One Hand Offered

by DragonLikeTendencies

Summary:

It's been three moons since Night killed everyone in his village. Its been three agonizing, heartbreaking moons since he had killed his brother.

There's not much to do in a soulless world. This changes, ever so slightly when he hears a desperate call from someone in the abyss.

Night doesn’t know what to make of his new situation, and he can't bring himself to move on just yet from the horrors he's committed. But life demands his interaction and input, so he forces himself up anyways.

Dream would do the same, if they were here. But they're not, so Night might as well pick up the slack.

Notes:

This is not canon to Black Apple Blues!

Welcome to the mess that is my brainrot. This story actually started from a comic I made, which, one day, when I figure out how to make a tumblr account, I will actually post.

Regardless, this story has a massive forewarning. SUICIDAL THOUGHTS AND SELF HARM IS HEAVILY REFERENCED AND DESCRIBED THROUGH OUT THE STORY. There will be references to attempted suicide as well.

Stay safe while reading this, and stop reading if you feel yourself getting dragged in too deep. Don't read if you feel it is hurting you in any way shape or form. I promise you are not missing out on much.

Anyways, enjoy the story.

Chapter 1

Summary:

Chapter warnings-
Suicidal thoughts, graphic depiction of murder

Night doesn’t stop until the screeching of fear is just a memory to his newly sensitive soul. While the screams were a less painful way of figuring out who was next, it stopped working once they realized no help was going to come for them. Therefore, they had no point to scream.

It was funny, because no help ever came for him when he needed it most. Why would they expect it? Did they believe that help would come, or was it just a desperate clutch to nonexistent hope?

By the time he was ambushed, it was too late. They seized the apples, and in a vain attempt to claim the still-growing unripe apples, they cut down the tree. He tried, tried so hard to protect the golden apple for his brother, hoping he could fix their home with its power. To his horror, it only turned that dreaded pitch black in his hands, its pale flesh underneath sticking between his joints.

When they reached him, he panicked and did the only thing he could- shoved the apple into his mouth, completely whole. They tried to pull it out of his mouth, ripping his teeth and jaw to pry it from his body. When this proved fruitless, they smashed his head in. But Night wouldn’t notice until after the attack. Meanwhile, he was lost in the texture and flavor of the apple they never ate, feeling the raw power strike him to his marrow. It stuck to his soul, desperate and pleading, and he was helpless to welcome it in.

When he next looked up, he had one eye and two dust piles in front of him. The powder landed on him like flour, sticking to his black bones and new appendages. The more he tried to rub it off, the more it mixed into the goopy mush that covered his bones. His entire being ached in a way he never felt before, like exhaustion, but for his soul. He felt hungry, but for what, he had no clue.

He whipped around to look at the tree where it fell, detached from its roots. Blind to the death of its bearer, the apples sat below the fallen mass of branches, some stubbornly hanging on. He grabbed the closest apple, a golden one as well, just for it to turn black.

And, well, if that wasn’t a sign, Night didn’t know what was.

He shoved it in his mouth. It hurt less than the first time, instead of dragging something from within him, it simply joined him, taking home with the rest. The first time, it was like the apple had to remove a part of him to be a part of him. The following times, it simply had to meld with the rest.

Part of him still burned, but it was manageable. It was nothing he hadn’t felt before.

He heard a crack, and whirled around to see what was there. He had barely a second to spare before he felt something hit him on the head, top heavy and blunt. He blanked out, and the next thing he saw was a human at his feet, a disposed weapon a few meters away. The human was bleeding from his jaw, blood dribbling out of his mouth as he tried to say something, before rasping and wheezing an awful wet sound, and stopping all together.

Dream looked at him with fear in their eyes, horrified, disgusted, terrified, and ran. He chased them, told them to stop, and when he cornered them by their fallen home. Dream bit down on the previously forgotten apple in their hands.

They looked at him with fear and turned to stone.

He wailed as he tried to pull off the sludge on his bones, but it stuck like sap to a tree, and even when he pulled bits off, more would appear out of nowhere. He tried to bite and pull it off that way, even going as far as to detach his arm to separate the sludge from its core, but it still remained.

He didn’t stop after that. He went to the elder's house first and stabbed them through the chest with a bone. Their blood mixed with the dust of the monsters from before, dripping off his face, but he didn’t feel a thing.
He killed their granddaughter, small and frail in her frilly cage. The white bassinet became adorned with tiny red flowers, blossoming from the bleeding heart at the center of the tiny bed.

Night killed the Browns family next, their dust coating his bones and coagulating the blood on his body. He killed the Barrens, the Hus, the Looxs, everyone from the tiniest baby moldsmall to the elderly bear monster.
And when he felt not an ounce of fear or anger, he cried. He screamed and clawed at his face, howling meaningless prayers of agony to the newborn sun that greater his newly blacked face.

When his throat was sore and bleeding raw from the screams, he whispered and begged for comfort, for love, for nothing in particular, and promptly passed out.
He awoke to smoldering blazes and shifting dust piles in a dying starlight, spreading across the night sky like glitter across a painting, fleeting yet impossible to remove. Night didn’t move until the smoke and dust suffocated him. He would have stayed if he wasn’t too tired to talk himself into carbon monoxide poisoning.

And so, he wandered through the streets that he watched being built decades ago. Young and dumb, waiting impatiently from his home on the hill, excited for new experiences and people.

He shuffled through dust piles and stumbled into fallen bricks, slowly making his way back to his home. He didn’t realize he was heading there until he saw the fallen tree deceitfully green and black in the grass, the body not yet realizing it was dead and decapitated from its roots. He just walked to his home, his mom, his tree, and laid on the stumped ruins of his childhood.

He watched the sunrise, and then set a second time before getting up again.

He went to the corpse of his brother and wept. The tears didn’t stick to his face like they used to, instead, they fell off his slimy face quickly, mixing into the soil underneath. He clutched at his brother, watching as the liquid fell onto his stone-cold body. He prayed for a miracle. No miracle occurred.

When he stopped crying, Night didn’t know what to do. What could he do? Everyone he knew was dead, his home was destroyed, his brother, his precious little brother, was dead. So, he picked up his crown and placed it on the stump of their tree. It didn’t mean anything without his home to protect. A prince without a kingdom is no prince at all.

He looked at his brother, back to their tree, and left.

Night walked as far as he could, farther than he had ever traveled with his brother. He needed to be somewhere with no memories or expectations, somewhere that knew nothing about him. Somewhere that had no need to learn anything about him. Though, he never traveled far with Dream. The one time he convinced his brother to run away, Night had fallen and broken his arm on a rocky ledge, ending their adventure early and forcing them back to the village. The village had done trips together, especially once residents from the sea moved near, but never alone. No magic could last long enough for them to actually leave, and Dream would never allow them to leave the apples unattended.

Regardless, the memories of what he did followed him no matter how far he traveled. He spent less time trying to get far away from the village and more time actually exploring the wilderness they never had time for.

And so, he wandered, admiring the silence left behind by the destruction. He need not worry about food or water, and nothing could really hurt him. This lack of purpose, even as mundane as finding food, was probably what really did Night in.

Sometime after the 3rd full moon after Dream’s death, he couldn’t take the numbing silence anymore. The guilt, the hate, was so vicious that it felt like acid in this marrow. He lashed his new appendages in rage and desperation, begging for a way out. He wanted to escape, he wanted his brother, he wanted to die. He wanted anything but this useless feeling of despair and self-hatred. His hands scraped his bone along his tibula, leaving marks as he struggled for purchase in his own mind. It wasn't enough. The dirt wasn't wet enough for true misery, the air wasn't cold enough for pain, the plants had no spines to hurt him with. In his haphazard, violent state, nothing could hurt him enough to bring him out of the self-hating spiral. He was out of control like a leaf in a summer storm, flung in every direction by his grief and guilt.

He needed something to hold on to, something strong enough. Pain always helped, but it wasn't there, he couldn't focus enough to draw his blade and break himself. His brother wasn't here to drag him back to safety. Nothing was safe, and there was no where to hide until the dread and grief stopped.

He reached out. He felt a pulse. He stretched farther, trying to reach whatever it was-

And he wasn’t there anymore. He was in a cave instead, the barest light shining from fluorescent mushrooms growing through the rocks. He still felt that insistent buzz over the flow of his roaring magic in his bones, never subsiding. Even when his curiosity dinally overpowered his hysteria, the pulse remained. It had to be something, someone else.

He searched for the source of the pulse, the preening, high pitch buzz that left him feeling relieved. He wasn’t alone after all. While he didn’t recognize the cave system he was in, he was sure he could find a way out with the new person nearby.

He paused when the buzz grew stronger, feeling closer than before. Looking around, he found a small yellow lizard monster hiding behind the fluorescent mushrooms. On first glance, she seemed to simply be silently crying, but the underlying feeling of pain and panic pushed Night to look closer. From her right eye, she was bleeding from a vicious claw mark that gouged part of her eye out, surely leaving her blind in that eye. Her nostrils flared as he went closer, and the panicked buzz from her sharpened, indicating her fear.

His voice crackled as he tried to calm her. He hadn’t used it in so long, it was barely louder than the whistling breaths she took. “Are you okay?”

She flinched at the question, obviously afraid and distressed. However, her voice came out completely differently. “Yes. Go away.” She snarled at the end, the only other indicator she gave.

Night cautiously grew closer, examining her eye best he could before she whipped around, aiming her good eye at him. Her fear spiked, and she snarled again. “Go. Away.” Before he could state he could help, she snapped at him, literally. “I’m not some free EXP, get outta here before I make you regret livin'.”

He backed up a bit and took in her constricted pupils, shallow breathing and bleeding eye. Night could understand her not wanting help, but to immediately assume he would killed her was extreme, and unnecessary. Despite the fact that, had she been in the village, he would have killed her too. He ignored that thought. Before he could grate out the words, she lunged at him, starting an encounter.

She moved first, slashing towards him with her claws. Night felt his turn take over and acted, deciding to check her.

Alphys
LV: 4
HP: 36
Wants you gone.

The monster- Alphys, he noted, took her turn, dashing at him and shoving her whole bodyweight at him, aiming to break his bones. He dodged the best he could. She was slow and injured, and the missing eye obviously ruined her aim. Her turn ended, and Night decided to act again. Talk. “Why are you attacking me?” She snorts and takes her turn, attacking again despite the obvious acknowledgement of his question. Rude. He simply dodged. He's good at that, at least.

He acts again. “I can help you. I have some food that can stabilize your HP.” This time, she does respond, her voice sharp and grating. “Yeah, and pay an exorbitant amount of g? No thanks, I’m not desperate.” She spits the last part out like a curse.

Meanwhile, Night got lost halfway through her sentence, and subsequently paused in taking his turn. G? Was that short for something? Was it supposed to mean grain, or maybe just goods? While he could ask for some of her crops in exchange for help, he didn’t need any, and carrying around a bushel would be cumbersome.

So, he states as such, acting for his turn, much to the impatience of Alphys. “I don’t want your crops. I don’t need it for my journey, and I have enough food to last me.” Even if he wasn't eating it. Now it was her turn to be confused. Frustrated, she snorts, “When the hell did I say crops? I said I ain’t giving you anything. Get out of here before I dust you like the pest you are!” She double stacks her turn to emphasize her point- forfeiting the next two rounds to Night by lashing at him, barreling towards him with claws ready to maim.

He rolls out of the way, feeling her claws dig into his spine, leaving black stains on her pearly sharp crescent moons. It hardly bothered him, however, and he took his double turn to check her again, noting her decreased health.

Alphys
LV: 4
HP: 30
Is terribly confused by your stupidity

Taking his next turn, Nightmare tosses over a pear, rolling it like a ball to the other monster’s feet. She looks at him incredulously, anxiety and confusion rolling off her in steady waves. She glares at him, knowing her turn would be used up by eating the pear, but unwilling to give him an opening, she stalls. So Nightmare says “If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn’t give you the pear to heal you first. Eat it. You are losing HP.”

Holding back an obvious snarl, she snags the fruit and shoves it into her mouth, giving Night his turn. Night gives her mercy, sparing and ending his turn. Shocked, she almost loses some of the pear out of her open mouth before sparing him too, pulling away from him. She glances at the exit of the cave behind him, and Night moves out of the way before she sprints for it. Night feels a stab of fear, but this time, not from her.

“Wait!” He blurts out, almost pleadingly. He hardly gets a second to beg before he's cut off. Alphys looks at him like she expected this and growls. “I knew you would want something.” She grates out, summoning her magic to her hand. “It was stupid to wait ‘til after I healed. Now I can beat your ass.” Night just looks at her, blinking once, then twice. He spoke slowly, uncertainty finally edging into his voice. “I don’t know how to get out of here.”

Pausing, she releases her magic and snorts. “Fine. I’ll show you out of here, at least to the crossroads.”
Her stance relaxes, and Night draws closer to her as she starts walking. “Where the hell do you live anyways? I’ve never seen a monster like you before.” Night hesitates, unsure what to say. Everything about him was wrong- his body, his origins, his crimes. He can't lie, not well, but ignoring anything of substance to her questions is easy. He ends up telling the truth, if only a hollow version of it. “My home’s gone now anyways. I was just wandering.” Alphys grunts in response, immediately assuming something. A flicker of understanding passes through her emotional undertone, tinged bitter by the dislike and unease that makes up the rest of her current emotions. “Ah, you were part of the cave-in last week, weren’t you? Whatever. That’s not my problem. I’ll get you out of the caves, and that’s it.” She starts marching towards the exit, not even beckoning him, but Night follows her footsteps anyways.

They travel the various tunnels in silence, leaving Night to wander in his own thoughts. He had never seen these caves before, and he ends up mesmerized by the glowing mushrooms and lichen. He feels a pang of grief when he realizes that Dream would have loved this place, everywhere from the small ponds to the nonsense-speaking flowers. He could imagine it already, Dream harvesting lily pads, splashing him with the blue-green water, and falling asleep on the rocks, damp clothes hanging off his bones.

Night is pulled out of his thoughts by a sigh from Alphys, muttering to herself as she counts the number of tunnels they had passed. Blood still dripped slowly from superficial wounds on her face, but she seemed fine otherwise. Anxiety hung from her aura, seemingly due to Night’s presence, but most of her suffocating fear was gone. Frustration replaced it instead, which he assumed was because of him. She growls louder, and Night looks her in the eye, prompting her to tell him what’s wrong. She hesitates. “I can’t see out of my right eye, and everything’s blurry in my other eye.” Her anxiety spikes as she peaks, making Night shudder from the intensity. He inhales, and nods. “I can lead us out if you can describe the landmarks.”

She glares at him with irritation. “I don’t know where we are right now.” Night nods dumbly. “Oh. Uh, I can describe it to you right now? There are two waterfalls, with one of those blue flowers in-between the falls, and a trio of mushrooms against the left wall. There are three exits, including the one we entered from, one next to the mushrooms and the other opposite to the waterfalls.” Alphys ponders for a second, before he feels a spike of accomplishment from her. “Ah! Ok, go to the leftmost tunnel, by the mushrooms.”

As they walk down the tunnel, he musters up the courage to ask her some questions. “Your name is Alphys, right?” She grunts in response; Night takes it as a yes. “My name is Night. Nice to meet you.” She says nothing in response. He flounders for a second before they reach the next fork in the road. “We are in another fork in the tunnel, with one to the right near a blue flower, and another to the left next to a large waterfall.”

She nods. “We’re going left. I figured out where we were after you told me where we were before.” The lack of annoyance and the presence of relief radiating from her indicated that she was likely lying. He takes this moment to ask more questions. “How old are you, Alphys?” She grunts, replying with “16.” Night was surprised and he knew it showed on his face. He was glad Alphys likely couldn’t see his face. “Wow, you’re young. What are you doing out here alone?” She gives him a weird look. “I’m old enough to kick your ass. I don’t know what you mean. How old are you, anyways?” Briefly forgetting his previous path of silence, Night makes a blunder. He pauses and calculates his age quickly. “I turned 230 last month, I think.”

She whirls around to look at him, only to nearly hit him in the face. “What the hell, how in Asgore’s name are you so old? You don’t look that old at all. You’re pulling my tail.” She frowns and glares at him. “I’m not an idiot. There’s no way you’re that old and you don’t even have a single scar. If you didn’t want to tell me, just state as such, jerk.” Night, baffled, shuts up, wondering what faux pas he made. He chalks it up to cultural differences between villages. He doesn't like the other option- him being an anomaly in whole different way. He has enough already.

They made it to the next crossroad, and Alphys didn’t even hesitate when heading to the middle tunnel. She narrowly misses falling into the river near a waterfall but manages to step around it at the last second. A wave of frustration comes from her, and Night clenches his still healing, fractured jaw, hoping she won’t get upset with him for not helping her.

They continue, wandering as the tunnels get deeper and narrower. Concerned, he tries to get Alphys’ attention without speaking suddenly. When he couldn’t, he just spoke outright. “Why are we going deeper? Are you sure we are going the right way?” She snorts at him. “So, you’re stupid and directionless. We’re almost there. Just wait.”

Suddenly, the temperature increased sharply, causing the cave walls to drip with moisture. As they walked farther, the humidity lessened, turning dry as they reached an open cavern, stretching on for as far as Night could see. Alphys muttered under her breath at Night’s shocked face, then stated: “Welcome to Hotland, idiot.”

Chapter 2

Night didn’t know where he was, but apparently Alphys lived underground in a civilization of monsters. As he followed her through the streets, he noticed more species of monster then he had ever seen in his life: most of the monsters in the village were animal-like, so the presence of hand-shaped monsters and one that was named ‘tsunderplane’ were completely new. However, he never saw a single human in the entire open cavern, which was odd.

Alphys must have taken pity on his confusion, not pointing out the fact they were supposed to separate by now. Instead, she simply allowed him to follow her through the streets, nearly stepping on her heels as he tried to keep up with her pace. Neither of them spoke in the busy crowd, mostly because Night felt the increased wariness and anxiety in Alphys’ soul. Wherever they were going, it was likely safer than here.

Eventually, Alphys turns a corner into a small alleyway, whirling around to stare at Night. She glared at his afraid and confused face, frustration building up in her soul again. While he hated causing more problems for the poor monster, he was far, far more afraid of being in this unknown place, surrounded by people who could hurt him.

She sighed and gave into his silent plea. “Whatever. You’re obviously pathetic, and I could take you out with a single hit. You ain’t a threat.” She pauses and gives a toothy grin, showing off her fangs. “But you better make it worth my while, sludge.” Anger flashed up at the insult, more direct then her previous ones, but he smothered it in favor of having someone to hang out with.

He thinks and checks his pockets and satchel, rummaging through his inventory. There was fruit, some jerky Dream he made earlier last summer, and a few books as well as various tools and rope he always carried around while exploring. He shivered at the oddity of having so little. He never had much, but having everything he owned fit into a single bag was off-putting. Using what little he knew about his newfound companion he evaluated what she would value most and settled on the few healing foods and items he had in his bag. With the expectation of violence from her earlier as well as the number of scars he noticed on all the monsters here, he figured good healing magic was hard to come by and even more valuable to use.

Too bad he didn’t have his brother here.

Night pushed away the thought and pulled out his roll of bandages, freshly flooded with magic from his brother. The sheer amount of intent the radiated from it was enough to show the value of it, and Alphys’ emotions showed such. Envy, shock, and greed came through her like a flash, causing Night to grit his teeth at the intensity of it.

Still, she showed nothing outwardly, and even had the audacity to snort. “Yeah, a roll of moldy bandages in exchange for me dealing with you? No thanks.” Despite her words, envy still came off her in waves, making it very difficult for Night to believe her.

So he played along. “In that case, I can find a better place to sleep for the night. If you don’t want or need me, you definitely don’t need my stuff.” He paused, and feeling her anxiety permeate the air, he continued. “See you around then, Alphys.”

She growled and let him walk off a few steps, before trying again. “You really have nothing else? Man, you can’t fight and you ain’t even good at scavenging.” Worry suddenly pulsed from her, causing Night some confusion. “I guess someone has to teach how to survive, obviously your parents didn’t. Get over here, sludge.”

He paused and turned around, glaring at her. “I’m only sharing my stuff with you in exchange for your company. Deal?” Alphys grinned, sharp and deadly.

“Deal.”

She stretched and yawned. “I guess I gotta show you where I hang out. It’s safe, only I know about it, so if you blab, I’ll know right away.” She glared at him again, baring her teeth. “And I won’t hesitate to tear you to bits if you backstab me.”

Night snorted, already used to her menacing attitude by now. Especially with him being able to feel the undercurrent of her emotions, it was hard to believe her sincerely. Regardless, he kept his cockiness to himself. “Understood.”

Alphys nodded, then walked out of the alleyway, apparently leading him to her home. He trailed behind her, staying as close as he could be without stepping on her heels. Instead, he focused on her tail, which wobbled with her gait, twitching when someone got too close to the pair. When a group of young children passed, she glared at their gang leader, staring him down and causing him to take the group to the opposite side of the street. Night thought it gratuitous, but whatever.

They snaked through the streets, passing a shiny white and silver building surrounded by lava. There were several bridges leading to the building, causing Night to conclude it was some sort of meeting house or town hall. On the other side of the building lay an incomplete silver dome over the lava. There were less bridges leading to it, and the shoddy nature made Night believe it was an incomplete project of some kind.

Alphys dragged him forward, leading him past the giant buildings and cavern into a smaller one. This area was slightly cooler and seemed to be made from stone brick. Despite the love and care put into building the place, it had fallen into partial disarray, and as they travelled further into the grey building, it showed. Alphys led him to a large spiderweb crack near the end of one of the halls and motioned for him to climb through.

He wiggled his way through and dropped his bag first into the small hidey-hole, sending some debris up into the air. He then shoved his way through, scraping his shoulder blades against the rough stone. Alphys came in next, with expert ease, choosing to wiggle through the top part of the crack where it was wider yet harder to reach. Curse his stupid height.

She smiled, this time with less teeth. “Welcome to my home. I’d say make yourself at home, but it would be a lie, so just sit in a corner or something. I’ll figure out a way to make it bigger later.”

Night obliged, picking up his satchel by the strap and moving it to the corner next to the crack. He already noticed that a majority of the previous items in here, assumedly Alphys’, were in the corner across from the entrance. He took the corner opposite to her so he could see her easier.

She shuffled around for a second before moving a blanket to the side, revealing a crack within the wall. She pulled out what appeared to be an apple. Before Night could realize what he was doing, he stabbed one of his tentacles through it, sending the mush flying. Alphys stood there shocked and prepared in a defensive stance, but when he didn’t attack her, she snarled at him instead.

“What the fuck was that for? You owe me some food now, EXP fodder!” She wiped the apple off her face without taking her eyes of Nightmare, who was standing up with a bewildered expression. She shoved out her hand palm up, glaring at him the whole time. Mutely, he reached into bag and pulled out another pear, placing it in her upright palm. She glanced at it and then back at him, before sitting down with the pear and eating it.

Night followed her lead, slowly sliding onto the floor against the wall. Noting his silence, Alphys crunched loudly before asking, “What, you got something against crabapples or something? Don’t worry, the stupid bunny hasn’t noticed them missing, and I’ve been snagging them for years.” Nightmare looked at her and tilted his head, hiding his tentacles behind his back. “Crabapples? Like apples?” Alphys look at him like he was an idiot. “They’re just crabapples. It doesn’t matter what they’re like, they get the job done.” Still confused, Night nodded and shifted his gaze elsewhere while she finished the pear.

When she finished, she sighed, leaning against the back wall. “Alright, now talk. You obviously aren’t from around here. Who are you?” She pointed at him with a sharp claw, eye still swollen and raw, but significantly less painful-looking. “Where the hell are you from? You don’t know the name of echo flowers, you are confused about crabapples, which, frankly, is the only reliable source of food around here aside from Muffet’s expensive sweets, and you are softer then the slime you’re made out of. You don’t have a single scratch on you!”

Night shifted uncomfortably. Technically, he did have more than a single scratch, but his new gooey outside hid them very well. Unless someone knew beforehand what he was supposed to look like, they wouldn’t even notice the caved-in socket on the left side of his face. Alphys continued in the background, “You claim to be 200 years old, which puts you up there with Muffet of all things, but are confused when I say that it’s a freaking lie. Hell, I bet even your flavor text is some odd, mushy-type shit.” She points at him again, this time with more force. “Now, talk, slimy man. What the hell are you?”

Chapter 3

Alphys stared at him for a good minute, giving him the chance to gather his thoughts. Just when it seemed that Alphys was going to start screaming at him, Night managed to get out the words.

“I think I’m in the wrong place.”

She snorted at that. “Dude, no freaking shit. I got that. Where are you from? Are you a human? They never said you guys were slimy, but honestly, with the BS that the Queen sprouts these days, I wouldn’t be surprised if everything we heard about you was a lie.” Night looks baffled at that. “Of course I’m not a human, I look nothing like one. Humans have hair on their heads, like fur, and blunt teeth. I’m a skeleton, not a human.”

Now it was Alphys turn to be completely baffled. “There’s no way you’re a skeleton, you dirty liar. I know the only skeletons down here, and you ain’t one of them. The only other one I don’t know is the ferryman, and he certainly doesn’t look anything like you.”

Night can’t help but feel annoyed at that. “No, I am a skeleton. Who says we all look alike?”

“Dude, you literally have black sludge falling off your face. You ain’t no skeleton.”

Night gave up on that and decided to continue with her other questions. “I’m from the village near the Tree of Feelings. It’s not too far from here.”

“What did you do, pull that out of the Snowdin Libraby? That’s some fantasy crap if I’ve ever heard some.”

Night outright growls this time, annoyed. “If you won’t believe anything I say, then why bother telling you anything at all?”

Alphys hushes at that, giving him a glare but staying silent.

Night huffs before continuing. “My- I live in the Tree of Feelings, guarding the apples there. A while back, it was destroyed by monsters and humans in the village, breaking my skull in before cutting down the tree.”

He glanced at her. “I’ve been wandering since.”

“Is that supposed to explain anything?” Alphys pushed, rolling her eyes. Night frowned, but doesn’t say much more. Realizing his silence, Alphys sighed. “While you don’t seem to be a threat, you mentioned some odd things. You say a tree, which are increasingly rare underground. Someone cutting it down would cause an uproar, specially one that gives food. What’s up with that?”

“Ah, that’s simple, I don’t live underground. I-”

“WHAT.” Alphys shoots up, shock showing on her face but panic, excitement and fear running through her aura. “What- how? Where did you come from? How did you get out of the underground? Why on earth would you come back, the hell-” She starts pacing back and forth before whirling back to him, excitement and fear still pulsing from her soul. “Take me there.” When Night hesitated, she grew louder, “NOW!”

Startled, Night stammers for a second, worried. “I mean- I just showed up- I heard you and I appeared in the caves, I don’t know how I got there.”

Alphys’ tail lashed as she growled, searching his face for any hint of a lie. When she found none, she grabbed his hand, pulling him to the exit. “Take me there.” She snarled, desperation leaking from her every pore. Still unsure, Night blanks. “W-where?”

“The surface! Now!” Taking a deep breath, Alphys closed her eyes and slowly looked up at him. “Please.” She begged, softly.

Night held his breath. “I- I can try.” He closed his eyes trying to think what he did earlier that day. A minute passed. A second minute passed.

After the third minute, Alphys’ aura spiked in anger and disappointment. “I can’t believe I thought you-”
Before she could finish her venomous statement, the world turned black.

Chapter 4

Notes:

Chapter specific warning- cursing, reference to past murder

Alphys wished she had the blessing of passing out. No words could describe the intense feeling of being torn apart. Wind screamed in her ears, but her clothes never moved. It felt like a vortex pulled her in, filling her lungs with sludge and her limbs with cotton. One second it was overwhelming and forever, and the next it was gone and never existed.

She at first wasn’t aware of the fact that she was screaming. It took her a few seconds to realize there was sound at all, and she only noticed it was her voice when her throat was raw. When she opened her eyes, she discovered Night’s worried and terrified face looking at her, afraid to touch but yearning to comfort.

Then she saw the sky.

Alphys was born long after monsterkind was sealed away. She did not know what the sky was, and she only knew the stars by the old images of waterfall’s famous crystals and trashed star maps left in the dump. She knew the sun was like lava, just in the sky and hard to look at. But there was no allegory to the sky when the only thing one grew up under was a rocky celling.

It was so vast. It kept on going, even when it was unreasonable. At first, Alphys felt frightened because the open space made it possible for anyone to attack. If someone attacked, there was nothing to hide behind, or vantage point to use. But her fear dripped away with awe as she saw the sky, silvery blue and deep, the first in her family to see it in over a thousand years.

No wonder monsterkind was willing to kill to keep the view.

She realized that Nightmare was still standing in front of her, concerned. He wasn’t saying anything, but the look on his face gave away everything. Idiot skeleton, the moment Alphys saw him she knew that trouble followed him like an addict to their next hit. This was only confirmed by his absolute sheer absurdity and his childish kindness. If it hadn’t been her that found him, he would have been dead within an hour.

If he hadn’t found her, she would have been blind and terrified in a cave until someone dusted her. If he hadn’t healed her, she would have never seen the sky.

She partially realized that she was maybe a jerk.

Nightmare sat once he realized that his friend was no longer in agony, instead giving off awed, confused vibes full of wonder and appreciation. He was unsure of what cause the sudden change in her attitude, but now that he had an idea of what a normal monster’s reaction to his circumstances, he realized that his jump in location wasn’t just a memory lapse. Apparently, he had teleported. He figured that it was likely the black apple’s influence, as both times he was actually able to complete the ‘jump’ he was sensing some form of negative emotion.

During his three month period of isolation, he figured out a lot of skills that came from the black apple. Or plural of such.

He opted to sit and wait, watching the wind move through the trees as Alphys enjoyed the view. If it was average for spiteful and partially murderous Alphys to beg to see the above-ground, he didn’t want to know what the extreme was. Night wondered what could cause such a desperation that the taste of it sill lingered on the back of his teeth.

Alphys stirs and looks at him, awe still in her eyes but now more grounded and stern. “The amount of magic it would take to teleport past the barrier, I didn’t think it was possible.” She says almost to herself, not expecting a response. However, Night surprised her yet again- “Barrier? What do you mean?”

Before she could tell him off for being an absolute, frustrating idiot, he answered himself. “Wait, you said underground, you don’t- were you held prisoner down there? Are you ok, are you still in danger-”

She decided he was still an absolute, frustrating idiot.

She snapped at him, done with his ramblings. “The entirety of monsterkind was locked down there, you bumbling idiot! While you got to frolic in the fields and the sun, the rest of us were put down there for more than a millennium, fighting to survive! What did you do, hide until the war was over?” She shook her head. “No wonder you’re so soft, you never had to fight to eat. Your parents never knew death or what it’s like to see the life seep out of another person. Pathetic.”

There was a stretch of silence as Alphys looked away, some part of her pissed at herself and ashamed. She knew it wasn’t his choice to live on the surface anymore than it was her choice to live underground. But it was horribly unfair that anyone got to escape the fate left to her and the rest of monsterkind, being able to live with the sun and the stars everyday without knowing what it was like to see only stony roof.

She was still brooding when Night replied. “I don’t have parents. My mom died when she created us- she's a- she was a tree. It’s been just me and my brother for a long, long time.”

Curiosity peaked now, Alphys couldn’t help herself. “You have a brother?”

Night visibly tensed, and Alphys didn’t need magic to see that he was grieving. She corrects herself softly. “You had a brother.”

The silence continued for even longer. Alphys looked away, looking at the sky still. She wasn’t going to push. The last time she did, she nearly lost a friend and (probably) her limbs. So she sat instead, soaking in the rays of sunlight. It satisfied her in a way she never knew she craved, with the warmth spreading throughout her soul. She was 100% fine staying like this until the sun itself collapsed, or she died of starvation. Whatever comes first.

“I killed him.” Night whispered, so very softly. There were no tears on his face, but emotions that she had no name for bled from his expression all the same.

She made a noise, a noncommittal one, just to show she heard. “What’s your LV?”

That almost startles him. “LV?”

She mentally slapped herself. If he grew up in sunshine and rainbows, there’d be no emphasis on EXecution Points or Level of Violence. Still, it was odd he didn’t know the basics, or the principle of the topic. She decided to go a different route. “What happened?”

She doesn’t look at him, aptly refusing his gaze in favor for staring off into space. Regardless, Night answered. “I killed him. I ate the apples, the ones we were supposed to protect, together. We were supposed to protect the tree together, but they attacked when it was only me. They took the stored apples, the ones for healing, and tried to get the others in the tree.” His voice wobbled. “Instead of just climbing, the cut the tree down. I had broken one of their legs while protecting the tree, but-” He wheezed. She refused to look, but she knew what it meant. He took another wet wheeze before starting again. “I reached for one of the golden apples, hoping to heal my arms and try and fight them off, something, and- it just turned black in my hands. The other one noticed- I- I panicked and shoved it in my mouth.”

“It hurt so, so much, more then even my skull being caved in. I didn’t even know pain like that could exist. I thought that was going to be my punishment, dying forever for eating the forbidden fruit.” He chucked morbidly, still congested and grossly emotional. “And when it stopped, he-he was standing there, just staring in f-fear, terrified.”

“He ate his golden apple, the one he took to heal someone. And then he turned to stone.” He hesitated, voice still wobbly and painful. “I killed everyone after that.”

Alphys was both extremely confused and concerned. There was obviously lore here that she couldn’t understand, simply due to their difference in location, but seriously. What the fuck.

She cleared her throat. “He... turned to stone? Just.” She mimed with her hands. “Popped the apple in, boom, stone?” She turned to look at him this time, noticing his turned face. He still nodded, however. “What the fuck, man.”

Night choked on a laugh, unable to stop it from reaching his expression. She pretended not to notice and continued. “Like, at least I know my place is messed up! But you come along and go “yeah, my bro’s stone now” and don’t even realize how insane that is! Magic apples is one thing, but black and golden apples with whatever the frick they were even supposed to be doing- useless pieces of shit, that’s what they are- and you’re apparently fine with it!” She mimes his tone and face. “My mom’s a tree. What the fuck.”

By the end of it, Night’s giggling, and she feels acomplished in her mission of at least lightening the mood a bit.

She desperately wanted to ask how many people he killed, but even in her culture of “kill or be killed,” that’s just plain rude. You don’t talk about someone’s first kill, you don’t ask who they killed, and you don’t ask how many kills. Though, in all honesty, it just takes a quick CHECK to get one’s EXecution Points. She'd figure out a way to corner him and get the info, at least without being direct.

She sighs in the sun’s warmth. “Do you think I can stay here? It’s so warm. It’s not even like how Hotland is, all arid and blisteringly hot. It’s just-” She motions meaninglessly, but Night nods anyways.

“I wouldn’t mind the company.” He scoots over next to her, enjoying the lowering sun, aptly refusing to touch but still holding each other the same.

Chapter 5

Notes:

No chapter specific warnings, really. If you've gotten past the other four chapters with no problems, you'll be fine here.

After the sun set, Night took the blissed-out lizard monster to his small camp. Alphys gave no indication that she wanted to go back to her place, so he just took her to his place. It wasn’t too far away from his old village and the stone corpse of his brother, but he couldn’t bear living near the destruction itself, hence his camp. Either way, he couldn’t live in the now rotting corpse of his home and mother. He has standards, despite all of what he’s done.

Alphys didn’t seem to mind being led around, still looking dopey from the sun. Considering what little he knew of reptilian monsters, he wasn’t sure if he needed to get a blanket for her, but he decided against asking when he saw Alphys completely zonked out. Instead, he kept watch while she slept, listening for the rustle of rabbits foraging. He wanted to find more food before he took Alphys back.

If she even wanted to go back.

He’d probably take her back anyways. Living out here is lonely, and it was easy to eat the wrong plant and die a miserable death, solely out of ignorance. Even if he could bring more people, which he honestly isn’t even sure that he can do, he couldn’t get enough food for all of them.

Of course, he just doesn’t want Alphys or anyone else to stumble onto the horrific scene in the village. Knowing it is one thing, but seeing it?
He didn’t want to lose another friend, despite everything.

He kept musing throughout the night, until Alphys stirred sometime around early dawn. The sky was just barely lightening, bringing a beautiful twilight color to the mix of dark blues and pinks. She blinked sleepily at Night, before jumping up suddenly, glancing around the small camp he had made in a meadow. She stared at the spot where she lay during the night before looking at Night.
“Did... ya bring me over here?” She croaks softly. Night nods, before adding, “Don’t worry, I kept watch too. Nothing happened. It’s about... 4 in the morning?”
Alphys nods in recognition, before mumbling. “Didn’t mean to sleep on ya. The sun...” She glanced at the sunrise. “I never knew it could be so nice.”

Night nodded. “There weren’t many reptilian monsters in my village, there were more mammalian monsters and humans. There were many bear monsters, and bunny monsters. There were a few non-animal monsters as well. We didn’t spend much time there anyways.” Alphys yawned, humming in response, and got up to look around. He continued. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be okay sleeping in the dark since we have no heat, but you fell asleep before I could ask. I figured the sun from earlier might be enough to keep you warm until you awoke.”

“Are we going to head back?” Night dared to ask.
Alphys flinched and turned to look him in the eye. “Back... to the undergound?” She seemed torn between snapping at him and pleading with him. The silence stretched between them for a moment before Alphys spoke.

“I don’t want to go back.”

Night felt his tentacles on his back twitch. “I really... don’t want to stay here.”

Silence and discomfort spread between them again, before Alphys decided for them. “The underground... could we find the entrance on the outside? What if we can find a way to break the barrier from the outside?” She bit her lip before continuing. “What if we can find human souls to break the barrier?”

Night fiddled with his hands. “I think… I’m misunderstanding something. You need human souls for breaking a wall?”

Alphys snorts. “Ah, to be sheltered. No, dingbat. The barrier is magical, and it needs seven souls to break the barrier. At the moment, we have 5.” She trails off, reaching one hand to her eye. “Though, I supposed its 6 now.”
Night isn’t quite sure what to say to the final part, so he ignores it. “As far as I know, um… there’s no other villages, monster or otherwise, around here. There was only the one near our tree.” He plucks a dandelion from the ground where he was sitting. “There aren’t any souls aside from me and you now.”

“Human souls persist after death, right? Could we check to see if their souls are still there?” Alphys turns to look at his face, pleading with her eyes.
Night whirled around before she could even finish her statement. “No.”

Alphys pauses for a second before snipping back. “What, too scared of a bunch of corpses? It’s just some dust and bones.” She snorted before continuing. “The lot of you up here jus’ too soft and freak out to a little blood and guts. No wonder the Queen hardens us up young, if this is what monsterkind used to be like.” Night simply clinched his fist and refused to look at her, a clicking noise occuring everytime he worked his jaw. “Bunch’a pussyfoots.”

When Night still gave no response, she growled before snapping again. “Ya know, I don’t even need you to find the place you’re talking about. With the way you keep babbling on about it, it’s the only place for miles ‘round.” She hopped up without a breath or pause. “See ya, sludge. Don’t need your useless help.”

She barely made it a step before she felt the swallowing gap from before. The intense vortex that she felt before seeing the sky. This time, instead of everything being blurry and visually incomprehensible, everything sharpened to a concerning degree, colors far too bright. She didn’t remember turning around, but at some point, she did, facing Night.

He was no longer sitting on the grass but standing up. He was eerily still and staring at the ground, a faint pulsing of his magic being the only thing she could hear. The pulsing increased in beat before Night lifted his head slowly, his eyelights gone and a blank smile on his face.

And as fast as the feeling came on, it was gone. Everything shallowed and the pulse that she had felt her magic beating to disappeared. Night was still standing but not looking at her, rather, staring to the side as if he had to force himself to look away from her.

Alphys had a feeling that, as soft as Night was, he would kill her without hesitation if she kept pushing it.
The pause stretched between the two before Night spoke. “We’re not going to the village. There is no one there.”

He looked back at her, steely-eyed. “Aside that, it’s been nearly three moon-cycles since they all died. The longest I’d seen a soul last there was a week, and that was because they were a determined mage.”
He said those words smoothly, like they belonged togeather or were a single phrase. She decided not to question it.

Alphys made the first move. “Tish. Fine, whatever.” It was a shallow acknowledgment, a refusal to address the events moments earlier. “What do you plan on doing, then, O’ Wise One?”

Night worked his jaw again, making that annoying clicking sound. “The main problem is the barrier, and we can’t solve that. What’s some of the other issues you mentioned?” He fiddled with his bag. “You mentioned food being an issue, with a rabbit and ‘Muffet’ being the only reliable sources of food, and I imagine healing items are rare if everyone focuses on violence. A ‘queen’ spreading misinformation-”

Alphys huffed. “All of these problems are a direct result of the barrier anyways. Not enough space, not enough food, not enough energy. Plus, the taxes and the death payments, not enough monsters to fill the demand. No one’s got money or supplies to sell without going bankrupt and starving themselves.”

“And you accused me of ‘fairytale’ stuff.” Night huffed under his breath. “Who the heck even pays taxes anymore? What’s with the queen, anyways?”

She frowned at that. “What, do you not have a monarchy up here? How the hell do you moderate everybody?”

Night shrugged. “I mean, we had a town elder, which kind of ruled the village, plus the priest that dealt with us, so I guess. But they were a lot less blunt about it. It was more like ‘Do as I say, or I’ll make you a pariah’ rather than ‘Do as I say, or I’ll make you wish you had the pleasure of dying.’” Night paused at that. “Really, though. I guess there is no difference.”

“Moving on from that.” Alphys butted in, caring less about his internal debate on the pros and cons of monarchy and tyranny. “Everything would literally be solved if we had a human soul.”

Night frowned. “But how? Okay, the barrier is broken and now you have space. But I’m assuming that humans won’t really like that you killed people to do it and will probably hate everyone anyways. If they don’t kill you, they’ll lock you up again.” He paused for breath and thought. “How long has it been since the barrier was made?”

A cackle escaped Alphys teeth before she replied, “Guess.”
“Uhh, okay. Er, 300 years?”
“Nope. Far off. Try higher.”
Eyes widened at that statement. “Higher? Okay, how about 500 years?”

Alphys huffed. “You are, what, 250 years old? Try something like 5 times that.”

Night’s eyes blew wide open, a puff of air escaping from him in shock. “1250 years? Is anyone still even alive to remember the reason you were all locked up in the first place?”

“If someone knows, they ain’t saying. I know there are monsters that old, cuz Old Man Gerson and the stupid hotland port-o-potty spout all sorts of nonsense about the war if you get them drunk enough. Plus, the Queen lived through it too, though not with ‘er skull intact.” Alphys cracked a mirthful grin as she said that, a sliver of hate peaking from behind her magic.

“I’m going to assume the queen is a little bonkers?” Night whispered.

Alphys snorted before replying. “That’d be puttin’ it lightly. I don’t think she’s had a coherent thought since her kids died and her hubby up and left.”
“What happened to her kids?”

Alphys groaned and sat back down. “Ugh, you’re going to make me tell the whole story of the prince and shit, aren’t ya. Might as well sit. It’s freaking long and stupid.” She paused before Night sat down as well. “Pass me the fruit you gave me earlier while you’re at it. I’m freaking starving.”

Chapter 6

Notes:

Chapter warning-
References to possible suicide, not of any major character. If you were fine before you'll be fine now.
edit- 11/17/2023
APPARENTLY, no one told me, but I posted the same chapter twice. I'm gonna blame 3 am brain. Fixed now. Let me know next time if you see it, its probably just me being stupid.

Saying Night was shocked was an understatement, in the worst way.

As Dream used to say, Night was impossible to shock in theory. He knew most everything by the book and could easily predict things. Yet, it really was nothing in comparison to actually seeing something. Actively hearing about the horrors of the underground and its past, Night simply had no comparison, not for something so deeply conspired and multi-generational.

Or maybe he does, just not at this scale.

“So let me get his right, after who knows how long of being underground, the Queen and King have a kid, as well as adopt another when the child’s parents die. Later, the kid finds an injured human, and they take them in too. The human dies a slow and painful death, and in grief, the adopted monster absorbs their sibling's soul to cross the barrier and bring their body to their favorite flowers.” He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes before continuing. “Then, the humans find the kid holding the corpse of a human child, obliterate the both of them while they refuse to fight back, before the kid stumbles home and dies in the throne room.”

“The parents freak, and the queen declares war on humans, ordering every human that falls to the underground to be hunted and killed. The king hates this and attempts to take the prince with him to flee, going to stars-knows-where, but the prince refuses halfway, resulting in both parents refusing to trust him, forcing the kid to choose. The king disappears, the queen loses it again, and the prince has to deal with a semi-psychotic mom who assumedly doesn’t care about them anymore and a kingdom that hates his family, including him.”

Alphys snorts. “Yeah, that’s about the sum of it. Really though, I think that the human kid knew they were going to die, that they were terminally ill, and that’s why they fell down the mountain. When they found themselves alive and shit, they decided to give their soul up and wait for the barrier to be broken. Maybe they assumed their royal highness would take their soul, get a couple more before freeing all monsters.” Alphys paused before grumbling. “I'm probably givin' stripes too much credit though.”

Night shook his head. “I don’t think so. While that could have been the motivation for falling down, I think it seemed too sudden for that. Wouldn’t they have been sick the whole time, not just the end?” Night hesitated and whispered under his breath.

“Speak up, I can’t hear ya, dingus.” Alphys grumbled.
Night grinded his teeth before raising his voice. “I think that they came to the mountain to die, and despite having a family or safety or whatever they were looking for, decided to kill themselves so they could free the rest of the monsters.”

Alphys looked gobsmacked and stared at Night, mouth literally hanging open. She swallowed and muttered a bit. “How old were they even- I mean, it’s possible that they killed themselves, but for monsterkind to be free? Did they tell the younger monster to absorb their soul and cross the barrier?”

Night frowned. “However, that would mean that they intended to kill other humans and steal their souls to break the barrier. Were they just unable to? Humans are strong, but the combined power of a monster and human soul-"

A snarl escaped from Alphys before she held her head in her hands. “This all doesn’t matter anyways. They’re dead, its done and over with. Is there any way to break the barrier without human souls?”

Night shook his head. “I doubt it. See, human magic is different from monsters, kind of how sound is different from light. One we see visually while the other we hear, and both are just wavelengths and movement that are interpreted differently by the user.”

He swiped the ashes from an old campfire, making a smooth canvas to explain what he was describing. “Magic is a ‘wavelength’ per say, of energy. Humans harness it by physical means and the properties of their magic have slightly different rules then ours, making it analogous to ‘light'.” Night draws a human and a few arrows, pointing from the surroundings towards the humans. A squiggle next to the human, presumably the wavelength, is wide and slow, with large gaps between each curve.

“Meanwhile, monsters make their magic non-physically and produce it themselves, allowing for a more pure but simplified form of energy. I guess radiation would be more accurate than sound in this analogy, but whatever.” This time, he draws a doodle of a lizard monster, with arrows pointing out from the center of the figure. There is a wavelength squiggle next to the drawing as well, but this one is tight and thin, with the gaps between being very small before the next hump.

“Humans and monsters can both perceive this energy, magic, but can only make some forms of it, and different types and subcategories of magic are limited by species and soul type. If seven human mages made the barrier, once again assuming one for each type of soul, then seven different wavelengths are being emitted by the barrier, likely reinforcing each other."

Night drew a line perpendicular to the ground, before drawing 7 different squiggles of varying lengths next to it. “A monster wouldn’t have the right type of magic to overlap and mirror the wavelengths, therefore making them unable to neutralize the effects of the wavelengths and break the barrier.”

Alphys groaned and put her face on the ground. “So, what I'm hearing is a whole lot of nothing and a shitty ‘no.’”

Night looked sheepish. “Well, it just means you have to find a source similar enough to the human magic wavelengths. If you already have 6 souls, it might be enough to reverse the barrier’s wavelengths and partially mute the remaining unaccounted-for wavelength, especially if the source can be duplicated and modified. Then, the barrier simply might collapse under the strain of Hawking’s Magic Law and dissipate faster than the natural life of all seven wavelengths would be.”

A groan sounded from the reptile, who looked frustrated and assumed a position face down in the Earth. “So, what does it fuckin’ mean?”

Night sighed. “I’m not good at engineering, so I don’t know if it's possible, but theory says that it's possible to break the barrier without another soul.”

Alphys stopped for a moment and Night could feel the anticipation and barely controlled excitement radiating from her body. She looked up at him with wide eyes, the still-fresh scar straining over the right eye. “So- what do we need to do? What can we do? The royal scientist is still working on the core, so energy will be an issue until then. Materials of course, but we don’t know what is needed to replicate magic-” She growls in frustration, banging her head against the rocky ground twice. “Ugh, stars, it’s so stupid-”

Night hummed, agreeing but not feeling. He was already thinking about what little remained of refined healing items in the village. Magic from different donors surely can’t hurt, but it would mean going back to the village. He could just wait until next nighttime and sneak out, but he’s running on something like 3 hours of sleep, and it would be pushing it. If he went, however, he could grab some old books from the library on the study of magic. With such little information on humans in the underground, he might actually have something of use to the scientists.
On the other hand, food and natural supplies would be far easier to gather but wouldn’t be refined or purified in any way. If they could gather enough, they could also sell the food and create some minor healing items. The problem would be convincing Alphys of it being the best method.

Night huffed before giving Alphys his idea. “We should collect food and materials from the forest first. One, its food and it is as versatile as it is vital. Two, we can trade it and collect refined materials such as metal, magic samples, and screws. We will have to get all metals from your side of the barrier, we have no metal smith, and judging by the construction I saw in Hotland, the underground is more advanced than we are.” He gestured to the woods around them and focused in on the wood. “I’m willing to bet wood is an issue down there, so we can collect sticks and logs and bring them as well.”

Alphys mumbles and asks “What would the wood even be for? Why would we use wood in this project?”

Night shook his head. “We wouldn’t. I bet it’s expensive, and we can trade it for a ton of good things for very little effort on our side. It’s the most efficient way to get enough materials to convince the scientists to try our idea.”

“I think you are misunderstanding the way the royal scientist works.” Alphys says with a sour tone. “We can’t just walk up to him and ask to drop everything and work on two idiot’s idea of a machine. We need proof, and it will likely have to be in the form of a prototype or something.”

Night looked at her in shock. “Alphys, there is no way I can make this machine. I know nothing of engineering, just biology and magic. I can’t do that.”

She bares her teeth, grinning a vicious smile. “I know. That’s why I’m going to do this.”

Chapter 7: EXTRA CONTENT- Author's Notes

Hello everyone! This is an unorthodox authors post for One Hand Offered. This will address some questions and give some Easter eggs to the story in this little world.

So, questions first!

Will Night's LV/EXP be revealed? What is Night's LOVE?
Glad you asked. Nope, Night’s LV and EXP won’t be revealed, at least in this story. I might address it later, in comics or stories, but it will likely always stay vague. However, I can give an estimate based on the Nightmare Gang's respective LVs.

I'll give you some perspective- in UNDERTALE, the genocide route means killing approximately 120 monsters, including two boss monsters, Asgore and Toriel. This gets you to approximately level 20.

By the time you reach Sans, that numbers around 118, because, for some reason, Sans isn't counted as a kill. Despite this, you level up your LOVE to 20. This says that EXP isn't the only driving force to the calculation of LOVE, ignoring the game aspect of the coding.
Vise versa, EXP likely isn’t as powerful to LV when other circumstances are involved. A mercy killing probably wouldn’t be as violent to the soul as a revenge killing, or a unnecessary/merciless one.

In UNDERTALE, the genocide route mostly consists of merciless and unnecessary kills. While the EXP stays the same for each of the kills, the amount of damage done to the soul likely differs based on the amount it has had to harden to protect itself from the nature of the kills.

Too long, don’t wanna read? LOVE can be increased in non-fatal ways, and different types of kills can increase LOVE in different amounts. A death caused by torture increases the LOVE more than a mercy killing where the victim is suffering from another circumstance. One monster could have 34 EXP and a LOVE of 13, while another could have 40 and have a LOVE of 7.

With all of that said, here are the LOVE levels, going from highest to lowest.

Killer

Dust

Nightmare

Cross

Horror

Though not considered part of the gang, Error has the highest out of all of them. Trap, Horror's brother, has the lowest.

Killer is higher up on the list then Dust for good reason. You'll just have to wait for me to actually publish the comic on Tumblr or something.

Is the gang going to meet up at some point?
Yes! This story actually takes place before the comics. Night is just discovering his powers and is experimenting with his limits. Eventually, he will stumble upon each of the future Nightmare gang members, plus a few more for the road!

Is Dream non-binary?
Yes and no! Dream uses they/he pronouns. They don’t mind being called male titles, but they do prefer they/them pronouns. Night knows this, and addresses him as such throughout the story. Its one of the many things I carried over from my friends as Black Apple Blues, another series exploring Nightmare and Dream's story.

Does Nightmare prefer Night or Nightmare?
He definitely prefers Night, but he won’t deny that Nightmare is his name. He doesn’t like it, and wouldn’t enjoy his family and friends calling him by his full name, but he won’t get fussy over it. Its similar to the name Jeremiah becoming Jeremy, or Elizabeth becoming Eliza. Both are correct, but you'd probably force only your enemies to call you Jeremiah.

Does this take place in any particular AU?
Not really. While the X-Event, or the Truce between the creator and destroyer have been borrowed from the wonderful Jakei, the story exists outside of anyone else’s story. This is my take on Night and Dream’s story, and how the slight differences in their story can shape the rest of the universe.

In other words, the story follows other stories, but no part of the Dream/Night timelines branch off another story. Additionally, due to language barriers, Killer has a total story overhaul, because I cannot read Korean or Japanese, his main AU contributors' languages. I will try to keep to his persona as much as possible, but his lack of story and his similarities to Dust Sans has always annoyed me, and I’m totally changing it.

Is there a upload schedule for the story?
Hah! You wish. No way. In fact, I write this stuff in advance, but still get paranoid if there’s less then three backup chapters to buffer writers block or depression. Ironic, because I really only write this to combat my own feelings and impulses at my worst. Don’t worry though. If I get enough comments of people wanting more, I’ll feel bad and break the three chapter rule. Can’t do much if no inspiration strikes, but I will let you all know if the time comes. I much rather have a good story then force something that’s not there.

Anything else we should know?
The nest chapter, after this one, is going to have major trigger warnings. If you are not safe reading about explicit self harm, depictions of death/murder, or a brief mention of vomiting, you may want to skip the chapter, or stop reading entirely. Your safety is far more important then reading me torture Nightmare. If there’s enough demand, I’ll make a summary in the end of chapter notes of the specific chapter. Let me know in the comments, I crave interaction. Plus, it probably makes you all feel better after reading darker chapters.

For the comic, I’ve got something set up tentatively. There’s something like 46 pages, some of them wonky and some beautiful. I’m not changing them, because I don’t care enough. Anyways, the moment I figure out how to embed pictures in Ao3, it will be posted as well.

All announcements will be done through here, as in Ao3 and the One Hand Offered page. I don’t have much care for social media of other types, too much work.

Well, here’s the closing of our author's notes. Ask questions, talk, complain in the comments, do whatever. Enjoy the story and stay safe, because someone really cares about you.

Chapter 8

Notes:

Warnings-
Major warning this chapter. Description of corpses, detailed decay, references to murder, explict self-harm, emetophobia trigger.

Stay safe, don't push yourself if you're in a bad mindset. The story will wait for you.

Night gives her some of his precious paper to write down a crude blueprint of her idea. He no longer has his polished slab of wood to write neatly, but she seems to figure it out, resting it on her leg to get it flat. While she works on the blueprint, he tells her where he will be.

“Stay put here, you will get lost otherwise. I’m going to be in the forest foraging and hunting. We’ll try to collect everything in three days, wood, food, ideas or otherwise. That will give me enough time to make jerky, which will last longer.” Night adds on mentally to his list. Plus give me time to run to the village and scavenge for books and magic items.

She doesn’t even look up when he leaves, but her spike of annoyance when he keeps talking tells him that she was probably paying attention. He tries one last time before leaving. “I’ll be back before sundown. Do not leave the campsite, it will be easier to find each other that way.”

This gets him a snort and a wave, but it’s good enough to satisfy Night.

Night grabs his satchel and starts a steady hike, watching branches and making as little noise as possible. He looks back at the camp to make sure Alphys is absorbed in her work, and then takes off in the direction of the village.

The faster I get this done, the better.

It takes about 25 minutes of continuous jogging to get to the village, rising up on the hill opposite of his old home. He purposefully took a longer route so he would have to walk by the rotting corpse of his home or brother. Regardless, he felt jumpy and disoriented the entire run, despite nothing being around to harm him.
Not that anyone really could anymore, with the way he is now.

He decided to run to the healers hut first, hoping to find some medical supplies and magic donations. Monsters regularly donated magic of all colors, and humans often donated blood for use in healing, so a healthy stock stayed in the huts at all times. It wouldn’t be fresh, but it would be something.

The first house he walked by was dusty and quiet, surprisingly still standing despite the destruction and wrath that came through not even a season ago. But it was one of the only ones to remain such a way. Most houses were charred, with various sides crushed in. Some houses smelled of death and flies swarmed the entire street, feeding off the rusted stains in the dirt and pink, fleshy matter on the clay walls. Any time he stepped in the sand of the street, he fought back the nauseating memory of walking through the dust of his brother’s friends, stuck between his tiny bones and joints of his feet.

He walked quickly through the grass, avoiding the trodden down soil and sand scattered throughout the lawn. The village healer was one of the few that stayed silent during the disaster, one of the last to die. The hut reflected this fact- bottles of magic spilled haphazardly on the floor, swept aside piles of dust, bandages no longer holding people together, having disappeared midair as a soul dusted in front of the healer's eyes. A bucket in the corner smelled like sewage and rotten food, making the entire place feel humid and muggy.
He stepped around a pile of dust. His mind traitorously identified the cause of the pile as Brad Bear, one of his bullies' baby siblings that often joined in on nightly raids on his home, usually in the form of throwing rocks.

There were a few labeled bottles of magic and powder he didn’t recognize, but he grabbed them fast and wrapped them in cloth to keep them from clicking in his bag. The few veils of blood that were enchanted to stay cool by an elder no longer held anything of value; the blood had coagulated and smelled of rot. He grabbed some bandages that were unenchanted, before being hit by the unmistakable feel of his brother's magic. It was weak, but not faint, just overpowered by other sensations in the room.

He dug around before finding the source on the back desk. A long-cold soup rested in a wooden bowl, with a bright yellow hue in the reflection of the liquid. It felt like hugs on a cold day, campfires in the rainy season.

It felt like Dream.

He found himself tripping over the dust pile as he ran out of the hut, puking what little magic and food he had eaten that morning. He panted as he tried to get the dust out of his joints, shaking his foot and grabbing at it in a frenzy. He knew he was panicking, but he wasn’t sure of what. He just needed to get out.

He barely got up before stumbling into a run. He couldn’t see where he was going, which direction he was heading. All he knew was that he had to run from the clenching feeling in his chest and the awful pressure of the rot-filled room.

When he did get some semblance of location, he shook off his satchel and sat under a tree, fumbling through his bag. The jars clicked against each other in his rush before he pulled out his knife.

Both Dream and Night had been gifted a knife tool when the village first formed. The local toolsmith made unique carvings in the handle of their respective symbols, stars for Dream and the moon for Night. It was a favored gift between the two, and they often used it when foraging and hunting.

Night had an additional use for it.

Once he had it in his hold, he brought it over his right arm and held it palm up. Before he could breathe and back out, he slid it across the bone, a slight sting of marrow appearing.

Another. He dragged deeper, this one. All of his senses were forced to focus on the sensation of a knife cutting bone. He wasn’t sure if he was breathing.

Again. Slow, short drag, even deeper. It slid over his ulna before hitching on his radius, nicking deeper. The magic didn’t even wait for his knife to move before flowing from the wound.

He clenched his fist, watching the flow of his blueish magic become disrupted by the coat of slime across his bones. Unlike his tears, which slipped off quickly, it swirled into the mix of sludge and sin, creating mini rivers of blue in the black thickness.

Not enough, not yet. He resituated the knife in hand before angling it towards his arm, pointed down. He took a breath before slamming it down into his arm, cracking the ulna and chipping his radius. A whimper left his mouth as it hit, but no other sign revealed his existence.

He pulled it out and angled it horizontally again, preparing for one last slide in the bottom part of his wrist for good measure. He felt better now, but one more was needed to finish it off, like the last page before a book ends.

This one was the lightest of the four, barely a thin line of marrow, but it was the most satisfying. His arm throbbed in beat with his soul, a lazy drip of magic dripping from his exposed marrow in his ulna. He exhaled and wiped the knife off on the inner fabric of his shirt before placing it to the side. With his left hand he dug in his bag and dragged out the bandage his brother made particularly for him.

These ones didn’t feel like comfort or care or even caution. This one gave the aura of a wary cat enjoying some sunshine, or a first-time cuddle with a lover. These ones bled concern, adoration, frustration, anxiety, and most of all, love. They felt like his brother.
He quickly set the bone in his arm, not bothering to remove the marrow like he normally would. His newfound layer of slime hid the marrow well, and there was no point in trying to get rid of it. He whimpered when a shard caught on another bit of bone, but otherwise there were no difficulties as he wrapped the bone.

He was lucky that Dream taught him how to wrap these particular breaks. They could be easily wrapped incorrectly and would splinter again if not done well.
The hiss of his brother’s magic in the bandages took forefront as he leaned back against the tree. He inhaled and exhaled a few times, enjoying the sound of the forest. He just needed a moment to breathe. Then he could rush back to the library and get those books.
He still had plenty of time judging by the sun, though the birds were starting to sing as the temperature dipped lower. He’d have to run back in order to get back to camp and collect enough supplies to make it seem like he was working.

He sighed and got up, using his left hand. Normally, he would use his injured hand to get up as some semblance of normalcy or testing his wounds, but with the crack in the bone, he knew not to test it. The ulna would certainly snap in half if given the chance, and those breaks were extremely painful and likely to heal improperly.

He slung his satchel over his right shoulder despite its injuries but placed it to rest on his opposing back. He couldn’t pick it up with his right hand, so it was the only option. Then, after checking the dirt below for any sign of marrow or magic, he headed back to the village, avoiding the tree and the healer hut.

He didn’t waver in the library. While there was no one there anymore, no dust piles or rotting bodies, it was eerie without the soft breathing of the lady tortoise monster that used to run the library. She had died a year ago, and her son had blamed him. His constant presence in the library with her killed her, and not even a golden apple could save her. By the time they came, she had died in her sleep.

Her son appeared that night at the tree, as one of the three that bashed in his skull.

He knew exactly what he was looking for in the library, because as new as it was (in comparison to his 230 years, at least) he knew the entire place like the back of his hand. There were three shelves the lined the walls, and a low-lying table with cushions in the center. The fiction was on the left-hand shelf, and the nonfiction went from the middle shelf to the first two shelves of the right-hand bookshelf. The remaining two shelves had dictionaries and textbooks, including a few medical ones.

Before grabbing any books, he reached behind the librarian’s desk and grabbed the small cloth bag she kept for him. Then, he grabbed the human medical textbook from the bottom right-hand shelf and shoved it into his bag. It was more physical than magical, but anything helped. He went over to the middle shelf and grabbed the two human myth and magic books he knew so well, as well as magic-types study book for middle schoolers. It had a decent section on human magic types, so it went in the bag. Finally, he went back to the desk and crawled under it, lifting his injured arm to avoid jostling it.

Sitting on the floor, he took his empty left hand and pushed at the back of the desk drawer, revealing a hidden compartment. He was young when he first found the book in an elder's house, probably 100 or so, but he never got the chance to read it through. The only snippets he got were when the library was unoccupied. Not even Dream knew that he knew where it was, let alone read a page of it. This particular book always enchanted him because of its elusive nature.

This one was the handwritten spell book and magic guide of the human mages that died here. It was the persevering mage that had written it, but there were some notes from each of the mages that had lived and settled here when Night and Dream were small. It most certainly had some use, judging by the evasiveness of the elders who hid it from him and his curious nature. Most were of journaling use and followed the younger years of the persevering mage, but judging by the heftiness of the book, it likely spanned over the entire lifetime of the mage.

Scooting on his butt was a little humiliating, but the book was too heavy to carry with his injured arm, so he made do. If he ate something later, he could probably decrease the gravity of the book, but for now, it made the cloth bag sag with its weight. He slugged it onto his left shoulder, his only option, looked around, and left.

He exited the village in a jog but was too tired to run all the way to the camp, so he settled for speed walking when he got halfway there. As he went, he used his knife to cut elderberries and other fruits. He tried to just hold them, but the thorns got annoying, so he placed them gently on top of the glass jars in his satchel.

He made it back to the forest around the clearing just before sunset. The sky was tawny and purple, but there was enough light to see that Alphys was still there, trying to write while occasionally letting lose some magic to see more clearly. He dropped off his bag near the edge of the clearing and put the satchel on top.
“I’m back now, I got some food.”

Alphys jumped a bit before grunting in acknowledgment. “Great, I was getting hungry. Did you find anything?”

Night externally hummed in response, appearing calm, but on the inside, he was panicking a little. He wasn’t sure what to say. He settled on a half-truth.

“I got some books from my stash and some fruit, but not much else. It was too noisy to hunt rabbits and too early to catch deer, so no jerky. I did find some good spots for wood collection later, though,” he said quickly, barely stopping to breathe until he got it all out. “And the books will be very helpful, especially if we can use it to convince the royal scientist.”

Alphys snorted and looked up at him. “Woah, goody-two-shoes overworlder here making a bribe? Oh, that’s great.”

Night flustered before sniping back. “It’s not a bribe! We’re just trying to convince him, giving him something he would really want just sweetens the deal!”

Alphys laughed. “Keep telling yourself that, slimy. Now, what do we have to eat?”

Chapter 9

Summary:

Content warnings-
Self harm thoughts, description of animal corpse

Early morning came slowly, probably because Night barely slept. He offered to take first watch, explaining that it can’t hurt to keep an eye out for predators. It would be highly unusual for a bear or mountain lion to attack a monster, but with his luck he wouldn’t be surprised.

Even when Alphys took watch, he couldn’t sleep. He zoned out at some point before Alphys shook him awake for his turn, but he’s sure he didn’t sleep. He didn’t feel rested enough for that.

The second time Alphys shook him awake for his turn on watch, she grabbed his lower right arm, right where the new break was. When he jerked upright, he made the most embarrassing yipping sound, not unlike a dog, which resulted in an amused look from Alphys. She didn’t ask what the sound was about, and he didn’t answer.

They switched only twice in the night, and Night stayed awake until the sun rose. He stretched before glancing at Alphys, making sure she was asleep. He turned to where her face was facing away from him, but he could still see if she stirred awake. Pulling out his bag, he loosened his arm out of his sleeve to examine his wounds.

He unwrapped the break slowly, biting his shirt to avoid hissing when it caught on a sliver of bone. Taking the soiled bandages, he bundled them into a ball and tossed them aside. He remembered reading that reptilian monsters could not smell as well as mammalian monsters, so he only had to make sure she couldn’t see it. After examining the wound, realigning the slivered bone, he pulled out his brother’s bandages to rewrap the break. The hiss of magic was loud in the silent early morning air, but Alphys did not wake.

When he was done and mentally prepared to get moving for the day, he pulled out some more fruit from his bag and set it on the rock near Alphys’ face. Then, he got up and went hunting.

Night won’t lie to himself, he loves hunting. Something about being completely in tune with nature was wonderful and deepening, as if he was a part of the forest itself. Every sound became more powerful, every breath a relief as he tracked rabbits through the brush. Of course, killing wasn’t always fun, especially if it was messy, but it was part of the job, and he wouldn’t leave an animal to suffer after dealing it a substantial injury.

He and Dream had two methods of hunting, depending on whether they were together or separate. When together, Dream was their takedown expert, while Night was the tracker. He could find the smallest squirrel within minutes of being in the forest. He could even occasionally follow tracks through rivers, particularly if the animals were large and heavy like a deer. They knew each other’s cues, and Dream would always know the second Night had laid eyes on a beast. If they were apart, the method was slightly different. Dream would sit and wait for something to pass by, usually up high in a tree, before striking it down from afar with a bone spear or bow. Night would instead track and hunt down one, before getting as close as possible to spear it with a bone.

Night had some difficulty with his new appendages grabbing or hitting something in the beginning, but as he got more used to their presence, he adapted to finding lower and wider areas to track through instead of his normal narrow ones. Now, all he had to do was lay low in the brush, listening for a sound or searching for tracks, and wait.

He could hear a squirrel up in a tree; he knew that it was a squirrel because no recent fluttering sounds had occurred, so no bird had flown in or landed. If it was a bird, it was a very shy woodpecker, and they would have still pecked by now. When the leaves rustled and something hard fell, it confirmed the presence of a squirrel. A few more beats passed before he heard chewing, something lower to the ground. The squirrel could have climbed down, but this was unlikely. The fall sounded too small to be a squirrel, and they climbed down more gracefully with little ‘skirtch’s against the wood as they went.

He inhaled, tasting something musty and sour. It smelled too much like a badger for his liking, so he waited for it to pass. It could have been something smaller, but he didn’t want to take risks with his arm.

Slowly, he got up, keeping his body close to the ground and the balls of his feet flat. He needed somewhere farther out.

He found a new bush, this one with some berries growing on it. There were several missing off the bush, and it didn’t look like one he had gathered from recently, so it was likely some animal eating them. Birds, guessing by the ones missing directly from the bush instead of on the ground. He kept moving.

Finally, he noticed some actual tracks. They were a rabbit’s without a doubt, running with the awkward wobble of a disoriented or injured animal. The tracks with close together, so it wasn’t running. It had to be injured.

He found a hill overlooking some meadows, full of clover and various wildflowers. He was upwind, so it was a hunter’s dream. He sat behind a bush, and waited for movement.

Eventually, he noticed a rabbit already wandering the brush, likely unaware of his appearance. This one was small, probably young. It moved with a normal gait, so it was probably not the one he was looking for. He was already looking away when more movement caught his eye. Under the thicker grasses, a mother rabbit was following the younger rabbit. The younger rabbit was far too old to be her kit, so they were likely just living near each other. Young following an adult rabbit was odd, and his suspicions were confirmed when she waddled forward instead of hopped, making the grass rustle. This was his target.

The rabbits were only 8 meters away, barely a few second dash, but Night wanted to be closer. He mapped out his route ahead of time, finding the path with the least amount of resistance and sound while still staying close.

Inhale, tip to toe, step. Inhale, tip to toe, step. Barely 5 meters away.

Close enough to smell, but still too far to hit. His aim was never good, and with his eye missing, he lost all ability to see distance properly, especially for hand-eye coordination.

Inhale. Pause. The rabbits aren’t aware but seem slightly wary. A squirrel hops from one tree to another, and they settle down, going back to eating clover.

Inhale, tip to toe, step. Inhale, tip to toe, and step. 3 meters.

He can see the injury the rabbit had sustained now. It must have caught their leg it one of his snares or a notch of wood, it was twisted and quite badly at that. He was surprised she was running. He needed to improve his traps.

Inhale, tip to toe, and step. They are still unaware of his presence, and he could touch the younger rabbit if he wanted. He summons a bone, inhales, and throws it with an exhale.

It was certainly a hit, judging by the speedy rustle of the younger bunny. There had to be other rabbits nearby as the rustle was louder than it should have been, but it didn’t concern him. The mama rabbit was pinned to the ground, the bone had crushed her windpipe, she had died quickly. Hopefully painlessly.

He gathered his kill and held it by the legs, allowing the blood to drain from her body before trekking back to camp. It was finally starting to warm up, with the sun at 1/8th in the sky. He would clean it while he waited for Alphys to wake. .

Chapter 10

Summary:

Content warning-
Self harm thoughts. Grief, self hatred.

It was around an hour before Alphys finally awoke. She stirred quickly, her breathing changing in a few minutes before she woke up calmly. She awoke to Night skinning his kill, setting his makeshift smoker up but not yet lighting it.

“Did you already go hunting? How long have ya been awake?” Alphys grumbled, rubbing the sleep out of her unscarred eye.

Night shrugged. “Not long. I just got a single rabbit, so it wasn’t super productive anyways.” Alphys scoffed before standing up to stretch.

“Probably better than I could do, hunting was never my strong suit. Did much better with trackin’ then actually sneakin’ and killin’." Alphys bent down to touch her toeclaws. “Luckily, I didn’t have to stay in Snowdin long to keep hunting.”

Night couldn’t scrounge up the interest to acknowledge the mention of a new location, it was too early and he was too tired. Instead, he hummed, and kept working. “There’s fruit out for breakfast, if you’re hungry. We’ll be working a lot today, so eat well.”

She shrugged and streched upwards one final time before padding over to the rock with fruit on it. It was a few berries that Night had gathered before meeting Alphys, along with the final orange he’d been saving from the swampier part of the forest.

Oranges were always a treat, and both he and Dream’s favorite. He couldn’t bring himself to eat it now, and when he did before, out of some urge to suffer, he hated himself for the rest of the day. Dream couldn’t live and experience his favorite foods anymore, why should he?

Of course, to his annoyance, Alphys ignored the orange and ate the berries instead. Apparently, she didn’t like oranges. Wonderful.

She didn’t seem to notice the annoyance on his face, instead basking in the sunshine snacking on blueberries. So, Night buried his emotions in skinning the last bit of fur off the tailbone of the rabbit. The sound was satisfying, and only slightly more aggressive than it should be.

He wished it was his own bone. Maybe he would actually get the evidence of his sins off his skeletal frame.

Night separated the last of the skin from the muscle of the rabbit, changing course to focus on the tendons and bone. It was easier to cut the top part of the tendon then the lower part, otherwise, the elasticity would cause the material to flick fluids onto his face. He disconnected the tendon on the front left paw, wiggling a small price of cartridge out from the bits of bone. The muscle was now holding the front left leg together loosely, and Night repeated the process at other joints. Each slice of fat and meat he separated and placed gently on the flat rock next to him. The scent of blood and gore didn’t really bother him, not when it was like this, and he was in no rush to smoke the meat.

Alphys, however, seemed a little uncomfortable. He wasn’t sure why, she already said she had hunted before and he's sure she’s seen worse, but regardless, he turned his body away so she would have to see the tendon severing.

When the rabbit was broken apart and separated into its base parts, he examined the meat from the rabbit. A few bits of tendon or cartilage were stuck, attached at the narrow ends of muscles, and he was sure there was fur somewhere in the thing, but it was pretty good considering his sleep deprivation.

He set up a campfire, focusing on enclosing the sides before finding a hollow trunk to set on fire. He made his makeshift closed smoker, shoddy, but he wasn’t about to complain. In his satchel, he pulled out a salt-lick and grinded it on the harder metamorphic rock where the meat was. It was always extremely difficult to keep the rock particles out of the salt, but with the help of a cup of water, he could dissolve the salt and separate the pebbles. He had a flat wooden bowl for this exact reason, with a drawer-like sliding panel to sift the material and let the water evaporate.

He put the wooden bowl on the farthest part of the fire, keeping it in the sun. Then, balancing the meat on the sticks about the fire, he ignited the dry leaves in the center to start his set up.

Fire always took a while to nurse, but once it started, it didn’t stop. Once he was sure it wouldn’t go out, he placed a branch of leaves over the setup. It would keep enough of the steam in and let enough air out to keep the system sustainable.

He turned around to find Alphys staring at him, something like pride in her eyes, maybe even admiration. He got up and brushed off the dirt, twigs and leaves stuck to his knees.

If Alphys noticed his wince as he pushed himself up with his right hand, she didn’t show it.

“We'll have to stay nearby while the jerky is going, but we should have enough things to do. What materials did you decide on for the machine blueprints?”

Alphys bared her teeth in a smile. “Oh man, just you wait. You better get ready, because we’re going to need a lot of G for this thing.”

“…what’s G, again?”

There was no sound, but he could feel Alphys exasperation and annoyance without a need for sound.

Chapter 11

Summary:

Chapter warnings-
Discussion of self harm.

A short explanation and a few cultural misunderstandings later, they got to work collecting materials.

Alphys needed far more metal then she had originally let on in the beginning, so most of what they could get was going to be for trading. Using Alphys knowledge of the underground’s economy, Night decided food and healing items would be best. While Dream was better at healing magic and could turn any berry or herb into a poultice, Night did know a few recipes and could make those just fine. Alphys requested burn creams and cooling creams, something about monsters in the wrong extremes.

If Dream was here, they could make protective mixtures instead of a Band-Aid. Night shook that thought away.

Night still thought wood and lumber would be an amazing resource underground, but apparently there was somehow a completely functioning FOREST buried under 100 metric tons of rock, which was completely farcical to Night. It was almost like it was placed there for a single trope in a video game, and never mentioned again.

To keep their time maximized, Night was to collect mushrooms and Alphys to berries. Berries were far less likely to be poisonous to touch, so as long as she didn’t eat them, she would be fine if she ID'd them wrong.

There wasn’t much in the nearby clearing, which meant that he was going to either have to put her in charge of the fire and go out himself, or vise versa. As long as he pointed in the opposite direction of the village, it would be fine.

And so, after barely an hour, Night found himself giving a second rundown of local berries and fruits, their relative locations and toxicity, and guiding Alphys away from the village. He made clear that it was easy to get lost in the forest, hoping that would be enough reason for the lizard monster to listen.

Tending to the fire was boring. There’s only so much he can do, most of the smoking process was waiting and time could only move so fast. To keep himself busy, Night surfed through the school-age magic book and the human biology book. He considered reading the persevering mage's journal, but he was honestly too tired to think about anything more intense than jerky recipes.

Eventually, Night felt his eyes dropping and exhaustion creep into his line of sight. Considering he was next to a crackling and smoky fire, Night feel asleep remarkably quickly. It was light and dreamless, but it was more sleep then last night, and he could tell that his body was extremely grateful for it.

He couldn’t have been asleep for long when Alphys came back to camp. He awoke to her stomping first, evidence of her inexperience with low scrub land, before opening his eyes slowly to her a few meters ahead of him.

Hoping that she didn’t notice him dozing, Night ignored her mutters. “Did you find much? I can identify them over here.”

Alphys stopped muttering before glancing at him, taking a second the reorient herself. She looked slightly pale and clammy, which Night wasn’t even sure reptilian monsters could feel.

A shake of her head and she was paying attention again. “Pfft, you won’t even need to. I gathered only the right ones.” She hesitated. “But you probably will want to sort them, make it easier to sell.”

Night fought back a snort. “Yeah. I have some canvas and hemp to package them in once we sort. The jerky will still be a long while, it won’t be done until a few hours before we head back to your place.”

She nodded, holding out her makeshift bag of lose shirt and strategically placed knots. It took a couple seconds, but Night scooped them up and placed them on his rock-firepit. He only needed to sort them, so it wouldn’t take long.

Alphys was standing there awkwardly, with her dirt and berry stained shirt held out in front of her. Night looked back at her. “If you want, you can wash your shirt in the river. It won’t be clean, per say, but it wouldn’t be sticky. You know where the river is, yes?”

Alphys nodded mutely before turning around slightly too quickly and speed walking to the river.

Weird, Night thought, but whatever.

Night quickly sort through the berries, double-checking the smear of color against the rock if he was unsure. He no longer could use his white bones to smear against, so he settled for next best. Without the leaves, it was harder to tell for bunched barriers like raspberries or cloudberries. The color and orientation of the leaves on the stem can sometimes be the only difference between a meal and a last supper.

For some of the ones he was sure of, like juneberries, he threw them right into a canvas patch , ready to be tied up.

Night tired to remember how to cultivate seeds for some of the plants, but he really only knew how to do it for raspberries and the like, not grapes or juneberries.
He knew that it was too early to check for potatoes in some of his favorite spots, otherwise, he would grab a few to advertise as easy gardening plants. Potatoes could grow pretty much anywhere, and could be eaten in any dish. The variety would do wonders to the underground economy and residents' happiness. Or perhaps just the starchy wonder of potatoes. They are truly underrated.

Once he finished sorting the berries, throwing a few to the side that looked too mushy or were suspicious looking, he wrapped them into little pockets held by hemp. He ended up keeping them separate, with 3 juneberry sachets, 2 cloudberry, 2 raspberries, and 1 blueberry. It was a little too late for good blueberries, so he opted to eat most of the bitter looking ones and package the rest. It was too early for his favorite berry to be abundant, but the moment blackberries started appearing, he was grabbing those too. No one deserves to live life without ever eating a blackberry tart.

A good one, that is. Dream couldn’t make a sweet to save his life. He could make any savory dish, but the moment it included honey or fruit, it would inevitably become far too sweet to bare. Night would swear up and down that the last jam Dream made actually burned his taste buds.

Night would do a lot of things to eat those horrible things again, just because it meant his brother would still be here.

Alphys was coming back from the river as he tried to get up, accidently jostling his arm in the process. He barely kept his yelp contained as he hit his wounded arm against the stony firepit. If Alphys noticed, she made no sign.

The pain passed quickly but kept throbbing even as he got up to greet her. “I sorted the berries, you did a great job. There were a few that I was uncertain on but you kept them mostly together and even brought home a few leaves attached. The leaves helped a ton, its difficult to identify without them.” Night babbled on, hoping that ignoring Alphys' odd mood would bring her somewhat back to normal.

“Perhaps next we should find some seeds for gardening. I know it won’t make of a difference, but setting up more food sources in the underground can’t hurt. Mushrooms would be great in waterfall, but I don’t want to disrupt the ecosystem too much, isolated caves may be best. Fruit trees would be a pain but-"

Alphys cut him off without mercy. “I thought you said no one else was here.” Her tone was flat and distasteful, like she ate a fish scale.

Night’s face twitched, unnerved by her sudden shift in demeanor. “We are. There’s no one else around here that I know of.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Did you find someone..?”

Alphys face was still scrunched up, forcefully avoiding his gaze. She made a half-aborted growl before hissing out her next words. “You’re- how else could you got hurt then?”

Oh stars, did Night's soul drop to his feet. A wave of pure, cold fear washed over him as his mind caught up to her question.

“Er, uh, yeah-" He coughed into his right arm, uninjured, trying to hide his face. “That was an accident, I fell on a rock and shattered my upper ulna. It’s not bad, I already treated it, it’s fine.”

Alphys relaxed greatly at that, but didn’t drop the matter completely. “Stupid, we're sharing supplies, you’re supposed to tell each other about medical supply usage.” She glared at him, as if expecting some resistance. Night was far too busy trying not to panic to question why he should share such information. It did seem meaningless, especially if he was the one that replaced medical supplies in the first place.

“Uhh, sorry, um… I’ll tell you next time. How did you figure it-" He didn’t get a chance to gather his thoughts into an actual question.

“Found the bandage while looking for berries. Could of led somethin’ right to us. Seriously, hide ya evidence better next time.”

Well, that answered his question. He must have been wrong about reptilian monsters having worse smell then mammalian, because it would be unlikely she would have seen it with her poor vision. Then again, it was black, white, with a violent cyan, so it wasn’t exactly camouflage.

Night took a deep breath, trying to calm the frantic beat of his soul. “Um, well, tomorrow we can try and find seeds, but if you really think that wood would be unnecessary then we can ignore that. Is there anything else you can think of that might help?”

Alphys shook her head. “Nah. Now I just have to finish my blueprints. I can watch a second round of jerky and work on that while you collect seeds or whatever.”

Night snorted. “Bold of you assume that I’m going hunting again.” He was far too tired to go hunt again, as much as he appreciated the peace.

She bared her teeth in response. “I think you’ll find me very persuasive, friend.”

Oh, she will certainly discover how stubborn I can be.

Chapter 12

Summary:

Chapter warnings-
Not much, violence

Night went to bed the moment the sun went down, completely drained from the day. Alphys agreed to the first watch, perhaps sensing his exhaustion and taking pity on his poor state. His rest wasn’t dreamless nor peaceful, but it was sleep all the same, and stars, did he need it.

Alphys awoke him by shaking his leg this time, around midnight. The fire was starting to smolder, so Night fed the flames as Alphys took her rest, careful to keep from making too much noise. The jerky was close to done, and Night added the salt again to make sure the last of the water was really gone. Then, he kept himself awake by reciting star patterns until about 4 in the morning, switching with Alphys one last time.

During his second rest, Night was startled awake by a shock of pain pulsing from Alphys soul, followed by confusion and panic. Snapping to an upright position, he swirled around until he located the lizard monster, who was curled up against the rock of the fire place, contorted in pain.

“Alphys? Are you okay?” Night ran over, barely even registering his injured arm being use to steady him as he got up.

Alphys made no indication that she heard him, and kept groaning on the floor, grasping at her chest as if to pull out her soul. There was no wounds on her, at least visibly. The more she gasped and groaned the more Night could feel his panic building, unsure of what to do.

A sudden hiss escaped her and Night sensed another wave of pain from her soul. She gasped as she forced her clawed hands against her chest, almost as if-

A horrible idea came to Night. What if monsters can’t stay in different worlds for long? Is this because she’s not home?

Alphys was clawing at her chest as if she was trying to keep her soul in, not pull it out. Something was pulling on her soul, and not gently either.

Night started to panic, a barebones plan coming to mind. He barely grabbed Alphys blueprints and his bag before gathering the lizard monster in his arms, hissing as her spasms of pain jolted his arm. Night pleaded with whatever stars that he could make the jump quickily.

Apparently, guilt and Alphys' suffering was enough of a boost to get them there, because Night hardly felt a thing. He heaved a sigh of relief, opening his eyes to figure out his surroundings-

Alphys was gone.

Night hadn’t even noticed her weight leave him, she just disappeared into the air. Oh stars, did his soul shrivel as he looked for her frantically, checking his feet for dust, holding out that he left her by accident or some other screw up.

Can’t do anything right, you worthless excuse of a guardian. Can’t even protect one monster, or a fucking tree.

There was no dust, but Alphys was no where in sight. Night had teleported somewhere back into the waterfalls, deep in caves full of mushrooms and some sort of glowing grass. There was a faint trickle of a stream somewhere, and Night could hear mumbling coming from in front of him. Without a second thought, Night took off along the path, following the sounds of complaining.

The path seemed to glow wherever he stepped, and if Night wasn’t in a rush, this would fascinate him. The mushrooms would light up like a fire if he so much as brushed them, almost like a flare. The muttering had grown louder, but it was too high pitched to be Alphys. No matter, they could help him find the monster.
Night broke into a jog as he approached an odd, shabby brown village. 'Village' was generous, considering it consisted of two buildings and, a fountain? But it was something and Night couldn’t help but feel relief at the sight.

Then Night felt something connect with his foot, and sent him face down into the ground at mach one. Night barely had enough time to twist to avoiding hitting his injured side, breaking into a harsh roll.

“UGLY BRAT! Watch where you’re goin’ you clumsy sissy! Don’t ya got eyes?”

Night whirled around, ready to yell back, or maybe beg for help, before he saw the monster talking to him.
The thing could only be described as a daffodil and a medieval eldritch being had a baby, and named it Bob. Night imagined if he saw it from behind that it would be somewhat cute, with butter-yellow petals and soft, worn leaves. However, Night had the misfortune of being face-to-face with the being, and its face was, lightly put, fuggly. It's mouth somehow has goat’s teeth with a snakes tongue, curled into a snarl worthy of a bear. It’s eyes were not much better, almost soulless and endless, pure black with no sclera. Night was rendered speechless, which probably was a blessing with his lose tongue. Last thing he needed was to make this monster mad at him. Everything about it seemed wrong on a fundamental level, and Night did not like it.

The monster was still complaining and cursing, not even looking at him. Its face contorted with each breath before spitting out its next rant with vitriol worthy of salty elder.

Night made a split second decision. He got up carefully, and slowly backed away from the eldritch flower. Only when he was near the bend of the cave opposite to the village did he turn around and book it.

New plan. He was going to head to Alphys little hiding spot, and check there for clues. As long as Night could get to where they were before, he was sure he could get there alone.

Night zoned out as he wandered the tunnels, heading towards the intense heat of the Hotlands like before. It seemed to be less busy then usual. Night wondered if the lack of sun meant there was a socially declared time schedule, marking this time as the ‘night' for all monsters. The concept was fascinating and implied a lot about social interactions, but Night couldn’t find himself to think deeply on it.

Night tried to walk as quickily as possible, dodging the eyes of knight-looking monsters along the path. They exuded authority and an odd smugness from their soul, and Night would bet his favorite novel that they wouldn’t hesitate to hurt him if he looked at them wrong.

A group of kids passed by. He waved, got a few weird looks, and received 15 points of psychological damage from embarrassment.

He made it past the giant dome structure again, shimmering like polished silver in the distance. The haze and smog from the lava did little to stop the light it reflected, nearly blinding him. It was a beautiful building, if odd.

Finally, Night made it to the grey house that Alphys had shown him last time. He turned at one of the corridors and squeezed through the crack, pulling his satchel with him to the other side.

Night was met with a claw to his throat.

Since he was a skeleton, there really wasn’t too much discomfort brought by pressure on his neck, other then a crawling sensation. If she put too much force, sure, his neck could break, but there was no delicate flash or blood vessels that were unable to withstand pressure. It would have been far worse if she pushed against his ribcage.

Night hissed as he felt the claws tighten. “Alphys.” His words came out like a wheeze, before he continued. “Alphys, it’s just me.”

Alphys made a low growling in her throat as a response. “How do you know my name.”

Night paused. It was dark in the room, but the texture of his bones were very recognizable, and the faint glow of his magic should have been more then enough to identify him. Still, Alphys was partially blind due to her new injury, so it would be rude to point this out.
“Alphys, it’s me, Night? The skeleton? Gave you the pear?” His voice wobbled a little, but Night was unsure as to why.

Night would later think back on to this point in the conversation and hit himself for it, because he could of made a far better identifying memory of the two of them that would still keep Alphys attention. Saying anything about the surface could get him written off as crazy, but her desperation might have been enough to convince her to listen to him. Instead, Night tried to name the first time they met, hoping that would be enough.

Alphys growled again before pushing him against the crumbling stone walls. She positioned one talon on his throat while bringing the other one up to his face, before sparking her magic within her talon. A faint yellow and orange glow came from the electric arcs shooting between her claws, lighting up the room enough to see each others faces.

Night looked at Alphys claws before shifting his gaze to her face, and his soul stuttered for the second time that day.

Alphys had both eyes, with not a single bit of scaring over her face.

Notes:

I did promise reset angst, did I?

Anyways, happy Three Kings Day to all you folks. I hope you enjoyed the holidays and the short break. Welcome back to whump and angst town, population, you and me.

Chapter 13

Summary:

Chapter warnings-
Nothing really. Casual and ignorantly cruel discussion of suicide.

Alphys hissed again with her talon shooting off sparks uncontrollably. “You’ve got the wrong place, bud.”
Night stammered, opening and closing his mouth a few times as if it would restart his brain. “Alphys, your face-"

The grip on his neck tightened, this time, enough for Night to feel some discomfort. “What about it, slug?”

Night’s brain was too busy whirling with this new information. Did he go to the wrong place? What were the odds of meeting two lizard monsters named Alphys? Did Alphys have a twin? Nothing Night could think of made sense, and assuming this was the same Alphys, the lack of memories and scarring implied things Night did not want to think about.

A hiss pierced the air again, bringing Night down a little from his new floaty haven. “I said, what about it, huh?”

This was wrong. Everything about this situation was wrong. There was something missing, almost like when Night misplaced his arm after detaching it as a kid. The strangeness of being completely unaware of a limb yet aware of its absence from the whole, like a puzzle piece missing to a game board.

A rasp escaped his throat, causing Night to wince. “…sorry, I have the wrong person.” He tried to wiggle a little, seeing if it was possible to slip out and run.

Alphys brought her sparking talon closer as a result.
She grinned, full of teeth. “No, see. I think you got the right person. You seemed awfully sure when you came in here and got yourself stuck, after all.” An arc of magic split from her claws and bounced to Night’s cheekbone, leaving it tingly and stung.

The Alphys he knew wouldn’t hurt him, not without reason. But something was wrong, and Alphys was not his Alphys. This Alphys could- and would- hurt him, and probably be willing to kill him.

Night wondered for a split second if that was his fate. How fitting, since he betrayed his brother first. Being killed by a supposed friend is only fair.

In that moment, he accepted death as his fate.

The resignation must have shown on his face, because Alphys paused before examining him more closely, as if she could see his thoughts. He’s not quite sure what emotion was being released from her soul, but it wasn't empathy. It was cold and clinical, from a place of curiosity or intrigue. It’s so unlike the vehement passion of the Alphys he knows that Night wants to cry.

“You're a dustbunny, aren’t ya.” She hissed out, a statement rather than a question. “Lookin' for death?”
Night hesitated at that. It must be enough for Alphys to get an answer, because before he can even deny the accusation, she drops him, releasing the claws around his neck.

“Get outta here, find someone else willing to sweep you up. I ain’t got sympathy for you quitters. Suck it up like everyone else and survive or do it yourself. I ain’t doin' your dirty work, even for your measly EXP.” She still had her magic armed to her side, shooting off sparks in the dark room. She angled her body towards the exit of the room, a silent command for him to leave or die.

Night wishes he did anything but run, but run he did. Not that anything he did would change the not-Alphys' mind, but at least he can say he tried. Hesitant to put his back to her, he squeezed through side by side, keeping eye contact with the lizard monster. The moment his body was out of the confined space, Night turned tail and ran for the second time in a day.

Notes:

I heard a cry from the cosmos, it sounded like it was dying. Whoops, it's just the readers, never mind.

I enjoyed torturing you guys so much i posted the next chapter. Nah, thats a lie, this ones short and I actually got 6 hours of sleep last night, so I'm feeling great! Your torture surely had no impact on my sleep, I assure you.

Chapter 14

Summary:

Chapter warnings-
Suicidal thoughts, atypical self harm, violence

Believing that something bad happened to Alphys felt better than her pretending not to know him, but not by much. The first person he felt close to aside from his brother had no memory of him or their plan and that hurt.
He had hopped out of there the moment he got the chance, but since magic was such a fickle thing, he didn’t teleport home. He appeared in another underground chamber, and he hoped with all his soul that Alphys wouldn’t be able to find him here.

The place was quiet and dusty, the kind from time rather than death. He appeared to be in some sort of cave, and when he walked out, he was hit with a blast of cold. The ground was covered in a thick film akin to frost, but softer and more malleable. The only reason Night knew what it could be was due to his books; it was snow, and it was decently fresh.

He tentatively took a step into the cold slush, shivering but finding it not horrible. He felt the tentacles on his back instinctively flinch backwards and hug close to his back, presumably to keep him warm or to prevent them from freezing, which ever came first. He noticed a cliff ahead of him that led down a snowy embankment and couldn’t help himself but to look over.

For a second, he considered jumping off and letting himself die, but it wasn’t high enough, and he still had enough curiosity to explore a little more.

To his left there was a path, one that was recently shoveled, so he headed this way to see what it led to. He crossed a river, miraculously not frozen, and found a village made up of wooden houses. He felt surprised at that, because if this was underground like he assumed, where on earth could they be getting the wood from?
Farther out to his left his internal question was answered- a pine forest spread out as far as his eye could see, likely the source of wood. He still had no clue how it grew down here without sunlight, though.

Night noticed an inn up ahead and felt curious enough to take a look. The outside was clean and only snow rested on it, yet it was still quiet, with not a sign of life showing. He hummed and dug out his satchel, he may not have gold, but he had some things he could trade from a warm bed.

He opened the door to a cheery ring, but still no person showed. The house creaked beneath his feet, either it was old, or no one had walked this way in a while.

This was about the time the smell hit him. The subtle smell of rabbit monsters in fear, the smell of dust and death overpowering the now faint scent of rabbit. He gulped and willed himself not to vomit this time, and carefully checked the floor for dust. There was no one in front of him, and he took a step forward towards the desk. He tiptoed over to the desk and cautiously peered over the edge. His soul dropped at the confirmation of dust piled in front of the register, with even smaller piles scattered in the back. He realized they were probably kids, still in stripes, when they died.

Now Night won’t pretend he’s a Saint. He knows what he did. He remembers stabbing a human newborn through the chest, remembers dismembering a still screaming bear monster, fresh out of stripes. He slit the throat of a mother rabbit after killing her children and decapitated a desperate human that tried to stop him. Yet, despite everything he did, his marrow still froze at the sight of those tiny dust piles, each no bigger than a handful of sand.

He still held his lunch, somehow, but he was pretty sure he wasn’t breathing. He should probably do that. His chest hitched at the inhalation, not wanting to cooperate with his commands.

Well, he thought. I guess I won’t have to pay for a room.

Now his issue was figuring out if anyone knew. His heart told him to look for someone here, some authority to report to, but his instincts were telling him curtesy be damned, it wasn’t safe. The quiet outside finally made sense. It wasn’t actively snowing, and from what he remembered about snow, there were always people outside playing in it. There were no tracks signifying tag or lumps shaped like various creatures in the snow. This place was likely dead, in both meanings of the word. Assuming the worst would be most productive in this scenario.

So, the way Night saw it, he had two options. Get the hell out of dodge and go back to his home or wait for the assumed killer of all these people while taking a nap.

He went with the nap and death option.

He opened the door to the room and placed his satchel by the nightstand. He pulled out bandages and knife and carefully cared for his healing wounds. They were better than before, with the break partially healed thanks to his brother's magic, but the chips and cuts remained. He rewrapped them, less loops this time, and left them be. He really considered cutting again, but in all honesty, with the betrayal of Alphys still in his mind, he would probably lose control and hurt himself far more then he meant to, or even kill himself.

Not that he really cared about the later, considering his was literally sitting on a bed waiting for the killer of at least 5 people to hunt him down, but he had standards. He was passively suicidal, not actively. Plus, he promised Dream after the first time he would never do it again, and he really did mean that promise. Better to just let someone else to do the dirty work.

He couldn’t help but to think that his brother would rather him kill himself than everyone in their village including him. He knows it's true, and he hates that he didn’t die the first time like intended, so none of this would have happened to begin with.

He’s holding his knife too tightly. The sting of marrow against his open palm brought him back a little, and he adjusted his grip. He climbed onto the bed and placed his left arm under the pillow holding his knife, where it would be concealed. Then, for the first time in days, he slept.

He couldn’t have been asleep for long, because when Night came to, he was still in the same position he fell asleep in. He subtly slowed his breathing to hear what woke him up, before sighing and getting up. He took a quick look around the room, still listening for anything, before grabbing his bag and shoving his knife back in. He grimaced when he opened his palms; the marrow from earlier had coagulated in the joints, making it sticky and gross.

He slung his bag across his shoulder and opened the door to the room he slept in. Everything appeared to be the same as it was before. Satisfied, he left the inn and decided to explore the city more.

The town felt like a ghost town, but there was not even a ghost in sight. It was eerie, seeing laundry out to dry (in the snow? Must be magic), days old, and trash out to be collected. He could see candles in the house melted to stubs, wick completely gone. Up ahead was a half-finished Gyftmas tree, complete with unwrapped gifts and wrapping paper nearby. No dust could be found in the fresh snow, but it felt like a grave all the same.

He glanced at the stores and places down the street, trying to see where to go next. There was a small restaurant of some sort, along with more houses and residential buildings. There was even a library (librarby??) farther ahead, which was definitely on his list of things to check next. Glancing back towards the inn, he saw a store he hadn’t seen before, and decided the store was first to explore, just due to the closeness.
As he walked in, he heard a bell right out in the tiny shop, sharp and louder than it should have been. If the killer was in here, he just gave them the upper hand.

Whoops.

He stood still, glancing around, but no shadowy figure popped out of the ground to kill him, so he decided he was probably fine. He took a peek at the dusty shelves, noticing the negative images of dust on the background. Knickknacks and random decorations were knocked over and spread out haphazardly. Anything that was slightly edible was gone, Night noted. Judging by the difference in thickness of dust, they also knew what would need to be eaten first- the shelf sign reading 'cinnabunnies!’ was far dustier then the shelf with empty boxes of chrisps.

Night quickly realized anything of worth here was probably long gone. The survivors would know this place far better then he would, and would have looted hidden compartments as soon as they could. He took one last glimpse at the shop, slightly mollified there was no monster dust piles on the floor, and went back out the door.

Back out in the snow, his feet were starting to ache in the joints. The icy bits of snow was sitting in between the little bones of his feet. It wasn’t quite cold, per say, but it felt a little painful and overwhelming. He quickly got over to the librarby, skipping over as many of the piles of snow as possible before relaxing at the slightly warmer and smoother wood. He really couldn’t feel it directly, but with how fast the ice melted from between his bones, he figured the building was probably enchanted.

The door to the library was stuck closed and took a few shoves before eventually opening with a thud. Night almost fell to the floor after ramming into the door, but managed to keep his balance using a chair near the inner entrance of the door. Looking around, the librarby was a mess. Books were dumped on the floor, pulled out of their shelves and restacked into piles, presumably based on reading status. There was rough piles in groups of three, read, unread, and discard, judging by the wear and tear. There was likely, at most, two people here, since a separate person would have made their own piles. A few books looked like they were torn up in a fit of rage- Nights pretty sure he saw a bite mark on the cover of one.

Night clamped down on the feeling of disgust and annoyance. Ruining books was a pet peeve of his, a little more so then just annoying, and he was firmly of the opinion that no knowledge should ever be wasted. It could be completely stupid and redundant, but it could be a commentary on life, or at worst, an example for a psychosis diagnosis.

He almost started picking up and sorting the books, but stopped himself just as he was bending down. He doubted that the killer didn’t know he was here, but if they truly didn’t, he wasn’t going to add to their suspicion.

Aware that he couldn’t really search for any books in the mess, Night decided to go back to roaming. He saw a restaurant of some sort ahead, and even if no one was there, it would be nice to use the kitchen to make some food. Before Night left the librarby, he looked for any spare wood or shoes to keep his feet from the snow. Per his luck, there was nothing. If there was something disposable in the vicinity he might have just given in on stealth and grabbed the books to create makeshift shoes.

Night closed the door as gently as possible, but the door still stuck to the outer cold air, as if sucked into the surrounding world. He figured it was probably a side effect of the temperature enchanting in the building. He swore he even heard a pop, like if the building was a dang balloon.

All that was left was the restaurant up ahead, and Night wouldn’t lie, he was half hoping someone was there. The implications of such a fact would be horrible, and he'd probably have to explain to them that a family was murdered nearby, but at least he wouldn’t have to make his own food. Night would honestly consider killing a person if it meant a homemade soup or pie.

He's killed for less.

He jumped over as much of the snow as possible, hissing at the sudden pain of having his feet stuck in freezing, biting snow after being on warm enchanted wood. It was about three or four jumps to get to the nearby stairway and entrance into the bar. Night took a quick glance up at the sign, wondering what type of restaurant it was, but found that snow covered the sign too much to tell what it said.

So, probably abandoned, like the rest. Great.

A cheerful ring sounded through the air as Night pushed the door open. It was warm inside, like a hearth, and none of the wood creaked as he pattered in. The one-room restaurant was well lit, but not a sound was heard in the room. No laughter, talking, singing, even just music. Night could have heard a pin drop and tell exactly where it came from.

His eyes settled on the bar, before noticing a figure.

They were as still as a mannequin, almost a part of the still building itself, and Night had to force himself to focus on the person in order to even see them.
So imagine his surprise when he felt a tap on his shoulder.

Before he could even blink, let alone turn around, Night found himself dragged into an encounter. The feeling was forceful and jerky, as if the monster had to move his body via strings to get it to move.

The monster got first turn, sending a sudden wall of bones his way, barely allowing for gaps to dodge. If Night had the ability to speak, he would have snarked at them for being far too lenient with the rules. Night barely squeezed through the last set of bones before it was his turn. He clicked ACT, and went for CHECK.

Sans
LV: 19
HP: 1
…

Night wasn’t even sure what to do with that information. This guy could die in a single hit, but had obvious experience with battle and even killing. Was no one around to protect the guy? Someone had to notice his HP, getting that low, let alone his LV that high. Even if the new location was like Alphys’ home, LV that high isn’t natural, and combined with his abysmally small HP, it was a wonder he made it through a battle.
Not that he was underestimating the guy, he obviously could take care of himself, but his HP showed that he couldn’t truly care for himself.

His turn was over as quickly as it began, and the opposing monster jumped right into an attack. This time, the monster aimed more for his right side, obviously noticing his impairment. His layer of slimy magic should have prevented anyone from noticing his disability, unless-

It clicked suddenly. Bones, the way the monster had attacked, his ability to notice subtle facial features that most non-skeletal monsters couldn’t, he had to be a skeleton as well.

The thought struck Night with a type of giddiness he hadn’t felt in years. Dream and him never had another skeleton to seek aid from, whether it be for magic lessons, health, or more… sensitive topics, they only had each other to rely on. It never felt awkward to them, at least until Dream’s friends commented their disgust at their lack of boundaries with each other. To have another skeleton would have been a dream back then, and Night still has so many questions that he settled on never getting answers to.

A bone struck him in his femur, causing him to go tumbling into the next two waves of the monster’s
attack. Curse it, got too excited. Night thought. Obviously, they’re not friendly, and we won’t be getting answers anytime soon as to why.

Another thought struck their marrow cold as the opposing monster’s turn ended. Was he the one who killed the family of bunnies? Is that why this place is abandoned?

Night shook himself to the present. Right now, he had to focus on getting the monster calm. With his LV that high, it would be difficult to appeal to any mercy or better nature, so Night settled for the next best thing: manipulation.

ACT. BARGAIN.

“Man, your attacks are good. Where did you learn them from? I learned from my brother and an old friend of mine, he taught us how to summon our specific magic bullets. We learned the rest ourselves, just by experimentation. Can you do this?” Hoping the monster was listening and watching, Night decided to show off one of his tricks Dream had created. By focusing his magic into his hands instead of towards the target, they could make a handheld weapon. Dream could make a small recursive bow, complete with a small bone-carved arrow, while Night mastered a bone pike, around a meter long with a deadly spike protruding perpendicular to the tip. It was his favorite because he could twirl and dodge yet still reach areas that a sword or knife could not.

He focused his magic into his hand and felt the weight of his pike fall into his hands. It was more top-heavy then it normally was, and Night frowned at the difference. Inspecting the end, he noticed why- his pike was no longer a pike. He now held a warhammer, still long and dramatic, but instead of a spike and thin top for easy movement, the end had a heavy beveled end on one side and thin sharpened axehead on the other.

Something like grief curled in his stomach, but he had no time to mourn the change of his magic. His turn ended abruptly as the other monster found no interest in Night’s weapon, instead opting to dash at the other, holding a metal kitchen knife in his hand.

It didn’t feel like a magic tool, which meant it cut even worse then a magical attack would. It cut into the bone of his right arm. Night felt the break that had barely healed over snap violently. An odd squeaking noise escaped Night’s mouth, a cross between a whimper and a yelp, as if he suffocated the sound midbite. His magic weapon dissipated before it even hit the ground.

Night fell harshly onto the floor, unable to back up as he cradled his arm, but the other monster gave no mercy. Night didn’t even get a chance to flinch before a second slice of the knife went across his ribcage.

Now, Night isn’t proud of what he did in the past, but he felt an odd sense of gratitude for what occurred when the village burned down. Otherwise, the second hit would have dusted him from killing intent alone.

But he didn’t. The turn passed to him, and Night made a choice. Kill or be killed, and it was almost easy.

FIGHT.

Night sent a wave of bones towards his attacked, taking care to not make a pattern that would be easily determined. He focused his efforts on the ground, knowing from his own experience that the low ground went unnoticed if a significant threat was present ahead. A perfectly timed bone was all it would take.

See, Night always had a theory that extra magic didn’t always have to be in the form of food. Magic was magic, even if it was more acceptable to a magic complex in specific forms. Just like how sucrose and fructose were still turned into glucose in the human body, magic was still usable to an extent, as long as it was applied correctly.

And where was the most easily accessible source of magic without messing up his turn?

Being careful to avoid snapping the bone clean off, Night brought up his broken arm to his chest. He couldn’t look down without giving an opening, so he fumbled along the edge of the bone until he reached the break. Then, right when he found the shattered end, he squeezed.

Night couldn’t describe the pain he felt even if he used his empathy abilities. It simply wasn’t something that could be understood, even if the person experienced it. If it wasn’t experienced within the last 30 minutes, it simply wasn’t understandable, and good riddens for that. Night could live the rest of his life and never feel such pain again, and it would still be too soon. His brain simply whited out, overwhelmed by the input in an area that was never mean to have sensory input at all. He may have screamed, but he honestly wouldn’t know. He couldn’t feel anything after that, no sensation could get close in terms of feeling after such an overload.

He didn’t even snap back violently, or return to reality in a gentle slide. One moment he could only feel white, and the next he was back in battle. He was fully aware that something felt like it was missing in-between, but he simply didn’t remember. Marrow stained the ground, dying the wood an odd bluish hue that was almost nauseating to look at. He didn’t bother to reach down to collect it. Instead, he took his bare foot, and spread it in a line in front of him.

The opposing monster wouldn’t know what hit him. Suddenly switching up tactics from the very predetermined pattern, Night threw in a sudden beat change, causing the monster to stumble in an unexpected halfway dodge before tripping over a well placed bone, sending him tumbling. Finally, summoning his last bit of strength, Night shoved his magic forward, hitting the magical marrow in front of him. It crackled, with psuedoelectric arcs shooting off of it, before flying forward in a spiky, gooey wave, pining the opposing monster against the bar. The battle encounter quickly fizzled out after that.
Night took a deep breath, double checking that the other monster was alive and contained in the odd solid tsunami of marrow. The monster was knocked out cold.

Only then did Night collapse in pain and panic. Desperately clawing at his satchel, trying to pry it open, Night pulled out his bandages with his left hand. Holding the edge in his teeth, Night straightened the break before warping it haphazardly, hissing when the magic immediately soaked into his wound. It nearly sizzled in intensity, and Night couldn’t help but grind his teeth when he felt the bone shallowly snap together again.

Night knew from experience that it wasn’t healed, far from it. For now, it was just stable, and Night really needed to rest after this one.

After confirming the stability of the half-hearted immobilization of marrow holding the monster up, Night laid down in one of the booths, and passed out instantly.

Notes:

Golly geez, I made a long one this time! Consider it a gift for the torture I put you all through last time.

We have a new friend. I wonder what their name is?

College classes are coming up. Really, I prefer this to working, but I can't pull a Bruce Banner and get ten thousand scholarships to go to school forever to avoid dealing with people. As much as I wish I could. Imagine having four PhDs and being called Doctor Dr. Dr. Dr. Franklin Thomas, or something.

Don't worry. I have backup chapters, so you'll get a month's worth of content before I actually have to write more. If you really get bored, check out my friends at Black Apple Blues. These stories are not connected, but ill shamelessly plug in my friends everytime.

Alright, that's enough English for today. I'm going to lay on the bed face down for four hours to recover my semblance of understanding in grammer and verb tensages.

Chapter 15

Summary:

Chapter warnings -
None, really. Wow, this is tame in comparison to the others.

Oddly enough, Night didn’t awake to a sound, but rather the senses of his empath abilities.

He awoke, aroused by the pulse of hatred and rage coming from the monster trapped in the marrow. Sans. The name came to Night suddenly. His name is Sans. Yes, the monster did attack them without a discernable reason, but calling him by his name is just common courtesy. Night needs to get that in his thick skull.

Blinking his eye awake, he saw Sans was struggling to get out of the marrow, increasing his efforts when he noticed Night was awake. Night carefully got up, avoiding showing his injured arm and instead sliding over to the end of the booth he slept in. This was enough to set off Sans even more, as he struggled to break the hard crystallized magic, even biting at it in an effort to get free.

Night had two options, and in all honesty, it was far too early to choose. He didn’t like this guy as is, dealing with him early in the morning was just asking for him to lose his cool. Grumbling, he forced himself to get up and walked past the monster, who struggled more until Night got close, freezing when Night looked him in the eye.

Sans, Night reminded himself. Sans had a round skull, like his, with hollow, round eye sockets and no cracks. Unlike him or Dream, however, he had black magic falling out of his eye sockets, which was constant enough to leave odd stains on his face. Night assumed that this was some magic byproduct rather than temporary tears or other emotional indicator. Looking at his clothes, he wore a grey and blue hoodie, which was definitely on earlier in their fight. It was impossible to see his face before. He wore a nondescript pair of black shorts and fuzzy pink slippers that were stained with mud and food.

Now that Sans was finally standing still, Night decided the intimidation was enough.

“Good morning.” Manners were important still, even to this guy. “Sans, was it?”

The skeleton seemed temporary stunned to silence before jerking against his binds. “Who are you, huh? You gonna dust me?”

Night felt a headache already. He was really tired of the kill or be killed mindset that seemed to be following him everywhere. Karma really was a bastard.
“If I was, I would of done it while you were unconscious. My name is Night. Your name is Sans, correct?”

The skeleton snarled at him. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Sans it is, then. It's too early for this. I am going to make food. Sit still and I’ll feed you. I think that’s a fair price for my sanity and patience.”

“Don’t call me that.” He snapped back.

Night’s newfound headache pulsed in response.

Double-checking for any cracks in his marrow containment, Night headed passed him and towards the kitchen with his satchel. He doubted the place was stocked considering the derelict skeleton has leaking ketchup on the counter, the only evidence of him eating in here.

Remarkably, there was some food: a sack of sprouting potatoes in a rucksack, unprocessed barley, half a tin of oats, some salt, approximately three cups of some sort of beverage that smelled rotten, and half of a cattail stalk. Delicious. Night was sure he could make something with the barley later, but otherwise, the only thing usable was the oats and potatoes.

He was craving pancakes, but without flour, Night wasn’t having those anytime soon. Instead, he had a half-baked (heh) idea to cook some of his berries down into a syrup to spread over cooked oats. While he wasn’t a fan of oatmeal, this would probably be tolerable.

Frowning at the stove, Night got out a pot to cook the oats in as he tried to figure out how to light the odd machine. Instead of using wood it seemed to work off of some liquid that pumped from tanks in the side and had no internal ignition. How was it supposed to light?

Night decided to look through his bag to find his flintlock. If it worked for wood, it would probably work here. He flicked a few times, but nothing lit.

Knocking his skull, he tried to see what he was missing. He stoutly ignored the annoyance and amusement radiating from his unwanted leach in the front. If he wanted to eat, he’d stay silent. Something clicked as he fiddled with the knobs on the stove, and smelling something being released from the inside, Night tired his flint again.

A rapid flume of fire occurred before settling at a too-high level for cooking. Panicking, Night messed with the knob again, breathing a sigh of relief when the flames lowered, and the hissing decreased a little.

Oats were cooking now, and berries were ready to cook as well. He set them both right next to each other in different pots. He wasn’t sure how two pots were supposed to balance on the small allotted space for the open flame, but whatever, it would work. The berries would probably take longer, so he needed up pushing it closer to the center of the flame.

Now that food was out of the way, he could talk to Sans about what the heck was going on in this place.
He moved back to the front and slid one of the bar stools to sit in front of his immobilized opponent.

Sitting down, he asked point blank.

“What happened to the bunny store? Where is all the towns people?”

Night was not prepared for the backlash Sans' soul would bring in response, but his face made no visual indicator of his emotions. He pulsed with rage, disgust, and grief, all under a veil of self-loathing so thick Night could chew it.

Night sensed that he would have to keep the higher ground here, or else risk getting killed like all the other lonely souls here. A wrong move and Sans' rage could turn on Night rather than himself.

“Dunno what you're talking about, stranger. Everyone’s here.” The monster hedged, seemingly nonplussed about the implications of Night asking him about a family being murdered.

“I’m not stupid. There’s dust everywhere, and not a single person around but you. You have a very high LV and are in what I assume is an epicenter of devastation.”

Night sighed, rubbing his face. “Listen, I really don’t even care. I’m not from here, I have no roots.” He paused. “Actually, I don’t even know why I’m asking you about this. I don’t have to care, I can just leave.” The thought came randomly, and honestly, Night didn’t mean to say it out loud, but the realization came too suddenly to keep a grip on his thought to mouth filter.

Sans' soul did not like that idea, and his face even twitched at the final word. Panic, loneliness, and rage thrummed to the beat of Night’s magic, strong enough to taste in the back of his mouth.

“...so. Then why are you asking?” The trapped monster got out, choking over something unknown in his throat.
Night thought for a moment, deciding if he cared enough to be honest. “I'm curious, I guess. It's not like I have anything better to do.” The last sentence tasted bitter on his tongue. Alphys was gone, and so was any hope of making her home any better for monsterkind. There was literally nothing for him to do now.

Sans tilted his head. “If I tell ya, will you let me out?”
Night laughed, and thought about it, placing his head on his hands as they sat against his knees in a folded position. He had nothing to lose, really. If Sans decides to battle again, he either wins and probably kills Sans, or loses and dies. If Sans doesn’t attack him, he… doesn’t benefit at all, really, but maybe some respect over the other monster.

He can make a deal, perhaps.

Night smiles, but it's not happy. He needs to keep leverage over Sans. “How about this. I release you, and we swear not to attack each other or trigger any encounters. You tell me what happened here in return. Deal?”

Sans tilted his head again, considering the idea. “You benefit more from the scenario, with me not attacking you.”

Night felt his smile warp into something feral. “I don’t know about that. I think it’s a fair deal, considering I don’t waste time, and you don’t get killed. Plus, my earlier statement applies- sit still, and I'll feed you. I think it’s quite nice.”

Something like glee and hatred leaked from his soul. “Sounds good to me. What’s for breakfast, boss?”

Chapter 16

Summary:

Chapter warnings-
Hmm, let's see. Described murder, mass genocide, insanity, you know. The usual.

Night waited until the food was done before releasing the poor monster from his bloody cage. He hadn’t sustained too much physical damage as Night had mostly used blunt attacks, but he briefly checked over the monster to confirm that he was fine.

Breaking the containment was more difficult than Night would like to admit, especially when he was trying to appear in control in front of Sans. Using his pi… warhammer to break the area around his feet worked well, and once a crack was evident, Night stuck a bone in it and made a lever to shatter the makeshift prison.

Speaking of Sans, Night genuinely believed the monster had a hatred for his name. His soul would flare up in hatred and agony ever time he addressed the monster as such, but the other monster refused to give him some other name to go by.

After his umpteenth slip-up while handing him his food, he snapped. “What do you want me to call you then? Psychopath?Killer?” Night ground out as he flopped down violently into a chair, jostling his arm and ribcage.

Night will admit he has no tact, and definitely lacks in the compassion department. But he knows wholeheartedly that his response was pretty uncalled for.

So imagine his shock when the monster grinned at the name and agreed.

A feral grin spread across the other monster’s face, a bit too wide then what was sane. “Killer, ey? Sounds perfect to me. Call me that.” Not so much as a blink was spared in Night’s direction before the other dug into his food, eating like he had no tomorrow.

There has to be a ultimate being, Night thought, because they’re awfully fond of giving me the crazy ones.

After the impromptu name change and breakfast, Killer insisted on taking him to his house for a tour. Night couldn’t find it in his heart to care too much, but agreed to keep the monster from harassing him any longer with horrible blank kicked-puppy eye sockets. The monster could really switch on the flip of a coin- considering how the monster tried to kill him earlier, it was odd he felt the need to suck up the Night to get attention.

Admittedly, the mention of spare shoes was what really drove the point home. Night’s bare feet never caused a problem even when traveling over rocky trails, but the ice and snow was just too much to handle. It took him much longer to get to Killer’s house just because of the odd sensation.

The house wasn’t much different then the others, if slightly bigger. It had colorful lights on the outside decorating the roof, fascinating Night’s curious nature. Was it magic? How did they color the flames? Was there wax running through the wires to continually fuel the light? Did they have to light them one at a time He? He would have to snag a piece to figure out how it worked.

The inside was a slightly different story, with a large room splitting into a two floor hallway leading to the bedrooms. There were various articles of clothing on the floor along with what looked like an overturned rock covered in torn paper in the corner. The kitchen was directly in front of the door, somehow immaculate and pristine.

While Night looked around, Killer disappeared. Literally. He was observing the kitchen when out of the corner of his eye, Killer simply vanished.

Is the teleporting just a skeleton thing? Did it really have nothing to do with the apples at all?
Night was interrupted from his breakdown by a pair of slippers hitting him in the face. Killer had grabbed the shoes and stood on the balcony above him, dropping the shoes directly onto his skull before suddenly appearing on the ground floor next to him.

Night didn’t even let his annoyance linger. “How did you do that? Is it a skeleton thing? I thought it was due to something completely different. How does it work?”

Killer had an odd bemused look on his face, but no emotion from his soul. The disconnect was jarring. “It’s just a shortcut.” His grin widened, as if he made a joke.

Equally unamused, Night continued on, mostly mumbling to himself. “It makes no sense, though. I’m only able to travel through negative emotion, and I’m sure my brother would be the inverse.” His volume dropped even further, rambling on. “Were we able to teleport before the apples? Did the apples just change our source of magic? If so, how is Killer able to teleport? The energy needed to teleport is immense, and the emotions provide it, so how are non-guardians able to conjure enough energy-“

A wave of actual amusement coming from Killer called Night out of his thoughts. Looking at the odd monster, his face hadn’t even shifted, still in the permagrin from his joke earlier, but his soul leaked genuine amusement.

Night grounded himself before trying again. “How do you do it? What’s the mechanism behind… ‘shortcuts?’”

The monster had the audacity to smirk while still remaining silent and still. If Night couldn’t feel the amusement still radiating from him, he might have guessed Killer didn’t hear him.

“…you’re not going to tell me, are you?” Night gritted his teeth.

Killer’s smile widened even more. “Nope!”

A light groan escaped Night’s mouth before he decided to leave it be for now. “Whatever. What are we doing next? Story telling, right? The heck happened here?”

The amusement ceased from Killers soul, but his too-wide smile remained. “It’s a long story. Ya sure you’re ready for it?”

Night grimaced, hoping it didn’t show too much on his face. While he’s sure the gore and death wouldn’t cause him pain, he’s equally sure that whatever story Killer plans on sharing is going to be equally unpleasant as his. “You have tea, or anything? We can sit.” He started toward the kitchen, going to grab cups.
Killer’s smile finally stopped, settling into a more neutral position. “There’s nothin' much left in the whole underground. We’ve got water from waterfall, that’s about it.”

At the mention of the underground, Night had to tighten his grip on the cups he was holding. He knew he was in an underground area, but he still held on to hope that it wasn’t Alphys' underground civilization, that it was far away enough to not be connected to her.

A thought occurred to him.

“This is Snowdin, isn’t it?” His tone sounded more defeated then he meant it to.

Killer didn’t seemed surprised by his question. “Yeah.”

“…you know anyone named Alphys?”

Something clawed at Killer’s soul, unrecognizable but akin to hate. “Yea. She’s dead.”

Night felt dizzy at the revelation. He had just seen her, less then a day ago. But Killer seemed to suggest that he was alone for at least a month now, considering the food wrappers and state of the town. How could she be dead? The timelines don’t match up, and Night feels his tentacles lash in frustration and annoyance.

He must have muttered his thoughts aloud, because Killer caught onto what he was thinking quick. “They’ve been dead around 4 months, give or take a week. You’re not from here.” He states it simply, as if he didn’t shatter his entire worldview in a few sentences.

“There’s no way. Is that why she lost her scar? Did I go to the wrong… timeline? Is this a time branch or a separate universe entirely? Why didn’t she remember me?”

Killer had a cloying look to his face as he sat down in his chair. “What do you know about timelines?”

Chapter 17

Summary:

Chapter warning-
Murder, murder, gross depiction of murder.

The revelation of timelines and reality hopping was less jarring then the revelation that a single person could have control over a single timeline. At least one followed the rules of physics and common sense.

Giving a single person power over literal time was aberrant and asking for abuse, full stop. Night changed his mind on the ultimate being idea, if there is one, they stick him with the batshit crazy ones because they themselves are a batshit crazy god.

Night can tell that Killer not even done, because he’s breathing deeply, as if preparing for a speech.

“Now imagine that, and that the person with timeline control gets bored. Instead of helping, or living peacefully, they decide to push a little more. Say more, act a little rash, attack a little more in fights. They kill a few people, just to see what happens.” His fingers drum against the table in a melody that Night doesn’t recognize. “They kill a few more, each time. Until they stop sparing anyone at all.”

“The first time they finish killin’ everyone, you can’t help bit feel relieved. They got what they wanted, they’ll love on to something different to explore. Except, they must have found something to explore in the end of all monsters, because they do it again. They kill your brother, your friends, your neighbors, people you don’t even know or care about, wham, now they’re dead.” The fingers tap with each syllable of the last sentence, echoing against the wood of the armrest.

“You fight them, of course, to see if they will give up. You know its impossible, but you try anyways. You die. You wake up, as if it was a dream, and it happens over again.” Tapping stops, with a long breath in the pause.

“And again. You try changing it, convincing people to hide, warning them, changing their route, but none of it works. Monsterkind is wiped out again, over and over again.”

“After a while, you give up. It doesn’t matter, because it will happen again. Nothing you do will stop it, and nothing you refusing to do will change it. There’s no point.” Tapping starts again, quieter and more melodious than last time. “Eventually, they offer you a deal.”

“It's too good to be true, but they convince you it’s because they are bored. Any entertainment will do, even if they can only watch.”

“They want only one thing, and in return, they save everyone from their fate of never-ending unrelenting death. All you have to do, is kill everyone by yourself. With your own hand.”

“It shouldn’t be much different then then being murdered by a child relentlessly, over and over again, but it is. It takes forever, but when the job is done, you don’t even feel relieved. You feel empty. It almost tastes like dread.”

“The worse part is findin' out that your wish was the worst possible outcome for everyone. No more resets. None.” A bitter smile stretched over the skeletons face, and he stops his tapping to gesture around his house. “No more chances. They are all dead, permanently, and you did it with your own two hands.”

He slammed his hands back down on the table, causing a sound too loud for the small room they’re in. It echoes and reverberates in Night’s ribcage, like a soul, or a explosion. Maybe even a judge's gavel.

He doesn’t even bother opening his mouth to reply, to ask questions or reassure Killer. There's no point.

Déjà vu washes over Night like a wave. It was Alphys all over again, just in reverse. He thought his… universe, world, whatever- was messed up? There’s a world where the sole purpose of one malevolent demigod is to kill everyone over and over again, before singling out the only person that remembers to torture them.

Night can’t even find himself feeling mad, or surprised. Instead, he feels something like dread or numb acceptance. Apathy, perhaps.

Killer started tapping again, more softly this time as Night looks up. He tries to show his emotions through his face- his understanding, his apathy, his acceptance to mass murder, but it must fall short because Killer stared blankly at him. Which means Night has to communicate verbally. Brilliant.

He coughed to release the nonexistent phlegm in his nonexistent throat. “Ehm.. I can’t really judge.” Stars, he made himself sound even worse. “I mean… you didn’t see my, uh stats, earlier in battle, you didn’t check, but…”

Night can’t bring himself to look Killer in the eyes. “I killed everyone in my village, and my brother. At least you had a reason. Because I didn’t.”

The silence reverberates throughout the room with the subtlety of a gunshot. Night refused to look the other monster in the eyes. He knows logically, that he seeks no approval from Killer- he killed people too. They’re both murderers, who killed people who did not deserve it. Still, something in him craves any form of acknowledgement for his crime. His crimes.

Disorientingly, Killer’s laugh reaches Night before the odd sensation of his soul. His laugh sounds gleeful, not carefree, but clear and honest all the same. His soul burns with a different tone. It sounds like the wind through rusted chimes, or a squeaky gate. It sounds jaded and brutal and horribly honest, twisting his laugh into something far deeper.

“Hah, see here’s our difference- you did it for no reason, and you can still feel guilt over it.” Night looked up at the monster, who has set his hands in a steeple formation. “I have justification, I have reason. And I feel absolutely nothing over it.”

Notes:

Holy heck, a triple steal! Thats what they say in baseball, right? I know nothing about sports.

Anyways. Since you all waited so patiently the last time, here's three chapters. Its actually because I highlighted too much when pulling it from my word document, but you don't need to know that.

Apathy and depression is a brat. I feel the need to lay in my sliding door closet for an hour. I'm considering it a blessing I can write at all, even if its crap. I haven't been able to draw in weeks, and for once, it isn't because of time. It hurts to desire doing something with you hands and being physically unable to use any shred of imagination to get there.

Anyways. Enjoy your triple home run, or whatever its called. Pray I survive whatever demon that has claimed my creativity and love for life. Or better yet, hunt it down and shoot it in the head for me.

Chapter 18

Summary:

Chapter warnings-
REFERENCE TO PAST SUICIDE ATTEMPT. This chapter is completely able to skipped, nothing here will be needed to understand later chapters.

Sleeping next to a clearly insane monster is about as comforting as it sounds.

Killer insisted that there is no reason to take turns for watch- after all, everyone’s dead, dust piles can’t kill.

Night can’t shake the need to keep watch over everything though. It’s a habit long since ingrained in him between him and his brother guarding the tree. He wouldn’t be able to sleep more than three hours anyways without waking up again.

Killer seemed to take that without insult, despite it appearing like Night doesn’t trust the other monster, which is a relief.

Night grimaced at the mental reminder, that, in fact, he does not trust Killer, and he’s sleeping next to a murderer. Night informs his mental reminder that he’s a fucking hypocrite.

He didn’t have nearly as many problems with Alphys, so all of unease Night has been feeling is starting to frustrate him. Everything Killer had done was equal to, if not slightly more morally acceptable, what Night himself did. There was no reason for Night to feel as torn as he is.

Killer’s soul stirs with a spike of intrigue, or curiosity as he dreams. He laid claim to the couch, not that Night minded. He didn’t even bother taking off his slippers, instead opting to haphazardly hold his feet in the air while tangled in a blanket. They sway lightly in his sleep as his magic thrums to the beat of his soul.

The disconnect between Killer’s body and soul was concerning. Night had never seen such separation occur before, and it was disturbing to sense with his empathy abilities. It was natural to have some disconnect with body language and soul- people are good at lying, even to themselves- but Killer’s case seemed extreme. It was a miracle he was being held together as it is- magic comes from the soul, and the amount of strain and pain from a large disconnect would dust any monster.

Night doesn’t think he can trust Killer. He certainly can’t trust his empath abilities to accurately read the skeleton.

Killer twitched on the couch again, his leg drooping dangerously close to the armrest. Night himself is propped against the wall facing the couch and front door, keeping watch as time drags on slowly.

Insomnia is sad, sure, and frustrating, but no one notes how unbelievably boring it is to be alone during the wee hours of the night. At least when he was in the tree, he could soothe himself by stargazing. Here, with the tan roof and damp cave walls, no such activity could be done. Instead, he finds himself picking at his scarred bones and open wounds.

He hates his new ability, being able to travel new time periods, timelines, whatever they are. He hates his stupid outer appearance, tentacles and slime that hides him from the world. Most of all, he hates himself for falling so far in the first place.

Most nights, Night wishes he had successfully killed himself the first time, before his brother noticed.

Before he cared.

There had been several times before that Night had gotten close to killing himself, even going as far to plan and gather materials, but he really only counts one time as a full attempt. There’s probably very little difference in society’s eyes between close calls and his full attempt. Regardless, for whatever reason, Night has only tried to kill himself once, as far as he’s concerned.

It was stupid, the way he choose to go. He had chosen a cliff near the mountains, about a quarter's day trek from the village. It was close enough that Night could get to it while his brother was in the village, but far enough that no one could stop him once they noticed.

The cliff used to be part of a mining quarry, full of sharp drops and crumbling rocks. If the journey to the cliff didn’t kill him, then he could jump into the quarry below.

Night had hoped it wouldn’t hurt.

He was wrong. So, so very wrong.

He was conscious for who knows how long before his brother found him. Night wasn’t sure how Dream found him, let alone when. Logically, he could have followed the pain echoing from his soul once he was in range, about half way to the mountain, as he figured out, but there was no way he could sense him otherwise. Night never got enough courage to ask, and Dream resolutely refused to discuss anything after swearing him to never do it again.

It took him almost a moon cycle to heal partially, and even after Night couldn’t move properly for nearly three seasons.

Dream took up an internship with the old village healer during that time. Not that they needed it, they healed him all on their own. He exhausted himself to the point of starvation, pumping straight healing magic into Night’s pathetic semi-corpse, but he did it all by himself, refusing to let any of the elders know about Night’s injuries.

If Night had twisted 20 degrees towards the setting sun behind him before falling, he would have died. If that had happened, it would have taken weeks for Dream to find his dust, maybe moons. His brother would be alone in dealing with the villagers and fending them off from the tree.

He intently ignored the thought that his brother would have followed him soon after, whether by his own hand or by falling down. Night didn’t even know if they could fall down, they weren’t truly monsters after all. They were some awful thing in-between, an abomination of pure magic piloting a monster's corpse.

Night distantly wonders if that’s why he didn’t die that day. Both the attempt and the day at the tree, eating the apples. Since his body wasn’t a direct result of his soul, but rather a soul using a structure, his body could mutate without his soul suffering damage. Inversely, he could have a severely damaged soul, and his body would not reflect the fact.

Night felt a twinge in his injured arm and jerked himself awake and aware. He had been gripping his arm too hard while thinking, and now he had caused the wound to bleed again. He shook his grip free, wiggling his phalanges to free them of the stiffness, but didn’t bother wrapping the wound again.

He could tell he had started breathing wrong because he felt light headed, his injured ribs complaining at the jerky movement.

He really was horribly, irreparably broken. His legs were a spiderweb of healing, with a few of his joints on the right side of his ankle being fused together. His left eye sockets was cracked inward, blinding him. His ribs were held together by a healing matrix of his own magic, and his arm was a mess of forceful breaks and knife wounds of his own hand.

That was ignoring the battlefield of his soul.

Night clenched his teeth to suffocate the hysterical laughter that teased his throat. He knew he had tears on his face. He pretended it was the effort of holding back his laugh.

Killer shifted again in his sleep, with a jolt of familiarity coming from his soul. He must be dreaming of something kind, his soul was softened in a way that spoke of nostalgia and comfort.

Night continued staring at the roof of the wooden house. The wooden house of a murderer who is not his friend, under a cave of a species imprisoned for millennia, within a world that is not his own. The same Night that had murdered his brother, destroyed his home and civilization, that hailed from a world that was so much better then the horrors he was seeing now.

He didn’t even know how good he had it, in that miserable village. At least he had his brother. At least the abuse stopped when he was in the tree with his brother. At least he had a full stomach and a brother who loved with all of his soul. He took advantage of all of it.

He almost missed the days hiding in the woods from the elders, hoping for his brother to follow him in to the brush. He missed the days of slinking into the library, hoping to avoid an ambush that night so he could get his books home clean. Most of all, he missed his brother’s smile, his warm, passionate soul, violent, unpredictable magic. Though they clashed over ideals and opinions of those in the village, Night loved his brother with every bit of magic in his body, and he'd like to think his brother felt the same.

He knows better that to think that now.

Sleeping as a clearly insane, hypocritical monster was about as easy as it sounded.

Notes:

Happy valentine's day everyone!

Why are reading this angst-y piece of fiction, you romanceless nugget?

Eh, more to come later. Apparently I dissociated my way through the last two weeks and next thing I noticed, its no long January and it's been two weeks since I posted. I swore I posted just a few days ago, but eh.

Enjoy the suffering. I'd shoot Night in the foot before giving him a lollipop and tucking him into bed. Is this what being an author is like?

Chapter 19

Summary:

Chapter warnings-
Unintentional self harm, slight mental break

Night didn’t want to wake Killer for his turn at watch, so instead, he opted to stay up all night. He didn’t feel like he was going to sleep, so he decided not to waster Killer’s time by trying. If Killer noticed or cared, he didn’t show it when he woke up and saw him still awake.

They were going to have to dig into his bag for breakfast. There was nothing here anymore, and Night suspects that Killer had accepted that fact a while ago. He didn’t seem severely malnourished, at least, not yet, but he wasn’t exactly full of energy either. Sitting in a dead restaurant sipping on ketchup wasn’t exactly a sign of someone who had a ton of food to waste.
Night wanted out of here, and he knew that he could never cope with himself if he left Killer to starve.

However, there were two problems with his setup- one, he still wasn’t sure what caused Alphys’… fit in his world. Sure, her memory loss could be the resets that Killer described, but other than his word, there was no evidence and far too much risk. Two, he didn’t want to set a precedent of inviting refugees into his dying world filled with the rotting corpses of his crimes.

There was no logical reason, at least with Killer’s concern, but Night hated being there, and hated dealing with questions about the whole situation.
That meant they would have to travel to another world, and once again they run the risk of ‘Alphys syndrome’ or whatever it was. Multiversal rejection would be more accurate, if proven to be the cause.

Now, Night is no expert in quantum physics and multiversal travel. But the time delay of onset to symptoms was very odd. If the problem was ‘foreign’ molecules interacting with one universe in excess and another in complete deficient, shouldn’t the result be far more instantaneous? The universe always seeks to balance energy in a state of entropy and equilibrium, and quantum molecules move fast. The disruption to equilibrium time window should be just as fast as said molecules, if not ever so slightly longer.

Night was deep in thought when Killer stopped lounging on the couch and plopped down right in front of him, hand in Night’s satchel. “We gonna eat yet?”

Shoving his theories away, Night bit down his annoyance and answered. “Give me a second. We might just be having fruit.”

Killer shrugged, obviously not caring. “You’re the boss, boss.”

Night split up the small canvas bags he made with Alphys. It felt odd opening them again, Night never tied his own sachets so tightly and therefore never dealt with the knot. The first one he opened was the Juneberry, and he gave that to Killer. It was a mild tasting berry, at least compared to the others, so it won’t be too strong for any new forager. Cloudberries would probably destroy the other skeleton, especially after eating the same food for so long.

Night kept one of the cloudberry sachets, but didn’t open it yet. He was a little hungry, but he couldn’t be bothered to chew and swallow his meal.

Killer smiled in response, but his soul was quiet. Night ignored the unease that the sensation gave him.

They both sat on the floor in the house for a bit, Killer snacking on the berries as if it was a midday treat rather then his first new meal in months. The skeleton really was odd, outside of his soul disconnect. He found humor, at least at face value, with the oddest things, such as exaggerated mannerisms or silence. He managed to talk a lot without saying anything at all.
Night has been told that such a trait is a hallmark of a very intelligent person, and Night can’t find himself disagreeing.

He observed Killer until he finished eating. The skeleton was completely aware of Night’s staring, but seemed to be content in ignore him in favor of his food. When he dropped the canvas, Night picked it up to wash later. It was reusable after all, no reason to waste.

Killer was apparently content to sit in the silence as well, because even when Night finished eating his breakfast, he still sat quiet.

Night wanted to leave so bad.

You could always kill him. Then he won’t starve when you leave. The thought came suddenly, almost violent within his head. At first, Night felt nothing, before recoiling at the feeling of invasive hate.
Night would have never considered that before the events at the tree. The mere fact he even thought it was disturbing in more ways then one. He almost considered it, looking at the logical pros and cons. The fact it took him a few seconds to stop the thought was even worse.

Night felt a hysterical laugh build in his chest. He really lost a part of his soul eating the damn apples. He wasn’t monster or human, never was, but now he’s even more removed from the morality he and Dream insisted on when they realized they weren’t the same as others.

He wondered if it would really be better for Killer, to be dead. Whatever caused the ‘no redos' issue is far beyond their control. There was no going back to his old life. Was there even anything outside the barrier? Was that why the human kept coming back?
Was there ever anything on the opposite side of barrier? Did he and Alphys even stand a chance in making things better? Was it worthless at the start?
Night felt a pain in his injured right arms, realizing he had dug his phalanges into his wounds.

Subconsciously, he tightened his grip, pushing harder into the break.

Worst case scenario, there’s nothing outside the barrier, or at least, nothing worth living in. That leaves two options for Killer: leave and risk multiversal rejection, or stay and risk starvation. Night could bring him food, but is it even a life worth living? Where would Night take him, if they left?

Night jumped to awareness at a sudden noise. Killer had shifted to sitting cross legged, coughing into his arm to clear his throat. Night relaxed his grip, frowning at the marrow that came away with his hand, but otherwise left it be. It would be fine.

“What do we do now?” Night asked, rasping. Killer locked his blank eyes onto Night’s one, pondering the question.

“Well, there’s nothing here. Doubt I can break the barrier. Only way out is through you.” He shrugged nonchalantly.

“It could kill you. I don’t know what happened to Al- the last person I took.” Night hoped he didn’t catch the slipup, but he knows better than to trust hope.

Killer shrugged again, obviously uncaring. “It’s not like I won’t die here anyways. Where do you even come from? I’ve tried tearing through the barrier via shortcuts before, it does nothing.”

Night frowned, considering the thought. “I'm not going through the barrier though.”

“Hm?” Killer tilted his head in a silent question, prompting him to continue.

“I’m going through timelines, or alternatively, universes. That is tearing through time, not spatial matter. The barrier, strong as it is, is limited to the individual timeline and locked to physical location. Instead of going through, I’m going up or down a plane, and then ‘over' to the next timeline.”

“Additionally, so far, I have only teleported within the barrier, or in a timeline with no barrier at all. There’s a possibility that the barrier has some effect on teleportation, like acting like as a homing beacon.” Night scrunched his face, tilting his head in thought as his tentacles lashed.

Killer hummed. “Doesn’t make sense, though. You’ve only done this a few times or something?”

Night rolled his eyes. “This is my second time.”

“Hm.”

“Technically third, I guess if you count by places-slash-timelines I’ve been to.”

“Hm.”

“Seriously, I know nothing. This could kill you.”

“Anything’s better than here.” Killer stated, not quite deadpan but not enthused. It had too much weight to it to be a mere statement, but Night wasn’t sure what else to make of it.

Night decided honesty was probably the best here. He had the upper hand, being the only one to get him out of here. At least this way, he can ensure that if things go wrong, he’s not at risk of being attacked out of anger, frustration or shock.

“We’ve got two options. We can go to my place, which, despite having no barrier and being aboveground, is completely devoid of people and life. Or, we can risk the random chaos of the multiverse and gamble.” Night clenched his teeth, feeling his jaw click as he did so. “What’s your preference?”

Killer turned his unnerving gaze towards Night, his lightness eyes somehow piercing through him. He tilted his head in thought, almost making a show of his consideration. “You don’t want to go to your place.”

Once again, it is a statement, not a question.

Night clicked his jaw again, before opening his mouth to try and give some reason why. He hurriedly closed it, hesitating, before opening it again.

Nothing he says here helps him in any way. He’s better off saying nothing at all.

Killer seemed to realize that Night wasn’t going to give any answers, and continued his line of thought. “Well, unknown possibility vs known evil. Cliché ethical question of the century.” He exaggerated his movements, tapping his hand to his chin thoughtfully.

Killer is silent for longer than Night thought he would be. Night already assumed that Killer would be the type of person to prefer controlled environments and known variable, both due to his behavior and the subtext of the whole ‘reset' thing. Perhaps the skeleton was grappling with the inverse, wanting something new after the same thing for so long. It could even be that he's catering to Night in some attempt to keep him close. Night knew he would do the same in such a situation.

Finally, the odd skeleton stopped his tapping and returned his glare to Night’s eye. “Alright. First off, how are you doing the teleporting?” Killer placed his hands in his lap, as if he was handing over the thinking process to Night.

Night thought for a second, before putting it into words. “For the most part, it is based in negative emotion. I have only travelled from a place I know to a place near a person experiencing bad emotions, and then the opposite.” He paused, thinking of his most recent trip. “When I came here, I was experiencing said emotions, and came to a place with... no major emotional output.”

“Judging by previous experiences, I would say that negative emotion is the catalyst for the ‘jump’, and the endpoint is based in some major metaphorical waypoint. The first jump, I came to a place within the barrier near the person who was... exuding negative energy. The second jump, back to my world, I went to a place I knew well that had both good and bad memories. The third jump, I landed inside a cave system, near another monster who was angry, so that was probably the waypoint...” He trailed off, pondering if the intensity of the flower-eldritch monster was enough to be a waypoint for his power. He decided it didn’t matter anyways, subconsciously shaking his head before continuing. “The most recent jump here, I landed in a shallow cave next to a cliff, nearby no monster or emotional waypoint.”

Night growled in annoyance. “There isn’t enough information. I just can’t figure out the right pattern for triggering the jumps properly.”

Killer butted in before Night could continue berating himself. “That’s your problem. You’re being too rigid. Magic flows how it wants to, as long as it’s within the three rules of magic. Source, goal, and intent.”

“If ‘negative emotion’ is the source, and the goal/target is the multiverse at large, and the intent is to ‘get away’, then you have fulfilled the big three, and you perform magic. The difference here is your target.” Killer makes a motion with his hand, using an imaginary map to display metaphorical distances. “Right now, your target is too vague, so you are routed to the most magically efficient route based on prior teleportation or network traffic, like water through a canyon. If you focus on a more specific destination, you’ll find you have more accurate results.”

Night flung his hands up in annoyance. “That’s the problem! I don’t know how to make it more specific. Focusing on specific emotions would be best, but it's not like I can see where I am going. What am I supposed to do, focus on something completely unrelated to my source of magic? Just say ‘water’ and hope I land by a lake and not in an ocean?”

Killer, the ever-helpful brat, shrugged his shoulders, apparently not caring. “I dunno. I never had to travel to a place I’ve never been to. Being stuck in the underground and all that.”

Don’t think I’ve forgotten that too. Night viciously thought to himself before continuing his diatribe. “And another thing! Does anyone even know what the outside of the barrier looks like? Why are people even falling in anyways? What if whatever is out there is worse than here, or there is nothing? How many people have fallen in? Why only children? What is wrong with this place?”

“Why do humans suddenly have god-like abilities? Time manipulation only ever occurred on the smallest scale, even in myths and legends, and only by determined mages. Why can a child control weeks' worth of time and revert the soul power of stars-knows how many monsters thousands of times?”

By the time Night is done yelling, he’s huffing his final sentence, barely able to get it out in time before he needs to take a breath. He’s angry, he’s bitter, he’s confused, and he’s, above all else, pissed . Meanwhile, Killer sits impassively at the sight of Night’s tirade, showing no emotion on his face or in his soul.
Once Night has caught his breath, Killer links his lightless eyes to Night’s and passively says, “I know.”
And the way he says it shatters Night all over again.

An animalistic noise escapes Night before he can stop it, intercepting his words. “ NO. And that’s the problem! Everything's messed up and horrible for no reason and NO ONE KNOWS WHY. ”

“Why would the insane probabilities of life add up to create this? What god would look down at us and say, ‘good job, this is good’?”

Night choked on his own sob. “Why are we left to rot like this alone?”

Something must hit Killer in his desperate cry, because his face twitches in tandem with his soul. Something like despair, or grief coils in his soul, bemoaning and mournful. It’s gone as quickly as it appears, but it’s there. Killer’s face returns to its impassive state before almost whispering in reply. “I don’t know.”

Notes:

It took far longer then I wanted it to, getting out of writers block. Still got no inspiration for art though.

In other news, it's spring here and I'm planting a bunch of flowers in my garden. None of that matters, really, it won't impact this, but I'm just glad that spring is coming.

Also, my therapist thinks I have ADD. Hilarious! I've only been dealing with this crap for 20+ years now, and she's the first one to say anything. I thought I was dissociative, but no, its just copious amounts of brain fog and inability to concentrate. Now it's a coin toss is getting diagnosed and getting treatment, hope it actually does something instead of mess up my delicate brain chemistry, or ignore the problem all together. Literally. I'm going to flip a coin to decide, because thats the hellish luck and irony of my life.

Anyways, this ones a big one, so I hope you enjoyed. I've got 6ish more chapters written, but I want to write one more before I post another. Give it a week or two, I swear. Stay safe and enjoy the spring flowers!

Chapter 20

Summary:

Chapter warning-
Distressed person after an unknown traumatizing event. Nothing big, just emotions.

When Night finally regained control of his angry and violent sob fest, Killer continued their prior conversation.

“Well, since I get to escape my hell, it’s only fair I don’t force you to take me to yours. That leaves us playing a game of chance.” Killer tapped along the edge of the couch, lighter than before. “At worst, we fall into the same situation here, and we can just leave.”

Night frowned but doesn’t argue. He knew he should have done that in the first place, with Alphys and with Killer, yet here they are.

“…we can leave whenever. Do you have anything you want to take with you?” Night asked.
Killer doesn’t say anything, instead he disappears. A sound from upstairs signifies that the monster probably teleported, and the suspension is confirmed when Killer reappears behind Night with a shopping bag.

It's a reusable mesh bag of some kind, obviously old and trashy, but its stuffed sideways to the brim. The seams at the side of the bag are starting to pull apart due to the strain of something too wide being shoved into it.

Night resolved to just ignore it. It’s none of his business.

The other monster looked at the bag before looking back upstairs, and then to Night’s face. There’s no emotion in his soul or his face, but it feels eerily like the emotion one says goodbye with. Night glanced at the monster, tilting his head in ailment question, before being satisfied by Killer taking a few steps forward towards Night.

Night double checked his prior rest area and his satchel, making sure everything is on his person before motioning for Killer’s hand. Killer hesitates with his body, but no emotion shows on his face to reveal it. To most, it would be a twitch, written off as a shiver. Night was not most, but politely ignored it as Killer reached for his hand after a few moments.

Night inhaled sharply and closed his eyes, letting his soul probe the area. There were residue emotions from himself and his crying fit from earlier, but not enough to satisfy the subtle feeling in his chest he uses to gauge his magic requirement. There wasn’t anything he could use on this side to help.

That meant he would have to focus on a bad emotion on the other side. Which meant risking a bad world, or at the very least, a bad timepoint.

Night spreads his sense outward, prodding metaphysical auras of emotions and veils. There was one that seemed emotionally quiet except for one person in sadness and desperation. The was another wrapped in clouds of panic and fear that tasted like salt, likely from multiple people. To his side, he can sense the tell-tale signs of someone dying and the odd grief/relief that comes with it. However, there is glee and heartfelt joy coming from everywhere else in the area, leaving Night feeling very uneasy about the situation going on there.

There’s more that threatens to overrun Night with their emotions, but Night’s experience dealing with multiple villagers exuding distrust, hate, or annoyance actually aids him here. This version of empathy seeing is just broader and less specific, which almost makes it easier to compartmentalize as he tries to figure out where to go next.

Lesser of two evils.

Night would bet his left arm that Killer hadn’t dealt with people for a long time, so the panicked world is instantly removed from the list of possibilities. To be honest, the last thing Night wants to deal with is figuring out what is happening in a foreign world through panicked and terrified residents unable to form a sentence. The one with a single person dying could still have others in it, large amounts of people if his senses are correct, but it could be skewed by the sheer amount of emotion radiating from the place. Excluding the singular source of grief, the universe radiated happiness and hope. When he tried to reach for the soul of despair, his hand couldn’t find grip on the placement, as if trying to grab a soap bar in a lake.

That leaves the first one. A singular person helpless and desperate, within a group of others that are emotionally neutral.

Night reached, and grabbed ahold of the soul he was targeting. Like lifting himself up onto a branch of the tree, he pulled himself towards the desperate person.
It felt oddly lighter, dragging both Killer and himself through. As if someone switched gravity through the fabric of reality, having them fall through the sky rather than from the ground. The sensation was eerie to Night, and it felt almost foreboding, a lingering presence gazing through the wall.

Night didn’t have time to consider any of these different sensations before Killer was shoved to the floor out of Night’s grip, pinning the bulky skeleton down.

The intent must not have been violent enough to trigger an encounter, since they were not dragged into one, but Night wasn’t willing to take risks. He triggered one himself, grappling the other monster and throwing him to the side like an overgrown doll.

Placing himself in between the attacker and Killer, Night summoned his p- warhammer, steadying his stance to swipe the monster off their feet if they moved too close.

The monster hissed as he got up, holding his head and adjusting something on their face. A pair of glasses sat lopsided on their nose bridge, held up by tape on the side of their head.

It was another skeleton.

The hell? I spend 200 years with my brother and I as the only skeletons, and they were literally all outside my doors? Night swore inwardly, widening his stance to accommodate dodging if attacked.

The opposite skeleton had the first turn because Night triggered the encounter but seemed perfectly content in not using it right away, instead adjusting his glasses in an attempt to see them properly. Or dispel them as if a smudge on their glasses, who knows. When he finished observing them, he sighed and clicked ACT.
“Good morning. I suppose you would be willing to drop the encounter? I mean you no harm, I shouldn’t have tackled your friend, sorry.” The skeleton wringed his hands while looking Night in the eye nervously. It was an odd type of fear that Night didn’t know the name of- rather than fearing an attack or ambush, it seemed to be centered around anger or annoyance. The monster was desperately avoiding conflict, just not the physical kind.

Night didn’t feel certain just yet. He needed to know more before dropping the encounter. Instead of TALKing through ACT, Night went with CHECK, looking for details.

Sans
LV: 1
HP: 1
Distraught and distracted

Night mused on that information, considering it. Between his low Level of Violence and his lack of genuine concern in physical harm, it was safe to assume that this universe wasn’t violent.

In that case, why is the skeleton so angry and fearful that Night can feel his despair from universes away?
Night’s turn. He selected ACT with no preamble, searching for answers. “You tackled him right out of the teleport. Why?”

Too short, but there’s no malice in the air, so no reason to stall. The other skeleton must have agreed with his presumption because he pressed MERCY, before SPARING him. He returned the gesture, ending the encounter.

“You were- I mean. I was running and crashed into you.” The skeleton shuffled, keeping his eyes on Night’s feet. “Didn’t mean to, sorry.”

Killer seemed to be uninjured, but stunned for some reason. Perhaps the teleportation was just disorienting to everyone, since Alphys was the same during the first few minutes of her first jump.

Glancing back from Killer to the other monster, he spoke again. “Sorry about the encounter. I didn’t want to take any risks.”

The other gave him a weird look, as if speculating the reason he would need to be so reactive, but nodded. “No harm done. I’ll l-look for where I’m going from now on.”

He adjusted his glasses again, observing them quietly. Killer stiffened when his eyes settled over his form, forcing himself upright before his eyes lingered for too long.

He settled into a mask easily. “Hey boss, mind tellin’ me where we’re at?”

Night decided that Killer probably had a reason for asking in front of the other skeleton. While the monster seemingly followed his whims and didn’t keep secrets, it was entirely possible that he simply had nothing to lose instead. Desperation makes odd monsters, and Night can’t judge.

Night hummed before looking at Killer, keeping the other monster in the corner of his eye. “Still underground. This was the tamest place emotionally within the needed threshold, for one reason or another.”

Apparently, that reminded the other monster of what he was doing before he was rudely interrupted by monsters falling from the sky. His anxiety spiked, and his soul gave a shrill cry of something akin to grief. The skeleton became visibly fidgety and sweaty, his eyes settling on nothing in particular as he became lost in thought.

Killer noticed and his face settled into familiarity and certainty, or maybe understanding. His soul, surprisingly, pinged with sympathy.

Night decided to be blunt. “You know what’s happening right now.”

Killer doesn’t say anything, so Night does his own puzzle building instead. Both skeletons’ CHECKs read with their name as Sans. They shared similar facial features, even when compared to Night and Dreams’ facial shapes. His stunned facial expression, as if confused or separated from reality.

They were the same people. Combined with the knowledge of resets, dimensions, and time, Night figured the most likely culprit. Killer and Sans are the same people, just at different times.

Only his life is insane enough for odds like this.
Night gulped. What if this Sans was panicking after a reset? Even if it was nonviolent, it would still be confusing and traumatizing.

What were they walking into?

Night looked to Killer, urging him with his eyes to give him more information to work off of. The skeleton stares him down, refusing to budge.

Night swallowed a huff and looked to the other skeleton again before talking. Curse his bleeding heart. “Hey. You’re freaking out over there. Is everything okay?”

Killer startled back and looks at Night incredulously, like he’s shocked Night asked. What was I gonna do, leave him here to panic? Night thought crossly to himself.

Sans- oh man, having two of them is going to be weird, regardless of nicknames- looks up from his visibly spiraling panic attack. He looked torn between telling the truth and lying, almost desperate for something. Emotionally, he seems overly honest, as if he’s begging to be believed.

“Heh, uh, I mean- you know the blast that just came from the core, right?” The anxious skeleton stuttered out.

Absolutely no clue. “Of course!” Night cheerful lied.

“There’s- someone’s stuck in there, I need to get him out. He- he’s got to be alive, he can’t -” He looks around while breathing faster, before his eyes dart to their faces as if trying to read the room. He bleeds panic and anger from his soul when looking at Killer, but Night’s own face must show some hint of what he's looking for, because he soars in hope.

“Please, he-help me get him out! I’ll take you inside, he’s near the inner labs, we need to hurry!” He took off after the second sentence, not even checking back to see if they were following.

Night looked at Killer, who seems stone-faced. Internally the monster seems to be stunned and angry. Night decides, in effort of saving another monster, to ignore it.

He needed to leave no room for argument. “Come on.”

Notes:

End my suffering. I hate daylight savings time, now I can't sleep.

I finished my essay on biochemical pathways in the brain and their linkage to specific genes. It wasn't that long, but I needed a certain length that I couldn't achieve within my limited original focus of the essay. Soooo I completely explained a related metabolic pathway with a possible trigger for the original biochemical pathway, all to explain the pathology of a specific cell death pattern of a very specific disease.

The amount of papers arguing over the cGMP pathway is insane, but added in calcium homeostasis and equilibrium and you have entire field of nerds guessing the possible connections of the pathway. It doesn't seem to help that the papers are locked behind a paywall or are from 2008, which doesn't apply to the current state of medical genomics. In 2015 a massive breakthrough in CRISPR and gene replication, isolation, and identification techniques changed the entire industry overnight, and some papers literally just aren't as good anymore.

Wait, why did I write this again? Enjoy a rant on that, I guess. Now that my break is coming up I'm gonna write more of this story. Look forward to more shenanigans this two idiots get themselves involved in.

Chapter 21

Summary:

Chapter warnings-
Gore, grief, mention of suicidal thoughts

The scene they walk into is a bloody mess.

Night isn’t even sure that this place doesn’t have humans in it, but the blood is a dead giveaway to their presence. Splatters of damp and drying blood appear inside of cracks in the concrete and metal structure, shadows of puddles that were evaporated in an explosion. Its condensed in two separate areas, making Night think that it's at least 2 or 3 people, but without bodies, he can’t be sure.

Sans doesn’t even look twice at the dripping mounds of debris, opting to haphazardly weave and hop over it instead. His ease in doing so suggests he’s done it more than once.

He only looked back once this entire time to check if they were following, entirely focused on getting to some destination within the wreckage. As they get closer to the center, the temperature rose sharply, a byproduct of both the fire and literal lava below the building.

They run over a metal bridge that leads downwards somewhere else. Night’s soul dropped to his toes at the corner.

Sans is standing up on the railing of the ruined bridge, preparing to jump.

Before he can even think, Night dashed forward and grasped his arm, wrenching Sans back from the edge. The skeleton let out a whimper-yell, startled by the movement, but doesn’t struggle.

“What are you doing?” Night unknowingly snarled, dropping his voice into a dangerous tone. His grip on the monster was bruising, relentless.
It seems to take the other skeleton a second to understand what he was referring to, because he stuttered before recognition flooded his face.

“Oh. No, no, no- we have to get over to the other platform, the connector is broken but he’s right over there, p-please-" Sans’ voice trails off desperately at the end. His face searched Night’s in a panic, before trying to wrench his way out of the gooey monster's grip.

This time Night released the skeleton, staring unthinking at the railing where Sans just was. Killer picks up the slack, however, by actually having brain cells. Before Sans can attempt to jump again, he summoned a bone construct to act as a bridge, filling the gap.

Sans gave Killer a look of gratitude before dashing across the makeshift bridge, the other two monsters following closely behind. They are forced to hop over more rubble and debris before reaching the area Sans wanted them to be.

The area they’re in is boiling hot, closer to the lava pools than any of the other rooms so far. There are scorch marks along the floor near a collapsed section of rubble. The areas just next to the marks are literally bubbling- concrete and metal forced into a liquid state by the sheet heat of the explosion.

That’s not the worst part.

A shadow lies directly in front of the rubble, a halo and silhouette of a tall monster or human clearly present. There’s not even dust or bones, the creature was so obliterated.

Yet Sans runs directly over this shadow towards the pile of debris, motioning them to follow. “He’s o-over here, under here. We just gotta lift the pieces, please help me-"

Both Night and Killer stand frozen, Night’s eyes glued to the shadow, while Killer forcefully looking any direction but there, glancing around the cave roof exposed by the explosion.

Sans glanced back at them standing there, doing a double take at their faces. “What are you doing there? Come help!” A hysterical note entered the end of his sentence.

Killer doesn’t speak, and Night is too shell-shocked to try to.

Sans growled, urgent and angry. “He's just over here, why come if you’re not even gonna help- ”
He pushed uselessly at the rubble at the site, trying to lift one of the smaller chunks of metal casing. It moves barely a millimeter over to the left before Sans is forced to let it go.

Even if there was a human under that pile there would be no saving them. The weight, heat, and cramped environment would have suffocated them before any help could arrive, let alone the initial blast of the explosion. A monster would have dusted on impact of the boulders.

Night feels useless.

Any attempt to console Sans would be fruitless- Night knows, because he would tear apart anyone who tried to do the same to him after the tree incident. Pointing out the shadow may just further isolate the monster more or break him completely.

But he can’t just walk away. Night knows he’s a horrible person, but still has a soul. EXP or not, he can’t tear himself away from this train wreck so eerily like his own.

Night placed himself down next to the desperately digging monster, hands reaching clearly to rest on his shoulder. Still, the other monster jumps at the contact. “Sans. Were there any other people here other than you and... him?”

Sans stopped to gape at him, anger burning in his eyes. “Is this really so important- no, it was just me and him, there was no other scientist that he trusted- this doesn’t matter! Help me get him out!”

Night clenched his teeth, feeling his jaw click. It leaves a sore, radiating pain in his joint, but it releases some of his tension. “Sans. Sans, look over here.”

The skeleton flickered his eyes as if trying to focus, glancing at Night’s face, before his hand and where he was pointing.

Night couldn’t see the exact moment he realized what he was pointing to, but he definitely felt Sans’ soul crumble at the sight. A wounded, wet cry split through his teeth, too short to be a sob but too long to be a grunt. Night looked to Killer for support, but he was still starring off into the lava below in the CORE. Without his soul pulsing emotions, it was hard to tell what the monster was feeling, but Night had a feeling it was regret. He couldn’t bring himself to force the monster over, Killer just looked that miserable and out of it.

Sans' soul released a pulse that Night knew far too well, and his spine stiffened so fast he felt whiplash. The emotion was too complex to have a single name, too many faces that accompanied different feelings, but Night knew it in more than one way. He never really felt it through his empath abilities before, but he knew it very, very well. A cry of hopelessness, of regret, and somehow relief because 'just wait, it can be over soon' .

I need to get them out of here. I can’t handle- if Killers out of commission, I can’t guarantee Sans’ safety. We need to get away from the CORE, now. Night’s mind was racing, but his hands held steady. He needed to rein in the situation. “Killer.”
The other monster kept his gaze well above the platform and the carnage, only looking down when he was sure only Night was in sight. His eyes were as blank as ever, but if he had eyelights, they would be pinpoints.

“Killer, come here. Can you teleport the three of us within this timeline, or do you need me to do it? We’re leaving here, now.” Night knew that he probably looked angry, or at the very least, stern, but he couldn’t bring himself to care now. He couldn’t afford to care now. There was a life at stake, and Night’s own sanity.

At the mention of leaving, Sans seemed to snap aware and struggle. He didn’t say a word other than grunts, but based on the frantic pulsing of his soul, he was trying to wrench free of his grip and run off. A slight hiss escaped his lips as Night grabbed his wrists and pinned them to the monster's sides. “Killer!”

Night didn’t see him move, but he must have, because the next instance, all three of them were in the same spot they had first appeared in before. The shock of the jump startled Night, causing his grip to loosen.
Killer was one step ahead of him already. Using blue magic, Sans was pinned back to the floor with a little more force than needed. Night completely released his grip and observed their surroundings, cataloging his thoughts.

This was going to be a lot harder than he thought.

Notes:

I have slept more in the past week then I did in a month. I've gone to bed early and woken up late, and its been wonderful.

....and back to the grind of school. When compared to work, it ain't even that bad, but i don't want to get up.

In other news, I barely wrote this week, but its okay, I still have backup. I ended up sleeping, reading, and drawing he entire week instead of writing. I'd apologize, but one- i don't care, two- this is freely given. If you got a complaint, you can take it along with a euro coin and shove it up your-

Anyways. Here's a chapter. New one in a week, I think. Depends on if I remember to post it before quarter finals.

Chapter 22

Summary:

Chapter warnings-
Grief, observation of suicidal ideation

Night did not sign up to be a suicidal monster’s babysitter, yet here he was.

And boy, did this increase Night’s admiration for his brother. He can’t really remember anything from that time, but if he was even a fraction of what Sans is like now…

At least with his brother he cared enough about him to hide his anger and self-hatred. Sans was strangers to them, and therefore had no such qualms.

Absolute vitriol and anger oozed from the monster, no longer distraught. Night didn’t tell him about his emotion sensing abilities, but it's entirely possible he picked it up, because the amount of anger directed at him was obscene. Night almost considered asking Killer to watch him for a bit so he could get away from the rage. After he decided to just ignore the meaning behind the anger, he found himself not holding it against the skeleton. It felt strangely freeing and energizing, like finishing a sour glass of lemonade.

At the current moment, Killer was keeping Sans down via blue magic while Night took watch. It would probably look bad if someone were to walk by the scene, so it was best to avoid it overall. Sans had the clout to convince any bystanders, while Night and Killer had none.

Sans' soul let another pulse of rage and ugly grief, his face twitching but silent. They switched him upright to keep his face from being pushed into the ground, but it just meant that Sans could give them dirty looks all he wanted.

Honestly, Night had no clue what to do. While the feeling was gone, it would likely return, and his anger at them could turn violent. He was mainly waiting for him to chill out enough to get him talking.

Killer watched Sans closely. He shifted his face to send a questioning look at Nights direction a few times, trying to figure out the next step. He obviously had no idea what the plan was here and was in the dark about was to do as well.

Less anger and more self-hatred and devastation leaked from the immobilized skeleton. Which was immediately followed by clawing rage again as whatever he thought raced through his head. Night bit back a sigh from emerging, he didn’t need more anger from Sans.

He was not suitable for this at all.

Why are we even keeping him alive? If he wants to die, it's his choice. It's not like you care. Night felt a crawling sensation go up his spine at the thought, causing him to shutter visibly.

Why does he get himself in this situations? Alphys, Killer, and now Sans- why does he find himself helping? It's become a detriment to him, either causing him physical harm or psychological suffering.

He ignores the thought that he deserves every single bit of suffering he feels. It’s the lesser punishment, compared to staying at the tree.

Sans’ soul stopped pulsing rage and hate now, Night noticed. The wall of grief was still there, but he otherwise seemed numb.

Perfect.

“Hello. Let’s reintroduce ourselves.” Night suggested, gesturing for Killer to come near.

“My name is Night. This is Killer. You are Sans, correct?” Night lowered himself into a cross-legged position so he could maintain eye contact with Sans. Killer twitched but did not sit.

“Yup, Sans the skeleton. You gonna let me out of this now?” The irate skeleton motioned his head to Killer, referring to the blue magic holding him down.

There’s literally no way I can approach this delicately. Night thought to himself, before continuing. “Are you going to try and kill yourself?”

Sans gritted his teeth, a coarse sound coming from his mouth. “I don’t see how it’s any of your business.” He hedged, eyeing Night skeptically.

Night sighed. “It’s not.” A long pause fell over them, almost deafening in magnitude. An emotion Night couldn’t name leaked from Sans, something like surprise, amusement, and hatred. Killer was stone-faced but understanding and something like panic blinked across the surface of his soul. “Do I need a reason?”

A bitter smile spread across Sans’ face, but he didn’t reply. Listening carefully to his soul, Night motioned for Killer to release his hold on the other skeleton. He hesitated but complied.

Once released, Sans got up and dusted off his coat. He looked at Killer before turning to Night. He opened his mouth to speak, before snapping it closed and stalking away.

Night caught up beside him. “Where are you going?”
Sans growled under his breath. “What do you think?” Night gave him his patented incredulous look in response.

He just sighed, annoyance and aggression leaking from his soul. The sensation was remarkably similar to him strangling the air in frustration. “What else would I be doing? I’m going home to tell my brother that dad's dead.”

Well, really, what could Night fault about that? At least he's never had to tell anyone he actually knows that 'hey, I killed my brother.'

Killer, who had been padding alongside them silently, snorted. Sans whirled around faster than Night could blink, eyes sharpened with rage. “What’s funny about this, huh?” He gritted out, barely restraining himself from hitting the skeleton.

Killer just shook his head. “He won’t remember.”

“What do- why on earth would I believe that?” Sans sniped, tripping over his words mid-thought.

“What do you think you guys were workin’ on in the first place? Space-time doesn’t exactly like to be bent.” Killer said, almost offhandedly.

“How the heck does that even slightly equate to my bro not remembering our dad? That doesn’t even make a modem of sense.” Sans stopped in his tracks, forcing Killer to look at him directly.

When Killer doesn’t continue, Sans needles in another rhetorical question. “Even if that made sense, I would forget too, and the paradoxical implications of that resolve and create a new problem simultaneously.”

Killer shrugged, almost unkindly. Even under the withering glare of Sans, he refused to answer anything.

“Whatever. I’m going home. You are not welcome.” With that, a buzz of anger and grief disappears, seemingly teleporting away.

Night stands there for a second, trying to determine his next move. Focusing on Killer, he uses his eyes to present his dilemma.

Killer doesn’t respond to his eye communication, so he’s forced to communicate verbally again.

“Will he be fine on his own?” Killer shrugged, not an emotion slipping out. “Dunno. He’ll be fine if it’s the same as my place. Either way, it's not our problem.”
Night felt his appendages thrash in response to his annoyance and internal questioning. “Fine. Do you want to do another jump? I have enough magic for another.”

Killer shrugged again, and at this point it was getting annoying. “You’re the boss.”

Night sighed and brought a hand up to his forehead to think. He was going to lose his sanity at this rate. “I swear to the stars- fine, we’ll do another jump. If it’s worse than the previous world, we’ll come back.”

Killer hummed in understanding, his face as frozen as his soul.

Notes:

End my suffering and take me out with a bat.

I am ridiculously tired. Keep waking up in the middle of the night and too early. I remade my bed and cleaned the whole thing, so hopefully that will fix the problem, whatever it is.

In other news, I am not dead, but I am not doing great either. Stressed out about next semester and money, about jobs and life, the political socio-economic state of the world... more so on the first two things, because as selfish as they are, I at least have control over those things.

Either way. Next update in a week or two. Psychoanalyize the two idiot skeletons, guess what they are going to do next, whatever else. Make a cup of tea or coffee or soda, and take care of yourself, cuz someone really cares about you.

Chapter 23

Summary:

Chapter warnings-
Nothing noticeable

This time Night motioned for Killer to sit by the stream, hoping for more time to meditate and sense their surrounding options. Killer obliged silently. He no longer seemed to be holding his bag from earlier, but Night figured that he shoved it into his inventory.

At first Killer sat too far away from his reach, about two arms lengths away. Instead of asking him to move again, Night scooted over himself, tapping Killer’s hand and motioning for him to put it on his knee. Luckily Killer understood this nonverbal action and complied.
Fully prepared and settled in, Night closed his eyes and relaxed his mental barrier, keeping his empathy in check.

Instead of the instantaneous whiplash of last time, the information fizzled in like a lazy creek.

To his metaphorical left, someone was sobbing while others radiated terror, hatred, or some mixture of the two. Despite that, Night couldn’t feel any anger or ill will that might show the source of such emotions. If it was just terror, he would assume a disaster of some sort, but the hatred is off-putting. He mentally checks that off the list.

In front of him is a silently sorrowful scene that feels more painful than bittersweet, like a goodbye or an ending to a book. The rest of the world seemed muted in comparison to the viciousness the gentle emotion radiates from the center. It was alluring in its oddity, and Night couldn’t help but feel curious. Despite this, he moved past and kept looking, if only to know his options fully.

Violent rage passed his senses, and Night shut down the empathy link through pure instinct, almost like a flinch. He marks it off.

Night felt a throb from another area that was too emotional to risk actually going to, but Night snooped for the sole reason of his morbid curiosity. The emotion was violent and vicious, but not towards any person or group. It felt like desperation and hate, the way Night could feel nails dragging across his bones in agony. It felt like one clawing at their own throat or banging their hands against a wall. It felt like the suffocating grip of one's own hands and emotions wrapped around a torso, trying to smother oneself.

Night lingered too long on feeling the emotions, before shoving it back.

He was just about to cast his ‘net' wider to find more worlds when Night feels a hand on his shoulder. He snapped his eye open at the touch but managed to avoid slapping the offending hand away. A brief glance with his good eye informed him of who touched him.

Killer had a frustrated look on his face, but not emotion in his soul to back it up. He was obviously annoyed, presumably by Night. The disconnect in his soul always felt visceral and wrong, but the feeling only intensified with every second Killer stared at him with emotion in his body but none in his soul.

“What’s takin’ forever?” Killer impatiently asked. “Are ya just incapable, or stalling for time?”

Night felt a spark of irritation at those words. “I’m looking for the least devastating universe to teleport to that meets the criteria. The last thing we want is to drop into a war zone or get splattered by a stampede. Be patient.” By the end of his words Night had forced himself to calm down and his words to even out. He was still upset, but he could be civil.

“it doesn’t even matter if so, we just jump again. Why are you so limited anyways? Can’t ya just teleport without the emotions bs and all that?” Killer pressed on, which wasn’t annoying by itself, until Night could feel the sensation of Killer rolling his eyelights at him.

“That’s inefficient at best and deadly at worse. I don’t want to know the limits of magic exhaustion, thank you very much.” Night snapped right back, peeved by Killer’s sudden insistence on being an annoyance. “What, are you suddenly and expert in multiverse travel and magic sources?”

“Yeah, and I’m better than you at it. What do you know, besides the stupid notion that ‘bad’ emotions are concrete to magic?” Killer smiled, but it was closer to a snarl. “Is that all that mommy taught you, anger is bad and happy is good? What a j-"

Night saw his limbs move before he felt the rage set in. Before he knew it, he was on all fours with Killer pinned against the ground, and reaching for his magic to tear him to shreds-

He felt a blip, then a free fall, before dropping into his body again like a bird without tail feathers.

He reoriented himself quickly with his empathy senses first, sending feelers out to catalog dangers and threats. Under his hands, Killer was still pinned, not an emotion to his soul but a dead smile on his face. Nearby, Night felt the eerie, broken sensation of someone tearing themselves apart, far closer than it had been moments earlier.

“So. Where are we now?” Killer spoke plainly, as if he wasn’t pinned by the monster he pissed off moments earlier.

The plan made perfect sense. Emotions as the source and intent as the anchor instead of vice versa, allowing him to travel anywhere at will as so long as there is an energy source nearby, whether himself or another. That didn’t stop his anger as Night growled lowly at Killer. When he opened his mouth, indistinguishable low tones exited his mouth instead of words. Even if he could form words it would be no more intelligent, because Killers reasoning as perfectly logical.

He felt Killer squirm as Night attempted to gather his emotions back into their box. Some flutter of emotion came from his soul, but Night’s vision was too blurred to see if his face expressed it. He focused on controlling his breathing, letting the vicious anger leave his body and settle nicely into a box in the corner of his mind instead.

He slowly opened his eye to a more clear view. Killer was still pinned beneath him, expression unreadable and his soul quiet again. Night relaxed his hands, noticing he had dug his sharp phalanges into Killer’s sweater and arm bones. His tentacles followed soon after, releasing the other monster.

Night wasn’t going to apologize, and neither was Killer it seemed. All was fair in love and war, and they both only did what was reasonable.

Killer repeated his earlier question while sitting on the floor. “So, where are we now?”

Night's voice was hoarse, but he cleared it before speaking. “The last universe I was looking at before getting interrupted. Someone was feeling self destructive. There’s no other emotional activity nearby, so its tame, I guess.”

Killer smirked with no emotion. Night had no doubt the bastard was smug about his ‘success'.

“Come on. Let’s find somewhere to sleep. We’ll figure out the rest in the morning.”

Notes:

Should I keep up the chapter warnings? Like right now, assuming you've read everything else, proves that you probably are fine with gore and depression and whatever. Give me your thoughts. Ill probably keep them, even if its redundant.

Anyways I had a really productive and good day today, so I wanted to post a chapter. Hilariously, I write this on bad days and post on good days. Someone needs to get my a psychologist. Or a psychic. Really, both work.

My favorite part so far is coming up in a few chapters. I need to bulk up more on backup chapters, though, because I think I only have two as buffer right now. When I figure out where I'm going to live and how I am going to survive, I'll write more.

Chapter 24

Summary:

Chapter warnings-
Death, self-harm behaviors

Killer had groaned the whole way to a safe campsite, whining about how they just slept. Night, who took the brunt of 1, teleporting them twice, and 2, starting an encounter and stopping a suicidal monster from offing himself, did not particularly care.

“I can give you stuff to do if you so desire, but if you wander off, I will not look for you. If I choose to leave and you are not here, I will leave you. ” Night threatened. Killer seemed somewhat satisfied with this compromise.

The monster that radiated pain and hatred shifted from complete silence to violent rage constantly. It was a decent way away- as relative to distance that emotion could get, anyways- so Night deemed it non-threatening, at least at the moment.

Night tried not to focus on the sensations that came off the monster in violent intensity. Mentally snipping his empathy link helped a little, but the hatred and pain resonated within his bones. Instead, Night tried counting baskets of fruit and ephahs of wheat to lull himself to sleep.

It took a while, especially when Killer would shift in almost-frustration next to him, but eventually Night fell into an uneasy sleep.

Night awoke bleary-eyed next to Killer, who had evidently given up weaving the basket Night shoved into his hands last night. Instead, he had snapped the fine sticks and hay bits into tiny pieces, arranging them into pictures to amuse himself.

Whatever. At least he let me sleep. Night thought begrudgingly, stretching and releasing the tension in his bones. Killer already noticed he was awake, but waited until Night woke up more before pestering him. After stretching, Killer asked, “So. Where to next?”

Night paused, a little confused. “What do you mean?”

Killer tilted his head, eyelightless sockets giving him an unnerving look. “Aren’t we lookin’ for a good world on the surface to bum around on?”

Night frowned thoughtfully. “Sure, that’s the ideal situation, but we’ll likely never find it. Even if we did, odds are we’d be unable to get to it because of the limitations of my power.”

Killer shrugged. “That’s easy to fix. Find a mostly empty world with enough ‘negative’ emotion to teleport to and take down the last of the residents there. Boom, free real estate.”

“I really don’t like that idea.” Night hedged.

“It works, doesn’t it?” Killer pointed out.

“…either way, we don’t know if we can get to the surface through teleportation. Will we always teleport into the underground? If the barrier’s broken, where will we end up?”

Killer shrugged again.

“I think we should check the barrier first before moving on. We don’t know it’s open or not. If it is, the surface could be large enough to just live on without dealing with other inhabitants. If it isn’t, we move on.” Night sat up, looked around at his surroundings, and put away a few spare items into his satchel. “Does that sound fair?”

Killer grunted, but his soul told him nothing. “Sounds good.”

While Night cleaned up his junk and Killer swept his mulled basket into the nearby river, Night sent out empath feelers for the location of the unstable monster. While he was unsure of where the barrier was, the chances were slim the monster would be in the same area.

Killer seemed to notice Night zoning out, because he guessed what he was doing. “Checking to see where the people are at?”

Night hummed. “Person. There seems to be only one person. I don’t know the underground well, but there’s a low chance we’ll run into him if we’re just going to the barrier.”

Killer stood up and cracked his knuckles, picking up his backpack to shove into his inventory. “Well, right now we’re near the outskirts of Snowdin, in Waterfall. The capital is about that way.” He pointed to the eastern corridor, which seemed to open into an empty cavern ahead. “Which direction is the monster in?”

Night checked and resisted the urge to sigh by clicking his jaw. “He's the same way.” He growled out. “Never should have said anything about odds.”

Killer chucked half-heartily at that.

They walk along the frozen path just next to a river. Its large enough not to freeze over, but Night can see areas where it branched off into streams. Each branch spreads out like leaves of a tree, frozen in time and matter. In some areas, it seems completely frozen through.

Night has tried to keep his plans in place thus far. It’s evidently fruitless, though, because the universe itself is against Night ever getting things right on the first try. Not that he really had any plans, to be honest, because he’s been floating along this entire time. He has no plans because all his plans pertained to the tree and his brother. Half of him is hoping that if he waits long enough, his brother will come back.

He clenches his jaw at his own stupidity and naivety. If Killer wasn’t right next to him, he’d hit himself in his frustration for being so stars-damned stupid. Instead, he rubs roughly at his partially healed arm, sending dull spikes of pain through his bones.

Regardless, following Killer along on his goal to have a completely new world isn’t that bad, and if he thinks rationally, he can convince himself it is a good plan for him too. He doesn’t have anything to lose, really, except the company.

A dark part of him is pleased when he remembers that Killer can’t really leave him- he’s the transportation after all. He ignores the thought.

They reached a junction where the snow melts, revealing soft, cushiony moss and mushrooms underneath. A droplet of water lands on his skull, causing Night to look up. The room is an odd mixture of cool and humid, resulting in condensation on the cave roof. Droplets fall from the stalagmites, creating an almost rain-like effect, even if it feels more like water falling from trees after a storm.

Killer seemed unfazed by the sudden change in weather and temperature. Before Night can ask about it, Killer walks ahead like he never noticed Night stopping and glancing at him expectantly.

Whatever.

Night continues following behind the skeleton, who knows the way better than he does. Why he was leading in the first place is honestly beyond him. Regardless, they cross over a small creek through specialized lily pads. When Night saw them, he knew that Dream would have adored the stupid things- even if Night ‘ruined’ it by questioning the capabilities of a lily pad holding up in such pressure. The moment they touched water, they grew sturdy roots, which wasn’t impossible, but being able to walk on them? It literally had to be a magic species. Night idly wondered if they were specially breed for this purpose.

They walk by more creeks before reaching a familiar looking mushroom. The blue almost seems faded now, undoubtedly due to his own repeated exposure. He’s not as shocked as last time to see giant, forearm-tall glowing mushrooms growing in caves. Killer frowns as they walk by the fungi, but no emotion pulses from his soul, so Night ignored it.

Night finds the he somewhat likes the tentative state he and Killer had fallen into. They have no care for each other, so pretending is a waste of time, or an affront to acting skills, take your pick. They don’t harm each other, sure, because that goes against the fact they need to work together to achieve full compatibility of their partnership. They do what they think will work the best, and don’t bother apologizing after, because it would be a lie.

It's blunt and easy, everything Night wished Dream could do with the villagers. They need each other, but they don’t have to like each other to get the job done. Dream put far too much effort in the later, hoping they could win some validation, and it caused their death.

Eventually they reach an open field, covered in soft-looking blueish-green grass. Glowing mushrooms sprout randomly throughout the field, closer to the pathways as if they were lighting them as lamps. The sensation of self-destruction is closer now, but also weaker, likely meaning whoever it was finally calmed down.

Killer continued past the mushrooms and into the field, seemingly ignoring the perfectly good path in front of them. It took Night a second to realize that Killer was walking towards something.

There’s a dust trail, like as if someone was dragged while dusting. It would be impossible to see without the glow of the bioluminescent mushrooms, and Night wondered how many they passed by on the way here.

The sensation of hatred and grief that had become background noise finally fades away completely. It takes Night an additional moment to determine if it stopped recently or earlier. Night reached out again to confirm the lack of emotions, and is instead greeted with a wall.

It’s thick and unmovable, like one large concrete slab pushed upright instead of sideways. Touching it feels strongly fuzzy, or numb.

Night is shook out of his thoughts when Killer blips out existence, before reappearing in the corner of his eye farther down the field. He follows the monster, jogging over to the new spot of his interest.

Laying in the marshy grass, at least 4 meters from the nearest glowing mushroom, is another fucking skeleton.

Notes:

Annnnddd I'm back.

It's finals coming up and I don't know why I do this to myself. Why could I have been an olive farmer, I've got no freaking clue. Farmers get so much crap for being uneducated but its literal BS, because the amount of predictive math, chemistry, and earth science you need to be a good farmer is ridiculous.

Either way, we're coming up to another fun plot point. Sorry it took so long. I had to help out with the fresh summer seedlings and have been working on school alongside it. I've got a constant headache that changes location every couple months, and paranoia dictates brain cancer. Doctor says it's anxiety. Smart dumb brain says dehydration lol. All are equally plausible at this point.

Chapter 25

Summary:

Chapter warnings-
References to murder, medical experimentation

Night must have done something in a past life to deserve this crap, because the dominos line up perfectly with another very specific story about a skeleton.

Dust piles, an injured(?) monster, and not another soul in sight. An entire species trapped underground for millennia, possibly with the same royalty problems and an additional suicidal skeleton.

Night might as well start a business, customers keep dropping from the sky.

Checking the monster’s breathing first, he becomes concerned over the number of breaths the monster is taking. It’s low, with extremely short breaths taking place too far apart, even when taking into account the monster sleeping.

Gently tapping his shoulder, shaking his shoulder, and even smacking his face yields no reaction. The monster is completely unconscious, and without an encounter, Night can’t get any stats on his health.
A little lost, Night looked at Killer for ideas. Killer, who was watching Night closely during the last few moments, shrugged before shaking the monster himself, rougher than earlier.

Night sighed before trying to communicate his concerns. “I can’t get any response, so I don’t know his HP level. He’s not breathing deep enough, and since he’s unconscious, I would hazard a guess he’s not okay.”

Killer tilted his head in response. “Uh, he’s got 1 HP, and it’s currently ticking downwards. 0.6/1.0.”

“How the hec- you know what, I don’t care. Uh, he could have a concussion, or he may be poisoned. I might have some antidotes for general poisons, but without knowing, I’m just guessing.”

Killer grunted in response. “Nah, I think he’s falling down.”

Night felt his eyes widen. “Uh, that’s worse then I thought, I don’t think I can do anything… we never dealt with it in the village, we just had textbooks describing it. There was no way to combat it in the book, right?”

Night inhaled sharply when he realized he was panicking, breathing heavily to combat the fleeting waves of oxygen deprivation biting his heels.

Another shrug came from Killer as a response, before the monster decided to elaborate. “Nope. ‘Supportive care', and that’s it.”

Silence passed through them, thick and suffocating. Night choked before checking himself, and starting over. “Are we going to… can we do anything?”

Killer stared at the ground a few inches from the slowly dying body of the other monster. Night almost thinks he'll have to repeat himself, before the monster finally responded.

“…we might be able to stabilize him in the lab. He'll probably die, but its not like anyone’s going to miss any of the materials down there.”

Night nodded a little too viciously, before gathering the other monster’s limp body in his arms. “Can you teleport us, or should we run?”

Killer frowned, seemingly thinking before walking forward. If Night hadn’t followed directly behind, be might have missed the portal taking them to their next location.

This method is different than Night’s own. Rather than falling with gravity before hitting the next location, this method feels like folding a room in half, or blacking out for a few moments only to wonder how one got to another room. No less disorienting, but different all the same.

It got the job done, though. Night shook off the disorientation and carried the unconscious skeleton over to one of the beds. The beds are in an odd layout, with no part of the bed actually touching the wall. Rather, each bed is placed about half a meter apart, in the center of the room in an array. Night doesn’t bother counting how many beds, but mentally notes the odd layout. It’s almost as if it was made for a mass causality response, many injured or sick patients and only one doctor.

Either way, Night placed the unconscious monster on the bed closest to the wall of doors. While he’s not sure what supplies or equipment could be in there, being close to them can’t hurt. Killer seemed to have disappeared from his prior spot, but Night decided he would return if he wanted to leave again.
He has bigger concerns here.

First, check the status of the patient. Without a summarized CHECK, Night would have to do it manually. Assuming Killer was right earlier, however he got that information, his HP was at best 0.6/1.0 and his prognosis poor.

Stars, what do I do next?

Breathing of the patient, low. Night counts under his breath, guessing at thirty seconds. His timing is probably off due to his lack of sunlight over the last week, but its better than nothing.

Stars, it’s been a week since he first met Alphys. Since this whole mess started.

12 breaths per a minute is not great for an adult monster, but not indicative of a problem itself. Night probes the monster's emotions, but the wall is still there.

Okay, monster is not conscious, responsive, or otherwise able to provide information to their current state. Step two- stabilize.

Night looks around at the materials around the room. There’s low quality needles for monster-soul punctures or human skin, old bags of something Night can’t determine, and paper everywhere. Nothing strong enough to puncture bone. Any treatments he offers will have to be soul-administered.

Night frowned, inspecting the vial of red fluid in front of him. It was sealed via a screw cap and placed on a desk, as if it was put down temporarily before being left forever.

A shiver ran down his spine at the thought. It's like time just ceased after these people were killed.

Whatever the red liquid is, it's not human blood. It’s not coagulated or rotten, which it would definitely be if left out for more then a few hours. This place, with the dust on the air and on some surfaces, looks abandoned for far longer than that.

Night goes to open the screwcap for a closer look when Killer reappears behind him.

Night raised an eyebrow bone at him, silently asking what he was up to. But the monster, oblivious to all, just brushes it off.

Night sighed and continued with his work. He unscrewed the cap and sloshed the liquid around inside checking the viscosity. It runs similar to heavy water, thick but not sticky. Night expands his empathy skills out of curiosity before the realization hits him like a brick.

This is human magic. Mage’s lifeblood.
Determined Mage’s magic, if he’s correct.

Why the hell is human magic doing in an all monster underground?

Wait- Night thought back to when they met Sans in the blown up lab. There was human remains there too. Could there have been humans living in the underground at some point? Was it just coincidence he never saw them in Alphys’ world, outside of the lab?

Night doesn’t like the potential answers. Regardless, he caps the liquid and keeps it on hand. He’s not a magic expert nor a healer, but logic would dictate that determined magic would help the poor monster’s state.

Night turned to Killer. “Do you have any green magic on hand? Liquid, doesn’t have to be pure.”

Killer hummed as he thought. “Dunno. I’ll check.” Unceremoniously, the monster left with a blip to hell knows where, leaving Night alone with an almost corpse again.

Notes:

Finals is over and I wish for death. In other news, I got perfect grades on all my exams and final grades, so I'm going to pretend I'm proud of myself.

Sorry about the long wait. I actually had to build up my backup of chapters to a decent level before publishing.

Other than that, I have no news, except maybe I might have figured out a temporary long term solution to a problem that had been bugging me for months now. You guys might get to finally read the comic that goes with this. Because honestly, I hate tumblr and publishing through there, I had to figure out a different way of publishing through Ao3, and image hosting is a whole can of worms that isn't permanent in any meaning of the word.

I'll have to figure out a way to keep them up after the two year limit of my current solution, but in all honest, I'm a bio major for a reason. Computers may be great, but server cloud computing is a freakshow you couldn't pay me to touch.

Eh. Next chapter sometime this weekend, because its been a bit and this one is short. Take care of yourselves, because someone really cares about you.

Chapter 26

Summary:

Chapter Warnings-
Flashback, unpleasant but not violent or gorey

Night rummaged through more of the materials nearby while he waited. There wasn’t much at all, aside from the mage magic and soul-needles. A glance into the other rooms reveals nothing but a hallway to more rooms, and Night decided that getting lost wasn’t worth the potential materials he could get.

Well, he might as well prepare for the green magic. Even if Killer doesn’t find any, they could always use the mage magic instead. He's 60% sure it will just be rejected and kill the monster.

The other monster really has nothing to lose, though.
Night picked up one of the sturdier looking needles from the floor, inspecting it carefully. There wasn’t really a concern for infection, not like with humans, but cleaner is always better. Avoiding the other needles strewn around, Night moved towards the sink to wash off the needle head before heading back to the bed.
Now the more invasive, not-so-fun part

Putting the needle to the side of the bed, Night gently pulled the hoodie off the skeleton, wiggling it over his head. He tries to avoid staring directly at the blinding dishwater-grey soul, because he has decency, stars-damn-it. Once the area is clear of obstructions, Night picked up the needle and went to maneuver it through the monster’s chest cavity. It takes squeezing his hand into a cone shape, but eventually he gets the needle over the small organ.

Its harder then he originally thought, to push the needle properly into the soul. Without a good angle, Night moved his whole hand deeper, struggling to get enough traction without hurting the skeleton more.

In hindsight, he could have pulled out or gone from the opposite side of the ribcage, or maybe even under the collarbone. Hindsight is always 20/20, as they say, and Nights only has one functioning eye to scrutinize with.
As Night adjusted the needle over the monster’s soul, his knuckles brushed against the surface of the soul. Sparks of emotion trickle up his spine before Night is overwhelmed by emotions that aren’t his.

There’s more sadness than one would expect from such a scenario. If everyone around you is dead by your own hand, surely some form of anger had to be at the root of it. Instead, there’s nothing but the echo of shame, self-hatred and grief flooding through Night in waves and flows, sometimes strong enough to nearly knock him over. At some point, he managed to recoil from the monster’s ribcage, scrapping the bone as he jolted.

There’s a sense of distaste and rage in the aftertaste of the emotion, almost forgettable in the strength of the disgust and shame. The hatred overpowers everything until the mess of emotions is a poorly kept stew, the potatoes accidently mashed into the bone broth and the carrots too young and earthy to eat.

Night blinked, trying to regain his own thoughts, his own feelings, only to reveal his newfound situation.

Luckily, the other monster is mostly uninjured, the twist and jerk of Night’s hand pulling his limp body to one side of the bed. One of his hands had fallen off the bed, twisted at an odd angle. It’s not broken, but such a position would be uncomfortable if left in for long or if moved suddenly.

Meanwhile, Night has fallen backwards onto his tailbone, holding his hand like it had been burned. He must have flung his injured hand in the wrong direction, because the mostly healed break feels sore, like a sprain, sharp and painful.

Unsure what to do, Night sits there for a moment, contemplating the flashback he felt. He didn’t see anything, for sure, but the emotions felt cohesive and strung together like a necklace.

He didn’t like it one bit. It felt far too similar to the hours and months following his brother’s death. Days passing by in minutes, or skipped over like a rock over water; entire weeks lost to vague fuzzy awareness and overwhelmingly numb emotions.

It takes Night a few minutes to get back up and refocus on his mission. He doesn’t pick himself up with his twisted arm, not this time at least- he can’t wallow in the pain right now when there’s work to be done.

Night straightens the monsters body, lifting up his arm and laying it flat on the bed next to his ribcage. His eyes focus for too long on a random bone before he dragged his gaze up to the monster’s exposed ribcage. His next step is to assess the damage his mistake cost him.

Except, when Night glances through the chipped and irritated bone to view the monster’s soul, it’s no longer to ugly dishwater-grey it was before. Instead, the soul is somewhat white, like the off white of an eggshell. It’s still bright, but the brightness doesn’t hide the new defect on the surface of the soul.

Along the seam of the inverse heart, between the two humps, sits a 3 centimeter long sealed crack.

Killer apparently decides that now is the greatest time to come quickly teleporting into the room, flinging a bag of some harsh-sounding snacks directly into Night’s face.

And as such, Night proceeds to lose his stars-damned mind.

Notes:

Sorry it's been a while. Remember how wayyy back when this first started I would complain about my job? I think I did anyways. Well, I left sometime in December. My supervisor was not kind. I don't hate them or anything, but they were not kind or a good boss. Anyways, turns out she has a vendetta and is refusing to sign paperwork proving I worked for her. She also claimed I never did any projects for her, which, well, screw you, I taught myself how to do it for you! You refused to teach me, and when I taught myself, you outright deny my work or call it trash!

Anyways, that means I've wasted tuition this semester, plus had a massive freak out that lasted a few hours. I wasted my time "learning" under a prominent name in my field, only for me to be forced to choose between being bad mouthed to the rest of the field, or accept that she's taken my work and effort and thrown it in the trash. Really sucks, and honestly I thought we just were incompatible in terms of working styles rather then her genuinely disliking me.

I'll post a second chapter this, as a treat. To myself, of course. Totally not to make uo the late chapter, not at all.

Chapter 27

Summary:

Chapter warnings-
Mentions of suicidal ideation

Night likes to think he’s a fairly calm person. Sure, he can get overwhelmed easily, but his threshold for the pain that comes with the overwhelming input is higher then most.

Night also knows he’s a bloody liar.
Night used to be calm, and the unlikely mediator in all of their talks with the village. He used to have struggles with sensory overload, but since gotten better at handling them before he explodes. Usually, he could handle the problem by finding a quiet spot and hiding, or even find solace in mindlessly practicing his battle skills alone.

In this case, the method was screaming at Killer until he fell to his knees, heaving air like his life depended on it. He wasn’t even sure what he was screaming, or if it was intelligible, let alone reasonable.

At first the monster seemed startled, legitimately within his soul rather then his face. The twitch of his eyesocket gave away his normal deadpan smile, and it was impossible to hide anything from his empathy magic anyways. After a moment, no more then a few seconds, the emotion faded from his soul and face, bleeding right back into that deadpan smile.

It just infuriated Night even more.

“Stars- you can’t even react properly! How am I supposed to deal with this?” Night felt a hysterical giggle bubble up from within his chest without his permission. “Why am I dealing with this? I should have just dusted myself and been done with it, but noooo, my pathetic self can’t even do that right!”

A sharp pain from his arm made itself known as Night pulled himself up and spun around, stalking in circles in attempt to calm himself. His voice drops to a low pitched growl, barely audible to anyone. “It’s not like I can do anything to help, why do I try- its like the entire universe has specifically decided to fuck up my life!” Night snarled the last sentence like it was venom on his teeth. More pain flared in his arm as he clenched and unclenched his injured arm, trying to ground himself.

A flash of emotion came from Killer, just for a second, but Night was too frustrated to actually identify the emotion. It felt bitter and stringy, like unripe celery.

“Even now I’ve gotta deal with freaking- stars-damned, stupid- fruit puberty like I’m some sort of child, what the hell did I do to deserve to go through puberty twice?!” Night threw his hands up, barely letting them linger before launching into his next frustrated and hatred-induced hand gestures. This one involved him scrapping his phalanges on his skull, not hard enough to scratch or crack, but enough to feel painful.

“I don’t know how much more I can take, stars-damn-it.” His voice drops to a rasp, no longer screaming but somehow still loud. I just want my brother. He thinks.

His hands drop from the top of his skull and wander down to his caved-in eyesocket. Underneath the mess of black sludge, magic, corruption, Night can trace the edges of the sharp and splintered bone. It’s a wide hole, almost as big as his actual eyesocket.
The perpetrators must have hit him barely a few centimeters above his eyesocket, enough to crush in the magical matrix but not actually crumble his entire side of the skull.

Killer must have sensed his outburst was done, because the stupid monster just continued on like nothing had happened. He cleared his throat, the only sign of him regaining his thought process. “There’s no green magic, but I got ahold of some chrisps. Don’t think it'll do anything, but whatever.”

Night doesn’t look up or acknowledge Killer’s voice. He’s listening but he’s decided that there nothing he can say worth the effort of moving his skull and looking Killer in the eye.

Night heard a shift and a small breeze as Killer troted by to look at the unconscious skeleton on the table. He seemed to examine him for a second, bone-wise, before a streak of confusion and surprise goes through him. Night figured he noticed the soul.

Surprisingly, it takes a second for the emotion to fade, longer than all other instances of Killer’s emotions. Still, it fades like all the rest and Night braces himself for the barrage of questions.

“…You can do healing magic?” Killer settled on first.

Night’s voice is still creaky when he speaks. “Nope. Not anymore. Never was good enough at it anyways, let alone to do-" Night gestured at the other monster without really looking.

“This a new thing, then?”

Night lets out a hysterical sounding giggle, but its less unhinged than it was earlier. “Yup. Welcome to WTF-town, population, me.”

“…you and me both, cuz I’ve never seen anything like… even close to that before.” Killer eventually ends on.

Night sighs, but its a more weary thing, releasing everything from his body until he feels boneless. “Didn’t even know I could do that. Absolutely sucked to do…” Night inhaled a second time, deep. “Didn’t feel like healing though. Felt like… absorbing. Moving something, instead of reorienting bones or healing.”

“Bet it wasn’t healing magic then. Between your LV, and his LV, there’s no way you would have been able to heal him and even then, his soul likely wouldn’t accept it, seeing it’s as hostile as it is.” Killer speculated idly.

Night feels a resurgence of annoyance and frustration. It’s not Killer’s fault he’s an abomination of magic and nature, but he’s too jaded to care about actual blame. “Great. Brilliant. Not only do I gotta deal with this crap, I’ve gotta figure out a whole new class of magic. And heaven forbid that I don’t write down such a major medical miracle, that would just be selfish .”

Killer makes no physical or emotional response, but Night’s done with the conversation all the same. “I’m taking a walk. Leave me alone.” It come out more snappy then he meant it to, and he winces at his tone, but makes no effort to amend it.

Notes:

*whispers*

fruit puberty

Anyways, Night is not okay right now. Hes high strung, barely over getting overwhelmed by the loss of Alphys, the... whatever of Killer, and his stupid brain still acting up even after months of grieving his brother. If there was a tune that Night’s soul was singing right now, it'd be that "I'm not a good person" cheery-folk music sounding song. "My exhaustion will consume me, and I'm too tired for the truth."

Anyways. Stay determined out there, because someone really cares about you.

Chapter 28

Summary:

Chapter warnings-
Zilch. Zip. Zero. Nada. Goose eggs.

Night ends up following the door to the right of the giant survey room, leading to an odd hallway/workstation mix. There’s more doors leading elsewhere, but what instantly captures Night’s attention is the wilted plants in the boxes nearby.

There’s crumbled leaves below the plants, and the stalks are wilted and brown like they are seconds away from crumbling. Despite this, there’s soft yellow petals still attached to the head of the plant like it’s alive. The stem is too weak to hold some of them up, and the petals just flop over dramatically, still soft and fully attached to the crumbling stalk of the plant.

A soft glow comes from the wall, and Night drifts to it instantly. At first he thinks it’s a window to the night sky, or even just some bioluminescence in a case- the mushrooms glow after all. However, the glow is arranged in familiar letters, and too white to be the blue glowing mushrooms. Night sets aside his curiosity so he can read the data.

We'll need a vessel to wield the monster SOULs when the time comes. After all, a monster cannot absorb the SOULs of other monsters. Just as a human cannot absorb a human SOUL... So then... What about something that's neither human nor monster?

Night swears that his soul leapt into his throat. The implications of the entry- oddly displayed on the wall, but possibly true all the same- were far-reaching. If the soul theory holds true, could Night absorb a monster or human soul himself, holding no true soul of his own? Did they ever succeed in making someone not human and not monster?

Were they anything like him?

Another flashing light banks farther away from Night, more flickery then the other. Night walked up to it, watching it turn on perfectly the moment he got into range. Freaky.

experiments on the vessel are a failure. it doesn't seem to be any different from the control cases. whatever. they're a hassle to work with anyway. the seeds just stick to you, and won't let go...

The capitalization of the words irks Night before he fully registered the contents of the entry. It’s almost genius to Night in hindsight, to use plants. Not holding a soul yet deemed living all the same- the capacity for plant use in magic is present, why not hold the very source of it within a plant?

It somewhat reminds him of the tree. Even if it was just a byproduct of their mom, a monster, it was still somehow magical despite lacking a soul. Perhaps the death of a monster is enough for a plant to produce or take in magic?

Idly, Night wonders what the process is for merging the two. Even if it failed, it would be cool to reattempt the experiment.

Another light flickers out of the corner of his eye. Night automatically moves to interact with it as well, swirling his good eye to face the source more directly. To his disappointment, it’s just a polished mirror, reflecting the earlier light back at him.

Night huffed, considering his next steps. He really didn’t want to deal with Killer right now, for no reason and for multiple reasons at the same time.

Unfortunately, the room he was in was a dead end, so he had no choice in the matter.

Night swirls around swiftly, barely even hesitating before he’s jerkily dragged into an encounter.

Its oddly violent, for an encounter without ill intent. It feels like multiple monsters grabbing ahold of him, dragging him in different directions before finally pulling all in the right direction.

When the shadow fades, Night is instantly greeted by an abomination. It looks like a bird monster had been stretched, elongated and melted at the same time. Mass of… something, magic, flesh falls off in regular intervals only to merge together into puddles at the bottom. When it moves, Night realizes the puddles are still apart of the monster and move like feet.

Night likes to say that he does not judge on appearance. The witness would like to inform the court that Night is a known liar.

Night hears an odd strangled sound, almost thinking it was the other monster’s voice before violently realizing it was his own muffled cry.

Within the body of the bird comes multiple different impressions of faces, all seemingly some sort of bird. They fade quickly, but leave whispers behind that Night strains to hear.

The.. abomination, no, abomi-mush-ion apparently loses interest in Night’s stalling, using its turn for an attack. Night braces to dodge, but the attack is far away and completely stationary. It almost seems to be a dust bunny, yet Night swore he saw butterfly wings in it. The dust ball just whirls in one set position like it was always there, before blinking out of existence moments later.

Night blinked, registering the odd move as somehow non-threatening. Night tries to speak, clicking ACT before TALK.

“Uh. I think this was an accident? Can we just spare each other?” Night feels silly for even assuming the monster was hostile in the first place, looks notwithstanding. The monster replies in a dissonant chorus of whispers and squawks, some coming from the odd shifting faces.

Night’s turn ends without a second blink, suddenly shifting back to battle. The monster sends another attack. Night flinched and followed it closely, but again, it stayed far away and spun in place harmlessly before disappearing at the end of the turn.

Night tried one more time, this time CHECKing the other monster.
,
LV: 1
HP: 100
Its future looks brighter and brighter .

A shudder ran down his spine, jolting through his bones. Night finally decided to stop ignoring his instincts- which had been screaming in discomfort from the very start, only to be squashed by Night’s desire to be impartial- and get the hell out of dodge.

Apparently, the monster also noticed his change of heart, because the next turn, its attack wasn’t so tame. This time, a large funnel of dust and butterflies formed a somewhat humanoid figure. Night watched in dark interest and it seemed to meld together into a solid mass.

His soul dropped from his chest when the… thing slowly turned its head from its resting position to stare him right in the eye. Before he could even react, the attack split into a violent whirling mass of dust and live butterflies, directly at him.

Night tried to dodge but was too started by the oddity and sudden nature of the attack. A wave of withering magic attacked his skull and side, causing him to back up and land on his uninjured arm and side. Half a thought formed in his head, and Night formed a barrier of bones to block the rest of the onslaught.

Before Night could come up with a counterattack or attempt to flee, a blast came from outside the encounter, dragging another monster in.

At first, the only thing Night could see was a detached skull, deer like in shape, floating the air. Then, a blast of heated air and blinding light broke the odd pause that came about from the sudden appearance, before fading away. Night’s vision came back faster then his hearing. When he looked around, the deer skull was gone.

The encounter fizzled quickly as the bird-monster ran away, collapsing into a puddle and merging with the floor. As the darkness followed suit, Night was revealed to his smug savior.

Killer said nothing, but his face said it all. Even his soul released some sort of faint amusement, hidden by something more bitter on top. He at least allowed Night the dignity of getting up before commenting on the situation.

“Heh, that looked like a killer time. Did it invite you to a game of badminton or something?” Night gave a deadpan look. “Cuz, you’re missing a player. Kind of need someone to hit the bird over the net.”

Night snorted in surprise, mostly because 1, stupid joke, and 2, it was actually quite clever. At least for someone coming up with it on the spot. “Kind of disadvantaged here, with one eye.” Night wiggled his hand over his injured eye. “Hand eye coordination is completely shot now. Not cool to pick on the disabled guy.”

Killer doesn’t laugh in return, but Night swears his smile is a little less tight.

Notes:

Never let me complain about being too busy. Actually, shoot me with a nerf gun if I complain. If there is one thing I hate, it's having nothing to do.

The only benefit to you guys is me working on chapters. I've got like 4 set up as back up and 2 outlined. I don't really plan the internal portions of stories, I just have milestones that event will happen, but having a outline let's me see from an unbiased point of view. Lets me think about what X character would do, how Y character would feel, blah blah.

Here's to hoping I don't break my skull out of antsy boredom. God I hate my own neuroticies.

Chapter 29

Summary:

Chapter warnings-
None

“Oh, by the way, your pet project woke up earlier.” Killer offhandedly mentioned as they started walking back to the medical floor. When Night whirls around with a curious look, Killer actually seems to understand what he was asking.

“Wasn’t anything intelligible, just babbling while trying to get up, but it was something. Passed out soon after.”

Less good, but Night could work with it. Considering the state of the monster before and the abrupt nature of the attempted treatment, plus Night’s overall inexperience with healing, he’ll take what he can get.

When they get back to the bed, Night noticed a kind of tray-table had been dragged over to sit by the bed. It had been lowered enough for the weak monster to reach, with a single cup of water in it. The chrisps were still on the floor, but as they walked by, Killer grabbed them and tossed them onto the tray.

Night looked around for the vial of determination, hoping to keep it handy for use later. It must have been knocked under a table when he flung himself off of the other monster, because it’s nowhere in plain sight.

Flopping down on the bed closest to their newfound patient, Night lets out a groan. He’s tired, emotionally raw, yet somehow fulfilled in a way. Like he just had a late night talk with his brother, or confessed his secrets to get them off his chest.

Killer decided to sit annoyingly close to his spot on the bed, close enough that he can feel the hum of magic from his soul but far enough to not be directly touching. Night squinted, but decided to tolerate the strange closeness for now.

They sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes, with Night watching the rise and fall of the unconscious skeleton before them. Killer reaches upwards and stretches, bones pooping as he does so. Night watches the other monster, before changing course and pulling out his satchel to rummage for food.

Killer’s blank eyesockets drifted towards his hands, watching as he pulls out some jerky. He accepted a few pieces, evidently not caring about the poor flavor of dried rabbit. Night followed suit, chewing mindlessly as he watches the slow expansion of the skeleton monster's chest.

It’s pleasant, in a neutral and unobtrusive way. Nothing unique or loud about it, just silent company and a thoughtless mind.

Night dwells in it a few minutes longer before deciding to mentally plan what to do next. If the monster wakes up today or tomorrow, they can take them with them as the check the barrier. If they dust overnight, or stay the same, they will probably leave them. Depending on the outcome of their inspection, they might leave the monster behind permanently.

Night knows it’s for the best, especially if the monster was falling down earlier. It saves him the grief, the monster the pain, and Killer the burden. It’s logical and safe.

There’s no reason to wait for them to heal. Adopting monsters like pets is only going to make his life more difficult in the long run.

So why doesn’t he leave Killer here? Just teleport away? Is it really his concern if they starve, or die?

Killer shifts next to him, stretching and cracking his bones again, before laying back on the bed. His legs and part of his head hang off the table, so it can’t be comfortable, but he seems to close his eyes anyways.

He isn’t asleep, Night can tell from the vibration and hum of his soul, but it seems like he’s meditating somehow. He looks peaceful in the poor lighting of the lab, eyes gently closed and face firmly set in a neutral smile.

He doesn’t look anything like his brother, not really, but the look on his face is so reminiscent of Dream, Night almost cries.

Suddenly, the emotion he'd been feeling clicks with it’s name.

He doesn’t want to leave Killer because he’s lonely. He’s tired of being alone, he’s tired of grieving alone. He had been tired of being lonely even before his brother died, and he just never understood it.

The feeling leaves fear ballooning and fluttering in his soul, uncertain and intense.

He's weak, it’s the only reason why he would bond so violently to a monster like Killer. He’s so desperate, so worn down, he'll seek comfort and friendship in someone who tried to kill him the first second they laid eyes on each other.

He's so desperate for contact he'd drag a monster from the edge of falling down just for a chance at acceptance. For attention he craves so much.

Night tears his eyes away from the peaceful looking monster. He's oblivious to Night’s internal struggle, unaware of his self sabotaging desire to leave before he can get hurt.

Is that why Night wants to leave so badly? Because he’s going to be hurt eventually?

Killer won’t leave because he can’t- his teleport is limited to what he knows, and without testing Night is unwilling to say he can cross multiversal borders. So, he’s reliant on Night for transportation, and by extension, continuous food and water.

Will the new monster be the same too? His murder spree was probably recent, considering the lingering smell of despair in the air. Though, admittedly, the state of the lab contradicts the idea, especially in it’s time-related dusty state. He hasn’t suffered starvation or loneliness, not like Killer did. Would he be reasonable enough to understand his situation? It was Night’s hand or death by starvation, ultimately.

A spark of unease echoes through the room, interrupting Night’s thought process. The wavelength of the magic is too low to be Killer’s, so it throws him off before he realizes the source.

Night turned around to face the sleeping monster, suddenly enough to make Killer sit up a bit. He frowns when the other monster doesn’t move for a moment, about to complain about the interruption, when the monster jerks awake violently, eyesockets wide open. Wide, open, and absolutely crazed.

No rest for the wicked, it seems.

Night barely had enough time to pull Killer out of the way of a stray bone brigade, let alone himself. Halfway through his sudden dodge, Killer disappeared out of his grasp, appearing feet away from the attack. Before he could say anything to either of the monsters, their attacker continued his assault.

The confrontation settled around them like a wet blanket. The feeling of crazed dread echoed through the false room, sending a shiver down Night’s spine. The first turn went to Killer, and without a pause, the skeleton sent out a violent barrage of bones towards the monster. Night buried his fear and annoyance over the situation, instead focusing on the elegant movements the other monster made dodging the bones. His weaving seemed experienced beyond just reading his opponent’s tells, but almost choreographed, as if he had a solid idea of what Killer’s first moves might be. The turn ended suddenly, and it passed to Night just as quickly.

Night pondered his options. He can admit he’s curious to the nature of his... healing abilities and their effect on the other monster, both short term and long term effects. He didn’t put all this effort into keeping the monster from falling down just to kill him in battle. So, settling on information gathering would be best, but he could gamble and try to get at the monster’s core issues without wasting a turn.

Night decided on a gamble. He didn’t have much to lose, with Killer being as skilled at dodging as he was, and Night not giving a damn if he’s hit.

“Hello there. We mean you no harm, we can across you as you were falling down. It took a bit of nursing, but you seem to be fine now. No need to kill us.” Night tried to start simple and ended up feeling like he rolled a two on a d20 charisma check. This is exactly why Dream handled everything with the villagers. Bloody idiot.

With a whole turn wasted and nothing gained, the other monster continued his attack while Killer looked at him with amused annoyance. Yes, thank you very much, I know I’m stupid.

Dodging the bone attacks were easy, especially with his earlier experience in fighting Killer. Their styles were remarkably similar after all, though Night now had the sinking suspicion that Killer wasn’t fully trying their first battle, particularly after seeing the deer-headed plasma beams.

Night was in the middle of hoping that the other monster didn’t have the ability when he was rudely informed by a medium sized hole in the ground where his feet once rested. His sense of hearing popped before being filled with a familiar high pitched whine, too high to be a dog’s, but more ethereal, like the buzz before a lightning strike.

Thank the stars, Night thought as the opposing monster’s turn ended. His relief dissipated as Killer chose to FIGHT again, because stars forbid Night ever catch a break. Killer took a page from the other monster’s book, sending three deer skulls to blast the other monster into oblivion, using differently timed attacks to throw the monster off. The monster continued unfazed, dodging the blasts perfectly with little fanfare.

Killer’s turn ended, and Night was starting to feel a bit silly. Instead of talking to the other monster, Night decided to try something new- communicating with Killer.

“Killer, I want to try and calm him down. If you can incapacitate him long enough for me to touch him, I can placate him.” Night turns to look at the skeleton monster before his turn ends, watching his face carefully for clues. Killer’s face was as blank as clear stream, but Night got the sense that he was vaguely amused with the situation.

If the opposing monster had any feeling towards the sudden communication with his partner, he didn’t show it. Instead, he continued his barrage, this time sending a maze constructed entirely out of bones. Night stumbled too much for his liking, struggling to keep up with the tight corners enough to avoid his tentacles getting hit. It hurt, but nothing like breaking his bones.

Killer, the smug brat, had no trouble with the maze, and had the audacity to laugh at Night’s fumble. A spike of anger occurred before he could smother it, resulting in a growl at the monster, but Killer continued on smiling, eyelights dead. At least he seemed to wait a few moments before actually poking fun at Night with his facial expressions, as if he was confirming Night wasn’t too hurt by the attack.

The turn ended, to the relief of Night’s hp, and Killer took up his turn. Night watched in anticipation to see what he would do, prepared at any moment to step closer to pacify the monster.

“You’re an ugly potato face.”

A leaf could have touched the floor and Night would have heard it, it was that quiet in the room. Stunned, Night didn’t even know if he wanted to laugh, facepalm, or slap Killer into oblivion.

So, imagine his surprise when the other monster responses, out of turn, with a similarly infantile response. It starts out with a rasp, before steadying to sound like a fire monster’s cough.

“Yeah, I’m a stupid doodoo butt.”

Killer widened his smile as a response. “Not a legendary fart master?”

“Nah, I’m an ugly fart face.”  Night swears he’s surrounded by children. He bites down on a smile that threatens to split his face, instead focusing on the shadowed face of their aggressor.

“Really? I’m an ugly fart face too.” Killer responded, before glancing at Night. Night looked around, wondering if he was expecting something, before realizing what.

“Don’t look at me like that. You pacified him with your ridiculous insults more than I could have with my magic. I don’t have to do anything.” Night hissed, before gesturing to the monster. “Are we good now? Did the infantile insults soothe your childish tantrum enough so we can talk like grown-up monsters now?”

A raspy laugh came from the other monster, hard enough to shake some dust from stars-knows-where in his jacket. Killer chuckles too but stays silent as Night uses his turn to SPARE the monster. The other monster eyes Killer before contemplating his options, seemingly deciding on trusting whatever kinship the two shared and SPARING the others, ending the battle.

Notes:

*comes in like death, three hours late to a party with a cup of unholy expresso in my hand*

Ohhh lordy. Guess who's alive. Not me, that's for sure.

Hey, I may be late, but you get two chapters this time. I was mildly suicidal this week, but I wasn't depressed, so I actually had enough willpower to write chapters! I am 4 chapters ahead of schedule right now. I'm also a full unit ahead in my summer classes. God gave me depression to nerf me.

Anyways. I'm having a hard time right now, got too many external things that I'm worrying about to actually sleep. Usually when that happens I stay awake for a few days until I figure out 8 different ways to solve them problem. Except this time I can't, and little gremlin brain really abhors that. If any of you pray, I could use a little extra targeted annoyance to God, maybe he'll do something this time.

Eh. Anyways, stay safe everyone, because some one really cares about you.

Chapter 30

Summary:

Chapter warnings-
Mentioned hallucinations

The room around them was only mildly damaged in the attack, more so messy than actual broken equipment. Taking stock of everyone’s injuries, Night is a little angry at himself for being the most injured, even if it's just scratches on his tentacles. Pathetic little guardian, he thought violently to himself.

Whatever direct connection the two other monsters shared during the battle disappeared, leaving them vaguely restless and uncomfortable. Night sensed unease spike from Killer’s soul, and after a few more seconds of silence, Night takes over the discussion.

“Alright. Introduction first. My name is Nightmare, this is Killer. What is your name?”

The other monster stiffened, with a strong spike of betrayal and anger overwhelming Night’s senses. The monster whirled around to face Killer, who is seemingly nonplussed about the whole thing.

“You said you were me.”

Killer waved him off, flopping down on the bed without a care. “Yeah. Technically, we’re the same, just slightly different reset shenanigans. I used to be Sans, but that gets annoying for reasons I’m sure you understand. Call me Killer.”

Night frowned, unable to remember when they discussed the oddity of multiversal existence and timeline shenanigans, but decided it didn’t matter.

The spike of aggression fades off the monster slowly, but the monster seemed to accept this answer. He tilts his head, like he’s listening to something, completely silent for a good minute. Night was starting to get uncomfortable before he finally spoke up again.

“Call me Dust.” He rasps, no hesitation or cough. Killer’s smile widens with no soul response to accompany the facial expressions.

How did I get stuck with two homicidal maniacs with edgy, morbid nicknames to boot? I swear to the stars. This is ridiculous.

Night sighed before continuing on. “Nice to meet you, Dust. What happened here?”

Newly christened ‘Dust' looked back at Killer, apparently looking for reassurance or complaint. When he sees none, a pulse of annoyance strikes Night like a spear, making Dust's disdain known.

Biting down another sigh, Night decided it didn’t matter enough to enrage the already unstable monster. “Let’s get more specific. Is the barrier open?”

A beat, and a breath of surprised laughter echoes through the enclosed room. “Hah- don’t we all wish. No, the barrier is still there. However the hell you got here, you’re not getting out.” Dust spits out, voice gravelly with bitter mirth.

Night shook his head in response. “We’re not stuck, aside from being stuck on this side of the barrier in this world. I can teleport us somewhere else, just unspecified and potentially dangerous.”

Dust’s hood blocked the rise of his browbones, but the empath felt the annoyance and disbelief anyways. “Heh. Really now? How does that work? Just play hopscotch with reality?”

This time, Killer answered. “Origin of magic is negative emotions, whatever that means. He can sense negative feelings in other physical locations, and use it’s energy and position to drag himself there. Doesn’t make sense mathematically, but it definitely works.” Killer gestured around them, before settling a finger on Dust's body. “I mean, we definitely weren’t here before now.”

A bitter laugh came from the hoodied skeleton , more resigned than earlier. “Still not convinced you’re actually real and not a hallucination.”

Killer just shrugged in response, apparently deciding it wasn’t worth convincing.

Night coughed, trying to shift the attention back to the matter at hand. “Hallucinations shouldn’t include physical sensat- no, that doesn’t matter. Either way, this world was a bust.” Night turned to Killer. “Any input before we try the next place?”

Night had two reasons for asking Killer instead of Dust, or the whole group. One, he wanted to know if Killer was fine with Dust coming along, if he chose to do so. Two, if he wanted to collect supplies from this universe, to do so now or ask for a break. Killer seemed to understand the meaning behind the question, at least partially. “Nah. We bringing our new friend here?”

The truest question of the century, Night thought begrudgingly. “I don’t think it will drain me too much, but we won’t be able to do what we did last time, the two jumps in quick succession. If the next universe we go to is dangerous or unpleasant, we’ll be stuck there until I can focus enough to do it again.”

Night turned to Dust, who seemed heavily focused on the dust lining the cloth of the bed. “Dust. Do you want to leave here? I can’t guarantee your safety or your ability to return here, so think carefully.”

The monster seemed surprised at first, as if he wasn’t expecting the offer. Looking down at his feet, he shifted side to side in thought, sharp spikes of anger and anxiety radiating off him. A minute passed by with no verbal input from the monster before Night decided it was something the monster needed more time for.

“Killer, you know the underground pretty well, right? How about we hunt for helpful supplies while we wait for Dust to give us an answer. If he says no, we take a few goods but leave the rest in his house. If he says yes, we bring it all with us.” Night glanced at Killer, who nodded. Shifting his gaze back to Dust’s shadowed one, Night addressed him directly. “Dust, you have until next sundown to choose… assuming you have a sense of time. Wait, how do you tell time down here? I’ve already lost my internal clock, and its only been a week.” Night couldn’t help the curious and questioning look on his face and he whirled around to Killer, eyes supplementing his question.

“Eh. I think its currently run on a guessing system, but the time should be the same. The core actually keeps track of the day/night cycle timing, but since we don’t know the actual sun's position, we just kind of guess.” Killer glanced upwards as if he could see the clock before simply shrugging. “Don’t know the time now, but ‘sundown' should work.”

Night hummed in response. “Interesting. Anyways, Dust, we will meet at the Snowdin Inn at sundown. If you aren’t there, we will assume the answer is no. Does that work for you?”

Dust finally shifted his gaze upwards to look the negative spirit in the eye. Night restrained a finch of surprise at the color of the skeleton monster’s eyes, a bright blue, with one eye turning a blood red. His state felt unhinged, pinning, like a jaguar stalking it’s prey. The effect only intensified as Dust smiled, a little wider then socially acceptable. His voice started out raspy, but the charisma was smooth. “Sounds perfect.”

Notes:

Funfact for the scientifically minded- hallucinations can actually have physical sensations! They're just usually rare and don't often occur with other (auditory, visual, olfactory, etc) sensations. Some vivid hallucinations that my uncle has experienced has included three different senses, usually auditory, visual, and physical. I occasionally hallucinate smells when I'm stressed or dissociated, usually burnt popcorn or soap.

Anyways, next chapter will be in twoish weeks. You know when I started this I said "no way I'll make an actual schedule." Thought it would take a miracle. But using my inspiration, Zarla, as a source for my online footprint, two weeks is just enough time for me to get motivated without feeling stressed. 10/10, probably will do un the future. Good morning, or night, wherever you are, and take care of yourself. Because someone really cares about you.

Chapter 31

Summary:

Chapter warnings-
Detailed flashback, blood, violence

Night decided to have Killer teleport the two of them, because he’s tired. Sure, he could give some false excuse that he isn’t experienced enough in the magic, or that there was no anchor to the other side, but really, Night is tired.

It's odd, because he wasn’t tired after he healed/magic'd Dust, but after the battle and resolution, it’s like all his energy was drained. Night supposed it could be the exhaustion from the battle, but it wasn’t a long one. Night had suffered worse beatings and longer battles with far less problems back at the tree. Though, he mused, it had been a while.

Regardless, they got to Snowdin without a problem, and raided the bunny store first. It was eerily similar to when Night discovered Killer’s world, and he wasn’t the only one to think so. An odd mix of anxiety, anticipation, and excitement occasionally pinged off Killer as they wandered into Snowdin, and Night couldn’t get enough energy to think of why.

Dust was thick in the air, which contributed to Night’s theory of a more recent massacre. Enough time would have the dust stick to the wet snow. He's thankful for the cold weather and snow, otherwise he might have suffocated over the flashbacks of his own carnage. A few lonely piles stuck out here and there in the snow, and Night made a pointed effort to avoid stepping in it, regardless of shoes.

The bunny store was locked, but open. The door was completely open, yet the deadbolt was closed, attempting to lock the door in a place that doesn’t exist. A shudder ran up Night’s spine. His imagination didn’t have to go far to figure out what likely happened.

Snow had already lightly dusted the entryway, but some sort of heat magic must have been put in place to keep the room warm. A few feet from the wide open door, snow melted quickly, leaving puddles.

The shelves were untouched, filled with food and trinkets, clothes and even toys along the tops. The register's desk, however, was tussled, and Night is willing to bet that if he looked over the counter, a dust pile would be seen. Instead of confirming his suspicions, Night glanced along the shelves, looking for lightweight and sturdy items to stash in his satchel.

Killer gravitated towards a shelf full of chrisps, snagging a few and shoving them into his inventory. Night was somewhat glad they wouldn’t be left; he couldn’t take them because they would be crushed by the stuff in his bag.
They went looking through the building in silence like this for a few more minutes, with Night grabbing useful, tactical items and Killer grabbing… useful, yet unconventional items. Eventually, after Night had checked every nook and cranny of the building, he called Killer back to him.

“I've got all I want. I’m running low on room in my satchel, but I want to check the librarby for some books first.” As if to prove his point on the overfilling satchel, Night lifted the stuffed bag, which was sticking out at an odd angle already due to the books stuffed into its sides, as well as the numerous healing and food supplies, his knife, and jars of magic.

An idle thought crossed his mind when he thought of his knife but crushed it down before it could be formed into words. Not the time.

Killer hummed in response, his blank eyes observing the satchel in Night’s hand. After a second too long, he spoke. “Doubt you’ll find anything useful in there, unless you want history or children’s books. Trust me, I know that library like my own magic- it ain’t got anything not already common knowledge.”

Night clicked his jaw anxiously, feeling a spark of pain as it set in the wrong place before bouncing back. “See, I don’t know your common knowledge. Especially history. It will be all new to me anyways.”

Killer huffed, amused. “Ask me then. I guarantee you I know the answer.” Then, he smirked. “Just make sure to actually ask, I can’t read you like a book.”

“Yes, I know that well enough. Your facial expressions are telling.” Night replied idly, before feeling… some sort of emotion from Killer and looking up at him. “Oh. Heh, you can do better then that.”

If possible, Killer’s smile got even wider. “Yeah. I should probably read up on it. The topic really doesn’t read me in, it’s quite card-boring.” Night swears the skeleton doesn’t even inhale. “Don’t worry, it’s totally s-fine , I just need to get enveloped in all the information.”

“The only one that was even half attempted was the spine/fine one. You should really get some mater-read-als.” Night bounced back. Not his best one, but it was better then groaning and encouraging the poor puns. “Either way, I punderstand the trouble, word play can be chal-lend-ging at the best of times.” Night snorted at the last one, he was proud of that. “We'll go to that bar from earlier, then. Food is always good to have.”

Killer likely was going to keep going with even more half-hearted puns, so Night threw a discarded shirt at him to silence him.

“Aw man, no need to dress me down so harshly.” Killer weaseled out one last pun before Night walked out the store altogether, heading to the café/pub story from earlier. Catching the hint, Killer followed, clearly still coming up with puns in his head as he went.

The small snow flurry was still going outside, but any apprehension the poor visibility would bring was lost when Night found the tell-tale glowing yellow light of a lit establishment. A few seconds later, his shoes hit a harder area then the snow from before, and Night could see the frosty door of the restaurant.

Stepping in proved some sort of heating magic had to be at work, because any chills his limited skeletal sensitivity could have were chased away by the warm area. The room smelled slightly of bonfire, but more overwhelming, ash . The stove was still lit with the strange magic, unlike in Killer’s world, cooking nothing but empty air. At two of the tables, baskets of half-finished meals lay wasted, with no one to finish them.

Killer, with the completely lack of common decency and morals that only a psychopath could have, walked over to one of the baskets and shoved a handful of odd potatoes into his mouth. Night couldn’t even find the decency in himself to be shocked or appalled.

At least he didn’t sit in the pile of dust in the chair and floor.
Night decided to focus on the same area of the kitchen as before, the stock storage room. He stepped over the mess of food and dust on the floor, taking a few seconds to figure out the bar door. The door was actually inside the wood furnishing of the bar, and unlike normal doors, was completely solid. If the hinges weren’t visible from his side, he probably would have never guessed there was a door.
While the pantry in Killer’s world was empty, this one was filled with bags and baskets of various food items. Oil, potatoes, cattails, oats, bread, and more sat nicely organized in the shelves, awaiting a cook that would never come.

He’s not really sure who would subject themselves to eating cattails, but maybe it was some sort of dietary necessity for a species of monster down here. If it was, it was likely a mammal-shaped monster, but Night couldn’t think of any that would eat the stuff, at least from his knowledge of the village.

Doing quick calculations in his head to determine the most efficient food source, Night took a step forward to grab some potatoes.

Except he stepped in dust.

The dust still vaguely tingled of magic. Instead of sticking in between the tiny bones of his feet, the shoes served as both a blessing and a curse, with the dust coming up and getting stuck between his bones and the shoe.
Night instantly felt his mind scream and grate with the sensation, his mind going blank with nothing but disgust, disgust, fear.

Night attempted to whirl around, mind still spinning, but only managed to lose balance on the nauseating consistency of dust on wood. Instead, he slipped backwards, falling flat on his tailbone and sending dust flying in every direction.

He must have made a noise, logically, since falling was loud and he had to be breathing rapidly to fight off the upcoming panic, but apparently it was not enough to be heard from the front. Instead, Night found himself spiraling, alone, with a pile of dust in a warm, dark room.

And suddenly, Night wasn’t there anymore. Instead, blood was seeping through his torn clothing as he laid silently in the kitchen of the local church. Waves of terror were falling off of someone , nearby, saturating the air. It felt sticky and thick, like coagulated blood or an old game kill. It lay low in the air, making it impossible to breathe without tasting it.

It was too much. It was horrible, overwhelming, and it had to stop. It was too much, and they had no right to feel that way. A warm splatter of blood landed on his face before Night realized the terror-rich air dropped a bit. It barely changed to Night’s senses, not as heightened as they were, constantly watching the outside village cycle through grief, hate and terror. But it changed enough that the air no longer tasted of sick, thick blood.
Instead, it was sweet and smelled of iron, fresh blood. No sick aftertaste lingered in the scent, the terror completely drained from his target.

A new smell, sensation revealed itself instead. It tasted like cold metal, blades and death. It struck through the air with the precision of an arrow, fleeting yet cutting the old, sickly sensation like a scythe through wheat. It felt like rage, hate, and retribution.

He couldn’t react before a blow hit his lower leg, sweeping underneath him before striking him in the shoulder. Night barely had a chance to do much more then fling his hands, his new appendages towards his attacker. A blow was intercepted, midair, curled down before it could even arc. Instead of inhaling hate and rage with his next breath, all he got was dust.

He was wrong, earlier, when terror was suffocating. It was sticky, but easy to avoid breathing in if one was strategic. This, however, was suffocation, made of desperation, death, regrets; dust made flesh before violently returned to dust. His desire to cough it out was greater then his instincts to breathe, and he crumbled helplessly as his body wheeze what little air it had in it to forcefully cough out the invading pathogen.

He wished he was dying. It would be easier then feeling his body rebel against his own mind, slowly suffocating as he tried to breath in precious air poisoned with death. It was poetic, in that way. He brought death, until the aftermath of death killed him.

Night tried to catch his breath. He tried, but if felt like his lungs just couldn’t cooperate with the command, rejecting the air each time it was presented. Even as Night felt faint, light headed, his body refused to cooperate, heaving shorter and shorter wheezes of a cough before eventually ceasing altogether. Instead, he was left gaping and grasping idly at the air, air completely knocked out of him, before his consciousness followed after.

Notes:

Not that you guys will know it, since it doesn't affect your schedule of chapter reading, but I'll be busy all next week. I am blessed, because 70% of those things I was stressed about last chapter notes are now resolved, some to my aid. Other problems have popped up, but nothing impossible to solve, nor requires waiting. I'll be traveling for a training in my field, professional improvement or whatever. Whoop!

I'm still stressed. I've got anxiety, it comes with the disorder. Buy one get one half off deal, some crap like that. But I've got concrete evidence to smack my anxiety every time it decides to freak out, and that's somewhat helpful to my mental wellbeing. Waste a lot less resources when I can turn it into a logical argument rather then a breakdown.

Also, I got a new bed for the first time in 20 years. Literally. Maybe I'll actually sleep instead of writing this crap.

...hah! Nah.

Eh, whatever. Have a good day, and take care of yourself, because someone really cares about you.

Chapter 32

Summary:

Chapter warnings-
Referenced self harm, distress, grief

Night awoke to a spike of anger and concern cutting through his unconsciousness.

The anger was closer to annoyance, like finding a puppy had peed on your floor, rather then actual anger. The concern, however, was a little hard to place. His only frame of reference for the feeling was Dream, and the emotion wasn’t Dream’s. Actually, Night thought to himself, I can’t sense Dream at all.

Before Night even opened his eyes, he was hit by the most soul-crushing devastation and grief. Waking up like this always meant the worst- he would see his brother in every turn of his head, and be reminded every second for the rest of his life that his brother was not here.
Should have been you, his silent thoughts chanted. Should have been you and you know it.

A spike of pain went through Night’s face, bringing attention to his clenched jaw. It clicked as he relaxed it, and decided to open his eyes to face whatever hell the stars conjured for him today.

He was greeted with a face eerily similar to his, and instantly felt himself reorganize his latest memories. Killer was standing over his, a passive and permanent smile on his face, pointedly avoiding touching Night. A further check of his surroundings showed that the dust had been pushed away from Night, and some marrow smears littered the floor closest to where Night lay propped up.

Instead of talking, Killer stared unblinkingly at Night, with a slight wave of emotions as his undercurrent. They were so subtle that Night couldn’t even give them a name, but present nonetheless.

“…are- ugh.” Night facepalmed harder then he meant to. There was nothing he could do to salvage this situation. He’s not in control as he’s portrayed himself to be to Killer.
It's easier to ignore it all together. So, Night stands up, staring at the pile of dust that caused the problem in the first place. He would not step in it again. Instead, he walks around the edge, avoiding the smears of marrow and stray dust piles, heading straight towards the door. Killer seemed confused for half a beat, before shrugging and following along with Night to the front room.

Taking a deep breath and forcing himself to recover, Night decided to check on the time. “It’s been a good amount of time. How much longer until the deadline we gave Dust?”
“Uh,” Killer paused to think, before shrugging. “It’s been like an hour and a half since we last saw him. If you need the time, check the clock in the bar.”

Night subtly cataloged his injuries from his… freak out earlier. In terms of potential damage and his previous experience, the injuries were minimal. A few minor fractures on his ulna, but most of the marrow came from his hand bones. He can’t see under the sludge that coats him now, but Night is certain that his finger tips are scarred from clawing at himself and his surroundings.

He turned around to face Killer again, trying to reorient himself in the conversation. “Clock? How does that help?”
Killer gave him the most incredulous look, as if he was stupid. Night gritted his teeth, but held his tongue. Getting angry would not help his cause.

“It’s a clock? Measures time?”

“I inferred such, thank you. I mean how do you get the time from it?” Night gritted out, attempting to avoid any sarcastic pitfalls in his response.

“…oh. Uh, okay, so the tiny, thick hand is the hour. The long hand is the minute. The longest hand is the seconds.”
Night looked at the clock where Killer subconsciously glanced to. It matched the shape of a sundial, just with numbers and rapidly moving hands. The hour hand made sense, but the minute hand was pointing at hour six. Was 6 hours and 6 minutes the time? If so, how would-

It clicked. If an hour was put into minutes, and divided by the hours in a day, it would be perfectly divisible on the circle of the clock. 60 minutes divided by 12 numbers on the clock gave him five minutes for every hour mark. If it was at hour mark six, then the time was 30 minutes of that hour.

That’s rather clever. Night mused to himself. They even kept the sundial hours, using 12 hours of daylight measured on a sundial, instead of the 24 hours of day and night.

Dream would have hated the system. Math was never any of their strong suits, but Dream hated it more.

He probably would have said something outrageous, how they split the day and night but ignored one altogether, it being unfair or some bullshit. In this case, it makes practical sense, because at night, there is no eyes awake to read the time anyways.

His brother was always concerned with the small things.
A spike of concern came from somewhere again, but it was too quick to accurately pinpoint. By process of elimination, and being the only other person in the room, Killer was the culprit. “Alright, so assuming sundown is around 7, we will get ready to meet up with Dust. Before we discuss things with him, do you have any concerns about bringing him with us, or where we go next?”

An amused smile appeared on Killer’s face, but no emotion backed it up. Still, it was more subtle then the violent, exaggerated smiles of earlier, so Night will take what he can get.

“Nope. You’re the boss.” Killer cheerfully said, before continuing. “Just don’t get us lost in the void. Last thing we need is you passing out from magic exhaustion midflight.”
I wonder of that’s what he thinks earlier was about, or of he just testing the waters for honesty. Night considered his choices, before deciding to focus on another topic altogether. “Can’t pass out due to magic exhaustion if your magic is always being produced. It doesn’t take as much energy when you’re borrowing from someone else.”

A flash of intrigue and… self-preservation (?) passed through the air quickly, only caught because of the intensity. Killer’s face shifted to something more stoney, manufactured. “You’re taking magic from us?” He says it calmly, nonchalant.

Well, pay the toll for avoiding difficult topics. More difficult, slightly unrelated topics. Night huffed, before deciding a minor magic lesson was in order.

“It’s not taking if it’s been thrown away. Monsters use magic to exist, but emotions are part of existence and therefore part of a monster's magic as well.” Night paused to let that sink in, before continuing onwards. “When you feel emotions, a small amount of energy is being expended into the environment around you. Monsters historically used it to communicate- still do. I can take that and in turn use it to power my own magic.”

A long silence followed his explanation, even though Night doubted it was all that difficult to understand. Many monsters use similar processes to power themselves and make magic constructs, such as vegetoids and ambient magic from monsters, or fire elementals and heat.
Even if he isn’t truly a monster himself.

No emotions signaled Killer’s understanding, leaving Night to interpret his honesty on facial expressions alone. After a few more moments of pause, Night decided to keep walking out of the bar. Killer huffed in what Night hopes was amusement, before following after him anyways.

“That’s a pretty cool trait. I didn’t know that any monsters could harness such a small amount of energy.” Night stepped around the snow poff as Killer finally chose to comment. “You must need a lot of it to survive.”

Night found himself thinking back on his first meeting with the villagers, before the elders. The amount of food had made both of the brothers sick, and for a good while after that, the village elders thought they couldn’t eat food, instead relying on the sustenance of the tree, something stupid like that. They only ever ate what they could gather, stuff easily made or freshly grown. Both of them had never tasted bread before, not like that, and while they both should have been old enough to know the consequences of eating too much, they were too excited to care. The villages didn’t share food with them for a good two generations of leaders, much to Dream’s carbohydrate induced annoyance. He was furious when they refused to share cheese.

Night must have been wandering in his thoughts for too long, because when he looked up, they had traveled to an area by the woods, instead of in the town. “Well, we eat like any other monster. I guess that is our counterbalance.”
Killer hummed, as if filing the information away. The conversion drifted off naturally, and they settled down to wait for their new guest to appear soon.

Notes:

Wasn't going to post another chapter but I realized that the previous was a cliff hanger. For the sake of those who lived through the Percy Jackson Trials of Athena days, I have elected to not do cliffhangers, because there is now generational trauma surrounding that crap.

For being the first fandom I ever really got into, I don't actually read Percy Jackson fanfiction. I crave the particular style of writing only Rick Riordan can create. While not my writing muse and inspiration (that belongs to Niel Shusterman), he definitely motivated me to write as a kid. For as much as I love my hometown, modern writing is not one of their strongsuits, so I steal from my American cousins instead. It's the least they can do for bullying me to changing the pronunciation of Sevilla (sell-vee-a, double ll is ey sound) to Seville (Seh-vill).

Every time I think about it, it makes me want to puke. Ugh. Its like the one time I heard my siblings speaking Spanish with a British accent, it made me irrationally violent.

What was I talking about again? Whatever. Chapter in two weeks. Donate imaginary cookies, or better yet, descriptions of your favorite family foods. Mine is spätzle, courtesy of grandma. 10/10, I go home in a food coma everytime. God bless German-american grandmothers, for God made them perfect in every conceivable way.

Chapter 33

Summary:

Content warnings-
Detailed description of self harm thoughts

The area outside of town was somehow damp and dark. Considering the entire place was underground, in a cave, one would assume that such a sensation would be consistent, but it was far from that. Snowdin was warm and guiding, with few winds and snow gusts. This area was not.

Occasional winds broke through the trees, sometimes shifting objects on the forest floor. The dampness was unusually warm, for being surrounding by consistently falling snow. It stuck to Night’s face like humidity, just cooler and more unpleasant. It never became thick enough to send droplets down his face, but it came close.

Night huffed in irritation at the weather. It could be worse, it could be humid and cold. Those nights froze him and his brother more than any snowfall ever did. There were times where they barely made it through the night alive, relying on scrounged blankets and bargained heat-enchanted vesicles to live. Huddling together under the old blankets too short to cover both of them, with an enchanted lantern stuck between the two of them.

Night and Killer settled down near a fallen log. Night felt idle and antsy, no doubt because of his episode earlier, but there was nothing he could really do to pass the time. His in-progress basket was torn to bits, the moisture would ruin his books if read, and there was nothing he could do with the food he had squirrelled away.

He resolutely ignored the knife. There’s no time, he told himself nowhere to hide away long enough without suspicion. Its not worth it.

Stars, he wanted to hurt. He wanted to hurt, but be in control of that hurt, relish the blade and bone in a way hate could never be appreciated. He had no control of others, what they did to him, what they said in whispers barely hidden by distance, but the blade he had perfect control over. When he used the blade, whether in hunting, combat, or on his own person, the world was perfectly divided in two- himself, and the blade.

No one could interfere with that. Not even his brother.

Dream, without a doubt, knew some of what Night did to himself. He had to, to create the bandages that sometimes literally held him together. But the extent from which Dream had inferred was unknown to Night, and there were no attempts of addressing the subject.

Night felt a painful grind in his hands, worn bone rubbing against bone. The pain wrenched him from his thoughts, leading him back to awareness of the bitter cold and spikes of pain from his injuries.

None of them were bad enough to bandage, it would be a waste of his brother’s magic, so he leaves them be. Instead, he pulls out a package of cloudberries to eat. He wasn’t hungry, but without anything else to do and the knowledge of quicker healing, it didn’t really matter.

Apparently Killer saw fit to grab a few berries from his sachet, completely willing to reach over his chest to reach the pouch. Night stomped down the fit of annoyance that came with Killer invading his space with no warning.
Instead of showing his distaste, Night opted to ask more questions. “Killer. Do you have any other preferences for our next world?”

The blank eyed monster tilted his head in thought. “I mean. Surface, duh. Very little contact with other people, space to do whatever the hell I want, maybe a forest or something. I really don’t care.” The ‘anywhere else but here’ part went unsaid, but heard.

Night sighed a little, more to himself than anything. “I mean, more like people. If we end up inside the barrier again, or at least underground, we will, without a doubt, run into monsters. Knowing my luck, it will be monsters you know.” Night’s thoughts drifted to Alphys. “Is there any place that’s firmly off limits, or people that we avoid at all costs?”

Killer went silent, with no facial expression or emotion flickering from his soul. It was unnerving, like seeing a monster soulless, or a human’s rotting corpse.
Night averted his eyes to avoid staring. It was uncomfortable, at best.

Killer stayed quiet for a few moments longer, before answering. “Don’t want to deal with Undyne, Papyrus, or anyone in the ruins. If we can stick to Hotland, the Core, and the capital, we’ll be dandy.”

Night frowned, trying to place the names. “I’ve heard of Undyne, but don’t know Papyrus. You’ll have to describe them to me.” Night fiddled with the pouch of berries again, throwing a few into his mouth. “or better yet, signal to me if they come up. Triple tap, hand signal, whatever.”

Killer’s soul pulsed with something akin to curiosity, or maybe even the emotional equivalent of tilting his head. When Night looked up to his face to determine if he actually had a question, he found it startlingly blank. It shouldn’t have been surprising, but Night never really got used to the disconnect between his body and soul. It was… concerning.

Night put another berry in his mouth and chewed anxiously at the seeds. “Killer. Wait, uh, let me explain this first. Um, so, you know how I consume magic from the emotions of others?” Killer gave a single nod, feigning interested yet relaxed. “Well, it comes with the ability to somewhat sense emotions too. And since emotions come from the soul, I can instinctively understand others without looking at them, or you know,” Night gestured vaguely to the space between both of them, trying to convey communication, connection, something like that.

“Uh, but, I still look at other people because they find it unnerving to not be looked at during a conversation. And I’ve noticed that your… body language and facial expressions are at a pretty severe contradiction, uh, with your soul.” Night swallowed, not really ingesting anything but air. “I’ve never seen that before, except in dying monsters, or maybe even grieving people, and even then it’s not so… extreme.”

“I’m not an expert at the soul, not really. I would really recommend someone looking at it. It can’t be healthy, and I’m honestly surprised you haven’t dusted under the strain.” Night picked at the fraying edges of the sachet, unsure how to continue.

Killer stayed silent again, no emotion on his face or from his soul. The pause lasted longer then the previous, and Night was almost thinking he hadn’t heard him, or was just deciding to ignore the problem. Which, Night couldn’t really blame him, but was really annoying.

“Yeah.” Killer finally said. “I thought so. Probably the high level of violence, with what I did and all. Maybe something else. But you don’t gotta worry about me dusting. I’ve got determination.” The inflection on the last word was the only sign that what Killer said meant something other than the virtuosic pseudo-trait.

Night turned and narrowed his eye at Killer, scrutinizing his face for honesty or secondary meanings. “I may not understand the difference in vocabulary on this world, but you’re saying that with an inflection. I’m assuming it means the same here as it does for me?”

Killer shrugged. “Depends on your definition.”
Night huffed at the non-answer. “Determined magic, mage-blood, determined souls? Red soul trait of humans, strong mage leanings?”

Killer actually looked and felt mildly curious at his words, and Night for a second wondered if he was wrong. “That’s a lot of old fashioned words that I haven’t heard in a while, just in bareboned books. Yeah, we just call it Determination though, capital D and everything.”

“And, let me fully understand this, you have Determined magic in you? I thought it was possible, but there wasn’t any evidence in books, so…”

Killer kicked his leg, hard enough to stop Night in his verbal tirade. It didn’t actually intend any harm, so he didn’t lose any HP, but Night could feel the mild anger and disappointment (towards himself? To circumstance? To Night?) flowing in mild undercurrents of his soul.

“First of, you need to know this- I am a fluke. A combination of rare circumstances that managed to work out enough to keep me alive, even if not in my favor. Two- never, ever, mess with mixing human and monster magic. The last time it was common was before all of blasted monsterkind ended up down here, and that should tell you how it went.”

“Monsters and human magic don’t mix. Full stop. Monsters are made up of magic, and when foreign magic is introduced to the system, something’s gotta give.”

Night felt his eyes widen in understanding. “oh. Oh, that’s why your soul is so separated. It’s self preservation, maybe exposure after several killings, enough to distance the soul somewhat and give it a way to separate from foreign magic. That’s inc-“

A raspy voice split through the damp, cold air. “Not a soul expert, hm?” Looking around, Night settled on the figure just behind the treeline, lurking about 5 meters away. “Don’t humble yourself, it’s unbecoming.” Dust rasped, almost alluringly venomous in tone.

Dust was here.

Notes:

Hey yooo~
Sorry about the single chapter upload. It turns out I had a seizure, and since then I've been in back to back hospital appointments and paperwork sessions to figure out what happened. It was an extremely 'abnormal' seizure, which hopefully means it won't be a regular thing, but it doesn't mean I don't have less work to do on the health insurance and medical release paperwork side of things.

It really hurt my head though, and I'm just tired all the time now. Ouch.

It might be a bit, because I need to catch up on some things and figure out the whole medical situation, but it shouldn't impact things too much. Just might have single chapter uploads for a couple weeks or so. Sorry. It's just really difficult to plan things and think about more then basic orders and instructions, and making chapters with crap content is a waste of character interaction.

Whatever. Stay safe everyone, and take care of yourself, because someone really cares about you.

Chapter 34

Summary:

Chapter warnings-

Night stopped midsentence, not really sure what to say to the comment. Dust hovered a stone’s throw away from the two of them, staring with a bland smile. Unlike Killer’s smile, however, Dust’s wasn’t strained, or even all that violent.

The real thing that gave away Dust as being… not sane.. was his eyesockets. Unlike Killer’s dead, blank sockets, Dust’s were wide and vibrant. Blood red and violent cyan nearly glowed in its intensity, replacing the normal eyelights with odd circular patterns of the colors.

Despite his somewhat calm smile and demeanor, Dust radiated a form of anger from every part of his soul. Night couldn’t call it rage, or hate, but it was close enough to the two for comparisons to be made. If rage felt less indignant and more hatefilled, that would be the emotion radiating from the monster.

Night felt his jaw click before he unclenched his jaw. “It’s not really knowledge. It’s just mostly intuitive, I guess.” He knew he was tracing Dust’s movements, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the monster.

Killer apparently did not feel the same pressure in the air as Night did. “Welp. Did you decide on whether you want to go or not? I want to get out of this hellhole.” He shifted his gaze from Dust to Night. It was hard to tell from the lack of Killer’s eyelights, but he lingered longer on Dust’s hands before moving on.

Dust kept his smile blank, but his soul let out a wave of conflict and anger, before settling back on rage and discomfort. The discomfort finally keyed in Night into what was wrong.

He’s upset that we didn’t reveal my empath abilities, and now he’s trying to cover it up. Night realized, schooling his face into a more neutral expression. Some things just never really change.

“I’m not able to control the fact that I sense your emotions. If it helps at all, it’s about as revealing as me just using your facial expressions.” Night can’t help but bitterly drawl. He’s used to it, even Dream dealt with it, but it’s still painful.

A wave of scorn and annoyance comes from Dust again, and it shows on his face a little. Night can’t tell if Dust is letting it show because of spite or as a test.

Killer clapped his hands, not impatiently but insistent. “Hey, hello, I want to leave here. Did you decide to split or stay?”

Dust’s facial expression changed to its neutral position of before, the most bland smile to be conjured on Earth. His soul radiated irritation, this time, not all that dissimilar to the annoyance of before, just more exasperated then hateful. “I’m goin’. And before you ask, yes, I have everything, and already have it all packed in my inventory.”

Killer gave a half-hearted whoop in reply, dropping his hands to gaze at Night. “Ready to go, boss man? Do I gotta do what we did last time?”

Night winced at the reminder of the last jump. He nearly let the bloodlust get the best of him and killed the monster. Weird comradery or otherwise, he really didn’t want to deal with more dust and memories.

“No, we’ll be fine.” Dust’s anger and annoyance was enough for him to tangibly cut. Now it was time to find somewhere to go next. “Come sit nearby, keep a hand on me . I’ve gotta find a place for us to go to first.”

Killer sat, but Dust glared at Night in contempt. “Ya don’t know where we’re even goin’? Are you trying to kill us?”
A flash of something like annoyance appeared within Killer, but nothing showed on his face. Night sighed in resignation. “I’ve done this a total of three- wait, no, five times, now. I’m only slightly more knowledgeable then you are.” Night criss-crossed his legs to sit more comfortably. “In those five times, I’ve gone alone twice, and with another person three times. No one has ever been hurt by the process, and there’s no sign that it could happen otherwise.”

Dust’s face tilted into a more disapproving smile if possible. “Have you ever done it with two passengers? There’s gotta be a limit.”

Night was done with this. “Listen, do you want to come or not? Because I am perfectly content with leaving you behind if you are unwilling to deal with my magic.”

“You’ve made your opinion clear. I’ve addressed it the best I can. Choose what you want to do, or we’ll leave without you.”

Frustration flooded Dust’s aura, and his face became a little more strained. But, thank the stars, he sat down next to Killer and put a hand on him.

Finally. Night closed his eyes and widened his senses. Short range, there was a pinprick of unrest from Killer, and the well of annoyance and frustration that made up Dust. Barely stretching out, singular grief and separate confusion made up the aura of one world. The majority of the aura was normal and untouched by the grief, and aside from a very small percentage of grief the remaining minority was made of confusion, worry, and fear.

Probably someone grieving, or simply depressed, and everyone else is concerned and confused, Night thought to himself. The grief had to be strong if it overpowered the majority of mildly happy aura. Perhaps confusion was a more negative emotion then Night previously thought, at least when it’s combined with fear or worry.

A slight widening of his senses revealed another location of unrest. Instead of one very strong emotion, it seemed the entire world was unhappy, some even teetering on the edge of depressed. Occasionally, spikes of grief or hopelessness poked through the persistent aura, but other than that, it was consistent.

That probably wasn’t the best option for them. This seems more of a social or environmental problem then a major disaster or mass death, meaning there would be tons of people still milling about on their daily basis. Something that Night was willing to bet would not be pleasant while wrangling two homicidal edgy skeletons through a facsimile of their own worlds.

A flash of anger and hatred stole Night’s attention again, and this world was similar to other in the crowded aspect. Most of the world felt some combination of anger, fear, or frustration. Literally no one currently had a happy thought.
Night wasn’t sure what to think about that.

Night stretched further, trying to find more, but the aura somehow got clouded. The farther he looked, the more intense the emotion had to be for him to sense it, and Night definitely did not want to spend his first time with two passengers figuring out how much magic was needed to teleport there.

Huffing a sigh, Night opened his eyes. He was gonna have to either present the options to the other two and let them vote, or just ignore them and do what might be best.
“Alright, we’re more limited because our passengers or something, because I’m having a hard time finding more then three locations. So, what were gonna do, is choose one, and do a double hop.” Night held up a phalange.
“One, a location with majority in mild happiness, with minority in fear or worry, and a small portion grieving. This one is closest, we’d get probably three back to back jumps before I would absolutely need a break.”

“Two, a world with consistent sadness, depression, and unrest by literally everyone in the world. Whatever the hell is happening there, it’s been a long term problem with minimal mass causalities or emergency problems. Its probably somewhat systemic in nature, like social problems or environmental limitations.” Night waved his hand, now holding two phalanges up. “This is literally the middle ground, I’d be able to get us out fast and take two-ish quick jumps, but it’s farther and needs more energy.”
“Finally, the farthest away one would be risky. Whatever it is, everyone is angry, fearful, and hateful. And I mean everyone, there is literally not a happy person in that entire place. Whatever is happening, its not sudden, this is a long term issue. We would only have one jump, but we would have less problems with forced social interactions and false politeness.”

Night placed down his hands in his lap, still criss-crossed. “Honestly, I could care less as long as we don’t deal with someone suddenly deciding to murder everyone there. I’m not cleaning up the mess that would inevitably make. I’m gonna leave it to you guys to vote on whatever one you think is best.”

Night shrugged, mostly subconsciously, and finished his little strategist speech. “You guys know yourselves the best. Just don’t start a huge conflict or anything, otherwise, I will leave you behind.” Night finally lifted his eyes to look the two skeletons directly in the eyesockets. Killer was emotionally passive in his face and soul, while Dust was still mildly frustrated with a neutral smile pasted on his features.

Killer, ever the social inept, started first. “The closest one, we’d only stop for a second to gather our bearings and leave, right? So, what does it matter?” He paused, blank eyes making it difficult to gauge thought. “Really, what does it matter at all, if we leave directly afterwards?”

Night frowned. “There’s always a possibility that we will land in an inconvenient place, or we will have to deal with the people first. Explaining this every time is a nuisance. Plus, considering our group’s… deposition, we have a diplomatic disadvantage anywhere we land, making it hard to get out without causalities.”

Dust’s raspy voice broke Killer’s reply. “So, just don’t explain it.”

Killer shrugged, before agreeing. “I mean, yeah. You’re the one teleporting us around like a taxi, you’ve got the best sense for where we are at and what to do.”

Tilting his head subconsciously, Night found he didn’t dislike the idea. “If I can lay out everything to where you can pick up on cues to corroborate the story, it might work. Since I don’t know the area as well, I can give our motivation and details, and leave you guys to answer unnecessary follow-up questions like ‘where to.’”

Dust interjected before Killer could add on. “There’s still a possibility that we’d end up in a poor position where we wouldn’t be able to get out. I vote the middle group, it’s safest.”

Killer shrugged. “Personally, as long as we don’t go to Snowdin or much of Waterfall, I don’t care which one we stop at. Though, it does seem to be somewhat random where we land.” Killer angled his blank eyes to Night’s direction, obviously compelling Night for more answers.

“I always seem to end up close to the location of the negative emotion I focus on. Admittedly, we ended up pretty far away from Dust, however.” Night wondered.

A burst of frustration came from Dust’s direction, causing Night to suddenly switch focus. Killer followed suit, switching to face Dust as Night swiveled his head. “Let’s just get a move on. Go to the second world, we’ll hop in and out until we find a surface timeline.”

Night huffed, but obliged, offering his hand to the two skeletons. After a beat of hesitation, Dust directly holds Night’s hand, which instantly increases his certainty that Dust wouldn’t get lost to spacetime through the trip.
Night closed his eyes, and sensed the world again, only to feel more then before. He frowned, and Killer must have been watching his face, because a spike of concern wobbled through his aura. Hesitantly, Night spoke up. “…there’s more options now. I don’t know why- the difference shouldn’t be massive, you just changed hands from Killer to me…”

A wave of understanding came from Dust, followed by anger, fear, and distaste. A few beats pass as Night explores the new auras surrounding the worlds , before Killer speaks up. “Just chose what you think is best. We’ll deal with the world there.”

Night nodded, subtly squeezing Killer’s hand as if to confirm his acknowledgement. A couple seconds pass as Night settles in on an angry, hateful, and uncertain world slightly different then the third from before. It feels right, or correct, in some way. He takes a breath in, and in the next, he breathes onto a new world.

Notes:

Before I give you the answer, what is your guess as to why new worlds suddenly opened up after discussing their options with the group? I'll give you a couple of mental seconds to guess. The reason is that Night’s magic is partially based on trust, or at least, the relationship he has with his passengers. Especially considering he's still figuring out his powers and getting an intuitive sense of them, his magic is fine tuned to his distress and is using it as both a protective measure and a means to which it can bind to negative emotions. So, when Dust directly held Night’s hand, it was a move that signified trust, and with that, a short term bond for which his magic could siphon negative energy from Dust.

Since I'm a science major and can't help but make even magic logical, I like thinking about the 'evolutionary' purpose of various abilities and characteristics. This actually comes into play later, as Night discovers more about his own powers and what happened the night of the incident.

Anyways, small but lore filled chapter right now. Still no news on the seizure, but that's alright. I have an appointment but as per the medical system even an emergency appointment is 3 months out. I was lucky, honestly. We have to be extra careful because there's a nuerological genetic disorder in the family with multiple forms of presentation, so we need to confirm this is not the case. I'm still having some minute problems with thinking and such, but I've always have had problems neurologically, so adding some more onto the random list is just me filling my bingo card.

Whatever. Stay safe and take care of yourself, someone really cares about you.

Chapter 35

Summary:

Chapter warnings-
Self worth problems. Really, is there a point to this, you've survived this long!

This time, they crash into a stone brick wall, tinged a bluish-purple from the poor lighting in the cave. Its apparently a bumpy ride, because Night lands face first into the crumbling wall, sending shockwaves of pain through his skull. It takes him a few seconds to recover, going limp to absorb any additional blows that could occur. He knows the routine.

When no other blows followed and the disorientation faded, Night took stock of his injury. Blinking hurt a little, but the dim lighting was a balm to his vision, making it just barely bright enough to see.

A sudden whispered yell grabbed Night attention before he could continue his mental checklist for head injuries. He whirled around to see Dust and Killer punching each other, arguing in loud whispers over something.

“Hey. Hey!” Night instinctively lowered his voice to a loud whisper, following the other two’s lead. They continued fighting for a moment before Killer, who was pinned by Dust, swiveled his gaze towards Night. “What the hell are you fighting about? Why are we whispering?”

Killer’s face morphed into an amused smirk. He chuckles before talking at his usual volume. “Heh, now he’s whispering too. Chill out, we’re leaving now.”

Dust growled out something unintelligible, his voice too low to understand it from a distance. After warring with himself visibly for a few seconds, he clenched his grip and released Killer, crawling off him awkwardly.

Night felt himself clench his jaw anxiously, but he continued until it popped, sending spark of pain through his head. He looked around the crumbling stone walls, noticing the door to their left and strange holes in the wall closer by. Crunchy red and orange leaves sat across the floor in piles, making an odd carpet in the back half of the room. Night had crashed into the part where the wall came inwards to create an entranceway, directly in the path of the door. A noticeable smudge of black and a tinge of cyan blotted the purple stone, bright in comparison to the muted purple.

“Where are we? Do we know if we’re on a surface world?” Night focused on Killer, letting him do the talking.

The skeleton shrugged in response before granting more details. “We’re probably still trapped by the barrier. It’s not worth it to go all the way to the capital just to check.”

Dust squinted at Killer, as if he was evaluating his answer. “…it’s not open. Ya can tell, it’s just… different. The whole place feels… fresh. Open.”

Killer smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He motioned to Dust, presenting his evidence. “See? Not worth it. Let’s go to the next one.”

Night grumpily dusted off his pants, which were starting to get a little rumpled. “Whatever. Come back over here, it’s better if we sit.” Killer moved over first, a little rushed and stiff, before Dust followed, like a cat. Offering up his hand, Dust took it first, before Killer took the other.

Night closed his eyes and extended his senses. It strained at first, the area felt more cluttered then the previous jump, but Night adjusted slowly before focusing on specific worlds.

One world stunk of desperation. It was stringy and thin, too far removed from hope and straying into hateful territory. Even the fabric of the world felt thin, too much suffering for a world with few inhabitants.

Night mentally struck that off the ‘reasonable surface worlds’ list. It reminded him of Alphys’ pleas when she begged him to take her to the surface, his world. It was safe to assume the same was happening here. Night wasn’t sure why there were so few people, but it didn’t really matter. Night moved on.

Another world stunk of resignation. The hate had turned stale and stagnated, no longer powerful or filled with flames. It felt cold, filled with disdain and silenced thoughts, visible communication of mutual destruction. A few sparks of more passionate anger and pain appeared every so often, but the world felt oddly cold and accepting, almost aloof, in a way.

This world confused Night too much to really give it a diagnosis of ‘surface world’ or ‘death pit’, so he left it as a neutral option. There didn’t seem to be too much violence, just disdain and annoyance, so it was safe enough as a pit stop.

A few more worlds kept with the theme of anger, hate, and sadness, always landing on a sliding scale of intensity. Rarely, one person would make up the bulk of those emotions, which always made Night turn his attention towards their world. Like seeing a firefly flicking in the corner of your eye, Night would scrutinize the glow before noting it and moving on.

It was kind of sad, how quickly Night became desensitized to the cries of each of the worlds. After seeing a few of them, it suddenly became uninteresting or boring, just one of many.

Any of the neutral-leaning worlds were horrible ideas even as pit stops, because the higher the population, the more likely they were to run into someone. Night could pass for a random person, but Killer and Dust probably wouldn’t. Additionally, any person who ran into them could end up as XP under their grasp. The neutral worlds only ended up in Night's view because of the strong emotions around a few individuals, or sometimes, just one.

Night had to admit he was curious about the second world, with resignation and coldness at its front. He couldn’t even determine how many people were feeling this way, the emotion was too elusive to grasp.

Night wants to see it.

He sighed, tensing his grip on his two occupants’ hands, grounding himself. He could force the other two to deal with staying for a short time, but Night also didn’t want to bring attention to his presence in visiting worlds. It felt invasive or weird, like putting his hand inside a historical display, or accidentally stealing a diary instead of a book. The longer he stayed there, the more likely it was that the other two could kill someone, which was way worse then drawing attention to the fact they didn’t belong.

Focusing on the world, Night decides to take the risk. The other options are not yielding any immediate results with their goal, and Night hopes that Dust and Killer won’t try anything. Doing something wrong and angering Night could risk them getting stranded, after all. They could cope with a tangential trip.

The sinking, falling sensation never ceases to make Night ill. It feels like he’s falling against gravity, being pulled by blue magic towards the sky rather then the ground. Its impossible to tell when the sensation flips and drags him back down, but it always does, the shift appearing suddenly before dropping him into another world.

It takes Night a second to release Dust’s hand, with Killer dragging his away before Night could even notice. They landed in a cavern, this time damp and warm, with odd shattered crystals in the ceiling. Each crystal was a brilliant sky blue, but looked as if they had taken a bullet to each one, shattering the perfect crystal formation at the tip. The result was fractured starbursts in each crystal, refracting stray light into serrated rays of stronger light.

A giant golden flower sat in a corner, barely separated from the cold rock by a thin layer of dirt and roots. The flower was as big as the blue flowers in Alphys’ world, but no sound came from them. Stabilizing himself, Night walked over and hummed into it, before speaking outloud. A short pause with utter silence, Night figured they weren’t the same echo flowers from before.

Killer, meanwhile, gravitated towards the door of the cavern, focusing on something outside. “We’re in the clear. We’re in the wishing room behind the waterfall, only a few people come here anyways. Let’s get out of here before it changes.”

Night felt himself hesitate. “Something’s different about this world.” He hedged, trying not to plead a a little.

Dust spoke up next. “It’s not a surface world. So we move on.” He glanced at Night, focusing so intently that his gaze almost looked like a glare.

“Is there anything that is actually of use?” Killer followed Dust’s lead, focusing his blank eyes on Night’s face. His face remained perfectly neutral.

Night focused, trying to find some reason to get them to stay a little longer. Besides the odd emotional state of the population here, there was nothing of note. The emotions wouldn’t matter to the two of them. It only matter to Night, who could feel them. He wanted to understand how resignation was a negative emotion, especially one strong enough to actually be of use to his powers.

Night sighed. There was no point, at least right now. Should he get the chance later, he can try and come back. Once he figures out how to teleport to places he’s already been, at least. “Fine. Let’s move on.”

Killer frowned, checking the door again. “Hurry. I don’t know if anyone’s coming.”

Dust jogged over, plopping down in an imaginary seat next to Night. The drop was a little more violent then necessary, but it apparently did not effect him that much. He’s just grateful he doesn’t have to heal a broken tailbone. Killer teleports over rather than walks, which if that isn’t a sign how fast he wants to leave, Night doesn’t know what is. Killer doesn’t strike him as a wasteful type.

Night doesn’t hesitate, grabbing Killer’s hand and closing his eyes to limit sensory input. A brief glance at all the auras around him granted no significant or different worlds then normal, so he picks the closest and jumps.

It feels a little jumpier that usual, but nothing horrible. The jump ends quicker then the rest, however, and he feels the gravity reverse to pull them to the other side fluidly.

Except he lands face-first into a pile of bones, ribcage tangling into the victim’s fingers and hands. A few of his ribs bend a little uncomfortably, rubbing against each other. A snap can be heard distantly, but it’s a quiet sound, so Night’s pretty sure it’s a finger bone. He avoids sensing his own fingers, knowing the sympathy pains were often times worse than real ones.

At least with real injuries he has the benefit of rushing magic.

At first Night can’t tell which skeleton he crashed into, the auras are too close to pinpoint while focusing on not feeling . But after a second check to his muddled senses, he realizes that the two skeletons were to the side of them, Killer closer to Night then Dust.

Twisting his head downwards, Night discovers another dang skeleton, lankier then the rest he's seen.

Night growled as he flung himself backwards, landing hard on his tailbone. Subconsciously, his tentacles hardened into spikes, prepared to skewer the other monster if they came any closer. The amount of force he put into launching himself backwards also threw the other skeleton back, though to a lesser degree. The gangly skeleton stared in disbelief and confusion, holding his injured hand close to his chest as he examined the other monster.

The skeleton was lanky and slightly brittle-looking, with his body covered in a thin hoodie and tracksuit pants. Gold brackets braced the sides of his jaw, as if it was dislocated one too many times and now needed something to apply enough torque.  A small backpack hung off his shoulder, while his injured hand grasped at his chest near the strap, ready to tear it away from a thief’s grip if stolen. A pencil rolled off to the side a few dozen centimeters away, presumably after being knocked out of one of his hands.

The spell is violently broken when Killer yank Night’s arm, teleporting them quickly with reckless disregard of his own bones. The teleport is wonky, landing then hard into a snowpoff. A quick glance around their surroundings confirms Night’s suspicions, but he still double checks with Killer. “We’re still in the same world, right?” Night asked directly, staring at Killer’s blank gaze. There’s no dust, and assuming Killer’s Snowdin looked like Dust’s, there would at least be some in the air or on the snow.

Killer doesn’t bother with reply, just shrugging and motioning for them to move on. “Let’s get out of here. It’s not a right world either, and even if it was, we would have to deal with the other monsters harassing us for answers.” The sly skeleton kicked the snowpoff they landed in, causing snow to land on Dust’s unbothered slippers.

Night grumbled a little at the rapid succession of multiversal travel, but agreed. Dealing with the inhabitants would suck.

Dust hesitates before gripping Night’s hand again, but no emotion really comes off him, so Night can’t determine as to why. Snagging the nearest world would be a waste of his energy, especially with it being close to the last of his reserves. Instead, Night focused his energy on quiet worlds with little action, neutral emotions. Night’s mental gauge on his own frustration and annoyance told him that it wasn’t really enough for a trigger to a neutral world, though, so he scrapped that idea.

A world full of grief passed his metaphorical peripheral vision, spiking his interest. It was a wave of massive, individualistic grief, characteristic of multiple losses. The lack of diverse intensity of the grief told him that everyone lost someone important, and the scope of how many people were feeling strongly heightened his curiosity. A mass causality event, perhaps?

If that many people were grieving, they would likely be indoors, or preparing final rites. Night was slightly concerned about the possibility of dust in the air, or people actively spreading the dust of their loved ones- getting in the way of that would spell disaster. The upside meant people were too distracted to notice random people wandering. Additional points for less people actually being alive to notice them.

Taking the leap, Night dragged them over to the next world, feeling himself fall into the reversed gravity. The drop felt quicker this time, like a journey traveled too many times and becoming blurred. It almost felt like a fluid loop, feeling gravity reverse, free-falling, before slamming into normal gravity at the speed of a hawk, barely getting enough time to slow. Physically, the conservation of their movement meant they did not increase in momentum or accelerate at all, but the sensations stayed despite the knowledge of the real world.

Catching his breath for a second, Night blinked the disorientation away before grabbing the attention of Dust and Killer. “Hey, we need a break. Where is somewhere we can rest?”

Killer locked eyes with Night, evidently annoyed. “We could have just stopped back in my world. Then we wouldn’t have to worry about hidin’ from everyone.”

Night huffed, trying to decide if his pride was worth explaining the magic while tired. “I can’t go back like that, remember, strong emotions. Plus, it’s far.”

Dust interrupted this time, almost mumbling before increasing in certainty and volume. “It’s multiversal travel, space isn’t really a factor when everything’s layer simultaneously on top of each other, within each other, and no where near each other at the same time.”

A half-aborted growl escapes from Night’s mouth before he can smoother it. “Does it matter? Just let me take a break. Is there anywhere safe enough to?”

“What if we were to tell you no, that its too dangerous and there’s nowhere to go?” Killer hedges, his blank eyes somehow drilling a hole into Night’s eyes.

“Then we go, at the risk of me passing out or being handicapped somewhere worse then this. I just need a few hours to rest, or if worse comes to worse, shove some food into my mouth.” Night felt his hands bite into his palms with how tight he was gripping them, but ignored it.

“Then we go, cuz it’s not safe enough here anyways.” Killer gestures to the cave around them. “We’re in the cave outside Hotland right now, there’s dozens of monsters outside this door and tens of them travel this way every day. We need to leave, unless we want to be seen, or depending on the attitude here, attacked.”

Rather then arguing any more, Night snags Dust’s nearby hand and holds his other out to Killer, who takes it quickly. It’s useless to focus on multiple choices on a time crunch, so Night glances at the most isolated world before dragging them all through.

Night must have blanked out halfway, because he only comes to during the landing. He remembered selecting the world, summoning the energy to go through, but his mind just blanks on the journey in-between. He hit the ground at an odd angle, causing his knee to buckle, but caught himself last second, stabilizing enough to stand upright.

The world they land in is devoid of life. It is as if a dark gray blanket covered the entire world, too dark and consistent to be dust. Feeling out the surroundings confirmed no immediate threat, and Night let himself relax marginally.

“This is the most empty world I can find. Can I take a break now?” Night huffed out. He’s not out of breath, but breathes heavy anyways. Something about the world feels lacking, like it was missing some integral piece of existence.

Dust looked around warily at the odd surroundings. The land was flat, with odd cubic structures spread randomly among the horizon. Some jutted out at an angle, creating a diamond shape, while others stood normally, as simple cubic buildings without doors or windows.

Apparently deeming it safe enough, Dust leads Night over to one of the closer structures. Night barely takes another step before collapsing against it, leaning against the wall and breathing deeply. He felt floaty, but he wasn’t too unsettled by the feeling, so he pulled out his satchel and snagged the jerky.

This one wasn’t the rabbit jerky he made with Alphys. This one was the old jerky he made with his brother nearly four months ago to keep a kill from going bad. They had already eaten the organs and skinned the deer for another fabric for their bed, but they simply couldn’t eat all of the deer by themselves. They did their ritual of splitting bones to decide where the last of the meat would go- if Dream pulled the bigger side of the bone, they would make jerky, If Night pulled the bigger side, they would sell the meat at the market- and settled on jerky, spending a few days seasoning and cooking the meat with smoke.

His brother is one of the greatest cooks in the world when it comes to meat. Even plain jerky was a treat, if his brother cooked it.

Night blinked back to awareness and noticed the jerky was gone. He must have ate it. Killer was standing next to him, braced against the wall looking dazed. Uncertain, Night poked his leg, not bothering to reach any closer to his hands for dignity and opting for efficiency.

“Killer? Killer, are you okay?” Night felt like he was whispering, which was odd, because he didn’t want to. Could Killer even hear him?

When Killer didn’t respond immediately, Night looked around for Dust, only to find him sitting in front of him, leaning on his arms. “Killer? Do you guys feel weird?”

A sound came from to the side of him, but Night couldn’t register it correctly. In hindsight, he was completely aware of it, but at the time, it slipped right out of his attention span like water. Instead, he felt focused on Dust’s odd position, with his body contorted into a triangle, with his legs in front and his arms wrapped around his legs. He looked like a snail, curled into a shell.

The last thing Night feels before losing consciousness is a soft body crash into him. Incredulously, his mind supplies the fact that a snail has run into him.

Notes:

Me- *squints at the date* Man, I remember when I started this sucker, it has to of been six months by now, it was like December-
Calendar, sorely underused- it's October. You started this last October. It's been a year.
Me- *eye twitching, moments from hysterics*

Anyways? You know that medical thing? The seizure? The one I wasn't concerned about because the ER doctors said it was nothing, that people just have them sometimes? Well, uh. Screw them, because not only is it something, I also accidently broke the law by driving, which they did not warn me about outside of a small time frame of about a week. I'm not legally allowed to drive for three months- and I was driving this whole time! Almost makes me glad that I was forced to harasss the nurses for weeks to get a more recent appointment.

Anyways. Expect delays. I'm stressed as hell, mildly ill, and terrified out of my mind that I'm going to get stripped of my autonomy any moment. I'm doing back to back tests that include sleep deprivation, which honestly counts as legal torture, and I'm at my wits end with school and work. Talk about an amazing birthday present, am I right?

Anyways. Happy one year anniversary of this fic. Go outside a bit, touch grass, pull some invasive plants or weeds, bird watch for a few minutes enjoy the changing weather, because it's beautiful, and so are you. Take care of yourself, because someone really cares about you

Chapter 36

Summary:

Chapter warnings-
None

The two would later inform Night that he was, in fact, conscious when they grabbed the trio. He wasn’t necessarily sensible, or sane, babbling about snail shells and bones, but he was conscious and semi-aware. Rather, Night simply has no memory after a certain point, and is pretty okay with that. At least he doesn’t have to remember being bridal carried by a 6 foot tall skeleton, while Killer is worn like a backpack by a human. Dust was apparently coherent enough to walk, instead being guided by the other two, but eventually he couldn’t keep up, having to be picked up over the shoulder by tall, skinny, and handsome.

Instead, he comes to like awaking from a deep slumber. The first thing he can actually feel is how tired he is, like heavy fog laid over his entire mind, but eventually, the feeling fades enough for Night to sense his surroundings.

He awoke in a damp cave, glowing in an ominous red light. If it wasn’t so wet, Night might have guessed it was Hotland, but the red was too dark and the air carried too much chill for it to be the case. He’s propped up against a rock, which is digging into his back. Idly, he realized it should be painful, sitting at the angle he was at, but apparently his faculties haven’t returned enough to comprehend pain yet.

A quick glance to his empathy senses reveals 4 other presences other then him, two being Dust and Killer, and the other two being unknown. One was a human, one was a monster.

He found himself slightly excited- if a human is here then the barrier should be down. Maybe the reason the underground felt empty?

Getting up was more of a challenge then it should be, and Night doesn’t notice he’s being helped. Instead, he focused on viewing his new companions in the eye.

The monster is another skeleton, but finally, for the first time since forever, he doesn’t look like him. He’s tall, with a round skull, taller than it is wide. A thin crack trailed along the top of his skull to his eyesocket on his left side. His clothes looked odd and impractical, consisting of smooth leather and thin chains, as well as loose black canvas pants, tied at the ends. He had a brooding look on his face, one that reads like a book of reservation and caution. His soul tasted like resignation.

A glance to his side revealed the person who pulled him upright. They have a stubborn face, squinted and furrowed in concern and concentration as they watch Night gather his bearings. They wear a simple sweater, stripped like a child’s, but it is ripped at the mid section, suggesting it was used for something else. They don’t seem like a child, a mixture of their height and facial expression giving them an older appearance than their stripes suggest. The jeans are black and soaking wet, with a thin chain hanging uselessly from one of the belt loops.

Their soul tasted like desperation, hope, and despair, too powerful of a combination to be conflicting.

His voice creaked painfully before they could talk. “What happened?”

The skeleton in front crumbled something between his fingers, focusing his gaze on Night. “Found ya guys in the core, not a good place to be. We managed to get you before hypoxia dusted you.”

Night’s rusted gears collected the pieces in front of him, stringing them together for a coherent thought. “Huh. That’s why it felt empty.” He’s not sure if he’s talking about the air, or the lack of people.

Night’s senses continued to clear, and with them came a renewed wariness. The strangers had saved them, but trust was in short supply at the moment, and Night wasn’t going to give it out randomly.

“What’s your names?” Night ventured first, hoping for more information. Killer, to the front of him near a wall, snorted. Night ignored him.

The human perked up first, interested in the conversation. “I’m Frisk. That’s G.”

Dust let out the emotional equivalent of a squint. “Guess I really can’t judge, based on our nicknames now.”

G brought an odd stick to his mouth, hesitating to light it. “Do I even want to know?” He glanced to Frisk subconsciously before refocusing on Dust.

Killer spoke for Dust. “Heh, it’ll certainly tell you something about us.” The monster feel silent after that, however, seemingly content upon on not continuing the introduction.

Night sighed, mentally hating himself for getting involved with two socially incompetent skeletons. “I- ugh, whatever. I’m Nightmare, that’s Dust,” he pointed to the shrouded skeleton, “and that’s Killer.”

Killer, who was waving joyfully at his name, stopped and frowned at Night.  “Wait, Nightmare? How the hell did you get that nickname?”

Night furrowed his browbone. “I’ve introduced myself before, why are you surprised?” Even Dust seemed to agree with him, if his subtle confusion and discontent meant anything.

“No, you’ve always said Night. Which is somewhat understandable, considering…” Killer gestured to all of him.

“You’ve just gestured to all of me.” Night deadpanned. Dust continued with a quip. “And Nightmare isn’t?”

Killer, for all his unintelligible and insane ways, just shrugged. Instead of continuing their stupid conversation, Night turned his attention to the human and skeleton in front of them. Frisk had already managed to school their expression into something neutral, and G kept his nonchalant vibe, apparently not phased by the morbid nicknames. An odd smoky smell came from his direction, too sour to be campfire but too strong to be anything but smoke.

“Alright,” Night said, after a moment of hesitation. “We need to leave. That… core? isn’t something we can mess with. It jusf feels wrong. We should focus on getting as far from it as possible.”

Frisk, still watching Night like he could crumble any minute, nodded in agreement. “There’s a route leading away from the Core, toward what’s left of the ruins. It’s not much, but it should be far enough to escape the worst of the pull.”

Killer glanced at Dust, then back at Night. “And once we’re there? We’ve got to wait, don’t we? We just sit tight and hope the Core doesn’t change our course?”

“Do we have another choice?” Night replied blithely. “We’ll have a better chance of getting to a open world if we’re not being dragged toward a void. By the core or sheer exhaustion”

Dust, who had been quietly observing, spoke up. “You said you need a break.”

Night raised a browbone at the other skeleton. “Like it’s safe enough here for that. I can force through it, with a short enough jump.” Or an anchor, Night thinks to himself.

Frisk cut Dust off before he could scrutinize Night’s explanations any farther. “We should have enough time for a catnap. The Core, while unpredictable, isn’t likely to switch physical location, just attributes of locations. It snowed in the capital once, for example.”

“We’ve only seen it switch, what, G, 8 times? Since the fiasco?” G turned towards Frisk at the question, shrugging half-heartedly. “Time is a construct, kid, and one we don’t have the luxury of.”

“Whatever, philoso-physicist. You’ve got enough time to get a little more energy.” Frisk summarized confidently.

Night grunted in response, a little too exhausted for this. “Fine. We’ll deal with it later.”

The tall skeleton sighed; resignation clear in his voice. “If you’re sure you can even get out of here. Our current plan involved Frisk resetting the core themself, but who knows what would happen during that.”

Frisk whirled around, snapping at G. “Not if you get lost too- you’re not just the fused remains of two people, but the core won’t care about the difference.”

G raised his hands up lazily, almost like he was surrendering. “I’m just sayin’, it's our plan right now.”

Frisk nearly growled in response, pointing towards his chest. “If you get the single chance to get off the godforsaken hellhole, you take it . That’s not a suggestion. Now that we know how to find the core, I can reset it on my own.”

“Hoping for a miracle just as I do the reset is stupid. I’m not risking you like that.” Frisk visibly wilts before they can continue berating the skeleton any farther, but Night can still feel the undertone of fear and grief. Its oddly fulfilling, seeing the way these two care about each other.

The group began to make their way through the dilapidated landscape, the red glow from the Core casting long shadows in front of them. The journey was slow, with the gravity-like pull from the Core making every step feel heavier, but Night pushed on, determined to get as far away as possible.

As they walked, Night couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. He glanced back occasionally, but the cluttered surroundings offered no clues. It was only when they reached the remnants of the old city—its buildings twisted and half-submerged in the ground—that Night finally allowed himself a moment to catch his breath.

“We should be far enough now,” Night said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Let’s find a place to rest before we try to move on.”

Frisk nodded, pointing toward a nearby structure that seemed relatively intact. “There. Definitely not the worst structure we’ve slept in- ’ll shelter us from the worst of the elements.”

The group made their way inside, finding the interior dark and cold, but mercifully stable. Night slumped against a wall, his exhaustion catching up to him again. Somehow, his stupid arm was acting up again, despite being fine for a few hours now.  Killer and Dust settled nearby, their tension momentarily lost as they smacked each other. They weren’t talking, but playfulness was radiated from Killer at least, so it wasn’t harmful. Dust seemed unamused.

The two newcomers stood watch, their faces unreadable in the dim light. “You’re sure you can get us out of here?” G asked, his voice low and cautious.

Night nodded, hoping the weariness in his eyes didn’t betray his uncertainty.

The skeleton’s expression softened slightly, but he said nothing, simply nodding in return. Frisk, however, offered a small, tired smile. “Thank you.”

Night was too tired to offer much of a response outside of a nod. Instead, he adjusted his satchel to sit under his head and leaned back against the harsh stone of the building, settling in for a quick nap

Notes:

Ey. Sorry, I took a break. I had backup chapters but I didn't care enough to put them up, plus I wanted to keep them in my back pocket to correct. Sometimes there's grammar mistakes or misspellings, so I double check them.

Medical problems still ongoing, and its finals for me. I'm taking 18 credit hours. So I have 6 final projects, 5 are presentations and one is a paper. Kill me.

Here's some lighthearted stupidity for y'all to tide you over.

Chapter 37

Summary:

Chapter warnings-
Self hatred, grief

Night woke against the cold stone, still exhausted and sore. The others were quiet, their own fatigue echoing off the walls of the ruined structure. The faint glow of the Core, now a distant structure, barely reached them here, but its presence was still felt, like a distant hum that never truly left.

As Night adjusted his position, trying to find a more comfortable angle, he noticed Killer watching him with a curious expression. The normally carefree skeleton was uncharacteristically thoughtful, his gaze lingering on Night longer than usual.

“What?” Night finally asked, trying to keep his voice neutral. He didn’t have the energy for a deeper conversation, but Killer’s scrutiny was hard to ignore.

Killer tilted his head, as if considering his words carefully. “Your world,” he began, almost casually, “what’s it like?”

Night’s brow furrowed, surprised by the question. “Why do you ask?”

Killer shrugged, but there was a glint of something more in his eye. “We’re running on random luck, to find a surface world. You seem like the type who wouldn’t stick around somewhere that’s completely doomed. So, I’m wondering... what is your world like?”

Night hesitated, his mind racing. He hadn’t spoken much about his world, mainly because he didn’t want to. His world was... complicated. This group wouldn’t care about his crimes. His failure. So why does he not want to return?

“It’s okay,” Night admitted carefully, avoiding Killer’s gaze. “But it’s not a place anyone would want to live.” Killer, however, wasn’t satisfied. He raised an eyebrow, focusing on the subtle avoidance. “’Okay’ sounds better than what we’ve got now.” He leaned in slightly, his tone lowering. “What aren’t you telling us?”

Before Night could respond, G, who had been radiating anxiety, finally snapped. “Is it collapsing in on itself? Literally anywhere is better than this, and I don’t say that lightly.”

The room fell silent as G’s words hung in the air, the tension thickening. Night could feel the pressure in the room. He didn’t want to lead them back to his world, but he couldn’t deny the logic in G’s outburst. They needed to leave for Frisk to have a chance and for the world to stop collapsing.

“We’re not exactly in top shape to be picky,” Killer added, a hint of impatience creeping into his voice. “If your world’s got food and some kind of protection, it’s better than relying on the statistical improbability of a ‘negative’ surface world.”

The sentence caused some confusion between Frisk and G, Night could almost taste the distrust from G, but they didn’t voice it. The smoky smell from earlier came back with a vengeance, this time, Night noticed a cigarette lit between his fingers. That explained it.

Night closed his eyes, trying to shut out the noise and the growing sense of dread in his chest. He knew they were right, but it didn’t make the decision any easier. His world wasn’t a place of safety—it was a place of shame, of hiding. Bringing them there felt like dragging them into his own personal hell.

You can leave them. You don’t need them. The sick side of him whispered. Leaving them would be murder. But he had already committed mass murder, what is another under his belt?

He clenched the break in his arm, but it didn’t snap again. Before he could find a way to increase the pain, he felt eyes settle on him. Focusing on the emotions revealed concern and something akin to fear radiating from Frisk. Reluctantly, he stopped gripping his arm, but clicked his jaw instead, trying to release some of the self-hate he felt.

Finally, with a deep, reluctant sigh, Night spoke. “Fine. We’ll go.”

G’s relief was immediate, though it was still tinged with nervous energy. It took a second before shame crept into the emotion, slowly morphing into full on guilt. He didn’t say anything, though, so Night pretended not to notice, instead opting to watch him puff another plume of smoke. Killer, on the other hand, simply nodded.

Night didn’t respond, already lost in thought as he mentally prepared for what was to come. Leading them back to his world was the last thing he wanted. Literally the last thing he could want, considering the blessing he considered when he first left. The others were focused on the journey ahead, but Night couldn’t shake the feeling that they were going to regret ever meeting him, let alone seeing the results of Night’s mistakes.

Night knew intuitively that he still didn’t have enough energy for an actual curated world. Searching takes a little bit of energy, and gathering more then just a glance requires concentration and energy- both of which he can’t spare right now.

Damn it, his world was really the best option.

Would he land near the tree, or by his new camp he made with Alphys? Both seem like poor decisions, filled with questions he doesn’t want to answer. His magic seems to focus on the energy rather than a location, and sometimes the location isn’t even relevant to the negative emotion behind the energy. He can’t direct it perfectly, and he can’t guess where it will end up naturally.

If he has to go back to his world, he isn’t going back to the village. He’d rather die. Even the camp is better. The classic choice of the lesser of two evils, and Night isn’t going to even remotely risk heading to the tree if he can help it. He knows what he'llwant to do if he sees it again.

So focusing on the camp it is.

The others were still interacting with each other, Killer annoying Dust, and Frisk talking with G. With no physical contact, it would be a pain to teleport them, so preparing himself for the jarring jump is impossible. Idly, Night wondered if he could make a stationary jump point, like a doorway- it would take large amounts of energy to maintain, so it wouldn’t be permanent, but it would be helpful in situations where he can’t touch anyone.

Questions for another time, Night supposed, as Dust abruptly stood up and walked towards him, outright ignoring Killer’s mocking and jokes. Instead of talking to Night like he thought, the monster leaned up against the wall near the goopy skeleton and slid down. He was less than a meter away, just far enough away that Night couldn’t touch even if he reached, but the way he angled his body suggested he was more willing to deal with Night rather than Killer right now. Normal empath powers or not, compared to Killer anything is preferable, Night assumes.

Unsure what to do with the other skeleton barely an arm’s length away from him, Night pulled at his finger bones. He had already cracked them too many times, so now they won’t click satisfyingly, so he settles with roughly massaging the bones to release some energy. He felt his jaw click before realized he was clenching his jaw too, and he pulled it out of its painful divot slowly, releasing the tension.

Apparently Dust sensed his tension, because rather then continue his staring, he pulled out a 3D puzzle of some sort to entertain himself. If Night wasn’t dreading everything that led up to this moment, he’d probably be curious about the vibrant colors along the sides  of the cube. Instead, he continued wringing his wrists and pulling at his fingers roughly, unable to get them to release more air for satisfying cracks.

He's going to regret this.

Frisk and G are still talking in harsh whispers, but it seemed to be resolved now, whatever immediate concern they had. Frisk is radiating some form of grief and relief, a sickeningly sweet combination strong enough to hurt Night’s stomach. G, meanwhile, is the opposite- a ball of worry, almost like fear rather than anxiety, and acceptance. It’s bitter, nowhere near as sweet as Frisk’s combination, and Night can’t help but prefer the familiar sensation. Killer is amusing himself by staring at the buildings half-melded into the ground, probably trying to figure out what they used to be.

Finally, G ends the conversation with Frisk by pulling the slightly shorter human into a hug, resting his head on hers. A wave of grief echoes through the room, but it seems marginally more accepting, and Night is sure that it’s the both of them feeling that way. The hug breaks of with a shove from Frisk and a shout of embarrassment, leaving G in mock-surrender and walking back towards the group near the wall.

“Well, what do we gotta do to do this whole teleporting thing? Never really done it, by virtue of the core and all that.” Night huffed at the obvious sequitur to leaving. A small push of suspicion echoes between Killer and Dust, stronger in Dust, but he ignores it in favor of staying on topic.

“Just come sit next to me, and hold on to some part of my body. Hand, leg, just make sure it’s physical contact.” Night shuffled a little, uncertain. “It might feel weird, but it’s safe, don’t worry.”

G switched his gaze one last time to Frisk, lifting a hand slowly as if idly waving goodbye. Frisk’s soul let out a wail that Night couldn’t identify, before waving back with a smile that teetered between a normal smirk and a wobbly smile.

Night thought back to the first time Alphys jumped and her screams of disorientation and pain. Dust and Killer didn’t seem to have a problem with it, but apparently they had already dealt with more limited teleportation, so Night isn’t certain of it’s significance. Any sense of cause and effect has been broken, because the world hates him.

Night sucked in a breath, focusing on the knot in his chest. Anger at the unfairness of being forced back, anger at himself for being weak, self-hatred, thin and wiry. Under all that, a dense, small core of pure fear and betrayal like tungsten. He released his breath slowly, reaching for memories of planning, memories of Alphys holding his discarded bandages, of Alphys withering on the floor in pain.

He opened his eyes back in a place he wished he could break.

Notes:

Giving this you all early, as if it makes up for going radio silent for like two months.

I've been diagnosed with a lifelong, degenerative disorder that unfortunately will effect everything I do for the rest of my life. I'm damn lucky in comparison to what it could have been, but after living so many years thinking I was free from the "family curse", I can't help buy feel a little bitter. My personal dream goal is now impossible due to this, which just sucks.

It was meant to be, apparently, and I've never let anything else stop me, so why should this be any different? I've climbed a mountain while nearly starving to death, I've walked while drugged to the gills, nearly dead, I've looked God in the eye and said 'you've got anything more for me?' It ain't gonna stop me, though it will never be as easy as it was before the onset of my disease.

Some of the side effect of the medication I'm taking is exhaustion, memory problems, and poor focus. On the plus side, insomnia is nonexistent now. On the down side, keeping a coherent thought and writing a cohesive story is impossible. So it takes like three times the effort to do anything and I sleep double the amount the rest of my family needs on top of that. The less that is said about my essays, projects, and papers, the better, because I'll count it as a blessing if I pass all of my classes this semester.

All of this to say, well, I needed a break. It wasn't without cause or because I was bored, but because it felt like the world was falling apart around me and I was trying to keep it together with duct tape and bandages. After a nice break, 5 completed projects, and most of my stuff done, I'm back to the grind. As far as y'all are concerned, I'm back to normal.

Anyways, all of this is a long way to say that, while I'm not back to normal, I'm still writing and kicking. I appreciate your patience and kindness. Stay safe out there, because someone really cares about you.

Chapter 38

Summary:

Chapter warnings-
Suicidal thoughts, Suicidal ideation, grief, self-hatred

The weight in Night’s hands disappear quickly, but he barely notices. Waves of relief, bittersweet and stringy, echoed by awe and frustration bounced around Night’s mental aura. It was overwhelming a little, the extremely conflicting yet strong mixture. He clicked his jaw as he clenched his hands in the lose folds of his shirt, trying to cope with the onslaught.

He must have fallen over because he feels the spike of concern wobble from G’s direction, and the next thing he knows is he’s in the grass. One of his hands is no longer holding his shirt, and instead is splayed next to him in the damp grass.

The grass was cold from the dew, the emotions grating to his senses, the sun too bright for his eyes. Everything was too much in the wrong way, instead of being appreciated, it was like they were directly touching a nerve through a stab wound- just pure sensory input in a place it shouldn’t be.

The worst part wasn’t even the emotions—it was the hollow sense of betrayal. Not from the others, no, he forced himself. Gave in like a coward within a few sentences. He betrayed himself. By coming back here, by forcing himself into a corner he couldn’t break his way out of. By reliving memories of his brother, of the life he left behind.

G crouched down next to him, one knee pressing into the grass. His voice cut through the haze, low and concerned, though muted like a far-off echo.

“You good?”

Night blinked, struggling to bring his focus back. His hand was still clenched in the grass, so tight the bones threatened to crack under the pressure. He released it, pulling in a shaky breath.

“Yeah. Fine. Just… the jump took more out of me than usual.” The lie came naturally, but it burned as it left his mouth. It wasn’t like G was going to press. Night had no real expectation of care beyond a basic level from any of them, not anymore.

Not if they got what they wanted.

Dust shifted nearby, though he didn’t speak, not even to mock. The cube puzzle lay forgotten beside him, his fingers tracing absent patterns in the grass. His presence radiated something deeper now—almost like nostalgia or restlessness. It was eerie.

Killer had finally stopped pestering Dust, standing a little ways off, staring at the horizon as if bored but unwilling to show any real interest in the current scene. Underneath his facial expressions carried a weight of bitter victory and anger, almost spiteful in its intensity.

Night forced himself to sit up, waving G away before he could offer a hand. His vision wobbled slightly, but he managed to steady himself. It was fine. He was fine. He had to be fine. There was no room for weakness here.

“Let’s just get moving,” Night finally said, brushing off his clothes with a little more force than necessary. “We don’t have all day to stand around.”

The others exchanged glances but didn’t push. They gathered up their belongings, preparing to move on to wherever Night had decided to lead them next. It was a strange thing, really—being the one who knew the way forward when half the time he was only half a step from falling apart himself.

He idly wondered why they even still listened to him, when they had what they wanted in the first place. While not their own, it was the surface, and it was completely devoid of interruptions and influence from other parties. Sure, it could be dangerous to anyone who didn’t know the wilds, but they would have the cockiness of a preteen leaving the village for the first time. They wouldn’t know that.

But as they started walking again, there was a weight that lingered, an unspoken tension that clung to Night like a second skin. Night knew this feeling. It wasn’t just being back here. Something deeper had shifted, something that might break him apart if he wasn’t careful.

The thought made his jaw clench again, and his fingers twitched at his sides. He wouldn’t let that happen. Not now. Not when they were able to see him.

To stave off the feeling of hate a little longer, Night reached his arm over to the break in his forearm, squeezing it gently. Feeling for the break, Night skirted along the most damaged bits by touch before increasing the pressure on the center. Sparks of pain shot through his arm, like the feeling of fear or adrenaline, but no emotion followed. Just pure synaptic signaling, nothing more, nothing less.

It wasn’t enough pain to show on his face, not when he had gotten good at hiding it like this. If he could predict it, know when it was coming, control it completely, nothing could truly hurt him. It was like a way to separate himself from his body, allowing him the freedom of just his thoughts.

Sometimes even better no thoughts at all.

Night shook himself mentally and realized he had subconsciously started on the route to the tree. Startled, he switched his direction quickly, ignoring the confusion from G and the curiosity from Killer.

Speaking of which, Night thought, Killer had been extremely quiet since we last teleported. Technically only G had spoken since, but at least Dust had been radiating some form of emotion in the last couple minutes. Killer, aside from a hint of frustration, had been emotionally mute.

It doesn’t matter. Night reminded himself. All he has to do is drag them far enough away from the tree that they’ll never find it. Then, they’ll leave, and he can go elsewhere.

The eerie feeling of self-obliteration perked its head at the thought, as if noticing its acknowledgement. Then, can I finally let go? Will you let me leave?

He ignored the thought.

They had passed the hunting grounds that Night had used less than a week earlier while searching for rabbits. It’s the farthest he’s gone in years, probably. Dream never had time to explore with him anymore, and they hadn’t gone foraging farther than a day’s walk from their home for a long time.

Night wasn’t sure if he felt relief, or grief at the thought.

G apparently got interested enough to actually ask what they were doing. “Hey, is there any purpose to this? I don’t know how your world is, but there doesn’t seem to be any buildings here.”

Night huffed. “Of course we had houses. It’s no longer fit for living in. I’m taking you guys near the ocean. It’s a few days walk from here, but if we stay steady, we can be there in half the time.”

Plus, the ocean was far enough away that they’d never reach the tree. His thoughts whispered.

Dust gave the emotional equivalent of raising an eyebrow. “Not gonna teleport there?”

“I haven’t been there recently enough to get a good feel for the location.” Night hedged, visibly shrugging. “I didn’t have my abilities then, so it definitely wasn’t a focus.”

Rather, they had been enraptured by the tidal pools and the life within, catching new and strange creatures from the waters. Night wasn’t a huge fan of fish, but he could make an exception for the meals he had there that winter. Most of the village had done similar, traveling for good weather, and with a few protection spells and a severe binding spell for anyone who managed to touch the apples, they were safe to be away from the tree for about a week.

A wave of suspicion came from the group, mostly Killer, but Night ignored it. He didn’t have to care, not much longer.

Dust seemed content to stay quiet, and if his emotions were anything to go off of, was completely zoned out after his answer. G, meanwhile, seemed enraptured by the wildlife in the flora nearby. They were still walking through a field, so they didn’t have to deal with squirrels or the like, but the skittering and chuffing seemed to capture his attention like a bug in a web. It was late noon, so no deer were gazing in the sun-bathed fields, but Night was willing to bet that they would fascinate the taller skeleton.

Killer meanwhile, seemed stuck in his own thoughts, giving off the same feeling that Dream felt whenever they had to do math. A cross between determination, utter, bitter loathing for the topic, and spite. It’s tangy like an orange, with a bitter undercurrent like the red oranges they got ahold of once during their journeys. The skeleton was completely absorbed into his own thoughts, and Night was surprised he hadn’t fallen face first with his shallow attention.

Night glanced up at the sky, before glancing back around to gauge their location. The old oak tree from years ago was still standing, the stubborn thing, and while the rock pile was definitely different, it was still in the same location. They were at least two days out, by any metric, from the beach.

Night smothered a sigh. It was going to be a long trip.

Notes:

Welp, I PROBABLY passed my classes this semester. I'll give it a 80% chance, one of my teachers was a horrible teacher this semester and damn, did I wreck her in the class review. Cursed teacher.

Anyways. I've got 8 chapters lined up and ready for this, and they're good ones. The story is finally ramping up, I'm excited. Glad you all stuck around through awkward chapters and long breaks and medical fiascos, it's more than most people do. Hopefully the end result will be worthwhile!

Anyways. Happy holidays to you all, get ready for New Years. Merry late Christmas, enjoy a gift chapter, maybe two. Stay safe out there, because someone really cares about you.

Chapter 39

Summary:

Chapter warnings-
Explicit self harm, referenced suicide attempt, suicide planning, grief, self-hatred.

The first night was awkward, to say the least.

The rest of the group must have caught on that he was not happy to be back ‘home’, with his dour mood and short, snappy answers. Killer kept his comments to short questions and one-liner jokes, while G and Dust kept completely silent, though admittedly in different ways. Dust was verbally quiet but emotionally vivid, expressing annoyance when inconvenienced or awe at the surroundings at the drop of a hat. Night would never admit it even under threat of torture, but Dust unsettled him, if only slightly. Meanwhile, G was both verbally and emotionally mute, barely expressing anything stronger then curiosity or mild interest.

Night could only wish. Half of his problems would be solved if he could feel (or at least, show) nothing like G could.

So by the time they had to stop, all attempts at formal conversation had failed miserably. Killer seemed mentally enraptured by his thoughts, so he didn’t care to stop and rest, but Dust glared at Night every second after sundown. After G and Killer started tripping over tree roots, Night gave in and set up camp.

Stars, aside from G, none of these idiots knew how to start a fire, if G technique could even be counted as such. He kept looking for some sort of secondary rock other than flint to strike against, but after a few minutes of searching, Night huffed and started the fire himself, too impatient to deal with even the possibility of learning something new.
Killer, still staring into space, sat down for first watch. There was no verbal assignment of roles, with Dust instantly falling asleep and G sitting down soon after. A simple glance to Killer, who was aware but still thinking, seemed to confirm his belief that Killer was taking first watch. Night, however, couldn’t find it in him to sleep right away, and sat up with Killer, ignoring the silence.
After a couple hours and a partial passage of the moon across the night sky, Killer seemed to find satisfaction in his thoughts, or at least resolution, and finally laid down on the slightly damp grass for a nap. Night, who only partially dosed during the time, awoke the moment he shifted his feet to lay down, and dragged himself back up to a full watch position.

Night found himself staring into the dying embers of the fire, the faint warmth hardly enough to distract him from the ache pooling inside his chest. The others slept in their respective spots, sprawled out or curled up, breaths steady and peaceful. Night’s fingers twitched, bones scraping against each other in a familiar, compulsive motion he used to keep himself grounded. It wasn’t enough.

He hated that he came back here. He didn’t want to be here, he didn’t deserve to be here after what he had done. He knew that, deep down in the parts of himself he tried to keep buried. This place—this whole situation—was his original sin, a stain he couldn’t scrub off. He came back, barely trusting himself to handle it anyways, but the reality was so much worse than he’d expected.

His mind drifted back to Alphys, to the hurt he’d caused, the lies he’d told to justify his refusal to bring her to the village. His sticky, painful grief that refused to leave like the new slime that coated his bones. The shame in the form of a decapitated tree on a hill and the cracking stone sculpture of his brother nearby. The regret felt like splinters lodged in his bones, impossible to remove and aching with every small movement. Coming back here only brought that hurt closer to the surface, sharper than ever, and he couldn’t outrun it.

Night clenched his jaw, the familiar sting of self-hatred clawing up his spine. What was the point if nothing could change? How could he believe he was anything but the same failure he’d been back then? Alphys’s face and body, twisted into spasms with pain he’d caused, haunted him, taunting him with memories he couldn’t erase. The fear, the pain and betrayal in Dream’s eyes as he dove within himself, shrinking away from the outside world. From the threat. From him. He pressed his fingers hard into his ribs, the pressure a faint distraction from the storm churning in his mind.

He didn’t deserve their trust, any of it. They saw him as the one in control, the guide, the one who knew what to do. But that was the cruelest joke of all, wasn’t it? Night had barely managed to hold himself together long enough to bring them this far. He’d only dragged them into his own personal hell, expecting them to deal with the consequences.
He didn’t belong with them. They’d be better off without him around to mess things up further.

The feeling twisted in his chest, turning over and over like jagged glass scraping against bone. It was the same old shame, the same anger and disgust he’d carried for years, but now amplified by his own failure to escape it, again and again. He dug his phalanges into his palms, pressing hard until the bones ached. It wasn’t enough. The pain was dull, insignificant—a faint slap where he needed a cut to remind him of the consequences he’d run from.

The moon had dipped lower, casting long, dull shadows across the clearing. The others were still fast asleep, undisturbed by his inner turmoil. Killer mumbled something in his sleep, twitching slightly, and G was a silent figure wrapped around himself, calm. Dust, closest to him, muttered inaudible things in his sleep, fingers twitching as though he were trying to piece together the cubic puzzle from earlier.

A sudden wave of disgust rose in Night’s throat. He didn’t deserve to be among them, not when he was nothing more than a lingering mess of regrets and mistakes. He’d only hurt them if he stayed- literally at that. He couldn’t guarantee their safety when he was about to snap at any minute. The safest thing he could do—for everyone involved—was to leave before they got dragged any deeper into his broken mind.

Night rose to his feet, careful to make as little sound as possible. Every step felt like a betrayal, yet it was a betrayal he couldn’t avoid, a betrayal that was needed. Better this now than the pain of them realizing what he was, of them being forced to see him for the failure he truly was. He’d spare them that. He’d spare himself that shame, at least.
With one last look at the sleeping forms around him, Night slipped out of the clearing. The moonlight filtered through the trees, guiding his path away from camp. His bones ached with disgust, self-hatred, something, but he didn’t look back. He wouldn’t be able to handle seeing their faces if they woke, seeing any hint of acceptance or expectation that he’d be there come sunrise.

By the time dawn began to break, Night was long gone, a shadow slipping through the trees, leaving the others to wake to an empty space where he once sat.

Night moved slowly at first, though he didn’t notice it. He was just barely qualifying for a speedwalk as he wove through the bushes and branches along the floor for the grass plains. Gnats and other nighttime bugs buzzed around his face, but the bees and wasps were fast asleep, making it easy to slip through nigh undetected.
In his anxiety, he absently picked at the break in his arm, through switched once it split enough to bleed again.

Curling his fingers around his ribs was uncomfortable at best, bruising at worst, and every movement jostled his painful self-hug. It was the perfect crime.

He wasn’t really paying attention to where he was going, not at first. By sunrise, Night finally gathered his wits about him to make a plan of what to do next.

His feet must have already known, because he was already heading in that direction. Long ago, he made a promise to his brother to never try to kill himself again. Apparently, it means nothing. Night is not above breaking promises, no matter how hard he tries.

The mountain wasn’t high enough last time. He lived, barely, because of the angle and way he had fallen. He could try an different angle, but with the new variable of the apples, he trusts nothing.

No, it didn’t work last time. He’s queasy around heights now anyways, there’s no point. Instead, he’s going back to the tree.

He’s going to kiss his brother goodbye, like he should have done nearly three mooncycles ago, prop himself against the tree, and rip out his soul.

Both him and Dream were weird creatures, pure magic piloting a hijacked body of dust. Intent meant a lot to monsters, but less so for them, at least when it came to damage. They took about as much damage as a human would be dealt to their body, mildly disconnected from the rest of their bones. Night theorizes that physical pain is actually lesser to them than others, but there’s no way to prove that. It was the reason he could force his lifeblood into magical constructs- because that’s what his body is, a magical construct given to him by their mother. A soul housed in a borrowed home like a snail shell, he can shed it if he needs to.

He can break his shell if he needs to.

It was desperation last time Night forced his marrow into a weapon to trap Killer. It was desperation and smugness, his pride in his ability to break down the world of magic into component parts. This time, it’s going to be acceptance.
If he removes his soul from his cage, it can be attacked and exposed. Just like last time, he can force the blood to hold it in place, trap it. And when he’s ready, he can crush it like a grape between his fingers.

If their bodies were separate, only utilized through a connection, it makes sense as to why he didn’t die the first time. It makes sense why Dream didn’t die normally, instead suffocating. When Night’s body hit the floor, his soul wasn’t disconnected or damaged in any way. His body was, and therefore his magic partially, especially the portions dedicated like human muscles to move bones around. But his soul was untouched, and he could learn to rebind the broken parts of his body to their respective holds of magic, like a toddler learning to walk.

Dream, meanwhile, did the opposite. He didn’t want to die, he wanted to be protected from the outside world, so his soul told his magic to harden. Instead of tendons or strings, they became boulders, and his magic pulled from taunt wires to bound string like yards of cotton. Condensed, his magic being poured so physically into his body, the distance between his soul and his body was smaller than normal, and their soul got caught in the transformation, frozen to stone.

It's not a perfect theory, for example, like how such a specific process was triggered in the first place. If his brother wanted protection, why did his soul signal for turning to stone instead of turning the attacker into stone? If he wanted escape, his soul could completely disconnect, or hell, maybe teleport like Night discovered a few moons later. There are other factors that Night simply can’t account for, like Dream eating the golden apple, or the couple dozen in Night’s own body.

Night was torn from his thoughts literally when he tripped on a rabbit’s den, falling fast first into sandy dirt. A good handful got into his good eyesocket, causing him to curse aloud at the intrusion.

He stumbled blindly for a few moments, carelessly clawing at his eyesocket to get the sand out. He barely managed to get upright, only to trip again on some rock, driving him to his knees again. Tilting his head forward, he carefully scraped at the sand sitting at the edge of the internal crest, forcing his eyes wider to get all of it out. Night can’t help but feel a little childish, like a child with soap in their eye after a bath.

Cursing again, Night clenched his fists in frustration. Everything was an inconvenience or an active detriment to him here. It was pathetic that a pile of sand forced him so low. A wave of self loathing too strong to bare crashed over Night, and he violently smacked the side of his femur with his fist, the jolt of pain through bone to bone contact releasing some of the self hatred.

With the physical interruption to his thoughts, Night took stock of his surroundings. He wasn’t too off track, though he must have been traveling faster then he did with the others, as he’s farther along than he should have been. Night ignores the almost-loneliness that comes with the thought of the others. He’s stupid for getting attached too quickly, he’s an inconvenience now, he’s gotten them what they wanted.

He's done. He can rest now. There wasn’t even a reason for him to be still alive after all of this time without his brother. Dream was his better half, his reason for existence.
Why did he even stick around in the first place? Shock, some misplaced sense of responsibility?
Self-torture, grief, hatred, acknowledgement that he murdered an entire population? His brother?
Night notices a pang of pain from his arm again, he’s picked at it again, a lazy venous magic bleeding through. The magic was dark, unsaturated, a reminder that he probably hasn’t eaten in a while.

Would the others be able to find the right stuff to eat? Night only ever saw Alphys take care of herself, meanwhile, Killer actively lived in an underground that was damn near out of food because the idiot couldn’t ration. G was unpredictable, aka, weird, so Night can’t guess anything on the guy; he can have a steady supply of cigarettes but inconsistent access to shelter? Weird. Dust didn’t explain much about himself, the skeleton was cryptic as heck, and Night is pretty sure he’s dissociated from reality at this point.

Night smacks himself again, this time, hitting the area just below his cracked socket. The pain jolts through his head like a spear, causing an unusual mixture of disorientation, hate, and satisfaction that left him feeling dizzy. Even if they actually needed help, he would be more of a hindrance then a help. They’re not stupid, they can figure out what to eat, how to survive. They did it in the underground, far more scarce and barren then Night’s world, they can do it here.
The wave of self hatred this time comes with guilt, grief, and this time, Night can’t take it anymore. It’s not going to stop until he does something about it, and his usual methods of satiation aren’t working.

Night took a detour to the trees, immediately heading for the shaded pines. There wasn’t a rock or patch of grass for him to sit on, but a loose blanket of dirt sat innocently in the shade of the tree, beckoning Night to sit. He didn’t spare a thought, instead throwing his satchel down and ravaging through it with the urgency of a man starved. The books made it difficult, it was far too stuffed at this point. Frustrated and somewhat desperate, Night ripped the books out and tossed them aside, reaching for his knife at the bottom. He could tell his satchet of jerky was now covered in dirt, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care enough.

Night hadn’t even dragged the knife across his bones with that wave of anticipation and bliss hit. He basks in it for all of a second before the hatred comes back with a vengeance, drowning him with the viciousness of guilt, hatred, and shame. Guilt, at being unable to be normal, no matter how hard he tries, hatred, so much self-hatred because he’s never good enough, and shame, because he can’t do anything to make things better. He’s pathetic, the only way he can get relief is through the breaking of his own bones. Night ignored his already half-healed arm; he wanted a clear slate to ruin. Instead, he shifted a little higher on the same arm, closer to his shoulder, and waited for the next wave of hate to hit.

Like the blade he was holding, he forced that second wave of disgust and hate to hit his soul and mind, and like that, he was gone. He doesn’t even have to force it for the second cut, it just happens with a viciousness. There’s barely a pause, no hesitation, just the pattern of slashing.
The first two cuts are shallow, the first ones usually are, but the next few are where he gets the pain he needs. The leaking of marrow, like bloodletting, he leaks all the hate out of his veins like a cursed ritual. The fourth is deeper than he means to, Night can almost taste the metal in his mouth as the blade sinks in, the sensation hitting close after. It hurts, it hurts so good, and Night hates himself with a vengeance. He takes the hatred and turns it back onto himself, leaving two more slashes in his bone. It’s not right, and he drags the seventh one across his bone purposefully, slowly but not necessarily deeply. The eighth is exactly the depth he means to, he’s gaining back his control now, it’s almost done. He can’t angle his hold any higher, he too far up his shoulder now, so against his normal pattern, he goes backwards towards the fold of his elbow, just for the finishing slice. It doesn’t feel as satisfying, but that’s okay, he’s focused on something else.

The blood from the fourth cut on his shoulder is dark, a violent cyan. It’s still disorienting to see his color like this, he half expects to look down to the familiar purple, darker than lavender, but lighter than royal purple. It’s vibrant against the black of his liquid-hate covered bones. It bleeds into his other cuts just below, but it doesn’t sting. It’s an odd, intrusive warmth, but Night doesn’t quite like the sensation, so he hyper-focuses on the flow instead. It’s a slow bleed, oh-so-slow that refuses to wane. Night knows the type of wounds; they take forever to stop bleeding if he doesn’t wrap it or eat after. He doesn’t hate them, but it does get annoying sometimes, especially when he’s in a rush.

It subtly occurs to him that he’s not, he’s got all the time left in his life. He can sit and watch it slowly peeter out, no longer bleeding, and it won’t matter, because he has no one to please. He won’t be returning to anyone hiding his half-healed wounds, no one with emotional needs that he must satisfy with conversation and communication. He’s going to go back home to his brother’s corpse, kiss him goodbye, and die.

He has no one waiting for him. He has no obligations.

So why does it feel so wrong?

Notes:

You know, I don't think I mentioned this. For a smart skeleton, Night is fucking stupid.

The skeleton sucks at common sense and logic, neglecting to question himself or explore other avenues of thought. The entire thought process around his brother’s death, his own magic, and some portions of how the apples work is fundamentally flawed- he forgot to consider the possibility that the apple his brother ate would keep him alive or in stasis within the stone. He forgot to even consider hope, and he's going to suffer for it. It's funnier because Night considers the apples as part of the reason he survived the attack at the tree- its acceptable as a possibility for him, but for Dream, he ignores the possibility all together.

Night, unsurprisingly, is a bit of a hypocrite. More breaking news in ten, whatever.

Eh. Enjoy the second chapter. Let me know if I should include a summary at the bottom of the chapter or something, if it's too graphic for someone. This is about as intense as it gets in the entire 80,000 words currently written, so if you've survived this long, you're going to be fine with future chapters, but I think getting yourself in the mindset is an important part of reading things like these. Reading something you expect to be wholesome only to encounter dark and detailed suicidal thoughts is personally somewhat triggering for me, so I try to give a heads up, even when it's redundant at this point, 60,000 words in.

Chapter 40

Summary:

Chapter warnings-
Hallucination, psychosis. Verbal abuse.

Notes:

Hmm. Night is not doing great. Well, surely Dust is doing better!

Dust awoke to hushed arguing, not completely unusual to his new life. The hallucinations were usually worse in the morning, contrary to popular belief. By nightfall, he just stopped giving a damn on differentiating his brother from the phantom.

It took him a second to notice the different tone to the louder voice. It was slurred in places, lazy almost. Pap- Papyrus wouldn’t be caught dead slurring his words like a lazybones. It tickled a memory in the back of his mind, being just slightly off from an old memory, but Dust ignored it in favor of opening his eyes.

The reminder of unusual skeletons hit him like a snowpoff face first. The sky was cool, dry almost, unlike the wet density usual to the underground . The sun was barely up, just peaking over the low shrubland, with the stars standing out as mere pinpricks in the sky. It reminded him of the glitter he had to pick up during Pa- Papyrus’s toddler years, just barely visible in the shallow carpet regardless of the thousands of cleanings to remove it.

For a moment, Dust considered sitting there longer, absorbing the moment of sitting in the sun knowing with certainty that it will be there tomorrow morning. Instead, he dragged himself upright and faced the skeletons from last night. The taller one with cracks in his skull, (why was it familiar, why was it familiar-), was scolding the oily one. A stray thought bubbled up in the back of Dust’s mind, supplying the skeletons with names. Tall one was G, gross one was Killer.

It's honestly a 50-50 chance on whether or not the hallucinations were fucking with him or not. Without the capacity for JUDGEMENT, he couldn’t check their souls for the necessary information to double check them. The voices could tell him that G was his father and he would be left guessing for the rest of his life, because star damn him if he just asks.

What was the focus again?

Oily- no, Killer, if he’s wrong on the name, he can pass it off as a joke- seemed to have noticed Dust’s stare on the two of them. Killer muttered something, enough for G to hear, and G whirled around to face Dust.

“Eh- good morning. We’re waiting for Nightmare to get back to continue our useless hike.” G avoids eye contact, strangely, but Dust ignores it in favor of puzzling together the new information with what he knows. Right, they’re on the surface, but not the normal surface, someone else’s. No resets, as far as Dust can tell, but definitely something unwelcome or hostile, as they’re traveling across the surface towards somewhere else. The name Nightmare supplies an image of a sad, salty pile of ink, like a drenched cat, but Dust doesn’t really remember, it’s just him guessing.

He thinks. It’s kind of hard to tell him from the hallucinations, the hallucinations from logic, and emotions from himself. It’s a cycle.

Duet is forced out of his thoughts by Killer jutting into the statement. “I’m telling you, he’s gone.” The skeleton flops violently onto the grass where they slept earlier. “He’s clingy, he asks permission to do everything. If he didn’t even leave a note, he’s not staying around for us.”

G shrugged. “Could have gotten lost in the wind or something.”

Killer flings his hands upward with more force then necessary. “Occam’s razor, simplest explanation is he left. He did not want to come back here, you forced his hand.”

G frowned in response, his tone becoming terser. “Last I checked, you were pretty urgent to get the hell out of dodge too.”

“F- it’s common sense, dumbass, we had statistics against us in the first place. Magic’s weird, newsflash, more news at 6 pm.” Killer snarled back, nearly spitting.

The argument became less entertaining at that point, drawing Dust’s attention away from the scene. He’s gotten good at filtering out loud sounds and movements, so he mentally flips a switch and wanders elsewhere.

There was an odd smell, like fermenting apples in the air, sweet and heavy against the ground. Small smudges of cyan lingered along a portion of grass, probably where someone sat. Dust can’t say with certainty that it’s missing guy’s magic, but considering the colors currently present (red and bright, saturated purple, a purple so familiar-) it’s possible.

Killer (such an ugly red, it’s almost painful) apparently noticed where he was looking and motioned to G (purple, so beautiful yet menacing, how can such a happy color be so terrifying?) to come look. The taller skeleton, who apparently dragged out a cigarette while Dust wasn’t looking, waltzed over with the lankiness of a cat, eying where Killer was pointing. It wasn’t lit, just out in his hand as he fiddled with it, eventually shoving it back into the box.

“Was he crying or somet- nope, that’s marrow. Okay, that’s totally fine.” G looked mildly alarmed, but Killer just looked dead (hah).

“It’s not a lot, almost like he picked at something. Doesn’t look like he was dragged or attacked.” Killer noted. “Told ya, he left. No other reason then because apparently this place freaks him out.”

G looked frustrated, with a strange mix of concern that almost looked nostalgic to Dust. “Then why did he take us this far if he was just gonna dip? What does it matter?”

Dust knew the answer to this, it’s the same reason he can’t stand going to Snowdin. (What about Hotland? The Capital? What of your crimes there, brother?) Before he can answer, Killer substitutes for him. “Probably wanted to make sure we didn’t walk over old graves . He’s got a story similar to us, ya know. skeletons in the closet?”

G tilted an eyebrow at Killer, which lifted further as he noticed Dust nodding in understanding. “With the context of your guys’ nicknames, I do not like these puns.” G hedged, his fingers twitching in need of a cig. Dust could relate, but he ran out of cigs 6 weeks ago, prior to the current reset cycle, in the underground, so he’s dead to it at this point. Killer had no qualms crushing this dude’s idealist views of two dumbasses literally covered in dust and hate, respectively.

“Both of us murdered most, if not all, of the people in our underground. Not by choice, mind you, but did it none the less.” Killer kicked a stone in the dirt, seemingly looking for a safe place to sit without getting covered in stuff. “Despite bein’ up on the surface, it apparently isn’t all sunshine and roses, because Nighty-Night snapped over something and murdered his brother, possibly some other monsters as well. You know, like you do.”

Dust felt a shiver up his spine and mentally hardened himself for whatever cruel thing the phantom wanted to say next. By logic, he knows that it’s unusual for hallucinations to have physical cues beforehand, but logic also dictates that a single human should not have control over the flow of time. Logic lost all meaning the moment he woke up after dying to his bedroom roof in Snowdin, and it damn well knows it.

Look brother! Someone just like you. Now you HAVE to go find him, brother-killers must stick together after all. The phantom whispered close to his acoustic canal, low in pitch yet somehow grating to his hearing. Dust debated the amount of energy it would take to argue with his ‘brother’ and decided against it.

“Fine. We can go looking for him. Do you think he would have head back the way we came?” Killer eyed him oddly, possibly due to his sudden comment, but G still seemed very perturbed by something, refusing to look at them. Right, talking to murderers, that’s weird, he probably doesn’t want to deal with them anymore. Whatever.

G apparently gave in to his need for a cigarette, summoning the box out of his inventory for one. They must have been some of the fancy quick light ones for fish monsters, ones that can’t deal with flame, because he didn’t even bother grabbing a lighter for it. It’s familiar, again, and he can’t help but involuntarily grimace, without even knowing what he’s necessarily upset about.  “Alright, I know infinite universes and all that, but what are the odds that three mass murderers meet up in a multiverse of infinite possibilities? Like, is it just that likely for s-someone to snap and murder everyone?” He puffs out a plume of smoke, still avoiding eye contact but apparently still willing to talk to them.

Not like he’s got much of choice. Dust is pretty sure his hate-dosed counterpart would hunt him down for the fun of it, not even to kill him, but harass the monster to death.

Killer seemed to oblige the monster’s question, nonplused about his obvious discomfort. “Yup. It’s probably still slim odds, but we managed to meet each other back-to-back, so, what do I know?”

The phantom over his shoulder apparently didn’t like his non-committal answer, arguing even though no one can hear him except Dust. Stupid brothers, always holding back information. He muttered, before speaking loud enough for Dust to wince. The pathetic brother-killer travels using cues from negative emotions, not that this lot is capable of feeling anything anymore. But hey, the Great Papyrus doesn’t make universal rules, so not everything is worthy to be deemed reasonable by me!

Of course, no one responds to P-the phantoms’ jab, so Dust doesn’t respond either. However, G does huff in annoyance at the obvious avoidant answer, finally looking Killer and Dust in the eye via a side-eye. “Can’t help you find him if you don’t give me all the information.”

Killer’s smile takes on a violent gleam, and Dust just feels resigned at it. “Good thing we don’t need your help to find him.”

Dust decided to speak up. “Why do you even want to find him anyways? Surface and all that, it don’t matter.” He knew that he was going to do it anyways, because the hallucination wouldn’t leave him alone otherwise, but he wants to know Killer’s reasoning.

“Why not? We get to explore anyways, might as well get a mission to it. Plus, I’m willing to bet he’s being stupid right now anyways. Call it instinct.” Killer turns his face towards Dust, missing eyelights very clearly staring him down. “I’ve known him longer than you.”

The hallucination on his left scoffed, but Dust ignored it before it could start talking. “Did you want to go to the surface, or was it something else?”

That question apparently hit a nerve somewhere, as Killer smothered a flinch before turning his head. “Listen, I’m willing to bet he went back home. For all his talk of hating his home and his mistakes, that monster loves torturing himself.”

Still uncertain, Dust glanced at G for a cue, only to find none. So, no one cared enough to be panicked over this guy being missing but cared enough to at least look for him. Some obligation, perhaps, or something like guilt, but who is Dust to judge? He’s done weirder to satisfy the ghost of his sins that follows him like a shadow.

Dust shrugged. “You would know best. With knowing him longer, and all.” The phantom on his shoulder groaned, displeased with something. I doubt those two knew each other for more than a day. They trusted each other about as far as they could throw one another. A pause, before it continued in a considering voice. Though, with blue magic, that would be quite far.

Dust almost wanted to chuckle at that, but remembering his swear to ignore the dumb bastard, he choked it down. No gratification for the fake (phake?) ghost of his brother, it only fed the delusion.

Killer suddenly moved, pointing towards another direction. G nodded next to Dust. Killer was probably talking while he zoned out, but he totally missed everything he said. Whatever, he was going with it anyways. He has nothing better to do until the world resets.

Notes:

Okay, he's not doing any better than Night is. Eh.

Don't got much for this chapter. I'm tired and mildly depressed. I'll pretend to have motivation for once, after I get motivated to get off this couch.

It'll be a couple hours, then. Just you wait, I'll rule the world! Once I get motivation. And money. And a cult going. Maybe a soda machine? Then the world will be at my beck and call! *waves hands lazily before flopping them violently on to my own face*

Chapter 41

Summary:

Chapter warnings-
Suicidal ideation bordering on suicide attempt. Violence.

Night doesn’t bother wrapping his wounds, despite their severity. It was just a quick relief, after all, and his true rest would be soon. He boxed up his dissatisfaction and fear into that little box, now emptied of its previous stress and self-hatred, opting to ignore it. He could deal with it later—he’s not that weak.

He shakes his head at the thought. There is no ‘later’. He’s dying soon. It’s hard to contextualize with his normal coping mechanisms, because there is no precedent to it- no one knows what happens when a monster dies. There’s an understanding of the process, especially in humans, but after death?

Night instead drags himself forward. He’s still kind of floaty, but not in the nice way. Everything takes double the effort it should, and thinking is no different. So, avoiding conscious thought, Night drags himself onwards, avoiding jostling his shoulder which refuses to stop bleeding. Downside of not wrapping it, Night knows.

It takes him about half an hour to reach the tree, far shorter than it should of since he was still far when he broke down. It’s weird, and at the time Night doesn’t question it, but he must have lost time in between then and now, artificially decreasing the time traveled by sheer dissociation.

The tree loomed ahead, but the absence of branches and leaves in the sky was foreboding. Skeletal branches curling like gnarled fingers lay horizontally to the ground, shriveled and lacking all leaves or fruit. The clearing around it was quiet, the kind of silence that pressed on his ears and chest like a weight.

He climbed up the hill, traveling up the opposite side where his brother’s corpse lay. Upside: he was as far away from his mistakes as possible. Downside: all he saw as he walked up that cursed hill was his brother’s stone face, frozen in fear and grief. The horrible crown still sat there, perched on the jagged stump where he’d left it, next to the stone remains of his brother. The sight made his breath hitch, but he forced his feet forward.

Each step felt heavier than the last, the air thick with memories. He barely remembered placing the crown there in the first place, but it seems fair. He’s not worthy of it now, with his failures resting on head in the form of a vice. His brother’s laughter still echoing faintly in his ears despite the silence, quickly replaced with that horrid inhale of fear that occurred just before his brother died, leaving him behind in his sins. It was supposed to be a memorial, a marker for everything he failed, everyone he hurt. Now, it felt like a condemnation, an execution.

The shame feels like the world is sitting on top of him, and Night wants nothing more then to just rest.

He knelt before the stump, his fingers brushing against the cold metal of the crown. A fresh wave of pain came from his damaged shoulder, and his earlier suspicion was somewhat confirmed when he felt it rip open. Thirty minutes was not enough time for a full healing matrix to form, it had to be longer then it felt. A deceptively cold trickle of marrow leaked down his arm, causing a sting in each of his cuts, but he ignored it in favor of holding the crown. It was lighter than he remembered, smaller somehow, as if the time away had shrunk it down.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of his own breath. He clenched the crown tighter, pressing it against his chest. “I should’ve… I should’ve done more.”

The stone form of his brother offered no response, its clear-cut features still and unmoving. Night bowed his head, tears pricking at the edges of his sockets. He didn’t deserve to be here. Not after everything he’d done. But he couldn’t bring himself to leave either. Not yet.

The fear was there, gnawing at the edges of his mind. It wasn’t just about death—it was about what came after. Would there be silence? Or would he still feel this hollow ache, this crushing absence of his brother? The heavy weight of everything he failed, his home, his mom, the tree?

The unknown stretched out before him, vast and empty, and it terrified him. He wanted freedom from this ache, this utter void that swallowed everything he could ever enjoy.
He raised the crown, staring at its tarnished edges. It was supposed to be his goodbye, his final act before letting go. His fingers trembled, his grip tightening as if the metal might offer some kind of answer. Instead of one, he just found more pain, more memories, and that broken, hollow feeling that tore him from everything else around him. It crawls up his ribcage like a spider, whispering his sins, reminding him of his punishment.

A freezing cold shiver hit him like lightning. It raced up his spine, sudden and electric, like the world itself had shifted. His grip faltered, the crown slipping from his fingers and hitting against the stump. Night froze, his breath caught in his throat as the sensation lingered, faint but undeniable. It felt like someone ripped through his soul, a sudden intrusion. If Night was in a more humorous mood, he’d describe it like being caught without clothes. It quickly followed up with an eerie call, a wail like that of an abandoned dog, distressingly mournful, already accepting death.

It was familiar. Too familiar. Like the eerie ripple he’d felt the day Alphys’s call for help had reached him, pulling him from his spiraling downfall. His mind latched onto that memory, unbidden, as if the universe itself were tugging him in a new direction. It was impossible to ignore.

He turned his head, scanning the area around him. He was looking at the village, but didn’t register it, still searching for the source of the intrusion. There was nothing, no sign of anyone else, but the feeling didn’t leave. It burrowed under his magic, insistent and unrelenting. Somewhere, far away but unmistakable, something had changed.

Night stood with his legs unsteady beneath him. The crown glinted in the dim lighting where it lay abandoned, but he didn’t pick it up. Instead, he turned away from the tree, his gaze fixed on the horizon. The ripple still lingered, faint but guiding, and his feet moved before his mind could catch up.

He didn’t know where he was going, but the sensation—that call—was enough. It had to be; it was enough before.
The jump is always short, the landscape shifting around him in a blur of unfamiliar colors and textures. The ripple had grown stronger, pulling him toward a distortion in the air ahead. It shimmered faintly, like heat rising off a rock, and before he could think better of it, he stepped through.

The world beyond was jarring. The air felt heavier, tinged with something sharp and metallic, and the ground beneath his feet was cracked and uneven. Buildings loomed in the distance, their jagged silhouettes casting short shadows under a blood-red lighting within a stone cavern. It felt like an omen, that blood-red tinge to the lighting far too dark to be normal. It took him a moment to realize that he wasn’t in a cavern, but the underground cave system the other monsters called home. He shoved the memory of Alphys aside into a box violently before he could ponder on it anymore.

A faint echo called his attention in the close horizon, but his attention was quickly drawn to movement nearby. A figure darted past the edge of his vision, followed by the sound of scuffling and muffled shouts.

Instinct kicked in, and Night followed the noise, keeping to the shadows as he approached. The scene unfolded in a dilapidated yard littered with debris. A tall, lanky skeleton, thin and trembling, was backed against the wall of a building, cornered by two larger monsters. Their voices were low and threatening, but Night didn’t bother listening. His focus was on the fear radiating from the smaller skeleton—raw and desperate. It tasted like tin, wrong yet somehow accepting.

Without thinking, Night stepped forward. “Hey.” The larger monsters froze, their heads snapping toward him. They were clothed in metal, sharply contrasted by the red aura around them. It reminded Night of fantasy stories of knights in armor, fighting dragon’s flame and saving princesses. The taller skeleton looked up, his sockets wide with surprise.

Night clenched his jaw, his posture loose but deliberate enough to angle his injured shoulder away from view of the attackers. “I think you’ve got the wrong guy. Why don’t you back off before this gets messy?”

The bulkier of the two sneered, stepping closer to Night rather than the other skeleton. “And the hell are you supposed to be?”

Night’s grip tightened at his sides, a faint glow hiding behind his bones. The air tasted sharply of blood and cold bone, a subtle threat. “A problem, if you don’t leave.”

The tension thickened, the air practically buzzing with anticipation and violence. Night’s soul pounded, his body coiled and ready for whatever came next. He didn’t know why he’d intervened, but the trembling bones in front of him was reason enough for now. If he died, it wouldn’t matter anyways.

The other metal-cloaked monster mutter something low to the buff one. It wasn’t loud enough to actually tell emotion behind it; judging by the aura of wariness coming from the monster, it probably was some attempt at pacifying the other. A wave of consternation came from the monster in response, though it was quickly muted. He muttered back something short and bitter, acknowledging the other and nodded. They loosened their stance, though kept their gaze on Night before glowering at the other skeleton.

Muttering some empty platitudes and perfunctory apologies, they backed away towards the open-air bridges.
The warm, blood-red glow was apparently from lava in the cave, so they must be somewhere in Hotland. The glow was darker than Night had originally seen, unnervingly colder than the yellow/orange in Alphys’ world.

Night carefully watched the two until they were a good distance away and turned towards the cowering skeleton. They looked alarmed, utterly terrified, and for a second, Night can’t tell what’s wrong. A twinge in his shoulder and a loud, almost obscene drip hits the stone floor of his own marrow, flowing right off the sludge that coats his body. His shoulder is still bleeding, and he’s shaking with adrenaline and mild hunger.

Yeah, he probably looks like he got stampeded.

Night barely opened his mouth to reassure the skeleton when a sudden blow hit the back of his head, knocking him out like a light.

Notes:

Hmm. Did you notice the difference from last time Night was called from another world? An intrusion, before the ripple, the call, whatever you want to call it. What do you think?

 

While we are in the same line of dialog, what do you think about the whole 'calling' ability? What is different about Alphys, that Night could be directly 'called' upon, but Killer could not, instead Killer being stumbled upon by chance? Was the emotion simply stronger? What was the difference in those two scenarios?

Give me your theories, I'm curious how much of the clues you can find!

Anyways, enjoy the chapter. Get out of here, you fifthy animal!

Chapter 42

Summary:

Chapter warnings-
None

Night wakes up on a cold wooden floor, with chains around his feet and his arms tied in ropes behind his back.

This alone would be alarming, but Night also wakes up to the weirdest combination of emotions he has ever felt in his life. And he’s been alive for 230 years, so he’s seen a lot of weird emotional combinations.

A twinge of guilt, a ball of anxiety, wrapped in vicious anger; all shoved up against a thick wall made of indifference. There are other emotions in there, Night thinks he feels something defensive or protective, but its too complex to pinpoint, especially in a mixture like this. It tastes like a lemon peel, tough and sour, just edging on bitter.

Further away, he feels an oppressive atmosphere of anxiety, hate, and anger, thinned out like a soup. It’s barely in range of his normal senses, and he hears the quiet shuffle of people walking through snow and talking amongst themselves. There’re no standouts among the crowd, save for one or two monsters very firmly ‘far away’ and separated from the movement of people. They both radiate a large amount of anxiety, though one with more upset than the other. Right, probably violent world again.

Night considers accepting his fate and going back to sleep, the dull headache in the back of his head driving that thought process, but a pulse of annoyance comes from close by, forcing him to stay awake. Instead, he opens his eyes, having significantly more trouble with the cracked one, and deals with whatever ridiculous situation he’s gotten himself into now.

He’s in a shed, well put together, with no gaps in-between the vertical wood panels. Instead of gardening supplies or the normal equipment in the shed, however, the room is split in half by a large set of vertical bars and a metal door, a deadlock heavy on the outside of the door. The shackles he felt around his feet were bolted to the floor against the opposing corner of the room. Already, Night can already tell the chains are not long enough to reach the bars, let alone the door.

In the corner of the room stands a skeleton, proud and stiff as a board. Despite his actual height being about the same as Night’s, he feels taller, almost intimidating. His outfit is a polished leather, bright red and gold, far too stiff to be anything but new. His eyes narrow at Night as he evaluates him, a strange star-eyelight shuttering as he focuses on Night’s crushed side of his skull.

“Good afternoon. Under order of the Queen and her guard, I have reasons to suspect you of malicious activity and dangerous intent. As such, I have taken you into custody as we perform a mandatory investigation.” His eyelight flutters again, pulsating with the hum of his magic. “You shall be given two meals a day, once in the morning and once at nighttime, as required by Her Majesty. You are required to answer any and all questions the Royal Guard asks, regardless of relevancy to the investigation, truthfully and to the best of your knowledge. With your help, the investigation can be resolved swiftly and peacefully.”

The skeleton drags forward his stool, sitting elegantly despite the shoddy nature of the stool. “First question: what is your name, occupation, and age?”

Night felt unsure what to do, because in all honesty, he didn’t care about the outcome of anything he did. With the means of escape at any time he’s alone long enough, he doesn’t have to care. However, the problems that came with NOT cooperating were not worth it when it only saved his pride. So, his opinion is ‘screw it’.

His head pounded harder when he opened his mouth to speak. He didn’t wince, though, and just ignored it anyways. “Night, 230 years old. Uh, vagrant?”

The skeleton seemed unamused by this answer, but didn’t address it. “Second question. What do you last remember?”

“Um, two knights had cornered another skeleton, so I intervened.” Night wasn’t quite sure how it was relevant, but hey, wasted question and time didn’t bother him.

Nary a physical response from him, but his aura shifted of one less angered. Something like curiosity, annoyance, and guilt, subtle but present all the same. Despite this, he continued like normal, not even changing his tone. “Third question. How did you get into the area in where you found the two.. knights?”

Ooh, now’s the time to start making stuff up, Night thought, trying to engineer a way that wouldn’t immediately get him laughed at or put under heavy surveillance. If he described his ability to teleport, they would either doubt him, or believe him and prevent him from escaping later. If he was right about the location of where he was- hotland- he might be able to use his adventures with Alphys to his advantage. “Well, there was a cave collapse not too long ago,” Night started, trying to keep it vague. “I got caught up in it, ended up finding a second tunnel system. It took a long while to get through.”

No facial change, but a spike of intrigue. “Fourth question. Where did the cave collapse occur?”

Stars-damn-it, that’s exactly the question he didn’t want to deal with. “Somewhere around Waterfall- I sustained a head wound, so I don’t remember exactly where.”

“Fifth question. When did the cave collapse occur?”

“Why are we number the questions? Isn- Is it not easier to just ask without keeping track of questions?” Night gambled, going for a hedge response. This got him exasperation but no facial change, again. Dang, Night is envious of that stone-face.

“I am simply following standard operating procedure. Fifth question, repeated. When did the cave collapse occur?”

Night shifted in his bonds, testing the rope around his hands as subtly as possible. The spike of annoyance and what Night can only describe as emotional eye-rolling passed through the other skeleton, telling him he failed at the subtleness of the act. “Like I said, had a skull fracture. I’m not 100% sure, though by…” Night thought quickly, backtracking his original statement of sun/moon phases. “..my own hunger, probably a few days.”

Judging by the continued annoyance, the other skeleton didn’t believe him. “Sixth question, what reason did you interrupt Royal Guard duties?”

“Um... what part?” At the deadpan look of the other skeleton, Night corrected himself. “I mean, was it Royal Guard duties to, assumedly, harass, beat, and potential kill the other monster?”

That earned him a spike of surprise and, to Night’s delight, grudging respect. It tasted like a wine grape, thick skinned and barely juicy, but oddly sweet. Contrary to this emotional reaction was the skeleton’s face, which remained unmoving. “No further questions. I shall return later with news of the investigation.”

As the skeleton tried to get off the chair, Night interrupted his movement. “Wait, uh- I’ve got questions, like. What’s your name? Where am I? Is the other monster okay?”

This earned him a change in facial expression, but not one that made sense. The other skeleton frowned, while a wave of genuine confusion and surprise overtook his metal barriers. He, however, did not stutter, and simply addressed the question. “Royal Guard Commander Sans Serif. Call me Commander. The other monster is just fine.”

Notes:

I want you guys to guess the reason behind the questioning method used here. Remember that Swapfell Gold is based in the 1950s USSR regime, very big brother-esqe.

Anyways, sorry for the lateness. You get two chapters for your lack of complaints, yay!!

Chapter 43

Summary:

Chapter warnings-
None

Sans left the room without another word, his polished boots echoing faintly against the wooden planks of the shed as the outer door clicked shut. The lock turned with a metallic clunk, leaving Night alone with his thoughts.

Almost immediately, he started testing the rope binding his wrists. The fibers dug into his bones, taut and unyielding, but he shifted and twisted anyway, feeling for any slack. He tried to ignore the ache in his shoulder and the stiffness in his arms, focusing instead on escape.

“Come on,” he muttered under his breath, straining against the ropes. The chains around his feet rattled against the floor, their weight adding to the growing frustration in his chest. His dull headache pounded harder with the exertion.

He stilled for a moment, closing his eyes and centering himself. He could teleport. That would make this easy. He just needed to concentrate. Taking a deep breath, he focused on the sensation of his magic, willing it to build in his core. The familiar reach of energy began to rise, but as he attempted to connect it, the magic fizzled out, leaving only a dull, hollow ache in its wake.

Night’s eyes snapped open, his sockets narrowing in confusion. He tried again, pushing harder this time, but the same result followed. His magic felt caged, dampened somehow, as though an invisible barrier smothered it before it could form fully. The sensation was foreign and unnerving, and panic began to creep into the edges of his mind.

“What…?” he whispered; his voice strained. He looked down at the chains around his feet, their dark metal glinting faintly in the dim light. Runes were etched into their surface, faintly glowing with a dull green hue. Magic-dampening chains. Of course.

A wave of frustration surged through him, and he tugged at the chains angrily. They clinked uselessly against the floor, their weight immovable. His breathing grew heavier as he struggled, the realization sinking in that teleporting out wasn’t an option. But… if his magic was suppressed, why could he still feel the emotions around him?

The room swirled with lingering traces of Sans’ complex aura, the tightly coiled guilt and anger mingling with indifference. Beyond the walls of the shed, the distant thrum of anxiety and hatred from the outside world pulsed faintly at the edge of his senses. His empathic abilities weren’t dampened like the rest of his magic. Why?

He didn’t have time to dwell on the question. He wanted out. His focus shifted back to the ropes around his wrists, his fingers flexing against the rough fibers. His head throbbed, and his body ached from the strain, but he couldn’t give up. Not yet.

The sound of the lock turning broke the tense silence. Night froze, his breath catching as the door creaked open. For a moment, he braced himself for the return of Sans—but the figure that slipped into the room was much taller.

The taller skeleton moved with surprising silence, his light footsteps barely audible against the wooden floor. He wore the same clothes as earlier, but much cleaner: a thin hoodie read ‘lame guy,’ long black pants, and an odd sort of golden jewelry around his teeth, tightened around his jaw like a muzzle or brace. He paused near the bars, his sockets wide as he took in Night’s restrained form. His expression was difficult to read, but his aura pulsed with curiosity and caution, tinged with faint nervousness.

Night straightened slightly, his chains clinking softly. “Well, aren’t you sneaky?” he muttered, his voice low and hoarse.

The taller skeleton didn’t respond, his gaze lingering on Night’s face. The silence stretched between them, heavy and awkward, until he finally stepped closer. He didn’t speak, but his movements were deliberate, almost cautious, as if testing the waters.

Night watched him carefully, his unease growing. He could feel the quiet determination radiating from monster, mingled with an odd sense of… empathy? It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there, threading through the cautious curiosity that dominated his aura. It tasted like water, a barely present taste, but a taste nonetheless.

“Uh…” The sound came out harsher than he intended, but it was too late to take it back now. The tension in his chest wouldn’t let him soften.

The lanky skeleton flinched slightly but didn’t retreat. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out something small and wrapped in cloth. He placed it carefully on the floor near the bars, his movements slow and deliberate.

Night frowned, craning his neck to get a better look.

The tall skeleton didn’t say anything. He took a step back, his sockets meeting Night’s for a brief moment before he turned and slipped out of the room as quietly as he’d entered. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Night alone once again.

For a long moment, Night stared at the cloth-wrapped object, suspicion gnawing at him. Finally, with some effort, he shuffled closer, the chains scraping against the floor. He leaned forward, using his bound hands to clumsily nudge the cloth open.

Inside was a round piece of dyed sweet bread and a neatly folded note. The handwriting was clean but slightly shaky, the words short and simple:

"Thank you."

Night’s frown deepened as he stared at the note. The tension in his chest didn’t ease, but he felt a flicker of something bright and bold—not quite hope, but not despair either.

Notes:

Hold on to your horses, guys. My favorite part is coming up. Did I mention I like Swapfell Gold? I like Swapfell Gold. The militaristic attitude and formal speech, despite knowing the atrocities it is inspired by, is just so visually pleasing to me. SFG Sans, my weakness.

Chapter 44

Summary:

Chapter warnings-
Suicidal ideation

Being kidnapped was both boring and exhausting.

Night is stuck in a defensive position, constantly on guard for whoever will enter, while at the same time, having absolutely nothing to think about or do.

Night quickly figured out that the taller skeleton had snuck in on his own accord. Soon after Night scarfed down the charcoal-dyed sweet bread, Sans returned with a simple, bland meal of bread and gravy. Between the difference in offering, presentation, and actual taste, it was easy to guess that the sweet bread is not the normal sustenance that prisoners are offered.

The other skeleton meant the sweet bread as his form of thanks. Which, while always appreciated, Night would much rather be freed. Whatever.

He firmly ignores the thought of what he would do the moment he is freed.

Night spends the night, or at least, the timing after his first meal in the shed, curled up in the center of the cell, avoiding the walls of the shed. While well made and tightly put together, the miniscule gaps between the planks still let in cold gusts of air, and its extremely unpleasant. There’s absolutely nothing in the shed other than the bars put through the floor, so Night can’t even hide behind an internal wall to keep away from the wind. So, instead, he sits as close to the center as the chains allow, subconsciously twirling his tentacles around his arms for warmth.

Speaking of his arms, his shoulder is no longer bleeding. It isn’t healed by any means, but it is scabbed over in a way that suggest some form of healing before he woke up. It hurts to move and stings if he twists his arm too much against the ropes behind his back, but it doesn’t split open again, and normally these wounds love any excuse to keep bleeding for a couple of days after an incident. The scab on the deeper one is bumpy and uneven, telling Night that it’s going to scar badly.

Night is counting the planks that make up the wall when he’s interrupted by a spike of annoyance outside the shed. A few seconds later, Sans enters the shed holding a tray of food. Night hurries to lay his tentacles behind his back instead of curled around him in a pathetic hug. By the lack of reaction, both physical and emotional, he succeeded.

“Good morning. I have your morning rations. We will spend a couple minutes going over the status of the investigation, before asking a few more questions about the day of the incident.” Sans moved forward into the room, closing the door behind him and placing the tray of food on the floor. “Please back up against the opposing wall, back towards me.”

Night huffed but complied, shuffling against the chains. He faces the wall opposite to the door, allowing Sans to enter the cell and place the bread and gravy on the floor just in reach of the chains. A clang and a shift of metal on metal signifies that Sans has locked the door again, and before waiting for a response, Night turns around away from the wall.

Sans is already sitting in the chair, prim and proper. Surprisingly, there is steam coming off the gravy, meaning that it was probably freshly made and still hot- a welcome change to the temperature in the shed. The bread was still cold, with drops of water on top. It was probably dropped in the snow, the reason behind the spike of annoyance earlier outside.

Remembering the humiliating way he had to eat his dinner last time, Night flustered and ignored the food firmly. He was not going to eat it in front of Sans.

When Night made little move towards the food or to sit down, Sans continued onwards like there was nothing to wait for. “Please, take a seat. Let me discuss the current stage of the investigation.”

“We found you in a restricted area of the core, which was the reasoning behind your apprehension and imprisonment. Following interrogation and discussion with witnesses, we have found evidence that you were in fact, acting out of good will when you attacked two guards on duty. However, we still have the matter of trespassing on restricted grounds.” Sans tapped his foot, not impatiently but to some invisible rhythm. “As of earlier this morning, we have not corroborated the story of a cave-in near Waterfall. Do you have any other information to share with me?”

Shit, there goes that idea. “Can’t the matter be dropped? I didn’t know where I was at, and I promise I had no intentions of being there.” Night can’t help but feel a little exasperated, trying to shift his hands palm up but failing due to the rope. He instead shifted his feet and sat down clumsily, using his tentacles to keep upright and not fall completely on his butt. Sans apparently notices the movement, judging by the side-eye, but doesn’t comment on the extra appendages.

A spike of frustration and amusement comes from Sans, and Night can’t tell if its because of his fumble or his words. “Unfortunately, you were caught by multiple people, all of which can accurately describe your unique appearance. It would be a poor reflection of my duty to just let you go.”

Night wanted to groan. What does it hurt, really, to tell Sans about his abilities? Especially now with the whole matter being nearly resolved anyways, and the outright inability to teleport due to the chains? “And what if no one ever sees me again? Would there be any cause for concern?”

A nauseating mix of something like shock, dread, or fear mixed with confusion hit Night in the gut, and it took him a second for him to realize what that probably sounded like. It was a little worse when Night realized that he couldn’t technically correct him, because while that’s not what he originally meant, it’s probably what he’s going to do later.

The resignation definitely showed on his face, because Sans’ stone expression shifted a little in discomfort as he recovered himself. That mixture of dread and weariness gave way to a similar feeling of removed indifference, giving Night the feeling of being slammed by a wooden door.

Sans hesitates before answering, considering his word choice carefully. Discernment tastes like silver and nickel; Night ponders as he focuses on the razor-sharp edge of Sans’ emotions. It’s not a bad taste, but it leaves him feeling like he’s going to cut his tongue on the blade, constantly on edge. It sticks against the walls of Sans’ emotional barriers, pointed outwards like defensive spikes.

“…By order of the Commander of the Royal Guard, subsection HC.23 of the Hospitality code, I, Sans Serif, temporarily place you into protective custody until adequate judgement can be made by two separate members of the community.” A deep inhale. “Your movements shall be monitored by one member of my house at all times, until you have been cleared by a healthy mind and soul. This is made for your own safety, with no requirement of servitude or commitment on your end.”

Night bites down the snarky remark that makes its way onto the tip of his tongue, but it’s a near thing. Instead, he breaks down the meaning behind the words slowly. It first feels like shame, before growing into something more manageable- anger. A growing sense of outrage builds on his face as understanding dawns onto him. “Wh- I am capable of making my own decisions, thank you very much!”

“I did not say that. I am simply expressing concern for your well-being as a member of the Royal Guard, whose service is the monster-kind and her people.” Sans stands up from his stool, looser than normal. He seems tired.

“I don’t need coddling- you don’t even know me!” Night flounders, almost at a lost for words. “You have absolutely no stake in this, why- why do you even care?!”

Sans sighs, the air settling his bones. “I find it prudent to mention that the monster you saved was my brother, a sworn member of my household. As such, I seek to rectify the imbalance between the two of us.”

Night clenched his hands behind his back, feeling one of the joints click at the odd angle. When it’s not enough, he clenches his jaw instead, disjointing it. It doesn’t help. “Your debt is relieved. You owe me nothing. Your brother already paid.”

A whisp of surprise, subtle but present, passed through Sans, but the resolve and indifference remain stern. “Regardless, I already swore on my honor as a Guard. There’s nothing to change that.”

Resisting the urge to slam his head into the ground, Night bit back his growing rage, realizing its uselessness. He feels the rage sink into that feeling of sufferance and resignation, almost numb. It’s just another block to his end, if he survived three months without his brother, he could survive however much longer it takes for Sans to get bored of him.

His silence is enough for Sans to continue onwards with his thought process. “For the time being, you will wear suppressive anklets, unbound. I will transport you to my house. If you show any concerning behaviors, including and not limited to, verbal threats, physical attacks, or inappropriate behavior, I will reevaluate your privileges. If needed, I can place you back in the shed until you calm down, with or without bindings.” Sans paused as one of Night’s tentacles idly flick at the threat of chains again but moved on quickly. “Do you understand?”

Sans’ tone is patient, unfeeling, devoid of any annoyance or anger. Similarly, Night can’t feel anything moving behind the emotional blockades, and the feeling of helplessness that passes through Night is disorienting. Avoiding verbal communication, Night simply nods, ignoring the raised eyebrow bone he gets in response.

“Alright. Stand face-forward at the wall again. I will undo your bindings.” Sans motions for him to move, and too tired to argue, Night complies, zoning out for the rest of the orders.

Notes:

Do you guys ever think. That. Uh. SFG Sans just talks like that? Imagine him being all like "ah. You are risk to yourself. You will now be in protective custody until you are cleared with healthy mind and soul" and being all formal. Then later finding out that, yeah that law exists or whatever, but there is no formal phrasing of it, it's just a law wortten like 'should one monster make motions to harm themselves, a royal guard or associated member has the ability to detain that monster for their own safety'.

Imagine thinking the whole time that he memorized a formal speech that all royal guard members have to learn, and later learning that, no, he's just Like That™️

Anyways. Another chapter in like two minutes. Give it a sec to upload.

Chapter 45

Summary:

Chapter warnings-
Implied violence, descriptions of violence, death

Meanhwile, a couple dozen kilometers away from the tree, a group of skeletons awake to find their goopy skeleton taxi missing. The group of skeletons don’t wander long. It takes Killer and G a good 10 minutes to figure out what direction they originally came from- west- and another five minutes to get them to stop arguing. Dust, meanwhile, evidently invoked the right to stay silent, because he could care less about the situation.

The phantom floating around his head was half the reason he was entertaining this anyways. He just waiting until the reset, it doesn’t matter what he does in between them anyways.

He's done this dozens of times before. Wake up, kill everyone and everything, starting at the ruins, fight the human, kill them, die, and wake up again. The amount of time between death, their own or the kid’s, is irrelevant to the end result.

He firmly ignores the itch in the back of his throat. He doesn’t listen to what the phantom whispers. He won’t kill himself between resets, it’s the only promise he has left to fulfill, and he’ll be damned if he gives up that one too.

Dust feels himself shift back to reality, focus changing sharply from his thoughts to the ground in front of him. The two idiots are still bickering over something. It’s more violent than friendly, filled with spit and hate, but it gets swallowed up in a background drone, just white noise.

They started walking downhill due west, opposite to the rising sun. Dust can actually see where rabbits or deer walked through the grass- the dew is disturbed in large swatches and lines, showing the routes of the mammals. Dust walks in it to avoiding getting his pants wet more than necessary.

“For Star’s sake- whatever! It really doesn’t matter. Why the hell am I even traveling with you in the first place!” G shouts suddenly, breaking the mental curtain of background noise Dust was filtering out. “He may be fuckin’ insane, but at least he ain’t harassing me. Stay on that side of the caravan, thank you very much.” The skeleton quickly crosses over, putting Dust between him and Killer. He keeps his distance- good- but stays stuck to Dust’s side, much to his annoyance.

Dust speeds up to compensate for lack of distance, only to be thwarted by the longer legs of his new companion. A tingle runs down his spine as P- the phantom laughs at him, mocking his shortness.

They travel at this new, quicker pace for a few seconds before Dust felt a second shiver down his spine. The air shifted, heavy and wrong, and Dust froze mid-step. It wasn’t just the phantom this time. The weight in the atmosphere pressed against his bones, like the moment before a RESET—charged and unstable.

“Do you feel that?” G muttered, glancing over his shoulder. His unease radiated outward, sharp and bitter.

“Feel what?” Killer’s voice was casual, but his posture stiffened as he scanned the horizon. Probably too used to brushing off odd things as part of his facade. Dust couldn't sympathize anymore.

Dust didn’t answer, his sockets narrowing as he focused on the landscape ahead. The sunlight fractured strangely across the landscape, jagged streaks of cyan and magenta cutting through the natural golds and greens. The smell of fermenting apples thinned as it was cut by an odd, clinical smell, similar to bleach. The sweetness of the rotting apples contrasted by the sting of chemicals was enough to make Dust gag.

Then he saw it. A figure appeared in the distance, glitching and stuttering like a corrupted video. The movements were uneven, jittery, as though the skeleton’s very existence fought against the fabric of the world. Killer frowned, his earlier bravado giving way to wary confusion. “Uh… what the hell is that?”

“Something bad,” G muttered, his voice low. He lowered his cig but didn’t drop it, ready to flick it away if he needed to arm himself. “Stay sharp.”

Dust remained silent; his sockets locked on the approaching figure. The phantom hissed in his ear: Look, brother. Someone just like you—except worse. I’m almost proud, yet embarrassed- even with everything you did, he’s still stronger!

The figure stopped a few paces away, its form stabilizing slightly. He stared off into the landscape at first, muttering something under his breath. Only portions of it could be caught, but it was just as nonsensical, talking about a plotline ending in a story. His sockets flickered with a faint, glitchy light as he scanned the group, its expression a mix of confusion and irritation.

“What… are you supposed to be?” the figure muttered, its voice distorted, with occasional skips in tone. The intense gaze lingered on Dust for a moment before shifting to Killer. The moment it landed on Killer, his face twisted into a grimace.

“What is this?” Killer asked, gesturing vaguely at the figure’s method of transport- a literal split in reality. “Some kind of magic malfunction? Or…” He trailed off, deceptively curious.

The figure’s sockets narrowed. “Magic malfunction,” it echoed, its tone dripping with disdain. “That’s rich. Who even are you? Another broken piece of this mess?”

Killer bristled; his earlier blandly fake emotion replaced with irritation. “Yeah, okay, let’s pretend that’s a normal way to talk to people. You mind explaining who—or what—you are before you go throwing insults?”

The figure didn’t answer immediately, its gaze flickering between the group. It seemed to weigh its options, its glitching form shifting slightly. “Call me Error,” he said finally, his tone begrudging. “Not that it matters. You’re just… anomalies. Leftovers.”

“Anomalies?” G repeated, his voice edged with suspicion. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Error sighed, the sound skipped and jagged. “It means you shouldn’t exist. This world shouldn’t exist. None of this should be here.” He gestured broadly at the landscape. “But here you are, breaking all the rules.”

Dust’s sockets narrowed, but he remained quiet, letting the phantom’s whispers wash over him without response. Killer, on the other hand, stepped forward, crossing his arms.

“If we’re such a problem, why not just get rid of us?” His tone was cocky, but there was an undercurrent of tension.

Error’s glitching hand twitched, but he didn’t move. “Trust me, I’ve already considered it,” he muttered. “But…” He hesitated, like he was listening to something. “You’re not what I expected. Something’s off.”

“Oh, good. We’re confusing the glitchy guy,” Killer said with an almost self-deprecating smirk. “That’s definitely reassuring.”

“Shut up,” Error snapped, his voice briefly spiking in volume. He turned his attention back to Dust, his expression hard to read through the constant flickering. “And you. Why do you look like…” He trailed off, his hand gesturing vaguely before dropping to his side. He was listening to something again, or completely lost in thought. “No, never mind. Doesn’t matter.”

Dust tilted his head slightly but said nothing. His silence seemed to unnerve Error, who took a step back, his form glitching erratically.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Error muttered, more to himself than to them. “None of you are. This isn’t… how things are supposed to go.” He let out a long, glitching sigh, his frustration giving way to something like resignation. “Whatever. Just don’t get in my way.”

“In your way for what?” G asked, his curiosity piqued. Error glared at him, looking up from his imaginary area of focus as his sockets flickered. “Cleaning up a mess. Not that it’s any of your business.”

Killer narrowed his sockets. “If we’re such a big problem, why not fix us?”

Error stared at him for a moment, his sockets flickering erratically. He seemed to be weighing something. “Fix you?” he echoed, his voice laced with a mix of bitterness and disbelief. “What’s the point? You’re already broken. A waste of time.”

“Broken?” Killer’s grin widened into something more feral. “That’s rich, coming from the guy glitching like a bad animation.”

“Killer,” G warned, his tone sharp.

Error’s glitching hand twitched again, but he didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he turned his gaze back to Dust, his sockets narrowing. “And you…” He tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “You’re quiet. Why?”

Dust shrugged, his movements slow and deliberate. The phantom’s whispers grew louder, urging him to respond, but he pushed them aside. “Nothing to say,” he replied, his tone flat.

Error huffed, his glitching form flickering as he took another step back. “Doesn’t matter,” he muttered. “None of this matters.” He turned away, his form distorting as he began to walk off. “Stay out of my way. You’re not my problem… yet.”

The group watched him go in silence, the weight of his words lingering in the air. Finally, Killer broke the tension with a snort. “What a drama queen.”

“Drama queen or not,” G said, taking a drag from his cigarette with a flick of his wrist, “what the hell did he mean by ‘we’re not supposed to exist’?”

Dust didn’t answer, his focus still on the spot where Error had disappeared. The phantom’s voice hissed in his ear. Follow him, brother. You might learn something. Dust ignored it, but the unease Error had left behind was harder to shake.

“So, what now?” Killer asked, his tone light but his posture tense.

G took a long drag from his cigarette, his gaze distant. “We keep moving. Whatever his deal is, it’s not our problem.”

Dust finally tore his gaze away from the horizon, his sockets narrowing. “Let’s go,” he muttered, his tone clipped. The phantom’s whispers faded into the background as he started walking, his steps purposeful but heavy. The others followed, the air between them tense and charged.

Behind them, the landscape flickered briefly, the faint afterimage of Error’s presence lingering like a crack in reality. It was a reminder—one they couldn’t ignore for long. They first continued walking, in the same general direction, awkwardly trying not to seem like they were following Error. They literally weren’t- he just happened to be going the same way they needed to go, but they couldn’t do anything about it. He was a few paces ahead of them, easy to see but difficult to hear as he muttered to himself quietly, seemingly arguing with someone. Something about bugs. He kept glancing to his side, like he was looking at someone or reading something.

The phantom giggled next to him, almost gleeful. He’s crazy like you too! Maybe you are in good company, brother.

As the odd charade continued, however, the phantom apparently got fed up, whispering into his ear actual commands instead of the normal mocking the hallucination was so fond of. Follow him directly, brother-killer. Hunt him. it hissed, the word hanging in Dust’s ears. G noticed the sudden change in intent as Dust followed closer to Error, and the taller skeleton muttered something about staying out of trouble, but Dust took the lead with Killer following. There was only so much the taller skeleton could do against the flow of two lunatic LV-ridden skeletons. Contrary to Dust’s silent, almost mock-hunting behavior, Killer had no problems harassing Error directly, teasing and annoying the skeleton for anything he can even think if.

Over the next stretch, Error ignored them—or tried to. Killer’s sarcastic remarks about the glitching magic skeleton finally drove Error to stop dead in his tracks. Apparently, the skeleton was sensitive about his fashion taste. That, or he got fed up with Killer finally. "Enough," he snapped, glitching mid-word. The air cracked, and before the group could react, Error opened a portal and stepped through, not shutting it behind him as he rushed through another shortcut.

The portal opened in a snowbank, like Snowdin but less light. "Oh, he’s not getting rid of us that easily," Killer grinned, darting toward the portal before it closed. Dust followed, more from his phantom’s insistent whispering than anything else. G groaned but reluctantly jumped in last.

The glitchy skeleton dashed forward past a snowpoff. Before anyone could blink, he had split a second portal against a rock, closing it behind him. A small shout from G confirmed his suspicions half a second later- the other portal was closed too. They were stuck in the in-between part, with the path back closed and Error gone. A glance upwards gave Dust his worst discovery yet- they were underground again, in Snowdin.

G, despite his disgruntlement at nearly losing his leg to an interdimensional portal, seemed relatively unphased by the situation, but a quick look at Killer’s face showed that he was not as chill. Killer was pissed. The skeleton was staring at a snowpoff like it was a gravestone. As Dust’s eyes adjusted to the darker environment, it was clear that it was an actual headstone- dust covered the top of the snowpoff like powdered sugar, glazing the top. Between all those observations, Papyr- no, the hallucination summarized it best. Hah! That’s what you get, brother-killer. Welcome home!

Notes:

Okay! If you don't understand this, reread the chapter in which the Dusty gang wakes up without Night, and the one in which Night is at the tree, contemplating on killing himself. If you still don't understand, here's the explanation!

The crack in reality the Night felt when he was sobbing over Dream’s corpse was in fact, Error breaking into his world near Dust, Killer, and G. However, still inexperienced with his powers, he reached for incoming signals of distress, like Alphys, instead of incoming intrusions, which Error was in this case. Makes sense?

Killer, this entire chapter- if we annoy you so much, why don't ya kill us? Huh? Huh? Huuuuhh??
Error, three steps from snapping Killer’s arm off, only held back by the cheering chaos of his hallucination/chat- I am really, REALLY tempted to

Chapter 46

Summary:

Chapter warnings-
Murder

Killer gave an amused snort, kicking at the ground near the snowpoff. The amusement was quicklyovercome with obvious contempt, and Dust couldn'treally blame him. "Charming place. Real warm welcome."

G, meanwhile, scanned the area with narrowed sockets. "Stay alert. This doesn’t feel… right."

Always one for the last word, Killer didn’t even hesitate. “No shit, sherlock. We just met the glitchy andromorphic embodiment of schizophrenia, of course the first place we see is gonna be wacky.” G’s eyesocket clearly twitched at the sarcasm, but didn’t say anything, even as his grip on his smoldering cigarette tightened. A strong gust of wind picked up some of the snow and dust next to them. Killer, obviously used to this, made no effort to keep the stuff from blowing in his face, and Dust similarly just hid his face in the hood. Meanwhile, G spat out pieces of ash, dust, and snow as it flew into his mouth.

The ever-present ghost in his head seemed to find this funny. Hah! Karma. Inverse karma? Whatever, it's funny.

They didn’t have to wait long before the residents of this world noticed them. Two canine monsters in tattered armor approached, their posture bristling with suspicion. One of them, a blindfolded guard, sniffed the air sharply, his floppy ears twitching. His ears twitched in the direction each of them moved, flicking when one of them made some sort of loud movement. Out of curiosity and mild amusement, Dust kicked the snow near him, watching as the dog's face contorted into a frown. He moved towards them with a purpose, while the other headed towards an opposite post, ignoring his partner’s deviating path.

"Outsiders," the guard growled, his voice rough. "What’s your business in Snowdin?"

Killer opened his mouth to respond, but G cut him off with a sharp glance. "We’re just passing through," G said evenly. "Looking for shelter."

The  guard, a massive dog with a spiked collar, let out a derisive snort. "No room for drifters. Keep moving." Probably a relative of Doggo, maybe even a variant of Doggo himself, just fully blinded. The blindfold was likely not for show.

“We’ll be gone by morning,” G tried, but the blindfolded dog stepped forward, his nose twitching as he sniffed at Killer.

“You reek of trouble,” the dog said, his tone low and threatening. “Move along. Now.”

Killer’s grin widened, but he held up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Don’t get your fur in a twist.” G, apparently miffed, took one last drag of his cigarette before watching it crumble within his fingers as they walked, falling on its last dregs already. The ash feel in the snow with a hiss, and the dog monster very obviously wrinkled his nose at it, but nothing else happened, both sides refusing to budge.

Eventually, Dust was too cold to actually care and just started walking towards Waterfall. That area was at least warmer and calmer, if he was stuck in a foreign world, he might as well be comfortable before the RESET drags him back kicking and screaming.

The one time you don't go looking for a fight brother, and the time that I actually want to see some excitement. You never did listen to me.

The group was forced out of Snowdin, their supplies sparse and their tempers fraying. They followed the tunnel system into Waterfall, the air growing damper and heavier with every step. By the time they reached the dump, the stench of decay was nearly overwhelming. The area almost looked dimmer than Dust was used to, and it further added to his belief that this world was probably in dire straits. It takes some serious motivation to have someone crawl up the cave walls like a spider just to reach the semi-precious glowing gemstones embedded in the roof. It's likely they were plundered from the cave and sold on the black market.

He ignored the roof and instead dredged deeper into the water, heading towards the piles of refuse. The first pile near the path never has anything good, anyone walking by can see the few things actually good and take them, so Dust walks over to the third closest. It's in the middle, so hopefully it has something useful. If his assessment about the state of violence here is correct, no monster would be willing to put themselves in the middle of an open area for easy pickings. Hence, the only good stuff would be where no one wants to go.

Pap- the phantom scoffs loudly at him. So you're willing to put effort into that line of process, but not into anything else? Pathetic. The phantom hums idly, before remarking You really choose the easy way out, killing all of your family before actually putting in effort. I don't know why I'm surprised.

Dust swallowed down the emotion that tried to bubble up at the words. It never did any good, feeding into the hallucination, any input just gave rose to it being more violent and painful. Ignoring it was his only option. Instead Dust picked through the scattered debris with efficiency, pulling out anything that looked remotely useful. Meanwhile, the useless lump of bones that he was, Killer ignored the pile of garbage, opting to focus on the moss growth nearby. He leaned against a crumbling wall, idly twirling a bone in his fingers, while G stood at the edge of the dump, his sockets scanning the area warily.

“This place is a death trap,” G muttered, his voice low. He was rubbing his arms just below the sleeves, as if he was cold. Dust can’t tell if it’s a nervous habit or nicotine withdrawal already setting in. “We shouldn’t linger.”

“Relax,” Killer said, his tone light and airy. “Nobody’s gonna sneak up on us. Right, Dust?”

Dust didn’t answer immediately, his focus on a gross canister that might hold water. The phantom’s voice hissed in his ear, apparently bored. Keep moving. Don’t waste time.

“We’ll move when we’re ready,” Dust muttered aloud, earning a sharp glance from G.

Before Dust could even move to another pile, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the tunnel. G tensed, his grip loosening from his awkward self-hug. Killer’s grin returned, sharp and dangerous.

"Looks like we’ve got company," Killer said, his voice practically a purr. "Let’s make this quick."

The footsteps grew louder, a deliberate, steady pace that echoed ominously through the damp tunnel. Dust straightened, slipping the rusted canister into his inventory with one hand while his other prepared to summon magic. G shifted to the side, positioning himself closer to a jagged outcropping for partial cover, while Killer stood his ground, his grin gleaming in the dim light.

The figure that emerged was a thick monster, clad in patched armor with cracks that told stories of previous battles. It reminded him almost of Knight-Knight, the monsters that guarded Hotland. A long slash went down his helmet to his chest plate, not splitting the metal but severely denting it. His gaze swept over the group, lingering on Killer’s cocky stance and Dust’s calculating stillness. His expression twisted into a sneer.

“What’re a bunch of weaklings like you doing in our dump?” the monster snarled, his voice grating like sandstone on granite.

Killer’s grin widened, the kind of grin that promised trouble. “Weaklings? Buddy, I’ve seen tougher rats. Wanna see who’s really weak?” He flipped his knife with casual ease, catching it mid-air.

G hissed under his breath, “Killer, don’t—”

And really, why does he even try? G seriously should have learned by now. The hulking monster charged with a roar, his heavy boots splashing through the shallow puddles. Dust darted to the side, his movements swift and silent, while G cursed and braced himself for impact. Killer laughed as he leaped forward, meeting the charge head-on with a slash of his knife.

The fight was chaotic, the tunnel filling with the thud of bone and the sound of heavy impacts. Dust moved like a shadow; his strikes precise as he aimed for the monster’s exposed joints. Killer fought with wild abandon, his magic flaring erratically but effectively, while G played defense, using bones to parry and block.

The monster was strong, but he was no match for the combined ferocity of the three skeletons. With a final blow from Dust’s blade, the monster collapsed into dust, his growls fading into labored wheezes as his lungs crumbled from inside out, before crumbling altogether. Killer wiped his knife on his sleeve, his grin still in place.

“Well, that was fun,” he said, his tone casual as if they hadn’t just been in a life-or-death struggle.

“Fun?” G snapped, his sockets blazing with irritation. His skull and shirt were soaking wet from a dodge, drenching his whole body when he moved. “That was reckless! What if there had been more of them?”

“But there weren’t,” Killer replied, unbothered. He nudged the monster dust with his foot, checking for anything useful. “See? All good.”

Dust ignored their bickering, his focus shifting to the monster’s belongings. Aside from a few scraps of metal and a battered bag, there wasn’t much to salvage. Metal wasn't useful to a traveler, they needed processed goods. The bag contained a puff jacket, neon green and worn thin in places. Flecks of the coat came off it like paint chips, the neon particles landing in the dark blue cloudy water below, but the fabric was intact. He tossed it to G without a word.

G caught it, holding it up with a grimace. “This is hideous.”

“Wear it or freeze,” Dust said flatly, moving to examine the rest of the debris.

 

By nightfall, they’d found an alcove deeper in the Waterfall tunnels. Killer navigated the area with ease, annoyingly refusing to answer any questions G asked. While the cave was small and damp, it provided some shelter from the annoying residents outside. G, finally, begrudgingly pulled on the jacket, muttering under his breath about his standards dropping by the second.

Killer sat near the entrance, sharpening a piece of scrap metal he’d picked up earlier. “We’ll head back to the dump tomorrow. There’s bound to be something useful if we dig deeper.”

Dust nodded, settling against the wall. The phantom was unusually quiet, though its presence lingered at the edge of his awareness. At least it was shutting up for the night, that in and of itself was unusual. G sat cross-legged near the center of the alcove, the puff jacket doing little to hide his obvious discomfort. He either really hated the color green, or it had a tag or something poking his bones. Dust obliterated any giggle that could emerge at the thought. Been there, done that. It’s the only reason he learned to sew, those stupid things always had tags where they were most annoying. Plus, they never came down fully intact, but at least he has room for customization.

They fell into an uneasy silence, the tension from the day’s fight still hanging in the air. Sleep came slowly, each of them keeping one eye open out of habit. Dust kept his eye open the longest, opting for precautions, but the area Killer had found them was quite secluded, and after three hours with no movement or travel outside the alcove, he fell into an uneasy sleep.

The next morning, they returned to the dump, their movements more methodical this time. The tension in the air was palatable, likely due to poor sleep and the dampness. Dust is surprised they werent used to it already. After murdering everyone and before resets, it was one of the only places he could go that wasnt chock-full of memories. He slept in the caves until he dusted or the world reset. It wasn't comfortable, but its the best someone like him deserved. Ignoring the thoughts, he turned his attention to the dump. He sifted through the debris with practiced efficiency, while G kept watch and Killer rummaged noisily through a pile of rotten wood and rusted tools.

Their scavenging was interrupted by a sudden, sharp crack in the air. A portal shimmered into existence a few yards away, its edges unstable and flickering. The group tensed; weapons drawn as a young skeleton stepped through. Dust hadn't seen a babybones of any age since Papyrus’s elementary years. For several moments, he's genuinely stunned silent at the scene.

He was smaller than any of them, maybe 12 or 13 years old, his posture unassuming but his wide sockets filled with curiosity. A strange device buzzed faintly in his hands, its lights casting a faint glow on his face. He paused, his gaze sweeping over the group.

“Interesting,” the young skeleton muttered, his voice nervous but tinged with awe. “Anomalies.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Killer asked, his tone sharp as he stepped forward.

The young skeleton didn’t answer immediately, his focus shifting to his device. “It’s… still effecting the timeline, but it’s just moving around it. Unprecedented…”

“Care to explain, or are you just gonna stand there babbling?” G snapped, his magic almost flaring at the ready.

The young skeleton sighed, ignoring the others while shaking his head. He fiddled with his device, and another portal began to form. “Give two degrees of separation when encountering hostile entities, then report back to base…” He trailed off, stepping backward into the portal.

“Hey, wait—” Killer started, but the skeleton ran through a second portal before he could finish.

A moment of silence passed before Killer grinned, turning to the others. “Guess that’s our ride.”

Dust hesitated, but the phantom’s voice hissing in his ear. Oh please, keep following! A second of hesitation passed, as Dust tried to judge the unusual joy coming from the hallucination’s tone, only for it to be interrupted by it continuing. It’s so fun seeing you make a mess of everything; the drama is exciting! With a resigned nod, he stepped toward the portal. G groaned, muttering curses under his breath as he followed. Unlike the previous portals, these were opaque, with only colors visible through the magic. Dust blinked rapidly as he emerged out the other side, the brightness quickly fading into something more manageable.

They emerged into a dull, gray-toned world, the stark contrast to Waterfall almost blinding. The air smelled of sulfur, and the distant sound of techno music floated through the walls. Before they could get their bearings, a slouched woman wandered through the hallway nearby, wearing a bright pink bathrobe and loungewear, tied around her waist.

Undyne’s eyes widened in shock before she fumbled for something in her pocket. Killer nearly jumped her, but a quick glance from Dust stopped him. It proved to be the right choice as she only pulled out a cell phone of some type, surely to call for help. “You’ve g-got ten seconds to explain w-what you’re doing here before I zap you.”

Killer smirked, his tone light. “Oh, this ought to be fun.”

Notes:

Sorry about the lateness. It's not safe where I'm at right now, and I'm stressed out of my mind. I'm not going to die persay, but I am constantly torn between threat of illegal imprisonment or loss of my home and belongings. The fact I have to put that in formal wording instead of saying 'hey, I have no choice to comply to unethical orders and even then they can take my shit from me' is a little nauseating.

I'm not going to ramble. I'm just tired. Anger is so tiring, and fear is even more so. I'm just numb at this point. Hope is hard to grow in flooded marshlands, especially when it's meant to grow in meadows and mountains.

Chapter 47

Summary:

Chapter warnings-
Murder

Undyne stands prepared like that, a few seconds passing as she evaluates the three intruders in her home base. Killer’s mocking and intimidating smile surely didn’t help matters, but the lack of movement apparently settled her enough to continue the conversation, albeit at taser-point.

“Who are you, and h-how did you get in?” Her grip on the phone relaxes, allowing her to adjust her grip, but her hand is still on the button for the magic bullets. It reminds Dust of Alphys’s lazer-phone mixture that got popular after Mettaton used them in the battle against the human- in the timeliness where anyone survived that long, anyways. Dumbasses number one and two don’t respond, and Dust realizes it’s because he’s become the de-facto leader in the absence of their sludge teleporting taxi.

A wave of utter contempt passes over Dust before he can clamp down on it, but he takes the yoke of leadership anyways. These idiots would find a way to mess it up anyways. Dust moves his hands in front of him, still visible and out turned, trying to seem harmless. At least it’s Undyne, if it was a Judge like he used to be, they would see through the façade in a second. It’s why LV was measured, after all.

Dust opted for half-truths, the strongest lie. “Ello. Sorry, just passing through. Accidental teleportation mishap. We’ll be out of your hair in a few minutes.” Killer snorts in front of him, and Dust can literally feel G’s incredulous stare, but it seems to work, Undyne changing from attack to questioning. There is no trust in her eyes, but he can work with curiosity.

“Uh- is this an unofficial project from another department or something? O-or non-sanctioned work?” Undyne stammers for a second, and the entire scene feels like uncanny valley to Dust, who only ever saw Undyne stammer at her first date with Alphys. “Not that I care! I-I’m no snitch! Uh, I j-just didn’t see an email about planned testing for this week, a-and something like that would need the CORE for power, which m-means I need to know for any p-power surges-“ The taller fish trails off, avoiding eye contact with them, and Dust had to put a hand on Killer’s shoulder to keep him from lunging at the opening. He’s good at turning away suspicion, he’s done it so many times when he needed access to the shelter set up during evacuation. He can do this.

“Heh, yeah, we… well, the less you know, the better, right? Obligated reporter and all that? Less information that gets to the Royal Guard.” Dust doesn’t smile, it looks wrong on him with his permanent semi-smile, but he injects polite intent into his voice.

Undyne laughs awkwardly at that, but lowers her weapon. “H-hah! That’s fair- s-sorry about that. You know, restricted access in these labs just makes me jumpy and all, uh, no one else is ever down here, so…” She squirms for a moment, uncertain. “S-so… you just wanna-?”

G takes the proffered mercy. “Please, I don’t want to be in here any longer then necessary.” Dust nodded, realizing G was looking at him for approval.

“O-of course! F-follow me, I can take us u-up…” The fish monster turned around quickly, heading towards whatever exit. The moment her back was to them, Killer pounced, sending a bone barrage right through her back. She didn’t have a second to suffer, turning into a cloud of dust after the third or fourth hit, and she fell in a heap with her clothes, dead.

Dust was first to react, or notice fully, and he just grimaced at the pile on the ground. He didn’t speak, but his reaction was read by Killer, who just kept his unhinged smile, almost looking at Dust for approval.

G, however, was not so calm. “What the hell!? What was that for, we were almost out, she didn’t even care?” He moved towards Killer, nearly in his face. “what was even the point of that?!”

Killer kept his uncanny smile, not even a flinch. “She would have told someone. She said it herself- no one ever comes down here, so we have it all to ourselves for now. No one knows about the True Lab, we’ll be good here until some other multiversal hopping vagrant gets through.”

“That doesn’t mean kill her! We don’t even have a guarantee- hell, what is Undyne even doing in the lab anyways, she’s not a fuckin’ scientist!” G moved out of Killer’s face, unable to tear his eyes from Undyne’s dust pile. “Sh-she wasn’t doing anything, it was completely pointless!”

Killer’s smile lowered from maniacal to slightly-normal. He didn’t say anything, instead opting to watch G freak out, a moment of silence for his misplaced grief.

Dust, however, didn’t care. “We’ve got no guarantee that someone else would be teleporting through here. What, 500 resets and not a single instance of multiversal traveler? What if no one comes?” He wasn’t mad or upset, instead just playing devil’s advocate.

Killer shrugged. “Then we wait until we fall down, or enough ‘negative emotion’ builds up around fish-breath’s disappearance that Nightmare comes to check it out.”
“You are a terrible planner.” Dust deadpanned, just done. Killer shrugged again, unfazed by the comment.

G whirled around to them again. “And that couldn’t have been done without killing her? Newsflash- there are other ways to create misery without killing someone randomly ! Stars, you’re all freaking maniacs!” Flinging his hands, G growled, spinning around with force. He didn’t hesitate, instead, punched a concrete brick wall, solidly cracking it and surely a few of his own bones. He doesn’t hit it again, but he cries out in anger and frustration, unsated by his violence.

Silence settles over them like a blanket, more smothering then comforting. Killer, apparently bored by the change, got up and poked at Undyne’s pile, looking for supplies. When he found none, he moved on to other areas of the lab, searching for random materials, probably food.
G stood in place, his breath ragged as he shook out his injured hand. His sockets locked onto the ground, as though fixing his gaze there might keep the boiling rage within him from spilling over. But it didn’t work—not this time.

“You’re not even listening, are you?” His voice trembled with suppressed fury, directed at no one in particular. “Of course you’re not. Why would either of you care?”
Neither Killer nor Dust responded immediately. Killer was crouched over a pile of discarded equipment, idly inspecting a broken syringe as though it might contain the secrets of the universe. Dust leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, his gaze somewhere far beyond the confines of the lab.

“She didn’t have to die,” G continued, his voice rising. “She didn’t even care that we were here! We could’ve just left—she would’ve let us go!”

Killer didn’t look up, tossing the syringe aside with a soft clatter. “She’d have figured it out eventually,” he said, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather. “Doesn’t matter anyway. This place isn’t real.”

G growled, his sockets narrowing. “What the hell does that mean?” He waved his hands around the room, settling violently on Undyne’s remains. “It sure fuckin’ feels real!”

Killer straightened, turning to face him with that same infuriating grin plastered on his face. “This world, G. It’s just another story, like all the others. Doesn’t matter what we do here; they’ll never get out. Reset, over and over again, like it never happened. So why does it matter if one person bites the dust early? Break the script.”

G’s sockets widened, and his voice cracked with anger. “You don’t know that! You don’t know anything about this world or what happens here! You can’t just—”

“Can’t just what?” Killer interrupted, taking a step closer. “Can’t just face the facts? Look around, G. This place is already falling apart. Doesn’t take a genius to figure out it’s not gonna last. Whether they broke the barrier or not, it relies on the back of a demonic kid with the power of God in their toddler hands.”

Dust shifted slightly, his gaze dropping to the ground. “He’s not wrong,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a murmur. “Nothing is permanent. Even when it feels like it is… it’s not.”

G’s head snapped toward him, a mix of disbelief and frustration on his face. It looks hysterical combined with the ridiculous neon green puff jacket reducing the capacity of his movements. “How can you be so—so detached from all of this? She was alive, Dust. She trusted us!”

Dust didn’t meet his gaze. His voice was flat, distant, like he was speaking to himself more than anyone else. “People come back. Or they don’t. It doesn’t matter. Not in the end.”
G let out a sharp, bitter laugh, running a hand over his skull. “Stars, you’re both insane. Completely insane. Is that what it takes to survive now? Just… shutting everything off? Pretending nothing matters?”

Killer shrugged, unbothered by G’s outburst. “You call it pretending. I call it coping.”

G’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, his frustration boiling over. He turned sharply, slamming his fist against the nearest metal table. The impact left a dent, but the gesture did nothing to quiet the storm raging inside him.
“This isn’t coping,” he said, his voice low and trembling. “This is giving up. Giving up on everything and everyone.” He spun back around to face them, his sockets blazing. “But I’m not like you. I can’t just turn it all off and pretend it doesn’t hurt.”

For a moment, the room fell silent, the weight of G’s words hanging heavy in the air. Killer leaned back against the wall, his grin fading slightly, though his casual demeanor remained. Dust didn’t move, his gaze still fixed on the ground, his expression unreadable. He almost corrected G- he was them, in someway. Different experiences, different people, but the same basis. All it takes is some tragedy to change a monster.

Killer finally broke the silence, his voice softer but no less resigned. “Then don’t. Hold onto it. Let it hurt. Won’t change a damn thing.”

G’s laugh this time was quieter, almost broken. He turned away from them, moving toward a darker corner of the lab where he could sit and bury his head in his hands. The weight of the conversation pressed down on him, heavy and suffocating. Every word they said felt like a nail in the coffin of his hope—hope he didn’t even realize he’d been clinging to until now.

Meanwhile, Killer returned to scavenging, his movements purposeful but unhurried. He dug through broken shelves and overturned crates, his expression darkening each time he came up empty-handed. He picked up a dented thermos, shook it, and frowned when it made no sound. He tossed it aside with a frustrated sigh, muttering under his breath.

Dust hadn’t moved from his spot by the wall. He stared at nothing, his gaze distant and unfocused. The phantom whispered in his ear, mocking G’s outburst and Killer’s cynicism, but Dust didn’t react. He was used to the voice, used to the endless noise in his head. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered.

The lab grew colder as the hours dragged on, the oppressive silence broken only by the occasional clatter of metal or Killer’s soft curses. They were alive, for now. But Dust couldn’t shake the feeling of despair.

He sighs into the oppressive darkness of the lab, but no one glances his direction. For once, he actually wishes for a reset now, instead of his normal indifference waiting for the change. The cycle doesn’t end, but at least it will get him out of this new, unpredictable scene. Predictability is infinitely better then the uncertainty.

Notes:

I'm not late, you're the one that's late. Time is a human construct that I choose to break when it's convenient for me.

Either way, I'm doing better now. Had a whole medical crisis again, but not enough to warrant a hospital stay this time (Yay to not murdering my bank account!).

I miss my home, I miss so much about my home that it's not even understandable. I miss playing the wii at my friends house in the spring beginning heat, I miss the subtle smell of smoke as my aunt pretends not to smoke while cooking. I miss the fruit at the fruit stand that I don't even remember the name of, and I miss the cliff we used to throw rocks off into the water. I miss the ridiculous amount of Nutella that was put on everything sweet and the stupid marshmallow treats that everyone loved (for no reason, because they suck). I miss the counterfeit Pokémon cards we got for a mere fraction of the cost in America. I miss walking on the beach and seeing dozens of families, multiple generations; no one was ever alone on a trip, let alone at home. It was safe to walk everywhere, there was not a dangerous corner in the entire city. People spoke to everyone,
no one truly knew each other, but it didnt matter, because you talked to them all the same. I miss childhood in my home more than I miss home, it's only natural, but just being there, even once more, would be a blessing.

Eh. There's my rant for the week. Enjoy the chapter. Eat something and drink some water. If you feel real adventurous, brush you teeth. Someone's proud of you out there, even if its only me.

Chapter 48

Summary:

Chapter warnings-
Suicidal thoughts

Night is led into a two-story house from the back door, ushered quickly. He can’t tell if it’s to keep him out of the snow, keep him from running away, or from someone seeing him. It’s probably all three.

It turns out the shackles can be disconnected from the chains, which leaves Night without an opening to teleport. A quick turn of the key to the right opened the first chain link, freeing Night from the restrictive chain itself, but leaving the anklet shackles on, still blocking his magic. Night’s restlessness and disappointment must show on his face, because Sans smirks, but says nothing.

The rope comes off next, freeing his hands, before he’s shepherded out the door like a toddler. It’s distressingly like when the village was first founded, his brother and himself being herded to buildings to bless each one, crowded out of the doors and into another one within seconds. Night bites down the annoyance that threatens to snap at the other skeleton, he knows it’s probably just the memories building up rather than any actual intent to harm on Sans’ part.

Sans taps quickly on the door, three short knocks, then two knocks with a break in between. This must be a signal for someone to let him in, because the door opens quietly, the opener hidden behind the door. A silent communication obviously passes through the two monsters, some sort of non-verbal communication, whether instinctual or actually telepathic, and the monster shrinks behind the door even farther, downright cowering in fear. Raw anxiety, like electricity in his mouth, radiates off the other monster, and it takes him a second to place it. It’s the taller skeleton, Sans’ brother.

Before Night can say hi, or anything of the sort, Sans stares him down and motions him out of the doorway, letting the taller skeleton close the door. Night is stuck standing awkwardly by a table with four chairs, unsure what to do with himself as the other monster obviously fights against his own anxiety.

Sans speaks first. “Having invoked HC.23, you are now a temporary member of my household. You shall be treated as such, expected to do mild chores around the house and keep yourself clean.” A spike of alarm and something like distress comes from the taller skeleton, before quickly followed by surprise. It doesn’t wane, instead back into wariness and anxiety. “You shall take the guest room in the basement as your bed. I expect you to make it every morning, and keep the floor clear of junk and clothes. Other than that, your room belongs to you until I release you under HC.23, confirmed by two other members of the community. Do you understand?”

Framed and cornered by the table behind him and the doorway, Night nodded, feeling too off-put to argue about this again. It’s unnecessary and painful, this game of pretend, and Night hopes it ends quickly.

Sans, behind his wall of indifference, lets out an emotional sigh of some sort, something like exasperation or pity. Maybe grief. It’s gone quickly, leaving Night to guess what it was. He switches subjects quickly instead. “Please sit on the couch while I prepare your room.” Sans walks towards a door near the upstairs staircase. Before opening it, Sans looks back with a glare, staring Night down. “I expect you to mind your manners.”

Night barely avoided rolling his eyes, instead nodding. He still didn’t feel quite up to talking, mostly because he sees no need to right now. However, this is quickly pressured by the movement of the taller skeleton from the back door, shifting from foot to foot. Due to the angle, it probably feels like Night is blocking the way out of the tight corner behind the door, so Night moves to the side towards the kitchen, allowing the skeleton to move past him. There’s more than enough room to avoid Night, a good two stride lengths, and this apparently comforts Sans enough to head down the stairs. Shortly after, the other skeleton walks quickly past him, anxiety spiking close to terror as he gets within lunging distances, but quickly dies down when he gets behind the couch away from Night.

Understanding when he’s not welcome, Night keeps his distance by standing up near the table, avoiding eye contact with the other skeleton as he somewhat hides behind the couch. It takes a couple of seconds for understanding to pass through the other monster, and something like mortification zaps through him after. Nervousness builds back up quickly, and the skeleton searches through his pockets frantically for something.

He pulls out a notebook and a pen, made of metal rather than a quill. He scrawls something on the paper, before moving closer to Night to show him the page.

Please sit down!

Night, still unsure, goes to pull out the chair at the table, but the skeleton shakes his head frantically, before pointing to the couch. With understanding dawning on him, Night moved over towards the couch as the other skeleton backed up carefully, sitting against the wall, facing Night the whole way. This odd dance continued until Night say on the couch, staring at the other monster to confirm approval of his position.

The other monster expresses anxiety after a bit, wringing his wrists, so Night changes his area of focus to the paintings on the wall, some random bone drawings. He’s content with this setup until the other monster writes something down in the notebook again, intent on asking a question.

What is your name?

Night feels like smacking himself. “You’d let me in your house even without knowing my name?” Genuinely disoriented and a little bit confused, Night shook his head, realizing himself. “My name is Night. What is your name?”

The other monster hesitates greatly, seemingly overwhelmed with the two separate lines of dialog. He writes something down, before scribbling over it, and flipping the page.

My name is Papyrus.

It sounds vaguely familiar to Night, but it fits the other skeleton. It’s nice having a name instead of mentally calling him ‘tall skeleton’, and he notes it down. The other monster seemed shy, but not that bad, and so far, was pretty nice company.

There’s a lull in the conversation, not enough to bother Night. It doesn’t seem to bother Papyrus either, until a sudden spike of shame and panic hits him, as if he realized he should be still conversing with Night. His face is stuck in that lost, panicked look from before, like when Night first found him, and it takes a second for Night to realize it’s hardly changed from that position either. It’s difficult to notice the lack of facial changes when Papyrus’s soul is so expressive.

“it’s okay, you don’t have to keep making small talk with me. I don’t need to be entertained.” Night spoke instead, hoping to ease the other skeleton. He seemed quite young, though Night can never tell. It was better when he knew everyone, knew when they were born or when they came to the village. Then he always knew how to act and treat them: quiet and childish in front of elders, aloof in front of teenagers, and distant from the children. The teens would go after him more viciously if they felt their younger siblings were in danger, so staying away was always the best option.

Night really hopes that Papyrus is not a child. He doesn’t want to have to run with metal anklets on his legs, regardless of his skill in dodging and weaving through trees.

Instead, he stays quiet, feeling as Papyrus slowly calms from his previous state of anxiety and panic. It winds down slowly, like twine unravelling, and its somewhat soothing to feel, even if a little uncomfortable. He makes sure to keep his eyes away from Papyrus’ personal bubble, just in case Sans comes back up the stairs. Speaking of which, Night cannot pin down the other monster’s age either. He speaks like an elder, but firmly feels like a teenager, maybe even a younger adult. His emotions are less stringy and poorly woven than a teenagers would be, instead feeling neat and uniform like the starting stitches of a scarf. Despite that, his emotional palate’s length, per say, if it was a knitted scarf, is short, not complex and layered like an elder or an adult, so it’s difficult to pinpoint, like everything else about the skeleton is. Too organized to be a teenager, but too short to be an adult.

Night relaxes despite himself, finally feeling the warmth settle into his bones. Normally, it wouldn’t bother him too much, but the lack of eating much recently has made his magic stiff and difficult, leaving him cold. He already left the jerky he made with Alphys by the pine tree, it had gotten covered in dirt and marrow by the time he had calmed down, so it wasn’t worth keeping. The sweetbread helped, but Night only ate part of his meal during dinner yesterday, half of it spilling as he tried to figure out how to eat with his hands bound behind his back. Night flushed at the memory, embarrassed and ashamed he even tried in the first place. Preparing meals for Alphys and Killer made him soft, getting him to eat more often than he was after the incident at the tree.

Night is honestly not sure what he ate during that time. He was sick for several days after the incident, violently ill with the mealy texture and too-sweet taste of the dozens of apples he had eaten. After that, he just really didn’t bother too much, and rarely ate fruit to stave off the worst of the hunger pains when they arose. He didn’t have the heart to eat the jerky his brother made. Definitely not then, barely so now. The fact that Night didn’t starve to death is surprising, and only lends credence to the theory that their souls and bodies are weird.

Night still didn’t have his bag, so he couldn’t eat the two sachets of berries. He wouldn’t eat the jerky his brother made, its still in the bottom of his bag, but sensing it sometimes staved off the effects of hunger by sheer guilt and shame. His brother’s aura fading around the food as it grows dry and hard, the sensation is nauseating enough to shut Night up from complaining.

If he got his bag, he could use his knife and try to make a construct to break his soul now. Then he wouldn’t have to deal with the shame, hunger, or grief. Win-win.

It is probably why Sans hasn’t given him his bag then. If he had gone through it, he would find the disarray and the poorly cleaned knife, and it wouldn’t be hard to connect the dots.

Night stays lost in thought for a long time, staring off into space. The occasional mental hum or flicker of emotion from Papyrus nearby is more soothing than it has any right to be, especially considering it symbolizes his new situation. He wondered if he could convince the monster to give him his bag, or even break his chains. Papyrus didn’t know his name, he probably doesn’t know why Sans wants to keep him all of a sudden.

Night doesn’t get much of a chance to ask when Sans comes back up the stairs, a cardboard box and an obviously full inventory in tow. The weight means nothing to him apparently, because his back is as straight as a wood board’s.

“You will be required to make your bed now. I have removed any objects of personal value. I will go through your bag before giving you your things.” Sans glances back to Night, scrutinizing him. “Anything you’d like to declare?”

What is he supposed to say, a bloody knife? “Uh. A knife?” Night replied, honestly not sure on what to say.

He was given a glare worthy of a murder. Sans slowly spits out a more intelligible form of the question. “Do you have any illegal substances in your bag.”

How is he supposed to know? “Uh, what does that entail?”

Sans looks very tired all of sudden, like he wants to slam his head into a wall. Night almost feels bad for even asking. Sans mutters something under his breath dangerously close to a curse but lifts his head before Night can bother deciphering it. “Echoflower, ground cyfer, purified danderflower, goldenflower and ManuMD.”

Night recognizes two of the plants, echo flower as the flower Alphys showed him, and cyfer, a tubular plant that grows on the surface near marshes. The later two are catch-alls for weeds and non-useful plants on the surface, so they don’t tell him much, but he doesn’t have any in his bag anyways. The final is literally gibberish to Night, so he’s probably fine. “Oh. No, none of those plants are in my bag.”

Sans raised an eyebrow bone, as if to ask, and you have other plants? but moves to shift through his bag, unceremoniously spilling it onto the table. Night resisted the urge to jump the couch to grab at his stuff, only because it would probably get him knocked out again. Instead he shifts around the couch, tentacles brushing along the back anxiously, and hastily walks over to the table, catching a rolling tube of magic before it crashed into the ground.

Several bottles and tubes of magic are laid out on the table, different colors, contrasted by the dry and shriveled plants, leaves, and other randoms from the corner of his bag. The two sachets full of berries are obviously smushed a little by the three books stuffed into the bag, and Night is grateful for a minute he had the paranoia to put some of the books into his inventory. Cleaning pages of books are a pain. Along side it is a few other bits and bobs of Night’s stuff, a multipurpose tool, his knife, the bandages and Dream’s jerky. The sight of the last two hurt Night’s soul, but if Sans notices, he gives no sign.

Sans inspects the magic bottles more carefully, and an unfiltered spike of pure curiosity came off him as he tilted them side to side. No doubt wondering what these were for as it’s far from a normal thing to carry. He doesn’t seem interested in the berries but lingered on the titles of the books for a few seconds, seemingly interested. The barrier of indifference breaks momentarily when he observes the knife, with some of Night’s outer layer and marrow still stuck on it. The emotion is something like nausea and fear, perhaps closer to malaise. The cyan is violently bright against the dark ink-like sludge on the tip, even with the knowledge that it’s less saturated then normal.

Sans grabbed the knife quickly, pulling another thing from out of his inventory and into the box. The knife was quickly sent to his inventory in its place, and Night’s soul mourns at the loss. That knife is one of the only gifts he ever got from the village, hell, it might be one of the only Dream ever got either. The tension must show on his face, because Sans idly comments on it. “You shall receive all your items once you are cleared.” The skeleton hesitates clearly for a second, before speaking in a lower, more gentle tone. “It will be returned to you in perfect condition.”

It occurs to Night that Sans is trying to comfort him, in his own, factual way. It’s uncomfortable, in a nice way, Night just isn’t sure what to do with that information or kindness.

Sans returns to his normal tone, readjusting the box in his hands. A shimmer of blue magic is the only sign of external stabilization. “Please enter your room now. You may take the rest of your supplies down, including the multitool. If I find that you have harmed yourself or anyone else in the house with it, I will take it away.” He moves towards the stairs leading upward, getting Papyrus’s attention and tilting his head, indicating to Papyrus to follow. “We shall have lunch in three hours. Please do not eat outside of scheduled times, and stay in your room until I come collect you.”

Freshly out of energy to complain or even feel annoyed, Night deflated, residing himself to pick up the mess of his satchel on the table. He ends up just holding the three books in his arms instead of in the bag, getting them inside in the first place was an ordeal and not worth the effort again. The distant sound of bones rustling tells Night that the other two have gone up the stairs, and he follows suit downwards. Shuffling with the door handle, Night heads down the barebones staircase, towards his new imposed imprisonment.

Notes:

Yo. I'm back now.

I still got 20k words written for this. The only reason I didn't post them is because im depressed out of my mind. A little less so right now, but it's hard to post chapters for some reason, even though they are already written.

At least this is my favorite part of the story. This is the closet you'll ever get to a slice of life story with SwapFell Gold and fricken Nightmare Sans, what an insane combo. The next 20k words is literally plot with a slice of life flavoring, it's great.

Anyways, enjoy. And take care of yourself, because someone really cares about you.

Chapter 49

Summary:

Chapter warnings-
Severe bullying, harassment, brief mentions of child abuse.

Night ignored the hunger in his stomach vehemently, instead focusing on the minimal setup of the bed. There were only two blankets, a thin one and a thick one, and for the life of him, Night cannot tell which order they are supposed to go. In the times he had hospitality classes, mostly for manners and etiquette, they always had four or more blankets, a thin one for the bottom to cover the sheet, a comforter, thick for winter months, a medium one, for normal sleep, and a decorative thin one on top, tying it all together. If Night had a say, he would put the thin one on bottom and thick, fuzzy one on top, and just use that one for normal sleep, but with Sans in the equation, he can’t be sure. He really would rather not get yelled at here, being defenseless and without his preferred coping skill. He hasn’t counted out the possibility of being attacked either, not with the uncertain of Papyrus’s age in the mix.

Giving up on the dilemma, Night folded the thin blanket into the bed first, rucking corners and making it snug. The threw the fuzzier blanket on top, straightened out the edges, and left it at that, instead organizing his random goods out of the way.

His inventory consisted of two more books to put along side his others, making a total of five books. The persevering mage’s book and anatomy and physiology of humans were both in his inventory, joined alongside the middle-schooler’s guide to magic, physical properties of magic, and foundations and principles of magic. Night isn’t sure if this place is as human-obsessed as Alphys’s world, so he’s glad his more incriminating book was in his inventory, but the lack of inspection to the other three books leaves him uneasy. The lack of information was driving him insane, and he still isn’t sure what to do about resolving it.

Night kept everything else in his satchel and put it up on a counter against the wall. The books stayed stacked next to it, given the lack of nightstand or other table where Night would normally place it.

The room feels eerily bare and spotless, the walls white with a trim of pale blue along the bottom. This is in stark contrast to the wooden bed with sanded joints, well-worn compared to the bright walls. The counter is less so, made of a strange black material, scuffed in areas, but the entire area carries this vibe of stark and firm separation. The only light is at the top, with a strange curved lamp lacking any flame suspended by a cord.

Too curious now to satiate it, Night stood on top of the bed and brought himself to eye level with the lamp. Electricity, like a monster’s magic, ran through the metal filament within the curved glass, while the cord up top was thick and coated in some sort of blubber, similar to the material on the counters if more flexible. Night was willing to bet that some sort of continual filament ran through the whole system, transferring the energy from one place to the next. The real curiosity is how they gathered the electric magic anyways.

His inspection is interrupted by a knock at the door. Night jumped, nearly hitting his head on the roof, too surprised to do much as he waited for the person to enter. When no one entered, he got down from the bed to open the door.

Papyrus was standing at the door, wringing his hands. His pocket was obviously carrying his notepad from earlier and a pen, it poorly fit within the hoodie pocket’s somewhat thin material. Night just stared for a moment, until he felt a whisper of distress come from the monster. He stumbled backwards, welcoming the monster in with a hand motion.

“H-hello, Papyrus.” Night stammered out, still uncertain of his expected behavior. Sans obviously adores and protects the taller skeleton, but he’s not sure whether Papyrus is a child or not. If he is younger, it could result in a beating, and Night rather not deal with that. Older siblings are always protective and defensive of their younger siblings, especially when they are children themselves, and Night still has scars from learning that the first time. It’s fair, if someone hurt Dream, he would probably threaten them, but Night never once hurt a child that came to him, even if they came to throw stones again.

Night ignores the cries of Brad Bear’s brother that echoed in his skull, along with all the others he killed during his rampage. It sickens him if he lingers for too long, the torrent of regret and rage is strong enough to kill him.

He didn’t realize he was gripping at his scarred wrist until a sound came from Papyrus, along with a wave of panic. He squeezed his mostly healed wound one last time, mostly to ground himself, before switching his attention to Papyrus, lowering his hand from his arm. His still-healing shoulder protested at the movement, and Night had to genuinely resist the urge to aggravate that wound too.

The taste of concern and waning panic faded as Night lowered his grip, but the uncertainty remained as Papyrus shifted leg to leg. His hands fiddled with his notepad, apparently brought out from his pocket while Night wasn’t paying attention. Night gave him a second to write down anything, but when he made no move to the notepad, he turned around and sat down on the bed, beckoning for him to join.

Papyrus repeated his movement from earlier in the communal room, shifting along the wall while facing Night before sitting on the furthest point of the bed from Night. Night felt a wave of concern and something like fear- it took him far too long to realize it was his own. Papyrus was obviously uncomfortable with him, and it was starting to freak him out as well.

Night almost reached for his arm again, but noticed Papyrus’ hawk-like gaze on him, and diverted to clicking his jaw instead. The sound echoed in the room painfully, causing Papyrus to wince, but no emotion came from the other monster, so it seemed fine.

“Um, did you want to discuss something? I can...” Night looked around the room desperately for something to talk about, absolutely anything to wane off the taste of discomfort and fear in his mouth. “I’ve got some books, do you like to read? Uh, its mostly magic books, I was researching something, but I can try and remember some stories I’ve read...” Night took a shallow breath, realizing he was rambling and not breathing properly. He paused to take a deeper breath, tasting only his own fear in the air. At the very least, he wasn’t freaking out Papyrus any more than his background anxiety and discomfort- as long as he could manage that, it was likely he could get away unscathed.

Without any input from Papyrus, Night instead focused on his five books- two human myth and magic books, one monster magic middle-schooler’s book, the Persevering mage’s book, and an advanced physics and magic book. It’s extremely specific and focused, and now that he’s thinking about it, it was probably one of the reasons Sans didn’t question all his magic samples. He probably looked like a scholar or scientist, transporting his normal wares.

His thought session and zone-out isn’t missed by Papyrus, who shuffles the blanket next to Night, attempting to grab his attention. He held out his notepad to Night, staying a good distance away but holding it close enough for Night to read.

What are your books about?

Night silently thanked all the stars for giving him something to discuss. “Currently, they’re all on magic. You know the types of magic, right?” A furious nod came from Papyrus, alongside something similar to curiosity or humor. “And how monsters use different types of magic, specific to their own personality and soul?” A second nod.

“Well, my… uh, friend, was in a bad situation that involved an old form of magic, something misunderstood or lost to time. She needed some help with magical principles, so I scrounged up some of my old text books to help her.” Night felt his soul pang in hurt and sadness at the mention of Alphys, but continued anyways. He tried to keep it vague, as he’s still not certain to the entire situation here with the barrier, so it’s best to keep the focus away from specifics. “I found some old ones on human magic as well, just in case.” He said idly, before continuing. “I’ve got some physics books as well, and a basic book on magic physics because I wasn’t sure how much she knew. That one was redundant, but better safe than sorry.”

A pang of curiosity came from Papyrus, before a wave of panic and realization crashed over him. The lost and panicked look from earlier came back full force as Papyrus got up quickly and ran to the little stack of books on the counter. Night had to keep himself from lunging at the books to defend them, fighting the instinct. Papyrus didn’t notice his jump, but still, thankfully, kept his distance from actually touching the books, instead gesturing to hide the books.

The panic didn’t wane, instead grew more frantic as he tried to gesture something with his hands. At Night’s confused and frightened look, or more accurately, his lack of action, Papyrus pulled out his notepad again, scrawling something quickly on the paper. Night squinted to read the messy handwriting.

Hide them! Inventory!

Night, a little baffled, complied, nearly jumping the entire length of the room to get the books in his inventory. He didn’t have much in there already, so it took up 5 of his 7 slots. He sent a questioning look Papyrus’ way, but he seemed occupied by writing something down on his notepad. Night hoped it was an explanation.

When Papyrus turned the pad around, it was obvious he had scrawled over his previous attempts and questions, crossing them out and rewriting them. Those books are censored. How?

The wave of hasty curiosity and discomfort washed away any remaining panic in Papyrus’ aura, but Night didn’t settle yet, opting to remain standing. “You mean the magic books? Or the human ones? How I got them?”

Papyrus nodded quickly, motioning him to lower his volume. Night complied, unconsciously whispering. “Uh.. I’ve owned them… for years?” His mistake quickly caught up with him, now he had to wiggle out of the explanation. “Sorry, I didn’t know. It’s been a while since I left… uh, Waterfall.”

Night was pulling ideas out of bunny wool, trying to come up with something that made sense, while also knowing nothing about the way this world works. Judging by the confusion coming from Papyrus still, he was severely failing.

Night was starting to freak out now, still unsure on how to get out of this situation. “I don’t really… get out much. I haven’t seen another person in a couple of years?” Papyrus was seemingly no longer listening, lost in thought. Stars, Night thought, I am completely fucked.

Papyrus didn’t continue his thoughts or express any further opinions, instead getting up quickly and rushing out the door, leaving Night alone. Dread flooded Night’s soul at the sight. He prepared himself for whatever punishment was going to happen next- physical or verbal. At least while it was in his inventory, they wouldn’t be able to take the books. Small victories.

Night sighed, the movement and stressful change in emotions unsettling his hunger. This was going to be a long afternoon.

Notes:

I've got so much stuff to do it isn't even funny. The worse part of it is that two-thirds of my schedule is dedicated to anxiety attacks.

It's funny, I'm a perfectly normal (lie), functional human being (lie) up until the moment you tell me something is important enough that more than 50 people will be seeing it. Then all thought goes out the window, because my expectations for myself are ridiculously high already. Expectations for what I'll show other people as my work? Impossibly high. I've never felt proud of a single one of my publicly available projects, ever. Maybe proud of my work put in to it, but the end result? Oh, I know it's fucking garbage.

Whatever. I hate this but I have to do it, and I knew what I was signing up for. Take care of yourselves this upcoming end of semester, because someone really cares about you.

Chapter 50

Summary:

Chapter warnings-
Panic attack, dissociation

It took a couple minutes, nearly half an hour, before Sans came charging into the room. A faint flicker of anger appeared behind the wall of apathy, barely enough to count as anger, and it felt more like bitterness, or even disappointment.

Night spent that entire half an hour trying not to scratch at his bones in anxiety. He did good, at first, until he started thinking of the possibilities of punishment, and then he started picking at his nearly-healed arm. At least he didn’t use the garden tool to actually break anything. Little victories.

Sans knocked, but it hardly mattered when he just crashed into the room, opening the door too swiftly. Instead, he jumped right into questions, not even going for the ‘courtesy questioning’ he did when they first kidnapped him. “Papyrus says you have human books.” Sans opted to remain standing, looking regal despite his somewhat dressed down appearance, standing at ease. Night couldn’t help the mild whimper that escaped his teeth at the stern tone, but it was so quiet that Night’s pride and dignity was probably still intact. Hopefully.

He swallowed harshly, nodding quickly under Sans’ gaze. Instead of getting angry, and yelling at him for bring contraband into the house, he changed tones, throwing up that wall of indifference stronger than ever. “How did you get ahold of these books, and why did you keep them?”

Night shook his head, uncertain at the unexpected change in pace. He was expecting yelling by now. “Uh. I don’t know- I mean, I can’t explain this in a way that w-would make sense, I just like books, and they were there, so…” Night’s disjointed defense fell apart quickly, fading away into a whisper.

Sans’ wall of indifference barely held back some sort of emotion, but it was gone too quick and moved too fast for Night to identify it. Instead, he shifted his hands, still holding them at ease behind his back. “Let me ask a related question. Why did you think it was acceptable to share these books with my brother?”

Night couldn’t hide the flinch that overtook him. It was physical, like he had been slapped. This, this was what he was expecting, what he was used to. The anger, the blame, the defensiveness. He prepared himself from the blows, loosening his upper joints and locking his lower ones so he could stand his ground when he was hit. Instead of answering, Night hung his head low, refusing to look at Sans, focusing on relaxing his upper body and breathing shallowly. It hurt more if he had inhaled beforehand, especially if he took a full breath before being hit. It’s like the air gets stuck in his ribcage, bouncing around like a balloon until he breaks at the seems. Never at the proper opening, always in the weakened areas, where the air lets out in a painful gasp, dry and harsh, swallowed by a wet cry.

Night could faintly feel his injured shoulder tensing up, and he forced it tighter, clenching down on the pain as the wound split again. Only then did he relax his magic, feeling the marrow leak slowly out of the split healing matrix. It was easier to relax it when it was already painful. It was like his attention waned on that location until after the main beating- why focus on protecting that spot, when it is already injured.

A stern sound came from the distance, like he was underwater, but it was too far away from Night to determine any meaning behind it. There was no emotion behind it, it was impossible to tell what intention was behind it, so he ignored it, focusing on relaxing his bones in preparation for the blows.

Why wasn’t he in pain yet? Sure, his shoulder hurt, but that was an old injury, he could tell, it felt like a scab picked open rather than a freshly inflicted bruise. In fact, no blows could be sensed anywhere on his body, and he wondered if his attackers decided it was less fun with no reaction, and just left him to drown. Another sound, softer, but closer this time, tried to reach him. It sounded like someone talking, almost reassuringly, but it wasn’t Dream, so it couldn’t be safe, not yet.

Despite himself, Night opened his eyes, not even realizing he had closed them. His breathing was still shallow, and he felt lightheaded, but breathing deeper currently felt impossible. Instead, Night tried to focus his blurry vision on the area around him.

Oh. It’s not green. It’s not outside, or in their treehouse, or in any wood cabin Night barely knows, because he’s not in the village. He’s in a light blue and grey room, in another world, in another universe. A flicker of movement catches his attention, and a finely-dressed skeleton is crouching in front of him, bright red and white. He looks like sharp edges and defense, but his mouth is downturned in a way that is round and soft, and Night can’t help but relax slightly at it. Dream gets that look too, concerned, and its so similar yet different that his soul cries out in pain.

Slowly, everything comes back around him like coming out of a bubble. The soft, too-warm blankets under his hands, the hovering touch of Sans, never lingering, always moving the air around his bones but never directly touching. The taste of tasteless indifference, like water, only flavored by the minerals around it, touched by concern and anger, and most of all, recognition,  or understanding. The room smells old, not dusty, but simply unused and recently disturbed. Night lingers on the furrow of eyebrow bones on Sans, its nothing special, but it’s nostalgic, painfully beautiful. It’s exactly like Dream’s, just ever so slightly different.

Night realizes that Sans is no longer talking, instead, staring at Night as if he asked a question. Not quite all there yet, Night just let out a warbling hum, his throat raw like he had be screaming. He know he wasn’t, he would never scream during a beating, no one could come for him, but Night bet he kept reflexively swallowing, irritating his throat.

Sans, seemingly realizing that Night was somewhat more coherent, sighed. He watched Night for a few more breaths, as if waiting for him to gather his faculties enough to provide an answer. When Night didn’t, he continued onward.

“I apologize. I did not mean to trigger you.” Sans stood upright, moving slower when Night immediately flinched back. “If you are willing, please tell me what I did wrong so I don’t do it again. I did not mean to make you feel so…” A beat of hesitation, and a flicker of something like shame behind the wall of indifference. “Afraid.”

Night, still fuzzy and trying to work on his breathing next, hummed again. He was too exhausted to move his head to nod, but the sound of acknowledgement seemed to be enough for the other skeleton, who shifted his hands again at rest behind his back. “Do you mind if I continue, or would you like to rest?”

Surprise flickered through Night, but Sans provided no explanation to the sudden… acceptance? Consideration. Night took a deeper breath, not quite full but getting there, and nodded, movements stiff and specific.

If Sans is surprised at all, he shows no indication. “…Why would you share censored books.. so haphazardly, in a home of someone you do not know?”

Night pondered if he actually cared or not about interruptions to the space-time continuum. He actually thought about it, the possible consequences of being brushed off, marked as insane, being used. It was hard when the fuzziness of his emotions made it difficult for deep thought, so he took a mental shortcut that he was likely to regret later- the truth.

His voice sounds raw and cracks at first when he tries to speak, and he has to swallow to get the words to actually move through his throat. “’cause- ahem, because I didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know what?” The voice was gentle, prying apart Night’s only security one by one.

“Didn’t know that it was censored.”

The silence reigned supreme for a few moments, as Sans seemed to gather his thoughts on what next to say. It takes too long for him to continue, so Night gives in further to his weakness. “Not from here. Not my world, not my rules. Alternative universes?” The question is too short, and it takes Sans a second to actually understand he was asking something. “Yeah, something like that. We- we lived on the surface, or maybe in an older time, something like that. Humans aren-aren’t banned there. A little taboo, you know, human mages and all, but not banned or c-censored at all.”

Sans shifted his position this time, and it takes a second for Night to realize why that unsettled him. Sans, this entire time, had not shifted his legs from their position a shoulders-width apart, only moving his hands occasionally behind his back. It takes him even longer to realize something else. He- Night- had unsettled Sans with the mention of the surface, and that’s why the skeleton moved.

Night waited for that uprising of envy, shock, greed, desperation, that he felt with Alphys, with G, heck, even Killer to some extent. However, nothing moved behind the concrete wall of Sans’ indifference, and Night couldn’t tell how he felt about it.

On one hand, it was highly likely Sans didn’t believe him, if he didn’t care about getting to the surface or begging him to take him there. On the other, that taste of desperation, of loathing and need was something Night was grateful to not have to taste again on the back of his teeth.

So, Night kept silent this time, letting Sans think his way though whatever was in his skull. Killer seemed to understand, so did Dust, but he’s mildly insane, and so is. He never explained it to G, so he has no predictions on figuring on that front. He was learning alongside Alphys at the same time, so that doesn’t count.

Sans shifted his pose again, this time, settling back into that more relaxed, formal pose. He shifted his gaze back to Night, evaluating him for a few more moments before finally speaking. “You believe you are telling the truth. Considering your lack of knowledge of things around here, I am inclined to believe you. However, I still have questions.”

Night nodded, expecting this by now. Sans was surprisingly curious and tenacious for such a formal monster.

“If you truly come from the surface… then how do you know of what keeps us underground?”

Night formed an ‘oh’ with his mouth, that was actually a good question, one that addresses all doubts and points out a flaw in his explanation, if he was lying. “This isn’t, uh, the first world I visited. Something like then 6th or 7th? And I’ve met people from them a few times too, though mostly by accident. The barrier is weirdly consistent, with the stories is different in the recent events, which leaves me wondering why I am an outlier…”

Night trailed off, thinking of Killer and Dust, and their weirdly similar worlds, similar stories. Night wonders if he found Killer earlier, would he be like Dust? Or if Dust was alone for all those months, would he be like Killer?

Ultimately, it was unlikely. The two were different in ways Night couldn’t explain or understand, and there were more to them then just how long they were alone after killing everyone. That’s excluding the fact Dust was… well, dusting when they first came. He wouldn’t have lasted months. Killer, however, did.

Night realized he had zoned out for too long, and turned his focus back to Sans, who was giving him an odd expression. “Uh. Yeah. I got the story from-“ Night floundered. ‘Another you’ downplayed their differences, but ‘different monster’ felt wrong too. “just others in society. In some instances, I could be honest, especially if they were already aware of quantum… fluctuations and time manipulation, but most of the time, I just pieced things together as I discovered them.”

Sans looked troubled, and Night is unsure what he said that earned that look. Before Night can ask, Sans cuts in, ignoring the startled reaction he gets from Night. “I. I would like to think about this more. I will ask more questions later. In the meantime, please come up to eat. It’s late for lunch, but I have made dinner for everyone.”

Night shallowly nodded, still uncertain. Before Sans could whirl around and open the door entirely, Night spoke up. “Uh! Do you want me to keep quiet about this wi-with Papyrus, or explain everything? I can just say nothing, if it’s easier.”

An odd expression and a flicker of confusion crosses Sans’s face and soul. He seemed genuinely confused as to the question, even though Night knows that Killer and Dust were avid secret keepers from their own brothers. It wasn’t hard to see, between their willingness for the smallest hint of understanding, and the way they spoke about their siblings- beloved, revered, childish. Night couldn’t think on it further, instead torn from his thoughts by Sans’ response. “Secrets are life and death. Papyrus and I share everything. A single secret between us risks death, or worse. Why would I not tell him?”

When put like that, Night couldn’t argue. He sighed, rolling his stiff shoulders before standing upright, still feeling fuzzy around the edges. Sans, seemingly done with the conversation, opened the door and walked up the stairs briskly, ready to brief their brother on everything thus far before dinner.

Notes:

Whaaaattt am I doinnnnggg with my liffffeee.

Chapter 51

Summary:

Chapter warnings-
Nada

Night followed Sans up the stairs, his movements stiff and hesitant. He could still feel the phantom sensation of tension lingering in his bones, a remnant of the earlier interrogation. The mention of dinner had stirred an odd feeling in his chest—relief, maybe, or something like it. It was rare for him to sit down to a meal with others, let alone one prepared by someone else.

As they entered the modest dining room, the smell of baked beans, rice, and tomatoes filled the air. Papyrus was already at the table, carefully setting out plates and utensils. The muted clink of plates echoed softly in the small space. Night hesitated at the threshold, his sockets landing on Papyrus, who immediately looked up and smiled shyly.

Papyrus’ aura was sharp and warm, like the first flicker of sunlight after a long, cold night. There was an undercurrent of nervousness, but it was drowned out by a steady stream of kindness. Night offered a faint nod, unsure how to respond to such a genuine expression.

“Please, sit,” Sans said, gesturing to the chair across from Papyrus. His tone was formal but not unkind, and Night obeyed without question, lowering himself into the seat gingerly.

Papyrus took his seat as well, his movements deliberate and quiet. He glanced at Night occasionally, his expression thoughtful but unobtrusive. Night focused on the plate in front of him, trying to calm his nerves as Sans set down the casserole dish in the center of the table.

Dinner began in near silence, the scrape of utensils against ceramic the only sound. The utensils were made of metal instead of carved wood or ceramic, but pleasantly tasted like nothing in his mouth, surprising Night. Steam rose from the layers of rice and bean when he cut into it with his fork, tomato running down the cut. Night busied himself with small bites, the warmth of the food settling heavily in his stomach. It was… good. Comforting, in a way he hadn’t expected.

Papyrus’ gaze flicked to him again, his sockets wide and curious. Night could feel the unspoken question hovering in the air, and his own unease began to bubble up. He shifted in his seat, trying to ignore it.

“I was surprised to find books in your possession,” Sans said suddenly, breaking the silence. His tone was measured, and Night stiffened instinctively. “It’s not often one comes across such… unique material.”

Papyrus’ attention snapped to Sans, his brow furrowing slightly. Concern radiated from him, and Night couldn’t help but feel its weight.

“They’re just books,” Night muttered, keeping his gaze on his plate.

“Books that are illegal here,” Sans countered, his voice still calm. “You said they’re not banned in your world. That’s understandable. But here, they’re considered dangerous. Why would you risk keeping them?”

Night clenched his jaw, his hands tightening around his fork. He didn’t know how to explain it in a way that wouldn’t sound ridiculous. “They’re… stories. Information. A way to learn. I didn’t think it mattered, especially since I’ll leave eventually.”

Sans’ sockets narrowed slightly, but he didn’t press further. Papyrus, meanwhile, reached for his plate, his fingers trembling slightly as he adjusted the placement. The nervous energy in his aura spiked, and Night’s own unease grew in response.

“I appreciate that you enjoy learning,” Sans said after a moment, his tone softening slightly. “But you need to understand the context here. The world you’ve entered has rules—rules that exist for a reason. Sharing those books with Papyrus could put him in danger.”

The guilt hit Night like a punch to the ribs. He hadn’t even considered that. His focus had been on his new imprisonment, the uncertainty of Papyrus’s age and potential retribution for wrongdoing, not the consequences of sharing the books. He looked down at his plate, his appetite evaporating.

“I didn’t mean to—”

Papyrus suddenly reached out, his hand brushing lightly against the edge of Night’s plate. The movement was small, almost hesitant, but it was enough to draw Night’s attention. He glanced up, meeting Papyrus’ kind gaze. There was no judgment there, only quiet reassurance.

The gesture caught Night off guard, and he felt his chest tighten with a strange mix of emotions. Papyrus didn’t need words to convey his understanding, and for the first time in a long while, Night felt a flicker of something akin to forgiveness—not from Dream or himself, but from someone else. It feels foreign, but welcomed.

Sans watched the exchange silently, his sockets narrowing slightly as if trying to piece together an unspoken puzzle. Finally, he cleared his throat, drawing both skeletons’ attention back to him.

“From now on,” Sans said firmly, “I’ll keep the books in my possession. If you need access to them, you’ll have to ask me directly. Is that clear?”

Night couldn’t help the utter fear that struck through him, couldn’t help the outburst of rage that came next. He didn’t even realize he got up, chair nearly falling backwards with how quick he moved. Papyrus flinched back quicker than a blink of an eye, and Sans summoned his magic just milliseconds later, the red glow flooding the room. When Night didn’t make a second move, they sat in silence, Sans seemingly waiting for Night to explain himself.

His voice felt like sharpened glass, fragile and vicious. “No.”

Sans’ magic stopped glowing, his eye changing back to their normal white eyelights. He was clearly unamused, but didn’t yell. “You understand why they are dangerous. Someone can, and will, take them from you, and you put this entire household at risk in doing so. Under my roof with my family’s life on the lines I cannot take that risk.” His tone was blunt and cold, matter-of-fact.

Night shook his head violently. “No. Why would you return them, why would you risk holding on to them when you can just… destroy them?” Night knew this well- anything written is so easily defaced and destroyed, and it brutally destroys him inside every time. The rage tastes like blood and tears, like when he found the bag of drowned cats in the river, tortured from being born with black fur. It tastes like disgust and hatred, reminiscent of the incident at the tree, and Night can’t stand feeling that again. He can't

A wave of understanding crashes over Papyrus, who is still a few steps away from Night, fully ready to dash out of the room if it got violent. No sound comes from his lips, but he claps his hands once to get his brother’s attention, the sound lower because of his thick bones. He gestures something that Night doesn’t understand, his hands flickering in very distinct movements, but Sans apparently understands, because a smaller flash of comprehension goes through him as well, barely grazing the metaphorical wall of indifference Sans hides behind. He relaxes his stance and sits down fully, not leaning back in his chair but clearly resting, and motions for Night to do the same, a small furrow across his eyebrow bones when Night doesn’t immediately oblige.

“Why would I keep your knife in pristine condition, and still return it to you after? It’s clearly a beautifully made weapon, one that would sell for a good amount of gold. Yet you trust me with that.” Sans starts, moving some beans around on his plate. How he manages to look graceful while picking at his food, Night will never understand. “If it makes you feel better, you can confirm their condition every day in the afternoon, safely at the house. We have a safe spot that we use for our emergency fund as well as some papers, it will work for your books.”

Night felt himself tense again, but this time, he forced his joints to relax. He knows he’s being unreasonable, especially with the fact that he is at their mercy, but he rather die then risk seeing his books wrecked or stolen. Books are a sacred thing, destroying them is sacrilege in the worst way. He hates it, hates it with every bone in his body, because it’s worse than pointless, it’s a detriment, it actively undermines the best society has to offer- freely available knowledge. It’s the only part of the village that Night ever came to love, and watching it getting torn up just to spite him fills him with rage.

He didn’t like it, but he at least trusted Sans to be upfront with his words. He had been honest thus far, and Night can’t help but respect him for it. Swallowing his pride and fear, Night nodded to himself shortly, before hesitantly making it more obvious, completing the motion to Sans. Not trusting himself to speak, he instead lowered his head in surrender, accepting Sans’ wishes.

A small tap grabbed his attention, and Night noticed Papyrus had moved back near him. He was still an arm’s length away, ready to snap back at any minute, but his aura was loose and understanding, simply present.

Papyrus offered a small, encouraging smile, and Night felt a faint warmth spread through his chest. He still didn’t know what to make of this place, of these monsters who had taken him in. But for now, he allowed himself to sit at their table, to share their food, and to exist in their strange, fragile peace.

The rest of the meal passed in relative silence, save for the occasional clink of silverware. For the first time in what felt like forever, Night didn’t feel entirely alone.

Notes:

Sorry about the wait. You know when you get so lazy you can't bother to open two apps and a web page to post whatever you finished months ago? Yeah, now I do.

Eh, whatever. I'll post two to make it up to you guys. Enjoy.

Chapter 52

Summary:

Chapter warnings-
Dissociation, hallucinations

Killer, restless and really, freaking bored , gave up his search for whatever garbage he could find in the dump elevator of Alph- Undyne’s lab. The flickering fluorescent lights overhead buzzed faintly, casting uneven shadows across the yellowing tiles and discarded machinery. They had set up a tentative camp in the entryway of the old lab, mostly because no one wanted to go deeper or towards the elevator, where Undyne’s dust was. Sure, he and Dust weren’t really squeamish, but it doesn’t mean he likes watching tumbleweeds form out of the remains of a ‘friend’.

He moved with a purpose, though even he wasn’t entirely sure what he was looking for. Food? A distraction? Something to fill the gnawing void inside him? It really didn’t matter, so long as it was something to do. Behind him, the echoes of G’s frustrated muttering and Dust’s eerie silence barely registered.

Killer shoved open a familiar door that led to another corridor, the air growing colder and damper as he descended deeper into the underground lab. This place always was a maze, even when it was still operational, and the distance he had to walk just to get coffee was brutal as a worker. He gave a half-hearted chuckle at himself, thinking of a pun. ‘Lab’-ayrinth. Labyrinth. Damn, he’s funny.

He kept moving down the halls and passed the old, cruddy vending machine. Given his hunger, he’s tempted to focus on that first to wiggle out a bag of chrisps, but he’s on a mission now. Easily distracted, yet rarely dissuaded. He chooses the right corridor,  it has all the storage and less of the active experiments. The smell hit him first—a thick, cloying odor that was both sickly sweet and nauseatingly sour. Killer wrinkled his nasal cavity out of instinct, muttering to himself. “What the hell died in here?”

He turned the corner and froze. The amalgamates lurched into view, their misshapen forms twitching and oozing as they moved aimlessly around the room. Killer’s grin wavered, but only for a moment. “Well, ain’t you a sight for sore sockets,” he quipped, leaning casually against the doorframe. The amalgamates didn’t respond. One of them—a writhing mass of melted fur and faces, probably the old dogs—tilted toward him, letting out a low, guttural groan, crossed between a whine and a growl. Killer waved a hand dismissively. “Relax. I’m not here to play babysitter.” The amalgamates shuffled closer, their movements unsteady and jerky. Killer stood his ground, watching them with a mix of wariness and warm welcome. They were familiar, if not friendly, and Killer can’t help but enjoy their presence, as clunky as it is. They weren’t hostile, at least not yet. They were more like oversized toddlers, curious and harmless as long as they weren’t provoked. “You stay on your side, I’ll stay on mine,” Killer said, pointing a finger at them. “Deal?” The amalgamates didn’t respond, but they didn’t advance further, either. Killer took that as a win and moved on, leaving the room and its unsettling occupants behind.

The deeper he went, the more twisted the lab became. What started as sterile hallways and neatly labeled doors gave way to crumbling walls, exposed wires, and rusted equipment. He kept watch for the tell-tale split tiles, the footprint of a certain psychopathic flower, but none of the tiles lifted enough to let the weed break through. Considering the flower was created here in the first place, its hard to imagine that it wouldn’t have escaped using the dirt below the tiles, the most obvious escape route for him. The only slightly optimistic idea Killer could come up with was that Flowey was never created here. It’s a fleeting hope.

Killer stumbled across a room filled with old electronic notebooks, their screens displaying distorted images of what might have been experiments or notes. He ignored most of it, his attention snagging only briefly on the oddities.

A room filled with stuffed animals, a demented Temmie doll with glinting red eyes sat on a shelf, its stitched grin far too wide. Killer chuckled to himself and kept walking. In another room, he found a series of files detailing the underground’s history—stories he already knew, twisted and warped into grotesque parodies. He ignores the video tapes and instead read Undyne’s notes left in the room. With his own knowledge of the events in his world, its not hard to figure out. Two monsters and one human adopted into the royal family. A desperate attempt to save the dying child leading to a monster absorbing a human soul, only to be brutally killed on the surface. A grieving monarch, one declares war and the other declares divorce, fleeing to areas unknown. Blah, blah blah, tragedy sewn from years of species specific hate and history. It’s nothing new.

Killer skimmed the documents, uninterested in the details. “Same story, different paint job,” he muttered, tossing the papers aside. It wasn’t until he stumbled upon the vial that he paused. The room was small, almost claustrophobic, with shelves lining the walls and a single workbench in the center. Most of the shelves were full of junk, their useful contents long since scavenged or set aside for use. But on the shelf above the workbench, illuminated by the dim overhead light, was a test tube filled with a thick, shimmering black liquid. Killer’s grin returned as he stepped closer, his curiosity piqued. The vial was double-sealed, encased in a protective glass chamber marked with hazard symbols he didn’t recognize. Which, considering his own experience, is highly unusual in and of itself. A small label on the base read: “Experimental Magic Compound: High Volatility.” “Well, ain’t you a pretty little thing,” Killer said, reaching out to tap the glass with a finger. The ink-like substance inside swirled and shifted, almost as if it were alive. It was black like oil, reflective and shiny like a crow’s feather. It sloshed with a viscosity just shy of milk, too liquid to actually be ink. For a moment, Killer just stared at it, his mind turning over possibilities. What was it? Why was it locked away like this? And more importantly, what could he do with it? He shoved the vial into his pocket as he heard footsteps come from around the corner. He would have to investigate it later.

Back in the main lab, G paced restlessly. Dust remained by the wall, his gaze unfocused, his expression unreadable. The phantom whispered incessantly in his ear, mocking Killer’s absence and G’s frustration, but Dust ignored it. He was too tired to care.

G, however, was far from apathetic. “Where the hell is he?” he snapped, breaking the silence. “He’s been gone too long.” Dust shrugged, his voice flat. “He does that. Gets bored, wanders off. He’ll come back.” He’s mostly assuming on his own experiences. He always came back home, if a little worse for wear.

“And what if he doesn’t?” G shot back, his tone sharp. “What if he gets himself killed, or—or triggers something that gets us all killed?” The phantom above his shoulder speaks in a mockery of G’s pitch and tone. What if he kills someone else down here, or abandons us down here forever? Why can’t brothers  ever actually say what they mean, useless lot! Dust ignores it, if at all possible, more resolutely.

Dust finally turned to look at him, his sockets empty of emotion, minus a mild flicker of confusion. “Then we die. Doesn’t matter, does it?” G’s hands clenched into fists, his frustration bubbling over. “How can you just—just sit there and say that? Doesn’t anything matter to you?” Dust didn’t answer. The phantom laughed softly in his mind, its voice like a knife twisting in his thoughts.

G growled, shoving his hands into his pockets and storming toward the hallway Killer had disappeared down. “I’m going after him. Stay here if you want to rot.” Dust watched him go, his expression unchanged.

The monster storms out of the room, too focused on his path to actually check if Dust would follow or not. After a long moment, he sighed and pushed himself away from the wall. “Guess I’d better make sure you don’t get yourself killed,” he muttered, following G into the darkness.

When Dust saw the vending machine, he thought that their journey was over. The vending machine was the only thing remotely useful in these labs, everything else was highly specific and unpleasant. Killer traveling further than he needed to was unsurprising, but traveling deeper into the labs that were creepy as hell? Dust wouldn’t, and he’s surprised that Killer would.

But, nope, with no sign of the eccentric skeleton and a fork in the road, it was a fifty-fifty shot on which path Killer could have taken. G didn’t seem to care, though, immediately turning down the left hall. Movement out of the corner of his eye sends Dust immediately into attack mode, and before G can even flinch back from whatever was movng in the shadows, they’re dragged into an encounter. As the grey fades away from view, a white amorphous blob of twisted magic and determination takes it up. The faint smell of cleaner and lemons catches his attention for a fleeting second, before he refocuses on the situation at hand.

He attacked first, so G was next. He was in front of Dust, a little dazed and extremely freaked out over the amalgamate. He kept glancing reflexively at where the monster’s soul would be, but the constant shifting and melting mass completely covered it, hiding from view. Personally, Dust had been down here a few times in between resets and death, heck, even a few times when Alphys was still alive to run evacuations, and he’s still not used to these things. The people you least expect hide the most secrets, he guesses.

Like you have room to speak, brother-killer. Papyr- no, the Phantom, the fake, whispered venomously. Of course, someone as great as me beats all societal norms. The only unexpected secret and problem I have is you!

Dust shakes off the hovering touch of the phantom as he immediately launches into pacifying the amalgamate. He’s tried killing these things for EXP before, their determination and slippery surface just lets the damage bounce right off. Killing them is impossible and more effort than its worth.

The block of the encounter magic reminds him of his turn, and instead, he’s left signaling G to pacify the creatures, trying to express patience and gentleness with a motion of his hand. When G’s stupidly bewildered face refuses to budge, he sighed and gave up, simply opting to speak instead. “Just spare them. They can’t die, and if we don’t provoke them, they won’t bother us.”

G doesn’t look any less concerned. “Yeah. But what the hell are they?”

Damn, what type of blessed world did he live in to not have these things around? Dust probably would have found them even without the resets in his world, Alphys couldn’t keep a secret to save her life. Then again, G’s world was falling apart at the seems, and the CORE was the worst. If the amalgamates were come how alive in all of that, Dust would feel genuinely inclined to put them out of their misery.

“Amalgamates, monsters fused by determination. Pretty harmless, but stubborn as hell. Just stand through the attacks and hum to it, it likes music.” Dust was starting to feel itchy now, the weight of the encounter weighing heavily on him without the relief of violence. If you told him 500 resets ago that he would hate doing nothing, he’d laugh in your face, but now, it’s just painful. All he can think about is the hum of blasters and the smell of blood, magic rushing and dead bodies on the ground. The inability to truly move, attack the source of the oppression is suffocating.

G, thank the stars, seems to somewhat understand that answer and starts the pacification process on the amalgamate. Dust used to know all their names, before they fused and their new nicknames, but he can’t bother right now. He can’t put effort towards that.  G hums a song, a jolly tune, but changes beat when the amalgamate seemed uninterested. Midbeat he shifts to a lullaby, and instantly the monster settles down, shifting less often than before. It’s a difficult thing to notice, when amalgamates are offering mercy, but G notices quicker than Dust expected, immediately SPARING the monster.

The pressing void around them fizzles out like sugar in rain, soda in a cup, and Dust takes a deep breath. There’s no bones, no blood, no dead child in the hallway in front of them, he is not dying, and everything is fine. The ghost of his brother is just a hallucination that will leave next reset, which will come soon. There is no corpse in front of them. No golden hall splattered in red.

He releases the breath with more violence then he intended, and quickly realizes that G was staring at him, concern chiseled into his face. His fingers twitch when he scratches at his chin, a nervous habit and a tic from the lack of nicotine, Dust is certain.

“All good?” G offers deadpan, avoiding eye contact with Dust. Dust just grunts and nods, not ready to give a verbal response. He stretches instead to avoid any obligation to respond, a crack sounding from his twisted bones before settling with a sigh. His skull fells like it’s dissolving slowly, from the inside out.

At least he’s lucid this time. He hates that foggy place in the realm between death and a reset, it’s a blessing and a curse in one. He doesn’t have to feel anything, and that’s usually a benefit. On the other hand, he can’t feel anything, and while Dust is sure he wouldn’t be feeling great right now, his decision making ability is horrendously impacted.

G is still staring at him, brow furrowed with some sort of frustration this time. Instead of reacting, Dust walks forward as they were just a few minutes ago. They were searching for someone, right, in the old lab.

Dust can feel G’s burning gaze in his soul, but the monster apparently gives in and accepts the lack of answers. He trots behind in a lazy saunter, not speaking at all.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of One Hand Offered