Work Text:
Hunger was a familiar feeling to Fresh. Like the cold of chains or the feel of another’s hands on it. Facts of life it would just have to deal with. That’s how things had always been.
Hunger was a less familiar feeling while living with Color, but it hadn’t been stupid enough to think that was a hard rule. Once the other was finished playing ‘house’ with his new dog it would return. It just thought things would happen a little less… gradually.
He’d not fed it in the past two days, not letting it soak in the flowing Soul magic that surrounded him near constantly. When it first came into his possession, he was easy and quick with affection. It would wobble, whine, even look at him sadly and he’d be all over it.
Now though? Now he’d always hover a little out of reach, that indulgent smile on his face like he wasn’t depraving it of sustenance. Pampering his poor sick pet was probably easier for him. Sure the thing would appreciate any scrap of affection he gave.
With its new… health, he must’ve wanted it to be more ‘proactive.’ Nightmare was always complaining about it lacking a ‘will to please’. Like he wouldn’t puke if it felt any real positive emotions directed at him. It could easily imagine Color reacting with more… genuine joy, if it acted all happy and affectionate with him. He seemed the type to at least want it to pretend to like him.
He’d been trying to coax it out of its room more often, too, so a bit of initiative being his goal made sense. Make it actually work for its food for once. It still didn’t really fit the ‘sweet owner’ look Color was going for, but that could just be why he was trying to get it to do all this without really asking it. Plausible deniability, with his own image.
It groaned into its pillow and pushed itself up on shaky arms. Better get this over with before it got really bad.
The living room was a short walk, and Color was already there; sitting on the couch, eye glancing at the tv. It was playing some cooking show Fresh paid no mind to— it wasn’t what it was here for, and it didn’t really think it could watch monsters and humans eating without feeling like puking.
His eye zipped over to it as it stumbled in, turning into a gentle curve as he smiled. “Oh, hey Fresh. Glad to see you about.” Said with a grin, and it let itself relax, knowing it had made the correct choice. He wanted it out.
“Yeah,” it mumbled back, a burn of irritation for how weak the word sounded as it said it. After a fortifying breath, it tried again, “Yeah thanks uh— Color.”
“Always, dude.” He laughed, the noise a bit wispy, like he hadn’t in a while. It knew he just had a bit of dryness to his voice; he was always laughing and talking, never a moment left silent. It was like if he didn’t fill in the space, he’d get scared Fresh would forget he was there.
Stupid. There wasn’t a scenario where he wasn’t at the forefront of its thoughts while in the same room as it. Maybe Killer wasn’t as obedient, it could imagine them ignoring Color.
The skeleton had turned back to the TV before Fresh managed to force itself forwards, movements stilted and quick. It saw Color’s eye lights flicker to it for only a moment before he looked away. How considerate, it almost scoffed. It didn’t, of course, it needed to be on good behaviour if it wanted to eat, the whole reason it came out in the first place.
He couldn’t keep this up as it reached barely a foot away, finally turning to it, a bemused smile on his face at its pathetic display. It wondered when if he’d ever get his phone out and record it– it knew Killer was always sharing videos of cats or dogs doing silly things or getting scared by their reflections. What better than to make his own?
Another set of eyes, another use of it as entertainment. Was that better or worse than Nightmare? Better or worse than its life before all of these captors? Unable to look at him any longer, it settled onto the floor, back to the couch. The pressure was nice, and it leaned further into it as it tried to ignore Color’s burning gaze. There was half a moment to consider if Color would like that pun [he was a sans, surely he liked puns–] before it thought better than saying it was uncomfortable with him looking at it.
“You can sit on the cou—“
“I know.” Fresh interrupted, its face burning. It wished he wouldn’t keep testing it like this. Wished he didn’t keep trying to coax it into doing things he definitely didn’t really want it to do. Every sweet request a trap. It had played these games before, it wasn’t falling for it. “Sorry.” It mumbled after another moment, the space between them feeling electric and unignorable.
A sigh. It didn’t turn around. It didn’t turn around. “It’s okay.”
It could see his knees in its peripherals, and it scooted an inch closer. He didn’t move.
There was a burst of laughter from the TV, tinny and fake, and it couldn’t help a flinch. And another when Color’s hand landed on its shoulder, with words it didn’t catch, tinged with a questioning lilt. The other nearly let go before it remembered how it was supposed to act.
Forced relaxation, pressed back into the touch, appreciative. His hands were warm, even through its shirt. He could probably loop a finger through its collar from there, could—
It let out a rattling breath. Color asked, probably again, “You okay?” His voice sounded far away, like the TV. It wondered if the yellow light filling the room was him or the machine. It nodded.
There wouldn't be another chance like this soon. He was already touching it [he was so warm] so he probably wanted it, right? Wanted more than it already offered, they always wanted more. Its body didn’t move. He did though, pulling away after one last squeeze. It felt unceremonious, the closing of that door, its only way out.
It needed to move, it needed to move, it needed to move. With a jolt it followed his movement, tipping to the side until its shoulder hit his knee, tilting its head back until it could place its head on his thigh. The TV was still laughing, but it could barely hear it over its own rattling breaths. Clawed hands uselessly hung onto his sweatpants, most of its weight pressed to his thigh.
Should it stop? Did he want it to act scared? Probably not, right? It took in another raspy wheeze, trying to suppress the noise. Nuzzling closer, working out the logistics of if pressing its face to his stomach would be better or worse. It tried to convince itself this was good, it was being good.
Nothing was working, and it helplessly looked up at him, hoping for at least a shred of approval for its initiative.
That was not what it got.
Eye blown wide, hands pulled up, his flames spun wildly and crackled in the air. He didn’t look happy, frozen in shock and what was probably disgust. He looked sick.
It flinched back the same moment he did, scrambling for a moment on all fours before it wrapped its arms around itself, pressing in on its chest like that could do anything but make breathing harder. A low whine filled its chest, and no matter how hard it pressed the sound kept coming out.
“Sorry!” He made as if to stand before freezing mid motion, watching it scoot another foot back. “Sorry…”
It needed out. It couldn’t be here right now, couldn’t stay so close when he finally came out of whatever mood this was and actually punished it. Stupid stupid stupid how did it think this could have ended any other way?
“Why did you…” he trailed off, staring long and hard at it. It couldn’t help the way its eyes skipped over to the hallway before back to him. His hands tensed, his feet shifted— was he getting up? Was this the last straw that would lead to punishment?
It bolted. He didn’t follow.
——-
The spot between the wall and bed felt familiar, and it felt a hazy recollection of hiding there when it first came to this house. A worthless hiding place, already known. Maybe Color would find the pathetic display cute. Sometimes, Nightmare got like that, utterly endeared with its attempts to get away from him.
The thought didn’t feel comforting, and it dragged another blanket in. He wasn’t usually happy with it though, most of the time he found it annoying. Useless animal that didn’t allow its owner to touch it. It curled its mouth into a grimace, teeth bared at the memory.
It definitely looked stupid, growling at nothing, hiding somewhere that offered no protection. It felt stupid, even. Floor boards creaked outside the door, Color, because Killer was always quiet. It grabbed a pillow to add to its makeshift nest.
This would need to be cleaned up later. That fact felt nausea inducing compared to all the other things it would have to deal with ‘later’, so Fresh ignored it.
——-
It knew it shouldn’t make a fuss out of this. Knew that as it stifled its whimpers and sniffles, knew that as it kept in whines. It knew that but did so anyway.
It hadn't gotten more than a whiff of magic out of Color the previous day, and now it was surely in hotter water than it had been earlier. Hungry to the point of disobedience. A stupid mangy mutt.
A stupid, keening, pathetic part of it wanted so badly for Color to swoop in and fix things. Like the man could snap it all away, as easily as Nightmare could snap a bone. Such a miserable thing to want, Color’s attention on demand, like it was anything but an animal to him, a prized possession at most. Plus, asking for more than its due would definitely make the punishment worse.
It needed to be taught a lesson. Beforehand it could’ve construed him not feeding it as a hidden order, now it knew it was punishment. The similarities with Nightmare were as obvious as they were surprising. It guessed no matter Color’s moral feud with Nightmare, starving was just too good a punishment to put away. Stupid of it to think it was anything else. How else, why else, would he let it get this sick on his watch when the solution to all its problems was so very easy to give? It needed magic, and he… wasn’t giving it any.
It tried to focus on its recent memories again, [and again and again and it didn’t know what it was missing-] wondering about the offense. It needed to figure this out, the longer it took the worse this was going to get.
He’d flinched back, when it tried to set its head on his lap. Taking affection not freely given. It had just… seen Killer do similar. Draping himself upon Color’s shoulder, head hooked into the crook of his neck. Color had even looked pleased at it; easy smiles over both their faces. Foolish, to think it was anywhere near Killer to him, that it could make Color give it that expression.
But before that, because the punishment started before that blunder, it had to have done something. Its mind wasn’t clear, hazy with the consequences of its actions, and it growled. For the first time since it entered the house it hadn’t been sick. Was that really it? The man the type of freak to only want his pet sick and dependent on him? Poison would’ve been more effective, less waiting around than slowly starving it.
That left nothing though. A mockery, a clear sign it had blundered again. Not a single clue left to show it where it had erred.
Its efforts had failed– like most things in its life, really. What did that even leave? Begging was out of the question [he always hated when it did that], and so was hunting… no dust or old magic attacks… It felt nauseous all over again at the thought of food, breathing coming out hard and wheezy, its spines rattling.
He’d been giving it looks, the last day [or two…?], single eye slanted and sad and strange. And he’d reach out, just before touching it, and then stop himself. The fine tuned act of someone who saw themselves as a kind and loving owner, probably ‘miserable’ to have to punish his pet. The thought made it all worse– definitely more prone to lashing out.
It curled further as another wave of pain coursed through it, all its joints achy and pained from the lack of magic. It had been stingy in the last… it couldn’t remember the last time it Hadn’t been stingy with its magic, but it had been more so, recently. There wasn’t any room to waste such a precious resource, not unless it wanted to lose the rest of its wits. It wondered if Color would be kinder to it, if it was like that. Nightmare certainly liked it to be a little clever, if only to entertain him, but Color was proving to hate everything Nightmare had trained into it.
Shifting for what felt like the hundredth time -some sort of mix between restlessness and bone deep tiredness permeating its form- it couldn’t keep in the whine, a shiver wracking its form. This sucked. This sucked so bad and it wanted Color to make it stop.
What did its previous owner like when he was mad…? It couldn’t remember Color being mad at it before this, or, mad enough to actually enact a punishment. But Nightmare, he got mad all the time. Over everything, if it didn’t cuddle back, if it seemed too eager, if it ate too slow, too fast. He’d… he’d like when it made it clear it was sorry, and when he knew the punishment was affecting it. Maybe it could start there.
The latter wasn’t something it thought Color would enjoy, but they were both probably things he’d need to see to decide to stop punishing it. So it just needed to figure out how to show that to him. He’d have to have seen it lagging in the past week, simpering and cowering more than it had done since it first came into his custody.
None of that had satisfied him. Which just meant it hadn’t shown him it was sorry enough, it was sure. The most logical conclusion, the only thing it could reason as to why this was still going on. So all it had to do was show it was really, truly sorry. It could do that, had done that constantly for things it really wasn’t sorry about. And for Color, it thought it could even shove a bit of sincerity in.
With what felt like a monumental effort, it got out of its makeshift nest, over the bed. The floor wobbled beneath it [or its legs, it couldn’t really tell] but it didn’t fall over. A victory, one it would take between its teeth and not let go of.
The walk to its door went by in a haze, and before it knew it Color’s own stood before it. The world tipped, and it leaned its weight into his door knob to try and stop itself from following suit. Failure stung as much as the fall, dizzying and confusing as it tumbled into his room. Was it unlocked? Already cracked open? Did it break something?
It ached so fully it nearly puked to splay across his lap, press its face to his stomach and stop thinking. To become an unfeeling object without want or need or purpose except for what he deemed fit. It couldn't deal with being an animal today, couldn't bear the thought, for it knew if it was truly free it would be dying in a ditch, alone and cold and hungry.
It didn't want to be confused and disorientated and surely, surely minutes before punishment. Or, another punishment. The thought of two made its head spin.
The room was dark and its eyes awful, so it heard more than saw Color rise. He was lit from the inside, his eye a spotlight directed at it. The flames spun blues and purples, light cold and dim next to the roaring orange and yellows it sometimes took on. It found a comfort in that fact though, Color unable to see how pathetic it was— just glimpses, only small portions. It hoped it was enough to take pity on.
“Killer…?” He murmured, rubbing at his eye socket with a scratchy sound, and it kept in a keen. He called out the other’s name, which just meant he hadn’t expected, wanted, it here instead. It rattled uselessly, some poor imitation of a behavior it only half remembered. Its prey used to rattle before it ate them, and wasn’t that what it was, now? Prey before a predator?
“Oh- Fresh…are you okay?” his voice was gravelly with sleep and softened further by realisation it was the one who’d creeped in. It wanted to cry. “What’s wrong bud?”
Fresh half crawled half lurched to his bedside. Jerky, like someone had stuck a cattle prod into its back, shivering as it settled its head upon his duvet. No words escaped it, the only sound it managed was a panicked whine between its teeth. Something strangled, like its collar had restricted some non-existent windpipe.
His face twisted up, the expression harshened by the deep shadows his flames cast, rendered clearer still by the way he’d scooted closer. It was within striking distance. “You don’t- you don’t have to say anything if it’s hard, Fresh.”
Shaking its head before he’d even finished, it let out another keening sobbing noise, claws digging into its covers like it was scared to be washed away. He had to see it was sorry, or this wouldn’t end. The words just wouldn’t come out.
Hesitant hands drew close, clear that Color didn’t know if he should be doing this yet. It whined again -like it couldn’t do anything else- and pushed into him before ‘shouldn’t’ won over. He was soft against its face, joints leaking a gentle warmth that made it start sniffling even more.
It wondered if he’d jerk back, or yell at it, or let his bony fingers scratch at its cheeks. It hoped it was the last. Greedy thing, a voice in its head chided. It sounded like Nightmare.
Color hadn't done any of those things though, gently running his thumb over its cheek instead, catching the tears leaking out of its eye sockets. Was he building up to something worse, setting up a false sense of security? Maybe that’s why there hadn’t been many punishments before this, every kind word when it failed, every sweet reassurance, all just a prelude.
The inside of its skull buzzed with questions, but its attention was still focused towards Color. When he stopped moving, so did it, hardly daring to breathe. A second more and he started up again, gentle as he always was, “D’you wanna get off the floor, bud?”
The question sounded like a trap, one it didn’t know how to get out of. The same trap from before, beckoning it places it was not aloud. Maybe it was supposed to fall for it, maybe he wanted it to follow his orders over rules.
It just pressed further into his hands with a small sound, too confused to try and figure out. The words seem leading; he probably already had an answer in mind, and letting him project on some neutral response had worked in the past. It came off too desperate, but he already knew it was a mess. Couldn’t dig a deeper hole than the one it was already in, half sobbing onto his hands.
“Okay, okay,” he cringed, and it didn’t even wonder what it had done wrong this time. There were too many candidates to pick one answer. “I’ll help you up, that okay with you?”
It really couldn’t express more how okay it was with him doing anything he wanted as long as he kept touching it.
The expression on its face was probably good enough, because he was leaning closer to settle his arms under its armpits, dragging it up. It tried to make it as easy as possible, but definitely wasn’t much help— its body was still wracked with shivers, and finally at its destination so tired it could barely keep its weight up. He pulled it up with a harsh tug, leading to the two ending up tangled on the bed, Colors arms wrapped around it firmly. It was like being in Nightmare’s bed in all the ways except for the ones it wasn’t.
The covers were soft, the two sinking slightly into the mattress. His flames had gone purple at some point, painting the surroundings the same. Closest yet, was the arms around its chest; it didn’t know if it had the energy to struggle out of them if it tried. Except… it was warm. And bright, and it didn’t want to leave.
Before Color could decide he wanted to instead, greedy and hungry and so, so tired, it lurched forward, pressing its face to his collar bone and taking shaky breaths. It wanted. It wanted so badly it hurt. Tears sprung to its eyes, when did it get so pathetic?
He didn’t push it off for its hubris, didn’t do anything but let out a quiet “oomf-” when it reached him and hold it steady as it cried. Even when it knew the snot and tears had definitely soaked through his shirt, even as its sobbing petered out into tiny little sniffles, he held it.
“Shh, shhh-“ he shushed quietly, head hooked over its shoulder. He shifted his hold- making Fresh let out a squeaky scared whine- and started petting it along its back. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Everything’s fine bud.”
“Owner-“ it choked out, the rest getting stuck like barbed wire in its throat.
“No, no no no buddy,” the hold tightened. It felt like a constrictor snake. It felt like home. It went limper in his arms, “you’re not back there, okay? Everything’s okay.”
“Okay.” Fresh parroted back, sniffling miserably and making some half hearted nod into his neck. Of course, it forgot he hated being called that.
“Yeah. Okay.” He repeated, again. The words rumbled pleasantly through his chest. “Can you… can you tell me what’s wrong?”
“M’ stupid,” it mumbled, drawing the word out. It wanted to spend as long as it could tucked under his chin.
“No you’re not.” He hugged it impossibly closer, “you’re one of the most clever monsters I’ve met.”
That wasn’t… the answer it thought he’d give. That didn’t matter, because it still got the effect it wanted, so it just let out an agreeable hum and soaked in the physical affection. Things were starting to get fuzzy at the edges; it was becoming harder to keep its eye-sockets open.
Words lingered at the edges of its vision, tinny and filled with static, “Why would you think that?”
It took an extra moment before it answered, one half wondering if the words were directed at it and the other knowing once he figured out it was trying to get out of its punishment he’d probably shove it off. “Don’t know how to be good… to get outta my punishment…”
“Punishment…?” He was the one to parrot back, this time, leaning back slightly to look down at it.
It missed the dizzying magic being pressed to his neck gave it access to. Now it could only focus on his voice. The tone was empty and carefully even; Nightmare only sounded like that when he was really mad. It wanted the static back so bad. Did he want it to explain what it thought was going on? Force itself to relieve the experience?
“Mhmm.” It agreed, searching for the proper explanation. It needed the report to be factual, but still emotional enough that he understood it didn’t need to keep being punished. “I’ve been bad, and it, ah, hurts.” The words felt like molasses as it struggled to get each one out. That was… that was good enough though, right?
“Hurt how?” The words were sharp, tinged with urgency. Was it getting close to the right answer?
Fresh blinked slowly, chin already dipping down as it grew tired of holding itself up. “Hungry. Really hungry.”
Would Color be okay with it cuddling back into him? There was a nearly unreadable expression on his face, some mix of anger and confusion, though at this point it had failed at reading him more than it had ever succeeded. This whole mess wouldn’t have happened if it wasn’t such a failure at the task. The only thing it could tell definitively was that he looked serious and considering– which means this could go very well for it, or very very badly.
“Fresh…” the first word out of his mouth was a pity filled call of its name. It could work with pity, it could do so much with it, pity was practically the only thing that got any of the right reactions from Color.
Confidence bolstered, it couldn’t stop itself from inching closer, a moth to his flame, so easily walking into a possible trap. The bugs had always struck it as stupid; witless beings unable to tell the moon from a light-bulb, killing themselves in pursuit of home. Was this how the moths felt? The thought came unbidden.
Part of it shook and begged to run, that nothing good would come from this, yet the rest of it felt a blooming apathy at the idea. It was already bad; things couldn’t get worse than it was now, whining and sobbing at its owner, waking him up in the night, invading his bed, there was nowhere further down.
“Really...?” He questioned, eye looking into its own for a single beat before moving on– dismissive, probably. Just skittering over its form, trying to decipher whatever it was he needed to by himself. It guessed the stupid animal act had really sunk in.
It just blinked at him, making no movement but a slight sway in the spot. There was no flinch as his hands reached it, burning like heated oil. First around its cheeks, cupping its face like a treasured item, then along its neck, shoulders, around its back– just touching, almost searchingly. Firm but not harsh, leaving a trail of the chilled aftermath of a burn. It couldn’t help but lean in further, pressing its face flush against him.
“Your magic tastes nice,” It mumbled into his neck, so far past the point of no return it wondered if there ever even was one. Little keening giggles spilled from its lips, nervous and enraptured in equal part. It really wouldn’t survive a day in the wild, ruined as it was, a moth eager to cozy up against a live wire.
“Oh... oh!” Color murmured quietly, before repeating himself, louder. It didn’t notice his arms had paused halfway down its back till they started moving again, and it let out a happy little trill, arching into his hands more. “It's uhm- this is okay.” He said, higher-- nearly the squeal of cornered prey.
There was a confused hum it realized came from it a second after it started, airy, probably more of a purr than anything readable as a question. He awkwardly pet its back a few more times, mumbling to himself. “How didn’t I notice this.”
“Ignore that. Let’s… get comfortable,” He said when it chuffed at his question, trying to be useful. It didn’t really know what he was talking about though. “if you’re okay with this. Or… okay as you can be.” He didn’t sound very sure, so it nuzzled his chest, in a way it was sure was very cute.
He shifted it in his arms, leaning back further. It followed as easily as if that was what it was made for. They settled next to each other. The searching touch had stopped, replaced by a soothing stroke down its back. Fresh shivered, body caught between pressing forward into Color’s chest and pressing back into his hand. There was a question, something about comfort…? It couldn't remember the last time it felt so nice, so it mumbled a sleepy affirmative.
“That’s good,” said by its ear, as Color hooked his head over its shoulder. It could feel the words vibrate through his ribcage. It mimicked the noise, deciding that hugging him was the easiest course of action. He was just so soft, and squishy, and warm.
More movement, he was leaving he was leaving he was leaving– a moment after a keen broke from it, something settled over the two of them. It was a heavy duvet, cooled from the lack of contact– it felt like being buried under dirt and mud. Apologetic murmurs flowed by its ear.
A dream, given form. That must have been what this is. A very nice dream. One it didn’t want to end… The gentle touches and steady flow of magic made it hard to stay awake though, awareness dipping in levels.
It squirmed with a whine, trying to press closer to him when they were already flush– he did nothing but shift in place, accommodating its needy grasping with gentle coos and shushing. “I’ll be here in the morning, just to get to sleep.”
It wanted to argue, but the words were that careful self-assured cadence Color always took when he was trying hard to sound believable. A few more slow blinks as it tried to hold onto consciousness, a futile effort. There was no need, the words repeated themselves, ‘He’d be there in the morning’. It was out like a light in the next moment.
He wouldn’t lie to it– not even Nightmare did that.