#nightkiller fan fiction

[daflangstlairde-art]

"she's broken but she's fun" 6,432 words

Part 1 of ocean depths

Work Summary:

It's you. You are the nothing. You need him. You need him because he completes you. Of course he's all your messed up brain can latch onto — he's the most potent thing you've encountered, so in a way, it’s like he’s the only real thing. He's the only solid, clear thing, and you need something to grasp and hold onto. You couldn't grow numb to him even if you wanted to. Nightmare says “Kill.” and you kill. — Killer has issues — he can't really feel emotions. Nightmare finds him and takes advantage of that to recruit him. (Or: Killer and Nightmare waltz along the line between what's abuse and what isn't)

Credits, warnings and additional info on ao3.

—

Boredom. 

Violent, devouring boredom. An ouroboros of boredom — when there's nothing left to burn, you have to set yourself on fire, that type of boredom. 

The type of boredom born from countless, countless repetitions of the exact same day. Every little detail discovered and examined and chewed to death. Everything always the same, and always horrible, until none of it mattered. That type of boredom.

You know. The 'finally say yes to that demon after 176 refusals' boredom. The 'kill everyone just once, just to feel something' boredom. The 'it's not just once that you kill them' boredom. 

In fact, you kill them all again, and again, and again. Until you've squeezed every last drop of the guilt, of the pain, of the grief, of the delight, of the high. 

You're no different than that flower. You're no different than that kid. 

You're only different from yourself, now. No longer “Sans”, no longer “Frisk” or “Chara”. No longer monster, no longer human. You're not both, but you're not exactly neither. Schrödinger’s cat eats cake. 

No, you're... you're something else. You're something new. The only new thing at this point, really, your world desolate by your own hand.

The only thing you can feel is the scorching of determination that engulfs your soul now, making it impossible to fit within your body. 

And now you sit alone, in a barren inn that your friends used to visit. You've killed them all. Multiple times. Only emptiness remains. Emptiness of emptiness of emptiness. Until the knife twisting in your hands presses just a little deeper into your fingertips and you yearn. 

You may be empty inside, but you're still alive, and so the fights were the most exciting thing. With your determination dragging you around like a corpse on a string, still kinetic but no longer any sort of living, you're not afraid to get hurt anymore. You're something much different than simply afraid. 

You're something else.

You're something new. 

“You're perfect,” he croons, and you didn't register him appearing. Otherwise he would've been profusely stabbed, hah. 

But you register it now. The exhale of... despair. Hopelessness and pain and all things nightmarish, sticking to your metaphorical skin and sinking deep, deep into it. It feels quite literally lethal.

But feelings are a distant thing for you. A faded polaroid, a legend from a time passed.

Feelings are like... floating amidst an endless, dark, icy ocean. Pressure aching, choking and suffocating you; intermixed with sensory-depriving weightlessness. Buried and untethered at the same time. And feelings were like reaching up, upwards. Towards those tiny flickers against the ocean’s surface. 

Distant, foggy light dancing. Unable to be caught. Unable to be pinned down. So very far away. The promise of warmth, but none exists. It's just the endless cold. It's just the endless void. Devouring.

It’s just darkness in your vision, leaking like you're crying, a mockery to the fact that you lost that ability a while ago. He is covered in darkness. It wafts cold despair-terror-awfulness.

He...

...He is the leviathan that drags you down, lower, towards those darker, yet darker depths. Tendrils wrapping around your being and whispering no escape, none, it's just this, it's always been this and it always will be. 

And he's right. Everything always the same, and always horrible, until none of it matters. You've known this. 

Join me, the darkness whispers, as he holds out a hand for you to shake. Be mine. Be claimed. Be something.

“There's other ones like you,” he says, and it... mildly fascinates you. That is a feeling. That is more than nothing. Even shallow, minute interest is more than the all-consuming nothing. And anyway, you've done worse for less. 

His hand burns yours when you shake it. It's sharp and potent, a sudden shock to your numb body. It nicks some unimportant HP — it's really just a warning, that a single touch could kill you if the intent is there.

It's not especially hard, the decision to shake his hand and accept. To embrace the dark depths until the light disappears entirely. To be claimed. 

To be made into something. This is more than nothing. This is something. 

Something... new. 

—

“You said they’re like me,” Killer said, voice low. 

Nightmare barely regarded him. “They are.”

“...You’re a liar, then, huh?” 

Now, Nightmare paused. Whenever his eyes would land on Killer, it felt like being in the sights of a predator, cold and bloody. Nightmare was a fun guy like that.

“Watch how you speak to me.” he spoke calmly, with authority, in a way that promised danger. His voice always had this deeper, reverberating quality to it. Dark depths. Like an endless tomb. How edgy.

Killer huffed an empty laugh. “They’re nothing like me,” 

“Dust” one was called, and “Horror” the other. They were still acclimating to not being Sans. 

Killer didn’t have such problems. Killer hadn't been that Sans for... heh. Haha. Maybe never. Sans would never become him. 

“They come from disgusting holes of despair,” Nightmare said, the way one would describe a kindergarten. “They’re violent and unstable, distorted freaks. By their own definition, they are scum. They are just like you.”

They were nothing like him. 

They felt. They cared. 

Dust was a violent fucker, one of those ambush predators. With him, you don’t even get to scream. It was always a sudden snap, the way he murdered. 

Horror was ready to kill for his own preservation. He salivated at the sight of blood and guts. 

But...

—

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m so sorry, you wouldn't understand I’m so sorry I, I had to–” 

Killer flicked on the light switch. Which barely did anything — the castle was way too dim even during the day, much more during the night. Or “night”. Time was weird here.

...

Yep. There Dust was. Curled up in the corner, clutching his head in the midst of a breakdown. Muttering to himself obsessively, or maybe the voices in his head, hah. 

Crying. 

His fit was interrupted by Killer’s appearance, sharply cut with a pause. His eye lights having snapped to Killer’s face. Blue and red in a clashing purple mix, bright like nothing natural. 

“Whoops, thought this was the garbage disposal room,” Killer chuckled, turning off the light. The way Dust’s eye lights remained vibrant in it could be called bone-chilling, hah.

He left.

—

Nightmare gave them simple tasks. They were just supposed to run around and screw people over, really. Ruin their day. If possible — their life. It was novel enough, the first couple of times.

The only thing Killer watched be ruined was Horror’s composure. Right. He's the one who hasn't murdered his own beloved brother in cold blood about a couple hundred times. 

In fact, Horror seemed to be devastated at this Papyrus’ expression to their destruction. Eyes guttered out dark and everything. 

Killer finished off the problem with a single barrage of attack. 

“Careful the boss doesn't catch you slackin’!” Killer hollered at the other, cheerfully indifferent, before moving on from the whole scene. He was bored. He was bored. 

People are so predictable in their pain. This had to be enough for whatever Nightmare wanted, right? Killer needed something else to do. 

—

They were nothing like Killer. Killer felt regret and pain only to be delighted by it. Killer couldn’t care less about... anyone, really.

The only thing he could grasp in his hands was–

—

–slammed into the dining table so hard the thing cracked in the middle, except he didn't sense any of it because pain whited out his consciousness for several solid moments. 

Killer couldn't quite hear anything past the sudden ringing drowning out his hearing. It was his face that took the damage, and as his shaking hands pushed him up, hot and sticky liquid streamed down. Dripping onto the pieces of the table, wooden splinters clattering quietly against the floor. The room was huge, as were all rooms in the castle, so it was enough to echo. 

“Echoo,” Killer whispered. He'd excuse himself that his brain was weird from pain, except this is just how he was all the time now.

Drip drop. 

Black and red. Marring his vision. Dripping against the ground. 

It hurt so bad it made his head spin, like the worst migraine. Pounding and difficult to think through. 

He could take it. His soul wasn't quite his anymore, and it didn't have permission to shatter, so he would take it. Whether he wanted to or not. Funny how things keep ending up this way. Always reaching dead ends, hah. 

He barely had time to blink away the liquids clouding his vision, hand coming away from his face coated in the black and red. Smelling of iron and hate. He barely had time until the tentacle was around his ankle with that telltale icy burn, and yanked him off his feet, slamming him into the opposite wall so hard Killer cried out. 

He collapsed down on the floor, breath knocked out of his metaphorical lungs. The stone behind him unscatched, but he was anything but. His spine hurt in a way that sent pain through his shoulders and down his arms, through his hips and down his legs. 

He tried to inhale but choked on his own blood and that black despair. It turned into coughs. Or maybe he was laughing. He couldn't stop smiling. It's not funny. It's hilarious. 

“Quit laughing, you braindead lunatic.” Nightmare snarled, still pissed at him. “You cost us that entire mission!” 

“Riighhtt,” Killer kept laughing, pain hot and buzzing on his face and skittering along his bruised spine. He could taste his own blood, how pleasant. 

Nightmare acted all high and mighty compared to them. He was immortal and ancient, or something, Killer didn't particularly care. 

Killer was an annoying insect compared to him. Oh but how good he was at being annoying. It was one of his most entertaining qualities, really, giving the Player just the tiniest details to obsess over. Using his final move in the big fight to stall (until his stamina, inevitably, depleted and betrayed him).

And he was so good at getting under Nightmare’s skin. Haha, get it? Skin? 

Killer kept laughing, even as a tentacle grasped him by the throat and lifted him. Whatever that hateful liquid covering the non-skeleton was, it always hurt so bad. Not quite like an acid, maybe like something alkaline instead? Like the way frostbite starts to burn when it's deeply sunken in.

Hopefully he would be feeling it for days afterwards, this time. 

—

“...I’m not sorry.” Horror stated, not looking at him. Just clutching the heavy kitchen knife in hand, not even chopping up the... whatever he was chopping there, some sort of vegetable. There was almost a growl to the statement, like Killer would attack him for it. Maybe he would. Maybe Nightmare would snap his hand off for that, but then how would Killer be his right hand man, haha?

“Didn't think you were,” Killer replied easily. 

“You freaks may be fine killing your own brothers, but I’m not,” Horror snarled, shoulders hunched in a way that puffed his hood fluff. Haha. Like an angry kitten. 

“That wasn't your brother,” Killer shrugged, leaning back in his chair. He didn't particularly care for the other residents, but the likelihood of being entertained in company rather than in solitude was higher. 

He liked getting a rise out of them. 

“Doesn't matter,” Horror snapped with the loud thunk of the kitchen knife being sunk scarily deep into the cutting board. Splintered wood. His hand clutching the handle tightly. “How can you look at him and–” 

“Oh I can,” Killer’s grin stretched, hands in his pockets, feet on the table. “And it's easy, don't worry, I can teach you, I’ll go real slow next–” 

The chair clattered as he leaped out of it to dodge the massive cleaver. It slammed against the stone wall hard enough to embed itself in it. Impressive. 

That would've been his face. Shame. 

“You gotta try a little harder than that, bud,” Killer teased, watching in delight as the red of Horror’s single eye blazed. 

—

This grand castle may be grand, but it sure was empty, too. Winding halls of cold, dark stone, even the smallest sounds echoing, barely obstructed by the dark carpeting. Big, cold rooms, unused and void of comfort. A 'Welcome!' doormat would get up and leave.

Pretty consistent aesthetic, yeah, but it was so... empty. It was nothing. It was painfully understimulating. 

Killer was strolling through the hallways again. Looking for something to do. Hands itching with the craving for something. Anything. 

...Hyperventilation. Someone was hyperventilating. Well, it was easy to guess who. 

Killer rounded the corner aaand yup. Bingo. 

Dust half curled against the wall, having one of his rare mental breakdowns. Again. It was very funny the way he could switch from lunacy, to utter flatness, to a nervous collapse. 

He was hunched over his hands, shaking. Killer couldn't quite see from here, but he was pretty sure there was dust on his hands. Haha. Dust on Dust’s hands. Hilarious. 

The poor sucker probably just touched one of the "decorations" along the hallways or something. Killer was starting to think Nightmare kept it so dusty on purpose at this point. That wouldn't surprise him.

Welp. This was as good as anything. Killer approached, Dust’s half conversation becoming a bit more audible as the distance between them shortened. 

“N-no no, I didn't–” a pause, just shaking, “–h-hah, right, you're right, y-you’re always right you're right I’m so sorry–” 

“Eh, don't sweat it,” Killer waved a hand like the words had anything at all to do with him. Dust’s face snapped towards him. Still shaking. 

“...Get it? Sweat?” Killer pointed out. He was hit with the sudden urge to groan and beat his head into the wall with how empty that joke was. It wasn't funny. It wasn't anything.

Nothing was anything. 

He was going to kill for something to just be mildly interesting. 

(...Haha, get it? Kill? How hilarious. He should try offing himself as a reward.)

“...You’re right,” Dust said numbly, and Killer got the impression that wasn't for him either. 

“Dunno about you but I'm actually ambidextrous,” he joked, and it was so– so– he wanted to scream with how uninteresting and unfunny it was. Nothing was anything. He chuckled.

“...What?”

“Ambidextrous? Both hands?” Killer did a little jazz hands, then returned them to his pockets as always. 

The silence stretched. It's like it echoed off the walls because something had to, and it sure wasn't going to be noise. 

It was so empty. Everything was so goddamn empty all the time. Killer itched to destroy it all and himself right alongside it. At least that would feel like something.

“...I’m... left-handed,” Dust said quietly. 

I don't care. I don't care about you. I don't care about any of you. I don't care about anything.

“Yep. I hear that's the trend these days,”

“...”

Killer turned around to leave. This conversation was nothing. Everything was nothing. 

(For some reason, soundlessly, Dust followed him.)

—

Killer flinched away from the hand. Nightmare paused, looking at him like he was something lowly. 

“Don't move.” he commanded. 

Killer’s body was trembling. He was pressed against the wall. His bones rattled, cold sweat down his neck. And yet, he grinned. He always grinned. 

He couldn't press himself any further against the wall. He could try fighting back. He could try teleporting away. 

He didn't. 

Instead, he gritted his teeth as the cold, cold hand grasped at– at his soul.

His soul. His being. His self. Sensitive and vulnerable and distorted. Fluttery like a heartbeat. His hands shook. 

It was pure sensation, pure instinct that was blaring alarms and screaming inside of him, to GET AWAY, FIGHT BACK, RUN AWAY. Screeching in fear and wrongness and pain and despair and everything awful. 

Nightmare was squeezing. It didn't burn now, how interesting, but it wasn't any better at all. He stared directly into Killer’s dead eyes. He was too close. Killer’s entire being was screaming at him to get away. He felt like collapsing. 

Here's the fun thing about Nightmare: he wasn't a “Sans” either, not quite. Not quite a skeleton. He was a couple hundred years old and a "guardian of negativity"... or something. Killer didn't know why negativity would need guarding, but sure, whatever gets that paycheck. 

That is to say — he had some fun, unique abilities. 

Like metaphorically shoving feelings directly down Killer’s throat. 

It's like he’d taken a syringe filled with a concoction of every horrid feeling and injected it directly into Killer’s soul. His essence. And now it all coursed through his blood. 

He was in the ocean. He was so cold it was burning him alive. He was so heavy he felt like collapsing. He was untethered and unstable. The pressure felt like his head was exploding. His metaphorical lugs were collapsing with the suffocation. 

He was thrashing inside the water. Hand stretched up towards where he thought he may have seen distant light before. 

It was a memory. It was wrong. It was dead. 

Tendrils of darkness lashed around his ankles, around his thighs and his waist. Around his ribcage and his wrists. Around his neck. Around his face. 

He clawed at the hateful things. Pure instinct, the self trying to persevere. Fear slamming into you again and again and again and again and it's never going to stop make it stop–

You are choking on your despair. You are cold and hopeless. You are burning and terrified. You have never felt worse. 

— 

The floor is cold. Everything is cold and dusty. It's all dead and empty. You don't even bother with the bed, just on the floor, leaned against the frame. There is no comfort to be found here. 

The room is dark, because everything is dark around here. Your eyes are closed, but it wouldn't make much of a difference if they were open. 

There’s no knock at your door. It’s just the crack of dim light that enters from behind you. 

“...There’s food,” Horror states. 

“Great,” you reply, still not moving from your balled up position on the floor. 

“You haven’t eaten,” Horror states. You wonder why he cares so much about that, though it isn’t hard to guess, considering his past. 

“We can’t die in here,” you remind him. Not until Nightmare deems it right, at least.

Horror growls, and now he strides into your room. Grabs you by the hood and just starts dragging you along towards the kitchen — he doesn’t even bother with the dining room, too lazy for it. Though it’s not like the kitchen lacks space. 

You consider protesting. Your entire body hurts like one big bruise. You’ll be feeling it for a bit of time. Less, if you eat. You’d prefer not to eat. Horror won’t let that slide though, and you can’t be bothered to resist a whole lot. You just chuckle.

The kitchen smelled... pleasant, actually. Vegetables and meat, broth? Killer was lifted and shoved onto a chair. Dust was already there, sipping on some soup of his own. He glanced at Killer, but said nothing, and his expression was unreadable. 

Soon as Horror lets you go, you slump in your seat. Everything hurts. At least it’s something. At least it’s something. Nightmare is kind like that.

You’re served soup. Vegetables and meat and broth. It’s still warm, even. 

“Eat.” Horror demands. You’re not scared of him. You’re not scared of anything. 

...Well. You’re scared of one thing, but he’s not in the room. Shame. 

You lift your tired hand to take the spoon, swirling the broth with circular motions. It smells nice. It’s weird to have actual, decent food after countless repetitions of nothing. You gave up on food a while ago. Not much point to it. 

But this smells good. Salty and rich. Your metaphorical stomach twists. Hunger is a sensation, and so is satisfying it. 

“How can you cook?” you ask, “Weren’t you in a famine?” 

Horror grins sharp and mean, “Recipes become fancy fairytales,” he gives you, pouring soup for himself as well. He eats like a starved man. Probably because he is.

“Why not just cook for yourself?”

“Shut the hell up and eat your soup,” 

You huff, and pick up the spoon with some soup. 

The taste is nice. It’s strong, salty, spices lingering. The vegetables are soft, and the meat is thoroughly cooked and tender. It was warm in Killer's mouth and as it spread through his system. The ache all over his body eased a bit by it. He’d miss it, but he can’t be all too upset by the pleasantness of the soup. 

Horror watches both of the other two like a hawk, ensuring neither avoid the food in any way. 

—

Killer didn’t care much for training. It’s boring. At least when he was solo. 

However, it was more fun with the other two. Dust was the one to instigate it this time, always looking to be at the top of his game when it comes to his magic abilities. Killer liked interrupting it with an Encounter, dragging Horror into it if possible, until he’s changed the mood enough to get them to have fun. 

Bones and knives and blasts hurled back and forth across the training space, the sting of minor wounds. Energy thrumming from the light competition, teasing and quipping back and forth, movement warm and energy rushing. It’s fun. Killer was having fun. Laughing and kind of enjoying being in the others’ company. Certainly better than the emptiness of everything else. 

It's one of the few, rare activities of theirs that felt companionable.

Nightmare’s appearance was, like always, a cold wash over the room. A sudden sinking of terror and displeasure in your soul. Impossible to skip over or brush aside. 

“Hee-he-heyy Night!” Killer greeted easily with a laugh, earning a shove from Dust. Those two tended to quiet down whenever Nightmare would pop up. 

“What are you all doing?” Nightmare demanded flatly, regarding them. 

“Training! Don’t you want us in tip-top shape to wreak havoc or whatever?” Killer replied, twirling his knife. Dust and Horror also preferred to keep their distance from Nightmare.

Killer didn’t do that. Killer always inched towards him. It made him feel like the fleshy, vulnerable hand reaching for the scorching flames. Nightmare meant rage and pain and terror. Just his presence was enough to make it skitter over Killer’s system, a potent concoction of suffering. It was like a drug. 

“Keep that cheer down.” Nightmare was unaffected by his attitude. 

“Awww you know we’d never replace you Mr. Grinch,” Killer said and Horror elbowed him. 

“Shut it.” Nightmare was as icy as ever. Killer wanted to make him burn the same way Nightmare did to him. 

—

Killer couldn’t say he was pleased to be woken up in the middle of the night, but it didn’t particularly matter. He blinked into the darkness, trying to orient himself, to identify what woke him up. 

A sliver of dark light from the doorway. Poisonous purple. Just standing there.

“...The hell you want?” Killer mumbled, yawning. He wondered if Dust was craving violence and that’s why he was here. The guy always exuded violent intent, so it wasn’t very easy to discern. 

Instead of answering, Dust just entered, closing the door behind him. Walking towards Killer’s bed. Footsteps quiet, slippers dragging against the frayed carpet. 

“...You don’t care, right?” Dust said into the hush, instead of, you know, answering like a normal person. 

“Not really,” Killer shrugged, though he didn’t even know if Dust could see it in the dark of night. He didn’t have glowing eye lights like the other two.

It was just his soul. 

“Great. Move,” Dust urged him, standing at Killer’s bedside. “Horror will bite my head off if I woke him up.” 

Killer lifted his brow bones, snorting. “I’m not getting up,” 

“I didn’t say get up, I said move,” Dust corrected flatly. 

Killer blinked at the darkness. Staring back at the glowing eye lights piercing it. 

“You want to...?”

Dust shuffled, and Killer watched the dark outline of his hand come up to hold that red scarf he always wore. Hunching his shoulders. Glancing away. 

“...They’re quieter when there’s someone else around.” Dust admitted quietly. Killer considered making fun of him for it — judging by the tone, Dust was ready to dust him if he caught anything mean in his reply. 

Shame, since Killer didn’t reply. Just shuffled to make space, grumbling about “If you steal my blanket I’m kicking you out,” 

Dust stared for a moment longer, expression unreadable. Well, more than usual. He was always hard to read. 

“...Thanks,” he replied, quiet. Killer didn’t bother trying to care about his tone, just yawned again. Before he went back to sleep, he felt the bed dip, and the presence of a boney body next to him. 

—

It became a thing. Killer forced Dust to bring his own damn blanket. 

—

“Maybe you were right,” Nightmare considered with that reverberating hum, standing above him. Tentacles holding Killer down, merciless, scorching.

“Yeah– I have– that tendency,” Killer choked out against the tendril squeezing his throat. It felt like a brand, like near-melting hot iron. He wished he could turn to the side to cough out the blood in his mouth. It tasted gross and he kept choking on it. 

Nightmare chuckled, though it didn’t sound all too nice. It never did. But hey, at least Killer was amusing. His tentacles weren’t yet squeezing Killer’s limbs to a breaking point, just holding them at threatening bends. As always, his mere presence washing Killer in a cocktail of fear-panic-devastation-hatred-etc-etc.

“You are different to the other two,” Nightmare kept speaking, a bit like Killer wasn’t even there. “They’re...” he tsked. 

“They care,” Killer agreed with him. 

“They hope,” Nightmare amended. “It’s natural for their souls, I suppose, they are made of it after all. But you,” his grin stretched, pressing Killer harder against the ground. Tentacles slowly restricting more, increasing the ache on Killer’s joints until it was pain, until he couldn’t help but wince and grind his teeth. 

“What– I’m hhngh– hopeless?” Killer kindly finished for him. 

“Yeess,” Nightmare purred. “You’re so chock full of despair, your senses for anything else are atrophied. Your suffering defines you. You breathe negativity, Killer,” Nightmare spoke low, gaze dark. In all its hate, it always felt loving. 

Killer loved him. He loved him in the way love is LOVE is Level of Violence is DT. And Nightmare was violence incarnate. 

Killer knew he would be the most loyal to Nightmare out of them all. Dust and Horror cared, they had values, they had something which could deviate. Killer didn’t. All Killer had was this — the hunger, the craving, the sharp zing of pain through his entirety. Enamored like a moth to a flame, except a moth was ignorant of what the flame would do to it. Killer knew exactly how much Nightmare could ruin him.

Nightmare knew exactly where Killer belonged — here, on the ground, bleeding and sweating with terror and pain. Grinning all the way through it. 

“You are a ruin.” Nightmare revelled, a tendril curling around Killer’s exposed soul, sending an immediate, almost intimate shock through his system. Making Killer whine and writhe and dig his heels into the ground, but all his limbs were tightly, painfully restrained, and he had no hope of fighting against it. Nightmare was stronger than him, more than him in every conceivable way, really. 

Killer instinctively cried out as his soul was squeezed, mortal discomfort clawing through him. It always felt like dipping his essence directly into molten iron, whenever Nightmare got a hold of it. Nightmare knew that. He squeezed harder.

Black tears built in Killer’s eye sockets, streaming down over his face. 

It was a horrible, abysmal feeling that Nightmare always managed to stuff into his bone marrow. It was overwhelming and violently painful. 

It was... so much. It was so, so far from nothing. 

That is exactly what Killer came to him for, after all. 

“You’re perfect.” 

—

You were seeking them out to curb the boredom yet again. But you pause as you overhear them talking, and you're pretty sure you heard your name somewhere in there. The door isn't closed all the way. 

Of course you're going to eavesdrop. And you don't feel shame, because that'd necessitate you feel something. Nightmare’s castle and all its exuded negativity covers up the natural aura of your soul, so they keep talking, unaware of your presence. 

“–makes me uncomfortable,” low, rough. 

“...Me too.” restrained, poised. 

“I mean, even when he came up to me with his damn offer, I fought back,” 

“Yeah. Asked what the hell is going on,”

“Yeah! But he just–” 

“...I think he does it in his own way. Fighting back.”

“You think or you hope?” 

A pause. 

“...He did... agree... to join that wretched demon.” quieter, strained. "So. Hell if I know."

“Don't get all mighty, you're not much better,” growled. “Neither of you are saints.”

“None of us are,” defensive.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” flippant.

A pause. The silence tense and cold. 

“...Still. He never... you know. Not with you and me, not– like that. He isn't nice but– It's just Killer,” back to strained, poised. Like a coiled spring, set back but ready to snap at any moment. Toxic purple. 

“...Yeah.” scratchy, red. “But there's... nothing we can change about it. Believe me, I wish there was.” 

“...”

“I don't like it either. Now shut up before it bites you in the ass.” 

When you walk in, you act like you heard none of that. You announce yourself as cheery as ever. It's not hard. You don't feel touched or upset or offended. You don't feel anything. 

(They fought back, when Nightmare came to them. 

They demanded answers, when Nightmare came to them. 

You didn't. So this is your own doing, anyway. You agreed to it. Just like you struck that deal with the devil. That was your choice too. Those were your consequences to bear. It's no different now. You shook Nightmare’s hand; you gave your soul away, because it's apparently just something you do now. Twice makes a pattern.

It was so easy to agree. 

You suppose it's just who you are now. You agree to things like this. 'No' is no longer in you. 

Pathetic.)

—

So maybe Killer was obsessed with Nightmare.

So maybe he found himself thinking, more and more, what would Nightmare think? What is Nightmare up to? What would Nightmare say? 

Not as any sort of moral guide or whatever, hah. Morals, imagine that. No; it was just... 

Nightmare was so, so good at shoving away the numbness. The emptiness. Nightmare was terror and hate and fury and misery and agony, he was so much more compared to the nothing. 

It's you. You are the nothing. You need him. You need him because he completes you. Of course he's all your messed up brain can latch onto — he's the most potent thing you've encountered, so in a way, it’s like he’s the only real thing. He's the only solid, clear thing, and you need something to grasp and hold onto. You couldn't grow numb to him even if you wanted to. 

Nightmare says “Kill.” and you kill.

(Though interestingly enough, he doesn't say that one particularly much. Prefers to keep people alive to siphon negativity out of them. That's fine — you don't need a command to do that one and to enjoy it.)

Nightmare says “Kneel.” and you kneel. Nightmare says “Scream.” and you scream. Nightmare says–

“Insubordination is punishable.” in that deep, deep voice, the depths of the ocean, cold and reverberating and deadly. 

“I'm not doing that!” Horror snarled, defiant. Morals. How hilarious. “You can get either of these two sickos to kill Papyrus, why in the hell does it have to be me?” he growled, teeth bared in a malicious grin. Hands twitching at his sides, itching to grip a weapon. Killer could practically see, in his eyes, the desire to rip Nightmare apart. As if. 

Nightmare tsked, always so unaffected by them. Always high and mighty. 

“Because,” he spoke slowly, and it's like dangerous intent was bouncing off the walls, though there wasn't even a minute tremble to his tone. “I ordered you to.” 

“I am–!” 

“Killer.” 

You stand at attention, easy, grinning. 

“You can handle this one, can't you?” Nightmare doesn't even look at you as he implies the command, and you don't need it. Without hesitation, you lunge at Horror, knife already summoned in your hand. You don't pay mind to the... expression, that Horror gives you.

You're stronger than him. Of course you are. 

“Killer– what the hell are–?!” Horror snarls, dodging and ducking and dodging again from your merciless slashes. You're faster than him, too. Determination is good for stamina in that way. 

“You heard the boss!” you say cheerfully even as you maim him relentlessly. “We don't do insubordination ‘round here!” 

(Later, you turn it around and around in your head. You wonder why Horror would be shocked, betrayed even, by your actions. You wonder what he expected. You wonder why. 

You don't care about them, after all. They should know this.)

—

They all had their quirks. Killer wasn't one to judge. He was, once, maybe, but honestly, he lost that right a while ago. 

Like this! 

He trailed his fingertips over the deep bite marks on the wooden spoon. Or, the half of it that he picked up off the floor. He poked the jagged splinters from where a solid snap of teeth must've severed it. Fun. 

He tossed it behind him. Let Horror deal with his own mess. 

That wouldn't be happening now, however. ‘Cause said mess included Horror slumped down, back against the cabinets, curled up and gnawing on wood like a feral animal. Sick and delusional with hunger, by the looks of it. Not uncommon.

Killer rolled his eyes, snorting. He strode over to the pantry, opening up the door. 

Everything around here tasted moderately stale, and some of it tended to go bad, but by some miracle, there was food. Probably because Nightmare didn't want them magicless and energy-less.

He grabbed a half full bag of sliced bread, turned around, and promptly chucked it directly at Horror’s head. 

The dumbass barely even dodged, and Killer burst out laughing. 

“What the FUCK was–?!” Horror snarled like a wild animal, teeth bared in a bloody grin, waving the bread at Killer like he was gonna hit him with it, the whole shebang. And then he paused. Looked at what he was holding. Processed it. 

“Diets don't look very good on you baby, you're all bones,” Killer joked, cackling as he left the room, as Horror ripped open the packeting to eat.

—

“...You awake?” 

Killer groaned into the darkness. Dust usually just laid down next to him and let him sleep, but apparently he was feeling chatty tonight. 

Welp. To be fair, Killer was awake. And he was bored. Better conversation than not.

“Unfortunately,” he grumbled, rolling on his back. 

And even though Dust was the one to initiate, there was no response. He just rolled on his back too. They stared up at the dark ceiling, not even really seeing anything. The brightest things remained Dust’s eyes and Killer’s ever exposed soul. 

“What are you hallucinating this time?” Killer asked, because again, booredd. Better conversation than not.

“...I’m not, actually,” Dust said. 

“What, you just wanted to wake me up to bug me? Felt lonely?” Killer chuckled, glancing at him. 

Dust turned his head to the side, those bright glowing eye lights pinned on Killer. His expression wasn't visible in the dark of night. 

It was dark. It was quiet. It was cold. Same old, same old. 

“...You know he doesn't love you, right?” Dust’s voice was barely above the quiet, and yet all too loud compared to it. “I don't think he even can.” 

Silence. 

Killer’s exhale shook. 

It turned into a snort, into a chortle, into a chuckle. It grew until he was laughing against the backdrop of midnight.

Because Killer was many things! Someone who said 'yes' to horrible offers. Someone who couldn't care even when he wanted to, and frequently couldn't even want to. Someone who was so deeply ruined the Lord of Negativity called him perfect. He couldn't call himself a tragedy because at least in a tragedy, there is beauty, there is meaning, there may even be catharsis. 

But Killer wasn't an idiot. 

Of course he knew that.

—

“What do you want,” Nightmare regards you as always, that is to say, he barely regards you at all. You found him in the grand library, that is to say, he allowed you to find him. 

“Please,” you breathe out. 

Nightmare turns a page, unconcerned. 

“That's not an answer,” he says. He loves to humiliate you. He loves to feel superior you. 

“I can't feel anything.” you state. 

It's cold. It's so, so cold. It's numbing.

It's a yawning chasm inside you. It's a black hole. Nothing survives there, nothing even exists. Not just the positive ones; the negative ones slip through your fingers just as well. They're just vague impressions, something you theoretically know existed once but doesn't anymore. Like seeing a silhouette in the corner of your eye but when you look at it directly it was never there in the first place. The negative ones are, at least, easier to remember than the positive. They're possible to recall.

You physically cannot imagine the positive ones. It's like being suddenly blind. The sheer concept of them is foreign to you, you cannot even trace the shapes. An atrophied muscle, necrosis.

So here you are,

“Please.” 

The black hole burns with its ice, it devours you, right in the middle of your chest. Your heart is a gangrenous thing. 

Nightmare sighs, like you are bothersome. Closes his book and places it aside. 

“What do you want?” he demands again, and it's a kindness. 

“I don't care,” you say. “Anything, just– anything.” 

You'd cheer for your limbs being torn apart if it meant feeling something. 

Tendrils crawl over you, mean and scorching, and you are roughly shoved to your knees. A blank canvas begging to be covered in black.

Nightmare is the only one who can do this for you. He's the only thing you care about, because he's the only thing you can care about. 

[help-im-a-gay-fish]

Round And Round Till We All Fall Down (FINAL)

Round And Round Till We All Fall Down (FINAL)

Studio Nightkiller story. Part 4.

Part 3

Part 2

Part 1

In a way a follow up to KillerNight(s) however you don’t need to read KillerNight(s) to read this one.

Synopsis: Nightmare and Killer’s relationship has been going round and round for years. With feelings becoming undeniable, will they fall together or, as always, fall apart? This is again before Ccino has entered their lives.

P4: After their last fight, Nightmare fights to try and save what is left of the crumbling relationship. But with Killer pulling away, is it to little to late?

Warning, contains some mature themes, and refences to drinking.

Credits

Studio verse by @zu-is-here

Based off of headcannons both me and @jann-the-bean came up with, thank you so much for all your help Jan.

Original nightmare by jokublog

Original killer belongs to rahafwabas

Enjoy :)

Killer got back to his flat late that day. His step was light and his smile wider and full of satisfaction. A freeing morning after a freeing night.

It was a feeling he could remember well even now, a month later. He'd been so happy… it was all so silly now….    

It had felt like a long time since he'd been on the walk of shame, walking out in the same clothes you wore the night before, messy and a little stanky. Perhaps bitten, bruised, and aching with that good pain.

Only, No shame came for him this time, he didn't feel like all eyes were on him, or in the know of what he'd been doing. As he breathed in the smog-filled city air, leaving the hotel, He felt greatttt.

It was like the whole outside felt brighter and more energetic, more alive and colourful than he'd seen in a long time. The city buzzed and bustled, and teemed with life and energy. Killer was like the protagonist in a musical right before they burst into song, hearing music in his head.

He felt like he could do anything he wanted, and anyone he wanted for that matter.

Though his enjoyment wasn't to last a long time.

As he got back to his flat he still felt great, cheerfully waving and cheekily winking at the doorman, as he walked past.

Walking into his flat felt great, the familiar scent of cats and cigarettes whipped his nose, as he shut the door.

It was really good to be home...

A patting of little paws alerted him to the arrival of his flatmates, and he cooed happily as his beloved fur babies came into view.

"Cheesy! Crackers! Aww, Daddy missed you" he said, pulling off his jacket and throwing it haphazardly across the living space.

The two walked up to him quickly, tales in the air, and sniffed his legs a few times.

Killer chuckled.

"You two are smart kitties, you can probably smell my new friend on me..."

The two looked up at him and swished their tails around. 

"Sorry I was out all night...we really should get you two some breakfast"

~~~~~~~

After Killer had made a choice between the various cat foods at his disposal and divided up the can into their bowls, he took out some salmon from the fridge and held it out proudly.

"How about a bit of a treat today to make up for being late"

A small chorus of happy meows followed as he smashed a small piece of fish on top of both of their foods.

Some people told him that he put too much effort into the diets of his precious felines and that the more expensive brands he used were pointless, but he didn't care. 

So long as his loves were happy and healthy, it was worth any cost.

It was when he set the bowls down, and the two started feasting, that his mood first started to change slightly.

He recalled an amusing memory or Nightmare.... from a few months back. complaining to the cats that Killer feeds them better than him.

"And he buys you fresh cuts of fish too! Oh! I really shouldn't be giving it away to him so easily..... if he's capable of treating you, surely your daddy could do the same to me."

"Pot noodles! He gave me pot noodles!"

It was back when they were just a fling. Back when there wasn't a need for labels, or strong emotions and confessions…

It was a memory that had often brought a smile to his face and a warmth to his cheeks. But today?

"...."

He sighed, no use dwelling on the past now, he couldn't change what was done...

A light mew brought him out of his thoughts, as Crackers rubbed up against his legs.

"Aw...I missed you too baby!" He said, stroking them.

"Daddy's sorry he's been in a bad mood lately....but that should all change now." His baby purred and rubbed up against his fingers. 

"Mew"

"Oh well that's easy Crackers " he smirked and leaned against the countertop.

"Daddy met someone new last night....and it was really good..."

Cheese stared at him blankly and twitched his ear slightly, before just going back to his food. Seemingly unable to care less.

Killer rolled his eyes and chuckled at his feline friend. 

"Handsome, funny, casual....energetic..."

The smile softened on his face at the warmness he felt. He stretched and clicked his neck.

"Mew"

He paused. 

"...."

"What do you mean 'what about Nightmare?'"

"......This isn't about him..."

A blank stare was all he got in response.

"It's not OK! The winey snob was always trying to prove I was a cheater...I just gave him what he wanted...."

"....."

It felt oddly quiet in the kitchen now, despite the mews. The two pairs of piercing eyes were on him now, looking right through him like a criminal in court. 

Tension was palpable.

Soul was pounding.

"Stop looking at me like that! I'm not going to feel guilty about it"

"....."

He could have sworn it was getting a little warm in the room, as some sweat formed on the back of his neck.

No....no no...he wasn't going to think about this. There was nothing wrong with it, nothing! And if he wanted to do it again then he would! Yeah...who cared if he did.

"Mew"

"Oh, what do you know Cheese!? You're neutered!!" He said before he stormed out of the room.

~~~~~~~~

Nightmare on the other hand had a very uncomfortable morning. 

He'd woken up on the living room floor that day, a mixture of wine and saliva spreading on the carpet beneath him.

His head hurt, his eyes were sore and his tongue tasted of vomit. 

Pleasant…

The smell in the room was strongly alcoholic in nature, and the evidence of one and half empty bottles on the coffee table explained why. His foot, still resting on the sofa, indicated why he ached so much.

With a groan, he pressed his palm to his head and sat up.

What a night.

He promised himself he'd take a break from the wine for a while, he'd just needed some way to let go of stress last night. After that fight.

He sighed and looked around his living room. It looked like the bins behind a bar, and smelt worse. 

His phone was on the table next to the glass, silent. 

"......."

Has Killer responded yet? He hadn't messaged him since he left after the fight.

"......."

Checking his phone confirmed his suspicions.

He didn't think so...

His text messages had been fuelled by wine really, and it showed as they contained a circus of grammar mistakes, miss-spelling, and random words that had been auto-corrected wrong.

All of them telling Killer to come back and that he needed to stop flirting with other people and be with him.

'Killer jm warnings yous '

'Comeba k and stop begins so unfair'

'You cnat go our with our me!!'

'I known oe what your doing!!@ you can't co trol yourself '

What toxic crap was this...

This wasn't OK....he couldn't remember being that drunk....but he clearly had been. 

No wonder Killer didn't respond. 

One thing was for sure though.

He'd messed up.

Night wasn't sure when this toxic cycle of anger and mistreatment had started, but he was up to his neck in it.

And now Killer was suffering for it. They both were.

At first, he'd just been trying to make sure Killer kept his attention on him and didn't flirt with random strangers, which he still believed he'd had every right to do, but he could see that he'd taken it a bit too far now. He'd crossed a line and started to hurt Killer. 

He didn't want this.

Peeling himself off the floor, he started to gather up the empty bottle and glasses on the coffee table, he still had some pride in his place after all.

After neatening things up and drinking some water to help soothe his aching skull, Nightmare sent Killer a new text.

'Killer, last Night wasn't really good for us. I think we need to talk about your behaviour '

'And mine of course.'

'We just need to talk'

There...

It's not like Night was going to type out a long apology for his nastier texts, he wasn't really that type. 

And despite being able to recognise that he'd crossed a line, he was still angry at how Killer had acted too.

Last Night was in part a blurry mess, but the more he remembered the more frustrated with Killer he got.

Killer had overreacted quite a decent amount last night, and Nightmare wasn't going to apologise when Killer had basically told him he was bored of him. That still stung.

Killer had never rejected him before...

"....."

His tongue once again craved the wine he'd been making quick work off in the recent weeks.

No...no..not after last Night.

"...."

Perhaps he had gotten a little used to Killer taking a lot of the lead in things. Whether that be dates, gifts...or...sleepovers…

Nightmare had just never been spoiled in such a way before, after years of fighting for attention, it had been nice to be treated that way.

"....."

Killer only really liked low and classless things anyway....clubs, bars, cheap fast food and crappy Rom Coms. Not stuff that Nightmare cared much about in the slightest, and things that Killer would be better off not wasting his time on right?

He wasn't so sure anymore...

His head hurt too bad for this...it was something he could think more on after Killer responded...

~~~~~~~~

Killer didn't respond all day.

It was odd in a sense, a kind of behaviour he didn't recognise within himself. 

He'd never just ignored a text, from anyone. If he did it would often be for a good reason.

His boyfriend had clearly been drunk last night….. such a fact would have made him laugh, had Night not spent the better part of the night insulting him.

'We need to talk about your behaviour '

'And mine of course.'

"……."

Ok but what about his behaviour did he have to talk to Nightmare about? He hadn't done anything other than reject him and tell him some hard truths, that was something he wouldn't apologise for.

So for that reason, he ignored Night's texts for a day and spent it doing the things he liked. Playing with his cats, ordering take-out (the super greasy kind) and watching all the cheesiest romantic comedies in his DVD collection. 

Just a happy, carefree, bachelor life.

Like he used to have.

It was a twinge of guilt at the start of the next day that finally got him to invite Nightmare over to have a conversation….

…..

….

…

Their conversation didn't resolve much… all it did was send Killer back into the arms of his booty-call, and Night to the bottom of a wine glass.

More days passed…

Things stayed the same…

It was a difficult time.

They were two opposing sides of a battle, and neither was giving….

Neither one had seen rock bottom approaching before they'd crashed right into it.

They were spinning too fast on the carousel and had been flung off.

~~~~~~~~~~

*ping*

The playboy picked up his phone, but it wasn't who he wanted it to be.

He'd been expecting a message from his agent this morning, as costume fitting for his new short was coming up. Despite mostly only being fitted in blue fur-collared jackets, a new one for each project he was a part of was often made.

But it wasn't that.

'Killer, can you come over.'

"...."

Nightmare….

He hadn't heard from his boyfriend for almost a week.

He sat up, letting the blanket slip off him slightly. 

There were no other messages, no other indication of what Nightmare was thinking. Did he want to fight again? Probably. 

Killer wasn't really in the mood for this yet, his throat was sore and his skull was aching. Why did the bed always feel like a toasted marshmallow in the mornings? When it was sometimes so hard to fall asleep, why was it so warm in the morning?

It wasn't often that sleep alluded Killer, once he nodded off he slept like a log and then some. 

Only last night, despite being exhausted, he found himself tossing and turning in the covers. There was no real reason he could think of to explain it on paper. He'd been perfectly warm and comfortable, and as before stated, tired. But despite that, he'd found himself laying on his back counting sheep. Perhaps it was due to being in an unfamiliar bed, though that hadn't been an issue before. 

With a sigh, he summoned the last of his willpower, swung his legs over the side of the mattress, and got to his feet.

His trousers were hanging loosely off the bedpost, and he had to pull them off carefully to make sure he didn't rip anything. 

As he pulled them on, he heard the sound of sheets rustling behind him.

"Hey, handsome, where you goin'.."

Killer sighed.

"Night texted me, he wants to meet"

"Oh that boyfriend of yours is so demanding… surely he can wait a few," His lover said, snaking an arm around Killer’s waist and pulling him back down.

The blank-eyed skeleton chuckled and let himself enjoy the sensation of kisses on his spine.

"Mm…you're naughty babe…but I have to go handle him.."

His partner didn't let go.

"Nah Kills, you can handle your boyfriend after you handle me~," he said before pulling Killer back into bed with a chuckle. 

~~~~~~~~~

*ping*

Nightmare was on his phone as quick as a dart. 

It was embarrassing for him to admit, but he'd been sitting by the phone with a cup of coffee, waiting for it like a nervous school girl.

'K'

K? K? Really? That's all Killer was gonna give him? 

Just K.

It would have taken less than a second to type out. He was really worth less than a second?

It stung, to say the least.

Things here had drawn them to the end of their ropes.

Nightmare was tired.

He was tired of fighting. 

The recent arguments the two had been having span them round and round in circles. No matter what they said, no matter how they tried, it always ended the way it started, a fight.

Not today. 

Clearly, the two of them needed to just move on from the situation and start fresh, reset and try again.

It had been a while since the two of them had gone on any kind of date, and today Night was going to take him on one.

Or at least that's what he hoped to do.

He sighed and corrected his shirt. In their last argument, Killer had called him a conceited sob, among other things…. And he'd had some time to reflect a little. 

Perhaps he was being a bit snobbish to dismiss Killer's interests so quickly. There was nothing outwardly wrong with fast food, other than the grease, so perhaps he could give one of the cheap burger joints another try. Even if it meant he'd need to wash his mouth out later.

~~~~~~~~~~

It was a few hours later that Killer showed up, looking happy, but slightly distracted. 

Nightmare would be ashamed to admit how good it was to see him. But as Killer dodged Night's attempt at a kiss, his non-existent stomach dropped into a pit.

"So what'd ya call me over for Night?" The dark-eyed skeleton said, tapping out a text on his phone.

Nightmare was going to ask him to put the phone down, but he'd already promised himself he'd stop being so nit-picky.

"Well… it's been a while since we last talked Killer, and I wanted to see you.."

"Mhm" he answered, looking up for a moment "is that all?"

The purple-eyed skeleton felt a little on edge, his partner's blank stares and clean-cut answers were as cold as a knife blade and twice as harsh.

"Well no…"

"Our last conversation didn't end too well… and I was hoping we could move past it.."

"....."

"And….in light of that…I...I was thinking...I could take you out to dinner tonight? "

"......"

His boyfriend’s eyes stayed locked to his phone, typing out a message. It was as if Nightmare wasn't standing just a few feet away from him.

"Since you’ve treated me twice now...maybe I should…."

Night trailed off, seeing that Killer still didn't lookup.

The purple-eyed skeleton started to feel the nagging jealousy raise in his mind. It picked at him, asking who it was that Killer was texting right now? He should pay more attention to you, right?

He silenced it. 

No no....that was what had gotten him into this mess, it would probably just be Killer's agent. Yeah that's it, he was gonna be working on a new short, it made sense he'd be paying attention to that.

"Nah...all that fancy shit doesn't agree with me"

"....."

"I mean....we could go to a fast food place you like...or…."

"Night don't bother alright?... I don't wanna have to listen to you complaining about the 'greasy food' the whole time, alright?"

"But..."

"Just leave it...it's a nice thought but no"

Ok...Well, perhaps this was going to be more difficult than he'd expected. Their fights always resolved themselves it seemed. It wasn't common that they talked about what they'd argued about, or the words that had been said. No formal apologies came out of either of them, the fights just stopped stinging.

The two of them were both adults, not children on a playground. They both knew that it was important not to take angry words seriously, and after time had passed, they would always simply get over the arguments.

In the past Killer had always moved on from them faster, his flirtatious and sly teasing returning faster than a boomerang. But this time...

Was Killer still upset? It wasn't that bad of a fight for them, neither of them had ended up throwing anything...

"Alright..."

Nightmare cleared his throat and Killer looked up from his phone.

"Well that doesn't mean we can spend the evening together... you could show me some more of the places you used to hang out in?"

He was kidding right?

Killer snorted.

"What, so you can't stand in the corner in the huff because you were mad, and you didn't want to be there? "

The purple-eyed skeleton stiffened.

"H-hey! I only did that because it was really loud and...and I lost you and-

"So it's my fault?...of course"

*ping*

"What? That's not what I meant.."

Killer turned his attention back to his phone, as Night stammered out some kind of blame game he was sure. He had to stop himself from smiling upon opening the attachment he'd received. 

"Killer!"

He looked up.

Nightmare was trying to stay calm now, he'd promised himself he would. But surely it was fair that he was annoyed now. He was trying and Killer was just too busy on his phone. The envy gnawed at him and tormented the inside of his skull.

He took a deep breath. Stay calm, stay calm.

"Killer...I'm trying to talk to you...can you please put the phone down?"

"....."

"I know you have an important short to film, but please, I'm your boyfriend and I just wanna plan a date night..."

The only expression he got from the eyeless one was a numb stare. Killer internally rolled his eyes. Of course...Nightmare was his boyfriend, so of course, Killer couldn't talk to a single other person, what was he thinking.

"Fine," he said, putting the phone away.

Nightmare sighed. 

"Killer...look...I'm not trying to be snippy...

"I'm trying to make up for my behaviour in always doing what I want, really, I want to take you somewhere you want tonight...no complaining."

"...."

"No complaining?"

Now that was kinda sweet… Nightlights' eyes were soft now, a gentle violet glow. It was clear that what he'd said was genuine, and Killer wasn't enough of an idiot not to appreciate it.

Killer’s expression softened and he smiled.

"Really?"

It was definitely out of character for Nighty to be so soft-spoken, and it was nice for him to see.

Nightmare sighed and crossed his arms.

"Yeah...it’s my turn to be better..."

Killer stepped forward, suddenly feeling a flush of warmth in his chest and a desire for affection. 

"Thanks Nightlight, I appreciate that"

He gently cupped Night's cheek with his hand and pulled him in for a soft kiss, Which he happily returned, fluttering his eyes closed.

That's better…

It truly felt like too long since he and Killer had been like this, and he couldn't stop himself smiling against the taller's mouth. 

But just as Nightmare was starting to melt, Killer pulled away. 

His eyes were partly narrowed as if he were thinking over something really hard. 

"But uh..."

He glanced at his phone.

"I already have plans tonight..."

Oh...

"...."

Jealousy prickled in Night's bones.

"Doing...what..?"

"Does it matter?"

Nightmare stepped back from Killer’s partial embrace, farrowing his non-existent eyebrows. 

"Well...yes!"

The prickling was more like tiny stabs now.

"What are you doing?

"Going out to a bar and looking for- "

The moment he said it, he mentally slapped himself. He shut his mouth straight away as if hoping he could trap the words in before Killer heard them. 

More accusations…

Old habits die hard he guessed…

Killer narrowed his empty eyes and threw his arms up.

"Oh well that didn't last long did it?!"

"What a surprise."

"Killer..."

"Well, it's none of your business alright? I'm just meeting a friend for dinner, I'm sorry that I'm so untrustworthy"

Nightmare just shrunk into himself. 

"Why can't we get dinner though?"

Killer groaned and grabbed his jacket to leave.

"You know, I don't want to talk to you if you are just going to keep repeating stuff from that fight!"

"Well screw you then!" Nightmare snapped, feeling utterly rejected. "Go spend time with them, I'm sure they are soooo much more important than your boyfriend!"

Way to go Nightmare...making it worse again. You idiot! You should stop talking.

Killer stood and stared for a while, before pulling his jacket on.

"Fine"

And with that, he walked out.

~~~~~~~~

More days passed.…and then a week.

It was a pretty happy week for most, as the sun was out for most of it.

Happy families and couples filled the streets below Nightmare, laughing and smiling, enjoying the day.

The sight never used to bother him, but these days he watched them with a vicious poison in his eyes.

Nightmare spent most of the next week inside, with his only other comfort, his books.

Perhaps it was stereotypical to say, but Nightmare loved to read with all his soul, from his book he could be transported anywhere, and for once he could be someone else. Someone more liked.

As a child, he'd used to read to his brother at night, since their mother rarely did, and ever since he'd enjoyed it as a great escape. 

He wanted to escape. 

He didn't want to be him right now.

Every so often he'd attempt to call Killer, only for the phone to ring out or be manually disconnected. 

One time the playboy had picked up, and the two had chatted for 20 minutes or so, but it felt strange as if they were communicating through glass, and the oxygen was being sucked out.

It hadn't been a fight though, which Night guessed was progress. 

When they weren't talking, Killer was still on his phone though, his Instagram was full of photos of him and his cats, others of clubs and fancy cocktails. 

He was having fun without Nightmare.

Nightmare couldn’t even look at his phone anymore. He kept getting the feeling like Killer was with someone else.

Perhaps it was just his childish jealousy messing with his skull again. Trust in his boyfriend was important. He needed to trust him.

"...."

He missed him.

He missed his lewd comments and perverted words.

He missed the gentle touches, and the light nips and kisses. The smell of the cigarettes, Killer pretended not to smoke, and the cats he so dearly loved.

He missed Killer.

Stuff him.

Screw him.

"....."

He drew his blinds so he wouldn't have to see other people, and shut himself inside with his books.

~~~~~~~~

At this point in time, Killer didn't have a clue about Night's current state of mind, and right now, he couldn't care less.

So long he'd been trying to please Nightmare. So long he'd been suppressing himself to be what Night wanted.

No more!

The purple snob had been trying to call him repeatedly, but it hadn't been all that long since they last hung out, so Killer didn't feel the need to pick up.

They talked once through it all, though Nightmare was mostly quiet the whole time. For a moment it concerned Killer, but he figured it was probably his imagination. 

~~~~~~~~~

As the next week rolled around the two saw each other briefly.

Simply getting drinks at a bar before Killer left for rehearsals.

Or at least that's what he said. Nightmare didn’t know what to believe anymore. He felt like Killer was looking right through him the whole time as if he were only half listening to everything he said.

It was almost like Night was a chore for Killer to complete,  something he had to do.

That was ridiculous, right? If Killer didn't want to be with him, he'd have ended it.

Yeah…Killer still wanted to be with him… they were still together. 

"...."

He'd be back after work was finished. 

~~~~~~~~

A few more days passed.

The rehearsals for the new short would be officially starting soon, and Killer was beyond excited about the prospect. After a brief break, it would be fun to jump back into the world of scrips, makeup and movie sets. This short was sure to be good, he'd already met his new co-star Colour, and the guy seemed pretty professional. 

The rest of the cast and crew were very welcoming as well, though it was strange in places.

In the place of his violet-eyed boyfriend, a different actor was playing Nightmare this time. Now this wasn't something unusual. Even if Killer and the others were known for their renditions of the au characters, other people would often play them in minor parts.

Killer and Night would sometimes enjoy watching other people playing them and finding slightly more awkward portrayals very amusing. In fact, one of those times had been the last time he'd heard Night really laugh.

Heh…

It would be odd not having him around… but also it was a good thing! Yeah… a nice break…

~~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn't too long after Killer made a tweet about the new short, that he received a Dm from someone he hadn't spoken to in a while.

He'd been so wrapped up in all his current business, that he almost hadn't realised how long it had been since they last spoke.

Cross was his best friend! How could he be so careless like that? This situation needed to be rectified straight away.

Happily, he arranged to get coffee with him after a rehearsal. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

"A vegan? Seriously…"

"....."

The dismissal in his friend's voice hadn't been what Cross had hoped for, even if it was what he expected. Killer could be extremely blunt sometimes, and it was that which got him into the most trouble. As much as it was sometimes extremely frustrating to deal with, Cross had been missing his friend's snark a lot lately. 

Killer had been quite a lot busier than normal, and at first, Cross had just chalked it up to the new short he'd been rehearsing. However, it had been at least three weeks since they had gone out for drinks or sat down for coffee.   

Now on a surface level, this wouldn't be considered strange at all, especially since the two of them both had obligations to their boyfriends now. However, it was definitely weird on Killer’s part. He was often very keen to drag Cross out for a night on the town, whenever Dream allowed it. So for Killer to go from trying to get him to come out every Friday, or having coffee a few times a week,  to hardly talking to him for three weeks….

Well, it was a little strange, to say the least.

The last of contact was why Killer had till this moment been unaware of Cross' recent decisions.

"Yep, I feel like I wanna try it, don't wanna be eating anymore cow meat...ughhh"

Killer stared perplexed at his friend, sipping his coffee. 

"You're pulling my leg"  

"No"

"Then what about that milky, triple caramel, birthday cake, frappe latte, with extra whipped cream you are drinking?" Killer asked, gesturing to the sugary concoction sitting on the table in front of him. His companion gave Killer the impression of a child being caught sneaking out of bed and staring at his cup.

"Uh…. Cheat day.." he stated, defensively grabbing his drink away from Killer. 

The eyeless skeleton burst into a low chuckle, placing his cup down.

"righttttt"

"a vegetarian then! Just no more meat"

"because you're scared of-

"I'M NOT SCARED OF COWS!"

Killer laughed again, poking his tongue out.

It really had been too long since they had sat down like this, but things.... had been busy in Killer's life. Things were hard to keep on top of these days. Lines to learn, boyfriends to tolerate, hickeys to hide. It was stressful.

His duel coloured companion huffed from the other side of the table and proceeded to sip from his drink.

"Why does everyone keep saying that anyway..."

"Maybe because of a certain viral video on YouTube.." Killer replied, trying to suppress a laugh remembering it.

"You have to admit, it was hilarious"

Cross, however, straightened up, his fists clenched.

"That cow was a demon....a beast..."

He shuddered.

"It had murder in its eyes...I swear!"

His companion couldn't suppress his laughter any longer.

"Sureee whatever helps you sleep at night Criss Cross"

He was rewarded with a glare sharp as a sword.

"Shut ittt!"

It wasn't long before their friendship fell back into its normal place. Teasing, laughing and joking... talking about how things had been in recent weeks. Nothing out of the ordinary...until.

*ping*

Killer’s phone.

The dark-eyed skeleton only glanced at it this first time. He sipped his coffee.

*ping*

Hmm...

Again he ignored it and turned his attention back to the bi-eyed skeleton.

"I still don't know about this whole vegan thing...you sure your boyfriend isn't trying to change you?"

"No no...I just want to try something new," Cross replied, sipping his drink again. As he tasted the sweet milky liquid again, he considered that maybe being a Vegetarian would be easier.

"In the end and it’s my choice, not yours"

*ping*

Cross noticed it this time.

Hmm? That's strange. Probably just Nightmare, it was nice to see in a way, the two of them being in a relationship after so long. The texts, all the late nights and love marks on Killer that Cross acted like he didn't see. It was nice...really nice...

"Fair point... you wanna be healthy and strong for Lil light don't you?"

"Oh shut-

"...."

"There is nothing wrong with wanting to be attractive to my man"

Killer laughed and picked up his coffee again.

"Of course not!" He said chuckling as Cross, flushed face "I'm just messing...bet Lil Light loves seeing you drenched in sweat after a workout though~"

"Killer!"

"...you always have to twist it, nothing can be innocent with you can it?"

Killer simply shrugged and shook his head.

*ping*

Killer's face stayed neutral, Cross raised an eyebrow.

The eyeless skeleton was pretty sure who was texting him now. They had a habit of sending short and quick texts, whereas Nightmare normally texted in full paragraphs. How dangerous....the desire to check what his sneaky companion was after made him purr. It was so baddd...and for that reason...kind of fun.

But also, he liked this guy. He was funny and...Well, he was attractive...

Not to mention he didn't want anything other than Killer's body, a quick romp and goodbye. No pointless talking, no spooning which overheated your bones, no stupid feelings...

*ping*

He smiled and picked up his phone.

"You don't mind if I answer this do you?"

Cross smirked at his companion.

"Aww, can't wait to get back to texting your beloved Moonpie?"

"How cute"

"....."

His smile dropped fast.

"Yeah...something like that"

His fingers tapped a tune onto the sides of his mobile, before typing out a response. Cross tilted his head in a dog-like fashion.

"You alright mate?"

'No not really’ he thought to himself.

'I'm lying to you'

"Yep...fine..."

Cross played with his straw.

"Well it's nice to see you so eager to text"

"Yeah...sorry I'm still getting used to the relationship life," Killer said, clicking his phone to standby.

"It's fine, I'm happy for you, you know"

"Glad you finally met someone you like"

"....You took your sweet time searching around..." he said with an implied laugh in his voice.

"......"

A flicker of anxiety flew through Killer’s chest. The guilt curled and suddenly wrenched a small amount.

"Sure did..."

"I just never thought I'd be happy in a relationship..."

There was a kind of weight in his chest now, he'd always been open and honest with Cross during their whole friendship, and now the lies were spilling out of him like water.

"Sometimes I miss the old days...heh...it was a lot less work"

The old days, back when it was so much easier. Back when he and Cross would stay up late watching bad romcoms and then mess around on the sofa for a while. It wasn't so much his physical relationship with Cross that he missed, such thoughts and fantasies were something he'd moved on from, but it was more the emotional side.

Cross was very different back then, a lot more laid back and less judgy of the sleep around lifestyle. The two of them had been able to tell the other anything, there wasn't much room for privacy with FWB roommates...

But now he was hiding his lover from his best friend.

Stiffness in the air was clear now. An awkward film was covering the both of them now, and the two said nothing. Cross could see something was bothering Killer... he didn't want to pry too much, so some gentle prodding might help Killer talk on his own.

"..."

"Oh...Well, you seem happy now, even if I took a little.."

Or maybe not... Killer had been smiling when his phone went off. Maybe Cross was overthinking things. Killer glanced at him.

"Does it show?"

A smirk formed across his face. "You could say I found a way to....spice things up~"

He inwardly purred, thinking about all the bad things he could do later.

Cross on the other hand recoiled slightly and waved his hand. "Please spare me the details, I'm dating his brother.."

Another phone notification pulled the blank-eyed skeleton out of reality, and back into the web of lies. Despite answering the message, he hardly paid attention to it.

"......."

"Cross...I need to tell ya something..."

"Hmm?"

Cross raised a non-existent eyebrow from across the table and sipped his drink again. Ok, this was new, but mostly expected. As he'd noted before Killer wouldn't talk if you tried to press him into talking. However knowing Killer, Cross chose to clarify:

"It's PG right?"

Killer smirked. It was pretty understandable that Cross would wanna clarify, based on his track history.

"Yes Crisscross, don't worry it's PG"

"......."

His fingers dexterously twisted his phone. For a moment he hesitated. Was he really going to tell Cross this? Surely the more people know the more likely that he would get caught. But now there was something, a strong compulsion to lay his sins bare here.

"Cross....I've met someone..."

"....."

It was almost laughable how quickly his friend's face turned confused. A perplexed tilt of the head reminded Killer of the dogs Cross loved so dearly.

"Met someone....what do you mean?"

"Someone new!" Killer answered with a smile.

"Been talking to him for a while now"

Cross still looked confused.

"......"

"You've....made a new friend?"

Oh, classic Cross, just as naïve as ever. Despite having a long friendship with Killer, he really believed what he was trying to say was innocent.

"Heh...oh yeahhh"

"He's become a very good friend"

"You could say we've really.....bonded.."

Silence.

The taller skeleton gripped his cup tight, and did nothing but stare at it. He gave his friend no acknowledgement, just muttered:

"Killer...what are you saying?"

A chuckle fell out of Killer, as he drew his phone to his chest and tapped his fingers against it.

"Oh you know...he's been great Crisscross"

"Doesn't have a stick up his ass like Night does, so much more chill and doesn't nag me"

"He has a different kind of stick up there if you know what I mean"

A laugh is what he'd expected from that comment. A chuckle at least. But no, all he got was a silent stare.

"....."

"Awe c'mon you aren't gonna give me anything?"

"That was a good one".

Still nothing.

And then.

"You're kidding me right."

What?

Cross' look of confusion had shifted into something that appeared to be anger, frustration. But surely it couldn't be?

"Huh?"

"You. Are. Kidding."

"Right?"

"....."

"Oh don't be such a tight ass CrissCross, I've made it work so far"

Cross' knuckles tensed on the table.

"Killer..."

"Are you cheating on Nightmare..?"

Cheating...

Cheating.

That word made Killer recoil into himself slightly. Cheating was such a nasty word... made him feel guilty, like how he was feeling was wrong. He wasn't really doing anything wrong...really...

"....."

"As I said, it's fine... just a new friend-

*bang*

Cross slammed his hand down on the table, causing both drinks to shake.

"ARE YOU CHEATING ON HIM, KILLER!?"

"Yes. Or no."

"....."

The dark-eyed skeleton would be ashamed to admit how much that had made his soul thump. Cross was so quiet most days, calm and collected, especially in his partner's presence, that Killer had long forgotten what it was like to see genuine anger flash across those purple eyes.

"..."

He stared at his lap, like a child in the head teacher's office.

"Yes..."

"......"

He looked up again. "But keep your voice down.... people are looking "

His friend rapidly tapped his fingers on the table, most likely an anger management technique. Killer sighed.

"What Night doesn't know won't hurt him.... anyway it's probably better for us in the long run."

"How?" Cross asked.

"Surely you aren't stupid enough to think that."

Killer sagged his shoulders. "Night was suffocating me! This guy takes all the pressure off!"

"I feel like my old self again!"

"Oh...so you feel like a lonely playboy again? Good for you"

Cross hadn't looked up, he just watched his fingers.

*tap tap tap*

*tap tap tap*

*tap tap tap*

It was rattling Killer's skull.

"I'm not lonely. I'm finally happy again.."

"Oh yeah...so long as you’re happy it doesn't matter who you hurt.."

Ok, that wasn't fair...the phone in his hand pinged again. Of all people, he was sure his brother would understand...right?

"Cross you are meant to be on my side here..."

"I'm always on your side!!" The bi-coloured skeleton snapped, finally making eye contact again, "I'm always sticking up for you!"

"All I want is the best for you! You just never seem to see that".

Cross grumbled and ran his hand across his face.

"What am I gonna tell Sunshine...." he muttered.

"....."

It hurt...Cross just didn’t understand! It wasn't like that... It wasn't his fault.

"Nightmare pushed me to it!"

"I'm doing him a favour by sneaking around! He's impossible to put up with otherwise!"

"Killer..."

Cross' eyes were narrowed.

"Did you think about what it would do to him when your boyfriend finds out?"

"Well it won't find out will he?!" Killer hissed across the table, his eyes darkened with pent up frustration.

"Unless...... you're gonna snitch on me?"

....

Cross didn't answer him.

Killer shook his head in disbelief.

"Some friend."

Cross grit his teeth.

"Killer!! Do you have any idea what kind of a bad situation this puts me in?"

"Do you not care about Nightmare at all?"

A genuine look of hurt fell across his face, and worry set in around his eyes.

"Do you not care about me? Or the fact I'm dating your boyfriend's brother? Who, by the way, wanted to tell Night to stay away from you."

"But I stuck my neck out for you! I convinced him to tell Nightmare to confess his feelings! Because I thought you actually cared for him."

"....."

He locked his eyes back on his coffee cup.

"Guess I was wrong huh?"

Ok...that was slightly infuriating.

Those words made it pretty clear that Cross didn't care about Killer’s relationship with Nightmare. He simply only cared what his little golden angel would think of him. Dream had changed Cross... got him thinking that everyone needed a relationship like he had, that he knew better. Killer didn't need this! He didn't want Cross to medal.

"Well, I never asked you to stick up for me! And I never told you to say that to Dream! I never told you a relationship with him was something I wanted. You assumed!"

Killer downed his coffee in a single swig.

"And you don't care what happens to me, all you care about is what you're little Sunspot thinks."

Cross got to his feet, standing over Killer.

"Don't talk about him like that!! He just wants the best for his brother! As I do."

"I was trying to help you!"

"All I've been trying to do is get you out of this toxic cycle you've trapped yourself in"

"Because I care about you, Killer! I know you aren't happy..."

"....."

Killer put his coffee cup back on its plate and let out a long frustrated sigh. After collecting a few pounds in change and tossing them on the table for tips, he got to his feet.

"Wellll.. this has been fun...but I have a date with my lover, so bye."

He slipped his jacket off the back of his chair, as Cross continued to give him a look of pure judgement.

"You are so selfish.....and an idiot...you know that?"

Killer glared.

"You don't know what's been going on, Cross."

"You have no idea how shitty Night has treated me, so don't act as you understand-

-Then why not leave?" Cross asked, cutting in "if you hate Nightmare so much, then why not leave him? Why keep stringing him along hmm?"

Killer didn't answer, he just pulled his jacket on.

"And on that note, why do you keep pulling him back to you? He had wanted to move on, he had a girlfriend"

"Why go over and get him to sleep with you?"

Killer still said nothing and grabbed his phone off the table.

"Why can't you just leave him alone!?" Cross asked, "Why keep dragging yourselves back into a confusing dysfunctional relationship?! Why can't you just let him go!?"

"SHUT UP! WHY DO YOU KEEP BUTTING INTO MY LIFE!?"

"WHY WON'T YOU JUST ADMIT YOU LOVE HIM!?"

...

...

...

Love...him?

The words hang in the air thickly, sticking, lodged like a nail in the wall. Something so simple, but so out of place, something no one could ignore once they saw it. 

For one skeleton, he was slightly mad at himself for letting that question slip out, knowing that the anger had pulled it out of him. For the other, his throat was dry and blocked by an unknown item, like he'd swallowed one of his cat's hairballs.

Then all of a sudden, it was gone.

The shock was slowly running its course and running off him like shower water. If he'd not been so angry, it might have found it amusing. Such a notion was completely ridiculous.

"I don't catch feelings."

"Killer..."

"And I don't need to explain myself to you, you're not my real brother."

His tone was flat and factual, with no emotion reading from his voice.

The anger in his system clouded his senses just enough that he couldn't feel the gravity of what he'd said just yet.

At this point, his skull was swimming with so many different frustrated thoughts and conflicted feelings, that he just couldn't care anymore. He stuffed his phone in his pocket, as Cross sat back down at the table. He didn't even pay attention to the hurt in his friend's face.

All he wanted was to meet his 'friend' and blow off steam.

No...

That's what he needed.

And he wasn't selfish in fulfilling a need.

Cross swallowed his inner pain and steadied his tone.

"I guess I was stupid to think you'd even acknowledge your own feelings..."

Killer didn't reply and started walking out.

"...."

"You're going to end up alone Killer...."

"And when that happens you'll have no one to blame but yourself..."

The playboy paused at the door of the coffee shop for a moment. Still as a statue. For a moment Cross thought he was gonna say something back.

But then he simply left without a word.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Another day passed…

And then…

When Nightmare had heard a knock on the door, he'd been confused, to say the least. A warm swirl of hope curled through his soul, thinking it could be Killer.

But he shouldn’t have been surprised when it turned out not to be him.

He opened the door, a half-drunk glass of wine in one hand, and a slightly scuffed up physical appearance.

It was Dream.

"Oh..."

"It's you.."

"...Hey....."

The last person he wanted to lay eyes on right now.

How could he face them at the moment, when his own relationship was at a breaking point. How could he look him in the eye, knowing that he and Cross were so much better?

He didn't want to take it out on Dream. He was too tired to repair yet another broken relationship, and right now he didn't trust his own mouth.

"Dream-

But before he could say another word Dream tackled him with a hug. After so many years, you'd think that Nightmare would have learnt to expect Dream to greet him this way, but clearly not.

He inwardly groaned as his wine split all over his arm.

"...."

"Nighty!!!" Dream said, pulling back and smiling.

"It's been way too long brother!"

Nightmare gave him a look as dry as his tone.

"You made me spill my wine..."

He rolled his eyes and drained what was left in the glass. He didn't seem to even notice the growing red stain on his shirt. Dream stared at it, waiting for Night to react to it. But he didn't, he didn't seem to care.

"I'm uh...sorry I'm a bit out of it right now.."

"Perdóname, no he dormido bien......"

Oh brother...

Dream couldn't read his mind, but he could see Night wasn't OK right now. Was it possible that Nightmare was already aware of what Dream had come to tell him?

"Oh...that's quite alright Nighty.."

"Is Killer around?"

His twin visibly flinched.

"...."

"I haven't seen him since Tuesday..."

Ok...maybe Nightmare didn't know yet... Dream was not looking forward to this conversation, but it wouldn’t be right to keep such info to themselves. When Cross had told them...Dream couldn't remember the last time they'd felt so angry.

Deep down, he felt like he shouldn't have been surprised, his opinion of Killer had never been a good one. 

Killer was like some kind of parasite to Nightmare, he'd latched and sucked his bones dry with all the empty promises and drawn out heartbreak.

Round and round for years. Back and forth like a dance which neither seemed able to escape from. Every time Nightmare seemed to get the message that Killer was a no-good heartbreaker, every time he tried to move on, Killer pulled him right back to bed.

At first, it was harmless...but they weren't getting any younger.

Dream had been set on being a bit firmer with their brother. After the playboy had gotten Nightmare to cheat on his girlfriend and then left him, Dream had really started to feel like it was enough. He'd told Cross that he was going to talk to Nighty, and give him the push to dump Killer for good.

"Mi Amor...I wouldn’t...isn't Night in love with him?"

"So?... That's all the more reason why.."

"Sunshine...I think it would be better to convince him to tell Killer how he feels"

"I know Killer...he loves him...I know he does"

Cross...

Dream took a deep breath, this wasn't about him...

One problem at a time.

"Ohhh, I take it Killer has been busy recently?"

He stepped past Nightmare into his flat.

"Perfect! We can talk without worrying about being interrupted!"

His brother sighed. "Yeah...I suppose so.."

Dream smiled, but then his face switched to being more serious

"I wanted to talk to you about something important"

"Something Cross said..."

Nightmare sighed and found himself rolling his eyes. "Oh yes, wanna tell me about your perfect boyfriend?"

"How's he doing?"

His brother's eye twitched for a second, and a large stretched-out smile was suddenly across his face. It looked almost painful to keep up.

"Yeah...greattt" they said, failing to keep their voice chipper "he's great"

Nightmare blinked and felt confusion rush him. That was strange, had something happened?

"Is everything OK with you two?"

"Yep," they replied, a little too quickly.

"Dream?"

"It's fine Nighty....we aren't here to talk about me"

"....."

The plastic smile was still unmoving, but his eyes showed something deeper behind them, something he didn't want to talk to Nightmare about. Night was torn for a moment, between pressing the issue, and not. But in the end, he concluded that the drama with Killer had been draining him too much to get involved in his brother's problems.

"Alright...if you're sure."

"I am"

"It certainly has been a while since we last talked Nighty!" Dream smiled for real again, as the subject was changed.

"How have you been? Got any new scripts to revise?"

"No, not really, I've mostly been focused on Killer" Night responded.

"Oh...that's good..."

"...."

"How are things going with him?"

"....."

Well, they weren't good in the slightest. But did he really want to tell him that? For years and years he'd watch his brother. Always showing up to an event with a man on his arm, smiling and laughing. For years he'd been watching his brother's long term relationship grow and move on, while he just stayed alone. And after all the trouble he'd been through getting into a true relationship of his own, it was failing spectacularly.

He couldn't bear to admit it to Dream.

"Oh...it's great yeah"

"Lots of dates, lots of sleepovers..."

"...."

"Yeah...Good..."

Nightmare was a good actor. He had to be to make what was currently a successful career out of it.

But Dream was his twin brother and they were an empath. They could read him like a book.

"Night...."

"Are you sure? You said you haven't seen him-

"Working." His twin interjected, "he's working with a new script so...he's been away for a bit"

His brother's golden eyes were piercing him like sunlight. He couldn't look directly at him.

"It's fine"

He didn't believe him at all, and Nightmare could tell.

"We had a small argument...but it's fine."

His brother went to say something, but Night quickly cut in with. “Dream you had something you wanted to talk to me about… something Cross said?"

"Let me guess...he's asked ya to marry him?"

Oh, that would really just be the icing on the cake wouldn't it?

"¡TRANQUILO! I don't wanna talk about him!"

"This isn’t about us!"

Silence.

It had been a long time since his twin had been tightly wound enough to snap at him. All Nightmare could do really was stare at him.

Dream looked to the floor bashfully.

"lo siento solo....."

They sighed deeply.

"I want to talk to you about something he said about Killer. Alright?"

Oh...

Sometimes he forgot how close friends Cross and Killer were. It felt like a movie plot that his boyfriend's best friend just happened to date his brother. But it was a small world sometimes…

If he was going to factor a guess, he'd say that Killer had been complaining about him again, and he'd said something offensive that Dream didn't approve of.

"Are you here to tell me he is insulting me behind my back? Because we insult each other to the other's face plenty..."

The words weren't outside his mouth for a second before he realised how bad that sounded without context.

"Uh, I mean..."

"We banter and joke with each other, so it's probably just that"

"Brother..."

Talking to his brother wasn't making him feel better in the slightest. Nightmare just wanted to read a good book with a glass of white or red, free from all this mellow drama. But he also wanted to be held by Killer again. The way he always did when they slept together.

It was just...

"Dream...things are fine, I'm sure whatever it isn't a big deal"

Dream shook his head.

"Hermano... por favor escucha..."

Nightmare sighed "fine, you aren't going to drop it...what is it?"

His brother looked stuck for a second, and moved his mouth open and shut like a fish, trying to find the words.

Surely it wasn't something that was that hard to say.

"Well spit it out then"

"Um"

“Dream… estás jugando conmigo? Seriously messing around with me??"

"Because I'm really not in the mood for it"

His twin sighed.

"Night...Lo Siento, I hate to be the one who has to tell you this."

"But Killer is cheating on you".

"......"

It was strange to say that all he felt was numb.

Odd how at times of great pain, like a broken leg, or a red hot poker, you feel nothing at first. It's the shock of it, mixed with the adrenaline, which created the ideal pain relief- even if only temporary.

"......."

It was uncertain how long he stood there absorbing the blow, as his brother anxiously awaited a response.

It was still. Silent. Cold and numb. A still pressure coming in from all sides until…

He took a breath and felt relief.

It was like he'd come to the surface after a month underwater. It was a huge weight off the non-existent lungs.

"Oh!"

He took a few deep breaths and doubled over.

"He....he..."

He'd known it...he'd known he would! It had been so obvious, it was strangely relieving. He straightened up and took another breath.

Cheating...

And then it hit him.

What that really meant.

Killer was seeing someone else...

No..no.... no

No, he couldn't.

He...

"No..."

Dream sighed and shifted his feet.

"I'm sorry brother...I really am.."

No...he couldn't do this, it wasn't real.

"But I'm here for you.."

Killer wouldn't! He couldn’t! Dream just...

"......."

Dream...

His eyes locked on his brother. His perfect little twin. His brother was here to tell him that his relationship, the one that had taken years of struggle to come together, was going to end like this? Most disrespectfully and cheaply.

"I...I can't believe it..."

No...no...he refused.

"I can't believe you'd spit this crap!"

The golden-eyed skeleton practically jumped back.

They'd been expecting tears, They'd been expecting anger. But even in that case...he hadn't expected anger directed at him.

"What..."

Nightmare’s expression was shifting all over the place. Confusion, anger, frustration.

His twin narrowed his eyes.

"You really expect me to believe that Dream?"

"Killer is really stupid enough to tell the guy dating my brother he's cheating??"

"Best friend or not...you really expect me to believe that?"

His voice was still, but his eyes told a different story. They were wider and running around trying to make sense of things.

Dream took a breath. Night was clearly just dealing with a lot at the moment...

"You really think I'd make this up?"

"....."

"Yes. I don't believe you"

That hurt...

"...Brother...."

The purple-eyed skeleton avoided all eye contact. The situation was making his twin feel like crap. After all the years they had been back in contact. All the movies and shows they'd been in. Every single time Night had blamed and criticised him for stealing the spotlight and over-shadowing him on purpose.

"......."

"Are you...kidding me.."

Dream didn't want to get angry, that wouldn't help. But the frustration hissed and spat as his brother walked over to the table, and refilled his wine glass.

"Night..."

His brother ignored him and loudly sipped his wine.

"Fine. Why believe your brother who loves you very much, when you can stay with a playboy who has run you around for years."

"Dream." Nightmare said, before draining his glass and setting it down, "My boyfriend is my business....you just don't like that you aren't the only one now".

The golden twin shook his head slowly.

"No creo esto..."

"You're in denial! I'm trying to help you"

"Rubbish!" Night snapped, his eyes flaring with a vibrant purple, mouth pressed into a small grimace. 

Despite the rough shape Nightmare was in, he embodied an aura of superiority around himself, something that made Dream often feel like a small annoyance. On occasion, Dream struggled to see if Night left his character on stage. It brought back rough memories of when Night had discovered Dream's old 'modelling' career...

But now wasn't the time to think about that.

Dream took a step towards his twin.

His brother was a cold and closed off man, but Dream wanted to help him more than anything. They were the only family the other had.

"Nightmare please...you aren't in a good way..."

"I just want to help-

"I DON'T NEED YOUR HELP!"

The rise in volume caused Dream to flinch. Looking down, he sighed.

"....."

"Dream...you..... you should go...."

"But-

The look in Night's eyes told him not to bother. Nightmare wanted him to leave... and he didn't have the energy to try and argue with him anymore.

"Alright....."

Dream walked himself back over to the doorway.

Nightmare followed and took hold of the door. They stood in silence for a moment. The purple-eyed one was still as a stone pillar, one thousand thoughts swimming through his mind. His figures gripped the wood of the door harshly. He was a dam of emotion. All blocked behind a still face. A desire to let it leak floated across the surface....but.. he couldn’t.

"Oh brother it's alright...it's just not meant to be.."

"You'll find someone else!"

"You'll be happy just like me and Crossy!"

He could hear his brother saying...

It made him feel sick...

"....."

"I appreciate you coming over..... but I'm fine ok?"

Dream reflected Night's frown with a soft smile.

"I know brother....."

"But...I'm here for you...ok?"

"......"

"Mhm..."

And with that, he shut the door.

.....

Dream stood face to face with the door for slightly too long... feeling strangely rejected.

"...."

It wasn't long into walking away, that Dream heard a shout and the sound of the coffee table being kicked over.....

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

.....

......

“Killer, I need to talk to you, come over now.”

“Kinda busy rn babe”

“Killer, I do not care. Come here now please.”

“Fineeee whatever :-P”

....

Killer left him waiting.

Night knew he shouldn't have expected more, it's not like his boyfriend was considerate in the slightest.

Cheating...

He shouldn't have yelled at Dream like that, but reality had slapped him in the face hard. He wasn't able to contain the influx of emotion. Feeling like an idiot, he'd just lashed out.

But Dream didn't matter now.

All that mattered was Killer...

~~~~~~~~~

As he heard the front door open and shut, Nightmare took a breath. He chugged the wine in the glass he was holding and placed it on the countertop. After wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he made his way into the living room.

"Finally! We need to talk!"

At first, Nightmare entered the room with anger behind his stride, emotionally volatile thrashing behind him like tentacles. He wanted nothing more than to give this man in front of him hell for everything he'd been doing.

But...when Killer came into view...

Nightmare felt strangely still.

In a second Nightmare's feelings were scrambled. Like a record scratch on his emotions, the second Killer was visible to him. His boyfriend...his first boyfriend.

The object of his affection and fantasies for years....was slipping through his boney hands quickly like grains of sand, leaving him stuck in quicksand. Frozen, and sinking.

"Killer..."

Killer inwardly groaned, upon hearing Night's scathing tone when he entered. So he was in a mood again...of course.

When was Nightmare not upset with him about something? It was the very base of their relationship, dating all the way back to their first meeting... Their first hook up… Back then, he'd enjoyed Night's snippy and feisty behaviour, and to an extent, he still did. It was fun to have someone to challenge. Someone to tease and play with.

But when it was like this… When it was just him always complaining about small and insignificant...

It grated on him.

"Seriously that's why you brought me here? to yell at me?"

He folded his arms. "What have I done now?"

"......"

Before that moment, Nightmare had a pretty clear idea of what he wanted to say.

But his mind was blank.

"...I...."

"You...."

"...."

"You know!"

"....."

He sounded like an actor who forgot all their lines, looking to the side hoping for someone to prompt them. He never had a hard time remembering what to say...

In response, he got a raised eyebrow and a very blunt. "What... I know what?"

It just wasn't worth it was it...

For the last month, he'd been trying...and he'd been yelling.

Nightmare spent so much of his time giving himself emotional distress....it was truly draining.

"I...."

"....."

"Why didn't you just break up with me Killer?"

He hated the defeat in his own voice but could be bothered to mask it.

What?...

Killer hadn't been expecting that. It was such a shock actually, that it caused his defensive front to waver slightly… It was when his irritation at being called here to get scolded dissipated, that he fully took in his smaller boyfriend.

Nightmare looked...awful...

His lover was a person who always prided himself in appearance. He would always make sure his shirt was ironed and his shoes were scuff free.

On basic days he'd slip into a hoodie with a smart jacket over, but still, everything was kept clean and neat.

But now?

He looked exhausted and done. His clothes looked a bit messy and peppered with wine stains.

How long had he been like this?

"What?! What are you talking about..."

"I don't understand....why would you say that..."

His boyfriend straightened himself up a little and tried to keep his voice clear.

"If you are planning to break up with me....just do it.."

"I'm just sick of this..."

But despite that, his shoulders slumped again and his eyes locked on Killer’s feet.

"We don't go on dates....we don't sleep together..."

"You hardly speak to me..."

Their relationship was a joke, a shamble, but after so long of stubbornly telling himself that it was fine, Nightmare was taking a look at the mess behind him, and hurt...

"You don't even call me Moonpie..."

That shouldn't have been the thing that made him want to cry, it was the most stupid. It was just the memory that hit him. All the times Killer had gently held him to his chest...or kissed his hand. The soft gentle Killer...

The one Nightmare had pushed away...

He'd screw it up...

And now Killer was apparently done enough with him to want someone else....and supposedly already found them.

"I...."

Killer felt stumped... since when did his Nightlight act this way?

Nightmare was always so brash and strong-willed, spiteful and ready to fight, determined to have the last say and passionate when he felt he was being wronged.

But it was like someone had pressed him, like apples to juice, all the fight was gone...and he was just a shell of his former self.

"You..."

"You're overthinking things....I've just been busy..."

Busy...

He'd been busy being a two-timer.

He'd been cheating...

"....."

It was almost as if that train of thought was a button which opened the floodgates.

The guilt.

It hit him with the force of a baseball hat to the head. It had been a month of nothing more than petty and spiteful sex with a stranger. Short unbothered texts and calls he'd ignored.

Nightmare had been a complete nag and control freak… But why had Killer wanted to hurt him so badly....? Killer didn't want to hurt him so badly!!

Nightmare felt tears forming in his sockets which he tried to will away.

"I've been trying!!! I know I was crappy! But I wanted to try!"

"I'm sorry-

The tears threatened to fall. "C-can't I do anything to bring you back??!"

Killer's hands took his hands and held them gently.

"Moonpie....I.. "

"I didn't realise you..."

Nightmare’s response was just a shake of the head.

Nightmare would hate himself tomorrow. Nightmare hated himself now. He would have slapped himself if he could, but instead, he felt like crying, his voice cracking, as he couldn't get words out. At that moment, he didn't care anymore. Was he crappy to Killer? Was Killer crappy to him? Was he cheating?

It didn't matter.

His relationship was crumbling and shattering down in a spectacular disaster. Years of hopes and dreams and hook-ups and broken promises...all a mess at his feet. Was he never allowed to be happy? Had he been cursed from birth to live in a bubble of negative feelings for his whole life.

He couldn't take it anymore...

"I..."

"I was just so scared to lose you!!"

"¡¡No quería que te aburrirás de mí!!"

Killer felt almost awestruck.

Nightmare was basically coming to pieces in front of him, layers and layers of masks slipping down to reveal something raw and bleeding.

Guilt stabbed him straight through the chest and lodged itself. It was almost like he was looking at Nightmare with clear eyes for the first time in weeks.

Before him was someone venerable, someone hurting, someone he cared about. He cared about a lot.

What had he done...

How could he have been so selfish....he had to stop this all!  How could he?

"P-por favor... quédate c-conmigo esta noche!" Nightmare begged, pulling Killer by the shirt into a desperate, yet anxious kiss.

Oh...no.

Killer felt like the worst person alive at that very moment. He felt like he deserved nothing more than to be hated by everyone. Yes, Nightmare had really hurt him in the previous months, but he hadn't deserved to be treated this way.

He slowly closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around Night, to draw him closer.

He was such a piece of crap...

Killer had never been that good with words when they were to do with feelings. He knew that about himself, but he knew he needed to comfort Moonpie at that moment...show him affection...softness.

So, Killer opted for the easiest way he knew how.

His hands gently slipped their way under Moonlight's shirt, as the kiss became even more desperate, and he directed his boyfriend to his bedroom.

It was scummy of him to start such a thing, especially when Nightmare was so emotionally damaged.

But he didn't know how to say what he wanted to... and with Nightmare nodding to him as Killer gently lay him against the sheets...he kissed away the tears....he just took him

Nightmare melted under him that night. The warm gentle feeling of Killer filled a deep need in his soul and brought comfort in many ways. It was soft, and close to his heart, and felt like the first time at that moment.

It had been a long time.

Killer felt strange the whole time. The enjoyment wasn't as strong as he normally felt it, as sadness ached through his bones with each movement. It had been so long...he almost didn't recognise Night, as he sighed below him. It had been good, but it had felt wrong and fake. As if he were tricking Moonpie with a lie. A false promise that he wasn't going to hurt him anymore.

"......"

As they lay together afterwards, Nightmare fell asleep quickly, his head resting against Killer's chest. The sound of his soul, soothing him.

Killer, however, stared at the wall behind Nightmare. With his hand gently stroking Nightlight's back, he became lost in deep and regretful thought. He'd screwed up.

Their relationship had hit a bump, it had become rocky, and Nightmare had hurt him. But...he knew now where his soul lay, he knew where he wanted to be. The feelings of being trapped were no excuse for such a horrible thing.

"......"

He kissed Night's skull.

He could never tell him. From here, he'd try and do better...

Sleep didn't come easy...

It must have been hours before Killer was finally able to drift off.

As such it was no surprise when a few texts pinging on his phone the next morning didn't end his sleep…

~~~~~~~~~~~~

They slept late into the morning. The sun was almost halfway across the sky before they awoke.

Nightmare was the one who woke up first. The second he saw the face of Killer he felt shame ripple through his bones.

It felt just like the first morning...it was so similar.

Waking up face to face with the playboy after sleeping together for the first time...it had been...Well, it had been strange.

Now it felt so silly, but that one beautiful night had been the cause of all of this, the craving, the shame, the need.

Just the memory of how Killer had looked above him that night sent shivers down his spine, and warmth across his cheeks.

It had only been a one-time thing back then...now look at him.

Pathetic.

"Killer...."

The purple skeleton shifted closer and rested his head against Killer's chest again.

Killer didn't want to wake up. It had taken so long for sleep to claim him, that when he felt himself waking up it was slightly frustrating. He didn't open his eyes, at first he felt like he couldn't.

Quickly, he became aware of the movement to the left of him and a low murmuring, indicating that his companion was awake. He could feel Nightmare’s body pulling on the sheets as he moved, and the strong warmth his bones gave off being close. His head rested on Killer's chest again.

"....."

With a low groan of sleepiness, Killer moved his arm to loosely wrap around the purple-eyed skeleton, and rest against his ribs.

"Hmm..."

Night kept his eyes closed, and sighed in turn. He shifted himself to snake his hands around Killer’s body, and rest them on his hips.

Close.

Saying nothing, Killer mirrored him, and placed his hand on the small of Night's back and the other on his arm, pulling him to him slightly.

"....Morning Moonpie..."

It was a while that they stayed like that. Nightmare didn't respond to Killer or move at all, he just kept his eye sockets softly closed, and fingers slowly running across the surface of Killer's hips. He felt how Killer did the same with the grooves on his lower spine, and across the top of his arm.

There was no carnality behind this, no hidden intention. It was something kind of alien to them both, just to hold the other. It felt like a long time since it had been so soft...

"......"

"....Good morning Killer...."

"......"

With his eyes still shut, Killer kissed Night's skull and continued to rub his arm.

"How are you feeling..."

Nightmare yawned.

"Mierda...."

"Like crap...."

"How about you?"

If Killer hadn't been so exhausted, he would have laughed.

"....yeahhh same..."

He finally managed to force his heavy eyes open again and give Nightmare a light squeeze.

"But...do you feel a little bit better than yesterday?"

Oh...yesterday.

Why did Killer have to remind him about that, when he'd been reduced to a crying mess? It was embarrassing.

But....he couldn’t deny that last night had improved his mood, even if only slightly.

He stretched and pushed back, out of Killer's embrace a little. Till it was at a point where he could look him in the eyes again.

"Maybe..."

"....."

"Last night was...Nice..."

Now Killer wasn’t gonna deny that.

Even if he'd felt awfully conflicted and full of self hate the whole time, he couldn't deny that it felt good to just be with Moonlight again...

Just looking at him after waking up? He found himself smiling lightly.

"Yeah, it was..."

"It's always good with you.."

Nightlight offered a rare half-smile in return, but he didn't hold eye contact long. He gently placed his hand against Killer's chest and ran his thumb against it absent-mindedly.

".....yeah..."

Killer sighed. "I..."

"I'm going to try harder...and try to be better..."

Nightmare met his eyes again. "Killer I was awful to you..."

In response, Killer sighed deeply.

“Either way…. I shouldn’t have treated you like that…I was being overly defensive"

That was putting it lightly. He'd not just been defensive, he'd been downright disgusting.

“Let’s just.. forget that happened yeah? And move on..?"

Yeah...forget it all. He wasn't going to tell Nightmare what he did, he was just going to let his lover slip among the memories of the countless others he'd been with in the past. He was going to let go.

"........"

Nightmare stared at him. "You want to forget it all?"

With a yawn, Killer nodded and pulled Nightmare closer again.

“Yeah…."

“As in… I won’t bring up the things that you did that upset me....and you could do the same…"

"We just let it go and move on..."

“……."

“If you want that is…?"

What did Nightmare want?

Yesterday he'd wanted nothing more than to scream and curse at the playboy. But then...like many times before, he'd let Killer take him to bed, but had this been a one last night kind of deal? Despite sleeping with him, had Night still been planning to yell at him? He couldn't really remember now...

And......as he lay with him now, feeling Killer’s hands resting on him gently and hearing the softness in his voice, it was starting to feel like a beautiful dream again.

"...."

"Start fresh.."

"Forget it all"

"Yeah…"

Killer couldn't help but smile a bit, knowing that things didn't have to be brought up now and that he and Nightmare could forget it all.

What Night didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

“……. "

“Yeah… a fresh start....you and me.."

He leant over and kissed Nightlight's forehead once again.

“I’ll be better…. And as a way to start fresh…"

“How about I take you out for brunch?"

Nightmare sighed.

With his busy life, breakfast often felt like a novelty, rather than a daily meal. But if there was one thing that Killer often insisted on after a heated night, was that Nightmare ate breakfast.

Even now he could still fondly remember Killer making pancakes for him, and getting the thin thing stuck in the pan.

"That might be nice..."

"So long as it's not burger king"

Ah there they go again...Nightmare being a picky eater. Killer chuckled this time, he was happy to hear it.

“Fiiine just for you Nightlight"

“But I might stop there on the way back to my flat"

He'd pecked his mouth. “But you should probably shower first...."

Oh no no...Nightmare wanted a better kiss than that.

Nightmare rested his hand on Killer's cheek and lightly rubbed his thumb against it, before pulling him in for a proper kiss.

But his heart stung, this morning felt way too nice to him. Killer was being way too soft. He felt uneasy as if the floor was going to collapse at any moment.

He pulled back from the kiss and didn't break eye contact.

"Me vas a romper el corazón Ojos bonitos..."

“…………."

Killer sighed a little and cupped Night's face

“………"

Softly he said “As beautiful as you sound speaking it… You know I don’t understand Spanish…"

"Maybe that's the point..." Nightmare replied with a sigh.

Night’s face was hard to read now, just a second before he'd been so much more positive, but now? Something was shadowing his eyes.

"...."

"If you wanna go shower, I'll hang out here...alright "

Night nodded, and with a bit of difficulty, finally broke the magical embrace. As he sat up and the sheets fell off his bones, some heat rose to his face.

"L-look away"

Killer rolled onto his back and smirked.

"But babe I've seen everythinggggg"

"Y-yeah but! I don't want you to stare at me!" Moonlight responded, blush deepening.

A chorus of laughter fell out of his partner, as he dramatically covered his eyes with his hands.

"Thereeee"

Though he was absolutely gonna peek. Nightmare rolled his eyes, knowing Killer was going to do that, and while his eyes were covered, he picked up the edge of the blanket and tossed it over him.

"Ahfg! Hey!" Killer said, fighting his way out from under it.

As he freed himself from the fabric trap, Nightmare grabbed his dressing gown and slipped it on.

"I knew you were gonna peak," he said, pulling some clothes out of his drawer, and straightening up.

"I know you"

"No control....."

"...."

"Uh I'm going to have a shower"

He made his way to the door and walked out.

Killer watched him go with a shallow smile that soon faded.

He glanced at his phone.

Dealing with this was going to take some careful planning on his part. Now this wasn't something Killer wasn't new to, quite far from it. He'd spent many years balancing relationships with many different men, and when the time came to cut them off, he always tried to leave people satisfied. However, this was a situation he hadn't been in before.

He didn't have the time or luxury to end things without hurt feelings. He needed to slice away the bad branches if he wanted any hope of his relationship blooming further.

As he picked up his phone and clicked it on, he was confronted by a collection of texts and more photos to make his mouth water.

He inwardly cursed upon seeing that his lover was not going to make this easy.

"I've made my mind up. It's over"

"Are you sure?"

Yes...of course, he was. He wanted Nightmare...

That didn't mean this would be easy though.

If there was one thing he couldn't deny, was that he was definitely still attracted to the guy. The thought of him would send a hum of lust through his system even now, even after confirming Night still did the same.

What was wrong with him?

He sighed and clicked the phone off. He could deal with self-loathing later.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nightmare took a bit longer in the shower than normal, though it wasn't long. It had been a while since he'd taken the time for self-care, and last night’s activities needed to be washed away. What he spent the majority of his time doing though, was simply watching the water run down the drain, lost in his thought.

As much as he tried to ignore it, he couldn't get rid of the nagging feeling on his back, the one telling him Killer was spouting pure bullshit. The one telling him to believe Dream….

Well... he did believe Dream…..

But he didn't believe Cross' word...or at least that's what he was going with.

Maybe Cross and Killer had fallen out, and Cross had decided to spite him with this, sending Dream to do his dirty work.

But was Cross really like that?

"...."

Sure...Maybe? Well, he hardly knew the guy...

As Nightmare dressed himself and left the bathroom, it became clear that Killer had left the bedroom. He now stood in between the kitchen and living room, leaning on the counter that divided the two.

He was dressed only in the blanket he was holding around himself loosely, and his eyes were locked on the screen of his phone.

"¿Ojos bonitos?"

His companion would have jumped out of his skin if he had it.

"Moonpie!"

He looked like a teenager being caught sneaking out of bed.

"....."

"I'm going to make some coffee, want a cup?" Night asked, walking over to the kettle and putting it on.

Killer stared for a moment, then sheepishly placed his phone on the counter face down.

"Instant?"

"Do I know how to make anything else?"

Killer smiled and walked over to him.

"Why can't I date someone who owns a French press?" He purred, standing behind him and resting his chin on Night’s shoulder.

A purple blush followed.

"Hmph!"

"Well, I'm sorry my cookware isn't adequate sir".

"Perhaps you should start sleeping with baristas".

Killer chuckled and hummed. "Nah...I suppose your instant crap will do"

He nuzzled the purple skeleton’s neck slightly, however, he only tensed in response.

It was soft...affectionate.

Too affectionate.

The nagging feelings were rising and falling with each passing second. Despite the good feelings he was having with Killer being so close, one question plagued his mind.

"Are you compensating for something?"

"Are you compensating because you chea-

"Get off..." Nightmare muttered, shifting himself away from his boyfriend's touch. It was all too much, and he just couldn't let himself enjoy it.

Rejected, Killer took a step back from his partner. Nightlight's body language had turned 180, but he wasn't sure what he'd expected. It wasn't gonna be that easy to get back to what things once were, after how he'd acted for the past month. Nightingale was a proud creature, and after last night it would probably be a while before he wanted to let his cold mask slip again.

This would be a lot of work...

"....."

"Uh Moon- Nightlight "

"I think I should take a shower...hold off on mine"

Nightmare nodded and poured his cup. As he stirred, the clinking of the teaspoon was loud in his silence.

"....."

"Alright...don't take long.."

Killer gave him a nod and pulled the blanket around himself more, walking out. Nightmare stayed still in the kitchen, sipping his coffee.

What was all that...

Was this really what his mind was going to be reduced to? Unable to enjoy the simple warm affections that Killer offered him? Forced to question everything, every second they were apart.

Stupid brother…

He would have been much happier without knowing, he was sure, without hidden demons tormenting his soul over the unknown. It's not like he could ask his partner, he wasn't a stranger to lying, and he wasn't sure if he'd believe either response.

As the distant sound of the shower came on, he attempted to get his mind to clear. 

Only...

*ping*

A text?

The purple eye lights fixed onto the source. His boyfriend's mobile was lying face down on the counter a few feet away. He set his cup down.

Who would be texting Killer right now?

No...

"This is your chance isn't it?"

No.

He wasn't going to be involved with such a cliché… Nightmare was above such a childish practice like that. He was a smart and classy individual. He wouldn't-

*ping* 

Killer who wants to contact you so much....?

*ping* 

"I hate to have to tell you this..."    

Came his brother's voice echoing in his head, as he turned his attention fully to his boyfriend's mobile. 

"But Killer is cheating on you..."

"....."

No...no he said he wasn't going to be like this anymore. Start fresh and new.

*ping*

Who would be texting him at this time?

"You really think I'd make this up?"

No...no he didn't, but he wanted to...

Dream had always been such a good brother to him, considering all Nightmare had done to hurt him. After so many years, he'd always been a reliable and honest family member. He wouldn't want to hurt him...

Unlike him, his twin wasn't a spiteful person. He wouldn’t have said a word unless he had a good reason to accuse Killer of that...

But...as Night felt his soul contort in his chest, he wished that Dream could be wrong.

*ping*

It was surely just his agent, right? It had to be...he would have given anything for it to be...

Maybe...

"....."

No...he wasn’t that stupid. It was painfully obvious what it was, he just didn't want to admit it.

Last night he'd crumbled like a house of cards, and fallen helplessly into his bed with Killer again. The playboy had flooded his senses and flushed out his dignity. 

He'd was hiding like a child who didn't want to go to school, one who didn't want to show their parents a bad grade on a test.

It was almost as if he entered a trance, going over to the phone and picking it up. 

Maybe he should check...if it was Killer’s agent, then he'd be able to move on with his boyfriend...if it wasn't...

"......"

He could have sworn that his soul was beating 1000 times a second threatening to burst. From how loud it was hammering against his ribs, he could hear the thumping in his head 

As his hand neared the other’s phone the pounding in his chest only grew stronger.. faster.. louder.. it vibrated throughout his whole body.. in his skull. 

It was like the backing track in a horror movie, right before the masked murderer jumped out.

Por favor... por favor... demuéstrame que estoy equivocado...

He clicked the phone screen on.

Silence. 

At first, he didn't respond, he didn't know how to.

"......"

"But why would you pick that insecure dick head over me? All you've done the past month is complain about him."

Killer...

"Come on now Killer... You'll be back, no use wasting your energy on him"

How could you...

"You said it yourself, he's just a narcissistic loner..."

And it went on...and on...the more he scrolled back, the more and more was revealed. Words that made his head spin, and pictures...

Pictures that made his non-existent stomach churn.

It was almost as if time had stopped around him, the sound of the shower slowing to a simple white noise. 

Eventually, the texts were all blurring together as he was no longer taking in a single word. All until...he stopped. Nightmare froze, hand gripping the small device mercilessly, shaking as the screen turned to stand by.

He wanted to scream.

He wanted to cry.

He wanted to curl up and never leave the flat again.

But he stood still, like a mannequin in a shop window. 

All the past month he'd tried to...

Last night he...

"....."

The mannequin finally moved, his arms falling limp down at his side.

Nightmare liked to consider himself a more artistic type. As such he would have loved to describe his current feelings as a riving nest of snakes in his chest, hissing and spitting like a hydra. A sense of sharp acidic poison was injected into his very soul.

He would have wanted to describe this relationship as a poetic tangle of limbs and tongues. A bright flame of desire, and scorching fire of lust, all hidden under the blanket of night and bedsheets of moonlight.

Perhaps those words would allow him to mask his basic carnality, as being a sweet affair of the heart. The kind that people read and act about.

But no...now it was nothing like a romantic fantasy, it was shameful, humiliating and now...

The combination of all of that had all led to this.

He was blatantly an idiot, as trusting as an ass lead to water, or perhaps more like a pig lead to slaughter.

Cheater...

Raging cheater...

He'd known from the start, he wasn't surprised. Killer was a liar... Killer never cared, it had all been a trick.

Last night was a con, all to bring Nightmare away from the truth.

Despite expecting this, the blow hadn't hurt any less. The shock was still rippling through him.

But it was dying down.

The sadness turned to anger...

The shower was off now. The journey ended here.

He heard the bathroom door open and shut.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Killer walked into the living room, stretching his arms a bit. Everything felt a bit sore.

He wasn't really a person who took long showers on the regular, but from the moment he got in he hadn't wanted to leave the place. Every drop of water hitting him had felt like heaven, with all his sinful actions crawling across his back, his body had felt unusually dirty. 

Even after the shower, he didn't feel much better and having only last night’s clothes to change into didn't help.

As Nightmare came into view, Killer's soul twisted. Moonbeam had put on a brave front since they had woken up, but the memory of how broken he'd been last night was haunting Killer. 

The blank-eyed skeleton kept going round and round in his own head, circling back to guilt and self-loathing. But it wasn't himself he was sorry for, it was Nightlight.

Plastering his classic smile across his face, he finally spoke.

"Hope you don't mind, but I used some of your skull scrub"

Nightmare said nothing. 

"...."

"So...I was thinking that I should take you to Muffet's? I think they do those posh little French pastries and coffee you like."

"Mhm.."

Killer walked a bit closer.

"Moonpie? You feeling ok"

It was that nickname that was the last straw.

"...You..."

Nightmare hardly whispered, turning to face the playboy.

"You bastard...."

His voice was cold with a vicious menace that Killer had only ever heard on set. It sent a chill up his spine.

"What.." 

Nightmare hissed at him.

"I knew you were a playboy...I knew you slept around...I knew you had no standards.."

"But...I wanted to believe that you weren’t this much of a scummy person..."

Killer narrowed his eyes slightly. 

"Nighty...I don't know what you're talking abou-

"They tried to tell me"

"My brother warned me over and over and over"

"They said you were un Sin vergüenza.. un Descarado....I should have listened"

He laughed.

"Soy un idiota!!"

Killer was still just staring at him, confusion spread across his face, the smile gone.

"What?"

Nightmare's laugh turned icy.

"And you have the nerve. The audacity to play dumb!?"

"Acting like you don't know!!!"

His smile disappeared. 

"I KNOW WHAT YOU DID! I KNOW WHAT YOU'VE BEEN DOING!"

At first, Killer was confused at the sudden burst of hostility, but then his eyes flicked to the phone gripped tight in Night's hand.

A phone…

Wait… but that was his phone…

Oh no...

Killer wasn't the sharpest knife most of the time, but the events here were so clear they were borderline cliché.

Killers soul felt as if it had sunk deep to the ground, and was trying to pull the rest of him with it. In some ways he wouldn't have minded if the floor swallowed him whole, the pending fight was hanging over them like a guillotine blade.

His mouth went dry and his mind ran amok, millions of thoughts bouncing throughout his skull.

“Moonlight….” He barely croaked out.. he had to say something... the silence would only make it worse, and now the guilt was written all over his face.

But what could he possibly say?

Was there a single word that could do anything besides dousing their bones in gasoline?

The low flame in Night's eyes was a clear warning. 

"....."

“Moonpie…. I…..” 

Wrong words.

“DON'T CALL ME THAT!!”

Killer felt a breeze brush against his cheek, so suddenly that he didn't even see the movement. But he heard it... Something slammed against what he assumed was the wall.

At first, he wasn’t sure what it was… but then he saw Nightmare’s now vacant hand.

Nightmare had thrown the phone against the far wall, hard enough for the screen to shatter against the plaster, before dropping to the floor in defeat. It was almost frightening how fast it happened, and how close it had been to him. Prickles of anxiety ran across his bones, as he stared at the dead device. 

Nightmare hadn't been aiming for him right?

As for Nightmare, the small skeleton's chest rose and fell quickly, as tried to control his breathing without much success. Throwing the phone had been wildly childish, but he didn't care much about being a sophisticated grown-up at this moment.

He was done, he was flatly done with everything.

How Dare He Call Him That.

He was so enraged.. he was so humiliated.. he was so frustrated with himself. 

How could he have let himself fall so low? How could he have missed the obvious cliff at the end of the river he'd jumped in. 

Oh, how he wished he could go back in time. Slap that pathetic excuse for a skeleton after that first kiss. All Killer had ever done is think for himself, from the first kiss it had all been Killer chasing a lay with anyone.

The spiralling chain reaction… endless pursuit for pleasure to the point of madness. 

All for it to lead to this moment.

He was done with it all. He couldn’t be bothered to care anymore. 

“Es que Deberás no te podías aguantar?! Do you really have so little control over yourself?!”

“Night… now hold on..”

“Eres un pinche adicto!! You just really can’t go without it can you! Es todo lo que tu pequeño cerebro piensa en verdad?!”

“That’s-“

“Espero que hubiera valido la pena maldito!! But you still don’t get it, do you? I’m sure you think you've done nothing wrong like always! Porque siempre es mi culpa!! 

“NIGHTMARE!!! Can you just fucking speak in English!! You’re pissing me off!”

Killer’s voice boomed in the small room. He knew it wouldn’t help the situation in the slightest. But, he couldn’t dismiss how the frustration and anger prickled at his bones with every word Nightmare spat out. 

How was he supposed to defend himself or explain if Nightmare wouldn’t even speak in the language he knew?

Just like usual... His boyfriend refused to communicate with him. At this moment, Killer had been fully prepared to bear the brunt of Night's rage. But this? This was just frustrating to the very core, it brought forward nagging thoughts in the back of his mind and reminded him why he'd gone to the bar alone that night. 

Nightmare just always expected him to know what was wrong. Most days, never gave him one measly hint before just lashing out like a snake attacking its prey. The small skeleton never talked to him…

And even now, when he was prepared to take anything Night hit him with, he'd chosen to do it in a tongue he couldn't even understand!

But even so, he tried to calm himself. Getting mad wasn't helping anybody...

Nightmare froze on the spot at those words, his eyes widening slightly at the audacity. Is that really what Killer cared about right now?

The language!?

"The constant flip-flopping between the two is giving me a headache," Killer muttered.

Oh really?

Well, maybe Nightmare was being inconsiderate...

A smirk formed on his face.

“Oh… entonces esto es lo que molestas más verdad?! No que me fuiste infiel maldito carbón?!”

If going back and forth between the two was confusing…

“Pues yo hago lo que se me dé la gana fíjate! Si yo quiero hablar español entonces voy a hablar en español estupido engreído!”

He better stick with one then!

“No es mi culpa que tu cerebro es tan pequeño que no tiene la capacidad de entender lo que te estoy diciendo!”

“Si te enfada tanto entonces aprende el idioma bola de mierda!!”

“STOP IT !!” 

Killer’s voice shook the room as he yelled before shoving nightmare back.

He almost felt dizzy, his head being attacked with a flood of words he couldn’t understand.

They banged around in a loud chorus, and he couldn’t stop it. But what he did know was that he was being insulted. Knowing Nightmare and the poisonous look in his eyes, he knew it was hate being spat.

“Don’t be such a pretentious prick.”

"You're conceited and a snob and just such a-

"At least I'm not a cheater"

Killer had to stifle a laugh at that.

What a hypocritical twat, it would have been amusing if Night wasn't so self-righteous. 

Nightmare had to be kidding right? He wasn't going to sit there and act like he'd forgotten about that night they had shared, like many others, tangled up in sweet agony. Oh, it was one Killer remembered, Nightmare hadn't been slow to give into him, girlfriend or not. 

That night like many, he'd seen the small skeleton in unflattering angles, in both a literal and metaphorical sense.

Every memory, every touch, every feeling...even now.

Such pleasurable torture on his mind.

"Oh yeah...of course, my bad," he said, before putting a finger on his chin, in an exaggerated fashion.

"Hmmm...that's funny though"

"Say did you ever tell your ex-girlfriend about that night between us?"

A delightful look of dread fell across Nightmare's face in a second, the smug pride taking a blow. The satisfaction gave Killer a quick high, as his smile cut across his face.

"I guess you could say it takes one to know one hmm? And she was nothing but good to you... it's quite hard to respect-

"SHUT UP!"

Night's eyes were rimmed with blue, the purple being taken over as Night's anger revealed itself more and more. How dare Killer spin this round, the cocky bastard was trying desperately to drag Nightmare to his level.

Killer, however, was letting Night's words wash over him now, staring. The blue was strange. 

It was rare that the blue showed itself, an outer reflection of inner turmoil. He'd seen it many times, times of anger, times of frustration, sometimes even during their most sensual moments.

He remembered a night, a press event, they'd been each other's date, for a casual affair. 

Killer's past wasn't exactly something he liked to venture into. One too many questions from a noisy reporter, and Nightlight was demanding an apology from the guy. His eyes had lit up with that beautiful cyan, and his vicious tongue had got to work with a bitter barrage of insults.

What a night...

Killer found it strangely beautiful, staring...

Until Night's harsh voice cut through. 

"You've never done a single good thing for me! You've never cared about anyone but yourself!"

"All you ever do is draw people in for momentary pleasure, and screw with us like toys!"

"We're all just playthings right?"

"...I wish I had never met you..."

Killer blinked, snapping to his senses. 

“Wait.. what?"

“What the hell are you going on about??"

“I’ve never lied to you about what I wanted! That there were no emotional attachments involved!!"

"YOU ASKED ME TO BE YOUR BOYFRIEND!"

Nightmare’s breath was ragged, as the end of his sentence strained slightly, the words too painful to understand, the memory of Killer's sweet confession, gashing his very soul.

" 'just you' "

"T-that's what you said to me..."

His eyes ran to the broken phone, and part of the anger faded to a bitter hmm.

"Well, the proof is right there isn't it? All lies!"

Killer hissed under his breath and dismissively folded his arms.

“Oh just drop it already!" He said, waving his hand slightly.

“I mean that’s all you damn well say!"

“It just has to be all about you! Just- screw it!"

"It gets so tiring! It’s always just about what you want, and how you feel, your rules!"

"I WAS TRYING!!" The other basically screamed out, voice cracking from the force of it.

"While you were out getting humpy I was racking my brain trying to find ways to bring you back!!"

Violet tears flooded his eyes and spilt over before he had the will to stop them.

"But you never cared!!

"Lust is all you feel!

On any other day the tears in Night's eyes would have ended Killer's drive for a fight, but today nothing changed.

“YOU ONLY TRIED WHEN YOU FINALLY PUSHED ME AWAY!!"

He lunged forward slightly, the weight of his words pulling him, feeling no desire to spare Night's feelings a second longer.

Now he'd done it. He'd pushed and pushed and pushed, trying to force Killer into the role of a villain, so naturally, he could run to the people for sympathy. 

“You can’t even imagine how it felt being constantly berated and yelled at!"

"Treated like your property! Trapped!"

But he wasn't. Last night the guilt had almost eaten him from the inside, but now they need to care was gone. It was nothing but a hollow space.

“I tried too! To be better! But it was never enough for you!" He wanted him hurt. He wanted him to know just who's fault it was.

“You know what??? it felt good to finally get away from your overbearing controlling suffocating ass!"

"It felt good being with him." 

It was a sharp knife now, the blade burning as it plunged into his chest. Nightmare felt like he couldn't breathe, if he'd had visible lungs he would have been worried for them. 

His breath was fast.

"I hate you"

It was all Night's scrambled mind could bring to the surface. 

"I hate you!!"

Words he'd said to the playboy many times, but never meant till this one moment. 

"I HATE YOU!"

He'd never felt like this before. 

"¡DESEO QUE NUNCA HAYAS NACIDO!"

He grabbed a pillow from the sofa behind him and threw it at full force.

"Tu diablo hombre!"

The tears became faster, as it became hard to just speak in un-shaking sentences. His boyfriend wouldn't even look at him now, he didn't look like he could care any less if he tried.

"You done?"

"......"

In a way Nightmare was.

The man before him was a stranger. Eyes as empty as the words he spoke.

"And you still can't speak English?" Killer asked.

"Yet you can't understand why Dream is in a long term relationship and you never have been"

Nightmare grabbed another pillow and threw it weakly onto the ground.

"You!! You-

"No Nightmare." The playboy stated. "You. It's all you."

"No one else is gonna say it, so I will."

"It's.Your.Fault."

Another pillow was thrown, this time hitting Killer square on the face. It didn't really hurt, but as it fell the hurt in the eyes of the skeleton before him was revealed.

Nightmare wanted to hurt him. He wanted Killer to feel the pain, the humiliation, the misery. He wanted to strike where it would hurt, then kick the wound till the playboy could feel every fraction of the agony currently spreading through his heart.

He fixed a sharp glare into Killer's eyes.

"Well, I should be grateful right!?" Nightmare spat "I'm lucky that you wanted to screw me."

"Because you think you're a drop-dead gorgeous dreamboat right!?!"

He grit his teeth as the anger hissed in agreement.

"Well, the truth is you're not!"

"You're an ugly blank-eyed freak!"

...

...

It was like someone had shot Killer.

His body felt like it had experienced blunt force trauma. He was numb and full of rippling pain all at once.

The words bounced around his skull and reverberated off of every single painful memory from his past before it settled down like a low bitter hum.

Nightmare had never been one to stray from insulting Killer....he'd done it many times, he'd called him every name under the sun. Every time, Killer had completely brushed it off, but this?

"You....."

He said numbly, in a voice that almost sounded alien to him.

If it hadn't been Nightmare... It would have hurt so much less... But Moonpie.....

It made him feel like someone had ripped out his very soul and stomped it into the ground.

"you of all people..."

Nightmare's heart stopped. As angry as he was... As full of hurt as he felt, he hadn't meant to say that...

That was over the line. He didn't know how far over... But he knew it was a lot. 

In his anguish, he'd been wanting to cause Killer as much pain as he could possibly muster, nothing had been off-limits to him. That had struck a painful nerve in Killer’s soul, he could almost sense it.

But...the satisfaction never came, upon seeing the dejected look in his eyes.

Nightmare felt suddenly torn between throwing the cheating, lying, scumbag out, and hugging him and apologising.

Surely it wasn't fair that he felt suddenly horrible... He was the wronged party here.

"I...."

Killer shook his head and turned to the door. He couldn't even look at him anymore. All his strength and drive to continue the argument was gone in an instant. This argument was over. This relationship was over.

It was all over.

He walked to the door silently and opened it. Nightmare still said nothing. The shock and pain Killer had been feeling run through him was suddenly met with a burst of anger.

"This is why everyone likes your brother better than you," he stated, before leaving, slamming the door hard.

Silence...

~~~~~~~

……

And this is where the story started. We'd started at the end.

As all the memories completely caught up to him, Killer froze in his spot and stared at the wall. He couldn't think of anything anymore, his mind was locked on the memory of Nightmare's last words to him.

Those words were a way to open a wound that never fully healed... They always felt like his soul had been ripped out and become nothing but a target for people to stab at...

How ironic.

The city seemed to fall silent outside his window. Cars no longer zoomed past, people were no longer walking on the street.

At least he was free now... He could go sleep with anyone he wanted...

"....."

He told himself to stop feeling sorry for himself... It wasn't anything he hadn't heard before... It was nothing new. It was normal, Nightmare was just... Like them...

"......"

His sofa sighed as he leaned back on it, his face hardly moving, still and frozen in a numb expression.

“Come on Killer....snap out of it... It's not that bad!” He tried to tell himself.

"you just need a good lay... That will make it all go away..."

It wasn't long before he had the number of one of his old 'friends' tapped in...but he didn't call. His finger moved to the power button and simply switched it off. He didn't want that... Not really.

A warm trickle running down his cheeks startled him and caused him to widen his eyes slightly.

Tears?... But he never cried. 

Yet even as he thought it, the tears filled his eye sockets and poured down at an uncontrollable rate.

A soft mew pulled him back to reality and he turned to see Crackers and Cheese standing on the sofa to his right.

"Hi..... babies......." he said, lifting his hand up to stroke them "Daddy's fine... He's... I'm fine...

But he wasn't, and soon the two were stood in his lap mewing.

He could say nothing else, and just stroked them in silence. His tears were quiet and didn't want to make a show of themselves. 

Killer felt it now. He was alone.

The flat was empty other than the two fur babies before him now.

In a way, both skeletons were, just as they always had been.

As Nightmare lay in a crumpled heap on his living room floor, Killer did the same on his sofa. There were no words left to say to anyone. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

After days had rolled into weeks, the two skeletons licked their wounds and came out to the public on the state of affairs.

The media was in shock and the questions flew in. Everyone wanted to know every detail, but neither wanted to tell it. After the truth did come out, both were pushed into interview after interview, hoping to never have to see the other again.

Nightmare returned to his brother's flat and was pulled into a hug before even saying a word. Killer stayed alone.

Cross said nothing to him when hearing Night's side of it.

Things moved on, but both found more comfort in their solitude than anything else.

Maybe it would be for the best.

Maybe they should just stay alone.

In the end, after falling, sometimes it was easier not to get up again. 

For now, that is…

.

.

And heres the ending! its been a long time comic, so i hope you all enjoyed it.

A HUGEEEEEE thank you to the amazing @jann-the-bean who helped me while writting te spanish section of the final scene. THANK YOU SO MUCH

and also thank you to @yuriyuruandyuraart because you've been such an amazing support.

purely because i have no idea of i’ll ever write what happens next, i’ll say it here. Killer and Nightmare do get back together again, long time followers of me will know they form a poly relationship with Ccino.

that takes place just under two years after this break up. It takes a little over a year for Night and Killer to talk again, and after apologising, and sorting things out, Killer and Night go back to just sleeping together. About 5 months later Cross and Dream are engaged and Ccino starts working on the darkcream set.

maybe ill write it, maybe jan would. But for now

thank you!!!!!!

[daflangstlairde-art]

"Extremophile" 2/4

Part 3 of ocean depths

Summary:

You drown every minute, every second, with every breath you take. You haven’t breathed for so, so long. The icy waters are inside you, deep, deep inside you. All you could ever feel is cold and colder. You haven’t seen the sun in... so... long. It was so far away from you that you couldn’t even picture it anymore. And here was the sun himself. Here was that gasp of air that burned. You’ve been so cold for so long, the warmth feels like death. — Alt summary: It's not easy but boy do I drag Killer (and everyone around him) kicking and screaming towards a healing arc

Chapter 2: "feel better" 3266 words

Credits, warnings and additional info on ao3.

—

You don't listen to them when they talk to you. You don't even look at them. You only snap, like when Dust kicks you in the shin for ignoring him. 

You don't care.

You don't think about Dream. You don't think about Nightmare.

None of this matters anyway.

Pain and suffering was all you had to make you feel alive, and now you don't even have that. Hah.

—

“...K–”

“If the words that come out of your mouth aren't ‘I’m here to give you your soul back’, I’ll make it easier for you,” you interrupt him, “and advise you to shut the hell up.” 

And once again, Night falls into silence. He stands where Dream usually does. You don't even give him the courtesy of looking at him. 

You don't want him here. You made that expressly clear. In a perfect world, he returns your soul and then leaves you be so you can finally off yourself. In a slightly less perfect world, but still an acceptable one, he just leaves you be. 

You hate him so much it's more than you can handle.

You want to rip him apart.

Instead, he just keeps standing there. What a coward. He can barely muster up a few words for you. What a fucking coward. All that power and yet he's a weakling.

You hear him take a breath. Steeling himself. You want to ruin his resolve.

“...You haven't been reading my–”

“Yep, and I'm not going to.” you cut him off again. “Not unless that results in me getting my soul back.” 

“...I cannot do that.” Night says quietly, and it almost makes you laugh. You're too tired for it, however. 

What a joke though, huh? The almighty Guardian of Negativity can't do something as simple as returning an object that doesn't even belong– ...well. You suppose it does belong to him, in a way. 

It did, at least. 

You belonged to him. 

And now he's... like this. 

“Right.” you reply flatly. “In that case — au revoir.” 

Another pause. It’d be funny how apprehensive he is to speak to you if it wasn't so pathetic and, frankly, annoying. 

“...Killer–” 

“I’m too lazy to get up and force you out,” you bulldoze over his words yet again, no interest in hearing him out, “so be nice and don't make me, baby,” 

Out of the corner of your eye, you see him flinch at the nickname. Your grin widens. Good. He deserves to hurt a little. You hope it made him deeply uncomfortable.

“I merely wanted to say I’m sorry,” Night rushes out in an attempt to be heard. “The way I treated you was never acceptable and it never should've happe–” 

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” 

The silence rings deafening in the quiet that follows. 

That exploded from you in a way that surprises even yourself. You realize you are boiling. It's detached, but it's there. You shove yourself to your feet, grinding your teeth in a malicious grin.

You breathe heavily. The hatred and rage and desire for violence courses through you like liquid nitrogen. 

“Shut up.” you snap, staring at Night. He stares back, mouth pressed flatly, braced. There’s scarring over his right eye, like very wrongly healed cracks, making it mottled. Deformed forever just like Killer’s soul. He can't erase his — their — past, no matter how badly he wants to. “That’s not for you to decide.” 

He doesn't say anything. 

You stalk toward him slowly, blade already summoned to your hand. You want to make him bleed. You want to make him hurt. 

“I remember,” you start, voice coldly cheerful, “the way you would wring my neck until I couldn't even cry out. I remember the way you told me to attack my– subordinates, and I didn't even hesitate. I remember the way you would make me sob with despair–” 

“And it wasn't right–” 

“And I wanted every bit of it!” you raise your voice over his. He’s barely two feet away from you now. You wish he would cower away.

There was always something... larger, about Corrupted Nightmare. Something bigger than life. Something superior to you.

Night, the way he stood in front of you now, was lithe. He was small. It made you want to squash him like an insect. 

“I don't know how you're seeing this in your sorry little brain,” you mock, “but I’m not some victim. I chose every part of what you did to me.” you step closer, raising your knife. “I enjoyed it.”

Pressing it under his chin. 

Forcing it ever so slightly upwards so the little coward meets your fucking eyes. His eye lights tremble. You hope he's scared.

“Wanna know why, Night?” you barely have to raise your voice to be heard, with how close the two of you are. You hope he feels all the violent intent pouring from you. 

“...Why?” Night dares to prompt, even quieter. 

“Don’t you remember?” you laugh harshly, “I’m defined by my suffering. I breathe negativity.” 

Night flinches as you parrot his own words back to him. You can see in his expression that it hurts. 

Good.

“And that...” you idly trace the line of his jaw with the tip of your knife. “...made me perfect, you said. You gave me exactly what I needed. I can’t be ‘helped’ — your idiot of a brother may think otherwise, but we both know the truth, don't we?” you chuckle. 

Night just keeps staring at you, a twisted expression on his face. You entertain the thought of peeling it away bit by bit. 

“You're all I had, and I’m all you had.” you remind him. 

(I loved you at your worst. I’m the only one who did.

And you left me.)

It all happens in a flash — you've barely pulled the knife back before you slam it into his chest and he screams, but you're louder–

“And you THREW IT ALL AWAY!” 

Hands flying up to grab yours but you twist the knife deeper, shoving him back. Until you slam his back into the pillar behind him. 

He clutches at your wrist with both hands, blood streaming down his shirt. But he doesn't leave. He just takes it. Probably due to all that misplaced guilt. It's pathetic. You're almost disgusted to wound him. 

You wonder if he’ll let you kill him. He won't die from this, of course, it's nowhere near enough, though you almost wish the sheer harmful intent you packed into it was enough to make him keel over.

Oh how the tables have turned. Now it's you putting that look on his face and making him cry out in pain. How cute.

He stares at you, tears building in the corners of his eyes despite his set expression. You wonder if it's the pain from the wound or the pain from your words.

“I was ready to do everything for you,” you snarl, still grinning close to his face so he misses none of it. “But nooo! Little Mister Good Night wanted to play nice!” you jeer, ripping the blade out of him. He buckles and chokes on it, gasping for breath. 

You grab his hand roughly. 

“But you’re not nice. You can't be nice. You’re a monster, just like me. We know the truth,” you pull his hand up, and slot the knife’s handle into it, “Don't we, my king?” 

Night tries to jerk his hand back, and then again, but he still refuses to fight back against you. It’d be adorable if it wasn't so stupid. 

You just use your second one to forcibly press his fingers closed around the handle of the blade. 

And then you press that blade to right where your soul always sits, always bared and vulnerable. 

You lean close, until you can even feel the pain from the sharp tip.

“So here's your ultimatum,” you speak slow and calm. Quiet enough so your voice doesn't even echo, because this is personal. Between you and him. You’re grinning. “You can't have both cakes, baby. Either leave me be completely; or stop with your game of pretend, stop being a coward and finish it.” 

The silence is deafening. 

You feel the way your grin is stretched over your face, leering and dripping black. You listen to Night’s harsh, quick breathing. You watch the shake in his wide, wet eyes. 

What a fun idea Night had, coming here. You wonder what he was expecting to happen. Fool. 

“...I–” Night takes a breath, “I don't wish to hurt you any more than I already have.” he says, pushing determined resolve into his voice, even with how quiet and shaky it is.

“Oh, but dear,” you croon, and you wonder if it’ll work if you were the one to shove his hands in the right direction, “can't we do what I want for once?” 

Night shook his head, distressed.

You sigh, releasing him, taking your knife back. 

It won't work if the intent isn't there, so you can't do it yourself. What a disappointment. Although that isn't a surprise, when it comes to this version of Nightmare. 

“Go on then,” you wave dismissively, turning your back to him. “Leave.” 

And in a perfect world, he does. In a perfect world, the Void comes and claims you with its own hands.

“No.” your wrist is grabbed, and you pause. 

Slowly, you turn back around. Until you can once again see his face. Like a little mouse. It has no right holding all that determination all of a sudden.

“...What?” you hiss.

“I said no.” Night repeats, as if you simply didn't quite hear him. Raising his chin a little, eye lights flickery but holding your glare nonetheless. “I'm not leaving you again.” 

You stare at him. 

You spit a laugh in his face and he winces. You hold your face, and you start laughing so hard your head hurts. The harsh sound bouncing around the mess that became of this damned corridor. 

Well isn't that a funny joke? Never knew Nightmare is such a comedian!

“Laugh all you want!” Night goes on the defensive, trying to speak over your deranged laughter. “I know you hate being alone, I’m not leaving you, even if I can't help, I’ll send Dream, or Dust or– I know you hate being alone,”

“And that's why you ditched me, isn't it?” you speak over his words, through your own laughter. He still hasn't let go of your wrist. The contact feels... feels. “Discarded me when I was no longer fun to push around?”

Night cringes, clearly pained at the reminder. Reflexively squeezing your wrist. 

“Left me? In the Antivoid? Poor ol’ me, all alone?” you press deeper into the emotional wound. “Because you wanted to hurt me as bad as you could, right? Remember? What good times we had, Night-night!” 

“You're so–” Night mutters through teeth, and you laugh in his face. 

“I’m what? Callous? Mean? Evil?” you continue mocking, “Come on, saayy it! Hopeless, beyond redemption? Violent and unstable, a distorted freak, scum?” oh yes, you remember the pretty names he’s called you, always the romantic, “Am I still perfect for you, baby? Or is your little toy finally too broken to play with?” you throw it all at him like darts at a board.

You know it hurts because he cries. His expression is set, but there's silent tears down his face. The sight of it might just make the next day a little more bearable to exist through. 

Instead of daring to address any of that, however, 

“...You’re not beyond hope.” Night whispers. 

What a moron. Him and Dream really are twins, huh? 

“Hey, waste as much energy on that as you want. I don't care,” you shrug, “I don't care about anything.” you say airily.

“That's not true.” Night still doesn't raise his voice. 

“Right, because you know me better than I know myself or... something something,” you feign a yawn, “Soo you going to leave already oorr?” 

Now, Night’s hand squeezes your wrist intentionally. There's probably meaning to it. You don't care. You don't care. 

“I’ll be back.” Night states, quiet but resolute.

You don't dignify him with a response. You don't care enough to do so.

When he finally leaves, you exhale. 

And once again it's just you and the silence.

—

You're that sick and tired of this hallway to last for three lifetimes. You need a change of scenery. 

You need something to do. You crave it like a druggie. You need to sink your sharp magic into something soft, watch the life drain out, so you can pretend like you're soaking it up. You need the rush of it, the hit of raised EXP. You need the adrenaline of a fight. 

Or, at the very least, you need a change. The boredom is mind numbing. It's torture. It’s eating you alive. You feel like you're decaying with every breath.

You wonder if Dust’s offer is still on the table. Probably, right? Mm. One small issue, though. 

You have no way of contacting him. You only have company when someone else decides to come around. 

You settle for repeatedly slamming the back of your head into the wall. 

If you're in pain, maybe you're real.

—

Huh. Killer didn't think Night would dare show his face around again. But apparently he was a little more serious about the whole ‘not leaving you alone’ thing. 

Except... he did nothing. 

Killer didn't greet him back when he popped up, but Night didn't push. He just... sat down on the ground. Opened up a book. Started reading casually like he was in a comfy public library. 

At least he wasn't being a bother again. 

Killer avoided looking at him initially, but now, he observed. Just watched the way Night sat, legs crossed. 

He was dressed... proper. Fancy and regal, but far from anything grand — more on the simple side, a caplet with a clasp, that sort of thing. In purple. 

Killer watched him turn a page. Stance calm and easy. Like Killer wouldn't take every opportunity to hurt him. It was... annoying. 

“You really have nothing better to do?” Killer spoke up, almost surprising himself with it. But hey, even talking to this loser was more than the devouring silence. “No charity work? Fixed all the lives you ruined?” 

He watched Night intentionally keep his composure together, not showing that’d gotten to him. Killer knew he had, anyway. He chuckled. It was so easy. 

“There's always something to do,” Night said calmly, eyes on his book. “And right now I’m choosing to do this,” 

“Aww, you missed me that bad, baby?” Killer mocked. “Realized you can never fit among them? That they’ll always hate you?” he spoke cheerfully. 

Night gripped his book. Then pointedly relaxed his hands. 

“...I already knew that,” he said quietly. In the echo of the hallway it was audible enough. “And... I do miss you,” 

Killer fell silent. 

...That... hm. He huffed. 

That was stupid. That wasn't– he wanted to snap at Night to shut up. 

“Well of course you do,” he crooned instead, grin widening, “Who wouldn't want a brainless yes-man of a peon?” 

Night frowned slightly.

“...You're not brainless,” he countered, of all things. Hm. He wasn't rising to Killer’s bait. He was keeping himself a lot more level-headed compared to last time. Interesting. 

“Right, my mistake,” Killer mimed rolling his eyes, “I’m heartless,” 

Night’s gaze broke from his book, but he still didn't look at Killer, only to the side. Frowning lightly. 

“I...” he spoke, considering, “...I don't think you're that, either.” 

Killer immediately spat a laugh. 

“Oh so you've gone delusional!” he revelled, “We should call Dust and Horror here, get the whole Crazy Crew!” he jeered. 

“I’m serious,”

“I’m sure you are!” 

“You're not heartless, Killer,” Night insisted, Killer’s mockery only strengthening his defensive stance. “Dream told me what happened between the two of you. I know you felt his affective aura and you've always been able to feel mine–” 

“Woooww, I’m susceptible to emotions forced on me? You're right, I’m such an empath–”

“That's the thing,” Night now looked at him, closing his book. Oooh, getting serious? “Ink can't. He’s influenced only by his vials. Fresh is immune to our influence too — but you’re not. You can feel it, you feel it all,” 

Killer sighed, enduring the lecture with an almost familiar lack of care. Ahh, the amount of times he’s been scolded by Nightmare. Sadly this one probably won't end like those. What a shame.

“So what?” Killer shrugged. 

“I think,” Night spoke like this was far from the first time he’d thought on the matter, yet still treading carefully, “that... you could, hypothetically... feel on your own. You had the capability before, even if it has been a long time, right? It– it's like an atrophied muscle, you struggle to generate anything on your own, but the senses for it are still there–” 

“You have no way of knowing that,” Killer pointed out. 

Night paused. Squinted. He idly fidgeted with the top corners of his book, contemplative. 

“...You know what?” he chimed, “You're right. How about we test it?” 

Killer blinked. “Test it,” he repeated flatly. 

“Yes! Like an experiment,” Night nodded, a little livelier, “That would be at least a little interesting, right? We can bet on it, even, and it'd be a win-win for you — either you're right and you win, or I’m right and we can work on hea– recovering your emotional senses!” 

...What a nerd.

But he did know how to convince Killer. It was almost nasty, the way he used his intimate knowledge of the inner workings of Killer’s mind. 

It would be more interesting than doing nothing, though. And it would be a win-win for him. 

“Mmm,” Killer tapped a finger, acting indecisive, “A bet, huh? What are you betting?” 

Night paused again. “I meant it more figuratively,” he coughed. 

“And I’m making it literal,”

“Well what are you willing to bet on it?” what do you even have?

Clever, flipping it back to Killer. Night was showing his chess skills.

Hmm. What could he bet? Not like he had... anything, really. 

...But. There was something that Night had which Killer wanted. 

“...My soul,” Killer said, smirking. “If I win, you give it back. If you win, you can keep it.” 

And if Killer was right, and he was truly, provably hopeless, getting his soul back had an obvious next step. If Night somehow, ridiculously, proved to be right, Killer could hypothetically live with that. 

A win-win.

Night was hesitating. 

“...I don't–” he puffed an exhale, “Your soul is– that's too much. I’m not–” 

Killer cackled loudly, “Well then you better be pretty convinced in that little theory!” he prodded. “Come on, it’s my soul after all,” 

Night pushed himself to his feet, storing his book in his inventory. He took in a breath, let it out. 

“...I have a few terms.”

“Okay,” Killer indulged him, amused.

“You’ll also let Dream help. And you have to go about this fairly — give it an actual shot, don't just... shoot it all down.” Night kept his back straight as he spoke. 

“Sure,” 

“...Genuinely?” Night was taken back by his response. 

“Yeah whatever,” Killer shrugged, getting to his feet. “Win-win, right?” 

“...Right.” 

“Well?” Killer extended a hand. 

Night glanced at it, then at his face. Breathed in, breathed out. Steeled himself, committing to his decision. 

He strode closer, took Killer’s hand and shook it. It didn't hurt. Even Killer didn't take the opportunity to hit him with an attack. 

Alright then. Time to see how this unfolds.

[daflangstlairde-art]

"Extremophile" 4/4

Part 3 of ocean depths

Summary:

You drown every minute, every second, with every breath you take. You haven’t breathed for so, so long. The icy waters are inside you, deep, deep inside you. All you could ever feel is cold and colder. You haven’t seen the sun in... so... long. It was so far away from you that you couldn’t even picture it anymore. And here was the sun himself. Here was that gasp of air that burned. You’ve been so cold for so long, the warmth feels like death. — Alt summary: It's not easy but boy do I drag Killer (and everyone around him) kicking and screaming towards a healing arc

Chapter 4: "it gets better" 4892 words

Credits, warnings and additional info on ao3.

—

“No.” Killer immediately answered, before they’d even finished with the proposition. 

Dream sighed. “Okay,” he accepted easily, like he’d been expecting the response. 

“Why not?” Night bulldozed over him, frowning. Interesting. It seems he wasn't one to back down from a stance. 

“Well, for one,” Killer leaned back in his seat. They’d occupied the living room for this little chat, since all three of them could sit somewhere. There were additional seats now, not just the couch. “It won’t prove anything about your little experiment. Dream influencing me to have emotions isn’t me having emotions,” he pointed out. 

“But it could help,” Night argued. More and more, he seemed to be finding his voice around Killer. It was funny to watch. Like a grown lion slowly comprehending it wasn't a baby kitten. 

“Not really, I don't think so,” Killer inspected his nails, just hoping to rile him up further. 

“Then why not?” Night crossed his arms, back straight. “Why not try it? You lose nothing,”

Killer mimed rolling his eyes. “It's stupid,”

“And?” Night pressed. 

“It's annoying,” 

“And?” 

“I don't want him to touch me,” Killer growled. 

“That’s fair,” Dream reasoned, trying to mediate between them. 

“No, I don't think that is quite all,” Night placed his hands on the table. Why was he so hung up on this of all things? “I think you're scared.”

...

...

...Oh? 

“Bold words for someone within knifing distance,” Killer warned, voice low. 

“We are both aware you can hurt me worse than a mere stabbing,” 

Ohohooo, little Night-night grew some balls? What a fascinating development! Killer wondered what the reason for it was? Was he finally snapping? Oh he really, really hoped so. Or maybe he simply finally understood Killer was nothing but a terror! It was about time, really. 

Killer grinned wider.

“Oh really?” he purred, “How cute,” 

“Yes,” Night crossed his arms again. “I think... I think you're full of shit.” oh naw, was he losing steam? Was that hesitation there? But they were just getting started!

“Uh-huh?” Killer tried to stoke the flames. “What, you’re going to tell me how I actually feel baby? Or maybe just force it onto me? We both enjoy that,” 

“No,” Night parried him easily. Maybe he was getting used to the verbal assault, though Killer knew it must still hurt. “However...” Night hesitated. 

“Come on, spill it alreeadyy,” Killer prodded him. 

“...You’re scared, Killer,”

Killer barked a laugh. So he really was going to claim that? 

“You are,” Night gained some confidence, getting to his feet. “You rave about power and strength and yet you are– you–” 

“I’m what.” Killer grinned wider, pushing himself up from his lounge to sit up properly. His gaze pinned on Night. 

Night’s expression scrunched up. 

“Come on, don't be shy,” Killer leaned against his palm, “Talk sweet to me, like you did before,” 

Night stiffened, cringing at the comparison to his corrupted self. 

“What’s it gonna be this time? I’m annoying? Lowly? Am I disgusting or just right for you, Mr. Despair?” Killer teased sweetly. 

“...You’re a coward,” Night dared to say, swallowing. “And you are abysmally incapable of self-reflection.”

Killer let out a rolling laugh, loud. 

From the corner of his vision, he saw Dream was watching this all unfold, tension in the way he sat. Unsure if he should intervene or not. Killer couldn't decide which would be more fun. But for now, he only had eyes for Nightmare. 

“Oh really?” Killer got up as well. 

“Yes.” Night stood in place. 

“Want to know what I think?” 

Night’s resolve faltered minutely. “What? I– yes? Yes–” 

“I think,” Killer walked towards him slowly. Sorry not sorry Dust, but the house may get thrashed in about two seconds. “That you’re projecting,” 

“I’m not–”

“I think you loathe yourself,” Killer cut him off. “I think you loathe all of what you did for hundreds of years, and most of all the fact that you enjoyed it. Sure! You or your twinsie or whatever can argue it wasn't you, but you remember it oh so clearly, don’t you?” he stalked closer, a blade materialized in his hand. 

Night, to his credit, didn't cower away now. He stood in place with his back ramrod straight and his arms pinned to his sides, but eyes not moving from Killer’s. A set expression on his face. How commendable. 

“You remember the blood on your hands. You remember speaking the commands,” Killer drilled in the point. “It was born from you,” 

He wasn't going to buy the whole ‘the corruption was a parasite of pure negativity that took control of Nightmare and destroyed him on the inside’. That was a goddamn cop-out. If Killer didn't get to pin his actions on Chara or the Player, then why the hell should Nightmare get to?

“And I think you want to believe so badly that I can be good,” Killer continued, “because you wish for your life to not be so abysmally hopeless. You’re desperate for it to be true that anyone can change,” he was so close now. He pressed his blade under Night’s chin. 

He heard a swift shuffle, but Night raised a palm to his side. Dream must've gotten up, likely to interfere. But it seems Night wanted this personal matter resolved intimately. 

“You are the coward, baby,” Killer crooned, staring him in the eyes with his own Void-filled ones. “You are the one deluding yourself you can be good when all you're good at is being horrid. And you hate yourself for it.”

Night swallowed. Emotions were swimming over his face, each miniscule movement crystal clear to Killer with their proximity. 

Night breathed in. Breathed out. It trembled, but didn't get snuffed out.

“...Maybe that’s true.” he reasoned, audibly doing his best to keep his voice steady. “Maybe I even believe it–”

“It’s not–” 

“But,” Night pushed onwards through Dream’s immediate rebuttal. “That doesn't make what I said incorrect. Because... because I did spend... years ruining people’s lives, and you did as well, and there’s one thing I can claim,” 

He held Killer’s ever-blackened glare. 

“Well?” Killer prompted. 

“It is... so much easier to destroy.” Night stated emphatically. “You parade your violent attitude around, claiming strength, but the reality is, you cannot even fathom how to do anything but hurt. You shrivel away from any shred of happiness or love because you are incapable of preserving it. You are weak.” 

The silence rang between them. 

...How... manipulative. Killer would be delighted if he wasn't so–

Slowly, Killer was pushing his knife in and in. Until he could feel the resistance of bone against the tip. Right where Night’s throat was. 

If he leaned closer, he would be able to feel Night’s heavy but measured breaths. They stared at one another. Blackened despair dripping from Killer’s eyes, on the floor between their feet where it faded into the ether. 

A rubber band being pulled more and more taut. Until you could only watch in trepidation, wondering when is it going to snap? When, when, when? 

Killer chuckled low. 

But it seems Night hadn't quite said all he wanted to.

“I know you attacked Dream when you felt his aura passed through the physical connection of an embrace,” he spoke, a little quieter. Did he soften? 

Killer wanted to take that softness and rip it to bloody, gorey pieces. He wanted to give the walls and floor a fresh new coat of paint in the shade of Night’s blood. He hated these damn twins to the bottom of his soul.

“I know you've felt nothing but bad for... for so, so long, I know that because Corr– because I was responsible for it for so, so long. I intentionally kept you at your lowest possible point, Killer, and– I know you care not for my apologies so I will hold them for later–” Night continued on and on, “I– I intentionally took advantage of you at your most vulnerable. But you can be– you are more than that.” Night slowly lifted a hand. “Your suffering does not define you.” his hand lingered, hesitant, halfway raised. Killer wondered what he’d imagined doing. 

Killer slowly tilted his head. He wondered what would hurt Night the most.  

Killer’s free hand shot up and grabbed Night by the collar. Night’s eyes shot wide, and he most likely expected Killer to start ruthlessly attacking, which Killer would've loved to do! But that was old news. Night was familiar with his routine now. 

Instead you yank him forward and kiss him. 

It’s rough, it’s loveless, and it’s short as Night shoves you away by the sternum. 

You stare at his expression, wide-eyed and shocked and grasping to make sense of the action, and you start laughing in his face. Loud and cruel. Tar-like hatred streams down your face in rivulets.

“Ohhhohoo,” you snarl, breathless, hysterical, “that’s so mighty rich of you.” 

Night just continues gaping at you. In a flash you rear back your hand and punch him straight across the face so hard he stumbles back with a yelp. He stands there, stunned, one hand pressed to the spot your knuckles connected. 

“At least when you called me scum you didn't dare LIE to my FACE,” you sneer, hands shaking with the desire to take Night and rip him apart. 

“I’m not lying!” Night raises his voice. “You have the capacity for it, I’m sure, you’re just– you’re too damn stubborn to even entertain–!” 

“OH because you are SUCH a charitable man, a real miracle-worker! Or am I just a special case baby?!” you yell back, unable to stop the convulsions in your chest from your laughter. “You NEVER cared about me!” 

“I DO!” Night finally screams at you. “I DO care about you, I-I don't know if I did before but I do, I do, I–” he breathes harshly, and you hope he is about to cry. “That is the SOLE reason I am doing any of this, I–!” 

“I will NEVER forgive you!” you snarl, because you want to hurt him, you want to choke out any hopes he might have, anything he could gain from this. “I will lord every little bit of harm you caused over your head for eternity! I will stab you and kill you and RUIN YOU, believe me I will find a way!” you swear. 

“I don't want your forgiveness!” Night yells. “I– I do– angel above I will do whatever is necessary to try and earn it but I will never demand that of you! I’m helping you because– because I genuinely believe you freaking deserve it, after everything you've been put through–!”

You hate him, you hate him, you hate him. You hate him more than you have hated maybe anybody. You hate him so intensely it spills out of your brain and down your face, so intensely you choke on it.

“I hate you.” you let out a gutteral growl, all teeth and venom. 

“You have every right to.” Night is shaking, but he stands his ground. Tears are building in the corners of his eye sockets but he still holds your hateful glare. 

You despise him. 

“But I still love you.” 

...

...

...

Your ears are ringing. 

The icy behemoth that is the ocean rages around you. A storm. Ravaging and merciless. 

A leviathan. You can never even hope to go against it. 

There is no hope. There hasn't been hope in such a long, long time. 

Hope doesn't exist here. Hope is the sunshine above the surface. You have nothing but cold and drowning and darkness. 

Hope doesn't exist for you. It can't. It– can't.

...

“...What?” hissed out, animalistic. Barely comprehending. The desire for violence screeching in your head, ricocheting around your ribcage and stabbing into your soul. 

“I-I’m sorry,” Night whispers, eyes shot wide open. The lights in them small and quivering. “I– I didn't mean to– I would never put that on you– it isn't impo– I–” 

You barely hear him. You barely hear him over the chorus in your soul demanding maim hurt rip apart destroy kill kill. 

Night is a little mouse. A tiny minnow. Small and pathetic, nothing compared to the leviathan that was The Corrupted Nightmare. Night used to barely be able to look you in the eyes. Night always pulled away from you in fear.

Now, your soul is tearing itself apart in the frenzied need to execute. 

Now, Night steps towards you. 

“I’ll kill you.” you barely even hear your own words, airy and detached. 

“...You like... you like chocolate,” Night speaks.

“I’ll kill you.”

“You’d read even a children’s book if it was all you could do to fill the silence,” another step forward. 

“I am going to rip you apart.” 

“You like playing rough with Dust, because you like someone matching you beat for beat without hesitation.” Night takes another step forward. Your magic is summoning itself, charged with heaps of violent intent.  “You like the way he doesn't pull away in fear,”

You are trembling with the tension just waiting to be unleashed. 

“You’re playful; you can't be bothered to listen to anyone, yet when ignored, you seek attention, like a cat,” another step forward. “You are deeply curious about how people’s brains tick–” 

“I will spill your brain over the floor–” a row of blasters right behind you, their energy glowing like a readied gun. Like a spotlight on him. Or maybe a target.

“You laugh at your own jokes even when you find them unfunny,” he keeps speaking, “You are loyal to a fault even when you don't act the part,”

“You are delusional,” you snap, snarling and animalistic. 

“Because you hate being alone.” another step forward. His voice is steady. He’s getting so close. “That’s why you came here to be with Dust. That's why you haven't killed me yet–”

“I will kill you–” 

“Because, Killer, you love.” 

It rings. You want to slam his head into the concrete floor over and over and over–

“You crave it,” another step forward. “But you are terrified. You lash out and you destroy everything around you because you are terrified of it being taken away.” 

You’re shaking your head. You’re drowning in your own hatred and rage and violence. You want him to shut up. You barely know where you are. 

...A hand ghosting over your face. Not daring to touch. So apprehensive. So gentle it shouldn't even be possible for it to exist in the same reality as yourself. 

So close.

“But I told you,” spoken quietly. Intimately. Sincerely. “I’m not leaving you.”

.

.

.

...Arms wrap around you. You don't even twitch. 

The embrace is gentle. The embrace is firm, in the way real things are. He didn't ask. You wouldn't have wanted him to. He knew that. He knows you. It's horrible. It’s terrifying. It hurts. It's real.

Your knife remains clutched in your hand. 

When you raise it ever so slightly, the light reflects off the smooth metal. 

For a brief second, you catch your own reflection in it. Dark and distorted. You haven't known who that is for a very, very long time. 

You barely even breathe. 

It’s silent. The hum of charged magic potent.

He doesn't pull away. He stays. 

The point of your blade presses to his back. He surely feels it. 

He doesn't even flinch. In fact, he holds you tighter. 

...

“...I know it’s scary to be soft, because you could be hurt so badly,” he whispers. Soft. So close. So easy to trample and ruin. 

You want to. You want to. You don't care about him. You hate him. You're not sure how those two could be simultaneously true.

“I know it’s scary to care about something, because it can be so easily ripped away from you,” 

SHUT UP, you want to scream. You say nothing. Your magic is unstable and unfocused and erratic. Pulling itself apart at the seams. 

(...are you even real? 

...is any of this real?) 

“...But you’ve never been the type to lose against fear.” 

You're not sure if you're breathing. He is. He breathes, steady. Like he isn't scared of you. He holds you, tight and secure. Even as you press a knife to his back in a cruel promise. Both hands clutching the blade like you’ll fall into the abyss if you let go. You watch your own eyes in the reflection of the metal. 

He knows you better than anyone. He doesn't let go of you. 

It–

You–

...

...It’s...

...nice. 

...You watch your own eyes in the metal of your weapon. 

...Since when... were there lights in them...? 

(Sunlight against the surface of the water. So far above, and yet, it's there, it's there, it's there. It's real.)

“Come on,” Night whispers, “hug me back.” 

It's not a request. It's not a command, either. It’s...

The silence in your mind rings and rings and rings so loud. Endless empty caverns. Ruins. Dark and abandoned. No direction of your own. 

That’s what it is. It's... direction. It's instruction. It's purpose. 

It’s a desolate universe. It’s a hand held out and an offer to join him. 

Drowning, you are weightless. You are untethered. It’s been so dark you lost track of up and down. 

This...

Your hands twitch. You slowly let go of the magic. The constructed blade dissipates.

This is an anchor. This is something to hold onto when nothing feels real.

Something to grasp.

Something new. 

You move your arms that don't quite feel your own. You wrap them around him, hesitant and untethered. You wrap them tight and desperate. You hold on.

You hold on. 

(And you breach the surface of the water. 

And you take a desperate breath.)

—

.

.

.

Dream did not interfere, because his brother asked him not to. Even if it became dangerous, they both needed this, clearly. And he was... working on his relationship with Night. He had to trust Night and allow Night to trust him in return. 

He was still reeling from the shock of everything that happened. From the other two’s argument, to the kiss, to– to this– 

Just... watching them hug. In the middle of the room. It felt surreal. Killer and Night, hugging, willingly. 

And to top it off? To top it all off?

Just for a split second. Amidst the culmination of their fight. Dream swore he saw Killer’s soul flicker in the shape of– 

Dream blinked rapidly, as Night’s head turned ever so slightly towards him. Wide-eyed, mouthing what do I do?! 

Dream stifled a laugh. Don't laugh. Night was probably triple-shocked about how all this went down. Many, many jaw-droppers, haha. 

His own shock was slowly morphing into something fluttery and warm. 

Dream gestured to the couch in a silent suggestion. 

He watched Night take a breath. 

“Killer,” he spoke up again, “ah, let’s, sit down?” he offered. Then reconsidered, “Killer, sit down, come on,” he instructed. Because... apparently that worked much better with Killer. Apparently that's what Killer needed. 

Which... wasn't what Dream had assumed? He thought after years of the Corrupted Nightmare’s iron-grip control, and considering Killer’s proclivity to doing whatever he personally wanted, he’d assumed that... Killer would revel in the freedom.

Apparently not! Apparently he’d been with Nightmare because he needed the control from the start. And then he withered without its support. Maybe... it was taken away too abruptly, after so long being used to a short leash?

Learning experience. Dream reminded himself he was not, in fact, a mind reader, and did not, in fact, know what’s always best. He pushed aside the sadness and disappointment and guilt for now.

(“What sort of example are you setting, sunshine?”)

...Dream carefully compartmentalized them to be processed later, rather than burying them entirely.

He watched Night maneuver Killer towards the couch where they could sit. Still hugging. With the way Killer’s hands clutched onto the back of Night’s capelet, they would probably be at it for a while. 

Night didn't seem to mind. He began gently rubbing Killer’s back in return. Was Killer upset? It was often difficult to tell with him. It's not like Dream got a screen that spelled out the category of whatever emotions everyone was feeling, he had to parse it on his own. 

...It was really nice to see them like that. It made Dream smile sincerely. He really felt happy for them. So happy. Satisfied with the massive amount of progress they made with Killer. Proud of Night for handling it. Just really dang happy with the end result of all this. 

Obviously, Killer still had a long way to go. Dream himself could attest that he, personally, was still learning and growing as a person, and he’s been alive for much longer. But this... felt like a turning point. It felt hopeful.

...For just a split second, he’d seen Killer’s soul take the shape of a monster’s. And he knew Night saw it too.

...Haha. Maybe they won the bet.

—

.

.

.

Dream asked if they needed him to stay. Night shook his head. 

Dust passed by. Stared at them. Questioned, tentatively, what's going on. With similar hesitation, Night summarized he... may explain later. Dust left them be. 

And now it was just the two of them. Killer still neither moved nor spoke. Night was slowly concluding that maybe, once again, he needed to be the one to initiate. 

It felt... hm. Counterintuitive, for one. Uncomfortable, too. To tell Killer... what to do. It made some traumatized part of Night start screaming and blaring the alarms, insisting he was just like his old self, he was causing harm, he was horrid–

Deep breath in. Deep breath out. 

He’s been... working on it. Dream has been an incomparable pillar of support and help in the process. Night constantly had to convince himself he wasn't abusing Dream’s kindness. His brother was also high on the list of ‘People Corrupted Nightmare Hurt The Most’. Very high. 

...And so was the skeleton still holding onto him. It was– hm. It was... ah. Well. 

Night just had to ‘grow some balls’. As that whole rant from earlier hopefully showcased, he did know Killer quite well. He knew Killer sneered at those he deemed weak, that he idolized and respected strength. So with strength Night approached. He knew Killer needed direction, like an anchor to hold onto when his head was a mess. 

(He used his knowledge of Killer to manipulate him into what he thought was good for him–)

So Night gathered up his guts once again. This whole fight would be... extremely heavy to process no doubt, but not right now. 

He tapped Killer’s back gently. They've been at this for... a while now. Not that Night was displeased with that!

“...Can we... talk, now?” he asked, still gentle. Because with everyone else, Night must be gentle. He wanted to be gentle. He wanted to be a thing that cared and nurtured and fixed and loved, because he’d been denied that for... what felt like millennia. 

But that’s not quite what Killer needed right now. Not in that way, at least. He wasn't the type for meek love. 

Night cringed. Agh, love. He... really hadn’t meant to let that slip. Hnggh.

(...The one person. The one person beside his own brother who cared about him even at his worst.)

“Killer,” Night rephrased, “Let’s talk,” 

Killer’s first sound post-breakdown was a discontented grumble where his face was buried in Night’s shoulder. Typical. Night huffed in amusement, patting his back as though in comfort. 

“Yes, the world is terribly cruel,” he sympathised, “if you want a hug so bad, I promise you more later,” 

(Because he knew teasing Killer for being affectionate would get him to let go, to put distance. Manipulative–)

“Tch,” Killer scoffed, hands finally loosening, pulling away. He didn't get up and leave, though. He didn't stab or throw attack magic. Didn't even sit further away from Night. Just disbanded the hug and crossed his arms, looking at Night expectantly. “Well?”

Night stared, once again stupefied. Because–

...The Corrupted Nightmare had toyed with Killer’s mental state many, many times. Had handled his soul in the most cruel ways, had always kept him from any sort of healing or recovery or change. 

...

...Killer’s eyes were... it was nice. To see the lights in them. It was... such a lovely sight. 

“Well?” Killer pressed, snapping him back to the moment. Still waiting for a reply.

I’m sorry immediately came to mind, but unfortunately, as much as Night meant it, it wouldn't be productive. Are you alright? was a good contestant too, but would likely receive the same amount of defensiveness and apathy.

“I... the rest aside, I did mean what I said. I wouldn't demand anything of you,” Night clasped his hands in his lap in order to not fidget. “Not forgiveness, not kindness not– not love,” 

“You wouldn't get any of that even if you did demand it,” Killer leaned back in his seat, a lot more comfortable than Night felt. Perhaps uncaring. A neutrally amused expression on his face. 

(So much more expressive with the eye lights.)

“Right.” Night nodded, keeping himself composed. “If you’d prefer, I won’t–”

“I don't love you,” Killer cut him off, speaking light-heartedly. It hurt. Many things that he said hurt. It was also true. 

“...I know–”

“I can't love you,” Killer inspected his nails, and Night watched the miniscule twitches of his eye lights, “not like other people do,” 

Night blinked slowly. Frowned. 

“...I know,” 

“But if you ditch me, I am going to hunt you down,” Killer hissed, grin widening, “and I am going to ruin you.” 

Night choked down the surprised laugh that bubbled up in him. 

“...Deal,” he was trying not to smile. 

“And I refuse to go all... soft and pathetic like you,” Killer insisted. 

“I... didn't expect you to,” Night agreed. He held no beliefs that Killer was a saint of some sort. He was all too willing to do horrible things. But Night’s heard these things progress with time and effort. He wanted to believe that. 

“Great,” Killer stretched, “Now you should give me a damn way to call you, it’s always you idiots who come here, what if poor ol’ me was sad?” he complained, and again, Night had to hold back a laugh and just grin. 

“Wouldn’t want that,” Night nodded along. 

“And one billion gold and five chocolate cakes,”

Night couldn't hold back a snicker. “Obviously,” 

Killer threw his head back and groaned loudly. 

“And here I thought you grew a spine!” he exclaimed. “Where's all that ‘Killer, you’re a coward and a jackass’ stuff from earlier?? That was fun!” 

“I never called you a jackass!” 

“That was your first mistake,” 

Night muffled his escapeé of a laugh with a hand. 

He felt all warm and fluttery. It was so, so rare to have chats like this with Killer. Where it felt... semi-normal. And fun. 

...Instead of like an abuser and his enthusiastic victim with Stockholm syndrome. 

Night’s enjoyment dimmer. He inhaled, and then let it out. 

“...Killer–” he hesitated. The idea made discomfort squirm in him, but it was the right thing to do. “...Do you... want... your soul back?” Night offered quietly, keeping his eyes on the low table in front of the couch. 

It wasn't about the bet anymore. It never felt right to keep Killer’s own soul away from him. Never. Every moment, Night was gnawed by guilt. But he knew what would happen if he returned it to its owner. And he was selfish, because he really, really didn't want that to happen. It was like a made-up philosophical dilemma that he was stuck in, which wasn't meant to have an answer in the first place. And yet here he was, living exactly that reality, and needing to answer it. 

He expected a moment of silence. He expected... he wasn't sure what he expected. A hopeless part of him expected for that argument to have changed nothing. For Killer to say yes, to take it and– 

“Hm, well, I felt quite a lot of hatred there,” Killer hummed performatively, tapping his chin. Eyes looking up and to the side in faux contemplation. “And that is very far from numbness, don't you think, O mighty Lord of Negativity? Some consider that to be the other side of love’s coin,” he joked, voice low. When Night’s eyes flicked to him, he was grinning sharply. 

Night’s jaw worked as he tried to puzzle how to respond. Floundering. Caught off guard. 

Because Killer didn't care about being fair. If he had a way to win, he would take it. He was made from twisted code. 

And yet here he was. 

Turning down Night offering to let him win. Just like that. 

Night stared at him. 

Killer stared back with those no-longer-empty eye sockets. They made it all feel so much more tangible, like reality was finally in focus.

“...Oh.” is all Night managed to reply with, quiet and soft. Stricken and shocked and anxious and ecstatic. 

“I’ll be waiting on those cakes,” Killer moved on, as if it was that simple, that easy. 

It wasn't, of course it wasn't. Everything was still difficult and complicated to hell. They were both deeply damaged. Night was still trying to figure out how to even start fixing it. 

...But now, maybe there was hope.

[daflangstlairde-art]

"Extremophile" 3/4

Part 3 of ocean depths

Summary:

You drown every minute, every second, with every breath you take. You haven’t breathed for so, so long. The icy waters are inside you, deep, deep inside you. All you could ever feel is cold and colder. You haven’t seen the sun in... so... long. It was so far away from you that you couldn’t even picture it anymore. And here was the sun himself. Here was that gasp of air that burned. You’ve been so cold for so long, the warmth feels like death. — Alt summary: It's not easy but boy do I drag Killer (and everyone around him) kicking and screaming towards a healing arc

Chapter 3: "an orchid" 4293 words

—

Killer was bored. He was bored as hell. When wasn't he bored? 

“Hey,” Dream greeted, with a small smile and a wave, “I guess I don't have anything to pass onto you today, so, I brought something of my own?” 

Luckily there was a clown here to entertain him. What a delight. 

“It’s also a bit of a... an apology gift?” Dream continued, rubbing the back of his neck. “Last time I was here, I... kind of freaked you out, and I didn't mean to,”

Killer shrugged. “Whatever,” he hadn't even bothered to stand up upon Dream’s arrival, why would he care about that? 

“Right,” Dream strode over, holding out... 

“...A russian nesting doll,” Killer deadpanned, though he did take the object to inspect it.

(Pointedly avoiding even the smallest point of physical contact with Dream. Not even a brush of their fingers.) 

“Yeah! I– Night told me about... your conversation, and... I agree with him,” Dream said. “Oh! Ink helped me paint it!” 

It was customized. As Killer opened it up, all the dolls had black eyes and a replica of his soul painted on. He snorted. This felt like mockery, honestly. And the thought of Dream of all people being a bully was very funny.

It was made from hard wood. Killer discovered this as he tried to crush one of the pieces with a hand and it didn't buckle. Shame. It would've been fun to watch Dream hide away the hurt that would've caused. 

“Well now that that’s out the way,” Killer stored the thing in his inventory, pushing himself to his feet. Dream stepped back to give him space. Or maybe he was (justifiably) scared that Killer would attack him again (he might). “Take me to– ugh, Underfell,” 

Dream blinked, confused at the changed topic. 

“Where Dust is,” Killer clarified for him. “I’m sick of this place,” 

Dream paused. Then, his expression brightened with a grin like a sunrise, though what that was for, Killer hadn't a clue.

“Yes!” Dream exclaimed. “I mean– of course I can,”

And in barely a few minutes, they were in Dust’s Underfell with Dream knocking at the door. Killer mimed rolling his eyes.

It was some time late in the afternoon. There was the sound of several locks being undone, and then the door opening. 

Red regarded them with a flat look. 

“What,” he asked. 

“Hello!” Dream greeted. 

“Hi?” 

“Here for Dust,” Killer cut in, directly to the point. 

“Right,” Red turned to the inside of the house. “EY DUST BUNNY! GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE!” he yelled. Killer snorted. 

Dust appeared in the space next to him, a hand on Red’s shoulder. Already prepared with a glower, but it eased up when he saw them. Probably because of Dream’s presence. 

...Except he pushed Dream away. And stepped toward Killer. And put an arm around his shoulders, punching him in the sternum with no harmful intent behind the action. You could even call it friendly. 

“Finally decided to stop sulking?” he teased.

...What. 

Since when was Dust so damn touchy? Since when was he... what, affectionate? What the hell did this place do to him? Wasn't this Universe supposed to be, you know, rough around the edges or something? Violent? What? 

“I don't sulk,” Killer shoved him in return. 

“Sure, and I've never killed a soul,” Dust rolled his eyes, amused, though he did let go. “Seriously though. It's nice to see you here,” 

...What? 

This was like that ‘you're my friend’ bullshit that Dust pulled. 

Dream was beaming at the two of them. Killer stepped on his foot harshly, making him yelp and stumble away. 

Dust whacked him upside the head for it. Killer elbowed him in the ribs.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” Red muttered, dragging a hand down his face. Turning around leaving them to it like he wasn't associated. 

“You’re as much of a freak as ever,” Killer replied to Dust’s comment at last. 

“And you're as much of a jackass as ever,” Dust replied, not offended even in the slightest, just grinning in amusement. Damn him. “Thanks for bringing him,” he turned to Dream. 

“Of course! Anytime.” Dream nodded, smiling still. “Will you be staying here, Killer?” 

“Sure,” Killer shoved his hands back in his pockets, “Beats being bored.” 

“I support your decision entirely,” Dream stated, and Killer narrowed his eyes, considering stabbing him. “In that case, Dust, you should expect to see us around occasionally, if that's okay?” 

“Sure,” Dust shrugged. “Just don't forget to knock,” 

“Of course,” Dream nodded. “Well, I’ll leave you two to it!” he waved at them with a smile, and in a flash he was gone.

“Come on,” Dust shoved Killer inside. “I wanna see you try Edge’s cooking,” 

“Not worried I’ll dust him on the spot?” Killer teased. 

“Good luck trying,” Dust immediately countered, closing the door behind them and redoing the locks. “If you're going to be an asshole I’ll just kick you out and back to your depression hole. Have fun being bored out of your mind,” 

Good point. Currently it would be more interesting to have people around. When they got boring, Killer would resolve to pain and murder, but he had no reason to waste resources right now.

—

The ‘fell brothers got him a mattress in Dust’s room. That’s where Killer spent of his time really. Just used to it. 

Except when Dust kicked him out of bed to do random shit. Like cleaning the house. Or watching television. Some of it boring, some of it a little less boring. 

At least there were things to do. Even if they kind of made Killer itch for violence. So far, the only decoration to his side of the room was grooves in the wall where he threw his knives in boredom. 

...And that stupid nesting doll from Dream. 

Well. Killer wasn't going to complain (that's a lie, he complained a lot) — at least it wasn't the emptiness. 

...In the dark of night, sometimes Dust couldn't sleep. Sometimes Killer was awake as well, restless with a craving for something to fill the void. And they... chatted. Like they did before, when they were both still with Nightmare. 

It was... 

...nice.

—

When Killer’s name was yelled from the living room, he already expected it to be Night or Dream. 

“Hello,” Night greeted passively. 

“Should've closed the door on his face, maybe a broken nose would make the sight nicer,” Killer commented and Red snorted.

“Hell no, I’m not getting involved with y’all,” Red didn't waste a moment to leave. Fair enough. 

“Test number one,” Night mentioned, lifting... a folded chess board? 

“All you'll succeed with that is boring me to death,” Killer pointed out, striding over to drag him inside because the idiot still hadn't entered. What, was he going to play chess from the doorway? 

Close the door, lock all those stupid locks because apparently this was just how Underfell is. 

“Well. Give it a chance,” Night reasoned. 

“Whatever,” Killer walked over, flopping on the ratty couch. Might as well indulge him so he leaves quicker. If Night wanted to sabotage his own stance by intentionally boring Killer, well, that was his business. 

There was no chair across the low table. Killer watched as Night, hesitantly, sat on the couch too. As far away from Killer as he could. Killer snorted. 

Night opened up the board and started quickly setting up the chess.

“You are familiar with the rules,” Night stated. It wasn't a question because he already knew the answer — Corrupted Nightmare had played with him once. 

“Nope,” Killer said, just to be annoying. “Never even heard of it,���

Night had the audacity to roll his eyes. He even looked amused. Where did all that guilt and hesitation go, huh? 

“You take white,” Night said before Killer could instigate his suffering. 

Killer sighed, and played some classic first move. 

He already knew how this match would go. It was obvious — chess was one of Night’s favorite things, the nerd, and he’s had decades to get good at it. Killer wasn't an idiot if he could say so himself, but chess? It never really caught his fancy in particular. He wasn't much of a strategist. 

They weren't even talking. Just sitting in silence, moving some wooden pieces around a checkered pattern. It was nothing.

Time ticking forth. The quiet sound of the pieces hitting the board.

As Night started snatching his pieces off, it was only being confirmed who’d win. And it wasn't even taking long. 

“...You’re not actually putting effort in, are you,” Night finally caught on. 

“I told you,” Killer sighed, lounging on the couch without much care, “it’s boring. And you’ll win anyway. What's the point?” 

“That’s unfair,” Night huffed, “You agreed to play fair. That was the deal.”

Killer groaned, letting his head flop back. 

“It’s stupid,” he growled. “This is a waste of time. I agreed to your damn bet, not to play pointless games,” 

“Yes,” Night reasoned, “and this is part of the bet.” 

“No, this is you being an annoying asshole,” Killer said cheerfully. “Haven't you learned? No one actually wants you around. At least when you were a mean asshole, you were an asshole with a personality.”

With how he was leaning back, Killer couldn't see the other’s face. But he didn't need to. The pause that followed made the hurt audible. 

Night quietly breathed in. Breathed out. 

“...You’re frustrated,” he stated.

Killer mimed rolling his eyes. “Fantastic counterargument, totally defeated my point,” he returned sarcastically. 

“No,” Night corrected, “you're frustrated. I know that because I can still sense the emotions of others. When you get bored, you get frustrated. That's an emotion.” 

Silence. 

“What a delightful existence,” Killer spoke slowly. Cold and venomous. Pushing himself to sit up so he could stare at Night. “Being able to feel either emptiness or frustration.” 

“But it’s a feeling,”  

“It’s torture.” Killer growled. 

“But it's a feeling,” Night insisted, and in a blink Killer threw a knife at him. 

Night yelped, but barely managed to dodge to the side. As if Killer could put a dent in his HP that mattered. 

“And when you’re bored, you want to do something!” Night continued, even as Killer got to his feet. “That’s a feeling too!” Night also scrambled to his feet to avoid the next stab, the blade sinking into the couch instead. 

“I’ll show you what’s a feeling,” Killer snarled, grinning. “Ever heard of pain?” 

But before he could throw the next readied attack, there was a ping! 

His soul was grabbed and he was slammed back into the wall. Not enough to be a killing blow, barely chipped anything from his HP. 

“Don't put holes in my couch,” came Dust’s flat voice from the stairs. “Do you know how hard it is to get furniture around here?” 

Killer breathed harshly, still glaring at Night. He dissipated his conjured knife, huffing. Whatever. 

Night was wrong. This yawning chasm inside him wasn't an emotion. It was a feeling the way hunger was a feeling. It was a desperation, a self-preservation instinct from the brain’s desire to not self-destruct. It was cold. 

“My apologies,” Night’s gaze had moved to Dust, a little wide eyed. “Dust– I–” 

“Yeah yeah, you already delivered your sorry’s,” Dust waved a hand dismissively. “Look, man, it’s not like you ever hurt me in particular,” 

Night’s eyes, perhaps unintentionally, flicked to Killer before returning to Dust. “But I intentionally kept you in the worst possible mental state you could–” he rushed out.

“Yeah, and I left,” Dust shrugged. “And you're not that guy anymore, right?” 

“Unfortunately,” Killer chimed in. “You gonna release me now?” 

“Are you going to damage more of my property?” Dust fired back. 

“I’ll damage your face.” 

“Oh you want me matching your ugly, Tar-Eyes?” 

Killer barked a laugh. “Damn you! I’m prettier than you could ever be,” 

“My boyfriend would beg to differ,” 

“Boyfriend?” Killer raised his brow ridges. 

Dust cleared his throat, glancing away. Killer started laughing. Oh now this was news, how interesting. 

Throughout their interaction, Night’s gaze had flicked back and forth between the two of them. Observing them with something pinched in his expression. 

“Game over, Nighty,” Killer stated as his soul was finally released from the directed gravity. “Pack it up,” 

“...But we didn't complete it,” Night pointed out. 

“And we aren't going to, because quite frankly? I cannot be bothered,” Killer nodded generously. 

“Better listen before he starts dishing it out again,” Dust chimed in, amused. “Trust me, he ain't scared to take it,” 

“Oh like you’d know, you can barely leave a scratch on me,” Killer taunted. 

“It barely takes more than a scratch for you to crumble,” Dust fired back easily.

“Wanna test that hypothesis?” Killer growled, grinning. 

“Yeah, let me go put my egg-handling gloves,” 

There was a quiet snort, and Killer looked over to see Night covering his mouth. Killer could still tell he was smiling, though god knows why.

“I’ll uh, leave you two be,” Night cleared his throat, back to awkward. Swiftly gathering up the chess pieces and folding the board.

—

It’s clear the ‘fell brothers aren't exactly keen on your company, but they tolerate you. Perhaps they even mildly respect you, if only out of fear.

...Dust... interacts so easily with them. It’s clear he cares about them, and that they care about him. 

(He’s been carrying himself so much more easily ever since he left Corrupted Nightmare’s whole operation. 

...Good for him.)

“Hey,” 

What’s more peculiar, weird even, is that Dust acts that way with you, too.

“You okay?” he asks, even though you've done nothing but lay in bed all day. Staring at the ceiling. Getting lost in the passage of time. The damn passage of time. 

“Couldn't be better,” you reply with a flat look, grinning. It is the truth.

Dust rolls his eyes. 

“Move over,” 

“Oho, baby want cuddles like the good ol’ times?” 

“Move over or I'll move you myself,”

“You know what they say, don't threaten me with a good time,” you tease and prod. Always pushing buttons. Always looking for a reaction. For something to fill the emptiness.

Sadly there’s no longer a Corrupted Nightmare to rip you apart and make you feel tangible enough to be ripped part. 

All Dust does is shove you to the side with a foot. You can't be bothered to protest. He flops down beside you, easy and comfortable. He isn't scared of you. He doesn't cower and cry like some frail minnow. It's what you respect about him.

“Found some books about ancient human philosophy recently,” Dust mentions. 

“Uh-huh,” 

“It's pretty interesting. Most of them say incredibly obvious things, just in a fancy way,” 

You both chuckle. 

“A lot of them are from this place called ‘Ancient Greece’ and stuff, a lot of what I’m pretty sure are the classics...” 

Aaand so Dust starts telling you about some ancient humans with different sorts of beliefs. How different schools of thought or sciences developed from their statements. 

It's... it's whatever. It's pretty boring really. Philosophy isn't your thing. Mostly because nothing is your thing. Nothing interests you. 

...But... 

The time doesn't pass as slowly, when it’s being used for something. The silence isn't as suffocating, broken by Dust’s... company. 

So. 

It's not that bad.

(...It’s nice.

...

...maybe you missed this.)

—

“Nothing? Really? You didn’t feel anything?” Dream was frowning at him where he sat across their impromptu beach blanket thing. 

“Nope!” Killer affirmed cheerfully. 

“Did– did you really have that bad of a time?” Dream’s frown was tinged with some sadness. 

Killer shrugged. “Not particularly, no. It was mostly just...” he flicked more sand off his arm, “...boring,” 

Dream’s idea was to take him for a ‘beach day’ for a couple of hours. His hypothesis being that if Killer was relaxed and in a very pleasant space, he’d feel... ugh, “safer and more comfortable” to... “express his emotions”.

It failed. Sure, the sun against his bones was pleasant sensation-wise, and so was the sound of the waves close by, but that was about it. The most Killer got out of it was relentlessly teasing Dream for “taking him out on a date”, trying to get a reaction from him. Dream was annoyingly composed and used to his bullshit. Killer ended up trying to manually catch fish by stabbing them with his knife. 

It lasted a few short hours. The sun was still high and bright. Killer’s jacket was off. They were basically having a beach picnic right now, how romantic! 

“Right,” Dream sighed, face in his hand. He always looked exhausted. He couldn't hide it even from Killer. It got better as the Stars slowly chipped at Corrupted Nightmare’s defenses, getting Dust and Horror to turn over a new page; and it got a lot better as Corrupted Nightmare was un-corrupted; but still. Killer assumed there was a lot of damage control to be done, even with the help of Night. 

That’s the prize you get for living like that. Dream does this to himself, in Killer’s humble opinion. 

“Well, thank you for giving it a shot,” Dream re-composed himself. Still trying to look on the bright side. Jeez, Killer was getting tired just looking at him, hah. 

He shrugged in response. “Just a waste of my time. Nothing new.” 

Dream studied his expression. Probably trying to figure out where he went wrong. Killer would advise him to look somewhere much farther, more along the lines of the distant past, such as: the moment he was born. Were these ‘guardians’ born...?

“...Aside from that,” Dream picked up conversation yet again. Maybe this was just an excuse for him to have a break. “How have you been?” 

Killer blinked slowly at him. 

“You know, the usual,” he leaned back on his hands, “Killing parents, torturing their children, that sort of thing,” he counted off casually. Even if he’d actually done nothing of the sort. He’s mostly been chilling with Dust. And when the itch to cause harm got stronger, when his soul began going crazy, Dust usually indulged him with a fight. It wasn't ideal, but it was keeping him more or less on his feet. 

There was a quirk to Dream’s expression that almost looked like amusement. 

“Right,” he nodded. “I... guess you want me to return you to your... fun activities?” 

Killer sighed, leaning further until he laid his back on the blanket thing. Watching the bright blue sky and the even brighter sun above. 

“...Eh,” he shrugged. “I’m not in a rush,” 

Dream chuckled. 

It seemed he was content to remain in... peace-adjacent silence. Listening to the timid waves sloshing against the shore, just a few paces away from them. 

As calm as it was, however, the minutes ticked on. Eventually, they started to grate on Killer. Silence was boring. 

“Why are you trying so hard to ‘help me’?” he brought up, since Dream had never properly answered. “You are aware I’m one of the worst people just in general. And I’m not “corrupted” like your brother.” 

“I’m aware,” Dream confirmed. “But, well, the whole idea of ‘I believe anyone can change and be good’ wouldn’t hold much weight if I didn’t believe anyone can change and be good, if they tried,” he pointed out. Killer could respect his integrity. 

“But that’s not really where the catch is,” Killer pointed out. He was pretty sure they’ve had this conversation before. “The catch is in the last part. Whether they want to. Whether they try,” 

Of course anyone had the potential to be just about anything. Willpower is one hell of a force. But pure potential wasn't the matter. That demonic god that destroyed his world over and over until they finally got to him could choose, at any time, to not do that. They had that power more than anyone. 

But they didn't. They made those choices. And so did Killer. 

“...Do you want to be evil, Killer?” Dream asked calmly, after their brief pause. When Killer turned his head to look at him, Dream was watching the waves with a tired expression. 

Killer scratched his skull. He shrugged. “It can be fun,” 

“Yeah,” Dream nodded, and Killer blinked. “That’s the thing. You don’t want to be evil for the sake of being evil, do you?” 

...Hm. Interesting that he thought so. 

“And I think,” Dream reasoned, “like Night also thinks, that if we figure out the core reasoning behind your actions, we can find what you really want. And we can work with you. And we can help you,” 

Fun theory. 

“That didn’t answer my question however,” Killer nudged the topic aside with a foot. “Why do you want to help me that bad?”

Dream huffed a soft laugh. “It’s what I do,”

“Oh please,” Killer scoffed, “Don’t give me that cop-out,”

“...Why do you want to know?” 

“I’m bored, sunshine,” as if it was anything new. 

Dream glanced at him. Again, that slight quirk to his mouth, like he was amused or something. 

“...You’re curious,” he offered a correction. 

“Whatever makes you sleep at night,” Killer shrugged. Curious, sure, why not? People are freaking weird. Might as well try to figure them out. It’s one of the few varieties in life. Better mental stimulation than the sameness of everything else. 

“I...” Dream looked down at his hands. “Well, you can look at it mathematically if you want. There isn’t much worth to just... hating you forever, punishing you for your actions. That doesn’t get us anywhere. But if a bad person becomes good, to use simple terms... that’s an overall net gain, isn’t it?” 

...Huh. Much more pragmatic than Killer expected. He would’ve betted on something a lot sappier. 

“And everyone has a will,” Dream continued. “It’s not that you can choose to do good at any time, sometimes it’s a little more complicated, but when you remove any external factors forcing people’s decisions... I do think they can choose to do good. No matter what they’ve chosen in the past.” 

“But why not just kill me? There, that removes a bad person,” Killer pointed out. It’s the solution he’d always utilized. Simple and effective. 

Dream frowned a little. “...Did Corrupted Nightmare prefer killing?” he posed a leading question. 

And the truth was... no, not really. He wasn’t against it, obviously, especially when the death of one person could cause the grief of many. He rarely stopped Killer from indulging in it. But he got all prissy when the gang would do nothing but murder (even if it was literally their speciality). 

“Do you expect a corpse to feel bad?” Nightmare had snarled. 

“If we go down that route, ad absurdum, it would just be... endless destruction until nothing is left,” Dream answered. 

“Which wouldn’t exactly give you an increase in positivity,” Killer finished. He supposed it made sense, if he was trying to understand Dream’s point of view. 

“...I wouldn’t say it like that, my goal was never to make all of the Multiverse wholly positive, but... yes, sort of,” Dream nodded. 

“Really?” Killer glanced at him. “I thought that was the idea. Good and evil fighting to win, blah blah blah,” he waved a hand. 

“...No?” Dream blinked. “Although I suppose I understand the confusion. Many people think that.” he reasoned. “...It’s what got Night...” he muttered quietly, trailing off. His expression pinching with a concoction of emotions unfitting for his title. He shook it off quickly. “No, the idea had always been about balance. That’s why I fought against the Corrupted Nightmare. He wasn’t negativity as it should be, he was more. He was an overwhelmingly consuming force, tipping the balance towards his extreme,” 

“And you’re not doing that?” Killer asked. “You don’t want everyone to be happy, Dreamboy?” he teased. 

“No!” Dream exclaimed, to his surprise. “That’s not good for anyone. I want to help people, not– people have a natural range of emotions for a reason. Negative feelings are just as important — sadness is essential to processing grief, anger is what tells you to defend yourself or what you stand for–” he began ranting, in a way that was clearly repeated many times for many, many years.

“Besides you of course,” Killer interjected, and Dream stumbled over his words. 

“What?” he looked at Killer. 

“You’re not allowed to be sad, are you?” Killer pushed at those buttons, grinning. “Because it’s all about mathematics, right? People need the Guardian of Positivity to always be positive. And you serve the people.” 

Dream stared at him, mouth flat, brow ridges pinched. 

Killer chuckled. He was so good at striking a nerve.

“You’re a liar. So desperate to prove your stance true, you’ll tear yourself apart for it and not even let anyone see,” he continued, until Dream turned away, unable to look at him. “And you’re cruel, to claim everyone is right to feel bad, but then turn around and never do that yourself. What sort of example are you setting, sunshine?” Killer mocked. “You want me to accept and show my emotions? Where are yours?”

Dream stiffened.

He was a fool if he expected this evening to go any differently, really. This is what Killer did. He was made of hurt. His own, others’, it didn’t matter. He was fluent in all the dialects. 

And so they sat in silence. Dream likely didn’t have much more desire to talk to him after that, which was fair. Though the conversation was a degree of... enlightening. Killer had discovered nuances to Dream’s thinking he hadn’t expected.

He also expected this to be the end of it. 

...So he was reasonably surprised, when Dream spoke up, quiet but steady, 

“...Yeah. I guess you’re right,”

(...They stayed there for a little longer.)

[daflangstlairde-art]

"Extremophile" 1/4

Part 3 of ocean depths

Summary:

You drown every minute, every second, with every breath you take. You haven’t breathed for so, so long. The icy waters are inside you, deep, deep inside you. All you could ever feel is cold and colder. You haven’t seen the sun in... so... long. It was so far away from you that you couldn’t even picture it anymore. And here was the sun himself. Here was that gasp of air that burned. You’ve been so cold for so long, the warmth feels like death. — Alt summary: It's not easy but boy do I drag Killer (and everyone around him) kicking and screaming towards a healing arc

Chapter 1: "catabolic seed" 4351 words

Credits, warnings and additional info on ao3.

—

It's funny. The moth never did fly away. Maybe its wings were too burned up. Or, maybe, it didn't want to. 

It was the flame that was put out first. But with the lethal heat went away the entrancing shine that drew the lowly insect in, too. 

—

“Get out.” Killer didn't even bother with asking. 

“It's a letter,” Dream said instead, standing at the other side of the Final Corridor, across the path with his back to the large windows. Once, it would've made him glow with golden light. But it’s been dark for a long time. A very long time. Dream’s voice echoed throughout the ruins of the hallway.

He was holding said letter out towards Killer. If he wanted to take it, Killer would have to get up from where he sat leaned against one of the many ruined pillars.

Everything was ruined around here. Fitting, for this place’s one inhabitant. It was his own doing, anyway. Home sweet home, huh?

(He had nothing but Nightmare. He had nothing. Nowhere to go.

And now Nightmare was gone.)

He couldn't be bothered with any Dreamtale bullshit today.

“He–”

“Get out.” Killer snarled, eyes dripping with the same violent intent that dripped from his tone. 

“I’lll leave it here,” Dream calmly placed the letter on the ground. It was a dark purple, with a golden wax seal of a crescent moon. 

As soon as Dream was gone, Killer hurled as much magic was needed at the damn thing until there wasn't even dust left of it.

—

It was a big deal. A very, very, very big deal, when the Corrupted Nightmare’s soul was finally released, and he returned to his personhood. All the events leading up to it were so dramatic, and when it happened, the whole Multiverse cheered and celebrated. Probably. 

(Everyone but one.)

After years upon years of struggle and suffering, the balance of Positivity and Negativity was, at last, restored. No longer heavily tipped in the direction of darkness. 

Probably. 

Killer didn't particularly care.

Nightmare was gone. 

That... thing, the one that stared at his back sadly and couldn't look him in the eye? The one whose touch didn't burn? The one who said pathetic things like “sorry”?

That was not Nightmare.

And so back to emptiness Killer went. 

Here, in his familiar hell. Here, in this decrepit hallway. His own coffin. 

His original universe. Or what remained of it, at least.

There was nothing to do. There was no point to him. He didn't even have the agony anymore, the one that made him feel alive. 

It was gone. 

Killer had no purchase. No purpose. Nothing.

Nothing upon nothing upon nothing. 

His breaths were too shallow to even echo. The birds stopped singing forever ago. The weeds overtook the patches of decay. 

Killer had never felt colder. 

—

“Did... did you read the previous one?” Dream asked tentatively. Fidgeting with the new purple letter in his hands. 

You stare at him. Eyes empty and dead. A grinning corpse. 

You're so, so empty. If you were a monster, you probably would've Fallen Down a long time ago. 

But you're not.

You place a hand on the pillar behind your back. Slowly, lumbering, you push yourself to your feet. Dream watches your movements with pinched brow ridges. 

You start chuckling quietly. 

It takes a single movement for you to hurl the knife at Dream, so fast he yelps and barely dodges. The blade had enough force that half its length embeds itself into the solid rock. 

There is liquid despair-hate-determination leaking down your face. In a flash you are next to Dream, swinging a newly summoned knife and he dodges right into a third summoned knife. He sucks in a breath but you're already summoning the next attack. 

Dream is far stronger than he looks. He must be feeling better than ever, really, what with that thing that ate his brother now gone. 

But this place is a wreckage. 

Killer attacked mercilessly, relentlessly, again and again and again. You don't feel exhaustion. You don't feel pain. You don't feel anything. 

It's a mindless screaming of violence, the only thing holding your particles together. All sharpened to a point until Dream finally. Fucking. Flees. 

He leaves the letter with you. 

You destroy it in lieu of destroying its sender. 

—

He sat in a single spot. 

He slept to pass the time. 

It all blurred together.

There was nothing left for him. 

—

“Horror asked me to bring you this,” Dream said, holding two large tupperware containers in his hands. With food inside. You don't care what type of food. You don't care who sent it. You don't care.

“How many times,” you speak, low, reverberating with hateful intent, “do I have to tell you to leave?” 

“I’m not giving up on you,” Dream states, determination clear on his face. 

You would start laughing hysterically. You would attack him again. You've attacked him about a dozen times on these visits, now. So overtaken by violence you don't even really remember it. 

You're just... 

...too tired for it. 

“Okay,” even though it wasn’t, nothing is, it never was and it never will be, “then can do you something for me?” 

It's hilarious the way Dream’s eye sockets widened at that. It's pathetic the way his face brightened. So desperate. So foolish.

“Yes!” he exclaimed. “Yes, anything! Of course!” 

“Tell that thing dirtying Nightmare’s name,” Killer’s grin stretched, “to let go of my soul.” 

Dream blinked, thrown off. 

“He– what? He still holds power over your soul?” he asked, incredulous, maybe angry, or maybe just crushed. 

You spit a laugh. “Of course.” 

“I’ll speak to him,” Dream nodded, serious. He lifted the tupperware containers a little, “I’ll just... leave these here?” 

He did.

Killer destroyed them. 

—

You wonder why this world still stands. You wish you could tear it apart with your own hands.

—

“...I’m sorry,” Dream said, standing sheepishly in the same spot across the width of the corridor. Another damned letter in his hands. Face twisted in upset. 

Killer barked a laugh. Him and Nightmare were twins, huh? He could see the resemblance.

(“I’m so sorry, I– I can't even describe– Killer, what I– he– it– the way you suffered was so wrong–” “Nightmare” had stammered.

Killer laughed in his face. 

“Oh it was!” he revelled, “That's what I liked about it,” he mocked.)

“Of course you are,” Killer muttered.

“Just...” Dream took a breath, “We're worried that if Night isn't... keeping a hold of your soul, that you might–” 

“Yup,” you pop the word brightly. “End this torture for good? That's the plan, sunshine boy,” 

Dream always looks devastated when you speak like that. It's hilarious. What a bleeding heart. It makes you want to slam him to the ground until he's really bleeding. 

“...Killer–”

“Don't worry,” you laugh, “The determination will probably force me to keep at it instead, what a joy,” you shrug. You're doomed to suffer. You can't escape it, not even in death. 

“We can try something else–” Dream begs.

“Night, huh?” Killer interrupted him, coldly uncaring. Venomously mocking. “Is that what he’s calling himself these days? How cute. Very harmless and gentle. You should tell him it really fixes all the lives he’s ruined,”

Dream’s expression flitted to something angry. Immediately he took a breath, held it, and let it out. Ohoo, so he’s not letting you get to him? You start laughing. That’s a challenge if you’ve ever seen one.

“He’s trying–” 

“I can see that,” Killer nodded at the purple letter that Dream still held. “How cutesy. Did he, by any chance, put a time machine in there?” 

“He’s working hard to change.” Dream was resolute. “He’s helping people.”

“Atoning for his sins, huh? Veery saintly. Someone better get some nails and call Cross,” Killer joked, and surprisingly, Dream had to smother a snort.

“He wasn’t himself when he did those things. It wasn’t his fault.” Dream insisted, calm, but sure of it. Seems he really believed that. How... humanitarian. 

Killer leaned further back. Tilted his head at the dreamboy. 

“So what?”

“...What?”

“You’re here to deliver a beautiful final speech?” Killer was grinning, mocking. “Tell me how everyone deserves a second chance? How everyone can change, if they really wanted to? For the better, even? Hit me with that ‘Killer, I believe in you’ maybe?” he chuckled flatly. 

Dream’s mouth was twisted flatly, brow ridges pinched together again. 

“...I do,” Dream said quietly. In the silence of the corridor, it echoed loudly enough. “I do believe that.” 

Killer let out a breathy laugh, letting his head thunk back against the pillar. How absurd. Dream was trying so very hard to make something out of nothing. It’s you. You are the nothing.

“...In every universe I know,” you start. “The character that holds that stand is the one who dies oh so tragically. Pretty early on, even,” you lament, eyes dark, darker. It’s all hopeless. There hasn’t been light at the end of the tunnel for... so, so very long now. It’s just the vast ocean depths.

A red scarf in the snow. You were upset about it, the first many times. Then you started taking it in stride. Then you were numb to it.

“Either that, or, well,” you shrug, “Or they’re forced to change said stand. So where does that put you, sunshine?” 

Quiet. It’s always so quiet. Sometimes you’d rather Dream take the matter in his own hands and just kill you already. You’ll never understand why he still bothers. How he still has the energy to bother. 

“...I’m still alive.” is Dream’s quiet argument. You bark a laugh. You suppose that’s true. Some people are just lucky like that. 

Dream leaves the letter with you. You rip it in half and watch it burn. 

—

“Hey,” 

It was almost startling, and immediately Killer’s eyes snapped open from his tired dozing. 

“Dust??” 

And– dammit. That... there was a flash of an emotion from Dust’s unexpected presence here, but as Killer tried to pinpoint it now, it was already gone. He couldn’t decipher what it’d been.

“Heyo,” Dust wiggled his fingers in a greeting. His appearance hadn’t changed much — still with the hood up, still with that red scarf. But there was no longer radioactivity in the lights of his eyes. He didn’t have, well, dust clinging to him anymore. He seemed... more stable. More present. Good for him, Killer thought, neutrally, not particularly caring.

...Good for him.

He stood where Dream usually did, but he shuffled to walk to Killer’s side, unafraid. Sat down slumped with his back at the pillar Killer always sat against. 

“Not worried I’ll go Stage Three on you?” Killer teased. That was the highest stage, as opposed to his usual ‘Stage One’ — his regular soul, with two red circles and a white one between them, like a target. As far as he knew, there were only three variations it could shape itself. There's been... a lot of Two and even Three these days.

“Go ahead, I’ll kick your ass anyday,” Dust shrugged, grinning. “Just like old times, huh?”

Just like old times. Huh. 

(Memories of staying awake at ungodly hours and chatting to keep the whispers of silence at bay. Memories of competing for how much EXP they could gain without outright killing anybody. Memories of just the two of them in a room, after Horror wasn’t with ‘em anymore.

...But it’s not Killer who left.)

Cold. Icy. Black and bitter. Hands clenched. A fuzz around the edges of your vision at the memory of emptiness. Of endless, looming, silent walls. The feeling dissipates, leaving only dark stains against your psyche. Maybe you will go Stage Three on him. 

“Right.” you don’t look at him. Your voice remains neutral and unbothered. It always does. “Soo. Which one sent you?” 

“Neither,” Dust shrugs, paying no mind to your aura. “I just used them as a bridge to get here. I wanted to see you,” 

That... what?

You snort. “Why?” 

“Just wanted to. Haven’t in a while. I told you you could visit at any time,” Dust reminded. “But you never did,”

“Sure I did,” Killer argued. 

“Yeah, like two times in the beginning,” Dust elbowed him, teasing. “And when Nightmare turned, you could’ve come and stayed with me and Red, not here,”

That’s not Killer’s place. This is Killer’s place. 

“You’re my friend,” Dust said quietly, smile gaining some other tinge. “I would’ve welcomed you,”

You’re my friend.

Killer exhaled through his nose, shaky with amusement. 

You’re my friend.

He started chuckling. He started laughing. It was cracking out from his ribcage. He couldn’t pin down the feeling it mimicked. Amusement? Incredulity? Absurdity? Irony? 

“No I’m not,” you kindly inform through your laughter. “I think you’re forgetting I couldn’t feel less about you,” it’s hilarious. It’s bonkers. Dust really is fucking insane.

Dust didn’t let it get to him, just rolled his eye lights. “Sure buddy, whatever helps you sleep at night,” he teases, but you know he knows what you’re truly like. He knows you’re not lying. Which begs the question: how did that delusion still manage to take root? 

Hah. 

“I mean it though,” Dust rolls his shoulders, stretching his arms idly. “You’re welcome at any time. We could go right now,”

Killer snorted. “Yeah, I’ll take you up on that offer when I need some free EXP,” 

Dust paused. Huh. Funny reaction. He really cared about those from the ‘fell verse, huh? 

“...No, you won’t,” Dust said, tone reserved to himself. “But that’s fine. Mind if I stay with you instead?”

Killer huffed in mirth. “...I couldn’t care less,” he said, like it was an inside joke between them.

Dust chuckled. And stayed with him. 

(It...

...It was so much better than the emptiness.)

—

You wish it was as easy as sleeping all the time, but that’s not exactly possible. Instead, when you’re awake, you’re in a sleep-like haze. 

Time passing far too slowly and yet all at once. You blink and it’s been hours. Probably because those hours are all the same, they feel like a single unchanging moment, playing on loop. The rise and fall of your chest. The faint change of light outside those grand, cracked, dusty windows.

It’s...

It’s agony. 

It’s a constant, unyielding numbness. An empty existence. A corpse with awareness.

The hours are all the same. None of it feels real, because there’s nothing to differentiate it at all. Fantasy and dreams and reality, it’s all the same, always unchanging, horrible. It’s like being so deeply starved that you stop feeling even the pains from hunger. Everything always the same, and always horrible, until none of it matters.

It’s just a soul-deep craving. 

For something. Anything. Whether it be your own blades faintly cracking along your bones, the back of your skull repeatedly slammed against the pillar, something, something. You’d raze the entire fucking Multiverse to ashes and launch your body into its fires if it let you feel something. 

Your soul... 

...Metaphysically, it’s here, with you. At the center of your chest, bare and vulnerable like an open wound. When you hold it, the red and white circlets glow against your sickly bones. It’s been more unstable than ever, messy and erratic. 

The red glow is fitting against the knife in your hand. 

The pain is horrible. It’s something that feels mildly real, it’s all you have. Until it bleeds and bleeds and bleeds and you are screaming just for there to be a sound. 

It’s all pointless anyway. You bring it into the decimals, shaking and burning with your own self-inflicted violence, but it doesn’t break apart. DETERMINATION holds back just as tightly. 

Hah. Haha. 

Horror and Dust never had quite the same arrangement with Nightmare that you did. And that fucker, that poor excuse of an existence that insists he is Nightmare now still hasn’t let your cursed, rotten soul go. Not fully. 

Dream implied it’s because he knows you want nothing more than to destroy it. 

You hope it’s because he is selfish, because he wants you hurt and ruined like always, because he wants you. You wish you could bludgeon him until the pitying expressions he gives you are unrecognizable. 

You wish he’d go back to how he was before.

—

“Hey,” Dream appeared once again. Just like always, right across the hallway’s width at the other row of pillars. Or, well, what remained of them, which wasn't much. 

He seemed to be appearing at similar times of the day, even. Not that Killer cared to track. For him, the moments when he wasn't alone weren't even real, and then suddenly, here's the Dream Boy. 

It was funny to call the centuries old Guardian ‘boy’. It always felt unfitting that someone who seemed so weak was so... not that.

Killer didn't care to reply to him either. He was tired. He didn't care about anything. Why bother? 

“It's not a letter this time,” Dream informed, smiling politely as always. You really do believe him when he says he believes in the good in people and that he cares. You just don't care. 

Dream produced a couple stapled papers. “I thought about what you said,” he started, “And we did some research. Turns out, actually, statistically,” he held out the papers to Killer, “It's Papyrus — his archetype — that has the highest track record of turning Players away from the Genocide route,” he was grinning. 

...Huh. 

That's... mildly interesting, actually. You suppose he does have the resources for something like this at his disposal. 

“Also,” Dream continued, pulling out a bar of chocolate. “Night sends you this,” 

...Damn. Damn. So he was switching up tactics, huh? Curse his knowledge of Killer. He was a fan of chocolate. Something about the cocoa and the sugar giving you a mild artificial high, the strong flavor. Or maybe whatever remained of Chara in him, hah. 

Killer couldn't be bothered to push himself up. “Toss it,”

Dream tossed him the chocolate bar and Killer caught it. It wasn't the cheap kind. Maybe there were some upsides to having a sorry little insult like ‘Night’ feeling, well, sorry for you. Killer could abuse this. 

“Stop giving me that expression,” he told Dream, who was beaming. Eyes sparkling like sunshine glitter on the surface of the ocean. “Before I peel it off of you.” 

Dream, the nuisance that he was, just laughed brightly. 

“Want the research too?” he waved the papers at Killer.

Killer sighed, stashing the chocolate in his inventory. 

Reading about Papyrus-es in the Geno runs? That could hurt, hopefully. Nice. Or he’d feel nothing, but he always felt nothing. Plus, he supposed just reading anything at all would fill in the emptiness.

Or he’d just use it as kindling, haha. 

“Sure. Leave me alone now.” 

—

Another chocolate, of a different kind this time but no less high quality. Hah! They thought they were being smart. They thought they had a foot in the door with him. Hilarious. He was just using them for his own personal gain. 

Well, if they wanted to be used so badly, Killer sure wasn't going to stop them!

“Dust has been asking for you,” Dream said as he tossed over the chocolate. “Told me to remind you. He didn't specify remind you what though, so I just assumed you'd know,”

Who appointed Dream to be everyone’s messenger to Killer? They could haul their ass over here too. Killer held zero warmth for Dream. Negative warmth, even. Night could transport anyone here too; same went for Ink, yada yada. But whatever. Not like Killer cared. It would've been more fun if it was someone fun that kept visiting him, though. Maybe Dust himself, and they could hurl bullets at each other and trade insult-quips. Or Horror, or someone. 

“Yeah, I know,” Killer stated plainly, stashing this chocolate in his inventory too. He had actually eaten the other one. It was... nice, actually. He enjoyed it. 

“You know what?” Killer placed a hand on the dilapidated pillar he always sat leaned against. Pushing himself to his feet. Tired. “Sure.” 

Dream blinked.

“Sure?”

“Yeah,” Killer shrugged, grinning mean (aka his go-to). “Take me to Dust and his bitey puppies, why not? Can't be worse than this,” 

It would be something. It would be people and sounds and sensations and it won't be empty. Killer could even score some EXP no one would miss. 

“Oh. Oh!” Dream beamed again. It's hilarious, the way he thought hope still existed for Killer. “Yes, I’ll take you there! But first. Can I ask for a favor?” he gained a look in his eyes. Hopeful, mischievous? Opportunistic maybe. 

Killer raised his brow ridges. “Very transactional of you, Mister Selfless,” he teased. 

Dream rolled his eyes. “I’ll still take you there if you refuse,” he reasoned. Always so reasonable. What a diplomat, hah. 

“Well, if you insist,” Killer said in a low voice, grin stretching. He was in a mood to be entertained by cheery fools, why not? 

“How about... a hug?” Dream opened his arms. Calm. The very opposite of pushy about it. 

Killer blinked at him, and promptly burst out into laughter. 

“And they call me a maniac!” he gasped, slapping his knee. Oh this was golden. A hug? From Killer? How Papyrus of him!

“Oh, oh, or have you finally gone on a mean streak?” Killer kept laughing. To his credit, Dream wasn't faltering, just waited out his fit calmly. “Gonna dunk on me? Finally finish me off, Peaceful Pea?” Killer kept mocking, his voice echoing throughout the empty Judgement Hall. It was rare that he raised it these days. 

“No,” Dream replied timidly. “I just want a hug, from you,” he said like that was normal. Like they were besties who embraced all the time! Like Killer wouldn't take the first opportunity to stab him in the back, literally! 

“Sure buddy, bring it in!” Killer accepted cheerfully, opening his arms. If the idiot wanted to get dunked on so badly, who was Killer to rain on his parade? In this world, it's dunk or get dunked on!

Insane, the way Dream stepped forward with a warm smile for an embrace. This sucker didn't know the oldest tricks in the book apparently. Because as soon as Killer’s hands wrapped around him, past Dream’s vision, he was summoning a sharp, sharp knife. 

And then–

And–

They hugged. 

...The thing about the Corrupted Nightmare’s aura — and touch — is that they were concentrated negativity. Negativity completely out of balance, off the rocker. He could turn the mood of everyone in an AU abysmal simply by going there. He could kill you with a touch if he didn’t actively keep it reigned in, because physical contact, being the closest you can get to him, was also the most intense. 

When he turned Passive, that disappeared. Or so Killer had assumed. 

Because Dream was–

He was–

He... was... warm.

Not just ‘body heat’ warm. Not ‘nervous’ warm. Warm like healing magic, like eating soup with your friends, like– like sunshine. Like happiness and excitement and hope and–

Like Nightmare’s icy fire but with none of the lethality, just light and warm warm warm–

“Killer–?” 

You’ve been buried in the depths of the ocean for so, so, so very long. 

You are a shipwreck. 

Your construction is frail and jagged and rotten. Even the concept of ever moving from where you’re stuck died long ago.

You drown every minute, every second, with every breath you take. You haven’t breathed for so, so long. The icy waters are inside you, deep, deep inside you. All you could ever feel is cold and colder. You haven’t seen the sun in... so... long. It was so far away from you that you couldn’t even picture it anymore. 

And here was the sun himself. 

Here was that gasp of air that burned. 

You’ve been so cold for so long, the warmth feels like death.

(...all this time...

...Dream had an aura too?)

Dream cries out as your blade sinks into his back. You planned to keep him in the embrace to hurt him, but you only twist the knife deeper once before you’re wrenching yourself away from– from–

“Killer–!” the idiot extends a hand towards you like you didn’t just fucking stab him– “Wait–”

“SHUT UP.” you snarl, and you’re not angry, not really, you can’t feel anything, you haven’t felt anything in what feels like centuries. An eternity. 

(Warm like sunshine and happiness and excitement and hope–)

“You’re LEAVING if you know what’s GOOD for you.” you inform him kindly, violent intent thrumming through your bones, your soul, echoing off the grand walls. Surrounding and unstable. 

“I'm not leaving you,” Dream refused adamantly, and you’re laughing as you attack. You're ruthless as you attack. You hurl a barrage of violence at him, cheap hacks and traps to ensure the numbers tick down, bit by bit. You wreak destruction on this already rundown hallway. It's what you do. You are destruction. 

You want to be alone. You want to snuff him out. You need to snuff him out. You need it existentially. 

It was an irrevocable truth: this light, this warmth, it doesn't exist. And even if others claimed it does, it does not for you, not for you. It never has. It never will. It's not that it’s too far out of your reach — it doesn't. Exist. 

...Except.

Except, here it is. Expertly doing its best to dodge the onslaught of your hateful violence. 

You need it gone, because if it's real...

“I hate you,” you snarl when you're up close, hands almost shaking with the effort you're putting in stabbing Dream. But he holds his block. “I hate you so, so much.” you spit black hatred like venom. 

Maybe it's the sheer intensity of your negativity that finally gets him to relent. Maybe he just gives up on you as he should've ages ago. 

You stand among the ruins of your life, the echoes of your harsh breaths. Blood dripping from your blade like the despair from your face. 

Alone.