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Finally.
The fall of the Guardian of Positivity was something that the King of Negativity had anticipated for centuries. And now, after all of this time, it was finally coming to fruition.
Nightmare had hated Dream for as long as he could remember. The golden Guardian had stood for years as his antithesis, as the embodiment of everything that the King wasn’t. He was the light to Nightmare’s darkness, the hope to his despair, the positivity to his own negativity. And for those very reasons, Dream was a threat.
…No. A threat was putting it lightly. Because of the magic that he possessed, Dream was the only person in the entire multiverse capable of jeopardizing everything that Nightmare had worked for over the course of the last several centuries. It was only natural that he took such a danger extremely seriously.
But that was not the only reason that Nightmare hated Dream. There was much more to it than that.
The two had been brothers once, long ago, and they were quite close at that. In the present, however, Nightmare scoffed at the very thought. No matter how many years passed, he could never forget how Dream had betrayed him. How he had claimed to care, and how he had abandoned him, leaving him alone every single day at the tree, the very thing that they were both created to protect. If that weren't enough, he would always go to that blasted village, the same village populated by those that had served as Nightmare’s tormentors day in and day out. Where was Dream’s care for him back then?
Dream had let this happen to him, and he was even rewarded for it. He now walked the multiverse with a pair of white, fluffy wings he’d gained centuries ago, after he’d absorbed the final golden apple. Nightmare was cursed, drenched from head to toe in pure corruption, while Dream was gifted with an angelic appearance and cherished by all who knew him. It was exactly how things had been back in the village, but to an even greater extent. It wasn’t fair.
So yes, Nightmare despised Dream more than anything else, and he hated a lot of things. But Dream held a special place at the very top of that list, and more than anything, he wanted to see that fire snuffed out, to see the hope extinguished from the multiverse as their precious Guardian failed for the very last time.
And judging by recent events, that day was approaching very, very quickly.
Nightmare had noticed when Dream’s eyes began to lose their shine, their once bright light becoming dull and weary as time passed. He’d noticed when his smiles grew larger, almost strained, as he spoke the same promises and reassurances to the residents of different universes time and time again. He’d noticed when his feathers started to appear unkempt, as though he’d had no time or energy to preen them. He’d noticed when he began to stumble during their fights, his movements clumsy and uncoordinated, not at all like the experienced fighter he’d battled against for years.
Dream’s light was fading away, and stars, it was satisfying.
To his credit, he’d never truly stood a chance to begin with. Nightmare had always been the more powerful between the two of them, but after successfully conquering so many universes, he’d become even stronger. The same positivity-based attacks that used to be absolutely devastating in battle had almost no effect on him now, forcing Dream to have to face him in hand-to-hand combat instead. And though Nightmare had to admit that the other was quite skilled on that front, it wasn’t enough. Even with his wings giving him the advantage of flight during their battles, his weaknesses still greatly outnumbered his strengths.
While on the subject of Dream being outnumbered, Nightmare couldn’t help but think of those times so long ago, when his team would charge into battle against the self-proclaimed “Star Sanses,” the trio of heroes renowned across the multiverse for their good deeds. Those struggles had always been lengthy and dangerous, both groups being nearly equally matched despite the Stars being significantly outnumbered.
But those days were long since over.
The Stars had disbanded years ago, the once tight-knit group of friends splitting apart following an argument between Dream and Ink, the Protector of Universes. Nightmare had never learned of the exact details, but his personal hypothesis was that it had to do with Ink and Dream’s conflicting ideals. The two had been good friends, and they’d always shared the goal of protecting the multiverse. However, as time went on, it became obvious that their priorities were vastly different. Ink believed in the preservation of a universe’s story, often refusing to interfere with events inside of an alternate universe out of respect for what he called the “will of the Creators.” Dream, on the other hand, simply saw suffering and wanted to help, regardless of whether it would interfere with the universe’s intended plot. Nightmare had never anticipated their partnership lasting as long as it did, but at the same time, he also hadn’t been surprised when Ink had eventually stopped showing up to their battles. Nowadays, encountering the artist was a rare occurrence, as he devoted much more of his time to dealing with Error – the Destroyer of Universes – as well as assisting in the work of those so-called Creators.
Ink hadn’t been the only one of Dream’s companions to vanish from the face of the multiverse. The third member of the Stars, a Swap Sans, had also retreated from public view. If Ink’s disappearance had confused Nightmare, Blue’s left him completely and utterly perplexed. Dream and Blue had always been close. Initially, Nightmare had been convinced that Dream merely kept the other around as a near constant source of positivity, but over time, it became incredibly obvious that their bond went much deeper than that. The two clearly cared about one another a lot, and their closeness was something that Nightmare had scoffed at time and time again. So, imagine his surprise when one day, the Sans simply disappeared.
Like with Ink, Nightmare had never really gotten a straight answer as to what had happened to Blue, just that he’d vanished following that same argument. That didn’t stop him from once again developing his own theory, of course. Given how pained Dream’s expression had been when they’d faced off in a particular Underswap timeline, Nightmare’s hypothesis was that, after returning to his own universe, Blue must have experienced a TRUE RESET or two and forgotten about the entire ordeal.
Those things didn’t really affect Nightmare in any way. If anything, they were just one more weakness to lord over Dream's head. Due to the absence of his former teammates and friends, as well as his reluctance to recruit replacements, Dream was left completely alone, an advantage that Nightmare relentlessly exploited. After all, nobody had ever said multiversal domination needed to be accomplished by fighting fair. Instead, he used the opportunity to back Dream into a corner, and with every new victory, he grew closer and closer to his end goal of rendering the Guardian incapacitated once and for all.
Incapacitated. Not dead.
For as much as he hated Dream, Nightmare had long accepted that he could not kill him. Doing so would have been a foolish, fruitless endeavor. He’d learned long ago that their lives were inexplicably linked together; if one of them died, the other was sure to follow.
This predicament had, of course, created a roadblock in Nightmare’s plans, but he was nothing if not adaptable.
He didn’t have a death wish, so permanently eliminating the other was obviously out of the question. But he knew that there were other ways to remove Dream from the equation aside from simply killing him, so he’d begun exploring his options.
Eventually, he’d decided that the most effective method of getting rid of Dream was to shift his focus from killing him to eliminating as much positivity from the multiverse as he possibly could. After all, as long as positivity was present, Dream would always be able to recover his strength. The only way to permanently remove him as an obstacle was to remove that ability.
To accomplish this goal, Nightmare had set his sights on obtaining as many universes as possible to add to his veritable empire of negativity, which in turn served to limit Dream’s access to positivity. With Nightmare’s numerous advantages stacked against him, Dream was unable to put up nearly as much of a fight as he could before. He became weaker by the day, while Nightmare only grew stronger in comparison.
Now, only a select few positive universes remained, and Nightmare predicted that within the next several months – maybe even weeks, if he acted efficiently enough – he would soon be able to move into the final phase of his strategy: securing the last necessary universes, capturing Dream, and permanently banishing him within a single, inconsequential universe with just enough positivity present to keep him from crumbling into dust. This way, he would be kept alive, but without access to a sufficient amount of positivity, he would be powerless. Then, with the other unable to escape from such a predicament, the multiverse would finally be in the palm of Nightmare’s hand, just as it always should have been.
The plan was foolproof.
…But, annoyingly enough, Dream proved to be quite stubborn.
No matter how much negativity Nightmare spread, no matter how much terror, fear, anger, and sorrow he wove into the very fabric of each universe he visited, the persistent, foolish Guardian never seemed to relent. It didn't matter if he was badly outnumbered or if he'd sustained a great number of injuries; Dream never gave up. It would have been admirable, if it wasn’t so unbearably idiotic. His condition already seemed to decline more and more with every encounter, but the way things were going, Dream was going to dust on the battlefield before Nightmare even had the chance to put the remaining steps of his plan into action.
Which was what brought him to his current situation.
The two stood directly across from one another in the devastated remains of a crumbling universe. An Underfell variant, by the looks of it. From where he was positioned, he could both see and hear his gang running rampant all over the nearby town, causing just enough fear, pain, and destruction to provide Nightmare with plenty of negativity. He could have let them kill, of course, but that would only eliminate valuable sources of negativity.
Their victims didn’t have to know that, of course. Nightmare thrived on their terror, and after many years of experience, he’d found that the fear of death was one of the most empowering.
Nightmare held himself high on the battlefield, calm and confident. The excess of negativity that he’d accumulated over the years made him appear much, much taller than he used to be. The corruption covering his body was pure, potent. His magic was well fed, and he practically radiated power.
In contrast, the Guardian of Positivity looked ill-fitted to his name. Dream's once healthy, cream-colored bones now sported a more sickly, gray shade. Dark rings highlighted the bottom of his eye sockets, and his frequent blinking indicated that he was having trouble even staying awake. His frame was small, weak, and covered in all sorts of wounds ranging from minor cuts to broken bones.
His most serious injury, however, was without a doubt the damage done to his once pristine, perfect wings. They were mangled, for lack of a better term. Nightmare hadn’t originally meant to harm them to such an extent, but Dream had been particularly difficult this time around, and, well… perhaps he had gotten a bit ahead of himself today. But the past could not be changed, and even then, Nightmare rationalized that there would likely not be any permanent damage. Dream could recover from all of this with what positivity remained in the multiverse. There were still several universes he’d yet to touch, after all. Without a doubt, he would return in their next battle, fully recovered, and prepared to make a nuisance of himself all over again.
For now, though, he was beyond injured and obviously exhausted, covered from nearly head to toe in his own golden marrow. His condition was living proof that Nightmare’s plan was working.
“…Leave.” Nightmare growled, his eye narrowed. “You have lost. There is no point continuing to fight in a situation where you clearly will not win.”
“No…” Dream managed to get out. His arms shook violently as he raised his bow in an attempt to take aim. “You can’t have this universe. I won’t let you…!” Valiantly, or perhaps foolishly, the other attempted to take a step forward. Instead, his legs gave out, causing him to crash to the ground with a pained grunt. He tried to push himself back up, but this time, his arms buckled below him, rewarding his attempt with a sudden reintroduction to the freezing snow.
He was almost pitiable in this state.
Almost.
Triumphantly, Nightmare approached, looming over the fallen Guardian. “There is nothing more that you can do here, Dream.” He crouched down, just close enough so that the other would be able to hear the words that he whispered. “You have failed. Again.” His expression remained carefully neutral. After all, he really was only stating the facts.
Dream let out a pitiful sounding noise at that, something between a whine and a sob, but he did not return those words with any of his own.
“How the mighty have fallen…” Nightmare continued, a smirk stretching across his face. “It’s pathetic. You are pathetic, Dream. I wonder what those little friends of yours would think of you now.” Those words seemed to breathe new life into Dream’s body, and he jerked away. Unfortunately for him though, he was quickly immobilized by his own injuries, letting out a yelp as the sudden movement aggravated a crudely shattered rib. “Oh, but they are no longer here, are they? You are all alone, just as I was all those centuries ago.” He hissed, malice practically dripping from his tone. “Now you know how it feels.”
Lifting a tendril to Dream’s face, he dug the sharpened tip into the malleable bone of the Guardian’s cheekbone. After taking just a moment to appreciate the pained expression on Dream’s face, Nightmare slowly and methodically dragged it across his cheek, leaving a stream of marrow in its wake. Golden ichor bled from the wound and into the snow as Dream’s bones began to violently shake. Whether that was due to the cold – which he knew Dream had always been sensitive to –, the pain of pure negativity seeping into the wound, or flat-out exhaustion, Nightmare did not know, nor did he care. “Allow me to leave you this as a reminder of your failures, hm?”
Dream did not reply to the taunt. Instead, he laid entirely still, save for the subtle shaking of his shoulders. Seeing that the other had finally given up, Nightmare rose back to his full, towering height. He kicked a small pile of snow directly into Dream’s face, his wicked grin giving way to cruel laughter as he listened to the pathetic Guardian cough and sputter.
“Come along, boys.” He called out to his men, who all immediately stopped what they were doing and returned to his side. One of them, likely Killer, snickered at the state of the defeated figure on the ground. “There is nothing worth staying here for.”
Then, he turned away, leaving Dream alone in a cold, empty universe, drowning in negativity.
Following that encounter, Dream had vanished, just as his friends had done before him.
When Nightmare had arrived to the next of his line of target universes, Dream never arrived to combat him. He’d been annoyed, obviously, but it was excusable. It wasn't as though he was in any hurry. He had practically won by now, anyway. Dream probably just needed some more time to recuperate after their last fight, especially after the damage that he’d dealt. So, Nightmare had called off his minions – who were, of course, quite disgruntled at not being able to run amok in their usual manner – and returned home without creating even an ounce of negativity.
The next time he tried, he was met with the same result. Returning home empty handed, Nightmare decided that, if Dream really needed that much time to be able to appear on the battlefield once more, he would grant it, at least for a few more days.
It was almost nice to have a small reprieve from the constant struggles between them. With his spare time, Nightmare had been able to catch up on some paperwork, start and finish a few new novels, and even tend to his garden, a job that would usually fall to either a servant or one of his subordinates.
But then, the silence continued, and he’d started to grow agitated.
Really, he felt that he had a right to be frustrated. Here he was, being generous enough to grant Dream the time he undoubtedly needed to recover and adjust to these new circumstances, and the other couldn’t even bother to appear anymore.
Truthfully, he should have been more pleased with Dream’s absence. It had provided him with ample time to put the final steps of his plan into motion, to seize the final few necessary universes and finally bring his goals into fruition. He should have taken advantage of this opportunity to track down and finally be rid of the pest once and for all, casting him into permanent isolation within the final universe that would serve as his eternal prison.
And yet… he hesitated.
Dream had always been infuriatingly stubborn. No matter how often Nightmare kicked him when he was down, he would always return to the next fight, a bright, hopeful aura around him. It was sickening, and yet, that was just who Dream was.
Optimistic until the end, that one.
But now, Dream was suddenly refusing to show himself. Perhaps he had finally realized how incredibly disadvantaged he was and given up, retreating to who-knows-where and counting the days until Nightmare finally declared his victory.
If that was the case, Nightmare would be incredibly disappointed. The thought of Dream giving up now, after so many years of being an absolute thorn in his side, was almost disgraceful. The very least he could do was stick it out to the very end and lose honorably on the battlefield instead of hiding himself away like a coward. In fact, that was exactly what Nightmare had expected of his adversary.
…So no, this behavior didn’t sound like Dream. Not in the slightest.
As days turned into weeks with still no sightings, Nightmare’s thoughts began to race, and he began to look back at their last encounter. Dream’s condition when they had seen each other in that Underfell variant had been far worse than he had anticipated. The Guardian obviously wasn’t reacting well to positivity depleting so quickly, and Nightmare’s antagonistic actions before he’d left likely did not do anything to help with that. Not to mention the damage that he had done, especially to the wings that he knew Dream cherished so much.
In hindsight… his words and actions had probably made things much, much worse than it would have been if he had just exercised some self-restraint. But he hadn’t, and now, these were the consequences.
He couldn’t even sense Dream anymore. The oversaturation of negativity in the multiverse had made it nearly impossible for him to detect even the smallest hint of the other’s positive aura, so he truly had no idea where he was hiding. He had no way of contacting him or tracing him via phone – not that he really understood how to do those things anyway –, and it wasn’t as though he could reach the other’s dreams either. He’d lost access to their shared Dreamscape long ago, so any attempts he had ever made to torment Dream in his sleep were unsuccessful. Aside from those methods, there were no other options. Nightmare was left entirely in the dark, having truly no idea how the positive Guardian was faring.
At least Dream was alive, that much he could be sure of. Otherwise, Nightmare would have perished along with him. But it was… disturbing for him to think of how quickly that could change.
Nightmare didn’t quite know how to feel about that. He was… frustrated, for lack of a better term. Maybe even worried.
Not for Dream. Never for Dream. But Dream’s health was another story. After all, if that positive little idiot lost enough hope, keeled over, and died before Nightmare could put the final stages of his plan into motion, all of his efforts up until this point would have been for nothing.
All that he could do was hope that the Guardian would reveal himself soon enough.
Finally, after nearly two months of complete silence, Nightmare was finally rewarded with a tug on the estranged bond that linked his soul to Dream’s. It was weak, hardly even there to begin with, but after going so long without any news, Nightmare was willing to take anything as long as it provided reasonable evidence that Dream wasn’t two seconds from dusting. Now satisfied, Nightmare was willing to let it go at that.
But then the tugging became stronger. Insistent, almost, as if his presence was being demanded.
At first, he was angry. Who was Dream to demand that Nightmare come to meet him after weeks of the other outright ignoring him? What right did he have? He went back to work.
Soon, though, as the tugging became impossible to ignore, his curiosity began to outweigh the irritation. He’d been left wondering for so long, after all, and it finally seemed as though he would be getting some answers.
Deciding that it was time to see what it was he wanted, Nightmare reached out through the soul link, offering a mildly aggressive tug back. An acknowledgment that his message had been received, and a demand for a location. Dream reciprocated, and suddenly, he heard it. A single, uttered word, spoken so softly that Nightmare could have imagined it.
“Home.”
If his soul wasn’t already naturally cold, it would have frozen over with just that single word.
Home.
Knowing Dream, and knowing his level of sentimentality, home could really only mean one place. But… it shouldn’t have been possible for Dream to be in Dreamtale, because that was where Nightmare was. This was the heart of his empire, the place where his castle stood and where he and his group lived. There was far too much negativity for Dream to be able to step foot in this universe in the first place, and even then, Nightmare should have known. He should have felt his presence.
And yet, somehow… Dream had been here, in Dreamtale, for who knows how long. And Nightmare had never even noticed.
The King shot up to his feet, nearly knocking over the bottle of ink he’d been using for his paperwork. He practically flew from his office, pulling his jacket on as he did so. His gang, loitering around the kitchen and adjacent living room as per usual, immediately stopped what they were doing to look at him. Their eyelights, or lack thereof, in Killer’s case, were full of questions.
“boss?” Speak of the devil. “where ya headed off to?”
“Dream.” Was all that he offered in return, the single word being enough to stir an… interesting blend of emotions from his lackeys.
“he’s back?” Dust asked, his ever-present hood obscuring his expression. However, Nightmare could feel the curiosity practically radiating off of him.
“Yes.”
“and after he made ya wait all that time?” Killer quipped back, his tone teasing. “the nerve of that guy!”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“sooo? ya gonna go pay your lil’ bro a visit? maybe scold him for going awol without telling- ack!” His grin was wiped clean from his face as Dust attacked, pushing him off of the couch that’d he’d been sprawled out across. “dusty!” He complained, a disgruntled heap of bones on the floor.
Ignoring Killer’s protests, the hooded skeleton crossed his arms over his chest. “you need us to come?”
“No,” Nightmare shook his head. “I will not be going far, and you know as well as I do that Dream is no longer a threat.” It was the truth. If Dream really was here in Dreamtale, Nightmare knew exactly where he would be.
After all, he’d said it himself.
He was home. Or, well… what remained of the place that had once been their home.
Dust shrugged. “if you say so.” Without further ado, he hopped over the back of the couch, neatly landing right in the spot that Killer had previously occupied. Said skeleton leered up at him from the ground, but Dust remained unbothered. “call us if you need us, yeah?”
“and… be back soon… ‘m almost done with dinner.” His third subordinate, Horror, finally chimed in. “don’t miss it.”
Nightmare nodded. He knew better than to miss a meal, especially with Horror around. “I will return shortly then. Do not set the castle on fire in my absence.”
“no promises!” The shriek following that statement told Nightmare that Killer had once again paid the price for his snarky sense of humor.
Shaking his head at how childish his group of murderers could be, Nightmare departed.
When he rematerialized in the ruins of the ancient village that once neighbored his home, Nightmare felt… odd.
He had not returned to this place since he’d destroyed it all these centuries ago. There were too many painful memories stored in this wretched place, and though he thrived on the misery of others, that did not mean that he wanted to feel such a way himself. Strangely, though, he didn’t entirely hate setting foot back here. Yes, there was still an underlying discomfort that lingered within his soul, but for the most part, as he walked through the crumbled ruins, Nightmare could not help but feel a sense of morbid satisfaction.
He’d done all of this. Him. He’d become the monster that the villagers had always viewed him as, and he’d successfully taken revenge on the people that had done nothing but mistreat him as a child. The decayed corpses of his former abusers lay six feet underground, and he continued to triumphantly walk the earth above them.
As pleased as he now felt, he did not have time to linger and revel in his victory. He was on a mission, after all. So, he continued his trip through the village, kicking a few pieces of decayed wood out of his way as he walked down the overgrown paths.
It took some time, and admittedly, he did stop a few times to admire his younger self’s handiwork, but he eventually made it to the base of the hill that he had once called home. His tendrils lashing behind him, he began the trek upwards, confident that the one he had been seeking would be waiting at the very top.
His intuition had, once again, proven to be true.
The missing Guardian sat facing away from him, the hood of his cape pulled up over his skull. His wings, which Nightmare had grown so used to seeing adorn his back, were now nowhere in sight. He shouldn’t have been too surprised over that. He… he had seen the damage. He’d inflicted it himself. But there was still a part of him that thought, somehow, all of the damage would disappear. That Dream would return just as brightly and annoyingly as ever, his body and wings perfectly intact and ready for battle.
Clearly, he’d been foolish in that regard.
Dream didn’t seem to notice Nightmare’s arrival, his attention seemingly entirely focused on the ruined remains of what had once been the Tree of Feelings. Faint murmurs indicated that Dream was speaking to it, but whatever he was saying was whispered far too quietly for Nightmare to be able to understand.
Given that Dream had yet to acknowledge him, Nightmare made a noise, feigning clearing the throat that he technically lacked to hopefully try to get his attention. Dream didn’t so much as twitch, his muttering to the ancient tree stump continuing without end. He tried making the same noise a second time, only to be met with the same results. Nightmare groaned.
Of course, Dream was going to make this difficult. Of course.
“Dream.” He tried, the name being the first word he’d spoken since he’d arrived in this cursed place. Sure enough, this time, the Guardian finally reacted. Dream’s posture straightened; his fists clenched tightly at his sides. Oddly enough, he appeared to be holding something in his right hand, but Nightmare couldn’t see what it was. Though Dream had obviously heard him, he still made no effort to truly acknowledge his presence, not even looking at him over his shoulder. Resisting the urge to roll his eye, Nightmare continued. “Where have you been?”
He was never given a verbal answer to that question. Instead, he watched as Dream spoke a few final words to the remains of the Tree, before he finally, finally turned around.
Immediately, Nightmare understood why the other was behaving so strangely.
If Dream had appeared sickly before, it was nothing compared to how he looked now. Somehow, his bones had become even more unhealthy looking, and though he stood several yards away from the other, Nightmare could still see their abnormal, chalky texture. The hood that Dream had pulled over his head did little to hide the fact that his once golden eyelights had become so dim that they were hardly visible at all, and the dark rings under his eyes had become even more prominent since the last time he’d seen them. Of all these changes, though, what really caught Nightmare’s eye was the liquid that seemed to collect in little beads along the bottom of the sockets. He’d seen Dream’s tears before, and they had always been the same golden color as his magic. In contrast, the fluid currently gathered in Dream’s eyes looked dark and murky. Perhaps they were simply tears, and the effect that the lack of positivity had on Dream’s magic had caused them to change color. Regardless of reasoning, the other looked terrible.
He didn’t understand. Since their previous encounter, Nightmare had temporarily ceased in his attacks on positivity, worried that taking another universe before he had the chance to recover would push the Guardian over the edge. So then why, despite having halted his plans to prevent this very outcome, did Dream look so much worse than before?
“What happened to you?”
Dream was still for a moment, as though he was thinking over the question and deciding how best to respond. It didn’t seem to matter to him in the end, because all he offered Nightmare in terms of an actual answer was a blank stare and a shrug of his shoulders. Nightmare hadn’t known any better, he could have mistaken the other for a certain soulless artist, especially during one of the rare times that he’d encountered him without his emotion inducing vials.
Seeing this sort of apathetic behavior from Ink would have been at least somewhat normal. Seeing it from Dream was beyond unsettling. Something was most certainly wrong, and he intended to find out what.
“Dream. What happened to you.” He pushed again. This time, it wasn’t a question.
Wordlessly, the Guardian tossed whatever he had been holding in his right hand directly at Nightmare. Anticipating some kind of attack or weapon, Nightmare brandished his tendrils, only to retract them a few moments later when nothing happened. If Dream was even the slightest bit amused at Nightmare’s dramatic reaction, he didn’t show it. Instead, his gaze focused on Nightmare’s skull with an intensity that could have killed.
Nightmare’s gaze followed where the object landed right near his feet, his eyelight shrinking in poorly concealed disbelief as he realized what it was.
It was an apple core. An apple core that, judging by its coloration, had almost certainly belonged to one of his apples, the very source of so much of Nightmare’s power. His gaze flickered back up towards the other, who appeared to be studying him with that same look of quiet indifference on his face. The viscous liquid gathered along the rims of his eye sockets suddenly looked all too familiar.
Nightmare was covered in it, after all.
“Dream, where the hell did you get this?!” He’d been so sure that he had stolen all but one of the apples from the tree centuries ago, with the singular exception being the one that Dream had guarded for so long. There should have been none left.
He wasn’t expecting to receive an answer given how Dream had responded to him so far, so he was especially surprised when the other finally spoke. “…Mother gave it to me.” He said, his voice quiet, devoid of emotion. Those words, the first words that Dream had spoken to him in weeks, caused a cold chill to rush through his bones.
What?
“Mother- you cannot possibly mean…” He trailed off, thoroughly shocked.
Dream just blinked, clearly having no intention of explaining anything beyond that. All that Nightmare could do was attempt to piece together what had happened on his own.
From Mother? From the Tree? That didn’t make any sense. She had been silent since the day that Dream and Nightmare were created. Even if she was still present during their early years, she most certainly never made an effort to communicate with them. Moreover, the tree had died the day Nightmare was corrupted; he would know that better than anyone.
Nightmare had always liked a good puzzle. Piecing things together based on limited information was something that he quite enjoyed. Of course, in his position, where so many people avoided him on a day-to-day basis, this was a skill that he’d had plenty of time to cultivate. But despite how much he considered this circumstance, how much he tried to look at it from different angles, none of it made any sense.
She was dead. There was no way she would have been able to give that apple to Dream. But then… how else would he have been able to find it? And even if she had given it to him, why would she have done so knowing the effect that it would have on him? None of it made any sense.
But he would have to revisit that train of thought later, because at this moment, Dream’s condition was the most pressing issue. The Guardian’s soul was never meant to be able to handle negativity. While only having the power of one apple wasn’t enough to push him into a full state of corruption, it was still quite dangerous for him, especially given his recent weaknesses that had developed as a result Nightmare’s plan. This was a situation that would require the utmost caution. If he wasn’t careful, not only would Dream be at high risk of Falling Down, but Nightmare would almost certainly follow.
“Dream-“ He started, cutting himself off when he realized that he had no idea how to proceed. He almost wished that Dream wasn’t the one he was having this discussion with, because at least then the other would be able to handle it. These sorts of talks weren’t his area of expertise. “This isn’t what you want.” Were the words that he settled on.
For the first time, Dream’s expression shifted into something other than pure apathy. Instead, he now looked confused, maybe even the slightest bit upset. “How would you know what I want?” He countered.
Good. He was able to pry out some words and emotions. “Because I know you, and I know that you want what’s best for the multiverse, even in this situation.” Nightmare continued. “The multiverse doesn’t need two Guardians of Negativity. Your positivity may be useless in the new kingdom I am going to construct, but it cannot simply cease to exist. Positivity must exist to juxtapose negativity, to offer a spark of light in an everlasting sea of darkness. That is why you are still alive, and that is why you need to let me extract the negativity from your soul before it is too late.”
Dream didn’t say anything. Instead, his trembling hands slowly rose to his chest and covered the area where his soul would have been, likely having seen those words as some kind of threat. Nightmare frowned. Clearly, Dream was on the defensive, and it wouldn’t be easy to convince him. Knowing that, he decided it would be best to shift his approach.
“Dream,” He spoke again, trying – and probably failing – to make himself sound less confrontational. “let me… help. Your soul is not meant to host negativity. You have put yourself at risk of Falling Down, and-“
“And you don’t want to die.”
The statement wasn’t an accusation, but it still managed to feel like one.
“…No. And neither do you.” Nightmare frowned. “But that is a very real risk you are taking. The multiverse cannot survive without positivity, as scarce as I intend for it to be.” Those words came out a lot harsher than he’d intended, but in the end, Dream had always been the more sympathetic between the two of them. “My intention has never been to eliminate all positivity. I intend to capture all but one universe. That remaining universe will be where you will live. You won’t be the Guardian of Positivity anymore, but you will be able to lead a normal life as long as you stay out of my way.” Nightmare hadn’t anticipated revealing his plans for Dream going forward, but a part of him felt that Dream had the right to know, given that they concerned his future.
“…I see.” Nightmare was prepared to say more, to attempt to justify his actions even further, but Dream cut him off before he could even try. “Then my purpose is simply to suffer, right? To stand on the sidelines and suffer eternally as you drown the multiverse in negativity?”
Now that was an answer that he needed to think about.
‘Yes,’ Was the instinctual reply that Nightmare was almost tempted to give. ‘because that is the fate that you deserve.’
At the same time, that wasn’t quite the truth – at least, not anymore, even though it had been for a long, long time. Hell, even just a few weeks ago, Nightmare had reveled in the thought of Dream’s suffering. Before, the very idea of the prim and perfect Guardian of Positivity experiencing any sort of suffering had brought a smile to Nightmare’s face. It had been amusing for him to witness Dream, who’d had it so disgustingly easy for his entire life, crumble under the strain and pressure that Nightmare created for him.
But looking at Dream now, Nightmare couldn’t help but feel… strange. He wasn’t by any means remorseful; he’d worked far too hard for far too long to get to where he was now. Perhaps it was more fitting to say that he felt pity. Pity towards the once shining Guardian who had worked himself into this fragile state, and who had grown so desperate for some sort of positive energy to feed from that he’d consumed a negative apple, likely hoping that it would turn gold in his presence and give him enough power to finally fight back. Pity towards Dream, who had tried and tried until he’d finally crumbled under the unrelenting pressure that Nightmare had placed on him.
And maybe… maybe a tiny part of him felt pity towards the one he’d once called brother.
“Well?” Dream spoke, seemingly growing impatient with his hesitation.
He couldn’t say all of that. Not after everything that he’d done. There was no way that Dream would be convinced. So instead, he decided to tread lightly, hoping to stir some of the positive attitude that Dream had always been so famous for. “…No. Your purpose is to be the Guardian of Positivity. Your purpose is to be a beacon of hope that others can look towards in times of need. Your purpose is to be the light that opposes my darkness. You cannot allow yourself to fall from that role. I will not allow it.”
There. That had to have done something. Dream had always enjoyed uplifting speeches like that one. Surely, that had to have resonated with him.
But instead, dimmed eyelights blinked back at him, the hope that they’d once held all but drained. “…You’re such a liar, Nightmare.” A wide, almost unnatural grin slowly took its place on the Guardian’s face. The negativity began to drip down his face in small streams, but if Dream noticed, he didn’t say anything about it. Instead, “You don’t care about what happens to me. You never have.”
“I-“ He tried to shoot back, only to be quickly cut off.
“You’ve always hated me. You’ve always blamed me. Even back then, back when I asked you over and over and over what was wrong. Even when you refused to tell me, even when I tried to help you.” His voice cracked, rivulets of tears mixing with the now oozing corruption and creating a dark, muddy color that stained his cheeks. “You turned me to stone, and I stayed right in this exact spot for centuries, waiting, hoping, wishing that someday you’d come back for me. But you never did. And when I’d broken free, not only did I learn that you’d replaced me with a group of murderers, but you purposely went out of your way to hurt me! I didn’t even- I-“
“Dream-“ The word fell heavy from his mouth as he inched forward, his hands raised placatingly.
“NO!” Dream stepped backwards in response, trying to put more distance between the two. Instead, he tripped over a large root, and with a yelp, he went down. Instinctively, Nightmare stepped closer, intending to check if he was alright, but Dream just flinched back, his teeth bared defensively. “Even now, after everything, you still don’t care! All of this is only your problem now because now you’re finally realizing that I could die because of what you’ve done! So… so…” Dream slumped over, his back against the stump and his expression suddenly tired, lost, and so, so vulnerable. “So don’t pretend like you care about what happens to me. Not when you’re the one who did this to me. I don’t need your pity.”
Nightmare was stunned. That had been the first time he’d ever heard Dream truly upset; he hadn’t thought that the Guardian was capable of an outburst like that. And the things that he’d said…
Nightmare didn’t know what to think. Not anymore.
When Dream next spoke, his voice came out tired. Brittle. “I’m tired, Nightmare.”
And what else could he say to that? “I… I know, Dream. But this isn’t the answer. This will never be the answer. This could very well kill you, and… I won’t let you die. Not just for my own sake, but for yours as well. I’ve never wanted you dead. And I know that you don’t want to die, either. So,” Nightmare approached once more, and this time, Dream didn’t flinch away. “Let me help. Please.”
“...”
“I will not lie to you and say that everything will be as it once was, because that is not possible. You have to understand that.” Nightmare started. Of course, he wanted the other to recover, but he refused to feed him false promises, just as he refused to give up his conquest on the Multiverse. Not now, not when he had come so far. "...But I will alter my plans. I will make things easier for you, so that you will not have to suffer. That much I can promise you.”
At first, Dream didn’t reply. He just stared at Nightmare like he had grown a second head, his eyelights scanning over his face as if searching for a lie or trick. But after a moment of scrutiny that nearly felt like a lifetime, Dream appeared to have found what he was looking for.
“I…” He started, his voice dying off into a weak sounding admission. “I… I don’t want to die.”
Nightmare didn’t have the time to feel relief over those words. Instead, he grunted as Dream suddenly let out a wail and launched himself at him, wrapping his arms around his body and trapping his own arms at his sides. Having expected the embrace from someone as sentimental as Dream, Nightmare nearly rolled his eye. But instead of shoving him away, he allowed the closeness, knowing that he would probably need some form of physical contact right now, especially after everything he’d just gotten off his chest. He could… he could allow it. Just this once.
...
A minute passed. Two minutes. Three.
Dream still hadn’t let go, seemingly content with simply crying into his shoulder. Finally, after several more agonizing minutes, the smaller Guardian fell quiet.
“Dream,” Nightmare called, hoping to get the other’s attention. “That is enough. You can let go now.” The positive Guardian gave a faint sniffle, but he did not comply. In fact, his grip only tightened.
Exasperated, Nightmare opened his mouth to try again, but was abruptly cut off by a deep ache in his chest. He tensed, then gasped as he felt the negativity that permeated throughout his soul being pulled at, almost as though it was being siphoned away. The feeling was hauntingly familiar, reminding him of his own ability to absorb the negativity of others. Only this time, instead of him being the one taking the negativity for himself, it was being stolen from him, something that shouldn’t have been even remotely possible.
Because the only other person within the vicinity was Dream.
Dream, the multiverse’s bright, shining beacon of hope. Dream, whose soul was meant to be the very incarnate of positivity. Dream, who had consumed a negative apple that Nightmare hadn’t even known existed, something that Nightmare had assumed would hurt him, but now appeared to be empowering him instead.
Dream, who was stealing his magic.
The realization hit him hard, and he began to violently struggle within the confines of the suddenly claustrophobic embrace. “Dream?! Dream, what the hell are you doing?!” Nightmare yelled, trying and failing to shove the other off of him.
Almost predictably at this point, Dream didn’t answer, the shaking of his shoulders being his only response. At first, Nightmare thought that the smaller skeleton had begun to cry again, but as he listened more closely, he finally heard it.
Dream wasn’t crying. He was laughing.
The noise was cold, almost detached, and completely unfitting for someone like Dream. It would have suited someone like Nightmare much, much more, but hearing it come from the kind, optimistic Guardian sent a chill down his spine.
He attempted to use his tendrils to pry Dream away, but suddenly found that they were much, much harder to move than he remembered. Even if he could have moved them, success was unlikely; Dream’s grip was like a steel trap. Feeling the last of his magic starting to slip away, he called out the other’s name in a final act of desperation, hoping to drag him back into reality. “DREAM!”
Between his bouts of unhinged cackling, and Dream finally spoke. “I don’t want to die.” He repeated, his voice steady. Determined. “I won’t die.” Finally, he truly acknowledged Nightmare, looking up at him with a wild glint in his eye. The negativity was now practically pouring from his sockets, showing no signs of stopping. “I did everything for you. Everything. But all you’ve done for me is hurt me and feed from my suffering. You owe me, Nightmare,” His mouth stretched into a manic grin as he uttered his next words. “Now, you get to be the one that keeps me alive.”
His mouth shifted into a softer smile, one that stirred long forgotten memories in the back of Nightmare's mind. “That’s what brothers do, right?”
The pain in his chest increased nearly tenfold, and he let out a long, agonized shriek.
It hurt. It hurt so, so much. It felt like he was dying.
And then, after an eternity of agony, all of the pain was gone. The two finally broke apart, both collapsing to the ground in individual heaps of bone and corruption.
Nightmare shuddered as he clutched at his chest, the sudden lack of negative magic in his system causing him to gasp for breath. With most of his power missing, it felt as though a filter that he hadn’t even known existed had been removed from his mind, slamming him with the weight of a whole new range of emotions. They hit him in quick succession: first confusion, then realization, guilt, regret, and finally fear. Fear that only amplified as his brother – oh stars, his brother – let out an earsplitting shriek, the sound of bones snapping ringing out across the clearing. The lack of physical pain let Nightmare know that they most certainly were not his.
He… he needed to move. He needed to get to Dream. He needed to… to…
But he couldn’t bring himself to move even an inch. His body felt too heavy, like the weight of the entire multiverse had finally settled on his shoulders. His fingers grasped at the dirt underneath him as he attempted to pull himself towards the other, but he’d barely managed to do that before his vision tunneled.
The last thing that he heard before his consciousness faded was the sound of Dream’s agonized screams lulling him into a deep slumber.
“We’ll always be there for each other, right, Nighty?” Bright, golden eyelights stared imploringly into his own.
“Of course we will, Dream. That’s what brothers do!” He gave his younger twin a smile, which quickly turned into a yelp as he was tackled to the ground in a fond embrace.
“I love you, brother.”
“I love you, too.”
When Nightmare came to, he didn’t quite know where he was. He was on the ground, that much he could be sure of.
He attempted to sit up, which proved to be a terrible idea. His head gave a violent throb, one that caused him to groan and lay back down. He couldn’t get up yet. Everything hurt far too much.
Instead, he laid there, attempting to remember what exactly had happened before he’d fainted. He recalled leaving his castle, telling his gang to behave themselves in his absence. He remembered venturing through the ruins of the village, then making his way up the hill to the decayed remains of the tree, because that was where Dream had called him-
…Dream.
Dream!
The memories came flooding back, he quickly sat up from where he’d been laying in the dirt, only to be hit with a bout of vertigo as he did so. With a wince, he gingerly lifted a hand to cradle his aching head, but to his shock and horror, instead of the expected feeling of liquid negativity, his hand was met with pure, uncovered bone.
He froze, his now pinpricked eyelight flitting down to his hands. The silvery bones, though laden with many spiderwebbed cracks, were absolutely pristine, the corruption that had been a part of him for centuries having seemingly melted away as he slept.
This couldn’t be real. It shouldn’t be possible.
Gingerly, he pushed himself to his feet, holding his arms out to balance any unstable movements. Without the addition of his tendrils, he nearly stumbled due to the lack of expected weight. He was still quite dizzy and struggled to keep himself steady for a few minutes, but eventually, he managed to right himself. He took a moment to survey the area around him, looking around for any other semblance of life in this desolate place.
Sure enough, collapsed not far from where Nightmare himself had woken up, another body lay sprawled out on its side. It was completely drenched in liquid negativity, bearing an almost uncanny resemblance to Nightmare’s former appearance. In fact, with the way Nightmare had looked before, the two would have been identical if not for the difference in clothing, the most notable being the circlet resting upon their head. Despite how tarnished the golden metal was, he still recognized how the front of the diadem came together into two signature swirls.
…Dream.
That was Dream.
He took a few tentative steps forward, then, perhaps foolishly, kneeled beside the fallen Guardian. “Dream?” He tried, startled at how different his voice was. It sounded… emptier. Like there was much less power behind it. Because that was the truth, wasn’t it?
Dream had used his hesitation against him. He’d waited until Nightmare showed an ounce of vulnerability, and he’d stolen his power. Everything that Nightmare had worked for over five hundred years was gone, just like that. His power, his empire, all of it. Gone.
Suddenly, Dream’s wellbeing didn’t matter. Suddenly, he was looking at the other with a single narrowed eye, rage flooding throughout his body. This couldn’t be how all of this ended. Not after everything he had gone through. There had to be a way to take back what was rightfully his.
If Dream had done it, then maybe…
Nightmare pushed the other from his side onto his back, his hand, still sickeningly bare of corruption, shakily hovering above Dream’s chest. Perhaps if he could successfully summon the other’s soul, he could figure out a way to reverse all of this. He made the familiar pulling gesture, one that he’d made numerous times over, but for the first time ever, it was unsuccessful. Dream’s soul refused to exit from his body. Gritting his teeth, he attempted to try once more, closing his eye in order to concentrate.
He tried to latch on to whatever semblance of his power that remained, but no matter how hard he concentrated, it always remained just barely out of reach. After multiple attempts, he was finally forced to accept that there was no possible way this would work out in his favor. He made a frustrated noise, retracting his hand from its place above Dream’s chest.
Or at least he tried to, before a damning grip locked tightly around his wrist. Nightmare’s working eye shot back open, only to find Dream, or this new version of him, glaring back, his single eyelight now a hauntingly vivid yellow light. It was a jarring difference compared to how, not all that long ago, Dream’s eyelights had been so dull that they’d barely been visible within his sockets.
In his shock, Nightmare startled back, but Dream held steadfast.
“Nightmare.” It was as if all of the power that Nightmare’s voice now lacked had merged into Dream’s own, just another reminder of all that he had stolen. Despite his neutral expression, Dream radiated an aura of amusement, as if he’d read Nightmare’s mind to know exactly what he was thinking. “Just what do you think you are doing?”
Nightmare hissed, tugging his arm back in another unsuccessful attempt. “Taking back what is mine. What you stole from me, you absolute-“
“What is rightfully mine, you mean.” Dream countered, his neutral expression bleeding into an unkind smile. “What you owe me.”
“What I owe you?!” Nightmare echoed back incredulously, hardly believing the words he was hearing. “You lied to me- took advantage of my kindness-“
“You heard me.” Dream finally released his wrist. He rose to his feet, brushing off the dust from his now darker ensemble. Something in Nightmare’s soul boiled at how nonchalant Dream was being about all of this. “You owe me.”
“You are a fool. A selfish, ignorant fool.” Nightmare’s shot to his feet, lunging forward and grasping Dream’s collar, any sympathy that he’d previously had for the other quickly fading away in light of this stupid, selfish decision. “You have no idea what you’ve done! After all that I’ve worked for-“
“Stars, that’s all you care about, isn’t it?” Something curled around Nightmare’s neck, yanking him back and tossing him several yards away. He stood up again just in time to witness a tendril, not at all unlike the ones that he used to have. “You are SUCH a joke, Nightmare!” He was taller, Nightmare noticed. Whether that was because of the corruption or because he now held himself higher, he couldn’t be entirely sure. “You are the selfish one! You plunged our entire multiverse into eternal darkness, hurt millions of people, and took all of your anger out on me because of something that happened over five hundred years ago!”
Nightmare only glared back, still fuming.
Seeing that Nightmare had nothing to say in response, Dream rolled his eye, arms crossed over his chest. “I can understand why you did what you did back in the village, Nightmare. They treated you terribly, and that’s something that I will not deny. But I was blind. I did not see that you were hurting. I did not see that you were suffering. I did not help you, and you were left all alone.” He tilted his head to the side, looking back at him with a certain look that Nightmare couldn’t quite decipher. “Is that correct?”
“Yes.” He replied, absolutely no hesitation in his voice. After all, that was how it had happened. Dream had abandoned him when he’d needed him most, left him to rot while he played house with Nightmare’s tormentors. That was still the truth, even if a miniscule part of him looked back at Dream’s words from before and doubted.
“And what if I told you that you were wrong?” A malicious grin spread across his face. “What if I told you that you weren’t alone, that I also suffered back then? What if I told you that the reason that I used to wake at the crack of dawn to go to that cursed village was to help with the chores, simply because I was told that if I didn’t, it would come at the cost of your safety? Or if I told you about how often I was yelled at for just wanting to return home? What about how I was almost always drained of magic because of how many demands there were for it? What then, Nightmare?”
It was like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over his head. “You’re lying.” He had to be. After all, he’d said similar things before, when he’d used them as a way to get Nightmare to lower his guard. There was no way that any of this was the truth.
“Surprised?” Dream was almost breathless as he continued, every single one of his words jabbing into Nightmare like an additional needle. “I labored day after day trying to protect you, but they lied to me. They were the ones that hurt you, that hurt us. But you made me the scapegoat for your pain.” Dream took a step forward, prompting Nightmare to take a step back. “And maybe, back then, I didn’t help you, because I couldn’t. But I asked you every single day what was wrong, and you refused to tell me. And maybe, just like you, I was a child.”
Before today, Nightmare never would have considered these words to be truth. After all, he had stewed in his own anger for over five hundred years, to the point where his side of the story was the only one that had ever mattered to him. But something in Dream’s words, something about how he spoke, as if all of this was lifting a great pressure from his shoulders…
If Dream was speaking the truth, if he’d really suffered alongside Nightmare all those years ago, then… then he’d spent the last half a millennium needlessly inflicting his anger on the one person who had ever truly cared for him.
…No. No, that couldn’t be true. It just couldn’t. He needed to, he had to-
What little magic he had left, he probed Dream’s aura for something, anything that would prove that he was lying. Anything to prove that Nightmare’s reasoning had been justified, that Dream really had neglected him in the same way he’d believed for so long. He’d done this before, and he expected the same results now. Any moment now, his senses would scream out at him that Dream was nothing but a filthy liar.
Any moment now, he would be proven right.
…
…But that moment never came. Instead of the familiar fogginess he’d experienced every time he’d done this in the past, the feeling he now had was similar to the feeling one might get when putting on a pair of glasses and seeing clearly for the very first time.
Dream wasn’t lying.
Nightmare felt himself go cold, the same guilt he’d felt before returning full force. Except this time, without his corruption to filter it out, it felt a million times worse, as though the physical weight of it all could crush him into dust.
Looking at Dream as he was now – once broken, bruised, and hopeless, and now completely reborn – Nightmare could only see himself. An echo of who he used to be, cruelly reflected back at him using the body of his own brother. And there was no third party this time, no village to blame or people to be responsible. He’d done this to Dream with his own two hands.
This was all his fault.
“…Brother…”
The word was spoken so quietly that Nightmare hadn’t even realized that he’d said anything at all. At least, that was until he saw the look on his sibling’s face. Dream just blinked, looking at him as though he’d said something completely absurd. And honestly, who could blame him? Nightmare could hardly believe what he’d said either. After all, he hadn’t called Dream his brother since the two were children. There had been no reason for him to do so.
But now? After all of this time, knowing what he now knew, it felt right. Dream was his brother. Dream had always been his brother, and he’d been too blinded by his own rage to see that.
After a few more moments of silence, Dream let out a loud laugh. “So, after so many years of you telling me to never call you that again, you think that you can suddenly do the same? That’s funny.”
Nightmare frowned, taking a step closer. “Brother, please… I… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
He scoffed, rolling his eye. “…Stars, is that what I sounded back when I still thought that I could have helped you? When I thought that I could still have my brother back? No wonder you always laughed.”
“Dream- You can, Dream! I’m right here! I’m here now, I’m-“
“That may be true.” Dream’s piercing gaze once again landed on his face. He spoke his next words agonizingly slow, as if Nightmare was a small child struggling to understand a simple concept. “But I don’t want you anymore.”
Nightmare felt his soul practically stop in his chest. Those words were not Dream’s. Once, they had been his own. He’d said them to Dream time and time again over the years specifically to hurt him, and now, it seemed as though they were finally coming back to haunt him.
“You’ve spent years being selfish.” The other continued. “It’s my turn now. You took everything from me. Any home that I’ve ever had. Any friends. My wings. And now…? Now, it’s my turn.” He brandished his new tendrils, the corruption at their ends hardening into sharp points. “I’m only following in your footsteps, Nightmare. Maybe now, you’ll know what it’s like to be weak. Powerless. Abandoned.”
“Dream, please…” He whispered one more time, the sheer amount of grief he now felt becoming almost too much to bear. “You aren’t like this. Please… I’m sorry…!”
“Look at me, Nightmare.” The new, shattered version of his brother grinned. Gone were the kind smile and the gentle, golden eyelights that Nightmare now remembered so vividly from their shared childhood. This Dream’s grin was wild and twisted, his magic burning a bright, acidic yellow. He really was a perfect mirror of Nightmare’s own corrupt form, and his drained, uncorrupted soul burned with that realization. This shattered, twisted creature was all that remained of his brother. His poor, poor brother, whom he had doomed to follow in his own cursed footsteps.
“I don’t need you anymore.”