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Dinner was always a rowdy affair. At the head of the table, the only acceptable seat for a king such as himself, he had a perfect view of the shenanigans that went on during dinner. If Nightmare didn’t begrudgingly enjoy the way his mates rioted every night, flinging small bits of food into each other’s eye sockets until Horror decided enough was enough, jabbing at each other and causing small, but no less humorous, arguments, he would simply skip meals altogether. He didn’t need to eat, after all. He had only started because Horror’s constant concern and wobbly eyelight had been a vicious combination against his resolve. He didn’t have to stay... except he did enjoy the chaos that transpired every night, and he found himself partaking in dinners for more than just Horror’s happiness.
But tonight, there was one person missing from the joking.
Nightmare paid little attention to the food on his plate, instead taking the time to stare at Dust until the aggravated monster stared back. Bloodlust oozed off his mate in droves, seeming to taint the air with its spice. Nightmare hummed, washing the flavour down with a mouthful of Horror’s delectable cooking. It hardly helped.
To Dust’s left, Killer swore loudly as Cross managed to throw a spoonful of creamy mashed potatoes into his socket. “Well then, if you want it so badly…” His chair screeched against the ground as he jumped to his feet. He grinned hollowly, grabbing a handful of food and springing across the table, displacing food and glasses of water, to mush the colourful concoction into Cross’ skull.
Horror growled, grabbing Killer by his shirt and flinging him over his shoulder. Killer yelped, landing awkwardly on his arm, but he was up in moments running away from Horror’s fury.
Throughout it all, Dust barely twitched. He tracked the three arguing Sanses with an icy gaze, grip bending the metal cutlery in his hands. Nightmare could sense the jumble of emotions raging in his small lover’s soul, like a storm drowning everything in its path. If he watched closely, he could see the choppy way Dust’s chest moved, as if he was fighting for an even breath.
Nightmare’s own chest ached in sympathetic pain. He grimaced, rubbing his sternum.
Killer’s screeching suddenly stopped when Horror finally caught him, forcing his jaw open and stuffing food into his mouth. The mischievous skeleton gagged, struggling futilely in the larger monster’s hold. Cross snorted quietly to himself, cleaning the food off his skull with a cloth napkin.
Magic flushed Dust’s knuckles. His hands trembled finely and he kept glancing to his left, mumbling under his breath to whatever he was seeing.
Nightmare sighed tiredly. A tentacle drifted towards Dust, carefully replacing the potential weapons in his death-grip. His magic sparked dangerously against the silky appendage, but Nightmare didn’t call it back. Dust shuddered, clenching his fist around it.
He met Dust’s stare evenly, inclining his skull towards the doors. It took him a moment, but Dust caught onto Nightmare silent message and nodded. Pleased, Nightmare rose from his chair and discretely slipped out of the dining hall, his mate not far behind.
He hadn’t eaten much. He would have to apologise to Horror later.
Dust didn’t release Nightmare’s tentacle once, though the spirit wasn’t complaining. It was almost a relief, feeling those claws digging into his sensitive magic. At least he knew Dust was there with him, physically and mentally. He hadn’t gone too far yet.
The two made their way to Nightmare’s study without a single word. Once inside, Nightmare swept the vast array of cushions off the couch and offered a seat to Dust. Said monster sat down stiffy, following Nightmare with his eyelights as he unravelled a blanket to drape over Dust’s legs. Dust shuddered, shoulders wound tightly, his expression pinched into a scowl.
“Is your brother bothering you again?”
Dust’s knee jerked violently. His gaze drifting to his left once again, leaving Nightmare to frown in distaste.
“Dust.” Nightmare’s tone brooked no room for disobedience. Dust’s attention snapped to him immediately, unnerving in its intensity. Softer then, like Dust might run away if he spoke too harshly, Nightmare repeated himself. “Is your brother there, my love?”
Hesitantly, Dust nodded.
“Thank you,” Nightmare said. Then he hummed, shifting his tentacle to loop around Dust’s shoulders as he siphoned off the excessive negativity. “What is he saying to you, dear?”
Dust opened his mouth but could only rasp. Nightmare waited patiently. His lover closed his mouth, squeezed his eyes shut, and took a deep breath, trying again. Slowly, the words thick and heavy in his mouth, he told Nightmare, “he keeps tellin’ me to kill them.”
“Does he say why?” Nightmare prodded.
Dust shrugged, mumbling, “he wants me to get stronger. cuz i couldn’t protect him before.”
“I see.” Nightmare sighed heavily, pinching his glabella.
Dust’s "brother" was a despicable thing, a phantom conjured within the skeleton’s LV-twisted mind to haunt him in his worst moments. Nightmare wasn’t sure what had made Dust slip—he had been going so well before, free of the fake-Papyrus’ hideous grasp—but he did know how to help him.
It didn’t mean he liked it, though.
Tension bled from Dust’s shoulders like an open wound as Nightmare gently drew out his poisonous feelings, leaving him floaty and numb. The weight of Nightmare’s tentacle was grounding, the rope keeping him tethered to reality. Itching across the edges of Nightmare’s senses, Dust’s gradual spaciness soothed his frayed nerves.
It wasn’t a proper fix. The phantom would return, as vicious as ever, but for now, Dust could relax, and Nightmare would be there to catch him as he fell.
Finally, he felt it appropriate to stop feeding. Dust’s chest rumbled with a scratchy purr that Nightmare echoed, drawing the pliant skeleton closer. For a moment, he basked in the embrace. Then, he forced himself to disturb the peace.
“Do you know what caused him to appear?”
Dust grumbled, purr never quite silencing as shame rose and he answered, “dunno.”
“You don’t know?” Nightmare parroted softly, understanding on a personal level. Sometimes, even he felt things for seemingly no reason.
Dust’s emotions spiked and he tensed, mistaking Nightmare’s tone. Nightmare clucked his tongue, shaking his head. Quick to his lover’s aid, he explained to Dust, “that’s fine. Sometimes, there doesn’t have to be a reason for why we feel that way.”
Dust scoffed. “you’re just saying that.”
“Is that so?” Idly, Nightmare scratched Dust’s spine, smiling slightly when the small mortal melted into his touch.
Dust hummed, nodding. “fuckin’ stupid to be so randomly angry.”
“Does that mean Cross is faking his emotions when he’s randomly anxious?”
A spike of confusion and annoyance accompanied Dust’s gruff, “‘course not.”
“And does that mean Horror is being stupid when he randomly needs to check our food stocks?”
"No...?”
Nightmare nodded to himself. He cupped Dust’s cheek tenderly, encouraging him to meet the spirit’s eye. “So why is it stupid when you feel that way?” he murmured, thumbing under Dust’s left eye socket.
Dust squirmed, flushing a pretty purple. He shrugged, having no answer for Nightmare’s question.
The king smiled victoriously, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to Dust’s teeth. “Exactly. Emotions are incredibly complicated, my love. Sometimes, you don’t need a reason to feel bad.”
"but...”
“No ‘but’s. Who here is the empath, Dust? I understand these feelings more than you think, so believe me when I say those random moments of anger are completely normal.”
Dust fell silent. Eventually, he grumbled, “it is stupid. it’s dramatic and annoying.”
Nightmare chuckled. “All emotions are ‘dramatic and annoying’. It merely means you’re still alive, and still fighting. For that, I am incredibly proud.”
Dust frowned. Nightmare pretended not to see the little tears in his eye sockets. With one last, parting kiss, the king allowed his mate to hide in his chest again.
He was proud of Dust. Nightmare was proud of all of his boys, who had all gone through their own personal hells and walked out dragging bodies, but who still refused to give up. He would repeat this to them all a million times over if he needed to. He would not let them forget their own worth. They were his, after all, and he took good care of his people.
Softly, as if he didn’t want Nightmare to hear, Dust uttered a tender thank you.
“Always,” Nightmare whispered. And strangely, he meant it.