Chapter Text
— Did ya’ hear tha’?— At the very sight after opening his room door, he finds Dust perking out of his own room, clearly seeking the source of the rebellious footsteps. And at least Dust looks more composed than him after being just woken up in the middle of the night.
It's past their sleep time; Nightmare had made sure to tuck them into bed so they wouldn't break their schedule or stay up too late. It has been a few hours since then.
They know once they are settled in their rooms and put to sleep, there's very little they can do.
First of all, waking up from one of Nightmare's sleep spells is hard. He makes every inch and frame of their body go numb, tiredness invades their souls and whispers calm their minds so a lullaby can welcome them to tell the day goodbye.
There's no sign of bad dreams or screaming in the dark on those days, so there's no explanation for why one of them could be running around like there's no trouble after making the whole house wake up.
Second thing, Nightmare should have heard it by now.
He's the only one who doesn't sleep and walks around the castle to pass the time. His hearing is good enough to sense when the lock of a door is making noise and go to lecture the one who's daring to disobey his words.
So, why didn't he catch the troublemaker already?
The footsteps are loud and fast, going back and forth from the hall floor below them, as if the culprit doesn't know where he's standing.
Horror couldn't be; his walking is slow, coordinated. Years of training to hunt in the trees has taught him how to be stealth, even in the dead silence of the forest. The only clue he'd leave at walking in the castle would be the cracking of the old wood given the pressure of his weight over it.
Dust is by his side, looking as mad as him at the breaking of his peace.
Cross is out of this universe right now.
And Nightmare doesn't make a sound when he moves across the shadows.
His partner seems to realize at the same time as him what kind of situation they're facing.
In the dead silence of the dark, the sound of metal cracking into place snaps them out of their thoughts.
Horror’s eyelight shines across the opening of his door, looking as bothered as they were before.
— There's an intruder in the castle.— Dust doesn't hesitate to declare. His eyelights bright with the newfound building of LOVe.
There's something really wrong. Not just the intruder into their home.
It's the lack of Nightmare at the attack.
The individual shouldn't even be capable of going through the excruciating pain of the negativity streaking through their soul. They should have crumbled down in tears and whines when they passed the barrier that surrounds the castle, no matter if they were a monster or a human. Nonetheless, Nightmare would have felt the new aura.
— I'm going to Boss’s office; you two go to investigate the grand saloon.— Killer doesn't look back, he can't. Every part of his soul is telling him to get Nightmare back where he can see him, assure his well-being.
It is unnatural. Impossible, even, for him to do such a thing as protect the deity more than he can protect himself. Killer’s magic is a grain of salt on a desert compared with Nightmare's dominion, but something inside of him just knows that something is wrong.
The closer he gets to his boss's office, the more frequently he starts seeing some wet spots on the carpet of the corridor. It starts as tiny droplets shining in the dark, then it's a messy line of said liquid, a trail.
Then terror strikes Killer; it's a whole mess. His boots have trouble being lifted from the carpet, a viscosity is trapping them on the floor.
The umbral of Nightmare's office is plagued with the strange thing; the floor has a puddle of it, and the door—
The door is open.
— Nightmare!? — His screams have no reception; the God hasn't made a sound.
He can't lose more time, his soul is close to having a failure with how fast it is twirling and changing with the insecurity of all.
Killer pushes the door.
Nightmare isn't inside the room.
Maybe it's the desperation, the fear and anticipation of the worst, that edges him to fall to his knees, straight into the ground. Just above the weird, sticky, and black liquid flooding the carpet…
Realization hits him like a bucket of cold water falling over him.
The sticky thing is Nightmare's negativity.
Killer runs as fast as he can. His boots get stuck on the goop a few times, and he also slips every now and then, but that doesn't stop him from searching for where his partners are.
His hopes are extremely low. All the scenarios that are in his head are a blur of pain, tears, and blood.
Nightmare, his king, he's supposed to be incapable of getting hurt by anything that isn't positivity, or in the worst case, Dream.
He finally gets where Horror and Dust are. In his run around the castle, he has found that the stains of goop are taunting all the halls of the castle in a notable disorientation of the God.
And for what Killer can see, his teammates discovered the end of its path.
Their souls shared the painful beat at the image presented to them.
The poodles of black tartar completely stopped at the entrance of the living room. Now the only hints of where Nightmare could be were droops of goop that were already fainting.
Bones rattling and heavy breathing are the main sounds echoing in the silence of the darkness; neither of them has dared to speak, just in case Nightmare’s velvet voice woke them from this bad dream.
Unfortunately, the only clue they had has faded. The path of negativity is nonexistent, as well as the heaviness of the Guardian’s aura that normally is present on every inch of the castle.
If this was by any means a joke, it was very out of Nightmare's normal sadistic and tasteless sense of humor. Even then, he was very considerate with what kind of things he used to play pranks or make puns around them; this was something he wouldn't dare to use for fun.
Before any of them had the chance of crashing in screams of despair, there's a loud thud from behind their backs, followed by a gasp, and what could be described as a baby deer trying to walk for the first time-messy movements of something wanting to run away.
One of Killer's blasters rises into existence, rushing to charge an attack; it directs the light of the charge to the culprit of all.
What they were not expecting was to see a young Nightmare on the ground. He stays sat, static in the place he fell.
He's on the edge of the stairs; various shades of goop cover the first steps in a clear sign of a failed escape. He must have been really trying to get up before getting caught.
Caught, as if he wasn't the owner of this castle.
The three of them share looks in complete disbelief at the monster in front of them. Horror dares to break the ice.
— Nightmare?.— He doubtfully asks the familiar silhouette.
Afraid of what kind of intentions the group of skeletons may have, ‘Nightmare’ answers with a whisper.
— Yes?.—
Every alarm and instinct of preservation sparks to life when the smallest monster turns his head in his direction.
— You aren't our Boss…— Dust doesn't hesitate to smack his fingers and force a wall of bones to emerge from the floor, an attempt to maintain a safe distance, the bright, sharp white of the bones facing the intruder.
—There's no way you are him… —
They had met Nightmare’s before they suffered the apple incident.
They aren't foreign to the delicate and thin figure of them. the roundness of their skulls due to being young, the purple wine of their eye-lights.
Hell. Nightmare even shows them his body without all the corruption that overflows his bones every time that positivity arises more than it should.
They know how He and the other counterparts look.
This one doesn't look like any of them.
His right eye socket is completely shattered and has cracks all around it, the purple eyelight nowhere to be seen. While on the other side of his face, the purple eyelight resides, bright and erratic, shaking of what they assume is fear. Nightmare has the same empty eye socket as the figure in front of them, but the color of his eye is half purple and half teal. His expression is always nonchalant and plain; they have never seen fear of all emotions in it.
— Stop.— Killer, in a desperate voice, snaps Dust from his panicked trance.
— Look at his head…— The blaster’s shot has evaporated as fast as the smallest monster was found. The creature now is just carefully inspecting this new “Nightmare” aspect, sniffing all the way around him.
As disgusted with the situation as he could be, he can't deny what he's seeing.
— That's…that's Night- Boss, circlet.— On a simple basis, there's nothing extraordinary about it; all Nightmare’s wore the circlet at some point. Excepting the crucial fact that their Nightmare doesn't.
He hides it, maybe for melancholy or apprehension about the meaning of the object. Nonetheless, he's the only one who knows where the relic is.
No matter how bold his boyfriend may act, Killer can sense his doubt and how it starts to numb his mind, now not so sure if his target is the threat he thinks him to be. Dust's hands start to shake, and his magic flickers weakly, ready to dematerialize. Killer takes advantage of that to make him stop frightening the tiny skeleton who looks at them.
— Yes. Now drop the funny stuff, you’re scaring him.— Something clicks inside his head.
— Boss…scared? How many years do you have, kid?—
— I am not a kid.— as if the question had insulted him deeply, fear is now replaced by a deep grimace of disgust.
Unless Nightmare had made an exact copy of his vessel, with all his quirks and features. somehow tailored clothes with an uncountable amount of details, such as the perfect size that perfectly captures the graceful figure, the embedded gold on every stitch of the limbs, and the soft drawing of a half moon hidden in the back. There was no way this wasn't his Boss.
He even has the bittersweet attitude!.
Unfazed by the discomfort shown, Killer scoffs.
— How many years, then?.—
It takes him some time to put his thoughts in line, especially after being so close to being dusted out of existence.
— Some decades… I think six, if I am not mistaken…— He has seen villagers born, grow, and die, countless times. So that is a considerable amount of time.
— Maybe more. The…arrival, at whatever this is, had, uhh…shaked? My memories a little.— Night has fainted sometimes. It could be for hunger, exhaustion after being chased in the town, or just simply hitting his head against something too hard when he and Dream play. However, the point is that he always recalls knowing what happened before that.
Night just can not do it this time.
Horror is equally amazed and appalled by the figure in front of him. He recognizes it, he knows it's him, but he can't shake the uncanny feeling.
— Killer, you're sure this is…our Nightmare?.— Nonetheless, whether it's theirs or not, they won't leave him alone in such an unsettling state; poor thing seems to barely know who he is.
But Horror still wants to know where his Nightmare is, though.
— Unless you want to spank me with a belt and see if he gets hard while on it. I'm pretty sure this is him.— To everyone's surprise, Nightmare doesn't display any signs of judgment at their unconventional ways of dealing with things, as he would do any other time. But right now, Nightmare just seems shy at Killer's words, curling himself in his spot on the floor with what Killer can guess is a rising blush from embarrassment.
— I don't see any octopus covered in hate and spite around, do you?.— Unless he has gone blind and his teammates are capable of seeing any other variation of Nightmare, he's sure the one in front of their eyes is their husband.
There's a concerning amount of sounds and demeanors changing faster than he can register or stand. All the unnecessary stress when there's a perfect way to deal with the doubt.
— Let's end this quickly.— In the blink of an eye, a bone sharp as a shard of glass slashes the surface of Dust's wrist, blood forcing its way out of the cut.
— W-what?!.—
The three heads turn around to see the source of the scream.
There's one good news; this is their Nightmare in body and soul; they still have to figure out mind.
There's also bad news, though; he's panicking on the floor, his eyes wide awake at the crimson liquid running down his wrist onto the tiles.
Also, the cut isn't immediately healing.
— See? It was not that hard.— Dismissive of the rising panic of his partners at the alarming harm done to himself, and the growing expression of pure fright in the younger self of his boss. Dust just shakes his hand a couple of times, and the blood is completely gone. As fast as the cut was made, the same way it starts healing. The lacerated part of the bone can be barely distinguished from the other scars that cover the entire extent of Dust's forearms.
— W-what have you done to me?!.— The pain took a while to hit him; the adrenaline was doing a wonderful job at keeping him away from the excruciating sensation of burning from the magic escaping his body. Night wishes that the resistance stayed longer.
Having assured that this is their God and not any other counterpart that accidentally stepped on their universe has significantly decreased his stress over the smallest skeleton. Yet, Dust still dislikes how strange he feels compared to Nightmare's normal self. He tries to grab, in the most gentle way, the hand of said monster. The attempt ends up futile when Nightmare wants to squirm away from his touch.
— It's fine, you'll be fine. It wasn't deadly. — Those words are apparently not proper to comfort him, as he starts to see how fast new panic clouds the purple eyelight, and the attempts of Nightmare at getting free from his grasp get more frenetic.
Night can't think past the burning pain of his joints exposed to the cold air and blood staining his bones. The one who attacked him has a sudden creepy urge to touch him and look at what he has done. Maybe he's one of those weird people that feels guilty after treating him badly, just to do it again.
— Release me!.— He isn't sure if it's the damage done to his wrist, or if the man has a concerning amount of strength in his grip. Whatever it is, Night can't get himself to go too far from the sullen man.
Dust is extremely conflicted on what is happening with Nightmare's behavior. He's in his passive state, lacking his suffocating aura, and totally lost on the timeline and place. He has his circlet on display when he never lets them see him with it on. Neither does he let him put his free hand over the open wound so he can apply magic to heal it.
— Don't move. I need you to stay still so I can heal you.— He does his best to hide his anger and frustration at the situation. He tries, key word, tries, to imitate the sweet tone of Nightmare's voice when they have heavy disconnections with reality. But the intent turns pointless when the smallest keeps fighting to get away.
The squirming and whining seem to not come to an end, no matter how much they try to persuade Nightmare. He still refuses to stop giving them a hard time.
He has been quiet the whole time since the extreme recognition test performed by Dust; the only exception has been the occasional yelp of discomfort when they touch a sensitive bone or hold the fragile body more harshly than they should.
There's not a single word spoken by Nightmare, not even shouting a “No!” Like he's used to doing when they get in the mood to annoy or bother him and he's not enjoying any of it, nothing. He doesn't stop moving or rejecting the unwanted treatment for the open wound, even if the blood still flows down his forearms and stains his clothes, he just keeps fighting no matter how tired he's getting.
They could restrain him with brute force? Of course, they have done it before with some hostages.
They will?
…
He's too innocent for that.
The brief thought of having to suffocate the appalled Prince is gut-wrenching enough to just drop that kind of plan.
The clouded eyelight is making everything more complicated than it already is, not even a word has slipped from the thin lips, but the heavy breathing and hiccups have done a good job to let it be understood the amount of distress and agony Nightmare must be facing.
Horror just can't take the pouty face anymore; he's pretty sure that he saw the bottom lip of Nightmare starting to tremble and his eye socket holding some tears.
— Please, we need you to calm down, or this is only gonna get worse for us.— He can sense the difficult breathing of Nightmare echo through his ribs, barely regulating as he has briefly stopped kicking.
It maybe wasn't his best idea. But having the entire place quiet, without swearing from his boyfriends at the slippery Nightmare in their arms, and getting a taste of peace after such an excruciating time, made him throw the first thing that came to his mind.
— We will give you a candy if you stop fighting. — It was the most stupid statement Horror had said in his life.
They were fully prepared to just hope for the best and let Nightmare get all his energy drained from more unsuccessful tries to escape. And as if it was some kind of wish made upon a star, Nightmare went completely limp in their arms at the mention of the sweet treat.
Which was something bizarre, as Nightmare hates candy.
☆ ✧ ✧ ☆