gee, thanks.”
“I’m trying to say I could train you.”
“... wait, deadass?”
Cross gave her an odd look, then shook his skull, muttering, “Fucking teenagers and their weird slang…” Chara snorted. “But yes, I’ve been in the royal guard basically my whole life, I know my shit when it comes to training folks like you. Though they usually aren’t so young…”
“... Thank you.”
“Whatever.” He shrugged, pushing off the tree and pushing his hands into the pockets of the old jacket he wore. “I mainly just don’t want to see a kid get killed out there.”
“I’m sixteen.”
“Exactly, you’re still a child.” He turned on his heel, walking away from the bridge.
“Wait, where are you going?”
“Somewhere I can actually think.” He waved a hand behind him. “You should go home kid, it’s late.”
*****
Killer jolted slightly when he felt a pressure against his shoulder, his body going rigid. It was just Nightmare, he was the only other one sitting on the stone bridge, and the only one close enough to lean against him, but he was just so close; Killer could feel the warmth radiating from his soul, hear his soft breaths. He cursed himself for acting so damn soft all of the sudden, contouring his lips back into a frown.
“What are you doing?”
“Sweets make me sleepy…” The Prince’s words slurred slightly, and he nuzzled against Killer's shoulder. The smaller monster’s breath caught in his throat, panic rising though his system. He was trying so damned hard not to succumb to his stupid feelings for the skeleton and just keep him at arms length, just keeps him as a friend; but for fuck’s sake, did Nightmare need to make it so hard?
After the incident last week, Killer realized just how fucked he really was. It was so stupid, and he knew that. He’d been able to go for years without a stupid crush, without stupid friends. And now here he was, friends with the long lost Prince and crushing hard. But then Nightmare got hurt, got shot, all because Killer hadn’t been able to protect him. He’d been so focused on Nightmare, on the way his hands always moved when he talked, like he was writing his words as he spoke them. The way his eyelights grew in size when he noticed Killer in the alley way. The way he smiled when the smaller monster gave him a simple thumbs up. He still wished he’d killed the asshole who fired the bullet, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to do it with Nightmare behind him, bleeding on the ground. Killer had been terrified. He’d been enraged with himself for not being more observant.
And then he had cried in front of Nightmare If that wasn’t bad enough, he had also thrown up later that night, the black magic relentless against his throat, which Nightmare had seen too. Killer hated it, hated that he had seen him so weak, so fucking broken.
Yet, Nightmare never shied away. If anything, he seemed closer to Killer than he had before.
Which just made trying to avoid his crush a lot harder for Killer.
Nightmare’s skull slid off the other skeleton’s shoulder until he rested his head on Killer’s lap and yawned.
“Woah, hey, what are you doing-” No answer. The Prince’s eyes were closed and his breathing was steady and even. Was he…? “Hey, Night?” Killer gently poked his cheek, earning a sleepy mumble.
Well fuck.
Killer felt his cheeks warm under his mask, a smile tugging at his lips. Soft snores left Nightmare’s mouth, his nose twitching in his sleep. It was utterly adorable.
Apprehensively, he slid his mask off his face, his eyelights blown wide and fuzzy. His chest was warm, filled with something Killer hadn’t felt in years.
He was so scared, scared of Nightmare dying, or getting bored of him. He didn’t know how he could ever let Nightmare into his life as more than a friend (assuming the Prince felt the same way, which was unlikely) when he knew everyone else who had “loved” him had left; had just left without a word, without regret. Killer didn’t think he could handle that again, and the thought of losing more people made him feel both angry and so unbelievably empty.
But Nightmare made him feel again, really feel. Around Nightmare, he felt happy, he felt love. He was able to forget his rage for a few moments when he saw the other man smile, he was able to forget just how alone he was whenever Nightmare laughed.
And maybe, for right now, that was ok. Later, he would go back to worrying about how he was going to keep up the ‘I don’t have feelings for this monster’ act. He would go back to wondering when the hell Nightmare had become the only person to ever sneak under his walls, the only person to ever break down Killer’s defenses and get a glimpse at the mess he really was. But right now, someone he loved was sleeping in his lap, and looking absolutely perfect in blue light.
Killer felt happy, felt safe and, for now, that was ok.
Notes:
well, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Just a heads up that school starts on sept 8th for me, so it's probably going to take longer for chapter updates, so please be patient with me <3
Chapter 12: ~Chapter 12~
Summary:
!tw: depression, mention of suicidal thoughts!
Notes:
For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on Instagram or Tumblr
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
With a sigh, Killer folded up the piece of paper Sans had scribbled a shopping list onto, stuffing it into his pants pocket. He understood they needed to kill time before protesting at the castle, and it’d only been a month so far, so they had to keep waiting; but a camping trip? Really?
The whole thing had been Sans’s idea (of course it had, Sans always thought of this kind of shit) and the others had latched onto it. A week away from the orphange, a week of acting like “a dumb group of college students” - Sans’s words, not Killer’s. And of course, everyone wanted to go, even Cross; which surprised the small skeleton. Cross didn’t seem like the “relaxing” type. Killer had originally planned on staying back, maybe a week away from Nightmare would help him clear his head, work out his feelings. But the look the Prince had given him later that night when he said he wasn’t going…
Killer just couldn’t say no to that.
So here he was, stuck shopping for camping supplies with Nightmare, the dreaded trip a few days away. The others had insisted they change their clothes before leaving though, since they were both pretty recognizable at this point. Sans had lent Killer some of his old clothes; a red turtleneck and dark red jacket. Other than that, he still had his same pants on, and he’d been able to keep his necklace, but Error had scolded him when Killer asked to keep his mask. Of course, something like that would bring more attention to the two of them. He idly ran his tongue over one of his fangs, still not used to people being able to see them so openingly like this.
Nightmare, on the other hand, had been able to borrow an outfit from Ink - simple blue jeans and a white shirt with a purple flower on the front, Killer had guessed it was an iris, but he wasn’t 100% sure, and a fluffy jacket covered his arms. The clothes were a bit small for the prince, making the outfit look almost skin tight, and Killer would be lying if he said he didn’t like the way the jeans hugged Nightmare’s legs and hips. Nightmare also had a light blue, almost white, bandana tied around his skull, covering up his right eye and his scar. At least this way it wasn’t likely anyone would bother them.
“Do you think we’ll need a cooler?”
Killer’s eyes lazily roamed the store. It wasn’t too big, but still pretty busy, monsters lingering in front of products, comparing prices and sales. He’d never been in this store before, but then again, he stole most of the things he needed, and wouldn’t dare try something like this. Security cameras littered the ceiling, and it was in the wealthier part of the city. A part he usually tried to avoid like the plague. Truthfully, Killer felt wrong standing there, like he’d entered someplace restricted. “Error said that he and Ink had one, remember?”
“Oh, yeah, that’s right.” Nightmare hummed, leaning down, picking up a box of graham crackers, eyeing it. “Do you think these will be good?”
“Sure.” Killer rocked on his heels, taking a deep breath as he watched Nightmare set the box into the basket hanging off his arm, next to a small package of chocolate. This all felt so… domestic. Almost like they were a family. Like they were married.
He immediately pushed the thought away, scolding himself for even thinking something like that. They were friends, just friends, and wasn’t Killer supposed to be finding a way to get rid of his crush on Nightmare? The Prince looked up to him from the ground with a smile, and oh my god did he not realize how suggestive that looked from Killer’s point of view? The smaller skeleton’s cheeks bloomed with colour, much to his frustration. “This is fun! It’s so nice to do normal things like this after everything… plus, I’ve never gone shopping before!”
“Neither have I.” Killer kept his eyes glued to the shelf next to them until he was sure Nightmare was standing again, dusting off his knees.
“Really?”
“Well, yeah.” Nightmare took hold of Killer’s hand, and the small skeleton didn’t even try to push him away, liking the warmth. He was giving in too much, he knew that, and he should be trying to push Nightmare away, but he just couldn’t resist giving in to these simple things. God, what was wrong with him? “I live in the slums, meaning I’m poor and homeless.”
“Oh, right… well, that just means this is something we can experience for the first time together!” Killer gave a small smile, not sure if the fact that they had never gone grocery shopping before, even though they were both into their twenties, was anything to be proud or happy about.
“What else do we need… marshmallows and hotdogs?”
“Yeah, and buns. Plus Sans really wanted us to get ketchup, so that too.” Killer clucked his tongue, eyes landing on the shopping basket Nightmare carried in his other hand. “What’s with the crackers and chocolate, anyways?”
They stopped in front of the frozen meat section, the Prince letting go of Killer’s hand to look closer at the different brands of hotdogs. Killer really hoped Night actaully knew what he was looking at, because personally he couldn’t see a god damn difference between the different packages besides their dumb labels. “Ink suggested we all make s’mores on the trip!”
The shorter monster squinted his eyes, crossing his arms. “What the fuck are s’mores?”
Nightmare looked back at him from over his shoulder, eyebrows drawing in confusion. “...You don’t know what they are?”
“If I did, do you think I’d be asking?”
“No, I guess not.” He set a pack of hotdogs into the basket, apparently having found one he thought was good enough. “I’ll make sure to make you one then! I bet you’ll love it!”
Killer shrugged, slightly disappointed Nightmare didn’t grab his hand again, instead just walking beside him, a slight skip in his step. “Whatever you say.” Nightmare giggled, making Killer’s soul flutter.
He loved that sound so damn much.
*****
Killer shifted his weight to his other foot, adjusting the tent bag in his arms, Nightmare scanning their shopping basket, making sure they had everything. “Don’t you feel kind of weird using Sans’s credit card to buy all this shit?”
The Prince startled, looking around as if Killer had said something illegal - which he hadn’t, but the reaction was a bit cute nonetheless - then turned back to him, voice hushed. “I guess… he said it was fine though, since this was his idea.”
“Yeah, well,” He lowered his voice to a whisper, leaning closer to his friend, a smirk teasing the edge of his lips. “Think about how much cheaper it would be to just steal all this instead?”
Nightmare gasped, playfully smacking one of his arms, making Killer chuckle. “Killer! You can’t do that!”
“I totally could and you know it.”
The other skeleton stuck out his tongue. “Maybe, but you shouldn’t!”
“I’m going to do it when you turn around, you know.” Killer couldn’t hold back his snicker when Nightmare puffed out his cheeks, placing his hand on his hip.
“Alright then mister, go wait outside if you won’t behave.” The shorter of the two quirked an eyebrow. “Please..?”
“As you wish, your highness.” Killer winked, Nightmare’s nose scrunching at the nickname, and set the tent bag on the counter next to the cash register. “But I’m taking this with me.” He raised his arm enough to let Nightmare glimpse down the jacket sleeve, revealing a simple, red lighter, then ducked out of the line and out the store doors before he could hear his friend’s complaints, laughing softly to himself.
It was a brisk afternoon, the wind blowing red and yellow leaves off the branches of the trees planted around the shopping square. The clouds rolling in the sky seemed to promise at least a bit of snow. It wouldn’t be long until winter was officially here - December was only a few months away - and Killer was already dreading the cold. He could handle it, he always did, but it always made his bones feel numb and hollow, and not to mention how it always brought memories with it that Killer would rather forget about.
With a sigh, Killer leaned his weight onto the light pole outside of the store; there were a lot less people out here than there were in the store, much to Killer’s relief. It would give him time to think in peace for a few minutes.
It just didn’t make sense to him. Whenever he was thinking about his obvious attraction and feelings for Nightmare, he felt like it was something that needed to be stomped out, something he was supposed to hate. And yet, whenever he actually talked or interacted with the prince… it all came so naturally. Making jokes, brief touches, smiles and laughs, they all felt right in those situations. It made him feel warm, and comfortable, like he didn’t need to hide. That he was safe to just act freely.
That he was loved.
But he couldn’t help but wonder if that really was wrong. Sure, it felt good, but not everything that felt good was right, and vise versa. He was supposed to be alone, wasn’t he? Wasn’t that what he decided? Even if this was supposed to happen, even if it was somehow right, how could it ever work long term? Nightmare was his friend, and he only saw Killer as such, and Killer… well, no matter how hard he denied, it did like Night a lot more than a friend should.
If Killer told him that, it would just ruin all of this. Their friendship, conversations, all down the drain. He was a street rat, and Nightmare was a prince, they just weren’t meant to end up together. Besides, after Dream is back to his normal self, why would Nightmare even stay friends with Killer? He wouldn’t need the short monster anymore, not when he had his dear brother back.
“Killer…?”
Every inch of his body tensed, his soul suddenly pounding as his eyelights shrunk to pinpricks. He knew that voice.
He lifted his head slowly, already knowing who he’d see, dread filling his chest. She was only a few feet from him, her hands hanging limp at her sides as she stared at him. How similar they looked was enough to make Killer sick - they had the same short stature, the same fangs, the same small eyelights that always made people at least a little bit uneasy.
His mother.
“Oh, Killer, it’s you… my son, I never thought I’d see you again…” She reached for his hand, and Killer flinched away, batting her hand away. He scowled, a familiar pain settling on his chest. What the hell was she doing here?!
“Don’t give me that.” He hissed, his mother’s face shifting - first to surprise, and then to nothing. She was a blank canvas, no emotions to be seen. Killer wanted to scoff, the least she could do is show a little regret. “You’re the one who abandoned me.”
“I had to… Killer, after your father left I…”
“Do you think I give a shit?!” The automatic doors to the grocery store opened with a whoosh, but Killer paid no attention to it. Pent up anger for his mother was boiling in his ribcage, so close to spilling out his mouth. “I was twelve-fucking-years-old! And you just left me in that shitty old house! Like I was nothing!”
“Killer… you know I love you, I just…”
“NO. YOU. FUCKING. DON’T!” That was the tipping point, rage overflowing from ever crack in his bones, radiating from him like heat from the sun. “If you actually cared you would have stayed! You would have been there! But you fucking left me!” Tears were forming in his eyes, and he hated it. He hated his mother. He hated every goddamn monster who was surrounding and watching them like they were part of a circus show.
He hated himself.
“It’s your fucking fault I push everyone away, your fault I’m so scared of getting close to anyone because I just expect them to leave like you did! Because of you I know just how much of a shit son I am!” A tear rolled down his cheek, falling to the ground. Someone put a hand on his shoulder, calling his name. Killer pushed them away. “And you know what? I get it! I know why you left! I mean, look at me! I just wish you would have killed me too, at least that way I wouldn’t have to deal with doing it myself!”
His throat burned, and his breath came out in short, hot gasps. Turning on his heel, he pushed past the crowd of monsters. Someone was calling to him - he couldn’t tell if it was his stupid fucking mother or someone else, but he didn’t care. He wanted out of here. Now.
He only made it a few blocks before he felt a burning sensation in his throat. Ducking into an alley, he grasped at the building wall as he upchucked, the sticky, black magic splattering onto the concrete and beginning to well up in his eyes. He choked, his legs threatening to give out on him, the burning sensation was unbearable. A sob left him when he was finally able to catch his breath, his soul aching in his chest.
Why did she have to be there?
Why would she come back?
With a shaking hand, Killer wiped at his mouth and eyes, gasping for a full breath as he desperately tried to fight back more tears. The sky seemed darker now, the alleyway shrouded in shadows as large snowflakes fell from above, beginning to pile on the ground.
Why did hearing those words - “You know I love you” - hurt so much to hear?
*****
There were a lot of things Nightmare didn’t understand about Killer.
For one, he didn’t understand why he always wore that red mask - his guess was that the small monster wanted to hide his fangs but that didn’t make much sense to Nightmare. Personally, he really liked the other’s sharp teeth.
He didn’t understand why the small monster was so cuddly when he was asleep, either, but he wouldn’t complain about that. Feeling Killer’s arms around him at night made him feel safe, and warm, and made his soul burst with joy.
Nightmare also didn’t fully understand what happened outside of the grocery store earlier that day. But he was smart enough to know Killer was not ok after that.
His eyes roamed the front of the dilapidated four story building, a shiver coursing through his body from the chill air. The sun had almost completely set, the sky still overcast with dark clouds. At least it had stopped snowing.
After Killer’s fight, he had run off, and Nightmare had been left alone near the front of the store, despite him calling for his friend to come back. He knew he should have followed him, but he’d been frozen, scared, his soul burning. He didn’t know who this woman was - probably Killer’s mother, given how she talked to him and how similar they looked - but it was clear she had hurt Killer in unforgettable ways. The thought alone made Nightmare grit his teeth.
He wasn’t a hateful person.
But he hated that woman with all his soul.
So he slapped her. Hard.
He didn’t know what willed him to do it, but it had felt right at the time. She yelled at him afterwards - “What the hell is wrong with you? You fucking freak!” - but Night did his best to ignore it, the same way Killer would have. He took his bags and left (It had been an utter pain to get back to the camp, nearly dropping his bags multiple times and getting lost once)
It wasn’t till he got to the orphanage that everything clicked: Killer wasn’t with him. Everything Killer had said… Nightmare knew that his friend had problems he wasn’t open with but he had assumed they weren’t that bad; weren’t to the point of saying he wished he was dead.
Nightmare couldn’t remember much of that moment when he dropped the plastic bags onto the ground, his knees weak, but he knew he cried, and Sans and Ink had been there trying to calm him down and figure out where Killer was. He had pushed them away, blabbering.
He sort of regretted not answering any of their questions before leaving again.
But he needed to make sure Killer was ok.
Hence why he was scaling an old pipe of an old, dirty building.
He huffed, reaching the top, pulling his body onto the steel roof. And Killer was there. Nightmare almost sobbed in relief at seeing his small frame curled up under the pile of blankets in his little shelter, twirling his necklace’s red pendant between his fingers. The ache in his chest strengthened when he noticed the tear streaks on Killer’s cheeks.
Silently, he sat down on the roof next to him, not daring to reach out and hold the smaller monster’s hand just yet.
After a minute of silence, Killer sniffled, stubbornly wiping his eyes. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I came looking for you. I was worried.”
He didn’t look up and meet Nightmare’s eye’s, keeping his small eyelights glued to his hands. “Why?” He scoffed. “Why the fuck do you care?”
“Because-”
“And don’t give me that stupid ‘you’re my friend’ excuse.”
Nightmare balled his hands into fists, blowing a breath out of his nose. “Because I care about you Killer. And I know… I know you’re not a very open person, and I don’t expect you to tell me everything right now, but… but I want to help you, and to do that I need to know what happened back there.”
“Why the fuck would you want to help?” Killer snarled, finally lifting his head and making eye contact. Black stains trailed down his skull under his eye sockets and mouth, dull red tears in the corner of his eyes. “Look at me Nightmare. I’m a fucking mess. Why do you get from trying to help a stupid… mistake like me?” His voice wavered, a tear sliding down his cheek.
“... I get to see you smile.” Nightmare’s voice was soft, and he slowly reached out and placed his hand over Killer’s. The smaller skeleton flitched, but didn’t pull away. “I get to hear you laugh. I get to see you happy.”
Killer dropped his skull down again, his shoulder’s trembling as his fingers curled around Nightmare’s hand. “... you know, this stupid necklace I wear, it was from her. My mom.” So he had been right, that the lady from the store was related to Killer. “I have no fucking idea why I still wear it, I just… whenever I try to get rid of it my chest gets so tight and it becomes hard to breath… and I just can’t. And it makes me so… angry.” He took a deep breath, his body still trembling, but Nightmare had a feeling that wasn’t because of the cold. “I’ve never told anyone this…”
“Take your time, Killer. I’m not going anywhere.” He rubbed his thumb over the other’s knuckles, and Killer nodded slowly.
“I’ve always lived in the slums. I was born here, it’s all I’ve known. I didn’t even know it was the ‘bad’ part of town back then. I thought it was good, because I had a family, my mom and dad. And then dad left when I was ten, the fucking… asshole.” His grip tightened on Nightmare’s hand to the point that it was almost painful, but he didn’t pull away. “Mom became distant, she wouldn’t do anything. I started taking care of us. That’s when I first learned how to steal without being caught. We stopped eating regular meals though, and you can see how that affected me. Don’t need meals now but when monster’s are growing up we sure as hell do.” He laughed, but it was empty. “Either way, I did a pretty good job considering I was literally a child. But then, two years later, my mom finally shows some life again and it’s to tell me we’re going to have a real Christmas this year, like normal people. I was so fucking excited. I woke up on Christmas morning and she was gone. Just.. without a word. And I never saw her again… until today.
The funny part is, I always try to tell myself that I’m mad at her, she abandoned me, so of course I would be pissed. But really? I’m just so fucking tired, Night. Tired of knowing I’m a shitty person, not… not good enough for love. I mean, why would my own parents leave unless it was my fault?” He sniffed again, eyelights flickering in his sockets. Nightmare hated seeing him so upset, wanting nothing more than to take all the pain away. Scooting closer, he pulled Killer into his arms, hugging him to his chest. The smaller monster leaned into the touch, a strangled sob leaving his throat as he grabbed at the fabric of the shirt covering Nightmare’s spine. “S-so I decided I would just… be alone. Forever. Because if I never let anyone close, I’ll never feel that soul splitting pain again. And then out of fucking nowhere, you appeared.” Killer pressed closer, freely crying now. “And I know, I fucking know I should push you away so I don’t get hurt again but god, I don’t want to. I don’t want to feel so fucking alone, and numb and empty anymore.”
Nightmare ran his hand over Killer’s back, moving in slow circles. When the other’s sobs started to quiet, he spoke up, keeping his voice low. “You don’t need to be alone, Killer, not ever again.” The small skeleton shook his skull, mumbling something, but Nightmare just pulled away slightly, cupping his face. “I swear to you. I’m never, ever going to leave, because I’ll always care about you.” Killer’s eye lights grew slightly, wavering in their sockets. “And one day, you’ll find your person, a person who loves you so damn much.” he wanted to add, and it’s me. He wanted to say it so, so badly. “Who knows, maybe you’ve already met them!”
Killer snorted, looking away as his cheek bones turned red. “That’s ridiculously optimistic.”
“The point is, you’ll always have me Kills.”
Killer didn’t say anything, but he did flop down onto his back, arms still around Nightmare so the Prince fell with him, landing on his chest. The blankets puffed up around them, almost like a valley. Nightmare felt his face warm, but he snuggled closer, his soul filled with butterflies.
“...ok.” Killer nuzzled the top of Nightmare’s skull, making his soul scream in his chest, so full of love it felt like it would burst. “...And I’ll always be here for you, too.”
They stayed like that for a while. Nightmare eventually lost track of time, listening to the steady beat of Killer’s soul from inside his ribcage, the sound was relaxing. “Should we… go back? I didn’t exactly tell anyone that I was going to get you when I left, and they’re all probably pretty worried…”
Killer hummed, a hand coming up to cup the back of Nightmare’s skull. The Prince leaned happily into the touch. “Can we just… stay like this for a few more minutes?”
With a small smile, Night brought a hand up to rub Killer’s cheek. The other skeleton looked down at him, a small, nervous smile playing on his lips. “I would like that.”
Nightmare would gladly do anything if it meant he could stay this close to Killer.
Notes:
Hey everyone! I know this is a bit shorter than usual, but this and the next few chapters are just gonna be filler before we get back to the big, serious plot points, so more fluff and domestic thing (I mentioned the camping trip which you will all get to read about next time!)
Also I really wanted to bring up just how amazing you all are?? Like thank you all so much for the support on this! It means so much to me <3
Chapter 13: ~Chapter 13~
Notes:
For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on Instagram or Tumblr
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“This is so stupid.” Killer huffed, sinking further into his carseat, his arms crossed over his chest. Cross scoffed from the front of the van - it belonged to Asgore; Sans had convinced his father to let him borrow it for the trip, having told the goat monster that he was going out with friends for the week - and turned in his seat to glare at the smaller monster.
“Why the hell did you come if all you’re going to do is complain?”
Killer just rolled his eyes, pulling the hood of his sweater up. Sans had once again insisted that they wear different clothes, even though they'd be alone in the woods all week.
He'd opted for a hoodie and a t-shirt this time, and he had stuffed his mask into one of the pockets - even if he wasn't wearing it, he didn't feel comfortable leaving it behind. The shirt was simple and had the words “fun sized!” on it, and he'd protested against wearing the stupid thing, but Nightmare had picked it out for him.
And, well, Killer still couldn’t say no to him.
“I swear to god if you two fight all week-” Error muttered with a huff, Ink giggling from the seat next to him. They’d been stuck in the stupid car for over an hour now, and Error expected Killer not to butt heads with the damn ex-guard? He must be delusional. The two skeletons had argued practically the whole way, and it wasn’t like that was going to stop anytime soon.
“Nuh-uh, we agreed that everyone is going to be well behaved on this trip!” Sans chirped from the front seat - again, Killer didn’t see the point in saying that, since it clearly wasn’t going to happen - and parked the car between two oak trees, leaves crunching softly under the tires. Killer fought down the urge to push out of the van the minute it stopped moving, feeling way too crowded in the small space. Though, he didn’t mind having Nightmare sit so close to him, but he wouldn’t admit that out loud. “Aaaand we’re here.”
“You took us… to the middle of nowhere?” Cross rested his skull against the window, his eyelights lazily moving to look at Sans with a raised eyebrow.
“Bingo bango. I like to be-leaf that the best camping trips happen when you have absolutely no idea where you are.” Sans snickered, turning in his seat to look at the others, his smile seeming to grow at the chorus of groans - Nightmare and Ink did softly giggle though, so Killer supposed he could have been smiling at that.
“Let’s just unload the trunk.” Error rolled his eyes, undoing his seat belt. There was a smile tugging at his lips. The tall man had seemed pretty excited for this trip after Ink convinced him the camp would be fine for a week, and Killer had to admit it was nice to see the black skeleton relaxing for once. He hadn’t realized how tense Error had been running the rebellion until now.
Nightmare squeezed out of the back of the van first, Killer’s cheeks warming as he mentally forced himself from staring at his ass - he was wearing those damn tight pants again - and followed after him, having a much easier time doing so. One advantage of being short and having small bones, he supposed, and hopped out onto the ground.
The air was crisp and fresh, free of the city pollution so far out of town. Trees surrounded them, large and looming up into the sky and blocking out most of the sun with their yellow, red, and orange leaves, some of which fluttered to the ground whenever there was a gust of wind. Just past the trees to his left, Killer was sure he could see a lake, and there was a clearing close to the car. That must be where Sans planned on setting up the tents, Killer mused.
Sans popped open the trunk, his eyes scanning over the bags. “Hm.. that’s strange..”
“What is?” Killer huffed, coming up to his side to look past him, into the car. He couldn’t see anything that looked out of place: it just looked like a lot of shit piled together.
Sans smiled down at Killer, and it was that stupid, shit-eating grin that always made Killer’s fight or flight instincts kick in. Particularly his “fight” instinct. The skeleton was obviously scheming something, and the smaller monster had a sneaking suspicion it had something to do with him and Night. “I think I forgot to pack one of the tents… looks like you and Nightmare are going to be stuck sharing one!”
Killer glared up at him. Of course he “forgot” an extra tent. Ever since Nightmare ran off to help comfort Killer a few days ago, Sans had been doing everything he could to get them to hook up, or kiss, or get into some kind of situation with romantic undertones. He’d even tried to get the two younger skeletons to stand under a mistletoe together - it wasn’t even christmas yet, so Killer had no goddamn clue how Sans had come up with that one. Regardless, everytime Sans pulled one of his stupid stunts, both Nightmare and Killer would blush like highschoolers, and Killer’s soul would flutter inside his chest. It didn’t help that the two of them still hadn’t talked about what happened on the roof - Killer could still remember the warmth in his chest as Nightmare willingly cuddled with him that night, the way his body was warm as he laid on Killer’s chest. The way his own soul felt ready to burst. At least Nightmare hadn’t tried to distance himself after Killer told him everything.
“Oh, well… that’s ok! Killer and I already share a room at the orphanage, so this will be no different!” Night’s cheeks were dusted with that pretty teal, almost green colour again, making Killer’s soul skip a beat. Of course the Prince would be oblivious to Sans’s ploys, he has been this entire time. Or maybe he was playing dumb. In that case, Killer had to admit that he was a damn good actor. “Right, Kills?”
Goddammit- why did he have to be so cute?
“Yeah… it’s fine.” Nightmare smiled brightly - damn that stupid, radiating grin of his - and hummed as he began to help unload the trunk, skipping over to Ink.
“You’ve got it so bad Killer.” Error said with a snicker, sounding like he just stated the most obvious thing in the world. Killer glared up at him, his cheeks burning with magic.
“Got what?” Wow, great move Killer, playing dumb always works.
Not. Unless you were Nightmare, then it was cute. For Killer, he was sure it just made him look more dumb.
Error just smirked, raising an eyebrow. “Out of everyone here, who do you get along with? Who do you just ‘happen’ to always agree with? Who you’ve never gotten angry with?”
Killer just huffed, grabbing one of the tent bags, ignoring Cross as he snickered. He’d deal with the ex-guard later.
“Just admit it Killer, you’re in love~” Sans hummed, wiggling his eyebrows at the shorter monster.
“I am not!” The others around him laughed, only making him more annoyed and embarrassed. So what if he did lo- like Nightmare?! It was none of their business!
“Aw, you’re embarrassed! How cute, you’ve got a crush on th-” Sans just barely avoided the knife Killer threw at him, his smile unfaltering. He was probably used to having things thrown at him, since he had three younger siblings; Killer held back a laugh at the thought of Sans getting hit in the skull with a sock or slipper.
“Kills!” Nightmare ran back over, grabbing Killer’s free hand - luckily, Error and Sans shut their mouths about the whole ‘crush’ thing the minute the Prince was in ear shot again. “I found the perfect place for our tent! Come on!” He gently pulled on the smaller skeleton’s hand, practically radiating positive energy.
Killer hated that Error and Sans teased him about his very real feelings for the other monster, but what he hated the most? They were right.
He really did have it bad.
“Yeah, ok… lead the way, Night.” As the excited monster pulled Killer away, he could hear Error and Sans laughing behind them, while his soul pounded in his chest.
*****
Error has never been a big fan of camping.
Sure, he liked the outdoors, and he liked the food, but there was something about it that just rubbed him the wrong way.
Maybe it was because the only time he’d gone camping as a child had been when his father suspected he was gay with how often he hung out with Ink - Error had been 14 at the time of the trip and, at the time, he was still oblivious to his feeling for the boy. Also, he had only started to realize how much of a steamy pile of shit his father was. Cyber had taken him fishing that weekend in hopes of making Error more of a “man”.
To this day, Error had a passionate hate for fishing.
With all that being said, there was still one way Error could be convinced to stay a week in the middle of the woods.
And that reason was Ink.
The small monster always found ways to make things fun, and there was always a warm, happy buzz in Error’s soul when he was with him - the soulbond only made the buzz more noticeable. Plus, seeing Ink get excited over wildlife and trees was always a treat; so when the small skeleton had pulled him aside and asked if he wanted to go on a short hike, Error gladly agreed.
Though, he hadn’t imagined himself carrying Ink along the trail.
It had started with them just holding hands, walking in comfortable silence through the trees, but eventually the pregnancy caught up to Ink and he started feeling more and more tired, until the point that Error just decided to pick him up. The smaller skeleton had wrapped his arms around Error’s neck, resting his skull on Error’s shoulder with a content sigh.
The first four months was the most tiring part of a pregnancy since the baby was directly using the mother’s magic to create their soul, and Error could feel the slight drain on Ink’s soul. He made a mental note to ask Sans if that was normal later - he didn’t want to take any risks, not when it came to Ink or their children.
“Hey Erry?” Error hummed in response, feeling the small skeleton yawn. “You know I love you lots, right…?” Ink’s words were a bit slurred from his fatigue, but they caused the ebony monster to smile nonetheless.
“Of course I do, Inky. Why wouldn’t I?”
“‘Cause I don’t say it enough… and I don’t want you to think I don't appreciate all of this… everything you’ve done for me…”
“You don't have to say it all the time for me to know it hun.” A breeze blew past them, shaking leaves from the tree branches. The whole place was extremely picturesque, and Error wondered how Sans ever found it. “I know how you feel about me, and you know I feel the same way.” Ink pulled his head off of Error’s shoulder, and Error could feel his eyes watching him, and could feel the way Ink’s soul warmed with love and happiness.
“You're too sweet sometimes, you know that..?” Ink mumbled, smiling as his hand ran over Error’s chest, feeling the strong ribs underneath.
Error just chuckled. A sound to their left made hun freeze, and the couple turned their heads towards the culprit: two deer, a mother and a fawn, stood a little ways from them, slightly hidden between the trees and bushes.
Ink's eyelights grew wide as he stared at the two animals, his left eye changing to a bright yellow star, and a small “Woah…” slipped past his lips. Error found himself smiling down at Ink rather than the wide life, finding the small monster much more beautiful than anything they'd find out here.
They deserved this. After so much going wrong, they deserved a week to relax and act like Error hadn’t started a war. They could be happy about their twins and laugh with their new friends without thinking and worrying about what they were going to do next. For one week, they could be normal.
Error pressed a kiss to Ink’s temple, the short monster turning to smile up at him, his worries forgotten.
Error may not like camping, but he was grateful that Ink had convinced him to come on this trip anyways.
*****
Killer realized he had mixed feelings about fire as he watched the bonfire and it’s flickering flames, reaching up to the dark night sky, the heat making his skull and bones feel warm. On one hand, it was beautiful: the warm orange glow, the way the flames licked at the sky, sparks floating up into the dark. But Killer also knew how dangerous that same fire could be. You get too close and you’ll burn, it could bring down forests, homes, ruin lives with ease. In a way, Killer was drawn to it, more than he probably should be.
He wasn’t one for poetry, he found it dumb at the best of times, but even he could see how that flame could be symbolic for love.
It was evening now, the sky a deep purple above the trees, and shadows seemed to move between the trees and shrubs (Killer was convinced that was just his eyes playing tricks on him), and if it weren’t for the fire Cross and Sans had made, he was sure the six of them would be shivering. The hardest part had been pulling over four logs to sit on - Cross wasn’t even on the one he was next to, the prick - and Killer’s lower back still ached. It didn’t help that Error and Ink had conveniently run off into the woods at that time, returning about an hour later. Killer was convinced they had fucked against a tree (Nightmare had given him a whack to the arm when he mentioned that idea, the Prince’s cheeks bright with that pretty blush that Killer definitely didn’t love).
Now, the monsters were gathered around the flickering fire - Sans on one log, a guitar case on the ground next to him (Which he had refused to explain why he had it, much to Killer’s dismay), Cross on the grass, looking tired, and Error and Ink were cuddled close under a purple, woven blanket. Then there was him and Night. Nightmare was sitting on the right side of the old log, humming to himself as he pulled out the marshmallows, graham crackers and chocolates out of a plastic bag; while Killer leaned comfortably against him. The back of his mind was screaming at him because of the close contact - he knew it made them look like more than friends, he wasn’t a moron - but Nightmare was warm and his presence made Killer’s soul fill with butterflies and bliss. As much as Killer wanted to hate that feeling, he just couldn’t and recently he’d found himself going out of his way to feel it.
“You want a roasting stick for those, buddy?” Sans asked as Nightmare finally managed to open the bag of marshmallows - he’d been struggling for a few minutes by then, and if Killer hadn’t found it so cute he would have offered his help.
Nightmare nodded, as he handed a marshmallow to Killer, who eyed it with suspicion. “Yes please! T-thank you!” He smiled sheepishly as he was handed the shiny metal rod, sticking two of the white sugary treats on the end. Nightmare then held the end of the stick over the fire.
“What the fuck are you doing…?”
“Roasting them, silly! I told you I’d make you a s’more, didn’t I?” He flashed a smile at the smaller monster, making him flush. “And you should try that marshmallow! They’re yummy!”
Killer looked back down at the squishy cylinder in his hand. With some hesitation, he popped it into his mouth, his eyes widening. It was sweeter than he expected, and he couldn’t decide if he liked the taste or hated it. From the otherside of the fire, Cross laughed. “You’ve never had a marshmallow before?” Glaring at him, Killer yanked the bag away from Night, tossing it as Cross. He caught it, the damn bastard, even after it almost caught on fire. “Seriously? What the hell did you think to accomplish with that?”
“Fuck off.” Killer mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest as he turned his body so that his legs were on the old wood, his back resting against Nightmare’s shoulder.
“Grow up you two, you’re acting like children again.” Error groaned, Ink giggling. The small monster looked tired - then again, he always looked tired recently. Maybe it had something to do with whatever Gaster had done to the poor skeleton.
Killer just grumbled, glaring at the ground as if it had personally offended him.
He only looked back up when Nightmare nudged him, holding a small, sandwich like thing in his hand, his smile proud and enthusiastic. “Here, Kills, it’s good!” As much as Killer trusted Nightmare, he was still hesitant when he took the dessert. The marshmallow and chocolate in the center were warm and gooey, and were starting to ooze out of the sides of the two graham crackers. In a panic, not wanting to make a mess and embarrass himself more, he shoved the whole thing into his mouth.
Nightmare had been right, it was good, but it was way to fucking hot for his mouth. He struggled to chew and swallow the treat, Nightmare’s eyes glued to him. The Prince’s eyes were filled with worry and concern. “Why… did you do that?”
The shorter monster just shrugged, ignoring Cross’s loud laughing. “... It was good.” He muttered, his cheek blooming with colour. God, he must look like an idiot.
The excitement returned to Nightmare’s eyelights, and he poked Killer’s warm cheek with a giggle. The sound made Killer’s soul swell in his chest. “You had me worried for a second there, Silly! I’m glad you liked it!”
Killer just nodded, quickly turning away from the Prince in hope of hiding his blushing skull.
He was so fucking whipped, it wasn’t even funny at this point.
*****
“They’re both so cute, aren’t they?” Sans hummed quietly to Cross, opening up his guitar case. He hadn’t played in a few months, and he knew he was going to be rusty, but he had wanted to bring it anyway. Just recently he had learned a new song and he found it rather fitting for his new friends.
“I guess…” Cross muttered, eyeing Sans. He wasn’t close to the ex-guard, at least not as close as he was to Ink and Error, but he knew his sister liked him, so it felt like his duty to make sure Cross was trustworthy. Not that Sans didn’t trust him already. “We really need to find you a significant other, Sans.”
The older skeleton’s cheeks involuntarily turned bright blue, and his eyes snapped up to Cross. It wasn’t that Sans was against dating - the whole idea of finding someone that loved him that much was definitely something he could get behind - but he found it pointless for him to actively look for someone anymore.
Sans wasn’t good with relationships of any kind, especially romantic ones. He could never open up fully to anyone right away, keeping personal things close to his chest. Hell, he’d even hide behind a smile if he was feeling shitty, not wanting to bother whoever he was dating. Which, understandably, rubbed people the wrong way. And some monster’s just got sick of his jokes. Sans had never been in a relationship for more than a few months, and he doubted that would ever change. It was clear no one could love him the way Ink and Error loved each other and Sans had accepted that. He was fine with that, too, and was happy to just help take care of his family.
Yup. Totally chill with being alone until he turned to dust.
“Where’d that come from?” He brushed off the comment the best he could, giving Cross his best fake smile he could muster.
“You’re always so focused on all of our love lives… what about yours? You deserve someone who’ll make you happy too, Sans.” Cross’s eyes flickered to the other skeleton, worry reflected in his sockets.
The comedian tried to laugh, keeping his eyes on the neck of his instrument as he tuned it. The laugh sounded fake, even to himself. “I’m… not good with relationships. And I’m fine being single, it’s not so bad.” And it wasn’t, not really. It gave him a lot of time to get to know himself.
It was a shame he hated himself, even after all that time alone.
“If you say so… but you do deserve to have someone who loves you like that. You’re a good person.” Sans laughed again, shaking his skull.
He knew better than to believe that. A good person didn’t dream about their sibling killing them. A good person didn’t ruin their relationship with their brothers. Good people didn’t look like Sans, and certainly didn’t think like him, either.
Not that it mattered.
Taking a deep breath to calm his now raging anxiety, Sans began singing softly while strumming his guitar.
“There will come a soldier
Who carries a mighty sword
He will tear your city down, oh lei-oh lai-oh Lord
Oh lei, oh lai, oh lei, oh Lord
He will tear your city down, oh lei-oh lai-oh Lord”
It didn’t matter that Cross said he should find someone. He didn’t need anyone. They’d just leave. And Sans already had too many deep, unhealed cracks on his soul.
Nightmare was giving him a surprised look. He seemed to like the music, his grin widening as he turned to Killer. Sans hoped those two would end up together. They had both been through way too much for their age, and it was nice to see the two of them happy, really happy. They were the ones who actually deserved a happily ever after.
“There will come a poet
Whose weapon is His word
He will slay you with His tongue, oh lei-oh lai-oh Lord
Oh lei, oh lai, oh lei, oh Lord
He will slay you with His tongue, oh lei-oh lai-oh Lord”
Nightmare was pulling Killer to his feet, pulling him into a dance. The Prince was laughing while the small skeleton looked flustered and unsure of what to do, but Sans didn’t miss the gentle smile on his lips. Ink was now softly singing with him too, snuggled up to Error’s chest.
They were good people too, like storybook lovers. Sans really did wish them the best for the future, the two monsters definitely deserved the love and happiness Cross talked about.
“There will come a ruler
Whose brow is laid in thorn
Smeared with oil like David's boy, oh lei-oh lai-oh Lord
Oh lei, oh lai, oh lei, oh Lord
Smeared with oil like David's boy, oh lei-oh lai-oh Lord
Oh lei, oh lai, oh lei, oh Lord
He will tear your city down, oh lei-oh lai... oh”
There was an ache in Sans’s soul, and he told himself it was only there because he was tired. A bullshit lie, and he knew it. He knew what it was, even if he didn’t want to admit it: jealousy.
Sure, maybe he was a bit jealous of the love all his friends had. Maybe, deep down, he wished he had someone who would love him unconditionally. Someone who could look past all his flaws and mistakes and see something beautiful. But he knew he would never find anyone like that.
“Oh lei, oh lai, oh lei, oh lai, oh
Oh lei, oh lai, oh lei, oh lai, oh
Oh lei, oh lai, oh lei, oh lai, oh lei, oh lai, oh lei, oh lai, oh”
He smiled as Nightmare and Killer burst out laughing, both monsters blushing as they stayed close, catching their breath after hopping around and dancing.
Sans was happy for them. He really was.
He ignored the pain as he laughed with the others. There was no point in dwelling on things he couldn’t change.
He may not ever find love, but he sure as hell would do his best to help those with a precious person like that in their life.
Notes:
Sooo I know this took a while to finish, and if you follow my Tumblr you know why. Regardless, I'm sorry for the delay, and know that the update schedule has changed from every other week to every three weeks (hopefully I'll be able to keep that up, please be patient if I can't though)
Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, even if it's a bit short :)
Chapter 14: ~Chapter 14~
Notes:
For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on Instagram or Tumblr
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Are you bringing us out here to murder us? Because that’s really fucking cliche.” Sans glanced back at the short skeleton who had spoken: Killer. The small guy looked kind of intimidating in the pale moonlight, but Sans brushed the feeling away, his eyes flickering to the other monster he had pulled away from their little campsite at two in the morning. Cross was silent, and the comedian wondered if the guy was still half asleep.
“I’m not going to kill you, no.” Sans said with a hum, pushing past low hanging tree branches. Knowing Killer, it was Sans who should be worried about being dusted - the short skeleton was definitely not going to like his plan.
“How gracious of you.” Cross muttered, his frown deepening when the three monsters left the shelter of the underbrush and stepped out onto the shore of the large, round lake. “What exactly are you planning, Sans?”
The lake, which Sans had affectionately named the “ Blow off steam” Stream - it wasn’t too large, and the dark water sparkled with moonlight. The circular lake was surrounded by trees and shrubbery - both of which looked too dark under the moonlight, like there were shadows and creatures moving through them, unbeknownst to the three skeletons, and far in the distance was the great MT. Ebott. Sans and Chara used to fight pretty regularly, especially after Chara turned 13. During those times, their father would take the two of them, put them in a boat and row them out to the middle of the lake; where they would stay until their most recent argument was settled or the two of them apologized for being at the other’s throat. In all honesty, Sans was surprised neither of them ended up overboard, but Asgore’s idea had worked. For the most part, Chara and Sans were close now, besides the standard sibling bickering.
Hence why Sans was about to use the same technique with Killer and Cross.
“I can a-shore you that it’s nothing bad.” He snickered, hearing two groans from behind him.
“It’s too late for this dumb shit. Can we go back to bed?”
“For once, I agree with Killer.” Cross said with some level of reluctance. Oh good, it was already working - they were starting to agree with each other! “Seriously, what’s the point of this?”
“It would ruin the surprise if I just told you!” Sans smiled his best shit-eating grin, gesturing to a small, wooden boat tied to the dock. “Now, all aboard!” The other two skeletons stared at him with disbelief, neither of them stepping towards the - admittedly rickety - boat.
“What the fuck has gotten into you? Did you eat some mushrooms or something?” Killer asked with a cocked eyebrow. Which, no, Sans hadn’t, and he hadn’t even seen any mushrooms all weekend so Sans wondered how Killer even came to that conclusion.
“Nope, I’m as sober as can be. Now, boat.” The comedian grabbed their arms and gave them a pull towards the dock. The two monster’s went with little resistance - Killer voiced his complaints rather loudly but stepped into the boat with Cross nonetheless.
Satisfied, Sans stepped in between the two grumpy skeletons, sitting down with a sigh. The air between them was thick with tension as Sans began rowing away from the dock, not to mention it was deadly silent besides the sounds of the water moving around the boat, and the sounds of birds and other animals hidden in the thick of the forest. If it weren’t for the awkward silence, Sans would even describe this little boat ride as pleasant.
But alas, he wasn’t here to marvel at the view. Exhaling a slow breath, letting the boat drift lazily in the center of the lake, Sans turned his attention back to his friends: they both looked absolutely miserable, glaring daggers at each other. “ Elm going to be honest here, you guys always bickering is starting to get tiring. So you two are going to work out water ever is going on between you, oar we’re going to be stuck out here on this lake till morning.” Sans pushed down a snort, proud of himself for managing to cram so many shitty puns into one sentence. Going by the looks he was getting, the two men were not as pleased.
“I swear to god, Sans, if you make one more of those fucking jokes I’m going to push you off this boat.” Oh goodie, maybe a midnight swim would knock Sans out of the emotional funk he’d been in recently.
The older skeleton immediately pushed that thought deep into his mind, locking it tightly in his “Think of later” box. This was about helping Killer and Cross put their differences aside, not Sans’s out-of-whack feelings.
Instead, he just shrugged the comment off. “I’m serious though. I want you two to work this out.”
“There’s nothing to work out.” Cross snapped, crossing his arms. “We don’t get along, so what?”
One of Sans’s eye sockets twitched and he let out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his “nose”. “We’re supposed to be a team , and we’re going to have a hell of a time working together if you two can’t put your differences aside for five minutes!”
For once, neither Cross nor Killer had a snarky remark.
“Look, it's fine if sometimes you two butt heads, but you need to be able to actually work together instead of just yelling and snapping at the other.” A chill breeze passed by the boat, and Sans repressed a shiver. His eyelights were pinpricks as he looked between the two skeletons, a dull ache forming in his skull whenever they flickered out: it was something that always happened when he was upset, his eye lights disappearing, and it was clearly something that made some people uncomfortable. Sans was good at reading faces, and it was those looks of discomfort and fear that made him try his best not to get this upset. Plus, it usually gave him a headache.
“He's right, Killer. We need to work this out.” Cross grumbled, Sans noted the ex-guard seemed unhappy with the idea.
Killer, on the other hand, was still glaring at Cross. “Why? We can easily just ignore it if we have to fight together.”
“That won't get us anywhere!” The taller skeleton hissed back, his somewhat calm attitude thrown out the window. “Then we're just bottling up our grievances and one of us will snap and dust the other!”
“That's a bit extreme, don’t you think? Unlike you, I have this wonderful thing called ‘self-control’.”
Cross barked out a laugh. “You are the least self-controlled person in this group!”
“Says the one who’s always talking about Dream, always talking about how we need to go get him right now.”
“That's different! He's in legitimate danger! Stop acting like you wouldn't do the same if Nightmare was in his place!”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!”
“ENOUGH!” Sans magic flared up at his outburst, his eye lights blinking out completely as his hands flew up. Coils of blue magic wrapped around the two skeletons, making their very souls feel heavy. “This is exactly why I brought you two out here, this can't keep happening!”
Killer and Cross stared at him with wide eye sockets, and Sans immediately dropped his hands, his magic fizzling out. Going off the pain ricocheting behind his sockets, his eye lights were still out. Keeping his head down, he clasped his hands in his lap, cursing himself. He was usually so good at keeping both his emotions and magic in check. Maybe the lack of sleep was starting to get to him.
“You can use gravity magic?” Cross asked after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, crossing his arms over his chest. His tone was slightly suspicious, making Sans feel on edge -soul magic, magic that can affect the soul (like gravity magic) was uncommon nowadays and most monsters had lost the ability to learn it. It wasn't like he was trying to hide the ability, but he certainly felt like a child who'd been caught with his hand in a cookie jar.
“Yeah, I can. Sorry. I didn't mean to.” The pain in his skull dulled slightly now that his eye lights flickered back.
“Can we go back now?” Killer was sitting on the edge of the boat, his leg bouncing. He looked way too close to falling out of the boat for Sans to be comfortable.
The ex-guard rolled his eyes. “You haven't even tried to fix this. You really don't care, do you?”
“I care about getting some sleep.” The small skeleton shot back.
Sans sighed, his body deflating. If he'd been honest, he was excited to bring these two out, he'd been determined to fix whatever was going on between them - hell, he even asked Nightmare for some pointers on how to help keep Killer relatively calm (not that it helped much, considering how this went). And yet, one small misstep was enough to bring his mood and energy down completely, so much so that he wanted nothing more than to lay down and never get up.
His mood swings definitely had to be because he was sleep deprived; at least, that was what he was trying to tell himself. Truth was, this sort of thing had been happening all week. He'd been able to hide it from the others, thankfully, but he could feel himself slipping. Slipping into that dark pit of nothing. Of numbness.
Like always, he ignored that void. He didn't want to deal with it, didn’t want to deal with being a drag to other people.
Sans snapped out of his thought just in time to see Cross push Killer overboard, the small skeleton yelping and flailing in the water. The next few moments were a blur: pulling Killer out of the freezing water, stopping him from attacking Cross (who was laughing his ass off), rowing back to the shore, then the three of them disappearing into their own tents.
Sinking into his sleeping bag, exhaustion took over Sans. He was so tired: physically, and emotionally. In retrospect, staying up so late probably wasn't necessary.
His soul was aching in his chest, an ache he hadn't felt in a while: loneliness. It didn't make sense, after years of being able to ignore it, why was it being such an issue now? The exhaustion - the depression - Sans could deal with, he has been since he was a teenager, but the loneliness?
That he couldn’t handle so well.
The sun was already peeking up over the horizon as Sans finally passed out, his cheeks damp from heavy tears that made his soul feel hollow.
*****
Sans’s plan may not have gone the way he had planned, but it did seem like Killer and Cross were at least trying not to argue on the drive back. There was a consistent, dull pain in the back of Sans’s skull, his guess was it was a side effect of getting so little sleep, or maybe it was just a physical manifestation of his shitty mood. Hell if Sans knew.
He was just so tired.
Sure, the week had been fun, and Sans had enjoyed being surrounded by his friends, but it reminded him exactly why he didn't have friends before this. He loved making people laugh, seeing their smiles, helping them, but god was it draining; it sometimes made Sans feel like a bowl of chocolates, and everytime he talked to people, or told them a joke or did anything like that, he lost one of those chocolates. So, when he was empty, or almost empty, of those sweet candies, he just needed to be left alone for a few hours. He just needed to burrow under his blankets and sleep for a day. Or maybe two.
Regardless, the whole thing made him feel even worse. It wasn't that he didn't like hanging out with people, if anything he greatly enjoyed it, so why did it always leave him so exhausted?
He sighed, pressing his skull to the steering wheel and pushing those thoughts away. His friends were already out and back at the orphanage, Sans had used the excuse of needing to make a call so they wouldn't wait up for him.
He lugged himself out of the car, turning on his heel to face the gates, only to run face first into the, rather firm, chest of some stranger. It was a gut reaction: pulling away like he had been burnt, his magic flaring around himself protectively while looking up to meet the eyes of whoever he'd run into-
Only to freeze.
Red.
A deep, warm red eyelight looked back down at Sans, filled with worry.
Sans’s nonexistent stomach did a flip.
A skeleton, about a head taller than Sans, stood before him, a crack reaching up to the top of his skull from his right eye socket, along with a few on his humerus, ulna and radius. He was wearing a red shirt and a short, dark red jacket over top, the collar of which was fluffy and framed his skull. Sans also couldn't help but notice a rainbow pin pinned to that jacket as well.
Sans could feel his cheeks warming, dusting with the light blue of his magic: whoever this was, was really attractive.
“I-I…” Oh god, what was Sans supposed to say?! His tongue felt too heavy to move, and his skull too full of cotton to even attempt to form a sentence. Plus it didn't help that Mr. Hottie was giving Sans this cute, amused look.
“Sorry ‘bout that, didn't notice ya at first.” He had a deep, gruff voice and a thick Boston accent that sent a shiver down Sans’s spine. “Name’s Red.” How fitting.
“Sans. Sans the skeleton.” Oh great, like that isn't obvious from looking at him. Sans blushed more, his stomach cartwheeling as Red let out a low chuckle, the sound of it deep and rich.
The shorter skeleton’s soul was beating like a sledgehammer against his ribs.
“So, what's a cute skeleton like ya doin’ here?” What?! What does that mean?! How is Sans supposed to react to Red: a tall, deep voiced, extremely good looking man, flirting with him?
Apparently he reacts by blushing like a schoolgirl.
“I, uh, I'm dropping off some friends…” He cleared his throat; god this has to be the worst first impression Sans had ever made. And Red was still looking at him with that same cute expression!
“Ahh, so yer the friend Error ‘n his fiancé were with for the week? I just talked to ‘em in there when I joined jus’ now.” He gave Sans a grin - his teeth were pointed and one of them plated gold, reflecting the setting sunlight - pushing his hands into his back pants pockets. Red looked so relaxed, such a stark contrast to Sans’s flustered state: the poor guy must think he's such a freak. A weirdo. Is Sans sweating? Oh no, that must look so gross. “‘m guessin’ yer part of this too, yeah?”
“Y-yeah, yeah I am.” The smaller skeleton rocked back on his heels, glancing around. The sun was starting to set, painting the sky in pinks, oranges and yellows while making the crooks and crannies of the streets inky and dark. It was a strange mix of uncomfortable voids of nothing and bright light reflecting off window glass. “Hey, did you hear about the two antennas that got married?”
Red cocked an eyebrow, his easy smile going into a lopsided smirk.
“The wedding itself was mediocre, but the reception was Sans-sational.” A laugh was ripped out of the taller skeleton which, unlike his voice, was slightly high pitched. The sound made Sans’s soul warm and flutter in his chest, his smile widening.
“Was that two puns in one?”
“Yeah, just trying to make this a bit more humerus .”
Red laughed again, his cheekbones dusting with red magic. Sans’s eyelights dilated at the sight, and he couldn't tell if he wanted to scream or cry over the fuzzy feeling in his chest. This was not happening, was it?
No, of course not. He just found the guy nice to look at, that didn’t mean he was or would develop feelings. Sans didn’t do relationships. And yet…
Nope, he was not having that thought right now.
“Hey, can I have yer number?”
More heat rushed to Sans’s skull. At this point, he wouldn’t be surprised if he looked into a mirror and saw that his whole face was bright blue.
“Ya know, ta keep in touch; if we’re gonna be a team I think it would be good ta get ta know each other bettah.” Yup. That totally made sense, and Sans had already given Error his number, so how was this different? Maybe it was the fact that seeing Red made Sans’s knees weak.
“Y-yeah, that’s a good idea. Makes sense. We should totally hang out sometime.” He snapped his mouth shut so he wouldn’t keep rambling. What was going on with him?!
Red chuckled again. It was such a nice sound, Sans decided. It was just so deep compared to his actual laugh, so smooth and rich. “I like that idea.”
Once the two had exchanged numbers - which involved a lot of awkward stumbling on Sans’s behalf - the two parted ways.
Later, as Sans was getting ready for bed and listening to his sister complain about having to go to bed - it was a school night, so Asgore insisted that Frisk was in bed by 9:30 and Chara by 11:00 - all he could think about was that red eye light and warm expression.
*****
Insomnia was a bitch.
Red had figured that out years ago, when him and his brother had hopped to a different foster home every other month, and the young skeleton would find himself staring up at the ceiling in the middle of the night. It always felt like sleep was right in front of him, close enough to reach out and grab it with ease, but his hands were tied behind him, preventing him from grasping the one thing his heavy eye sockets craved.
He hadn’t grown up in BlightView - he’d only moved there after being offered a teaching job a few years ago - and had lived in a city far west on the cost, named Gawlyn. It was small and rather insignificant compared to BlightView, so the move had been a big change for Red, not to mention how cold the winters were. The mountains were cool though.
As a kid, Red had moved between different foster families with another kid named Edge, who was 3 years younger than him, and the two grew relatively close, despite their frequent bickering, and came to the point of just calling themselves brothers.
He liked to blame it on the system he grew up with, but when he was younger the skeleton had been violent and quick to anger, always finding himself in fights with the other kids like himself: the outcasts, the loners, the “losers”. One of said fights was how he lost his sight in his right eye socket.
Maybe that was why he wanted to be a teacher so bad - that, and he was a huge history nerd. He liked learning about the mistakes of the past, and he got to help kids like himself grow up with at least one supportive adult. It wasn’t much, but it helped him feel like he had a purpose. A cause.
His therapist had suggested having one of those: a cause, a reason to push forward. That advice honestly helped him through most of his teenage years. It led him to joining an LGBTQ+ support group, to volunteering at a daycare, and even leading him to college.
At least now he could say he was somewhat of a better person, or at least he liked to think so.
He let out a puff of air, rolling onto his side and kicking off his sheets. He had to work tomorrow - or today, since it was technically two in the morning now. His eye light flickered to his phone on his nightstand, hearing it buzz with a notification. Usually he tried to avoid his phone when he was trying to go to bed, but…
Fuck it, he was already up.
He scooted over and plucked his phone off the wooden nightstand, blinking against the brightness that suddenly assaulted his eye sockets.
He felt his soul flutter when he could finally see who the message was from: that cute skeleton from before, Sans.
Red typically wasn’t one to feel so attracted to people - he had a past of casual sex that had made him feel numb, and he really wanted to avoid the pit again; so he chose to avoid relationships, unless he was sure it would be something of substance. Not a quick fuck and go. Regardless, the small skeleton had pulled something out in him, going off by the way his soul had reacted to seeing Sans.
Plus, the guy seemed funny, and that was always a good quality in a partner.
Smiling to himself, he clicked the message to open it; he was surprised the shorter skeleton would text him this late, but he was deciding to be optimistic about it.
Sans (2:08 AM): hey, you awake?
Sans (2:10 AM): Sorry, i have troubles sleeping lol didnt know who else to message
Sans (2:16 AM): this is prolly really weird for you
Red snorted, his grin only growing as he read the messages. God, even through texts Sans was adorable.
You (2:20 AM): Lmao no, its fine
You (2:21 AM): I couldn’t sleep either
Sans (2:21 AM): oh good
Sans (2:22 AM): i mean, not good that you couldnt sleep
Sans (2:22 AM): but like, good that we can talk
Sans (2:23 AM): unless you want me to leave you alone? im guessing you have work in the morning
You (2:24 AM): Yeah, but insomnia is kicking my ass
You (2:24 AM): and talking to you is much better than staring at the ceiling ;)
Was that too much? Sure, he wanted to let the other man know he was interested in maybe starting a relationship, or at least seeing if that would work, but was he laying it on too thick, too soon? He didn’t want to scare Sans off. He stared at the screen, dread building in the pit of his stomach as he watched those three dots for what seemed like hours.
Sans (2:27 AM): ok i need to know: are you actually flirting with me or are you just super friendly? cuz i dont want to fuck this up if you arent actaully making a move. also im a bonehead when it comes to relationships and flirting and like, all of this
Swallowing the lump in his throat, Red stared at the screen. Was this too fast? It wasn’t like they would immediately jump to being boyfriends, and sometimes people go on dates right after meeting, right? That also must mean Sans wants to try too, right?
Red was probably reading way too much into this.
You (2:30 AM): Oh I’m definitely flirting. And I’m not really good at this stuff either, so don’t worry about that. I just think you’re cute and funny and I feel like we should grab dinner sometime
Again, those three dots appeared, disappeared, and reappeared as Sans wrote and rewrote his message.
Sans (2:36 AM): for someone whos “not good at this” youre killing it at the flirting thing. On a serious note tho, id really like that :) Just one thing: can we take this slow? I mean, i like you too, but this stuff is kinda hard for me, and i feel rushing into it would be really bad
You (2:41 AM): No no, that makes sense. And of course I’m ok with it, I want you to feel comfortable <3 And I know the perfect place
Red flushed, rereading his text. The heart was definitely too much, wasn’t it?
Sans (2:43 AM): lol are you red velvet cake?
Sans (2:43 AM): cuz youre super sweet
You (2:44 AM): lmao you’re just full of those, aren’t you?
Sans (2:44 AM): perhaps ;)
You (2:45 AM): Well ok then mister vague lol I think we should try to get some sleep
You (2:45 AM): We can talk more about a date in the morning?
Sans (2:46 AM): yeah thats a good idea, its almost 3 lol
Sans (2:46 AM): night red
You (2:47 AM): Night sans, sleep well
Glancing over the messages once again, a blanket of contentment settled over Red’s soul; at the very least, Sans was interested in him too, and they had a date plan in the works.
He really hoped he wasn’t rushing things too much. The last thing he wanted was to make Sans uncomfortable with their pace, especially now that he asked for them to go slow. Then again, that made it clear, in Red’s opinion, that Sans will speak up if he’s uncomfortable. Communication is key, after all.
The skeleton set his phone back down, yawning as he plugged in the charger port.
Funnily enough, he had very little trouble falling asleep after that.
Notes:
Haha nothing to see here, just two men being cute babies together
Chapter 15: ~Chapter 15~
Notes:
For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on Instagram or Tumblr
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
One month.
It had been one month since Sans and Red had made plans for their date - was that what Sans was supposed to call it? They both decided it was too early to straight up say they were dating and boyfriends and all that, but this would still technically be a date, right? Either way, due to Red’s kind of hectic schedule - who knew being a teacher was so much work - the only time that worked was Sunday, a month later. Which was fine, Sans said he had wanted to go slow, and the two of them still texted and saw each other almost daily at the camp. But all the waiting had given Sans a lot of time to overthink everything that could go wrong on this little date. Meet up. Whatever he was supposed to call it.
Let’s just say, there was a lot that could go wrong.
What if Sans spilled something on himself? What if he annoyed Red? What if he ordered the wrong meal and Red thought he was gross? Those were just the tip of the iceberg.
What if Red asked Sans to spend the night? What if he wanted more? In a sexual sense. Yes, Sans said he wanted to take things slow, but one night stands were technically a thing and he didn’t know what Red was comfortable with or wanted.
Not that Sans was against having sex with Red, but he just wasn’t ready for that. He wasn’t sure he would be anytime soon.
But what if Red did ask and Sans said no, would the other skeleton get mad? Sure, that would be a shitty thing to get mad about and wouldn’t be fair to Sans, and the comedian doubted Red would ever do that, but what if?
He always went back to those “what ifs”.
Sans looked at his phone for the fifth time in the past ten minutes. Maybe agreeing to Red’s offer to pick him up was a bad idea. He was a 28-year-old still living with his father, which wasn’t a great look- even if Sans was doing it to help out his dad. Plus, he was leaving Chara alone with Frisk (Asgore had a late shift that night since the botanical Gardens, where he worked, was getting set up for Christmas, which was just around the corner now, evident by the snow already falling outdoors.) and that was nerve wracking enough on its own. What if one of them got hurt? What if there was a fire?
Sans’s phone buzzed.
Red was waiting outside.
It was like time stopped. The clock had stuck zero. No more waiting. No more dreading.
Sans pushed off his bed, quickly checking himself over in the mirror: a simple gray turtle neck that was bigger and warmer than what he usually wore, light blue jeans and a dark blue winter jacket. He looked good.
That was a lie. He looked the same as always - plain, ordinary. Good at blending in with the crowd.
Oh well, it wasn’t like he had time to change, again.
Already feeling the buzz of anxiety in the back of his skull growing, he slipped into one of his shortcuts, appearing at the front door with a soft, almost inaudible puff of displaced air. He could hear the TV in the living room, some kids movie playing with closed captioning on for Frisk. Chara stood in the kitchen with her phone in one hand and a glass of orange juice in the other. She peered over at her brother as he hurried to tie up his shoes, taking in his shaking phalanges.
“Have fun on your date, you nerd.” She paused, Sans flashing her a somewhat nervous smile. “It’ll go fine. Stop worrying so much.”
He was trying, he wanted to say, but just managed an awkward laugh and a goodbye, making sure to remind his sister not to let Frisk stay up too late and not to let them eat sugar this late. The 10-year-old may be blind, but boy can they run when they had sweets in their system.
The air was cold outside, a clear sign of the changing seasons - as if the large, puffy snowflakes falling from the sky wasn’t enough. Red had parked just behind Sans’s car, and the skeleton smiled when he saw Sans - the action alone made Sans’s soul flutter in his chest.
He was practically trembling as he sat down in the passenger seat - the inside of the car was, thankfully, warm, which helped his nerves ever so slightly. He forced a smile to his lips - he was excited for this date, he really did like Red. The problem was that that excitement was greatly overshadowed by anxiety and fear.
“Heya.”
“Hey.” Red was still grinning. If he was even slightly as worried as Sans was, he was hiding it much better. “Ya ready ta go?”
Was Sans ready?
Oh god, why had he agreed to this? Sans hadn’t dated anyone in years, not to mention Red was way out of his league. He was going to mess this up, make a fool out himself, embarrass Red, he…
He was hyperventilating.
Fuck .
“Woah, hey…” A warm, steady hand was placed on Sans’s ulna and radius. The comedian had never noticed that the other’s phalanges came to sharp points, like claws. “Sans, if ya don’t want ta do this that’s ok… ‘m not gonna be mad…”
His voice was so soothing - deep and rough, like a rumble in the earth, calming Sans down to his core; to his soul. Dragging his eyelights from his shoes, he met that bright red light in Red’s socket; it looked back at him with worry. It seemed to be sucking up Sans’s own fears, like a deep red sponge. Sans could do this. He wanted to do this - the beating and fluttering of his soul was enough to tell him that.
He’d already told Red he wanted to take things slow, and Red had agreed. Red wanted this too - Sans didn’t know why he would, it honestly boggled his mind, but regardless, the taller monster did want to go on a date with Sans. Hell, this very thing had been his idea.
“No, no… I… um, I want to do this.” Red didn’t look convinced, his attentive red eyelight only leaving his face when the shorter of the two placed his hand over top of Red’s. Snow was falling outside of the car, the wind blowing a cold breeze and picking up drifts of frost. The sun was setting in the west among a spattering of clouds, bathing the blanket of white in golds and oranges, like melted gold covering the earth. Inside of the car, it was warm and it was just the two of them - Sans and Red; so warm Sans felt himself melting, wanting to fall into the other’s arms, hear his soul, feel his bones against his. But for now, Sans was happy to settle with hand holding. “Really, I do. I’m just… a bit nervous, heh. But I’m ok now.”
The taller skeleton hesitated, scanning Sans’s face for any signs of a lie: all he found was sincerity and a pretty blue blush. Sans was flattered Red cared so much about making sure he was comfortable with all this, even if he couldn’t understand why. That’s something Sans should thank him for, right? Red intertwined their phalanges together, pulling Sans’s gaze back to his skull. “Ya sure? ‘Cause I really don’t wanna pressure ya ‘ere… if this is too fast-”
Sans squeezed the others' larger hand, cutting him off. “It’s not. I, uh, I do really like you Red. And right now, this?” Another squeeze. “This is good. I like this.”
There was another moment of silence, before a small grin formed on Red’s skull, reaching his eye sockets and making his red eye light glow slightly brighter. It was a look Sans wanted to take a picture of and hang in the walls of his mind. Safe and tucked away where he can pull it out whenever he needs it. “I like it too.”
Red squeezed Sans’s smaller hand one last time before shifting in his seat, bringing his hands to the steering wheel and getting ready to drive. As they drove out of the driveway in front of the house, they were unaware of two red eyes watching them from the kitchen window.
*****
“Hey wait a minute - you didn't tell me we were going to Grillby’s!”
Red laughed, shifting the car into park and turning off the engine. The drive had turned out to be rather pleasant, the two skeletons easily bouncing puns off one another, and so far Sans was feeling pretty good about this. It was going well, and the reassurance that Sans had just been overthinking things was doing wonders to his mood - though there was still a persistent buzz of anxiety at the back of his skull.
“Didn't know ya knew the place?” The sun was almost completely hidden under the horizon now, though that was hard to see thanks to the tall buildings surrounding the car - Grillby’s Bar was located close to the heart of the city, meaning there were towers of steel and cement reaching far into the sky no matter where you looked - but warm, gold light shone out through the windows of the restaurant.
“Know it? It's my favourite place, I'm actually friends with the owner.” Sans grinned, his worry melting even further. Red smiled back at him, and there was a look in his eye that Sans couldn't place, but it was warm and soft.
“I'll definitely keep that in mind fer the future then.” A deep chuckle resonated from Red’s chest and he unbuckled his seat belt. A chill brushed past the two monsters as they stepped out of the car, though it had finally stopped snowing it was still pretty cold.
Warmth washed over Sans as they entered the restaurant, the smell of greasy food and fire wood thick in the air and easing the tension in Sans’s shoulders.
The floors of Grillby’s Bar were wooden, the walls a deep maroon, and the whole room was bathed in golden light. There were booths to the right of the door, lining the wall, and in front of the frosted window at the front of the bar. The leather booth seats were well worn and cracked in come places, but Sans had been there enough times to know that they were still some of the most comfortable seats in the city. The tables and bar were made from a type of red oak, and the bar stools were topped with cushions that were surprisingly comfortable - Sans had spent many evenings sitting on one of those stools, drinking and joking with the owner, Grillby. He was a fire elemental - a rare species, nowadays, and the only indication of his face was the small, round glasses he always wore. Sans had no idea if Grillby actually needed those glasses to see, or if he only wore them to comfort others. Even without facial features, however, Sans found a way to read the soft spoken monster’s mood from the subtle shift in his flames: from the way it crackled louder when he was mad, to the way it lost some of his glow and grew small when he thought of something that troubled or saddened him, and even to the way it swirled and grew when he was pleased by something. Most of the light in the establishment came from Grillby himself and the lit candles on each of the tables, but there were still fairy lights strung along the ceiling - Sans guessed they were just there for aesthetic reasons, since they didn't give much light.
The before mentioned elemental was behind the bar now, like he usually was, cleaning a glass and nodding as he listened to a fish monster and their friend. The place wasn't too packed, a rarity on weekends, or on weekdays in general. Red called out a greeting to Grillbz, gently holding the smaller skeleton’s elbow as he led them to one of the booths in front of the window.
The first time Sans had been here was on his first birthday with Toriel and Asgore - the first time he'd ever had a birthday party, or at least the first he could remember. Now that he thought about it, it was on a day similar to this one, only earlier in the day: kids were allowed into Grillby's until 6pm, after that it was adults only.
Sans rested his skull against the window, watching the city pass as his adoptive father pulled into a parking lot. The small skeleton eyed the place with suspicion: Grillby's Bar . He didn't know what to think of this whole situation, it made him feel antsy. His mom and dad - he’d just recently gotten used to calling the two goat monsters that, and it still felt a bit awkward on his tongue - had explained what a birthday party was, and in theory Sans supposed it made sense. Though in his opinion it was more than a small bit morbid, like “Yay, good for you, you're one year closer to being dust!”, but Papyrus had gotten very excited when they threw a party for him back in April, and seeing the skeleton happy made Sans happy so he kept that little thought about birthdays to himself.
That all being said, he didn't get why he had to have one. Getting the multitude of gifts made him a bit uncomfortable, like he should give something back, something more than a “Thank you” and a hug (Though he did absolutely love the telescope they had gotten him). Even Papyrus had gotten him something - it was a hand drawn card with messy sketches of both skeletons with the words “Best big Brother” spelt in all capitals at the top - the “e” and “r” were backwards, and Sans was sure Papyrus had gotten Toriel or Asgore to help him with the spelling, but it was still his favourite gift thus far.
Sans glanced at the younger skeleton, who was practically bouncing in his booster seat, skull pressed to the window as he looked with starry eye sockets at the restaurant. Papyrus was always so easily excited, always curious to learn more. The latter was one of the few things the two brother's had in common. Deep down Sans knew he'd do anything he had to to make sure his brother kept that hope and joy - he could already feel his own light draining, some strange unseeable source must be sucking it up, so the least Sans could do was make sure that never happened to his baby brother.
“Is this the place mommy? Is it? Is it?” Their mother, Toriel, chuckled softly from the front seat, her voice soft and welcoming. Sans had found it easier to connect with her at first, finding bouncing puns off of one another more entertaining than most of the children's movies Paps liked to watch. Also, Sans liked her pie.
“Yes, my child, it is.” She and Asgore left the car first, Toriel opening the door for Sans - he could have done it himself, but he didn't have the heart to complain as she rubbed his skull with her large, soft paw - and Asgore unbuckled Papyrus and lifted him from the booster seat, carrying him. The 6-year-old looked so small compared to him, and if it wasn't for Papyrus’s constant fidgeting he’d look like a fragile doll.
Sans’s small metacarpals and phalanges were engulfed in Toriel's paw as she held his hand, the four of them walking towards the door. For as small as he saw Papyrus, Sans knew he wasn't much bigger - he had a feeling it had to do with wherever they had been before meeting the Dreemurr’s, but he couldn't remember that time so he really couldn't be sure.
The inside of the restaurant was warm, like being wrapped in a large, heated blanket, and tucked to bed. Sans’s eyes roamed the table as his family sat at a booth, his brother still bouncing, and his eyelights caught on the monster behind the bar. “That's Grillby.” Asgore supplied when he followed his son’s line of sight. “He's a fire monster. They can live for a very very long time, even longer than most monsters.” To say Sans was intrigued was an understatement; from what he knew, most monsters could live up till a thousand years at most. Was Grillby older than that?? How much had this monster seen?
And how come Sans had never seen another monster like him?
Later that evening, when Grillby served the family their meals - Sans had gotten burgers and fries, and he had absolutely loved it, though his brother complained loudly when Sans drenched his food in ketchup - and he could have sworn the elemental smiled at him despite his obvious lack of a mouth...
Sans was pulled out of his memory by a hand being placed on his, his head whipping away from the window to look at the skeleton across from him. Shit, did he really just zone out like that? On a date? How long had he been staring blankly at the frosted window?
“Ya doin’ ok there? Ya kinda blanked out fer a few minutes.” Red’s tone still sounded affectionate, an amused grin playing at his “lips” - well, at least he didn't seem mad.
“Heh, yeah, sorry, didn't mean to give you the cold smoulder or anything.” Red snorted, making Sans’s grin widen.
“Ya really do know a million of those, don'tcha?”
“Perhaps.” With a snicker, Sans lazily winked. “Seriously though, sorry for uh… zoning out. Just kinda got caught up in a memory, I guess.”
“Oh? Good or bad?”
Sans thought for a moment: a part of the memory made his soul ache, just from seeing his mother smiling and happy, and the way he used to be so close to his brother (Did he still have that card?), but at the same time it was still nice to remember that there has been good times.
He couldn't bring his mom back, but there has to still be a chance of bringing Paps back, right?
“Good.” He eventually confirmed. “It was a good memory.”
The skeleton across from him opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by Grillby walking up to get their drink orders and hand them two menus. Interacting with Grillby almost came naturally at this point: fire pun, a sigh from the elemental, relaxed greeting, and then Sans would order some kind of alcoholic drink - it always depended on his mood.
A lot of the questions Sans had about the fire elemental had actually been answered over the years: either from his own research or from asking the man himself when he was close to being drunk off his ass and lost his filter. He knew elemental monsters were extremely rare after the war, and that Grillby and his family were probably the only three left (In BlightView they were, at the very least). Sans also knew the elemental turned 1752 this year, though he didn’t look a day over 30.
This time around, Sans ordered whiskey and coke, his safe choice when he didn't know what else he wanted, though he regretted that choice when Red only ordered a glass of water - not to mention the conspiratorial look Grillby gave him. Or Sans guessed that's what it was, he'd never actually seen that one on the monster until today.
Should Sans have gotten water too? Sure, Red was the one driving, so it made sense that he wouldn't want booze, but was it rude of Sans not to do the same? Plus, he usually wasn't one to drink often - sure, an odd drink here and there when life felt especially shitty, but Sans already smoked and one bad habit was enough for him, thank you very much. He didn't want Red getting the wrong idea.
“Ya’ve mentioned yer younger siblings before, yer the oldest, right?” Effectively ending Sans’s overthinking, Red rested his elbows on the table, Grillby having set their respective drinks next to them.
“Oh, yeah, I am.” He sipped the alcohol - at least it still tasted good, despite the slight guilt he felt. “There's four of us, actually. Frisk is the youngest, then Chara-”
“Chara? Chara Dreemurr?” Sans’s eyebrow shot up, he couldn't remember telling Red his last name, and he didn't think his younger sister would if she and Red had met at the camp. Regardless, Sans nodded. “Holy shit, what’re the odds… She's in my class.”
Oh, fuck.
“ You're the history teacher she's always talking about?” In hindsight, Sans should have connected the dots - he probably would have if he'd asked what school Red worked at. “Oh my god I- I'm so sorry, this is probably so awkward to you…”
“What? Nah, not at all.” Shaking his skull, Red laughed, which only made Sans’s cheeks burn - why is his laugh so cute? “Just ‘cause I teach yer younger sister 'bout the past doesn't change the fact that I like ya.”
How is he so sweet?
“That's…. uh, good. Cool.” Wow Sans, real smooth.
“Ya said there were four of ya though? So far ya’ve just mentioned three, includin’ yerself.”
“Huh? Oh, yeah.. yeah, my.. younger brother, Papyrus.” Red must have seen the slight pain in Sans's face, his hand moving across the wooden table to rest overtop of Sans’s phalanges. His hand was warm.
“Not close ta each other?”
“No. Heh, we were really close growing up, actually.” He didn't want to talk about this. He really didn't want anything that would make him think back to his and Papyrus’s most recent fight. “He's in the Royal guard.”
There was an unsteady moment of silence, Sans’s anxiety buzzing louder and louder with each passing second. He shouldn't have said that. Red would be mad, or annoyed, or something . He was going to leave, Sans knew it, so he waited and waited for those dreadful words…
“‘m sorry.”
What?
That wasn't what he was supposed to say.
Dragging his eyelights from the wood grain, meeting Red’s gaze: it was filled with empathy, worry, sympathy. No pity, Sans noted. “What do you mean?”
“Look ‘m…” He sighed, intertwining their fingers. “I ain't stupid, I can tell yer hurt. ‘n I dunno the details of how ya two used ta be or how ya are now - ya don't have ta tell either - but I do know that yer part of the revolution, ‘n my guess is Papyrus knows. Which… couldn't have led to anythin’ good. So ‘m sorry ya had ta go through that.”
Sans stared at him, stunned. Eyelights flickering over the other's skull, he searched for a hint of something, anything, that gave away that he was joking. No offence to Red in any way, but Sans was having a hard time believing he was this good. It wasn't possible, was it?
There was something in the other eyelights, something Sans was having a hard time placing. It was soft. Fuzzy. Warm. Like a fuzzy blanket, or like the feeling of watching the stars with a hot cup of tea.
Sans pulled his hand away, overwhelmed, just in time for Grillby to arrive again to ask if the two of them knew what they wanted to eat. Sans has a sneaky suspicion the elemental had been waiting for the right time to ask, purposely coming in when Sams showed signs of discomfort. He tried to silently thank Grillby through his eyes.
Sans drank from his glass again, now grateful for the buzz of the alcohol - it wasn't nearly enough to get him drunk, but it did help with the anxiety buzz.
Once they both ordered, Sans rubbed his arm, an uncomfortable silence falling over their table. This was supposed to be fun . And of course he had to go and ruin the mood.”
He needed to do something.
“So these two guys walk into a bar.” A raised eyebrow bone, a smile playing at Red’s lips. Sans was starting to recognize that particular grin, the taller skeleton wore it whenever he thought or knew Sans was about to make a shitty joke. Hesitant, yet curious, intrigued. “I mean, you’d think one of them would duck, but who am I to judge.”
Bingo. Red burst out laughing - the one that was a bit high pitched - and shook his head. “Fuckin’... not what I was expectin’ there.”
Sans shrugged, his lazy grin finding its place on his skull again. This was good, they just needed to stay like this and everything will be good. “I'm obviously very mysterious.”
“Clearly”
“So…” Sans idly tapped his fingers against the wood, Red taking a drink of his water. “Do you have any siblings? I know you mentioned you were from Gawlyn but you never said anything about family?”
Sans noticed the way Red’s smile tightened ever so slightly at the question, his red eyelight leaving Sans in favour of looking out the frosted window. “Eh, I grew up in the system, bouncin’ between homes ‘n homes. Never really got the “mom” ‘n “dad” experience. Me ‘n this other kid always ended up together though, ‘n we just kinda started callin’ each other brothers. He's still in Gawlyn, but we keep in touch.”
“Oh… I, uh, I'm sorry.”
“Nah, don’t be. Had Edge, so it wasn't that bad.”
At least he had a positive outlook on the whole thing. Sans knew that when he was just looking after him and Paps, before Toriel and Asgore adopted the two of them, he could barely get any sleep, weighed down by stress and worries and the constant need to make sure they were both safe (Papyrus always came first though).
Wait, what? Where did that come from? Sans couldn't remember anything from before Asgore and Toriel, so why in the world could he remember those details?
Why couldn't he remember them being in danger?
Sans pressed the thought away: he was on a date, he shouldn't be worrying about the past so much.
And yet, that thought really rubbed him the wrong way. He couldn't remember anything before meeting the two goat monsters - literally nothing, no faces, no voices, no places, it was like he and Paps just popped into existence - but he got this intense feeling deep in his soul that it had been bad. Really, really bad.
It was probably just him being overdramatic, he reasoned.
Then again, a soul never forgets.
*****
The rest of the night, thankfully, went by smoothly and without anymore awkward or uncomfortable moments. Plus the food had been delicious, but it was Grillby’s so that one wasn't too surprising.
All in all, Sans would chock it up as a good night.
The car ride out of the city was quiet, but not in an uncomfortable way - it wasn't heavy or suffocating like some silences were, but instead comforting, like a blanket. Sans watched the buildings change to trees, and the lights disappear behind them. It was dark by now, the sun completely gone, leaving the sky a deep purple and black, specks of stars peeking out behind clouds. The wind blew outside of the car, mixing in the low volume of the music playing on Red’s stereo - some kind of rock band Sans didn't recognize - all in all mixing into something that made Sans’s eyelids want to droop.
“Tonight was really nice.” In the distance, light from the cabin could be seen, steadily approaching. Eyelights flickering away from the window, Sans scanned Red: he was smiling, his whole body seemingly relaxed, red eyelight occasionally moving to Sans.
“Yeah, it was. I had fun.” His happy grin was back in place - it wasn't a lie, he really did enjoy spending time with Red. Sure, there was a moment of two that was a little tense, but that was probably normal. “We, uh, should definitely do it again.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah”
“I'd like that a lot.” Red pulled into the driveway, shifting in his seat so he could actually look at Sans. “Dunno when, but I’d like ta see ya like this again.” Red magic dusted the other skeleton’s cheeks.
“Me too.” Reaching forward, Sans interlaced their fingers. Red’s bones were so warm, it made it hard for him to let go and exit the car. “Have a good night Red.”
“Heh, ya too, Sans.” Shutting the door, Sans waited till Red’s car disappeared over the horizon, shivering from the cold.
He stepped into the warmth of the house, shaking off the snow stuck to his boots before taking them off. The small pap pap pap of small socked feet caught his attention, and he suddenly had a giggling 10-year-old clinging to his midsection.
“Heya kiddo.”
“Sans! Did you have fun??” They smiled up at him, their cheeks rosy.
Sans chuckled, picking up his sibling just as Chara poked her head out of the living room entrance. Asgore had been busy in decorating the whole place recently, and now everything either had garland or lights strung on it. The house also smelt distinctly like cinnamon, thanks to all the Christmas candles. “Yeah, I did.”
“You're dating my history teacher!” Chara crosses her arms over her chest, glaring at Sans from the living room entrance. The skeleton’s smile tightened: he really really hoped he wouldn't have to have this conversation right now.
“How do you know that? And we're not really dating-”
“You went on a date, that's dating. And I literally saw you sitting with him in the car! What the fuck, Sans?”
“Language-”
“What's going on?” Both siblings whipped their heads to the stairs, where Asgore stood with a frown.
“Sans is dating my teacher!”
“I didn't even know he worked at your school-”
“Both of you, that's enough.” A deep sigh rumbled from Asgore, and Sans could feel Frisk's small fingers gripping his bones through his sweater - they hated conflict. “Chara, I don't really see the problem with Sans’s relationship… and he is an adult, he can make his own choices. You should be happy for him.”
“I never said I wasn't… it's just weird.” Chara mumbled under her breath, glaring at the wooden floor. “Whatever.” She threw her hands in the air in what appeared to be defeat, turning on her heel.
Asgore gave Sans a look the skeleton knew well: it meant he wanted to talk. Disappearing into the kitchen, Sans set Frisk down, ruffling their hair. “Why don't you go play with Chara for a bit?”
“Will you read to me later” They were pouting at him, and if they could, Sans was sure they'd be using puppy eyes. Over the past week Sans had started reading “Wonder” to Frisk in the evening, and the child had taken an instant liking to the book, usually begging for another chapter before they stopped for the night. More often than not, that one chapter became five.
It was something he used to do for Papyrus when he was younger as well.
“Of course I will.” Clearly pleased, Frisk ran off after their sister.
Sans found Asgore putting away dishes, and it was second nature for him to move next to the goat monster and grab a stack of plates. “We really need to talk, Sans.”
And there it was: those dreaded words all children hated hearing from their parents.
“About?”
“You know what.” Oh, he certainly did. It was the reason Sans had been more or less avoiding his father for the past few months: Papyrus. His chest felt tight whenever he thought about their fight two months ago: his anger was still red hot and searing, but it was mixed with a deep sorrow. He still loved his brother; they'd always be family, no matter what, but he couldn't understand his point of view at all. “Sans, you need to talk to Papyrus sooner or later. This has been going on for years.”
“I… I know, ok? It's just complicated-”
“And I would really appreciate you not keeping secrets.” Asgore turned to meet Sans’s gaze; there were dark circles under his eyes, and his beard was starting to look unmanageable. He looked tired. “I'm happy you've been making friends and are seeing someone, I am, I want you happy Sans. But I can tell you're hiding something.”
“Dad-”
“And I know you're an adult Sans but… you're out until 2 am most nights, you're slaving over papers and notes like you're trying to build something, and more often than not you're smoking outside. I'm worried. ”
Shit shit shit shit-
“Look, I…” Sans dragged his hand over his skull, the sound of bone scraping on bone filling the quiet kitchen. The tap was dripping. Chara and Frisk were watching some kind of cartoon in the living room, the sound muffled. How was Sans supposed to excuse this? “I've just been… busy, with some stuff. And I'm helping some friends with something, remember? And I'm trying to quit smoking, it's just… hard…” He paused, thinking. What else could he say? “I'm not relapsing, if that's what you're worried about. I'm fine.”
The two monsters stared at each other for a solid minute before Asgore sighed and shook his head, turning away from Sans to wipe down the counter.
“...I'm sorry.”
For lying.
For not acting like a normal son.
For being your son in general.
“Just promise me you'll talk to your brother, alright?”
“Ok.” He didn't want to. God, he'd rather do anything else other than have another argument with Papyrus. But, if it made his father feel better, then sure, Sans could call his brother.
He never said when though.
Notes:
I was honestly planning for a lot more to happen in this chapter but instead it just ended up being kustard- though, y'all did get a little sneak peek on Sans and Paps's backstory ;)
Also thank you all for the kind words and comments, they mean a lot to me <3
Chapter 16: ~Chapter 16~
Summary:
TW: Past abuse mentioned
Notes:
For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on Instagram or Tumblr
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Dream groaned as he turned over to his side, pulling his sheets up to his chin and glaring at the darkness as if it had personally offended him. It was late, too late, and the black of night coated Dream’s bedroom like a weighted blanket, ready to engulf him. Considering how exhausted the Prince was, that should have been a comfort, should have helped lull him into sleep. Sleep where he was safe and wasn’t boggled down by worries and fear and confusion.
Instead he was stuck tossing and turning in bed, his head too full and his soul aching.
The past three months felt like a blur of pain and turmoil - occasionally his Father would get Dream to come out of his room to meet with the press for interviews, but more often than not Dream was stuck in his room. At least his hand was healed, and besides a few smacks here and there, Gaster hadn’t hurt him again. Though the threat of that always hung over Dream’s head, coiling around his neck and ready to squeeze, to choke out his breath.
Not only that, but he was getting less and less sleep. Every time he closed his eye sockets, broken images crossed his mind - they were almost memories, almost things Dream could actually recall, but there was always a sentence, or a face, or a scene that alluded him and made the almost memory as a whole drift away, too far to grasp. Sometimes it made him feel so hopeless - he knew those memories had to do with Cross, he knew , and he wanted nothing more than to remember them completely, to remember Cross, and yet he couldn’t.
He hated it.
Dream let out a deep breath, sitting up in his bed, his sheets pooling at his hips. The room felt cold, and was far more cluttered than Dream would have liked: in his need to remember something he had torn through his poor room for pictures or journals or anything for more information - he had found a whole scrapbook of pictures which… well, honestly didn’t do much, other than frustrate Dream more. The walls of the prince’s room were a soft cream colour, the floor carpeted with an intricate design of gold flowers and old runes that had lost their meanings over the years. The large, overly soft bed was currently a mess of sheets, but stood pressed against the center of the west wall, a wooden night stand on the left side with a lamp and two books placed atop. To the right of the bed, on the same wall as the door, sat a large, old bookshelf - Dream hadn’t even read half of the books, even though he had been meaning to at some point - with two cushioned arm chairs in front and a low table between them. Across from Dream’s bed was his desk - which was cluttered just like the rest of his room - and his wardrobe. He had to make a mental note to clean it before father came in the morning. Or was it morning already? Hell if Dream knew.
His gold eye lights flickered to the corner of his room, next to the door. The shadows seemed darkest there, like the darkness was actually consuming the room, though Dream had sworn he’d seen a silhouette there a minute ago, out of the corner of his eye. A green silhouette.
It was late, he reasoned with himself, dragging his hand across his skull. It was late and he was tired and, above all, frustrated. His brain was trying to fit in pieces he could recognize in the changing shapes of the darkness, trying to find something familiar, stable.
Which is the only reason he thought he had seen Bethenny in that corner.
He had done everything he could to avoid that subject in recent months. Dream couldn’t wrap his head around her death - god, he still couldn’t admit to himself that she was really gone. Even thinking her name sent a bolt of pain to his soul, a deep, hollow sorrow. He berated himself for not spending more time with her - in recent years he knew they had become distant; Dream having found it unnecessary for him to have a nanny anymore, especially with talk of him being crowned in upcoming years. So he knew Bethenny spent more time with Nightmare. A part of the Prince wondered if his father was the one who made him not want to spend time with the woman - the bitter, angry side of him was more than willing to accept that as a fact.
The other side of him blamed himself for what happened. Maybe if he’d spent more time with her, maybe if he’d known what was happening…
Maybe she’d still be here.
Maybe Cross would still be here too.
A strangled noise left Dream’s throat, his skull falling into his hands. There he went again, thinking about Cross. Was that normal when you loved someone like that? He couldn’t remember if he’d done something similar before. Then again, he couldn’t remember if he loved Cross. What if he didn’t? What if Cross didn’t?
Dream all but yelled and fell out of bed when he felt a hand on his shoulder, his head snapping up and frantically scanning his room.
No one. It was still just him.
Of course it was.
Still, if he closed his eye sockets he could still feel the warmth of a hand on his right shoulder, a hand that was connected to a warm, kind presence.
“Bethenny?”
Silence.
With warm cheeks, Dream cursed himself. Bethenny was gone, he knew this. His father had let him see the casket - Dream supposed he could thank Gaster for at least giving the woman a proper burial, but the thought of thanking Gaster for anything about that situation left a sour taste in his mouth. Bethenny was gone .
But Cross isn’t.
Again, Dream looked around his dark room - that didn’t sound like him. It was in his head but it certainly wasn’t him. The voice was soft. He knew it. He knew it.
Was he going crazy?
… no. No, he was tired and confused, and his brain was a mess of thoughts. He just needed to sleep.
Dream glared at his pillow with distaste - yeah, that wasn’t happening, he was too strung up. He needed to relax.
His hand slowly, oh so slowly, made its way to his sternum, hidden beneath his pajama shirt. He’d never done it before, but he had been spending more time with Alphys recently and she had said that monsters can take out and hold their souls to clear their heads. After all, a soul is everything a person is, so it just made sense that you could hold it out and watch it to help yourself understand, well, yourself more.
And from what she said, it should be painless.
Letting out a shaky breath, Dream closed his sockets and concentrated on his chest, easily finding the heated magic swirling in his chest. He greeted it like an old friend as he pulled the inverted heart from his ribcage, his soul floating a few centimeters above his outstretched palm.
He was so bright, despite his stress, and the disheveled room was washed in a light blue and yellow, bathing the walls and furniture in the glow. There were hairline cracks covering the surface, some deeper than others, but his soul was still strong. It was still warm. Still… there.
Ever so carefully, Dream brought his hands up, cupping them around his center, immediately feeling warmth and comfort washing over him. There was so much, so much even he hadn’t even realized. Like most monsters, the first thing he felt was his love, hope and compassion. He remembered something Alphys had said about that, that those three traits were what made up monster’s souls while humans had different traits unique to them, each corresponding to a particular colour. It was hard to focus on that line of thought right now, however, with his entire being right in his palms. How could he think of anything but himself? His love and compassion for all his citizens, filling him to the brim. He wanted nothing more than to do what was right for them, which is why he so easily fell into line with his father. Gaster had known Dream’s parents, who had been good rulers, so the prince had naturally assumed Gaster would know what was right as well. Even without the brainwashing, Dream more likely than not would have listened to W.D just out of pure hope of helping his citizens.
That wasn't the only love he felt, either.
He also loved Cross - oh god, did he love him. He loved the way his lips would twitch into a smile when he noticed Dream watching him, he loved the way his brow bones would furrow when he was focused on something, he loved his laugh, his warmth. His smile. God, his smile .
Dream couldn’t remember the moments, the times they were together - he’s trying, but the best he can get is a flicker of a memory or a snidbit of conversation - but his soul remembered Cross . Not the moments, the kisses, the compliments, the looks. Those were nice, and Dream was sure they were amazing, but they weren't important right now. Cross was. And Dream’s soul knew Cross, it knew him almost as much as it knew Dream.
The Prince’s love, compassion and hope all found their way to tie into Cross’s role in Dream’s love.
Hope for a future where the two of them can be kings and in love unapologetically.
Compassion for what he must be going through, or thinking right now.
Unending love for Cross and everything about him.
He didn’t know when he had started, but he was crying as he pulled his soul back into his chest, where it was safe and part of him again. Relief was practically radiating off of him, and he hadn’t felt so light and calm in so long.
Still sniffling, Dream curled up under his blankets. He still desperately wanted to remember his moments with Cross but now… at least he remembered who the man had actually been.
He knew he had loved - no, he knew he still loved him. His soul had never let go, never given up on Cross, even when Gaster beat him down.
And Dream knew he would do anything to make sure Gaster doesn’t hurt his love too.
He fell asleep, too high on the affirmation that he loved Cross to notice that deep down, his soul still loved his twin brother as well.
But, well, maybe that was a can of worms for another time.
*****
“Are you sure you’re doing ok Papyrus? You’ve barely talked to me in like, the past two months.” The skeleton in question looked up from his crossword, suddenly feeling very cornered. “It’s not like you to go quiet.”
Both Papyrus and Undyne lived in the guard corridors in the castle, located in the basement, and long ago decided they’d room together with Cross. Papyrus had been more than comfortable with that, considering Unydne usually spent nights with Alphys, and Cross with Dream (before he had suddenly disappeared, which still confused Papyrus. Where had he gone?) so the young skeleton certainly got enough privacy, and he was never truly alone. It was a win-win.
The dorm itself wasn’t all that spectacular: two bedrooms - Cross and Papyrus used to share a room - one bathroom, and one big room with a couch and seldom used TV, plus workout equipment that was used much more often despite there being a proper exercise room down the hall, and a table near the center of the room where it connected to the kitchen. Luckily enough, both Papyrus and Undyne were relatively tidy monsters (though the skeleton found that he had to remind Undyne to clean up her discarded clothing off the floor more than once a week - a habit that made him think of his older brother).
“I… I’ve just been busy. I’m fine Undyne!” He pulled on his biggest - and probably fakest - smile, which only seemed to worry the fish monster more, going off the way her eyes narrowed at him, eyebrows creating a crease between them.
“I’m your boss , Papyrus. I know for a fact you haven’t been overloaded this week.” The muscular woman took in a seat in the metal chair next to him - she had changed out of her uniform and into a teal sweater and leggings, her red hair out of it’s usual ponytail and falling around her face and onto her broad shoulders. “Come on, talk to me.” A brief pause. The crossword book in front of Papyrus is starting to look really interesting, it's definitely a good idea to focus all of his energy on staring at that and not at the monster next to him. “Is this about your bro-”
“Undyne, please.” The words were forced out between his teeth, and sat heavy in the air. Contaminating it. Papyrus could practically feel Undyne’s eyes boring into him.
The whole thing with his brother was… complicated, to say the least. Back when the two skeletons had their most recent argument, Papyrus had managed to convince himself that he hated Sans - he was hurt and angry and didn't know what to think. The only logical answer in his skull, at the time, for how he was feeling was hate - which, surprise, surprise, wasn’t true in the slightest. Sans was his older brother, and hell, he’d been a good one while they were growing up. Papyrus wasn’t the smartest kid when it came to academics - he could solve almost any puzzle in 10 minutes or less though, but that was beside the point - and kids like him were always automatic targets for rude comments and bullying. He knew now that none of that was his fault (Though let's be honest, Paps still had moments where he felt he had to blame himself) that other students had acted that way. He knew that it was ok that he had trouble reading, spelling and even speaking at times - thanks for that, dyslexia - or that his brain worked a little differently and made it hard for him to focus or control impulses. And he knew all that because Sans had been there. Because all of their family had been there.
In every one of Papyrus’s memories where he was hurt or sad or scared, his big brother was there. Always.
So no, he couldn’t confidently say he hated Sans. It would never be true.
That revelation had opened a new can of worms for Papyrus to try and figure out: Was he really willing to fight his only brother? Was Sans? The more and more the younger skeleton thought about it, the more confused he got. He knew Sans - a few years of not talking wasn’t enough to change that - and he knew the older monster would never do anything to purposely hurt his family. Especially one of his younger siblings, Papyrus included. He’d gotten into too many fights to keep Papyrus from being hurt for that not to be true. If that was the case, though, why was Sans doing this? Why did he feel a need to fight against something Papyrus was a part of? Why did he hate the monarch so much?
Still, there was a part of him that still believed Sans hated him. He prayed that that part was wrong.
All of that aside, Papyrus had also been having horrible and honestly bizarre nightmares, ranging from him offering a hug to a child who looked suspiciously like Frisk and getting his skull sliced clean off (The first time he had woken up from that particular dream he had had a rather severe panic attack and Undyne had been with Alphys for the night, leaving Papyrus to seriously debate calling his brother - he didn’t), to him fighting that same child and, again, being dusted. He’d even seen a few where Sans fought the strange child, getting himself killed. That one was probably his least favourite - not that he actually enjoyed any of them.
So yes, Papyrus had been feeling horrible the past few months, but he wasn’t about to talk to Undyne about any of that. Not yet, at the very least.
Cross and Undyne were Papyrus’s only friends, besides his family - which, again, his relationship with his family was rocky right now at best - and now, after Cross’s sudden and unexplained leave, Unydne was all the younger skeleton had. She was strong, passionate, smart as hell, and she cared about Papyrus. She was proud of him, she trusted him.
Papyrus wasn’t about to ruin all that by telling her his worries and having her be disappointed in him.
“I’m just worried, Paps.” Undyne leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “I’ll give you a week off. Whatever… this is, I doubt work is helping.”
“What? No, Undyne, I’m fine!” The fish woman just gave him an unconvinced look. Damn it, why did he have to be so horrible at lying? “I’ve just… had trouble sleeping recently! That’s all!”
“Then the time off will help you catch up on sleep.”
“I don’t need- Ugh!” He stood up suddenly, frustrated. More time alone to think and worry was the exact opposite of what he needed! He needed everything to just be normal and calm and god fucking damnit he just wanted his brother back.
“Woah! Papyrus, hey!” She was next to Papyrus already, a warm webbed hand pressed to his back. “It’s ok, just… dude, you need to talk to me about this.”
“I don’t- I’m not-” Papyrus grunted, pushing Undyne’s hand away. An upbeat song suddenly played through the air, cutting off both monsters as they both turned to look at Papyrus’s phone, still on the white table. The skeleton almost cried out of relief, snatching his phone, not bothering to look at the caller ID, and turned away from Undyne. He mumbled “I need to answer this…” to his friend - god, he hoped they were still friends - before shuffling into his room.
His thumb was swiping over the answer button before Papyrus could even consider that maybe it wasn’t a good idea to talk to anyone when he was in such a bad headspace. “Hello?”
“Uh… hey… Papyrus.” Every inch of his body tensed as his younger sister’s voice came in through the phone, his soul clenching.
Chara had never called him before.
Her doing it now… it was a strange mix of joy and dread for Papyrus.
“Chara. Hi. Um… hi.”
A laugh sounded on the other side of the line, though it sounded a bit fake. “How… uh. How have you been?”
“Fine. Good.” Lie. Oh well. “Is everything ok?”
“Oh, yeah, yeah. Everything’s… fine and good.” Was she mimicking what Papyrus had said? “Sans… hm. Frisk misses you.” Wait, what was she about to say about their oldest brother? Why did she cut herself off? Did Sans miss Papyrus too?
“I miss them too.”
An awkward, heavy silence stretched out between the two siblings.
Papyrus wanted desperately to ask how Sans and their father had been, to ask if things were ok. He hated this, hated feeling so uncomfortable with his family.
Why couldn’t this just be easy?
“I-”
“Look, Papyrus, I’m… can we hang out?” Maybe the skeleton monster should have been upset about being cut off but he was far more surprised. Underneath that surprise, however, was a rising warmth that felt like fireworks in his chest. Excitement. “It’s been… a really long time since we’ve done that. Or just like, seen each other in general-”
“Yes! Y-yes, of course we can!” This had to be a sign, right? A sign that things would go back to normal, that things would be ok again.
“...cool. So, uh. Hotland Mall, tomorrow? It’s a Saturday, so…”
“That works! Oh… do you need me to pick you up?” He’d prefer not to have to go to the cottage - not until he got his feelings sorted out - but he would certainly do so if Chara needed him to. He was just happy that she wanted to see him!
“No, I’ll get… er, dad to drop me off or something.” Maybe seeing Asgore would be good for Papyrus, too. He should apologize for the way he left things last time anyways. This was good. “So. Yeah. See you. Tomorrow.”
“Yup! See you then! Bye Chara!”
This was going to be the start of a new, better time. A time where Papyrus was connected to his family again, a time where he didn’t feel the need to avoid them. A time where him and his brother were close. Maybe Papyrus could manage to get closer to Chara, too - he always had been closer to Frisk.
At least, that’s what Papyrus hoped for.
*****
Sans was all for spending time with his family. Really, he was. He was a family oriented person, and normally he wouldn’t question it when one of his siblings asked to hang out with him.
But these weren’t exactly normal circumstances.
Also, this was Chara that he was talking about - even before the revolution she didn’t spend a lot of time with Sans, nor did she ever show interest in doing so. Sans also suspected she was still a bit pissed about him seeing Red (She could say whatever she wanted, but Sans could tell she wasn’t happy about it). So why in the world had she come up to him that evening to ask if he wanted to go with her to Hotland mall tomorrow?
At first the older skeleton had just assumed she wanted a ride there, it wouldn’t have been the first time she’d asked for that sort of thing, so he had absentmindedly agreed. It wasn’t until he was in the middle of washing dishes that he realized his sister had meant she wanted to spend time with him. Sans would say he was excited, if it didn’t confuse him so much.
The past week had been… tense, to say the least. Sans was back to avoiding his father - he didn’t want to be asked if he’d called Papyrus yet because no, he hasn’t and he sure as hell didn’t plan on it either - and he’d only managed to see Red once or twice at the camp, which had affected his stress a lot more than he figured it would have. Sans hadn’t realized how relaxed he often felt around the other monster, and sure, they still texted practically everyday but it wasn’t really the same. On top of that, Sans was getting little to no sleep.
His nightmares had suddenly been happening more frequently, getting worse than before at times - he’d had a dream on monday where he’d seen Papyrus get dusted, the whole thing causing him to throw up way too much magic when he awoke and leave him feeling sick and exhausted all day. So, like a totally responsible adult he had been avoiding sleep all together, either by working on a medicine for Ink - he was getting close too, he was sure of it! - or by doing what he was doing right now, laying in bed and staring at the ceiling, waiting for morning to arrive.
Or smoking. He’d be smoking a lot. Too much.
It didn’t even really help anymore.
Sans groaned, covering his eye sockets with his arm. He was beyond tired, but the last thing he wanted or needed for his health right now was to see his baby brother turn to dust right before his eyes.
A soft knock came from his closed door, catching his attention and sounding way too loud in the quiet room. Sans sat up in bed, shivering when the chilled night air hit his arms - he was only wearing a white t-shirt and an old pair of basketball shorts - just as the wooden door to his room opened, a familiar face with a mop of brown hair poked in.
“Bad dream, kiddo?” Frisk nodded, sniffling as they wandered into the room, Sans getting up to help his younger sibling into his bed with him. He hadn’t been the only one having nightmares recently, Frisk had had up to three, now four, just this week, and would make their way to Sans’s room to crawl into bed with him. Sans had attempted to get them to talk about what they saw, but they were adamant on keeping it to themselves.
The small human curled up to Sans’s ribs, tucking their head under their chin - how they found that comfortable, he had no idea - and let out a soft sigh.
“Hey Sans?” They whispered after a few minutes, Sans having assumed they’d fallen asleep long already. He hummed in acknowledgement. “Am I a bad person?”
“What? No, no of course not, Frisk.” He shifted so he could look at them - it was too dark to make out their features super well, but going off of the slight shine on their cheeks they had definitely been crying. “You’re a great person. Super friendly and caring, funny, and you give the best hugs.”
The 10 year old sniffled away, wiping their eyes then cuddled close again. “You promise?”
Sans hated promises. But this? It was second nature to say “I promise” back. Of course Frisk was good, they were a kid. They didn’t know how not to be good. “Trust me, kiddo, you’re outer this world.” That earned him a small giggle.
“That one was bad.”
“But you laughed.”
“No, I didn’t.” There it was again, a sleepy giggle, this time accompanied by a yawn.
“Get some sleep, buddy.”
His little sibling yawned, clinging weakly to his shirt. It made Sans think of all the times he and Papyrus had to sleep together on the cold, hard floor, the baby bone’s clinging to Sans for at least a bit of comfort and warmth, and the other monster doing the exact same thing.
Wait.
Wait, no, what in the
fuck
was that memory?!
“Nighty night Sans…”
“... Night, Frisk.” Why in the hell was Sans suddenly remembering these small details about his and his brother’s life before Asgore and Toriel? And why did they all seem so bad? Sure, he had a feeling things weren't sunshine and rainbows before, but this… this just seemed wrong.
Where had he and Papyrus come from?
Exactly what had they gone through?
Sans tried to push the questions and strange new tidbit of a memory away, but they plagued him for the rest of the night.
*****
“Did you ever call him?”
Sans’s eyes flickered away from the road to glance at his sister in the passenger seat of the car, she was leaning against the door, eyes glued to the outside world passing them by. She was wearing a black turtleneck with a green and white striped crop top over it, and dark jeans; Sans was a bit worried she was going to get cold but she had insisted she’d be fine.
And of course he knew what she was talking about, but he had to admit it irked him that she had been eavesdropping.
Then again, that wasn’t all that surprising. He’d kind of suspected it.
“I haven’t”
“Maybe you should.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t listen in on other people’s business.” He shot back, sighing. “Is that why you wanted to go out today? So you could interrogate me on whether or not I’ve called our brother? Because I’m really not in the mood, Chara.”
“What? No, I…” The human girl sunk down in her seat, covering her face with her auburn hair. “He’s family, Sans. We just… all hate seeing you at each other's throats like this.”
Large buildings passed as Sans drove through the streets of BlightView, pulling up to the large, two story, and honestly overly high tech mall, Hotland Mall. The building itself was sleek and minimalistic, unlike the old, slightly medieval buildings surrounding it. While those buildings were beige and made of brick and stone, most with vines growing along the sides in the spring and summer, the mall was smooth metal all around, accented with too bright orange and red neon lights. Sans pulled into the crowded parking lot.
“I know. Fuck, I know, ok?” Ordinarly, Sans would avoid swearing around his younger siblings like his life depended on it, but god damn it he was tired of having this conversation. Even Error had brought it up. Turning in his seat once the car was shifted into park, Sans met Chara’s red eyes: they were worried. “I know you all do and I hate it too. But I’m not… I can’t do that right now. I’m not ready.”
Something flashed over Chara’s face - was that sadness? Hurt? Regret? Sans couldn’t tell - before she heaved a sigh, shaking her head. Without another word to the older monster, she unbuckled her seat belt and hopped out of the car, Sans taking the hint and following her. He was more than willing to let the subject drop.
“So, uh, don’t hate me for this, alright?” Chara suddenly piped up right before her and Sans made it to the entrance, and before the skeleton could even ask what she was talking about, he saw it.
Or, more appropriately, he saw him .
And Papyrus saw him too, seeing as the younger, yet much taller, skeleton was staring at Sans with wide, stunned eye sockets. Paps wasn’t wearing his uniform this time around, instead he was wearing a knitted orange sweater with a bone in the center (how fitting) and skinny blue jeans. And, of course, that damn red scarf was wrapped around his neck.
Sans’s feet felt cemented to the ground, stuck in place a few feet away from Papyrus. “Pap! Hey! Uh… So, Sans came too…” Chara’s voice did nothing to cut the tension that hung heavy in the air - if anything, it made it so much worse.
Chara hadn’t wanted to hang out with either of them. She’d planned this from the start. Maybe Sans could see that as a sweet gesture - she just wanted her two older brothers to get along again! - if he was thinking rationally, but he wasn’t. He couldn’t, not when so many feelings were jumping around like rabbits on cocaine in his skull.
The most prominent feeling, he noted, was hurt. Anger. Relief. Anxiety.
Papyrus slowly pulled his eye sockets away from Sans to look at their sister, his confused expression changing to one of hurt. Sans hated it.
“You… didn’t actually want to hang out. You just wanted us to… nothing has changed…” His voice was too quiet. Too unsure.
“Papyrus-”
“This won’t solve anything, don’t you know that?!” The tall monster snapped, Sans had never seen that before, and pointed a finger at Sans. “He
hates
me! This will never change!”
“I never hated you.” Great, now it was Sans’s turn to sound hurt.
“Don’t… don’t lie, Sans. Don’t act like… like you haven’t cut off all ties with me just because I did what I wanted to do. Don’t act like you didn’t say… all those things.”
“Did what you wanted? Papyrus, I’m upset because you… you’re acting so goddamn blind to everything that isn’t you!”
“Oh, like you’re any better!” Papyrus practically seethed, glaring at Sans. He’d never seen his brother so angry, agitated magic practically rolling off him like waves in a storm. The familiar heat of his magic was building in Sans’s own soul as well, his eyelights threatening to go out.
“I’m not helping the fucking tyrant who had us experimented on, so yeah, I’d say I am!” The words were out of Sans’s mouth before he could even comprehend them, before he could think about what he just stated, spat out and left to lay on the cement like an ugly lump. That lump, that truth seemed to click something inside of Sans, a light switch being flipped into his skull. Memories, god, so many of them, came flooding into his skull like a tidal wave.
The room was dark, and cold; like everything here was. Dark and cold and oh so lonely. The cell subject S found himself in was little more than an empty box of a room, with a hard tiled floor and smooth walls. Light shone in through the bars of the cell adjacent to where the subject was curled up, the too bright fluorescent lights bolted into the high ceiling causing the shadows to look deeper, bigger. Threatening. At least there was a bed for him to use, bolted right to the wall - the sheets felt like sandpaper and the pillow was, somehow, too hard, but it was better than nothing.
They never gave him anything to wear, the humans in the white coats, just left him to shiver with his fragile, pearly white bones exposed. They probably did it on purpose, he concluded, pulling the coarse blanket closer around himself. Without clothes to protect himself, it was easy for them to snap a bone if he was misbehaving, or, sometimes, they did it just for fun, he was sure of it.
Subject S could hear the white coats down the hall, talking to each other with terms he heard daily, but didn’t understand. HP. LV. ATK. DEF. DT. They said his name a lot, too. “Subject S’s magic levels are too low, give him another dose.”, “S still refused to kill the subject, take him for another session.”, “His ability to control the blasters is improving, Subject S should be able to summon more than the singular one in a few weeks.” They always seemed to be talking to a small rectangular box, as well, and today, they said something that really caught the subject’s attention: “Give him another DT dose. If it’s too much, we’ll still have the other one at least.”
Through the, what seven years? Is that how long he’d been alive? He… was alive, right? Whatever, that wasn’t the point. As long as he had been here, there had never been mention of “the other one” before, and it definitely got Subject S curious. He had just assumed that he was the only one like him here because a) the only person he’d seen that looked like him was the tall dark man, who the white coats called the King’s advisor, and b) he hadn’t seen any other cells than the one he was in, and it was only him here. Plus, one bed.
The small skeleton snapped out of his thoughts at the sound of shoes tapping on the tiled floor, the sound getting closer and closer and… someone was coming. Click click click. It didn’t sound like the white coats, their shoes didn’t sound so… sharp. But whoever it was, they were getting close. Click click click. Subject S bolted from the bed, abandoning his scratchy blanket, and hurried to stand before the center of the bars, the bones of his feet pattering against the icy floor. Click click click. Soon enough, the tall man - the king’s advisor? That was someone who helped the King, right? (The subject was lucky enough to have gotten to read some books while in here, though reading was… hard, considering he had little to no help learning to read) - was standing just outside the cell bars in fine pressed clothing. The man regarded him coldly, making Subject S uncomfortable, so he averted his eyelights to study the bundle of cloth the King-advisor-man was holding. It was moving ever so slightly.
“Who are you?” The subject asked, his little voice so weak and quiet, it was barely audible. But of course, Gaster heard it, and scoffed.
“I am your creator.” He opened the cell door, stepping into the dark room. Subject S took a hesitant step back.
“So… you’re like… my dad?”
“No. I never will be. I made you, I own you.” The man hissed out, a strange force pulling the test subject closer. Close enough to see the small skull poking out of the bundle of blankets. A baby. “Just as I own him.” Gaster dropped the baby into Subject S’s arms, standing back up to his full height. The baby bone’s skull was more narrow than his, the Subject noted. “You and your… brother, are mine. You will do whatever I say. Or else I will kill you. Do you understand, Subject S?”
“Y-yes.” He met the man’s eyes, his eyelights pinpricks, and his bone’s rattling quietly with his fear. In his arms, the baby - his brother? That certainly felt right to say - whined, squirming in his blankets.
“Good. See that you never forget.” The man turned and left the cell, locking the bars. “Oh, and I’m scheduling four sessions for you tomorrow instead of two.”
The small skeleton cringed at the thought of what the white coats would do to him tomorrow, and waited until Gaster was gone and he could no longer hear the Click click click of his boots before shuffling over to the bed. The baby was awake now, looking up at Subject S with big, curious eye sockets. “Hello. I’m… your big brother.” He whispered. “Your name is… Papyrus. Paps for short!” The baby smiled and giggled (The older skeleton almost laughed when said giggle sounded like “Nyeh heh heh”) “And my name is…” Subject S wasn’t really a name, was it? It wasn’t like he’d been called anything else, though. “... Sans. But you can just call me brother, ok?”
His brother, Papyrus, giggled again, squirming in his arms until the small baby’s arms were hugging the other’s skull.
Blue tears welled up in his eye sockets.
He wasn’t alone.
He silently promised that from now on, he’d do everything he could to protect his brother.
Sans wouldn’t let anyone hurt his brother.
Sans and Papyrus gasped simultaneously, the older of the two stumbling back as his hand flew up to hold his pounding skull. He could feel his magic burning in his left eye socket, pooling into a mist and leaking blue and yellow smoke. A similar thing was happening in Papyrus’s right socket, though it was a pure and bright orange, and he looked so scared. So scared and broken and confused and…
Hurt.
So hurt.
“Sans…”
The older of the two was reeling; he and Papyrus had been test subjects. Test subjects that Gaster - fucking Gaster - had made . How?! Clearly both skeletons had souls - Sans had seen his before! And it acted like any other normal soul! - and it was impossible to create life. Impossible.
This wasn’t happening
He was normal.
He was a normal monster .
He had to be. There was already so much wrong with him, and now this? Now he wasn’t even a monster, he was a goddamn science experiment.
And Papyrus…
Was that why Gaster let Papyrus into the royal guard at such a young age? What the fuck was he planning to do to Sans’s brother?!
More magic pooled into his eye socket, flaring around him, while Papyrus was giving Sans that same worried and scared; and Chara - god, Chara, Sans had forgotten she was even here - was looking so confused.
He couldn’t do this.
Sans spun around, hurrying away, to his car, to safety, ignoring the calls of his siblings as he practically ran away.
He needed to calm down or he was going to end up snapping and doing something he’d regret.
He needed something stable.
He needed Red.
Notes:
Hehe cliffhanger >:)
I hope you all liked this chapter, it was honestly really fun to write
Also! I made a DystopianTale discord server! So feel free to come check that out: https://discord.gg/8MKNbvJC5H
Chapter 17: ~Chapter 17~
Notes:
For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on Instagram or Tumblr
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The problem was Sans had no idea where Red lived - the topic just hadn’t come up before, and they’d only been on one date so far, so it didn’t even occur to Sans to ask for his address. So here he was, hyperventilating in his car, pulled off to the side of the road after driving aimlessly for, what, half an hour? His soul ached, more than it had in years - he probably had a new crack - and god dammit his skull was just too full. He wasn’t thinking as he pulled out his phone, dialed Red’s number, and held it to his skull, tears welling up in his sockets.
This wasn’t supposed to happen, he wasn’t supposed to see Papyrus yet.
He wasn’t supposed to remember .
“Sans? What’s up?”
God, what was he thinking? He shouldn’t have called Red; this was too much. He wanted to go slow , and this… he couldn’t explain this. He couldn’t, he couldn’t, he couldn’t -
“...Sans?”
“Sorry, sorry, I don’t-” His voice cracked, his grip tightening on his phone. What was he supposed to say? He could barely wrap his head around the memories himself - there was nothing before Papyrus, so he still had seven forgotten years he couldn’t account for, but what he did remember was cold, and filled with pain and fear-- so much fear. And god, he was scared. What if Gaster hurt Papyrus? What if he gets dusted and Sans has no idea because of this stupid argument?
If Sans remembered all of this, did that mean Paps remembered too?
“Where are ya?” Sans was pulled out of his turmoil by Red’s steady voice, a tear sliding down his cheek. “Are you at home?”
“No, I… I’m on..” He looked around for a sign, a building, or anything he recognized. In hindsight, driving around while his skull was filled with a dark, thick fog wasn’t a great idea. “...Echo Ave.”
“Ok. Ok, can ya still drive?” Sans made a confirming noise - something between a sob and a hum. “‘M gonna give ya my address, ok? Yer not that far.”
“Red-”
“Not takin’ no for an answer here.” Red grunted, and if it wasn’t for the aching pain in his head (Had his eyelights seriously been out this whole time?) and soul, Sans probably would have argued more. But he was exhausted.
After relaying his address, Red ended the call. Sans gripped the steering wheel, sucking in a breath through his teeth; his soul was screaming at him that this was a bad idea. He needed to get his shit together before seeing his boyf- Red. He can’t rush into this, he can’t go running to the taller skeleton, sobbing like a complete mess; he can’t tell him what just happened, what he just remembered.
As if on cue, a memory resurfaced again, this time of a tiny, tiny Papyrus - he had to be only two or three - strapped to a chair, screaming and crying for Sans. Or was Sans the one screaming? One of the white coats - scientists - was saying something, then a switch was flipped and-
Sans shook the memory from his head, a groan slipping past his teeth. Like it or not, Sans knew he couldn’t be alone right now; he was in pain, and trembling, and his magic was low - who knew getting flashbacks like that could trigger your magic that much? And to top it all off, Sans definitely felt like he was going to throw up what little magic was still in his system.
Somewhat begrudgingly, Sans pulled his car out onto the street, trying to clear his skull. Every time a memory came floating back, brought on by the most random things or he remembered his younger brother’s hurt and confused expression, his breathing hitched and tears threatened to fall from his sockets again. Thank god Red was right about him being close: it was only a 15 minute drive.
It was a quiet neighborhood, one Sans had driven by before since it was so close to Chara’s school, and, from what he knew, a lot of families lived in the area (That thought alone made Sans’s soul beat faster which was definitely not necessary.). The house with Red’s address wasn’t too special - a simple one story home that looked the same as the two next to it, only it was grey and the other two were white and beige. There wasn’t a car in the driveway - Red likely kept his own car in the garage - so he pulled onto the driveway, parking and turning off the engine.
Red was rushing to Sans as soon as the monster had opened the car door, and any semblance of composure Sans had regained immediately snapped. He was a sobbing and shaking mess by the time his partner had managed to coax him through the front door. Inside was warm, and smelled distinctly like Red. They were in a small foyer with a rack and shelf for shoes and jackets, and there was a welcome mat just inside the door (Which had a silhouette of a whale on it and said “Whale Hello There”. If Sans wasn’t currently crying into Red’s shirt he would have laughed). He couldn’t see much more of the house as Red pulled him close, hugging him tightly. He was so warm, so sturdy, Sans melted and a week of stress lifted off his shoulders as he gripped his - fine, he’ll say it - boyfriend’s shirt, and he cried. He cried and shuddered and wailed until he physically couldn’t. By that point he had gagged and torn away from Red, having to be ushered to the bathroom so he could throw up.
Flushing down the bright blue liquid magic, Sans leaned against the tiled bathroom wall, pulling his knees to his ribs. Guess his whole “don’t run to Red crying” idea was just forcefully thrown out the window; his skull did feel a bit lighter now, at least. His soul, on the other hand, felt like it was on fire. That was a lot of magic he just pushed out, and the strain was palpable, and going off the constant, dull stabbing feeling, he either had a new crack or an old one had reopened.
A steady hand was placed on his shoulder, Sans recoiling from the touch like it had burned him. Hurt briefly flashed over Red’s features but the other monster was quick to mask in, sitting down next to Sans (noticeably with a space between them.) and pressed a glass of water into his hands. “Here. Drink.”
Sans did so without complaint, sipping as the cold water soothed his throat - it must have gotten sore from all his crying, but he hadn’t noticed beforehand. “...Thanks.”
After a moment of silence, the taller of the two reached out to gently hold Sans’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “Ya want ta talk ‘bout what just happened…?”
“Not really, but I should, shouldn’t I?” A deep hum came from beside him. “... Chara got me and Papyrus to meet at Hotland mall, both of us not knowing the other would be there and… we had an argument, and… before I couldn’t remember anything before mom and dad adopted us, you know? But now…” A disbelieving laugh bubbled up in his throat, Sans shaking his skull. “It’s like a dam burst open in my head.”
With another gentle squeeze, Red spoke up - his voice was quieter than usual. “None of them were good, I take it…?”
“God, no. No, they…” His “throat” felt like it was closing up, tying itself into a knot and stopping Sans from finishing his sentence - how could he tell Red his past? They’d been on one date , and now Sans was about to tell this man his deepest secret, a secret that he quite literally just found out himself? How would Red even react to Sans telling him he wasn’t even a real monster? He and his brother were just crazy lab experiments, beings made from test tubes and god knows what else. Red would be disgusted. How could he not be?
He would leave.
“Sans, hey…” The hand around Sans’s pulled away, moving around his waist and pulling him closer to Red’s chest. “Ya don’t have ta talk ‘bout it, ok? … But if ya do, I’ll listen. I ain’t going anywhere.”
His words warmed Sans’s aching soul, and he had to push down another sob. He was tired of crying. “I-I can’t… Red, I… before I remembered all of this, I was fucked up. B-but this…” He buried his face into his boyfriend’s red shirt; he smelled like a campfire. “I don’t want to scare you off…”
Warm hands cupped Sans’s cheeks, forcing him to make eye contact with Red. His eyelight was steady, worried, and still that warm, deep red. “Look, Sans. I get wantin’ to go slow, I get not bein’ ready to talk ‘bout certain things. But I care ‘bout ya. Shit, I’ve never felt this way before. ‘N I can tell yer hurtin’ and I want ta help .” His thumb stroked Sans’s cheek, and it took Sans everything in him not to sob again. “... So if right now, ya need ta talk about what happened, I’ll listen. Or we can just go watch a movie if ya want. Either way ‘m stayin’ right next ta ya. I promise.”
His soul felt like it was going to burst - it was warm and fuzzy and pounding in his chest - and Sans had never felt so safe, and yet so scared at the same time. He cared about Red so much and he barely knew him, and god, he knew, deep down, he knew he could trust this man. And he did.
He trusted him with his whole soul.
But this was so fast, and despite the trust he was still scared. Scared of losing Red.
But maybe for once he can put his fears on the back burner. Maybe he can take a leap of faith. He won’t tell Red everything yet - he needed time to wrap his head around this situation first - but he will. He’ll tell him everything.
Sans shifted closer, lifting his skull and pressing his teeth to Red’s in a gentle kiss. It obviously surprised the other man, but it didn’t take long for him to kiss back, hands on Sans’s hips. Pulling back, there was a soft smile on Red’s face, his cheeks dusted red. Sans could feel his own face burning up as he grinned back.
“I’ll tell you… I promise, I will. But… Can we just watch something? Just be normal for a few hours…?”
“‘Course we can.” Red seemed more than happy to be in the kissing stage already, considering he left two kisses on Sans’s skull in the time it took to stand back up. Sans didn’t mind. “And Sans? Take yer time, ok? We’ve got all the time in the world.”
Sans smiled, giving Red’s hand a squeeze. “Thank you.”
He was right, there was no rush. There doesn’t need to be a deadline on figuring out what happened in his past. He can take his time. He can clear his head and relax for one afternoon before focusing on what he’s going to do about Papyrus, what he’s going to do about his past.
… and he didn’t need to do it alone. He wasn’t alone. He has friends.
He has Red.
*****
Papyrus’s head hurt.
...No, hurt wasn’t the right word for this pain. It was so much more than “hurting”. It was an agonizing pounding in his skull, like someone was striking the bone with a sledgehammer over and over and over again. Cracking the bone. And he was shattering, he had to be, that was the only way to explain what he was feeling. But no, he was still here, still whole. Somehow.
He pressed farther into the blanket wrapped around himself, a quiet whimper escaping him. It was dark now, well past midnight he was sure. The headphones on his skull were playing music in hopes of it calming him (it didn't). So the music, coupled with the fact that his bedroom door was shut and locked, had him wondering if Undyne had come home yet. But he had more important things to think about.
He just couldn't wrap his head around what he had seen in front of the mall. It was like bits and pieces of a puzzle were thrown into his head - cold floors, hard chairs and restrains, darkness, mind numbing pain, Sans - and whenever he tried to pull those memories back, it made his head pound with a greater vengeance. It was almost like something was trying to stop him from solving whatever this was. A mental wall of some sort.
He couldn't help but wonder if Sans was dealing with this too; he had to guess he was, considering how fast he left and the expression on his face. Speaking of Sans, what the hell had been with what he said? “I’m not helping the fucking tyrant who had us experimented on.”. Gaster… why would the king want to do that to two random skeletons? That can’t be true, can it? The king was supposed to be good. But… god, it was getting hard to see that. Both from Nightmare’s speech - which he had seen, and he couldn’t help but feel revolted when the prince had been suddenly attacked - and now from these weird fragmented memories that seemed to line up with what Sans said about Gaster doing experiments. But… why? Why would the king, the ruler of the whole city, the one that’s supposed to take care of everyone else, be bad? He rubbed his right eye socket frustratedly (it felt like it had been burning earlier, he hadn't even known his magic could do that!), feeling exhausted; both physically and emotionally.
Papyrus had been somewhat relieved that Chara didn't try to talk to him when he drove her home earlier; Sans had originally been her ride but he had obviously taken off, and Papyrus wasn't about to leave his sister without a way home. Even if he was cross with her right now. The drive had been quiet, the air in the car having felt like tar, sticky and heavy with the siblings' apprehension. Papyrus hadn’t even waited to make sure Chara wasn't locked out of the house before driving off; which, thinking back now, made his metaphorical gut twist with guilt. Chara must be so freaked out, so worried about her two brothers and Papyrus had done nothing to help quell those worries. Maybe he should text her?
… No, no that could lead to another argument - he was still hurt that the only reason she had even planned to meet at the mall was to trick Papyrus into talking with their older brother - and an argument was the last thing he wanted or needed right now.
What he did need was something to get rid of this goddamn headache.
Papyrus groaned as he sunk down from his sitting position to laying on his side, his headphones still on - the song playing now had a good beat and in any other circumstance it would have uplifted Paps, maybe even made him dance. Curiously he glanced at his phone screen, the too bright light making his headache protest with another wave of pain but he found that the song was called “Bravery”, apparently made by someone who went by the name “Napstablook”.
Funny. Papyrus sure didn’t feel brave. Quite the opposite, actually.
And he also didn’t feel a drop of bravery when he passed out from the pain in his skull two hours later.
*****
Ink could tell when Error was reaching his limit.
There were certain ticks he showed whenever he was overly stressed: constantly rubbing or itching his forearms, repeatedly cracking his joints, and speaking in short, clipped sentences.
The most obvious sign, however, was that Error started sleeping less and less.
It wasn’t too noticeable at first: Error would be wide awake by the time Ink awoke, and the shorter skeleton just assumed he woke up first - he usually did - but then the ebony skeleton stopped going to bed at the same time as Ink, claiming he just needed “five more minutes!” and then he’d come to bed. Five minutes turned to ten, and ten became twenty and so on. The dark circles under his lover’s eye sockets only made Ink more worried.
“Baby, come to bed. Please?”
Error’s eyes flickered up from his makeshift desk, giving Ink a sympathetic look. “Hun, I have to make sure everything is ready for-”
“Next week. Yeah, yeah, I know . You’ve been saying that all week!” Ink interjected, sitting up on their makeshift bed, feeling a bit frustrated - he was blaming his pregnancy for his sudden lack of patience - and balled his hands into fists. “You’ve gone through the plans more times than I can count at this point, we’re ready, Error.”
“We don’t… I might have missed something. I’ll just look over the plans one more time.” Ink let out a groan, pushing himself off the bed and shuffling over to his fiance, hugging him from behind. “You should get some sleep, it’s late.”
“Not without you.” Ink said stubbornly, rubbing his nasal ridge against Error’s cheek in a gentle nuzzle. “I’m worried about you, you’re not sleeping enough.” The ebony skeleton let out a quiet grunt, shifting so that he could wrap his larger arms around Ink’s hips. “Let me… let me help you relax, ok…?”
Cocking an eyebrow, Error failed to hide a tired looking smirking. “Er, sorry babe, but I’m not really in the mood for a blow-” He was cut off by Ink smacking his arm, a snort erupting from Error.
“You always make that joke! And I’m being serious here!” Ink pouted, continuing once his partner had calmed back down again. “Look, Error, I know… I know how worried you are, about the twins. But we’re ok… and… and I want to show you that.”
“Show me… how?” Error asked, his playful attitude replaced with a more somber, almost cautious one - normally Ink would feel guilty about changing his lover’s mood, he usually loved to see Error laugh and smile, but what he wanted to do wasn’t really something to laugh at. And besides, it’ll get Error smiling for a different reason.
Pulling the ebony skeleton onto the bed with him, Ink scooted until their knees were touching. “I want to touch souls.” Error’s eyes widened, his mouth forming a small circle. The reaction wasn’t necessarily surprising: the two of them hadn’t done anything with their souls since bonding almost 4 months ago, not with how busy things had been; mixed with spending time with their new friends (Ink was absolutely positive there was something between Red and Sans and he has been just dying to tease his friend about the likely crush). That being said, Ink did want to share his soul with his lover again, but this time not to mold the two inverted hearts together, but just to hold them, to hold each other, and feel the other’s warmth and love.
“Ink…I…” Error hesitated, and Ink could feel an echo of his self-consciousness. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to do something so…” He waved his hand, tapping his phalanges together as he thought about his words, carefully cherry picking them, Ink was sure. “... intimate just because I’m stressed. Not if it’s something you don’t want to do.”
“Of course I want to do it.” The smaller monster’s voice was firm but gentle as he poured as much love for the man before him into his soul as he could.
Error hesitated for another moment before nodding, reaching over to squeeze Ink’s hand gently. “... Ok. Ok, let’s… do it. I want to too.”
Smiling, Ink leaned up to kiss his fiance, his hands pulling at the hem of the blue shirt the man was wearing. A breathy chuckle left Error, and the two split to pull off their shirts, two phalanges trailing down Ink’s torso. In a month the two soulings connected to his soul will detach themselves and move to Ink’s “womb” of sorts to form bodies for themselves, and well, Ink was a skeleton and clearly lacked any sort of stomach or place for the twins to grow. So his magic would make a place in the form of an ecto body. The gleaming, semi translucent muscle gave off a soft glow in the dark, and wrapped around Ink’s femers and tucked into that void area between his pelvis and ribcage.
“Ready?” Error nodded, and Ink raised his hand to Error’s sternum, the ebony skeleton doing the same with him, and when Ink withdrew his hand the small, dark blue soul trailed behind it. He could tell Error was also cradling Ink’s own soul, but that wasn’t what this was about. This was about Error, it was about making him feel better.
His white phalanges carefully wrapped around the inverted heart, holding it with all the care in the world, and Ink brought it closer to him, nuzzling the surface. If he had been holding his own soul, Ink knew he’d be overcome with his own emotions, but it wasn’t the same when holding another’s soul. Yes, Ink could still feel the whisper of Error’s emotions, and if he looked he could see a part of his soul in the center of his partner’s, but he couldn’t feel anything more just holding the heart. They’d actually need to connect souls for that, and, well, neither of them wanted to do anything that could risk the twin’s health. Besides, Ink was more than happy to simple shower the culmination of his lover’s being with kisses and gentle strokes.
Error called his name, his voice cracking, causing Ink to finally pull his eyes away from the beautiful soul nestled against his palms. There his soul was, washing Error’s features in a constantly changing light, glinting against the wetness pooling in the corners of his eye sockets. “Look at them… fuck, Ink, they’re so small…” It took the smaller man a minute to realize what Error was talking about, his gaze dropping to the swirling magic that was his soul, and a gasp left his lips. Pressed to the sides of his soul, close to the center, were the two tiny soulings, one a mix of teal, yellow and pink, and the other a turquoise (Ink noted that the second one was smaller, but that observation was pushed aside by his sheer awe of seeing his babies’ souls).
“Oh, Glitchy… It’s them… our babies… our little PJ and Gradient…” A quiet, wavering laugh left Error, and soon enough Ink was crying with him, overwhelmed with joy and relief and a strong sense of pride. They did this, they had created the two beings tied to Ink’s soul, and even though the two of them hadn't even been born yet, Ink was so incredibly proud of them.
Ink had no idea how long they stayed like that, cupping each other's souls and crying over their unborn children but eventually they returned their souls where they belong and curled up under the bedsheets, and by then exhaustion was washing over the small monsters.
“Ink… please stay here next week. I can’t…” Error’s yellow and blue eyelights met Ink’s gaze, a desperate sense of pleading behind them. “I don’t want to risk losing you three…”
Ink hated the idea - he wasn’t weak, he could very easily take care of himself - but he couldn’t blame Error for being so worried, especially after that. Plus, the twins were getting ready to detach and Ink could feel the drain of his magic, meaning he very well could be a liability out there.
“... ok.” He mumbled, tucking his head under Error’s chin. “Get some sleep, Erry. Love you.”
“Love you too.” A moment of silence passed before Error’s teeth pressed against Ink’s forehead in a kiss. “Thank you.”
Error, thankfully, slept long and without any disturbances that night, and much to Ink’s pleasure, the dark skeleton seemed to be in higher spirits the following day.
*****
Alphys didn’t get much down time, and when she did, she usually spent it with her girlfriend.
But, of course, there were times when Undyne was busy, and Alphys had to find something else to do.
She could always watch anime, or read manga or something similar (which she did do a lot of the time, if she’s being honest with herself.), but sometimes she got an itch in her soul that begged her to do something with her claws, to move, to be productive in some way. When it came to times like that, the small reptilian monster was very grateful that the king allowed her to have a lab of her own.
At first all she did in that room was fiddle and play around with circuit boards and screws, small personal projects here and there. It was somewhat therapeutic.
Then she met someone and took on a more… important project.
With a shaky breath, Alphys pushed in the passcode on the pad beside her lab door - why the king couldn’t have designed a door with a normal key, she didn’t know - and the automatic doors slid open with an audible “whoosh” , and Alphys entered into the darkened room, a soft pink glow coming from the corner of the room. With the doors shut behind her, she flicked on the light; the best way to describe the rather small, square room would be “an organized mess”. The long counter against the far wall was hidden under stacks of papers and various metal bits and tools, along with what would eventually be a torso for a robotic body and Alphys’s laptop. She also had a few action figures mixed with the clutter, and a few anime posters pinned to the walls. Adjacent to that wall was a storage cabinet and a rack holding up a pair of robotic legs and arms. Then there was the source of the previous pink glow: a ghost monster pressed against the wall, doing something on the phone Alphys had given (AKA made!) for him. His black hair was somewhat curly and looked as if it floated around his head, the strands that were bright pink falling over his right eye. Floating a few centimeters from his chest was a see through image of his soul - it was just energy from the real thing, which was still safely in his chest. Eventually, the monster’s uncovered, pink eye flickered up to alphys, and he smiled. “Alphie, darling, good to see you!”
“H-hi M-Mettaton..” She gave him an anxious smile back, shuffling over to get back to her work. In all honesty, she had assumed ghost monsters had gone extinct during the war, like pixies, goblins and frogits, so it had been quite a shock when Mettaton showed himself to her about a year ago. From what Mett had told her, plus what she found in history books and old records, the first King and Queen of BlightView passed a law that made it illegal for ghosts to live in the city unless they had possessed a physical body; the reasoning had been a pain in the ass to figure out thanks to it being translated from old monster dialect - monsters didn’t always speak english, inside having used “fonts” but it had been thousands of years since anyone used that old form of speaking (Though Mettaton could apparently do so fluently, and it had been a treat to hear) - and because of the overcomplicated diplomatic way it was written, but Alphys had gleaned that the law was put in place because A) ghosts had the ability to “cloak” their presence and become, for lack of a better word, invisible, and B) because ghosts were effectively immortal, and the only thing that could kill them was another ghost.
So, to put things simply, Alphys’s secret friend here had absolutely no rights unless he had a body.
That just wouldn’t do.
She had agreed to make a body for Mettaton, and she promised she’d make it however he wanted. Alphys’s hadn’t expected that to make the ghost monster cry so much.
Mett was still somewhat of a mystery to her; however, he liked to gush about his cousin, Napstablook, a lot, and he could talk at length about what he was looking forward to doing once he had a corporeal body, but yet seemed adamant on keeping his past a secret. Not that Alphys could blame him, if he didn’t want to talk about it, he didn’t have to. But she had to admit she was curious. Especially when she noticed him zoning out or whenever he became uncharastically quiet, or when he occasionally flinched away from her.
Shaking those thoughts from her head, she focused back on the circuitry in the chest plate, carefully nudging parts aside to double check wiring, while Mettaton rambled about a new show he’d found - something about the devil solving murder cases.
She couldn’t stop her thoughts from wandering back to the ongoing rebellion. God, she wished she could do something more to help - all she’d done is try to get Dream to remember Cross. She hadn’t even talked to her girlfriend about everything that was really happening, and if anyone could make a difference in the royal guard it would be Undyne, and Alphys didn’t know how to say anything-
But maybe…
“U-um… Mett, d-do… have you b-been paying a-attention to… um, the n-news…?”
“Hm? Oh, of course darling. I can’t believe someone attacked the poor prince, but then the little guy swooped in? So romantic!”
“Y-yeah… um, so, a-about that…” Mettaton raised an eyebrow and hummed, prompting her to continue. Here goes nothing. “I-I… I need y-you to do something for me…”
Notes:
Don't mind me as I... *dumps a big ol' can of lore* there we go!
What do y'all think Alphys wants to ask Mettaton to do? I'd love to hear your theories!
Chapter 18: ~Chapter 18~
Notes:
For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on Instagram or Tumblr (I realized a few chapters ago that I was linking the wrong Tumblr for this so uh, this is actually the correct one!)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hiding emotions was as easy as putting on a mask; keep a calm attitude and no one will know how you’re really feeling. It gets easier and easier to put up the more you do it - practice makes perfect, they always say - and when you’re literally trained to hide emotions and have a neutral expression at all times, you get really good at it. To the point it becomes basically second nature.
Needless to say, Cross was usually good at keeping that mask up.
Keyword there being “usually”.
He sucked in a breath, glancing over his shoulder at the crowd of monsters behind him, each of them looking somewhere between slightly nervous and ready to shit their pants - Cross personally felt like he was going to throw up, so he couldn't say he was doing much better. He couldn't make out Killer in the crowd, the smaller man was probably at the back with Nightmare or blocked by taller monsters - that was probably for the best, considering Cross wouldn't be able to hold his tongue around him right now. Error was on his right side, seeming more calm than Cross would have expected - he guessed Ink staying back really took a weight off of the black skeleton’s shoulders - and Sans was on his left with the new recruit, Red. Cross didn't really know the guy that well yet, but from what he’s gathered Red and Sans had gotten very close - he was positive he heard Sans call him his “boyfriend” earlier - and Cross had to admit he was happy for them. Sans in particular, since he seemed to be in a much better condition, mentally, with more genuine smiles and laughs. Cross just hoped today's plan wouldn't hurt Sans too much.
As much as Cross knows about the guard, he's been gone almost a year now, and had no way of knowing what they're really doing and planning in the castle - sure, he could make educated guesses on what they might try, but things can change. Especially if a war was on the horizon. They needed a way to get into the Royal Guard’s head, and what better way to do that than to literally kidnap someone-
Ok, maybe Cross didn't fully agree with the method, but Sans was adamant that the guard they took - er, “convince to switch sides” - needed to be his brother.
It was a last minute, two birds with one stone situation - they get intel on the guard (if Papyrus actually talks) and Sans gets his brother back.
All that being said, that wasn't what Cross’s role in today’s plan was.
He was here for Dream.
He just prayed his Prince would actually be on the field today. If not, well, there’s a high chance Cross will just say fuck it and storm into the castle himself.
A shiver coursed through his spine as their group stepped up to their destination, the magic from the rows of guards standing at the ready in front of the castle walls was suffocating, the air so thick with energy it felt tangible. It seemed to buzz in the air, only becoming louder when Cross felt the monster’s around him tense, drawing on their own magic, readying their attacks. Readying themselves.
Sans must have spotted his brother already, Cross noticing him slip away from Red and weave through the crowd of their allies. He needed to get Papyrus away from everyone else, so they could have a one on one - Sans wouldn’t be able to “convince” the other skeleton if his fellow guards are fighting with him. Cross was somewhat relieved he didn’t need to do that with Dream - he wanted to get his partner to come with him willing, and certainly didn’t have any intention of physically fighting him, Cross was sure his soul would snap if he did. Killer had promised (more like begrudgingly agreed to) put up a shield around Cross and Dream for about 15 minutes so they could talk - really talk - without Cross having to worry about, you know, dying while trying to get Dream to remember him.
Pulling his head back into the present, Cross shifted on the balls of his feet, antsy and ready to just get this over with. The air was heavy with hostility and magic between the two groups, unbearably so, to the point where Cross felt like gagging every time he breathed in, his magic racing along his phalanges like electricity in wires. This standoff couldn’t go on forever, someone needed to break the tension, preferably a guard, since then the rebels could always claim self-defence and keep up the image of being as peaceful as possible.
A lone blade suddenly shot out from the crowd of rebels, made of pale red agitated energy, and struck one of the guards - a stout rabbit monster with ears that hung down to their knees - in the shoulder, a pained grunt leaving the monster. Cross would recognize that magic anywhere, the owner of it always seeming to find a way to piss him off, even with his mouth closed.
God damn it Killer.
There was a brief moment where everything was still, silent, like pressing pause on a movie, before all hell broke loose. A short cry rang out before both sides rushed towards each other, the magic Cross had felt in the air suddenly increasing tenfold. The change was so sudden it made his head spin, nearly causing him to not jump back in time as a guard dashed toward him - a cat monster by the looks of it, with black fur and slitted gold eyes - their magic in the shape of a club as they swung, small rocks and pebbles flying up at the impact when the club hit the ground where Cross had been standing. The monster huffed, the cat-like tail that poked out of their uniform swishing in annoyance as they lifted their weapon, drawing it back for another strike.
Cross’s fingers twitched as he drew upon the magic coursing through his bones, the energy shifting and churning between his phalanges before snapping into the shape of swords, one for each hand. The club dropped, aiming for Cross’s skull, and he raised his arms, crossing the blades together in a block that stopped the blunt weapon, the two magic’s sparking at impact. The guard hissed, pushing their club down, trying to break through the swords’ blades but only causing more sparks to fly, their furry face illuminated by the mingling magic.
“You’re a fucking traitor, Cross!” Ah, they knew him. Funny, Cross had assumed the guards who would actually recognize his face would steer clear of him; guess he was wrong.
“Maybe.” Cross smirked, meeting the monster’s slitted eyes before suddenly dropping down, his leg shooting out and swiping at the guard’s legs and simultaneously pushing upwards with his two blades, knocking his enemy off balance. An alarmed yelp left the cat monster as they stumbled and fell hard onto their back. “But I’m fully trained in hand-to-hand combat. Now…” Letting go of his control on the sword in his left hand, the energy fizzled away as Cross stabbed the still intact weapon between the rocks next to the guard’s head, their black ears going rigid and alert, and leaned down against it, a foot pressed to the other monster’s chest. “Where is Dream? You fuckers probably got him locked in a room to “protect” him, huh?” Cross gritted his teeth, his eye socket twitching as he pulled at his magic, red knives flickering and snapping into place behind him, heat radiating off of them, searing the very air. “I’ll make this easy for you. Tell where that room is and you won't have to meet my little friends -” He jerked his skull towards the conjured attack floating behind him, the poor guard looking as white as dust (or as white as a black cat covered in fur can look). “-here. And let me tell you, you won’t have a-”
“Cross…?”
Concentration shattering, Cross’s attacks lost all form, the magic fading and disappearing into the air as he shot upright, his foot still firmly placed atop the guard’s chest. There, a few feet away and looking utterly exhausted was Dream. His Dream . He didn’t look injured, Cross was quick to note as his scanned the prince - he was wearing his normal yellow, almost white, tunic and gold sash, one gloved hand raised to stop the surrounding guards from immediately rushing in to “keep him safe” from Cross - and despite the dark circles under Dream’s sockets, there was a certain spark in his yellow eyelights, a spark that Cross was scared Dream had lost forever.
“Dream… Dream, holy shit, you're ok…!” Cross stepped away from the monster he had been threatening to kill moments earlier, stepping forward, filling up with relief when Dream met his gaze with a weak smile, not running away or glaring at him but walking closer. Closer and closer until something seemed to snap, and suddenly Dream was sobbing, clinging to Cross’s jacket like his very life depended on it. They were washed in a grayish red light, a magic dome wrapping around them - Killer’s shield. Thank god, he was sticking to the plan for once.
Dream’s hands balled up in the fabric of the old jacket Cross wore, gold tears spilling from his sockets as he wailed and sputtered, apologies spilling from his “lips”.
“Dream…” Bringing up his hands - they still felt warm and tingly with magic, like his very atoms were vibrating - to the prince’s cheeks, Cross cupped his face and lifted it till they made eye contact, his soul quivering. He looked so scared . “Sunflower… hey, hey, it’s ok…” Cross gently rubbed Dream’s spine through his shirt, between his shoulder blades - it always helped him calm down before. “...You’re not scared…?
“N-no, of course not, I… Alphys h-helped me at least… remember you, but…” Dream’s sentence faded into silence, pressing his skull into the curve of Cross’s neck, the smell of roses wafting up to him.
“But…”
“I still forgot , Cross-! I-I still can’t remember everything… I-!”
“Shhh…” He rubbed small circles on the shaken monster’s cheek bone with his thumb, offering a small smile. “You know who I am though… that’s enough, I can help with the rest… I’ll take you back to the camp, and we-”
“I can’t go there.” Cross’s smile fell, and he felt Dream’s smaller hand raise to his own cheek, mimicking Cross’s actions. “You’re right… I do know w-who you are, Cross… and I remember…” Dream’s bottom “lip” trembled, fresh tears welling up in his eye sockets. “I remember h-how much I love you and I can’t… I can’t put you in that kind of danger…”
No.
Nonononononononononononononono-
“Dream, don’t…” Cross’s voice cracked, purple magic pooling in the corner of his vision. He can’t loose Dream again , he was so close, he was right there, please-
“I’m so sorry love…” A soft kiss was pressed to his lips before he was slipping away, pain written on his features. “Father would… I-I won’t let him hurt you… I love you… I’m sorry…”
And then he was gone - Dream ran through the magic shield, ultimately making it fall and dissipate, Cross collapsing to his knees, unable to stop the pained wail that left his throat, his fist pounding the ground as his soul cracked and trembled.
Dream had remembered him . And he was gone, slipping out of his grip like sand, all because of that fucker, Gaster-!
Gone.
And Cross didn’t even get the chance to say “I love you” back.
*****
Undyne hated the feel of Dust.
Even through the leather gloves of her uniform, she could still feel the crumbling texture, sticky from blood and liquid magic, clinging to her clothes and scales and the smell of ozone and copper surfacing from it like an unwanted house guest.
It made her stomach churn.
She didn’t want to kill anyone. It was the last thing she wanted - she was a guard, she was supposed to protect people’s lives, not end them. The surge of magic, of LOVE, afterwards just served as a sick reminder of the soul she’d just shattered.
The fins that framed her face twitched, bringing her back to the present time. Now wasn’t the time to contemplate her morals, she had a job to do: Find Papyrus and make sure his brother didn’t hurt him again. The tall skeleton had grown so quiet and always seemed exhausted as of late - Undyne had seriously considered not letting him on the field today but he wouldn’t have accepted that, the guy was sometimes too stubborn for his own good - and always got on edge when she brought up his brother’s name, thus it didn’t take a genius to figure Sans must have done something to Papyrus.
So, when one of the first things Undyne saw, before this whole shit show started, was Sans slipping between the crowd of Rebels in the direction Papyrus was stationed, it immediately got her guard up. Enough so that she didn’t even care that Cross was right there, at the front of the pack; which she really should have cared about. Cross knew so many details about the guard and the inner workings of the castle; having him on the other side will and is causing problems. As the captain of the royal guard, taking care of Cross should have been her top priority, but to Undyne, not “Captain Undyne”, her friend’s mental and physical health always came first.
Magic, blistering hot and practically sizzling with anger, suddenly collided with Undyne’s cheek, her balance momentarily thrown off as she stumbled back a few paces. A hiss of pain left her lips, a few of her blue scales shriveling up and falling from her skin at the heat, leaving open bloody patches on her cheek.
Undyne’s soul heated as her magic flared into action, flickering energy zapping across her arms and between her webbed fingers like lightning, and she turned her glare to the owner of the attack. Standing a few feet away was a skeleton (Damnit, why were they everywhere ? Undyne knew they were a common subspecies of monster but it seemed like she saw them everywhere she looked nowadays) with a void, black right eye socket and a bright red light in the left. Blood from what Undyne guessed was a punch to the face was smeared across his upper lip, and his left fist was alight with the same magic that had burned her a moment earlier.
“Sorry, Fishsticks, can’t let ya go that way.” Fishsticks?!
Undye growled, something snapping inside her. She didn’t know where her friend was or if he was hurt or not, this random little shit had just burned off her scales which fucking hurt and then had the audacity to call her mother fucking Fishsticks?!
Magic surged to her right arm as she threw it up to the air, spear after spear forming above her like a storm cloud, the magic crackling in the air.
She hated killing people.
But sometimes you need to break a few bones to protect the people you care for.
Undyne dropped her hand.
*****
Maybe , Sans thought as he made contact with his brother, the rest of his allies and the guards moving into action while the two Dreemurrs just stared at each other, I’m losing my god damn mind.
That’s the only thing that could explain why he suggested this god damn plan.
His fists clenched in his pockets, resisting the urge to wince when a long bone spear formed in his brother’s hand, their gazes never leaving each other. Sans could worry about the fact that he was losing it later. Right now he had a brother to fight.
Papyrus struck first, pushing off his feet and bolting towards Sans, his expression a strange mix of pain and determination. The staff aimed for Sans’s gut, inches away from impact when he shot a wink at Papyrus, his body slipping into the blacker than black void for a split second before he popped back into the real world, a few feet from his younger brother. Closer to where he needed Paps to be for this to work.
The taller skeleton stumbled forward, swiveling his head to find where Sans had reappeared, a frustrated groan leaving his lips.
“What? Forgot I could do that, bro?” He kept up his usual grin, though it was lopsided and felt almost physically painful to keep up at this point.
“Of course not, I just forgot how annoying it could be.” Papyrus mumbled, once again jumping forward.
Teleport, banter, strike. Teleport, banter, strike. It was just a pattern, Sans could do this, he didn’t have to actually attack Papyrus, he-
“Ugh! Just stop it, Sans!” They were maybe a block away from the castle now - not quite as far as Sans would like - when Papyrus suddenly plunged one end of his bone spear into the road, stone and pebbles flying up, one hitting Sans’s cheek. Papyrus was heaving slightly, but didn’t seem tired - quite the contrary, he looked like he was just getting started - nor did it seem like he could actually glare at Sans. He was more or less just frowning and trying to look angry. His right fist was beginning to be engulfed with orange magic, swirling and curling around his closed hand “You can’t dodge forever!”
“Technically, I can- erk?!” There was a loud Ding that seemed to break through the air before cold weight settled onto Sans’s soul, as if someone had just tied blocks of ice to his very core, a faint blue glow emitting from his chest. Blue magic. Of course.
“Not… Not anymore!” Papyrus looked proud of himself, and, after attempting to pull himself into the void, Sans decided he had a right to be - his second most powerful ability in battle can’t be accessed anymore.
Two could play at that game.
Sans flicked his left wrist, his left eye light flaming with teal and gold magic as he reached out to Papyrus’s soul, encasing it in the deep blue of gravity magic. Papyrus grunted in response, gritting his teeth, feigning annoyance - he was supposed to be annoyed that his brother was using the same magic on him, but Sans noticed the subtle way his brows curved downwards, the way his sockets seemed to physically shrink. Papyrus wasn’t annoyed, he was dismal.
While both brothers could use blue magic - now that Sans could remember their past, he knew that the reason they could do was because Gaster had “taught” them (He was using the word lightly, since Gaster’s “training” was more like torture, since he beat the young skeletons if they didn’t do something perfectly) and because of certain experiments that involved injecting pure, raw magic into their systems. He could barely remember the tests on himself, other than them hurting like a bitch, but he could remember the way Papyrus screamed during it. - Sans had always been more adept with the ability. The most Papyrus could do was make a person feel heavy, like their very soul was tied down, and make it difficult for them to move and dodge. Sans, on the other hand, could increase someone’s gravity or change it completely, meaning he can easily throw a person around and into surrounding walls or buildings. That being said, Sans was always hesitant to use that power, and normally would avoid using it on friends or family at all costs.
The simple act of turning his own brother’s soul blue, knowing full well Papyrus knew what he could do like this, was a very physical sign that Sans wasn’t screwing around.
“...Look, Pap, we don’t have to do this.” Sans kept his hold on the other’s soul, just as Papyrus did, but he raised his hands, as if showing he was being honest. At least that’s what he hoped it showed. “I just want to get you out of here. Please. It’s not… this place isn’t good for you, for anyone. And I… there’s another reason, too, but I can’t… talk about it here but at the camp or at home we could…” Something flickered across his brother’s features - Regret? Recognition? Did Papyrus remember something last week too? - before he quickly pushed whatever that feeling was away. One thing Papyrus didn’t get from Sans was definitely his ability to hide emotions. “Just… put down your magic and we can put this behind us…”
Sans held his brother’s gaze, hope sparking in his soul when Papyrus’s bone staff began flickering, his grip on Sans’s cracked soul loosening. That’s it… thank god, I don’t need to fight-
That small glimmer of hope was immediately shattered by rows of bones suddenly exploding out of the road, Papyrus jerking his right hand forward to send the attack for Sans. He cursed quietly, dodging the bones with somewhat sluggish movements thanks to the blue magic, before flicking his wrist to create his own magic bones, firing them at the remainders of Papyrus’s attack. Then, with a quick movement of his left arm shooting out, he flipped the other’s gravity, sending him flying to the side, the opposite way of the castle. Papyrus reacted quickly, resummoning his bone staff and jabbing it into the road, kicking up cement and cobblestone and leaving him suspended - Papyrus looked somewhat like a boney flag flapping in the wind.
“It doesn’t matter, Sans, I can’t… trust you!” Papyrus retaliated, swinging on his staff/lever, creating bones with pointed edges, using his momentum to kick them towards Sans. “As a guard, I’m… I’m loyal to the king! I can’t… break that!” His grip on Sans’s soul was slipping, giving the short monster the chance to teleport away from the oncoming attacks. His arm flew upwards, sending his brother into the air and simultaneously making bones rupture from the ground; his left hand dropped sharply, stopping his brother from going too high into the sky and leaving him plummeting towards the formed bones. A quick move of his gloved hands and two spears made of bone were in his hands, slotting them between Sans’s attack and using those as a sort of vaulting pole to propel himself away from the bones and land on the safe ground.
A flicker of movement in the corner of his eye caught Sans’s attention, nearly causing him to not dodge the next bout of projectiles in time.
Error.
Sans needed to wrap this up.
Gritting his teeth against the stab of guilt in his soul, Sans used his hold on his brother’s soul to push him back, sending the taller skeleton stumbling backwards, falling on his spine, and, with a pull of his hand downwards, Sans made Papyrus soul as heavy as a boulder, ultimately making him immovable.
Papyrus looked scared.
“Sans…?”
Ignore it. You’re not going to kill him. Sans told himself, raising his left arm - which was trembling, like the rest of his body - and concentrated his magic there; it was hot and wild, cracking and ripping space itself to open a door to a place so dark it devoured light, like a black hole, and called for a beast from within the “doorway”. A giant skull, something that looked like a cross between the skull of a dog and a demon, pushed through the tear, it’s eye sockets dark, just as black as the void itself, and a ball of churning magic in it’s jaw. Waves of pure energy seemed to roll off the beast, a deep rumbling coming from it, like that of a car revving up. You’re doing this to protect him. The skull’s maw opened, that ball of raw magic growing, glowing so bright it would hurt the eyes to look directly at it, and burning hot, so hot Sans was sure he could feel sweat forming on his skull. Maybe that was from how much magic he was using. Maybe nerves. Sans squeezed his eye sockets shut - he couldn’t bear to look at his brother’s terrified and hurt expression any longer.
He’ll never forgive you for this.
Sans dropped his hand, a silent order for the blaster to fire it’s attack.
…
But it refused.
The building energy, instead of being blasted from the skull’s jaw (Hence the name “Blaster”) slowly began to diminish, fading into nothing more than a quiet buzzing. The skull - this one Sans had named “Arial” moved forward, nuzzling it’s snout to Papyrus’s chest before retreating back to it’s home in the void.
The blasters, in a way, were connected directly to Sans’s soul. They were an extension of him, just as all magic was.
If Sans didn’t have the full intent to hurt someone, the blaster’s in turn would not attack. They wouldn’t go against their owner’s soul, for it could damage, crack or even shatter the fragile heart.
Sans slumped forward, crying out as he let go of Papyrus’s soul, turning his gravity back to normal (Papyrus had long ago lost his clutch on Sans’s soul, and even now made no move to grab it again). His knees hit the ground, hard, as Sans wailed, clutching at his skull.
He can’t do this, what had he been thinking?!
How the hell could he possibly consider hurting his brother?! What kind of sibling did that?!
He just wanted to protect his baby brother.
That’s all he’s ever wanted.
Slender arms suddenly wrapped around Sans’ trembling frame, his sobs causing his bones to rattle against each other ever so quietly. “Deep breaths brother… you’re having a panic attack.” Sans attempted to gulp in air, but his “lungs” refused to respond and - oh, god, he couldn’t breath! He can’t take a breath, he was dying, he was going to turn to dust here and- “Sans, you are ok. Breath with me. In… and out, in… and out.”
Following Papyrus's instructions, Sans slowly calmed down, at least slightly. His soul still ached and he had a splitting headache, not to mention the guilt eating at him, but at least he could breath.
“Sans…”
“Papyrus…”
They both spoke at the same time, Sans pulling away from his younger brother - it didn’t feel right to hug him after that. Not yet, at least. “You first, Papyrus.”
“I… I’m sorry. I've been acting like a child; refusing to see things that are… well, kind of obvious, all because I wanted to believe that everyone was good. I didn’t want to accept that someone as important as the king could be bad and… I’m sorry I’ve hurt you.” Orange tears pooled in the corners of his sockets, but he held them in, clenching his fists. “I don’t fully understand… all of this yet, all of the bad things but… I think I would like to try to.”
Sans was speechless. Yes, he wanted his brother to see things that way, to agree with him, but he didn’t think it would actually happen.
“You… have made friends in the… ‘rebellion’, right?” Sans nodded, unable to find his voice. “Can I meet them?”
*****
Turns out the “camp” Sans was talking about was just an old orphanage in a part of town Papyrus didn’t recognize. A short skeleton told him - rather rudely - that this was the “slums”. He didn’t seem to like Papyrus.
Actually, most monsters here didn’t seem to like him, most of them saw his uniform and their noses - if they had them - wrinkled in disgust. Papyrus couldn’t say he blamed them. He was learning that he… definitely hadn’t been one of the “good guys” during all of this.
Sans was still quiet - Papyrus couldn’t tell if it was because he was tired or if he was just anxious, but he’d guess it’s a mix of both - but he did introduce all of his new friends, which Papyrus was currently surrounded by.
He met Error first, someone he had technically met before, and he did not like Papyrus. He was there right after the fight, and was quick to tie Papyrus’s wrists - Error was Ink’s husband (fiance? partner?) and considering Papyrus was the one who unintentionally helped kidnap the small monster, it made sense there would be some animosity from Error. That being said, he seemed to care for Error. During the walk to the “camp”, he had talked quietly to Sans, and while Papyrus couldn’t understand much, it seemed likely Error was asking the other man if he was ok or not and how the fight - argument? - went. There was a blood stain on his right pant leg though, and Error had a rather obvious limp. Papyrus tried asking about it, even offering to heal him if they took a small break from walking, since he could use basic healing magic. Error snorted but didn’t say anything. Papyrus took that as a no and grew quiet after that - Sans didn’t say anything either, he seemed lost in thought, or tired, or both, so the walk was painfully awkward.
Papyrus saw Ink next - the small skeleton had been sitting at a plastic table with Chara (she was a part of this too?? A part of Papyrus wanted to cuss Sans out for letting their little sister join something so violent, but considering Chara wasn’t at the riot/attack today, he had to guess that his big brother was at least trying to keep her out of harm's way) and had practically bolted out of the chair and ran to Error, hugging him tight and whispering things too quiet for Papyrus to hear. Then, Ink screamed.
It wasn’t that he hated Papyrus like Error probably did, but he definitely didn’t want to be near him - again, Papyrus couldn’t blame him for that. He’d probably not want to be around someone that kidnapped him either.
Then there was the small skeleton - Killer - and the Prince. Killer didn’t say much, he just glared at Papyrus and made a very rude hand gesture at him; Nightmare scolded him for this, then apologized to Papyrus, like he had done something wrong, which he certainly hadn’t. Nightmare was kind, and seemed to want to be friends, even if Papyrus had worked for his abusive father, and as much as Papyrus wanted to make a new friend, he didn’t think he could be that with the Prince, or Killer for that matter. Looking and talking to them just made him feel like he was suffocating under a mountain of guilt. Even more so right now, with bruises and torn clothes from earlier - Killer’s arm looked too bloody to be ok, Nightmare in the middle of bandaging it while he had talked to them, and again Papyrus had offered to heal the major wounds. Killer hadn’t been too polite when turning him down - “Why the fuck would I trust a guard to do that? As far as I know you’ll just break my fucking arm instead.” had been his exact words.
Then there was Red.
His brother’s boyfriend.
His brother had a boyfriend .
Of course Papyrus was happy for him - anyone that made Sans happy was good in his book - but it was so… strange. The last time he remembered Sans dating anyone was when Papyrus was still in high school. Red was tall, basically as tall as Papyrus, and he had hugged Sans as soon as he saw him - or tried to hug, considering his left arm looked mangled and bloody, definitely broken, in a makeshift sling. Sans had nearly had another panic attack at the sight of the broken bone and the blood smeared on Red’s skull, but the taller monster had been quick to reassure him that he was ok. He had been so gentle, so caring while talking to his brother, Papyrus couldn’t help but immediately like him. The fact that Red actually seemed to want to talk to him, unlike the others, only made him like Red more.
Though, out of every one of Sans’s friends, Red was the most injured.
Which, sadly, was to be expecting, since he had apparently gone up against Undyne.
He also was the only one out of the group to accept Papyrus’s healing offer. The (ex)guard wasn’t able to fix the broken bone completely, but he was able to straighten it out and align the two cracked ends, his healing making it so the bone wasn’t fully snapped either. This way the bone shouldn’t take as long to heal. The simple act was enough to exhaust Papyrus, he knew it would, but he had helped , he’d finally actually helped someone. He just wished he could do more.
Especially for his big brother.
Red had made a pun after that, something that should have made Sans full on laugh, or at least chuckle. He has always loved those silly jokes, specifically the really bad ones, the ones that made people groan and roll their eyes.
But Sans barely smiled.
To say Papyrus was worried would be an understatement.
It was getting late now, the sun having disappeared behind the tall buildings of BlightView, the sky bleeding to black, clouds hiding any stars that may be peaking out. Papyrus was seated on a crate, his wrists still tied, though the stings were starting to become uncomfortable now, with Red and Sans sitting on their own crates next to him, Sans in the middle, their hands intertwined. It was cute, in a way, that small gesture of affection. Killer was sitting across for them, cross legged and tossing a red, magic knife in his hand, seeming not to care about anything being talked about, while Nightmare next to him seemed very interested. Papyrus wondered if they were dating - he’d have yet to see them without the other yet. Ink and Error were seated at the plastic table, now covered with papers, and neither of them looked happy that Papyrus was so close, though at least Ink was trying to hide it. Chara was there too, arms crossed and face half hidden in her scarf - she seemed to be avoiding him and Sans - and Cross was to her left, with a blank look - like Chara, he hadn’t said anything. Only difference was that he seemed to be avoiding everyone , not just Sans and Papyrus.
“Look, I get that a lot of us aren’t happy about this-”
“Oh, no, Error, we just love having someone from the enemy’s side here.” Killer snapped at Error, voice dripping with poison as his glare shifted to Papyrus. He flipped his weapon into the air once more, catching it by the handle and stabbing it into a plastic crate, as if to prove a point. “Why the hell isn’t he locked up anyways? We can make a cage or some shit.”
“He’s not a prisoner.” Sans shot back, voice even deeper than usual.
“Technically, Sans is right. But, no offence Papyrus, people aren’t going to be happy if we let him go wherever he wants in camp.” Error shifted Ink on his lap, the small monster looking ready to pass out at any moment.
“None taken.” For a split moment, Papyrus met Error’s gaze, but he was quick to look back down. Truthfully, Papyrus didn’t want to spend a lot of time here either. “I… I could also go back ho- to my father’s home, with Chara and Sans. I will only come here if I’m with him. Then… I can be “supervised”, in a way.”
Error thought about that for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, sure. That works. Sans?”
“I’m fine with it.” The small lights in Sans’s eyes flickered to Papyrus. “I’ll drive you and Chara there soon, and drop you two off.”
“What do you mean, drop us off? Why aren’t you staying?” Chara finally spoke up, her voice hard to read. She seemed upset, though. Angry or sad, Papyrus didn’t know for sure which it was.
A hush fell over the group. “I… Chara, Red’s arm’s broken, I’m… staying with him for a bit, to help.”
The human scoffed, shoulders tensing. Angry, Papyrus realized then. Chara was definitely angry. “Right. And you’re not just avoiding me and Papyrus after last week.”
“Chara-”
“No! It’s not fair! We fuck up a few times and then you just dip! Don’t you see how shitty that is, Sans?! Why won’t you just-”
“I’m terribly sorry to interrupt… whatever this is, darlings, but is one of you ‘Error’?”
Thank god , a distraction!
The first thing Papyrus noticed about the newcomer was his eyes, or eye, technically, since one was covered with hair. It was a bright pink, and there was something there that screamed at Papyrus to look at them, admire them.
The second thing he noticed was that it looked like this monster’s soul was
floating out in the open
. Upon closer inspection it was just a projection, like what happens when Sans or Papyrus use blue magic, but still! How was this monster not uncomfortable? Was he just used to it?
Ink seemed to wake up from the sound of a new voice, rubbing an eye socket and looking very much like a child as Error raised an arm in a tiny wave. “Er, yes, that’s me. Can I help you?”
The stranger clapped his hands, grinning and strutting forward. “Ah, perfect, you won’t believe how many people I’ve asked that to at this point… anywho, my name is Mettaton! My friend, Alphys, sent me here to-”
Bad move.
Almost all of the skeletons went on edge, tired magic flaring - Killer even summoned his knife again, jumping off his crate.
“Woah there! Stars, I’m not here to hurt anyone!” The monster - Mettaton? - raised his hands defensively. “She wants to help but can’t do it herself, that’s why she sent me!”
Error growled, pressing Ink to his chest, though the smaller skeleton just seemed confused by that. Maybe he was too tired to know what was going on? “She’s the royal advisor. Like hell we’re going to-”
“We can trust her.” Cross spoke up, straightening from his leaning position. “Dream remembered me today, without me having to do anything, because Alphys helped him.”
This affirmation seemed to slightly calm the others - Killer didn’t seem convinced - and while Papyrus would have loved to hear more of the conversation, he liked Mettaton’s voice, there was something soothing about it, but Sans was gesturing for him and Chara to follow him and Red. It was getting late, and they couldn’t stay all night, not with Chara, at least.
Besides, Papyrus needed to get a talk with his father out of the way.
But first, he needed to get through an awkward car ride.
Notes:
I'm so sorry if this chapter is hard to understand, writing fighting scenes is not my strong suit- ^^"
That being said, the Sans and Papyrus section was my favourite to write!I'd love to hear what you guys think or if you have any predictions! Also feel free to ask any questions in the comments if you have them!
Chapter 19: ~Chapter 19~
Summary:
!Tw! Physical abuse near the end of the chapter
Notes:
For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on Instagram or Tumblr
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Papyrus shifted in his seat for what seemed like the millionth time in the last ten minutes, refusing to look away from the window, glueing his eye sockets to the moving lights and dark shapes beyond the glass. He knew the drive would be awkward, that much had been obvious, even to him, but the discomfort seemed to radiate from him and both his siblings, the feeling hanging above their heads and stuffing up the car like warm air on a hot day. Sans was the one driving, given Red quite literally couldn’t (broken arm and all that), Chara didn’t have her licence and Papyrus… well, he supposed he could have been the one to drive, but he was a little spacey from using healing magic earlier.
Red was in the passenger seat, diagonal from Papyrus, and Chara behind him - she was pressed up against the door, watching things pass like Papyrus was, though admittedly she looked more comfortable. Despite Sans doing his best to accommodate Papyrus's height by moving his seat up some, the younger skeleton still felt squished. It only made him feel more uncomfortable in this situation.
They were leaving the city now, the concrete and neon lights making way for empty fields and distant trees. Occasionally Papyrus caught glimpses of the moon through the clouds, and he made it a sort of game, counting how many times he could see it. He was at six when his attention was pulled away from the window by movement: Red shifting in his seat to look at Papyrus.
“Hey, so, I was just thinkin’... the castle has all yer personal info, yeah?”
It took Papyrus a minute to process Red’s words - his head was foggy after all - but when he did it only served to make him more confused. Wasn’t that standard for jobs? “Erm… yes…? They need that sort of thing before you can even do the entry exam.”
“Right, so if they have that, they have your father’s phone number and address?”
“I suppose so, yes... But what does that have to do with anything…?” In front of him, Sans cursed. “I’m confused, what’s troubling about that?"
“Ya left in the middle of a fight, with no word to yer captain.” Red’s eyes flickered to Sans, who was visibly tense - tenser than before. “They’re gonna assume somethin’ bad happened to ya, and in that case, the first place they’re gonna go to is yer dad’s place. Ya stay there ‘n they’ll find ya like that.” Red snapped the fingers on his good hand. “‘N ya can’t just say ya wanna quit without a good reason.”
“Can’t I just tell Undyne I don’t want to fight my brother…? She’ll understand, she’s a good person-” Red’s mouth twitched, Papyrus realizing his mistake - Undyne had broken his arm. How could he forget that! “I-I mean, she…”
Red shook his skull. “Doesn’t matter right now. Anyways, even if she’s a good friend ta ya, she’s still captain and would need a report on why yer leaving the force. I don’t want ta make ya lie on a legal form like that, it’ll get ya into some serious shit in the future.”
“So you’re saying Papyrus can’t go home.” Chara cut in, glaring at the back of Red’s seat. She didn’t seem to like the other skeleton very much. Or maybe she was just in a bad mood. It was hard for Papyrus to tell.
“Well.. fer now, yeah. I don’t think it’ll be safe fer him to stay there. ‘specially if they know Sans, his brother, is a part of the rebellion, they’ll just have more questions fer Papyrus. Worse case scenario they’ll think he’s a traitor. And knowin’ the king… that wouldn’t end well.”
“I can’t really go anywhere else though. We already told Error I’d be here…” Papyrus sank into his seat, idly rubbing his wrists, which were still a bit sore from the strings earlier. He didn’t want to make Error hate him more, and he certainly didn’t want to jeopardize his brother’s relationship with the man.
“I mean, we also told ‘im we’de watch ya when ya weren’t there, so if ya stayed at my place fer the time being technically we aren’t lyin’. ‘N as far as the castle’s concerned, ya have no ties to me so they won’t come knockin’ at my door.” Red pointed out, giving the younger monster a smile. Truthfully, Papyrus wasn’t a huge fan of the idea - Sans was also staying with Red and while Pap knew they needed to talk he was scared to, scared of what his brother might say, and he barely knew Red. He seemed nice, and Sans obviously liked him, but…
“Would dad be in danger if I stayed with him…?”
Red hesitated, then made a seesawing motion with his non-injured hand. “Maybe, if they think he kidnapped ya, or if they think he’s helping us with the rebellion.”
Well, that didn’t give Papyrus much of a choice then, did it?
“Ok… I’ll stay with you then.” His voice was shaky - he hated that, he hated sounding nervous. He was nervous, but that didn’t mean he had to sound or look it. Guards aren’t supposed to get anxious, they should be brave and confident.
Then again, Papyrus isn’t really a guard anymore, now is he?
The conversation dried up after that, and before Papyrus knew it Sans was pulling up to Asgore’s home.
An ache formed in his chest, a deep pain that made him want to curl in on himself. He wanted to go inside, he wanted to fix things with his dad. He wanted a hug.
He wanted his family. All of it. Everything was just awkward and tense and it made him feel sick. He didn’t even-
Arms were around him.
What?
Papyrus looked down, his little sister’s face pressed to his chest, her arms around him and hugging him tightly. The ache faded slightly, and Papyrus, somewhat hesitantly, raised his arms to hug Chara back.
“I missed you, you know?” She mumbled, pulling away and stubbornly rubbing her eyes. Was she crying?? Did he do that? “... I’m glad you're back. I'm sorry. You should talk to Sans, though. Both of you are idiots.” Briefly meeting Papyrus’s sockets, Chara seemed to be waiting for something, but then she turned and left the car before Papyrus could speak. He wanted to hug her again.
I missed you too. He wanted to say. He wanted to tell her she was right, that him and Sans were being dumb and that they’ll fix whatever this is, whatever this awkwardness is.
Though, Papyrus didn’t know how to do that. He didn’t know how to bring up the fight this afternoon, Sans’s panic attack, or how to ask about his almost memories, the glimpses into the past that Papyrus could never fully piece together.
That ache in his chest was still there, but it was mixed with a feeling that felt like burning, it felt red, and hot. It felt like it belonged there.
Papyrus was determined to get his family back to normal.
*****
Sans was doing just fine.
He was totally, 100%, a-okay with everything happening right now.
Did he feel like throwing up from anxiety alone the whole drive back to the city and to Red’s home? Maybe. Was he unreasonably jumping, flinching at any slight movement or noise from Red or Pap? Yup! Does it feel like his soul was literally burning from the pain of almost using a blaster on his brother and then finding out Red had almost been dusted today? Totally!
But he was fine.
If anything, he doing much better than everyone else in the camp: the worst injuries he had were a few scratches and bruises here and there, while everyone else had really taken a beating - see Red’s literal broken arm and Error’s limp as two examples - and he did get his brother to come back to the camp with him, even if Sans had… most likely traumatized him, and now he was being treated like a criminal and prisoner.
Sans’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, his jaw tensing. He shouldn’t have attacked Papyrus the way he did; he shouldn’t have gone all out; and he definitely shouldn’t have used a blaster like that. His little brother had enough to deal with without Sans literally pulling an interdimensional being out of the void to attack him like that. And on top of that Sans has to tell them that Gaster made them in a lab? He had to tell Papyrus what the scientists did to them?
Maybe he could get away with not talking about it tonight, he could say he was tired, or that they should all get rest, which really, they should. He could also leave a few things out whenever he did talk to Pap, there was no law that said Sans had to spill about everything. Besides, Sans was good at lying.
“Sans?”
Sans jerked out of his thoughts, eyelights flickering back into his eye sockets (Great, here comes a headache). They were entering the city again, neon signs and street lamps washing the street and the inside of the car in blues, yellows, pinks and greens - he must have been driving on autopilot before Red had said his name.
“Uh, yeah, sorry, guess I kinda…zoned out, I guess.” Sans cleared his throat, turning on his turn signal, turning into a more residential part of Blightview.
“Do you want me to drive instead, brot- Sans?” Well, ouch. Sans always underestimated how much it hurt to hear Papyrus call him anything other than “Brother” - growing up, that’s the only thing Papyrus would call him. Then again, Sans himself was hesitant to call Papyrus “bro”, or “Pap” anymore, so he really shouldn’t be so upset.
“Nah, I’m fine, just uh, a little lost in thought.” He couldn’t see Papyrus’s features, but going by the sigh behind Sans’s seat, he was making the same unconvinced face as Red was. “Seriously, I’m… I’m spine , guys.”
Papyrus groaned, and Sans could feel his knees against his seat, against his lower spine, as his younger brother slumped in his seat. “That was bad, even for you, brother.” Sans perked up at that, his eye lights flickering to his rear-view window, catching Papyrus’s gaze. For that second of eye contact, Sans couldn’t help but feel like he saw a spark of his brother's old self in his eye sockets, before they both looked away. “You should really put more backbone into your jokes…”
Sans snorted, his grin feeling a little less fake. Still, that uncomfortable silence came again - should Sans make another joke? He didn’t want to leave Red out though - a quick glance at the skeleton made Sans suspect Red was being quiet for a reason considering he was watching Sans with an expression that made his stomach do a flip and his soul flutter. Damn him for being attractive. It was so unfair.
“So, um, Red! What do you do for a living?” Oh, thank god, Papyrus to the rescue. Sans was more than happy to just let them talk amongst themselves. It gave him more time to figure out how the fuck he’s going to deal with… everything that’s happening right now.
“‘M a history teacher, actually.” Red answered, Sans letting himself sink back into his wandering thoughts.
He should probably let Arial out for a bit tonight, give the blaster some time to play after today. He could feel its energy still coursing through him - while he was exhausted, the blaster seemed to be hyper and excited, like a dog when you say the word “walk”. Red would let Sans use his backyard for that, right? Did he even have a backyard? Sans was positive he had seen a backdoor the last time he was there a week ago, but now he wasn’t so sure. He could always introduce Red to Arial, it and all the other blasters were friendly as long as Sans liked the person they were meeting - they absolutely adored Frisk - so in theory, Arial should be fine. Then again, Sans has never introduced previous girlfriends/boyfriends to any of his blasters - granted none of his past partner’s stuck around for that long - but Sans really liked Red, and since his little “pets” were connected to his soul they may do something… embarrassing. Plus, Arial was one of the bigger of the three, Indie, the smallest, would probably be better for a first meeting.
Would Papyrus want to see them? When they were young, after getting away from the lab, Sans used to let the blasters out for his brother to play with - Courier, the biggest blaster, had always been Papyrus's favourite - though Sans couldn’t keep them out for long back then. He was proud to say he could let all three out of the void nowadays, but that's besides the point. Sans had almost attacked the taller skeleton with Arial earlier, so it would make total sense if Pap never wanted to see them again, but should he still ask? Did Papyrus even remember the times he used to play with huge skulls? He had to, right?
Sans turned onto Red’s street, pulling into his driveway and parking the car. He could ask Papyrus if he wanted to see the blasters when they had their “talk” which, if Sans’s plan (avoidance) worked, wouldn’t be tonight.
Maybe next week.
Red was the first one out of the car - he didn’t seem to be having too much trouble maneuvering with that broken bone, and Sans didn’t know if he should be proud or lecturing him to be taking it easy and to not over do it - and Papyrus and Sans followed suit, sharing an awkward glance at one another. These uncomfortable and tense moments were happening a lot more that Sans wanted, and he was really starting to dread them.
Once inside the house, there was brief small talk about the place, and Papyrus thanking Red (and Sans, though that made the older brother feel uncomfortable since, again, he had attacked Papyrus earlier - he was refusing to just… let that go.)
“I’ll show ya to the guest room, make yerself at home, ok?” Papyrus looked up from setting his shoes on the rack, his gaze flickering between the two other skeletons.
“Are you sure…? I donot mind sleeping on the bed, Sans should have the bed-”
“I’m sharing a bed with Red.” Sans cut in without thinking, freezing in the middle of hanging up his (stained) jacket as he processed his words. “I mean. Uh. I assumed? But I’m ok with the couch too, I’ve slept on worse.” Shut up Sans. ok. Sans snapped his mouth shut, heat creeping onto his cheeks.
Rather than looking annoyed by the suggestion, Red chuckled, pressing a kiss to Sans’s cheek - he couldn’t help but notice his brother’s somewhat thrilled expression at that, though Sans was doing his best to ignore that. “‘Course ya can sleep with me.” Red gave him a sharp grin before turning back to Papyrus. “Alright, follow me Papyrus, the spare room is just down this hall.”
Being alone in someone else's home felt odd, Sans noted, finishing taking off his shoes before making his way to the kitchen, his socked feet padding against the hardwood floor. The kitchen wasn’t too big, with an oak table near the front of the room and counters pressed against the back and side wall. The stove was well used and a few plates lingered in the sink next to the silver refrigerator. Aha, he had been right around a backyard - behind the kitchen/dining room was a small hallway only a few meters long, the right wall taken up by a glass sliding door. Sans glanced back into the house before reaching for the handle: he should probably leave a note so Red knew where he was, right?
Quickly looking around the kitchen, Sans grabbed a pen out of the living room - Red had a jar of them on the table, along with a pile of books and paper with handwritten notes on it - and grabbed a piece of paper from the pad held up on the fridge by magnets, and jotted down a message. Leaving the note on the dining table, Sans went to the backyard.
It was cool out, making Sans somewhat wish he still had his jacket on, not to mention the fenced off yard was almost too dark to see anything, but he could still tell he was on a wooden deck. The wood must have been old, creaking under Sans’s feet as he stepped to the edge, sitting down as his eyes adjusted. There was still some snow covering the grass, leafless trees lined up against the fence - in spring and summer, Sans suspected they gave quite a bit of privacy.
Sighing, he leaned against his knees, digging through his pockets until he found his pack of cigarettes and lighter - the pack was almost empty, Sans noted as he placed one between his teeth, lighting it as he made a mental note to pick up more.
Blowing out a puff of smoke in the night air, his gut twisted with guilt. He was well aware he should be trying more to quit, he knew Red would probably be disappointed to see him like this. Hell, Sans knew that he, himself, was disappointed. For more than just that reason.
Sans shook his head, pushing those thoughts aside. You aren’t out here to wallow in pity he chided himself, raising his left hand to cut a portal to the void, a familiar chirping sound filling his “ears” as Arial flew out from the darkness, a similar looking blaster behind it. With a flick of his wrist the doorway closed, leaving Arial zooming around the yard, sniffing at things and chirping to Sans, and the smaller blaster, Indie, butting Sans’s free hand for petting. Indie was always the more cuddly one, being only half the size of its sibling and more often than not Sans found the small guy weaseling its way onto his lap.
Giving into the blaster’s chirping, Sans scratched Indie’s snout, a deep, rumbling purr erupting from the giant skull. “Heh, I’m happy to see you too buddy…” From across the yard, Arial made a series of noises, basically begging for attention from Sans as well - the action made the skeleton smile, making him think of a hyper dog. Placing his still lit cigarette into his mouth, holding it between his teeth, he focused his magic in his left hand to create a small bone, tossing it to the other Blaster. Catching it between its teeth - which were easier as big, if not bigger, than Sans’s fingers - and zooming back to its owner and dropping it on Indie’s head. The smaller skull made an annoyed chirp every time it happened, but a scratch or pat from Sans quickly calmed it back down.
“Sans? Ya doin’ ok- holy shit!” Sans jumped, startling Indie out of his lap (it made several upset noises at being disturbed), while Arial yipped - that was a new sound Sans hadn’t heard before - and zipped past Sans to nuzzle at Red’s chest. It was a strange sight: a confused Red having a giant skull the same size as him purring and rubbing it’s snout against his ribs, and Sans would have laughed if it wasn’t for the embarrassment clawing at his throat.
“Arial- fuck, I’m sorry- bud, come here-” Sans dropped the cigarette, stomping it out with his heel, a short, one note whistle leaving his “lips”. He put his hand over Indie’s snout to stop it from flying over to his boyfriend as Arial whined, but much to Sans’s relief responded to the whistle correctly and moved back to his side.
Red was staring at Sans and his “pets” in bewilderment and curiosity. “What are those things?”
“Uh, Blasters, I guess. That’s what I’ve always called them.” The smaller skull butted against his hand. “It’s… hard to explain what they are, heh, but I can… open a hole to… well, the “void” but it’s basically just the space between time. Anyways, I can call these two guys out, plus another one. Really big guy. That’s not important.” Sans’s cheeks were heating up, his eyelights snapping away from Red to look at Arial. “I can use ‘em in fights but… uh, they’re connected to my soul so they won’t do anything if I don’t… really want them to. I just wanted to let these two burn off some energy but I can send them home if you-”
“What? No, no ya don’t have to do that!” He patted his knee, Indie chirping and pushing past Sans, more than happy to accept the pets from Red. “Sans, this is… insane! Ya can just open a portal and pull out life no one’s ever seen before! ‘at’s incredible!” Well if Sans’s skull hadn’t been blue before, it definitely was now.
“Ehehe… I guess…” More relaxed now, Sans sat back down on the porch, Red joining him this time. Indie was on his lap, its purring sounding like a small motor, and Arial glued to his side, chirping and butting Red’s good arm to try and get some love too. Thank god they recognised Red had an injured arm, Sans would hate if one of his pets hurt him more. “The little one’s Indie. And that big guy there is Arial.”
Red grinned, looking like a kid in a candy store - at least he’s not scared. “Cute. Wait, did ya name ‘em after fonts too?”
“You got me.” Sans laughed nervously, rubbing his hands together. “Dunno, I named them when I was pretty young and I guess it just made sense, since Papyrus and I…” His voice trailed off, eyelights focusing on the back fence.
The silence stretched on for a few minutes, Sans started to feel tired. He usually had no trouble having the basters out like this, but he had spent a lot of magic this afternoon, and it was starting to wear him down. He pushed himself off of the deck, stretching his back and doing that short whistling again. It was a simple enough command he taught the three skulls, just telling them to come back to him, or to stick to his side. In battles, it told them to stand down.
“Come buddies, time to go home.” The blasters grumbled, giving Sans their version of puppy eyes which, well, wasn’t super effective but it’s the thought that counts. “Yeah, yeah, I know, I’ll take you out again soon, promise.” He raised his hand to cut the portal, but glanced at Red, who was watching with unconcealed interest. “You, uh, might want to look away for this part. The void isn’t really… easy on the eyes. Or eye sockets.”
Red frowned, but gave Sans a nod and closed his eye sockets. Satisfied his boyfriend wouldn’t be hurt from staring into the too black portal, Sans opened the portal, ushering his two pets through before resealing reality; like nothing had even happened.
“‘S safe fer me ta look again?” Sans laughed softly, sitting back down and instinctively leaning against Red’s shoulder, cautious of his broken arm.
“Yeah, it’s good again.”
Removing his hand, Red’s eyelight looked around the yard, as if checking to see if the blasters were actually gone, before landing back on Sans. “Ya look tired.”
“Gee, thanks.” Sans quickly pressed his teeth to Red’s, just to prove he wasn’t mad. “It’s just been a long day, I’m ok.”
Red hummed in response, the two of them falling into silence again. It was nice having him so close, Sans noted - he got so nervous about being near Red or alone with him, and yet every time they were alone, those nerves vanished like that . With one smile Red could melt all of Sans’s worries.
“Erm… I-I’m sorry, am I interrupting…?”
Sans jerked away from Red’s shoulder, the movement making his hand bump against Red’s broken bone, a surprised yelp leaving the taller man. “Shit, sorry-!” Red gave him a look that he hoped said “It’s ok”, and Sans turned to the sliding door where his brother was standing, silhouetted by the kitchen light. “Uh, Papyrus, hey.”
His sockets switched between Sans and Red, his hands pulling at the hem of the white shirt he was wearing - it was a tad bit too small, it must be from Red. “I just… thought we could talk? B-but I can go back to the room…?”
Well, fuck, guess Sans did have to have the talk tonight.
“No, no you don’t…” He glanced at Red, who gave him a supporting smile.
“I’ve got stuff I can work on, take all the time ya need, ok?” Sans nodded, flushing when Red kissed his teeth once more before standing and scooting past Papyrus and back into the house, leaving the two brothers alone.
“...Hey bro.”
“...Hi. Can I…?” He gestured to the spot next to Sans, the older skeleton giving a brief nod.
Papyrus sat next to him, a distinct gap between the two of them - the big brother part of Sans wanted to rub his back or hug him, but… now wasn’t the time, he was sure of that. Not yet, at least.
“... I’m sorry for using a blaster.” Sans broke the silence first, guilt squeezing his soul. “I-I shouldn’t have gone that far and I… I could have seriously hurt you and I want you to know I would never- ”
“I know, Sans.” Papyrus cut him off, his voice quiet - usually when Papyrus was talking “quietly”, he was still pretty loud, like he was always speaking in “upper case” but right now… it was the quietest Sans had ever heard him, he was sure. “I know you wouldn’t hurt me, and I know Arial-” He remembered its name?? “-wouldn’t attack unless you really meant it. Sure, I was scared at the thought you might want to hurt me… but deep down I think I knew that wouldn’t happen.” Sans let out a shaky breath, his hands forming fists in his lap. He wasn’t going to cry. He just wasn’t. Still, knowing his brother knew he didn’t want to hurt him was such a relief. “But… Sans, I don’t… Where were we, before mom and dad adopted us? I… ever since that… moment at the mall, I’ve been… Well, remembering isn’t the right word but it’s like my skull is filled with… half memories, where I can only remember… feelings and small things and it’s all so… frustratingly confusing.”
And there it was, the one thing Sans was dreading talking about. “You… did remember something too then, huh?” Papyrus nodded, and an image briefly floated into Sans’s head: an image of Pap as a baby bones, bundled up in whatever clothes Sans could find at the time to keep him warm. Sans had just told him something - what was it? He was sure it had something to do with food, that they couldn’t get something, that must have been it. His brother had almost the same expression, though aged, more tired now. “I don’t… really remember everything, ok? I can tell what I do know but… I mean, everything before you is just blank, for example so I can’t… give you the full picture… n-not yet, at least. It’s a lot. Fuck, Papyrus, it’s so…” He shook his skull, the younger monster waiting patiently for Sans to explain.
“... Pap, we aren’t…” How does he even start this? There’s so much to say and yet so much still that Sans didn’t know, like how Gaster made them, how they got out was fuzzy, too.
Noticing Sans struggling, Papyrus asked a quiet question, as if to help him start. Sometimes Sans forgot his brother could be just as observant as him. “Do you remember our parents…? Our biological ones, not… n-not Asgore and Toriel…”
Well, Sans could work with that, he guessed. “We don’t really… have any?” Papyrus gave him a blank, confused look. “We… we were made. In a lab. I don’t… know how Gaster did it - I have theories about how he made our bodies, but souls… should be impossible to make artificially, but here we are. Erm. You know how Gaster has those gloves on all the time? Every broadcast, every picture?” A nod. “He’s got these holes in his palms. I… remember seeing them, back then. I think he…” A shudder coursed through his spine, a sick feeling in his gut. “I think he cut bone from himself then used that to make… us. Or our bodies, at least.”
Papyrus looked just as sick as Sans felt, his body stiff and rigid, as if scared to take a breath. “B-but… why? How??”
“I… don’t know.” Lie, Sans knew why - to be weapons - but he didn’t want that weighing on his little brother. If Papyrus noticed the lying, he didn’t say anything about it. “I don’t remember much about our time there… in a lab. It wasn’t the lab at the castle, I know that for sure, but… I don’t know. I just know they did bad things and they hurt you. Me too but… whatever, that doesn’t matter. They did bad shit to us and I’m sure that’s why we can use blue magic. I’m positive that’s it.” Scratching at his arm, Sans stared at his feet. He wanted another smoke. “... Then we got out. I have no goddamn clue how, I keep… trying and trying to, but it’s just black, so, so black, and then we’re in the streets. I think we were on our own for a year before mom and dad but…”
Papyrus was silent for a minute, probably processing what his brother just dumped in front of him. Was he going to get upset, thinking Sans made this all up? All this sounded insane, anyways, like something out of one of those fantasy books he used to read to Papyrus.
Sans was expecting yelling, maybe a few tears and hurtful words.
Instead, he got: “If… you don’t remember what… what happened in the… in that place, do you remember anything from when we were out… before mom and dad? Something good…?”
Sans had to think about that one for a minute, being caught off guard - Papyrus had believed him, or so it seemed, and he was asking if anything good had happened. He was looking for the brightside.
Of course he was.
Seeing good things in bad places, that was Papyrus’s best feature.
A smile, a real, sincere smile, ghosted Sans’s lips. “Yeah, yeah, I think I do.”
Sans frowned, readjusting Papyrus’s scarf for the third time, his baby brother having loosening it to the point of almost falling off of his small frame. “You have to keep this on, bro, or else you’ll get too cold.” The smaller skeleton pouted, making grabby hands. With a sigh, Sans hoisted him back into his arms, though they were sore by now - he had to wonder if this was a phase norm- other kids went through, where they always wanted to be carried.
Whatever, he didn’t mind holding the 4-year-old, Pap was pretty light anyways.
It was dark out by now, but they were in a part of the city - wasn’t it called BlightView or something like that?Not that the name really mattered, a city was a city - where there were signs and neon lights that hurt to look at for too long, but the streets were always bathed in light, no matter the time of day. Shifting Papyrus onto his hip, Sans grabbed the small tattered backpack laying against the brick wall of the alley way, shrugging in onto his shoulder. There wasn’t much in the bag, just a worn and pretty dirty blanket, a few clothes that wouldn’t be warm enough for right now, and a half eaten box of cookies.
Sans in no way knew his way around BlightView, if it even was named that, but he didn’t like staying in one place for too long. It made his stomach twist and his chest feel tight, like something was wrong. It was probably paranoia, but then again, he didn’t want to risk… someone finding them. He couldn’t remember who, but he was positive they were running from something, they had to be.
He stuck close to the building's walls as he walked, ignoring the pitying stares from other monsters, instead choosing to peek in through windows, catch glimpse of what nor- other people were buying for them and their families, see the food they made and enjoyed. It was nice, like a way to pretend that he and his brother were just ordinary kids too, that they had a family to go “home” to.
Sans paused at the window of what he thought was a restaurant: there were tables and booths inside, all of them looking grimy and in need or a cleaning, and the floor was read and white tiles. There was a family seated by the window, eating meat sandwiched between bread, with other things on them. Leafy green, yellow, red, Sans wondered what kind of foods those were. One of the kids even had some kind of long sandwich, with the meat in a rod shape and the bread - bun? Is it a bun? - wrapped around half of the meat rod.
He wondered what it tasted like.
“Brother?” Sans pulled his eyelights away from the glass to look down at Papyrus, who’s small hands were gripping at the too-big jacket Sans wore. Was he cold?
“Yeah, bro?”
“It’s yellow!” The baby bones grinned, jabbing a finger to the ground in front of them. “Yellow ‘n shiny!”
Giving his brother an amused look, Sans shifted so he could look past Papyrus to the ground: there, pressed between a crack in the concrete and brick wall of the building, was a perfectly round, yellow coin. Curiously, Sans set Papyrus down, grabbing his hand to make sure the baby bones didn’t accidentally wander off, and kneeled down, picking up the gold. The coin wasn’t very big, nor thick, and on one side there was a funny symbol, a triangle with wings, and on the other the number 5 was engraved. “Huh.”
“What’s that?” Papyrus pushed at Sans’s shoulder, trying to see the money, but almost knocking the older monster over.
“It’s gold, bro. Money. It means we can buy something.” But… what? The smart choice would be food, or more clothes. Maybe new shoes, since he was only walking around in slippers that left his feet sore and, occasionally, bloody, thanks to their worn out soles. Then again…
Sans looked at his brother’s excited expression, his eye sockets seeming to sparkle and he hopped on the spot. He had no idea if the small 4-year-old actually understood the concept of money, he doubted it, but he must understand that it was good. Sans loved seeing his brother happy, it was all he wanted.
He had an idea.
“So… I bought you a little T-Rex stuffie. Rexxy, remember him?” Sans leaned back, looking up at the sky with a smile on his face. Papyrus had been so excited when he let him pick out a toy - they had gone to a rather shitty toy shop, with some of the cheapest things you could get, half of the things for sale already busted, but the small skeleton had acted like it was the best place on Earth. Sans had let Papyrus pick whatever he wanted, and while the cashier had given the boys dirty looks, but seeing his younger brother practically dance with joy and laugh, really laugh, for the first time made it completely worth it to Sans. “You loved that thing so much.”
Papyrus laughed softly next to him, which only made Sans grin more - a real laugh! “I think I still have that, actually…” He shook his head, Sans snorting. “I can’t believe you bought me a stuffed dinosaur instead of, I don’t know, a blanket or something!”
Sans snickered and shrugged. “I dino what to tell you bro, it seemed like a great idea to11-year-old me.” A loud groan came from his brother. “I’m not saur-ee for that, it was a good one!”
“That's even worse!”
After a bout of laughter - even Papyrus had started laughing too - the two brothers sat in comfortable silence, smiling to themselves. In the back of Sans’s mind, there was a nagging worry about why he suddenly forgot everything from their past, and why it seemed even as a little kid, right after the escape, he somehow couldn't remember anything. There was something off about that timing that struck Sans the wrong way, there had to be more to the whole forgetting thing. There had to be.
He could worry about that later though.
Right now, he had his brother, and he had Red, and he had friends , real friends that cared about him back at the camp.
He’ll worry about his past in the morning.
*****
“Hey! Guard shithead!” Killer called out, Cross froze mid - attack. After Error started talking to the new guy - metta-something-or-other - the group split up. Cross disappearing to the training dummies set up behind the orphanage, and taking to beating the ragdolls mercilessly. Killer had to admit, it wasn’t a horrible way to release anger and, to be honest, he hadn't realized just how strong the ex-guard was: two out of the five makeshift dummies were completely destroyed, and Cross was still going strong.
“The fuck do you want now? Come to rub my face in the fact that Dream didn’t come back?” Cross hissed, swinging the sparking sword in his hand onto his shoulders, glaring down at Killer.
“As tempting as that is, no.” The smaller man grumbled, rocking back on his heels, looking at the wrecked dummies, their stuffing littering the grass, their limbs shredded to bits. Jesus, why was he doing this? Nightmare’s goodness must be rubbing off on him. “Look, I... I’m sorry. About what happened, I guess. My shields can keep people and shit out, but it can’t keep anyone in. I dunno. If I could have, I wouldn’t have let him run away from you, I guess.”
“You’re… apologizing?” Cross raised an eyebrow.
“I’m not- ugh. Not doing it for you.” Killer rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. He wished he had his mask, but no, he had left that up in the orphanage with Nightmare. At least he had his cloak still on.
“Not for me, eh?” With a snort, the ex-guard took the sword off his shoulders, letting it disappear into particles in the air. “Let me guess. This is for Nightmare. Should've guessed, you never do anything nice unless he asked you to.”
“He didn’t ask me to apologize to you.” He snapped, cheeks warming up. The truth was, he was doing things for the prince, in a way. He more or less felt guilty, knowing that if he was in Cross’s situation with Nightmare instead of Dream, he’d be pissed if anyone had let Night run away when he was so close to getting him back.
“Still for Nightmare though.” Killer grunted. “Your silence just tells me I’m right.” Cross smirked, crossing his arms behind his back. “Oh, but why in the world would you do that? It’s almost like you love him, Killer.”
“Fuck off.”
“You do, don’t you? Come on, it’s obvious, he follows you around like a lost puppy and you love it, you love being around him.” With a frown, Cross focused his magic into a small throwing knife, throwing it at one of the remaining dummies and striking it square in the chest. “He’s the only person you’re actually nice to. Hell, you’re sharing a room for fuck’s sake-”
“Shut up!” Balling his fists up, Killer glared at Cross, his face hot. “Maybe I do like him, what do you care?! It’s none of your fucking business!” The taller skeleton had a blank look on his face, which only pissed Killer off more. “I’m the only damn person he has right now, and yeah, maybe I have a stupid fucking crush. But it doesn’t matter! It’ll never matter!”
His breathing was ragged and hot, his shoulders heaving, he came here to apologize and then Cross digs at him for his feelings?! Of course he’d be a dick,
of course
, why would Killer think anything would change from trying to be nicer?
It never did.
“I get that maybe things were easy for you and Dream, but I’ve never had anyone care for me before; and I’ve never cared about anyone else before either. So yeah, I’m touchy about Nightmare, and talking, but that doesn’t give you the right to be an ass to me about it when I was actually trying here!” He growled out, stubbornly rubbing at his eye sockets. He wouldn’t give this bastard the satisfaction of seeing him cry.
“I’m sorry.”
… huh?
Cross wasn’t looking at Killer anymore, his eyelights staring at the brick wall that surrounded the orphanage. It was practically falling apart, covered in dead or dying vines. “I shouldn't have bothered you about it. You’re right, it is none of my business, but…” He sighed, and for the first time, Killer saw him weak; shoulders slumped, eyebags suddenly more obvious, the lights in his sockets dim. “I’m just tired, and snappy.”
“...It’s fine. I’m always snappy, so I can’t judge.” It felt weird having someone say sorry to him, usually Killer was the one who should apologize (usually he didn’t though) and… surprisingly, Cross sounded sincere. It was uncanny.
“... You know, if you and Nightmare hit it off, we’ll probably end up as brother-in-laws.”
Yeah, as if that’ll happen. Night deserves better than him. And yet he wanted to be with him. He wanted to marry him (Holy fuck , he just admitted that?! What was going on with him today?!) A part of him wanted to say that, to just… let everything out. Even to Cross, of all people. Maybe, deep down, Killer knew him and the ex-guard were alike in some ways, and that he could probably help Killer. It was almost funny. Killer went from never wanting to feel anything, to being in love and wanting to talk about his feelings and work through them. He could say these things, he could. Cross would listen - hell, the two could probably be friends, with their banter and similar hotheadedness. Instead, Killer just said, “Gross.” With a little thought, he added, “If you go south-west from here, to the edge of the city, you’ll find a hole at the bottom of a chain link fence. There’s a field and lake out that way. I go there when I need to think. It has better privacy than… this.” He waved a hand at the surrounding area.
It wasn’t a blunt “Let’s be pals” - Killer wasn’t ready to be that open - but it was something.
“...Thanks.”
Killer shrugged - another thing he wasn’t used to, the thanking. It always felt misplaced - and turned on his heel. “Whatever. I’m going now.”
“Hey, wait.” Glancing over his shoulder, Killer raised an eyebrow. “Nightmare’s favourite flowers are irises. They used to have them in the garden, two spots dedicated to the princes and their favourites.” At Killer’s blank look, Cross snorted, shaking his skull. “When people confess, they sometimes give the person they’re confessing to flowers. Just a thought.”
Flowers, huh?
Walking away, Killer felt oddly lighter, in a better mood. Though, he did have one question.
What in the ever loving fuck did “irises” look like?
*****
“You wanted to see me, Father…?”
Gaster stood at the large window to the right of his desk that overlooked the city -the sky was dark and shrouded with clouds, but light floated up from the city, making the king look like a silhouette, framed by the light. There was a single candle lit on the dark wooden desk, but other than that and the city lights, there were no other light sources, leaving the room in shadows, the darkness pooling at the corners and melting into the rest of the room.
“There was another riot today, Dream.”
Swallowing the lump in his throat, Dream did his best to stand straight and still, though he felt like sobbing with fear. “I… I heard, father. It’s very unfortunate, I heard from Undyne that there were four guard dusted and-”
He was cut off by a bark of crude laughter leaving the King, the larger monster suddenly turned away from the window. Gaster’s expression was dark, the lights in his narrowed eye sockets illuminating his face ever so slightly in the dark. “Unfortunate, you say. And yet, it was reported to me that you were out there today, Dream.”
“W-what? No, I-I… I was-” Deep purple hands erupted from the inky darkness, a pained gasp escaping Dream as one of the hands pinned him by his throat to the wall, restricting his air flow, while the other two held his hands beside his skull. He couldn’t claw at the hand around his neck, he couldn’t use magic, he couldn’t do anything - would Gaster kill him this time? Dream needed to protect Cross, he can’t die, he can’t-”
“I thought I had told you not to lie to me.” Gaster was seething, his gloved hand - his real one, not one of the magic ones - grasped Dream’s chin, surely leaving bruises, and tutted at the tears rolling down the sides of his skull. “Oh, stop that. You did this to yourself.”
“F-father, plase, I’m-” His words dissolved into a choked, gurgling noise as the hand around his throat tightened.
“Shush. I don’t want any of your pathetic apologies.” The King scowled, blood and magic seeping from Dream’s mouth. “You used to be so well behaved… was a broken hand not enough, Dream? Couldn’t have been, if you still think you can go against me.” Air rushed into his lungs, the Prince drinking it in, the hand on his throat, having loosened it grip enough for him to breathe. “You’re incredibly lucky I cannot kill you. However…”
The hand that had him in a chokehold tightened again, Dream coughing up blood, his eyelights becoming fuzzy. There was another hand now, it was grabbing his right ulna through his tunic, holding in a vice grip, too tight, too rough, too-
Dream scream, the smaller bone in his arm being ripped from its spot, the ends snapping away with a sicking noise, blood and marrow gushing out, staining the sleeve of his shirt.
Thrashing against Gaster’s hands, Dream wailed - it was too much, his bones were on fire. It couldn’t get worse, it couldn’t, or he’ll die, he’ll die right here in his father’s office, his dust getting stuck between the floorboards.
It got worse.
“You deserve this.” Gaster breathed into Dream’s “ear”, his breath reeking of wine, his hand grabbing his bottom rib. “I’ve given you everything , I saved you when your brother lost his mind, and yet you betray me? You have no one else .” His grip was tightening, the bone beginning to crack, splinter. “You cannot really think Cross loves you, do you? He is just using for power, for sex, for wealth. He does not care.”
“No! He does! He loves me! I know he does!” His words were barely comprehensible between his sobbing and the blood and magic in his mouth, threatening to choke him.
Gaster tsked, yanking his hand back, along with Dream’s bottom rib. He screamed again - he could feel it, his body falling apart, giving up. He was dying. He must be. “What a pity. It turns out you are just as stupid as you look, my dear son.”
Dream slumped forward, the hands vanishing, and Gaster moved out of the way to let the Prince fall against the floor like a heap of dirty clothes. “Take this as a lesson. I will not hesitate to hurt you if you refuse to cooperate.” He kicked Dream’s skull, a feeble whimper leaving his mouth. He coughed up blood onto the wooden floor, his tunic was stained and ruined from his own blood, stray strings catching on the jagged edges of the broken bones. “Stand up. You are a prince, are you not?”
In fear of getting more bones snapped, Dream struggled to his feet, a fresh wave of tears and sobs overcoming him as he used his arms to lift himself up. He swayed on his feet, breathing heavily, eyes glued to his blood on the floor.
“Good. If only you listened this well all the time… then we wouldn’t be in this scenario, would we?”
“N-no, father…” Voice hoarse from screaming, Dream’s throat felt raw, the taste of copper and magic still on his tongue.
Gaster hummed, strutting to his desk, pressing a button underneath it. “Undyne, report to my office immediately.” Crossing his arms back behind his back, the King moved back to his perch by the window. “You will not tell anyone how you got these wounds, understood?”
“T-They’ll connect the dots… they’ll know it was you, father…”
“Still have that sharp tongue, I see. We’ll work on that later.” He barely turned his head to send Dream a sidelong glance. “But it does not matter if they know or not. No one would dare say anything against me. Well, no one who is intelligent at least.”
A sharp knock came from the door, Gaster giving an indifferent “Enter” before the door creaked open, Undyne stepped it. Dream didn’t know the captain well, but he had no reason to dislike her. Her cheek looked somewhat burned, a square bandage taped to it, her red hair tied back in a ponytail. She looked exhausted.
She was also staring at Dream in poorly concealed horror.
“Take my son to the infirmary. Treat his wounds.”
“Your majesty, what-”
“Did I tell you to ask questions?” Gaster snapped. Undyne shook her head, though the King’s back was to her. She turned to Dream, offering him her arm for support; somewhat humiliated, he accepted the help, leaning heavily on the guard captain.
“Come with me, your highness.”
They walked in silence, though Dream was more or less quiet because it hurt to speak, and it was taking every ounce of strength not to collapse on the red carpet.
“Did the King do this?” Head snapping up, the prince stared at Undyne with wide eyed shock. Sure, he assumed that was obvious, but he also hadn’t expected anyone to actually ask, especially to his face like this. Undyne wasn’t looking back at him, keeping her eyes forward.
Nothing but a whimper came out when Dream tried to speak, so he nodded. What would Undyne do with that information though? Did she actually care or was she just curious?
Was she on his side, like Alphys?
He didn’t know, nor did he ask. The guard captain didn’t ask anything else either, just patched up his arm and rib - she knew a fair bit of healing magic, which somewhat helped the pain.
Still, Dream didn’t get any sleep that night, his thoughts shrouded with Cross and pain.
Notes:
Hoooo boy, this one was long- 16 pages-
I hope you all liked it! I really liked this chapter, especially the part with Cross and Killer, and Sans with his blasters <3Also! I made a second series that has shorts that take place between the main chapters of DT, check it out here!
Chapter 20: ~Chapter 20~
Notes:
For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on Instagram or Tumblr
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Sunlight was filtering in through the semi-closed blinds, shining on the wooden nightstand next to Red’s bed - there was a simple lamp on top of it, along with both Red’s and Sans’s phones - and onto the grey carpet. Sans didn’t know what time it was, but he guessed it was too early, considering Red was still fast asleep (He was also spooning Sans, or doing so as well as he could with a broken arm, but if he thought about that for too long he’d get blue in the face.) Strangely though, even though it was more likely than not really early in the morning, Sans felt well rested for once. He guessed it must be a side effect of finally, finally making up with his little brother, or maybe sleeping with Red really did improve how he slept.
Sans decided to not worry about it, sinking further into the soft maroon sheets, eyelights flickering around the room. He couldn’t see much of it when they’d gone to bed, since it had been dark and Sans had been exhausted, so now, with the sunlight shining in, he looked around and took note of what was in the room. The walls were a pale beige, and Red didn’t have any picture frames hung up, and there was only one window above the nightstand. Pressed against the wall was a dark desk, with a closed laptop, a jar of pens, and what looked like graded assignments on it, and Red had a dark grey,almost black blazer hung on the back of his desk chair.
There was also the smell of breakfast in the air.
What?
Sans wiggled out of Red’s arms, sitting up - the taller man groaned, rolling onto his back and rubbing his eyesockets (holy fuck, was he not wearing a shirt this whole time?! Don’t stare Sans, that’s rude!)
“Ya awake already babe?” Oh god, his voice was even deeper than normal. No one should be this hot after waking up. It should be illegal. He was looking at Sans now - did he look ok?? He was just wearing a shirt and a pair of shorts he borrowed from Red, both of which were a bit too big. Did he think Sans looked gross?! His voice didn’t get gruff or deep after sleeping, maybe a bit more raspy if anything, and if any of his usually covered bones were on display they wouldn’t look as thick and broad as Red’s. Sans’s bones were thick, sure, but they were rounded and he’d always thought they looked slightly off . Was Red thinking that? Did he- “... babe? Ya ok?”
Oh, fuck, Sans needed to actaully speak, not just stare at Red and his large, sexy ri-
Words! Just say words, Sans!
“Y-yes! Uh-” Too loud, too loud, what the fuck Sans! “Yeah, I-I’m ok, sorry, just, um, processing-”
Red slowly raised an eyebrow, a cocky smirk forming on his lips. “Processin’ what hun? Somethin’ stealin’ yer attention?” He fucking winked , the son of a bitch!
Sans’s skull turned bright blue. “I- you- I-!”
Red laughed - it was such a deep, rich sound, it made Sans’s soul buzz happily - and his smile changed from cocky to sincere. “‘M just teasin’, it’s ok.” With a kiss to his cheek ( Aww, he’s so sweet… I wonder if he tas- OK NOPE. NO. STOP IT SANS, WE’RE NOT GOING THERE TODAY- ) the taller skeleton stood up, Sans’s eyelights catching on his broken bone. The crack wasn’t so red anymore, Sans noted as he stood, carefully adjusting it in its sling.
“How’s it feel today…?”
“Eh, still aches but it doesn’t feel like my arm’s gonna fall off.” Damn it, why couldn’t Sans use healing magic? Then he could help. He should have been there for Red in the first place, he should have protected him, he should have done something - “Hey.” A hand was placed on his cheek, forcing Sans out of his spiraling thoughts. “Sans, really, I’ll be ok. This’ll heal in no time, plus ‘ve had worse in the past ‘n I’m still here ‘n fine, aren’t I?”
“Right… right, I’m sorry just... wish it didn’t happen.”
“I know baby, but I’d rather I get hurt than anyone else.” He kissed Sans - god, he’s going to get butterflies everytime Red did that, wasn’t he? - and hugged him (one armed) gently.
He was so warm.
They pulled apart after a few minutes, Sans’s cheeks feeling warmer than usual.
“By the way, uh, did yer brother make breakfast or somethin’?” Red asked with a raised eyebrow, tugging on a black tank top. Damn he looked good.
“Huh? Oh, heh, that’s why I was getting up.” Sans stretched, his spine cracking softly. He kinda wished they could lay down and stay in bed all day. “He cooks when he’s happy.”
“Aw. ‘at’s sweet.”
Sans chuckled. “Heh, yeah…” A soft smile formed on his lips - it was nice knowing Pap was in a good mood. He deserved to be happy. Sans just hoped he hadn’t tried making “spaghetti pancakes” again.
Thankfully, Papyrus hadn’t made anything with spaghetti. He did, however, apparently go on a cooking rampage: there was a stack of pancakes and waffles, a bowl of cut up fruit, eggs (scrambled and sunny side up), a plate of bacon, and he was cooking up, what appeared to be, some sausage. “Good morning brother! Red!”
“Morning Paps.” Sans has nearly forgotten how energetic his brother could be, even in the mornings. He was a bit jealous, he admitted as he walked over to the coffee machine.
“Hey bud.” Red seemed to study the rather bizarre amount of food. “Quick question, where’d ya find all this? ‘Cause I’m pretty I didn’t have this much food before-?”
“Oh, I went to the store! I hope you don't mind, I wanted to make breakfast for us all!!”
“Heh, well you definitely succeeded in that bro. I think you made enough to feed us for like, a month.”
“Oh, that reminds me Sans! I wanted to ask something!” Sans hummed, prompting him to continue. “Since Gaster is technically our biological father-”
“He’s what -?!”
Time seemed to stop, the room going deadly silent. Fuck fuck fuck - Sans’s soul was pounding, dread and fear freezing it. Red wasn’t supposed to know that-! He’s going to hate Sans, he’s going to hate him and leave and everyone would leave and Sans would be alone again .
Alone. Alone . Alonealonealonealone-
He didn’t want to lose Red.
Papyrus was starting to sweat, looking between his brother, then Red, then back to Sans. “You… haven’t told him?”
Of course Sans hadn’t told him .
Everything had been going so well, but now… Red would be disgusted, everyone would be disgusted. Who wouldn’t be disgusted? He was made by the literal worst monster on the planet.
He was disgusting.
He couldn’t do this.
Sans hurried out of the room, his breath speeding up and chest feeling tight. Damn it, why did he go to Red’s room?! Whatever. Whatever.
Sans locked the door, rubbing away the tears that dared to fall down his cheeks. He wasn’t mad at Papyrus, he couldn’t be, it wasn’t his brother’s fault. It was his, it was always his fault . He knew this would happen, he knew something would make Red leave. He was just too good, too perfect. Sans didn’t deserve that, so why should he have him? Why should he get to have someone so sweet and kind and handsome; when he was just a sorry sack of bones who wasn’t even a proper monster?
“Sans, babe, open the door, ‘m not mad-”
“Brother, I’m sorry!”
Stop it. Stop it.
He could barely breathe, he was back pedaling hard and he
knew
it, but all he could do was curl up on himself and cry. Why was he always like this, why wasn’t he
normal
?!
Red hated him. He must.
He must!
“Baby, please let us in, ‘m worried-”
Papyrus was probably so disappointed.
“I’m sorry, I should’ve asked that in private! Brother, please don’t shut us out?
Hisfaulthisfaulthisfaulthisf-
Sans’s phone was ringing.
*****
Ink.
The babies.
Sans had to help. He doesn’t want anyone hurt.
And he could leave the house.
He felt like a balloon when he left the room, pushing past his brother and Red. It was like watching a movie, he wasn’t in control of his body, he wasn’t in his body, he was just watching.
He just had to leave the house.
“Pap, come on, Error and Ink need us at the camp.” He mumbled, already putting on his shoes.
Watching himself put on his shoes.
“Babe, hold on-” Red was holding his hand. Why was he shaking? Sans felt like throwing up. Was it happening already? Was Red breaking up with him? He figured he’d have a bit more time, just a bit, a few more minutes. “What’s goin. on…? Can ya please just talk to me? ‘M not mad, ‘n I won’t… ‘m not gonna get mad…?”
Lies.
He will get mad. He’ll be furious. You lied. You lied to him and now he’ll hate you.
Sans pulled his hand away. “We can talk later. I need… I need to go.”
He risked a glance at Red’s face, his soul plummeting.
Red looked so hurt.
Sans turned and left the house before he could break down again, Papyrus on his heels.
Damn it, Sans. Why do you hurt everyone you care about?
*****
“Deep breaths, honey, deep breaths… you’re going to be ok…”
Ink felt like he was absolutely not going to be ok.
He’d been feeling weird all night - his magic acting up, tired and hyper at the same time, his chest had ached at times, so admittedly he wasn't super surprised when he was woken up by the soulings splitting from his soul. (Error had gotten exceptionally worried though, and it had taken a few minutes to help him calm down again.)
PaperJam had split away easily, and it had been like Sans had said: it was like ripping off a bandaid. It was a weird feeling though, having something that had essentially been part of his soul for 4 months suddenly leave. His soul had felt physically lighter, but also like it was missing something vital and important. Also, his tummy felt weird, like it was full of static energy.
Gradient… wasn’t leaving so easily.
Ink had no idea what went wrong - after PJ’s soul had fully detached from Ink, the small teal souling had started pulling away, but instead of it being quick, Gradient seemed… stuck. The souling kept pulling and trying to split, but for some reason it just wouldn’t happen, and each pull sent a bolt of fiery pain throughout his being.
And then Graident’s small soul cracked.
It wasn’t huge, just a small crack near the edge of the teal inverted heart - for an adult, it wouldn’t have even really hurt.
But this wasn’t an adult soul. It was fragile, vulnerable to damage.
Naturally, Ink and Error started panicking. Ink started sobbing, both from the pain of his baby trying their best to split away from his soul, but also from fear. He couldn't lose this baby, he just couldn’t. He couldn’t do that to Error.
That’s when Error called Sans.
And that’s how they ended up here: Ink trying to hold in his sobbing on the makeshift bed, Error at his side, unsure if holding him would make it worse or not, so his hands just kind of hovered around him. It felt like his being was being ripped, torn apart.
Please let his baby be ok.
Sans came in then - there was something off about him, but Ink was still currently in a lot of pain so it wasn’t his top priority right then - and the other monster, bless his soul, jumped straight into action.
“Hey, hey, you’re ok, Ink.” He knelt next to the small skeleton. His voice was… admittedly, a bit empty. “This happens sometimes with twins… Error, cup his soul in your hands.”
“What? But-”
“The souling is confused and needs help, it’s better you or Ink do it than me.” That seemed to be enough for Error to reach out, his hands ever so gently holding Ink’s colourful soul. Ink immediately felt warmth, though it was still overshadowed by the tugging. “Alright, Error, what you’re going to do is slowly push your thumb between the souling and his soul. Ink, this might sting a bit.”
Sting it did.
It felt like a searing hot knife against his soul,
But then it was over.
Gradient’s soul was safe. Oh, sweet god his baby was ok, he was ok. His soul floated back to the safety of his chest, his stomach feeling funny again (Oh my god, his babies were in there now, they were going to start growing!). A relieved sob escaped him, hugging his lover tight.
“Their soul cracked, will they…?” Error asked after a few minutes of silence, Ink still pressed against his ribcage.
“They’ll be ok.” Sans’s smile was there, but it was weak and somewhat strained. “It was just a hairline crack, they’ll grow just fine. I’ll check on their soul again once they’re born but I wouldn’t worry about it that much…”
Ink and Error sunk into each other, relief washing over them. Both their babies were ok.
Ink wanted to sob in joy.
He thought they would lose their baby, he had been so scared he had done something wrong.
But everything was ok.
Because Sans helped them.
Still holding onto Error, Ink turned to Sans, teary eyed and smiling, ready to thank him and…
Sans was crying.
It was so different, seeing the usually smiling skeleton curl in on himself, silent sobs wracking his body.
“Oh… oh, no, Sans, what’s wrong…?” Without much thought, Ink crawled over to his friend, hugging him tightly. He didn’t hug back, just started crying harder. It was such a pain filled cry, one that filled your bones with sorrow.
Sans never did tell them what was wrong.
*****
Papyrus had really fucked up.
He sighed, kicking at a rock near his feet. He was sitting on a crate near the orphanage’s gate, Sans having briefly told him to “stay here” as he ran towards what he guessed was Ink and Error’s tent. It was the biggest one, so it must be theirs, right? He wondered why the couple would need to see his brother. Hopefully they were ok.
Hopefully Sans was ok,
Papyrus didn’t know why he thought bringing up Gaster would be a good idea - he tended to just ask questions whenever he thought of them or remembered them, even if it wasn’t appropriate. Sometimes he couldn’t tell if it was appropriate or not.
He hated to admit it, but it hadn’t even occurred to him this morning that Sans might not have talked to Red.
And now Sans was barely talking to either of them.
And it was all Papyrus’s fault.
He’s been back for a day and he’s already made a huge fuck up.
“You’re looking pretty lost in thought there, darling”
Papyrus’s head shot up in surprise at the voice - he hadn’t expected anyone to talk to him, considering most people seemed to really hate him. The new monster from last night (Pap still didn’t know what kind he was, since he looked so human, but the… hologram? Image?...of his soul was inverted, so he couldn’t be a human.) had come up and sat on a crate next to him sometime while Papyrus was lamenting in his head. Oh, god, how long had he been there, waiting for Papyrus to say something?
“Oh, uh, yeah, sorry…”
“Hm? For what darling?” The other monster raised an eyebrow.
He was very handsome.
Pretty pink eyes, rosy cheeks, dark, shiny hair.
Papyrus wanted to reach out and pet it. Probably because he didn’t have any, so he was naturally curious about hair.
Yeah.
What were they talking about?
“Ah, I don’t think… I caught your name?” Papyrus was sure he’d heard it last night, before they left. But he had forgotten, and guilt was slowly eating at him. He wished he was better at remembering names and faces. He should be better, he was literally in the royal guard!
“Mettaton. And you, lovely?”
Aw, that’s sweet. Mettaton called him lovely!
“My name’s Papyrus!”
There was a moment of silence, a gust of wind blowing past the two monsters. It had been bright and sunny earlier that morning, but now clouds were rolling in, covering the sky and blocking the sunlight. The camp seemed mostly empty today - that must have something to do with the riot yesterday. Hopefully everyone’s wounds will heal quickly.
… Papyrus hoped no one got dusted.
“Do you ever stay up late just to look at the stars?” Mettaton was watching the sky, his long legs pulled to his chest.
“Sometimes… my brother is much more into the stars than I am, if you asked him he’d probably be able to point out which ones are planets!”
The other man chuckled, turning his head to smile at Papyrus, his chin resting in the palm of his hand. “Wow, really? Even I can’t do that.” Neither could Pap - Sans had tried teaching him the different planets and stars and different types of those two things, but Papyrus never could quite grasp the differences and complicated names. He did remember the names of the planets in their solar system though! “Growing up, it was tradition to pray to the stars. They’re always there, watching over us… protecting us. Stuff like that.”
He had never thought about it like that, Papyrus had always just seen the stars as pretty lights in the sky. Admittedly, he also hadn’t heard of anyone praying to them - to a god, maybe, but not stars.
“I prayed last night, actually.”
“You did??” Mettaton nodded. “...do you think it helps?”
He hummed, running a hand through his hair. Again, Papyrus wanted to pet it. “I think at the very least it helps me. Like… there are certain things we can’t directly change, or do anything about. The outcome is up to chance. Praying helps me feel like I’m somehow helping situations like that, helps me feel less stressed, even if I’m not actually changing anything.”
“That… that actually sounds really nice.” Papyrus smiled softly, though he didn’t think he’d be able to sit and pray for anything, not with his poor attention span, but he could understand how it could help.
“Heh, thanks.” An upbeat song that Papyrus didn’t recognize rang out from Mettaton’s pocket. He pulled out his phone - Pap didn’t recognize the model either, but he didn’t know tech really well - and glanced at the screen. “Ah, I should take this. It was nice talking to you Papyrus.”
Mettaton smiled at him, and Papyrus's soul did something weird. It was like a warmth, or a butterfly flapping his wings.
Probably just because Mettaton was so nice.
“It was nice talking to you too!”
“Let’s do it under the stars next time, ok darling?” The other monster winked before turning and walking off, answering his phone call.
Wow! He wanted to hang out with Papyrus again! That’ll be fun!
Papyrus smiled to himself, a small feeling of pride in his soul from making a new friend. It was almost enough to make him completely forget about what happened this morning.
Speaking of, where was his brother?
*****
Undyne…
Didn’t have a goddamn clue about how she was feeling right now.
And that was starting to really piss her off.
She understood that royalty and the government in general sometimes had to do some shady things to keep their citizens safe, she had made peace with that after pledging her loyalty to the king.
However, beating your child was a hell of a lot more fucked up than some “shady things”.
She couldn’t understand why Gaster would do something so cruel - she’d admit that the king could be cold at times, but god, beating the prince like that? Why he would do it made no sense! Dream, who she didn’t really know well, seemed like a sweet guy, if a little bit of a workaholic; but didn’t seem like the kind of person who would deserve that sort of thing (not that anyone did.)
When becoming the guard captain, Undyne went through a very lengthy ceremony, which could basically be summed up by saying she just promised to be loyal to Gaster for all time. It was something she didn’t like to take lightly - loyalty was, in her opinion, one of the most important qualities in a person. But, in a less official ceremony and more of just a drinking “party” with her and Cross, Undyne promised to also be loyal to every citizen in Blightview.
What mattered more to her: her loyalty to the king, or her loyalty to the citizens?
“Captain.”
Undyne turned her head, regarding the King - he had her stationed outside of his office, though she would have preferred to be able to go to infirmary to change that bandage on her cheek. “Yes, your Majesty?”
“Walk with me.” He didn’t wait for a response, not needing one to know she’ll follow, and began walking. Undyne followed behind him, keeping a few feet of distance. None of the staff nor the guards were allowed to get close to the royal family unless there was a valid reason for it.
“The rioters are proving to be an issue for your guards.”
“They are stronger than we originally thought, your Majesty. Their numbers are still growing. We also have reason to believe Cross-”
“I am aware Cross is allied with them, Captain.” The king hissed, leading Undyne through one of the longer corridors in the castle, sunlight shining in from the archways on the right. On the left there were pillars reaching up to the high ceiling, decorated with yellow and purple flowers, making the room smell like a garden: floral and fresh. “I am not interested in talking about that traitor.”
“Might I ask what you wished to discuss then, your Majesty?”
“Take a look at the city, Undyne.” Gaster smiled at her - it wasn’t friendly, but not necessarily hostile either, if anything, it was empty - directing her onto one of the adjacent balconies from the hall. It was brighter outside, sunlight peeking over the skyscrapers of the city, silhouetting it and making the castle’s gold coloured walls seem to glow. The sky was a mix of deep reds and pinks, a few clouds dotting it, like freckles. Like in the corridor, the railing had flowers decorating it, pedals drifting off and around the balcony with the wind. “Do you know how many people live in Blightview?”
“Roughly two million.”
“That is correct.” He gestured towards the buildings towering on the horizon. “And it is our job to keep those two million citizens safe, is it not?”
“Of course, your Majesty.”
“And this… rebellion, it poses a threat to my citizens, Captain. I wrongfully assumed you and your guards would be able to take care of them during their attacks.”
“Your Majesty, my guards are all trained and competent, we will put an end to-”
“I was not done.” Gaster frowned, and for the first time in Undyne’s career, she felt somewhat afraid. “I do not want you to continue fighting them head-on if it is not yielding positive results.” He paused.
“I have thought of a… much more efficient way of dealing with them, Captain.”
Notes:
I'm not super happy with how this chapter came out, but here it is!
I also redrew the first ever cover I did for this story! Check it out here <3
Chapter 21: ~Chapter 21~
Notes:
For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on Instagram or Tumblr
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Sans really wished he hadn’t broken down in front of Error and Ink like that. He really needed to get his shit together, he was usually so good at masking his feelings. God damn it, Sans, today is not your day. Those two should be celebrating right now - their kids detached from their mother’s soul, that's a big deal and should be celebrated, but noooo, Sans had to come in and rain all over their parade. Literally.
“This is why we don’t do friends, Sans, you fuck shit up…” He mumbled to himself, pulling out his pack of cigarettes - only 3 left now, he really needed to pick up more - and glanced around the camp. It was rather empty today, only a few monsters milling around close to the walls of the orphanage or at the supply tents, and the sky was becoming grey and overcast, drowning the world in a dull, greyish hue. Strange to think it had been so sunny earlier, it was as if the weather was reflecting Sans’s mood. That happens in movies and books sometimes.
This was real life though, so it was just a coincidence.
Lighting his smoke, Sans took a long drag, leaning against the stone wall close to Ink and Error’s tent. He blew out a puff of smoke towards the sky, his stomach churning - smoking may not negatively affect a monster's health, but god did they still taste nasty, and smoking before eating anything always made Sans feel sick. Whatever, he could eat a piece of toast when they got back to Red’s, he just needed a moment to himself before going back to Papyrus.
Just… one moment alone, to think. Think, think, think…
Aaaaand Papyrus spotted him.
“Brother... you really shouldn’t be smoking…” Sans hated hearing his brother’s voice so quiet, so filled with worry. Papyrus should be happy, carefree. He shouldn’t be fretting over his mediocre brother constantly.
“I know.” Sans muttered, putting out the cigarette.
“We need to talk, Sans.”
“I know.”
“I’m sorry for what I said. This morning. I wasn’t… I didn’t think before speaking, I-I should have known you hadn’t… I’m sorry.”
“Pap, it…” Sighing, Sans rubbed his temple, avoiding looking at his brother. “I’m not mad at you. I wasn’t ever mad at you. Honestly, I should have been upfront with Red as soon as I… figured out that shit. I think I just wanted to… prevent the inevitable.”
Papyrus leaned against the wall next to Sans, looking down at him. A small part of Sans was still a bit irked that his little brother was taller than him. “What is “the inevitable”?”
“Red leaving.” God, he didn’t want to have this conversation, he didn't want to get all emotional. Again. Sans had had more than enough “emotion” today. Gaster was his father, why can’t he just go numb like that bastard? (Bad joke, Sans.)
“...I don’t think he’s going to leave you, brother.”
“Why wouldn’t he? I can’t… I’m not… bro, just look at him, and then at me. He’s way, way out of my league. He’s bound to realize that eventually.”
Papyrus hummed. “When I look at you two, do you know what I see?” Sans raised an eyebrow, silently prompting him to continue. “I see someone who cares about you and makes you smile - really smile - and I see you… happy . For real happy, not that fake shit you always try to pull around our family.”
Sans shrunk in on himself, refusing to meet Papyrus’s gaze, instead watching two monsters - one some kind of… cat, bird thing, and the other a spider (at least Sans figured that’s what they were, it was hard to tell) - try to start a fire. It didn’t seem to be going well. Kind of like this conversation. “Pap… I…”
“I think you really need to talk to him. He’s certainly not mad at you. If anything, he’s worried out of his skull about you.”
“I just… we’re all here for one reason” Sans waved a hand at the camp in front of them “Because we don’t like the current king, aka Gaster, and we want him out of the castle. How do I… tell someone he… he’s…” Sans groaned, covering his face.
“I say just be honest… Red will understand.” Papyrus sighed softly, reaching out to pat Sans’s shoulder. “He will understand. I’m sure of it.”
Sans’s chest felt heavy. Papyrus was right. Probably. Red will understand. Or he probably will. What if he doesn’t though…? What if…
No, no, he can’t keep spiralling, he can’t always run. And dammit, he cares about Red, and if he wants to keep this relationship, he can’t run away and he can’t hide everything that’s hard to talk about.
Sans finally turned to Papyrus, meeting his gaze - he gave Sans a supportive smile, and god he almost started crying again, instead hugging his brother tightly. “When’d you get so smart with this stuff?”
“‘Communication is always important’ is something you taught me, brother.” He snorted, hugging Sans back. “You just forget important things, so you need reminders!”
Sans laughed, pulling back and rubbing his eyes. “Yeah… yeah… I’m glad you’re back, bro. I don’t… think I said that yet. Sorry.”
Papyrus smiled - his real, full, bright smile. “I’m happy I’m back too! Now, come, come, you have a very very important conversation to have.”
*****
Seeing Red laid out across the couch, hardcover book covering his face, looking incredibly defeated… it filled Sans with immeasurable guilt.
Maybe Sans should just go, he could just call Red - Red hadn’t even noticed he and his brother were back yet - it would probably be easier over the phone. If Red did break up with him, if they were on a call, he wouldn’t be able to see Sans break, he wouldn’t-
Papyrus pointedly cleared his throat, giving Sans a sharp look. He definitely got that from their mom. Red jolted up into a sitting position, the book that had been covering his eye sockets - some kind of book on the human/monster war? - falling to the floor, two anxious red eyelights gluing to Sans.
“Sans-”
“Red-”
Sans froze, staring at the carpeted ground - when he got worried, he always tended to make things more messy, but it seems Red was the opposite, considering the house was almost spotless, and he and Papyrus had only been gone for about an hour. It smelt like cinnamon and campfire smoke - candles, maybe?
The silence stretched on, filling up the room like water in a tub. Sans was drowning in it. Papyrus’s idea was nice in theory, but Papyrus was so much stronger than him. Sans can’t do this. He can’t talk about this. Red’s watching him - can he see how scared Sans is? Can he see Sans’s hands shaking? He hoped not.
“Well! I’m going to go… do something! Important! In that room over there! Wink wink.” Papyrus actually said wink as he winked at Sans and Red, skipping off to the guest room.
He loved Papyrus and all, but seriously, that man was as subtle as a brick wall.
Now it was just Red and him. Alone. Red looked worried, and gave the couch seat next to him two quick pats. “Wanna sit…?”
Sans gave a small nod, shuffling to sit next to his partner. He held his hands in his lap, staring at the floor. Well, here goes nothing.
“I… I’m sorry for just leaving like that this morning. I know it was a rude thing to do and I can’t imagine how it made you feel, I was just… really, really scared. I don’t fully understand everything about Paps and me and… Gaster, so I just… panicked when Pap mentioned him… you know. I get that’s a shitty excuse I just… I don’t want you to hate me, and Gaster is… he’s so…”
“Hey, hey, Sans…” Red gently took hold of Sans’s hand, his thumb rubbing his knuckles gently. “I’m never going to hate you, I can promise you that. Especially when it’s something like who your parents are. You can’t control that shit.”
“I-I know, it’s just…” Deep breaths Sans, you can do this. You have to do this. “It’s a lot more than “my bio dad is a huge asshole and I hate him”. We… Pap and I were…” Fuck fuck fuck fuckity fuck- “We were made, Red.”
A pause. He didn’t let go of Sans’s hand. “What do you mean?”
Explaining everything Sans knew was just as hard as he thought it would be. He could only remember things after he was given Papyrus, everything before was a blur of what Papyrus would call “sort of memories”. What Sans did remember was all bad though. Screaming, crying, tests and tests and tests. He remembers little Papyrus screaming out in pain and Sans could do nothing to save him. He remembered his baby brother looking up at him, his cheek bone bruised and bloody, his right arm broken, and asking “Did we do something bad, brother?”. And then he remembered… darkness. Darkness so black and empty it seemed to swallow him whole. And then he and Papyrus were outside in the snow.
“I know… I know it doesn’t make a lot of sense. I-I wasn’t kidding when I said I was still figuring things out… like how Gaster even made us. I know it was something to do with those holes in his palms… it's magic bone, so given the right conditions, yeah, a body could probably form, but our souls… it should be impossible to make souls like ours, it… I don’t get it… I don’t…”
“Sans…”
“A-and I have no idea what this makes us. Monsters? We weren’t born , we were made to be weapons, so how can we-”
One strong, boney arm wrapped around his shoulders, pulling Sans against a broad rib cage. A hug. Sans could cry. Red smelled of campfire smoke, and he was warm to the touch as Sans hugged him back, his soul light.
“As far as I’m concerned, you’re just as much of a monster as I am. You and your brother.” He pulled back a bit, gazing into Sans’s eyelights. “It doesn’t matter how you came into the world, all that matters is that you’re here and you’re fucking strong, Sans. Seriously. You’ve been through utter hell and here you are… still laughing and smiling.” Red cupped Sans’s cheek oh-so-gently, a quiet sob leaving Sans. “...You deserve the world. And I want to give you as much of it as I can.”
Then he kissed Sans.
It was so much more than the shy, gentle kisses they’ve shared before, no, this kiss wasn’t shy - it was passionate and meaningful, it filled every one of Sans’s bones with liquid warmth. And god, did he love it.
He lost track of how long they kissed like that, but by the end Sans felt light as a feather and warm all over. And safe.
“Hey, if you don’t mind me asking, where did you and Papyrus run off to this morning…?”
“O-oh, heh, Ink and Error’s soullings detached today, I went to help them.” Sans scratched his cheek, and an idea came to him. “... I think I want to do something nice for those two. They’ve been through a lot these past few months.”
Red raised an eyebrow, nuzzling the side of Sans’s skull - oh, he could
definitely
get used to that. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Sans smiled up at his boyfriend. “And I’ve got the perfect idea of what to do.”
*****
“Remind me again why we’re walking around in the middle of the night…?” Killer mumbled, glancing at the skeleton beside him as they walked under a streetlamp, blue light washing over their bones. The sky was dark with clouds - a storm was rolling in.
“I thought it would be nice!” Nightmare smiled at the shorter monster, squeezing Killer’s hand, which he was holding. “Plus, you looked ansty, I thought maybe a walk would help!”
“That’s… really sweet. Uh. Thanks…” Damnit, his soul was pounding. Calm down, Killer, it’s just a stroll. Nothing more. “Do you have any idea where we’re going though?”
Nightmare’s cheeks dusted with magic (A pretty teal that Killer was very much a fan of) and giggled nervously. “Not… Not really… I was just sort of, um, going with the flow?”
Killer snorted, raising an eyebrow. “You could have just asked me and I would have taken you where you wanna go?” Nightmare sheepishly smiled at him, shrugging. Taking a closer look at what was around him and the prince - they were in a side street, making things around them become drenched in shadows, the bricks of the buildings around them melting into the dark. Still, at the end of the alley Killer could make out bright neon lights and sounds - talking, laughing - and tall buildings peaked out around them, “We’re close to the shopping district, which leads to the city center.”
“Oh! You figured that out really fast!” Flushing, Killer sunk a bit into his hood.
“Er… y-yeah… anyways, since you kind of know where we are…?”
Nightmare tilted his head to the side, starting to walk. “Is there anywhere I want to go…? Not… not really… um, actually, there’s a bunch of big buildings on this side of the city, right…?”
“Yeah.” He winced as he and Night left the alley, suddenly surrounded by bright lights and flashing signs. “Why?”
“... Do you know how to get to the top of any of them?”
Killer did, in fact, know ways of getting to the top of most skyscrapers, the only problem was that most of those were incredibly dangerous to do and definitely not things Killer wanted Night attempting. However, there was one building, a hotel of some kind, that was only ten stories high, and it was relatively easy to get up to the roof of it. Plus, it wasn’t too far away from where they currently were.
And that's why he was now on the top of Modest Bliss Hotel with the prince. It was a bit windy this high up, and taller buildings still towered over them, but still, it was a nice view: silhouette buildings and a sea of blinding lights below them, and if you looked to the distance you could see the royal castle towering over the city of BrightView.
Nightmare sat a few inches away from the edge, unlike Killer who hung his legs off of it, watching the cars pass underneath.
“...Kills?”
“Hm?”
“I… I wanted to give you something.” Killer’s skull shot up, meeting Nightmare’s gaze - the other man was blushing. Nightmare was wearing a deep purple hoodie, and out of the pocket he pulled out a small wrapped box, holding it out to the other skeleton.
“What… why?” Apprehensive, Killer took the gift, examining it.
“I just… really wanted to get you something… o-open it!”
With a small sigh, Killer did just that, ripping off the silver wrapping paper. “You don’t need to get me shit, it's not…” He froze, face heating up. Inside the small box was a deep red, almost black, mask with gold thread along the sides. “This…”
“I remember you mentioning you like wearing one… a-and a few weeks back I noticed the one you have now is starting to get damaged so I… I-I hope you like it…”
Like it.
Killer loved it.
Pulling off his old red mask, he put on the new one - fuck, it smelled like Nightmare.
Killer turned to the other man, and his soul stopped. Nightmare seemed to glow in the city lights, a small smile on his face and his eyelights sparkling. He was so close to Killer now, he could practically feel Night’s breath. It occurred to Killer that right now would be the best time to kiss him, to confess. Just them, alone, washed in neon light. All he’d need to do was pull down the mask, lean in and…
He didn’t do that.
Instead he said something that he would later want to kick himself for.
“We should go see your brother.”
*****
Dream wanted to protect Cross. He did. That was the whole point of him staying in this stupid castle: to make sure his father wouldn’t do anything to hurt his love.
But how the hell was he supposed to do that when he was in so much pain that he could barely move from his bed?
Dream sighed to himself, sinking into his pillows. His room was far more cluttered than usual - old books were littered everywhere, an old trunk he had found with a bunch of his and Nightmare’s old toys was pressed against his closet, next to his bow (God, he hadn’t used that in… he couldn’t remember how long. He missed archery.). Not to mention all the articles and old photos he’d managed to find of Cross which were pinned to his closet. A cool breeze blew in from the open window, making the room a bit colder than Dream would have liked, but just lighting all of his candles - which washed the room in warm light and made it smell of honey and flowers - made him want to curl up and never move again.
Gingerly, he tilted his head down and pulled away some of the bandages from his right arm - the bone was still in two parts, now aligned so that when it healed they would fuse together. He’d probably have a scar, but it would look normal. Right now, the bone was bruised a deep purple and red. It looked just as bad as it felt. He then trailed his left hand over the bottom of his ribs to feel the bandages under his shirt, only to pull away as if he had been burned. Dream couldn’t tell which hurt more: his arm or his ribs.
…But Cross wasn’t hurt. This was all worth it as long as Cross stayed safe.
“Brother…?”
Dream all but jumped out of his bed at the sound of that voice, an alarmed yelp leaving his bruised throat. There, standing only a few feet away from his bed, was Nightmare. The first thing Dream noticed was the bruise on his twin’s cheek, along with a bandaid above his “nose”. The second thing he noticed was the harsh fear suddenly rolling around in his stomach.
Why in the hell was Nightmare here?! Was he going to attack him? Dream couldn’t take any more, he was in enough pain as it was. Oh sweet god, what-
… Nightmare looked nervous.
Not angry, or violent, or… murdery. He was shifting on the balls on his feet, holding one of his arms, eyebrows drawn. He kept glancing behind him, too - someone else was there? Dream couldn’t make them out, hidden in the shadows.
It was then Dream realized how irrational he was being. Gaster was the one who told him Nightmare was dangerous, but Gaster was also the one to make him forget about Cross. Of course he would lie, of course. And Dream fell right into his lie. Again.
“What… what are you doing here…?”
Nightmare blinked in, what Dream guessed, was surprise. “Y-you’re not threatening me…? Aren’t you scared…?”
Dream winced, turning to stare at the ground. “I… have realised our father lies about a lot of things. I’m trying not to let him… manipulate me into believing every word that comes from his lips.”
“... is that why you’re covered in bandages?”
Forcing a smile, Dream pulled up his blanket more. “It… doesn’t matter. You never told me why you are here…?”
“Oh, um… it was Killer’s idea.” Nightmare turned, pulling the other monster into the light - it was the one from the fight, Dream was sure of it.
“Your… boyfriend?”
Both Killer and Nightmare blushed brightly, shaking their heads. “What the fuck, no!” Dream’s eyebrows shot up - Killer’s voice was rougher than he had been expecting from such a small man. “We’re just… friends.”
“K-Killer thought since you and I haven’t… really talked, and you got to talk to Cross, it would be good for us to… to talk too…”
“... I suppose so.” Dream sighed softly, the fear still rolling in his stomach. He hated it. He hated feeling scared of his twin. “How did you two get in here…?”
“Your security is shit here. It’s easy as hell to just climb up and go through an
open window.
” Killer mumbled.
“Right… well, I suppose that’s a problem for another time… a-anyways..” What were you even supposed to say in these situations?? “Is.. is Cross ok..?”
“Oh… I'm sorry, I haven't really… talked to him-”
“I have.” Killer cut in, dropping his eyes to the ground. “He's not doing great. He's worried about you.”
“He shouldn't be…” Dream sighed, shakily standing up.
“Wha- b-brother! You shouldn't be walking- oh gods, your arm…”
Dream waved off his twin with his good arm, kneeling down next to his wardrobe, opening a shelf at the bottom. “...please tell him I'm ok, don't tell him I'm hurt… and please give him this…” Dream pressed a small folded paper into Nightmare’s hand, his phalanges trembling. He was so pathetic. “Please…”
“I-I will… but, Dream…”
“Ni- Brother . Please. Just… I-I can't leave, not now… p-please go, Undyne is supposed to check on me soon…”
“But-”
“Go.”
Killer grabbed Nightmare's hand, gently pulling him away. “Night, come on…”
For some reason, Dream’s soul ached at seeing his twin leave.
*****
“Cross…?”
Repressing a sigh, Cross opened his sockets, glancing down at Nightmare. He had been leaning against one of the outer walls of the orphanage, having exhausted his magic and needing to rest. He could try having a nap, but he felt restless and he really didn’t want to deal with any of his nightmares right now. Of course, Nightmare and Killer would come up to him the minute he tried to rest his eye sockets.
Cross wasn’t sure he had the patience to hold a conversation with anyone, let alone with these two, right now.
“What do you want?”
“Um… we…” Nightmare looked at Killer, the shorter man looking back and giving a small nod - silent conversations, really? Seriously, Killer had to be some kind of idiot if he didn't realize Nightmare liked him back. “We… we visited my brother, a-and-”
“You what?!” Cross didn’t mean to snap, he really didn’t, but what the fuck did that even?! He pushed off the wall, balling his hands into fists. “You saw him?!”
Night shrunk away, Killer stepping in front of him. “Yeah, we went to the castle. Shit’s hella easy to get into.”
“Was he hurt?! Why didn’t you bring me with you, if I knew you were going we could have gotten him out of there!”
“Dream… He wanted us to tell you he’s… he’s ok…”
“Yeah but he’s not.” Nightmare placed a hand on Killer’s shoulder, a desperate look on his face. “What? Cross deserves to know.” He turned back to the ex-guard, his eyelights small pinpricks - was that a new mask? Whatever, didn’t matter. Just a piece of cloth. “His arm looked shattered. Hard to tell with the bandages. His shirt was all weird too, so I’m guessing his ribs are bandaged too. Oh, and his neck was really bruised. Like, really fucking bruised, really dark purple. Whatever happened with him, he must have been held up by his neck, though Night didn’t ask so we don’t-”
“You saw him. That fucking hurt. And you just LEFT HIM THERE?!” Rage boiled in Cross’s chest. Killer apologizes and then does this shit?! Rub Cross’s face in the fact Dream was in pain all because he couldn’t get him to come back to the camp?! Was this a game to him?! “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Cross snarled, grabbing Killer by the fabric around his neck, lifting him off the ground till they were face to face.
“Cross, put him down!” Nightmare tried pulling at his right arm, but it was no use.
“Why would you leave him there?! At this rate Gaster is going to fucking kill him!”
“And what were we supposed to do?!” Killer snapped back, kicking Cross’s chest - the action took him by surprise, causing him to drop Killer. “He could barely walk , Cross! For us to get him out he would have needed to climb out a window, scale the building and then walk all the way here! He was in no condition to do any of that!”
“You should have tried!!” Cross’s hands trembled. “You should have fucking tried! He’s just going to get more hurt there!”
“He wouldn’t have left even if we asked, Cross…” Nightmare’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper as he stepped forward, holding out a piece of paper to Cross. “He wants to keep you safe… and h-he wanted us to give you this…”
With a shaking hand, Cross took the paper, unfolding in and looking at what was written. The handwriting was definitely Dream’s, no doubt about that.
I’ve been remembering a lot of really obscure things recently. I’ve been writing them down, so I don’t forget the little moments again. They mean a lot to me. If you see this, Cross, I know you’re probably mad at me. Admittedly, I agree that I should have gone with you - I wanted to. But me leaving would only paint a bigger target on all of your backs.
I want you to know I do love you. I really do. I want you to stay strong. I want you to remember the little moments, too. Maybe they will help you like they’ve helped me? I hope so.
Until we meet again, my love.
P.S.
Do you remember this one? It came back to me when I was falling asleep.
“I love hearing about how you got your scars. It shows how far you’ve come.”
Cross’s entire body froze up, his hands clutching the paper till it crumpled, sudden tears falling down his cheeks. “Damnit…”
It happened maybe two years ago, maybe three. Back when everything was normal.
It was late, around four or five in the morning - Dream’s bedroom was still and quiet, aside from his and Cross’s breathing and the soft sound of wind outside. The two of them were in bed, safe under the warm sheets, both of them shirtless and very much awake.
“How did you get this one…?” Dream breathed, the tips of his fingers just barely touching a long scar across his ribs - it was jagged and a bit faded by now. Honestly, Cross had kind of forgotten about it.
“Oh, that one…” He laughed softly. “When Undyne and I were little, we didn’t really know how to spar properly… so one time, when Undyne won, she got a little too into it and got me right across the ribs. She felt guilty about it for weeks.”
“Oh my god, you two were so reckless…” Dream smiled, covering his mouth to stifle a laugh. “Well, not that that has really changed.”
“You saying I’m reckless or something?” Cross smirked, wrapping his arms around his partner, pulling him closer till they were chest to chest.
“You’re certainly something alright.” Dream giggled, kissing Cross softly. His kisses were always so warm. “You know, I love hearing about how you got your scars. It shows how far you’ve come.”
“How far I’ve come…?”
The prince softly hummed, pressing the side of his skull to Cross’s sternum. “Like, you’ve gotten so much stronger since then. And you’ve grown maturity wise, too.”
“Huh… guess you’re right. You see a lot more in these things than I do.” Cross snorted, pressing a kiss to the top of Dream’s forehead, feeling his warm breath against his bare chest.
“Well, they’re part of you. So of course I’m going to love them, silly.”
Something snapped inside of Cross, a pained wail leaving him as he dropped to his knees, punching the concrete. The stone cracked, his knuckles bleeding from the impact, but Cross barely felt it. “DAMNIT!!” He sobbed, his entire body shaking.
He just wanted Dream back.
That’s all he wanted.
He’s gotten stronger, Dream said. He’s grown.
So why was he still not strong enough to save his Dream?
*****
Undyne didn’t want to do this plan. The amount of monster’s that will be dusted because of it made her sick.
But she didn’t really have a choice.
In a month, she would do it though, whether she wanted to or not.
Notes:
Sorry this chapter is shorter than the others, but I hope you guys like it nonetheless!
Chapter 22: ~Chapter 22~
Notes:
For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on Instagram or Tumblr
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Setting the decorative cake box down on one of the plastic tables set up in the orphanages courtyard, Sans peeked at Muffet’s handy work. A round, white cake looked back at him - the edges were lined with gold icing and white and gold edible flowers, and in the center there was a sort of bouquet of those same flowers, Muffet had even managed to make it look like a ribbon was wrapped around the flowers. Sans had to hand it to the woman, she sure knew how to make pretty baked goods. Next to him, Red set down two boxes of cupcakes - 24 in each box, each cupcake iced with white frosting and a white or gold flower on top - next to the cake. “You said your friend would be dropping off the rest of the food later, right babe?”
Sans’s soul fluttered momentarily in his chest, he still wasn’t totally used to Red using pet names. “Yeah, Grillbz said everything should be ready for four, which’ll give us an hour to set it all out.”
Admittedly, Sans’s idea to throw a sort of “DIY wedding” for Error and Ink had been incredibly impulsive, but all the others seemed to jump on the idea, happy to help Sans with prep - well, Cross, Pap, Red, Nightmare, and even Mettaton helped, Killer and Chara sat on the side lines and made sarcastic comments. (Nightmare had managed to get Killer to help with a few things though, like pinning up streamers and balloons to the stone walls around the orphanage, it was pretty cute how much of a soft spot Killer had for the prince.)
His idea also hinged on the idea that Error and Ink would be away from the orphanage all afternoon, and lo and behold, when Sans suggested the two see a movie and just spend some time to themselves, especially with everything that’s happened recently, the couple seemed happy to go along with his idea.
“Isn’t this kinda overkill? Why the hell do we need 96 fucking cupcakes?” Killer called from his perch on the wall, looking down at the table of sweets as Cross set down the last two cupcake boxes.
“Mom and dad had, like, over 100 at their wedding.”
“What the fuck?!”
“Weddings are big, and one of the main things you do at them is eat. Which means you need a lot of food, dipshit.” Cross shot back at the shorter skeleton. Ever since Killer and Night had given him that note, Cross had been a lot quieter than usual. Not that Sans could blame him. Still, he hoped the party would help Cross take his mind off of things for a few hours.
Speaking of people being quieter than normal, Chara still hadn’t really talked to Sans. Last week he had gone back home with Papyrus - that evening had been all over the place and insanely emotional for the whole family - and Chara had all but ignored the two brothers, hiding away in her room most of the night. At least Asgore was happy; though he seemed a bit disappointed that neither skeleton stuck around for the night.
“Could we please try to swear less around our younger sister?” Papyrus asked the two monsters, his arms full with a stack of chairs.
Killer glared at Papyrus, flipping him off. “Fuck off, prick.”
“Watch it, Killer.” Sans grumbled, starting to set out paper plates. He understood why Killer was ansty around the ex-guards, Cross and now Papyrus, but dammit, he wished Killer wouldn’t automatically go insulting them.
“Whatever. Is there at least going to be booze at this thing?”
“No. And don’t go sneaking any in.” Killer groaned, flopping onto his back. Which looked pretty painful, bone hitting rock was never fun.
“Maybe that’s for the best… since Chara will be there? A-and Ink told me Error doesn’t like alcohol...” Nightmare said softly, reaching up to pat Killer’s hand. “Can you help me set up the wedding arch Kills?” Unsurprisingly to anyone there, Killer agreed to help.
Sans sighed, glancing at Red, unable to stop himself from softly smiling. Tonight was going to be good. It’ll be fun, and carefree. That’s what they all needed right now.
*****
“This is a little weird, right…?” Ink looked up at his fiance, subconsciously adjusting the salmon coloured vest he was wearing. The suit should still fit him, but even though it had only been a month since the split, his baby bump has been growing at an incredibly fast rate, so all of his clothes were starting to feel a bit tight.
“Whaaaat, no no, why would Sans telling us we need to change into formal wear before going back to a dilapidated orphanage be weird?” Error sighed, wrapping an arm around Ink. The smaller skeleton leaned into him, enjoying his warmth. “Yes, it’s weird, hun.”
Definitely weird. Especially when it was Sans’s idea for him and Error to go out this afternoon in the first place, which Ink wasn’t really mad about, he really enjoyed spending some time along with Error, but it was still a bit… odd. Sans had to be planning something, Ink was sure of it.
“Uh… what’s with the balloons?” Ink followed Error’s gaze, eye sockets widening. They were nearing the orphanage now, and poking just over the run-down wall were white balloons, waving in the wind.
“Maybe it’s someone’s birthday?”
“I didn’t hear anything about a party though.” Error mumbled, leading Ink to the stone gate. Maybe it was for Mettaton? He didn’t know much about the other monster yet, but he seemed to be the extravagant type, plus, maybe it was his birthday? Maybe Papyrus? That one made more sense, since Sans knew he and Error weren’t… the most comfortable around the ex-guard, despite their efforts to be polite (well, Ink’s efforts - Error wasn’t hiding his distaste for the younger skeleton). So maybe Sans wanted them out for a bit so they could have a party for Papyrus? Then again, wouldn’t they celebrate with Asgore at his home? Also, Ink could have sworn Sans mentioned his brother’s birthday was in April, not-
Ink was suddenly yanked out of his thoughts when he and Error stepped past the iron gate of the orphanage, concrete suddenly raining down around the couple.
“Surprise!” Sans stood in front of them, grinning and waving his hands - all the others were there too, each of them wearing some kind of formal wear. Ink could see a white archway covered in white lilies in the distance, and rows of chairs. To their left, there were long tables set up, covered in food and baked goods - was that a cake??
“Sans-? What is this?” Ink’s cheeks were starting to heat up from all the people watching - the front row was made up of their closer friends in the rebellion, but beyond that were people they knew but weren’t as close to, and all of them had their eyes on the couple, smiling.
“Well, ok, so I know you guys were supposed to get married long before all of this happened, and things have been rough for everyone recently so I thought… you know, why can’t you guys just have a small wedding here and now? Technically Nightmare’s a prince so he can make it official and uh, of course you can always plan a real wedding after all of this is over but…” Sans laughed a little nervously, rubbing the back of his neck - he was wearing a light blue button up and dark jeans, and next to him, Red was wearing a light shirt with a darker red sweater vest.
“You… planned out all of this. For us…?” Error’s voice wavered a bit, Ink holding his hand tightly.
“Er… yeah… is it too much? It was kinda an out there idea, I just thought-” Ink and Error pulled their friend into a hug, ultimately leaving Ink squished between the two taller men, but he didn’t mind. He was too distracted by the overflowing joy and gratitude filling his soul. He sniffled a bit, doing his best not to cry as he smiled up at Sans, who looked more than a bit surprised.
“Thank you Sans.” Error spoke quietly, giving Sans his own smile. He was hiding it better, but Ink knew him well enough to tell even Error was close to tears. “For everything.”
Sans laughed, shaking his head. “I had help from everyone with this, don’t just thank me.” He pulled away, and Ink was positive he saw something flash in the older skeleton’s eye socket when he looked at Red. “Come on, let’s get this party started already, yeah?”
*****
Ink smiled to himself, looking down at the ring on his finger, the silver band glistened back at him. In the center was a small, royal blue gem, a matching baby blue gem was on Error’s ring. Ink’s soul fluttered. His husband. He couldn’t believe it, they were finally married. The ceremony had been a bit all over the place - Killer ended up “accidently” spilling punch all over Cross’s lap, resulting in the two men almost starting a fist fight right there. Luckily Sans had been there to stop them, Ink had a feeling he used gravity magic to do so but he hadn’t had a chance to ask. Not to mention poor Nightmare looked so nervous conducting the whole thing, at one point Ink had to reassure the boy that it was ok if it wasn’t word for word, and that he was doing really well (Which, in all honesty, he was)
Regardless of all that, it was still perfect. All of it was, especially the cake and cupcakes. They were delicious.
Two red arms suddenly wrapped around Ink’s waist, gently pulling him off his seat and onto the familiar lap of his lover. A giggle left the smaller man as Error peppered his skull with little kisses, his soul blooming with love and warmth, the piece of Error’s soul in Ink’s returning the feelings.
“I thought you didn’t like PDA Erry?”
“Mm… yeah well, it’s our wedding, I think some PDA is fine.” Error chuckled, pulling Ink closer for a proper kiss.
Ink smiled, wrapping his arms around his new husband, pulling away slightly when a slow song started playing around them - “Conversations in the Dark” by John Legend.
“Ink! Error!” Sans grinned and waved for the couple to come over to the makeshift dance floor he and his younger brother had made. Though “dance floor” was pretty generous, since they technically just made sure a patch of grass was clear of rocks and sticks and other tripping hazards. “Come on lovebirds, it’s time for the first dance!”
Ink felt his cheeks warm with a blush, turning to find his lover grinning. “You wanna…?”
“Why not?” Error stood, linking his and Ink’s arm. “It’ll be just like prom again.”
The smaller skeleton laughed, walking with his partner to the “dance floor”, pressing against him once there, the two beginning to sway. It was a lot like prom, outside, under the stars, some cheesy slow song. Only this time they certainly weren’t alone, and, well… “There is a pretty big difference though.” Ink gestured downward with his skull, a smile stretching on his lips.
Error chuckled, the sound vibrating in his rib cage. “Yeah, I guess we do have two little ones joining this dance.”
With a quiet giggle, Ink nodded, resting his skull on his lover’s chest. It wouldn’t be long now till the twins were born… their family really was growing fast, and Ink really couldn’t say he wasn't happy about it. If anything, he was ecstatic. “I love you so so much, Erry.”
Error smiled, pressing a kiss to Ink’s skull. “I love you just as much, Inky.”
*****
Sans felt a smile creep onto his skull as he watched his two friends dance - they looked so happy, so at ease. He was so damn glad this plan actually worked out, it was the least Sans could do after breaking down after their soullings split. He couldn’t help but still feel guilty for that, it should have been a happy moment for them and he had ruined it.
Shaking his head, Sans let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding - he didn’t need to think about that right now. Things were good, he did good, he was allowed to be happy.
“Hey.” Fully pulled back to the here and now, Sans turned to Red, sitting beside him. The vest his boyfriend was wearing was a bit tight, and with Red’s arm draped over Sans’s shoulder, he could just make out the outlines of Red’s broad ribs. “I had no idea you were so good at planning weddings?”
A laugh bubbled out of Sans, the song changing to something more upbeat, more people flooding the open area and joining the dancing couple. “When you have three little siblings you get pretty good at planning events.”
“I can imagine. Still, this is damn impressive, babe.” Red grinned down at him, Sans cheeks turning blue.
“ Vow kind of you to say.”
“Is that- did you just make another pun?”
“Of course not, I’m being
marry
serious right now.”
Red laughed, leaning his skull against Sans’s, igniting a spark of something warm in his chest. “You know, some of my students have been theorizing about you.” Red started, his voice now hushed, as if they were gossiping.
“Theorizing…?”
“Mhm. I made the mistake of letting them see my computer wallpaper, and since then they’ve been trying to figure out who you are and what you’re like.”
Sans eyebrows shot up, a surprised giggle leaving him. “Hold on, when did you even get a picture of me to use?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” The taller man wiggled his eyebrows, flashing Sans a smile, gold tooth glinting.
“Oh my god, please tell me it’s not embarrassing.”
“No no no, it’s super cute.”
“That’s so much worse.”
The two of them burst out laughing, getting a few odd looks from other monsters.
“ Please tell me Chara didn’t see it?” If she had, Sans probably would have heard something by now, given the fact that his sister absolutely would make jabs at him for the photo. Then again, maybe she wouldn’t have, since she was still giving Sans the cold shoulder. For a moment, Sans thought he saw the young girl on the other side of the dance floor - he had been surprised Chara had even wanted to come, but she had insisted (Convincing their father to let her come had been a pain in the ass though, considering they had to lie so much.)
“Nah, it was a different class.” Scanning the crowd again, Sans couldn’t make out Chara anymore. He was positive he had seen her though, weaving through the crowd. Maybe he was imagining things. “We should dance.”
“What?” Red had a cheeky grin as he grabbed Sans’s hand pulling him into the crowd. Soul pounding, Sans pressed against Red’s chest to stop himself from bumping into a mouse monster.
“Dance. Come on.” A slow song was playing again, and before he knew it Red’s hands were on his waist and they were swaying with the music.
Sans felt like his skull was on fire - he could feel Red’s breath, feel his warmth. The smell of campfire smoke wafted around him.
“I uh… I’ve never done this before.”
“Really? Could have fooled me.” Red whispered against Sans’s “ear”, a pleased shiver running down his spine.
Sans didn’t really like dancing. Too much work, too many people too close to him. He always felt gross from sweating afterwards.
But this?
This was nice.
*****
Papyrus couldn’t remember the last time he was at a big party like this. There were a few times when he had “miniparties” with Undyne and Cross, like during one of their birthdays, but during those they just went out for supper somewhere, usually a bar, to drink and talk. Usually Cross got drunk (he’d deny it, but boy, was he a lightweight) and Undyne got tipsy - maybe even drunk as well, depending on the day - and it was up to Papyrus to get the two back to the castle. He hadn’t minded though, he loved his friends, even when they were stumbling around and acting like idiots.
This was a lot different than three close friends hanging out for an evening though. There were a lot people, a lot of food, and a lot of noise. In short, there was just…just a lot in general.
At least it looked like his brother was having fun - Papyrus could just barely spot him in the crowd from where he stood near the drink table. He could also see Chara off to the side with Cross, maybe Pap could go over to them. It would certainly beat just standing awkwardly next to the punch bowl, getting funny looks from strangers. Then again, Cross hasn’t really been… talky lately, seeming to just want to be alone, so it was a bit surprising he was with Chara right now - buuut knowing his sister, she wasn’t always great at actually leaving people alone. Unless she’s mad at them.
“So, what’s a cute guy like you doing over here all alone?”
Papyrus’s eye sockets snapped up, meeting one pretty pink eye. “Mettaton! Hello!”
The ghost monster chuckled, stepping closer until he was standing right next to Papyrus, their elbow’s touching - Mettaton was wearing a dark pink suit, the front open to reveal a bit of his chest, the image of his soul floating and glowing just as bright as usual, and his hair was pulled back in a small ponytail, which Papyrus hadn’t seen him do before. He looked fantastic. “Hello to you too, darling. Though that isn’t an answer to my question.”
“Oh, well… I guess I’m just not great with big events like this.” Papyrus laughed nervously, taking a sip from the red cup in his hand. “And my big brother is with his boyfriend so I feel a little weird following him around…”
“Understandable, being a third wheel is never fun.” Mettaton hummed next to him.
“What about you? You seem like the type of person to be a social butterfly in situations like this?” Pap glanced at the man next to him, noticing his cheeks darkening. Was… was that rude of him to say?
“Yeah, heh, well… I’ll admit that I do take great pleasure in talking to people and being the center of attention but…” Mettaton’s gaze shifted to the ground, and Pap felt a twinge of guilt in his soul. He looked… nervous? Sad? “It’s been a very long time since I’ve been around this many people. And the last time I was, it didn’t… end well.”
“Oh… do you… want to talk about it?”
The monster next to him took a deep breath, shoulders tensing. “Not really, no.” It grew silent for a few minutes, making Papyrus really really wish he hadn’t said anything. Maybe he could still go over to Cross and Chara? It would be rude to just leave Mettaton though… then again, Pap couldn’t see them anymore. “You and your brother… are you two close?”
“Yes! Well… I think so? We were arguing for a long time but we aren’t anymore, so um… that’s very good!” He smiled, turning his skull to look at Mettaton, only to find his friend was looking back at him already. Their eyes met for a moment, and Papyrus’s soul jumped to his throat, fluttering. He quickly looked away, cheekbones warming up. What was that all about?? “Erm… do you have any siblings?”
“No, but I’ve always been really close with my cousin. They uh, live a few hours out of the city.”
“Oh! That’s fun! I don’t know any of my cousins!” Did… he even have cousins? Papyrus wasn’t sure.
Mettaton laughed softly, refilling his cup with more punch. “I guess it is fun, isn’t it?” He smiled at Papyrus. “You know… you can see the stars pretty well at the back of this orphanage.”
“You can?”
“Mhm. So, you know, if you want we could go back there and I can tell you some of their names?”
Papyrus perked up, excitement bubbling in his chest. “Really??”
“Sure, darling.”
He knew, deep down, he was absolutely going to forget all the names Mettaton was going to tell him, but for some reason that he didn’t understand, Papyrus was incredibly excited to spend more time with his friend.
*****
Digging her heel into the dirt, Chara risked another glance at Cross, a bitter feeling of betrayal in her chest. It was stupid, she knew that, but damn it, she looked up to him for being strong and able to handle himself. Through all of this, she’s seen him handle everything so calmly (well, calmly unless it was around Killer) and level headed. He was smart. And now he’s being all mopey because of a note ?
Pathetic.
Maybe she was being harsh, but she was in a pissy mood and really didn’t care right now. She was tired, too.
Her gaze drifted to the other side of the orphanage, where Sans was sitting with Red. Chara gritted her teeth. She and Sans still weren’t talking, mostly because she refused to say anything other than a few words, but damn it, she was still mad at him. She had a feeling he finally talked to Pap, but he was still lying to their father, still lying about his emotions (probably) and he was still staying with Red even though his arm was fine now. She was aware the last point was petty.
… Truthfully, she wasn’t really all that mad at Sans anymore, she knew he was doing his best, she knew all the points she listed weren’t reasons to straight up ignore family.
She was just jealous.
Jealous that Sans and Papyrus were so close, and always will be close because unlike the rest of the Dreemurr kids, those two were related biologically.
Maybe that shouldn’t make a difference, they all still loved each other. But it does make a difference. They’ve always been together. They’ve always been brothers.
Huffing, Chara pushed herself off of the stone wall she was leaning against - she had originally stayed there because Killer and Nightmare had been sitting there, and she had enjoyed being bitchy with the short skeleton and figured they could do that again. Wrong. Killer was too busy drooling over Nightmare apparently, and now they had run off to god knows where, leaving Chara alone.
Assholes.
She weaved through the crowd of monsters, ducking her head as she passed Error and Ink, not really in the mood to make small talk with the newly wed couple. She was happy for them, of course, but Chara really couldn’t handle anything that happy and bubbly right now. Instead, she beelined to Cross, who stood a few feet away from the food table.
“Hey.” Cross’s eyelights shifted to her, his expression dark. It was like a dark cloud hovered over the man.
“What do you need, Chara?”
With a shrug, Chara pushed her hands into her sweater pockets, sinking into her scarf. Her eyes wandered away from Cross - staring at him for too long made her feel guilty for saying he shouldn’t be so dismal - and to the dance floor. Sans was dancing with Red. Weird, she’s never seen him dance before. He looked happy. “I’m bored. And uh… you did say you would train me, and we haven’t really gotten a chance to…”
Cross sighed, Chara’s attention snapping back to him. “Kid… I’m really not in the mood-”
“But you’re fine with standing here, feeling sorry for yourself?” She snapped, frowning at the older monster. “I get it, you’re worried about your boyfriend or whatever he is to you, but do you really think standing here and feeling shitty is going to help?”
Cross held her gaze, he seemed to want to argue back, his shoulders visibly tense. After a few minutes, his red and white eyelights turned to the ground. “There’s training dummies in the back. They’re a little… shabby but they’ll work. Follow me.”
She followed the ex-guard, letting out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. Maybe this would help clear her head too, then maybe she could talk to Sans again. What would she say? Jesus, she was such a hypocrite.
“So. What did you want to work on?” Cross turned back to her, raising his hand. Energy crackled around his phanglaes, pulling into a sword, sharp and lethal. Though his magic seemed more unstable than what she had seen before - the magic in the sword was like an angry storm, swirling and snapping at the air.
“I don’t know?” Chara raised an eyebrow at Cross, pulling one hand out of her pocket, focusing her power. It was piercing hot, starting from her soul and stretching outwards, filling her veins. The burning magic raced along her arm, congregating in the palm of her hand, shifting and churning until finally snapping into the shape of a long, sharp knife. “I kinda assumed you’d call the shots.”
Narrowing his eyes, Cross spun his sword in his hand. “Fine then. How’s your throw?”
“My what?”
“Throw.” The sword in the ex-guard’s hand suddenly changed, morphing into a smaller knife, similar to Chara’s. The teenager’s eyes widened - using multiple attacks at once wasn’t that hard to do, and she’s seen tons of people do that before, but once an attack is created, it becomes extremely hard to change it to something else. Hence why someone would usually just create a new weapon if they needed something new. But Cross didn’t do that. Holy shit - could Papyrus do that too?? Did they learn it from being in the royal guard?? “Knives are great and all, but they’re a very close range weapon. If you can’t throw straight, you’re fucked in a long range situation.”
“I can use projectiles though? I don’t need to manually throw those.”
“Can you use one projectile at a time instead of a specific bullet pattern?”
“...no.”
“That’s why you need to know how to throw well.” Cross pulled his hand back, then sent his knife flying, sticking the dummy in it’s already ripped head. “It’s best to be ready for anything.”
“You sound like my brother.” Chara mumbled, stepping closer and raised her arm like Cross had moments before. “He’s always overthinking things.”
“Your brothers are smart men.” Cross tapped the girl’s lower arm, signalling her to lift her arm higher. “You could learn a thing or two from them, if you listened.”
Gritting her teeth, Chara threw her blood red blade. It made a quiet thunk as it stuck into the dummy’s torso. “Were you close to Papyrus?”
“I am. He knows his shit when it comes to this stuff. Surprised you didn’t ask him to do this.”
“He wouldn’t teach me, neither he nor Sans actually want me here.” Rolling her eyes, Chara turned to the ex-guard, crossing her arms. “Besides, you offered.”
“For the record, I think it’s dangerous for you to be here too. You’re too young.” His eyes flickered over head. “Papyrus, Mettaton, hey.”
Following Cross’s gaze, Chara met the eyes of her older brother, who was standing next to the monster who Chara was positive was a human at first. Mettaton gave a smile and a wave.
“Oh, hello!” Papyrus smiled. Chata shrunk into her sweater, her knife from earlier disappearing. “What are you two doing back-”
He was cut off by a scream.
Screaming.
The music shut off abruptly. More screaming. But there was one scream, it was Red’s, Chara recognized his voice, that made her blood turn cold.
“SANS?!”
In a panic, Chara jolted into action, pushing past her confused brother, running back out to the front of the orphanage. The adults might have followed. She didn't know. She didn’t care.
She panted as she reached the front, showing her way through the crowd - like deer in headlights, all of them - and froze, her soul going still in her chest.
There was her brother, just a few feet away from Red. His eye sockets were void of his eyelights, blood dripped down his chin from his ever present smile.
And there was a bright blue magic spear driven through his chest, blood soaking his shirt.
Chara screamed.
Notes:
*insert evil laugh*
(Also hi I just want to say I stopped righting out Red's accent because it's kinda a pain is the a$$ to do, but he still has it jdjdjd)
Chapter 23: ~Chapter 23~
Summary:
TW: descriptions of wounds, blood
Notes:
For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on Instagram or Tumblr
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Sometimes, when something really bad happens, it can feel like time is moving in slow motion. Minutes seem to stretch into hours, every movement your body makes feels so slow, too sluggish. Useless. The all encompassing dread that fills you, seeping into your bones like tar.
There had been times when Red was younger where he’d felt like that: but it was never like this .
He was dancing with Sans, a warm feeling in his soul at seeing the other man smile, and laugh. God, Sans had looked so happy. Then Red turned away for a second, a fast song coming on.
The music stopped. Everything stopped.
All eyes were suddenly on Sans, a pained gasp escaping him as a bright, sharp spear shot through his chest, ripping his shirt, ripping his bones. Red was sure he heard them snap, the sound making his stomach churn. Blood dripped off the spear head, landing on the grass, flattening it, and clumps of dust clung to the thick liquid in wet chunks - it looked far more like paste than actual dust.
They were at a stand still - Sans’s eye sockets met Red’s: his eyelights had almost disappeared, two tiny pinpricks looking out at Red, filled with horror, fear. Blood and liquid magic dripped from his partially open mouth. Then he coughed - or choked, Red couldn’t figure out which it was - and more blood, more dust gushed out of his mouth.
Then someone screamed - no, Red recognized that voice, Chara was screaming - and time started moving again.
More screaming rang out, armed guards flooding into the grounds of the orphanage, some jumping over the walls. The captain- Red reconized her, she was the one who broke his fucking arm a month prior, stepped toward Sans, grabbing the back end of her weapon and dislodged in from Sans’s chest, the skeleton crumbling to the ground with a groan, coughing up more blood and clutching his chest. For a brief moment, she stared at Sans - she looked sick, seeming to pale.
Rage bubbled up in Red’s chest, red hot magic racing through his bones to his hands, his magic sparking. She did this. She hit Sans. A guttural growl left him as he pounced forward, his fist engulfed in flames. He’d do far more than just burn Undyne’s cheek. He’d rip her limb from limb.
Undyne stepped back, dodging his punch just in time, raising her bloodied spear - Sans’s blood - to block his next punch. He’ll fucking kill her, he’ll burn her alive, he’ll make her suffer.
Red was yanked backwards suddenly, thrown to the ground. He was about to snap at whoever the fuck stopped him, until his eyes found Papyrus, who’s hands held Red by his shoulders, keeping him back.
“We need to get him out of here.” Red could barely hear Papyrus over the yelling, over the ringing in his ears, but it was enough to snap him back into reality. Red nodded, running back over to Sans, helping him up - fuck, there was a lot of blood. Too much. Sans’s hand grabbing at the back of Red’s shirt, his grip weak. His bones looked chalky - coated in dust, his body already starting to lose shape. No no no no no.
Grabbing Sans’s other hand, Red helped his boyfriend apply some pressure to his open wound, hurriedly leading him away, following the crowd - there was a small hole in the wall at the back of the orphanage, an “emergency exit” that could lead them out of the city. It was the only option.
“R… Red…?” Another cough. More blood. Red was going to be fucking sick.
“Don’t talk, save your energy.” He wasn’t going to die, he couldn’t. Not here, not now. Red needed him.
Red didn’t believe in a God, but at that moment, he was ready to pray to any God, any being, if it meant they’d keep his Sans alive.
*****
Papyrus’s soul pounded in his chest, his breathing too fast, too shallow. Sans was dying. Oh, god, his brother was going to bleed out, he’d turn to dust, he’d be gone oh god-
“Papyrus!” Mettaton was gripping his forearm, energy rippling off of him. “We need to get the hell out of here. Now.”
Papyrus nodded, balling his hands into fists. Sans would be fine, he had to be. Papyrus couldn’t lose his head right now. His gaze shifted from the man desperately pulling at his shirt to Undyne, who was staring back, bloodied spear clutched in her hand. Her spear…
Undyne tried to kill Sans.
His brother.
Papyrus fought back tears, his breathing speeding up again. “What is wrong with you?!” He snapped, pulling his arm away from Mettaton, stepping towards the fish monster. “That was my fucking brother !”
Undyne’s calm composure melted slightly, her eyes widening. “Like I knew that, I’ve never seen him before! I’m just doing my job, Papyrus.” She stepped toward him, grabbing his tie, yanking him forward. “This is war, what the fuck did you think would happened?”
Something stirred in his chest, something wild, something untamed. Anger. He was furious. Undyne had been his friend - hell, his best friend - he had trusted her, he had told her how much Sans meant to him, and she didn’t have a crumb of remorse?!
“I don’t care what it is.” Papyrus shoved Undyne back, the guard catching herself before tumbling over. “I thought we were friends, but obviously you care more about pleasing Gaster than being a good person.”
“I care about keeping people safe!” Undyne snapped, shooting forward. The tip of her weapon caught Papyrus' hip, a gasp escaping him. His friend - ex-friend - froze, realizing what happened, immediately dropping her spear. “Oh, god, Papyrus I didn’t-! Come on, I can take you back to the castle, we’ll patch you up, figure this out-”
“No!” Papyrus jerked away, grabbing his side - his hand already slick with blood. His own blood, this time.
“Pap- I’m sorry, ok? I’m trying to do what’s right here!”
Gritting his teeth, Papyrus’s arm shot up, a wall of thick, sturdy bones erupting from the ground, blocking Undyne from his sight He turned, stumbling - fuck, his side hurt, this was denintely worse than just being grazed. Fucking Undyne and her spears. Mettaton was there, wrapping an arm around his waist, helping him run. The “exit” was a small hole, almost too small for Papyrus to fit through - didn’t help that his side was really starting to ache, Pap pulling off his tie to press to his hip bone, soaking up the blood. On the other side of their small exit was a grassy field, a patch of trees in the distance. That’s where they were supposed to head to, to regroup.
An ambush was always something that they knew could happen, so Error had been quick to figure out a plan for if it happened. Of course, no one thought it would happen during a wedding of all things. The others were ahead of him and Mettaton - Pap couldn’t see his brother, or Red, or even Chara for that matter. His heart did a flip. God, he hoped they were ok.
They had to be.
“Pap…?” A sob broke out of him as Papyrus pulled away from Mettaton, his hand coming up to cover his mouth. “... Darling, we need to keep going.”
“I know… I know, fuck, I’m sorry.” Stubbornly wiping his eyes, Papyrus started speed walking again, his legs numb. It hurt to just walk, but he wanted to run. He wanted to scream. “Let’s… let’s go, I’m fine.”
They walked in silence, Mettaton pausing when they were about thirty minutes away. It was only a quick pause - he stood still for a minute or two, closing his eyes, breathing calmly. Then he started walking again, easily catching up with Papyrus. The bleeding seemed to have stopped for now, though the pain was definitely still there, Papyrus still hadn’t taken a look at the wound - there was no time to spare right now, he’d worry about bandaging himself up after he knew his brother was ok. There were more monsters around them now - some seemed angry, but most just seemed sad, or scared.
“What were you doing?”
Mettaton pointed to a star - it was brighter than the others, and if Papyrus was right about his constellations, it was a part of Orion’s belt. “That star is one of protection. I was praying to it, for your brother.” He dropped his hand, taking hold of Papyrus’s. Mettaton’s hand was warm, comforting. It didn’t get rid of the scared, painful feeling in his chest though. “I asked it to look over him until we meet up with Red and the others again.”
“... What if he’s gone by then? I don’t think I can… I…” Papyrus shut his mouth, feeling another wave of tears coming. Sans could already be dead and Papyrus wouldn’t even know.
Mettaton shook his head, squeezing Papyrus’s hand. “If I’ve learned anything about you and your family, darling, it’s that you’re all tough as nails.”
“He took a spear through his chest. It went right through.”
Grimacing, the ghost monster shivered. “Yes, I saw. He would have dusted immediately if it struck his soul though. So there’s still hope.”
“...I hope you’re right.”
Papyrus really did.
Glancing up, Papyrus stared at the star Mettaton had pointed out.
And he prayed.
Prayed for his brother to be ok, for his sister, for everyone, to be ok. To be safe.
To be alive.
*****
Sheltered under the small cluster of trees, it was cold and dark, the shadows between the trees too dark for Chara’s liking. She could still see the city in the distance, the bright, neon lights found all over Blightview made it hard not to notice.
Chara sat against a tree, the hood of her sweater pulled up to cover most of her face, and beside her sat her history teacher - it was so weird to think that now, she hadn’t realized how quickly she got used to just seeing him as “Red” or “her brother’s boyfriend” instead of “Mr. Azar, that one history teacher a lot of people have the hots for.” Sans had passed out on the way here, his breathing slow and laboured, but he wasn’t disintegrating into dust in Red’s arms so… that had to be a good sign. Not that Chara had high hopes for his survival. How could someone take a spear through the chest and live? Red had Sans’s head in his lap now, the sweater vest he had been wearing wrapped around her brother’s ribcage, the already red fabric darkening from blood.
It smelt like copper, like blood. It made Chara want to hurl.
Error and Cross were talking in hushed voices behind her - she couldn’t make out their words, but they didn’t sound happy. Chara was sure Ink was back there too. She hoped he was ok, she doubted running around like that was good for the babies, and Ink looked weak enough as it was.
They were probably arguing over what to do now. It wasn’t like they could just go back to the orphanage, it wasn’t safe anymore, and Chara doubted Sans was the only one who had gotten hurt.
Her gaze shifted back to her brother - he was sweating, straining to stay alive. Chara forced her eyes away, suddenly overcome with emotion, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to let herself cry in front of all these people.
Seeing Sans like this made Chara remember when Toriel was in the hospital. She had been 12 when Toriel had gotten sick, and at the time she couldn’t understand why everyone was so freaked out. As far as Chara knew, monsters didn’t get sick - she had thought everyone was overreacting. Especially Sans. During that time Sans had gotten even more quiet, even more reclusive, and Chara could remember yelling at him, telling him he was wasting his life, that he was pathetic. It didn’t really hit Chara that their mother really wasn’t well until a week before she passed away, when Chara visited Toriel with Asgore. Her mother’s usually dark brown eyes seemed to have lost their colour - they were dull, weak, and there had been machines with wires hooked up to her that made little Chara think of snakes. Toriel’s breathing had been laboured too, like Sans’s is now, and her white fur had been matted with sweat. Still, she had smiled at Chara when she saw her.
That was the last time Chara had seen her mother alive.
Closing her eyes, Chara let out a shaky breath, forcing the image of Toriel away. She was ashamed to admit it, but if Sans died, Chara hoped it would be now and not later. She didn’t want to see her brother in the same position she’d seen her mother in.
“Brother?!” Chara’s eyes snapped open, catching Papyrus dropping to his knees in front of Red, hands hovering over Sans, as if he would turn to dust as the smallest touch. Chara frowned, sitting up, noticing the blood soaking the left side of her Papyrus’s shirt. “Is he…?”
“Alive? Yeah. But he passed out on the way here, hasn’t woken up since.” Red’s voice was lower than usual, his accent thicker.
“What the hell happened to you?” Chara gestured to the bloodstain - Papyrus blinked at her, his expression turning to one of confusion. “You’re all bloody!”
“O-oh, right. It’s not important right now, Chara. We need… Sans needs medical help we can’t-”
“What the FUCK, Papyrus!?”
Papyrus jolted in surprise, springing up to his feet - he winced when he did so, almost losing his balance, so whatever caused that blood stain was definitely not nothing - as Killer stormed up to the taller skeleton. Nightmare trailed behind him, and while neither of them looked physically hurt, Nightmare was definitely shaken up, considering his hands were shaking. Or maybe he was cold.
“You act all friendly with us and then rat us out to your friends at the fucking castle?! You betrayed your own brother for fuck’s sake!” Chara stiffened, the hair at the back of her neck standing up as she felt the magic energy coming from Killer.
“What- you think I did this?”
“Who else would have told those fuckers where we were? I bet you and Cross did it to get in King asshat’s good graces again!” Papyrus shrunk away, looking to the ground. There was a glimmer of orange in the corner of his eye sockets.
“Lay off, his brother almost died! He doesn’t need you yelling at him!” Mettaton hissed, placing a hand on Papyrus shoulders - the ghost was glaring at Killer, it was the first time Chara had seen him not smiling.
Honestly, it hadn’t even occurred to Chara that someone could have squealed to the guards. She was sure the trauma of seeing her brother get literally stabbed in the chest was the reason for that. “Honestly it would be great if you could both shut the fuck up.” Chara mumbled, somewhat thankful none of the adults seemed to hear her. She didn’t want to listen to a lecture on why she shouldn’t swear.
“I don’t even know who you fucking are!”
“Everyone, shut up!” Cross snarled, Error to his left - the ebony skeleton was holding Ink, so it kinda took away from his malice, but Cross…
Chara had never seen him so serious. Or pissed.
“Is now really the time for arguing? We need to figure out where we’re going, asap. Sans is in no condition to be laying outside, especially with the clouds rolling in.”
“Oh quit the high and mighty act Cross, it was your fault this even happen-” Killer’s snarky remark was suddenly cut short by Cross grabbing the front of his cloak thing (Chara still didn’t know what that thing was called, but it looked pretty stupid to her) and yanked him off his feet, holding the short monster up so they were face to face.
“Say whatever the fuck you want about the guard, Killer, I get their shitty, especially right now. But you need to get your head out of your ass and realize we’re a fucking team here. Not all of us are out to get you.” The ex-guard dropped Killer, who landed ungracefully, falling to his knees. “Anyone else have a snide comment they’d like to share?” Silence. “Good. Now, we need somewhere remote, where we can lay low. This ambush means the guard is starting to actively go out of their way to find us. Basically Gaster is making it obvious we’re on his shit list, as if we didn’t know that already. So-”
“We could go to our dad’s.” Chara suggested, making eye contact with Cross. Admittedly, the idea was a bit stupid - Asgore still didn’t know three out of his four kids were involved with the rebellion, but they couldn’t keep hiding it anymore, not with Sans this badly hurt. He was going to absolutely lose his shit over this, but… well, at least there would be a bed for Sans to lay in. And Asgore should be able to help him recover. If that was even possible. “We live outside of the city, and there’s this old barn on our land that we use as a shed now.”
“I’ve seen the place, it is really remote.” Red added.
Cross seemed to think about this, glancing at Error, the two seeming to have a silent conversation. After a moment of two, he turned back to Chara. “That’ll work. Which way is it?”
*****
When Asgore agreed to let Sans take Chara to his friend’s wedding, he really didn’t think they’d be out so late.
Glancing at the digital clock under the TV - Frisk had on one of their movies, the one about singing birds in Brazil - and the green numbers showed it was 9:43. He should put Frisk to bed, but they insisted that they wanted to wait till Sans could read to them. Asgore offered to read a chapter for him tonight, but Sans had made a promise (Plus, Frisk missed reading with their big brother, since Sans was spending more time with Red.) and it was a Saturday, so it wasn’t the end of the word if his youngest was up a bit later than usual.
Sighing, Asgore shut the book in his hands, having read the same passage for the past 10 minutes, and set in on the wooden coffee table beside him. Frisk looked away from the TV suddenly, their eyebrows furrowing. “Is Sans bringing home friends, dad?”
“Er, no sweetie, I don’t think he is. Why?” Asgore had a bad feeling as he stood up, his back aching - the joys of getting older - and scooped up the small 10 year old.
Frisk pointed in the direction of the front door, past the stairs. “I can sense a bunch of magic out there! I can’t pick out Pappy or Sans or Chara though… there’s too much.”
That… was definitely strange. No one, besides his kids, should be out here. They live too far out of the city for random monsters or humans to show up at their door, selling random products or girl scout cookies. Asgore silently cursed himself for closing the blinds in the kitchen, stopping him from looking outside without getting too close to the window. Maybe it was those action movies Papyrus recommended to him, or maybe it was the ongoing revolution, but Asgore was on edge, and couldn’t stop himself from fearing a sudden rain of bullets would shatter the glass if he got too close.
A knock came from the other side of the wooden door - it definitely wasn’t an angry knock, but it did sound a bit panicked. Setting Frisk down on the stairs, he rubbed the top of their head with his paw. “Can you go up to your room, Frisk?”
The human child pursed their lips, looking like they wanted to say something, but they seemed to decide against it, just nodding instead. He waited a moment, watching them crawl up the steps, using their hands to make sure they didn’t trip, before turning to the door, bracing himself, and opening it.
The sight that greeted him was definitely not what he was expecting.
It was worse.
Chara stood at the front, pieces of her reddish-brown hair having fallen out of her ponytail, framing her pale face, her eyes dark. There was dirt staining her dress and sweater. That wasn’t what was making Asgore’s soul sink - what was making it sink was Red, close behind his daughter, holding Sans bridal style. The smaller skeleton’s breathing was strained, his skull slick with sweat, and there was some sort of red fabric wrapped around his chest, a large, dark bloodstain on Sans’s shirt, dust - his dust - clinging to the soaked cloth. Next to Red was Asgore’s other son, who was leaning against a monster he didn’t recognize - or human? Asgore couldn’t tell, but while he didn’t look as hurt as Sans, there was still a pretty obvious bloodstain near his hip. Behind them were even more monsters - a huge crowd of them, most Asgore didn’t even know (He did see Error and Ink there though, neither of them looking very happy despite the fact that it was supposedly their wedding day).
“...Hey, dad…” Chara forced a smile, stuffing her hands into her dirty sweater pockets. “I um… think we have some explaining to do…”
Something clicked in Asgore’s brain at the moment, and he snapped. “‘Some’? What the hell happened?! You were at a wedding !”
“Can we save the freaking out for later?” Red grunted. “We need to get Sans to a bed, he needs proper bandages.”
“He needs far more than a bed - he needs a hospital! Good god, where are my keys-”
“Dad-”
“No can do.” Someone Asgore didn’t know stepped forward - he was another skeleton, with one white and one red eye light, and a scar under his right eye socket. “Look, Mr. Dreemurr, we can explain more later but the long and short of it is your kids have been in the rebellion with the rest of us, and we were ambushed tonight. We need a place to stay, these two -” He jerked a thumb at Papyrus and Sans. “- need medical attention and it’s not safe for us in the city, let alone a hospital . Chara said you’d help.”
Asgore gritted teeth, taking a deep breath through his nose - he knew Sans had been lying about something, but he didn’t realize that something was being part of a war. And Papyrus and Chara too?!
Ok, deep breath, he couldn’t freak out yet, this stranger was right. Sans needed help. And he needed it now.
“Red, take Sans up to his room, it’s the first door to the left of the stairs.” Red nodded, mumbling a thanks before slipping past the old goat monster, his hurried steps traveling up the stairs behind Asgore. “And you.” He pointed at the monster - human?? - helping Papyrus stand.
“Mettaton. You can call me Mettaton, sir.” Sir? Agsore hadn’t been called that in years.
“Mettaton, set Papyrus down at the kitchen table, there’s some bandages in the bathroom upstairs” The human - maybe - monster nodded, helping Papyrus to the kitchen, the skeleton mumbling about how he was fine. Papyrus had a pretty obvious limp though, favouring his left side, so he was definitely not “fine”.
“What do you want me to do dad…?” Chara asked, arm’s wrapped around herself. She looked nervous.
A part of Asgore wanted to get mad, yell and tell Chara and Papyrus just how stupid they have been. He wanted to yell that they had lied to him about something so big for so long. He also wanted to cry and hug Chara, because thank god she wasn’t hurt, wasn’t dead . He wanted to cry because Sans was hurt, and he sure as hell needed a hospital but Asgore wasn’t stupid and got why they didn’tto take him there.
Asgore’s gaze wandered behind Chara, where Error was holding Ink. Sans had mentioned Ink was pregnant, hadn’t he…?
“Show Ink and Error to the spare room, alright?”
“Oh, no, Asgore you don’t… we’re not trying to intrude, Ink and I can just-” Raising a hand, Asgore shook his head, silencing the ebony skeleton.
“Just come in, alright? And...” God, there were so many people here. And Asgore was sure Papyrus and Sans weren’t the only ones hurt. He hoped he’d have enough bandages to help everyone, but it seemed unlikely. He focused on the man who had talked to him earlier, the one with the scar. “I’ll talk to you about… this. Later.”
Asgore turned and hurried up the stairs, not noticing the small, brown haired child peeking out of their room, listening to everything that was happening.
*****
Red’s eyes scanned over Sans’s unconscious form for the millionth time in the past five minutes, once again checking to make sure he was still breathing. He was, and it was just as strained as it was last time. Red’s soul clenched painfully in his chest.
Sans’s room wasn’t exactly what Red was picturing it would be, but then again, Red hadn’t thought too much about it in the first place. The walls were cream colored, and for the most part barren, except for what looked to be a handmade birthday card pinned to the wall above his dresser, which sat against the far wall of the room, next to Sans’s bed. There were textbooks littered on top of said dresser, and on the floor around the bookshelf near the door, they all seemed soul related - they must have been from when Sans was still taking classes. On the wall across from the bed was Sans’s closet, the doors of which were closed, and opposite that, pressed into the corner, was Sans’s desk. It was littered with papers full of messy writing - some of the writing was in strange symbols that reminded Red of the old “font” writing monsters used to use, way back when, but no one had been able to translate those old writings, so that couldn’t be what was written here - and formulas Red didn’t know. It really looked like Sans was working on something before all of this happened, but Red had no idea what it could be and he wasn’t about to go snooping around. He’d ask about it if he wakes up.
When. When he wakes up, not if.
Red had pulled the chair out from the desk so he could sit next to Sans’s bed, which he was doing now, waiting for Asgore. It was probably creepy of him to just sit there, staring at Sans’s unconscious body. He wasn’t trying to be creepy. Hell, he was just worried.
The wooden door opened suddenly, startling Red, his magic flaring before realizing it was just Asgore. Damnit, he was on edge.
There was a moment where they just stared at each other, the silence dragging on. There was an elephant in the room, and it felt like it was seated right on top of Red’s ribcage, suffocating him. The week before, when he had dropped off Papyrus and Sans, he hadn’t stuck around for the evening - he said a few words to Asgore and Sans’s other siblings (Frisk was adorable) before he had left, and Sans had driven himself and Pap back to Red’s place later that evening. Red had wanted to let the family have their time, and didn’t want to intrude on what he guessed was an emotional night for them. Besides, Red had wanted to call his own brother anyways (He had promised Edge he planned for a time where he, Sans and Red would have a facetime call, so Edge could meet Sans without having to book an expensive plane trip.)
Long story short, this was only the second time he and Asgore had met.
“I grabbed some bandages and some things that will help us clean the wound…” Asgore stepped into the room, setting down what he had in his arms - bandages, a bottle of some sort (Red guessed it was a type of saline solution but he couldn’t see the label), some cloth - onto the end of the bed.
“Right.”
“... Would you mind helping me, Red?”
“Yeah. Yes, y-yes of course.”
Getting off Sans’s shirt was more than a bit awkward - again, this is not how Red thought he would see Sans without a shirt for the first time - and it didn’t help that the fabric of his shirt was stuck to the dried blood. Once they got it off though, the hole in Sans’s ribs was on full view: the bone was cracked and completely shattered, blood and dust coating the edges of the jaggad hole, and hairline cracks spidered out across Sans’s still intact ribs. Red’s stomach somersaulted, his hands trembling as he set the ruined blue shirt aside. “I’m so sorry for this, Asgore.” Red’s voice cracked. He was talking lower than he usually would, especially around new people, since he knew it made his accent thicker and some people had a hard time understanding him at times.
“This was not your fault.” The old goat monster’s voice was surprisingly soft - he had a deep voice like Red, so he had assumed it’d be gruff, but Asgore’s voice had a gentle, fatherly aspect to it. Guess that shouldn’t be surprising, he did have four kids after all.
“I was dancing with him, right before it happened.” Guilt was welling up in Red’s chest, threatening to spill out in the form of tears. He hooked a finger into his empty eye socket, pain shooting from the back of his skull to the bottom of his spine - it was a bad habit, one that Red had thought he had kicked already, to put a finger or two into the dark socket when he was stressed or angry or even overwhelmed. Usually the sharp pain that came from that action was enough to snap him out of it. Not this time though. “I should have seen something was going on. I should have pulled him out of the way, or taken the blow for him. I should have done something, anything, but all I did was stand there like some fucking idiot-!”
“Red, stop it.” A furry hand was placed on his shoulder, Red jumping a bit. When had Asgore gotten up? “You’ll drive yourself crazy if you think of all the “should haves and “could haves. I know my son, and he wouldn’t blame you for this…”
Asgore was right, Red knew he was, but it didn’t lighten the guilt weighing down on his shoulders.
“I… I think I need to… I need a minute.” Red’s gaze found Sans again - his left arm had old, faded scars all along the bones, Red wondered how Sans got them. He wanted Sans to tell him about it, he wanted to lay in bed with him again, the two of them pressed against each other, laughing and talking in hushed voices about the marks that cover their bones.
Red felt like he was going to throw up.
“Of course, take your time… the bathroom is across the hall, if you need it.”
With a nod Red turned on his heel, leaving the room and rushing to the bathroom, grabbing at the sides of the toilet, Red threw up for the first time in years.
It didn’t make him feel better, if anything Red felt worse as he sat against the bathroom wall.
“What am I going to do…?” Shoulders heaving, a sob broke out of him. “Damnit Sans, you can’t die on me…”
“Sans is dying…?”
Red jolted - he was doing that alot tonight - and his eyelight snapped to the door. Frisk stood there, in blue pajamas covered with a duck pattern, holding onto the door frame with their little hands, “watching” Red with a confused and scared expression. Fuck .
“No! No no, he’s just… Sans is just hurt, bud, he’ll be fine.” Red quickly wiped the tears from his eye sockets, giving the child what he hoped was a comforting smile. Even though they couldn’t see it.
“But… you just said… a-and dad was talking about taking him to the hospital…” The 10 year old’s bottom lip trembled. Oh shit.
“Hey hey, no, he’s going to be ok Frisk…” Red sat up, reaching out to put a hand on Frisk’s shoulder, only for the child to suddenly hug him, sniffling. “We’re all just… worried about him, and adults always make things sound worse than they are when they’re worried…”
“... I don’t want Sans to die.” Red didn’t want that either. It was the last thing he wanted. “... He was going to read to me tonight…”
“... want me to? I can’t promise I’ll be as good as Sans, but I’ll do my best.”
Frisk sniffled, and nodded, grabbing Red’s hand and pulling Red behind them to their bedroom. They were better at getting around than he had thought they would be.
Frisk ended up falling asleep, clinging to Red. At least they weren’t crying, though he doubted he did much to ease their mind about their brother’s condition. Red, on the other hand, ended up sobbing quietly in the child’s room until Asgore checked in a few hours later, taking his place next to Frisk.
Red eventually passed out in the uncomfortable computer chair next to Sans’s bed - he was unconscious, but his breathing still hadn’t evened out - while holding his boyfriend’s hand.
Notes:
I have very mixed feelings about this chapter ngl, especially the end, but oh well, here it is. I hope it was worth the wait ^^'
Chapter 24: ~Chapter 24~
Summary:
TW: Descriptions of violence, referenced past abuse
Notes:
For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on Instagram or Tumblr
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Papyrus sucked in a breath through his teeth, averting his gaze from the man kneeling in front of him, cleaning the wound on his hip bone, Mettaton’s hand was steady as he wiped dried blood and dust away. He was lucky the wound wasn’t too bad - his pelvis bone was cracked and he would definitely have a limp for a few weeks, but the cracking hadn’t caused any of his bone to actually fall away and leave permanent damage.
At least sitting made the throbbing pain in his hip more tolerable.
That didn’t mean he wanted to be sitting here, doing nothing. It made his bones itch, like staying still was something he was allergic to. He should be upstairs, helping his dad and Red take care of Sans, who could literally dust at any moment now, or he could be making sure Chara is doing ok, or Frisk - god, they must be so scared and confused. Or Papyrus could be outside, talking with Cross and the others about what they’re going to do next, making a plan, or helping others who were possibly injured.
But instead of doing any of that, here Papyrus was, sitting and doing nothing.
He couldn’t even enjoy Mettaton’s company right now, since every time he looked at the ghost monster his soul would feel weird, like it was rolling and jumping around his chest which, while Papyrus wasn’t an expert on this sort of thing, he was fairly certain that was impossible. Maybe he could ask Sans about it when he wakes up.
If he wakes up.
Papyrus silently cursed himself, clenching a fist. He can’t keep thinking like that, it did him no good to keep thinking like that. As of right now, Sans was still alive. He was hurt, but still alive. So that meant he’ll wake up eventually. It's a when, not an if.
It had to be a when.
“Papyrus?” His gaze snapped to Mettaton’s pink eye, it was filled with worry, and once again Papyrus’s soul did that flip floppy thing again. It made him feel warm all over, but it also made him feel sick to his stomach, or lack thereof. He wished he knew what it meant. “You doing ok? Did I hurt you?”
“No! No, I… I’m ok, I was just thinking…” Mettaton cocked an eyebrow, reaching for the bandages. “I think I’m just tired…”
“Understandable, it’s been a long day.” The other man’s hand made quick work of bandaging Papyrus’s pelvis, like he’d done this before, but the action only made the feeling in the skeleton’s chest grow tenfold. Seriously, what was going on with him?? “A good night’s rest will help.”
He highly doubted he’d be able to get any sleep that night, let alone one that made him feel better, but he wasn't going to tell Mettaton that. Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on how you look at the situation) Asgore stepped into the kitchen at that time.
The tall goat monster sighed heavily, anxiously playing with his wedding ring as Mettaton promptly stood up. “Do you mind if I talk to my son?”
“No, of course not. I’ll just be outside, alright?” The second statement was directed more at Papyrus than Asgore, but Mettaton ducked out of the room before the skeleton could answer him, taking that flip flop feeling with him. In its place was a new feeling though, one that desperately wanted Mettaton to come back.
The old goat monster sunk into the seat next to him, elbows propped on the table and head in his hands. “Please tell me you at least understand just how stupid you three have been.”
“...I know dad.”
“You lied to me, you put yourselves in harms way, you let your 16 year old sister join a… a rebellion for fuck’s sake!” Papyrus’s eye sockets widened: never, in his 21 years of life, has he ever heard Asgore swear like that. “You could have died! You already got hurt! I should be mad, livid even.” Asgore looked up then, meeting Papyrus’s eyes - the older monster’s eyes were red in the corners, like he’d been crying. “But I can’t.”
“W-what…?”
“I can’t get mad. Don’t get me wrong, you’re all still in trouble but… god, I’m just so relieved you aren’t dust to be properly mad.”
“Dad…” Guilt welled up his Papyrus’s chest, pulling his gaze away. What was he supposed to say? That he was glad he wasn’t dead too? That he should have done something to get his brother away from the rebellion?
“Besides, I already had an inkling you and Sans were a part of that group.”
“What?? You did? How??”
“You boys have been so secretive lately, and you’re barely at home. I get you two are adults but it was blatantly obvious something was going on.” Asgore sighed, rubbing his temple. “I think… I think we should get some sleep. I need to think about all this…”
A part of Papyrus wanted Asgore to get mad at him, to yell and tell him how much he fucked up, but another part of him was revealed that he wasn’t yelling and getting angry. His head felt heavy from the mix of feelings. He definitely needed sleep too.
“Ok dad.”
*****
Undyne was, to put it simply, feeling like a huge pile of shit.
She wasn’t stupid, she was very aware she had fucked up - more that fucked up, Papyrus’s brother could be dead because of her, the look of her friend’s face (Papyrus probably didn’t see Undyne as a “friend” anymore though) haunted her everytime she closed her eyes.
A groan left her lips as she sat on the edge of her bed. She used to share this dorm with Papyrus and Cross, it used to be a safe place, somewhere she could go and rest up and see her friends. They’d laugh and make a mess in the kitchen while trying to cook, or they’d put on a shitty movie, like The Room or something, and laugh and make fun of the bad acting or the plot holes.
But now Undyne was completely alone, the room was too quiet, too cold, too empty. A part of her desperately wanted to just leave, go find Alphys and just forget about everything that happened. She knew damn well that wasn’t healthy though. Besides, she didn’t think she could look Alphys in the eye after what she’d done today.
Seeing Papyrus like that, knowing she had hurt him, in far more ways than one, made something snap inside of her.
Growing up, all she wanted was to be like the heroes on TV, who beat up bad guys and saved the day. She saw more than her fair share of people getting hurt while growing up in an orphanage near the slums, a dark part of the city that lured people in, chewed them up, and then spat them out onto the hard cement. When you’ve known darkness all your life, you turn to the light; so when Undyne turned 12, she turned to the castle, the bright shining part of the city. And the royal guard.
They were the famed protectors of BlightView, the real life superheroes. They were everything Undyne wanted to be.
So she worked her ass off, and got accepted into the guard when she was 19, then she worked her ass off some more and became the captain. The one who called all the shots, the one people looked up to. She was a hero (admittedly, that makes her sound pretty egotistical, but she still understood she had flaws and was far from perfect.)
She met Cross, the prince’s personal guard, and he became one of Undyne’s first and closest friends. He was there for her when she realized she had fallen hard for the royal scientist, he was there the first time Undyne got properly drunk, he was there when she nearly lost her eye from a particularly drunk bar patron.
And then there was this one new recruit, a tall, slender skeleton who was barely even a legal adult at the age of 18.
Calling Papyrus skilled was an understatement - he was strong , even if he didn’t fully realize it himself back then. It was an easy decision to let him into the guard - Undyne often wondered if the reason the decision was so easy was because she saw herself in the young skeleton. Regardless, Papyrus eventually found his way into Undyne and Cross’s friendship, and from then on Undyne felt… happy. Satisfied. Like everything was good and right in the world, like she was right where she needed to be.
And then Cross suddenly left. Not a word of goodbye, not an explanation. He was just gone. And with it Dream’s happy, smiling personality.
At first, Undyne assumed they had broken up (which would have been pretty out of place if it had been true - whenever Cross got drunk he would rant extensively about how much he loved the other man and it seemed pretty unlikely that they would split). Then the rebellion started making itself known. Back then, Undyne still believed she was doing the right thing. Yes, maybe these people are mad but it’s not as if the crown can please everybody, there were bound to be a few angry cookies in the batch. She had been so sure the conflict would be over in a month, tops.
But then it kept going.
And going.
Until Papyrus left too.
Undyne’s first reaction had been one of panic - had he died in the fight?! But no - some of the scientists ran tests on the dust they found and none of it had belonged to Papyrus. Undyne’s next reaction was less so of panic, and more of betrayal. She’d lost both her friends, and in her mind, they had left her for no other reason then they just didn’t care. Deep down she knew that wasn’t the real reason, but she was hurt and confused and didn’t know what to do.
Then… she found out what was happening with Dream. That’s when she should have realized she was on the wrong side.
She asked herself a question after that, when Gaster proposed the idea of the ambush, Undyne asked herself what was more important, her loyalty to the king, or her loyalty to the people of BlightView.
After today, she knew the answer: neither of those were more important to her - her loyalty to her friends came first. It shouldn’t have taken her this long to figure that out.
She knew what she needed to do now. There was no way she could do anything to make what she did right, but there is something she can do to make someone’s situation better. Something she should have done a month ago.
Gaster wasn’t going to hurt Dream again, not on Undyne’s watch.
*****
Sans wasn’t getting better.
He wasn’t getting worse, Red noted, but he was still struggling to breath, still unconscious.
Still on the verge of dusting.
Red had woken up a few hours ago, back aching from sleeping in a computer chair, and his skull was pounding. A stress headache, he guessed. Asgore had popped his head in a while ago asking if Red wanted something to eat - he had declined, the thought of eating anything just made his already churning stomach scream in protest. He really didn’t want to throw up again. Besides, food wouldn’t help him feel better.
… Though, sitting here, just watching Sans, probably wasn’t helping him either.
But what else was there to do when someone you loved (Yeah, he’ll admit to himself that he loved Sans, seeing him almost fucking die made it hard to deny) was in constant pain and not even fully conscious? Red gritted his teeth: there was something he could do.
He could call his brother.
Giving Sans’s sweaty hand one last gentle squeeze before standing up, the bones of his spine creaking. Something in his skull cussed him out as he slipped out of the room and out into the hallway, then down the stairs. Sans would be ok for a few minutes. He’d only be gone for a few minutes, it was ok. He just needed to do something.
Red was somewhat surprised to find the kitchen empty, and he couldn’t hear the TV in the living room - the rest of the Dreemurr family must be outside, or maybe they were in their bedrooms. Red didn’t know and he wasn’t going to go knocking on bedroom doors until he found them. It’d be easier to call Edge if he was alone.
Hooking a finger into his empty eye socket - which amplified his headache - Red pulled out his phone, clicking on his brother’s contact.
One ring.
Was this a bad idea?
Two rings.
How is he going to explain all of this to Edge? Maybe he didn’t have to, maybe they could just have a normal talk?
Three rings.
God, who was Red kidding? His brother knew him better than anyone, he’ll know right away something’s wrong.
Maybe Red could just hang up now-
A gruff voice, a bit higher pitched than Red’s voice but with an accent just as thick, if not thicker, answered from the other end of the line “Red?”
Too late to back out now.
“Uh… Hey, Edge.”
There was a brief beat of silence before Red’s brother sighed. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. Can’t I just call my brother from time to time?”
Red could practically hear Edge’s eye roll.
“Of course you can, but when you’re upset your accent gets thicker. So cut the bullshit and tell me what’s up.”
“... Sans isn’t doing well.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean he’s in some kind of fucking coma and could die at any minute!” Red snapped, tugging harder at his eye socket. “And I can’t do anything because it’s not like I can heal him because I can’t use healing magic and we can’t take him to a fucking hospital so I’ve just been… sitting there, watching him struggle to even stay alive!”
“Woah, woah, what are you- Red, slow down, what happened?”
Sucking in a shaky breath, Red nodded and started to do just that - explaining how he joined the rebellion, which he had conveniently left out the last time he talked to Edge, how they had tried planning a wedding for two of Sans’s friends and how that ended in an ambush by the royal guards. How Sans got impaled. The blood. The Dust. The screaming .
“Jesus fucking christ Red...of course you’d join a revolution of all things.”
“Can you lecture me about that later? I’m kind of stressed as it is.”
“Yes, well… Red, I’m sorry. It’s… a bad situation, to put it simply and… I don’t think you can do anything other than be there for Sans.” Red winced - he had a feeling his brother wouldn’t know what to do either, but he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t hoped that Edge would. “I am proud of you for not going ape shit and beating the hell out of the person who hurt him, though I don’t think you would have been in the wrong to do so.”
“Yeah, I’m regretting not doing something.” Red gritted his teeth, gaze suddenly flickering to the kitchen window - it had been pretty quiet before, beside the low drone of multiple conversations at once, but that had suddenly been replaced by an agitated uproar. “What the fuck-” Leaning forward, Red peeked out the window to see what was going on.
And his blood ran cold.
Surrounded by angry monsters was a familiar blue scaled and red haired monster, she seemed to be shielding something behind her, and was saying something to the angry mob. Red didn’t have the slightest clue why she was here, but it didn’t matter. The universe had basically handed him revenge on a platter, and Red was starved.
“What’s going on?”
“I’ll call you back.”
“What?? Red, what the hell is happening over there?”
“Looks like I’m getting a second chance at ‘going ape shit’.” Red didn’t wait for Edge’s response before hanging up, abandoning his phone on the kitchen table before storming outside, scorching magic flowing through his “veins”, filling the spaces between his bones, mixing with the rage in his soul.
He pushed his way through the shouting monsters, who seemed to shut up as soon as he passed, feeling his magic. Or maybe his anger. He didn’t care which it was. All he cared about was frying this stupid fucking fish.
“Red, hold on-!” Cross hissed, grabbing at his shoulder. Was he defending her?? Red growled and pushed him off.
Then he was face to face with Undyne - she didn’t look angry, but she sure as hell wasn’t scared either, she just stared back at him, eyebrows drawn.
Red let himself snap, let himself feel that all encompassing rage he’s fought off for years, that he worked so hard at learning to control. He snarled, grabbing a fistful of Undyne’s uniform, yanking her closer.
“You’ve got some fucking nerve showing up here after what you did.”
Undyne grunted, one hand gripping Red’s forearm, clawing at it. “Let me go! I’m not here to cause any more trouble!”
A humourless laugh left Red’s throat and he raised his fist, bringing it down on Undyne’s face. “You think I fucking care?! You tried to kill him!” He hit her again, a pained grunt leaving her, blood spewing from her nose. “You fucking bitch!”
Undyne thrashed, her leg suddenly flying up, her knee colliding with the lower half of Red’s ribcage. He sucked in a breath through gritted teeth, dropping her and pressing a hand to where he was struck. All of his bones were definitely still intact, she didn’t hit him that hard. A flash of blue in the corner of his vision caught his attention - Undyne had summoned a spear - and he jumped back just in time to avoid being struck in the side.
Someone called their names, probably Cross.
Red didn’t care.
Focusing his agitated energy to his fist, flames engulfed his hand and Red pushed himself forward. He punched her gut, ripping a scream from Undyne as the heat from his magic singed her clothes, burning her scales. The smell of burning flesh filled his nose, the smell making him nauseous all over again. It wasn’t enough to stop him though, she still had to pay, this was her fault . His blow had been enough to knock Undyne onto her back, Red was on top of her now, hitting her again and again. She could grab one of his ribs, rip the bone right out of his chest, or maybe grab his throat. He wasn’t pinning her down, just hitting. Again. And again. And again. Undyne didn’t do anything as blood spattered onto the grass, covering Red’s bruised knuckles.
Two large and fuzzy arms suddenly grabbed him from under his armpits, lifting him and pulling him away from the blue fish monster, holding him tight. Red snarled and kicked his legs. “Let me go! Let me the fuck go right now!”
“Red, stop it!” Asgore’s voice rumbled from behind him - that’s who had grabbed him - his grip tightening. “You’ve done enough, just stop…”
Red’s breathing was ragged as he stopped kicking, going limp in Asgore’s arms, the rage that had been fueling him suddenly sapped away.
Undyne had sat up again, wiping blood away from her mouth. Her hair had fallen out of her ponytail, hiding most of her face, but it was still obvious she was bruised and bloody, the shirt that covered her stomach was burned away, revealing the burns covering her abdomen. There was a crowd around them now, most of them Red didn’t recognize - but he could see Papyrus leaning against Mettaton a bit, seemingly uncertain if he should help Undyne off the ground or if he should leave her. Red could also see Killer next to Nightmare, whose eye sockets were wide,tears in the corners of his eyes, staring off to the left of Red and Asgore. Then Cross…
Cross was holding Dream, saying something Red couldn’t hear.
Oh, shit.
So that’s why Undyne was there.
A small pang of jealousy hit Red in the chest - Cross had Dream again, and Dream was alive, he was ok (well, “ok” is a strong word, since Dream did seem bruised and hurt), but Sans was still…
Red pulled away from Asgore, the older goat monster letting him go this time, and he slowly slipped away from the crowd, back inside. Back to the computer chair, back to Sans. The other skeleton was still unconscious, still breathing hard.
All the rage Red had felt was suddenly replaced with despair. Regret.
He almost killed Undyne. Oh, god, what was he thinking?! What would Sans think? Red was better than this, he didn’t want to be the kind of person who did things only out of anger. He wanted to be good, for Sans, for himself, fuck even for Edge.
Red broke down, sobbing into Sans’s blanket, holding his hand.
All he wanted was his boyfriend back.
*****
When Undyne came knocking at Dream’s door about two hours ago, he had been genuinely terrified - why would she be there if it wasn’t because Gaster told her to grab him? Take Dream to his office, where he’d… do something painful to the prince. Dream had immediately began mentally listing off anything he could have done the past month that would have pissed Gaster off - he hadn’t asked about Cross or Papyrus or anyone else, he had done or said anything Gaster told him, hell, he hadn’t said
anything
to the king unless he was specifically told to do so. But he had asked Alphys for any and all books about his parents and the founding of BlightView (Most of the info he had found were things Dream already knew, like how his parents were the 5th King and Queen of BlightView, but there were a few things he had learned - apparently there was a law made hundreds of years ago that made it illegal for ghost monsters to live in the city unless they’ve possessed a physical body.) but the doctor had promised to keep that between the two of them. Had she told Gaster anyways? What would she even gain from that - wouldn’t Gaster just get mad at her for giving him the book in the first place?
“Your highness?”
Dream swallowed the panic climbing his throat, closing his book - BlightView Laws and Why They Were Made - and setting it aside. Sitting up, he gave the guard his full attention. Upon a closer look, Undyne seemed… nervous - her brow glistening with sweat, jaw locked, the pupil of her right eye slitted. “Yes?”
“Pack your bags, we’re getting the fuck out of here.”
The moments after that were still a blur to him, even as he sat in the backseat of an old model of the Guards emergency vehicles, from before they switched to magic powered vehicles (which were better for the environment), clutching an old backpack to his chest. He knows after Undyne said they were leaving, he didn’t bother asking how or why she was helping, he just got out of bed. The backpack, a bright yellow bag from his childhood which he had covered in stickers that were now peeling off or ripped, had been stuffed deep in his closet and it was the only thing he could think of that would work for quick travel. He remembered throwing a few shirts and pants into it, anything he had that was somewhat casual, he grabbed three of the books he had been reading - the one about laws, the one about Blightview’s founding and early years of being a city, and whichever one he had haphazardly grabbed off of his desk, he hadn’t caught the title of that one. Then, purely from impulse, he grabbed the bow that had been leaning against his closet - he hadn’t used it since he was a teen, and for all he knew Gaster had taken away his ability to even use it or his magic, but maybe, maybe , it would come in handy. He hadn’t been the fastest while grabbing his things, since his ribs and arm still weren’t 100%, but he went as quickly as he could and Undyne didn’t make a comment about it.
Undyne had given him a dark grey sweater before they left his room, which he had on now - it was soft and definitely too big for him, but it smelled strongly of mint. It made him think of Cross. At least that was some kind of comfort.
He glanced at Undyne - her eyes were glued to the road in front of them, and there was an uncomfortable tension floating between them. Why was she suddenly helping him?
“... Is this sweater yours?” He asked quietly, just wanting to do something to fill the silence.
“No, it’s Cross’s. He left a bunch of his clothes in his old room before he left. Figured it would help you feel safer.”
Ah, that explains a lot.
“... Thank you. For that. A-And all of this.” His gaze flickered to the window as they passed a dark neighborhood, the street lamps seemingly burnt out, and the houses in poor condition. “Where are we going…?”
“Somewhere that should be able to keep you safe.”
Evidently, that somewhere was a cute little cottage half an hour outside of Blightview, where there seemed to be a rather large gathering of monsters.Undyne muttered a curse under her breath, turning off the car.
“What’s going on?”
“No idea. This is supposed to be Papyrus’s parents’ home but…” Something flashed across her features, her eyebrows drawn. “Oooh shit. Guess we weren’t the only ones who thought of coming here.” People were starting to turn now, eyeing the car suspiciously. Dream sunk lower into his seat. Whatever was going on, he didn’t trust it.
“Oh bloody hell Unydne, would you stop being so cryptic?? Tell me what is going on!”
“The rebellion is here.”
Dream blinked in surprise. “You brought me to…” He jolted upright, immediately scanning the crowd for Cross. He must be here if Undyne was telling the truth, he just needed to find him.
Undyne unlocked the vehicle’s doors and suddenly stepped outside, Dream hastily pulled his backpack over his shoulder - it was unsurprisingly small for him - and grabbed his bow, hurrying after her.
He expected to hear people gasp and whisper amongst themselves, point and stare at him. That’s how people usually reacted to seeing him, so Dream mentally prepared himself, his grip on his bow tightening, grounding himself.
Instead, the crowd seemed to collectively flinch away, glaring, some of them even shouting insults or curses. But they weren’t directed at him. They were directed at Undyne.
Dream tensed at the shouting grew louder and harsher, the hate crescendoing when another skeleton, with a singular red eyelight pushed through the crowd, Cross - Cross! He was there! Dream knew it! - stepping out to try and stop him. The red eyed skeleton pushed him away and grabbed Undyne.
And hit her.
Dream’s breath caught in his throat as the skeleton hit Undyne again, a mixture of blood and bright teal magic splattering onto the grass. He clutched his bow to his chest, his breathing speeding up as the guard - his friend? - kicked the attacker away.
He needed to do something. The skeleton’s hand was engulfed in flames the next time he hit Undyne. He needed to do something . He had his bow, he could help, he should help. But he couldn’t move.
Undyne was on the ground. Bleeding. Being hit again and again. Blood. So much blood.
Dream was hyperventilating, his hand raising to gently brush against the bruise on his neck..
Purple hands. Around his throat. He was choking, blood was filling his mouth.
“You deserve this.”
Pain. His bones were being shattered. More blood. So much blood.
“What a pity. It turns out you are just as stupid as you look, my dear son.”
He was dying. He was gasping for breath and bleeding and dying.
“I will not hesitate to hurt you if you refuse to cooperate.”
His body was melting, dissolving into dust. He was-
“Dream?”
He was…
“Dream, hey, hey you’re ok, talk to me.”
He… wasn’t in his father’s dark, cold office, he was still outside of the cottage, he was ok. Two warm hands were on his shoulders, anchoring him to the moment. Dream’s eyelights snapped up to the owner of the two hands, warmth blooming in his chest.
Cross.
It was Cross, of course it’s Cross. He’s here, he’s right in front of Dream and he was safe.
“...Dream?”
“ Cross .” He gripped the taller man’s shirt, tears welling up in his eye sockets. One of Cross’s hands moved away from his shoulder to cup his cheek.
“Are you ok?”
“I… Yes. K-kind of?” Dream took a deep breath, resting his forehead on Cross’s sternum. “Father… hurt me, but I’m ok now…”
Cross’s hand rubbed the back of his skull - he smelled like mint, just like the sweater - and mumbled something to someone Dream couldn’t see in this position. Something about Undyne - Oh, god Undyne! Dream had completely forgotten about that, was she ok?? She was still alive, right?
He tried to pull away from Cross’s chest, only for the other man to gently push his skull back down, keeping him in place. “Don’t look. You don’t need to see this.”
Dream’s soul dropped. “Is she…?”
“She’s not dead. Just…” Cross paused. “Come on, let’s get you inside, Papyrus and Mettaton are going to help her.”
“But-”
“No buts. Come on.”
Cross loosened his grip, guiding Dream to the cottage, blocking Dream’s view of Undyne with his body.
The interior of the home was warm, and quiet. It seemed to be empty - Abandoned?? No, it couldn't be, it was far too clean and well furnished for that, plus, Undyne said this had been Papyrus’s home, right?
The creaky wooden door shut behind them with a soft click, and suddenly Dream was wrapped in a tight hug, Cross’s skull pressed to his shoulder. His soul fluttered, cheeks turning a soft golden yellow.
“You’re ok… thank fuck, you’re ok… ”
Dream hugged the other man back, squeezing him tightly. “I’m ok…” Cross lifted his head, pressing their foreheads together, his grip not loosening. He was crying. Dream’s soul clenched - no, no, he wasn’t supposed to cry, everything was ok now. “I… I love you… so much Cross, I-I’m so sorry…”
A smile formed on Cross's lips, it was small and hesitant but it was there, and it was the most beautiful thing Dream had seen all day. “ Fuck, Dream… I love you too, god, I love you so fucking much…”
Dream smiled, leaning forward, meeting Cross’s “lips” with his own, his soul warm and buzzing happily in his chest.
Dream kissed Cross and Cross kissed him, for the first time in almost a year.
They were ok.
Notes:
Red kinda lost his mind, but at least Dream and cross are reunited! I'm sure there will be no consequences for Undyne's actions :D
Chapter 25: ~Chapter 25~
Notes:
For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on Instagram or Tumblr
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Killer rocked on the balls of his feet, eyelights shifting from the tree he had been eyeing and landed on Nightmare’s back. The Prince was a few feet away, his back turned to Killer, as he talked to Dream. Killer didn’t know what he thought of the other Prince, but Nightmare seemed relieved he was back.
Turning away again, Killer stuffed his hands into his pant pockets, gnawing at his bottom “lip” under his mask. He wasn’t usually a “plan” person - plans needed too much thinking and overthinking to create the thing itself, and then went to shit if one little thing went wrong.
Like what happened yesterday.
Anxiety tightened around Killer’s soul. Calling yesterday a shitshow was an understatement. They all could have died. Sans did almost die (He still could, Killer had seen what had happened to him and he’d be surprised if Sans actually survived.)
Admittedly Killer had been in a few “could have easily died” situations before, some of which he had caused himself, and he had always survived. They’d never really affected him before either: if he died, he died, who cared? Death had never been something he was scared of, it hadn’t been for years now, hell, sometimes he even went out of his way to look for death.
Things were different now.
He didn’t want to admit it, he’d been trying to deny how much meeting Nightmare had really changed him for a while now, but the ambush was like reality slapping him in the face. He could die. He was part of a war for fuck’s sake, his chances of dying were very high. But that scared him now. He was scared for the first time since he was 11. He didn’t want to die.
He wanted to stay with Nightmare.
So that’s why he had a plan for tonight. He needed to tell Nightmare the truth.
He didn’t want to suddenly die without telling Night how he really felt. With how much the prince has done for him, telling him was the least Killer could do.
That’s not to say Killer wasn’t absolutely terrified. He couldn’t remember the last time he was this… happy. It was scary how close he’d gotten to Nightmare in such a short amount of time, but he honestly couldn’t imagine a life without him now. The thought of it hurt, a deep ache in his soul.
Still, he had to do this.
“Kills?”
Killer snapped out of his thoughts, the taste of blood on his tongue from biting his “lip”, and turned his attention to the skeleton now standing next to him. “...Hey. Done talking to Dream?”
Nightmare nodded, eyelights flickering to the tree Killer had been staring at moments before. The cottage was nice - big, which made sense considering Sans’s stupid big family, and seemily well built. Cozy even. The big oak, or what Killer thought was an oak tree, towered over the wooden building, and if it had been earlier in the day and not sunset, it would have shaded the front lawn. “I am. Cross figured he should rest for a bit, a-and he wanted to check Dream’s wounds, so…”
Killer hummed in response. It’d been hard to tell with that sweater the other prince had been wearing, but the bruising around Dream’s neck seemed to be healing well. Hopefully the same could be said about the rest of the damage. Killer’s mind shifted to Undyne and Red - he had no idea Red could be that brutal (The guy was literally just a high school teacher after all) but Killer would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the show. A part of him knew he should be worried about the fish monster - she would be dealing with those burns for a while, he was sure, and her face looked pretty fucked when Killer had noticed her a few hours earlier, while Papyrus was healing her in a sloppily put up medic tent - but she was the one who fucking shot his friend (Did he really just refer to Sans as a friend??). Honestly, he probably would have done worse.
“You said you wanted to show me something, right…?”
Heat blossomed on Killer’s cheeks and he nodded, turning on his heel. “Just, uh, follow me.”
Killer had scoped out the area earlier - the barn Chara had mentioned was definitely big enough to house multiple different monsters for the time being, there were even old piles of hay in the haylofts. But the building was old, there were holes in the walls and the planks of wood were creaky, like a strong gust of wind would bring it tumbling down.
However, it was pretty tall and, if you were to sit on the roof, it’d give a great view of the sky for sunset watching or, for this occasion, star gazing.
“You wanted to show me the old barn?”
“Kinda.” Killer looked down at Nightmare below him, reaching down to help pull the Prince up onto the roof. “More like what you can see on top of it.”
“What do you m- woah!” Nightmare’s jaw dropped as he was fully pulled up onto the roof, his multicoloured eyelights widening as he took in the sprinkling of stars shining above them. “Killer! How did you- this is amazing!”
A small smile spread on the smaller man’s face, reaching up to pull his mask down. “Figured you’d like it.” He sat down next to Nightmare, cheeks warming. Was he really doing this? This was stupid, he was… this was…
No. No, Killer couldn’t keep avoiding his feelings. He needed to be better.
“Actually. Uh. There’s… another reason I wanted to bring you up here, Nightmare.” The Prince pulled his eyelights away from the sky, meeting Killer’s gaze. His stomach sumersalted, his soul tight and heavy in his chest. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck- “I just wanted to… fuck, I just…” He swallowed. “I think it’s kinda obvious I’m not really… good with people. I’m rude and snarky and just… all around a real shit person.”
“Killer-”
“Hold on, I’m… I’m going somewhere with this…” Killer’s eyelights dropped to the roof, focusing on the moss growing between the shingles. “The long and short of it is… I’m not good. And you… you’re the goodest person I’ve ever met, Night. You make me… want to be better. I… what I’m trying to say is… I really… I really like you. And I don’t really… I don’t know how to do this and I know you deserve so much better I just… I…”
Nightmare was quiet next to him, a tight coil of fear squeezing Killer’s soul. He knew it, this was a horrible idea. What was he thinking?? Nightmare would leave now, and he’d be alone again. All alone…
“... Sorry. I shouldn't have… fuck , I’m sorry. I..” He wasn’t going to cry, Killer refused to cry. This was stupid. He was being stupid. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I can’t… I’ve been like this all my life, nothing will change, I fucking know that, I just thought…” Killer dropped his skull into his hands, the man next to him still quiet. “After we almost… I was scared of dying because of you, I didn’t want to… leave. I’ve never feared death before and you… you …”
“Killer, please…” Two hands pried Killer’s hands away from his face, but he refused to look up. He could see the edge of the jeans Nightmare was wearing, the patches the Prince had sewn onto them bright and colourful against the worn denim. “I’m just… i-in shock, I guess… I didn’t think you would…” God, Killer really fucked it this time. “...Killer, please look at me.”
Slowly, Killer raised his skull - Nightmare was looking at him, his eyelights still blown wide, his cheeks flushed.
“... Killer, all those things you said… I don’t think you’re a bad person. I think… I think you’re just still learning. And… and I want to help you with that. I want to help make you happy.” He held Killer’s hands, gently squeezing. “...I… I, um, like you too.”
“...What.”
Nightmare giggled, leaning closer, resting his forehead against Killer’s. Fuck. Shit. Holy hell on a fucking stick he was so close. “I feel the same, Kills… I um, have for a while.”
“You have??”
“I mean… yeah. I dunno, maybe I have a thing for bad boys…?”
Killer blinked.
Then started laughing, pulling back and shaking his head. “Jesus Christ, Night.”
“Whaaat? It’s true, isn’t it??” He covered his mouth, giggling into his hand. Killer snorted - the fear that had been gripping his soul was replaced with something warm, and comforting. Safe.
“Yeah. Yeah, I guess so…” He looked down at their intertwined hands. He should do something else, right? But what?? It’s not like Killer had ever done something like this.
Should he kiss Night?? That’s what people usually did after confessing, right…? Or is it too soon?
His gaze met Nightmare’s, those two bright eyelights looking back at him, full of genuine care.
Fuck it.
Killer leaned over, gently pressing his lips against Nightmare’s.
*****
Ink blinked, breathing out a sigh of relief as emotions rushed back into his soul, replacing the cold, numb feeling from before. It had been a while since he’d had an attack like that, the strange sensation of not being able to feel anything emotionally at all now foreign to him. He still hated it.
He laid back, sinking into the soft bed. The spare room in the Dreemurr’s home was extremely cozy - the wallpaper was a flowery and warm peach colour, gold flowers sat on the window sill, and the wooden bed Ink found himself and his husband on - jesus, Error really was his husband… with everything that happened he had almost forgotten they had a wedding ceremony - had what Ink guessed was a handmade quilt covering it. Despite the room's comforting, homey feeling, it only left a guilty, uncomfortable weight of Ink’s soul.
“Ink?”
His eyelights snapped to the monster sitting on the edge of the bed. Error was watching him, he looked exhausted, the bags under his eyes deeper than they had been in weeks. “Hey… ” He scooted over to Error, wrapping his arms around him from behind. “...Has Sans…?”
“...No. I haven’t heard anything yet, at least.”
Ink’s soul ached in his chest, as he pressed his face against the back of Error’s shirt, feeling his spine through the fabric. After the ambush yesterday, he had passed out in Error’s arms on the way to the cottage - all he could remember was waking up in the bed they were in now and panicking. It had taken quite a while for Error to calm him down and update him on what happened. It still hurts, thinking Sans had gotten so hurt while being at something he had made to make him and Error so happy. It filled him with guilt. He hadn’t even done anything to help while everyone was escaping.
“... Hey.” Error turned, holding Ink gently to his chest. “Calm down Ink, it wasn’t your fault…”
Ink sniffled, clinging to his partner. It was this sort of thinking, this guilt, that sent him spiraling into an attack in the first place. Error’s hand rubbed small circles on his spine, the quiet beating from his soul relaxing Ink ever so slightly.
“...Sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize, hun.” Error said quietly - Ink could feel the worry coming from his soulmate, mixed with fear. Ink was scared too. What would happen now? The king had shown quite obviously that he was done messing around, and Ink couldn’t help but feel the revolution was greatly unprepared for this. Multiple people injured, morale low… well, they did have Dream now, maybe that would somehow work in their favour?
Then again, Undyne was also sticking around. Papyrus had said he and Cross would make sure she didn’t get up to no good, but the small skeleton couldn’t help but feel deeply uncomfortable with her around. She was the one who had put Sans in this near-death state after all.
Not to mention his soulmate would be in the front lines of any counter attack the rebellion made - he was fully aware that Error was much stronger than he was, and Error had told him not to worry and that he’d be safe, but damn it, how could he not worry??
He just wanted to be safe with his friends and family. Ink’s hand found its way to his stomach, feeling the warmth and life from the two twins - he didn’t want his boys to be born without being able to meet their Uncle Sans.
“What are we going to do, Error…?” Ink’s voice was quiet, barely a whisper, but he knew the other man heard him.
Error hesitated, placing his hand on top of Ink’s, his wedding ring reflecting the light from the lamp in the corner of the room. “... I don’t know. But we’ve come too far to give up now.”
He paused, pressing a kiss to Ink’s forehead, a spark of something new coming from his soul. It was a strong feeling, and it was washing over Ink like a wave, and he couldn’t help but feel it fill his own soul as well.
Ink and Error were filled with determination.
*****
“You sure I’m not hurting you, sunflower…?”
Dream shook his head, watching as Cross carefully bandaged his arm, being gentle around the cracks that still littered the surface of his ulna and radius, his cheeks warming at the pet name. He still wasn’t quite used to Cross showing affection in such subtle ways. He liked it though.
He was sitting on the edge of the porcelain tub in the upstairs bathroom of the Dreemurr’s cottage, Cross sitting across from him on the toilet seat, a small medkit behind him on the bathroom countertop. The dark wooden door was left slightly ajar - Cross hadn’t felt comfortable closing it completely, just in case something happened and he was needed - and the walls were tiled with soft blue tiles, the floor clean and white.
“I’m sure, Cross. Trust me, they aren’t really tender anymore…” Cross’s nose ridge scrunched slightly, his eye lights flickering to Dream’s lower ribs, seeming to study the bruising around the cracks. “...I-I know they look bad…”
Cross sighed, securing the bandages before cupping Dream’s cheek with his hand. “I’m not trying to make you feel self conscious, Dream, I just…” He paused, Dream leaning into his touch. It was comforting, to be held so gently, yet, in the back of his mind, a small voice screamed at him to move away, to shy away from any physical touch. It’d be so easy for anyone to hurt him again, Gaster had made that obvious. One wrong move and his bones could be snapped, he could be bruised and beaten so easily…but Cross wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t. Dream knew that, deep in his soul, he knew that was true. “I don’t like that it happened. If I’d been there, Gaster never would have…”
“... Cross, I don’t think anyone could have stopped this. It’s…” Dream looked down, his expression darkening. “Honestly, with how I’ve acted towards everyone recently I… I probably brought all of this onto myself… father did say-”
“You didn’t deserve this Dream, don’t say that.” Cross’s voice was firm, yet still caring in his unique way. “Gaster did this, it’s on him.”
Dream stayed quiet. Gaster had warned him multiple times that if he disobeyed he’d be hurt, and what did Dream do? Just that. He knew what the consequences would be and he still…
“Hey…” Dream’s eyelights snapped back up to Cross, who was watching him, a worried expression on his skull. “... It’s going to be ok. I’m not going to let him hurt you again…”
Smiling softly, Dream raised a hand to Cross’s. “I… I know, I trust you, Cross. But… you know I can’t just stay here, right…? I want to help you guys…”
“You’re helping just by being here.”
“That’s… that’s not enough! This is my kingdom, I-I should be fighting alongside my partner and everyone else!”
“You’re not in any condition to be fighting right now, Dream.” Cross mumbled, setting down the bandages and holding Dream’s gaze. “... Hun, I know you, I know how determined you can be when it comes to doing the right thing.” He tapped Dream’s sternum, just above where his soul would be. “... and I know you can fight, I know you’re strong. Stronger than anyone I know. But… please, just… for a bit, can you stay on the sidelines? At least until you’re fully healed.”
Dream felt a small pang of guilt, his eyelights dropping to the floor. He didn’t want Cross to be worried about him, it made him feel small and useless, like he was doing something wrong. His memories were still hazy, somethings about their relationship was still a mystery to him (For example, he hadn’t remembered that Cross frequently called him “sunflower” until he had done it last night) and that alone made Dream feel like he wasn’t doing enough for Cross, so making the other skeleton fret and stress more than he needed to just made Dream feel… dirty. Cross didn’t deserve that. “...Alright, I will…”
A smile briefly flashed across Cross’s features, resuming his bandaging of Dream’s lower ribs but not before pressing a kiss to Dream’s forehead. “Thank you.” Yellow bloomed on Dream’s cheeks, his soul pounding against his chest.
He and Cross were silent after that, the latter of the two focusing on not cracking the fragile bones more as he wrapped them in bandages, leaving Dream to wander in his thoughts.
After their reunion yesterday, Dream didn’t remember much of the day. He drifted in and out of consciousness as he followed and leaned against the taller man - he hadn’t been sleeping well the past few days, either from restlessness or just straight up nightmares, but being back with Cross made him feel comfortable and incredibly safe for the first time in months. He had caught snippets of conversations between his small cat naps though. From what he had picked up, there had been an ambush just the day prior, and one of their allies - Dream was sure their name had been “Sans” - had been severely injured. The leader of the group also seemed to be the black skeleton named “Error”, who was married to Ink, who his brother had talked about earlier, before Dream had come inside with Cross.
He hadn’t gotten a chance to talk one on one with Nightmare when he had first gotten back, since after Cross had finished all his talks he had taken Dream to the backside of the house, where multiple tents had been set up - Dream couldn’t really remember going into a tent or curling up in a sleeping bag, but he had awoken curled up to Cross, sunlight shining in through the thin fabric of the tent. He’d gotten to talk to his twin today though, and Dream wouldn’t necessarily say the conversation had been bad, or uncomfortable (There had been quite a few awkward pauses, but considering they hadn’t actually talked like normal people in about 10 years) but there was a voice in Dream’s soul, or maybe just his skull, that was nagging him during the entire talk, telling him to run, to be scared, that Nightmare was a threat to him.
He’d done his best to ignore the little voice - he had decided to refer to it as “Gaster 2.0” - but it had been harder than he liked to admit. Dream didn’t want to be scared of his brother, especially when he was talking so gleefully about another monster named Killer (Dream remembered he had been with Nightmare during the visit in his room a few weeks back, the short, little, angry skeleton.) who Dream was sure his brother had a crush on, but Gaster 2.0 was persistent. Dream hadn’t wanted to admit it, but it felt like a weight was lifted off of his chest the minute Nightmare had left to go do something with Killer.
Dream flinched when he felt Cross touch his shoulder, half expecting to see Gaster in front of him instead of his lover. He hadn’t even noticed that Cross was done replacing his bandages. “What’s on your mind there, sunflower?”
“Oh, um… nothing.” Cross raised an eyebrow. “I was just thinking about yesterday, is all…” Dream paused, eyelights dropping to the floor between him and Cross, poking at his boyfriend’s foot with his socked toe. “Is… is Undyne ok…?”
Dream hadn’t seen the guard - ex-guard? - nor the man who had attacked her since the actual fight yesterday. If one could even call that a fight, it was more like Undyne getting her ass handed to her.
Cross hesitated, breathing out a sigh before finally answering. “She’s… fine. The burns will take a while to heal but you know, she’ll live.” Dream frowned at the animosity in Cross’s voice, glancing up at him. The other man was glaring at the ground now, his jaw tight.
“... I thought you and Papyrus would be happy to see her. You… you three were friends before, weren’t you…?”
“It’s complicated right now.” Meeting Dream’s gaze again, Cross’s expression shifted from one of anger to one of grief. “...She’s the one who led the ambush yesterday. She’s the one who… Sans is on his deathbed because of her.”
The Prince’s eyes widened, a small “Oh” leaving his lips, mentally scolding himself. Undyne was the Captain of the Royal guard, of course she’d be at the front of any fight Gaster planned. “... I’m sorry.”
Cross shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t be, it's not your fault. Just didn’t expect that from… her.” His expression darkened for a split moment before Cross suddenly stood up, offering Dream his sweatshirt again. “You should probably eat something, come on.”
“Oh… um, alright.” Pulling the oversized sweater on again, Dream eyed his boyfriend worriedly. “... But we can talk more about… that, if you want, it might… help…?”
“I don’t… not yet, ok? I’m sorry it’s… I’m still trying to work through how I feel about it in the first place, I’m not ready to… talk about it yet.”
Dream bit his lip, nodding and taking Cross’s hand with his own, intertwining their fingers “Alright… I’ll be here when you’re ready though, ok…?”
With a smile, the ex-guard kissed Dream softly, pulling him close in a hug. “I know…”
*****
Stepping out into the frigid outdoors, Cross grit his teeth, glancing back indoors through the still open door behind him. Dream was seated at the table in the dining room, a plate of eggs and toast half eaten in front of him, while Ink sat across from him, talking in a hushed voice to the Prince, Error next to Ink. It was somewhat of a surprise to see the couple leave their room - while Cross had seen Error yesterday and talked to him multiple times, he hadn’t seen Ink at all since the ambush. He couldn’t blame the small skeleton for being somewhat reclusive, Cross doubted all that “excitement” would be easy for someone carrying two babies, not to mention how Sans’s getting hurt the way he did must have affected Ink and Error.
Dream seemed to like talking to Ink though, which made Cross feel a bit better about leaving Dream alone for a bit. Only slightly.
He met Error’s gaze, the ebony skeleton raising an eyebrow at the ex-guard, an unspoken topic between them: Undyne . Cross had talked very briefly to Error about what to do with her yesterday, but it hadn’t gone far - Error wanted her gone as soon as possible, and it wasn’t like Cross couldn't understand why. Undyne had been a main contributor to Ink’s kidnapping, and she was the one to nearly kill Sans, and a part of Cross wanted to agree with Error. He didn’t feel comfortable with her around, it’s not like it would be hard for her to report back to the King and tell him exactly where they were now. They were keeping an eye on her for now, mainly by Papyrus and occasionally Mettaton, but that sense of unease wasn’t leaving anytime soon. On the other hand, Cross had known Undyne for years, she had been his first close friend in the guard, her and Papyrus were the first people to know about Cross and Dream’s relationship. Not to mention she brought Dream back to him. She had been his friend, and knowing that she might not be that anymore hurt. He couldn’t help but want to hear her side and try to figure out what the hell was going on and get her onto their side, like Papyrus was now.
Sucking in a breath, Cross shut the door completely, turning his back to the cottage. Whether he liked it or not, he needed to talk to Undyne. Papyrus probably should too, but Cross wouldn’t force him too. Especially with what happened with Sans. But Cross needed some kind of closure, he needed to figure out if Undyne can ever be an ally again, and he needed to know sooner rather than later
Shoving his hands into his jacket pockets, Cross crossed the front lawn, towards the makeshift “cage” he and Error had set up for Undyne for the time being - it was just some bones held next together with Error’s strings. It probably wasn’t the sturdiest thing, Undyne hadn’t made any attempt to knock it down, and if worst comes to worst, Papyrus knew blue magic that would hold her down until they could properly tie her up. Cross hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
The “cage” was set across the driveway and lawn as to try and make the others feel safer - whether that actually worked or not was certainly debatable - and as Cross made his way over he could make out Papyrus sitting on the grass in front of the cage, his back turned to Undyne, tossing a small bone between his hands. Mettaton, surprisingly, wasn’t with the skeleton, which was odd since the two had been pretty inseparable the past few days.
Papyrus looked up from his hands as Cross stepped up to him - there were bags under his eyes, showing his lack of sleep, but he smiled at Cross nonetheless. “Is Dream doing alright?”
Cross shrugged, gaze flickering to Undyne. She was sitting slumped down in her cage, her red hair covering her eyes, but she seemed to every so lightly sit up straighter when she noticed Cross’s presence. “He’s adjusting. He seems to be feeling more comfortable now though.”
“That’s very good to hear! I would hate for him to feel uncomfortable after… everything.”
“And Sans? Is he still…?”
Papyrus’s smile fell, his expression clouding. Shit, shouldn’t have asked that. “He’s still unconscious. I… I don’t think he has gotten any better, but Red has been very quiet since… you know. So, it’s hard to know…”
Cross nodded, he hadn’t heard anything from Red either, not after he lost it on Undyne yesterday. It had surprised him, seeing Red go after her like that - sure, Cross could understand why he would, and he had been fully aware that Red was strong, his magic level feeling close to his or even Undyne’s, but he had seemed somewhat docile before. Cross had assumed he was like Sans, not wanting to use magic unless completely necessary. Then again, Cross was sure anyone would want to beat the shit out of the person who nearly killed someone they loved.
“Was there something you wanted, Cross? I figured you’d still want to stick next to Dream…”
Oh, he certainly wanted to, but Cross wasn’t a fan of leaving things unresolved, and at the moment, Undyne was a huge pile of unresolved tension. “I wanted to talk to Undyne.” The fish monster looked up at that, her dark red pupil watching him through her curtain of hair. “You too, Papyrus, but… only if you’re ready for that.”
“Talk to me about what? Because if you want to lecture me on how much I’ve fucked up, you don’t need to. I’m fully aware.” Her voice was gruff, as if she’d been yelling, or crying. She sounded exhausted.
“It’s more than that.” Clenching his jaw, Cross glanced at Papyrus, who was fiddling with the edge of his simple white t-shirt, his eye sockets flickering between Undyne and Cross nervously. “... Pap, you can go. If you want.” Papyrus shook his skull, opening his mouth as if to say something before snapping it shut again. “Alright.”
Cross lowered himself onto the ground next to Papyrus, thinking over his next words carefully. Energy flickered between his phalanges, practically begging Cross to create something to release the pent up, anxious magic. But that would be counterproductive. He doubted creating and spinning a knife around would make Undyne feel like talking, which is what he wanted.
“Ok. Firstly: what the fuck, Undyne?” Meeting her gaze, a spark of anger briefly crossed his features. He wanted to yell, scream, cuss her out. Cross reminded himself to stay calm, to act like an adult. There would be time to get angry later. “Did you not think to question Gaster when I left, when Dream just suddenly forgot everything, when he started acting differently? Or how about when Papyrus left?”
“I thought Papyrus fucking died, Cross.”
“The castle tests the dust of fallen guards. You would have known within 24 hours that he was alive, and you didn’t think to do anything? To figure out where he was?” Cross balled his hand into a fist, leaning closer to the cage. “Why didn’t you leave then? Why the hell would you go through with the ambush? We know you, we know you hate dusting people, so why would you-”
“I was hurt , Cross.” Undyne hissed, her face scrunching in anger before softening to something more akin to grief. “Like you said, you two know me. You know what our friendship meant. And then you two were suddenly gone and I didn't know what to do. I felt hurt and betrayed and confused.” Her voice waved, Undyne clearing her throat before looking back down at the ground, kicking at the dirt with her foot. “I get that doesn’t excuse what I’ve done. I just… I missed my friends, I didn’t know what to do besides dive headfirst into work. I wanted to do what was right. And I thought… ending this was what was right. Then I saw what Gaster was doing to Dream and I…”
Cross’s soul tightened in his chest. He had Dream back because of the woman in front of him. If she hadn’t gotten Dream out… Well, going off the wounds he had, and the bruising around the Prince’s neck, Dream could have been dust by the time Cross got into the castle to try and save him himself. The thought made his stomach flip inside out, bile threatening to rise in his throat.
“... You were just trying to do what was right…” Papyrus whispered, his voice wavering with unshed tears.
“... Yeah. And that led to your brother being in a coma.” The caged monster raised her head again, this time looking at Papyrus. Her eyebrows were drawn, creating a crease between her eyes, her bruised lip pulled into a sorrowful frown. “I'm so, so sorry for doing that to him. I.. I doubt you can forgive me, and I understand that.”
Beside him, Papyrus sniffled, pulling his knees to his chest. Cross found himself forgetting Papyrus was still incredibly young, but he seemed too small right now, and a part of Cross felt the urge to reach out and comfort him, to take him away from what was hurting him. “...Y-you’re right, I don’t think I can ever forgive you for that, Undyne.” Papyrus rubbed at his eye sockets. “...But I want to try.”
Undyne’s eyes widened as she sat up in surprise, only to immediately wince and lean back over, hand covering the bloody bandages covering her abdomen. “Pap…”
“You’re still my friend, I know you can be a good friend… you just need to try.” A smile graced the younger skeleton’s lips for a moment. “...The fact that you brought Dream back to Cross only proves that.”
Cross lowered his skull, nodding slowly. “I… I agree. I don’t think Error is going to let you out of there anytime soon though.
“Eh, it’s kinda cozy.” Cross snorted, rolling his eyes.
The three jolted slightly, turning around as a new car suddenly pulled up the cottage behind them, parking behind Sans’s car. Cross’s magic, which had begun to relax again, suddenly burned along his arms and fingers again, his body on edge. Dream was still inside. The car was closer to the house than Cross, if whoever was in that car was an enemy, he’d get to Dream first. He could… Dream might be in danger.
“Papyrus. Who is that?” Cross mumbled, standing up, magic sparking at his fingertips.
“I don’t know… I don’t recognize that vehicle.”
Cross gritted his teeth, quickly sprinting back to the house, Papyrus calling his name behind him.
*****
Red’s eyelids drooped as he rested his skull in his hands, forcing sleep away in favour of keeping an eye on Sans. He wasn’t sweating as much anymore, and his expression didn’t seem as pained, but he was still unconscious, and Red was feeling worse and worse as the minutes ticked by. He hadn’t slept since yesterday, everytime his eyes closed and he started to drift off, his soul would lurch in his chest, telling him something was wrong, that Sans was in danger, that Undyne was going to do something else.
He was also feeling a bit guilty for not calling Edge back. His brother was probably pissed off that Red had hung up on him, but he didn’t think he could emotionally handle talking to him about his freak out yet. He would eventually. Probably.
After Sans was awake. He’d talk to Edge then.
Red perked up at the sound of the front door downstairs being thrown open, and Cross calling for him. He sounded upset. Fucking fantastic.
“I’ll be right back, babe.” Red mumbled under his breath, giving Sans’s limp hand a gentle squeeze before pulling himself to his feet and reluctantly leaving his boyfriend’s room. He noticed Chara peeking out of her room curiously as he moved to the stairs, but paid her no mind, instead going through a list of what Cross might want from him.
Maybe he and Error finally figured out what they were going to do with Undyne. A dark part of Red wanted to hear them tell him they planned on killing her.
When he reached the bottom of the stairs, the scene that greeted him was the last thing he expected, his eye sockets widening.
Cross stood by the door, arms crossed with Dream next to him, latched to his arm. That wasn’t what caught Red’s attention though - instead, his single red eyelight was stuck on the tall, stocky skeleton next to Cross. Red knew those narrow eye sockets and the thin skull with three long cracks stretching from his jaw to the top of his head.
“Red.” And he knew that gruff, thick accent as well. Fuck .
Swallowing down the lump in his throat, anxiety scratching at Red’s soul. Guess he couldn’t ignore his brother anymore.
“... Hi, Edge.”
Notes:
Ooooo cliff hanger heheheh
Chapter 26: ~Chapter 26~
Notes:
For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on Instagram or Tumblr
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Red heaved out a sigh, looking out at the Dreemurr’s house from his perch on the back of Edge’s truck - something he had rented after getting to Blightview - cradling a warm cup of tea, courtesy of Asgore, in his hands. It had been a pain in the ass to explain to the old goat why Edge was here, but he hadn’t kicked out the other skeleton once everything was explained, which was something. Edge was not letting Red go without a talk though, and anxiety was gnawing at his stomach, making it hard to enjoy the warm, herbal tea Asgore made (he also offered Edge pie, who had politely declined.).
Now they were seated on the edge of the truck bed, both with cups of tea, staring at the wooden house in awkward silence. What was he supposed to say? Red knew Edge wasn’t happy with him, it wasn’t hard to tell that, but what the hell was he supposed to say to that? A simple “I’m sorry” didn’t seem to be enough, but immediately getting defensive about why he didn’t call seemed wrong too.
“...What’s he like?”
Red blinked, eyelight snapping to his brother - Edge had always been a tall guy, about a head taller than Red now, and slender, his narrow eye sockets almost always half closed, his two red eyelights small pinpricks taking in the world with an interest Red never understood. Like Red, Edge had scars on his skull, only they ran across his left eye socket while Red’s scar was on the right side of his face. Edge could also still see out of both sockets. The taller of the two also didn’t have scars and cracks covering his bones like Red did, not to the same extent at least, and instead the bones of his arms were decorated with images: Tattoos.
Red had always been a bit jealous of his brother’s artistic ability - he’d always been the brainiac one, and Edge was the creative one. While Edge had personally done all of his own tattoos (Besides the small dove on the wrist of his left hand), it was still impressive what he could do, Red had seen his work. His favorite of his brother’s personal tattoos was probably the rose on his right arm, it’s thorny vines wrapping around Edge’s humerus. (One time, when Red had been drunk off his ass, he had gotten Edge to tattoo a small duck on his lower spine, and the taller of the two brothers loved to bring that up just to embarrass Red.)
“...Who?”
“Sans. That first call we had a while back… you didn’t tell me too much, nothing besides the basics. ‘He’s nice, he’s funny, he’s cute.’”
Red snorted, raising his cup to his lips, tipping the amber liquid. He couldn’t describe the taste, but it was soothing on his throat, filling his chest and stomach with warmth. “He’s all of those things.”
Beside him, Edge exhaled, clearly frustrated with Red’s lack of response. He hid his smile behind the rim of his cup. This was normal. It was almost like he could forget the situation at hand and really relax again. Almost. “Come on, R. Cut the shit, I’m serious. Tell me about him.”
“Alright, alright, sorry.” Swirling the liquid in his cup, watching it swirl and slosh against the edge’s of the teacup, Red sighed. “He’s… shit, where do I start? He’s always putting people before him, always trying to help. I mean, guess that should be obvious since he’s in the rebellion too but… he’s the oldest sibling in his family too, and he’s so… protective, and proud of his siblings. Whenever he gushes about them his eyelighs get all big and fuzzy.” Warmth covered Red’s cheeks, and he had to clear his voice before it started cracking from emotion. “He’s smart as all hell too. He was going to uni to be a soulologist, you know? He was ahead of his class, on track to graduate a year early. Hell, he was in some of the same classes as the royal scientist! But he dropped out to help his family and that… that’s what I’m talking about. He’ll do anything for his loved ones.
“I’ve heard him talk about souls, too, seen some of his notes and… and I can tell he still loves the study. I’m positive he still wants to finish his classes, get his degree. But… I think he’s been the ‘big brother’ for so long, he doesn’t… realize he can do things for himself, just for himself.” Red paused, thinking over his words. He could feel Edge’s eyes on him, interested but not intense enough to make him uncomfortable. Red was sure there was more to the situation than Sans being a big brother, he doubted having Gaster as your father did good things to one’s psyche, but it wasn’t Red’s place to talk about that. “I want to… I want to give him those things. Give him everything he wanted but felt he couldn’t have. I want to make him feel like he deserves the world, because… he does. To me, he absolutely deserves that, and so much more.”
Edge hummed quietly, patting Red’s back gently. “... And you deserve the same. I’m glad you have him.” Red’s winced, sucking in a breath through his teeth - He had Sans, he did, for now. But Damnit, he could still die, and then… “Red. He’s going to be ok.”
“...Right.”
“...But, next time you call me, clearly unwell and not in a great headspace, please don’t hang up on me.” Red met his brother’s gaze, the familiar feeling of guilt welling up in his soul again. “I was worried about you.”
“I… I know. I know you were, Edge. Fuck. I’m sorry.” In the distance, Red could make out Nightmare and Killer walking back to the house from who knows where, holding hands. Wonder what that was about. “I’m sorry I didn’t call back, I was just… I was so exhausted, and I didn’t know - don’t know - what to do right now… and I know that’s not an excuse, I do, and I’m just… I’m really sorry.”
Red let out a shaky breath, leaning over his knees, his chest tight. Killer and the Prince had disappeared behind the cottage now - that’s where the few tents were set up, if Red remembered correctly - and out of view, while Mettaton was walking away from the building. He hadn’t talked much to the ghost monster - though; before all this, he had really wanted to. Truthfully he thought that certain sub-species of monster was extinct, and if it was true that ghosts are basically immortal, he’d love to ask Mettaton a few questions. At least he did want to. He didn’t have the motivation to do anything history related, or anything in general, since the ambush.
“I forgive you.” Edge said quietly after a moment of heavy silence. “I just… was scared I had lost you. I can’t really relate to what you’re going through right now, but… I still sympathize with you. And I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
“...What do you mean by that? You’re going back to Gawlyn soon, aren’t you?”
Edge refused to look at him, keeping his eyes glued to the house in the distance. Red’s cup was empty, the ceramic cold in his hands. “I haven’t booked a flight back yet, and when I booked time off at work I said it was a family emergency. At least for the time being, I’m staying.”
Red’s eyebrows shot up, sitting up straight. Edge hated taking time off for more than a day or two, he always said it made him feel anxious, ansty. “You don’t need to do that - you don’t live here Edge, this doesn’t need to be your fight-” The younger of the two monsters raised a hand, silencing Red.
“I don’t live here, but my very stupid and stubborn brother does.”
“Edge-”
“This isn’t debatable” Hopping down from the truck bed, the heels on his boots crunching against the gravel. “Your problems are my problems too, that hasn’t changed. We get through shit together.”
Gratitude rushed into Red’s soul, so quickly he felt like he had whiplash. He exhaled slowly and nodded.
“Now let’s get inside, it’s cold as all hell out here.”
*****
For once, Mettaton was somewhat thankful for being incorporeal, especially when it was cold. Sure, he could feel it when a chill breeze passed him, but it didn’t necessarily make him feel “cold”, just a bit uncomfortable, and he could handle that. Besides, he needed to at least try to train. It been years since he’d actually used his magic for anything other than entertainment, and if he wanted Error to put him on the front lines the next time there was a planned attack from their group - he couldn’t die, so it only made sense for him to be at the front, though he still need to talk to Error about that - he needed to make sure he could still fight.
Pulling back his hair, Mettaton tied it up into a ponytail, glancing around. He was only a few meters from the house, in an empty field, trees farther in the distance, but he couldn’t see anyone else - they were probably behind the cottage, where the tents were, or inside. That’s where Papyrus was - the skeleton had loaned Mettaton a tank top and some sweatpants (the shirt smelled strongly like pineneedles and evergreens, and made Mettaton’s soul flutter, but there wasn’t time to unpack that right now) - but had politely declined when Metta asked if he wanted to join him. Not that he blamed the skeleton, if his cousin was in a situation that Papyrus’s brother was in…
Well, Mettaton didn't know what he’d do.
Pushing that thought aside, Mettaton shook out his hands, blowing a slow breath out of his nose. He needed to focus. Start with something small.
Channeling the energy flowing through him, flowing between his fingers - it felt warm, comforting to him, like being wrapped in a warm blanket. Growing up, Mettaton had always found comfort in his magic, it was one of the only ways he could express himself back then, it was something that was always there for him, even when he felt isolated, confused, scared. On bad days he could dive head first into his magic and feel like himself again. Magic never shunned him and called him a girl.
Gritting his teeth, his energy snapped and zigzagged between his arm and hand, like lightning, until finally clicking into place, a long, slender sword now in his hand, the hilt nestled comfortably into his palm.
Behind him, a twig snapped, Mettaton whirling around in surprise. Chara, one of the Dreemurr children, stared back at him, looking like a deer caught in headlights as she stared back at him.
Mettaton quirked an eyebrow, the blade disintegrating into sparks of energy. “Hello there?”
“Uh… Hi.”
“Do you need anything, hon?” He hadn’t really planned for anyone to follow him, obviously, hence why he had tried to go to a part of the yard that seemed empty - his magic wasn’t something private to him, but the only person here he was somewhat close to was Papyrus, and he had declined, so that left Mettaton alone, which he was fine with - but he wasn’t about to be an asshole to a literal child.
Chara shook her head, crossing her arms. “No. Well… kind of, I guess?” She rocked back on her heels, her reshish hair falling over her eyes. Mettaton hummed, silently prompting her to continue. “You’re close to Papyrus, right?”
“I suppose, I’d say we’re friends at the very least.” A friend Mettaton was definitely into, and would probably be flirting heavily with if a) he thought Papyrus might be interested as well and b) if he actually had a physical body and was corporeal. He doubted getting into, or even pursuing, a relationship while Mettaton was still without full rights (because he didn’t have a physical form) was a good idea. Maybe after all this, and after Alphys had finished his body, he’d ask Papyrus out but, for now, being friends was good enough. “Why?”
Shrugging, Chara stepped closer to Mettaton. “Just wondering.” She kicked at the dirt, the air suddenly seeming stuffy from the awkwardness. “...I uh, haven’t seen you use your magic yet.”
“Guess you’re in luck then, I was going to do some practicing.” He eyed Chara, who kept her eyes on the ground. Sure, he didn’t know Chara, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out she wasn’t doing well. See: Her brother was in a coma . Why should she come to him in this state was beyond him, but he wasn’t going to just ignore her. He should at least try to ease her mind, or distract her. “... You uh, want to see something? I think you'll like it.”
That got Chara to look up at him, eyebrows shooting upwards. “Yeah. Yeah, ok.”
Mettaton gave the young human a smile and raised his hand, closing his eyes to focus. Magic building in his palm, spreading out and covering his entire lower arm, solidifying in a blocky object, his arm somewhat visible through the magic.
“Holy shit , is that a cannon??”
“Basically.” He chuckled, examining the weapon. He hadn’t used this specific spell in decades, but it was fully intact, wasn’t missing anything, or flickering. He couldn’t test the attack itself, but this was definitely something.
“That’s… so… cool! I’ve never met anyone who could use their magic to make like… gun things.”
“It’s… an older type of magic. It’s not as popular anymore.”
“Why not?”
Mettaton exhaled, letting the magic cannon fizzle out for now. “It was popular before guns and machinery like that were invented, or common use. There was no other way to create attacks like this before, but now there is, so most people don’t bother to learn or teach spells like this.” He met Chara’s gaze - she seemed to be pouting ever so slightly, staring at his hand. “Hand held or just plain projectiles are seen as more useful now.”
“But… people could still learn it, right?”
“Yeah, of course. It’s just like any other magic , anyone can learn and use it.”
Chara frowned, her freckled nose scrunching as her expression changed to one of confusion. “You mean ‘magic’, right?”
“Is that not what I said?”
“Uh, no? I don’t know what that was but it wasn’t english. It sounded like… beeping?”
“Oh.” Mettaton raised a hand to his temple, mentally cursing himself. When he first met Alphys, he slipped up and spoke in a font multiple times a day. It’s the language he grew up with, all monsters spoke that way - everyone’s “font” was a bit different, but everyone could understand everyone else. - and it had honestly been a bit of a pain in the ass to get himself to speak english consistently and fluidly. (He still had trouble actually writing it though - typing or texting made it easier since all the letters are right there, he just needed to tap on the keys, but with a pen and paper, he would always start writing in his “font” without even thinking about it, and would need to start over again.) But he hadn’t slipped up in over a year now, and yet here he was, misspeaking words again. Maybe it was just because he was thinking about the past more than usual. “Sorry about that. Yes, I meant magic.”
“What was that language?”
“Don’t worry about it hon, it’s old and basically no one knows about it anymore.” The only other person Metta knew that actually knew how to speak in font was his cousin, Napstablook. Then again, maybe Red at least knew of the language, since he was a history teacher, but that was a conversation for another time.
“Oh, uh, ok then.” Chara fell silent after that, but only for a minute, before blurting out: “Can you teach me how to make a magic hand cannon thingy too?”
Laughing softly, Mettaton nodded. “I was wondering if you’d ask. Of course I can, just follow my lead, ok?”
*****
Cross pinched the bridge of his “nose”, exhaling slowly, a headache starting to pound behind his eyes. He was exhausted, having barely gotten any sleep in the past few days, especially after the rush of thinking someone was going to hurt Dream yesterday (it ended up just being Red’s brother) and whenever he would doze off, he’d end up jolting awake a few minutes later, his paranoid brain telling him that someone was about to take Dream away again. Dream was obviously still there whenever he awoke, still sleeping, curled up to Cross’s chest, but the ex-guard’s nerves still ran rampant.
He felt a hand on his elbow, pulling his hand away to meet Dream’s worried gaze. “Cross…? Do you want to go lay down?”
Cross shook her head, taking Dream’s hand from his arm, holding it instead. “I’ll be fine. Besides, this needs to happen sooner rather than later.” It’d been a few days since the ambush now, and they still haven’t decided what they were going to do next, let alone even talked about it. So that’s what they were doing now: him, Dream, Killer, Nightmare, Error, Papyrus, and Red (plus his brother, for some reason.) all gathered around the wooden table in the dining room of the Dreemurr house. Cross turned to Error. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Alright.” Error’s gaze traveled around the table, the bags under his eyes seemed darker under the dining room light, his hands spread out over the table, leaning against it. “Well, anyone have anything to say before we discuss what to do?”
“I have a question.” Papyrus said quietly, raising his hand slowly. “Why am I here…? I figured I wouldn’t be a part of any decision making after… um…” His sentence trailed off into silence, his eye sockets dropping to the floor.
Error cleared his throat, looking down at his hands. “... Look, Papyrus, I won’t lie and say I fully trust you. Not yet. But Ink and I are very close to Sans, and we both know how he cares for you, and trusts you, and after what happened… it just feels wrong to exclude you from this.” Papyrus nodded slowly, but didn’t say anything. “Anything else?”
“Yeah.” Killer said, arms crossed. He wasn’t wearing his cape thing for once, just a long sleeved shirt and black pants, but he still had a mask on, specifically his new, dark red one, which was significantly less creepy than his other one. “Who the hell is this guy and why is he here?” He jabbed his thumb towards Edge, who simply cocked an eyebrow at the shorter monster.
“Kills, don’t be rude.” Nightmare chided, nudging Killer with his elbow.
“Well I’m not known for sugar coating things, am I, babe?”
Now it was Cross’s turn to raise an eyebrow, Dream perking up a bit beside him. “‘Babe’, huh? When did that happen?” Killer shot him a glare.
“Fuck off.”
“Guys, please.” Error sighed. “Do whatever that is later. To answer your question Killer, that’s Edge, he’s going to be helping us.”
“My brother.” Red added, voice gruff. Edge gave a small hand wave as a greeting.
“‘Kay, now that that is over with…” Error paused, seeming to think over his words. “What are we going to do with Undyne?”
Silence fell over the room, it was heavy and overpowering, like everyone in the room stopped breathing. Cross stared down at the wooden table - it looked handmade, the wood stained and darker in some places - and kept his mouth shut. Truthfully, he didn’t know what the best course of action would be. A part of him wanted to let her help them, she was strong as hell and had guard training like him and Papyrus, so she’d certainly be a big help, but Cross was fully aware that most people would not be happy about that, or would be downright angry.
Killer spoke up first, breaking the silence like a glass mirror. “I think we should kill her.”
“ What? ” Papyrus’s head snapped up, staring in horror at Killer. “No, we can’t do that.”
“I agree with Killer.” Red grunted, his singular eye light flickering to Papyrus. “She tried to kill Sans, it’s what she deserves.”
“She was doing her job.” Cross interjected, feeling Dream’s grip on his hand tightening. “Pap and I talked to her yesterday. She knows what she did was fucked up.”
“That doesn’t excuse what she did.” Red hissed, Edge placing a hand on his shoulder. The shorter of the two pushed his hand away. “If she knows she fucked up, then she’ll understand why we chose this.”
“She has a partner! Undyne is not a bad person, she doesn’t deserve to just be killed like that! Nobody does!” Papyrus moved his hands in front of his chest, alternating between shaking them and squeezing them into tight balls. Stimming. He usually did that when he was getting stressed, or overwhelmed.
“Oh please, some people deserve to die.” Rolling his eyes, Killer shoved his hands into his pockets.
“No! Undyne is my friend!”
Red snarled, glaring at Papyrus. “How the fuck can you say that? She tried to kill your fucking
brother
! He’s on his literal deathbed right now because of her!”
“She was doing what she thought was right at the time! And I know my brother, Sans wouldn't want us to kill her.”
“Are you saying I don’t know Sans?”
“I certainly know him much better than you do.” Papyrus snapped, his expression of horror and grief shifting, eyebrows narrowing at his glared back at Red.
“Do you? Because last I checked you two only started talking again recently, after years of avoiding each other.”
“Red!” Error cut in, slamming his hands on the table, silencing everyone in the room again. “That is going way too far. I get you’re pissed off but there’s no need for that.”
“Are you serious, Error? You agree that we should just… let her live? After what she did to Sans? To Ink ?”
“Hey.” The ebony skeleton’s voice deepened, his eyes narrowing. “You’re a part of this group now, but you weren’t then. You’re still new , Red, and I only consider you a friend because of your relationship with Sans. I don’t know you, and you sure as hell don’t know me or my husband. So don’t act like you know what we’ve been through.” He straightened his back. “If Ink can forgive Papyrus and now Undyne, then so can I. We’re going to keep her locked up for now, but we’re not going to hurt her.”
“That is bullshi- ”
“You already got a go at her.” Error interrupted Red before he could finish. “Find a healthier way to deal with this, Red. I don’t want us to end up being the exact same as Gaster. Meeting dismissed.”
Error didn’t wait for anyone to say anything else before walking out of the room, dragging a hand down his skull. Cross glanced at Red, who was glaring at the kitchen table, hands clutched at his side.
“Red.”
Cross’s attention was drawn back to Papyrus - Killer and Nightmare were leaving the room now, Killer looking more annoyed than actually angry like Red, and Dream whispered a small “I’ll be back” to Cross before following his brother.
Red didn’t respond to Papyrus. Cross made eye contact with Edge, discomfort creeping up his neck. He felt glued to the spot between the two skeletons, but felt like he desperately needed to leave.
“Red, I’m sorry for what I said. I know you care very deeply for Sans, and I know he cares about you too. And… And I know I haven’t had the best relationship with him, but I do know, really know, he wouldn’t want anyone to die because of this. He’s always been… the kind of person to put others before him, excuse certain actions if they happened to him. This is no different.”
“...I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have said those things either. I’m just...stressed.” His gaze flickered between Cross and Papyrus. “I know Undyne is your friend, I know there’s more to her than this. I guess I see red whenever I think about the ambush and I’m… not the best at handling that.”
“I understand. Trust me, I’m not happy about any of this e-” Papyrus was cut off by a loud thump coming from upstairs, the light hanging from the ceiling shaking. The four men shared a confused look, before Red said a single word that cause them all to turn heel and rush up the creaky stairs in a panic:
“ Sans .”
*****
Dark.
Darker.
Yet darker.
Sans didn’t know where he was, but he knew he wasn’t supposed to be there. No one was. It was meant to be vacant. Shadows shifted all around him, coiling around his limbs, wrapping around him like a blanket or a warm hug. All around him was dark - too dark, as if any and all light was swallowed up before it even got a chance to shine, the dark was deep enough to swallow him. Maybe it did. He couldn’t tell. He could barely feel his body, it was more like a whisper of feeling. He knew he had a body, arms, legs, everything was intact, that was a fact, but it felt like he was everywhere and nowhere at once, spread thin, stretched and pulled apart, drifting through inky blackness.
In an odd way, it was comforting. It felt like he’d been here before, felt this before, seen these too dark shadows before. He’s been wrapped up in these coils of darkness before. That was a fact, just like it was a fact that he had a body, and was alive.
...Was he alive?
It was hard to tell, but he was pretty sure he was.
There were flickers of light in the distance, some of them tiny, barely a spec of light, while others seemed larger, closer, like Sans could touch it, hold it. But that would be wrong, he knew that, there was something screaming inside him telling him not to touch anything .
“ You’re not supposed to be here, little one. ”
No, he definitely wasn’t.
Wait, who said that?
“ Who I am doesn’t really matter. ” The voice was garbled, a series of noises that weren’t any words Sans knew, and yet… whatever this mystery voice was saying was clear as day in his skull. “ What matters is getting you back to your timeline. ”
Sans opened his mouth - at least, he thought he opened his mouth - to ask a question, but no sound came out. It felt like the sound was sucked right out of him, the darkness swallowing it up. The air - was there air? Sans wasn’t sure he was still breathing. Maybe he was dead after all.
That made him want to scream. Did he scream? He must have. But no. No, he didn’t. He couldn’t have. He can’t do anything. He’s stuck here, wherever here was.
“ Please, do not panic. ” The voice seemed to sigh, something flickering in front of Sans. In front of him? It was somewhere, and Sans was seeing it. It was a monster, a skeleton, and he was tall - he seemed tall, at least - and his skull was long and narrow, his right eyesocket drooping, a crack reaching up to the top of his skull from said socket, and there was a crack reaching down to his jaw from his other eye socket. He looked… familiar. Yet Sans couldn’t figure out why… couldn’t remember…
Now that he thought about it, a lot of his memories seemed foggy. He remembered certain things - he had three siblings: Papyrus, Frisk, and Chara, he was dating a man named Red, his two friends, Ink and Error were newly wed and expecting, but if he tried to think of what they looked like, or what anything looked like, it was blurry and out of focus, and no matter how hard he thought about it, it stayed blurry.
Why was he here?
“ You almost died. ” Sans couldn’t see the mystery man anymore, but it felt like he was being watched. “ You’re in a sort of… coma now, so your consciousness is here. I would say it’s because you already had a connection to the Void, like most Sanses, but… ah, that is a conversation for another time. ”
Other Sanses…? That didn’t make sense. How can there be more than one? It was just him, unless he had a doppelganger he didn’t know about.
“Oh please, I know you’re smarter than that. You know the multiverse theory. Different timelines, different worlds. Like a tree, if you wish to think of it that way. Your branch is quite different from my world, or the roots, if we want to keep the tree analogy. Now shush, I need to focus to find your spot in time again.”
Rude. Sans hadn’t been able to say a word this entire time! How much quieter can he even be??
“ You don’t need to verbally speak to converse here .”
Wow, that made sense, thanks Mystery man.
“ Ah, I see you still have your sarcasm. ” The voice seemed to giggle, but the sound was like grating metal, and made Sans’s skull ring. “ Back to what I was saying: Here, you don’t have a body. You are not whole. Unlike me, you were lucky enough to not have a physical form when you entered here, it’s still back in your timeline, which is why we can get you back there. You still feel like you have a body because you’ve never been without one, you’d… well, no need to dwell on that. I can hear and understand your ‘thoughts’ because, since it’s just your consciousness here, there is no split between you and the Void. ”
What did that mean?
“ It means you and the Void are one in the same right now. At no point does ‘you’ end and the Void begins, and vice versa. ”
That didn’t sound good, but… well, the mystery man said Sans could still go back to his “timeline”, so it was probably fine. God, this felt like some weird fever dream. He had known, vaguely, about the Void before now - that’s where his blasters came from, and it was how he could take “shortcuts” - but he had been positive it was impossible to stay safely inside it for more than a few seconds. Most people couldn’t even look at it without getting a headache at the very least.
“ Normally it is unsafe to be in the Void. ” The voice said simply. “ You shouldn’t worry about that, though. I’ve found your timeline, I’m going to send you back to your body now. ”
Wait, already? That was fast, it felt like Sans had only been here, in this “Void” for a few minutes.
“ Time works differently here. Now, prepare yourself, this will be disorientating. ”
What about you? Sans wanted to ask - he didn’t know why, but he trusted this mystery person. There was something… so familiar about him.
“ I will stay here, I can’t leave. ”
Sans wanted to help him get out. Escape. Go home.
“ That is impossible. ”
He didn’t know that.
“ Oh, but I do. Now enough. You shouldn’t stay any longer. ”
Desperation clawed at Sans’ soul - he didn’t even know this person’s name, and he was helping him so much, there had to be a way to repay him, to help-
“ Ah, but you do know me. Or a version of me, I should say. ”
Who?
“ The man who speaks in hands, the doctor, the ‘mystery man’, but my real name? ”
It’s
W.
D.
G A S T E-
Sans jerked awake, his breathing coming out ragged and panicked. His chest ached as his head whipped around the room. His room.
His room looked the same as always, except his desk chair was pulled up next to his bed for some reason, and the blinds were drawn, hints of evening light peaking through. There was the sound of muffled arguing from downstairs, the voices sounding familiar.
When did he get here? Why was his chest bandaged? Why did everything hurt-
He tried scooting to the edge of his bed, every movement sending a shockwave of pain up his spine. He was staying with Red, there was a wedding, Ink and Error’s wedding, he needed to get ready for that, he needed to-
Memories came crashing down on him just as Sans stood up, his legs shaky under his full weight. The wedding. Dancing. Music. Screaming. Ambush. Pain. So much pain. And blood. His blood.
Oh.
Oh fuck. He was going to be sick.
Sans’s legs buckled under him, sending him crashing onto his bedroom floor, vomiting up a mix of magic and blood onto the carpet.
Notes:
Woooo Sans is back from the dead >:D the Void section was really fun to write, I love goopster <3
Chapter 27: ~Chapter 27~
Notes:
For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on Instagram or Tumblr
Find the DystopianTale Discord here
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Sans sucked in a breath of fresh air, the first he had apparently had in days. Red sat next to him on the wooden deck, his femur pressed against Sans’s, a hand on his lower spine. Frisk was curled up on his lap, having not left Sans’s side after seeing him awake. It had been a lot to take in, being found trembling on the floor of his bedroom near a pile of his own puke by his boyfriend, his father, his brother, his friend who was an ex-royal guard, and his boyfriend’s brother (Red had explained that Edge had shown up just the other day.). Edge and Cross had soon left the room to let Sans’s family, and partner, explain everything that had happened. Sans was lucky he hadn’t dusted on the spot. Truthfully, he didn’t know why he hadn’t, but there he was.
Even though he had only been unconscious for a few days, he had missed a lot: Undyne had shown up with Dream, Red had beat the shit out of her - Papyrus had explained the last part, Red’s single eyelight avoiding Sans during that certain conversation as if he was ashamed - and that she was now being kept locked up on the property, Nightmare and Killer were officially together (Sans was a bit sad he had missed that, he would have loved to tease them about it. At least he could do it now.), Edge had obviously shown up (Sans had gotten a chance to properly meet him later that evening, and he felt a little bad for the circumstances, but Edge had been nice and understanding, though he had left shortly afterwards).
There was a nagging in his skull as all this information was relayed to him, an itch screaming to be scratched. He felt like he was forgetting something important, something he was supposed to tell the others. Something had happened to him while he was unconscious right? He felt, in his soul, that something had happened, that he had talked to someone, and they told him something important? Hadn’t they? Sans tried thinking back, reaching deep into his mind, searching the depths of his mind, but he just found deep, endless darkness. Thinking about it too long made his thoughts go foggy, like breathing on glass.
There were also faint marks on his hands, like bruising in the shape of a ring in the center of his palms. He didn’t have a clue how that happened, but it made him feel sick to his stomach. It only reminded him who his real “father” was, reminded him of where he came from. He hated it. He also hated the idea of anyone asking about the weird bruising. Hopefully they’d fade and disappear. Until then, Sans would just have to hide them.
Asgore had brought in Frisk and Chara once Sans was calmer and had a general understanding of the events he had missed - Frisk had sobbed and clung to him like their life depended on it (The squeezing made his chest scream in pain, but comforting his younger sibling, telling them that he was ok and that he wasn’t going anywhere was far more important that telling them he wasn’t comfortable) - and Chara… she hadn’t said anything, but Sans didn’t miss the glint of tears rolling down her cheeks, hidden behind her bangs. She had hugged him, before suddenly disappearing from the room. Sans had made a mental note to reach out to her at a later time - he wouldn’t blame her for needing time to process, hell, even he needed time to wrap his head around everything.
He had talked to Cross afterwards - and got to meet Dream - that had been a short conversation, but Dream seemed to enjoy his jokes, and even though Cross had acted annoyed by the puns, he still seemed genuinely relieved to see him doing better. Cross also just seemed to be in better shape than the last time Sans had seen him, which was definitely a positive note. Papyrus had also taken Sans to talk to Mettaton - Sans hadn’t talked much to the newcomer before the attack, but he had known Papyrus was somewhat close to the ghost monster. But Sans hadn’t realized just how close Mettaton was to his little brother.
Sans knew he was being a bit hypocritical, considering how quickly he’d started dating Red, but upon meeting Mettaton and seeing how he looked at Papyrus, and how Papyrus gushed and stimmed around him. It didn’t take a genius to notice there was something between them. And Sans’s “big brother mentality” immediately freaked out over this. Mettaton seemed nice enough, if not a little bit secretitive (so was Sans, so he couldn’t really blame Mettaton for that, but he still didn’t like it) and Papyrus obviously thought he was a good person, and Sans wanted to feel the same, afterall if Pap was happy, Sans was happy. But a part of his soul screamed at him to keep this stranger away from his brother - what if Mettaton hurt him? Used him?
He didn’t want to upset Papyrus, so Sans made a mental note to… “talk” to Mettaton later, after he made sure Chara was ok.
Frisk yawned in Sans’s lap, bringing his thoughts back to the present. His gaze flickered from Red to the open sky, watching the dark blue melt into oranges and yellows and pinks as the sun set. He should probably get them inside and to bed before it gets too late. Then again, it may be impossible to get them into their own bed… maybe Red wouldn’t mind Frisk sleeping with them-
“Hey.”
Sans’s eyelights snapped away from the changing sky, focusing on Killer and Nightmare, the latter of which smiling at the former encouragingly. It was strange to see the short monster without his usual cloak and mask, he seemed smaller without them. “Hi, love birds.” Sans grinned, leaning against Red. “Long time no see.”
Killer seemed to bristle, cheeks flushing with dull red magic - he looked like he wanted to snap at Sans, exhaling slowly, his breath clouding in the frigid air. “...Glad you didn’t dust.” Cocking an eyebrow, Sans looked between Killer and Nightmare. Sure, Killer’s feelings had defrosted a bit around everyone, but Sans hadn’t expected him to say anything besides sarcasm or snide comments. “I, uh…” Killer groaned, the rough sound startling Frisk. “Do I really have to do this-?”
“Yes! Come on Kills, it’s not that bad…” Nightmare poked Killer’s lower back, pushing him forward ever so slightly. “This was your idea…”
“What, you want to plan a double date?” Red’s shoulders shook with a silent chuckle as Sans nudged him with his elbow. “What do you think, babe? We could all go to Grillby’s - it’d be real pun .” Frisk giggled, Killer turning a darker shade of red.
“Shut up! That’s not- fucking hell, I just wanted to ask if you’d be up for a celebration or something. You nearly died , don’t you want to, I don’t know, drink and relax? We could all actually have fun for once instead of worrying about this stupid war.”
“I want to have a party!”The small human in Sans’s lap perked up, grinning excitedly.
“Uh… this would be an adult party kid-”
The smile on Sans’s face shrank - he wouldn’t lie and say that didn’t sound like a nice time, but… “You know Error doesn’t do well around booze. That’d just be unfair to him.”
“Wouldn’t be if Ink and I didn’t join.” Swirling around, Sans’s eyelights shrunk to pinpricks. Error stood at the door, arms crossed, an amused smile on his skull. There were circles under his eye sockets, though his eye lights were bright.
“Error!” Frisk pouted as Sans moved them off of his lap, putting them next to Red before standing up, taking a step towards his friend before freezing. Was he supposed to hug Error? Sans considered him and Ink as close friends but they’ve never been “huggy” before, and he didn’t want to overstep any boundaries.
Thankfully, Error made the choice for him, bridging the gap and hugging Sans, patting his back. At first, Sans didn't know what to do - it was like his brain just stopped - but he raised his arms to hug his friend back. “I’m glad you’re ok Sans… fuck, Ink and I really thought…” He pulled away, holding Sans by his shoulders. “...I’m sorry he’s not here, it was… a bad day, and I didn’t want to wake him, you know?”
Sans nodded, reaching up to pat Error’s forearm. “No, yeah, I get it.”
Error smiled at him. “Yeah. Well, you and the others should have some fun. Me and Ink can talk to you tomorrow, ok? We’ll figure out something to do together.” His gaze shifted momentarily to Red. “You and Red with us.”
“We don’t need to do stuff tonight, we could wait-”
The ebony skeleton shook his head. “Don’t. It’s not going to hurt my feelings if you drink with other friends, Sans. It’s fine.”
“...Alright. If you’re sure… tell Ink I say hi, ok?”
“‘Course. Have fun.” He turned to Red, who now had Frisk on his lap, the small child looking confused. “I expect some fun stories of what this bonehead is like drunk.”
Snorting, Red grinned, his gold tooth flashing in the dying light. “You got it.”
*****
Papyrus glanced around the small group gathered with him on the grass in front of his family home, his excitement warming his soul. Dream and Cross sat on his right, the latter of which holding a beer bottle in his hands, and Red was on his left. Across from him, on the other side of Red, a magic ball of fire nestled in the dry grass, courtesy of Red, was Nightmare and Killer.
Papyrus crossed his legs in front of him, his eye sockets drifting back towards the wooden house, gold light filtering through the windows. The large oak tree next to the house gently swayed in the wind, the somewhat bare branches like hanging, spindly arms. Nervousness abruptly began clawing at his throat as he watched the wooden door swing open, and his older brother stepped outside - he’s never actually drank in front of Sans before. He had only been 16 when they’d started arguing and stopped talking to each other. So the first time Pap tried alcohol had been after he’d joined the royal guard, and had been with Undyne and Cross. He doubted Sans would get mad - they were both adults, it wasn’t like any of this was illegal, but it was still… somewhat awkward.
“Yo, Pap?” Pulling his attention away from Sans, who was now walking over to the group, Papyrus turned to Cross. “You feeling ok?”
Nodding, Papyrus smiled at his friend. “Yup! Just… got a little lost in thought.” Cross hummed in response, but didn’t seem convinced.
Sans sat down next to Red and Papyrus, sighing and bringing a hand to his chest. Papyrus frowned, eyeing the strange ring-like bruise on his brother’s hand. He couldn’t remember Sans hurting his hand, but there was something about the shape that… rubbed him the wrong way.
Papyrus could ask his brother about it later, it was probably nothing after all.
“Sorry about that, Frisk wanted me to read to them before they went to bed.” Sans smiled at the group, leaning against his boyfriend.
Dream perked up from his spot on Cross’s lap, his eyelights seeming to shine brighter. “What are you reading to them right now?”
Taking a sip from Red’s whisky bottle, Sans responded, an amused glint in his eye lights “We started ‘The One and Only Ivan’ tonight, the kiddo seems to like it.”
“Oh!” Dream smiled, clapping his hands together, his sudden movement nearly causing Cross to spill his drink as he brought the bottle to his lips. “Nightmare and I read that one when we were younger! Remember, Nighty?”
Blinking in surprise, the other prince nodded slowly, sitting up straighter next to Killer (Who was currently chugging back his first beer of the night - Papyrus just hoped he wasn’t a lightweight like Cross) “Y-yeah… yeah, I remember that.” Nightmare slowly smiled. “Mama would always read to us whenever one of us had trouble sleeping… you always loved the ones where the characters were animals.”
Sans chuckled between the two siblings. “Pap liked those ones too. You remember your favourite one, bro?”
Frowning, Papyrus raised his drink and took a sip to avoid answering the question. Cross snickered next to him, his cheeks already starting to bloom with colour as he took another swig. “Wasn’t it Fluffy Bunny something? Pretty sure he mentioned that to me and Undyne at some point.”
The grin on Sans's face grew. “‘Peek-a-boo with Fluffy Bunny’, yeah! He adored it when he was a babybones. He’d get me, mom or dad to read it to him like, twice a day.”
Snorting, Killer raised an eyebrow, his scowl quirking up into a small grin. “‘ Peek-a-boo with Fluffy Bunny ?’”
Papyrus flushed, frowning as Sans chuckled. “In my defence, I thought the ending was very emotional when I was little!” Nightmare giggled, leaning back against Killer again, Cross and Dream snickering with him. “Well, what was your favourite book as a child, Killer?”
Bottle midway to his lips, Killer froze. “I… didn’t really have anything to read. Growing up.”
“What, you thought you were too good for books?” Cross responded, offering Dream his bottle, the Prince refusing.
“I never learned how to read, dipshit.” The energy between the group of monsters seemed to be sucked up by the sudden tone change. The air seemed to go cold despite the magic crackling softly between them, sparks floating up into the open sky.
“You… never learned to read?” Papyrus broke the silence, his soul twinging with sympathy. While he had been taught to read, it had never been easy for him, his dyslexia always scrambled the letters and words, and he always had to work extra hard to successfully read through a sentence.
A growl escaped the smaller skeleton, his eye sockets narrowing. “Yeah, what’s it to you?” Nightmare placed a hand on Killer’s knee, his expression softening at the small contact.
“Hey, watch it buddy-” Sans grumbled, but Papyrus quickly stopped him, raising a hand to quiet his older brother.
“I wasn’t saying it was a bad thing. I struggle with reading too… I could help you learn, if you want?”
“Why the fuck would I agree to that? I barely know you.” Killer hissed, Papyrus just shrugged and took a sip of his beverage.
“I’m not saying you have to agree, but I know how hard it can be to learn so… my offer still stands, if you ever change your mind.
“Whatever…”
Fortunately, the conversation quickly turned back around, Cross, Red and Sans bringing it back with a more upbeat topic. Eventually Killer joined in again too, in a better mood after a few swigs from his second bottle of beer. Papyrus found himself struggling to pay attention to the spoken words, his mind going foggy as he zoned out. Out of everyone in the group, Killer was the one he knew the least about, but he could feel the animosity radiating from the small monster whenever Papyrus was around him - Pap had a sneaky suspicion that was because he was, or used to be, a royal guard, since Killer seemed to hate any and all of them. Why that was, he wasn’t quite sure. He had already come to terms that, as it was right now, the Guard wasn’t always… good, and he could gleam that Killer didn’t have a great childhood. Had he grown up in the slums, like Undyne had? Had he gone through similar things as her? But then why did they have such differing views of the Guard? Undyne had grown to idolize them, and worked her nonexistent tail off to get a position among them, while Killer despised them, seeming to go out of his way to make jabs at the Guard, or guard’s themself. Perhaps it was something that happened between him and a member of the guard, or maybe-
Papyrus jumped, snapped out of his dazed state by a gloved hand being placed on his shoulder, a familiar face leaning down next to his “ear”. “Hey sugar skull.”
Laughing, Papyrus turned his head to meet Mettaton’s pink gaze, the other man’s hair falling over the right side of his face, as usual, and the rest of his dark, almost black, curls framing his face. Light from Red’s magic danced along his features, glinting in the white of his eye, the pink light from Mettaton’s soul mixing with the red to make a rich, warm glow. The sight made Papyrus’s soul flip in his chest, and he took a quick drink from the bottle in his hand to squash the feeling down. “‘Sugar skull’?”
With a hum, Mettaton rested his head on Papyrus’s shoulder, his eye trailed along the skeleton’s face, making his magic rush to his cheeks. He smelled like cinnamon, a smell so familiar it made Papyrus’s soul warm and fluttery, while clenching with sorrow simultaniasly. “You’re sweet, and you’re a skeleton, darling. Hence the new nickname.”
WIth a pout, Papyrus took Mettaton’s hand from his shoulder, pulling the other man down onto the grass next to him. “That’s not fair, I don’t have a fun nickname for you!”
“Oh, uh, well…” The ghost monster flushed, his cheeks turning a pretty pink, and raised a hand to comb his hair. “My… friend’s usually just call me ‘Mett’, so how about that?”
“Hmmm…” Tapping the neck of his bottle against his chin his thought, Papyrus slowly nodded. “Yes, that works very well!” Then, he reached for the pack of beer being shared between the group, he pulled out another bottle and held it to Mettaton. “Here, you should join us!”
Mett raised a thin eyebrow, his gaze shifting between Papyrus and the alcohol. “I can’t get drunk from that, darling, you know that, right?”
“You… can’t?”
“Nope, I don’t feel the effects unless it’s monster alcohol. You know, magic stuff.”
“But that’s not legal-?”
“Not anymore.” With a hum, Mett seemed to give in and took the bottle. “I’ve been around for a long, long time.”
“Oh…” Papyrus bit his tongue: he wanted to ask what his friend meant by that, or ask more about monster booze, which had been outlawed because of the negative affects it could have on a monster’s soul if they drank too much, but he got the impression that Mettaton didn’t want to talk too much about his past. Not that Pap could blame him, he didn’t really want to go spreading his and his brother’s history either. “Even if you can’t get drunk… I’d like it if you’d stick around. You could help me make sure no one gets too out of control. A-and we can talk more! Nyeh heh heh...”
Mettaton chuckled - a surprisingly soft sound, like bells. “Sure hun, sounds like fun.”
*****
Dream bit his lip, leaning back against Cross, resting his skull on the taller man’s rib cage. It was an odd feeling, being involved in a group celebration like this when he wasn’t actually part of the group yet. It was a mix of happiness and honour that he was invited to join (Mainly because his boyfriend and brother wanted him there, but no one had exactly spoken out against the idea), but there was a lingering feeling of guilt for even being there. He didn’t know Sans well, and what he did know about Papyrus was all because he and Cross were friends - and his memories were still a bit foggy, so what he did know might not even be accurate (He had been surprised that he remembered the books his mother had read to him and Nightmare when they were kids, since most memories from that time in their life were tainted from Gaster’s… whatever he did to Dream.)
That being said, the strong smell of booze mixed with mint from Cross had helped him remember something new: what happened when Cross had too much to drink.
He giggled as he felt Cross’s breath ghost his neck, his strong arms wrapping around Dream’s waist, holding him securely.
Cross got cuddly .
“You’re so small, Sunflower…” The ex-guard’s words were slurred, and nuzzled Dream’s neck next. He chuckled, sending a shiver down Dream’s spine. “Like a little teddy bear…”
Sans, apparently having noticed the couple, laughed. “You doing ok there, Cross? You’re looking a little flushed.” Red took the sudden distraction as an opening to grab his bottle of scotch from Sans - Dream must have missed what happened there, but he remembered the two giggling, so it must have been a game of sorts.
“I’m happyyyyyy.” Cross drew out the last word, his skull moving from Dream’s neck to the top of his head.
Killer roared with laughter. “Holy
shit,
he’s drunk! How much did he drink?!”
Papyrus piped in, the man next to him watching the skeleton speak with rosy cheeks - Dream didn’t know who he was, but he was definitely a ghost monster, and definitely liked Papyrus (He wanted to talk to Mr. ghost monster at a later date, once Dream felt more settled in and Cross was more comfortable with the two of them being apart.) “Two, I think?” Dream nodded.
“He’s a lightweight ?”
Cross groaned, hiding his face against the back of Dream’s skull. “Shut the fuck uuuuup.”
“Awww, is the big baby angry?” Killer snickered, taking a swig of his booze. “I can’t believe Cross of all people can’t hold his booze.”
“I can too!” Dream sighed and rubbed Cross’s knee, which proved enough to calm him back down. “”M not drunk, right sunshine…?”
“Oh, definitely not.” Either Cross didn’t pick up on his sarcasm in his drunken state, or he ignored it, because he hummed happily and nuzzled Dream again. “Maybe we should go to bed though, love.”
“Don’t wanna…”
“We can cuddle until you fall asleep.” Ignoring Killer’s laughing from across the fire, Dream smiled as Cross nodded to the suggestion.
Admittedly, getting Cross back to their tent by himself, while Cross was practically drunk off his ass and stumbling, was very, very difficult. Papyrus had offered to help, but Dream had declined, not wanting to put a halt on his fun evening. Eventually, he got Cross into the tent and into their sleeping bag, and he almost immediately passed out upon laying down.
As much as Dream liked feeling Cross behind him, arms loosely around his waist, his breath deep and even, there was something bugging him, gnawing at his thoughts and leaving him unable to fall asleep.
Carefully wiggling out of Cross’s grip, Dream slipped out of the tent. It’d be fine to leave him alone for a few minutes, he reassured himself. Cross was drunk and asleep, the chances of him waking up while Dream wasn’t there were incredibly low.
Making his way across the grass, his hands stuffed unto the pockets of Cross’s sweater, shivering against the cold, Dream walked up to Undyne’s makeshift cage.
The Prince hadn’t talked to her since she had helped him get here, and a part of him felt guilty for that: she had saved him, and he had just turned his back on her. He didn’t even help after Red beat the shit out of her, when he could have checked the burns and helped the others bandage them, but instead he had just hidden away.
“...Hello Undyne.”
The fins on the side of Undyne’s head twitched, signalling she heard him, but she kept her head down, her red hair hiding her features. “Your highness.”
“Please, don’t call me that.” Dream lowered himself onto the ground, trying to get a better look at the other monster. She sat near the back of the cage, one leg pulled up to her chest. It was hard to tell because of that leg, but the bandages wrapped around her midsection seemed dried with old blood, the fabric stained a dark red. “I figure we were on a first name basis, after-”
“What do you want, Dream?” Undyne snapped, her tone more exhausted than actually angry, and she raised her head to meet Dream’s gaze. Dark bags had formed under her eyes, her bottom lip still dark with a bruise, and the scales on her cheek that weren’t still hidden by her hair had darkened. Some of the scales that had been burned were flaking off, with bright blue magic filling the gaps the burned flesh made, trying to fix what was wrong.
Bile rose in Dream’s throat. “Undyne… oh my god, are they feeding you? You look terrible.”
The guard captain - or ex-captain, now - rolled her eyes, sinking back against the cage bars. “Of course they are, Papyrus would probably throw a fit and do it himself if no one was.” She turned away from Dream, trailing a hand along the bandages covering her abdomen, her hand slowly rising and following along the bandages. “I told them not to use any magic to heal me. I didn’t want it.”
Dream frowned, balling his hands into fists in his lap. “Why in the heavens would you refuse that? The hole point of healing magic is to help in situations like this-”
“I didn’t want it. I’m still your enemy, Dream. Keep that in mind.” Undyne hissed, her sharp, shark like teeth glinting in the low light.
“You don’t have to be.”
“Did they not tell you what I did?!”
“You saved me!” Dream snapped, his magic flaring up around him, strands swirling and clinging to the bones of his hands, practically begging him to summon something. He pushed off the ground, squeezing his fists to get his golden magic back under control. “You are not a bad person, captain, but you can’t grow and change and make up for your mistakes if you’re constantly clinging to them. Keep that in mind.” Shooting her words back at her, Dream turned on his heel, not waiting for a reply before leaving. Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes as he rushed away, his breath quickening as he walked away.
He needed to get better control of his magic, he didn’t want to have an outburst and suddenly not have control of his powers. He didn’t want to hurt anyone.
He didn’t want to be like Gaster. He wasn’t like Gaster.
… He wasn’t, right?
*****
A single finger tapped the thin stem of the wine glass in his hand, the red liquid in the glass going warm as it was neglected. Two small pinpricks looked out over BlightView through the large window that took up half of a wall on the far side of the King’s office, the dark, cushioned seat in front of it supporting the King’s weight. Gaster crossed his thin legs, scowling at the glass.
As dusk fell, the city awoke, the millions of neon signs and store lights in the center of the city painting the sky a sickly greenish-blue, like the lights themselves were leaking into the atmosphere and staining it. It was quite a sight to behold regardless, looking over the huge city from high up in the castle.
It gave Gaster a sense of power, reminding him that everything he’d ever done was worth it for this , because the city was his .
It also enraged him.
If the city was his, then why the fuck wasn’t everything going to plan.
He sent Undyne to the rebels’ camp to eradicate them, squash the hive before this kept growing. News of a “revolution” was starting to spread outside of BlightView, other cities starting to cover the topic. Gaster worked too damn hard on the relationships and legal trades on goods between the neighbouring cities of BlightView for some pigheaded lowlifes to come in and fuck it all up. He had assumed his most reliable guard, the captain even, would be able to handle the problem.
Instead, she had come back with her head hanging low, telling him that all but three of the rebels had escaped. They had only killed three. Needless to say, he was disappointed. Not only had the infestation not been dealt with, now he was back at ground zero with no idea where they were now. He was quick to send out guards to search the city, but even now, he hadn’t gotten any information of where the rebels were.
And then Undyne and, more importantly, Dream, had vanished from the castle.
While Gaster had no emotional attachments to the boy, he was still a pawn he wanted to keep his hands on. And now he was gone, with all the information he knew, and Undyne-
The sound of creaking leather and shattering glass filled the room as Gaster clenched his fists, ultimately breaking his wine glass. With a sigh, the King rose to his feet, kicking the broken glass aside and leaving his study. He’d have a servant clean the mess.
The soft click click click of Gaster’s boots echoed in the empty halls of the castle as he walked. He’d have to deal with losing Dream. He had been planning on killing the boy regardless, he’d just have to be more creative with how he did it now. Technically he could claim the reason was treason. Undyne, on the other hand, was not a piece in this game of chess that he was willing to give up. She was far too valuable to let the opposing side have her.
Gaster already had an idea of how to get his favourite game piece back, as well. An idea that would also let him vent some of his frustrations.
Turning off the main hall, Gaster stepped down the thin, metal stairs to his personal lab, unlocking the mechanical door and stepping into the cool room. The room was one he was familiar with, one where he had spent much time with Dream. He passed the surgical table without much thought, the old blood stains looking black in the low, greenish light - that wasn't what he needed, or wanted, right now. On the far side of the cramped, square room, hidden by the shadows that gathered at the walls of the room, was a single, grey door. He’d never taken either of the princes through this door to the other parts of the lab before, mainly because there was no point - Gaster had been able to do whatever he wanted to do to the boys in this first room. The heavy door creaked from disuse as Gaster pulled it open, shutting it behind him as he began walking down the second set of stairs. This half of the lab was farther down, so that any electrical or magical equipment used could not be detected by anyone in the castle. Plus, it blocked the sound of screams more than the upper level of the lab.
Gaster flicked on the old lights, walking around the white tiles through the first hall - along it was a series of doors that lead to rooms that only held old, broken equipment and old documents now - and stepped into the large, open room. On the far wall were shattered monitors that had been broken and fried long ago. Tables also littered the open room; some were smashed or split in half, reduced to piles of plastic and metal on the ground; while others were still intact, covered in singed, half written papers, broken and cracked test tubes, dried stains of soul magic painting the floor and old papers in disgusting, dull coloured splotches. Gaster stepped over a crushed tape recorder, eyeing it with disdain.
To the left and right there were two more openings in the room - the left was a hallway that led to another large room, one that held a huge machine that Gaster had no intentions of visiting today. There was no need for him to activate it, no need to make the tubing along the large, skull shaped machine rumble and hum with pure, chaotic magic, no need to make the eye sockets of the long dead creature glow with magic or make the jaw bone drop to reveal the darkness that came when opening a hole in time itself.
But no, he was not here for that. Instead, he turned and went down the hallway to the right, which was lined with bare cells, one of which, the last on the left, had a hole burned through the bars, the metal still misshapen from the heat. Gaster turned his back from that particular cell, his eyelights momentarily catching on a tattered blanket left haphazardly on the metal bed bolted to the wall. In the cell directly across from this one, was a small, yellow lizard monster, who was curled up on the hard bed, her tail wrapped around her trembling body.
“Doctor Alphys.” Gaster’s low voice cut through the still air like a hot knife, the monster in question whimpering in fear. “I’ll give you one last chance to prove your loyalty to the crown: where is Captain Undyne Limu? ”
“I already t-told you, I don’t k-know! I-I promise, I have no idea w-w-where Undyne went!” Alphys shrill voice responded, the doctor’s small, claws hands shielding her face.
Gaster’s frown deepened. “So be it then.”
Reaching deep into the well of magic in his soul, Gaster grasped at the empty, dark splash of anti-matter there, using it to slip out of his timeline, momentarily weightless in the ever changing but always empty void, before reappearing on the other side of the cell bars. The holes in his palms screamed in protest at the use of this magic, the holes growing a tiny bit bigger as some of the bone turned to dust in his glove. It always happened when Gaster used the void magic he got that day .
Alphys screamed, pressing flat against the cold, cement wall.
If he wasn't able to force some information out of Alphys after this, well, then he would use her pain as a lure to get Undyne back at the castle. Fishbait, if you would.
For the first time in decades, the lower halls of W.D. Gaster 's lab was filled with screams.
Notes:
I'm going to be 100% honest I really really liked writing the Gaster section in this chapter
Also I'm sorry if any part of this chapter sound bland or are boring, I kind of struggled writing this bc of writers block. I hope you all liked it regardless ^^'Also also, someone suggested that I should put the chapter covers before the chapter itself and not just on Tumblr,,, and I uh, don't really know how to do that? If anyone knows and can explain it to me, that would be greatly appreciated!
And go check out my Tumblr wtf guys I'm very funny over there /j
Chapter 28: ~Chapter 28
Notes:
For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on Instagram or Tumblr
Find the DystopianTale Discord here
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Sans grits his teeth, exhaling slowly as he scribbles out more of his notes, annoyance sparking in his soul. He was so close , so close to figuring this out and being able to help Ink, but it had been weeks - maybe even a month now, he wasn’t sure - since he had sat down to work on this, all because he had gotten distracted, what with everything with Red and Papyrus and, obviously, getting thrown into a coma , and now he was left to reread and rework everything he had already written down. It certainly didn’t help that they were littered with small mistakes. Admittedly he would have had to do this no matter what, but it was still annoying.
In the middle of writing the correction for the line he’d just crossed out, Sans’s hand froze, his eyebrows furrowing. He could read what he had just written - “Magic can be formed into power with enough pressure and high enough temp., but not ideal. Hard to do. Liquid magic could prove to be easier to use.” - but the letters were wrong. Sans wasn’t even sure if he could call what he was looking at “letters”, they seemed to be more like symbols - Zodiac symbols, hands, mailboxes, and so forth - and yet his brain was able to seamlessly translate what he was seeing. He had seen these before, he was sure of it, the strange symbols felt too familiar. They made his head ache, scream that there was something he was forgetting, something he needed to remember , something…
Sans pushed the paper away, hiding it under the others, breathing out a sigh of relief as the ache vanished. This kept happening - ever since he had woken up, seeing or hearing certain things made his skull pound, his body filled with an almost painfully strong urge to remember. Remember what, he had no idea, but considering he didn’t know, it probably wasn’t important.
That’s what he kept telling himself, at least.
His gaze flickered away from the papers scattered before him, landing instead on the man laying on his bed, still asleep. Sans couldn’t help but feel relieved he’d had the foresight to not drink that much last night, this way he wouldn’t be stuck in bed all day, feeling gross and miserable.
Last night had been… different. Fun, but different. Sans had never done that sort of thing before, at least that he could remember, even when he had been in college - he had a friend or two back then that, occasionally, he would get drinks with, or he’d just drink on his own, but never with a big group like that. He’d enjoyed it, even with the occasional bickering between Killer and Cross, it had been relaxing in a way. Like his emotional battery was being topped up. It was a nice feeling. A part of him wished Error and Ink had been able to join them, however, even if he understood why they hadn't.
Speaking of those two…
Sans pushed himself out of his desk chair, wincing at the pain that shot through his entire body. He kept forgetting he wasn’t fully healed yet. Asgore would probably scold him for not taking things easier - oh well, as nice as laying down and cuddling with Red sounded, there were things he wanted to get done.
Giving Red a quick kiss on the forehead, Sans turned and slipped out of his bedroom, walking down the wooden stairs. The house was still, something that wasn’t too uncommon in the early morning, and as Sans stepped into the kitchen he could hear the sound of running water, signalling that his father was awake as well - Sans hated to admit it, but he was glad his father wasn’t in the kitchen yet, he wasn’t ready to have a talk, one-on-one, with the older monster yet. Hazy morning sunlight filtered into the kitchen from the window, specks of dust floating in the light - the sky was overcast, leaving the world outside washed in a milky light, grey and washed out. Sans wouldn’t be surprised if it rained later. The thought of curling up in bed with Red, holding each other as it rained quietly outside, the two of them warm under the bed sheets as they watched a movie on Sans’s laptop floated into his mind, warming his soul and cheek bones. Perhaps the rain wouldn’t be a bad thing.
Making his way through the kitchen and down the main hallway of the house, Sans stopped outside of the single guest room, a memory surfacing from the back of his mind. Before Toriel had gotten sick, she’d done a lot of sewing in this particular room - quilts, clothing, even some toys - and Sans could distinctly remember standing in this exact spot when he was little, watching his mother hum to herself as she worked.
He couldn’t help but wonder what his mother would think of him now.
Sans knocked on the wooden door, his soul swelling with remorse. He wished he was able to bring her back. He wished he was able to see her one more time.
But people can’t be brought back from the dead.
After a moment or two the door was opened, Error standing in the opening, looking blurry eyed and tired, though his eyelights did noticeably brighten upon seeing Sans. The inside of the room looked like it hadn’t changed much at all since the last time Toriel used it - which wasn’t too surprising. Asgore had a habit of keeping things the way they are no matter what, you just had to look at his and Papyrus’s rooms as evidence - though the vase of golden flowers by the window was new.
They had been Toriel’s favourites.
“Sans, hey. Uh, sorry, didn’t think you’d be up this early.” Error rubbed the back of his neck.
“Yeah, me neither.” He laughed nervously, rocking back on his heels, suddenly wishing he was wearing more than a white t-shirt and sweats. “I couldn’t fall back asleep though, so… here I am. I hope I didn’t wake you two up…?”
Error shook his skull, opening the door to the room more, waving a hand to tell Sans to enter. “No, you didn’t, don’t worry about that.”
“Sans!” Ink, who had been laying down on the bed, sat up suddenly as the older monster entered the room, one of Toriel’s old quilts wrapped around his small frame. “You’re ok!”
The ever present smile on Sans’s face softened as he nodded, sitting on the edge of the bed. It was soft, and sank ever so slightly under his weight. “More or less, I guess. Are you?”
“I’m…” Ink’s eyelight flickered, switching rapidly between a triangle and question mark, eventually answering after Error was seated next to him. “Tired, I guess. And I’ve been having more attacks recently…”
Sans mentally winced. He needed to figure out how to make that medicine, and fast.
Error wrapped an arm around Ink, the ring on his finger glinting in the light from the window. Despite the bags under the skeleton’s eyes, he looked at ease. “How’s Red? Did he talk to you about his and Papyrus’s argument?”
Sans’s smile became strained, forced, his soul squeezing painfully in his chest. Neither his brother nor Red had mentioned anything about that.
Error frowned, Ink tugging on the homemade blanket, suddenly sweating and looking uncomfortable. “I’m guessing that means no, huh?”
“Pap told me Red beat the shit out of Undyne, but… no, they didn’t say anything about…”
“It wasn’t that bad.” Error interjected, trying to reassure Sans. It didn’t help. His palms were getting sweaty, his anxiety rolling around in his stomach like heavy stones. Why didn't they say something if it wasn’t bad?? Were they still not getting along? He hadn't noticed any tension between the two, but he also hadn’t been looking for any.
Sans swallowed a lump in his throat. An argument wasn’t the end of the world, he reminded himself, not wanting to spiral out in front of Ink and Error again. “What was it about?”
“Er…” The ebony skeleton faltered, eyelights avoiding Sans’s. The older skeleton squeezed his hands into fists, briefly taking note of the pain that action causes, specifically in the center of his palm. Exactly where the strange round marks were. After a minute, Error seemed to have made up his mind on whatever he had been thinking of, meeting his friend’s gaze again. “It had to do with Undyne. Red… he wanted to kill her. Papyrus didn’t really like that idea.”
Oh.
*****
Papyrus wanted to scream. His grip tightened on the pillow in his lap, threatening to rip it, as he took quick, shallow breaths. He couldn’t tell if he was angry or hurt - everything was too loud, too bright, he just wanted it all to stop - but he needed to calm down before he hurt himself.
A low growl left his throat as he threw the pillow away from him - it knocked against his dresser, causing the framed photo of him and his family to rock and threaten to fall over for a minute, before dropping to the floor with a quiet poof . Papyrus glared at.
He knew he was overreacting, he knew he shouldn’t be this upset. He knew Sans wasn’t mad at him. But it felt like their fight all over again. And all because Papyrus didn’t want Undyne to be killed.
Earlier, he had been surprised that Sans was not only awake early, but also wanted to talk to him. Well, technically he wanted to talk to both Papyrus and Red, but still. He’d been overjoyed, excited to talk to his brother more. To get to know Red better. But then Sans had brought up his and Red’s argument.
After that everything got tense and quiet, still to the point that Papyrus was sure time had simply… stopped. He had tried to say that they had already dealt with that, they had said sorry to each other. There was no reason to keep talking about it.
Things only got worse from there. Red pointed out that no, technically they hadn’t talked about it, they’d just apologised and moved on. Which was exactly Papyrus’s point. They said things they hadn’t meant because they were upset and scared, and then apologized for those things.
“I know you didn’t actually want Undyne to die, you were just really angry. ” Papyrus had said, and he could remember the way Red’s face darkened, the way his eye-lights flickered and burned like a candle flame.
“I meant what I said.”
That had made Papyrus angry. How dare he say that? He didn’t know Undyne, he didn’t know what she’s been through, he didn’t know what she was thinking. So he pointed out the same thing that he had the first time they had this stupid argument, that Sans wouldn’t want somebody to be killed for that reason.
It was the truth. Papyrus knew his brother, he knew Sans wouldn’t wish death upon anyone. If he did, why would he teach Pap that everyone could be good , that everyone deserved a second chance.
But Sans had given him a tired and strained look, his eye sockets void of their usual lights. “Papyrus, if someone had nearly killed you or Red, or anyone in our family I… I would want them dead. I’m sorry, but…”
Just thinking of it now sparked annoyance in his soul. He was mad at Undyne, yes, but killing someone… it was wrong . Self defence is one thing, but straight up murder…
The conversation didn’t last long after that - Papyrus suggested they simply agree to disagree and drop the subject, which Red and, somewhat reluctantly, Sans agreed to. Papyrus didn’t hate them, he knew that - he loved his brother, even if they didn’t see eye socket to eye socket - but dammit , he just couldn’t wrap his head around their logic.
It was wrong to kill someone. Even if they had done awful, horrible things, it was wrong. And to be willing to take someone’s life…
Papyrus growled again, clutching his skull. He’d had this same dilemma the moment he joined the guard - he had vowed to never kill a monster or human no matter what, and that he would always try to do as little damage as possible. “No one needed to be turned to Dust for making a mistake.” He’d argue when Undyne told him he was being unreasonable, whenever she told him that in life, sometimes things were Kill or Be Killed.
Anyone could be a good person, they just had to try.
Papyrus’s head was starting to ache from how hard he was holding it, the tips of his fingers digging into the slightly malleable bone. He needed to do something other than sit here and stew in his thoughts, but what-
Mettaton.
He could go and talk to his friend, that would certainly help him feel better. It’d be an easy way to take his mind off of the anger turning in his gut, and besides, he wanted to get to know Mettaton better. He had mentioned being around for a “long time”, maybe Papyrus could ask him more about that, or maybe even about where he came from.
Mind made up and his annoyance already starting to pitter out, Papyrus left his room, passing Sans’s door quickly, ignoring the murmur of voices he could hear behind it.
Actually finding the ghost monster proved to be harder than Papyrus thought it would be, but after a few minutes of searching he found the man sitting under a tree, a little ways away from the cottage, his head resting against the large trunk. Mettaton’s eye opened and his head turned when he heard Papyrus walk up to him, regarding the skeleton with a small smile. “Hey.”
“Hi Mett.” The nickname rolled off his tongue easily, but made his soul flutter nonetheless. “Do you mind if I…?”
Mettaton waved a hand, sitting up a bit straighter. “Go ahead. You ok, darling?”
Lowering himself onto the ground, Papyrus hesitated. He came out here to get his mind off of his brother, not talk about him more. Then again, lying in this situation felt wrong. “I had a bit of an argument with Sans and Red. I just… I guess I just wanted to get away from the house for a bit.” There. Brief and not a lie. Perfect.
Mettaton hummed, raised his arms above his head, eyes fixed on the leaves swaying above him and Papyrus. “Do you mind me asking what caused it? The argument, I mean.”
Fuck.
At Papyrus’s lack of response, the ghost turned his attention back to the other monster. “My cousin and I fought a lot growing up. I want to help you, hun, but I can’t really offer advice if I don’t know what happened.”
“We have… a difference in morals, I guess.” Papyrus wanted to leave it at that, but just saying something as simple as that was enough to open the flood gates. “When Sans was still asleep Red said he wanted to kill Undyne for what she did, but I said that was wrong and that Sans wouldn’t want him to do that; but it turns out Sans would have done the same thing if Red or I were in his situation but I just can’t understand how anyone would want another person to die, and Undyne is sorry for what she did, I know she is, I talked to her. She’s my friend , I can’t believe they would -” Snapping his jaw shut, Papyrus grit his teeth and flushed. He hadn’t meant to say so much .
Mettaton stared at him, mouth agape (which just made the sudden nervousness in Papyrus’s stomach grow to an uncomfortable size.) before he expression suddenly changed. He glared at Papyrus.
“Where did you learn that?”
“...Learn what?” Papyrus blinked.
“To speak in Font !” Mettaton stood up suddenly, raking his hands through his hair, pushing it away from his face - for the first time, Papyrus saw his second eye. It was fully pink, even the sclera. “Is this some kind of joke, Papyrus? Because it sure as hell isn’t funny!”
“I don’t even know what you’re talking about!” Papyrus was suddenly nervous for a whole new reason - why was Mettaton so mad at him?? What had he done wrong?
For a long moment, the ghost monster stared at him, expression unreadable. It made Papyrus feel very small, like a babybones again. “ You can understand me when I talk like this, can’t you? ” Papyrus nodded. His friend’s words sounded strange, like sound effects in an old video game, but he could distinctly hear Mettaton’s voice in his skull. “ I’m speaking in Font right now. And you were too, before. ” The beeping sound stopped, and Mett’s voice was no longer right inside his skull, but normal again. “It’s… It’s a seriously old monster language. It stopped being used shortly after the monster-human war, no one should know it anymore.Yet you do. How ?”
“I don’t… I don’t know, Mettaton.” The ghost glared at him again. The look made his soul ache in his chest. “I’m serious, I don’t! I’ve never even heard of that before.”
After another moment of awkward, tense staring, Mettaton sighed and looked away. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped.”
Papyrus shrugged, pulling his knees to his chest. A language named “Font”... he couldn’t even remember learning about that in school. Why not? Was it bad somehow? And if so, how did he know it?? Perhaps from his and Sans’s childhood? He couldn’t remember much of that time, so that was the only time he could have learned it, he guessed, but then, who taught them?
He was starting to get a headache.
“...You said it’s an old language, right?” Mettaton nodded. “Then how do you know it..?”
“...Darling, I… I told you, I’ve been here for… centuries. Ghost monsters are immortal until we’re able to possess a physical form and I… never could find one that fit me.” A dry, humourless chuckle left him. “Monsters like you are mostly magic and a little physical, but us… we’re 100% magic.”
“Oh… I… I’m sorry, I didn’t…” What was he supposed to say to that? Mettaton had probably seen countless friends die, he’d probably seen the entire kingdom’s rise and fall. He must think Papyrus was incredibly childish for getting so upset over a simple argument.
“Don’t.” Mettaton shook his head. “I’m alright, really. Alphys… She promised to help me. She said she’ll make a body for me, it’s… it’s everything I’ve ever wanted, you know?” Technically, no, Papyrus didn’t know. He’d always had his body. He never had to search for one. He nodded regardless. “That’s why I’m here. She can’t be here, but I can. I can help for once. It’s a nice feeling, in a way, to feel useful like that.”
Now, Papyrus did understand that. Without thinking, he reached out and rubbed Mett’s shoulder, wanting to comfort him in some kind of way.
Mettaton leaned into his touch.
Papyrus’s soul pounded in his chest, a realization rising from the back of his mind. A realization that made his soul tremble, fear settling in his bones.
He really, really cared about Mettaton. He wanted to learn everything about the other man, he wanted to hold him close, protect him, he wanted to make him happy.
… He wanted to hurt anyone who had hurt Mettaton. Make them pay .
That’s the part that scared Papyrus.
…Maybe he understood Red a little more than he liked to admit.
*****
Dream fought back the urge to yawn, his tired eyelights roaming over the faces of the monsters gathered next to Undyne’s cell. He’d stayed up far too late reading - turns out the third book he had grabbed was about his lineage and the past Kings and Queens of BlightView - and was now dealing with the consequences of his actions, a headache forming behind his eye sockets. His lack of sleep had helped him learn that Gaster 2.0 got more vocal when he was tired, so at least he had that going for him.
Cross stood next to him, his hand loosely resting on Dream’s hip, with Papyrus, Sans and Red standing next to Cross. Error was on Dream’s other side, followed by Nightmare and Killer (Dream had to admit he was glad his brother had decided to stand a little ways away from him, as he doubted he could handle Gaster 2.0 screaming at him right now.) And of course, Undyne was seated in front of them, choosing to ignore the group entirely.
Killer spoke up first, breaking the silence. “When are we actually going to do something? It’s been, what, two, three weeks since the ambush? And all we’ve done is sit on our asses!”
Error sighed, messaging his temple. “That’s why we’re here. To plan our next attack. I’m fully aware we can’t just continue to do nothing.”
“If that’s what we’re doing, then why are we here ?” Red hissed, gesturing towards Undyne, Dream’s soul leaping into his throat at his angry tone - he hadn’t forgotten the little “display” Red had put on when Dream had first arrived here with Undyne. Admittedly, he understood why Red had gotten so angry, but that didn’t change the fact that Red’s hot rage reminded him of the way Gaster hit him. The way he yelled. The way-
Dream sucked in a breath, pushing away that line of thought. He needed a clear head for this.
“Because.” Error hesitated, his gaze meeting Cross’s. “Cross thinks she could help us.” Dream noticed the taller of the two skeletons didn’t look particularly convinced. Then again, Error didn’t really care for Undyne in the first place.
Red grunted at this, but made no further comment, and the conversation moved forward.
The next attack needed to take place at or near the castle - there was the most space there, with no citizens living close by; meaning they would be able to evacuate people so innocent bystanders were not hurt. Nightmare suggested they be split into two groups, one that will leave a bit early to warn people to steer clear of the area and the group that follows would be their brute force. It was the best idea they had, for now, but the question remained: what were they supposed to do while the attack was happening? The main goal was obviously to kill, or at last subdue, Gaster, but that involved a lot of steps: getting into the castle, getting past the countless guards, and actually finding him.
Dream had lived in that castle all his life, but even he didn’t know where all the secret passages and rooms were - he was aware they were there, everyone in the castle knew of them. Some were simply hallways made between walls to make moving from place to place easier for the servants (Though they were not used anymore, Dream didn’t know why) but there were also hidden doors and switches that moved walls to open up entire rooms that weren’t included in the castle blueprints. From what Dream knew, Gaster used these areas extensively - for what he didn’t know, he was never told - and it certainly wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that he would hide in one of these secret areas if anyone managed to breach the castle.
On the other hand, Gaster may not bother to hide, and instead actively search out the intruders, and in that case…
Dream shivered at the thought.
He couldn’t help but notice Sans had a similar reaction.
“Going against Gaster in a one or one would be suicide for anyone of us.” Dream said quietly, Cross squeezing his hip reassuringly. “He’s far too strong for any of us to take down.”
“Then we don’t fight him alone. He can't dust all of us.” Dream flinched, his eyelights snapping to Killer. The shorter man was tossing a magic knife in his hands, eye sockets half lidded, relaxed. He looked like he didn’t care. Frustration wound its way around Dream’s soul. He doesn’t understand.
“I’m inclined to believe that he can. If we go in without a solid, concrete plan, Gaster will come out victorious no matter what.” Dream sucked in a breath, steadying himself. He could do this. This is what he’s always been taught to do - manage, explain, plan, protect. “I suggest we wait longer before going after him. He’s slipping - the fact that Gaster stopped trying to control my mind is clear evidence to that. He is not used to people questioning him, defying him. For now, I suggest our goal should be bringing down the guard, either by force or by convincing them to switch sides. We should also focus on recruiting more bystanders. There are plenty of people here already, but BlightView is a very big city. Ideally we should have, at the least, 50% of the city on our side.”
“With all due respect, your majesty .” Killer hissed, voice laced in venom. Dream narrowed his eyes. “But we’ve been recruiting people this entire fucking time! We should be hitting the castle hard and fast! We could do it if we actually tried!”
“No, we could not.” Dream shot back, magic sparking at his fingertips. “I agree that we need to take action but we will get nowhere if we are not properly prepared! We are entering a War here, we need to be diligent about what we do or say or we will lose . We are already at a disadvantage against the crown, but we can still come out victorious if we strategize. Hell, that’s the only reason we won the war all those centuries ago!”
Killer glared at the Prince, but Error stepped forward, hands raised. “Dream is right, Killer. That’s exactly why we waited so long before even starting to fight, remember?”
“We keep waiting and we’re all going to die.” The short man grumbled, throwing his blade to the ground, the tip sticking into the dirt.
Dream shook his hands, frowning at the energy that refused to dissipate. That’s odd, he’s never had issues with controlling his magic before… “Honestly, recruiting Dr. Alphys would be incredibly beneficial. She helped me in the castle, and I would bet she knows more about the King than any of us.” Dropping his hands back to his sides, he turned to Undyne. “Where did you take her, anyways? Perhaps Error and some of the others could meet her somewhere to talk?”
The guard had stayed quiet through the entire conversation, but now that Dream had brought attention to her again, everyone turned. Undyne raised her head slightly, just enough for her red eye to glint in the light. “I… didn’t take her anywhere. She’s still at the castle. It would have been risky to take you both and-”
“You left her ?!” Dream felt something inside him snap, magic flooding his bones, filling every empty spot in his body. It boiled with anger. “You left her there after you knew what Gaster had done?! What is wrong with you?!”
“Dream-” He batted Cross’s hand away from his shoulder, a high pitched hum filling his ears. Stupid Stupid Stupid STUPID-
His magic curled and expanded in his gut, screaming to be let out, to do something . Dream stepped towards the bars, grabbing the bones, hearing them crack under his grip. “He nearly killed me on multiple occasions, and I was the Prince, Undyne. In some way, he cared for me, even if it was just as a tool for him to use. But Alphys?” The fish monster’s expression darkened, realization dawning on her. “He couldn’t care less. And no one would notice if she disappeared. ” He hissed, meeting her gaze. His magic crackled, racing up his arms and legs, traveling to his back, building and building and building until-
Cross pulled him away from the cell, arms wrapped around his waist, snapping Dream out of… whatever that was. Cracks raced up the two bones of the cage Dream had been gripping, some of the attack crumpling away.
He’d broken a bone. A magic bone used for attacks, yes, but bone nonetheless.
Like Gaster had.
Dream pushed away from Cross, all the anger he’d felt previously felt replaced with panic, his breath speeding up. He wasn’t like Gaster, he couldn’t be, he couldn’t be. He’d never hurt anyone. He wanted to help. Protect. He… he…
He turned away from the group, all of them were now watching him with either confusion or worry; all except Undyne - her hands were on her head, her gaze fixed on the ground, body shaking - until she threw up onto the grass.
*****
In the morning, Undyne’s cage had been thoroughly destroyed. Bits of magic bone and ripped blue thread littered the ground where it had once stood.
Undyne was gone.
Notes:
Originally I was going to write a oneshot for Christmas as well as this but turns out I'm really tired so uh,,, just this, sorry yall. Happy holidays regardless :)
(Also thank you to anyone who helped me figure out how images work,,, sadly I couldn't, uh, figured out how to do it on my phone so I'm sorry ^^' please just go look at my Tumblr if you wanna see the cover bc idk I'm dumb)
Chapter 29: ~Chapter 29~
Notes:
For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on Instagram or Tumblr
Find the DystopianTale Discord here
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Sans hummed to himself, eyes glued to the window in the dining room, the sound of sizzling bacon coming from the stovetop next to him. It was odd to see so many monsters outside of his childhood home, buzzing around, doing their own thing, living their own lives, yet still somehow being intertwined into his own life. They were all a part of this group, this… should he call it a revolution? He wasn’t exactly sure. Either way, they were teammates, but Sans barely knew any of their names. He wondered if they knew his name.
Geez, he sounded egotistical.
He pulled his gaze away from the movement outside, looking down at the stove, flipping a pancake with practised ease. The quiet tap tap tap behind him from Frisk drumming their fingers on the wooden table filled him with an anxious sort of nostalgia. Before all of this - before the revolution, before he met Ink and Error, before Red, Sans would make breakfast for Frisk almost everyday. Usually he made them the exact same thing as he was making now - bacon and pancakes, sometimes he’d add eggs as well. It made him feel like it was the “good old days” again, as stupid and as corny as that sounded.
But the sound of people talking outside and the constant shadows moving across the dining room tiles as people walked by made it glaringly obvious that things were different now. That and the pain in his bones whenever he moved - he was really looking forward to when his ribs were fully healed. It’d be nice to be able to get out of bed without wanting to curl up in a ball of pain. He lifted the pancake out of the hot pan and set it down on a white plate painted with gold flowers, moving the bacon next. His eyelights momentarily froze on his gloved hands as he turned off the stove.
Those were different too - the odd rings on the palms of his hands he had woken up with. They still hadn’t disappeared yet, and the bouts of dizziness and headaches mixed with that “need to remember” feeling kept happening more and more.
Sans was trying not to worry about that too much.
He pushed that thought away - once he finished Ink’s medicine he could spend time trying to figure out what caused the rings. It wasn’t like they physically hurt, so he could handle waiting - and set the plate of food in front of Frisk. “ Bone appetite, kiddo.”
Frisk gave him a big, toothy grin. “Thank you!” Sans smiled, taking a seat next to them, occasionally moving their hand so they wouldn’t miss their food with their fork.
Resting his head in the palm of his hand, Sans turned his attention back to the window. From where he sat, he was able to see the rubble left from Undyne’s cage, his chest tightening. He didn’t know how to feel about Undyne running away. Anyone could figure out why she broke out - what Dream had said yesterday about Alphys obviously got to her, but whether or not she was going to bring Alphys back or join sides with Gaster again… they could only guess for now. When he spoke to Papyrus earlier, his younger brother had been convinced Unydne would come back, her girlfriend in tow. Cross, on the other hand, didn’t seem to think the same thing. The ex-guard hadn’t verbally said as much, but when Sans and the others had gathered around the broken cage early that morning, Cross was obviously angry and had stormed off. Red also wasn’t exactly thrilled about what happened, either. Sans’s eyebrows furrowed, remembering the agitated energy that had rolled off his boyfriend, the warmth of his bones as his magic acitived and flowed through him, wanting to be released. Sans could sympathise with it, with that need to do something, to release anxious magic. Red had left not long after that, heading out with Edge to god knows where.
“Sans?” Snapping out of his thoughts, his gaze left the window, meeting Chara’s gaze. She stood at the entrance of the dining room, her hands stuffed into the pockets of her green hoodie, her red eyes occasionally flickering to Frisk.
“Heya.” A ball of anxiety formed in Sans’s stomach, his relaxed smile feeling forced. Chara had been avoiding him since he had woken up from his coma - much like how Sans was avoiding Asgore, not exactly ready to talk to him about… well, everything. Truthfully, he’d expected her to continue to avoid him for maybe another month. She’d done that before, but usually only after an argument.
“Can we… talk?”
*****
Chara rubbed her sweaty hands off on her jeans for what felt like the millionth time in the past five minutes. She didn’t understand why she had to be so nervous - it was just Sans. Calm, relaxed, Sans. Sans who almost died. Sans who never talked about anything.
She groaned, glaring up at the plain white ceiling of her room. Her brother had agreed to talk to her, but only after he cleaned up Frisk’s breakfast and got them set up with the TV before doing so, hence why Chara was now in her room, splayed out over the covers of her bed.
What was she thinking? What was she going to say to him? “Yeah, sorry bro, I haven’t been talking to you because I’ve been trying to come to terms with the fact that you’re still very much alive even though I thought you’d die.” Of course she was happy he hadn’t died. But he had been stabbed directly through the chest! Was it really so wrong of her to think he would die?
Probably.
The wooden door to her bedroom creaked open, Sans stepping inside. He left the door open, light from the hall spilling into the dark room from the hallway. Chara’s room was one of the smaller ones in the cottage - even when she was younger that hadn’t actually bothered her much, especially since most of the time she was outside or in the living room with Frisk, playing some game their childish minds had come up with. The walls were wooden and painted white; and her bed, which was covered in green, white and red quilts Toriel had made, was pressed into the far corner of the room. Next to her bed was a single large window, the dark green blinds shut tightly to block the light. Her dresser sat at the foot of her bed, and a side table, with a lamp, sat next to her bed. Finally, there was a desk and a large wooden shelf against the wall across from her bed.
“Geez, it's dark in here.”
Chara sat up, chest tightening with nervousness. “Hi.”
“Hey.” The silence hung in the air, the nervous feeling in her chest tightening more, becoming a tight knot, an ache. “Can I…?” Sans gestured a hand towards Chara’s bed. She nodded, squeezing her hands into fists in her lap.
Stepping further into the room, the older monster sat down next to Chara, the bed sinking a bit under his weight. There was that painfully awkward silence again. The young human sucked in a deep breath, staring at the dark green knitted carpet covering the wooden floorboards of her room. “...I’m sorry I’ve been ignoring you.”
Next to her, Sans shrugged, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his femurs. “Don’t be. The past few days… weeks, has been a lot for anyone to deal with.”
“Yeah, but-” Chara narrowed her eyes. How is she supposed to word this? “When… you were unconscious, all I could think about was… how mom looked in the hospital.” She noticed Sans tense up out of the corner of her eye. “And because of that I just… I assumed you were going to die. I believed it so much that I convinced myself it had already happened, so it wouldn’t… hurt as much when it did…If it did.” Dropping her head into her hands, Chara felt tears well up in her eyes. “I know that was a horrible thing to think I just… I didn’t… you…”
A hand was placed on her back, making her freeze and making her mind go completely blank.
“...I’m sorry. You and Frisk shouldn’t have had to deal with that… with any of this. It’s fucked up, and I can’t… There's nothing I can say to fix that. And you coped with something fucked up happening in the only way you knew how to. That’s ok. That’s not something you have to apologise for, or justify.”
Slowly raising her head, Chara looked over at Sans. He wasn’t looking at her, instead his gaze was focused on the wall in front of the two of them. A small smile found its way onto her lips. “...You said fucked.”
“What? Uh, yeah?”
“You usually won’t do that in front of me or Frisk.”
Sans snorted, finally turning to look back at her. “Sometimes it’s the only word that works.”
“So I can say it?”
“Nope.”
*****
Dream leaned against the bathroom countertop, staring at himself in the mirror above the sink. He squeezed his hands into fists, letting out a slow, steady breath. He was ok. He pulled his gaze away from the mirror, raising a hand. Magic tingled at his fingertips, sparking and swirling around his bones, taking shape into a small, thin arrow, resting in his palm.
“I’m in control…” He whispered to himself, breaking and disintegrating the arrow as he closed his hand into a fist. Dream pushed himself away from the countertop and left the ground floor bathroom of the Dreemurr home, giving Asgore a smile as he passed the furry monster on his way outside. It was kind of the old monster to let him into the house bathroom whenever he needed a moment alone. It was also kind that he never asked why Dream needed those moments. Then again, Asgore had four children, so maybe he just simply understood.
He kept his head down as he walked across the lawn, bee-lining to the tent he shared with Cross. It was hard not to notice the other monsters turning to stare at him. Whispering. It was something that had been happening since Dream first arrived at the cottage - or should he say camp? Base? - but had gotten worse since yesterday, when he snapped at Undyne. A chill passed down his spine. He still had no idea what had come over him in that moment, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of overwhelming magic inside of his chest - it felt like it had been roaring inside of him, fighting to break out. It terrified him. What made matters worse was the nightmare he had last night resulted in him manifesting attacks in his sleep. He was extremely lucky Cross, or anyone else for that matter, hadn’t gotten hurt.
You’re losing control.
Dream narrowed his eyes, ducking into the tent. He wasn’t losing control of his magic, he had just proven that. His magic did what he told it to do, it responded to him correctly. Yesterday had just been an emotional and stressful day, that’s all.
You’re terrible at lying. Even just to yourself.
“Oh, will you shut up?” He hissed to himself, grabbing one of the thick, hardcover books out of his bag, quickly looking over the cover to make sure he grabbed the right one - BlightView Laws and Why They Were Made - before leaving his tent.
Cross had been so angry this morning, refusing to talk and insisting he just needed to be alone for a bit. As much as Dream hated letting Cross go on his own, he was somewhat glad to have some alone time as well. It gave him time to think some things over. Plus, there was a certain ghost he’d been meaning to talk to.
Scanning the yard, Dream’s eyelights landed on a seated figure leaning against a tree a few feet away from the house, just the man he was looking for. Pressing his book to his chest, the prince walked determinedly toward him.
“Mettaton! Hello!” He smiled, guilt twinging his soul when Mettaton flinched. In the other man’s defence, he recovered from the shock quickly, giving Dream a smile of his own.
“Hello, your majesty. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Dream grimaced. “No need for formalities. Really.” He raised a hand to stop Mettaton from standing, instead taking a seat next to the ghost on the grass.
“Do you need something?” Mettaton eyed the book in Dream’s lap for a moment before meeting his gaze. “I figured you’d be with Cross.”
“He wanted to be alone.” Dream said simply, pushing down a wave of emotion - he wanted to go after Cross, but he knew he’d get nowhere trying to talk to him if he wasn’t ready. “ However, that’s not why I came over here.” He placed a hand on the hardcover of the old book, patting it. “You are a ghost monster, correct?”
“...Yeah?” Mettaton seemed wary, suspicious. Not necessarily what Dream hoped for, but he supposed it was strange to ask a monster about their subspecies.
“That’s what I thought. You see, I was reading this book - I started trying to learn more about my city myself instead of through Gaster after I realised he was screwing with my head - and I found there was a particular law in Blightview that was… well, to put it simply, it’s wrong, and discriminates against your subspecies.” Dream tapped the book cover somewhat nervously. He could feel Mettaton staring at him, his intense gaze feeling like it was boring holes into the side of his skull. “I’m sure you know which law I’m talking about.”
“Yeah. I do. Was made a hella long time ago. What about it?”
Raising his skull, Dream met Mettaton’s gaze again; the man seemed walled off, his expression that of what seemed to be a practised poker face, though Dream could swear he could see a glimmer of hope in Mettaton’s eye. “If everything goes well here, I will be taking the place as King. Unless my brother wishes to do so, though I doubt it. Regardless, I want… I need to be better than Gaster. I want to help my citizens. And I want to get rid of this stupid law. It’ll be difficult - even as King I wouldn’t have total power, not if I’m doing things properly, and would need to discuss this with a council but… I want to do it. And I will need your help.”
The ghost’s eyebrow shot up. “I’m not a lawyer, you know.”
“No, but you are a ghost. You know first hand how this negatively affects people. I can handle the legal side of things.”
The silence hung in the air for a moment, Dream not daring to break eye contact with Mettaton. The other monster seemed to be searching for something, studying him. Whatever he was looking for, he must have found it. Mettaton looked away, focusing instead on the trees in the distance. “...I’ll help as much as I can. But that law is almost as old as me. People don’t remember it. I doubt it’d be easy to change.”
“Yes well, I’ve been told I can be very stubborn when it comes to what I want.” He stood up, whiping the grass off of his jeans. “It was nice talking to you, Mettaton. I look forward to working with you in the future.”
Mettaton hummed. Dream couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed in Mettaton’s reaction - he had been expecting a more happy response after hearing his plan, but instead the ghost just seemed… not upset, but like he simply didn’t believe in what Dream was saying. It was odd, whenever he had seen Mettaton before now the ghost seemed so bubbly and friendly, but the man he just spoke to was walled off, impersonal. Quiet.
Dream shook his head, reminding himself he didn’t know Mettaton, or what he was like. He’d done what he meant to, and even if Mettaton didn’t believe he could do it, Dream would show him he could. He was determined to make things better.
… Just as long as they actually win.
*****
Sweat was dripping down Cross’ forehead, fists clenching two red hot knives and engulfed in flames. Normally he would have wondered why his magic was pure red at that moment inside of the normal purple and red mixture it usually was, or he’d care that the lower half of his jacket’s sleeves had burned away, but he couldn’t find it in him to care. The searing anger in his soul overshadowed any part of him that would care about sleeves.
Fucking Undyne. Cross narrowed his eye sockets at the poor, batter tree in front of him, his fists growing hot as the flames grew. How dare she go on about feeling like shit because he and Papyrus had left when she was just going to fucking leave them, and for Gaster of all people.
To think he had considered talking Error into letting her out of that goddamn cage. Letting her join them. To forgive her. To trust her again. He should have known she’d leave the second she got the chance to. He should have known .
Fuck her.
Cross let out a guttural cry, raising his fists above his head before quickly dropping them, sending the new blades, along with several projectile knives, into the bark of the tree. The tree shook, several leaves falling off at the impact, bits of bark and wood chips flying away from the tree.
Fuck her.
Cross unclenched his fists, letting them hang at his side, his breathing coming out in shaky bursts. He was far enough from the cottage that no one should be able to hear or see him. He’d walked over to the small outcrop of trees he’d seen daily since arriving here. Saying he was “angry” was an understatement - he was absolutely livid - but his soul ached with hurt. Betrayal. He had started to believe that Undyne was going to help, just like Papyrus had already believed; and still does, last he checked. How he could still believe that, even after Undyne broke out and ran away , he didn’t know. Regardless, Cross had wanted to believe he had his old friend back, that they could work together again. And then she left.
A part of him - a very, very small part that he did not like right now - could sympathise with and understand why Undyne had bolted. She was worried for her partner, scared Alphys would get hurt. Hell, before Dream had been brought back to them, on more than one occasion, Cross had debated running off as well, just to rescue his sunflower himself. But the difference between him and Undyne was he hadn’t ever considered going back to work for the King again. Doing his bidding wouldn’t save Alphys. He’ll get what he wants and then kill the scientist regardless of what he’d promised. If Undyne had just stayed, they could have worked together to get Alph out of the castle!
But no, she’d rather work with Gaster, a corrupt, twisted, abusive asshole, than stay and accept his and everyone else’s help.
That was what hurt the most.
He growled under his breath, sinking down to the grass, his magic disintegrating into the rapidly cooling evening air. He was exhausted, and he knew he should head back, talk to Dream. God, Dream…
A wave of guilt washed over him, Cross dropping his skull into his hands with a groan. He knew damn well it was shitty of him to storm off instead of talking to the other man. This wasn’t Dream’s fault, but Cross hadn’t known what else to do. The feeling in his chest was too much, and he didn’t know how to talk his feelings through. So he came out here to let some of that anger roaring in his chest out, to work through his feelings. Yet all it’s done is make him more upset.
“Geez pal, you got a personal vendetta against that tree or something?”
Cross jerked, magic flaring back to life in his bones as he whipped his head to find the owner of the voice. He deflated when he saw it was just Sans, leaning against another tree a few feet away from him. The ex-guard turned his head away, looking back down at the grass. “Didn’t hear you walk up.” Cross frowned, exhaling slowly before standing up - his legs felt shaky, he must have used more magic today than he had thought. “How did you know I was out here?”
Sans shrugged. “I heard Dream say you needed ‘alone time.’ I’ve lived here basically my whole life, and there’s only two places a person can go to be truly alone. Only one now that the lawn is filled with tents and monsters roaming around.”
Cross grunted in response, adjusting the strap across his red turtleneck. “If you came out here to lecture me about talking to Dream then you can go back. I already know I should. I will. Just-”
“That’s not why I’m here, Cross.” Sans interrupted, igniting a spark of annoyance in Cross. Sans was wearing his dark blue trench coat again - something the other monster hadn’t seen him in… well, he didn’t know how long it had been, but it had definitely been a while - and his hands were stuffed into the pockets. If Cross looked closely, he could still see the outlines of bandages under Sans shirt - should he even be out here in his condition? Wasn’t he still healing? “Look I… Error was going to come out here to check on you first. I thought Dream would want to, but uh, he insisted on waiting till ‘you were ready and came to him.’” Cross felt warmth blossom on his cheeks - how Dream wasn’t mad at him was a mystery to him, but he loved the man for it. “But I told Error I would go instead. Love the guy, but… eh, he never really liked Undyne in the first place. He’s pissed, but in a different way.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“No. Sorry. What I’m trying to get at is this is shitty. It’s a crappy situation, you know? Knowing that what you’re doing is right, but someone you care about can’t see it that way… or something is holding them back from believing the same thing as you. It sucks, and it’s hard as hell to know you’ll be fighting against someone you still care about.” Sans’s expression darkened a bit as he spoke, kicking at the dirt. That’s right, at the beginning of all of this, Sans and Papyrus had been on opposite sides. It was weird to think of that now, seeing as the brothers were so close. Still, Cross supposed, Sans was the one who’d understand how Cross was feeling. Technically, Papyrus probably would too, but Cross didn’t think he could handle Papyrus’s overwhelming optimism right now.
“...How’d you do it?” He asked quietly.
“Hm?”
“Fight Papyrus. How did you do that? How did you come to terms with the fact that he was working with the enemy?”
Sans sighed, one of his hands leaving his pocket to scratch his cheek. “I don’t think I ever came to terms with it. I just… I told myself that I was doing the right thing, and that Pap was an adult. I had to let him make his own choice. Didn’t make it easier though.” His eyelights met Cross’s. “Every time I saw him, it hurt like all hell. He’s my little brother, I didn’t want to hurt him, I didn’t want him anywhere near the castle. But I was also mad, and bitter that he wouldn’t listen to me. So… I latched onto the bitterness instead of the pain.
“This is god awful advice normally, by the way.” Sans let out a humourless laugh. “Hanging on to bitterness and anger gets no one anywhere in life. But right now… we’ve got a job to do, and we’ve all clearly made our choice on where we stand in this situation. We’ve got to stick to our plan, with or without Undyne.”
“Yeah.” Squeezing his eye sockets shut, Cross let out a slow breath. “Yeah.”
“I think, after all this is over, you should talk to Undyne.”
“I’m going to punch her so fucking hard when I see her again.” Sans snorted. “...But I think you’re right. I don’t know. She’s my friend but…She’s being so fucking dumb right now.”
“Yeah. People are stupid as hell. Especially when it comes to love.” Sans gave Cross a lazy wink before turning on his heel. “Come on, let’s head back. Or wood you perfer to terrorize that poor tree some more?”
Cross groaned, rolling his eyes at the pun, but followed Sans nonetheless. “That was awful.”
“Nah, my jokes are sansational ”
“I’m 99.99% sure you’ve used that one before.”
Sans grinned. “Maybe, but yew see, a pine pun can still spruce up a conversation a bit, even if it’s been used before.” Cross groaned again, which only seemed to spur Sans on more. “At least that’s my be- leaf , but I guess that is a bit acorny isn’t it? Elm sorry if my puns don’t live up to your standards.”
“You know way too many of those, oh my god.” Sans just snickered to himself and shrugged, a comfortable silence hanging in the air between them.
As the lights from the wooden cottage came into view, getting closer the longer they walked, Cross spoke up again. “Hey Sans?” The older monster hummed, signalling Cross to continue. “Thanks.”
Sans laughed softly, turning to look at Cross, a smile on his skull. It was more genuine than the shit eating grin he had been wearing a few minutes ago.
“Don’t mention it.”
*****
Undyne frowned at her reflection in the mirror, adjusting the chest plate of her new armour. She hated how gaudy it looked - too many clunky metal pieces piled on top of each other, making it a true miracle her movements weren’t restricted too much while wearing it, the large, annoying royal cress just below her chin, and the piece of fabric that hung down from the bottom of the chest piece, reaching down to her knees.
She sighed, sitting down at the edge of her bed, her armour clinking against itself. Whatever, there was no point in complaining. Given the circumstances, and her position, it would only make sense for her armour to be a bit flashy.
The dorm Undyne shared, or used to share, with Papyrus and Cross had stayed relatively the same since she had left, but she had found that some things were out of place, or laying out in the open even though she knew she had put them away, proving that Gaster had her room searched when she disappeared.
A pang of guilt hit her, the fins on the side of her face twitching. She gingerly raised a hand, brushing her fingers against the burn that was still healing on her cheek. You’re doing what you have to , she reminded herself. She wasn’t here to win any war for the king - even though she had to make it look like she was - she was just here to protect Alphys.
When she had arrived at the castle late last night, the King had been waiting for her, sitting poised and relaxed on his throne, wine glass in hand, Undyne’s brand new, shiny armour waiting for her next to him. Standing in front of him, Undyne hadn’t felt scared. She’d been angry at herself. The man in front of her had done so many heinous acts, had hurt so many people, had hurt her partner , and yet here she was. She was right where he wanted her. Just a pawn to do his bidding.
She wasn’t strong enough to stop him.
He questioned her about Dream, and she had flimsily lied and said she didn’t know where he went. That she hadn’t seen him the day of his escape. It was a lie that was easy to see through, but Gaster hadn’t grilled her too hard. Yet, at least. She was sure that was coming. He had let her leave then, and that was when she got to see her. The reason she came back.
Alphys was in bad shape. Unsurprising, but it still made Undyne’s soul feel like it had been shattered. The small lizard monster was bruised and exhausted, wrapped in bandages covered in dried blood and dust. Undyne had let this happen, she should have known better.
She had promised Alph that she wouldn’t let Gaster hurt her again. Undyne squeezed her fists in her lap, letting out a slow breath. That’s all that mattered. Cross and Papyrus could hate her. They could fight her, dust her, whatever else.
All that mattered was keeping Alphys safe.
Notes:
Sorry for the longer wait got this chapter! I took a break for Christmas and my birthday, and then I got hella sick for a week afterwards (wasn't covid) so yeah,,, took me a while ^^'
Also! I just wanted to say that if you have any questions please ask them through my ask box on Tumblr, or ask me them on the discord server. It just makes things a bit easier for me
Chapter 30: ~Chapter 30~
Notes:
For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on Instagram or Tumblr
Find the DystopianTale Discord here
!CW!: Description of violence, referenced past abuse
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Error’s gaze fell to the plastic table in front of him as he leaned against it with his hands splayed across the white surface. The table top was interesting - old scuffs and stains, scratches in the plastic, a small, smudged drawing of himself in blue ink (courtesy of Ink, he was sure.) - yup, very interesting. Far more interesting than the indignant faces of his friends around said table.
The air was heavy with unease - although a lot of unease could be from the hostility radiating off of Killer, Cross and Red right now. Not directed at him, Error knew, but it was hard not to feel a little anxious knowing those three were ready to snap. Especially after what Red did to Undyne. Not that he pitied the fish woman. Bitch got what was coming to her after she-
Error exhaled, shaking that unproductive thought from his head. He needed to say something of actual use here, he needed to know what to do next. Undyne was gone, most likely back to the king’s side, which meant he could very well know where their new camp was. They couldn’t handle another ambush. The original plan was to wait a bit, get more members before attacking again, lay low for a little while. But that was before Undyne broke out and ran off. Things were different, and that meant…
“Are we just going to stand here and stare at each other? Come on, what’s the plan here?” Killer grunted, breaking the silence like a plastic ruler snapping in half, Error’s eyelights - somewhat unwillingly - snapped away from the table to look at the shorter man. “We’re not going to let that bitch get away with this, are we?”
“No.” Error frowned, his phalanges tapping the plastic table top. No, they couldn’t let Undyne get off scot free - as petty as that sounded. “But we can’t just go charging at the castle with full force. That’s a surefire way to get all of us dusted.”
Killer narrowed his eye sockets. “Yeah, you keep saying that. But doing nothing led to Undyne escaping! If we had just killed her when we had the chance” Papyrus shifted his weight between his feet, sweat forming on his brow. “we wouldn’t be worrying about our location being found!”
“We couldn’t have known she’d break out, Killer.” Error risked a glance at Cross - the ex-guard had his arms folded over his chest, his expression dark and the circles under his eyes darker. He didn’t blame Cross for this, nor Papyrus - even if he wasn’t a big fan of Sans’s brother - but it was obvious Cross blamed himself.
“We couldn’t have known my ass! She. Was. A guard !”
“Hey, buddy, she wasn’t the only one here who used to be a guard.” Sans’s tone was friendly on the surface, but Error had a hunch that there was a threat hidden under his broad smile.
Dream stepped up then, placing his gloved hands on the table - whether he did it to make himself look more in control (aka why Error usually did it) or if he actually needed the support, Error didn’t know. “Regardless of whether we could have known or not, it’s in the past and can’t be changed.” The prince's yellow eyelights travelled around the table, his jaw set. “That being said, I still think we should focus on getting Alphys out of the castle, for a few reasons.”
“Is one of those reasons rubbing it in Undyne’s face that she should have stuck with us?” Cross grumbled under his breath.
Dream’s lips hinted at a smile as he turned his attention fully to Cross. “Actually, yes.” The smile hinted on Dream’s lips formed fully on Cross’s - it was small and tired, but genuine. “The others are first and foremost, she’s in danger, and I don’t want her losing her life because of Gaster. Secondly… she’d be a very helpful teammate. Admittedly, she won’t be much help in a battle, but her intelligence and knowledge of the castle… we need her.”
“Alright, and how do you plan on getting her out of the castle, your highness ?” Killer asked, voice laced with annoyance - of what… Error wasn’t sure. Dream was a lifesaver right now for him, and Error was more than happy to let the prince lead the conversation. The role of leader fit Dream far better than it fit him.
“I'm glad you asked.” Dream smiled. “Error, do you mind if I…?”
Error shook his head, gesturing for Dream to continue. “Let’s hear this plan of yours.”
*****
The next day was overcast with large, hazy clouds drifting across the sky and overlapping each other. Occasionally the clouds would shift enough for cracks of blue and muted, grey sunlight to shine down. There was a harsh breeze shaking the leaves in the trees and moving the heavy looking clouds.
Cross squinted his eyesockets as wind pushed right into his face - he couldn’t help but wish the wind did more to cool him down. His entire body felt warm and sweaty from his magic rolling through his bones as he and the rest of the monsters in the frontal attack force marched towards the castle. They were close now, Cross could see the tips of the tilted roofs, and god, he was getting impatient. He knew damn well why he was leading this group so slowly - to give Papyrus, Sans and Killer time to get in position to enter the castle once Cross’s team attacked, and to give Red, Mettaton, Edge and the other small evacuation teams plenty of time to get civilians out of the area.
But damn it , Cross was restless. He hadn’t been able to fully rid himself of the angry, hot magic in his system since Undyne had escaped, and he was more than ready to get it out of him.
By the time they made it to the front of the castle wall, the royal guard was already stationed there, standing in a neat, orderly line along the brick wall. Almost unwillingly, Cross’s eyelights scanned the line for a certain redhead.
And there she was.
Cross felt his chest tightening at the sight of her - Undyne was standing just in front of the iron gate of the castle wall, her usual uniform replaced by gaudy, blocky armour that looked like it definitely didn’t fit her right. In any other situation, Cross would have laughed, poked fun at her playfully, but seeing it now made his stomach twist into knots. It was a blatant reminder that she had made her choice, that she had decided she wanted to work for Gaster instead of with her friends, instead of for their good cause.
That anger curled up in his chest, wrapping around his already wound up soul, igniting his magic even more than it already was. He weaved his way through the crowd, muttering apologies, until he was right in front of Undyne. Finally, the fish monster’s eyes found his - shock flashed over her features, maybe even guilt, but Cross didn’t want to believe that. She brought this on herself. This was her choice. - and even with the chunky armour, Cross could see her body tense up. Cross stepped forward, loose stones from the cobblestone road crunching under his shoes as he walked up to Undyne, standing a few feet away from his old friend.
Almost immediately, all guards raised their weapons - mostly spears or similar weapons, all made from the guards’ personal magic - pointed at Cross, ready to attack. Undyne raised a hand, silently telling her guards to stand down before she, like Cross, stepped forward, standing in front of him.
“...Hey, Cross.”
Eyesockets narrowing, Cross squeezed his fists, magic sparking between his phalanges. “Don’t ‘hey’ me. What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Cross hissed between his teeth.
Undyne flinched - how she didn't expect Cross to be angry he couldn’t understand (Then again, maybe she did expect it, but there was a difference between expecting something and actually experiencing it.) - then her expression turned hard and angry. “I’m keeping Alphys safe.”
“By working for Gaster ?! After everything’s he done?!” Undyne opened her mouth to say something, but Cross stopped her, his rage starting to spill out. “We could have helped you, we could have worked together! But no, you just couldn’t do that, huh?! It was just too much work to actually think for yourself instead of just following that fucking asshole’s oders !”
“Cross-” The weapons were up again, this time on both sides. The air was growing heavy - with magic or maybe it was tension, Cross wasn’t sure, but regardless, it was suffocating.
His vision was red, hot, burning, red. He wasn’t sure when he had formed the large sword in his hand, wasn’t sure when his palm went from sweaty and empty, to burning hot, and wrapped around the hilt of a sword made of red and purple magic. “You’re just a fucking coward!” He snapped, the rage, grief, confusion, everything that had welled up inside and filled his soul suddenly burst out of him, spilling out.
He pushed forward, raising the sharp blade, going for her chest. Undyne was quick to react - not unsurprising, Cross knew that, but it sparked annoyance in his soul - a spear forming in her hand. Their magic crackled as it collided. They used to spar like this. This used to be something the two of them did for fun.
Cross roared, using the momentum of their colliding attacks to jump back, creating some distance between himself and Undyne. There was movement all around them now, attacks flying, magic sparking, gasps and grunts of pain. It seemed muffle in Cross’s ears, blurry and distant to him. The sword in his hand flared with his magic, the wisps of magic swirling around his hand and arm.
Undyne attacked next, lunging her spear at his side. He blocked it with ease, his other arm lifting, focusing magic into his palm, solidifying it into a small, jagged knife, and sending it forward at Undyne’s leg. She spun her spear, the end deflecting the blade, breaking it into shards of purple magic.
A growl ripped out of his throat, he dropped down and kicked his leg out, knocking her off balance and, in her moment of confusion, he pried the spear out of her hand. It sizzled against his glove, and he could feel the burning effect of her magic through the leather. He tossed it aside as Undyne fell hard against the ground. He pinned her there against the hard ground, a foot on her chest. She hissed and grabbed at his leg, fingers digging into the space between his bones, sending a bolt of pain through his spine.
Ignore it .
Pinning down her leg with his knee to keep her from kicking back, he lodged his sword in between the stones of the road next to her head, leaning close. He saw it then: a spark of fear, a spark of regret in her eyes. Guilt washed over him, and for a moment, he thought of helping her back up, getting her back on their side. He’d tell her their plan, tell her how they were going to get Alphys back to the camp, then she’d know what to do. She’d know what was right. She’d apologise. They’d be friends again, and this would just be something to laugh at over drinks.
That idea was squashed the minute the remorse left her eyes, the minute her grip on his leg tightened, the minute magic sparked at Undyne’s fingers. What was the point of fantasising? Undyne had made her choice, and he had made his own.
They were enemies. Black and white. Oil and water.
Their friendship was a burned bridge.
He pulled his weapon from the ground, small rocks flying, one hitting his chin. “There’s two sides to life, Undyne. Maybe ask yourself which side you're on and if you’re happy with that choice.” He flipped the blade in his hand, dropping the hilt and smacking her on the side of her head.
She was out almost immediately.
Cross pushed her body to the side, walking away.
He didn’t have the guts to dust her.
No matter how much he preached to himself that he didn’t care, that he saw Undyne just as his enemy, he still cared. He still saw her as a friend.
He hated it.
*****
Dream shifted in the wooden chair in the Dreemurr’s dining room, pulling his legs up and under himself, placing his hands on his knees to stop himself from fidgeting. On his right sat Ink, who’s leg was bouncing under the table as he bent over the table and moved a pencil over a pad of paper. Curiosity ate at Dream’s chest at what he was drawing, but he’d feel guilty breaking Ink’s focus. Dream knew Chara was somewhere in the house too, Dream would guess she was upstairs in her room. The sound of the TV from the living room adjacent from the room Dream was in, droned on in the background, along with the soft clinking and pat pat pat of Asgore’s paws on the kitchen tiles as he made a kettle of tea. The older monster had insisted it would help calm all of their nerves, and Dream desperately hoped he was right.
He squeezed his knees, focusing on that pressure to stop his breathing from speeding up. He hated that he had to stay at the cottage, that he couldn’t be out with everyone else, fighting with everyone else. Sure, Dream understood the reason why he was here - he wasn’t ready for that kind of action, which was glaringly obvious. He wasn’t able to be around anyone who was angry or using attacks without going into a panic attack, a fine example of that being the case was how he reacted when Red started beating Undyne. That attack hadn’t even been directed at Dream, but it had genuinely scared him. It had scared him because all he could see was Gaster.
That alone would be more than enough of a reason for Dream to stay behind for the time being, but he was worried about getting into any fight after his outburst at Undyne. He felt like he was losing control of his magic, and he needed to make sure his magic was fine, he was fine, that he had good control of the magic inside of him before he could even think of helping Cross and his newfound friends.
He supposed he should be relieved that he hadn’t had another one of those outbreaks since that single moment with Undyne, and with that fact in mind Dream should be able to dismiss it as a one time thing. But he just couldn’t shake the feeling that it was more than that, that, at some point, the second shoe would drop, so to speak.
A teacup filled with a warm, golden liquid was placed in front of him, snapping Dream out of his thoughts. He willed a small smile onto his face, quietly thanking the larger goat monster. He wrapped his hands around the delicate, white cup - there were small yellow flowers painted along the rim that looked hand painted - and lifted it to his lips, taking a sip of the hot liquid.
Warm flowed through him, filling his chest, wrapping around his soul like a thick, fuzzy blanket. The tea had a floral taste, bitter and herbal, yet also sweet like honey. It was delicious.
“This is… amazing, Asgore.” Beside him, Ink hummed in agreement, cradling his own cup.
“It is! Do you think I could get the recipe from you…?”
The elder smiled and nodded, a twinkle in his eyes. He still looked tired, Dream noted, but he couldn’t say that was surprising. Two of his kids were currently sneaking into the highly secured castle as they sat her, sipping tea.
“Of course, Ink, I’d be happy to write it down for you. It’s actually my wife’s recipe…” His smile softened, his eyes dropped to the wooden table. His chest tightened suddenly and Dream dropped his gaze, sipping from his cup again. He knew very little about the people around him, but he knew enough to know that Sans and Papyrus lost their mother when they were young. Next to him, Ink leaned forward, patting Asgore’s fuzzy arm - were they friends? Cross had told he, Ink, Error and Sans were all pretty close, but he had no idea of the couple’s relationship with Sans’s father.
The room suddenly felt stuffy and claustrophobic - the reminder of losing a loved one a sensitive topic with… well, it was obvious. Everyone at the table had lost someone in the past, and now they each had someone in the middle of a fight with the royal guards. Dream swallowed a lump in his throat, something in his chest felt heavy and cold, replacing the warmth the tea had momentarily given him. He squeezed the cup in his hands, taking a slow breath. It was fine. Cross was fine. He was fully trained, and smart. He wasn’t going to be dusted.
A sudden, loud crack broke the silence, followed by a sharp pain in Dream’s hand and a burning feeling. He yanked his hands away from the now shattered glass, his soul jumping to his throat. “Shi- I’m so sorry! I don’t… I’m…”
Asgore’s chair screeched on the tile as he stood. “Ah- No, don’t apologise. Are you ok, my child? Hold on, I’ll get a cloth.”
Dream didn’t answer, his eyelights locked on his hands. Bits of white porcelain were stuck into his phalanges, blood and magic slowly seeping out, dripping down to the table in a slow, steady drip. His soul pounded in his ears.
A foot was crushing his palm. Breaking his bones. Shattering his hand. There was blood on the floor. He was choking on his own blood and magic. A dark, cold laugh. A gloved hand tightening around his throat.
“ I’m not afraid to break your bones”
Something in his chest snapped, magic suddenly flowing through him like a tidal wave. The pain in his hand was overshadowed by a sudden, intense pain along his spine - it was worse than anything he had ever felt before, worse than when Gaster snapped his bones. So much worse. It was like something was being ripped out of his spine, being forced and pulled out of him.
Dream screamed.
*****
Sans pressed his palm to his ribs, applying pressure and rubbing through his shirt, giving him some relief from the pain. He knew he was lucky that he was well enough to even be here, crouching in a bush next to Papyrus and Killer, but it was hard to ignore the burning feeling from the still-healing hole in his ribs - ok, hole wasn’t the right word, it was more a tender, soft part of bone across his sternum and ribs. He’d gotten good at ignoring it while they had walked (and climbed. Thanks for that , Killer.) since he could focus on things other than that feeling, like his feet as he walked, or on his movements as he scaled a building with his brother and Killer. But now that they weren’t walking around, and instead kneeling behind, basically inside, of a bush along the castle wall on the east side of the castle.
The plan was relatively simple, in theory. The rebels - God, Sans felt childish calling them that, but he guessed that was the best word for them - were split into three groups. Cross and Error were leading the attack from the front of the castle, aka the distraction, while Red, Mettaton, Nightmare, and Edge were part of the evacuation groups that were responsible for making sure all civilians were out of the area. That was something new they were doing, evacuating people, which, admittedly, they should have been doing from the beginning; since Gaster sure as hell wasn’t going to do it, and more people didn’t need to get hurt from this, not if they could help it.
And that left himself, Papyrus and Killer, who were in charge of the rescue mission. They were supposed to get Alphys out of the castle.
How hard could that be?
“Ok,” Killer’s whispered voice cut through the silence. “We go over this wall and to the right. You said there was a ‘secret door’ or whatever that way, right?”
“Service door.” Papyrus corrected. Out of the three of them, Papyrus was the one who had to fold himself the most to stay fully concealed by the bush - though, if Sans was being honest, he didn’t see the point of hiding, as no one had passed since they had arrived. He assumed that was because they were all at the front of the castle, defending against the attack from the others, or inside. Or maybe they were just lucky. “...But yes. It’s one of the ones only used by staff, and not the guards, so it should be safe to pass through.”
Killer shrugged, rolling his shoulders. “If we do run into someone we’ll just knock ‘em out. Easy peasy”
“Well, yes, we could but… we should avoid hurting innocent people.” Sans glanced at his brother, noting the sweat on his skull, the younger tugging at his red gloves nervously.
“Innocent? They work for Gaster, just how innocent can they be?”
“And what if they don’t have a choice?”
“Okay, let’s not fight right now.” Sans’s brows furrowed, standing up, the ache in his chest growing at the movement. He didn’t miss the appreciative look from Papyrus, nor Killer’s eye roll. It didn’t matter if Killer was a little ticked off with him, he reminded himself, the guy could cuss him out later if he wanted, but right now they really needed to focus. If they fucked this up, they’d all be in deep shit. Either they’d get thrown into a cell - not ideal - or Gaster would dust them on the spot - really not ideal. “Let’s just… scale this wall.”
Killer snorted, standing and taking a step toward the wall, hooking his foot on a rock that was slightly sticking out of the wall, and used that to hoist himself up. Once seated on the ledge, he hopped back down on the other side without casting a glance back at the brothers.
Sans groaned. He was so sick of climbing.
The service tunnel, or whatever Papyrus had called it, was far narrower than Sans had imagined, the stone walls cold as they brushed against his shoulders, there was barely enough room for him to stand without hunching his shoulders. Not only was it cramped, but it was pitch dark, the only light source in the tunnel coming from Killer and Sans’s eyelights.
There was a soft thump behind him, shortly followed by a grunt of pain. The tunnel wasn’t quite tall enough for Papyrus, so he had to lean down and scrunch his shoulders. At least Killer fit just fine. That being said…
“Oh my fucking god , Sans, would you stop stepping on my heels?!” In the quiet, damp air of the tunnel - or… hallway? Did this count as a hallway? It certainly didn’t feel like it. - Killer’s angry, hissed whispering sounded more like yelling.
“Sorry, sorry, but I can’t really see so-”
“None of us can, dumbass!” Another thump . “That’s why Papyrus keeps hitting his fucking head.”
‘I’m hitting my head because I’m tall, not because I can’t see.”
“Yeah but you can’t see either, can you?” Killer hissed, momentarily stopping to look back - at least it seemed that way with what Sans could see of his eyelights. Sans stopped to avoid running into him, which didn’t work, since they still collided, and there was a grunt behind him as Papyrus not only crashed into his back, but bumped his head.
“No, Killer, I can’t.” Papyrus groaned. “Thank you so much for stopping to prove your point.”
“I didn’t- nevermind.”
Grinding his teeth, Sans pressed his hand to his chest as the group started walking again. “Maybe tell your boyfriend that he should put some lights in this tunnel.” In front of him, a dull red glow bloomed in the dark, casting a bit of light onto the walls around the shorter skeleton. “Oh, nevermind, looks like we’ve got a light now.”
“Shut the fuck up!” Sans grinned, biting back a laugh. It relaxed him a bit to joke around like that, made this feel a little less weird - even though it definitely was, and illegal. Not to mention dangerous.
They reached the end of the tunnel/hallway, opening the wooden door to the brightly lit room that seemed to be a sort of laundry room. The floor was cold concrete, like the floors of the tunnel, only cleaner, and a coarse, brown rug covered most of the floor. The walls were panelled with wood, shelves nailed to them and filled with things like laundry detergent, bottles of stain remover and towels, and wall sconces filled the room with warm light. Washing machines lined two of the walls - half of which were in use, rattling softly, magic energy rolling off of them - and dryers were set up on top of them. Sans had known the castle used all magic electronics, machines that found a way to utilise magical energy instead of electricity, or in some cases batteries, but Sans had never seen anything like this in person. Besides cell phones and some lights that had been using magic to work for years now, magical machinery, like these washing machines, weren’t as popular with the general public, not to mention they were ridiculously expensive.
Sans had to admit, for a castle laundry room, it seemed rather… small. With all the bedsheets, clothing, towels, rags and whatnot the castle must use in a day it felt like the few washing machines in this boxy room wouldn’t be enough.
“Where the fuck are we now?” Killer grumbled and kicked one of the washing machines with a dull thud, the wooden service door shutting behind them.
“A laundry room?” Sans supplied, pressing his hands into the pockets of his trench coat. The room was warmer than the cramped hallway, but it really didn’t look like a part of the “elegant, royal castle”. Then again, Sans guessed that was to be expected when it came to areas the public wouldn’t see, or were really just there so the castle would actually work properly.
“No shit, sherlock. Papyrus?”
The taller monster looked over, arms behind his back as he stretched, looking relieved to be back in a normal sized room. Sans could understand why. “Technically Sans is right, we’re in the east Laundry room.”
With a roll of his eyes, Killer focused on scanning the room, attempting to look behind the washing machines. Sans wondered what he was looking for. “Is there more than one?”
“Er… well, yeah. There’s this one, then the west laundry room, which is next to the kitchen, and there’s a third one in the basement…” Papyrus shook his skull. “That’s not why we’re here though. If I had to guess, Alphys is most likely in her room, so that’s where we need to go.”
Sans eyed the door, anxiety gnawing at him at the thought that someone might walk in at any moment. “We close?”
“It’s on the second floor, but, if my memory serves me right, one of the smaller staircases is down the hall to the right of here.” Papyrus rubbed his hands on his pants, gaze shifting to the door, then to Killer. “...If we see any staff members, don’t attack them. They might want to help us.”
“Or they’ll tell Gaster we’re in the castle! We shouldn’t risk it.”
“You can’t assume everyone here is out to get us!”
“Why not?! We have no reason to believe-”
“...W-who are you…?” All three men whirled around at the sound of the feminine voice, panic rushing Sans’s system. Standing in front of the door on the far wall of the room, were two castle staff members, one was a tall woman with warm brown skin and bright eyes, her curly hair tied up into a high bun and wearing a dark black dress that reached down to her knees with an apron overtop of it; the other was a shorter white man with messy blonde hair and wearing a similar black suit and apron.
Killer growled next to Sans, who immediately reached out to put a hand on his chest to stop him from lunging and immediately attacking. “The tooth fairy. What do you think, assholes?”
“Killer.” Sans hissed through his feet.
The woman blinked. “You’re… part of the attack. What are you… why are you in here ?”
“We’re looking for Dr. Alphys.” Papyrus took a step towards the two humans, Sans’s soul pounding in his chest. He did somewhat agree that they shouldn’t go attacking the staff, but he also believed that the staff could attack them, and humans…
It wouldn’t take much for a human to kill a monster.
“Dr. Alphys.” The woman repeated, the man next to her narrowed his eyebrows. “I… I’ll take you to her. I’ve been in charge of taking her food, I know where she is.”
Papyrus’s eyes lit up, and he nodded. “Thank you… we appreciate your help.”
“Of course. Um, follow me…” The woman turned, the other human grabbing her arm. “Hey-”
“Lilith, what are you doing? Don’t you realise what will happen if Gaster finds out you helped them ?” Beside him, Killer growled, his eyelights looking between Papyrus and Sans, the look in his eyes seeming to say “See? We shouldn’t trust them!”
The woman - Lilith - yanked her arm away. “Well it’s a good thing he’ll never find out then, right?” She snapped, opening the wooden door and looking back at the monsters. “Come… we have to be quick.
Sans hadn’t realised how humid the laundry room was until he had left it, the air immediately feeling lighter. The floor of the hallway was a dark wood, though a long, deep red carpet covered most of it. The walls were stone and lined with pillars spaced out along the hall, towering up and arching towards the ceiling, a chandelier, with lit candles hung from the center of each of the stone arches. No pictures hung from the walls, but occasionally a wooden door was placed in the between the pillars, lamps lit with magical flames set on either side of the wooden door.
Now this is what Sans expected when he was told he was going to be breaking into the castle.
Beside him, Killer glowered at Lilith’s back, magic radiating off of him in angry waves. Papyrus seemed happy though, Sans noted, though he could only see his brother’s back. He hoped they weren’t making a mistake, like Killer thought they were, but a little voice in the back of his head was screaming at him that something was wrong.
Lilith led them to the end of the hallway before turning to the left, where a small, almost hidden door was, and opened it. Behind it was a narrow staircase. “Up here… shut the door behind us.” Sans did so, Killer now between him and Papyrus. At least this was taller than the tunnel and Papyrus didn’t need to duck.
They made it halfway up the stairs before Lilith stopped, trailing her hand over the stones on the wall. “The doctor… may be jumpy, just be patient with her.” She warned softly before pushing her hand against a particularly round stone with a
click
. A grinding sound filled the corridor as the wall moved, opening up into a small, cold room, decorated with a single bed, a wooden chair, a table, and a bookcase that looked ready to fall over.
Alphys jumped up from the bed, one of the old looking blankets wrapped around her round body, and a bandage wrapped around the top of her head. For a moment, she looked excited to see Lilith. The excitement immediately left her face when she saw the others, the yellow monster jumping away, cowering behind the bed.
“Hey, it’s ok, Alphys… they’re… uh?” The human looked at the skeletons for help, wringing her hands together.
“We’re here to get you out of here, Doctor. We’re part of the rebellion, we’re going to take you somewhere safe, ok…?” It was odd, hearing his brother sound so diplomatic. Sans sometimes forgot his brother wasn’t the same happy-go-lucky kid he used to be.
He also forgot how close he and Alphys used to be. They had taken a few classes together in uni, and - not to toot his own horn - he and the yellow lizard had both been top of their class, and ended up teaming up when it came to group projects, which led to them becoming pretty close friends. Then Alphys had been offered the Royal Scientist job, and Sans ended up dropping out, so they just… stopped talking to one another. It was nice to see her again.
Should he say something? Alphys was staring at him - she must recognize him too, right? - so nervously he raised a hand in a small wave. “Hi Alph. Uh. Long time no see?”
Before the scientist could respond, that loud, rock on rock grinding sound filled the room again, the wall closing behind them. “Oh, no no no-!” Lilith banged her fists against the wall, pulling back in pain. “Fuck-”
Sans’s soul clenched as the heavy metal door adjacent to the wall-door creaked open, a heavy, dark magic filling the room.
“Now… What's this? It would appear some rats have found their way into my castle.”
His breath catching in his throat, Sans looked up, finding his creator standing at the door, arms crossed behind his back, his cap making him look like a stereotypical villain in a superhero movie.
They were fucked.
Gaster had found them.
Killer suddenly screamed out, that angry energy Sans had been feeling this entire time shaking into a sharp blade in his hand, and he lunged at the king, Alphys screaming at him to stop. Gaster easily stepped out of the way of the attack, Killer rolling after he landed on the floor outside of the room. The pinpricks of his eyes met Sans’s, and he swore he could see a hint of sympathy, before Killer suddenly stood and bolted down the hall.
Rage shot into Sans’s soul - he was just going to leave?! “You’re not going to go after him.” Sans snapped, immediately closing his mouth, realising his mistake. Papyrus gave him a disbelieving look, his hands clenched into tight fists at his side.
“He’s not the one I want.” Gaster’s sharp eyelights met Sans’s, a chill going down his spine. The heavy feeling in the air increased tenfold as Gaster’s magic manifested into hands at his sides, with sharp spikes in the center of the palms.
One of the hands shot out at Papyrus, who manifested a long spear made out of bone, hitting the hand down and smashing it on the ground. Meanwhile, two separate hands went for Sans. He summoned a bone, his soul lurching when his magic immediately disintegrated into black, almost glitchy squares. That’s not right. He quickly stepped back, calling on his other trick and disappearing from that spot, reappearing next to the bed, noting that Lilith was now kneeling next to the bed’s metal frame, holding Alphys. Pain shot through Sans’s body from the palms of his hands, and he cried out, dropping to his knees. His palms screamed in pain, right where those stupid rings were.
“Brother-” Papyrus dropped to the floor, his entire body going limp, one of Gaster’s magic hands pressed to his brother’s spin. Sans’s soul froze, pain forming a rock in his stomach. He needed to do something, or he and his brother would… they were going to…
He couldn’t move. His hands and chest screamed at him in pain, locking him in place, dread overfilling him.
“It’s good to have you back, subject-S. ”
Sans opened his mouth to scream - no, this couldn’t happen. He had family, he had friends he needed to get back to. He and Papyrus had just reunited, he had Red, he hadn’t met Ink and Error’s twins yet, he wanted to live .
Everything went black.
Notes:
I hope you all liked this one, I'm sorry it's a bit short ^^'
Also, I've had some people ask me how many chapters are left, and honestly, I don't know. We're getting close to the end of act 1, and so far I only plan on having 2 acts, so,,, there's a lot left to this. Whether that's a good thing or not is up to you guys to decide ^^
Chapter 31
Summary:
!cw: Descriptions of violence, reference to suicidal thoughts!
Notes:
For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on Instagram or Tumblr
Find the DystopianTale Discord here
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It was getting dark, the inky black sky melting with the warm tones of the setting sun and dotted with clouds drifting in from the west. Store lights were flickering on, neon signs and flashing lights lighting up the typically dim alleyways and streets that resided in the part of Blightview in and around the Slums. Night life was picking up by now, bars and clubs filling up as people slowly filtered in, chattering amongst themselves about their lives or work or, an incredibly popular topic tonight, the riot at the castle.
Near the city center, in the residential neighbourhoods, people and families would be returning home by now, having been evacuated earlier today. The houses were that close to the castle - if one were to walk from the farthest residential area in the city to the castle, it would take a good 40 minutes to do so - but after the ambush at the old rebel camp, and with all the people who were injured with that, the worries of civilians being caught in the crossfire had grown. Hence the evacuation.
No one seemed particularly worried about having to be told to leave their homes, however. It was just something new , something to gossip about, something to joke about.
It made Killer’s already shitty mood even shitter.
Which is why he had gone as far away from the fancy, uptight part of town as fast as he could and was now sitting on the dirty, grimy ground, back pressed against the side of an alleyway only a little ways away from the Slums. He was here because he was annoyed with people joking about their riot. That’s all. He needed quiet (Though where he chose to sit was not quiet, considering it was beside a Nightclub.)
It wasn’t because he was running away and avoiding going back to camp. It wasn’t because guilt was digging into his soul like thorns on a rose bush, making his bones feel cold and sweaty and wrong ,
after leaving Papyrus and Sans in the hands of Gaster.
…Who was he kidding? He felt awful for running out, even if it seemed like the best option at the time. He could bring others to help. They could storm into the castle, get Sans and Pap out of there, and maybe even kill Gaster. A complete and utter win.
But that was a stretch. He was being optimistic - which was new, he had no idea when that started happening but he wasn’t sure he liked it. The whole reason he and the Dreemurr brothers had tried to sneak into the castle to get Alphys out was because they weren’t ready for a full out attack. It’d be doomed to fail. But then, if that wouldn’t work, if there was no point in even suggesting a plan like that, what was he supposed to say when he arrived, alone, at the Dreemurr cottage?
The best option, in theory, would be to tell the truth: they had accepted the help of two human staff members and because of that Gaster found them and now he was doing god knows what to Papyrus and Sans. Why wasn’t Killer with them? Oh, he just abandoned them when they needed him most! He was just like his mother! Haha!
So, yes, Killer was feeling guilty. Guilty for leaving his friends, guilty for not trying to get help, guilty because his first reaction had been to run.
He never used to run. He used to not care. He used to do whatever he wanted without worrying if he’d get hurt, if he died. Because he hadn’t cared before if he had lived or died, it hadn’t mattered then. He didn't know when it happened, but now, suddenly, he cared.
Still, he was feeling more than guilt. Anger churned in his gut, coiling and tightening in knots.
He knew not to trust those fucking humans. He knew things had been going too well. It had been too easy. Too quiet. But no, Papyrus wanted to believe everyone was good and trustworthy and shit rainbows and whatever.
Killer groaned, his fingertips digging into his forearms. He had been right, obviously he had been right, but it felt wrong getting mad at Papyrus, especially after… well, after what happened. It just felt needless, and malice filled. Maybe in the past he would have stayed angry as the ex-guard, Sans too, but apparently he had changed, and that just… wasn’t him, anymore.
He didn’t know if that was ok with them. He’d been one way all his life: crude and cold to people around him, going headfirst into danger because who cared if he turned to dust? Certainly not him.
And then those walls came crashing down because of Nightmare’s smile . (Well, no it was more than that, but god damn, that smile…) And now…
He wanted to stay alive. He wanted to be better.
Yet here he was, hiding from the group, probably making everyone confused and worried.
They’d get mad. They’d be disappointed. Hell, Red might beat the shit out of him. Maybe he deserved it. And Nightmare…
Nightmare would understand. He didn’t know how, but Killer knew he would. He could trust Night. He hadn’t left yet, at least…
Killer grit his teeth, pushing himself off of the ground, dusting off his pants. Fuck this. Fuck this. Fuck sitting here and feeling crappy. Fuck regretting his choices. He had stayed alive, was that so bad? Hell, he saw it as an improvement. The camp would understand, or at least some people would.
He could do this.
He hoped.
*****
Dream felt heavy, like his body was made out of solid lead, sinking into the plush, soft bed under him. The familiar smell of mint engulfed him, mixed with…was that butterscotch?
Wait… bed? Wasn’t he drinking tea with Asgore and Ink? Why was he laying down? His eyelids, like the rest of him, felt too heavy, far too heavy for him to open, and his back…
It felt like his spine had been snapped in half, then glued back together. There was a constant, dull ache just below where his shoulder blades were, which was made worse by the tight feeling of… were those bandages? Whatever it was, it was wrapped around his chest and over his back.
When did he hurt his spine? Why was he so exhausted?
Someone sighed, somewhere next to him, followed by a voice Dream definitely recognized. “I’m sorry, Ink, can you just… please explain what happened again? Slower?” Cross?
“We were drinking tea and something… something set Dream off, I don’t know, I think it was his hand getting cut by his cup breaking…” A broken cup? Right… he had been worried about Cross, so focused on his thoughts he hadn’t noticed his grip on his cup tightening. Now that he thought about it, there was something wrapped securely around his palms - bandages, he guessed. “And then… it was like what happens to Nightmare- oh, stop giving me that look! I saw it, and so did Asgore, ask him if you think I’m lying.”
“I don’t think you’re lying but… that stuff is caused by a condition Nightmare has, that only Nightmare has.”
“They are twins, aren’t they?” A deeper voice this time… Error? He was technically right, Dream and Nightmare were twins, but they weren’t identical . The whole reason Nightmare was locked up and Dream wasn’t was because Nightmare couldn’t control his magic when he was feeling a particularly strong emotion, unlike Dream who could-
Oh.
The surge of magic he felt during his outburst at Undyne, the feeling he wasn’t in control, his back hurting now…
Something in that realisation snapped Dream out of his heavy-feeling stupor, his eye sockets snapping open as he pushed himself up and into a seated position. His breath caught in his throat at the sudden movement, pain shooting across his vertebrae, the lights in the room seeming to flare brighter with the pain.
He blinked against the brightness, his eyes slowly adjusting again. He was in a room he hadn’t been in yet - floral wallpaper, wooden floors with a warm beige rug on it. The bed Dream was on was in the center of the room, which was covered in quilts and blankets, to his left was the door out of the room, along with a chair that looked to be from the dining room - Cross was sitting there, eye sockets wide and eyelights small and filled with worry. - and to the right was a window, the pale peach curtains closed, a plush, older looking chair was near the corner of the room, and a bench like seat was directly next to the bed, near the end table, where Ink and Error - the other two voices Dream had heard - sat.
“Oh! You’re awake! Oh, thank god…” Ink exhaled, flushed from concern. Dream squeezed his hands into fists, making his palms ache, as his mind raced. He had whatever Nightmare had, which made him have… what would he call it? An attack? A breakdown? Whatever, something had happened and he had passed out - at least, he hoped he just passed out and no one had to force him to go unconscious.Oh, god, did he grow tentacles like Nightmare did? Had he hurt someone??
Had Cross seen him?
A hand was placed on top of one of the blankets covering Dream, right where his femur was. Slowly, he met Cross’s eyes, nerves tying his stomach into knots. What was he thinking, worrying all about him, when Cross could have died . This revelation that Night’s condition ran in the family needed to wait, there was a far more pressing matter, Dream reminded himself. “How are you feeling?”
“Sore.” His voice came out hoares, his throat uncomfortably dry. “What… What happened? With the mission? Is Alphys…?”
Cross blinked, looking at Dream like he had grown a second head, making Dream frown. He wasn’t on the verge of dying, Nightmare was just fine, so Dream would be too. Besides, Cross was the one who’s cheek was bruised and arm covered in blood stained bandages. The ex-guard opened his mouth to speak, but Error cut him off before he could do so.
“Sans, Papyrus and Killer haven’t come back yet, we’re still waiting for them. If they did get the doctor out then it would make sense that it’s taking them so long.” Error shrugged his shoulders - he also appeared to be a bit injured, now that Dream really looked at him - whenever he moved there was a stiffness to it, making the prince think he must be hurting somewhere, and his hand was bandaged, much like Dream’s were. The older skeleton’s eyelights met Dream’s, hard and bright and determined. “Though, I’m pretty curious about what happened here while we were gone.”
“Er, well, I’m not… really sure? I remember drinking tea, and then… darkness. I must have passed out…?” Technically it was only half-way a lie, he really didn’t remember what happened, just… put two and two together.
“Dream. What happened? Ink said you… had a ‘fit’, like Nightmare.” Something in Error’s tone made Dream’s soul go cold. Did Error think he had tried to hurt Ink?
His gaze dropped to the hand around Ink’s waist, then to Ink’s face; where he first saw concern, he now saw a hint of fear. Guilt welling up in his chest, rising to his throat, choking him. Is this what Nightmare had felt, whenever Dream had shied away or purposely avoided him?
He’s been a really shitty brother,
“Back off, Error, give him a minute.” Slowly taking his hand out from under the blanket, putting it on top of Cross’s. Blood stains dotted the bandages over his palms, but Cross held his hand back, being oh so gentle and tender with his grip. “Why don’t you two… go see if the others are back yet. Let us talk.”
Though he didn’t seem too happy about it, Error agreed, he and Ink leaving the small room together - but not before Ink gave Dream a hug and told him he was happy Dream was ok. (Which just made him feel worse about the whole might-have-hurt/scared him thing.)
The air was thick with uncomfortable tension now that it was just him and Cross. He could tell his partner was worried - hell, he was worried too - and was fighting with himself on whether he should press for the information, or just let it go. He knew Cross though, he knew he wouldn’t want to not know what was wrong with Dream. One can’t help if they don’t know what's wrong, and Cross always wants to help him, even when it technically isn't possible to do so.
Dream needed Cross to know. It scared him, but this wasn’t something he could reasonably hide.
“I have it. I have what Nightmare has. This… condition, disease, whatever it is.” He stared down at the quilts covering the lower half of his body, feeling Cross tense beside him, his grip tightening ever so slightly.
“What do you mean? You’ve never… this has never happened before, has it?”
“No. I don’t know, but… I noticed, when I got really mad at Undyne, I felt… it was like my magic had a mind of its own.” Dream met Cross’s eyes again, expecting fear, maybe disgust. He only found worry. “...Cross, I’m scared, I don’t get why this is happening…”
Cross’s expression softened more, and he carefully scooted onto the bed, wrapping an arm around Dream, side hugging him. Dream gratefully leaned into the touch. “I know. It'll be ok though… I mean, Nightmare seems to be doing ok, right?” Dream nodded. His brother did seem to be doing well, happy and even more confident than the other times Dream had seen him. “Then you can talk to him about it, he can help… and, you know, you mentioned wanting to talk to him more.”
Dream sighed, dropping his head onto Cross’s chest. He was right, this had to be manageable, somehow. But how is he supposed to be king if he didn’t have control over his emotions, his magic?
He jerked suddenly as the sound of commotion outside destroyed the calm silence of the room. Dream winced and sat upright, his spine aching in protest. He hoped the pain would go away. He’d have to ask Nightmare.
Cross sat up beside him as well, eyes locked on the door.
“Shit… looks like the rescue team is back.”
*****
Gravel crunched under Killer’s shoes, his legs getting sore beneath him. It’d been a while since that had happened, his bones getting sore, since he was well acquainted with physical activity. (He may look like a child, but Killer prided himself on the strength he had gotten from constantly climbing buildings and running around the city)
Still, he guessed it was understandable: He’d walked with Sans and Papyrus from the Dreemurr’s home to the castle - which took more than hour, going off his walk back - plus crawling out of the castle through a vent that was a bit small, even for him , then he’d gone to the other side of town, and now here he was. Walking alone, on the side of a gravel road, in the dark. He could hear crickets coming from the grass next to him, and there was light in the distance. The camp.
He was almost there. Almost to the point of no return. He could turn back now, never come back, never have to deal with the fact he’d abandoned Sans and Papyrus.
He’d also never see Nightmare again.
Killer’s soul squeezed at the thought. No, he wouldn’t run. Running is what got him into this awkward situation in the first place. Though,really, he did that to keep himself alive. That wasn’t wrong , was it?
Only a bit farther now, the lights morphing from blobs into defined squares, the house becoming more defined. Shit, he was getting antsy. Rubbing his sweaty hands on his arms, suddenly feeling too hot, his mouth going to dry.
Oh, this was such bullshit. When did he start caring if people thought highly of him?? Why did that have to be something that changed in him?!
Gritting his teeth, Killer paused, pulling off his shawl and mask, hoping it would give him some relief from this hot, sticky, uncomfortable feeling. Feeling a bit colder, the chill breeze brushing against him, Killer stepped onto the driveway of the Dreemurr home, catching the attention of every monster on the lawn. Of course they’d notice Killer was missing his companions, it’s not like he could have hid that. Mettaton, seated on the front steps of the cottage, noticed him, shooting up to his feet, only for his body to slump when he realised Killer was on his own.
The guilt in his soul grew when his eyes met Mettaton’s.
“Killer!”
His body tensed, throat tightening as Nightmare pushed through the crowd towards him, smiling. Smiling . His arms wrapped around Killer, pressing him into a hug. He could hear the prince’s soul beat, his breath catching in his throat and cheeks warming. Nightmare was always so warm . “You’re ok…”
Play it cool, Killer. Play it cool.
“Uh. Duh.”
Wow great job Killer. Really nailing that cool thing.
Pulling away, Nightmare’s eyelights were bright, though his smile slipped as those bright eyes looked around. “Where’s Sans and Papyrus…? And Alphys…?”
Fuck. No. Nope. Killer was wrong. He was so wrong. He can’t do this. He can’t do this-
“They…” He licked his “lips”, unable to meet Night’s eyes again. What in the world had made him so confident that Nightmare would understand? He’d given the prince a million different reasons to leave, and this, this one thing, could be the final nail in the coffin. The final straw. That concerned look on Nightmare’s round face - god, he lo- liked that, he liked it a lot - would turn hard and cold, he’d tell Killer he was an asshole. He’d leave.
The two skeletons jumped as the cottage door was flung open, relief briefly flowing into Killer’s soul as he was saved from explaining what happened for a few more minutes. The rest of the group - who for some reason were all inside - came out, led by none other than Cross. (Dream wasn’t among the group though, which was surprising. Killer briefly wondered why, but, honestly, didn’t care enough to think too deeply about it.)
“ Killer. ” That sense of relief shattered, Cross’s eyebrows drawn as he stared at Killer, quickly noticing that Killer was alone. Killer’s eyes stopped on Red - Edge was next to him, which, in any other situation, would have annoyed Killer. He wasn’t part of their group, why did he always need to be here? - who, surprisingly, didn’t even look angry. Just… scared. Hurt.
…He would have preferred anger.
“Why are you alone?” Mettaton stepped out of Cross’s way, the ex-guard walking up to Killer, his eyelights piercing into Killer. Almost instinctively, Killer pushed Nightmare behind him. (Instinctively??? Shit, add that to the list of “things that are new to him.”)
“...Stuff… happened. Gaster found us.” Killer swallowed the lump in his throat, waiting for Nightmare to pull away. To get mad at him. “...I managed to get out. They didn’t.” Here it comes, the recoil, the sudden hate.
Instead, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Killer’s soul fluttered, risking a glance behind him. Where he figured he’d see animosity, he only found concern. Relief flooded him: Nightmare wasn’t leaving. Wasn’t angry.
“You left them ?!”
Killer reeled back towards Cross, eye sockets going wide. Again, that guilt - that stupid, painful guilt that had latched onto him since he crawled out of the castle - overwhelmed him, making him feel itchy and nervous. “Yeah, ok, I’m sorry, I just… I panicked!”
Cross barked a laugh, humourless and irritated. “You panicked? Killer, we’re in a war. ‘Panicking’ isn't a good excuse!”
“Hey.” Nightmare’s hand on his shoulder tightened, stepping up to stand between Cross and him. The prince’s voice was shaky, but there was a certain sharpness to his tone that Killer had never heard before. “Leave him alone Cross… he did what he thought was right.”
“He left Sans and Papyrus in the palms of Gaster's hands! That’s not ok!” Cross snapped, causing Nightmare’s shred of confidence to dissolve as he took a step back, jaw snapping shut. Anger sparked in Killer’s soul.
“Don’t yell at him, he didn’t do shit. Jesus fucking christ, calm down Cross.”
“Calm down? Killer you just left two of our teammates - our friends - to die! What the fuck is wrong with you?!”
“I was looking out for myself!”
Cross snarled, bright red energy sparking at his fingertips, racing up and down the bones of his arms. “Yeah, that’s what you always do, isn’t it? It’s just too hard for you to even think about other people, huh?”
Killer’s throat tightened, his breath coming out ragged. How dare he. How dare Cross. Killer knew damn well he could be an asshole, but he was at least getting better. He was slowly learning. He had tried being nice to Cross recently, for fuck’s sake! …He had started to believe the two of them could actually be friends. Real friends. God, why had he been so stupid . “ Excuse me? ”
“All you care about is yourself. You fucking prick . You left them to die and then didn’t come and tell us ?! Could you be more selfish?!”
A growl ripped from Killer’s throat, his own magic kindling at his fingertips, growing hot inside him. “Me?! You’re the guy who was ready to barge into the castle at the drop of the hat just to save our precious little princy over there, and that would have fucked us all over!”
“But I didn’t!” Cross roared, his hand shooting out, grabbing Killer’s throat, lifting him off the ground. The shorter man gasped, eyelights snapping to the blade manifesting in Cross’s other hand - it was bright, blood red, and as long as Killer was tall, coming to a sharp point.
“You - ngh - compensating for something there?” He rasped, barely able to get in a full breath. Cross raised an eyebrow as Killer pointedly looked at his magic weapon. The ex-guard scoffed, hand tightening around his throat.
“Oh my God. Do you have any fucking idea of what Gaster could do to them? What were you thinking?!”
He kicked at Cross’s chest, who grunted and dropped him to the ground. Killer immediately jumped back, putting distance between them, drinking in the air he had just been restricted from. Glaring at Cross, Killer focused his magic into two knives of his own. “I was thinking that I didn’t want to fucking die ! Sorry I’m not suicidal anymore, you asshole!”
Killer bolted forward, pushing off the ground and launching into the air. He raised his hands above his head, letting out a guttural yell as he thrust down his arms, right for Cross’s chest, just as he was rising his own stupidly large knife and…
Something wrapped around his midsection, yanking him away from the ex-guard and out the hard ground, a pained groan escaping him. Killer caught Cross being pulled back as well out of the corner of his eyes, along with a trail of thin, blue strings from behind him.
“What the hell do you two think you’re doing?!” For the first time Error sounded absolutely livid. Killer had heard him annoyed before, definitely exhausted, but never had he heard the older man sound so angry. Then again, he also sounded… disappointed. His eyelights landed on the ebony skeleton, standing a few feet away from the poarch ,- Dream was there now, leaning against Ink for support, though his yellow eyelights were locked on Cross, filled with worry - blue strings coming from the streaks under his eyes and wrapping around his phalanges, stretching out to both Killer and Cross from there.
“Killer left Sans and Papyrus at the castle.” Cross hissed, gaze locked on Killer, eye sockets narrowed at him. The shorter man just glared back.
“So you decided to attack him?” Error shot back, those thin strings retracting, unwrapping from around Killer’s abdomen and back into those blue streaks on Error’s skull - oh, that was weird . “We’re still a team, Cross.”
“He left them- ”
“Killer, do you know where they are in the castle?” Killer met Error’s gaze, feeling like a child being scolded by a disappointed dad (Despite having never been scolded by his actual dad)
Pushing himself up into an actual sitting position, Killer made a seesawing motion with his hand. “I know where they would have been captured. And one of the ‘secret tunnels’ or whatever they are in the castle. Kinda looks like they’re all connected? Didn’t get a chance to test that though.”
“Alright, then with that we should be able to find where the brothers are.” There was something in Error’s eyes, Killer noted, that made him think that maybe - maybe - Error did not believe what he was saying. That he was far more worried than he was letting on. Scared, even. Looking around at how much of the camp had gathered around them… Killer could understand why Error may be putting up a front. “Both of you, go cool off. We’ll… we’ll figure out what to do in the morning.” When neither skeletons moved, Error’s scowl deepened. “ Go. ”
Killer pushed off the ground, dusting dirt off his pants, and quickly walked the other way, not bothering to look at Cross again. He didn’t want to look at him again, not after that. He knew things would go to shit when everyone found out about the brothers, but not like that. He didn’t expect to be literally attacked, and it pissed him off to no end. He fucked up, yes, but Cross could have killed him!
…Though, technically, Killer did try to kill Cross back.
Before he knew it, Killer was headed towards the old barn. It had become his new alone time spot, like the roof of the orphangange, even though Night was usually with him when he went. Speaking off…
A familiar hand wrapped around Killer’s hand, making him flinch and jerk his hand away like he’d gotten burned. Hurt flashed across Nightmare’s face, but he replaced it with a worried smile. Damn it, Killer hated seeing him force down hurt, hated causing him that hurt. He didn’t mean to, he didn’t want to, and yet he kept flinching away when the prince got too close without warning, when he would spontaneously try to give Killer some sort of affection.
“Do you want… want someone to look at the stars with?” He hadn’t been planning on looking at stars. He’d planned on screaming and cursing and maybe attacking some poor patch of grass to get some energy out. But…
“...Yeah. Ok.”
He didn’t want to be alone right now. He hated to admit it, but he didn’t.
He wanted to feel normal for a bit, pretend like all of that hadn’t happened, pretend like he hadn’t put two of his friend’s lives at risk. Pretend he was a good person.
And when Nightmare smiled at him as Killer said ok, it made it a little easier to believe that last point.
*****
Sans was engulfed in darkness. It was cold, almost like ice water was curled around his limbs, holding him, protecting him. He’d been here before, he knew that, it wasn’t that long ago since he’d been here, in this too dark limbo, though he had forgotten it… why? But there was another time… a long time ago, he had been here. Or is he simply remembering the last time twice? He wasn’t sure. Time was… different here. Wrong. Disjointed.
Regardless of how many times he’d been here, something simply felt… different. Before he had felt weightless, like he was vapour. That odd, garbled voice had said he’d been part of the… what did he call it? Void? Whatever it was, he hadn’t been able to move because he didn’t have a body . It was just him, his consciousness - his soul? - but this time…
He wiggled his fingers. Yes, he could feel that, actually feel it, not just that odd feeling of thinking he was moving even if nothing changes. He could also feel something hard and cool beneath and behind him. A wall?
“ Your connection is growing, little one. ”
Ah, the voice was back. Sans opened his mouth - actually opened?? It felt as though the darkness was flowing into his jaw, like water, and it felt as though he should be choking on it. “ Now, you know there’s no need for that .” The voice chided, making a sound similar to a tsk , making heat rush to Sans’s skull, his mouth snapping shut, feeling like a child with his hand stuck in the cookie jar. “ Verbal communication is not needed here for me to understand you. ”
Well, yes, Mr. Mystery Voice, you did tell him that. But he hadn’t been able to feel his body before. Not like this.
“ Mr. Myst- I told you my name last time. ” Did he?? The voice groaned, the sound much more like a garbage disposal than something that should come from a person. “ It is not important, I should have known you’d forget. As for why you can feel your body… you are not fully here. Your consciousness - not your soul - is both still with your body, and here, while as before your consciousness was fully here. ”
But why? Why was this time different?”
“ I have already stated the reason. Your connection to the Void has grown, Sans. That connection, it could be very, very helpful to you - why, it could save your life in due time. ” The voice laughed, that grating, painful sound that made Sans's metaphorical skin crawl. “ But I cannot stress how dangerous this is, little one. There is a piece of the Void - no, not just the Void. A piece of myself is there as well - has latched onto your soul, I’m sure you’ve seen the results of that on your hands. I apologise for that, by the way. But this piece of… anti-matter, you can use it. Another in your timeline has a similar thing, and he, too, has used it to his advantage, and it will help you do incredible things. I will help you. But you mustn’t reach too deep, you mustn’t grab too much of the Void. It will draw you in, all of you, your physical form, your consciousness, your soul. And you will be stuck here. You will be scattered throughout time and space, and no one will remember your name.
“ I do have faith in you, don’t get me wrong. You already have experience with using magic from their place. Your… what do you call them? Shortcuts? Regardless, that ability, along with your friends, the skulls, they both stem from here. But considering you’ve almost gotten trapped here before, you and… ah. Nevermind. He is calling for you now. ”
He?? Who? And what did he mean when he said Sans had “almost gotten trapped here before”?
“ Next time, little one. I’m afraid we’re out of time. ” Someone was calling Sans’s name. He couldn’t hear it but someone was. He could feel it. Light flicked in his vision, breaking up the darker than dark. Admittedly, it kind of hurt Sans eyes. “ Though, perhaps you will learn about it yourself before we have a chance to speak again… ”
Learn what?
“Sans!”
His body jerked, eye sockets snapping open as he gasped for breath, feeling like his being had just been thrown down and back into his body. Next to him, his brother let out a sigh of relief, hands dropping from Sans’s shoulder as he leaned back, his long legs tucked beneath him. “Oh thank god… You scared me, you bonehead!”
“Sorry, Pap…” Sans swallowed, his throat feeling dry, and looked around wherever the two of them were. It felt… familiar. Like the two of them had been there before…
He was seated on a cold, white tiled floor, the wall behind his back was smooth to the touch. It took his eyes a moment to adjust - it wasn’t as dark as the Void had been, nothing was, but it was still dark enough that looking around was difficult. The square room wasn’t very big, too small for both Sans and Papyrus to stand with their arms out comfortably, and the far “wall” was a row of cell bars, locking them in, and beyond that was what Sans figured was a hallway. On the wall to his left was a metal bed nailed to the wall, which looked way too short for even Sans, let alone Papyrus.
He squinted at the hallway, just barely making out another cell across from them, but the bars were misshapen, melted, bent from some kind of heat, but what caught Sans’s attention was an old, rotting blanket thrown across the “bed” of the second cell.
He recognized that blanket…
The toddler in his arms was wailing, his little hands gripping Sans’s collar bone so tightly it was painful. Red emergency lights were flashing - on and off, on and off, over and over - but the screaming had stopped, and so had the alarm. His hands burned. He could smell blood. Taste it.
Sans frowned at the memory, trying to fit where in the timeline that went. When they got out? Must be. But he could only remember sensations, not where he was during a particular moment, nor what happened that led up to that.
“Have we been here before…?” His attention came back to Papyrus, who was looking in the same place Sans had just been.
“Think so. I don’t know…” How they got here was a bit hazy for Sans, admittedly, but he could remember enough. They’d come for Alphys, Gaster had found them - Sans guessed the second human who had found them, who had been with Lilith at first, had told the King they were there. Then again, maybe Gaster knew the entire time - and then… Killer ran. Sans wanted to be angry, but he couldn't find it in him. At least the others would know they weren’t dead.
Yet. (Geez, Sans, maybe dial back the pessimism?)
After that though, Sans could remember trying to use his magic, but something had gone wrong. What had that been about? Was that what the voice had meant when his “connection to the Void” had grown? Maybe if he could recreate it…
Raising his hands, Sans’s body froze. Around his wrists were metal bands, a single blue light in the center. Panic filled his soul, and with a quick look at his brother, he found the same bands on his own wrists.
Magic restricting bands. Fuck.
Without warning, the lights came to life, both Sans and Papyrus flinching, Sans’s hand flying up to cover his eye sockets, then came a click click click .
Oh.
Sans knew that sound. That steady clicking, growing louder and louder.
“Oh, good, you two are awake.” Gaster eyed them as he stepped in front of the cell, his lips hinting at a smirk. Sans’s soul lurched in his chest, immediately pushing himself off his ass and standing. Papyrus, who’s reaction seemed to be the same as Sans’s, stood next to him, though Sans instinctively stepped slightly in front of him. Whatever was about to happen, he would do anything to make sure Papyrus didn’t get hurt.
The King’s eyelights seemed to grow brighter, seemingly amused. Sans grit his teeth. “I see you haven’t changed much. I do hope that doesn’t make things more… difficult.” He chuckled, making Sans’s body go cold, sweat beading on his forehead. He squeezed his fists, feeling his magic inside him, building up behind the cuffs, begging to be let out. “Subject-P. Oh, or should I say Papyrus now? It doesn’t matter much to me.” Sans could feel Papyrus tense behind him, and he moved more in between his brother and Gaster. The king was fully grinning now, a too wide smile that held no joy, no happiness, no goodwill. “I’m very pleased to have you back, regardless. There’s just so much for us to catch up on.”
“You’re not going to touch him.” Sans hissed. “We got out once, we can do it again.” Placing his own too wide smile on his skull, he tilted his head to the side. He hoped his false confidence was enough to hide his fear.
Gaster laughed, his gloved hands wrapping around the metal bars. “Without your magic? I do not think so.” Magic fizzled one both sides of Gaster’s skull, taking the shape of two thin hands, similar to Gaster’s own, with a spike at the dead center of the palm. “You’re powerless here.” Weight settled onto Sans’s soul, locking him in place, his smile slipping. Blue magic . “Do you need a reminder? I’m happy to give one.”
The king’s head jerked to the left slightly, the hand there diving forward.
Straight for Papyrus.
That build of magic inside of Sans’s erupted.
It happened too fast: one moment Sans was next to Papyrus, watching the purple magic hand getting closer and closer to his brother, and the next he was screaming, the cuffs on his hands creating a loud crack and his magic was suddenly flowing to his hands again, shaping into a long, bright blue bone. But it was different from his normal magic, specks of dark magic mingled with his normal blue. Swinging the bone, the magic shattered, the purple shifting and morphing, becoming one with the black spects.
Alright, that was new.
“ Ah, you’re quite the quick learner, my boy ” The voice, the same one from the Void, echoed inside Sans’s skull, bouncing around, grating on his senses. “ Remember. Do not grab too much. ” He could do that. Whatever this was, this Void magic, it was a part of him, he knew it. He knew how to use it.
Gaster snarled, bringing Sans’s attention back to the there and now, as more hands appeared around him. “How very… interesting.”
Growling, Sans launched forward off the balls of his feet, reaching into his well of magic, grabbing at that dark magic splotch in his soul, and slipped into the Void, reappearing on the other side of the bars - that was better, having his magic back. Shortcutting again. Gaster took a step back, eyes widening in surprise. He recovered quickly, his magic hands shooting out to stop the bone as Sans swung again. One caught his leg, the spike tearing his pants, catching on his bone. He hissed and dropped one end of the bone, shattering the magic.
Sans’s hand reached out, finding Gaster’s soul, wrapping his own gravity magic around it. He grinned as Gaster’s expression changed, realising just what he had done. He jerked his hand to the side, changing the King’s gravity, thrusting him into the wall.
Sans could kill him.
The idea dawned on him as Gaster groaned in pain, cracks stretching out over the wall from where he had collided, slowly stepping forward towards him. That voice was chirping in his brain, saying some kind of warning, but Sans wasn’t paying enough attention to it to register the garbled words. He had the power, right here, to kill the man who had hurt him and his baby brother, all those years ago. He could end all of this.
The black specs were growing, spreading along the bone, reaching his hands, slowly spreading along his arms. Briefly, other situations, other timelines , danced across his vision.
He was in a golden hallway, a red eyed child racing towards him, a sharp knife in hand.
He was in a snowy forest, standing above the dust of his brother. A bone was in his hand, the end sharp and coated in dust.
He was standing before a dead child. Blood coated his hands. Something sticky and thick rolled down his cheeks, emitting from his eyesockets.
He was cold, hunched over a mangled, dead body, tall trees all around him. He was breathing heavily, breathing in the smell of blood. The smell of food .
Sans raised his bone above his head, eye sockets going dark. Gaster was staring back at him, jaw set, eyebrows drawn. He still looked smug .
“ Stop it. ”
He’d wipe that smug look off of his fucking face.
“ Son, you must stop! Do not lose yourself. ”
He deserved this.
“SANS!”
Sans lurched, his brother’s scared yell jostling him out of his delirium, his body reeling around to face Papyrus.
Away from Gaster.
He knew he had fucked up when he heard the King’s deep chuckle behind him. Chains wrapped around his ankles, yanking up, throwing him off balance. He fell with a grunt, his skull banging against the floor. He jerked when he felt Gaster’s knee against his chest, holding him down, and felt his breath along his face. His thoughts were swimming, his vision blurry.
“You are still. So. Stupid.” Gaster whispered, Sans finally able to focus, locking onto the King’s skinny eyelights. Something jabbed into his neck. “And yet… you have just proved that you are far more valuable than you used to be…”
His body went cold, and frozen, as Gaster laughed, Papyrus sobbing quietly in the cell. Gaster rose to his feet, holding Sans by the neck of his shirt, and threw him back into the square room, locking the cage. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t move…!?
“I’ll be back once I have made something to keep that piece of Void contained.” The tall skeleton giggled, the acting making him seem mad rather than enduring. “You’ll be able to speak after an hour, but you will not regain movement until I give you the solution. Hm. If.”
“You can’t do that to him!” Papyrus seethed, his voice wavering, clutching Sans’s body. His soul filled with guilt.
Gaster regarded Papyrus, eyeing him for a moment, before turning away without another word, walking away from the cell.
Click.
Click.
Click.
“ And this. ” The voice in Sans’s head mumbled, the sound growing more garbled, making Sans’s skull pound with a forming headache. “ Is why I told you not to grab too much. ”
Notes:
I'm gonna be honest, when I was writing this I thought it would end up shorter than previous chapters, yet here we are. I think it ended up being 13 pages total?? Regardless, I hope you liked it!
Chapter 32: ~Chapter 32~
Summary:
!CW! Descriptions of violence, mentions of past abuse
Notes:
For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on Instagram or Tumblr
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Sans sucked in a breath as the needle tip was pressed into his bone, the sickly yellow liquid being plunged into his marrow. He could feel the cold metal of the operation table beneath him, restraints holding his limbs down. Not that Sans could move them yet. That was what the injection was for, supposedly. That’s what Gaster said.
Not that Sans really believed him, but still, the thought was appealing. At least then he’d be able to walk on his own and wouldn’t have to rely on king asshat to carry him to this separate section of the lab.
More than that, he wanted to be able to comfort his brother. Having to hear Papyrus’s sobs and plees for Sans to get up, to move, to do anything was worse than torture. It made his soul burn and ache, like it was crumbling, shattering into thousands of pieces.
“Should take about half an hour for you to regain mobility.” Gaster’s deep voice spoke from beside him, the man himself just out of his peripheral vision, followed by the sound of clinking of… something. It sounded like metal against metal?
“ Tools. ” The garbled voice that had been floating around Sans’s skull since yesterday - was it yesterday? It was impossible to tell how much time had passed in this place - supplied. “ There are tools on a metal cart, scraps of metal, wires, tubes. A vial of… hm. Blueprints here? ”
Vial of what?
“ It would appear you’re getting new magic cancelling restraints, my boy. ” He didn’t ask about that. “ If I’m reading this correctly it will lock out that piece of Void magic as well… You really have handicapped us by not listening to my advice. ”
Sans mentally groaned. Yes, this was all Sans’s fault, because he definitely knew how to use “Void magic” in the first place, so he could totally control how much he used. And why had he ignored Sans’s question? What’s with the vial?
“ Liquid Determination. ” Soul magic? “ Yes. Arguably the strongest of the traits. And for the record, I assumed you’d naturally understand this new type of magic. It isn’t even new, you have used shortcuts, you have used your… ah, what do you call them? Blasters? And afterall you were…well. Theoretically it should not have been new to you. ”
What the hell did that mean? He’d know this voice for what, an hour? And here he is, acting like he knew Sans in and out.
“ I know more about you than you realise, boy. But I supposed I never did give you my name. Hm. Simply call me… G. ”
…G?
“ Yes. That will work for the time being. ”
..Fine. Sans could work with that. It was certainly better than calling him “the voice”. From behind him there was the sound of leather twisting, of screws being twisted into place, the occasional mumble from the king in the same garbled language as the voice-
“ It is not garbled, you must stop saying that. It’s rude. It’s a type of font. ” Whatever it is, it hurts the ears. Or lack therefore of.
Sans looked up at the ceiling - not like there was much more to look at - his thoughts wandering to Papyrus. He hoped he was ok, as useless as that hope may be. What had his younger brother seen, when Sans was about to kill Gaster? Had he seen those other… places, too? The dust, the snow, the gold and red?
“ No, only we saw that. ” G spoke up once again, the sound of his voice - of his font?? - now becoming familiar in Sans’s skull. It still hurt and made him dizzy if he focused too hard on it or on the glimpses of a tall, dark figure with a cracked skull that kept appearing out of the corner of his eyes, but if he ignored it… it was bearable. “ What you witnessed there was a sort of… merging of timelines. You had grabbed too much of the anti-matter that is connecting you and the Void. Think of it like a large blanket. The more you grabbed, the closer the specks on the blanket - other timelines - got to you, until they were right over top of us. Because of this, you momentarily saw out of the eyes of other ‘yous’ across the multiverse, or more specifically across the few timelines that you had dragged in. ”
So… what he had seen was real? It wasn’t a hallucination? “ Yes, they were real. They were all you, from different places, different times, different… situations. But do not dwell on it. Whatever they are doing, seeing, sensing, it doesn’t affect you. Nor is there anything you can do to help them. You must focus on the here and now. ”
Annoyance sparked in Sans’s soul; how was he supposed to focus on the “here and now” when the only thing he could do was stare at the boring white ceiling? How was he supposed to not get lost in his thoughts when-
His finger twitched.
“Ah, good, the antidote is kicking in at last.” Wheels against tile, the sound of cloth brushing against cloth, tapping of a keyboard. Sans slowly twisted his skull to look at the king - the action somewhat painful, his bones stiff from being paralysed.
If Sans had been in any other situation other than this one, he may have laughed at what he was seeing - hell, he was seeing other timelines and hearing a voice in his hand that called itself “G”, laughing at the king, the man who tortured his brother and him for at least 11 years - at least… Sans thought it had been that long. In his first memory outside of this lab, he had been 11, so it must have been that long - might not be so crazy.
Gaster was seated on a rolling stool, the wheels appeared to be older and scuffed, his usually cape nowhere to be seen, replaced by a well worn lab coat. His gloved fingers flew over the keyboard of a laptop, and Sans squinted to try and read what was being written, but the characters weren’t right, they were shapes and pictures and…
Sans recognized those characters. It was that strange alphabet he had found himself starting to write in subconsciously these past few weeks, ever since he awoke from his coma. Is this how he knew those characters? Something recoiled in Sans’s chest; he didn’t want to have habits linked to him , to Gaster. He was different, he wasn’t at all like Gaster, the only thing that could potentially link them was the fact that technically Gaster created Sans and Papyrus. That was all.
His eyelights drifted to his hands, leather restraints around his wrists, holding him there. There, on the bones of his palms, discoloured and dark like a bruise, was a circle. A ring. Like the holes in Gaster’s hands.
Like Gaster.
Sans pulled his eyes away, nausea tying his stomach into knots, anxiety catching in his throat, restricting his breath. He needed to think of something, anything else.
Take in his surroundings, that's what he should do. See what’s around him. Possible exits. He had to map out this place, find a way out. He had to get him and Papyrus out (Again.) and to do that he needed a mental map.
He was in a rectangular room, the floor tiled white and dirty with dirt and dust, the walls, plain and white, just as grimy. There was a single fluorescent light in the ceiling, just above Sans and the operation table, dust particles visible in the light. There was one exit on the far side of the room - no door, just an opening to a dark hallway. It had been hard to take in everything when Gaster had carried his limp body to this part of the lab, but from the cells they had gone through a hallway, which led to a large room that had definitely seen better days. Ripped papers, broken tables and vials and multicoloured spills from liquid magic. From there they had gone left. Or was it right? Sans’s brow scrunched up, trying to grasp at the memory. Whatever Gaster had given him had made his head feel fuzzy, but he was sure they had turned left, down another hallway, and then to here.
There were counters and cabinets lining the walls, the counters covered in old, dirty test tubes, flasks, and papers. So many papers, some crumpled, others ripped or appearing burned. A standing cabinet across from the operation table, the glass too dirty to see anything other than the silhouettes of what was inside. Next to Sans was the rolling cart G had mentioned earlier, next to it was Gaster and his little stool, pulled up to a white fold out table.
All in all, the room - the lab in general - felt… abandoned. Like this was the first time anyone had been in it in years.
Without warning, Gaster turned around, snapping his fingers. Something inside Sans tensed at the sound, it flared up and told him to run. “Speak.”
Sans licked his lips, noting how dry his mouth was. “What did the skeleton say to the King?” His voice came out strained, his throat aching as every word was a struggle to get out.
Gaster’s eyebrow quirked upwards. “I’ll humour you this once. What did the skeleton say?”
Sans’s “lips” twisted upward as he made the best shit-eating grin he could manage. “ Fuck you. ”
Smack.
The stinging pain came first, then the realisation of the slap.
“You’ve gotten bolder with your remarks. Cruder too.” Gaster’s voice had changed, becoming harder, firmer. Like a parent scolding a misbehaving child. “Your brother had been the obedient one. It’s strange, he was a part of my guard for so long and yet, it never occurred to me who he was. In hindsight, I really should have observed it sooner.” Sans kept his eyes on the ceiling as the chair wheeled closer, cold metal pressing around his wrist. Something clicked and a whistle of air escaped the cuff as it clasped shut, painfully squeezing the bones in Sans’s wrist. “Yes, I certainly should have. His obedience, his naivety. They should have given it away.”
Sans bit back his retort - his brother wasn’t naive. Optimistic, sure, but he was smart, and observant. He saw the best in people no matter what.
“ Sans. ”
Oh, G. Sans had been wondering if he had left for good. Gaster adjusted something on the fist cuff, connecting metal rings around Sans’s phalanges to the main restraint with… was that tubing? His eyelights caught on a larger cord hooked to the base of the shackle, leading to a small machine sitting on the floor next to the cart. It looked somewhat crudely made, the entire right side open, exposing wiring and mechanical bits, and on the top was a dial, a keypad with a small screen display above it, and a small indent, for… something. Sans wasn't sure what for, but regardless, the machine looked like a generator of sorts.
“ Sans. ” G repeated more urgently.
Yes, yes, Sans heard him. It was impossible not to.
“ Now is not the time to be snarky, son. I was reading his blueprints more closely, his notes… Sans. These will… If they work it will replace the magic in your body with Determination. ”
No, that’s not possible. Sans’s eyebrows furrowed, Gaster paying no mind to him as he rolled to Sans’s other side, getting the second cuff set up. Magic came from a monster’s soul, which constantly generated more than enough to keep a monster going, hence why they shed excess when they breathed. Which was opposite of what humans did, which was draw in outside magic - ie. waste magic from monsters, or simply ambient magic in the world - and manipulated and shaped that magic to be their “own” when they needed it.
“ Yes, that is correct, but if the body is being supplied a separate supply of magic it will automatically start producing less magic on its own so as to not overwhelm the body. ”
Sans wasn’t being supplied outside magic, though. The restraints would stop magic from leaving his body in a normal and healthy way, but it wasn’t adding more magic into his system.
The second cuff clamped shut. Gaster moved towards the machine next, taking a vial filled with bright red liquid and plugging it into that socket Sans had noted before.
“ Stop being dense! The vial of Determination, the machine. These are designed to pump enough determination into you that your body will think it is being given magic, but not enough that the Determination will erode your body! ”
…no. No, that wasn’t… that couldn’t happen . Determination isn’t magic on its own, it’s a soul trait. Soul magic and Soul Traits are distinctly different, Sans studied this, one is…
One is stronger than the other. Soul traits are stronger than the magic found in a monster’s soul (Disregarding the monster’s actual magic level and just looking at what their soul is made of), and could theoretically overpower and cancel out the latter.
The wired machine whirred to life. Underneath the metal of the shackles, something plunged into Sans’s bones. He gasped in pain, his breathing growing shallow. If G was right, if this stopped Sans’s body from producing magic, he could die. He would die without enough magic, like a human would starve without food. He’d only last a few days, if that.
The red liquid slowly moved through the tubing, into the cuffs. Sans could feel it slip into his marrow - it was freezing and burning his insides all at once. It soothed him and made him want to scream and claw at his bones.
It felt like his bones were melting, disintegrating into dust on this stupid table. He was being torn limb from limb.
It felt like he was growing, shifting and changing and moulding into a better, stronger him.
It felt like he was dying.
*****
Ink wasn’t new when it came to loss. He certainly wasn’t the most experienced with it, oh, he knew that well enough, especially seeing everything his new friends and lover had been through, but Ink had experienced it.
Shortly after he and Error moved into the home they had now, Ink had gotten a call from the BlightView hospital informing him his mother had been brought in and was being monitored after collapsing outside, her bones coated in dust. Flaking. It happened to older monsters when they were near the end of their life, or to the severely ill. Winter Agate had been the latter.
Shock Induced Soul Decomposition. SISD for short. Caused after complications during childbirth. What the complication during his own birth had been, he wasn’t sure, but from what he could gather from the documents from that time is that his soul never fully detached from his mother’s during the 4th month - at the 17 week mark in a monster’s pregnancy the souling is supposed to break off from the parent’s soul so that the body can be formed. - so when time came for the birth, that thin link between Ink and Winter’s soul had snapped, which resulted in a rupture, the start of SISD.
Ink never got to ask his mom if she thought this was the cause or not. An hour after she had been brought to the hospital, she had dusted.
That pain had sat with him for a long time, this overwhelming, deep feeling of guilt and grief latched onto his soul like a parasite. It took years for Ink to come to terms with his mother’s death, and even now he is still occasionally hit with waves of grief.
Admittedly, he had been a bit angry at his mother when he got the news of her passing. It had been overshadowed by the grief, yet it had still been there. He was angry she hadn’t told him about the illness before then, angry he had to learn his mother was sick by a call like that. But now, Ink thought, placing a hand on his own swollen stomach, he could understand why Winter hadn’t told him. If he was in her place… well, he wouldn’t want his babies to worry for him when they should be out having fun, living a carefree childhood.
All that being said, the situation with Sans was nothing like losing a parent to a terminal illness. Ink wasn’t really sure how he felt - scared for his friend, yes, but there was also hope and optimism that they would rescue Sans and Papyrus before it was too late, and mixed with that was… grief. Grief for a friend he technically hasn't lost yet. It was a dizzying cocktail of emotion that made his soul and head ache.
He missed his friend though. In such a short amount of time he and Error had gotten so close to Sans, to the point that the older skeleton felt like family.
And Ink desperately wanted the twins to meet their uncle. Their smart, caring and silly uncle.
The door to the spare room that had become home for Ink and Error these past few weeks opened as Error stepped in, his whole body seeming to slump from exhaustion and worry.
“Is Cross doing better…?” Ink broke the silence, scooting over on the plush bed to make room for his husband. The ebony skeleton groaned, laying next to him, his skull on top of Ink’s baby bump. He stroked the top of his lover’s skull, feeling the irritation fall away from Error’s soul through their bond. “I’ll take that as a no?”
“I don’t think he’s gonna try and murder Killer the next time they see each other, but other than that… ugh, I don’t know.” Error’s arm’s wrapped around Ink’s waist, the feeling of Error’s breath through the cloth of his shirt making goosebumps run across his arms. Metaphorical goosebumps. “I think, maybe, he’s seeing Killer’s side a bit better, but he’s pissed, hun. Honestly, I’m pissed too.” He raised his head a bit, his eyelights meeting Ink’s, the eyebags under Error’s eye sockets had definitely grown, he noted. “I don’t know what we’re going to do.”
“We’ll figure it out.” Ink cupped his lover’s cheek with a hand, kissing his temple. He didn’t know if he even believed that, but he supposed he had to. If they didn’t believe they’d find a way to get their friends back, what’s the point? They can’t just give up. His soul hardened with determination. Gaster hadn’t broken his spirit when he’d been under his capture, he wasn’t going to give the king that satisfaction now. They were close, he could feel it. They had to be.
“What if we don’t?”
“We will. We always have, haven’t we?” Error swallowed, his eyellights wavering in his sockets. “You got me back, and I’m here to stay. I’ll help, and we’ll… we’ll come up with a kickass plan to get Sans back. Papyrus too.”
Error didn’t say anything to that, he didn’t have to. Ink knew he was scared, he was scared to. He knew this whole thing had brought up a fear in Error that had bloomed from Ink’s kidnapping, he knew Error was scared he was going to lose his family again. Ink knew this, even without Error telling him. He’d seen the other’s soul, he’d seen Error through and through, seen his very core. Of course he knew. The ebony monster in question flicked off the lamp next to the bed, Ink curling up to his chest, hearing the steady beating of his lover’s soul.
“I promise you, Error, we’ll make it through this”
He didn’t say it outloud, but Error had seen his core too, he knew what Ink meant without him saying it too.
*****
Red watched as the amber liquid sloshed around in the squarish bottle as he slowly rotated his hand. The whiskey wasn’t helping as much as he hoped it would; sure, it was making his head feel fuzzy, but he was half a bottle in and he was definitely still feeling like utter shit. He could still very much feel the anger, the exhaustion, the guilt and desperation crashing around inside his soul.
Narrowing his eye sockets, he took a long swig of his drink, the alcohol burning on its way down, and turned his attention to the clump of trees in the distance. He could hear the steady drum of activity from the cottage behind him, the light from which occasionally caught on the glass of the whiskey bottle. The night was cool, the wind brushing against his bones and sending a chill down his spine.
Maybe he could run out into the forest - if it could even be called that, it was really more of a small cluster of trees - and simply… disappear. If he dusted out there, he’d be one with nature, wouldn’t he? Couldn’t have anxiety when you were a tree.
…No, no, he couldn’t think like that. He had to think of Edge, he couldn’t leave his brother, they were the only family the two had. And Sans.
Sans…
Red’s soul lurched in his chest, grief rippling through him. He had just gotten Sans back, he had just finally, finally woken up, and now Red had lost him again. There were so many things he should have said, so many things he regretted not saying. And now…
Jerked out of his spiral, Red flinched as Mettaton suddenly dropped down beside him. He’d had barely any interactions with the man before now, but he had certainly thought about going up to Mettaton and asking him something. About what the ghost had seen, how long he’d been alive, anything Mett could tell him about the past Red would have eaten up like a starved animal. Right now, the idea of quizzing the other monster just didn’t have the same appeal.
For a long moment, neither man said anything, both sitting and soaking in the sound of the wind blowing, of the drone of activity, the leaves rustling. Mettaton had been close to Papyrus, wasn’t he? Red could remember seeing the two together on more than one occasion, not to mention Mettaton joined their bonfire drinking thing upon Papyrus’s request. Were the two… dating? He wasn’t sure, and he certainly didn’t feel comfortable asking that now.
Eventually, Red broke the silence, offering the bottle to the ghost. “Whiskey?”
Mettaton eyed the drink for a moment before shaking his head. “No, thank you. Regular alcohol doesn't work on me.” Silence. Red shrugged and tipped the bottle to his lips. “Aren’t you mad”
Red froze, eyebrows furrowing together. Yes, of course he was mad. He was furious. With himself, for letting Sans be part of this when he hadn’t even healed fully yet. With Gaster, for doing whatever cruel things he could be doing to Sans right now. With the world.
“I figured you’d charge to the castle as soon as we heard what happened. Figured you’d want to go right up to Gaster himself and slap him Or kill him. Or maybe even both.”
“I’m exhausted.” Red snapped, meeting Mettaton’s eyes. “I’m fucking tired. What do you want me to do? Get myself killed and risk exposing everyone here?”
“I want you to help me.” Red quirked an eyebrow. “I have this plan… I’m good at sewing. I’ve seen Papyrus’s uniform, and I think… I think I could recreate it pretty easily.” Dropping his gaze to the grass, Mettaton clenched his fists. “We could sneak into the castle with the fake uniforms I make. Then we could find Alphys and Papyrus and Sans, all at once.”
“Error wouldn’t agree to that, not so soon after… the last attempt.” Red pushed the hint of hope in his soul away, tightening his grip on the whiskey bottle. It was stupid to think they could fix this so soon after the shit had hit the fan. It was too soon, tensions were too high right now. And yet, that white spark of optimism refused to be squashed.
“Then we don’t tell him.”
Red’s soul buzzed in his chest. This was a plan, this was something he could do. But it could also backfire terribly and fuck everythink up from the entire camp. “...Mettaton. That’s too risky, we shouldn’t…” His tongue felt heavy like lead, and his words felt hollow. It was risky, they definitely shouldn’t do anything without Error’s consideration. But a part of Red, that part clinging to the spark of hope, wanted to do this with Mettaton.
“Too risky, huh?” Mettaton grit his teeth, reeling on Red. “All my life I’ve been told what I can and can’t do over and over. And I have sat back and let it happen every time, and I have lost everything . I’m sick and tired of taking a back seat on my life, and I’m going to fucking do something to save the people I care about. So will you help me or not?”
“I-”
“I will.”
Both Red and Mettaton spun to look behind them, Chara was standing a few feet away, arms crossed over her chest. Even from where he was, Red could tell her eyes were red and puffy, her eyebrows furrowed. Guilt sat heavily in Red’s stomach - here he was,sitting here, moping over what happened, but the Dreemurr’s had lost two family members in one day.
“Absolutely not. You’re too young.” Mettaton sat back on his heels, holding Chara’s gaze as she turned her glare on him.
“You said I had potential.”
“You do. But you’re a kid, Chara. You shouldn’t be even thinking of participating in all this.”
Chara scoffed, her red eyes seeming to glow for a moment. “My brothers could be dead . And you’re going to tell me that I shouldn’t want to save them? That I should just sit back and what, pray that they’re ok?!” Red magic swirled around Chara’s clenched fists, her breath coming out shallow. “I’m coming with you.”
“So am I.” Red added, finger tapping the neck of his bottle. His gaze momentarily met Chara’s, and he hoped she could tell he was sorry. Sorry that she was put in the middle of this, sorry he was too scared to do anything to get them back sooner.
Mettaton’s eyes switched between Chara and Red. before he sighed. “Ok, alright. Three uniforms coming up.” He pushed himself off the ground, dusting off his pants, then offered a hand to Red, who accepted the help and stood.
“...You’re actually letting me come?”
“Yes. I… look, if I had done something back when I was 16, maybe I wouldn’t have…” Mettaton shook his head, hooking his arms around Red and Chara’s shoulders. “Let’s go save our boys.”
*****
Burning hot anger raced along her veins as she marched down the halls of the castle, staff member’s giving the odd looks when she passed them. Her fists ached from how hard she was clenching them, the leather of her gloves creaking from the tension. (If she had been thinking with a more level head she probably would have taken note of how much easier it was to walk now that she was out of that clunky armour and back in her normal uniform.)
The halls of the castle could be a maze to someone who hadn’t been in the castle for a long time, and more than a few of the staff still had trouble navigating it, even after working there for a year. But Undyne knew where she was headed. She’d been summoned there multiple times.
Only this time, she wasn’t going because she was “needed”.
She was angry.
And stupid. Oh so stupid.
She slammed opened the door to the King’s study, letting it collide with the wall with a bang that rocked the walls. Her breathing came out in heavy pants, that hot anger in her chest hardening into a rock.
The office was dark, shadows gathering at the corners of the room like spilled ink, the only light in the room spilling in from the entrance Undyne stood in, and the large full length window at the far side of the office. The city lights, all neon blues and pinks and yellows, bled into the room, painting it in colourful hues that felt out of place with the rage curling and winding in Undyne’s chest.
The man she had come here for sat in front of that window, his slim legs crossed, a wine glass in hand.
“Where is she?”
“Ah, Captain Limu. I had a suspicion I’d be seeing you tonight.” The king hummed, raising the wine glass to his lips, taking a slow slip of the red liquid.
Undyne’s lips turned up into a snarl, punching her fist into the wall next to the door, leaving a crack with bits of plaster falling to the wooden floor. “Where. Is. Alphys?”
Gaster finally turned his head, meeting Undyne’s wild, angry gaze. Annoyance briefly flashed across his features. “One would do well not to raise their voice at the
king
, Captain.” He sighed, setting down his wine on the wooden table next to the plush chair before standing to his full height. “As for the Doctor… I’ve moved her to a safer place. There was an attempted break in the other day, I’m sure you know. I assumed you would be grateful for my precaution.” The corners of his mouth twitched, stretching into a malicious smirk. “You wanted to stop any harm that may come to the doctor, did you not?”
“I wanted you to let her free! Not lock her up in a different cage! That was our deal !”
“Ah, yes, the deal. I wished to speak to you about that.” Gaster crossed his arms behind his back, taking a step towards Undyne, the click of his boots echoing in the small room. Behind her, the door shut causing the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end. She was cornered. “As far as I’m concerned, you have already failed to withstand your end of that agreement.”
Another step toward her.
“I said I’d fight for you. I did that.”
“No, no, there was more to it than that.” Click . Another step. Undyne squared her shoulders, holding her ground. “You were supposed to win . You were supposed to kill them , Ms. Limu. That has been your single goal multiple times now, and still, I have yet to see you kill any of the rebels.”
He stood directly in front of her now, leaning down until their noses almost touched. Undyne swallowed around the lump in her throat, sweat beading on her brow. “I really am disappointed, you have been such a useful asset.” Gaster raised a gloved hand, stroking Undyne’s cheek. Her hand flew up, grabbing his wrist, stopping the movement. The king’s expression immediately hardened, his lower eyelid twitching.
“I’m done, Gaster. I'm done. Now show me where you put my fucking girlfriend or so help me, it won’t be those ‘rebels’ who kill you.” She snarled, leaning in, tightening her grip on Gaster’s wrist. “ It’ll be me. ”
The words hung in the air, heavy and thick like smog, filling her lungs and choking her. Magic built in her chest, ready to be unleashed. She was doing it. She was here, Gaster in front of her. She could kill him. She could end all of this.
Then Gaster smiled.
It all happened so fast. One moment she was glaring up at him, crushing his wrist, the next a hand grabbed her and sent her flying back, colliding into one of the bookcases in the room. She grunted in pain, falling to the floor, old books landing beside her and the bookcase shook. Undyne barely registered the clicking of Gaster’s boots until she saw the leather boots in front of her. His hand grabbed her by the throat and pulled her back up, her feet dangling in the air. The king grinned dangerously at her, his grip tightening. “You must think you’re so strong, saying a few brash words to me” He walked with little trouble to the window, pressing her face against the glass. “But this? This is real power, captain. The city. My city. And not you.” He drew Undyne back, then slammed her back against the glass. Cracks rippled across the surface. “Or those filthy rebels .” Slam. More cracks, like a spider web stretched out over the widow. “Will ever take it away from me .” SLAM
The glass shattered.
Undyne choked out a sob, hands grasping desperately at Gaster’s hand as she hung in the air now. Three stories above the ground. Below was the courtyard, hard stone and concrete.
She was going to die.
Gaster laughed, the sound wrong , like metal grinding against metal, like a garbage disposal. “You really have been a help to me. Oh, when you were obedient you had been the perfect tool. But now… you simply have no use for me.” His grip slackened. “Goodbye, Captain.”
And she was flying.
She had always wanted to fly, when she was young. That’s what heroes did; they flew in to save people. Was she a hero now?
…No. Heroes were good. She had helped the villain, she had chosen the “evil” side, even if she had meant to choose good. Even when she tried to do the right thing, she hadn’t been able to fight back, she hadn’t done anything to stop the bad. She hasn’t helped anyone, not even Alphys.
At the end of the day, she guessed Cross had been right. She really was just a fucking coward.
Undyne hit the ground
Notes:
I'm sorry this chapter took longer than usual, I just needed a little break before working on this chapter. Thank you all for being so understanding and patient, and I hope you liked this one :)
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Chapter 33: ~Chapter 33~
Notes:
For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on Instagram or Tumblr
!Please read the the AN at the end of the chapter!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Papyrus wasn’t scared of the dark.
He used to be, when he was still a babybones, he was terrified of the deep shadows that grew in the corners of rooms, of the blackness that came when the sun sank below the ground. The shadows always felt too dark, too deep, and made Papyrus’s head hurt if he stared at them for too long. He used to have horrible nightmares about the dark; being trapped in its grasp, floating in a sea of ink, drowning in it. But that was when he was still a child.
That being said, the darkness that bled from the cell opposite of the one he and his brother had been placed in made his stomach churn and his metaphorical skin crawl. The way the bars were warped and twisted, misshapen from some kind of heat in the past, the old ratty blanket hanging limply on the metal “bed”, all of it coated in a shadow that seemed to grow and pulse before Papyrus’s eye sockets.
He pulled his eyes away, a headache forming behind his temples, focusing instead on his brother’s form curled up on the bed in their cell. His back was towards Papyrus, and even from a few feet away he could see his body tremble, hear his shuddering breaths. At first he thought the shaking was because Sans was cold, or tired from using so much magic, so he’d wrapped his red scarf around his brother’s neck (and shoulders, since it was pretty long) in hopes it would help him.
It didn’t.
Papyrus squeezed his fists, exhaling slowly before sitting up on his knees, leaning over to carefully wipe away the sweat building on Sans’s forehead. He wished he was smart enough to understand what those new restraints were doing to his older brother - he’d tried asking Gaster right after Sans had gotten them, when the King had returned the smaller monster to the square cell practically comatose, but he’d refused to tell Papyrus anything. Not surprising, but still, he could have said something , but no, he had just stared at Papyrus with this empty, cold gaze that made him feel like a child who had done something they knew was wrong.
At least Sans was sleeping now. At first, when he’d been broughten back, it seemed like he had been in a trance, completely unresponsive. Papyrus didn’t know what scared him more: the stupor his brother had been in or the frantic panic he entered as soon as he snapped out of it.
Probably the latter.
He was so used to his brother being composed, alway keeping his feelings close to his chest, his smile seemingly a permanent fixture on his skull. It annoyed Papyrus to no end - it wasn’t healthy to hide everything like that, it was a surefire way to insure a massive breakdown in the future - so seeing him openly sob to the point that he could barely get out a sentence, to the point that his own pain, or fear or whatever was making Sans so worked up made him vomit in the corner of the cell was… a lot to take in, to say the least.
Papyrus hissed as the lights flickered to life, bathing everything in a greenish light. His body tensed as he heard the telltale clicking of Gaster’s boots echoing through the halls of the… Well, Papyrus wasn’t really sure what this place was. Dungeon. He’d go with dungeon for now. Pushing off the ground, he stood up, his bones aching in complaint, and stood in front of his brother, trying to hide him from view with his body. While he didn’t fully understand what Gaster did to Sans, it didn’t take a genius to understand that it wasn’t good.
And honestly, Papyrus was getting real tired of his big brother getting hurt.
As Gaster stepped in front of the cell, the first thing he noticed was the yellow monster he was holding like a football, Alphys. The next thing he noticed was the amused expression on Gaster’s face. It made his blood run cold.
“Do you really think you can protect him?” His steps slowed to a stop, Gaster now stood directly in front of the cage, the hand not holding the doctor wrapping around one of the sturdy metal bars. Without thinking, Papyrus reached for his magic, for the well of power that lived inside him, only to be met with a sharp stab of pain. Right. Magic restraints. A dark chuckle left Gaster, his smile - if one could even call that a smile - twisting up further. “How do you expect to protect your dear, precious brother without your magic?”
Magic.
His brother had been able to use magic while wearing cuffs like the ones Papyrus had. He’d broken through them, somehow, so surely, surely , Papyrus could do the same. Their magic wasn’t that different.
A memory flashed before Papyrus’ eyes momentarily - Sans, standing outside the cell, a long, thin magic bone gripped in his hand, furry painted over his features. There had been something… off, about that attack. Papyrus knew his brother’s magic aura, he knew the way it felt when it hung in the area, the way it shifted and hardened when Sans was frustrated or upset. He knew how it felt when Sans was purposely attacking something, or someone, thanks to the time they fought before Papyrus joined the rebels.
If he had to explain it, he’d say Sans’s magic was like a forest covered in snow, peaceful and calm, until he was angry, then a storm blew in and it grew colder than even the worst winter day.
Whatever Sans had used to fight Gaster hadn’t been cold. It felt like TV static, foggy and distorted and wrong . Even now, if Papyrus focused on his brother, he could make out the briefest hint of that wrongness, muted under his brother’s normal magic.
Where it had come from, Papyrus had no idea. Was it an illness? Maybe, but he’d never heard of any sickness that changed the very way a person’s magic acted. He’d seen black specs along Sans’s magic recently as well though, so perhaps something was affecting his ability to fully conjure attacks? But again, something like that shouldn't change a person’s aura. Nothing should be able to do that sort of thing.
Brought out of his spiralling thoughts by the click of the King’s tongue, Papyrus swallowed. He shouldn't zone out like that when Gaster was around, it was far too dangerous. “It was rhetorical. There is no way for you to protect Subject-S, nor yourself. You’d do best to remember that.”
With that, Gaster stepped away from the bars, moving towards the door. Pulling a ring of keys from his side, the King unlocked the door, letting it swing open with a deafening screech of metal on metal. Behind him, Sans finched and gasped for air, though Papyrus couldn’t tell if that was from the noise or pain. Maybe a nightmare?
Without warning, Gaster tossed Alphy’s limp body into the cell, Papyrus flinching away, half expecting her body to collapse into dust. “I thought you might enjoy some company, considering your brother won’t be so talkative now.” Papyrus swallowed, phalanges twitching anxiously at his sides. The door - gate? - was still open, the only thing standing between him and freeing himself and his brother (And Alphys) was Gaster. He could rush him, knock him down, and while he’s on the ground Papyrus could grab the two unconscious monsters and make a run for it.
“Don’t” Eyes snapping away from the opening, meeting Gaster’s, his body going cold. “If you value Subject-S’s, Sans’s , life, do not act carelessly.”
The cell door slammed shut.
Sinking down to the floor, Papyrus felt tears form in his sockets, slowly sliding down his cheek bones. He knew he was lying to himself when he said he could do what Sans did, lying when he said he would be able to save them and get them out of this prison.
He wanted to be strong, he wanted to be the hero who saves them. The one who makes everything better.
But instead he was terrified.
A coward.
*****
Red watched as the warm, golden tea swirled in slow circles in the ceramic cup: round and round and round. It was sweet of Asgore to offer him a cup, especially with Sans and Papyrus still missing. Honestly, it was amazing that Asgore hadn’t shunned them all, hadn’t yelled and gotten mad. If he had, Red certainly wouldn’t have blamed him. He had every right to be upset, but no, Asgore hadn’t gotten angry. He hadn’t yelled or told them all to leave; or told them to stay the hell away from his family. He was still helping them where and when he could with food and supplies; he was still allowing Red and the other’s into his home. Though, admittedly, Asgore didn’t seem to be doing well in general: with eye bags under his eyes and he’d occasionally go quiet and unresponsive whenever anything went by. A part of Red knew he should feel relieved that Asgore didn’t hate them after everything that’s happened, but it really just made him feel guilty.
Bringing the cup to his lips, Red swallowed some of the warm liquid. It tasted sweet and floral on his tongue, like honey and herbs.
It really was a shame he didn’t like tea more.
Turning his eyelight away from the cup and out the window, Red watched the hustle and bustle outside, trying to keep his thoughts steady. Mettaton was almost ready, the plan was almost ready. The past week had been hell wondering if this would work. They were so close to saving him, but they couldn’t tell anyone.
He understood why, Error wouldn’t approve of something as risky as this, not when their last attempt to get someone out of the castle got two of their teammates kidnapped. Error would be completely justified in not wanting this carried out; it was stupid, and rechless, and if it backfires they’d be fucked, to put it lightly. Gaster would probably kill them, unlike Sans and Papyrus the three of them would be of no use to the king.
Regardless, it had to be done. Red needed this. He needed to at least try to help his partner.
The door to the cabin swung open, the hinges creaking. Red felt his shoulders tense, his grip tightening on his tea cup. It was probably just Asgore, or maybe Cross and Dream. The chances of it being Edge - who he totally wasn’t avoiding - were low, everyone came and went from the house.
“There you are, my god Red, I’ve been looking for you for the past hour.”
Fuck me.
Leaning back in the wooden chair, Red met his brother’s narrow eyelights with his own. Edge stood at the entrance of the kitchen, arms crossed over his chest, “lips” twisted into a scowl. “...Hey Edge. What’s up?”
The slender skeleton’s eye sockets narrowed and he stepped farther into the kitchen, the heels of his boots clicking against the tile, and sat down in the chair next to Red. Edge eyed the cup filled with still warm tea before sighing. “Don’t ‘what’s up’ me, what the fuck is going on with you?”
Red grunted, tapping an anxious rhythm against the wooden table. Tap tap tap. “Don’t know if you know this, but my boyfriend was just kidnapped. So yeah, I’m a bit out of it.”
“No, it’s not… Red, don’t play dumb with me, I know you. You’re hiding something.”
“No, I’m not.”
Tap tap tap.
“Your accent is thicker. It does that when you lie.”
Red’s empty eye socket felt itchy, and it took everything in him not to cave and claw at it. That would really give him away. “I’m just tired.”
Edge groaned, and out of the corner of Red’s eye he saw him bow his head, rubbing his temple with his fingers. “Why do you always do this?”
“Do what?”
Tap tap tap.
“Do everything you can to avoid getting help!” Edge snapped, the sound of his brother’s raised voice making Red’s hand freeze, his phalanges shaking. “We’re not fucking kids anymore, Red! I could actually help you through this shit if you’d just talk to me!”
“And I’ll talk to you if I need to, I’m fine Edge-”
“Bullshit.”
Gritting his teeth, Red squeezed his hand into a fist, a combination of frustration and guilt hardening into a rock in his chest. Edge was worried, that was understandable, but Red couldn’t tell him why he’d been acting weird. No one could know about their mission until it was over, after Sans and Papyrus were back and safe. “It doesn’t- I can’t talk about it, Edge, can you please just-”
“Why? Why can’t you tell me?” Interrupting him, Edge grabbed Red’s shaking hand, his eyelights softening for a moment, filled with worry and hurt. “Why are you so against me helping you?”
Red yanked his hand away, his soul lurching in his chest. He pushed away from the table and stood, knocking his chair back. It clattered against the tiled floor. “I’m not, I… I can handle this on my own.”
The worry Red had seen in Edge’s eyes just moments before was quickly replaced with anger, a scoff leaving the younger skeleton. “Right, because handling your feelings alone worked so well in the past, right?” He raised a single finger, tapping the side of his skull next to his right eye socket.
Unconsciously, Red raised his hand to his own empty right socket, feeling like the wind had just been knocked out of him. Then his soul hardened, grew hot and filled with anger and hurt as he snarled at his brother.
Turning on his heels, Red stepped over his fallen chair, ignoring the angry tears forming in the corner of his eye sockets.
He also ignored Edge desperately calling him to come back as he stormed upstairs. He didn’t have a particular location in mind, but he quickly found himself in Sans’s room. A room he’d been avoiding since Sans was captured.
It smelt like him.
A sob broke out of Red’s throat as he leaned against the wooden door, hooking his clawed phalanges into his right eye socket. Blood trickled down his cheek, cool against his bones. His breath came out ragged as he tried to suck in a full breath, sinking down to the floor.
His soul ached, burning in his chest.
He hadn’t lied completely to Edge.
He was exhausted.
*****
The sun had set a few hours ago, the beautiful oranges and reds of the sunset having melted away, making way for the night sky. Stars dotted the sky, tiny holes poked into the black fabric that was the sky - without the light pollution from the city, it was easy to pick out constellations, if one knew them. Large, dark clouds hovered over the horizon, accompanied by distant rumblings of thunder, promising a storm later that night.
As the wind blew, the old wooden boards of the barn creaked and groaned, occasionally seeming to shiver from the cold. Really, Killer was surprised the building hadn’t collapsed already - it’s not like any of the Dreemurr’s used the building from the looks of it, so what was the point of keeping it? - but it has given Nightmare and him a fair amount of privacy from the others in the rebellion, so he couldn’t really complain.
Leaning back till his spine was pressed against the shingled roof, Killer tilted his head enough to look at the skeleton with him. Nightmare sat with his legs crossed, looking back at him, waiting for a response.
“I’m not talking to that asshole.” Nightmare sighed, giving the shorter man a pleading look. Killer’s soul twinged, but he grit his teeth and looked back at the sky. It was easier to resist giving in when he wasn’t looking at his partner’s puppy eyes - partner , god, that word did something funny to his stomach. “He’s the one who attacked me, why should I be the one to apologise?”
“I’m not saying you should apologise, Kills, but you two need to talk this out… it’s been a week, surely he’s calmed down enough that he’ll be civil.” Killer grunted in response. “You’re two of our best fighters, we’re not going to get anywhere if you two are constantly at one anothers throats.”
“We’ve never gotten along, the only difference is that now I know for sure he wants me dead.” Bitterness dripped from his voice, as he glared at the stars. Sure, Killer had fucked up. He left Sans and Papyrus because, if he hadn’t, chances are he would have died. Or gotten captured. Either way, he’d be fucked, and the Rebels would have no idea what happened. At least this way they had some intel to work with. But Cross had attacked him as soon as he found out Killer had ran - he didn’t wait to hear why he did it, Cross didn’t care. If he didn’t give a shit about why Killer acted the way he did, why should he give Cross a chance to explain to himself? Chances are he’d just yell at Killer again anyways.
“But it felt like you two were finally starting to figure things out! It seemed like you two could be friends…”
“Cross destroyed any chance of that the minute he tried to choke me out.” Killer snapped. “I want nothing to do with him, he’s just an asshole who obviously sees me as a fuck up.”
Nightmare stayed silent next to him, and Killer silently cursed. He was mad at Cross, not Night. He didn’t deserve to be snapped at like that. Risking a glance at the prince, Killer found that Nightmare wasn’t even looking at him, he was instead staring out at the horizon, biting his lower lip. (If they weren’t having this conversation, Killer would have preferred to be the one doing the biting- Woah, ok, not the time for that thought.) “...Sorry. I’m not mad at you, Cross just… I don’t care about him, and he doesn’t care about me. That’s just how it is.”
Looking back at Killer with a thoughtful hum, Night leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to Killer’s cheek. “At least give it some thought. Please?”
Heat rushed to Killer’s skull, and he dumbly nodded, pulling his gaze away from Night’s bright eyelights. Clearing his throat, he picked at the moss - or maybe it was mold? - growing on the aged shingles. “How is your brother doing?”
Thankfully, Nightmare didn’t fight the topic change. Killer was well aware he was more than a little worried that Dream seemed to have an attack similar to the ones he got, especially since the other twin had shown no signs of having the same “illness” Night had. That was the whole reason Nightmare had been tested on and then locked up; basically erased from the public eye. Gaster thought he was dangerous because he couldn't control his magic when his system was overwhelmed by some negative emotion. That, and Nightmare was strong . Killer damn well knew that - he’d been the one to train the prince, of course he knew - he just needed help learning how to utilise that strength, but even then he seemed hesitant to use an attack against someone, scared to hurt them. But when he was in the middle of an attack…
Well, he certainly didn’t hold back. That much Killer knew, though, admittedly, Nightmare didn’t like talking about the side of him that came out at those times, and Killer had only seen it happen once or twice.
Nightmare seemed to think Dream’s “attacks” have stemmed from him breaking out of whatever Gaster had been doing to his head to make him forget everything, and just overall stress. He also suggested that maybe Dream had the same condition as him from the beginning - they were twins, afterall - but it had been dormant until now. Nightmare only started having his attacks after Gaster started doing tests on him, so there could be a chance he kickstarted something that made Night have issues long before his brother would. He wasn’t a scientist though, he’d remind Killer, and Sans would probably have a better idea of what was going on.
Which yes, that was true, Nightmare hadn’t studied magic or souls like Sans or the royal scientist, but Killer was inclined to believe that one, if not both, his theories were right. If it was something that was dormant inside Dream all this time, the PTSD and stress could have been what set it off. Plus, Nightmare had lived with this most of his life, if anyone would have a pretty good understanding of it, it would be him.
Truthfully, Killer didn’t see much point in figuring out why Dream was suddenly getting these attacks, but talking about it seemed to help Nightmare. And hey, if it helped him feel better or less stressed, Killer would listen to whatever he had to say.
*****
Killer rolled onto his side in the sleeping bag he shared with Nightmare, listening to the rain pattering against their tent. He watched the steady rise and fall of the prince's chest, listened to his breathing and the quiet beat of his soul. It was almost drowned out by the heavy rain, but if he focused, Killer could still make it out.
Maybe it was creepy, staring at Night while he slept, but it wasn’t uncommon for Killer to struggle to fall asleep, and seeing how relaxed and at peace Nightmare was, how unburdened by life’s worries he seemed, always helped Killer calm his own worries enough to doze off.
Well, usually it helped. Not tonight.
Stubbornly wiping at another heavy, black drop as it fell from his eye socket, leaving a stinging sensation in its wake, Killer pushed himself up. He froze, hearing Nightmare mumble something before turning onto his other side. He waited a few minutes until he was sure Nightmare was still asleep before pulling his knees up to his chest, slowly removing his legs from the sleeping bag. He told himself he’d stop running from things, and technically he wasn’t. He just needed to clear his head. He’d only be gone for an hour or two, Nightmare won’t even know he’d left.
Besides, Night said Killer should think about what he’d said, hadn’t he?
Quietly unzipping the tent’s flap, Killer pulled up the hood of his shawl before stepping out into the rain. The wind was damp and cool, sending a chill down Killer’s spine, and the smell of ozone and wet dirt hung in the air. The camp was quiet, everyone either asleep or staying safe and dry in their tents. The quiet made Killer’s soul twist with anxiety: it seemed wrong, the silence, after spending weeks here surrounded by people. There was always the sound of chatter, of movement, of something .
Now it was him, and the rain.
By the time he’d reached the city, his clothes were soaked, the wet fabric clinging to his bones. Ok, maybe walking to BlightView in the rain wasn’t his brightest idea. But he needed to be here. Before, when they were still at the orphanage, he’d come here when the rooftop just wasn’t enough, when he needed to get away from everything. Really get away.
Crouched down in an alley, semi-protected from the downpour thanks to the roof overhang, Killer looked out at the streets of the Slums. It was the same as he remembered - cracked walls and crumbling roads, boarded up windows, old and new garbage bags piled up at street corners. Hastily build shelters made from wooden planks or old garbage cans and bedsheets.
It all felt eerie in the rain, like a ghost town.
With a sigh, Killer sat down on the dirty pavement - the ass of his pants would probably be covered in mud and grime, but he’d deal with that later - and glared at the building across the street from the alley he’d taken refuge in for the time being. It was old and in poor condition, like everything in this part of the city, and seemed truly abandoned. Three stories high, windows lining its brick walls, the glass either shattered or covered with rotting wooden planks. One side of the wooden door had been smashed, probably by someone either looking to ramshackle the place for supplies or someone simply wanting shelter, while the other side hung open, its hinges barely holding on. It collided with the wall every now and again, the resounding bang echoing through the streets.
What was Killer going to do about Cross? He’d told Nightmare that he didn’t care if the ex-guard liked him or not, but was that true? If he was being honest, he had to admit a part of him had been hurt when Cross had admittedly assumed Killer ran because he didn’t care about the brothers. But did that mean anything? Was he hurt because Cross thought that, or was he hurt because that’s just how he was perceived in general? (The last part was sort of his fault, since he had purposely tried to be a jerk in the past to keep people away)
“It seemed like you two could be friends…”
Did Killer want to be friends with Cross?
Killer recoiled suddenly, startled by a cough next to him. Snapping his head away from the decrepit building across the street and into the darkness of the alley, his soul clenched in his chest. A few feet away, on the opposite wall, a figure sat slumped over, strands of her wet, red hair clung to her bruised cheeks, and while the lack of light entering the alley made it hard to make out her eyes, Killer could tell by the glint that she was looking at him.
Idiot, he hadn’t even looked to see if anyone was there! What was wrong with him?! He used to be so observant, so careful. Was he really losing that part of himself? Was he-
Wait. Red hair. Blue scales glistening in the low light.
Undyne.
Panic surged through his system as he jumped to his feet, magic making his fingers tingle, ready to be used. The head of the royal guard, right here, in front of him, sitting and not doing anything. He could kill her so easily. He’d give the rebels a major one up on the king - losing the head of his guards? That’s a massive blow to his defence.
Drawing on the magic coursing through his marrow, a jagged blade formed in Killer’s hand, fitting perfectly in his grip. Maybe he could get her to spill exactly where Sans and Papyrus were. A few rough fits and he could probably have her talking. And if not, who cares, she’d still be dead.
Undyne narrowed her eyes at him, her gaze flickering between his weapon and his face. He wondered if she recognized him. A part of him hoped so. “Go on then, dust me. I won’t stop you.” She whispered, her voice horse, a glint of light reflecting off her shark-like teeth. Snarling, Killer raised the blade above his head.
And he hesitated.
She was hurt. Her clothes were ripped and soaked, both from the rain and something dark red. Her scales were flaking off her cheeks from open wounds, and through the tattered clothing Killer could see the same damage on her shoulder, going down her back from the looks of it. The sitting water around her had a red hue to it, diluted blood staining it.
Killer’s tightened his hold on his magical weapon, trying to stop himself from trembling.Why would the captain of the royal guard be so injured? Why would she be sitting in an alley in the middle of the Slums in a downpour?
It doesn’t matter. Kill her.
She’s the enemy.
Kill her .
She deserved to die. She chose Gaster’s side even when she had the option to stick with them.
She should die.
Killer growled, turning and throwing his magic at the wall with all his force. It shattered upon impact, tiny red sparks littering the alley floor before vanishing.
He couldn’t do it.
Why couldn’t he fucking kill her?! He’d killed people before, so why couldn’t he do this?!
Killer stood there, drinking in air, his body hot with frustration.
“...You lived here?”
Eye sockets narrowed, he took in Undyne. She wasn’t looking at him anymore, and following her gaze led to the old building he’d been looking at before. “I’m assuming you did. People don’t come here unless they live here. Or lived, I guess. I did.”
Killer felt his body tense. That didn’t make sense. She was a guard, everyone in the slums knew the guards hated them, knew that they were no good.
He wanted to scream, slap her. Tell her to shut up, tell her she knew nothing about what it was like to live here, to live with nothing.
He wanted to kill her.
He had to, that was his thing. That’s why he joined this stupid revolution: to make things better for the people who lived here in the Slums, and to make the guards pay for the hell they put everyone through.
But his soul was screaming at him, telling him no. He couldn’t, not when she was sitting here, on the verge of dusting as it was, telling him she was also from the slums.
He couldn’t because deep in his memory, buried under the anger and jealousy he felt for other children when he was younger, he could remember seeing a fish kid with messy red hair, only a few years older than him, pressing their face to the glass of a shitty, run down store that sold old T.Vs and radios, the child’s eyes glued to the screen of one of those T.Vs, watching something on the screen. He’d wrote it off back then - a stupid kid doing stupid things, he had other things to be doing, like finding food or something to keep himself warm when winter rolled around.
Killer cursed, kicking a stone. He was being stupid. If he killed her now it would solve so many issues.
He was going soft. He shouldn’t care for Undyne, for a guard .
But…
“...You’re going to get fucking sick in this rain. Get up.” Undyne stared at him like he had two heads, annoyance sparking in his soul. “I said get up. We’re going somewhere safe. And you’re going to tell me why you’re all fucked up on the way.”
“...Alright. Tha-”
“Don’t.” Killer grunted, grabbing her arm and helping her stand the second time she fell back to her knees. “You just better hope Cross doesn’t kill you himself when he sees you.”
Notes:
I hope you all enjoyed this chapter ^^ now onto the important part: I'm taking all of June off from writing. I've been really stressed recently (to the point where I'm getting stress dreams ;-;) and i have finals coming up so for my own mental health I'm taking a month long break. This doesn't mean I'm not going to be active in June! I'll still be doing stuff on the dt Tumblr (hopefully I'll have some art to share!!) and i can always be reached through the discord server!
I hope you all understand and will be patient with me during my break, and I'll see you all in July :DJoin the DystopianTale Discord
Chapter 34: ~Chapter 34~
Notes:
For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on Instagram or Tumblr
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Killer’s back fucking hurt.
…Ok, sure, Undyne was probably in more pain than he was given she had been thrown out of a window three stories high; glass slicing her flesh, bones probably broken - if she had bones, that is. Killer knew embarrassingly little about other subspecies’s anatomy. They all turned to dust when they died, he knew that much, and that had seemed like all the knowledge he needed. - and now having to walk all the way to the Dreemurr’s cottage. And yes, his back only hurt because he was doing the “good” thing by helping her like this and the pain was worth it because blah blah blah.
Cool, he was being “good” and redeeming himself (Maybe, he wasn’t convinced), but he just wished it didn’t make him feel so sore.
At least they were almost at the house, the lights in the distance were getting brighter and bigger, the shape of the building becoming discernible; the rain had let up a bit and was no longer a complete downpour (Both he and Undyne were already soaked, so little good that did them.)
But he couldn’t help but feel jittery with anxiety the closer they got, an overwhelming sense of dread hanging around his throat like a noose. What if this was all a big mistake? He had no reason to believe Undyne would be any help to them once she healed, or if she’d just abandon them again, maybe sell out their location to Gaster to get back in his good graces. Maybe that’s all this was, a ploy to get their information to use against them. It seemed counterintuitive to severely injure your spy in Killer’s opinion, but maybe. Maybe.
Maybe this would result in the rebels booting him to the curb. Why would they trust someone who brought the enemy to their main base of operation?
What if it made Nightmare leave?
Killer blew out a breath, pushing away that last thought. He tried to remind himself that last idea, that Nightmare would leave, wasn’t possible - whether he believed it or not, Nightmare cared about him. He’d understand why he carried Undyne’s stupid blue ass all the way back here. He’d understand. He always understands.
Killer wished he could be as understanding as Night, especially right now. He couldn’t, for the life of him, figure out why he was doing this.
He couldn’t deny that he’d become “softer” since meeting Nightmare, but as far as he knew that just extended to him being open about his feelings to someone for once and allowing himself to trust again - albeit selectively. He’d had no trouble fighting other guards when it came to their attacks. Hell, he knows for a fact he’s dusted a few of them and he hadn’t felt a drop of guilt then.
So why hadn’t he been able to kill Undyne? She was the Captain of the royal guard - before he had joined the rebellion he would have done anything to get this chance to kill her. And he had it , the opportunity had practically been handed to him on a silver platter. But he couldn’t do it; he didn’t want to say he didn’t want to kill her, he was pretty sure he did, he wanted her dead for everything her stupid guards did. For what Gaster did to Nightmare. He wanted to put all of his angers about his stupid life onto her and then watch her crumble to dust because of him. But he couldn’t.
Maybe Nightmare had done more than just make him softer.
He taught Killer how to relearn empathy.
Whether he liked it or not, he felt bad for Undyne. He felt her anger at being double crossed, felt her desperation to protect her partner, felt her grief at failing at the task. He felt bad that she had grown up in the slums like he had.
He didn’t know if he liked this change or not. If he was being honest, it scared him. There was safety in being indifferent, in only being concerned about yourself, and after caring about himself and only himself for so long, the realisation he was starting to care about literal strangers made his metaphorical skin crawl with anxiety.
He didn’t know if he wanted to change - was he still himself if he started being selfless? Started trying to help people? Was he still himself if he wasn’t an asshole?
He didn’t know.
Gravel crunched under his feet as he half dragged Undyne to the cottage’s porch, the guard collapsing onto the front step with an exhausted groan, face contorted from pain. Her red hair clung to the sides of her face and neck, falling over her shoulders and back like a wet towel. Killer stretched his spine, gritting his teeth at the ache - that’s what he gets for thinking he could support the weight of someone who was basically twice his size.
Blood and dust clung to Undyne’s wet and torn uniform, a dark red stain forming on the fabric as it became saturated with blood - if he was being honest with himself, Killer was a little worried about what the wound that had caused that stain looked like. He could create injuries, but his knowledge on dressing them didn’t go any farther than wrapping a bandage around it and calling it a day. Killer tore his gaze away from the guard - ex-guard? He didn’t know, he had assumed she was no longer part of the guard the first time she showed up with Dream in tow and they all knew how that ended - and craned his neck to look at the cottage. All the windows were dark, no sounds coming from within the house; Killer couldn’t even hear the normal creaking houses always had, the sounds of pipes in the walls or the building shifting. There was no life to be seen from the tents, either. No one had a light on that would shine through the fabric, there was no rustling of sleeping bags and hushed voices. Just rain and his and Undyne’s breathing. It set Killer on edge - as if Undyne being there wasn’t enough on its own.
He really hoped this wasn’t a mistake.
“Stay here.” Undyne’s eye snapped up to meet his, the slitted pupil in her red eye nothing more than a thin line.
“Where are you going?” Annoyance mounted in Killer’s soul, his fingers twitching. He’d just saved her ass, and now she’s going to sit there and question what he did? Killer shifted on his feet, rocking back on his heels and crossing his arms over his chest, the tips of his fingers digging into the hard bone of his arms. Keep calm.
“I need to find someone who can deal with that -” He jabbed a finger at the fish monster’s abdomen, not bothering to hide his annoyance. “Because I sure as fuck don’t know how to.”
“Oh. Uh, thank-”
“I already told you not to thank me.” Killer felt his face grow hot, not wanting to hear how Undyne responded so he turned on his heel, walking towards his and Nightmare’s tent - he wasn’t actually sure how much Night knew about treating wounds like Undyne’s, and frankly Killer didn’t care if he knew nothing at all. His skull felt heavy and his eye sockets burned from the black liquid that had been oozing out of them earlier, threatening to do so again now. Not to mention his soul, which was a tangled mess of emotions; guilt tied up and tangled with hope, annoyance and hate wrapped around the whole mess like a boa constrictor. He wanted to see Nightmare, wanted to feel his comforting, safe aura, see his smile. He needed it.
He also needed concrete proof that Nightmare did understand why he did this. That this was the right thing to do.
*****
It smelt like roses.
Cross’s eye sockets fluttered open, the fabric of his and Dream’s tent illuminated by the rising run, raindrops and leaves on the outside of the tent creating a spattering of shadows over their sleeping bag and things, like a stain created by dropping a rock in a can of black paint. Birds chirped outside, but it was still early enough that Cross couldn’t hear any murmurs from the other rebels as they woke.
It was… surprisingly tranquil.
Cross didn’t trust it.
He was laying on his back, Dream’s skull resting on his sternum, his breath warm against Cross’s neck, Dream’s left leg was resting on Cross’s hip and hooked around his right femur. He could feel the bandages wrapped around Dream’s abdomen when the prince was pressed against him like this, and though his head was still a bit foggy from sleep it still made his soul twist with worry. He didn’t understand why Dream had an attack like Nightmare, and it stressed him out to no end that he didn’t know, that he couldn’t help. Dream had tried to reassure him, telling that he’d be ok and that he’d talk to Nightmare about it to learn what he needed to do to manage it - which was all well and good, but Cross was 90% sure that Nightmare couldn’t control his attacks either, and while there was no shame in that, given the nature of this “condition”, he doubted Night could give Dream any actual advice about managing this. And there was still the question of why; why was the prince only having issues now, after years and years of being fine. Had Gaster given him something before he left the castle? Was it something completely different from what Nightmare dealt with?
There were far too many unknowns for Cross’s liking.
Thinking of the other prince caused Cross’s thoughts to shift to Killer, anger bubbling up inside him. He still couldn’t forgive him for leaving Papyrus and Sans like that - they were a team , you can't just abandon people like that! Papyrus had been one of his closest friends for years , and now he could be dead and it was Killer’s fault.
…
Well…
Cross couldn’t fully shake the feeling of guilt that came whenever he remembered attacking Killer - he’d tried to justify it in his head, telling himself that he had been angry, outraged, and Killer had quite literally left them to die, he told himself Killer had deserved it, that the only reason he had ran was because he was selfish. But his excuses were filled with cracks, and from those cracks memories oozed out, filling his mind with regret. Killer had started showing more emotion as of late, he had been trying to be… not nice, but not a complete asshole. And as much as he hated to admit it, Cross had started to like the son of a bitch. He was annoying and brash at times but damn it, in the past week of avoiding the smaller skeleton Cross had found himself… missing the bickering, missing his snarky remarks.
He was still angry - Papyrus was still gone, Undyne had betrayed them all, leaving Cross alone on a rickety boat in a dark sea, staring out at the endless black as a cold empty feeling hollowed him out, and he was faced with the reality that there was a very good chance he’d never get his closest friends back. And that reality hurt and filled him with an indignant kind of anger - but over the past week he found the anger stopped being directed at Killer, and became an overall anger at the world. He was sick and tired of losing the important people in his life to Gaster.
But then shouldn’t that be who he’s mad at? Wasn’t it wrong of him to take it out on Killer? Especially when, deep down, Cross had a feeling he would have done the exact same thing if he were in Killer’s place?
Stirred out of his thoughts by Dream yawning, Cross’s eyes found his partner’s - they were a bright golden colour that never failed to make Cross’s soul swell, and still fuzzy from sleep. “‘Morning.”
Dream quietly grunted, pressing his face back against Cross’s ribcage. The taller of the two men chuckled, nuzzling the top of Dream’s skull; the prince usually woke up easily, an early bird through and through, (Unlike Cross, who could wake up early but normally not happily. Thank god he had coffee for that.) but on the rare occasion Dream got clingy and didn’t want to leave the warmth of their bed.
Cross thought it was cute.
“Come on, sunflower, time to get up.” He attempted to sit up, getting a series of whines and mumbled complaints from his partner, Dream’s legs wrapping around Cross’s midsection. “Don’t want breakfast?”
Silence.
“Dream?”
“I want breakfast.”
“Let me up then.” Dream looked up at him with a pout. Cross laughed, a sense of warm familiarity washing over him - he missed mornings where they could just be… normal. Well, as normal as one can be when they’re dating a prince. Pressing a kiss to Dream’s “lips”, Cross managed to scoot Dream off of his lap enough for him to kneel - the tent was too small for him to fully stand - and grabbed a clean shirt, passing his grey sweater to Dream. Ever since his… “attack”, the prince had taken to wearing the hoodie as often as he could. Cross didn’t know if it was because it was more comfortable for him with the bandages covering his back or if it just helped Dream feel safe and not overwhelmed, and it didn't matter much to Cross what the reason was. If Dream wanted to wear his clothes, he was more than welcome to.
The Dreemurr’s front door creaked when Cross opened it, stepping into the house’s warmth after Dream. It was odd how familiar he had become with the house over the past weeks, how welcoming it felt inside. He really needed to find Asgore and thank him for his generosity, especially considering what happened to his sons.
The smell of fresh coffee washed over Cross in the front entrance, the sound of voices coming from the kitchen, but there was… something off. He’d gotten very used to the magic auras of who was usually in the house, to the point where he barely noticed them anymore, they were just always there, no questions asked.
Right now, he could feel someone who should be nowhere near the cottage.
After all, he had seen her at the castle a week ago.
Dream called his name curiously as Cross passed him, belining for the kitchen, his stomach dropping.
Undyne - bruised and with what seemed to be fresh bandages wrapped around her abdomen - sat at the kitchen table, her hair damp and hanging limply from her head, not in its usual ponytail. Others were there too - Ink was helping Nightmare with what appeared to be a first aid kit, Error was sitting across from Undyne, hands folded in front of him as he stared at Undyne, and Killer leaned against the kitchen island, arms crossed over his chest, lacking his mask and shawl - but Cross couldn’t tear his attention away from his friend - past friend, they weren’t friends anymore… they couldn’t be, she was an enemy , she had made her choice! The smell of blood was heavy in the air, so thick it was stifling. Cross could feel Dream’s hand on his arm, he could feel the slight shake to it - he knew he should get Dream away, away from the blood, from her , but he couldn’t move.
“Why the fuck is she here?!”
He barely registered that he had been the one to say it, his thoughts going a mile a minute: anger, grief, relief, and hatred fighting for dominance in his soul.
Error sat upright, his hands dropping to the table. He opened his mouth to respond, but Killer cut in before the older man could. “I brought her. Said Gaster tried to kill her.”
“Her wounds make that pretty obvious…” Ink added, looking between his husband and the guard - ex guard. He seemed nervous.
“You didn’t let her die?” Cross narrowed his eye sockets, but the glare had nothing behind it. He didn’t even know if he was angry, he didn’t know how he felt. But he knew he didn't want Undyne here, he didn’t want to see her, didn't want to deal with this.
Killer raised his hands in exasperation, a groan leaving his lips. “No, for some fucking reason I didn’t. And now she’s here.” Cross’s hand pressed into a fist, Dream’s own grip tightening on his arms. He couldn’t be here. Cross couldn’t be here.
He turned on his heel, pulling Dream out of the house just as the smaller man was moments away from hyperventilating it seemed. His hands shook, his fingertips having gone black - the condition, Cross guessed, but his own head was a mess of feelings and thoughts and anger.
Or was it grief.
He didn’t know.
He lied and told himself he didn’t care to know. That it didn’t matter.
*****
Mettaton had grown up in a time before the idea of a God, or multiple Gods, had become a common belief among monsters and humans alike. He wasn’t entirely sure when more modern religions started to be taken up by monsters, just that it happened after the war. That’s when humans and monsters began to live in “peace” - after all, the war had been to end all conflict between the two races, or at least that’s what he’d been taught, that the monsters needed to fight back because the humans were “vicious and bloodthirsty”. Mettaton couldn’t remember how long the war lasted, he’d been born at the tail end of it and it was over before he’d turned five, the aftermath was that monsters had killed over two thirds of the human population. It certainly wasn’t a merciful way of reaching “peace”, and the years that followed the official end of the war had still been tense between the two species, with many monsters still being hostile to the humans that remained (Looking back on his own education, the amount of ridiculous, fear mongering lies he’d been taught about humans made him sick.) A decade had passed before tensions began to dissipate; human-monster cities began to be built, marriage between the two species was legalised, and so forth. If Mettaton had to guess, that’s when human religions began to gain traction, and old monster traditions (and their native language, font) were lost to time.
Not completely, Mettaton supposed, considering both he and his cousin still had faith in the religion they had grown up with, with a few exceptions on the more… backwards beliefs.
While the most commonly known human religion had a God, the monster’s religion had the stars.
They were important, the center of everything in old monster culture. It hadn’t been uncommon for parents to name their children after the star above them on the night they were born, the idea being that that star would protect the child as they grew. The main belief was that stars were far more than just burning balls of gas and plasma and… other space stuff, but that they held the souls of monsters who had passed. Stars were filled with energy and magic beyond what monsters, and humans knew on Earth, and no one really knew what happened to the magic of a monster’s soul when they dusted, so, in the past when monster’s created this faith, they theorised the magic left the planet, the monster’s time here done and over with, and became a star. The stars looked over those still on Earth, they guided and protected and gave the monster’s their strength in times of need.
The idea that someone had always been looking over him had always eased Mettaton, it helped him feel some hope when everything felt like it was falling apart around him. When he was young and realised he wasn’t a girl like everyone told him he was, knowing someone up in the sky still had his back and believed in him helped him immensely. That and the fact that they were always there, even when he’d been alone in the castle for so long… the stars had never left him, and they never would.
And now, as he sat in the passenger seat of Red’s black car, wearing one of the uniforms he’d been working on for the past week, and watched the terrain pass them and the sun disappear, opening the sky up to the same stars he’d seen all his life… he couldn’t help but hope they had been keeping Papyrus, Sans and Alphys safe.
Please, let them be ok…
His hair was pulled back in a high ponytail, one pink strand having fallen out and framed his face - it felt weird not to have his hair covering his right eye, like he was exposed.
The sclera of his right eye had turned pink a long time ago, on the day he and Napstablook, his younger cousin, had run away from their village. Ever since then Mettaton had been sure to keep the eye covered; he wasn’t embarrassed of it, it had turned that way because of his magic and at the time his magic had been the only thing he was confident about, so no, he was fine with the change. He’d even go as far as to say he liked it - but he could tell other people… didn’t. Why, he didn’t know - still didn’t - but he kept it hidden to stop people from giving him weird looks.
He’d have to deal with the naked feeling for now, he wasn’t going to have their cover blown because his hairdo didn’t look “professional”.
“I was thinking we should park near the city center.” Red’s gruff voice broke the silence, Mettaton finding his form in the dark, the interior of the car only occasionally illuminated by passing streetlamps. Red’s appearance for the last week had matched with his voice: gruff. Mettaton doubted the skeleton had been sleeping much, and dark rings had formed under his eye sockets, and his singler eyelight always seemed to be flickering, ready to give out and give way to the dark of Red’s sockets. He’d been quiet, and when he did talk his words always had an exhausted and frustrated edge to them. “We’ll walk to the castle. Less conspicuous that way.”
“Makes sense.” Mettaton responded, sitting up in his seat - he didn’t know the city very well, given he was hidden inside the castle walls for… he couldn’t remember how long, but neon signs were giving way for “nicer” stores and buildings, modern buildings melding with old brick buildings, street lamps become more common and in better conditions, so he could infer they were getting close to their stop. From the backseat, Chara just grunted in response, Mettaton briefly meeting her eyes in the rearview mirror.
Like him and Red, she had on one of the uniforms, auburn hair in a ponytail Mettaton had helped her with earlier that evening. She hadn’t said anything since they left the Dreemurr’s cottage - she’d been the one to suggest they leave the house through her bedroom window, since the house had been a frenzy since Killer brought Undyne earlier that morning, and the idea had worked like a charm. Mettaton assumed she was just anxious, but he couldn’t help but wonder if she was just angry. He couldn’t blame her for it - her brothers were stuck in the castle, and then the guard who had originally almost killed Sans showed up at their camp without warning for the second time? Not only had Undyne been there, but she’d been in their house . Stars, Mettaton would have been mad if he was in her position too.
From his position though… he couldn’t find it in him to be angry. He’d never met Undyne before, but he’d heard enough about the woman from Alphys to know she had a good soul. Even if she’d done some questionable things, Mettaton could tell a lot of it was done to keep Alphys safe, and Mettaton could commend that. Besides, it didn’t take a genius to tell Undyne was not coping well with the fact that her attempt to keep Alphys safe had fallen flat - but she had tried, and Mettaton just couldn't hate the woman that his best friend loves, and who so obviously loves Alphys back.
Red pulled into a parking lot for a strip mall - “Waterfall Strip mall” read the sign with a graphic of an unnaturally blue waterfall in a dark cave above the lot. The buildings were little more than metal rectangles with glass doors, large display windows on either side of the door. The only thing that differentiated one store from the other on the outside was the sign above the door and what was in the display windows. The parking lot itself was mostly empty, save for a group of what looked like teens grouped together by a lightpost, discarded bicycles around them and thin plumes of smoke leaving their mouths. As Red turned off the car, everything felt too quiet, the lamps poorly illuminating the parking lot buzzing in Mettaton’s ears.
It was time to see if their plan would actually work or not.
The walk to the castle took the three of them roughly half an hour, and was done in complete silence, none of them daring to speak. Mettaton wondered how Chara and Red were feeling, mulling over their expressions out of the corners of his eyes and finding it difficult to read either of them. He wondered if they felt like him; if they felt their magic coursing through their veins like electricity through a wire, if they felt their soul leap to their throat at every little noise, if they saw shapes moving in the shadows, watching them, spying on them, knowing exactly what they were about to do.
He wondered if they were angry too. If their anger was hard and solid in their chest, an immovable object, but melted into burning lava that sloshed around inside their chest the moment they thought about it too long. If their anger hurt, if it made them want to scream and unleash everything built up inside of them to explode like a bomb.
The castle loomed over them, huge and overwhelming. It was still weird to see it from the outside, after spending so much of his life hiding in its walls. His stomach churned at the thought of going back inside, knowing there was a chance he’ll never come back out again, only this time his imprisonment wouldn’t be optional.
He stepped forward, letting the castle embrace him again, like a hug from a relative you didn’t know.
*****
Getting past the guards at the front gate was far too easy. They had barely even given the three of them a passing glance before letting them through - Mettaton knew he should feel proud of his handiwork, but in reality it just made him more on edge. Everything was going according to plan so far, everything was working , but it could go to shit so easily. The smallest thing could give them away, and they’d be dead. (Well, no, maybe not all of them, since Mettaton had ghost immortality on his side. Though that “gift” seemed more like a curse when paired with imprisonment for life.)
The next step was to actually find where Sans, Papyrus and Alphys were being held. The Dungeon - located in the lowest level of the castle, a second basement of sorts, and looked far cleaner and more modern than any image the word “dungeon” conjured in one’s brain - was out of the question. From what Killer had shared about Sans and Papyrus’s capture, Alphys had been hidden in a room only accessed by a hidden hallway in the walls, and after hearing that tidbit of information there was no question in anyone’s mind that the Dreemurr brothers were being held in a similarly hidden room.
How they were going to find it… none of them had a clue.
Red was saying something, suggesting they check some of the staff only rooms - like laundry, the kitchen, cleaning closets - in hopes they’d find a door to the hidden halls, theorising they were most likely built to originally help staff get around- when Mettaton felt it. A chill breeze passing through him - a chill breeze he could feel. Ghosts didn’t experience temperatures like other monsters, since they were just energy and had no physical form, they simply couldn’t feel hot and cold. But he had felt this chill, it made goosebumps pop up along his arms, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up on end.
“Mettaton? What is it?” The cold was immediately followed by the feeling of magic - not monster, no, this magic felt too… pure to belong to anything physical. Like a vial of liquid magic straight from someone's soul had been poured over him, dousing him. Something flickered in the corner of his vision - like a camera flash, only bright green - and he knew it was the source. How he knew, he had no idea, he simply did.
Just like how he knew they needed to follow it. Red said his name again.
“Let’s go this way.” His gaze jumped between Chara and Red, the pure energy making the magic particles that formed Mettaton’s body feel like they were quivering. It swirled in his soul and eased the anxiety that had been plaguing him, wrapping him instead with a feeling that he could only explain as motherly comfort. “I have a good feeling about it.”
Red raised an eyebrow, sharing a look with Chara, who looked dubious. “...Alright. That way it is.”
The magic led Mettaton through the halls, never disappearing or leaving him. He kept seeing the flashes of that green light, and he momentarily considered that maybe he had just lost his mind and was having a really strong hallucination - that worry was quickly quelled by that motherly feeling again. Whatever this was, it certainly didn’t feel like it was misleading them. Mettaton did wish he knew what - or who? - it was.
With Chara and Red trailing behind him, Mettaton followed the energy down a narrow staircase, their boots thudding against the metal stairs. At the bottom sat a metal door and a small keypad set into the wall next to it, both of which looked incredibly out of place with the older architecture and style of the castle.
“Well, this isn’t suspicious at all.” Chara mumbled, her hands resting on her hips as she stepped out from behind Mettaton, studying the keypad. “How do you think we open this-” Without warning, the keypad sparked, completely popping off from the wall, hanging on by a lone wire, the rest cut and sparking. Chara jumped back in surprise, blood red magic sparking around her hands.
The door slid open for them, and after a shared confused look, the three stepped into the square room.
Both the walls and the floor of the room were blank grey concrete, and bathed in darkness. There was only one light in the room, a single lightbulb hanging from a cord in the center of the room, above a metal medical table, that barely casted any light on the corners of the boxy room when Mettaton flipped the light switch near the door. The medical table had dried blood and scratches covering its dusty surface. There was a wall of mirrors on the far right, a metal door next to it - an observation room, maybe? Otherwise the room was empty. A deadend.
Mettaton felt himself deflate - whatever had led him here hadn’t brought them to where the Dreemurr brothers and Alphys were, it had just brought them to a creepy empty room, and now it was gone. Of course , nothing was here, he had been following a feeling . He was on edge, he had probably just imagined the whole stupid thing, and now he had completely derailed their search.
“What is this?” Chara asked, breaking the silence, trailing a finger over the surgical table, coating the tip with dust. Her nose scrunched up in disgust and she wiped it off on her uniform.
“A deadend.” Annoyance dripped from Mettaton’s voice, not directed at his human companion but for himself. He felt so stupid -
“I’m not so sure about that, Mettaton.” Both the ghost monster and Chara spun to look at Red, who was standing in front of the far wall of the room, eyelight caught on something in the shadow. Tilting his head to look back at them, Red grabbed at something and with an ear piercing screech of metal on cement, a door opened up in the wall. Behind it lay another set of stairs, going much farther down, the base hidden by a sheet of darkness. “I think we’ve found what we’re looking for.”
The staircase was extremely cramped, just enough room for each of them to stand up straight with their arms at their sides - at least there was a lot of head room, so they only had to worry about tripping over their own feet. Mettaton really hoped there was some kind of light switch at the bottom of the stairs, the darkness in the staircase feeling almost oppressive, and the projection of his soul only gave off a small bit of light.
“I didn’t realize Gaster’s fucking… secret room or whatever would be so steryotypically a villain lair.” Chara grumped behind Mettaton, he could feel her hand brush against his back as she stumbled. It did feel a bit ridiculous - keypads and weird empty rooms and hidden doors. But he was more worried about what had led him to this place - had he imagined it? Or had someone actually directed them here? He hadn’t felt the presence since they entered the square room, but if he focused it was like a piece of it was clinging to the back of his head, a small ball of ice cold air pressed against the spot right below his hairline.
“The fucker has the ego of a cartoon villian.” Red cursed and Mettaton froze, only daring to move when bright fluorescence lights lit up the area around them. “Found the bottom.”
The stairs opened up into a huge room that looked as if a tornado had gone through it; the far wall was covered in shattered screens that varied from the size of a phone screen to a large TV, broken tables and glass from broken test tubes littered the floor, ripped and burned papers with them. Mettaton’s eyes caught on one of those ripped papers, the words on the page making his soul feel heavy in his chest - they were written in font. No one spoke in font anymore, it was a dead language, and as far as Mettaton knew, he, his cousin and the Dreemurr brothers were the only ones who knew it anymore.
How old was all this stuff?
There were two hallways branching off from the open room, one to the left and one to the right. Darkness seemed to bleed from the hall on the left despite the painfully bright lights, and the other…
Voices.
Familiar voices.
“Sans-?!” Red’s voice echoed through the room, reverberating off the blank white walls, and he took off, pushing past the broken tables and glass, to the hallway. It occurred to Mettaton that he should probably tell Red to keep quiet given this was a stealth plan, but he couldn’t find himself to care as hope welled up in his chest - They had found them .
The right hallway led to a series of cells - why Gaster needed so many, Mettaton didn’t know nor did he want to know - and at the last one…
Mettaton’s soul lurched in his chest. Chara let out a cry, grabbing onto the bars, leaning so close her nose was practically touching the metal. “You… You’re ok!!”
All three of them were there - Papyrus, Sans and Alphys - staring back from inside the cell; Alphys and Pap both looked rough, dark circles under both of their eyes and Alphy’s left lens was cracked, but otherwise they seemed… ok. Really ok. Alive. But Sans…
The smaller skeleton was curled up on the singular metal “bed” in the cell, facing the stone wall, and even from several feet away Mettaton could see the layer of sweat on Sans’s skull, the way his body shivered, his chest rising and falling with laboured breath.
“What are you doing here?!” Panic flashed across Papyrus’s features, the tall monster pushing himself off the floor, walking towards the front of the cell. Metal bands were sealed around his wrists and ankles, a single blue light blinking in the center, and upon further inspection there were bands - restraints? - on Sans as well. Papyrus’s eyes met Mettaton’s, and his soul swelled - he hadn’t fully realised just how worried he’d been for his friend until just then, as the relief flooded his system at seeing he was alive.
“Saving your asses! How do we get this open?!” Papyrus’s gaze broke away from the ghost monster to turn to his sister, who rattled the cell bars, flecks of dirt and rock falling from the ceiling.
“Saving- do you know how much danger you're in?! If Gaster sees you here-”
“He’s not going to see us!”
“What… what’s wrong with him…?” Red’s frail voice cut in between the siblings’ quarrel, his hand wrapping around one of the metal bars, his singular eyelight glued to Sans, who seemed to twitch slightly at the sound of Red’s voice.
Papyrus’s shoulders slumped as his eyes sockets turned to his older brother, pain written over his features. “I don’t… know. Gaster did something and since then he’s been… like this…”
“The restraints…” They all turned to Alphys, the small lizard shrivelling in on herself, her tail - which Mettaton noticed had a blood stained bandage wrapped around it, worry for his friend making his body feel cold. What had she been through since he left? - curling around her legs. “The restraints… t-they’re using, um… determination… t-to mess with his magic levels, m-making… making him sick…”
“But you can get them off.” Alphys hands squeezed the tip of her tail, her expression hesitant. Red pushed more against the bars, desperation filling his voice. “You’ll be able to get them off, right?”
“...P-possibly…” Alphys answered after a minute of the question hanging in the air, though it was clear that she didn’t believe her answer.
It seemed enough for Red at least. He pushed away from the cell, scanning the walls and ceiling before his eyes settled on the cell’s lock. “Ok. ok, now… how do we get you out of here…”
From behind Mettaton, Chara and Red, someone chuckled. A deep chuckle than sent terror running down Mettaton’s spine, his magic prickling at his finger tips.
“Oh, I’m afraid you’re mistaken. None of you will be leaving here again.”
Notes:
Hi everyone, I'm back from the dead <3
Thank you all so much for being to patient during my break! I hope you guys like this one, I'm sorry if it feels off. I had terrible writers block while working on it, but I did my best ^^'
Chapter 35: ~Chapter 35~
Summary:
!Cw!: Descriptions of violence, blood and injuries
Notes:
For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on Instagram or Tumblr
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Mettaton had only ever seen Gaster, in person, once. A classic “wrong place at the wrong time” situation. After that, he’d avoided being near any of the staff - thanks to his ability to “cloak” his presence and become invisible to the naked eye, he’d previously been fine with walking around the castle as much as he pleased. No one could see him unless he wanted them to, so there was no reason for worry. After that night, though, he didn’t want to risk being caught. And he never wanted to see Gaster in person again. So far he had followed through on that, only ever seeing the King on broadcasts or news articles.
And now…
Click.
Click.
Click.
Mettaton really wished it had stayed that way.
Gaster stepped towards them, his lips twisted upwards in a smug grin that made Mettaton’s stomach churn. The King’s eyelights glinted, his hands folded behind his back, and the air suddenly felt saturated in something dark, something heavy.
He felt his allies tense beside him, magic seeming to radiate off of both of them. Mettaton’s own magic sparked at his fingertips, raced through his bones, but there was something… off. Like it wasn’t just his magic he was calling forward, but someone else’s mixed with it.
Something green, light and loving. The power to build and heal.
Something black, blacker than black even, unstable and cold. The power to destroy and consume.
Gaster’s steps halted, only a few feet from Mettaton, Red and Chara, arms still locked behind his back. The King’s expression empty besides that stupid grin, and Mettaton couldn’t tell if he preferred this masked expression over the enraged one he had seen all those years ago.
Time seemed to stand still, no one daring to move, barely daring to breathe. Mettaton could hear his soul beat in his ears, feel the sweat forming on his temple.
“ Mettaton .”
A voice brushed against his ear, spoken in the same font Papyrus had spoken in all those weeks ago, sending an icy chill down his spine. His head swivelled to where the voice had come from, throat going dry - but no one was there, just Red and Chara a few feet behind him. He met Red’s eye light with his eyes, the other monster’s eyebrows drawing in confusion. Who the hell had said his name??
Big mistake.
They were distracted.
It was an opening. And Gaster took it.
A swift raise of his hand and the pressure in the air snapped, magic chains wrapping the trio’s ankles; yanking their feet out from under them. Mettaton grunted in pain, falling onto his back on the hard tile, the wind leaving his lungs. A flash of purple in the corner of his eyes, a hand flying towards him, a spike jutting out from the center of the palm. Mettaton just barely dodged the hand, rolling onto his side, the spike cracking and embedding itself in the tile.
Cursing, Mettaton pushed the stray hairs out of his face and pushed himself back to his feet. Pain pulsed through his ankles. Bruises, probably. He stomped his foot down on the hand, the magic breaking into glass-like shards, the magic melting into nothing.
Shaking his hands out, Mettaton felt the familiar buzz of electric racing through his veins. Thin bolts of lighting sparking between his fingers, coming together and building a small playing card, jittery and buzzing. Anyone who made contact with the card would get a nasty shock, or if it were placed on a inanimate object it would explode like a bomb.
He scanned the room, taking stock of his allies. Red snarled as he dropped his firsts, engulfed in bright red flames, shattering two hands, a third catching him on the cheek. Chara grunted, pulled off the ground by a chain around her ankles. Red smoke warped around her hands, forming a blade that glinted in the light. She stabbed at the chain around her feet; it broke apart, shattered magic falling to the ground. Chara fell forward. Cracks spread along the tile in front of her.
“ Move her. Quick.”
Mettaton didn’t bother thinking twice about the voice this time (Though it was impossible not to notice it was different. Feminine now.), there was no time, and pushed himself to action. He wrapped an arm around Chara’s abdomen, pulling her up and away just as a black spike burst through the ground. His breath caught in his throat, the tip catching on his sleeve. He sugred his magic at his fingertips, two of the cards attaching themselves to the spike.
They ticked.
The explosion seemed to rock the entire room, bits of debris and dust raining down on them. Mettaton and Chara, blown back by the blast, collided with the cell bars. Pain shot through Mettaton’s back, a cry coming from his companion. A shard of debris was sticking out of her thigh.
Two more hands came at them; Mettaton growled and squeezed his hand into a fist. Magic hardened around his arm, a cylinder forming. He raised his arm, body buzzing with energy, a beam of pure white magic firing from the cannon’s barrel, destroying the hands.
Hot, searing pain bloomed in his lower abdomen, a groan of pain leaving Mettaton’s lips. He stumbled back, hands dropped to grip the hand lodged into his side, the hand pushing more into him the more he tried to pull. Pink. Pink magic staining his hands, his shirt, dripping to the floor. Mettaton felt light headed - he couldn’t die, literally couldn’t, but jesus fuck it still hurt.
A red chain reached for him, one of the links catching on one of the magic hand’s phalanges. The chain yanked back, snapping the finger off the hand, the finger disintegrated. Mettaton cursed, pressing his palm to his wound.
“ Not now. Focus. ” The dark voice. Firm.
Mettaton listened.
Gaster hadn’t moved from his spot, arms now extended in front of him, fingers splayed out. A puppeteer putting on a show. Irritation burned in Mettaton’s soul.
His arm raised, the cannon encased around his hand whirring. One hit, one hit and surly Gaster would at least be knocked out. They’d be free, safe.
One hit.
Gaster’s eyelights snapped to him right as the beam left the cannon, his grin growing, growing too big for someone who was about to be shot.
He vanished from view, seeming to melt into the darkness. The beam hit the bars of an empty cell, melting and reforming them with the heat.
“I commend your effort.” Mettaton stumbled back, the King suddenly looming next to him, expression dark. His manic smile is still in place. “Sadly, you're too slow.”
Pressure wrapped around Mettaton’s soul, pressing down, squeezing his very being.
He was thrown backwards, against cell bars, the force of the collision causing the metal to bend, knocking the wind from Mettaton’s lungs. White pain flashed across his vision at the feeling of being crushed under a huge weight. He barely registered Chara calling his name. Red flashed across his vision - Chara’s knife soaring through the air, embedding itself into Gaster’s shoulder.
Gaster snarled, the weight that had coiled itself around Mettaton letting up slightly as the King used the same magic to wrench the blade from his shoulder.The smile was finally gone, replaced by unadulterated rage. Nodding his skull towards Chara, a new hand sizzled into existence next to him and flew towards the human.
Except it missed, whizzed by right next to her face, only so much as grazing Chara’s cheek. Past Chara and into the cell.
It wasn’t aiming for Chara.
It was aiming for Papyrus.
The skeleton gasped, eye sockets widening in horror. He jerked to the side, the spike in the palm of the hand catching on his cheek bone. It cracked, flakes of bone falling to the ground.
“PAPYRUS!”
Mettaton didn’t know if it was him or Chara that screamed.
Chains erupted from the ground in front of the human, coiling around her arms, yanking her forward. She hit the floor hard with a grunt, blood spewing from her nose. A second chain grabbed her leg, the links squeezing into the flesh, cutting into her. Red growled, a deep guttural sound, dropping his hands to the floor, fire spewing from them and burning a line to the chains. The chains disintegrated, the King’s magic burning up. Blood dripped to the floor, the air heavy with magic, dust and the smell of copper.
Red’s single eyelight snapped away from Chara to Gaster, a furious cry leaving the man as he raised his hands, bright red chains manifesting around him like snakes, surging at the King. Gaster didn’t even flinch, he just twitched a finger and spikes broke out of the ground, shatting Red’s attack.
“ Enough, this isn’t working. We need to step in ” The energies were back, feeling stronger, like they were not just next to Mettaton, but a part of him.
“ We’ve already interfered. Besides, there’s little we can do to interact with the physical world. Nothing that would stop the king…” Green’s voice was soft, an edge of sorrow in it.
“ He can help ” He? Were they talking about him? Gaster’s magic was tightening around him again, trying to squeeze the life out of him.
“ Our ‘help’ could harm him! ”
“ The alternative is they all die! It is the only choice! ”
The black energy was right - they had the disadvantage by Gaster sneaking up on them, they were getting their asses kicked. They could die; well Mettaton couldn’t, but Chara and Red could. Alphys and Sans could. Papyrus could.
Mettaton didn’t understand who the hell these “energies” were, he didn’t know why they were speaking or why he could hear them. But it didn’t matter.
Thud. Red. Then black. Sounds of Red and Chara in pain.
Squeezing. A flash of pain in his side. Vision foggy.
They needed something, and if these… “energies” could allow Mettaton to help, he wanted to do it. He’d do anything.
I’ll do anything.
“ ...Ok. Let’s try it… ” The green voice sighed, and warmth suddenly rushed through Mettaton’s body, his vision going pink, all pink like he was staring into a coloured light. Blinded. “ I’m sorry if this is unpleasant, little one… ”
The warmth flooded through him, filling him and embedding itself into his magic. Super charging it. Super charging him. His breath caught in his throat, his entire body buzzing. It almost hurt, having this much power pushed into his body.
And then even more was pushed into him.
The black energy was cold, a stark contrast to the warmth of the green magic, and felt like tiny needles covering every inch of him, inside and out. Piercing him, it felt as if it was going to destroy him, rip him apart. Shred the very magic his body was made of.
But every jarring wave of stabbing pain was immediately followed by a feeling of comfort, of healing and love, and then again the pain returned. Back and forth, back and forth.
Mettaton’s magic was growing, the two energies feeding into it, burning in his veins and begging for release. It felt a storm brewing inside of him, a storm that would tear him open if it was not let out.
So he
Set
It
Free.
A hole ripped through the fabric of reality, dripping Mettaton into a sea of black - his body was on fire, the darkness coiling around him, trying to consume the magic he was made out of. Trying to consume him .
He was dying. That was the only explanation.
Oh god, he was dying .
The one thing he never feared, and here it was, staring him in the face. Enveloping him in its inky darkness, swallowing him whole.
And then…
It stopped.
Mettaton dropped to the concrete of the empty parking lot, a coughing fit shaking his body as he drank in gulps of air. His head felt empty, yet too heavy on his shoulders, weighing him down. He couldn’t sense the dark energy anymore, but the green one was still clinging to him. He could feel it, just at the base of his neck, just barely there.
His head jerked up, quickly raising his head - Chara was closest to him, crouched down, pressing a hand to her possibly broken nose; Red was a few feet away from the two of them, near Papyrus and Sans. Sans was still unconscious, breathing laboured and sweat beaded on his forehead. Red pressed the smaller man close; Papyrus next to him, cradling his bloody cheek. And there was Alphys, shivering with her tail curled around her legs.
They were all alive. Injured, yes, but alive .
They had done it.
*****
“God… fucking damn it!” Chara snapped and smacked her hand against the bands of metal Papyrus’s wrists.
“Language.”
Chara’s eyes lifted to her brother’s, lip curling up in disbelief - she, Sans’s boyfriend, and Papyrus’s friend had just broken him, Sans and the doctor out of the castle after facing off against the King, and then somehow teleported outside of the castle, and Pap was chiding her for swearing ?? “Seriously?”
A moment passed where Papyrus just silently held her gaze, before a timid smile spread over his skull. “Sorry, force of habit…”
She groaned, though she wasn’t all that annoyed deep down, still riding on the high that their plan had even worked . Though the way blood and magic was staining the cloth Papyrus was holding to his cheek made bile rise in her throat. She could have stopped him from getting hurt - she should have stopped it.
At least Papyrus was walking and talking still, even if his cheekbone was cracked and there were dark eye bags under his eye sockets. He was at least in better shape than Sans.
Something in Chara’s chest twinged at the thought of her oldest brother. He had just gotten out of a coma, she had just gotten him back, and now he was once again in a coma. Or at least she thought it was a coma. His body trembled, sweat beaded on his forehead as he struggled to draw in each laboured breath. She couldn’t see any dust coating his bones, but every time she looked back at him it felt like he wouldn’t be there anymore, a pile of Dust and blood in his place.
When Sans had last been in a state like this, she had found it hard to look at him. The frail, strained breathing, the sweat that coated his skull, it had all made her feel sick.
But now, his breaths no longer strained but ragged, the beads of sweat accompanied with dried blood on Sans’s skull, the way his body would occasionally twitch and spasm with what she guessed was pain…
It was more than just hard to look at Sans, it was damn near impossible.
The car rocked as they went over a pothole, Chara gripping the door next to her to stop herself from colliding with Papyrus. Red’s car had been perfect for getting to the castle, but it wasn't made to hold 6 people (6 injured people, might she add. She couldn’t help but feel bad for the blood and dust that was going to stain his seats.) Mettaton had taken Red’s spot in the driver’s seat - Chara hadn’t realised he could drive - while Red cradled Sans’s shaking form in his arms in the passenger seat. Papyrus sat in the middle of the backseat, squished between her and Dr. Alphys. He had stated it was fine and he didn’t mind the middle seat, though it was pretty obvious he was uncomfortable. But her and Alphys needed to be able to see his cuffs if they wanted to get them off, so there wasn’t much of an alternative.
Speaking of…
Chara’s gaze shifted to the doctor, the small lizard leaned over Papyrus's other hand, her knees pulled to her chest and tail wrapped around her. The position seemed uncomfortable to Chara, but she didn’t want to comment on it - now wasn’t the time.
“What do we need to do to get them off?” Chara wiped her nose, feeling a tickle of blood, trying to ignore the ache that followed. She really hoped it wasn’t broken - she could deal with a bloody nose, but if it’s broken…
God, Asgore was gonna kill her.
Alphys’s tail twitched, the doctor meeting Chara’s eyes. A crack ran through the right lens of her glasses, and there was a nasty cut on her left cheek, though it must be a bit old since it seemed scabbed over already. “I… I could probably g-get… um, get them off with… with ease i-if I had the… uh, t-the proper tools… a-at the cottage if y-you could…”
“We don’t have time to wait until we get home!” Chara hissed, the small monster flinching at the sudden harshness in the human’s tone and pushing herself up against the door, fear flashing through her brown eyes. Guilt welled up in Chara’s soul, and she took a quick breath to calm herself. “Sorry, but Pap is losing more and more magic as we speak.” She gestured to her brother’s cheek. “And these things are restricting his magic, so he could run out and just… fucking keel over, couldn’t he??” She ignored Papyrus’s mumbled complaint over the curse.
“It’s… it’s very u-unlikely, given the… um, the c-cuffs-”
“Unlikely, but not impossible.” Chara set her jaw, looking at the restraints with animosity. She already had one brother on the verge of dusting, she wasn’t going to let the other one get into the same condition.
“Chara, I can wait until Doctor Alphys has the tools to get them off.” The human grunted in response to Papyrus’s words, trying to dig her fingers between the space between the metal and the bones of Papyrus’s arm. Maybe she could just… rip it off. “I have more than enough magic to sustain my body, even with a little bleeding.”
Mettaton coughed from the front seat, Chara quickly glancing at the man: his cheeks were dusted with pink, though his eyes remained on the road. What was that about? She shook her head and focused back on the cuff. There had to be a way to get it off.
“Chara.”
She ignored Papyrus. There was a small crease in the metal where two separate parts of the cuff met - she focused on that, trying to pry the pieces about.
She just needed to break it. Killer had to have gotten these stupid things off of Nightmare somehow, and if he could do it so could she.
“ Chara! ”
It shouldn’t be this hard.
“ Chara! Stop it! You’re going to-”
“ SHUT UP !” Chara screamed, her magic flaring up around her, burning in her veins, stronger than she had ever felt it before. It snaked around her, licking at her skin like flames, enveloping her - surprise painted Papyrus’s face, and she vaguely registered the car screeching to a stop.
Everything was red.
It was like her magic was everywhere: in the air, in the ground and water, even coming from the monster’s in the car. She drank it in, felt it churn around her and bent it to her will.
Then the world crashed back down around her, her magic slipping away from her, disintegrating and going back to the air, colours came back to the world around her, and Chara suddenly felt cold without the heat from her magic around her.
The cuffs sparked, having been split in half, and slid off of Papyrus’s wrists.
Silence hung in the air, the hair on the back of Chara’s neck standing up as she felt everyone’s eyes bore into her.
She knew her magic was strong - sure, it was nothing compared to Sans or Papyrus, or hell, any of the other members of the rebellion, but she wasn't weak by any chance.
But she’d never been able to cut metal before.
“What… the fuck did I just do…?” Chara broke the silence, though no one in the car seemed to have an answer.
Papyrus didn’t chide her for swearing this time.
*****
“What the fuck do you mean you can’t find them?”
Killer groaned and crossed his arms over his chest, rolling his eyes. Annoyance sparked in Error’s soul; could he not act so flippant right now?! “I mean they’re obviously not here, Error. Figured I was being pretty clear.”
Despite only 5 people being in the Dreemurr’s dining room at the moment - him, Ink, Killer, Cross and Dream - the room felt too small and crowded to Error, anxiety twisting around his soul. His phalanges tapped the wooden table in a steady, restless rhythm, his eyelights locked on Killer across the table from him. The shorter skeleton had been more coarse than usual since this morning, after he had shown up with Undyne - that in and of itself was an entirely different beast to dissect. Like why would Killer, of all people, help her? She had betrayed them by returning to the castle, and yet here she was -injured, yes but that didn’t change the fact she betrayed their trust. Not to mention the fact that Error didn’t want her anywhere near Ink and his unborn children (Even if Ink was open to forgiving the guard, Error wasn’t there yet). Killer had gone missing for a few hours while Error and Nightmare had set up a tent for the guard, just as Cross and Dream had, and since reappearing Killer had done nothing but act like a moody teenager. It was getting on Error’s nerves. But he didn’t have time to deal with any of that, not Undyne or Killer’s crappy behaviour, when three of their team members were missing.
“Did you look everywhere? There’s a lot of land behind the house, they could just be off training.” Cross, voice low and with a tired edge, watched Killer from his spot next to the dining room entrance. Sparks of magic flickered at Cross’s fingertips - Error wondered if Cross should be here, given the fiasco earlier in the day, especially with the physical sign his magic was clearly agitated from his mental state. It was probably better for him if he wasn’t dealing with something like this now. Cross shoved his hands into his pockets, meeting Error’s eyelights. The older man looked away, focusing back on the matter at hand - Cross was a grown man, it wasn’t Error’s right to decide what he could and couldn’t deal with.
“I’m not stupid, of course I looked back there.” Killer hissed, glaring at the two other men. “I don’t see what the deal is, they’re not required to stay here or tell us where they’re going.”
“Oh please, Mettaton, Red and Chara go missing after acting weird all week , and while Sans and Papyrus are still being held captive at the castle; and you think they’re just on a nice little shopping trip?” Ink placed his hand on Error’s back, the taller skeleton sucking in a breath. He could feel an echo of his husband’s worry mingling with his own in his soul, though it was muffled beneath his irritation.
“I… I don’t know, but we don’t know they’re at the fucking castle either!”
“It’s the most likely place for them to be.” The others turned to Dream when the Prince spoke, voice somewhat hoarse. “As Error mentioned, they have been acting… odd recently, and all three of them have connections with those trapped in the castle… It's too big of a coincidence.”
“Exactly.” Error groaned, massaging his temple as a headache formed behind his sockets. What were those three thinking?! They were going to get themselves killed .
“Ok, even if they are at the castle, what the fuck are we supposed to do about it?” Killer leaned over the table, eyebrows furrowing. “They made their choice, now all we can do is believe they’ll do whatever they set out to do and wait for them to get back.”
“We should go to the fucking castle and help them!” Cross interjected, stepping forward. Dream tensed in his seat, hands pressed together in his lap. “They could be in danger! And one of them is only sixteen !”
“And? Chara isn’t defenceless.”
“She’s only a kid, Killer!”
“Yeah, and so was I when I first killed someone! Her being a teenager doesn’t change shit!”
“Guys…” Everyone’s head swivelled to the dining room entrance, Nightmare standing there with his hands to his chest. He seemed anxious, though Error couldn’t tell if it was because he had walked in on an argument or something else.
“What’s wrong, Night?” The change in Killer’s voice was jarring, completely dropping the edge and becoming almost… soft.
“T… There’s something outside you guys need to see…”
*****
If Cross knew anything, it was that Red, Mettaton and Chara were acting like stupid, reckless children (Fitting, given one of them was literally a child .)
But they were lucky stupid, reckless children.
He didn’t know if he should be relieved, proud or angry about that.
When Nightmare had told them there was something “they need to see”, he figured it had something to do with Undyne, or maybe some of the other rebels needed something from Error. Or Dream (The other members of the rebellion seem to have finally gotten over their fear and intimidation of the Prince and the new thing everyone seemed to want to do was talk to him. Which was very quickly getting on Cross’s nerves - Dream wasn’t a spectacle to be gawked at.).
What he hadn’t expected was to see Red, Mettaton and Chara, bloody and covered in dust, holding up an unconscious Sans, with Papyrus and Alphys behind them.
Cross’s soul felt weighed down in his chest - they were all alive, and they were all back at the cottage now, but they were hurt. Every one of them - Papyrus’s cheek bone was cracked, dust clinging to the dried blood and magic; Chara at the very least had a broken nose, if the bruising and blood was anything to go by; both Mettaton’s and Red’s clothes were ripped and torn - which looked like knock-off guard uniforms, so that answered how they had gotten into the castle - and were stained with blood; and Sans…
The older skeleton was held up by Red, but he was limp, and even from where Cross was he could see Sans’s chest heaving as he struggled to take in breaths.
Sans was back in a coma.
He felt like seeing this outcome of a hastily made plan should make him angry. Angry at Chara, Mettaton and Red for acting so carelessly; for going off without telling them anything, after all they could have all died because of this. Angry at Killer for leaving the Dreemurr brothers behind, because if he had gotten out with them none of their allies would have been in this situation to begin with. And in a way, he was angry at Gaster for hurting his friends, for kidnapping them and doing… whatever the hell he must have done to Sans; for everything he did to Dream
But mainly, he felt… sad. Sad that this shit kept fucking happening; sad that his friends couldn’t catch a break; sad that any of this was happening and they all couldn’t just have normal lives.
This had to end.
Gaster needed to pay for everything he’d done, pay for every life he’d ruined, pay for all the people he’d hurt.
He needed to fucking die.
And Cross wanted to be the one to dust him.
*****
Sans was having a bad time.
He was in the Void, the inky darkness all around him, bleeding into the cracks between his bones, entering every nook and cranny. Becoming a part of him. The distinction between where he ended and the Void began had become blurry hours ago now. Or maybe it had only been minutes.
It was impossible to keep track of time in this emptiness.
When he had first woken up here, he’d tried calling out for G. He screamed silent cries for help until his throat was sore and he could taste his own blood.
But nobody came.
Sans was alone.
He tried to make the most of it at first. He had just found himself in a place no one - other than G, he supposed - had ever been in before. Think of the things he could find! What he could learn! So he tried to walk around, even though his “body” felt like water between his fingers, constantly slipping away from him and leaving him… as nothing, just thoughts in a sea of blackness. Still, he did his best to persist, setting his sights on one of the specs of light he could see in the “distance”. Truthfully, there wasn’t much else to aim for, given the only thing that seemed to live in the void was black nothingness and the timelines. (Sans still didn’t know how he knew that's what the specs were, he just… did. Maybe G had told him in passing?)
It didn’t take long for him to realise he wasn’t getting anywhere. He couldn’t seem to move in any way, let alone walk. No matter how hard he tried, none of the specs of light got closer, nor did they grow smaller. He was stuck right where he was.
So he gave up on moving, and instead just… existed. Floated amongst the waves of darkness, floating on his back in a sea of ink. He couldn’t remember what he had thought about during that time, or if he had thought of anything at all.
He didn’t know how long he was doing that before he felt it for the first time.
It came suddenly and out of nowhere, a tidal wave of sheer pain crashing over him. He screamed as ice filled his veins, freezing his marrow, cutting into his bones from the inside. He wailed as his bones burned and melted into a gooey, sticky puddle. He was being ripped apart, his bones crushed into dust, his soul squeezed until it popped, the very magic that made up his being was being shredded and smashed into nothing.
He begged for it to stop.
And it did. As fast as it had started, the pain stopped.
It came back though.
It kept coming back.
Over and over.
The feeling of being ripped apart then being put together again.
Ripped apart and put together and ripped apart and put together and ripped apart and put together.
Over and over and over again.
Occasionally, in the midst of the pain, he could hear voices. They were always echoey and distant, and Sans could never make out what they were actually saying. But they were there. Usually it was Papyrus. His brother, his baby brother, his brother who he’d treated like shit for most of their adult lives. Would he see Papyrus again? Would he ever be able to get out of this hell, out of this cycle of pain and nothingness? Would he see his brother smile and laugh again, be able to hug him and tell him stupid puns he pretended to hate, but Sans knew he loved?
He heard Red once. God, Red. Beautiful, smart, caring Red. Would Sans ever see that crease in his eyebrows when he was concentrating again? Would he ever get to ask him about the crack in his skull and all the other marks on his body? Would he ever get the chance to learn about Red’s life before he entered it? Would he get the chance to tell Red just how much he loves him?
Sans didn’t know how long he’d been in the Void. Maybe days, maybe hours. He didn’t know.
But he hoped with all his soul that he wouldn’t be here much longer.
Notes:
I hope y'all like this chapter! One quick announcement: chapters will be a biiiiit slower coming out from now on, bc school is starting and I don't wanna burn myself out. Also! I've been posting the designs of the (canonical) ship children of dt so if y'all wanna check those out :)))) follow the Tumblr :)))) or join the discord :))))
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Chapter 36: ~Chapter 36~
Summary:
!Cw!: Descriptions blood and injuries
Notes:
For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on Instagram or Tumblr
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Mettaton was sore as all hell.
With eyebrows drawn in concentration, he carefully wrapped the thick medical bandages around his abdomen, just below his surgical scars. The cut that had caused the deep, pink stain in his “uniform” jacket looked far worse than it really was; a deep puncture wound already bruised and with dried “blood” around it. Mett had done his best to clean away the flaky magic - unlike most monsters, Mettaton didn’t have any physical form that would turn to dust upon injury or death, and his “blood” was just his magic spilling out. There was more science to it than that, Mettaton was sure of it, but all he needed to know was that he only bled when cut, no dust formed to cling to the sticky mess. If Mettaton could actually die, he’d be more worried that his cleaning would reopen the wound - it did, evident by the fact that the freshly applied bandages were already staining, and he wasn’t even done wrapping them - but he couldn’t, and the most the bleeding would cause is soreness, and maybe a headache.
The sky was charcoal black, stars looking down at the earth. He couldn’t help but wonder if they had any hand in their escape earlier, if maybe they had lent some of their strength to Mettaton, Chara and Red. Maybe they were those “energies'' he had felt, that he could still feel now. The dark, heavy feeling the one had left had disappeared as soon as they got out of the castle, but the green one had lingered, clinging to the nape of his neck like smoke clinging to one’s clothes after a bonfire. The late night air was cold against Mettaton’s bare chest and back, though it did little to affect him other than occasionally brush past and make itself known.
He was a little ways away from the Dreemurr’s home, sitting in the grass near a tree with scorch marks on its bark. He’d wanted to get away from the chaos that ensued after he, Red and Chara had returned with their missing team members - and, yes, away from Error. The older man (technically Mettaton was older, but mentally he was sure Error passed him) was absolutely livid with the three of them for running off without even running their reckless plan by him first (Though Error had used the words “dangerous” and “really fucking stupid” to actually describe the plan.) and gave them a hearty lecture. Despite the lecture, Error was definitely relieved to see all of his team members - his friends - back in one piece, but that didn’t change the fact Red, Chara and Mettaton were probably going to have the ebony skeleton breathing down their necks for the next few weeks.
Securing the bandages, Mettaton breathed out a sigh, everything that happened in the past few hours settled heavily on his shoulders, threatening to crush him. They’d fought against Gaster. They’d gotten their asses kicked and could have died, but they didn’t, because Mettaton somehow… got them out by, what, teleporting? That was the only word he could think of to describe what he did. But how?
Looking back on it, his memories were hazy, blurred like he was looking at them through a fogged up window. What he could remember were the voices, the energies, and then… something flowing through his magic, something powerful, painfully powerful, and then… darkness. Pain, unimaginable pain. Then they were all outside.
Mettaton shook his head, the mess of curls on his head swaying, and pushed that train of thought away as a headache bloomed behind his temple. Whatever had happened was weird, something that will most likely never happen again, and hurt too much to think about, so he simply… wouldn’t. How he did it didn’t matter, what the energies were didn’t matter, all that mattered was everyone was safe again. Everyone would be ok.
“Does it hurt much?”
“No, just stings a bit.” He trailed his fingers over the bandages. There had been a time in the past when he’d been wrapped up with cloth like this, only his cousin had applied them then, not Mettaton. He could still see Napstablook’s face, red and puffy with tears streaming down his cheeks, could still feel the sting the broken glass had left on his hands and the foggy feeling in his head, still hear his younger cousin saying to never do something like that again. The scar from that incident still lay on his hip, a reminder of his past and what he had tried to do.
Wait. That voice… soft, feminine, almost…a motherly feeling to it. His head snapped up to where the voice had come from.
A few feet away from him a small, round woman sat on the grass, her legs holded beneath her black dress, hands folded on top of the apron that was tied to said dress. Long pink hair flowed from her head like waterfalls, curling and wrapping around her form, a soft green glow emanating from her. The woman’s eyes were a soft grey, filled with kindness and a hint of sorrow, and the echo of a smile lay on her lips.
And she was partially transparent, the tree visible behind her and even through her body.
“What…” Mettaton’s words died on his tongue before they got the chance to leave him. Something akin to magic seemed to radiate off of the women, and Mettaton felt slapped in the face by the realisation that she felt like the green energy, the one that had clung to him even outside of the castle.
This was who that energy was?? Another ghost?? Was she a ghost? She certainly had the appearance of a cloaked ghost (While cloaking will hide ghosts from other’s, fellow ghosts will still be able to see them, just slightly see through), but she didn’t feel like a monster or any other ghost monster he’d ever met before.
She looked back at him, those grey eyes like warm melting silver. “You… can see me, right? G said you should be able to now…” Mettaton nodded, voice lodged in his throat. G?? The woman clapped her hands, her smile creating dimples in her cheeks. “Oh, wonderful, I’m so glad. I was worried we had really hurt you with G’s little trick back there… you are ok, right? ”
Mettaton nodded again, swallowing around the lump in his throat. He didn’t know this woman, he had no idea why she was… attached to him, why she and this mystery “G” had helped him, but…
Mettaton couldn’t find it in him to distrust her. There was just something about the ghost (?) that compelled him to trust her.
“Who are you?” Finding his voice again, Mettaton asked the woman, watching her expression morph into something wistful.
“Bethenny Hunt, my dear. I’m… I was the Princes’ nanny.”
“Was?”
Bethenny shook her head, waving the question off. “It doesn’t matter now…” Her eyes flickered away from him, looking off to the house. “I’m sure you're confused, I apologise.”
Confused was putting it lightly, Mettaton’s head felt like it was spinning. Alphys had mentioned Ms. Hunt before, specifically after her death.
Her death.
She was a ghost then, but certainly not the same as Mettaton. How that worked he didn’t know - he, like every other monster, understood that human souls are stronger than monsters, and when a human dies, their soul doesn’t immediately turn to dust. Much like their bodies, the soul remains for some time after a human dies. But that didn’t explain how Bethenny was here now, a ghost and talking to Mettaton.
“I’m afraid I can’t explain what G did to help you, it was his idea and he… was rather resistant to explaining it. ” She gave him an apologetic smile, twirling the hem of her apron between her fingers for a moment before smoothing it back out. “You… aren’t too injured because of it, correct?”
“No. N-no, I’m ok. Besides this,” He gestured a hand to his stomach. “But that's neither of your fault.” A sadness washed over Bethenny’s features, and it occurred to Mettaton just how scary being in that basement must have been for her, seeing Gaster, seeing him hurt Mettaton and the others.
Why would she put herself through that? Why was she here?
Before he had the chance to open his mouth and vocalise his questions, Bethenny’s eyes seemed to catch on something behind Mettaton and she sat up straighter. “Please don’t tell the Princes I’m here.” Desperation bled into her voice. “Please. Do not put them through that, they’ve been through enough as it is.”
The other ghost didn’t wait for a response, her form flickering and fading from Mettaton’s sight (though he could still feel her, that small ball of energy at the base of his neck.) and the man barely had anytime to register any of what happened before a familiar hand rested on his shoulder.
“Mettaton?”
*****
It was hard to ignore the way Papyrus’s soul ached and trembled whenever he saw Mettaton. It hadn’t been all that noticeable at first, but it had continued to grow every time he saw the other man. Every glance and smile watered the affection that was planted in his chest, making it impossible to deny that he felt… something for the ghost monster.
He wasn’t ready to call it love, not yet, but it was certainly something.
It almost gave him whiplash at times, like earlier that evening when Mettaton had shown up with Red and Chara to save him, his brother and the doctor. It had been a serious moment, a serious and dangerous moment - those three could have gotten themselves killed for just stepping foot inside the castle, let alone trying to get the three of them out of it. And yet when Papyrus had first seen Mettaton in that faux guard uniform, his hair tied into a ponytail, giving Papyrus the opportunity to see the ghost’s other eye for the first time, the only thing he’d been able to think about was that fluttering affection in his chest and how attractive Mettaton was.
He was feeling the same thing now, looking down at Mettaton sitting in the grass in the “yard” of his home, shirtless and hair shifting with the wind. Despite the cold of the night, Papyrus still found himself feeling warm, especially when his eye sockets met Mettaton’s. He looked as if he’d seen a ghost (hah) but his expression softened when he seemed to register it was Papyrus who had just touched his shoulder.
“Hi, Paps.” Mettaton sounded tired, and Papyrus couldn’t blame him. Hell, he was tired too, a deep rooted exhaustion he doubted would leave anytime soon (not until his brother awoke again, at the very least.) “How’re you feeling?”
“Probably a lot better than you are.” Sitting in the damp grass next to Mettaton, he eyed the stained bandage around the ghost’s exposed abdomen; the stain seemed too dark, was it not clotting? How bad was the cut? It seemed like it would be deep given what Papyrus saw from within the cell, but it was impossible to tell with the cloth shielding the wound from view.
“Oh, I’m fine, this’ll heal up in no time.” Mettaton leaned back, hands propping him up and eyes turned upwards towards the sky. Papyrus felt his throat go dry, eyes latching onto his chest - while Mettaton didn’t look like the most muscular man, he was certainly defined, and his skin seemed to softly glow. There were two slim scars just below his pecs, faded but there nonetheless, and a third seemed to be poking out at the top of the bandages.
God, he was attractive.
No! Stay focused, Papyrus! Serious time!
“I’m just glad you’re ok. You, your brother and Alph.” Mettaton continued, voice dipping to something quieter, something softer. “I… I was really scared when you guys didn’t come back with Killer.” Pink eyes flickered to the skeleton, holding his gaze.
The wind blew past them, wrapping around their bodies and causing Papyrus to shiver - he was really regretting just wearing a tight, sleeveless undershirt, his bare arms and neck exposed to the cold. After being in the same jacket/overshirt for multiple days in a dark and dirty cell, he had just wanted to get into something that still felt clean , and getting out of that shirt had helped him settle into the fact that he was home again. Truthfully, he still desperately needed a shower, the feeling of grime and dirt in between his bones was somewhat nauseating, but there were things Papyrus needed to do before that.
He needed to check on Sans again, and hopefully Dr. Alphys will be able to tell them more about what was going on with him. She had said something about Sans’s cuffs having determination in them and causing him to be ill, but he didn’t fully understand that. Maybe that was just because Papyrus didn’t know that much about souls or how they work in general, but he hoped Alphys would explain things a bit more. He also hoped she’d know how to help Sans. Surely they’d just need to get the restraints off and he’d be ok again, but the question was how do they get them off? Maybe Chara could do… whatever she did in the car again, and just pop them off (He made a mental note to ask the doctor about that as well, given Chara didn’t seem to know what happened either.)
He still needed to talk to Cross. From what he’d heard from Chara and Red, Cross hadn’t been doing too well since Papyrus and his brother got captured. Apparently he had attacked Killer when he found out what happened - while Pap loved his friend, he didn’t want him getting into fights with their allies. That wouldn’t accomplish anything other than make working together difficult.
Undyne was also back, and knowing how Cross feels about her at the moment, Papyrus doubted he reacted well when he first saw her again. He just wanted the three of them to be friends again - Undyne had only been doing what she thought was right, and while she had been misguided, she seemed to understand that now. Plus, they were all on the same team now, right?
He just hoped Cross would understand his point of view on this. Lord knows how stubborn Cross can be at times.
And lastly… he had wanted to talk to Mettaton.
“It was really risky, what you three did.” Papyrus spoke, dropping his eyes away from Mettaton and to the grass. It shifted and wavered with the breeze. When he was little, Toriel would take him and his siblings out for picnics out here. He could distinctly remember the sugary sweet taste of her butterscotch and cinnamon pie as he laid on the blanket, picking and pulling at the grass and letting the blades fly away in the wind.
“Trust me, I know, Error already talked our ears off about how stupid our little plan was.”
A dry laugh worked its way out of Papyrus’s throat. “It was stupid. You could have gotten yourselves killed - you nearly died.” When it hit him what Mettaton, Red and Chara were in the castle to do, he had been terrified. The relief he felt upon first seeing his friends immediately disintegrating and was replaced with heavy dread - he was an optimistic person by nature, but in that moment all he could see happening was all of them dying at Gaster’s hands. But… that hadn’t happened, against all odds, here they all were: back at home, safe and far away from the castle. “But I’m glad you did it. I don’t know how long Sans could have lasted in there, if you guys hadn’t…”
Mettaton’s hand clasped around Papyrus’s, gently squeezing his phalanges. His skin was soft, and had a slight magic buzz to it. He didn’t say anything, the silence hanging between them, but it was comfortable. They sat there for a moment, blanketed by the light of the stars and surrounded by the sound of the wind brushing past them and the distant murmur of voices.
“Papyrus?” He lifted his skull to look at the other man, his soul lurched in his chest when Mettaton’s hand lifted and brushed against his cheekbone and the bandage there. He felt warm all over as he held the ghost’s gaze, his pink eyes all Papyrus could focus on. They were beautiful, the stars reflecting and shining within them, the pink deep like the ocean, so deep Papyrus felt he could get lost within them. What secrets did they hold? Why was there sorrow buried within them? Mettaton suddenly pulled his hand away, pressing a pink card into Papyrus’s other hand. “If… this kind of thing ever happens again, if you ever need help… just use this.”
The skeleton blinked slowly, his skull felt fuzzy after whatever had just happened, before looking down at the playing card. The card shimmered in his palm, it was the colour of Mettaton’s magic with a bright yellow lightning bolt in the center. He had seen Mettaton use similar cards when fighting against Gaster, and while he knew the ghost had some electricity magic, he didn’t realise it’d present in the form of playing cards. “Use… How?”
Mettaton’s lips twitched upward into a grin, a playful edge to it. “When you need it, you’ll know.”
For some reason, maybe it was Papyrus’s growing crush (he was pretty confident in saying that this affection that had bloomed in his chest for the other man was indeed a crush) or maybe it was the fact that Mettaton was just a generally charismatic person, but Papyrus believed him.
He rubbed his thumb over the card.
He’d know.
*****
When Cross was twelve, he was taken in by the royal guard. A group of three guards had been called to a convenience store in the richer end of Blightview because a kid was apparently causing a ruckus and had tried to attack someone. When they had shown up, the scrawny little Cross was seated, pouty and agitated, in the backroom of the store, his cheek bruised and “nose” bloody. Not only had Cross tried to attack someone, he damn well succeeded in doing so as well. His reasoning had been that the other monster had been trying to shoplift some items, and Cross had just wanted to stop the crime. To this day he didn’t know if those three guards knew he’d be a good fit for the guard because he’d immediately jumped to trying to do their jobs for them (albeit how small the crime he tried to stop was), or if they just liked his moxie, but they had made him an honorary member of the guard after that - much to the store owner’s dismay. Rather than one of the guards acting as Cross’s parent, they all pitched in to raise the preteen. It was as if they had taken the phrase “it takes a village to raise a child” very very literally.
It didn’t take long before they started training Cross, and as soon as he hit 18 he was no longer an “honorary” member, but a full-fledged guard. By then he was also fully infatuated with Dream after basically growing up with him, and after the Prince pulled a few strings Cross became not only a guard, but his guard (Though they didn’t start officially dating until a few years later.)
It was also during this time that he met Undyne. Another orphan, another kid (let’s be honest, they were both still practically children at this time, only 18 and 19 with hundreds of years still in front of them.) who just wanted to make the world better. The two clicked almost instantly, and had been best friends ever since.
Cross, Undyne and Papyrus, a happy trio.
Why did it have to change?
According to Papyrus, it didn’t have to.
Cross turned onto his back, eyes shifting to his partner laying on his stomach in their shared sleeping bag, a small lantern lit next to Dream to illuminate the pages of whatever book he was reading at the moment. After all the commotion, and given how late it was by now, the Prince had suggested he and Cross should get some sleep; before they had reached their tent, however, Papyrus had pulled Cross aside to talk to him.
Which Cross had been happy to do - god, he had missed Papyrus, and seeing him back, safe and alive , had been a major relief. Admittedly, Sans was in bad shape, but he’d be ok, he’d certainly survived worse (Cross had even been happy to see Dr. Alphys, even if seeing her reminded him of Undyne and the burned bridge that was their friendship.), and while Cross still thought Mettaton, Chara and Red had acted rashly and should have made a plan with everyone instead of running off, Cross couldn’t lie and say he wasn’t happy their plan worked.
Papyrus had insisted he was fine, that he was just a bit sore and in need of a good night’s rest and he’d be back in tip-top shape. Well, besides his cheek bone, which Cross could tell was cracked and bloody even with the bandage covering it.
Cross’s mood quickly soured when the topic changed to Undyne.
It had started with Papyrus just asking if Cross had talked to Undyne, which he hadn’t, but Papyrus apparently had in the short time he’d been back (How he had so much energy to socialise after having been kidnapped for a week , Cross didn’t know.), and gave a run down on how she was feeling to Cross. The main point being: Undyne was not well.
She was of course happy to have her girlfriend back, Papyrus had said the two had practically been attached at the hip when he had talked to them, but she had looked exhausted. She had refused to let Papyrus check her wounds (Specifically telling him he should worry about his before even considering her injuries.) but it was easy to see they were worse than she was trying to let on. Her scales had lost some of their pigment, flaking and falling away around bruises and cuts, the fins that sprouted from the sides of her face had barely managing to twitch let alone perk up, she was shaking and could barely stand on her own without some assistance, and she couldn’t stand with a straight posture for more than a few minutes at a time.
Anyone could see that, physically, Undyne was hurting. Even ignoring the previous injuries she’d had yet to fully heal from - the burn from Red, anything she had gotten from the most recent attack on the castle - she had been thrown out of a window , of course she was in a shit ton of pain.
It was what Papyrus said about how she was feeling emotionally that had stuck in Cross’s skull.
“She feels lost, Cross. Everything she believed in came crashing around her, she could have lost Alphys, and she lost… Us. I know you’re mad about the choices she’s made, but she was just trying to do what she thought was right, just like we are. She made some mistakes, yes, but she knows that… Please, just talk to her.”
To say he and Undyne hadn’t bumped heads before in the past would be a lie, but nothing to the scale of being on opposite sides of a war. That wasn’t even the part that bothered him - it was that she joined them, she brought Dream to them and fully understood what Gaster had done and that he was bad news. But then she had gone back. Instead of waiting to figure out a plan with the rest of them on how to help Alphys - which they did make after she left, whether or not it succeeded aside from the point - she had just up and left them. She made a conscious choice to go back to Gaster, even after knowing everything he had done.
But was it really a choice? All she knew was that Gaster could hurt, or even kill, Alphys to get her back. The woman she loved would be hurt because of her.
If Cross was in that situation, wouldn’t he have gone back to Gaster as well?
When he had left, Gaster had wanted him gone, that was clear by the fact that he brainwashed Dream to literally forget him, but in an alternate world where Gaster had wanted Cross - “needed” him for whatever sick plan the king had - and threatened to kill Dream if he didn’t go back…
Could Cross fully say he wouldn’t have gone crawling back to the King as well? Could he say he would have had the patience to wait for a plan to be created and acted out, knowing that at any moment his love could be dusted?
He was in the same place with both Undyne and Killer - mad at them for an action they “chose” to do, but the more he thought about it the more he realised they didn’t have much of a choice to do anything else, and if he had been in their shoes he would have acted the same way.
God, Cross had really been a dick to his friends(Killer included… he’d never admit it outloud, especially to the little shit’s face, but he was Cross’s friend too.) these past few days, hadn’t he?
He knew he needed to talk to them both, apologise. Work things out like adults.
The only problem being that Cross is utter shit at putting things into words.
*****
“This is what you were avoiding talking about?”
Red looked up from his shoulder, which he had been trying to wrap in bandages (Though poorly), and up at his younger brother. The wound on his shoulder felt like it was on fire, searing hot pain around the puncture wound, courtesy of Gaster’s stupid spike attack, blood and magic still flowing out of it, flecks of dust sticking to the think red substance.
Easy to say it hurt like a motherfucker.
“...Yeah. We weren’t really telling anyone about what we were planning, figured it wouldn’t go well. Sure you saw how Error reacted…” Red muttered, the remnants of the headache he’d gotten from Error’s long winded rant still throbbing behind his eye sockets.
The wooden chair next to Red screeched against the wooden floor as Edge took a seat, the sound piercing in the near silent dining room.
Most people in camp were asleep, and those who were usually inside the Dreemurr’s home were either outside or in their respective rooms (or tents) to recoup after the long day. Sans was in his room now, unconscious and in visible pain. If it was Red’s decision, he would have stayed up in that room right next to him, but after Asgore, Papyrus, even the meek Dr. Alphys (She… wasn’t exactly what Red had been imagining whenever he heard about the royal scientist, but she seemed… sweet? Shy? Definitely smart.) had berated him on getting his bandage properly wrapped, he had gone to the dining room with Sans’s father.
Papyrus had disappeared somewhere outside, and Alphys had stayed with Sans to check on him, saying she’d tell everyone what she could about what was happening with Sans when they regrouped. Undyne stayed with Alphys. It bothered Red to no end that Undyne was in Sans’s bedroom with the Doctor, but he was trying to not let it get to him. The ex-guard was supposedly dating Alphys, and given Red’s previous confession to wanting to stay next to Sans, he couldn’t exactly blame Undyne for wanting to do the same thing with her partner. Chara had gone… somewhere, most likely her room, but Red wasn’t entirely sure. She’d been silent ever since her magical outburst in the car, and had slipped away from the group at some point without anyone noticing. Or at least without Red noticing.
The dining room was empty save for Red and Edge, the curtains for the window above the wooden table drawn tight. The light above them hummed softly, occasionally flickering - it needed to be replaced, though that was probably at the bottom of Asgore’s priorities at the moment. Speaking of, the goat monster could be heard shuffling around the kitchen, accompanied by the occasional sounds of dishes clicking together or water running.
“You’re doing it wrong, dumbass.” Edge swatted Red’s hands away, his phanlages taking their place around the cloth bandages. Red kept his eyelight on the wooden surface of the table, feeling rather than seeing as his brother swathed his wound.
Silence wrapped around Red’s throat, choking him until his words came tumbling off his tongue to lay heavily between him and Edge.
“I’m sorry I lied to you. That I keep… hiding shit. It’s not because I don’t trust you, or think you can’t… handle it. But I’m so used to you being my baby brother, you know. When I left Gawlyn you were 24 and still in college, and now you’re… ya know. An actual adult. For so long I felt like I had to take care of you, protect you from the ‘big bad world’, now it feels… wrong to let you protect me instead.” He felt Edge go still next to him, but didn’t dare meet his eye sockets with his own. He was too scared to see what he’d find in them. “But you’re a grown ass man, we both are, and I… fuck, Edge, I’m so tired. I’m so scared. I love Sans. I really, really love him, and I’m trying… so goddamn hard not to let that show and keep it inside, stay strong, but I…”
His words died on his tongue and a broken sob burst out as he left his brother’s arms wrapped around him, holding him close. Edge smelled of ink and cloves.
Red sobbed, a week's worth of stress and anger and desperation shedding off of him in his tears, and he clung to his brother. He couldn’t remember the last time he had cried in front of his brother - the two had always had a sort of “tough-love” bond.
“You don’t need to be the big brother all the time anymore, Red. Sometimes you need to give yourself some slack and let yourself be the one who’s being cared for, instead of doing all the caring. And right now… it’s ok if you need that. I’m here for you, even if you’re a stubborn idiot most of the time.”
A choked laugh left Red, the sound awkward squashed between his sobs.
He loved his little brother.
*****
“T- There’s… um, not really much we can do right now…”
Dr. Alphy’s words echoed in Chara’s head.
They were complete and utter bullshit .
She lay on her back on top of the plush quilts on her bed, arms splayed out and her hair a frizzy mess around her face. She stared up at the ceiling, tasting blood at the back of her throat, that bitter coppery taste lingering from her nosebleed. Apparently it had been broken - or was, to be more accurate - and she had had to ice it while Asgore and the doctor wrapped her leg in bandages.
The damage the chains had done was worse than she’d thought. Deep gashes were cut into the flesh of her right leg where the magic chains had wrapped around her; the wounds burned even now, even after they had been cleaned and bandaged. Same with the puncture wound above her left hip.
The look on Asgore’s face when he had seen her was seared onto her eyelids. Worry and fear. Disappointment. She’d only ever seen her father look so tired and drained one other time in her life, and that was after Toriel had Fallen down. He had barely even said anything to Chara, he hadn’t delivered the lecture about her doing something so stupid and whatnot, like she thought he would (Error had done that himself, though Chara found that more annoying than actually effective at making her feel bad about what she did. Error was her brother’s friend, not her dad, why should she care if he’s disappointed or not?). He had just cleaned her wounds and bandaged her up, and hugged her tightly. She could still feel his fur and beard brushing against her face, could still smell the sugary scent of butterscotch.
Maybe Chara wasn’t the only one who was exhausted from all the worry.
She knew she was lucky nothing important had been cut or damaged. Hell, she was lucky to be alive after that shit show, but she sure didn’t feel lucky. She felt sore and drained. She could barely move without waves of pain crashing down on her, and on top of it all, Sans was once again in a near-death coma.
Chara narrowed her eyes up at the white ceiling - her room was dark, the only light penetrating the room was from the moon and stars outside. The faux uniform Mettaton had made for her was left abandoned on the floor after changing into looser and more comfortable clothing. Alphys was supposed to tell them what they needed to do to help Sans, and all she had managed to tell them was that she didn’t know how to safely take off those stupid restaints, and until she figured it out there was “ not really much we can do right now?”
Like she had told them while still in Gaster’s cell, the restraints were using liquid Determination to screw up Sans’s internal magic levels, tricking his body into thinking he has enough magic and not creating more so as to not overwhelm his body. Problem is, that means no new magic is being made to replace what the Determination was taking, so Sans was slowly draining of the magic he needed to live, and his body didn’t even know it. And the reason the doctor can’t just pop them off and have the whole thing be over with, is because liquid Determination - or “DT”, as Alphys kept calling it - was practically toxic to monsters.
It was what allowed Human souls to persist after death, among other things, and was just too potent for monster’s to handle, so to just take the restraints off without proper handling could very well kill one of the many monsters at the camp, or even Sans himself - Alphys admitted she had no idea how Sans hadn’t dusted the minute DT entered his system, but it must have something to do with the cuffs Gaster made, so in theory they need to first take the DT out of Sans’ system before even thinking about removing the metal bands.
But how does a monster remove something that’s toxic to them from another monster whose health is already on a precarious edge, close to tipping and plummeting at any given moment?
At least Dr. Alphys had been a bit more helpful when explaining what the hell happened in the car.
The way human and monster magic works is fundamentally different: monster’s souls create their magic, as the monster needs it to live, so when they use attacks or magic in any way they are dipping into a reserve of magic in their soul. This is why they can eventually “run out” of magic and become completely drained, which is very dangerous for the monster in question - it’s also why monster’s can have too much magic and need to release it in some way, their soul has literally just created too much magic for their body to naturally use up - most commonly this happens because a monster is agitated and antsy, but some illness can cause an overproduction of magic as well - and the easiest and quickest way to release this extra magic is by summoning some attacks.
Human souls, on the other hand, do not create their own magic. Human’s have never needed magic to survive, so their souls never developed to create the substance - they rely on oxygen, nutrients, water, and other such things. A common misconception is that monster’s need oxygen as well, since they breathe, which isn’t necessarily true. Monster’s breath releases excess magic, and breath in ambient magic that lives in the air, which comes from the earth and the plants itself, as well as any other lifeforms, and uses that to help create more of their own magic. It is this ambient magic - and the magic that comes off of monsters themselves - that humans utilise; their souls take in all this magic and manipulate it to their will, shaping it into the user's own to use as they like. For these reasons, a human could never technically run out of magic, though they can still exhaust themselves. Like any skill, it can be tasking, and using too much magic at once can still strain a human soul if they aren’t used to creating attacks for an extended amount of time, or aren’t used to summoning in general.
What Alphys believes Chara did in the car, was simply take in as much magic as she literally could. The air had been poignant with the stuff, shedding off of the 5 monster’s in the car and being contained in the small space, and when Chara felt a strong emotion - frustration in this case - her soul got so worked up it grabbed onto all of that magic and converted it into Chara’s magic. The reason the human girl felt like her magic was everywhere was because it technically was. For that split moment, it had all been hers. But the connection snapped and the ambient magic went back to being just that: ambient magic, and in the short time when Chara had the control over an extreme amount of power, she had fired the cuffs around Papyrus’s wrists.
It was an impressive feat, but Alphys had doubted it could ever be replicated, and if it could be, it wouldn’t be manageable for more than a few seconds. That amount of magic was dangerous for anyone to wield, its weight and rare power enough to tear anyone’s soul, monster or human.
Chara sat up, looking down at her hands, her finger’s twitching, an idea floating into her head. It sat down and weighed heavily on her shoulders, made itself known and forced her to acknowledge it. A few seconds was all she had needed to destroy Papyrus’s restraints, why would Sans’ take longer?
Every human was told their soul trait growing up, soul health was always checked during doctor visits, and even if one’s doctor didn’t specifically say what your trait was, everyone knew what the colours meant and would be able to piece it together themself upon seeing their soul.
Green for kindness, teal for patience, yellow for justice, deep blue for integrity, orange for bravery, purple for perseverance. And of course, the rarest trait, red for determination.
Determination. The very thing killing Sans.
Was what made up most of Chara’s soul.
She was human, she had the ability to suck in ambient magic and make it her own.
She had a bright red soul, Determination literally ran through her very being at her core.
So why wouldn’t she be able to absorb the DT that had been forced into Sans’s system while simultaneously frying the cuffs?
Her leg screamed as she stood up, begging to be laid back down, but she ignored it. She walked with care to the hall, tiptoeing over the boards she knew would creak under her weight. The house was dark and quiet. It was well into the morning now, at an hour where no one should reasonably be awake. Chara’s finger’s ghosted over the wood of her older brother’s door and it slowly swung open.
Sans lay above his bedsheets, body trembling and skull slick with sweat, his chest heaving with every gasping breath that left and entered him. Red was the only other body in the room, the tall skeleton folded over in Sans’s computer chair, which had been rolled over to sit next to the bed. The position looked uncomfortable, and his spine would most likely be killing him tomorrow, but Chara wasn’t here to fix her brother’s boyfriend’s back ache.
She was here for Sans.
Her sock-covered feet padded softly over the wooden floors and onto the carpet that covered most of the floor in the bedroom until she was right next to the bed. She could hear how strained Sans’s breath was when she was this close, could see how deep the grooves under his eye sockets went, hear the subtle chattering of bone rattling against bone.
Reaching out, Chara wrapped her hands around the restraints, the metal smooth and cool beneath her fingers.
And she focused.
She breathed in, reaching out for the energy that lingered in the air, calling it to her. She reached for the red DT inside the cuffs and her brother’s bones, and called that to her as well.
But she couldn’t feel anything.
Chara grit her teeth and tried again, squeezing her eyes shut. Focus Chara, just focus.
But nothing happened.
Tears welled up in her eyes. This had to work, it had to, or Sans could die. She had to save him.
She tried again.
And again.
And again.
But nothing happened.
A frustrated sob left Chara’s throat and she dropped the cuffs to raise her hands. “Get the fuck of my brother, you stupid hunks of metal!! ” She dropped her hands, pounding her fists against the restraints.
And it clicked.
Red burned in her vision, it was everywhere, it was suffocating. Her magic twisted around her, latched onto the cuffs, burned them , turned them to ash.
But it was too much. The magic not only melted the metal, but felt as if it were burning her flesh, peeling it away from her bones and dripping off to the floor. It overwhelmed her, ate at her, at her soul.
It fucking hurt .
Chara didn’t notice she was screaming, her head filled with the buzzing of the burning hot magic whirling around the room. She also didn’t notice two small human hands lay on top of her own, didn’t notice as the magic shifted to surround and coil around the second body as well.
There was a bright flash of white and Chara and the smaller human - Frisk - were sent flying, colliding with Sans’s bookshelf, knocking a few books off. They fell to the floor with heavy thuds, sending dust clouds into the air. The room seemed to vibrate as the magic dispersed and returned to its natural state. Red stood, alert and very much awake, the chair knocked onto its side. His eyelight was a pinprick of light, locked on the two children and filled with confusion and a touch of fear.
On the bed, Sans groaned, head in his hands. He was awake.
The restraints lay at the edge of the bed, a heap of still hot scrap metal.
Notes:
Started writing this chapter. Had a breakdown. Bon appetite
All jokes aside I really struggled with writers block for an entire week and then on Sunday managed to beat the bitch into the ground and got this baby finished 💪
I hope you like it, I know it's not super action heavy but for the next few chapters it's just gonna be character interactions n shit bc boy howdy these fuckers got a lot to say n think
Also follow the DT Tumblr, i post any art I draw of the characters (and their kids!!!) I draw there, and rn I'm redesigning some of the characters which is always fun :)
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Chapter 37: ~Chapter 37~
Notes:
For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on Instagram or Tumblr
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“We can’t tell anyone about this.”
Frisk tilted their head up at Chara, their mouth pulled down into a frown. The smaller human sat in front of Chara in their room, their plush blankets sinking under their older sister’s weight. The room was surprisingly clean for a kid’s room, but given Frisk was blind, having a bunch of toys and other things lying around was just asking for them to hurt themself.
“Why not?” Chara pushed down the groan building in their throat, reminding herself that Frisk was only ten, they couldn’t understand the complexity of what the fuck happened in Sans’s room.
Truthfully, Chara was sixteen and even she could barely wrap her head about this shit show.
“Because I told dad, our brothers and Red that you only came into Sans’s room because you heard me and wanted to figure out what was going on. And that you had nothing to do with the magic shit that happened.”
“You shouldn’t swear.”
“Sorry.”
“And you shouldn’t lie either.”
Chara sighed, running her hands through her hair. She was so completely fucked if Frisk gave away the truth. She’d get in trouble for risking herself and her sibling, she’d be in trouble for lying, and just thinking about the amount of tests Asgore would want to do to make sure her magic was stable made her head swim. “Sometimes… you have to lie, Frisk.”
“But why do we have to lie about this? Is what we did wrong?” Chara rubbed her arm, watching Frisk. They were wearing pyjamas that were a bit too big for them, the sleeves covering their hands and the pants covering their feet. Their hair was messy and cheeks rosy, like all little kids' cheeks seemed to be.
“No… but it would make everyone really worried, and everyone is already really worried, right?” Frisk slowly nodded their head - Chara felt a bit bad guilting them like this, but it was for the best. They couldn’t have anyone know she… for lack of a better word, sucked in a shit-ton of DT from Sans’s cuffs, and could now feel it affecting her magic. Not in a bad way, but it was certainly different. She could feel it within her, hot and anxious, buzzing to be free, and while she didn't know how this might change her magic, she doubted it would be a bad change. It felt like hers. It felt right. “And we’re both ok, right? So there’s no point in worrying them like that.”
“But…”
“No buts Frisk. You’re not hurt, are you?”
“No, but I-”
“Then it’s ok!” Chara smiled at her little sibling - even if they couldn’t see it - and put her hands on Frisk’s shoulders. Their eyebrows were drawn and they looked troubled, probably just because of the lying thing.
Everything was fine.
“We can tell them later, after this is all over, until then it’s our little secret, got it?” As Frisk nodded, Chara let out a hiss as she felt a sharp pain in her right arm. She snapped her arm to her chest, other hand clasping where the pain had been - some kind of bug bite maybe?
“What happened…?”
“Nothing, it was just…” Her words died on her tongue as she stared down at her arm, at the two small, yellow blossoms poking out of her skin. What the fuck?!
“Chara?” Frisk reached out to her, and, panicked, Chara grabbed the flowers and yanked , pulling them out of her arm - she bit back a yelp at the pain, two beads of blood blooming in the spots the flowers had been. They had small, thin roots, red and bloody, and Chara quickly tossed them into her pocket before taking Frisk’s hands.
“It was nothing. I thought I felt something. Let’s get you some breakfast, ok?”
“...Ok.”
The flowers meant nothing, Chara told herself. They were weird and freaky, but that didn’t mean anything. She was fine. Nothing had changed because of what she did to the cuffs. She felt fine!
She had to be fine.
*****
Sans massaged his bruised wrists with his thumb as he watched outside of the window in his bedroom, the slow motion relieving some of the ache left behind by his restraints. The day was bright, white fluffy clouds drifting lazily along the sea of pale blue, people outside were making use of the warm weather by training or restocking supplies, or simply sun basking. Rays of sunlight shone in from the window, illuminating Sans and his room with warm gold light. Though it wasn’t doing many favours for his room, given it was… honestly a bit of a mess right now.
His desk chair still lay knocked over,no one having thought to pick it up during the chaos that ensued after Sans awoke (Which he had jokingly called his “revival”, although Red was the only one to laugh and it may been because he was a tad loopy from relief and lack of sleep.). Books littered the floor from when Chara and Frisk had knocked into his bookshelf, and on top of that was the usual clutter of his room: boxes, clothes, papers. Bits and bobs all over the place.
Pulling his gaze from the window, Sans looked down at his hands. The faint rings on his palms still had yet to fade, but they hadn’t gotten any darker which Sans supposed was a positive. The cuffs had left behind dark bruises along his wrists, and there was a small puncture wound in the bone. But besides the dull ache that came with bruising, he didn’t feel any pain.
“ Considering the restraints could and would have killed you, I’d say we are quite lucky you got away with only some bruising to worry about. ”
Sans grunted in agreement, letting his hands drop into his lap. While G had gone quiet during the time Sans had the restraints on - or at the very least Sans couldn’t hear him while in his coma - but upon waking up Sans found that he was very much still there. In his mind. Talking to him. Usually sprouting sarcastic remarks or unhelpful advice.
“ I’ve been an immense help! ”
“If you were an ‘immense help’ you would’ve told me what you saw Chara do.” Sans spoke into the empty room, narrowing his eye sockets, even though he technically couldn’t see G and properly glare at him (God, he probably looked crazy, huh?)
“ Very bold of you to assume I saw something. ”
“Cut the shit, G. You don’t sleep.”
“ You do not know that. ”
Sans groaned, his patience growing thin. He just knew the story his sister gave them wasn’t true. He didn’t know what exactly it was, but the entire thing didn’t sit right with him - two magic outbursts of that size in one day, both by accident ? That was too coincidental. And why was Frisk there? They were a heavy sleeper, and if Chara was trying to go unnoticed, why would she wake Frisk up? They had to have been in the room before the cuffs had melted since they had been knocked into the bookshelf with Chara. And from what Sans was told about what happened in the car ride, she had yelled, so frustrated she burst. If it had been the same thing to happen when she got the restraints off, wouldn’t Red have woken up when she started getting that worked up? After all, Chara wasn’t a notoriously quiet person. It all just didn’t add up.
“ Your sibling gave you the story of what happened, did she not? What is the issue here? ”
“The issue is it doesn’t make sense! And you know the truth and for some reason you won’t tell me anything!”
“ It is not my truth to share. ”
Sans bit his tongue, dragging his hand down his skull. Why couldn’t the voice in his head be less stubborn damnit.
“ But I will say… It would do you well to keep an eye on Chara. She… has the potential for great power, but she is also very young. And… er, well, young people are not known for making the best choices at times. ” Sans frowned. What in the world did that mean? Was G really telling him to give Chara a “with great power comes great responsibility” talk??
Before he could question that further, however, the door to his room slowly opened, Red coming in with a coffee mug in his hands, steam coming off the top. “Hey babe… uh, sorry for the wait. I found them though.” After Red stepped towards the bed and further into the room, Error and Ink entered behind him. Relief at seeing his two friends again washed over Sans, a genuine smile spreading on his skull. Both looked tired, but happy to see Sans as well, their matching rings glinting in the sunlight. (Ink also looked heavily pregnant at this point, and had a slight waddle in his walk that even Sans thought was endearing.) “Also Asgore said you might appreciate this.” Red added, pressing the warm mug into Sans’s hands with a nuzzle to his cheek - the taller monster had been a lot more… clingy and affectionate with Sans since he had woken up again, and Sans certainly wasn’t complaining. Even if PDA was very new to him, even if it was just around friends.
The earthy smell of black coffee wafted up from the cup, a pleased sigh leaving his lips. When was the last time he had a good cup of coffee?? It felt like years.
“I’m so glad you’re ok Sans…” Ink started, eyes watery, Error lifting Sans’s computer chair and gently pushing Ink to sit. “When Killer told us you and Pap…” Sans paused, bringing his coffee mug away from his mouth. He’d been so wrapped up in his and his brother’s situation he had barely considered the kind of flack Killer must have gotten for running. He didn’t blame Killer, at least one of them got away, but Papyrus had told him the… situation that occurred between him and Cross when Killer first arrived back at the camp. “A-and then Red, Chara and Mettaton came back with you…” Ink choked up, covering his mouth with his hand, Error behind him rubbing the smaller man’s shoulder.
“We thought you were going to die. Again…” Error’s eyes were creased, the genuine concern shining in his eyelights causing Sans’s soul to ache.
“Yeah… I, uh, really seem to be a coma magnet recently.” No one fully laughed at Sans’s poor joke, though Ink gave him a watery smile. “... Actually, it’s… I wanted to…” Sans bit his lip, trying to find the words he was looking for. How does one explain something they don’t fully understand themself?
In the back of his mind, he could practically feel G tense up. “ What do you think you’re doing? ”
I need to tell them.
“ You absolutely do not. No one else should know about me .”
Well I don’t know what to do with you! I need their help!
“ No you do not. I am not a danger to you .”
Maybe, but you’re annoying! I’m not living the rest of my life with you in my head, my own inner voice is more than enough.
“ I never said I’d be with you forever, but I- ”
“Shut up !!”
The three other monsters in the room stared at Sans in surprise, and his cheeks began to flush in embarrassment. Stupid! That was supposed to be an inner conversation damnit!
“Sans… what’s going on?” Red’s voice was soft next to him, his hands reaching out to gently cup Sans’s shaking hands, steading him. Huh. He hadn’t even realised he was trembling.
“I…” Sans sighed, anxiety wrapping around his throat. “Look, it’s going to sound crazy, but I… I promise, it’s real. It’s real.”
He started from the beginning. The very beginning. How he and Papyrus were made, how Sans doesn’t remember how they got out of Gaster’s weird secret lab, how his shortcuts and blasters utilise the void, to his first time meeting G, to using Void magic against Gaster, to, lastly, how G has been stuck in his head since then.
“And with the cuffs… I was there again, in the Void. But it was different… both times before G had been there, but this time I was alone… and it…” A shiver ran down Sans’s spine, and he leaned into Red for support.
“ I couldn’t reach you with the restraints on, but I did not realise you were… there, my boy. ”
Sans shrugged, but didn’t answer G. The voice had been completely quiet during Sans’s explanation, which was, honestly, a relief. He didn’t know why G had been so resistant to Sans talking about him, but he needed to do this. He needed his friends.
He couldn’t keep doing everything on his own.
“So… that’s… a lot to take in.” Error breathed out a sigh, his and Ink’s hands intertwined.
“I know it sounds fake, but I know-”
“No, no, Sans, we believe you.” Ink interjected, shaking his head. “We both do. You’re our friend… basically family at this point. We know you wouldn’t lie about something like… this just to mess with us.”
“But the Void, timelines, the multiverse… it’s all real? And this… G, is from a different world than ours?”
“ The original timeline. I am originally from there, but my own… negligence caused me to be lost in the Void .” Sans repeated G’s words to his friends - geez this was weird.
“And he can only talk to you because…you have a connection to the Void?” Red asked, hand rubbing Sans’s side in slow circles.
“That’s what he’s told me. That’s the reason, right G?”
The voice hesitated, before replying. “ Yes… but I have also spoken to Mettaton.”
“What?! When? How?”
“ When you were… essentially dying. Myself and… another helped the Ghost get you all out of the castle. ”
“What did he say…?” Ink leaned on the edge of his seat, watching Sans.
“He said he spoke to Mettaton and… helped him get us out of there?” Sans rubbed his temple, a headache forming behind his sockets.
“ That’s what happened?” Error and Ink’s questioning looks fell on Red. “We… kinda got our asses kicked down there. And then there was a flash of light and… we were by the car again. Mettaton wouldn’t answer any questions about what he did or how he did it.”
“ He most likely does not understand how it happened .”
Sans groaned - guess he’d add “talk to Mettaton” to the list of things he needed to do. He needed more coffee. Or alcohol. Yeah, a drink would be great after all this shit.
Perhaps sensing Sans was reaching his limit, Error walked over and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Maybe we should finish this conversation another time. You know, after you’ve recovered from waking from your second coma in, what, a month?”
Sans snorted, a smile spreading on his lips. “Feels like it.”
“Let’s just… act like we’re normal for a few days. Then we’ll deal with what we’re going to do now.”
“Yeah… that sounds so fucking good right now.” Error smiled at him, and Red gave Sans a gentle squeeze.
It felt good to be home, and Sans was allowed to bask in that for a short while.
He could enjoy a little bit of peace before the shit hits the fan again.
*****
“What are you reading?” Dream’s eyelight’s snapped up to meet Cross’s, the book in question held in Dream’s lap, a pen in his right hand and pieces of paper sticking out and marking certain pages. Cross’s eyebrow arched as Dream lifted the heavy book to show him the title. “ ‘Azrael: A complete History of Blightview’s Kings and Queens.’ ?”
“I’m doing some investigating.” Shutting the book and trailing his fingers along the engraved title, Dream took in the jacket Cross had pulled on. “Where are you going, love?”
“Got some shit I need to fix.” With a quick kiss to Dream’s cheek, the prince letting out a knowing hum and offering Cross a soft smile, the ex-guard stood up - as well as he could within the tent, at least. “I’ll be around if you need me, ok?”
Cross still didn’t know what he was going to say to Undyne, or Killer for that matter, but he needed to say something . An apology at the very least was necessary. News that Sans was awake and getting back into “battle ready” condition (Cross wasn’t entirely sure if Sans should be apart of their next attack, whenever it is, given that recently everytime he does he seemed to almost die ), had spread quickly around the camp, and with that info out people are going to be expecting a new plan to made. A new strategy now that they had the royal scientist and the old guard captain on their side. Cross being in petty arguments with two of their arguably more valuable members wasn’t going to help anyone, and it sure as hell isn’t going to make talking about their options and next move any easier. So Cross needed to figure something out and fix it.
… Besides, he was tired of fighting with his friends.
He finally found the monster he was looking for near the very back of their camp, Undyne and Alphys’s tent set up somewhat separated from the rest of the rebellion. Whether that was their choice or done to make other member’s more comfortable, Cross wasn’t sure. Undyne was seated, alone, in front of the deep blue tent, legs crossed and a small bowl of stew - courtesy of Asgore, Cross was sure - in her lap. She dragged her spoon through the liquid, never raising it to her lips.
Cross knew she was in rough shape, Papyrus had told him as much, but words couldn’t do justice to just how bad her injuries were. Her usually blue scales had faded into a dull grey, and in some places the scales had flaked and fell off, leaving patches of raw, red skin. Her fins hung limply on the sides of her head, and her hair fell like heavy, seaweed over her shoulders and back. Dark rings made her eyes look sunken, and Cross could see the telltale crinkles in her shirt that revealed her torso was still bandaged and healing.
“You look like utter shit.”
Undye’s head snapped up, eyes wide as she took in Cross. Her fingers twitched. “... Yeah, Papyrus said the same thing. Just, you know, in a more… Papyrus way.”
She gestured to the grass beside her, Cross sitting next to her. His soul twisted in his chest as he locked his eyes on what was in front of him - so many tents… They were honestly lucky Killer was so good at stealing without being caught, otherwise they’d have nowhere near enough places for people to sleep. In the distance sat the Dreemurr cottage, smoke billowing from the stone chimney. All of it was easier to look at than looking at his best friend next to him.The scenery didn’t make him feel the need to vomit from guilt coiling in his gut.
“Did he tell you to do this? Papyrus?”
“He suggested it. But I… wanted to do it too.” Cross squeezed his hand into a first, his leather gloves groaning under the pressure. “... I just don’t know if I can forgive you for abandoning us like that-”
“Cross, I never meant to-”
“Yet.” Cross interrupted, turning his head to meet Undyne’s eyes. They were uncharacteristically nervous. Scared even. “I don’t know if I can forgive you yet. But I’m a fucking hypocrite because if it had been Dream instead of Alphys, I would have done the same damn thing Undyne. And I’ve been a complete asshole to you despite that. …So I’m sorry. And even if I can't… forgive yet, I want to try. You and Pap have been my best friends for years. I don’t… want to lose that.”
Silence hung between them when Cross finished, a heavy and loaded silence that threatened to suffocate Cross. There was a chance Undyne wouldn’t even forgive him - maybe Papyrus had been wrong, and she hates Cross now. Maybe he worded something wrong. Damn it! He knew he should have actually planned something to say instead of just winging it! What was he-
Laughing.
Undyne was laughing?!
Cross watched in utter confusion as Undyne broke down in body shaking laughter, whipping tears - either from the laughter itself or something else - from her eyes. “You’re such a dumbass Cross.”
What??
As Undyne calmed herself she gave Cross a large, shark toothed grin and wrapped an arm around her shoulders before proceeding to noogie the top of his skull.
“Fucking- Don’t do that! The fuck!” Despite his annoyance, Cross found laughter bubbling up in his chest as well. This was good, this was like old times.
“You dork!” Undyne finally realised Cross from her grasp, who retaliated with a playful punch to her shoulder. “... Thanks. For… saying that, by the way.” Her tone sobered, wolfish grin replaced with something softer. “You and Papyrus are my best friends too. It’s good to have you guys back.”
Cross smiled, nudging Undyne gently. “Good, cause you’re not getting rid of us again.”
Having his two friends back felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, an all encompassing relief.
Now he just needed to figure out how to fix things with his new friend.
Killer.
*****
Dream shifted so his legs were folded beneath him, and he could vaguely feel blades of grass poking at him from the fabric of his pants, the old barn that was against his back groaned softly with the wind. The late afternoon air was pleasantly warm, and golden light washed over the Dreemurr’s property as the sun slowly sank below the horizon line. Next to him sat his twin, Nightmare’s knees pulled to his chest and his chin propped on top of them, his two toned eyelights lingering on the cottage in the distance. Most likely watching for Killer, Dream would guess, the smaller skeleton having left the camp earlier that day to do… something in the city. Dream wasn’t sure what exactly, and Nightmare had simply smiled and, unworried, explained that Killer just needed to “clear his head”.
Admittedly Dream still wasn’t sure how he felt about Killer - he certainly wasn’t the most polite monster out there, but he did seem to care in his own odd ways (A lot of Killer’s traits reminded Dream of Cross in a way, which is probably why the two bicker so often). It was mostly just weird in general to know his brother is dating someone. The few things he had started to remember about Nightmare were from when the two were still young children, so it was easy for Dream to slip up and picture his brother as a little kid still. Even if he logically knew that was wrong, the two were the same age.
Dream wasn’t here to talk to his brother about his love life though, he was here for something that was far less fun to discuss.
Their condition.
He could still feel the consequences of his last “attack” along his spine: a deep, piercing ache that had yet to leave him - his hand was still bandaged and healing from the broken tea cup, and he couldn’t seem to get himself to drink Asgore’s tea without his hands trembling, but that was all easily overshadowed by the pain in his back.
Since Dream’s realisation that he had the same “condition” as his brother, his mind had been utterly preoccupied with the “how” and “why” of that situation - how do they have the same illness (was it an illness?) when no one else in their family has had it (As far as they knew at least, it wasn’t mentioned in the book he had about their lineage, though Dream wouldn’t be surprised if they had elected to cut out that detail.), why was Dream only showing symptoms now?
But the how and why wasn’t the most important thing right now, Dream needed to learn to control it if he wanted to be any help to the revolution.
Hence why he was now seated with his brother in front of the barn Nightmare and Killer always seemed to be going to - Nightmare had originally suggested they go to the roof, but Dream didn’t trust his climbing abilities that much, especially with his injuries.
“So… why did you want to talk to me, Dream?” Nightmare broke the silence finally, looking down at the ground as he pulled out blades of grass. The two of them had definitely gotten closer since Dream joined the revolution, but there was still an air of awkwardness between them whenever they spoke. The prince guessed that was to be expected given their 13 years of separation and the things Gaster had made Dream believe, but he still hated it. His own brother is the last person he should be nervous around, and yet here he was.
Swallowing, Dream folded his hands in his lap. “How do you control it? Your… attacks.”
Nightmare blinked in surprise, his mouth forming a small “o”. Dream squeezed his hands together, watching as his brother looked away from his, his nose scrunching in concentration.
“I… don’t. Not really. I don’t know how.” A sad smile crossed Nightmare’s lips, his hands stopping their abuse on the lawn as he held a single blade of grass, rolling it between his phalanges. “I try not to get overly emotional which… isn’t very effective. The few times I’ve had an attack or been on the verge of having one, I’ve only been able to pull myself out of it because… of Killer.” Magic dusted along Nightmare’s cheeks as he let the blade of grass go, watching it flutter away in the wind. “I wish I could control it more, it could probably give us an advantage in battle if I could, but… Maybe it’ll be the same for you, and Cross will be able to bring you back, too.”
Dream forced a small smile and nodded, hoping his brother couldn’t see the slight disappointment he felt at the answer. It was a real sweet idea - love bringing them back from the storm and chaos that is their magic - and Dream is happy for his brother that that seemed to be working for him, but they had no idea if Dream would react the same way as his brother when fully in an attack. The condition was the same, but they already knew there were some differences - the most obvious being the difference in when the condition started to affect them. But there was also the fact that when Nightmare fully “changed” during an attack, four appendages sprouted from his back, but during Dream’s first and very brief change, Ink had told him he had six. While Nightmare could still feel his affection for Killer in the midst of an attack, how can they be sure Dream will still be able to feel his for Cross? And if he can’t, who’s to say he won’t cause harm amongst his team? His friends?
Just leaving it up to the chance that Dream will still be able to feel love while in the midst of an attack is too much of a risk. He needed to find something more reliable.
“Sorry… that’s probably not what you were wanting.” Nightmare mumbled, head bowing. “Truthfully, I’m still not really good with my magic in general. Killer has been giving me lessons for a while now, but I’m still… certainly lacking, compared to everyone else.”
“Your powers were repressed for 13 years, Nighty, it’s to be expected.” The other prince made a quiet grunt of disagreement - he must have picked up Killer’s habit of grunting - and shrugged. “Do you remember… when we were little, we both wanted to learn to use a bow, like mama.”
That brought a small smile back to his brother’s face. “Yeah… but mama and papa said we were too young, and they’d teach us when we got older. They never did get to…”
Grief laid itself between the two princes, like a dark, heavy sheet. Their parents' death… Dream couldn’t remember the last time he really thought back on his mother and father. With what Gaster had done to his head along with his constant pressure for Dream to be prim and proper, the perfect prince, he hadn’t had much time or interest in reminiscing.
“But you learned?” Nightmare broke through their grief, meeting Dream’s eyes. “Did… he teach you?” He being Gaster, Dream was sure, considering the disdain Nightmare’s voice when speaking the pronoun.
“No, Cross did.” The other prince’s eyebrow shot up in surprise. “He needs to know how to use a plethora of different weapons, it’s part of the guard training. He has a preference for swords, though.” Dream paused, determination settling in his soul like a bright bonfire as an idea formed in his skull. “I… could teach you, if you want.”
Nightmare’s eyes lit up. “Really??”
“Of course. We… could start right now?” The distraction of training might help Dream with his anxieties anyways… plus, spending more time with Nightmare was sure to help dissolve some of that awkward tension between them, right?
At least he hoped so. Dream just wanted his brother to actually feel like his brother again.
*****
“Mother fucker .”
Killer hissed, watching a small bead of blood form on his finger from where he pricked himself. Even after all these years of sewing his own clothing and making makeshift shelters, he still hadn’t mastered the ability of not stabbing himself repeatedly with the stupid little needle.
Putting the tip of his phalange into his mouth, Killer looked over his handiwork. His shawl (Or was it a cape? Fuck if he knew, he made it when he was twelve. ) tailored to not cover his entire body anymore, and two new patches of fabric sewn onto the back - a pale purple crescent moon with a red dot within it.
His cheeks flushed. Did he seriously just put symbols to represent him and Night on his clothing??
Jesus Christ he was going soft.
He wasn’t sure what made him want to change his shawl suddenly, why he didn't want to be completely hidden. He’d even started wearing his mask less and less around the camp. But earlier when he had gone to the city, just needing to be alone for a few hours - He had a near constant headache that had sprung from his stress of trying to figure out what he was going to do to fix whatever he had with Cross (Was it a friendship??) and dealing with the realization he has fucking empathy again (And the slight identity crisis that insued after that realization), mixed hustle and bustle of the camp had proved to be just… too much right now. All made worse because people were actually trying to talk to him now for some goddamn reason. News that Killer had been the one to “rescue” Undyne and bring her to their base had spread like a wildfire, and now everyone was either trying to thank him (Gross.) for giving them such a huge edge, and proceeding to get in his good graces by compliment him (Double gross. And uncomfortable. ) or they were insulting him and calling him an idiot for not killing her. Both were equally infuriating, and made his head spin and stomach churn in a way that Nightmare couldn’t fix with a few kisses or hand squeezes.
The main takeaway being that Killer needed to get away from everything for a few hours, and had originally planned to make his way back to the slums, to his old “home” (Ignoring the fact that the last time he tried to do this he ended up coming back to the camp with Undyne in tow). In all honesty it was the only place he could go, if he didn’t want to be walking all around the city and risking being seen by a patrolling royal guard. The idea had hit when he passed a shabby looking fabric store - a small little box of a building that was missing a front door and one of its two front windows was boarded up. Blue tinted LED lights hung from the ceiling and created an insistent, irritating hum, the floor tiles were grimy and yellow stained, and was filled to the brim with tables piled high with cloth. There was barely enough room to move around even when there weren’t people inside, but unfortunately the place was usually packed. Most people in the slums needed to make their own clothing, and the cheapest place to buy materials was The Thread n Needle.
It was where he “borrowed” the fabric he used to make his shawl in the first place.
That’s when he was hit with the inexplicable urge to change his cape/shawl, and he ran with it. Literally, nearly getting caught and needing to make a break for it with two small rolls of purple and red cloth in hand.
“You know, you never pegged me as the sewing type.”
Killer recollied out of his thoughts, instinctively raising his fists - and tiny sewing needle - towards the new voice, finding Cross as the edge of the barn roof, clothes covered in dust and rust from his climb. Sneaky bastard, how did Killer not hear him?!
Eyelights flickering between the needle that Killer had yet to lower and the skeleton himself, one of Cross’s eyebrows shot up in question. “Am… I supposed to find your little baby needle threatening?”
“Shut the fuck up.” Killer grunted, tossing the needle and thread onto his shawl and pulling his knees to his chest, glaring out at the horizon. He could see Dream and Nightmare in the distance - the two had been doing some kind of training since Killer had gotten back.
“... Can I sit down?”
“Why? What do you want, Cross? Other than my dust.” Killer squeezed his arms, refusing to look at the ex-guard. He heard Cross sigh, then felt the shift of air and the sound of fabric brushing against itself as he sat, despite Killer definitely not telling him to do so.
“I didn’t want to kill you.”
Killer barked a laugh, reeling on Cross. “Bullshit! You literally tried to choke me out!”
Leaning away from the shorter skeleton and wincing, Cross rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, ok, I fucked up. I was angry and I did some shit I shouldn’t have.”
“Understatement of the fucking century.”
“In my defence you did try to kill me too.”
“Self defence.”
“I-” He groaned, leaning back on his hands and staring up at the sun bleached sky. “Can’t argue with that one.”
Killer stared at him, phalanges digging into his forearms. This was weird. They’d never been like this - casual could never have been used to describe their past interactions, but this seemed to be boarding on the cusp of that. “You didn’t answer me.”
“Hm?”
“What do you want?”
“I wanted to apologise.” Killer snorted, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. “I’m serious! I fucked up and I… I’m sorry. For what I did, and what I said. You’re not… that much of a selfish asshole, and I shouldn’t have said you were. And I miss being friends.”
“We were never
friends
.”
“Not-friends then. I don’t know Killer, whatever the fuck we were I miss it. I miss you and your asshole attitude, for some goddamn reason.” Cross turned his skull to meet Killer’s, and the small skeleton was almost blindsighted but the sheer sincerity in his eyelights. He held out a gloved hand to Killer. “So… Not-Friends again?”
Refusing to break eye contact, Killer raised his own hand, shaking Cross’ hand, glove against glove. He wouldn’t dare admit it outloud, especially not to Cross himself, but a strange sense of relief washed over Killer from the knowledge that Cross didn’t hate his guts and didn’t want him dead. “Fine. Not-friends. That’s so stupid, you know.”
“I don’t hear you coming up with anything better!”
Killer would also never admit that he had missed Cross too.
Notes:
Hi babes. I'm so so sorry this chapter took so long, I was super stress and then got sick as hell so it was a bit of a struggle LMAO
i hope you all like it tho :]I'm going to be taking the rest of December and January off from writing, because Christmas and my birthday, so I'll see you all in the new year!! In the mean time, join the discord and follow me on Tumblr to see what's going on while I'm away <3
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Chapter 38: ~Chapter 38~
Summary:
!CW!: slight body horror (?) at the beginning of the chapter
Notes:
For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on Instagram or Tumblr
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The flowers kept coming.
Chara stared down at her arm, skin red and blotchy, agitated, and dotted with small yellow blossoms. It didn’t hurt, necessarily, though they could certainly tell when a new flower came in; it was always accompanied by a quick, sharp prick of pain, but it would pass relatively quickly. No, it didn’t hurt all that bad, but it itched. A deep rooted sort of itch, buried beneath her skin, clawing and biting at her veins and tendons. Always there, constant and never dwindling in intensity, no matter how much Chara itched and scratched at her skin. It was at the point where she couldn’t tell if the skin of her arms and legs were irritated and sore because of the flowers themselves or her own constant scratching.
She could deal with the occasional pinch of pain, what she couldn’t deal with was the feeling of wanting to rip her own skin off.
When the first two blossoms showed up, about a week ago now, Chara assumed that’d be it, a weird one time thing. Instead, she’d been plagued with them for the past week. They were consistent, but it wasn’t like they always showed up at a certain time of day, or there was a set amount that she’d “grow” during the day, rather it seemed completely random. She could go an entire day without a single flower, only to wake up with her entire forearm or legs covered in the delicate plants. No matter how many times she yanked them out of her skin, the roots slick with her own blood, more always came back to take their place. Somehow, Chara would have preferred if they always came at a certain time, like noon or midnight, some even, easily tracked time. They’d at least be a bit less annoying if that were the case.
She supposed it was probably a bit idiotic to be thinking about how “annoying” the flowers growing out of her flesh were. There were arguably more important things to think about, like the why and how of the situation.
Even though seven days had gone by, Chara still didn’t know what the cause of the flowers were - she wasn’t stupid, she knew it had something to do with all the magic and DT she absorbed when she destroyed her brothers’ cuffs, but why that surge of energy would cause flowers to grow out of her flesh, Chara had no idea. Maybe her body was just reacting poorly to having too much magic in her system. Or any magic in her system at all, since, according to what Dr. Alphys had said, humans don’t store magic, just suck it in from the environment around them. But if that was the case, why flowers? Chara had never used flower bullets or attacks before, her magic had always manifested as knives. Wouldn’t it make more sense for tiny blades to poke out of her skin then?? (Ignoring how painful that would be.)
But if this wasn’t from that surge of energy, then what? Did she contract some kind of undiscovered disease?
Was whatever this is going to be the death of her?
Chara snapped her head up, forcing her eyes away from her arm, from the flowers, to staring at the wall across from her bed. A bookshelf, filled with books Chara had bought herself and gotten from her older brothers and parents sat there, along with a plush chair that was currently occupied by a mountain of spare blankets and dirty clothes. Chara zeroed in on her copy, once Sans’s copy, of “Orlando” in the wooden shelf, willing herself to focus on the worn spine of the book, rather than her forearm and the blossoms covering it. She wasn’t going to die, there was no reason to be so dramatic. It was weird, and maybe a bit stressful, but she was fine. Her arms and legs were sore, but it was nothing she couldn’t handle.
She didn’t need help. She didn’t need to worry her family, they already had enough to deal with as it was.
She could deal with this on her own.
Letting out a slow exhale from her nose, Chara looked away from the wall adjacent to her and instead, turned her body in order to reach her dresser which was pressed against the wall next to her bed and under the large curtain drawn window in her room. She leaned forward, the upper half of her body nearly hanging completely off her mattress, Chara supported herself with one arm of the ground, the other taking hold of the handle on the bottom drawer, her sock drawer. She pulled it open a crack, and wedged her hand through the sliver of an opening. She fished around blindly for a moment, pushing aside folded and loose socks alike, until her fingers found something smooth and cool to the touch. Holding her prize, Chara pulled her hand from the drawer and pushed it closed again, pushing herself back upright on her bed, her head swimming for a brief moment from the rush of movement.
Once she was steady again, she opened her palm, inspecting what she had been looking for - a folding pocket knife, its handle a brilliant, shocking red, so clear and polished Chara could practically see herself in it.
The knife wasn’t hers, but given the “finder’s keepers” rule, it might as well be. She had seen it earlier that week, resting on top of a brown duffle bag near the old barn, back then it had been grimy, coated in dirt and dried mud. She didn’t know why she had felt compelled to take the small thing, but she had. Even now she could remember quickly grabbing the dull red handle, feeling the gritty dirt against her palm, and dropping it into the pocket of her green sweater. She practically ran back to the house after that, the weight of the knife feeling so cumbersome, like a weight slowing her down, she was sure it would tear the fabric of her pocket before she reached her room.
Of course, it hadn’t, and after an hour or so of cleaning the knife shone like brand new.
Looking back on it, Chara was confident in saying the pocket knife had probably belonged to Killer. He and Nightmare seemed to be the only ones who went to that battered building, though Chara couldn’t imagine why (Or maybe she just didn’t want to. Just the briefest thought that they could be… ugh, doing things , made her skin crawl with discomfort.) and he certainly seemed to be… a collector of sorts. The guy seemed to have a knife strapped to him in every spot he could possibly think of, arm, thigh, back, and maybe more, hidden beneath his clothes.
She knew she should feel guilty for stealing from her friend, or teammate, to be more accurate, but no matter how deep she searched, Chara couldn’t find any remorse in her soul
Killer had more than enough knives, he would be able to manage with one less.
Flipping open the knife, Chara slowly rubbed her thumb over the smooth, reflective surface, cautious not to knick herself, staring at her own reflection. Her hair was getting longer, fully touching her shoulders, and it was still tangled and messy from her bedhead - she hadn’t brushed it since that morning. Given she hadn’t left her room yet today, she hadn’t seen the point - and dark circles sat below her red eyes. There was something different about them, her eyes. They seemed brighter. Alive.
…No, that was insane, she was just seeing things.
Pulling her gaze away from the blade, Chara looked back to her arm. Her stomach churned with the sight of all the blossoms, the roots faintly showing beneath her pale skin. It was grotesque.
Gritting her teeth, Chara pressed the blade flat to the skin of her arm, and in one swift movement, she cut the stems of each yellow flower. She watched as each golden blossom fell, decapitated heads rolling onto her bed, and disintegrated into nothing. Back into ambient magic, Chara guessed.
With their heads gone, the stems of the flowers disappeared as well, leaving tiny pricks along her arm, small beads of blood already forming on each one. Flipping the knife closed again, Chara watched the beads grow into drops. Small red dots, all along her blotchy skin.
It made her sick.
No matter how much she lied and said she was fine, that she could handle all this, she knew she couldn’t. She knew she was scared. Terrified. She knew she wanted nothing more than to run to her father and fall into his arms, let his fur absorb her tears as he found a way to fix everything.
Chara also knew that was impossible. She needed to be strong.
She needed to do this herself. No matter what.
*****
Sans leafed through his notes, feeling G’s presence hovering over his shoulder, like a teacher judging their student’s work. Over the past week, Sans had slowly begun to notice where G was in a room - he couldn’t see the man (Though at times it felt like he caught flickers of movement in his peripheral vision, flickers of a tall skeleton in a black lab coat), but could feel him, his energy, his… being. Like a sixth sense.
In a way, it was reassuring to know G was his own person, not just seeing the world through Sans’s sockets, not just a realistic figment of his imagination. Even if no one could see G. Even if his voice was always in Sans’s head and Sans’s head alone, and even if G seemed to have the ability to read Sans’s thoughts.
Which was creepy.
“ It’s not that creepy. ”
It’s pretty damn creepy.
“ Stay on topic .” G chided, garbled words clipped in Sans’s mind, and his energy seemed to glide away from Sans, looping around to stand at the end of his desk. Nothing on the surface changed, no papers or pens or anything else moved, the wood didn’t creak with a phantom shift of weight, but Sans felt G lean over, hands rested on the wooden, albeit cluttered, desk. Intuitively, Sans spread his scribbled notes - both new and old, the older pages having more edits and corrections on them than the newer pages - flat on the desktop, so his invisible friend (Ally? Acquaintance? Sans didn’t know what G counted as.) could easily look them over as well.
It had taken Sans a few days to relax back into somewhat normal life after his revival, though one could argue he was still getting used to it. Whenever the sun sank below the horizon and the shadows creeped out and spread along the walls, pooling in the corners of the house and under the furniture, Sans’s metaphorical skin crawled. It filled him with a sense of dread, a whirlpool opening up in the pit of his stomach and twisting up his insides until they were nothing but an anxious knot. Ever since his brief “visit” to the void, it felt as if the darkness, the shadows, had grown deeper, darker. It felt like they coiled and reached out to him with long, spindly fingers made of smoke and ash, always trying to grab at him and pull him back in. Drown him in the inky black.
The amount of candles and lamps in his room had basically doubled since he’d woken up again, a desperate attempt to ward off the night. He’d even plugged in a small nightlight into the outlet right besides his bed. It’d been a bit - ok, a lot - embarrassing when Red had noticed it the first time, but luckily he hadn’t commented on it. He also hadn’t commented on Sans’s new collection of lights, hadn’t asked why there was always a candle burning in his room, why he “accidently” left on lights in rooms after he leaves them during the night.
Maybe Red had already filled in the dots himself, Sans had told him about the Void after all, or maybe Red was confused and even annoyed by the need for light 24/7. They hadn’t talked about it yet, but Sans knew it had to come up eventually.
Maybe Sans should look at seeing his old therapist again.
Regardless, besides his new found fear of the dark, Sans had adjusted back into his life rather well. He’d even started cooking again, he hadn’t realised how much he missed the simple act of making breakfast for his siblings (and now friends) and eating breakfast with them all. It was a small thing, small and, in the grand scheme of things, insignificant, but it made Sans feel happy. Safe. Content. The war was still going on, even if Error seems to be leaning towards the group laying low for a while, but for that one meal, everything felt normal.
But with his strides in slipping back into the normal grooves of his life, Sans had also gotten back into his work. Well, “work” made it sound as if what he was doing was against his will, “Experiment” was maybe better. Or study. His… promise.
Yeah. Promise. Sans liked that one.
He’d gotten back into trying to figure out a way to help Ink, something he promised to help with long ago, and with the twins' due date just around the corner, Sans wanted to get this figured out and a medicine created as soon as possible. So he dived head first into his research, spending hours at a time just writing and rewriting, reading and editing. Flipping through old text books, looking into new articles and studies. Recalculating and tweaking formulas. It was more fun that Sans wanted to admit, it made him remember why he wanted to study soulology in the first place.
Admittedly, his notes on Ink’s new medication were a fucking mess. A mix of English and Wing Dings (He knew the name of the weird symbols now!), scribbled out lines and messy corrections. He found that whenever he got too lost in thought, too wrapped up in his own theory, his hand unconsciously slipped into the symbol like text. It was second nature, and while Sans could guess that it came from the time he and Pap had been kept in Gaster’s secret dungeon/lab, he still wasn’t sure when Gaster had taught them to write in the Font. Or why. But at least looking at it didn’t cause Sans to have a splitting headache anymore. And after months - way too many months, Sans couldn’t help but feel guilty this had taken him so long - his notes were finally complete.
“What do you think?” Sans inquired to the man in his head, feeling G tap the desk with his digits, despite not actually seeing any movement or hearing any sound. G hummed in thought, Sans lifting his coffee mug to his lips, the dark liquid having gone cold at this point, and taking a long sip as he gave G time to mull over his answer.
“ Your theory is solid, I will give you that .”
“But?”
“ But will this really be able to help your friend?”
Sans let out a sigh, leaning back in his computer chair. “I mean, that’s the goal. He needs something to even out his magic levels, and, if I’ve done all my research and maths correctly, this should do the trick.”
“ I can see that. But creating something that actively seeks to destroy magic around the soul… not only is that a difficult feat to accomplish, it’s risky .”
“It’s not…” Sans paused, dragging his hand down his skull. Yes, there was a risk to his idea, but anything he made to give to Ink would have some kind of risk attached to it. That was, unfortunately, the nature of working with souls. “The goal of it isn’t to destroy the magic inside his soul, it’s to level it out. What this will do is destroy the magic that seeks out of his soul’s shell, and supply the magic missing inside it to keep his normal magic and emotional magic level with one another.”
“ That’s asking a lot from one elixir .”
“I don’t hear you coming up with any other ideas.” Sans snapped, glaring at thin air. G’s sigh echoing in his skull, and Sans swore he could actually feel the other man’s breath inside his head, cool to the bone.
“G giving you troubles?”
Sans jolted upward, knees banging against the bottom of the desk and he whirled around to look at the door. His coffee mug slipped from his hands as they bolted to his now aching knees, a curse leaving his lips, luckily having enough self awareness to flick a phalange, blue magic catching the cup and its cold contents just inches from the ground. “Fuck me- Uh. Hey, Red.”
The man in question gave Sans an apologetic smile, stepping away from the door. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” He leaned down, seizing the cup from Sans’s magic hold, though Sans didn’t miss how Red seemed to pause before doing so, like he was studying magic. Sans knew Red was aware of his abilities with gravity magic, and the significance of that given Red’s degree in History, but the Dreemurr was relieved Red hadn’t asked questions about it yet. That could come later, at the moment Sans really didn’t want to deep dive into his magic and abilities, the hows and whys. Setting the mug back on the surface of the desk, Red’s hand lowered to rest over top of Sans’s hand, taking over rubbing his knee. “This all for the thing with Ink?”
Sans watched as Red’s singular eyelight flickered to the notes still spread out, watched his eyebrows crease, seemingly in confusion, his jaw tense. He could smell the faint scent of fire smoke mixed with the floral soap kept in the hall bathroom coming from Red, his bones still slightly damp, beads of water still hanging on from his shower. Sans’s face grew hot, his soul suddenly beating harder, butterflies taking flight in his stomach. Even after dating him for, technically, months now, Sans still couldn’t believe just how attractive Red was, without even trying.
“ Oh my stars. Now is not the time, my boy. ”
Shut up!
Clearing his throat, Sans pulled his eyes away from his boyfriend, shuffling the papers into a neat pile. “Yeah. Finally finished.” He busied his hands with cleaning up his workplace, setting pens back into the cup near the desk lap, closing books, stacking papers. If he kept his mind and hands focused on other things, he wouldn’t have time to focus on the warmth building in his chest.
“And it’ll work?” Red’s words caused Sans to pause in the middle of flipping through a worn textbook, retrieving sticky note bookmarks. Would it work?
Truthfully, Sans had no fucking idea. Medicine specifically for souls wasn’t common, and he’d never heard of anyone dealing with the same thing Ink was dealing with. It was an unknown, one of a kind. New. And with anything new always came a whole lot of guessing. Educated guessing, but guessing nonetheless.
“It should, yeah.” G scoffed. “It will. I’ve tripled checked everything, and Ink has had medication like this in the past, and that had been in tablet form. A liquid like this should be even more effective.”
“ I’ll commend you on your confidence. But this type of thing needs years of testing, years of tweaking, and you don’t- ”
“It’ll work.”
Red cocked an eyebrow, eyelight scanning the room, as if he expected to see the invisible man for himself. “G?”
“Yeah. He’s being a pessimistic shit.” Inside San’s skull, G baulked, while Red barked out a laugh.
The sound made Sans’s soul soar.
“If you think it’ll work, it’ll work.” Red’s fingers lingered on San’s knee for a moment, ever so slightly shifting upwards, to Sans’s thigh, before Red pulled away like he had been burned, dropping his hands to his sides. Sans immediately missed the warmth.
Ever since he’d awoken from his second coma, he’d noticed that Red seemed scared to touch him. The other man certainly wasn’t avoiding touching Sans, if anything Red had been incredibly clingy (Sans wasn’t complaining, though PDA usually wasn’t his thing.), but there was always a hesitation to it. A fear, simmering just below the surface, like a sea monster hiding below the waves in wait for its prey. On one hand, Sans could understand why. He did almost die twice, in a very short amount of time, so he really couldn’t blame Red for being worried, being scared something might happen to Sans. On the other hand it annoyed the hell out of him. He wasn’t fragile, and he didn’t need to be treated like he was made of cracked glass, ready to shatter.
That was a conversation for another time, though. It was still too soon after Sans’s last “incident” for him to be getting on Red’s case about treating him like something easily broken. Just like how Sans needed time to adjust to being back in his normal life, Red needed time as well.
“The only problem now is getting the materials.” Sans pulled his glasses off his face, pinching the bridge of his nasal ridge. “Getting magic will be easy with a few donors - magic, at least from monster’s, becomes neutral after a few hours, with the right conditions at least. Probably ask Error about it, sure he’d be fine giving a bit… but everything else…”
“What do you need?” Sans’s eye lights flickered to Red as he all but sprung from the bed, an almost desperate quality to his movements. Ansty.
“Honestly, most of it can be bought at a high end pharmacy. There’s one downtown. But you’d look hella shady going in and buying all this shit together, plus testing tubes and the equipment I’d need”
“Then I won’t buy it all by myself. Three of us go in and we each buy a few things, then you’d have all you need and we’ll look less suspicious.” Red stuffed his hands into his back pockets, rocking back on his heels, single piercing eyelight watching Sans.
“ It’s… not an awful idea. Certainly the easiest choice. ”
Have any other ideas?
“ Eh… robbery? I’m sure the royal labs would have everything you need. ”
I’d prefer not to break back into the castle so soon after nearly dying there. Option A it is.
“Alright… yeah. Ok. Let's do that.” Red flashed Sans a grin that sent his soul somersaulting down to his stomach. “You said ‘three of us’ though, who’s coming?” Error, maybe. It’d be nice to spend a bit more time with him too, Sans couldn't explain how much he missed the earlier days of the revolution, when there was time to actually enjoy his friend’s company. Recently everything was just one big thing after another, with barely any time to breathe. Though, that feeling may just be because Sans had had two near death experiences, one right after the other.
“How about Edge? He’s been itching to help out around here, anyways.” Sans felt his soul suddenly drop with anxiety. Edge. Red’s brother.
That was fine. Good, even. People didn’t know Edge’s face because of the revolution, while with Sans and Red there was the chance they could be recognized. It was a smart choice. Besides, Sans wanted to get to know Edge, didn’t he?
“Yeah, cool. If he’s up for it.” Sans stood, and even though his knees felt weak from the sudden anxiety flooding his system, Red’s soft, happy smile made it worth it.
And the kiss that followed it almost brought the strength back to Sans’s legs, almost crushed the rock of nerves in the pit of his stomach.
Almost.
*****
Sans liked Edge. Really, he did. He seemed like a genuinely good guy, kind and always ready to lend a helping hand. Maybe a bit rough around the edges, but with a good soul, and really, didn’t everyone have some jagged edges here and there? Plus, Red and Edge seemed close as all hell. He didn’t talk about his brother too often, but from what Sans had heard it was easy to see how much the two cared for one another. Their relationship was definitely different from Sans and Pap’s, being more… playfully competitive, more argumentative thanks to the two men being extremely stubborn, but Sans could tell how much Edge means to Red.
So, of course, Sans liked Edge and wanted to have a good relationship with him. For all Sans knew they’d be in-laws one day (He was definitely getting ahead of himself with that thought. Calm down, Sans, seriously.)
It’s just that Sans felt completely and utterly uncomfortable whenever he was around the younger Azar brother.
It was a deep, uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, a feeling of eyes watching, judging his every move, every word, every thought . Logistically, Sans knew it was ridiculous to feel that way; he was normally good at ignoring his anxieties when interacting with people. But when Edge was around, all of his people skills were violently thrown out of the window, and Sans suddenly became the most socially awardward, clumsy person he’d ever met.
“ You’re simply overthinking things because you want your partner’s family to think highly of you. It’s natural. ”
Thanks, Captain Obvious.
G tsked inside Sans’s skull, the sound sharp in his Font, like a metal pin thrown against his bones. “ I’m trying to be helpful. ”
Sans exhaled out of his nose, focusing his eyelights on the moving images outside the car window, deciding not to answer G this time around. Right now, he should pay more attention to the people he can see rather than the man in his head, it wouldn’t be a good look if he completely missed something Edge was saying because he was too busy chatting to G.
Though Sans supposed consciously thinking “I won’t respond” was giving G an answer, since he can read Sans’s thoughts and whatnot.
Sans watched the landscape change as they entered Blightview, open fields becoming roads and parking lots, trees and bushes morphing into a mix of new tech skyscrapers and old brown brick buildings overgrown with ivy. The sun was low in the sky, the edge of the bright star just kissing the horizon line, flashing between buildings, as if playing peek-a-boo with Red’s car, showing itself less and less the further into the city they went. The clear sky was bleeding oranges and red onto the metal, brick and concrete, coating the entire city like a fresh coat of paint, giving the city a feeling of warmth, a feeling of being alive.
The effect was a lot less poignant when you realised the streets were swarming with guards.
“So… Sans. You studied Soulology?”
Sans pulled his gaze away from the car window, shifting in the passenger seat to look back at Edge. He had tried to give the taller man the front seat, next to Red, but Edge had insisted on sitting in the back (Sans had also tried to get Red to let him drive, but Red wouldn’t have it. Their stubbornness seemed to be something the Azar brothers had in common.) and the tall man seemed a bit uncomfortable sitting in the car, uncomfortably squished and cramped, but he hadn’t complained so Sans didn’t feel right commenting on it. Red’s accent could be pretty damn thick at times, specifically when he’s frustrated or upset, Sans had noticed, but Edge’s was like Red’s, but at its thickest, all the time. It made sense, given Edge still lived in Gawlyn and Red had moved away a few years ago, but Sans would be lying if he said it hadn’t taken him by surprise at first.
“Yeah. I was a year away from graduating when I dropped out, though.” It felt like Edge’s thin, deep red eyelights were boring into Sans, following him out and analysing everything that made him… well, him. His gaze was uncomfortably intense, and Sans was sure that wasn’t just his anxiety talking. Maybe Edge was just a passionate guy, taking in everything with intense focus. Papyrus was like that in some ways, but with Paps it was more enthusiasm than intensity. “Family stuff.”
Edge made a sound of understanding, something from deep in his chest, deep and scratchy. “Do you think you’ll go back someday? To finish your degree?”
Behind him, Sans felt G perk up - from what Sans had seen, the man had seemed to know his stuff when it came to science, but why would he care one way or another if Sans got his PhD? Sure, he had half heartedly called G his friend earlier, but as soon as Sans figured out how to get him out of his skull, they’d never see each other again. So why care what Sans will do with his life after all this is over?
“Maybe. I don’t know. I still enjoy the science aspect. Just…” The commitment. The fear of not being able to succeed. The money. Leaving his family . “...Yeah, I don’t know.”
The car filled with a heavy silence, suffocating as if it were a heavy blanket covering them in the middle of summer. Red stopped at a red light, a mother rabbit crossing the street with her two children, an armoured guard on the sidewalk. Walking. Looking.
Looking for them , Sans realised with a start, his soul jumping to his throat.
Maybe plan B would have been better after all.
Sans turned his skull just as the guard’s gaze fell off the car, the street light thankfully turning green. “Hey, speaking of school… Are classes not running right now? I haven't seen you go into work for a while now, Red?” While the question had started as a way to change the topic, a way to break that thick silence, now that Sans thought about it, he hadn’t seen Asgore drive Frisk or Chara into the city for class, or heard the two talk about class work, at all in the past week.
“No, King Dick closed the schools shortly after Dream 'disappeared’, said something about not wanting to risk the lives of staff and students because of the ‘deranged delusions of the terrorist group threatening our city’. Pretty basic publicity stunt.” There was a mocking, annoyed edge to Red’s voice, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. Sans’s hand twitched, wanting to reach out and rest on his boyfriend’s knee, but he held back, stuffing his hand into his pockets instead. He didn’t know if Red was comfortable with that sort of affection around his brother - he’d been clingy, sure, but that doesn’t mean he’s ok with being overly physical with Sans in front of Edge. “... But it’s probably for the best. I was going to take family leave around that time anyways.”
“Family leave?”
Red’s eyelight flicked to Sans briefly, before going back to the road. “Yeah. That was after you…” Sans felt his face heat up - of course, that had been the first time he’d been in a coma. But family leave? Did Red see him as family?? No, no, Sans, relax! It was too soon for that, he probably just would have taken family leave because that’s all he could have done. It’s not like they have “Boyfriend in a coma” leave. Red cleared his throat, pulling into the parking lot of the Pharmacy Sans had told him about earlier, “C.O.R.E.: Herb and Drug Mart.” , “Anyways, I didn’t have to, it’s more like I’m on paid leave right now.”
“They didn’t fire you for your involvement?”
“No, I doubt Gaster-” G tensed up in Sans’s mind, the other man’s feelings causing Sans’s body to react similarly. The hell was that about?? “-knows my name. He’s just seen my pretty face.”
Edge scoffed, pointedly rolling his eyes as he pushed open the car door. “‘Pretty’ is one way to describe it.” He stepped out into the evening air, the air having cooled a considerable amount since that afternoon, almost cold now. Sans was relieved he had brought his new jacket with him - after his encounter with Gaster he’d had to replace his trusty blue jacket, and had recently taken to wearing gloves in order to hide the marks on his hands - but even then a chill ran down his spine.
He felt like he was being watched.
“And how would you describe it?”
“Obnoxious.”
Red laughed, loud and boisterous, a laugh that made Sans’s inside twist in a good way, and punched Edge’s arm, the younger of the two barely moving upon impact. Either Red had used little-to-no force, or Edge was as sturdy as Red was. Sans guessed it was most likely a mix of the two. “Go fuck yourself.”
Edge chucked, the sound gruff, like his voice, like the rest of him. Red’s eyelight found Sans again, and the taller skeleton intertwined their fingers, pulling Sans closer - though that meant he was now right between the brothers. He felt his “skin” tingle, the marrow in his bones seeming to boil and bubble, making his bones feel clammy and itchy. Every inch of him was on hire alert, careful, so very careful, not to do the wrong thing, not to look stupid in front of Edge, not to look rude.
He wanted to appear perfect. The perfect man, the perfect scientist (He was already failing on that aspect, given he’d already admitted to dropping out.), the perfect boyfriend.
“ I doubt he expects you to be perfect. I think- ”
Not now, G!
The invisible man grunted, clearly miffed at being shut down again.
Sans could deal with him later.
“What do we need to get, babe?” The automatic door opened before them, welcoming the three monsters into the clean, relatively empty building. The floors were white tile, meant to be pure white but more of an eggshell colour after years of customers tracking in mud, and the bulk of the store was filled with shelves with different medicines,medical supplies - like bandages, or ointment - and a few magical concoctions that could legally be sold over the counter - the most popular of which was a Sleep Elixir, which was basically melatonin for monsters, and mixtures that acted like basic cold and flu medicine. To the left of the door was another glass door that led to the small greenhouse portion of the store, where medicinal herbs could be bought - It’s where Asgore got the flowers for his favourite tea - and at the very back of the store was a small counter where people could pick up prescriptions.
Sans’s eyelights scanned the store as he reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out the list he had made before coming here (He didn’t want to admit how many times he had to rewrite it because he kept slipping into Wing Dings.) and held it so the two other men could look it over.
“I don’t know what any of this is.” Sans snorted, pecking Red’s cheek without thinking, face flaming up when he once again noticed Edge’s piercing gaze.
“The first three are herbs, the rest are over the counter magic medicine.”
Red’s mouth formed a small “O” and his eyelight once again scanned the paper - then, without warning, he pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of the list before slipping away from Sans. “I’ll get the herbs then! We’ll meet back here once we’ve got everything!”
“Red, wait-” But he was already through the greenhouse doors before Sans could even come up with an excuse to get him to stay.
He mentally cursed - he knew what Red was doing, because he knows it’s something he’d do, in a different situation. Just happening to leave two people he wants to get to know each other alone, so they can bond.
Swallowing, Sans looked up at Edge, who was watching the door Red had just vanished through with a sort of amusement. As if feeling Sans’s gaze, however, the other monster suddenly turned, his thin red eyelights meeting Sans’. An awkward beat passed.
“I… guess we'll go find the rest of the things then.” Edge hummed in agreement, head tilting in a subtle nod.
“Lead the way.”
The store wasn’t big by any chance, but the owners certainly tried to make use of every inch of space they had available. The isles were narrow, if Sans stood dead center he wouldn’t even be able to hold his arms fully out on either side, and each shelf was absolutely packed with boxes and bottles of every shape and size. At least things were relatively organised - human medicine all contained to a section at the back of the store, on the left, and monster’s medicine and elixirs… well, everywhere else.
For a species that didn’t get sick that often, they sure did have a lot in terms of medication.
Sans trailed his fingers along the metal shelving, mouthing the names on the different labels, looking for the one he needed. Beside him, Edge was crouched down, similarly scanning.
“You know…” Sans hummed to indicate he was listening, using a finger to push aside a few boxes, checking if there were other products behind them (There were.). “You don’t need to be scared of me.”
Sans froze, blood running cold. “I’m not….- I mean- Uh. I wouldn’t…-” He stumbled over his words, keeping his gaze locked in front of him, though he could still feel when Edge turned to look at him, gaze burning against Sans’s side.
“Maybe scared isn’t the right word, but you seem… nervous, around me.”
Sans cleared his throat, peeling his eyes away from the mess that was the shelf in front of him, startled to find Edge’s expression… amused, gentle, even strangely affectionate, rather than angry or offended. “...That obvious, huh?”
Edge shrugged. “I’ve been told I’m really observant.” Ah, that explained the constant intensity of his gaze. “Point is, you don’t have to be. You make Red happy, and he clearly trusts you. So I do too.” Edge stood up, holding out a bottle of bright pink liquid to Sans - Docmycin, a magic supplement, the last thing on the list. “You’re not being secretly tested or-”
“ GET DOWN .”
Sans didn’t even think, he didn’t know if that was because of the urgency in G’s voice, or if their emotions were somehow linked, and G’s panic spurred Sans’s own, but he grabbed the back of Edge’s shirt, pulling the taller man flat onto the ground next to him just as an explosion rocked the pharmacy. The shelf in front of them, along with the others in that area, smashed against the walls, the bottles smashing, liquid splattering, boxes crushed.
“Blightview Royal Guard!” Sans’s marrow grew hot and buzzed to life with magic, his fingertips tingling. He could feel energy roll off of Edge as well, an almost scorching heat radiating off his bones. “All members of the so-called ‘Rebellion’ terrorist group are ordered to leave the building with your hands above your head!” There was a ringing in Sans’s ears. He vaguely registered the sound of crying, someone screaming, liquid dripping onto the tiled floor, sirens from the guard’s vehicles. “You have three minutes to comply or we will start firing!”
What the fuck where they thinking?! This was a public place, there were civilians around, and they were attacking the three of them?! They bombed a pharmacy, for fuck’s sake.
Sans caught sight of Red through the dust and debris, kneeling behind a knocked over shelf by the shattered greenhouse doors. He wasn't looking Sans and Edge’s way, skull turned and looking through the shattered and cracked glass - there were guards through there as well, he could make out the bobbing lights as the guards searched through the rubble. Sans’s soul leapt to his throat - Red didn’t seem hurt, but they were too far apart, Red was too close to the guards at the entrance of the ruined building. It’d be way too easy for him to be cut off from Edge and Sans.
He heard the sound of broken glass cracking as someone walked over it, could make out armed figures through the haze, painted bright red from the still setting sun outdoors. The guards were advancing.
“You have one minute!”
“What’s the plan here?” Edge whispered, flames flicking around his phalanges, licking his arms. Sans squeezed his fists together, focusing on his breathing. He needed to stay calm.
“ There’s an opening, though the greenhouse, if you go right from the door. There’s a service door back there. ”
They’ll see us.
“
They already know you’re here. You’re all capable young men, are you not?
”
I guess???
“ Then show them how capable you are. Get to that service door and use your… what did you call them? Shortcuts? ”
Sans sucked in a breath, nearly choking on the dust filled air. He hadn’t teleported since waking up from his past coma, and even before that teleporting with two other people was pushing his limits.
But it would have to work.
Sans met Edge’s eyes, giving him a nod and gesturing to the destroyed greenhouse with a tilt of his skull, before turning back to where he saw Red. His single eyelight seemed to pierce through the haze, locked onto Sans. The Dreemurr nodded, praying Red understood.
Then he sprung from his hiding place, straight into a royal guard’s side. They fell to the ground, Sans pinning them with a knee, energy pulsing through him as he reached for the guard’s soul, weighing him down. He heard shouting but didn’t register what was said, raising a hand, a bright blue bone, edges glitching with something that was too dark to be of this world, forming in his hand. Hitting the guard pinned beneath him with the end of the bone, Sans jumped back, just barely dodging a flurry of bullets.
A few feet away he caught Edge kicking a separate guard back, the place of contact igniting into flames, burning the guard through their “protective” armour. Someone grabbed Edge from behind, trying to bring the taller monster to the ground, large armoured arms wrapping around the thick bones of his neck.
Releasing the unconscious guard, he wrapped his deep blue coils of magic around the large monster holding Edge, forcing them off and sending them crashing into one of the walls, a spider web of cracks splitting away from the impact.
Seeing a clear way through, Sans shouted Edge’s name before bolting forward towards Red. Chains were wrapped around Red’s forearms, bright red and flaming, and coiling down to the ground around him, with a quick movement he sent them flying, wrapping them around a guard like a constrictor, and pulled. The guard went stumbling forward, straight into sharpened, burning bones that erupted from the ground, destroying the tile further.
Catching sight of Sans and Edge, Red shook his hand free of the magical chains, running behind his allies. Sans breathed hard and his left eye pulsed his magic as he shoved tables of plants out of their way, the heavy sound of boots following them. The trio burst through the metal service door, the door banging harshly against the wall, and tumbled into an alleyway. It was drenched in red from the evening light, steam billowing from grates in the ground, black garbage bags piled high around graffitied dumpsters. Cold, fresh air slapped Sans in the face.
“It’s a dead end.” Edge hissed, spinning on his heel to face the door, the building they had just left seeming to shake with the force of the guards running.
Not for Sans, it wasn’t.
Breath still ragged, he gripped Red and Edge’s arms.
“What are-”
Before Red could finish, the ground dropped out beneath the three men, darkness twisting around them, and they were sent spinning and tumbling through space and time itself.
As soon as it had vanished, the world came rushing back, colour flooding in and replacing the darkness as if it had never been there in the first place.
Red, Edge, and Sans stood a few metres away from the Dreemurr’s cottage, covered in dust and breathing hard, the supplies this had all been for shoved half haphazardly into their pockets. They stood there for a long moment, just staring, catching their breath, the adrenaline wearing off.
“What the fuck was that?!” Edge was the first to break the silence.
Instead of answering, Sans burst out laughing. And kept laughing. Soon Red joined in, starting as a chuckle but quickly becoming a full bellied laugh that shook his entire frame. Even Edge started laughing.
It was absurd - anyone who saw the three would probably think they’re crazy - and probably more than a little inappropriate, but sometimes the only thing you can do is laugh at what life throws at you.
And that's what they did.
Notes:
IM BACK FROM THE DEAD!!!
Thank you all so much for being so patient during my break, I genuinely appreciate it. But I'm back now and will be back to posting chapters monthly!! ALSO FOLLOW THE DT TUMBLR!!! I've been redesigning the dt character refs and if you wanna see em that's the place to be! Plus updates about when the next chapter will be posted!Join the DystopianTale Discord
Chapter 39: ~Chapter 39~
Summary:
!CW! Description of a panic attack
Notes:
For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on Instagram or Tumblr
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Carefully, as if handling an already crumbling piece of china, Sans corked a small vial filled with a glowing liquid that changed from bright aqua blue, to sage green, to a neon yellow. Once the vial was sealed, Sans let out a slow breath, eyeing the fluid critically. It wasn’t the most appealing thing ever made, but medicine rarely was, but after everything, it was done. That’s what matters.
This would help Ink.
“ Hopefully . ”
Sans groaned, eyebrows narrowing at the vial, as if it had been the one to just speak. It will.
“ Yes, yes, whatever you say, my boy .”
Sans sighed, choosing it was for the best to just ignore G, who was still being overly negative, even if Sans had double, tripled checked, everything. He was overly careful making the liquid, and he used Error’s magic as a base. All monster magic became neutral after a few hours, losing its colour and turning milky white and most if not all connection it had to its owner. However, just in case, because Ink’s situation was so unique, Sans chose to use magic drawn from Error, so the base would be undoubtedly compatible with Ink’s soul (That, and he was sure Ink and Error were more comfortable with this option than the ulterior option of using someone else’s magic to make something that would be so close to the short monster’s soul). Regardless, Sans had been overly careful with everything to do with making this medicine for Ink, so G’s constant pessimism was really starting to grate on Sans’s nerves.
And coming from him that was certainly saying something, since Sans wasn’t usually an optimistic ray of sunlight either.
Sans shook his head, as if he could knock G loose and make him fall out of Sans’s skull for good. He could think whatever he wanted to, because even if G wasn’t confident, Sans was, and Sans was the one actually here and interacting with his friends.
G was just a voice.
For some reason, that fact made Sans feel weird in a way he couldn’t really explain. Maybe he liked the annoying, mysterious man more than he wanted to admit.
Whatever, Sans could dissect that later, once this medicine business was fully behind them all and Ink’s condition was dealt with.
He carefully slipped the glass vial into the deep left pocket of his lab coat - the piece of clothing was old and the white cloth was greying from lack of use, the left sleeve had to be sewed back on with pink thread years ago after an accident with a particularly explosive experiment. But wearing it helped him get into the right headspace to be working on materials like he had been, and since it still fit him he figured it was better than nothing.
…And Red had commented that Sans looked good in the old thing when he had originally thrown it on as a joke, so Sans figured he might as well keep it.
With the medicine carefully stored in his pocket, Sans stepped away from his desk for the first time in what felt like hours. He hadn’t started working on the medicine right after he, Red and Edge had gotten back from the pharmacy, he hadn't actually started until a few days later. The night they got back, he was too high on adrenaline to focus for long enough to do everything correctly, and then he and the Azar brothers had to discuss things with Error about the ambush and what that all meant for the group.
To make a long conversation short, Gaster was obviously getting antsy to stop the rebellion, to the point where he was no longer being cautious of civilians and just telling his guards to act , to get shit done. And that meant the rebellion couldn't take too much time “laying low”, or more innocent people were going to get hurt.
Their next course of action was still being decided, and Sans knew Error wanted to keep with the lay low course of action a little longer, especially with Ink so close to term and Undyne not fully healed yet, but how long could they do that… Sans wasn’t sure.
But that talk had taken up a good chunk of the day, so Sans had just taken his old equipment from school out of his closet. Everything was covered in dust but nothing was broken. Sans had cleared his desk and laid everything on top of it, and then had called it a day.
Then, the next day, today, after he had eaten breakfast he’d sat down, and really gotten down to it.
And now, almost 4 hours later, he’d finally, finally finished the medicine that would sort out Ink’s soul magic.
Walking out of his room, Sans slipped downstairs, hearing Frisk playing in the living room, Papyrus occasionally chiming in. From the sounds of it, they were playing some kind of game. The sound made Sans smile; even though it had been a while since he and Papyrus had made up, it still filled Sans with so much relief to hear and see his younger brother with their family again, playing and laughing and smiling. The way things were meant to be.
It was small, and things were far from perfect, but still, it made Sans happy to have his baby brother back.
Sans made his way to the guest room, where Ink and Error had been staying since the rebellion had moved out from the orphanage, and wrapped his knuckles against the wooden door. “Ink? Error? It’s Sans.”
Through the door, Sans heard Ink call his name in greeting, followed by the sounds of fabric brushing against fabric and the creak of the bed frame, then the door was opened. Error smiled at him from the entrance to the room, visibly tired with eye bags under his eye sockets, and behind him, Ink sat on the bed, bundled up in blankets and quilts - the smaller skeleton also looked tired, though less so than his husband. If anything, Ink seemed to have a glow to him right now. Probably a pregnancy thing. “Hey, what’s up?”
“What are you wearing?” Ink added, pushing up onto his knees to look over Error’s shoulder as best as he could from the bed, his left eye changing into an orange question mark.
Sans grinned, lifting the edges of his white coat and giving a small bow. “My work uniform.” Inside his skull, G groaned, while Ink giggled. Error gestured with his skull for Sans to enter, and as he did he continued: “On a serious note, I come with a little delivery.”
Ink cocked his head, much like a bird would. “A delivery?” Sans nodded and sat down on the edge of the bed, withdrawing the vial of liquid from his pocket, holding it out to the shorter skeleton. Ink’s eye sockets widened in surprise. “Is that…?”
“Yeah. It should stabilise things for you, buddy. I just made a sample for now, enough for a week, so we can test to see if it’ll actually work. Just take a teaspoon of this every morning and-” Sans was cut off by the bundle of bedsheets springing forward, tackling Sans in a hug that almost knocked him over the edge of the bed.
“Sans!” Sans awkwardly manoeuvred his arms so that the vial wasn’t at risk, and used his other hand to pat Ink’s back. Sans was pretty used to forceful hugs - two of his three siblings were… very enthusiastic about their hugging - but he’d never been all that touchy with friends in the past, so he couldn’t help but feel a bit awkward. “I can’t believe you… thank you so much!” Ink’s voice wavered, unshed tears framing his eye sockets when he pulled back.
“Y-yeah, heh, I mean I… I said I would, didn’t I?” Sans looked up as he felt Error move behind him, the ebony monster smiling down at him, a smile Sans hadn’t seen much of - it was small, his lips just barely curling upward, yet portrayed so much relief, so much thankfulness - and even he had pale blue tears in the corners of his eyes.
“You did, but…” Error looked to Ink, his already soft expression softening even more, filling with love. “I don’t think either of us can express how much it means to us.”
Ink nodded, sniffling and wiping his eyes, his smile unfaltering. “Seriously. Everything you’ve done… this, your help with the pregnancy…” The small monster’s eyes suddenly widened. “ The pregnancy! ”
Error stiffened, immediately moving away from Sans and to Ink’s side, seeming to check his husband. “What? What’s wrong?”
Shaking his skull, Ink batted away Error’s hands. “No, no, nothing, but the twins, Erry! We haven’t bought anything for them !”
“...Oh.”
“I’m due any day now!”
“... Oh. Fuck.”
Sans cleared his throat, feeling somewhat out of place in this conversation, though he’d feel even worse just getting out and walking away
now.
Besides, maybe he could help. Both Ink and Error turned to him. “There’s still time, we could go out today. Make a little trip out of it, get what you need, and me and my dad can help you two make sure you’re all set here for when the twins finally are born.”
“We can’t go into BlightView though, your experience a few days ago proves that. And if you three were recognized, Ink and I are guaranteed to be too.”
“Yeah, that's true, but there’s other cities besides BlightView. About an hour away from here there’s a little town at the base of Ebbott.” Sans felt his spine tingle as G perked up in his skull - he wondered what that was about, but ignored it for the time being. “Called Redwood, I think.”
Error raised an eyebrow. “What’re you suggesting?”
Sans leaned forward on his knees, grin growing. “How do you guys feel about having a little road trip?”
*****
With a series of soft thuds , the doors to Asgore’s minivan were shut, and the group stepped out into the warm afternoon air. Error breathed out a sigh of relief, happy to be able to stretch out his legs after the hour long drive, and wrapped an arm around Ink when the short monster moved to stand beside him.
Redwood was a small, rustic mountain town that sat near the base of Mt. Ebbott, and, according to Red, had a rich history despite being overshadowed by BlightView nowadays. The town’s population used to be primarily made of ghost monsters, a subspecies that had largely vanished - Mettaton was the only ghost Error had ever met - thanks to most places not seeing them as living beings equal to any other human or monster. It was mainly a tourist and camping destination now, and a nice place at that - even if he wasn’t the biggest fan of camping, Error could see this place being a great place to take the twins when they were a bit older.
Regardless, it was small and far enough away from BlightView that their small group - him, Ink, Cross, Dream, Sans, Red, Killer and Nightmare - should go unrecognised as they get their shopping done.
“‘ Heats Flamesman’s Child Wonderland ’” Error raised an eyebrow, glancing back at Sans, who was leaning casually against the hood of the van. His ever present smile on his skull, a smile Error had noticed had become more genuine and less strained in the past few days. “How did you find this place?”
“In Uni, I took a biology class, more for fun than anything.” Killer grunted loudly, mumbling something about how stupid the concept of “learning for fun” was, though Error suspected a hint of jealousy; as far as he knew, Killer hadn’t even gone to elementary school. Ignoring the small interruption, Sans pushed off the hood of the van and walked over to Ink and Error as he continued, “And we took a trip here for a weekend - Ebbott is known for its wildlife and fauna, you know?”
“Yeah, that’s why BlightView was built so close, they wanted to take advantage of the abundance of resources, and way back when it was seen as good fortune to be near a high point. Closer to the stars.” Red added, walking next to Sans and looking extremely happy with himself for being able to add that tidbit. Like an excited dog.
Sans smiled and nodded, linking his and Red’s hands, and looking at him with a soft, smitten look - Error briefly wondered if his feelings were that obvious when he looked at Ink. “Yeah, exactly. Anyways, we came here, stayed in a nice hotel. And during the trip we had a few hours of freetime everyday, and I was walking around during one of those freetimes, and I stumbled upon…” Sans gestured rather dramatically to the store, pulling open the glass door and holding it open for everyone to enter. “I ended up going in to get a little something for Frisk, since their birthday was coming up around the time.”
Stepping into the building, Error found himself shocked at the size - the outside wasn’t small by any shot, but the interior was as large as a big-time department store back in the city. There was even a second floor! Everything was painted to be soft and pastel, there was a baby-gated play section at the front of the store, toddlers and children playing and laughing with one another inside, and over the top cheery kids’ music played over the overhead speakers.
Frankly, it was a lot to take in, and Error suddenly found himself overwhelmed from the size, the noise, and the crowd.
The store wasn’t that busy, but the entrance was clogged with parents watching their kids play, and Error felt the familiar bristle of anxiety along his bones whenever someone got a bit too close to him.
His chest tightened, his breathing going shallow; Error was vaguely aware of the feeling of Ink squeezing his hand and saying something, someone else responding, but he couldn’t process what words were said. He was acutely aware of every little movement the strangers around them were making, the sounds of their clothes moving and rustling amplified in his ears, mixing with the pounding of his soul.
Someone brushed against Error’s side, their scaly skin dragging across his forearm, the scales catching in the grooves in the bone. Searing hot pain flashed inside him, tiny needles pricking him where he had been touched, everything inside him screaming bad .
“Erry?”
He couldn’t catch his breath. It felt like he was glitching, unable to hold himself together as one concise, whole being.
“Error?”
He was shattered, burning up, dying. Dying.
“ Error .”
Error blinked, air rushing into his “lungs” as he leaned heavily into Ink’s touch, the smaller man’s hands holding the sides of his skull. He had no idea when they had moved away from the entrance, away from the people, but they had; Error could hardly hear their chatter anymore.
“Are you ok…?” Ink’s voice was soft, concerned and filled with care - he was no stranger to Error’s haptophobia, though it had been a while since Error had an attack like that.
“I’m ok… I’m ok, don’t worry.” Taking a slow, deep breath, Error exhaled, relaxing his shoulders as he did so. He placed a quick kiss on his husband’s temple before standing up straight. Truthfully, he still felt a bit rattled, still felt like bugs were crawling over his bones, biting him. But that was sure to last a while, and it was manageable, for now at least.
Ink seemed to have pulled them to a clothing section of the store, the area around them filled with racks and shelves of clothing that ranged from small enough to fit a newborn to clothes for children, aged 10 if Error had to guess. The others were watching him with concern, even Killer. It made Error… uncomfortable. These were his friends, especially Sans, but he was so used to just having Ink care for him, seeing other’s visibly worried filled Error with an overwhelming sense of guilt.
Sans stepped forward, eyebrows drawn, smile gone. “Error? Are you…-”
“I’m fine.” Error waved Sans’s concerns away, giving him a reassuring smile. “Seriously. Just don’t do well with touch. I’m ok now.” Sans’s shoulders untensed, and Error hoped that meant Sans believed him. Error was telling the truth, technically. Just like Ink, he was used to this. He could deal with it.
Looking back to Ink, Error gestured to the nearest rack of baby clothing. “Why don’t we start, hun?’
Ink’s expression lit up, and the smile he gave Error was enough to make him truly be glad they came to this store, despite the crowd of people.
*****
“You know what to do when you see a baby spinning in circles?”
Red looked to the monster standing next to him, Sans’ smaller, gloved hand holding his own. He raised an eyebrow, amusement setting on his features. “Nope. What do you do?”
Sans looked away from the rows of colourful rocker seats, skull turning up to meet Red’s gaze, and, keeping a straight expression, Sans answered: “You stop laughing and untie them from the ceiling fan.”
A beat passed, Red staring into Sans’s eyelights as his brain processed the punchline.
Then Red sputtered before the shock from hearing Sans make a darker joke made him howl with laughter. Sans’s eye lights lit up, growing brighter in his sockets.
When Sans had first come to him saying he was taking Ink and Error to Redwood, Red had hesitated in agreeing on coming. He really didn’t know either Error or Ink all that well, and it felt… sort of like he was intruding on a pretty important moment. But Sans had reassured him that it was fine, that others were coming too (Namly Cross, Dream, Killer and Nightmare), and the expecting couple were fine with Red tagging along as well.
So Red had come with, and he was glad he did. He had assumed this would be a more “group” activity, but shortly after arriving Error and Ink had split off from the group, discussing between themselves about what to get and what they needed, and Red and Sans had done something similar. Maybe leaving Killer and Cross somewhat unsupervised wasn’t… the best idea, but the princes were still with them, so Red was sure they’d be fine. Besides, it wasn’t like they were that far from Killer, Cross and the princes, and Red was enjoying having a more one-on-one with Sans.
Though, he supposed it wasn’t exactly “one-on-one”, since G was still living inside Sans’s skull. Or talking to him in his skull. Red was still a little foggy on how it worked.
In general, Red didn’t know what to think of G. It didn’t help that he couldn’t interact with him at all , since he was, somehow, someway, tied only to Sans. Red didn’t doubt that G was there, with Sans’s anecdotes of “the Void” and everything he’s told Red about how he and Papyrus were “made”, he didn’t doubt that Sans was telling the truth. It was just frustrating that Red couldn’t talk to him, or see him, or do anything with him unless Sans was translating for the guy. It annoyed Red to no end that he couldn’t “vet” G, in a way, and make sure he wasn’t a piece of shit, make sure he wouldn’t hurt Sans.
It also made any thought of doing more… romantic things with Sans a bit uncomfortable. Red was a touchy guy, but he also wasn’t the biggest fan of PDA. So now, whenever he made the move to hold Sans, or kiss him, or do anything, he couldn’t shake the feeling of G’s eyes on them, just staring.
Plus, after everything that happened, Red found himself terrified that the smallest touch will send Sans crumbling to dust. The thought filled him with guilt, he didn’t want to infantilize Sans, and he knew damn well that Sans was definitely not weak , far from it. Yet, whenever he closed his eyes, whenever he touched Sans in anyway, his mind was flooded with Sans’s dust and blood covering his hands, with images of holding his boyfriend’s body as it crumbled into nothing.
It made him sick to his non-existent stomach.
It was easy to see why this new fear mixed with the constant feeling of being watched had made Red more than a little hesitant to touch Sans. He still was, he still wanted to hold Sans, still wanted to kiss him.
It was just… a bit difficult.
He knew he needed to talk to Sans about it, he knew Sans had definitely noticed it - he was too smart not to have - but he didn’t know how to bring it up without just sounding like an asshole.
He squeezed Sans’s hand in his own, moving his body close to the shorter monster, feeling his warmth against him. He’d do it later, right now… things were ok. Things could be ok right now. With Sans smiling at him the way he was, overly proud of himself over a silly joke, it was the happiest and most relaxed Red had seen him in a while. Now wasn’t the time for a problem solving talk.
It could wait for now.
“Hey, Sans. What do you call a baby potato?” Sans’s eye lights dilated, a joyful glint in his sockets.
“Dunno. What do you call a baby potato?”
“A small fry.”
Beforehand, if someone had asked Red what his favourite sound was, he wouldn’t have had an answer. It had never been something he’d considered, or cared all that much about.
Now, thought?
Sans’s laugh was his favourite by a long shot. It was music to his ears.
And he hoped he’d be able to hear it for the rest of his life.
*****
A groan left Killer as he stretched his arms upwards, the bones of his back cracking softly. God, he was stiff. He’d come to the conclusion that he was not a fan of car rides, or cars in general. They were too small, too cramped and they made Killer feel antsy, and somewhat nauseous. Admittedly, he hadn’t been in too many vehicles in his time, the longest time he’s spent in them was definitely the camping trip way back in the early days of the rebellion, and now to… whatever town they were in now. This was the first time Killer had ever been in a city other than BlightView, and, truthfully, he hadn’t cared enough to remember the town’s name. Maybe it’d be different if he was coming here with Nightmare, alone, for… what did couples do? Sight see? Not that it mattered, doing anything with Nightmare alone would be better than this.
Killer pushed down a yawn as he watched Nightmare “ooh” and “aah” at the different cribs and baby clothes and other kinds of baby furniture and toys and whatnot, his two tone eyelights big and bright, a smile on his face that made his entire being light up and radiate warmth. At least Night was having fun, and Killer could admit that all the baby stuff was cute (His personal favourite things were the tiny shoes - they were just so little ). Error and Ink were a little ways ahead of everyone, looking at baby onesies and dresses and shirts (Which were also extremely little), and Sans and Red had drifted off away from the main group as well. Probably for the best, in Killer’s opinion; he’d heard enough of Sans’s puns on the way here, he really didn’t need to hear more of them. But that meant Killer was left with Cross and Dream. How lucky for him.
The store Sans had taken them to seemed to be a “baby store” of sorts rather than a generic department store, since every product Killer had seen so far was in some way related to infants or small children. Truthfully, Killer hadn’t even realised that stores like this existed in the first place - sure, he’d noticed clothing stores that specifically sold kids clothes, but an entire department sized store with just baby things?? How much stuff did babies actually need???
“So, when’s the due date?”
Killer’s eyelights snapped away from the prince and to the monster next to him - Cross looked back down at Killer with a stupid, shit eating smirk that immediately told Killer he was in for some bullshit from the ex-guard. “What?”
Cross snickered, exchanging a look with the other prince, Dream, who had been glued to his side since entering the store. While Killer knew, logically, Dream and Nightmare were twins, he often found himself finding that somewhat unbelievable. The two looked almost nothing alike, the only thing similar between them seemed to be their height and the fact they both had rather round, baby faces. And they didn’t really act like one another, Dream seemed far more headstrong and strict than Nightmare has ever been, and far more regal, though Night and Dream did seem to share their sense of stubbornness. Regardless, Killer still wasn’t entirely sure what he thought of the other royal prince; he knew Nightmare was happy to be reconnecting with Dream, and the prince was certainly a good ally in terms of the rebellion, but Killer just… wasn’t sure. There was something about him that made Killer almost uneasy, and Kills wasn’t sure if it was just because Dream was new and he didn’t know him all that well yet, or if it was because Dream often seemed too stiff, too formal, or if it was something else entirely.
He was trying to be open minded, however, instead of just cussing Dream out, instead of jumping straight to threatening the prince. For Nightmare’s sake, he would try.
Man, caring about people was weird.
“Just, you know, Nightmare is getting really excited.”
“So?” Killer was in no mood for stupid games, his patience already thin from the stupid car ride here. He crossed his arms over his chest, glaring up at Cross.
“Just seems to me like he's got babies on the brain.” Killer squinted, what did that mean?? “So… curious, were you guys talking about that?” Dream bit his lip, holding back a laugh, and realisation snapped inside Killer’s mind.
“He’s NOT fucking pregnant!!” Killer snapped, skull going bright red. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”
Cross held up his hand definitely not looking at all apologetic. “Maybe not yet, but with how
enthusiastic
he is, looking at all this stuff, I’m just saying he might want to change that.” Cross wiggled his eyebrows, heat boiling his Killer’s chest. What the fuck is wrong with this guy?!
“Shut the fuck up!!”
“You can’t deny it’s a possibility.”
“Yes, I can! And I AM!!” Killer growled, flipping off the taller monster, which seemed to break him. Doubling over, Cross howled with laughter, so loud Nightmare looked back with curiosity, a hint of worry. Dream waved him away to signal everything was fine, something Killer would have done if he wasn’t fuming, figuratively and literally, with how fucking hot his skull felt.
At least Dream had the decency to try and hide his laughter.
“Fuck you!” Killer hissed, tugging the hood of his shawl down, hoping to hide his blush. “Besides, shouldn’t you be worried about that?” Killer jabbed a finger at Dream and Cross. “You’re going to be kings, and isn’t it pretty damn important for royalty to have heirs ?”
That shut up Cross real fucking fast, his skull going purple, like an overly ripe grape, and his laughter turned into indignant sputtering. Ever Dream’s skull went yellow.
Grunting, Killer turned on his heel, walking towards Nightmare. Cross was just an idiot, saying idiotic things to get a rise out of Killer. At least Kills had been able to get in the last word.
He really didn’t want to admit the way his soul fluttered and filled with hope at the idea of having a couple of baby bones with Nightmare. It was ridiculous, they’d only been together for a few months, for fuck’s sake! Besides, Killer? Being a father?? As if. He’d be awful, he’d just fuck up any kids he did have.
Even if Killer really liked kids, he always did have a soft spot for them, even if any child related to Nightmare would be adorable, would be perfect, even if Killer desperately wanted to prove to the world, prove to himself, that he was better than his shitty parents.
It wouldn’t work. It wouldn’t.
And hoping for that sort of thing would just leave a soul ache later down the road.
So Killer squashed the idea, crushed it under his metaphorical heel, ground it into dust so that it wouldn’t sprout again, and clasped Night’s hand in his own.
*****
As Killer walked away from him and Dream, and wrapped an arm around Nightmare, Cross had the urge to pull him back by the hood of his shawl and slap him. What was wrong with him, saying that and then walking off?! Like nothing happened?!
…Though, maybe Cross deserved it, since he did tease Killer about Nightmare. But that didn’t mean he was ok with it!
Next to him, Dream quickly cleared his throat, drawing Cross’s attention to him. His cheeks were a soft, golden yellow, his eyes tired, as they had been all week - Cross hated seeing him so utterly exhausted, but he didn’t know what more he could do to help.He’d tried helping Dream take his mind off things in the evening, when it was just the two of them. He was hoping this little trip would help relax the prince and, while in the moment, the little things did seem to help Dream. His eye lights got brighter, his smile more genuine, his movements lighter and bordering on bouncy, but the little improvements always vanished shortly after the relaxing activity was over.
Cross could only hope things would get easier after Gaster was taken care of, but, deep down, he knew that was probably… very unlikely. After Gaster was gone, Dream would have to step up and take the throne, and… well, the assumption could be made that Cross would do the same with him. And they’d both have their hands full with that , both with fixing the shit Gaster caused and learning how to be king.
Cross was more scared about all that happening than he was willing to admit.
Pushing those thoughts aside, Cross focused on Dream, humming in acknowledgement to let the shorter man know he heard him. “He… does have a… good point, Cross.”
“Who?”
Dream gestured to Killer, who was watching Nightmare ramble with a surprisingly soft expression. “Killer does, about…” Dream cleared his throat, the gold magic on his cheeks darkening. “ Heirs ”
Cross frowned, heat crawling up his neck and onto his cheeks. He and Dream had been together for years by now, but the topic of children had never come up - though Cross had, admittedly, tossed around the idea in his head before. “We’ve never talked about that before. We’ve barely discussed… uh, marriage.”
Dream shook his head, leaning against Cross’s shoulder. Cross could feel his warmth through his torn jacket, Dream’s fingers intertwining with his own. “I think that’s a given by now, no? Even before, when father didn’t approve… if I was going to marry it was going to be to you.” The ex-guard watched Dream out of the corner of his eye, his soul pounding against his ribcage. Dream didn't look back at him, instead his yellow eyelights were focused on Ink and Error, the smaller of the two talking adamantly and pointing to different articles of clothing. “But… children. Obviously the throne is expected to, uh… produce heirs, as Killer said, even if he meant it as a jab, and in no way is it something that needs to be decided right now , but…”
Letting out a breath, Cross mulled over Dream’s words, doing his best to not overthink the fact that they had… sort of, kind of, gotten engaged just now, with Dream’s confession, and instead focusing on the latter half of what his partner said. On one hand, he understood why Dream was discussing the concept in a borderline political way. Cross was sure Gaster was somewhat to blame for that, as well as the fact that Dream was most likely very used to focusing on others' expectations for him rather than his own wants, but…
Well, on the other hand, discussing the possibility of having children in a “we need heirs” sense made him deeply uncomfortable.
“Dream… if we do have children, I want it to be because we want kids, not because the world expects us to have them.” Dream tilted his skull upwards to look at Cross.
“Then… Do you want them?”
“What?”
“You said you want us to have kids if we want them, so… do you want kids?”
Cross laughed, partly out of surprise and partly out of embarrassment. He understood that this was a conversation that needed to happen, but… now?? In a very public setting?? Right after Killer made a stupid joke in hopes of pissing Cross off?? It wasn’t exactly how he imagined this going.
“I think so, I haven’t spent that long thinking about it.” It was the truth; the thought had crossed his mind, but he’d never spent much time with them, always telling himself that was for future Cross to figure out. Past Cross was too focused on trying to figure out if he and Dream would even be allowed to marry. “What about you, Sunflower?”
“I do.” Dream didn’t even take a moment to think it over, simply answered, his voice brimming with sincerity. “I’ve always liked the idea of being a parent.”
Cross looked away from Dream, his face growing hotter, and raised his arm to wrap it around Dream’s shoulders. “Well… maybe we’ll have some then, after all this shit is dealt with.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Dream smiled, a real smile that made Cross’s soul warm and flutter in his chest, and he leaned down to press a soft kiss to the prince’s lips.
Usually, Cross wasn’t one for PDA. He didn’t like the feeling of being stared at, and usually didn’t feel the need to “show off” his and Dream’s relationship, he liked that it was more on the private side. A special thing just between the two of them, it was theirs .
But right then, he didn’t care if they were in public. He was only thinking about showing Dream how much Cross loved him.
And god, Cross did love him, more than anything.
Notes:
Hello everyone!! Sorry this chapter took me a while to write, BUT I've been super busy bc I graduate in a month!! But, bc I'm so busy, I'll be going on a short hiatus so that I avoid burnout :(
HOWEVER, I'll still be doing a fun little game on discord: characters Friday! Every other week on Friday you'll get to interact with a character who everyone voted for the week prior! Check it out, it's a lot of fun!Also, if you're a fan of the art I do for every chapter, consider supporting me over on patreon! Subscription starts at as little as $1 a month!
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Chapter 40: ~Chapter 40~
Summary:
!CW! References to past abuse, slight body horror
Notes:
For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on Instagram or Tumblr
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Error sighed to himself as he washed the suds off of the plate he had just scrubbed clean, setting it gently alongside the others in the drying rack. It’d been a while since he’d done something so… mundane. Normal. He found it relaxing, a welcome change from the chaos that his life had become.
Who knew he’d one day be nostalgic for cleaning .
Error frowned to himself, pulling the sink drain and wiping his hands dry. If he was being completely honest with himself, it was more than just normalcy he missed.
It was the safety of normal life that he missed.
He didn't regret starting the rebellion, he couldn't, not when he had created so many fond memories with the people fighting alongside him. Not when he probably wouldn’t have Ink in his life right now if he hadn’t. He still believed what they were doing was right - Gaster shouldn't be king, and even if Error didn’t know him all that well, he knew Dream would be a far better ruler for the city. This was a war that needed to be fought, and while Error wasn't normally one to take a leadership role, he felt he'd done a pretty good job leading his side of the war.
But that was the thing. This was a war now. It wasn't a “this could lead to war” situation anymore, it simply was. Gaster made that clear when he attacked a pharmacy with innocent people inside. The king didn't care enough to keep up an act, he was desperate to stop the rebellion.
On one hand, Error couldn't help but feel proud his group had caused the king so much fear and panic, enough to make him drop his calm, calculating persona.
On the other hand… Error's husband was pregnant. Due any day now. And with Gaster now so reckless, the risk of death had increased tenfold. Not that it wasn't a risk before, but everything felt more real now. Maybe it was because he'd seen Sans almost dust twice, maybe it was because he was going to be a father, and was scared he won't be around for Ink and the twins.
Regardless of the cause, the effect was undeniable: Error was starting to wonder if he wanted any part of this rebellion at all.
He didn't want to give up, not on something so important, so life changing. This was something that would lead directly to the world, or at least BlightView, being a better place for his children to grow up in. But Error also didn't want to have his body crumble to dust before he got to see the twins grow up.
He didn't want to admit it, not aloud, but he knew that if he had to choose between the rebellion and his family, he'd choose his family.
Error grit his teeth, a wave of guilt washing over him. He grabbed the washcloth again, wiping down the smooth wooden countertops, giving his hands something to do as his thoughts tumbled and raged inside his skull.
He knew the thought was selfish. Sure, he wasn't going to outright abandon the rebellion, but the fact that he had thought about ending it, giving leadership over to Cross (he was basically second in command, anyways)... Error didn't know if he liked what that said about his morals.
But was it really so wrong of him to not want to take so many risks when he was going to be a father? Was it wrong of him to prioritise his family?
Then again, the rebellion’s success would lead to all families having better, safer lives. And what example is Error setting for his kids (They’re babies now, but they’ll learn about this shit show when they’re older, and neither Ink nor Error will be able to hide their involvement. Not easily, at least) if he were to abandon what he started? Abandon the people who need help in the city, abandon the people who rely on him?
Error groaned, squeezing the damp cloth in his hand, closing his eyesockets. His skull pounded, a headache forming. He felt like he always had a headache these days, either from lack of sleep or stress.
“Error?”
Eyes snapping open again, Error whirled to face who had called his name - Asgore stared back, his two toned eyes filled with worry behind his glasses frames. His hands (... Paws? Error hadn’t thought too much about what they would be called.) hovered in front of his chest, as if he was questioning on if he should reach out to comfort Error or not. Seeming to catch him staring, Asgore dropped his hands to his sides, and Error felt his shoulders drop with relief. He really didn’t want to be touched right now.
“Asgore, hey. Just finishing up. I’ll be out of your hair in a minute.” That morning, Sans had made breakfast for everyone that would eat it - really, Error was still shocked by how much food Sans had made. And that it had all been eaten. Regardless, eating at the table with the other Dreemurr’s had been… an experience. He and Ink have had supper with the family before, but there was a difference between supper and breakfast. Eating with others in the morning felt more… intimate, in a way. Perhaps because of the pyjamas and bed-head opposed to everything looking put together during dinner. Regardless, it was nice. Another bit of “normal” in the chaos.
After breakfast, everyone had split off to do their own thing, and Error had volunteered to clean up. It took a bit of convincing to get Sans to let him do it, but Error had really just wanted a moment of peace, alone with his thoughts. Ink, thankfully, seemed to pick up that Error wanted a moment to himself, and, with a kiss to the cheek, had disappeared back into the guest room and had continued to set things up for the twins. Meaning organising and sorting clothing, blankets and toys, as Error had already set up the crib and anything else that needed to be preassembled last night after they had gotten home from Redwood. He hadn’t wanted Ink to do that himself and accidentally get hurt.
For the past hour, Error had enjoyed the small kitchen to himself, and besides his thoughts turning against him and creating a crushing sense of guilt, it had been an enjoyable time.
“I was actually hoping I could talk to you?” Error glanced back at the larger monster, watching him for a moment. He seemed tired, eyes dim, body sagging. As if he was carrying a weight that was too heavy for him.
Error stood up straighter, leaning back against the kitchen counters and crossing his arms. He couldn’t help but feel a bit nervous, like a child who had been caught doing something wrong - only he was 27 and his actual father would never have a “talk” with him if he thought Error had done something wrong. “Sure.”
Asgore nodded, clasping his hands in front of himself. “It’s about Chara.” The goat monster lowered his voice, as if the two of them were gossiping, or discussing something private. Error cocked an eyebrow, silently prompting the older man to continue. “She had been working with you all for a while, hasn’t she?”
Error didn’t answer right away, watching Asgore shift his weight to lean against the island, only to immediately change his mind and straighten up again. “Basically since the beginning. I originally didn’t want her to join, but she’s… stubborn, which is putting it lightly.” Asgore nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. Error continued, “It was either let her join and make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid, or tell her to leave and risk her tagging along without us knowing what she’s doing and getting hurt. Wasn’t much of a choice. The few times she joined us for the protests, at the beginning, we paired her up with Sans so she’d be safe. Once things started to get violent, we had her stay back at camp.”
Silence fell over the kitchen, making it feel as if the air itself had spoiled, gone bad. The urge to keep talking, to fill that rotten silence, to defend himself and his decision, wormed its way up Error’s throat, clawing to be let free. The skeleton squeezed his hands into fists, his fingertips pressing into the bones of his palms, creating a dull ache; he focused on that ache in order to keep his jaw shut.
Finally, Asgore spoke, shattering the awful silence - Error momentarily felt as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. “I see…” Asgore paused, and that weight immediately came crashing back onto Error’s shoulders; so strong he felt as if he was going to collapse, or fall through the floorboards, into the dirt. “May… I ask you a favour, Error? Father to father?”
The ebony skeleton’s knee jerk reaction was to point out that he wasn’t a father yet, but he pushed that comment down - considering Ink could go into labour any day now, the title might as well be his. He was a dad; it was something that had, of course, been on his mind since they found out Ink was pregnant, but it wasn’t a concept until now: they were parents. Their kids would be born soon. They’d have kids. The realisation hit him like a truck, and Error’s soul bloomed with warmth in his ribcage, but he kept the joy masked. He was still talking with Agsore, and whatever the goat monster wanted seemed to be serious, so now wasn’t the time to celebrate. He and Ink could share their joy later.
Keeping his expression neutral, Error nodded his skull. “Sure. What is it?”
“I’d like you to kick Chara out of the rebellion.” Error’s eye sockets widened and mouth fell agape before he had a chance to hide his surprise. Of all the things Error expected Asgore to ask, booting Chara hadn’t been one of them. Then again… it did make the most sense, didn’t it? She was still a child, and Asgore had already almost lost one of his sons. Twice. Of course he wouldn’t want her to have anything to do with the rebellion. “I understand that sounds harsh, but…” Asgore’s voice cracked and faded off into silence. He turned his eyes away from Error’s, but the skeleton monster didn’t miss the tears forming at the corners of the older man’s eyes. He briefly wondered what was going on through Asgore’s head.
Fear? Guilt? It wasn’t Error’s place to ask, but if he were in Asgore’s shoes…
He’d be scared shitless.
After the silence hung for another extremely awkward minute, Error cleared his throat, “Why don’t you tell her to quit yourself? Wouldn’t she listen to her father more than just her brother’s friend?”
The old goat shook his head. “Quite the opposite, really. Chara, like many teenagers, doesn’t really like to listen to her father right now.” Asgore let out a humourless chuckle that shifted into a sigh. “But she respects you. I doubt she would tell you that, but I can tell she does.”
Error took a slow breath, unclenching his hands. “Alright. I’ll talk to her sometime.”
Asgore turned to look back at Error, a beat passing as he processed the information, before he moved forward, arms opening to embrace the shorter skeleton in a hug. “Thank you, Error, I-” His words caught in his throat as Error flinched away, dodging the contact. His phalanges trembled. Asgore dropped his hands to his side, taking a step back. “Ah… My apologies. I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry.” Error sucked in a breath and waved Asgore’s apologies off. He didn't know, Error would be fine.
It took a few minutes, but eventually Error had calmed the beating of his soul back to its normal pace. He moved to the island as Asgore busied himself with making a pot of tea, Error agreeing to a cup when Asgore offered him one - perhaps it would help Error ease his nerves. He felt jittery and on edge for a multitude of reasons at this point.
His feelings on the rebellion, the war itself, the twins’ birth on the horizon, talking to Chara, nearly being touched.
Everything felt like it was really piling up, and Error didn’t know how much he could hold before he snapped. And he didn’t really want to find out.
He moved to Asgore’s side to take the offered tea cup, a warm golden liquid in the decorative glass, and broke the silence, “Can I ask something?” Asgore glanced down at him, giving the ebony skeleton a gentle smile and nod. “When do you feel ready to be a dad?”
A beat passed before Asgore chucked, a deep, baritone sound. It was warm though, like the kind of laugh you’d expect someone like Santa Clause to have.
“You’ll never feel ready, my boy. No parent ever does.” The goat monster’s eyes turned to the window about the sink, looking out at the moving crowds of monsters outdoors. “You think you have it all figured out, and then your child will throw you a curveball. But deep down, your soul will know what’s best. Just trust yourself.”
Error frowned, looking down at the golden liquid. Watching it slowly spin within the tea cup, steaming. Trust himself, huh?
Error wasn’t Cyber. He’d grown up trying to be anybody but his father.
He wouldn’t raise his kids like Cyber raised him. His kids will never live in fear, in pain. They’ll never wonder if their father loves them or not.
Error could trust himself to be light years better than Cyber was.
So maybe he could trust himself to be a good father, not just the bare minimum.
After all, he’d do anything for those babies, and they weren’t even here yet.
Anything.
*****
The sky bled reds and oranges as the sun sank down to the horizon, spilling its warm light over the lands. A soft breeze blew, rustling the trees’ leaves and brushing blades of grass against themselves. It was shaping up to be a calm evening, many monster’s milling around the camp, talking amongst themselves in small groups, some drinking and laughing.
Chara grunted as she jumped back, narrowly avoiding the tip of Cross’s sword. She lifted her hand, conjuring a row of small knives in front of her, sending them flying towards the ex-guard. The older man dodged them easily, cutting through one with the sword in his hands - the red magic shattered, sparks flying in their air. Cross flicked his left hand, large purple blades burst from the dirt in front of him, headed straight for Chara. She mentally cursed, jumping and pushing her hands down, bright red magic sparking between her fingers, igniting in a blast that sent her body flying high enough to dodge the oncoming knives.
She tucked into a roll as she landed, springing back to her feet. She panted, narrowing her eyes at Cross, who watched her. Studying her. Chara took a deep breath, shaking out her hands before squeezing them into fists, creating two knives in her hands. Then she charged, pushing off her feet and going straight for Cross. In response, the skeleton squared his shoulders, adjusting his grip on his weapon, steadied himself.
At the last minute, he ducked away from Chara, too fast for her to react before she was tumbling to the dirt, her magic shattering along with her focus. She groaned when she felt the tip of Cross’s blade tap her back.
“Should we take five?”
“Fuck you.” Chara sat up, picking grass off her face and out of her hair; her sweater and shorts were covered in grass and dirt stains. She was breathing hard, adrenalin still coursing through her veins, temple slick with sweat.
“I'll take that as a yes.” Cross snorted, letting his magic weapon disintegrate before moving back to the tree with the burn mark on its bark and Killer sitting cross legged on one of the thicker branches. “Water?”
Killer narrowed his eye sockets, pushing the canvas bag next to him onto the ground. It landed on the ground with a heavy thud. “Water yourself, dick.” Cross cocked an eyebrow, and in response Killer flipped him off, laying down on top of the branch. Chara wondered how he didn’t fall off; then again, he was pretty small, so maybe it made sense that he didn’t.
The ex-guard sighed, rolling his eyelights as he reached down and grabbed the bag, pulling out two reusable water bottles. He tossed one to Chara, who nearly dropped it, before taking a long drink from his own.
The bottle was cold in her hands, the outside wet with perspiration, and she briefly debated pouring some of the water onto herself - god, she felt uncomfortably hot. She hadn't realised how uncomfortable working out in her normal hoodie and clothes would be. She tilted her head back, drinking most of the bottle's contents.
“You lasted about a minute longer that time, you're getting better.” Killer propped his chin up with his hand, the small pinpricks of light in his sockets watching the red haired human. Cross smacked his arm, throwing Killer of balance. He nearly fell to the ground, rocking on the tree branch and his fingers gripped the tree, ripping the bark. “What?!”
“Why are you even here?” Chara snapped before Cross got the chance to say whatever he had wanted to. All Killer had done during this training session was occasionally make snide remarks while lounging on that stupid tree branch. It was really starting to get on her nerves. When she had first seen that Killer was joining her and Cross for this little training session (where she got to spar with Cross for the first time!!), she had been genuinely excited. Killer was an asshole, but he was a cool asshole. Smart in the sort of way that he could sneak into almost any building, could pickpocket almost anyone, and he was strong . Plus, he’d always seemed to be on her side when it came to her being a part of the rebellion. So she had sort of hoped that him being here meant he’d give her some tips as well, but no, instead all he had been was annoying.
“I was bored.” Killer sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the thick tree branch. Chara couldn’t help but think he looked like a pissed off middle schooler. Poor guy really didn’t luck out in the height compartment.
“And Nightmare is doing something with Dream, so he was lonely.” Cross added, tossing his water bottle next to the bag, trying, and failing, to hide an amused grin.
Killer’s face lit up like a christmas tree, his entire skull beet red. He suddenly moved as if to swat at Cross, who moved just in time to avoid being hit. “Shut the fuck up!”
Chara averted her eyes, looking down at the water bottle still in her hands - it was Frisk’s, brightly coloured and covered in little white cartoon dogs. She doubted Cross thought too hard about which bottles he grabbed before they came out, but she was a bit annoyed that she got the kiddy one. She wasn’t a kid.
She also had no interest in either Cross or Killer’s love lives. Whatever they did with Nightmare or Dream or whoever was none of her business, and she liked it that way.
“Anyways, Chara. Killer isn’t totally wrong. You are getting better.” Oh thank god, a new topic. Chara practically sprung to her feet, staring expectantly at Cross. It was as if his feedback was a puddle of water, and she was a traveller that had been wandering a sweltering desert all day. “We need to keep working on your projectiles, they’re still pretty fragile. They’ll get stronger with practice.” Chara licked her lips, nodding - projectiles were harder than she thought they would be. Creating multiple magic weapons floating in the air, making them fly with force, making sure they actually hit her target… It was all a lot to do at once. “We also need to work on your reaction times, you need to be able to bounce back if an enemy does something you don’t expect at the last minute. Being able to adapt is crucial to a fight.” Cross paused, eye sockets narrowing in concentration, staring right at Chara.
She shifted on her feet, uneasy at the sudden silence. Had she done something weird? Finally, Cross spoke again, “Lastly, why haven’t you taken off your sweater? You’re just making things harder for yourself.”
Chara’s chest tightened with anxiety. The only reason she was wearing her normal, heavy sweater and tights under her shorts was because she hadn’t wanted anyone to see the flowers growing out of her skin. She tried everything she could think of to get rid of them; pulling them out with her hands, cutting them with scissors, using tweezers to pull out the root systems they made beneath her skin. She’d even debated trying to burn them, but didn’t like the thought of accidentally burning her arm off so had decided against trying that. Besides, the only lighter in the house was either on Sans or in his room, and he’d never let her have it without a full blown interrogation as to why she wants it. Then the idea came to her while she was lying in bed this morning, mustering up the strength to leave the cozy warmth. The blossoms were obviously made of magic, as they vanished like a magic attack does whenever Chara pulls them out of her flesh, so maybe if she used some magic, she’d be able to rid herself of the stupid flowers for good.
She hadn’t been able to find Cross until after lunch, and by then he’d been doing something with Error - discussing future plans or something, to be honest Chara hadn’t paid any attention to what either was actually saying. The ex-guard had agreed to do some training with her, only he said they’d do it later, since he was busy right then and there.
When later had come, Chara had, perhaps foolishly, assumed that the flowers would fall off instantly after she used a bit of her magic.
Almost two hours, and the flowers were still very much there. Chara could feel them biting at her skin, their roots intertwined with her muscles.
“I’d be wearing these kinda clothes in an actual fight.” It was as good of an excuse as Chara was going to give. It’s not like she could tell either Cross or Killer that she was hiding weird magic-flesh flowers.
Cross stared at her for a minute longer before sighing deeply, running a hand over the top of his skull. “This isn’t… You know what? It’s fine, whatever. If that's what you want to do, I can’t stop you.”
Sighing with relief, Chara’s shoulder’s deflated. Thank god Cross didn’t push it, her brain felt too tired to think of more clever lies. Her relief was short lived, however, when she caught Killer staring at her out of the corner of her eyes. She tilted her head to look at him, and the look the skeleton gave back sent a shiver down her spine. Eyes narrowed, mouth pulled into a straight line, eyelights bright and piercing. It was a look that screamed one thing and one thing only.
He didn’t believe a word of her lie.
She swallowed the lump forming in her throat, turning her head to avoid Killer’s harsh look. Goosebumps pricked up over her skin, sweat beading on her temple for a whole other reason than being a bit warm. “Whatever. Anything else, Cross?” She prompted, kicking up some dirt with the tip of her boot, hoping Cross would give her an easy out of this topic. Silently praying Killer wouldn’t open his stupid mouth and ruin everything.
Cross glanced at her, again doing that weird “studying her” look. He crossed his arms over his chest, and suddenly looked years older than Chara knew he was. It made her uncomfortable. “Yeah, one more thing…” She raised her eyebrows, waiting for him to continue, except that he didn’t. Instead he looked towards the cottage, his phalanges tapping his arms. Like he was troubled by something.
After at least a minute, the ex-guard finally sighed and looked back at Chara. She couldn’t read his eyelight - it was like a storm raged within them, too many emotions clashing against one another, fighting for the spotlight. “Are you really sure you want to do this, Chara? Be a part of this fight?”
Simultaneously, both Killer and Chara blurted out a bewildered “What?!”, causing Cross to hold up his arms in defence. Killer leaned forward on his branch, looking down at Cross. He looked… surprisingly pissed off, which surprised Chara. Why would he care whether or not she was part of the team? “Where the fuck is this coming from? We decided ages ago that she could join despite her age.”
“I’m not saying she shouldn’t work with us.” Cross snapped, shooting a glare back at the smaller skeleton briefly before looking away again, back at the cottage in the distance. Chara felt cold hands clawing at her soul - Didn’t Cross believe in her? Wasn’t that why he was training her in the first place? “I’ve just… had kids on the mind, so-”
“Oh my fucking god.” Killer groaned, dropping his skull into his hands. “You know I was just fucking with you yesterday, I wasn’t actually telling you to knock Dream up!”
“I know that , that wasn’t what I was saying, id-”
“What were you saying then, Cross?” Chara interrupted, balling her hands into fists, taking a step towards the guard. She could feel her heart pound in her chest, her limbs get twitchy, tears prick behind her eyes. But she refused to cry. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that if you were my kid, I wouldn’t want you risking your life in a war.” Cross stated bluntly, narrowing his eyes at the young girl. Chara pretended not to see the worry in his eyelights. “Are you really sure you’re ok with the fact that you could die? This isn’t a game, Chara, people will get hurt, people will die. And you’re… you’re still young. Are you positive you’re ok with risking that?”
“I-”
“She’s already made her choice to join. Her age shouldn’t matter because she’s old enough to understand what the fuck is going on.” Killer snapped, his fingers digging into the trees’ bark again. “If she keeps training, she could be a real help to us.”
“You… both don’t think I’m strong enough to do this.” She wasn’t entirely sure the words actually left her mouth, but both skeleton’s heads whipped around to look at her. “You both think I’m too weak to help.”
“That’s not what we’re saying-” Cross took a step forward, but Chara immediately backed away. Cross paused, staring at her. “We… I’m just worried-”
“Shut up!!” Chara screamed, bright red magic flaring up around her hands. Cross’s eyes widened in surprise, but she barely registered his expression, her vision blurry from unshed tears. She took deep breaths, feeling as if she couldn’t breath, pushing out her words. Her anger. “If you didn’t think I should even be here, why are you doing this?! Why are you training me?! Pity??”
Cross grit his teeth, his jaw tensing. “It wasn’t pity-”
“Fuck you.” She interrupted again - she didn’t want to hear what he said, didn’t want to hear him lie some more. “I thought... I don't know. I thought I was your pupil or something! But in reality I was some dumb kid you felt bad for?!"
“No, Chara, that’s not-”
She didn’t listen to what he had to say. She told herself she didn’t care.
Chara turned on her heel, storming away without looking back, fat tears rolling down her rosy cheeks.
On her arms, she felt the now familiar pinch of more yellow blossoms blooming.
*****
Mettaton pulled his still damp hair out of his face, tying it up into a messy bun on the top of his head. It was really sweet of Papyrus and the other Dreemurr’s to let him use their shower (Thought Mettaton was pretty positive that they were allowing anyone who needed to to use it, Mettaton wasn’t so egotistical to think he was the only one being given that option) but he couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty. It wasn’t his house, and he didn’t want to seem impolite by just making himself at home. He sighed, pushing open the wooden front door of the cabin, a short, red haired girl nearly colliding into him just as he did so - Chara. She looked… distraught, head kept down, hair covering her eyes and most of her face, her arms holding herself tightly, so tightly her knuckles looked pale. He opened his mouth to apologise, but the teen brushed right past him before he could get a word out, not even bothering to look at his face.
The ghost watched Chara disappear into the house, dashing up stairs, and for a moment he questioned if he should follow her. Chara didn’t look… well, to put it lightly, and from what Mettaton had seen, she wasn’t the most friendly, but to not say anything at all to him seemed out of character.
…But, Mettaton didn’t really know Chara. They’d obviously interacted, what with taking an interest in his magic and with her helping himself and Red with getting Sans, Papyrus and Alphys out of the castle, but Mettaton wouldn't say that makes him and Chara - or him and Red, for that matter - good friends. Acquaintances, maybe. But not “follow you to make sure you’re doing ok, and comfort you if you aren’t” kind of friends.
At the most, he was a teammate and her brother’s friend.
With a twinge of guilt, Mettaton turned away from the cottage’s entrance, letting the old wooden door swing closed behind him with a slow creak. It was for the best, he told himself, forcing his legs, which felt weighed down with lead, to walk down the steps of the porch. He really didn’t know Chara, it’d just be weird for him to check up on her. She has her family to fall back on, she’ll be ok.
But family isn’t always around, are they?
Mettaton bit down on his lip, fighting to keep his expression neutral as he passed a group of monsters, remembering why he wanted to spend some time outdoors in the first place.
To think.
Going around the side of the Dreemurr’s house, Mettaton found it was ,thankfully, vacant of other people. He’d noticed that people tended to either stay near the tents, which lay on the west side of the cabin (where the sun sets) or they’d stay wherever the sun was hitting, avoiding the cooler shade. Meaning right then, with the sun inching closer and closer to the earth, the east side of the house was barren.
Sighing, the ghost sunk to the grass, pressing his back to the wooden exterior of the cabin. He knew he should have asked to go to Redwood with the others, not to tag along for the shopping - he didn’t know Ink nor Error well enough to join in on that - but for the ride. Blooky lived so close to Redwood. It’d be a bit of a walk, but Mettaton could have done it. He should have done it.
Long ago, Redwood was a primarily ghost inhabited city. Though calling it a “city” back then was pushing it, it was far more a little village at that time. A village where everyone knew each other and the classes consisted of little more than 10 kids. Mettaton’s entire family lived there as he grew up, and, as far as he knew, continued to live there even after he and his cousin, Napstablook, ran from home and took up resistance in an abandoned shack maybe an hour away from Redwood. The rundown building was nestled up against the mountain, tall fern trees surrounding it like a protective barrier, and one could always hear the sound of running water from the nearby stream through the thin walls.
Mettaton and Blooky lived together for years in that tiny shack, fixing it up into a home, learning how to grow crops and cook magic food (Mettaton, thankfully, had already known a bit about cooking thanks to the lessons his mother had forced upon him growing up, so the biggest hurdle had really been teaching Napstablook). It was a bit lonely at times, sure, but both of them had finally been free to be themselves, and they had each other. Life was good.
Then, one day, years later - Mettaton couldn’t remember how long had passed between the “then” and the “later” but if he had to guess… a hundred? Maybe two? - while Mettaton had been hunting for something the two could call dinner that night, he strayed too far from home, finding his way back to Redwood. The village had changed exponentially since he had lived there, so different he barely recognized it as the same place. The village had more than doubled in size, growing to the city Mettaton was sure it was nowadays, and the small huts had matured into brick houses. New shops had opened up on every street corner, lush vegetable gardens had been replaced with more buildings, with stone roads and sidewalks. And it was crowded , no longer just having a few ghost residents, maybe four different families making up the entirety of the population, minus a few other monsters who had settled in because they had nowhere to go. No, now monsters of all shapes and sizes milled around the streets, carrying bags and boxes from the new shops, wearing fancy clothing and laughing and talking in a language that sounded nothing like the font Mettaton had grown up with. And there were no ghosts, none that Mettaton could see at least.
It was foreign, completely different from what he knew Redwood to be, and he had recoiled away with fear, cloaking himself in magic to hide away from the alien town. But as he had turned to run away again, run back into the shadows, into the woods, into secrecy and safety, he had heard about it.
BlightView. The Big City. The new star city of the continent.
The place nobodies go to become somebodies.
And that city had stuck in his head, taking over his thoughts like moss and fungus on a rotting log. It consumed him. The want to be seen, to be loved… it was all Mettaton could think about for years. It was all he ever wanted. Eventually, he caved to the wants, packing up and promising his cousin to visit once he’d made it big. Napstablook had waved him off with a smile, but even back then Mett had known it was fake, that Blooky didn’t want Mettaton to go. Didn’t want to be alone.
But at that time, Mettaton hadn’t cared.
He learned quickly upon his arrival in Blightview that ghosts weren’t welcome; they weren’t even seen as full people. But Mettaton had been too stubborn to go back to his cousin, to his family, so he’d hidden away in the castle. Dreaming of the days he’d perform on a brightly lit stage dressed in flashy clothing to a cheering crowd. He laid low in the shadows, cloaking his presence. He watched the castle build and grow, he learned english on his own with the thousands of books in the library. He ate whenever he could. He tried to find joy wherever he could, but the loneliness was overwhelming. It was a slow moving disease, killing the host slowly, and Mettaton could feel it chewing away at his soul with every decade that passed.
He could have left, could have gone back home to Napstablook, but after the first few years, the embarrassment of returning with nothing, not a shred of credit to his name…was unbearable.
The question was, which was worse? The loneliness or the shame?
Back then, Mettaton had decided the shame was worse to live with. So he stayed in the shadows of the castle, alone. A literal ghost haunting the expansive halls.
Eventually, he met Alphys. And now here he was.
He hadn’t seen his cousin in… centuries. He didn’t even know if they still lived in that little shack in the woods. But he could have checked, the opportunity had looked him right in the face, had smiled and introduced itself, and Mettaton had blatantly ignored it and looked the other way.
The truth was, he was scared to see Blooky. Scared of what they would think of him after he spent centuries hiding. Centuries of being a nobody. Centuries of avoiding going home, of refusing to find any kind of way to talk to or see Napstablook.
The two had run away to get away from their family.
And then Mettaron had run away from his one true family member, for the idea of fame.
Turns out, he’s really good at running away.
Now, the question is, which is worse? The guilt, or the fear and embarrassment?
Mettaton didn’t know his answer yet.
“You look like you’ve got something on your mind, sweetie.”
Mettaton’s body tensed up, having been so deep in his own thoughts he hadn’t noticed the pale green ghost materialise next to him. He hadn’t even felt her energy grow from being barely noticeable to undeniably there. Humans naturally had more power than monsters, and even though she was… dead, Bethenny’s aura reflected that power difference - it was like a strong perfume, lingering in the air in a thick fog. (Not to say her aura was unpleasant, quite the opposite really.)
“You could say that.” Mettaton rubbed his neck, avoiding eye contact with the spirit. As sweet as Bethenny seemed, Mettaton had no desire to delve into his past with her.
“ Would… you like to talk about it?” Bethenny cocked her head to the side, her long hair falling over her shoulder, framing her round face. Her eyes watched him carefully, a delicate quality to them. She was seated not far from him, her legs folded beneath her, just as she had been the last time Mettaton had seen her.
With a wave of his hand, Mett dismissed the idea, his eyes locking on the grass. For some reason, he felt that if he were to look into Bethenny’s eyes any longer, he’d cave. The green blades of grass rubbed together with each breeze, rustling softly, so softly one could barely hear it. “No, I’m fine. It’s nothing important, anyways.”
“ Ah… I see then .”
Mettaton swallowed, feeling guilt creep along his back. He needed to change the topic, quick. “I just don’t think we should focus so much on myself, is all. Not when you worked in the castle. You said you were Nightmare and Dream’s nanny, right?”
Bethenny blinked, her hands clenching in her lap as her lips curved down in a frown. Mettaton worried for a split second that she would scold him for blatantly avoiding the topic, but her frown, as quick as it had appeared, changed back to a soft smile. “I was, yes. For many years.”
Oh, thank the stars. “What was that like?”
“It was… well, work. But I loved it. I loved those boys.” The spirit’s expression softened, melting into something so wistful and heartbroken, it was hard to look at. “I had always wanted to be a mother, and those two… I cannot say if they saw me as a mother of sorts, but I certainly saw them as if they were my own two sons.” Bethenny’s voice had lowered to a hushed whisper, her voice the very wind blowing through the trees.
“You didn’t have any children of your own?” Bethenny’s eyes met Mettaton’s, and he knew immediately he made a mistake. Her eyes seemed to become hollow, pain and grief filling them like water in an empty jar.
“I… I’d prefer not to dwell on the past, dear, if that’s all right. My time is up, thinking about what ifs and regrets will be of no help to anyone.”
“Of course, I… I didn’t-” Mettaton snapped his jaw shut, hearing a familiar, frail voice call his name. Like a bubble popping, Bethenny vanished from view, leaving no trace of her ever being there in the first place.
He tilted his head up, smiling at Alphys, hoping his expression hid that he was having a secret conversation with a secret spirit that lived… in his soul? He honestly didn’t know how Bethenny was attached to him, and any reason he could come up with felt… unrealistic to him. Then again, talking to a dead woman seemed unrealistic, yet he’d done that twice now. Whatever, all that wasn’t important right now, so Mettaton pushed those thoughts from his head, sweeping them under the metaphorical rug in his head. “Hi, Alphie.”
“H-hi! I’ve b-been looking for you…” The small yellow monster sat down next to him, her scaly tail curling around her body. It was still bruised from her time in the castle but, to Mettaton’s relief, it seemed to be healing well.
It’d been nice to have Alphys back in his life. Mettaton hadn’t fully realised how much he had missed his best - and only, for a long time - friend. The two of them had hugged and cried when they finally got to talk to each other properly again and, thankfully despite the hell Gaster had put her through, Alphys was still Alphys. Perhaps a bit overly cautious and shy, but determined and the smartest person Mettaton had ever met.
She was also the biggest nerd he’d ever met.
“Got tired of cuddling your big, strong girlfriend?” Mettaton smirked as his friend’s yellow face lit up. He leaned back, resting on his elbows, Alphys covering her face with her clawed hands.
“I’ve b-been doing… um, b-been doing more t-than… t-t-that!!”
“Mhm? And what else have you been doing, darling?”
“...Um…”
Mettaton laughed, nudging his smaller friend with his knee. “I’m just teasing, Alph, I’m happy for you and Undyne, you know that.”
The small dinosaur huffed, peeking past her fingers to shoot a half hearted glare at Mettaton. “W-well i-it’s… it’s not like we’re the only ones acting, um, l-lovey dovey!” Mettaton cocked an eyebrow. “I’ve seen h-how you look at Papyrus!”
Oh.
Shit.
The ghost felt his cheeks warm as he sprung back unto a sitting position. “H-hey, we’re just- We’re friends.” Alphys gave him a doubtful look, igniting the fire on his cheeks more. “We are .”
“Mhm?” Now it was Alphys’s turn to look smug, and Mettaton regretted teasing her in the first place (Only slightly though, it was still fun to do.). But the look quickly fell to shock as someone shouted her name.
“ALPHYS?!”
Error. Error?? Why the fuck was Error calling Alph? Why would he be looking for her- oh.
The babies. Mettaton met Alphys’ wide chocolate brown eyes through her round glasses. The babies.
Alphys bolted up, squeezing out a panicked apology before rushing to Error. To Ink. To the twins. Leaving Mettaton alone.
He watched her run off, staying seated.
This… wasn’t something he was a part of. He wasn’t family, he was barely a friend to Ink and Error.
He was back to just being an observer.
Notes:
Hi friends! Sorry for the long wait for this chapter (it'll probably happen again)
I talked a bit about it on Tumblr and discord, but recently I've really struggled with sitting down and writing because I get very in my head about needing to be perfect so I don't disappoint any of you guys. I also graduated highschool in June so life has been a wee bit hectic LMAO
I will try to update more regularly but I make no promises. But!! I have no plans of abandoning DystopianTale!! It's still very much a project I love so you will all get the end of this first arc and an entirely new arc after!(I realised I keep switching between saying arcs and seasons and acts- basically there's two parts to this story, this one, and then the second one which will be in the future <3)
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Chapter 41: ~Chapter 41~
Notes:
For more about DystopianTale and my art projects, you can find me on Instagram or Tumblr
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Babies were small. That wasn't a revolutionary thought, everyone knew that kids started off small. Yet, even with that knowledge, Error still found himself flabbergasted at just how tiny the twins were.
Gradient, Error’s son - his son, god, that made his soul clench in his chest, threatening to choke out a few tears - was swaddled in a soft blanket, nestled in Error’s arms. The baby bone was barely as big as his forearm. Both his and his brother's bones were dark like Error’s own, with their phalanges and select bones (namely their ulna and radius, ribcage, fibula and tibia) were brightly coloured; yellow and a bright green for Gradient, and pink and yellow for Paperjam. The boys also had coloured eye sockets, opposed to the black most skeletons’ had, and, much to Error’s delight, they seemed to have eyelights similar to Ink’s. His husband’s eyelights were far prettier than his own.
Speaking of pretty, the twins also got, to some extent, the same birthmarks as Ink. PJ had the same circle mark on his right cheek, as well as a series of bright coloured pink, yellow, and blue circles that started at the bottom of his left cheek bone and went up to his temple above his left eye socket. Gradient's marks, on the other hand, were reminiscent of the blue stripes on Error’s cheek bones (Which played into his magic abilities, maybe Gradient would inherit similar magic), with two tear-shaped marks surrounded by small reddish-pink, teal and yellow circles under both sockets.
In Error’s arms, Gradient made a quiet noise, his small “nose” crinkling as his face scrunched up in intense concentration. The baby bones wiggled in his blanket cocoon, manoeuvring himself until his skull - his small, small skull…seriously, it was about the same size as Error’s hand - was pressed against Error’s rib cage. Right above his soul. Gradient's expression relaxed again, and he resumed his peaceful sleep.
He had wanted to listen to Error’s soul.
Error felt his breath catch in his throat, his soul stuttered, magic building behind his sockets. His baby. Gradient and Paperjam were brand new to this world, they had no idea what was going on around them, what their parents were involved in. All they knew was Ink, and now Error, and they trusted them with all of their tiny souls. Error doubted the babies knew they trusted him and Ink, it was just innate to them to trust their parents, the souls that made them, but still.
These two needed him and Ink.
Feeling his breath waver, the threat of tears growing stronger by the minute, he turned his gaze away from his son to the doctor and Sans.
Alphys was carefully cleaning up, having already checked Ink and the twins physically - they all seemed fine and healthy, but she still planned to check Ink’s magic levels in the morning to make sure they're back to a normal level, as they'd been rather low after the birth. Error really didn't feel one way or another about Alphys in all honesty, but he'd admit he was grateful to have her around to help with this.
From what Sans had told them, he specialises in souls, and while he knows all about souls and soulings during pregnancy and the birthing process, he didn't know all that much about the physical aspects of giving birth. It was a topic that had come up before Alphys was brought to the camp; Ink and Error were relying solely on Sans to help them with the twins’ birth - a hospital was out of the question at this point because it was far too dangerous. Sans had said he knew enough that he'd be able to get Ink through labour safely, and as much as Error trusted Sans, it was a relief to have another doctor around who knew more about the general process, and the small things he, Ink or Sans may not have thought of or noticed.
Sans, the other and last adult in the room, carefully looked over Ink’s soul; he had looked over the babies already, only looking at their souls opposed to their physical condition and magic levels - which, to check that sort of thing, a small syringe is used to draw a bit of the monster's magic. Neither PJ or Gradient enjoyed the needle, and Error had felt an intense, almost blinding urge to wrap his babies in his arms, protect them from what was making them cry, fight off whatever was scaring them, even though he logically understood that they needed to have their magic checked to ensure they're healthy. Through their bond, Error had felt a similar feeling come from his husband - parental instincts, he would guess.
“Now I can't give super precise measurements without a proper scanner, but the magic levels-” Sans’s eyelights briefly shifted to Alphys as she carefully put away the vials and syringe she had used for her tests. “Soul wise, are a little lower than usual, but that's normal for after labour.” Waving a hand, Sans returned Ink’s soul back to his chests. “So you and the kiddos are good, Ink.”
The smaller monster smiled, pressing PaperJam, bundled in his own blanket, closer to his chest. Error shifted closer to his husband, feeling the relief coming off of him. But it drastically flipped back to concern when Sans continued talking, his relaxed expression hardening to something more serious. “That being said, your condition…” Sans paused, again looking at Alphys, Error following his gaze. The yellow lizard was oblivious to the eyelights on her as she worked in her own world. Sans softly cleared his throat, causing the doctor to jump, her tail curling around her plump frame as genuine fear crossed her face.
“S-sorry… What did you n-need, Sans?” Error noted that Alphys’s claws were shaking as she closed up the small box containing everything from towels and blankets to equipment like syringes and flasks (courtesy of Sans… Error had to wonder when the fuck he had gotten all of the stuff, especially the scientific items.)
Sans winced, a phalange tapping a nervous rhythm on the floral bedsheets. “Would you mind bringing that stuff back up to my room? Red should be there, he can help you find where it goes.”
Alphys nodded her head, picking up the cardboard box. “S-sure, I can do t-t-that…” The yellow monster gave Sans a weak smile, trying, and failing, to hide her nervousness. She shuffled to the door, her claws clicking softly against the wooden floor, but paused before leaving the room. “If, um… if you're worried about a-anything at all, o-or have and q-questions, d-don't hesitate to c-come find me.” Her jittery gaze jumped between the married couple, seemingly waiting for acknowledgment of what she had just said.
“Right. Thanks Doc.” Error nodded, before catching his slip up, clearing his throat and correcting himself: “Dr. Alphys. We, uh… appreciate it.” Ink snickered quietly, the ebony skeleton nudging him with his hip.
The doctor smiled in return at Error, and it was the most genuine smile he'd seen on her thus fair, not counting all the times she was looking at Undyne and Undyne alone. (The small lizard had it bad for the ex-guard, and it again made Error wonder if his feelings were also that obvious to others.) She then turned and hurried out of the door, the door nearly shutting on her tail.
Sans sighed, a beat of silence passing. An old clock placed on the dresser, which had paint peeling in a few spots, ticked endlessly, the twins breathed softly in their slumber, and, muffled through the walls, there was the steady drone of voices and conversations from elsewhere in the cottage. Finally, Sans continued what he had begun saying: “Your condition. When I was looking at the twins’ souls, they didn't seem to have anything like it.” Ink's face lit up, his left eye rapidly changing from an exclamation mark, to a squiggle, then to a heart, but Sans raised a hand to stop him before he could speak. “ But it's too early to say for certain that they won't develop it. I've been looking into the condition, Ink, and it's… I mean, I doubt you need to hear it from me, but it's really rare. So rare basically nothing is known and it's mostly theories. And a guy can only do so much with theories.”
Error lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, next to his husband, and Ink immediately leaned his head against Error’s shoulder. “So, what do you want to do?”
“I want to keep close tabs on the kiddos' souls for the first few years of their lives, make sure nothing changes. And I want to keep an eye on your soul, Ink.” Ink nodded slowly, Error feeling a hint of the small skeleton’s anxiety, but there was, strangely, a calm to it. Ink had needed regular doctor check ups all his life, so when it came to his soul, he wasn't necessarily uncomfortable with the idea of himself needing checkups. The twins on the other hand… Well, they were both worried about their kids being unwell or having a hard time growing up. They both knew how Ink’s condition had affected him negatively growing up. “For a few reasons, really. I want to make sure nothing about your own case changes, as well as to make sure your new medication isn't messing with anything after the birth. And you know, we need to make sure it still works. And, lastly, I just want to make sure there are no complications, and the symptoms of those can sometimes take a bit of time to manifest.”
Error felt Ink tense up beside him, a shot of pain briefly flaring in the small monster’s soul - his mother, Winter Agate, passed because of a complication at birth. Ink quickly looked down, composing himself, before nodding. “Of course. That makes sense…”
“If you want, I can hook you up with a licensed doctor for these checkups, and uh, for future needs. I haven't talked to them in a few years, but I can get in touch with some old Uni friends-”
“No, no, you don't need to do that.” Ink cut Sans off, his voice cracking. Ink flushed, clearing his throat before leaning forward. He shifted his hold on PaperJam, holding their baby with one arm, and using the other to pat one of Sans’s hands. A faint ring could be seen on the bones of Sans’ palm - had that always been there? Error didn't think so, but he’d never paid that much attention to his friends’ hands before. “I feel most comfortable with you. I've had doctors looking at me all my life, and you're the second one to make me feel like… an actual monster, not a test subject. And I can't really see my old doctor right now because of the war…”
“And we trust you around the twins, so of course we’d want you to check on them, Sans.” Ink looked up at Error, smiling softly, nuzzling his skull against the talker skeleton’s shoulder.
Sans blinked, processing, before his smile went lopsided. That was a new one, Error noted. Sans was (almost) always smiling, though he had so many different smiles, it was possible to learn them all and dissect the emotions Sans was trying to hide. Error wasn't quite there yet, but he was getting progressively better at reading Sans. Ink, on the other hand, could read Error like an open book, but more or less struggles with anyone else's more subtle expressions.
“‘Course. And I'm happy to help out.” Sans rubbed his hands together, seeming to zone out for a moment. Error guessed he was listening to “G”, and annoyance clawed at his throat. Not so at Sans, but the spirit; Error didn't know what to think of him, but he wasn't a huge fan of a stranger living in his friend's head and seeing this vulnerability. It wasn't for G to see, Error didn't want him to know all about him.
Ink, seemingly thinking along the same lines, piped up with a question, snapping Sans out of his trance. “Is he here?”
“Who? G?” Ink nodded. Sans made a seesawing motion with his hand. “Sort of. He can like… uh. Hide out in the back of my mind and he isn't really present. Think he can still hear my thoughts, but he hasn't really explained it that deeply.” He paused before sheepishly adding: “Sorry, he had something to say, but it wasn't about, uh, you know. You guys. I didn't mean to zone out on you, though.”
Waving off the apology, Ink bit back a yawn, and Error felt his soul softly ache with the need to scoop Ink into his arms, cradling him and their babies safely against him until Ink dozed off.
Sans’s expression softened, a chuckle leaving him. “I should give you guys some alone time, anyways.” He rocked back on his heels, putting his hands in his back pockets. “Spend some alone time together with the kiddos, you guys deserve it after everything. And you both need to rest, you look-”
Error felt his lip twitch as he fought down an amused smile. “Don't say it.”
“-...bone tired.” A shit eating grin spread along Sans’s skull, fueled by the giggle that escaped Ink.
“You better not teach PJ and Gradient those jokes.” Error shot a glare at his friend, though there was no malice behind it. It was… really nice to be able to mess around with a friend, with family, as if nothing serious was going on around them. Error supposed that was another thing that made him feel not so great about continuing the revolution. The war.
Sans snorted, wiggling his eyebrows. “Oh, I'm going to make sure they know all of the worst puns imaginable.” The skeleton’s eyelights dropped down to the little babies, something crossing his features - nostalgia, Error would say. For when Papyrus was little, maybe, or when Frisk was a baby. “Seriously, though, after that, you should rest. Especially you, Ink.”
The small skeleton waved a hand, pouting. “I know, I know, we will. …Thank you, Sans. For everything.”
“Don't mention it. I'm happy to help you guys and the kiddos. Anyways, call if you need anything. Alph and I will be around, and dad can always help too.”
Both skeletons thanked Sans again before he left the room, the door closing and leaving Ink and Error alone, for the first time, with their sons.
The silence that filled the room was comfortable. Light, comforting in a way. Ink leaned against Error’s side, and the larger skeleton rested his skull on top of his husband’s, the two of them simply watching their twins and appreciating the other's presence.
“Mom would have loved them.” Ink’s soft voice didn't so much as break the silence, but simply push it aside. Like drawing a curtain and letting in sunlight.
“She would have.” Error kissed Ink’s forehead - Ink’s mother, Winter Agate, had been a sweet woman, Ink having most certainly gotten his kindness and optimism from his mother, as well as her stubbornness. She had also allowed Error to practically live with her and her son for his late teen years, and for that (and other things, really), Error felt he'd always feel a sort of gratitude to her. Sadly, she passed years ago. “She would have been proud of you, you know.”
“I know.” Ink's hushed voice cracked, sniffling and wiping his eyes. “She would have been proud of you too, Erry.”
Error opened his mouth but quickly shut it - Winter had a soft spot for Error back then, and not just in the “your my son’s best friend and crush” sort of way. To this day, he wondered what she saw in him to make her care, as whatever it was his own parents had obviously never seen, but even so, it felt disrespectful to question Winter’s emotions when she wasn't around to clarify.
A yawn left Ink, his face scrunching up - god, the twins had his yawn , Error hadn't even realised that was possible - and looked up at Error. “I think Sans was right, we should sleep.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I'm tired. And I want to cuddle my lovely husband.” Error chuckled softly, his soul fluttering in a way it always did for Ink, no matter how long they'd been together.
“That sounds pretty damn good right about now.” Ink laughed softly, placing a hand on Error’s arm as he pressed gentle kisses on their babies’ foreheads. Gradient let out a quiet coo, lifting his skull as much as he could and, clumsily, nuzzled his mother.
Error felt his soul skip a beat, unable to stop a soft smile from forming in his face. He'd never realised someone could love another being this much. The small babies, barely a few hours old, had already captured his entire soul, consuming him with love and warmth, a love he'd never felt before. It was parental, protective and all encompassing.
The question of why his parents never felt this way for him briefly crossed his mind, but he quickly pushed it down, standing and moving the twins to their crib. There was no reason for Error to think of his parents, he was past that. They would never be in his life again, and they'd certainly never be in his childrens' life.
They'd be safe. He'd make sure of that.
Once the twins were situated, Error changed into something more comfortable, and helped Ink do the same. In proper sleep wear, he shut off the bedroom lights and slipped beneath the bed quilts next to his husband. He wrapped his arms around Ink, smiling to himself as the other man tucked his head under Error’s chin. Aside from being acutely aware of every noise that came from the crib - an experience Ink was going through as well, if the slight hint of alertness in his soul was anything to go by - Error felt truly at peace for the first time in a long while.
Earlier that day, he had played with the idea of talking to Ink about how he was questioning his continued his role as leader of the rebels; his hope was that his husband, the more people orientated of the two of them, would be able to give him some advice to either quell those thoughts or validate them, but after the birth…
There wasn't anything Error wanted to do less.
Error closed his eye sockets, breathing in, the smell of citrus shampoo and rich, dark chocolate filling his senses. Right now, the revolution didn't have to exist. It can just be him, Ink, and their kids for a few hours. They can just be a family right now.
They deserved a few hours of normalcy to feel happy and carefree for a few hours, after all.
Their babies, their sweet PaperJam and Gradient, were finally here, safe, healthy and happy.
The outside world and problems can wait.
*****
You can come out now .
With the guest room door shut, Sans gave G the go ahead to be more present, feeling the air around him physically shift as G… well, Sans didn't know exactly what he did. Come out of hiding?
All Sans knew was that when G wasn’t present, hiding somewhere in his mind, he felt like he used to, albeit with a small amount of pressure in the back of his skull. However, when G became present, Sans could feel his presence, as if he were just a normal monster in the room with him.
“ Is your friend well? ”
The question was asked purely out of obligation; Sans knew G already knew the answer to that, and G knew Sans knew. From what he had told Sans, G couldn’t see Sans’s memories nor see the world through his eyes (Or… eye sockets, to be accurate.), even while he was hiding in Sans’s mind. However, he could still hear Sans’s thoughts, even if he tries not to.
He is, the twins are too.
“ That is good news. ” Sans hummed in response, giving his father a small wave as he passed the living room, where Asgore was reading while Frisk slept curled up in the goat monster’s lap. Going upstairs, Sans frowned to himself - Asgore looked more stressed than usual. What was that about? Sans guessed it could have something to do with the fact that three out of his four children are involved in a war right now.
“ It is most certainly that, my boy. ”
Sans sucked in a breath. “Yeah, I know. Can you not respond to thoughts that aren’t directed at you?” He mumbled the words under his breath, knowing G will hear him regardless of how quiet he is.
“ It's rather difficult to do that, when I can hear everything. Speaking of, you should really talk to Red about those ideas of yours .” Sans felt his skull rapidly heat up, quickly ducking into his room and shutting the door, as if others could hear G speak. “ If those are things you really want, it wouldn't hurt to discuss- ”
“G. Please. Please shut up.”
“ I was simply offering advice .”
“I don't need advice on that.” The skeleton grumbled, moving over to his desk. He carefully began to shuffle papers, cleaning up what was left of his notes from making Ink’s medicine, having made a neat, official looking paper earlier with the formula, dosage and all other needed information carefully printed on it and stored in a safe place. He would keep these notes as well, he'd always felt weird about throwing out work, but there was no reason to let them keep cluttering his desk. Besides, there was something else he needed to work on now.
G hummed, the sound like a small motor being turned on inside his skull. “ You could have fooled me. Your communication skills are painfully lacking. ”
Sans sputtered, nearly dropping his new stack of papers onto the floor. “Are you serious right now?!”
“ Very. ”
“I'm getting better at talking. It's a process.” Sans mumbled, kneeling down in front of his closest and pulling it open. Cardboard boxes filled the bottom of the wooden wardrobe, Sans grabbing the one nearest to him and pulling it out. The words “Textbooks” were written sloppily on the side. He frowned and set it aside, grabbing and looking at the other boxes. “Where is this coming from anyways?”
“ I'm trying to be friendly. ”
“By calling me out on private thoughts and telling me I'm shit at communication?” Prying open the cardboard box, Sans rifled through the different accordion binders until he found one with an open section.
“ I was just trying to offer advice. You're bad at communication because it scares you, no? If you had let me finish earlier, I was trying to tell you that I very much doubt Red would be upset if you told him you wished to… well. Bone him. ”
Sans froze in the middle of tucking his written notes into the folder, staring into thin air as if he could actually see G. “...Was that a pun?”
“ Perhaps. Is that really all you're taking from what I just said? ” G sounded exasperated, like a father or a teacher who had just explained something extremely important to a child, only for that child to not retain any information.
“It’s all I'm choosing to acknowledge.” G sighed, and Sans began the process of getting his boxes back into his closet. “And we're not talking about this. Sorry, G, but if I wanted, uh, sex advice, I'd talk to a friend I'm closer with.” Sans could practically feel G’s itch to say something, as if it were his own, but he barreled forward without stopping: “Anyways, there's something more important to talk about.”
“ And that is? ”
“Getting you out of my damn head.” Standing up, Sans wiped his hands on his jeans, scanning his room. Even with his desk now clear and the boxes back where they belong in his closet, his room was still somewhat a mess. Books still lay around the bookshelf next to the door, the bed was unmade, and here and there lay an article of discarded clothing (some of it wasn't even his, it was Red’s.). But it was good enough for now.
G had gone quiet inside his skull, and Sans bit back a bit of disappointment. He'd kind of hoped for some kind of reaction. “You can't stay up there forever, you know, so we should start looking into how to get you out.”
“ It is not that simple, my bo- Sans. I am not from this universe originally. I am not meant to be here. I am not meant to be anywhere, I ceased to exist in my world. The only reason I can reside here is because I am anchored to you and your innate connection to the void. ”
“Aren't you overestimating my ‘connection’ a bit?” Sans mumbled, grasping one of the many unfinished notebooks on his desk and flipping to a blank page, marking it with a sticky note with the simple label of “G”.
“ I absolutely am not. The fact that you can not only travel using the Void, but can summon creatures from there, means your connection is extremely strong. It makes sense, given… ” G trailed off, causing Sans to frown, looking over his shoulder before remembering that G couldn't be seen - He kept doing that without thinking, looking around as if G was just another person in the room.
“Given what?” He turned back to his notebook, jotting down the things he knew, or assumed to be true: that G wasn't from here, he had some connection to the Void himself, he was attached to Sans's soul, and he was some kind of spirit of ghost. Scratching his temple with his pen's cap, Sans’s eyebrows drew together, his mouth forming a thin line of teeth. Was that really all he had to work with?
“ Nevermind. It's unimportant . ”
“If it's going to help with this-” Sans gestured to the somewhat pathetic list in front of him. “Then it's important. Come on, I need some help here.”
“ It's pointless to even try, Sans. ” Sans flinched as G suddenly snapped, his Font sharp in a way that made the inside of Sans’s skull physically hurt. Like his words were physical, made of millions of razor blades all being thrown at him.
“You don't even want to try?” Sans rubbed his temple, his skull pounding. He understood being cautious; G was attached to Sans’s soul right now, like a parasit, or even a souling, living off of his magic. Specifically Sans “Void” magic, which… Sans didn't have time to dissect that right now. Regardless, detaching G from Sans when their two beings were so entangled could be extremely dangerous. If either of their souls were split in the process, they could dust, or grow deathly ill. But Sans knew souls. He knew his soul. With enough time he'd be able to pinpoint where G’s soul lay within his own.
“ Watch yourself, Sans. Being cocky will get us nowhere .”
“I'm not being cocky, I'm being confident. And you didn't answer my question.”
“ Just because you were able to create something to help your friend does not mean you can solve this . ”
Sans groaned, the pain behind his eye sockets growing, like a drum beating faster and faster. “Fuck’s sake… Why are you so against me trying to help you?! Help us?! I don't want you living in my head for the rest of my life! I can't do that!”
“ My problem lies with your insistence on saving me. You cannot. I no longer exist. You must come to terms with that, and if you wish to rid of me them you must- ”
Sans stood up abruptly, his soul lurching, his left eyelight burning with anger. “Don't you say it.”
He could feel G’s hesitation hang in the air like storm clouds threatening a storm. G’s resolution was like the first crack of thunder: “ You must kill me .”
“I am NOT going to kill you!! God damn it, G, just let me try! There has to be another way!”
“ I cannot even exist in my home world, what makes you believe that I would be able to reside here?! ” Sans flinched back, the air suddenly feeling heavier, the shadows that hung in the corners of Sans’s room and under his desk grew and appeared to be drawn to the space in front of Sans. It was as if they were forming something, and if Sans unfocused his eyes he could just barely make it out, like a mirage.
A tall, lanky skeleton in a dark lab coat, his skull cracked above and below his two eye sockets, the entire figure seeming to melt and give under his own weight.
“ I have watched many Sanses attempt to bring myself or another version of myself back from the Void. None have succeeded. You will not be any different and I will not watch you tear yourself apart attempting to do the impossible .”
Sans’s breath was stuck in his throat, eyes transfixed on the hazy, twisting form in front of his eyes. He'd seen G out of the corner of his eye before, but this…
He looked like…
“Uh… Sans?”
Sans’s eyes snapped to the doorway of his room, where Red stood, holding the doorknob, eyelight worried. In an instant, the darkness, the growing shadows, it all vanished, the room returning to its normal state, and when Sans looked back to where the hazy figure had been, he found it had vanished as well. He bit back the bitter taste of disappointment that he hadn't been able to clearly, finally, see what G looked like.
“Sans?”
“Sorry.” Looking away from the space in front of him, which, despite G being gone (He’d also receded back into Sans’s mind), the spot still seemed to radiate… something. Sans couldn't put his finger on it, but it made him deeply uncomfortable in a way that chilled his bones and made his soul tense with an instinctual fear. Meeting Red’s eyelight, that uncomfortable feeling melted into guilt, seeing the concern reflecting back at him. “I'm sorry. I'm fine. G and I… had a disagreement.”
Red scratched his cheek, the tips of his phalanges getting worryingly close to his empty eye socket, and stepped further into the room. The door swung shut behind him, closing with a soft click , enclosing the two monsters alone in the room. As alone as they could get with G around, at least.. "I feel like I’m always walking in on you two fighting.” Red laughed, but there was no amusement behind it.
“Yeah…” Sans groaned, sitting on the edge of his bed, letting his skull fall into his hand. The headache was back with full force - Sans really needed to find a way to deal with this. He was sick and tired of his head always hurting. “Sorry. I doubt it's fun to find your boyfriend yelling at thin air.”
“I don't think you're crazy, if that's what you're implying.” Red said, his soft tone and accent making Sans’s chest warm, his soul lit on fire. Red sat down next to Sans, far enough that they weren't touching in any way, and that fire in Sans’s chest was immediately doused with a cold bucket of water.
Red had been avoiding touching Sans ever since he'd woken up, only ever holding his hand, anything more was brief and rare nowadays. When Red did touch him for longer, or in a more intimate way, he always recoiled, like he'd been burnt. Any kisses were quick, and while Sans could deal with Red not wanting to make out all the time, it was hard not to feel like he simply didn't want to kiss Sans in general.
At first, Sans had brushed it off as Red being nervous after Sans had almost died again, and he'd been sympathetic. If their roles were reversed, Sans knew he'd be scared too. But the longer it went on, with nothing changing, was starting to frustrate him. And it hurt. He wanted Red to touch him - hell, he wanted to touch Red. He wanted to cuddle, and kiss, and do stupid relationship stuff Sans had been scared of before.
Sans really cared about Red, he felt safer and happier dating him than he had in any of his past relationships. And before Sans’s “incidents”, Red was plenty touchy, so he knew Red was ok with touch, that he liked it too. So the switch up hurt more than Sans wanted to admit, and he had no idea how to bring it up to Red without seeming insensitive or pushy.
“What was it this time?”
Snapping out of his thoughts, Sans tilted his head to look at Red, his gaze sliding to his hand. So close. It'd be so easy for Sans to reach out, intertwine their fingers. “I want to get him out of my head without killing him, and he doesn't think that's possible. So he's being a dick about it.” Sans paused, waiting for G’s snarky response. Radio silence. Biting back the bitter taste of disappointment, Sans cleared his throat. “Anyways, uh, I don't know how to get him out of my skull yet, but it has to be possible, right?”
“...Right.”
Red leaned back, Sans’s eyelights snapping up to his skull. His eyebrows were drawn, jaw tense, eye light flickering. “What is it?” His gaze shifted to look at Sans, his mouth opening before he closed it again. Averted his gaze. Sans sat up, feeling his insides roll around, like they were unfortunate passengers on a terrible roller coaster. “Red, come on.”
“I mean… Do we know for sure it is possible?” Sans tensed, and Red, sensing his frustration, raised his hands in defence. “I'm not saying you don't know your shit, babe, but… what if G’s right about this? I don't… want you killing yourself over this.” Red reached over, placing a hand on top of Sans’s, leaning closer to him.
Sans felt his soul beat faster in his chest, his annoyance melting. “I won't. You're right, I know souls. I know my limit.” When Red’s expression didn't soften, Sans raised a hand to cup his cheek, gently rubbing Red’s cheekbone with his thumb. “Look, you don't need to worry about me, I promise I won't do anything that’ll put my health on the line. And I don't make promises for just anyone.”
The corner of Red’s lip twitched and he broke, his deep chuckle reverberating in Sans’s bones. “I'm special enough to get a Sans promise then, huh?”
“There's no- body I'd rather make a promise to.” Sans grinned, shifting his weight to lean forward at the exact same time Red pulled back. Sans felt his body go cold when Red moved away, a deep ache forming in his chest.
“What an hon-”
“Why do you keep doing that?”
Sans snapped his jaw shut, staring at Red, who looked like he'd just been slapped. The shorter skeleton felt a nervous sweat break out on the back of his neck, his throat going dry. Fuck. He didn't mean to just blurt that out.
“Doing… what?” Red shifted, Sans not used to seeing him so nervous, so uncomfortable. His hands were clenched into fists on the bed sheets, and Sans regretted ever feeling frustrated at him in the first place. He knew Red was doing his best, that he was dealing with almost losing Sans twice, they were both dealing with the fact that Sans had an invisible houseguest camping out in his skull. Things were more than a little tough right now, and Sans wasn't a stranger to struggling with touch in relationships, so he shouldn't be upset. It wasn't fair .
Fuck fuck fuck fuck-
“ Calm yourself, Sans. I told you, just be honest. ”
G!
“ I'm not sticking around, I have no interest in this conversation and would rather not hear all of it if I do not have to. But just talk to him. ”
Sans swallowed, feeling G’s presence recede once again, becoming little more than a faint suggestion of a person at the back of his skull. He looked down at his feet, his breath catching in his throat. “You don't…” Fuck, he was shaking. Keep it together, Sans! You need to do this. You can do this. Red cares. He won't get upset. He won't leave.
He won't leave .
Sans took a deep breath, squeezing his hands, focusing on the pressure opposed to the mounting hurricane of anxiety building in his rib cage. “I've noticed that you've been, uh, not… physically affectionate. And I know things have been tough, and scary, and all that but… I can't help but feel like you don't want to touch me anymore. …At all.” Sans closed his eye sockets, breath becoming shaky despite his efforts to stay calm.
Sans had dated before. Red was the first person Sans felt this serious about, but he wasn’t the first person Sans had thought about getting more physical with, nor was he the first one Sans had ever gone steady with. Sans always had a fear of being vulnerable and letting people in, but when he was younger he had made more of an effort to not let that stop him from at least trying to make connections. But he was always met with the same distaste for being too much, for wearing on people’s patience, for his ectobody. Eventually, after enough people feel disgusted by you, you learn to keep things hidden. It's better to put all your shit in a box and tuck it away than be looked at with pity or animosity.
But Red had always felt safe, and through everything he’d stayed with Sans. He'd never given Sans that look, even when he learned Sans wasn’t a real monster. That his real father was Gaster .
The real reason Red not touching him upset Sans so much was because it scared him to think that Red might look at him the same way people in the past have.
Something brushed against his cheek, startling Sans out of his slowly spiralling mind. His skull snapped up, eyelights little more than pinpricks in his sockets. Fear clutched his soul, squeezing the magic out of Sans, wringing him dry and empty. He waited for the moment when Red would turn around and walk out forever, he waited for him to start grabbing his belongings, waited for anger, the hurt.
And he waited.
Instead, Red’s pointed phalanges grazed against his cheek bone, soft as a feather, moving down to Sans’s chin. He swallowed around the building lump in his throat, meeting Red’s eyelight as the taller monster guided Sans’s chin upwards.
No anger. No pity. Red’s eyelight was still soft and gentle. His eyebrows were creased with worry and his mouth pulled down into a frown that made Sans ache with need to do something to make Red smile again.
“I'm sorry.” Red’s hand fell from Sans’s cheek as he pulled Sans to his chest, squeezing him in a hug. Sans’s soul lurched in his chest, the tears from before finally slipping past his defences and rolling down his cheeks, soaking into the fabric of Red’s shirt. “I… I knew I was being shitty, I just… didn't know how much I was hurting you. I'm sorry, Sans.”
Sans sniffled, breaking out of his stunned state and raising her hands to hug Red back, holding the taller man tightly, scared he would vanish. “It's not that I don't want to touch you, and hold you, and love you.” Red continued, nuzzling his skull against Sans’s, the action muffling his already quiet voice. Pressed against his chest like this, Sans could feel every little vibration from Red’s voice. “After… I almost lost you, twice, I got scared I'd hurt you, and really lose you. I know that's shitty, and I know you aren't fragile, Sans, but it… I can't lose you .” Sans’s soul hiccuped, stuttering in his rib cage, as Red slowly pulled back, holding Sans’s shoulders. A hope so powerful it hurt filled his chest as he met Red’s eyelight, a hope for something Sans always assumed he couldn't have. A hope that had a dark shadow of dread. “I love you. So fucking much, it scares me. This… we're still new, we're still figuring this out, but my god, Sans. I love you.”
Sans felt his chest constrict, a burst of joy and trepidation going off inside him, burning his insides. The words - four easy words - sat at the back of his throat, refusing to let go and tumble into the air. I love you too. Red was looking at him, waiting, his hold on Sans gentle yet he desperately wished Red would pull Sans back against his chest. Just to avoid his gaze. His loving, caring, waiting gaze.
He knew he loved Red. Sans could admit that to himself, but the problem was saying it out loud . Being vulnerable enough to unbox that part of himself and allow himself to openly love someone. Sans was better, or he was supposed to be better at the very least, yet here he was, those loaded words hanging between him and Red.
After a minute of silence, Red cleared his throat. “You… don't have to say it back, babe, it's fine.” His smile went lopsided and he pressed a kiss to Sans’s temple, but Sans could practically feel this disappointment dripping off of his boyfriend. Yet he was trying to hide it, for Sans’s sake.
Oh, god, Sans was a terrible person.
“I want to.” Sans pulled Red’s hands down and squeezed them. He felt sweaty, nervous and jittery in a way he hadn't felt in a while - a deep seeded fear, planted when he was little more than a baby bones, of doing something wrong and being locked away, alone, as punishment. “I want to.” Sans repeated, as if saying it twice would make it less pathetic.
“Sans, it’s fine, really-”
“No, it's not. I'm sorry, I really… I want to …” Sans’s words faded off, his body slumping against Red’s chest. The taller man wrapped his arms around Sans, directing him back to the bed at the center of the room.
“If you're not ready, you're not ready. That's ok , I'm not mad. We're not in any rush.”
“But… Red, I really… I really care about you too, I promise, I… if I could…” Sans grasped for the words, reaching and grabbing blindly in the dark for some way to explain why those words were escaping him.
But how can he without going into depth about his past, failed, relationships? Without explaining that most people got sick of him after a while, that, if they don't, they got scared off once he started opening up about his depression? Without talking about how anyone Sans had gotten close to sleeping with, or had slept with all had negative things to say about his ecto? Without telling Red about all the shit Gaster did to him, the shit that Sans could actually remember, to punish him for being a disappointment, a mistake. A failed experiment.
How could he explain to Red that he truly believed he was faulty, that he wasn't worth it, without telling him about all the times people have shown him that was true?
Red shushed him gently, cupping Sans’s skull in his hands. “You're not ready. Don't force it. I can wait.” Red’s lips curved up into a smile that Sans wanted to believe was genuine.
“Alright…” It was best not to keep pushing it, though Sans still felt guilt eating at him. Who was he to complain that Red hadn't been touching him when he can't even say a few words?
A few words.
A few words that meant everything.
Words that Red had said with ease.
Sans grit his teeth, grabbing that thought and violently stuffing it into a box and tossing it to the back of his mind. They were different people, he reminded himself. Red said it was ok. Sans had to trust him, he couldn't second guess every little thing others say to him or he'd drive himself crazy.
It was ok.
“Come on, it's getting late. Why don't we relax?” Red smiles at Sans, gently pulling him onto the unmade bed. He was being so soft, so gentle, yet Sans could still feel the hurt coming off of him. Or maybe his brain was making that up, he couldn't tell. Regardless, another wave of guilt settled over him.
Still, he smiled back, laying next to the larger skeleton, doing his best to push aside those thoughts. He was good at repressing feelings. He's done it for most of his life.
Feeling Red’s arms wrap around him, like a safe cocoon, Sans pressed his face against his chest, breathing in the smell of campfire smoke. Red said he would wait, he reminded himself. Sans just needed a little longer to work things out in his skull.
It was ok.
He wondered how many times he had to say that to himself before he believed it.
Notes:
Sorry (again) for the long wait!! I started uni classes so uh,,, I’m busy. You all know the drill, join the discord or follow my tumblr or instagram to see more of me/get more updates on DT chapters <3
ANYWAYS I hope you all liked this chapter!! A nice helping of fluff with a small topping of angst hehe. Truthfully I planned for more angst but this chapter was starting to get long so,,, you’ll just have to wait for the next chapter for that >:)Join the DystopianTale Discord
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Chapter 42: ~Chapter 42~
Notes:
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(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Letting out a slow breath between his teeth, Cross closed his eye sockets, the darkening sky and stars disappearing behind his eyelids. The grass beneath him uncomfortably poked at his bones through his clothing, but feeling it against his cheeks, gently swaying in the breeze, was almost meditative. He slowly spun the glass bottle in his hand, feeling the weight shift as the alcohol sloshed around inside it’s glass prison. He could hear Undyne and Papyrus talking next to him, something about a new recipe Paps wanted to try out. Something Mettaton had told him about.
This was… nice, peaceful even. A break from everything going on. Or at least it was, until…
“Why am I here?”
Cross opened an eye socket, biting back a groan as he tilted his head enough to look at Killer, who sat across from him. “I asked if you wanted to come, and you said yes.” He nodded his skull to the beer bottle in Killer’s hand. “I assume it's the mix of free booze and not knowing what else to do because Nightmare is with Dream that got you to come.”
“I have things to do other than hang out with Night.” The short skeleton snapped, taking a swig from the bottle, his eye sockets narrowed at Cross.
“Like what?”
“...”
Cross propped himself up on his elbows, cocking an eyebrow. “Well?” He prompted, earning himself a middle finger from Killer. “Really proving my point here, Killer.”
“Fuck you!” Cross snorted, amused as Killer turned his head, looking away at the woods in the distance, very nearly pouting.
“...Well, I thought we were bonding!” Papyrus pipped in, leaning forward to catch Killer’s eyes, who had been doing everything in his power to avoid looking at either Papyrus or Undyne up until that point. “Since you’re such good friends with Cross already, I was excited to get to know you myself, Killer!”
“We're not friends.” Both men spoke at the same time. They were very specifically not friends.
Obviously.
Undyne barked out a laugh, clapping Cross on the back as he fully sat up, hard enough that he had to wonder if it was going to bruise. He hoped not, the last thing he needed right now was to be sore and unable to move like he usually can, “Suuuure, whatever you tell yourself to sleep at night!”
“We’re not friends.” Cross repeated, batting away Undyne’s hand.
Undyne frowned, but her face quickly lit up again, a dangerous grin spreading on her lips. She leaned forward, hands on the knees of her crossed legs. “You're right, my mistake. You two are future brother-in-laws! ”
Killer mimicking gagging before tilting back his head, downing the rest of his drink. “That's making a lot of assumptions.” He grumbled, dropping his now empty bottle onto the ground, Cross watched it fall, his pulse spiking when it made contact with the dirt. He looked away when it didn't break, only rolling a few inches before stopping. “We don't know if any of either of us are getting married.”
Undyne raised an eyebrow, tilting her head to look at Cross, red hair falling over her shoulder. Even though the evening was chilly with the soft breeze, she was just wearing a sports bra and sweats, her torso still bandaged up. At least her wounds weren't bleeding through them anymore. “Aren't you and Dream engaged?”
“No. Well, not really. Kind of.”
“What kind of fucking answer is that ?” Killer barked a laugh, shaking his head. The other guards turned their heads to look at him, the short skeleton’s shoulder’s visibly tensing at all the attention on him. But Cross paid little attention to that, the annoyance crawling up his throat taking most of his attention. He better not say what Cross thinks he’s about to say…
“You were talking like you had already gotten him pregnant earlier today. You're obviously going to get married and do all that stupid…couple shit, or whatever.” Killer leaned back, tilting his skull to the sky, his hood falling down in the process. Cross had the sudden urge to look away, as if Killer’s bare head was somehow scandalous to see. But that feeling was easily overpowered by the announce clawing at his chest, accompanied with embarrassment. Was he really bringing this up again ?!
Undyne and Papyrus turned their heads in unison, all the attention falling on to Cross. Undyne in particular looked as if she were ready to burst, her eyes wide and mouth hanging open, the two fins on the side of her head perked up. He almost felt bad that he and Dream weren’t expecting, with how excited she looked. “We’re not having kids right now.” The ex guard hissed, turning his eyes back onto Killer, his cheeks warm from embarrassment. “Would you stop fucking saying that??”
“Is this something you two have talked about before?” Papyrus hesitantly asked, poorly hiding his amusement. Cross grit his teeth, his grip on his drink tightening, threatening to break the glass.
He was way too sober for this bullshit.
“No, we haven’t.” He answered, just as Killer shrugged his shoulders. Papyrus titled his head, confused, pulling his knees to his chest. “We haven’t. ” Cross repeated, very briefly imagining what would happen if he smashed the half full bottle against Killer’s stupid head.
“Ok, but have you and Dream talked about it” Undyne insisted, her shark like grin back. Pointedly rolling his eyes, Cross took a swig of his drink, nearly finishing off the bottle, beginning to feel the buzz it gave.
“No. Not really. Let's talk about something else.” Cross set the bottle down, only for it to immediately tip on its side. Resting against the dirt and grass, and he made no move to pick it up. “Like…” He searched his mind for a topic, a grin stretching over his features when he found out. “Pap, you and Mettaton have been hanging around each other a lot. Anything up with that?”
A soft orange hue formed on the skeleton in question’s cheeks, his eyebrows shooting up
“Or we could talk about something important.” Killer interjected, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He pulled at strands of grass with his hands, looking off into the distance. Cross turned his head, following Killer’s gaze, eyes landing on the cottage. His soul dropped. “Like what you told Chara earlier.”
“Why are you bringing this up again?” Cross hissed, avoiding looking at his two friends, though he could feel Undyne and Papyrus's eyes on him, their gazes crawling into the cracks where his bones met, judging, making him uncomfortable and itchy.
“Because it was a fucked up thing to say!”
“You agreed with me.” Cross shot back, those words finally getting Killer to look at him. His eyelights pinpricks, piercing like the blades he used in combat.
“No, I didn't. I've always thought she belonged here, I’ve been the only one on her side this whole goddamn time. She just needed some help. Help that you were giving her.” The ex-guard tensed, feeling slapped by the venom in Killer’s voice. It was the kind of anger he hadn't heard from Killer since… well.
Since Cross had tried to kill him. Anger, mixed with betrayal.
“And then you took that away, and told her you didn't think she could handle this!”
“That's not what I-”
“That's what she's going to take away from it! Are you stupid?”
The two men stared at one another, a beat passing. The silence hung thick like humidity between them, clogging up Cross’s throat. “Why did you join us if you were this pissed at me?” Killer shrugged, the action only sparking Cross’s annoyance more. “Are you serious? Did you just want to start shit?” He scoffed, looking away. “And I thought we were actually starting to get along, but you're still the same fucking prick you were at the start of all of this.”
“How the fuck am I supposed to change if all of you refuse to see me any differently?!” Killer snapped, expression darkening, a storm of anger and hurt playing on his features. “No matter what I do, you’re all going to see me as an asshole. So why the fuck would I try to be anything else? Maybe that’s all I’ll ever be.” The short skeleton scoffed. He opened his mouth, before closing it a moment later and shaking his head, like he was shaking a thought from his mind - Cross bit his tongue, resisting the urge to ask him what he was originally going to say. “And it’s the same for Chara. You all just see her as a kid and disregard everything else, and act like you’re better for it.”
Killer stood, pulling his hood back up over his skull, the shadows on his features darkening under it. “But who cares what I think, right?” He turned, kicking his empty glass bottle towards Cross. “There’s a reason I only stick with Night, and it’s not just because of my…feelings for him,” He mumbled as turned, not looking back as he walked away. Most likely going to the old barn.
Cross didn’t bother calling his name.
He groaned when Killer was well out of hearing range, falling back onto the grass. He dragged his hands down his skull, sucking in an exasperated breath through his teeth. Killer was just being dramatic, Cross didn’t fuck up that bad. Regardless of what he thought, Chara was a child under Asgore’s care, and if he didn’t want her fighting, they had to respect that. And Cross hadn’t actually told her she was kicked out, he just… tried to put the thought of not fighting into her mind. To make things easier for Error when he talked to her.
It wasn’t his fault she reacted badly.
His chest tightened with guilt.
… It wasn’t his fault, was it?
“Cross?” The guard in question opened his eyes, tilting his skull to look at Papyrus. He looked worried, eyebrows creased and mouth pressed into a straight line. “What was that about?”
“I…” Cross sat up, scratching his jaw. He narrowed his eyes at the ground, thinking over his words carefully. “I told Chara that being a part of… this.” He waved a finger around, gesturing to the surrounding area. “May not be a good idea. Given she's.. young.”
He met Papyrus’s eyes, and the other skeleton looked conflicted. His hands pressing into fists, Papyrus looking down, but Cross could tell his jaw was clenched, his brows furrowed.
“She is 16, Cross…” Undyne leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “She's young but… weren't we, when we started properly training for the guard?”
“He still waited until we were 18 to actually join.”
“Yes, but… this is a different circumstance. And you were training her for this exact reason, weren't yon?” Cross grit his teeth, narrowing his eyes at his friend, but her expression didn't change. Firm, jaw set, eyes commanding. It was a look that made Cross want to buckle and follow orders, but he held his ground.
“You're really siding with Killer on this?”
One of Undyne’s fins twitched, and she tilted her head, lips screwing into a crooked line. “He saved my life, Cross, I don't think he's that bad.”
“Oh, for fuck’s….” Cross sighed heavily, looking away from Undyne, bitterness clogging up his throat. “You're on my side here, right, Pap?”
When his eyes found the other skeleton, Papyrus was staring off into space, his gestures rigid and tense, lost in thought. His hands clenched so tightly, Cross could hear the material squeezing and bending. “...Papyrus?” He repeated the other’s name, somewhat released when Papyrus blinked, snapping out of it.
“Sorry.” Papyrus's eye sockets jumped between Cross and Undyne. “I'm sorry, I think… I've had too much to drink.” He moved to stand, brushing himself off - he was obviously lying, and Cross was sure he knew that Cross and Undyne knew it was a lie.
But why was he lying? He couldn't possibly agree that Chara should be fighting with them.
“I should head to bed.” Papyrus continued, tugging at and playing with the hem of his left glove. “It's pretty late, too.”
Undyne also stood, nodding before clapping Papyrus’s on the back. He didn't even flinch. “Yeah, we should probably all hit the hay.” She looked to Cross, who waved her off, turning his gaze to the sky.
“I'm going to stay out a bit longer, you guys go on.” There was an awkward, cold edge to Cross’s words that they all felt, but no one commented on.
Cross fell back into his back once his two friends had left, wanting nothing more than to either get shit faced, or to scream up into the void above the earth.
Had he done the right thing?
He had thought so, but…. he really wasn't so sure anymore.
*****
Inky black hands were clawing their way up his legs.
They ripped his clothing, dug their nails into his bones, leaving beads of blood in their wake. He flailed, trying to shake them off to no avail, the inky black hands only gripped tighter.
They were nearing his chest.
They were going for his soul.
Suddenly, the hands melted into him, seeping into his very bones. He could feel them around his soul, gripping and tearing and shredding him apart. His insides were on fire, the marrow and magic inside him turning to lava as he was destroyed both inside and out.
He choked out a name, the name of the one he trusted. The one he loved, had always loved. His words came out gargled as his own searing blood filled his throat.
“I…Ink…”
The man’s small form materialised out of the darkness, stepping towards him, Ink’s expression was uncharacteristically blank. Cold. Empty like the space around them.
He opened his mouth, but all he could manage was a pathetic gurgling noise.
Ink’s face hardened, his mouth pulling into a disgusted scowl, and Ink took a step back. His body was sinking now, and he couldn't tell if it was because his bones had succumbed to the molten liquid coursing through him, or if the surrounding darkness was simply swallowing him whole.
“I never should have trusted you.” Ink’s words cut into him, sharp as a knife. He felt his soul finally snap, the pain piercing him, but his scream was drowned out but the blood that was choking him. “You could never have kept me safe. You're pathetic .”
His vision darkened as Ink turned on his heel, walking away from him as he collapsed. Everything was hazy and darkening, his body disintegrating into dust, he could feel himself crumble. With the last of his strength, he raised his hand, reaching for Ink just as he was engulfed in the blackness and…
Everything…
Went…
Dark.
Error gasped, his “lungs” desperately dragging in oxygen as he blinked away the fog of sleep. He stared up at the popcorn ceiling, feeling dizzy with disorientation as he watched the shadows twist and coil in the darkness, reaching out to him like hands.
Hands …
Error squeezed his eyes shut, counting to ten inside his skull, focusing on Ink’s warm form pressed against his side, slowly rising and falling with his breaths. Just a nightmare.
When Error opened his sockets again, the hands reaching for him from the dark had vanished, leaving just a normal looking ceiling and normal shadows. Of course, that's all it was - really, Error, you're too old to be getting scared of boogeymen hiding in the dark of night.
He turned his skull, resting his cheek against the soft pillow beneath him, and his gaze dropped to Ink. He was curled against Error, one hand underneath his own cheek and the other on Error’s chest. The small monster’s bones seemed to glow in the hazy moonlight that filtered in through the crack in the blinds, making Ink look angeletic. His features were soft, so relaxed, his mouth slightly parted as he took in slow, measured breaths.
Error smiled tenderly, before slowly manoeuvring himself out of Ink’s hold, sitting up in the dark. The handmade sheets and quilts pooled around his waist, the night air cool on his bare arms. It was a nice chill, working as a shock to his system that grounded him. But it wasn't enough, the tendrils of his nightmare were still hanging on to him, leaving him with a knot in his stomach.
The room was bathed in a soft white light from the moon outside of the window, giving everything a hazy, dreamlike glow. The house was completely silent, aside from the occasional sound of the cottage creaking as old houses do, and the ever present tick…tock…tick…tock… of the old clock in the guest room. The wind rattled softly against the houses outside walls, bringing bits of other monsters’ conversations along with it. Guess not everyone was asleep at this late hour.
Ink murmured Error’s name, his eye sockets slowly opening, though the action seemed to be a struggle for the skeleton, his lids weighed down by sleep.
“Go back to sleep, sweetie.” Error whispered, stroking Ink’s cheek. His husband’s eyes fluttered close at the gentle touch, and he leaned into Error’s hand.
“What are you doing…?” Ink’s breath tickled his palm, words slurring together.
“Getting some water.” It was only a white lie, yet Error still felt guilty saying it. It was for the best, though. Ink shouldn’t have to worry about anything right now, he should be relaxing, taking it easy. Taken care of. “I'll be right back, promise.”
The reason seemed to be enough to satisfy the smaller monster. He mumbled something under his breath as he drifted off, his breath once again evening out. Error’s smile twitched with affection and amusement. He leaned down and kissed his partner’s temple before standing up, pausing briefly to stretch out his spine.
In the dark, his eyelight found the crib on the other side of the room, and, careful not to make too much noise and wake Ink again, he moved to its side. Within the crib, the twins laid side by side, pressed against one another and their little skulls practically touching. Did they snuggle close like that purposely, feeling a connection to their twin? The idea of asking Dream and Nightmare if they felt more connected because of their twin status briefly passed his thoughts, but he disregarded the idea. He didn't know either man well enough to ask that without it coming off as awkward.
He watched the two small babies for a moment, love making his cold bones warm. He still couldn't believe they were really here, he was really a father .
He had a responsibility to protect these two little souls, and he fully intended to take that responsibility very seriously.
Error frowned to himself, pulling PJ and Gradient’s blanket higher so that it was property covering them - he didn't want them to get cold and uncomfortable. Eventually, Error was able to pull himself away from his sons and out of the room, leaving the door ajar behind him.
The Dreemurr’s home was eerily quiet at night, in a way that deeply unsettled Error. It was the type of house that just felt like it was supposed to be bustling with life, the very walls and foundation alive with all the activity, the halls always filled with the sounds of joy. But in the dead of night, as it was now, the house no longer held warmth, it was no longer alive with all that positive energy.
It was cold, empty, and unwelcoming.
Error felt a rush of relief when he stepped outside, escaping the oppressive wrong feeling inside, and immediately being hit in the face with the cold night air.
“Didn’t think you’d still be awake.”
Error’s gaze dropped to Cross, who was sitting on the edge of the deck, watching him with tired eyes. Error pushed down the immediate rush of disappointment he felt, offering a lopsided smile to the ex-guard instead. He'd wanted to be alone, be without the pressure to say the right words and form the right sentences, but he couldn't just tell Cross to fuck off.
Besides, he did like Cross, so it could be worse. It could have been Killer.
“I could say the same to you.” Error’s voice was rough from sleep. He sat down next to Cross, noting the faint smell of alcohol on him. His body tensed up, memories of his father crashing into him - he pressed his nails into the sides of his femurs, forcing those thoughts back into the recesses of his mind. Cross wasn’t Cyber, Cyber was long gone from Error’s life. “Were you drinking?”
“Yeah, a bit. I'm not drunk, tipsy maybe but…” Cross froze, realisation sparking in his eyelights. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry. I wasn't thinking. Fuck. Uh. Should I…?” He gestured over his shoulder, to the tents set up around the dreemurr’s home, sweat beading on his temple.
Error let out a slow breath, shaking his head. He leaned back, looking up at the night sky. Stars blinked back down at him, forever watching. “It's fine, I can handle it.” Cross opened his mouth, but Error cut him off before he could get an argument out: “I need to build some tolerance to the smell at the very least. I'm sure the twins will eventually get to the point where they're drinking and hiding it, and it'd be unfair to leave Ink to deal with that all on his own.” Error breathily chuckled, feeling Cross’s eyelights bore into the side of his skull.
The ex-guard seemed to accept that response however, or he just didn’t have the energy to argue, and he leaned forward, resting his arms on his thighs. “Congrats, by the way. Are Ink and the babies doing ok?” Cross spoke after a minute of awkward silence, his phalanges playing with the ripped sections of his pants.
Error hummed and nodded, not taking his eyes off the night sky. “Yeah, they’re all healthy, asleep right now.” He paused, a beat passing between the two men. This time, it was an oddly comfortable silence, not in the same way Error felt comfortable with Ink or even Sans, but it was the kind of silence that held no weight. Neither man knew the other deeply, and neither needed to, they knew enough.
“I'm surprised you're not with them. Asleep, I mean.” Cross glanced over his shoulder, watching Error. His eye lights flickered down to meet Cross’s, holding eye contact. “Honestly, I kinda expected we wouldn't see much of you for a few days.”
“I couldn't sleep.” Error shrugged, not liking the way Cross was watching him. Studying him. It made his hackles raise.
“How come? Your new fatherly responsibilities getting to you already?” Cross snorted, but there was little humour in it - He was actually asking, albeit in a weird way.
“Kind of.” Cross raised an eyebrow, silently urging Error to continue. The wind blew between them, making the ebony skeleton acutely aware that his arms were bare. That wasn't something that had bothered him in years, and the scars carved into the bone had faded over time, yet for some reason, right now, his soul was screaming and clawing at his ribcage, telling him to cover up, to cover up now.
“I've just been thinking about…” Error gestured with a phalange to the general area around them. “This. The rebellion. I've been wondering if I should still be leading it.” Cross sat up straight at that, his attention fully on Error. “I have two kids now, and this shit is dangerous. I don't want to get dusted and leave my family all alone to deal with that.” Error leaned back on his palms, lips pulled tight in a frown. “I want to see the twins grow up.”
Cross’s eyebrows furrowed, the ex-guard staring at Error. Error kept his eyelights glued to the ceiling above the Dreemurr’s porch, feeling more uncomfortable the longer Cross’s eyelights bore into him. He didn't want to be analysed, he didn't want to hear what other people thought about his thoughts. Not right now. “I just want to be a good dad, you know? It’s a lot. I’m not saying I’m going to up and abandon everyone.”
“Yeah, I get that.” Cross finally said, standing up. His body language had changed, it had become stiffer and more closed off. “But we're doing what's right. We're changing things, making the world better for them - for all kids. Right?” He turned back to look at Error, and while his expression was neutral, there was a fire burning in his eyelights. “Pretty sure most would agree that would make you the best dad in the city. If that’s what you’re worried about.”
His eyelights, those burning fires, held such intensity, such anger, and determination. The smoke of that blaze spelled out one thing perfectly clear.
Cross knew where he stood, what he believed in.
And if Error didn't feel the same, Cross wouldn't forgive him.
Error felt a twinge in his soul, accompanied by an overwhelming sense of guilt, and he had to wonder how much that would actually bother him.
He tensed his jaw and nodded, not breaking eye contact. He didn't want Cross to know where his thoughts actually were, he didn't want the ex-guard to know how much he was really considering this. He regretted saying anything in the first place. “Yeah. Of course.” Cross was right, Error knew he was. He started this thing on a whim, fueled by rage and impulse, but the importance of it all wasn't lost on him.
“Make sure your head is in this, Error.” Cross looked away, his expression dark. “We can't do this without you, and if you lose hope, everyone else will.”
Error bit his tongue, holding in the urge to state that they absolutely could do this without him, he wasn't special. Cross was the far better choice for a leader. Or, hell, Dream would be leagues better, too.
They didn't need him.
But he knew Cross was right about one thing, that this would make the city better. Safer.
Error shook his skull, looking away from Cross, dropping his eyes to the ground. He watched the blades of grass rub against each other, waving in the gentle breeze. “I know. I'll do what needs to be done, Cross.”
“Good.” The ex-guard didn't move for a moment, the two men left to wade in silence again, though it was far from comforting now, not even awkward. Something heavy, a threat, hung there, ugly and bare and stinking up the air. “Good night, Error.”
Error grunted, closing his eye sockets and listening to Cross walk away, waiting until he couldn't hear Cross anymore before standing up.
He regretted getting out of bed, regretted not just getting a glass of water, like he said he would.
He'd come outside to clear his head of this, to make a decision. And now he was just more unsure.
*****
“... And I promise you, my people, that I will not stop until these terrorists are completely dealt with, and our glorious city is safe.” Gaster’s voice drifted out of the laptop speakers, his tone calm and collected like it always was when he was in front of a camera. It was the kind of voice you automatically wanted to trust, lulling you into a false sense of security.
It made the inside of Dream’s skull itch and his spine ache, the little Gaster voice that lived in his head (But had grown much quieter and easier to ignore over time, thank god.) shouting lies at him.
Trust him, he knows what’s best.
You’re too stupid to make these decisions on your own.
You can’t trust them, you can’t trust Cross.
“And my dear son,” Gaster continued, placing a hand over his chest, brow creasing in a practised look of concern, “The crown prince, Dream, if you somehow see this broadcast… I promise I will ensure your safe return.” Gaster stared into the camera, a shiver coursing through Dream, as if the king was staring right at him through the screen.His eyelights boring into Dream’s soul. As if this was a one on one conversation rather than a rehearsed speech. “I shudder at the thought of what they have done to you, my son, and I will stop at nothing to free you from-”
Come home. It’s where you belong.
Dream slammed the computer screen shut, shutting up both Gaster’s, his breathing hitching as panic seized his bones. Squeezing his eyes shut, Dream sucked in a deep breath, exhaling slowly, trying to sooth his pounding soul. To sooth his magic, feeling it writhe inside of him. Wiggling and squirming in thick tendrils trapped inside his spine, trying desperately to escape into the open.
It was a nauseating feeling.
After a minute of breathing, trying and failing to calm himself down, he opened his sockets. He looked to the others surrounding him, expression hard. Sans had been the one to bring up the broadcast, bringing the core members together to watch, to see what kind of bullshit Gaster was saying after attacking a pharmacy, and other smaller businesses throughout the city looking for places people were “harbouring” the rebels. Countless innocent civilians had been hurt int Gaster’s thoughtless attacks, all because he was desperate to find Dream and the others. He felt like screaming.
His eyes landed on Error, jaw clenching as he stepped towards him, batting Cross’s hand away when he felt it on his back. “We need to do something, Error, we can’t keep waiting.”
Error stared him down, his eye sockets narrowing, visibly tensing up. “Ink just gave birth a week ago, Dream, it’s far too soon-”
“And how long do you expect us to wait?” Dream snarled, cutting off Error’s words, anger wrapped around his soul and squeezing out his reasoning like a cloth being wrung out. Error's eyes widened in surprise, Dream noticing similar looks of shock on the monsters around him. His magic thrashed against the inside of his spine, agitated. “How many more innocent people need to get hurt - need to die , before we do something?!”
“You and Cross have both agreed that waiting is for the best!” Error raised his arms in defeat, turning away and pacing. “That's always been what we do. We wait a few weeks after an attack, for things to cool down.”
“Things are cooling down.” Cross spoke up behind Dream, the Prince turning to look at him. A sense of pride welling up beneath his anger and panic. “When we were working on ambushes, that plan worked. But things are different now. Gaster is attacking civilians at random, looking for us.”
“Which is why we can't keep waiting.” Dream looked back at Error, his hands shaking. His back pulsing with pain, like he was being burned. “I can't allow more of my people to be brought into this unwillingly. Please , Error.”
The wind blew past them, cooling down the weather after a hot, sunny day. There was a storm brewing on the horizon, dark clouds eating up the sky, taking it over. A deep rumble of thunder far in the distance.
Dream's stomach lurched and he stumbled, Cross catching him. He vomited, black bile mixed with golden magic rising in his throat and spilling onto the ground. He heard Nightmare say his name, felt his hand on his burning spine. Dream waved off his concern, shaking his skull. He'd rather throw up than have the magic manifest and come out of his back.
“...Fine.” Error mumbled, Dream’s head jerking up to look at him. He sounded defeated, exhaustion soaked into his words. “Thursday. We attack the castle.” Error looked around at the others, then moved to the white fold out table, moving the laptop off of their maps and papers.
“Let's end this.”
Notes:
Uhhh... hiiii everyone... how y'all doing....
Jokes aside... HI.. I know I've been gone a while, sorry about that. In all honesty, I have. Been going through it. My mental health has been very up and down recently, and Uni and other projects have been taking up a lot of my time. Which... makes me a bit sad, because I will love this story and WANT to work on it. But whenever I do, I get in my head about my writing, and I start feeling like I need to be perfect and I'm not doing good enough. So. That's been fun. I'm working on it though.
In the meantime.. I can't promise the next chapter will come out faster than this one. But I can promise that it WILL come out. I won't abandon this story.
Join the DystopianTale Discord
Check out my patreon!
Chapter 43: Update
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Hello everyone! I apologize for the hiatus on the story, but I do coke with an announcement that may be... upsetting to some of you
To make a long story short, I realized the reason I was struggling to write this story is bc im no longer happy with it. I still love DystopianTale, but this is a story I started when I was... 16, and im now 20. My writing, my ideas, they've all changed, matured to some degree. There was things I would do differently...
And, bc this is still a project I love dearly, I've made the decision to scrap the current story and start over. All of the characters will remain, but may change, slightly or dramatically. I appreciate everyone's support, and I know many will be sad at this decision, but it's something I need to do for my own mind, and I hope you'll all stick around to see the new DystopianTale :)
I've already posted my first batch of redesigns on my tumblr (https://www.tumblr.com/offical-dystopiantale/779687088463511552/are-you-still-active-everything-good) I don't know how long this planning phase will last because of school and work and life in general keeping me busy, but I will continue to post updates on the DystopianTale tumbr! (The discord will probably be getting a fresh coat of paint, however...)
Again, thank you all for the support, and I hope you'll all (patiently) follow me into this new phase of DystopianTale :3
Notes:
Completely unrelated but I'm working on a Bucky Barnes fanfic while reworking DystopianTale behind the scenes (and to get myself back into writing bc it's genuinely been a struggle.) so um. Any mcu fans that would be interested, that will come out eventually
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