Arm and a Leg (Keep the Change)

by BroskiBird

Summary:

“I win,”

Dust flakes off Blue’s skull as he wheezes from above Killer. His gloves, made of torn blue leather, strangle Killer’s wrist over his head and into the grimy snow. And his other arm, which is definitely broken, is firmly pinned off to the side.

“I-I win,” Blue stresses, “i win— just—give up.”

Killer’s chest heaves under the weight of Blue’s knee, and he narrows his eyes in defiance. It’s not that Blue’s wrong, no, he definitely beat his ass this time. But he isn’t about to admit that.

-----

Killer looses an arm, Blue is desperate to fix things and Nightmare's gang would really like to know where their first member is.

Notes:

Heya! So this fic is already complete, but I wanted to have time to read over the second chapter again just to be sure. That should be out soon! Enjoy!

Chapter 1: Unrefundable Good

 

“ I win, ” 

 

Dust flakes off Blue’s skull as he wheezes from above Killer. His gloves, made of torn blue leather, strangle Killer’s wrist over his head and into the grimy snow. And his other arm, which is definitely broken, is firmly pinned off to the side. 

 

“I- I win ,” Blue stresses , “i win— just— give up .”

 

Killer’s chest heaves under the weight of Blue’s knee, and he narrows his eyes in defiance. It’s not that Blue’s wrong , no, he definitely beat his ass this time. But he isn’t about to admit that.

 

So he thrashes against his counterpart’s hold, bones aching as they strain for purchase. And Blue seems to struggle just as much as Killer does, his voice cracking in desperation.

 

“ Stop! I win— I win, you can’t fight anymore, you can’t! ” Blue almost pleads as he wrestles Killer further into the snow. 

 

It leaves Killer panting, his chest heaving. Damn, he really wishes he could flip off Blue right now. Instead, he twists and writhes with all the fervor of a sore loser. If he can’t win, he’ll settle with making Blue as miserable as possible. 

 

Which, evidently, isn’t hard to do. He watches the Star’s expression turn into something he can only describe as frayed . It’s like his mind had been stretched and deformed and boiled and like the slightest push could shatter him.

 

The smallest push.

 

The sight, achingly similar to how his teammates can get after long battles through the multiverse, sparks something giddy in his chest. 

 

Because he might actually have a way out of this.

 

Blue’s resolve is decaying in real time; the guy's practically dead on his feet. Each gasp he chokes down is strained and his face is twisting in frustration. The multiverse is weighing on him and he’s getting emotional. Of course he’s getting emotional.

 

“Stop— Stop it!” Blue hisses when Killer thrashes again.

 

Blue’s emotions always get the best of him.

 

Which is good! For Killer, at least— who stills in his movements to wrangle his breath. The icy air burns his throat and the force on his chest forces them to be curt. Still, it was enough. It has to be.

 

“ …y— ” Killer forces out. The numbness climbing over his face is making it hard. “ .. y’know, ‘s much as I like— like havin’ ya over me like thi — ”

 

“ I’m not playing your games, Killer! ”

 

He manages a wink, forcing a playful smirk. “ who said ’m playing—”

Someone screamed. 

…It takes a minute for Killer’s mind to catch up. 

 

Everything feels far away, all fogged up. It was like he was just stepping out of a hot shower, but the shower’s spinning and steadily sinking into the void. He can’t see anything, and it doesn’t seem worth focusing on, anyway. 

 

He wants to sleep.

 

But someone’s shaking his skull and stammering at him, and that's getting hard to ignore. 

 

“ sh—t, k—ler! —— i’m so—did— me—n t-— ”

 

The scream tore out into a hoarse whine just in time for Killer to realize that he was the one screaming. 

 

Blearily, he blinks up at… oh, it’s Blue. 

 

His vision wavered, the feeling of dust caught in his eyelids burns and the Snowdin forest shifts around the two of them like kelp in Waterfall’s deepest ponds. As awareness seeps in, something dark follows and curls in Killer’s chest. 

 

Something’s wrong. 

 

It’s all so slow, so quiet besides the high pitch ring that feels like it’s coming from inside his own skull. Blue’s still talking to him but Killer can’t hear, not as he cranes his head to look past his left—

 

“ Don’t.” The hand on his skull forces him to look back up. Back at Blue. His cyan eyelights are quivering pinpricks. 

 

“ Please, don’t look.” He says in a listless, watery whisper. Then, Blue twists his other hand out of Killer’s view, hovering near the arm Killer can’t feel and apparently isn’t allowed to see. Warmth— healing magic?— settles in his shoulder. He doesn’t resist the urge to lean into it.

 

“I-it’s okay, it’s okay, just— nono, Killer,” Blue’s voice breaks, and something wet hits Killer’s forehead. “Killer, Killer stay awake.”

 

Killer whines , he is awake, thanks. That’s his problem. There's no reason to stay awake when he’s nauseous and everything’s so sharp and bright. Plus, as amusing as it is, he’s bored of tormenting Blue. 

 

Blue, who’s starting to sway above him. 

 

“ T-there— there, u-um. L-let me…” Blue mutters, lethargic and shaking with adrenaline all at once. 

 

Then Killer’s head is forced even further to the side, right cheek pressed into the crunchy snow and pinned down with Blue’s elbow. He can hear the harsh rip of fabric and rustling before something tightens around his shoulder. 

 

The pressure feels wrong .

 

He opts to ignore it. It’s hard to think anyway, his vision is dimming, and something— someone ’s voice is kindly fending off the normally oppressive silence.

 

Killer’s eye’s sockets slip shut.

——

When Killer wakes up, he’s not in the castle.

 

Nightmare subscribes to a dark academia meets Disney villain aesthetic for their home, it’s all dark and brooding. So even if a room was somehow kept hidden from Killer all these years, it definitely wouldn’t have soft baby blue walls and a plethora of glowing stars speckled across its ceiling. 

 

If anything, it’d have to be one of his teammate’s rooms; Nightmare lets them decorate however they want as long as it’s “functional.” 

 

But he knows what his teammate’s rooms look like in I’ve-broken-into-there-sooo-many-times levels of detail. None are like this.

 

So he’s definitely not in the castle. 

 

And he definitely is in some deep shit.

 

Killer scrunches up his face when a wave of marrow-deep pain radiates from his shoulder. As someone who can’t feel the nastiest of fractures on a good day, it’s kind of concerning. 

 

I must’ve fucked it up real good , Killer mused as he shifted to sit up. Boss’s gonna lose his ti—

 

And he immediately loses balance and crumples onto his left side. Killer bites a scream into a pained hiss as the gateway to hell pries open from inside his left arm. His arm that’s—

 

It’s gone. 

 

His left eye is smushed into pale blue pillows, but his right is wide open and staring at the gaping void of nothing where his left arm should be. His shoulder is wrapped with bandages, but peeking through the wrap’s intersections is some sort of torn blue cloth. The color’s…

He manages a wink, forcing a playful smirk.. “who said ’m playing—”

Someone screamed.

Killer’s breath hitches and he tries to bring a hand to cover his mouth, only to be hit with more nothing because Blue fucking tore that arm off .  

 

And shit, that— that was his knife-throwing arm! And his literally everything else arm, too! How’s he gonna fight!? He’ll have to relearn with his whole ass other limb and he’s gonna eat so much shit. Dust will never let him live it down. And the Boss is gonna bar him from missions for ages . He’s gonna sit around being— being useless .

 

And worse:

 

bored .

 

Killer awkwardly pulls himself up and leans heavily on the rocket ship  shaped headboard, as if he needed more proof of where he was. Blue already went the extra mile this time— why bring him here? Your own room isn’t the best place for a captive.

 

He’s so fucked. The other Stars definitely know he’s here by now.

 

And this was supposed to be an easy mission, too. He was just scouting an au before the Boss plans a full attack. A quick in and out. Killer’s done this more times than he can count.

 

Blue wasn’t supposed to be there.

 

Killer frowns as he leans back on the bed and pats his pockets for his communicator. 

 

…Nope, nothing.

 

All he has is a pathetic little red monster candy that got crushed in battle.

 

Well, shit. But it should be fine. He’s probably been gone long enough for Nightmare to have looked for him. He must’ve realized he’s not in that Failed-Geno-StoryShift variant anymore.

 

Killer pockets the candy and pushes off the bed, stumbling towards the door. It’s a clumsy movement. He might not be able to feel aches and magic strain, but he can tell that he’s drained from how his limbs lag behind him. And his arm being—

 

— a playful smirk.. “who 

said ’m playing—”

 Someone screamed.

 

…It throws his balance way off.

 

He reaches for the handle to steady himself and then smacks into the door. The pain in his left shoulder flares. Something tightly bound in Killer’s chest writhes, only worsening when he tries to grab the handle with the hand that’s not there.

 

Killer’s plans to look around are promptly tossed out the window.

 

Instead, his forehead hits the frame with a clunk. He reaches with his right arm and twists the handle. The knob is cool under his palm, he locks it with a click. 

 

He knows the Stars can teleport. But it is all he could do without risking passing out.

 

Then Killer turns and slides down against the wall. He hits the carpet heavy on his right and almost topples over with his weight depending on the neglected limb.

 

Killer huffs, an odd tightness biting his ribs. He knows Nightmare is looking for him, he does. 

 

But he’s already sick of waiting.

——

Someone’s knocking on the door.

 

Killer, who still sat with his back leaned against the door, perks up to watch as the knocking turned into timid doorknob rattling. And finally, silence.

 

“killer…?” Blue’s muffled voice called from beyond the door. 

 

…Yeash, Killer didn’t think it was possible for someone to sound this hesitant.

 

“did you, uh- t-the door’s… are you—” 

 

“ Password .” Killer says.

 

“……what—?”

 

He rolls his eyes, a habit he hasn’t dropped despite not having visible eyelights. “Et tut, Blue.” He scolds. “And here I thought you were the polite one!”

 

Silence.

 

Killer continues. “I’m asking for the password.”

 

“i’m— i don’t-”

 

“Damn, sucks to be you then!” Killer chirps. “No password, no entry.” 

 

He curls a bit against the door, resting his head on his knees. He’s not tired. “You snooze, you lose, and all that. Go home.”

 

“but this is — w-wait!” Killer hears a hand rest against the door. “…can i try again? please? ”

 

“Nope! You get one try a week. Can’t have people trying every combination sequentially.” Killer pauses, remembering he actually has to be smart about this. “Also, where’s my phone?”

 

“your phone..? i didn’t see—”

 

Killer cackles. “Wow, kidnapping and stealing! Baby Blue, I didn't think you had it in you!”

 

“ i don’t have your phone! ” Blue babbles. “a-and i couldn’t just leave you there!”

 

“Oh you could’ve.” Killer spits the words with weight, heavy and haunting. And he’s still grinning, Blue just makes it too easy. “You already won. You could’ve left me, Nobody forced you to—”

— “who 

said ’m playing—”

  Someone screamed.

“…iller-? killer ?”

 

He blinks, unfolding from his hunched position and wondering when he got so tense. Wondering when his soul began to wobble. Idly, he brushes a fresh glob of rotten determination from his cheek. 

 

“…killer,” Right, Blue’s still here. “i— i need to replace your bandages.”

 

Killer smears the glob on Blue’s previously stain free carpet and gains a satisfied smile. That’s never coming out.

 

“…are you okay—?”

 

He reaches over and uses the handle to pull himself to an unstable stand, happily unlocking and swinging it wide open. So wide that it smacks Blue in the forehead, he stumbles back with an undignified yelp. Killer snickers.

 

“ Awwww , Blues! You should’ve started with that!” He leans over a little, looking down at the other. “I didn't know you cared so much~”

 

And Killer can’t risk getting infected, either. Not when he’s stuck with the Stars. You have to be at your best for this kind of fuckary.

 

Blue scrubs at the mark on his head for just a moment, then he looks up at Killer with a pure exhaustion that almost rivals Dust’s. He looks kinda— no, super pathetic. His face is stained with tears and his bandages are barely clinging to his wounds. The healing job looks rushed, like an afterthought.

 

Weird, they normally do a better job than this.

 

Impressively, the healing supplies weren’t dropped in Blue’s tumble. He’s holding them in an iron grip.

 

When Blue stands, it’s with a limp. 

 

He opens his mouth a little, then presses it shut. His eyebrows are furrowed, eyelights shifting back and forth over Killer like a frightened mouse. Face paled and ashy. “i— yes. um, …may i—?”

 

“Don’t gotta ask twice, Blues.” Killer hums and shuffles to the side. His chest tightens oddly when Blue brushes past him. According to Nightmare, that’s either anxiety, fear (which is apparently different?) or attraction. 

 

…Attraction. Killer decides its attraction. That’s easiest. 

 

Blue is kinda cute, anyway. Bright blue eyelights, slightly taller and stronger build, that goody-goody attitude that’s easy to rile up. He’s pretty fun, most of the time.

 

“you should- perhaps, sit down?” Blue motions to the bed, his face makes him look constipated.

 

Killer saunters on over and plops down next to Blue, eyes trained on the window across the room. He hadn’t noticed before, but they’re in the underground. Which is weird, the swap brothers have long since reached the surface. Killer guesses Blue didn’t want Stretch involved. 

 

He looks back at Blue.

 

“So, did the guardians decide not to heal you this time or what?” Killer asks with a tilt of his head. “Cause you still look like shit. Full offense.”

 

Blue picks up a folded cloth and eases NTT brand antiseptic onto it. He must not have slept, either. Because he takes an extra second to process Killer’s words. “n-no! no, i—” He wilts. “…i have been a coward.”

 

Killer squints. He has no clue what Blue’s on about. 

 

“ …i did not tell them!” Blue squeaks out, “i—i am sorry! i could not face them after, after— “

 

His voice warbles and he whips his head to look killer in the eyes. “killer i am so sorry. i do not know what came over me— i never should have done—” His eyes flicker to Killer’s shoulder then back up. Hot tears are building in his eyes. His hands are shaking.

 

 “done that. i-it was unnecessarily violent, and— and sickening and evil, and i am so, so sorry . i’m sorry, i’m sorry i’m sorry” He curls on on himself as his words fall apart into gasps and wounded cries.

 

Killer doesn’t have the decency to look away. This is great for him, actually. Here he thought he was captured! It couldn’t be further from the truth, he could easily kill Blue right now. The guy’s a mess, and of course he is. A LV-1 wouldn’t know how to handle something like this.

 

Killer could easily kill him.

 

He doesn’t know why he doesn’t.

 

“It’s natural.” Killer blurts. The regret is instantaneous, but there’s no going back now. “Like, yeah I definitely super hate you now—“

 

He tilts his head back towards the mess that is Blue, sobbing silently next to his enemy. “—but you’re not exactly built for interdimensional wars.”

 

Blues whimpering slows, and Killer continues.

 

“I mean, we’re mortals and all.” He hums, resisting the urge to move his hand as he speaks. He kinda needs it to stay upright. 

 

“The Boss did a bunch of research on this kinda thing when he got me, being out multiverse hopping fucks with your brain big time . You age weird, think weird… you get all— desensitized to stuff.” Honestly, Killer’s lucky that he doesn't feel emotions like Blue does.

 

“So, like, fuck you?” Killer tries, he’s not good at mimicking anger. “But, it happens.”

 

A pause. Then Blue mutters, his tone still shaky. “ i-it does—? ”

 

“Yup.”

 

They fall into an …almost comfortable silence. Blue painstakingly trains his watery breaths to slow, and Killer watches him without a word.

 

Finally, Blue uncurls and brings a hand to scrub harshly at his face. He clears his throat and turns to Killer, his eye lights seem to glow more vibrantly as his expression turns into one that Killer doesn’t know the name of. “i still cannot use excuses. but— thank you,” Blue faintly smiles. “i did not deserve your comfort.”

 

Killer’s gut twists, which supposedly means he’s either sick, uncomfortable or scared. Killer doesn't bother guessing. There’s more important stuff to get to.

 

“Cool, cool. Anyway!” Killer slides off the bed  swiftly— but stands no less unsteadily. He spins to face Blue with a darkening grin. “ You’re gonna drop me off back in that StoryShift au.”

 

“wait! but, your bandages-” Blue reached out towards Killer’s shoulder and—

Someone screamed.

Killer flinched back.

 

Killer flinched.

 

He almost laughs, shit — flinching! He didn't think he could do that anymore.

 

The tightness in his chest returns tenfold and his soul is pounding. It warbles between ellipses and amorphous blobs, unsteady in front of his chest. Then he looks back up just as quickly as he had looked down, because as cool as this discovery is, analyzing what that means is the last thing he wants to do.

 

Blue looks devastated all over again, he retracts his hand slowly and curls it over the careful engravings on his chestplate. His mouth cracks open— then closes listlessly. His guilt is just as palpable as it is ridiculous. 

 

“i will take you back— “ Blue rushes his words out like Killer would run away if he didn’t. “ink’s portal is still intact. um, your …friends, they will be able to locate you from there, right..?”

 

“Uh, yeah.” Killer says, and breaks himself out of stupor. He makes his body relax, forcing the tense magic to even out over his bones. That’s something he hasn’t had to do in a long time. 

 

“Yeah they will,” he repeats. “Let’s go.”

——

Ink’s portal turns out to not be too far from Blue’s underground residence, it’s smeared smack dab in the middle of Stretch’s secret basement lab. 

 

The place is surprisingly clean, Killer notes. Their broken machine and its tarp are missing, the cabinets dusted and dimming light bulbs switched out for new ones. Stretch must’ve moved his operation to the surface.

 

The basement is also infested with both Dream’s and Ink’s magical signatures. 

 

And the feeling is nauseating.

 

This must be where they always leave portals for Blue. It makes sense, Killer thinks. While his memories about his own mysterious machine are as good as gone, he’s pretty sure the location somehow made interdimensional things easier.

 

He summons a faded red knife in his hand, angled so the brunt of it hides in his sleeve. It flickers in and out of existence against his wrist— a reflection of how little magic he has left. If something goes wrong, he’s fucked.

 

He only stops walking when his worn sneakers meet the edge of Ink’s portal, which swirls eerily and reflects the rainbow like an oil spill. 

 

Blue speaks up from behind him. “this should bring you back t—”

 

Killer whirls around and lunges the knife at Blue. It pins him by what’s left of his bandanna into the wall and Blue yelps— scrambling to free himself in a way that’s too close to habit. 

 

Huh. His aim was a little crooked, he meant to hit the other side of Blue’s head. But it’s still pretty deep in the wall, so maybe relearning with his right arm won’t be too bad.

 

Killer snickers at Blue’s panicked expression, 

 

“ killer —”

 

Instead of entertaining what Blue seems to think is the start of another fight. Then he throws his hand up in a two-fingered salute and Blue’s frightened eyes relax by a fraction.

 

“Cya later, Blues!” Killer chips, and then he falls backwards. Grinning at Blue’s bewildered expression as he does.

 

Ink’s portal rushes up to meet him.

——

To Killer’s surprise, ink’s portal’s are a lot like Nightmare’s. They both feel like you’ve been plunged into the deepest, pitch-black wells in Waterfall. The only difference is that, unlike his Boss’s tar-like magic, ink’s portal feels much thinner.

 

Killer holds his breath with puffed up cheeks and squints down, where a blurry white light signifies the exit. It wavers in place, giving the impression that the liquid is moving.

 

He flips around and kicks his feet behind him, slowly paddling deeper towards the exit and definitely not struggling to swim like normal. 

 

Not at all.

 

…

 

He’s almost out of air when he shoves his hand under the rim of the exit and yanks the rest of his body through. And then he’s thrown up out of the portal because Ink didn’t bother to have them facing the same direction. 

 

He gasps for sweet sweet oxygen and lands with a thump on his side— in the snow. And it’s his right side, thankfully. it would’ve hurt like a bitch to land on his …arm. Shoulder? Stump—?

 

Killer twists himself to face the ceiling and, for a minute, he just breathes. This world's Snowdin forest climbs above him, blissfully silent. Devoid of life. It’s rare that Killer is in near-genocide worlds long enough to really take it in. According to Nightmare, it triggers Killer. Makes his normally rare episodes worse.

Killer just thinks it’s nostalgic.

…No, nevermind. Now it’s boring again.

Since Killer can’t seem to feel anything towards this pace anymore he unsteadily sits up, propped on his right arm before he actually gets his feet under himself. A motion dizzying enough to almost put him back facedown in the snow.

 

“‘Kay,” He mutters once he’s balanced, dusting ice off his dirty shorts. He ignores how it clings to his fingers and decides to scrape that crushed-up monster candy from his pocket. 

 

He pours it in his mouth and crunches loudly. Sadly, nobody is here to be annoyed by this.

 

Killer kicks the snow as he starts to walk. 

 

He needs to find his phone.

Chapter 2: So, it's A Funny Story...

Summary:

Killer makes his way home.

It takes him a while to get out of the woods, long enough for faux-evening to settle over the ruins of Snowdin Town. And calling them ‘ruins’ is being gracious; the area is completely wrecked. Topped off with stray days old magic in the air— the electric sensation being evidence of his and Blue's fight.

Killer frowns. It’s also evidence of how long he’s been gone: at least two days, judging by how faded the magic is.

Two days.

…Oh well, that just means he’s got to get to work. Since all the building’s have been reduced to rubble, there’s a lot of little nooks and crannies for a phone to slip into. It’s like a monolith of couch cushions, but with more monster dust and less crumbs.

He starts at the west edge, padding through crunchy snow and bracing against bitter winds that he can only sort of feel through his torn jacket and sweater.

He checks around the inn and the shop and random houses and a destroyed nice cream stand and beneath Girllby’s and in the top half of this world's skeleton brother’s house and hours and hours seem to pass before he finally spots it— under the upturned Giftmas tree.

It’s dark now. But thankfully, some of the colorful little giftmas lights still have power. Cherry reds, pinks, yellows and turquoise-blues reflect off the shattered glass screen. It’s the only reason he’s able to spot it, he’s never had good night vision.

Killer’s breath falls out in a warm puffs as he kneels down, staying crouched over the snow as he gathers up his phone. It dimly lights at his touch, showing a hefty collection of notifications..

72 messages from ‘Bossman’, 12 missed calls… 15 Messages from Applesauce, 2 calls… 25 Messages from ‘Big Guy’, 7 Calls,.., 13 messages from ‘Fucker….

Killer decides to stop reading, and taps nightmare’s icon. A choppy jingle sputters out as he presses the phone against the side of his head.

Ring……Ri—

“K- Who is this?” Nightmare’s resonant voice, laden with suspicion, filters through the scratchy speaker. And Killer’s chest feels lighter, clear. Like invisible layers of grime had been washed away. It was suddenly easier to breathe, even though his ribs still ache in protest.

That's relief, he decides.

“Heya Boss!” Killer sing-songs into the speaker. “So, funny story—”

Nightmare’s voice hitches oddly before it hardens, deadly serious. “What is your location.”

“Right where you left me!” Killer says. “That, duhhh- Story Shift variant? In Snowdin Town. By the giftmas tree.”

He can hear shuffling over the line, and what sounds like rushing wind. “I am coming. Remain where you are and remain on the line. Are you alone?”

Killer feigns offense. “You’re what?”

“Killer.”

He cackles, loud and raspy. And then he flops backwards into the snow, his limbs heavy in the snow. “Yeah- yeah I’m alone. ‘S not a hostage situation or nothing, promise.” Not anymore, anyway.

Nightmare starts to say something more, but Killer stops paying attention when a tar-like portal whirls into existence just meters away. And the boss himself marches through, still ordering into the receiver. He only stops when his eye, frantic and focused, latches onto Killer’s form.

A tentacle was wrapped around his waist and pulling him upright in an instant. And two uncharacteristically warm hands were on his cheeks. Killer sighs, eyes fluttering almost shut. He doesn’t fuss as Nightmare scans him, content to let Nightmare tilt his head left and right.

“Y’ miss me?” Killer hums between his squished cheeks, his eyes lazily reopening.

Nightmare, scoffs. He doesn’t dignify that with a response. “Injuries.”

“Nothing fatal,” Killer says. “I got patched up. ‘m just real low on magic, and…” He lifts his left shoulder from where the tentacle held down the nub of it.

Then he glanced back at Nightmare proper, and he could pinpoint the moment he saw his missing arm.

His iris shrunk and almost shook, eyebrows furrowing and gaze narrowing. A skeleton’s body is held together by magic, for it to be pulled apart at the bone takes a lot of force, and even more intent. So maybe Killer shouldn’t be so surprised that Nightmare looks so horrified.

“What happened!?” He hissed.

And Killer—

He screamed.

Killer blinks harshly, trying to break away from the fog flooding his mind. “Well— uh...” Killer fumbles with his words and gives up into a chuckle.

It’s— weird? He can’t think about it long enough to explain. He was trying, really. But the tight tight tight in his chest returned for vengeance and sent its tendrils up his throat.

It was like he’d been dumped in ice cold water, like needles were twisting into his joints. It was like his earliest genocides with Chara, like his code and soul being ripped into and deformed. Like being pinned down, trapped and hurt.

It made everything fuzzy and his face oddly numb. He can’t seem to feel anything about this anymore, so Killer smiles humorlessly as he wills himself to speak. “Heh, s’rry Boss, i’m— uh,”

Killer blinks, thinking hard before he continues. “—Scared?”

“…Yes. And dissociating,” Nightmare’s grumbles, seemingly more to himself than Killer. He lets go of his face, but keeps him limply hung in the air. “This incident must have been triggering. And…”

His eye light trails back to Killer, dissatisfaction— concern obvious in his furrowed bone-brows. “Your mind is extraordinary at avoiding emotion, Killer.”

“I know” Killer hears himself respond while his Boss starts shuffling him around. His head falls beside Nightmare’s clavicle bone and Killer settles into the much comfier bridal carry. He hums, content. It’s much warmer now.

“We are going to return to the castle now, else the others throw more of a fit than they already have.” A hand idly rubs the back of Killer’s skull. Killer thinks he’s seen him do this with Dust before, something about grounding. “Bring your focus to this sensation.”

Killer nods into the crook of Nightmare’s neck, and tries to focus on small circles pressed against his skull.

——

Crossing Nightmare’s portals is easy when he’s with you. Because it’s his own magic he’s able to control the exit's location in real time— no swimming through a tar-thick void. And so the two have no trouble getting back to the castle. Vaguely, Killer feels a gush of warm air.

He slides his invisible eyelights to face their new surroundings. They’d stepped into the living room, which usually would be stock full of skeletons during an evening like this. Instead, the blankets are neatly folded over the dark ornate couch and loveseat, and the television is off. The whole room is empty.

…Except for Cross, who’s anxiously pacing a rut into the carpet surrounding the couch.

Cross’s head snaps up to face them. “bos- killer!” He rushes forwards, narrowed eyes darting about the too-quiet Killer as he begins to reach forward, and then stops with his hand hesitating in the air.

“are— is he okay?!” He redirects his question to Nightmare. Killer’s foggy mind has just enough to be bothered by that.

“‘m right here, Cross.” He says, willing a grin at his teammate through the thick wall of glass between him and the rest of the world. “Just, uh, lil’ out of it? You get it.”

“He will be fine. Cross, inform the others of our return.” Nightmare orders as he walks forwards, through the living room and beginning down the hall with Cross’ footsteps hovering closely beside them.

Cross chokes, eyebrows knit together. “your arm—”

“Cross.” Nightmare hisses, then corrects himself at Cross’s flinch.

“He will be fine,” Nightmare repeats, ounces of comfort leveling his voice. “Cease your worries and inform the others. We will be in the clinic.”

Cross stops walking, falling behind and only hesitating for a second longer. “alright, alright-“ he says, “i’ll be back with them. ”

“Cya.” Killer hears himself mutter and Cross turns, marching back down the corridor with the uptight rhythm unique to him.

Once they reach the clinic door, Nightmare uses a tentacle to open it. And he carries Killer into the obnoxiously bright white med-bay. Inside there's four beds lined up, each resting up against the wall, complete with infusion sets and crash carts.

Killer registers that he’s being lifted and then laid down, back propped up against the white fluffy pillows that Nightmare insists on replacing even though Killer’s ‘determination’ will inevitably stain them again.

He also registers that Nightmare, who’s pulled a chair beside his bed, is talking to him again.

“—erstood? Killer?”

“Huh—? Uh, yeah.” Killer says, tilting his head down to look at his spinning target soul. It’s wobbling oddly as it rotates.

“I am asking you to name five things you can see.” Nightmare continues anyway. He rests a hand on the bedsheets and drums his fingers against it. It’s stupid, Killer decides, that Nightmare’s covered in sludge but never stains anything.

Cool phalanges wrap around Killer’s hand, the motion drawing his gaze back up to Nightmare.

“Killer, name five things in this room.” He says, clearly and firmly while giving Killer’s hand a small squeeze. Killer blinks, then pulls on a habitual smile.

“Right, uh… you?” He starts, stretching out the first syllable in uncertainty.

“Good.” Nightmare hums. It makes something in Killer’s chest feel warm. “Now name four more.”

He looks around, “M’ soul, …blankets, bandages…”

He squints up at the fluorescent ceiling lights. They’re the brightest lights in the castle, and are only ever on if one of them needs healing. “…The big lights.”

“Excellent.” Nightmare draws as he starts to trace soft circles over Killer’s knuckles. “Now, name four things you can hear.”

“You, machines…” Killer pauses to think, it’s pretty quiet now, but... “My breath, …footsteps.”

“Footsteps,” Nightmare raises an eyebrow, but not in doubt. His hearing pales in comparison to his subordinate. Killer watches as his Boss tilts his head slightly, a telltale sign that he’s tapping into the emotions around them.

“Ah, yes. Horror is on his way.” He pauses, then fixes his posture. “And it seems Cross is futzing outside the door. In a moment, they all will enter.”

Killer nods, and like clockwork feels a buzz of staticy magic— Dust’s. The other blips into existence on top of the sinks across the room. Then Dust jumps off and swings at him.

Nightmare uses a tentacle to snatch Dust out of the air just as fast.

The pillows shift against him as Killer blinks, leaning back a little in surprise. Because, yeah, Dust can just be fucking undetectable, but Killer always catches onto surprise attacks. It’s what they do, he’d even say it’s a love language!

This time, Killer would’ve been forced to take the blow.

“Damn.” Killer says dumbly.

Dust himself sputters, clutching at the tendril that’s snagged the back of his hoodie for a second… before going limp. Somehow, Dust manages to resign himself and seem defiant at the same time.

“Play nice. And— do not give me that look.” Nightmare hisses, despite Dust’s face being completely hidden.

Gently, Dust is lowered to the ground.

“You are reeking of anxiety.” Nightmare continues with a sigh, then nods to Killer while his eyelight glues itself to the door. Nightmare stands, moving towards the exit. “Dust, see that he is okay. Killer, recite three things you can feel.”

Killer’s hooded counterpart gets the slightest push forward as Nightmare leaves the room. It was enough encouragement for Dust to stroll over towards him and prop himself up on the bed.

Killer stares into the void covering where Dust’s face (probably) is. He can’t tell where Dust is looking, but over time he’s gotten pretty good at reading his body language. And killer knows that Dust knows that Killer’s arm is so, so obviously gone.

“Dawww, reeking of anxiety, for me?” Killer smirks, and moves to cup his chin in his hand. But he falls because nothings there and Dust catches him by grabbing his shoulders and—

He scr—

Killer’s face scrunches up as prickles run up his chest and writhes inside his ribcage. His eyes have screwed shut tightly as if it’d hide him from that sensation. For the umpteenth time that day, his breaths are tumbling out in jagged, painful bursts. And for a minute he stays like that, silently forcing himself to breathe.

…Then something jabs his cheekbone. Killer peels his eye sockets back open.

Dust is staring at him, barely visible through his impossibly dark hood. What killer can see of his expression is oddly focused, like he was performing a particularly volatile experiment. His right hand is hovering just beside Killer’s face, pointer finger held out. Dust’s free hand is still resting on Killer’s left shoulder, steadying him.

Dust jabs his cheek again. “three things, dumbass.”

…He didn’t actually say the ‘dumbass’ part, but it was implied.

Dust jabs his cheek again.

Very implied.

After the third jab Killer would've swatted at Dust if he could, instead he grimaces and tilts his head to the side.

“Dude— cut it out.” He hisses with narrowing eyes. “I’m actually gonna bite your finger off if you do that again. I mean it.”

Dust, of course, looks unimpressed.

“three things.” He repeats dryly, notably lacking the wide mischievous grin he gets when fucking with people like this. Instead, he’s almost… earnest. And clearly not giving a shit about how Killer feels about being poked. A frown pulls on Killer’s mouth.

Right, three things.

But, honestly? Killer feels pretty grounded already. The fuzziness cleared up somewhere between being laid on the bed and Dust digging his phalange into his face. But before Killer can say this to Dust, the clinic door slams open.

…And is helpfully stopped by Nightmare, who had the forethought to slip a tendril through the gap between the door and the floor, holding the base of the door and keeping it from shattering against the wall. A smart move, Killer thinks. Normal door-stops never have been and never will be enough to save their doors.

The rest of the gang stands in the door frame, Horror in the front with his arm still suspended in the air from where he shoved open the poor door. And he looks horrendous. Bags hang beneath his eye sockets and the cater in his head looks freshly bruised— something that only happens when he’s been pulling on it.

His swollen red eyelight dialates and narrows on Killer, his normally lazy-to-slightly-annoyed expression is strained. Almost desperate.

Seems like he’s had one of those bad days.

Nightmare stands behind him with Cross in tow, a tendril loosely draped around the former knight’s wrist being what finally got him to walk inside.

A pause hangs in the air as Horror drinks up Killer’s appearance, and a minute passes before Horror schools his expression away from… whatever that was.

Horror marches up to him and grabs Killer’s head with his hand, forcing him to look up at Horror. His iris wavers, visibly distraught, a sight that stirs a twisting feeling in Killer’s gut. But he’s done this song and dance with the gang a million times over, he’s just having a bad day.

“Ror’, you look horrendous.” Killer says, to cheer him up.

“th’ hell did… ya’ do?” Horror gruffs and scowls, instead of acting annoyed while being secretly amused. His free hand moves to tilt Killer’s chin upwards. He doesn’t resist.

“…‘two days. Ya were gone… for two of ‘em.” Horror continues while in the background, Nightmare and Cross approach his bed. They’re silent as they do, giving Horror’s permanently strained voice room to be heard.

Horror’s gaze flicks down to Killer’s arm again. Then, he looks back up. His words are heavy with accusations. “No messages, no nothin’. Why?”

The underlying message doesn’t fall on deaf ears.

Who did this to you?

And now, this should be easy. Killer fully intends to explain the whole shebang, afterall none of them have ever gone missing during a mission before. And they’ve all been at this for a long time, Killer especially. It’s no small deal, they deserve to know.

But his throat runs dry. And suddenly, he’s nauseous. Which is— stupid. That’s stupid. It’s gotta be an emotional thing but he doesn’t get it, why can’t he just— explain? He’s confused.

“It’s not like I had my phone with me,” Killer scoffs, angling himself to the side in frustration. Away from the prying eyes and his own wobbling soul that still insists on giving him the physical sensations associated with emotion.

“Look, it’s whatever. I’m back now, yeah?” Killer says, his tone makes it sound like he’s barging. Probably because he is. “So it’s fine. I’m healed, so I’m fine.”

“bullshit.” Dust deadpans. At the same time, Cross steps forward and holds his own arms out in wild disbelief. His face scrunches up and he gestures as he speaks.

“killer, your arm is gone!—”

Killer winces.

“—that- this shit doesn’t grow back, you know that right!?” Cross asks incredulously. “You’re gonna be like this forever!”

Killer is silent, with heaviness pulling on his chest. He doesn’t know what that heaviness is supposed to mean. And he doesn’t know what to say to Cross, either. So he says nothing.

Cross relaxes his tense stance a bit, sadness and exhaustion easing away his anger. “You were gone, man.” He says, and he looks distressed in a way Killer can’t understand.

“We searched the whole AU, but NM couldn’t sense you and— and with all the destruction, we… ”

Cross goes quiet before Killer. His eyes shut and he forces curt, steady breaths. Horror, who’s still gripping Killer’s skull with one hand, wraps his free arm about Cross’s shoulders and pulls him into a side hug. Cross lets him.

Oh.

They thought he might’ve died.

Glancing around again, that explains… a lot. They all look pretty roughed up, exhausted and overall shitty. It explains why Horror hasn’t let go of him, and why Dust is gripping him all protectively. And why Nightmare’s tentacles swish around behind his back.

They thought he might’ve died.

“Killer,” Nightmare says, stepping close enough to the bed that he can tenderly wrap his hand in a cool tendril. Killer instinctively holds onto the limb, it feels like tree roots in his hand. “Nobody is going to force you to speak now.”

“what!?”

“what.”

Nightmare cuts in by raising his palm towards Cross and Dust. “Because, I understand this has shaken you.”

Killer looks down at his hand, it trembles lightly.

Huh.

Nightmare continues. “However, I will need to know eventually. I was unable to track your soul from within that AU, and I will see to that it does not happen again.”

Well of course. He wasn’t in that AU. But Nightmare doesn’t know that

“Regardless of when you explain,” Nightmare’s gaze slides to properly focus on Killer’s invisible eyelights, and the tendril around his hand holds firmly. “You do not need to be afraid.”

“I’m not.” Killer says, and it’s a practiced phrase. They all know it’s practiced. And they all know that those words aren’t his own. Killer shakes his head as if to make himself say something more natural, and he cuts in just before Horror can open his mouth.

“I mean— not really. Y’know, like— I probably had the sensations but…” Killer almost trails off. His throat is still tight, it’s annoying. “I wasn’t in Stage-1. I’m good now.”

“…dumbass.” Horror huffs and finally lets go of Killer’s head. For a second, Killer feels cold. Then Horror goes and half-sits on the bed, taking Cross with him to drape an arm around Killer’s midsection and pulling him against his chest.

Killer squirms and glares against the warmth, using the hand he has left to claw at Horror’s arm. “Dude!—”

“…shhuddup.” Horror says, and Killer can feel his chest rumble against his back.

Apparently Dust decides to gang up on him, too. Because the asshole drapes himself over Killer’s legs like a cat sleeping at the edge of a bed. And, again like a cat, Killer doesn’t bother shoving him off because he’d just come back.

Killer groans, because he knows what they’re trying to do. And he doesn’t want to admit that it’s working.

Nightmare meets him in the little space left on the bed. The mattress shifts again when the guardian sits down, just in front of Dust and to the side of Killer’s legs. And the Guardian doesn’t even say anything, he just drapes his tendrils around all of them and settles.

Killer doesn’t need to glance down to know that his soul is returning to normal, he can feel the way the angry spinning drifts into an easy rotation. His breaths even out, and his tense magic relaxes. The soreness in his throat is fading.

Minutes pass before Killer lets out a content, amused sigh. And when he speaks, it’s softer than usual— precursored with a laugh.

“Y’know, it really is a funny story.”

Notes:

---

When scraps of a blue bandanna unfurled with Killer’s dirted bandages, Dust scooped them gently into his palm.

And when he saw Nightmare’s calculating gaze on the dirty cloth, he didn't bother calling attention to it.

---

Thank you guys so much for the comments on the last chapter! And I hope you enjoyed the ending, I was pretty worried about writing the rest of Nightmare's Gang- I don't know them as well and was worried about them being too OOC. But in the end, I think it turned out well!!! Thank you so much for reading <33