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The multiverse trembled. Not with the familiar instability of resets or erasures, but with something quieter. Hollower. Like a breath being pulled out of the lungs and never returned.
Red felt it through the war table before Ink finished speaking. The oh so “great leader” of The Council. What a load of garbage. He thought bitterly. He’d rather be doing anything but sitting at the grand table with a bunch of goody-two-shoes who didn’t know jack shit about war or fighting in general. But he didn’t have the luxury of doing nothing. He would rather not be helping at all. But this was something he couldn’t ignore.
The grand war table wasn’t wood or stone. It was a living construct of timelines, branching paths glowing in muted color. One by one, threads were dimming. Not snapping. Not being cut. Not corrupting.
Vanishing.
“Entire universes,” Ink said, voice uncharacteristically subdued. His bandolier showed that most of his paints were low, but Ink’s eyes were also dim of color. Meaning he hadn’t had time to fill his paint vials. He was running on fumes. “Gone. No fragments. No afterimage. Nothing for Error to grab and re-code, nothing for me to fix.”
Error’s static crackled sharply, his fists hitting the table with barely subdued wrath. “I warned you, squidbrain! You don’t create something that doesn’t belong! You don’t introduce an anomaly that answers to neither positive nor negative influence!” His voice skipped and glitched, but everyone could hear the rage. The frustration.
Ink didn’t argue. That alone set everyone on edge.
Nightmare leaned back in his chair, tendrils of black ichor idly curling around the legs like restless serpents. His smile was thin and not amused as he surveyed the war room. The Council specifically.
He could feel the uncertainty in the room. The fear. It fueled him. And as much as Nightmare would have loved to gorge himself on the terror of the infamous Council, he knew this was not the time to revel.
“When a universe dies,” Nightmare spoke softly, “its suffering feeds me. Its hope feeds Dream. This thing?” He tapped a clawed finger against a flickering void-space projection. “It leaves nothing. No despair. No joy. No echo. It starves us all.”
That was why he was here.
That was why the room held enemies who normally wouldn’t share air, let alone strategy.
The Bad Sanses occupied one side of the chamber - Horror looming like a silent executioner, Killer perched too casually with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes, Cross standing rigid and alert, sword humming faintly with restrained power. Dust stood in a corner, silent, observing. Nightmare stood apart from them in his chair, both leader and master.
Opposite them sat The Council.
There were Sans’s from all walks of life. Outertale, Farmtale, Reapertale, Aftertale, Underswap, Epictale, Candytale, Haventale, and some that were too new to name. All of them light and happy. Positive universes with happy endings. Never once seeing a moment of utter loss and destruction.
Red stood among them, arms crossed, jaw tight. SOUL hardened from violence.
He had seen AU’s fall. He had seen corruption before. Hell, he had helped burn worlds to stop it from spreading! But this… this was erasure. A sickness that didn’t spread chaos or hope, but absence.
“Explain the infection,” Red said, breaking the silence. His voice was steady, but his SOUL burned hot beneath his ribs. It acted like a virus. But not one he’d ever seen before. And with Error so upset, the Destroyer had never seen something like this before either.
Ink adjusted the projection. A universe bloomed into view. Then, black veins crawled across it like rot.
“Whatever this infection is, it assimilates.” Ink said. “Not by rewriting code. Or even corrupting code. But by consuming the narrative. The story. Once enough story has been devoured, both the good and bad are absorbed, the AU collapses inward.”
“And takes everything connected to it,” Cross muttered. “Memories. Consequences. Bonds. It erases anything the Universe had. It’s as if it never existed. Then infects the nearest AU next to it and does it all over again…”
Red’s grip tightened on his arm with his arms crossed.
Nightmare’s gaze slid toward him, lingering longer than necessary. “You understand the stakes better than most, Red.”
Nightmare knew Red was one of the universes targeted in the X-Event. The only thing they could compare this infection to.
Red met Nightmare’s emerald eyelight without flinching. “That’s why I’m here. To help these cream puffs learn how to fight.”
A pause.
The other Council members looked down. Maybe in shame. They had all treated Red and Underfell with the same malice they did the Bad Sans’s. To them, any violent AU was considered “bad”. They didn’t bother to think why Red’s universe was violent. Why Red himself had to gain LV. And now they needed him. His guidance. His experience. His LV.
Then Error spoke again, quieter. “We’ve traced the epicenter of the infection. The corrupted AU is generating… avatars. Immune to conventional attacks. You’ll need fighters who can operate in unstable collapsing universes.”
Nightmare smiled wider. “Good thing I brought my monsters.” He said, almost affectionately.
Killer chuckled. “Hey, we’re very cooperative monsters today.”
Horror said nothing. But his eye flicked briefly toward Red. His gaze measuring. Not hostile. But Curious.
Ink hesitated. “There’s one more complication.”
Everyone turned.
“The corrupted AU has been… learning,” Ink said. “It’s pulling entities from destroyed timelines. Making copies. Using remnants.”
Red felt his SOUL stutter.
Copies were rare. Copies were broken. Forced to relive the worst of the worst in their timeline when they were alive. And most Sans’s know what their worst time was.
The Judgement Hall.
When they were the most dangerous and most determined.
Nightmare’s expression sharpened with interest. “Meaning?”
“Meaning,” Ink said carefully, “some of the corrupted AU’s strongest enforcers were once people.”
The room shifted. Tension coiled tight. Would they be able to fight copies of their long lost friends? Could they in good conscience kill copies of the ones they cared about?
Red exhaled slowly, forcing control back into his hands. He didn’t want to think about who he might see on the battlefield. They just needed to get to the nexus of the AU. From there Ink and Error could do their things. Let the immortals handle all the hard work.
“Then we neutralize the threat. We go in, provide fire power and suppressing force. Get Ink and Error towards the Nexus of the AU. There, they will shut down the infection. Either destroy it, lock it away, whatever they got to do.” Red said coldly. Solidifying the battle plan to everyone present. “And we save who we can along the way...” Not that he expected many to be saved.
Killer snorted. “That’s cute.”
Nightmare tilted his head, amused. “Hopeful. I like that in you.”
Red ignored them. He was only here to create a battle plan and help on the field. That’s all.
But somewhere deep inside, beneath armor forged from loss and pain, something stirred. A familiar ache. A warning Red couldn’t name. They were going into danger that Red’s years of experience told him not to go. But he had to. He had no choice.
As the meeting adjourned and portals began opening, Red stepped forward toward the largest one. The one leading straight into the corrupted AU’s territory.
The rest of the Council moved to keep the spread of the infection at bay in other AU’s.
Without Red’s knowledge, the Bad Sans’s watched him move, all with quiet, analyzing gazes. All except one that stayed squarely on the ground, covered by a hood.
_____
The corrupted AU didn’t feel wrong at first. It looked relatively normal. A regular AU where apparently monsters and humans were above ground. Either because there never was a war, or because this universe's brat got them out. Everything seemed normal.
That was the worst part.
The sky still held color, but it was washed and thin, like paint stretched too far across canvas. Buildings stood where they should. Gravity behaved. Even the air was clear and breathable when Red inhaled.
Then the ground forgot itself.
Reality buckled beneath Red’s shoes as black fissures tore open, vomiting entities that looked like half-finished ideas. Skeletal forms stitched with the void. Eyes glowing with borrowed character ideas. Some from the overall Undertale universe. Some not. Some from universes Red wasn’t even sure existed in the multiverse.
“Contact!” Cross shouted when he spotted the entities, his blade igniting into a burning red as he surged forward. Thanks to his hack abilities, he was able to delete the creatures as they attacked. Not giving them a chance to adapt and morph.
Red didn’t wait for orders.
Crimson magic flared along his arm as he leapt into the fray. Sharp bones carving a clean arc through the first creature. It didn’t scream. It unraveled, threads snapping into nothing. Like a raggedy doll that lost its stitching.
Too easy.
“Don’t let them touch you,” Nightmare called, tendrils lashing out to pin two entities mid-air. “Physical contact accelerates assimilation.” The black ooze from the creatures dripped, trying to meld with Nightmare’s negativity. He threw them away before the acrid substance could touch him.
The screams from others showed what happened when the black ooze of the void made contact with organic life.
Red did his best to duck and weave. To dodge and parry. It was afterall what 1 HP monsters do best. Even though Red had more than 1 HP now thanks to his LV, he still didn’t want to risk it.
The attacks came non-stop. The fissures in the ground spouted more and more entities. Some looked disturbingly familiar. Red tried not to think about it as he attacked.
Dodge. Attack. Pivot.
Red repeated over and over.
Dodge. Attack. Pivot.
Again.
Red was getting tired.
There were more screams.
Dodge. Attack. Pivot.
Nightmare called out to his boys. Dream, Ink, and Blue were calling out their own attacks.
Dodge. Attack. Pivot.
That attack was too close.
Another fissure opened up.
Nightmare called more attacks, directing his men individually.
Red was impressed with their coordination.
Dodge. Attack. Pivot.
More screams. Red wasn’t sure but he thinks he stepped in a puddle of blood.
Dodge. Attack. Pivot.
Red pivoted too slow.
Something lunged from his blind spot.
A blur of motion intercepted it.
A bone spear with pulsating purple magic burst from the ground, impaling the creature through the chest and detonating in a violent flash of dust and magic. They had evolved past stitched up raggedy dolls. They were now more void than monster.
Red landed hard. His skull was ringing from the explosion of magic. He placed a hand to his skull and shook off the dizziness. Red stood and turned towards the monster who saved his ass. “Thanks-”
He stopped. His sockets going wide. His crimson eyelights shrinking.
The Sans standing beside him was one of Nightmare’s men. The quiet one. The one that always hid his face under his hood.
Magic emanated from him in heavy waves. His eyelights, bright with killing intent. One red. One red and blue. His magic was dense, heavy, reeking of violence sharpened into precision. A familiar red scarf hung around his neck, tattered and dark, edges stained with something that wasn’t ink.
Dust.
Red didn’t know this Sans. Sure he had heard of Dust, but he had never seen Dust before. Never been this close to him before. He didn’t know Dust. But his SOUL cramped painfully like it did.
A ghost of a thin red line shimmered between the two. A simple string. Gone in a flash. As if glitching into existence for just a moment.
It wasn’t a thread from Dust’s scarf.
It wasn’t explosions shimmering off of splattered blood.
It was a thread.
Red didn’t have time to think about it as more entities swarmed. No time. Focus!
“On your left!” Dust shouted.
The voice hit Red like a blade between the ribs. His SOUL recoiled again, then began fluttering like a swarm of butterflies. The feeling made Red anxious.
That voice was low… soft... familiar... Worn down by guilt and rage and survival… but unmistakable.
Sans.
Red moved without thinking. He ducked as another bone spear erupted overhead, skewering an enemy mid-leap. He trusted Dust’s calls instinctually. Red’s crimson magic followed instantly, incinerating the remains before they could regenerate. He watched as the goopy black threads holding the entities together vanished to dust.
Red moved without thinking. Joining Dust in battle. Back-to-back. Perfect spacing. No overlap. No wasted motion.
Red blocked a strike meant for Dust without realizing he’d done it. Dust responded in kind, snapping a bone shield into place just as corruption splashed toward Red’s face.
They didn’t look at each other.
They didn’t need to.
It was like coming home to a house that had burned down and still knowing where everything used to be. Feeling the warmth of a forgotten hearth. Knowing where every creaky step was before stepping.
“Don’t stop moving,” Dust said. “They adapt if you hesitate.”
Red’s breath hitched.
That cadence. That exact inflection on hesitate.
He remembered that voice murmuring jokes during long patrols. The other accompanying him just to spend more time together. He remembered that voice when it talked about his brother, his friends, and his dreams of seeing the stars. He remembered it spoken tired in the morning, cuddled up together just to feel each other's warmth. He remembered it breathing his name in moments of passion. Red remembered it breaking when the timeline collapsed. Remembered it screaming his name as the machine activated and sent him back to his own universe without his consent.
“You-” Red started but didn’t get far.
A creature surged between them, shrieking in static.
Red reacted on instinct.
“Sans, down!”
The name slipped out like a reflex. He knew the other’s name was Dust. It’s just his SOUL said otherwise.
Dust froze. His expression shocked and locked on Red. For a moment, his eyelights were snow white again.
Red’s SOUL stuttered.
It was Sans. His Sans.
Dust ducked as instructed, following Red’s orders without a second thought.
The world didn’t care about their short reunion.
A corrupted blade tore through the space where Dust had been standing a second earlier, swinging wide and stabbing Red in his side, ripping fire and pain through his ribs. The corrupted entity followed up with a punch to Red’s skull. A wide, distorted smile on a face that seemed all too familiar. A lost copy of FellSwap. Stitched together with the goop of the void. The momentum from the punch forced the blade to carve even deeper into Red’s ribs.
“RED!”
The shout was raw. Panicked. Uncontrolled.
Dust moved in a flash, bones exploding outward in a brutal protective ring as he dragged Red back against him, one arm braced around Red’s chest to keep him upright.
The lost FellSwap copy exploded in a burst of magic and dust as well.
Only with the threat gone did Red finally look at Dust.
From this angle, Red recalled sitting in their lap, the strays of the morning light shining through the window, hitting their skull just right. Snow white eyelights looked down with such a fond look. Now they were mixed. One red eyelight. One a frantic pulsing red with a blue ring. There wasn’t a morning light shining on them, but rather flakes of dust falling around them like snow. Still, it looked…
Red couldn’t help but think Sans- no… Dust looked beautiful.
Like a strong warrior standing in the midst of a battlefield. Covered in the dust of their enemies. Dust looked incredible. Powerful. Strong. And oh so terrified.
Why did he have that look?
Dust stared back, expression shattered. “…No,” he breathed. Not only in denial, but in recognition as well.
Everything went quiet except the ringing in Red’s skull and the weight of an arm around him that felt exactly the same as the one he remembered.
The corrupted entities regrouped and Dust’s grip tightened protectively.
Nightmare’s voice cut through the chaos, sharp and furious. “Move! Both of you!”
But Red couldn’t. His mind was shutting down.
Because the dead don’t shout your name like that.
That and he was sure there was burning corruption sizzling through his bones.
Nightmare had been watching the battlefield the way he always did. Through critical analysis and most importantly, emotion. He let it guide him to show where he was needed most with his boys. The rest of the Council could die for all he cared.
Nightmare fought, but most importantly, he listened to the emotions.
Fear spiked. Rage burned hot. Pain flickered like static.
And then…
Attachment.
It slammed into Nightmare like one of Dream’s positive arrows to the chest. The sheer positivity of that attachment. Nightmare closed his eyes to detect where the feeling came from.
It came from the nearby clearing where only two monsters were.
It wasn’t Red’s emotions.
It was Dust’s.
Nightmare’s gaze snapped to the pair just as Dust jumped into a defensive stance, taking a grazing hit meant for Red without hesitation. Red’s despair flared in response. The feelings sharp, protective, and tangled with guilt.
But Dust’s emotions…
Dust’s emotions were a mess.
Grief layered over obsession. Guilt rotting into terror. Love… raw, unresolved, unburied.
Nightmare went very still. “Oh,” he murmured.
That explained everything.
The perfect synchronization. The panic at the name. The way Dust fought like the world would end if Red stopped breathing.
Nightmare’s smile turned strained. It was thoughtful. Calculating. Considering “So that’s who you were to our Dust,” he muttered quietly. “And that’s who you still are to him...”
Killer glanced back, catching Nightmare’s tone. “Uh. Boss?”
Nightmare didn’t look away. “Protect them.”
Killer blinked. “Uh, but what about the mission? I’m sure Dusty can handle some goopy shmuks. And if Red dies, who cares? One less Council member to deal with.”
“New priority in this mission. This battle just became personal,” Nightmare cut in, voice sharp with command. “We are not losing either of them...” He spoke more softly.
Killer cocked his head to the side confused. Why would Nightmare give a crap about a random Underfell Sans? Sure he didn’t want Dust, one of their own getting hurt. But who gave a crap about Red? Surely Dust wouldn’t care… Right?
Nightmare could feel Killer’s confusion, but he had no time to explain.
Because the truth was this: If Red died here, Dust would break. And Nightmare was not going to lose one of his own to a heartbreak so deep, he was sure Dust wouldn’t be able to come back from it.
Nightmare’s eyes flicked to Red, then back to Dust. Watching them intensely as his tendrils tightened. He watched as Killer called over Horror and Cross to help out Dust. All of Nightmare’s crew rallied around Dust and Red, protecting them both. As if Red was one of them.
Nightmare had a feeling that may not be too far off from the truth somewhere soon…
_____
The battle was long and arduous, but eventually they were able to push back the entities and get Ink and Error towards the Nexus. There was no destroying it, no matter how hard both Ink and Error tried. So the two gods worked together to trap the infected AU in its own sandboxed world.
Everyone, The Council and Bad Sans alike, were ordered to evacuate. They didn’t have much time to open too many portals. They had to leave the AU now or be stuck inside the locked AU forever.
While Red fought tooth and nail to stay conscious, the pain from the corruption knocked him out. Like fire burning in his mana lines. The pain was nearly unbearable. Maybe it was also a couple blows to the head, but either way, Red was helpless against the pull towards darkness. His vision blacked out and Red fell into the tender embrace of unconsciousness.
He wished it lasted longer.
~~~
Red woke to darkness that ached with residual pain.
That alone told him he wasn’t dead. The dead don’t feel pain. The darkness was a little concerning though. Had he been swallowed by the void of the sickness?
Red decided to focus on his other senses instead to get his bearings.
The air was cool, faintly metallic. The smell of antiseptic hit him first. There was a heaviness to the air threaded with the low hum of magic. It was thick, old, and protective. Nightmare’s domain. Red’s SOUL recognized it before his mind did.
He was in the infirmary in Nightmare’s castle. Had to be.
Red swallowed, his throat raw. Pain flared along his ribs in a dull, distant way, wrapped tight in healing magic that pulsed in slow, careful rhythms. The gauze slightly itched, but that was to be expected with medical supplies infused with healing magic. Someone had done a good job stabilizing him.
Besides the smell, the magic, and the pain, the next thing Red noticed were voices. Muffled at first, but the longer he focused, the clearer they became.
Someone was brave, or stupid enough, to argue with Nightmare.
Red couldn’t quite pinpoint the owner of the voice. His head still spinning.
He shifted and immediately froze.
There was weight beside him. Warm and solid. A skeletal hand was gripping his sleeve like a lifeline.
Red turned his head slowly. Waiting as the darkness slowly cleared from his vision. The blinding lights of the infirmary hit Red’s eyelights first. He squinted and blinked furiously to get the orbs of magic to focus.
Slowly, they did.
Dust sat slumped in the chair beside the bed Red laid in, his scarf a jumbled mess, his jacket stained darker at the cuffs with blood that wasn’t all his. His head was low, covered by the hood he wore. But Red could see a tension in Dust’s weary shoulders. His skull resting on his other fist, the one not clinging to Red. His skull dipped low like he was resting.
He was asleep.
Or pretending to be.
Dust’s grip tightened the moment Red moved. “You’re awake,” Dust said hoarsely, eyes snapping open.
Red’s breath caught.
Still that voice. Still him.
“I…” Red tried, then stopped. His throat closed around the rest of the words.
Dust leaned forward instantly, one hand hovering uselessly over Red’s chest, afraid to touch, like his hand alone would hurt Red. “Don’t,” Dust said. “Don’t talk yet. You were out for hours. Corruption backlash, internal bleeding, SOUL strain.” His words came too fast, practiced. “Nightmare stabilized you. I finished the rest.”
“You… stayed,” Red whispered anyway. His crimson eyelights not leaving Dust for a second.
Dust laughed sharp and broken. “Yeah. I did...”
Silence settled between them, thick with everything neither of them knew how to say.
Red studied him openly now. The changes were obvious. Violence carved into bone and pulsing magic. LV beyond comprehension. Red wasn’t even sure he would get an accurate number if he ‘Checked’ Dust’s stats. His SOUL trait even changed. Red distinctly remembered seeing purple along Dust’s attacks, not blue. Even Dust’s own eyes showed the drastic change. The red of Determination more prevalent than the blue of Patience. Loss, grief, and survival etched deep into Dust’s tired sockets. The deep blue and purple like bruises beneath the eyelights said it all. But beneath it all… the posture was the same. Guarded. Tired. Protective to a fault.
“I thought you were dead,” Red said finally. His voice a little shaky.
Dust’s hand tightened.
“I was,” he said quietly. “Just didn’t stay that way.” Dust didn’t like thinking about how his universe changed from Undertale to ‘Dusttale’. The shift in the world. The way everything fell apart. The way he fell apart.
Red’s SOUL ached. “I searched… For so long… I burned timelines trying to find you.”
“I know.” Dust didn’t look away. “I felt it. Every AU near mine that crumbled. Every tremor the machine detected. Seeing it was your magic signature causing it.”
Red’s eyelights stung. Tears threatening to fall. “Then why didn’t you-”
“Because I wasn’t someone you should find,” Dust cut in, voice shaking despite himself. “I wasn’t the same person you knew… Or the person you fell in love with…” Dust paused before taking another shaky breath. “Because I was killing to stay sane. Because I found people who could hold me together when I couldn’t.” He swallowed. “Because I didn’t trust myself not to drag you down with me.”
The words hurt.
But they weren’t cruel.
Red exhaled slowly, forcing the tightness in his chest to loosen. “You didn’t replace me.” He whispered. His voice a mix of resignation and relief.
Dust blinked.
“I can see that now,” Red continued softly. “You built something... Something that keeps you alive. Kept you alive when I couldn’t…”
Dust’s expression cracked. Not fully, but enough. “…I still hear you,” he admitted. “Sometimes. In the quiet. I hear you screaming my name… Watching you get pulled back to your AU where everyone and everything wanted you dead…”
Red reached out before he could stop himself.
Dust flinched at first then leaned into the touch when Red’s fingers brushed his wrist, warm and real.
“I’m here,” Red said. “Not to take anything from you or anything. Just… here to stop thinking you died alone.”
Dust bowed his head, forehead resting against the edge of the bed. His shoulders shook once. “I didn’t,” he whispered. “But I thought you had…”
Dust knew Red had tried to reach him when his AU shifted. Dust also knew Red would just become a monster he’d have to kill in order to beat the human. And Dust’s SOUL couldn’t handle killing another person he loved.
So he stayed away. Didn’t fire up his machine in the basement. Didn’t open his AU to Red. To anyone. Stayed in his hell of his own making, determined to die with the AU.
When Dust had been approached by Nightmare, the only being aside from Ink, Error, and Dream that could even enter his AU, he was nearly mad with LV. It had taken him a long time to even come down from his LV induced madness. By the time that happened, he had grown attached to Nightmare and the others. Found not only bonds and purpose. But love…
Dust knew in his SOUL he still loved Red. But he also knew he wasn’t good for Red. By the time he gained the courage to visit Red’s universe, he found that it was gone…
While Dust locked himself away in his own dying AU, thinking he was keeping Red safe, Red’s universe had been destroyed. Nothing left but the ashes of fallen buildings and the eerie silence of nothing. Not a soul was left. And by the looks of it, any monster dust would have been covered in layers of time and the elements. There wasn’t even anything left to mourn. No dust to scatter. No items to hold onto. No memories to cherish.
Dust moved on, thinking he had left Red to die alone…
It wasn’t until Dust saw Red in the war room that a flicker of hope bloomed. Dust didn’t want to react rashly. There were lots of copies of Underfell. That Red could have been any version of Red.
It wasn’t until Dust was fighting side by side with the Underfell Sans did he realize it was his Red. No one else would move the same. Fight with him so fluidly, so easily. Using moves that only the two of them would know.
And now, Red was back.
Both Dust and Red stayed silent in each other's presence for a long moment. No fixing anything between them, no rushed promises, just shared breathing and the fragile truth that neither of them was a ghost.
Eventually, Dust straightened and carefully loosened his grip. “You need rest. Nightmare will be insufferable if you tear something open.”
Red gave a weak smile. “He already is.”
That earned a quiet huff of laughter from Dust.
As Red drifted back toward sleep, he felt the bed dip slightly. Dust settled closer, just enough to stay. Just enough to guard. Just enough to prove he was still here.
_____
The infirmary door slid shut with a soft, final sound.
Dust didn’t move.
He stood there for a long moment, hand still hovering near the handle like he might need to rush back in if Red’s breathing changed. The glow in his eyelights pulsed faintly yet too fast.
“You gonna stand guard all night,” Killer drawled from his position leaning casually against the wall, “or do you wanna talk about the part where you almost lost your freaking mind out there?”
Dust didn’t answer. His gaze firmly on the ground.
Horror shifted closer instead, his massive frame blocking the corridor without trying. His presence was quiet, steady, yet also comforting. “He lives,” Horror rumbled. “You did well. He’ll be… okay. You showed great skill out there.” Horror would know. He was usually Dust’s mission partner. He had never seen Dust fight that hard before. Unless one of them were in real danger.
Dust’s jaw tightened. “That wasn’t skill.”
Cross crossed his arms, leaning back against the opposite wall. “No, it was instinct.”
That got Dust’s attention.
Cross’s gaze was sharp but not unkind. “You didn’t fight like someone protecting an asset. You fought like someone protecting a heart.”
Silence. Heavy and pregnant filled the small space outside the infirmary.
Then Dust exhaled, long and shaky. “I thought he was dead.”
Killer’s grin faded, just a little. “Yeah. We figured that out when you went full feral after seeing him get hit.”
Horror glanced toward the infirmary door. “He is fragile,” he said. “But not weak.”
“I know,” Dust snapped and then winced, shoulders slumping. “I know. He always was stubborn as hell. Fighting off people he shouldn’t. Living in a world way too dangerous but somehow got by…”
Killer tilted his head, his hollow sockets bore into Dust. “You still love him.”
It wasn’t a question.
Dust dragged a hand down his face, claws scraping lightly against bone. “I never stopped. I just…” His voice caught. “I learned how to live without thinking about him...”
Cross nodded slowly. “And now he’s back.” He trailed off, his statement open ended. Letting Dust come to the obvious conclusion.
Dust’s laugh was bitter. “Yeah. And I don’t get to want him. I don’t get to pull him into this mess. He deserves better than…” He gestured vaguely at himself. “This.”
Horror’s eyes narrowed. His one red eye igniting a little brighter. “You do not get to decide his worth or yours alone.”
Dust looked up, startled.
Horror continued, voice low but certain. “He chose… to stand. He chose to fight. He will choose… what he can bear.”
Killer pushed off the wall, tone softer now. “Look. None of us are clean. None of us are safe. We all got blood on our hands and LV in our system. But we didn’t build this family…” Killer cut off before repeating. “You didn’t build this family by pushing people away. You did it by letting us stay.”
Dust swallowed. “You guys are already acting like you’re all okay with this. Like you’re okay with him being in my life again.”
Killer gave a sharp grin. “That’s because we are, if you haven’t noticed.”
Both Horror and Cross nodded.
Dust’s shoulders shook with pent up emotions. “I don’t… I don’t know how you all… I don’t even know if he wants this! I don’t know…” Dust clawed at his skull.
Cross stepped forward placing a comforting hand on Dust’s shoulder. “No one is asking you to push for anything. Or for anyone. But pretending you don’t still feel something for him?” He shook his head. “That’s how people break.”
Dust glanced back at the infirmary door.
“…What if he wakes up and realizes I’m not who he loved anymore?”
Killer’s smile this time was small, real. “Then he’ll see who you are now. And decide.”
Horror rested a heavy hand on Dust’s shoulder. It was grounding, solid. “You are not alone in this.”
Dust closed his eyes, leaning just slightly into the touch. “…I’m scared,” he admitted.
Cross softened. “Good. That means you still care.”
They stood there together. They were killers, monsters with too much LV. But also protectors, survivors… all guarding a quiet room where hope slept, fragile but breathing.
And for the first time since the battlefield, Dust didn’t feel like he had to face that fragile hope alone.
_____
Red woke to voices this time. They were low, controlled, and deliberately kept away from the infirmary bed.
Red lay still for a moment, letting the ache in his ribs settle into something manageable. The corruption residue was gone now, replaced with clean, steady magic. Someone had redone the dressings while he slept.
Someone careful, based on the way the bandages didn’t rub his bones raw.
Red grunted as he pushed himself upright slowly. He needed to get out of the damn infirmary. He was going to go nuts if he lazed around anymore. His instincts telling him not to rest in a place he didn’t know. Not that he felt in danger in Nightmare’s castle or anything. Just old habits die hard.
With careful steps, Red made his way to the door. The door to the infirmary slid open before Red could reach it.
Dust froze mid-step, his hand still on the door handle. “You shouldn’t be up,” Dust said automatically. His body suddenly tense. Was Red trying to get away from him? Was he going to run? Dust wouldn’t blame him. Maybe he had scared Red off.
Red offered a small, tired smile. He spoke as if reading Dust’s mind. “I’m not running. Just… moving these old bones so I don’t go stir crazy.”
Dust let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. “So you’re not… uncomfortable here?” He asked hesitantly. Almost too scared to hear the answer.
Red huffed a small laugh. “Nah. Not uncomfortable. Just… checking my surroundings. You know how I get.” A small half smile curved against Red’s sharp teeth.
“Yeah. I know.” Dust let a smile smile creep on his skull. Red had always been an anxious monster. He had to be to survive in the world he lived in with only one measly HP. Granted, he knew Red had LV of his own. He could feel it in Red’s mana lines as he checked Red’s bandages. Not nearly as much as Dust, but enough to ensure he had more HP now than he did before.
Red rubbed the back of his neck a little nervously. “I’m not trying to impose or nothing. So if Nightmare wants me to leave-”
“No!” Dust blurted.
Red gave him a surprised look.
Dust cleared his voice and clenched fistfulls of his jacket in his hands. “Uh… No, Nightmare hasn’t said anything about you needing to leave.”
“Heh, yet.” Red commented with a little chuckle. He knew Nightmare wasn’t the most benevolent monster.
Dust’s fists tightened into his jacket. His gaze wandered off to the side, not sure how to ask Red to stay. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if he could ask Red to stay. It’s not like he’d spoken to Nightmare about it. Sure the rest of his mates were on board with Dust seeing if there were any feelings left for him in Red. But Nightmare was a different story.
“Besides,” Red spoke again, his voice quieter, reserved, even a bit sad. “Not trying to intrude on the life you’ve built here.”
Dust looked up at Red with a shocked and confused expression.
Red let out a small huff, and a soft, tender smile spread on his skull. “The whole multiverse knows you guys are a thing. Well… neutral places know you guys are a thing.”
“How…?” Dust’s voice faltered. The Bad Sanses were careful not to show their relationship to anyone in the Council in fear that it would be used against them. Only trusted individuals from dark universes and neutral universes knew about their poly relationship.
Red let out a gruff, amused snort. “I’m not exactly wanted around ‘positive’ universes. Not with my LV and all. So I usually stick to neutral places. And well… let’s just say a fluffy barista spilled the beans once on accident.” Red saw the look of shock and fear flash across Dust’s face. Red was quick to add, “But don’t worry! I didn’t tell no one! And I don’t plan to…”
Dust let go of a shaky breath and felt his shoulders relax. “Thanks…” He muttered.
Dust would need to talk to Nightmare about that. He was sure there wasn’t going to be any punishments for Ccino, but he’d at least need to be reminded to keep that information private. Dust supposed Red was just someone Ccino got too comfortable around. Which was kind of heartwarming to think. Ccino was one of the few people who supported Nightmare and the gang fully. If he let something slip to Red, that had to mean Red was okay with the gang… right?
Red let out a soft sigh and straightened up the best he could without agitating his wounds. “Don’t mention it. As long as you’re happy.”
Dust looked at Red curiously. Cautiously. He began fiddling with the sleeves of his jacket nervously. “You aren’t mad?”
Red glanced at Dust with a raised brow bone.
“You don’t feel… replaced?” Dust asked. Scared. Hopeful. Not really sure how he should feel.
Red shook his head. “Nah. Like I said before, I know I wasn’t replaced. You built something with the others. Something that you needed. Not because I wasn’t there, but because that’s what your SOUL wanted.”
Dust wanted to scream that his SOUL wanted Red too. But he was too scared to say anything.
“Can I meet them?” Red asked.
Dust flinched and looked up at Red with wide sockets.
Red shrugged and rubbed at the back of his neck awkwardly again. “Just… want to get a feel for them. Make sure they’re treating you right.”
Dust continued to stare, shocked. His SOUL pounded in his chest. He did his best to beat down that tiny glimmer of hope that wanted to be more.
Red flinched and shook his hands in a placating way. “Not that I have any say in your relationship or anything!”
“Yeah… uh. I think they’d like to meet you too.” Dust had to shake the butterflies out of his head and stomach. “They’re in the room right outside.”
Red nodded and stepped forward with Dust by his side. The common chamber beyond the infirmary was wide and dim, lit by chandeliers and scances. It gave off a warm ambient glow. Killer was perched on the back of a couch, Cross stood near a tactical display showing the current course of the infection in the AU’s, and Horror loomed near the far wall, arms folded.
Nightmare wasn’t there.
That helped.
The moment Red entered, the room went quiet. Not hostile, but alert.
Dust cleared his throat. “This is… everyone.”
Red inclined his head, respectful. “I’m Red. From the Council.” He wasn’t going to hide the fact that he was supposed to be their enemy. He didn’t do that sneaky crap.
Killer tilted his head, grin flickering back into place. “Yeah, we know. You fight like someone who’s lost too much. Way too much LV for a Council Cunt.”
Cross snorted. “Killer.”
“What? It’s a compliment.” Killer spoke in a mock offended tone.
Horror stepped forward first. His presence intimidating, but not aggressive. “You are the one… Dust protected,” he said simply.
Red met Horror’s gaze. Didn’t flinch. “And you’re the one who kept the battlefield clear so he could.”
Horror’s expression softened. “You observe well.”
Cross was next. He didn’t offer a hand, just a nod. “I don’t trust easily. But you didn’t hesitate to shield Dust in the field. That counts.”
Red nodded back. “I don’t expect trust. Just honesty.”
Killer hopped down from his seat on the back of the couch at last, hands in his pockets. “I’ll be honest then. If you hurt Dust, I’ll kill you.”
Dust stiffened. “Killer-”
Red raised a hand, halting Dust’s words. “That’s fair.” He spoke simply.
Killer blinked. “…Huh.” He wasn’t expecting that. He might actually like this guy.
Silence stretched across the room. No one daring to break it with a comment after that declaration.
Then Red turned to Dust. “I know what this is,” Red said quietly. “And what it isn’t.” He had already put two and two together. Red figured the rest of the poly was worried he’d try to take Dust away. But that wasn’t happening. He’d never remove Dust from his group of mates. Red’s chance to have Dust all by himself passed and died along with his AU. And he wasn’t dumb enough to think that just because he showed up that Dust was immediately going to want Red in his life again.
Dust’s eyelights dimmed. “You don’t need to-”
“I’m not here to take anything,” Red interrupted, voice steady but gentle. “You have a family. Mates that care about you. I respect that.”
Horror watched closely. Cross’s posture eased. Killer’s grin softened again.
Dust searched Red’s face for resentment, and didn’t find it. “…Thank you,” Dust said, his voice rough. At the very least, he knew Red was okay with his relationship with the gang.
Red exhaled. “I just wanted to meet the people who kept you alive.”
Killer scratched the back of his skull. “Well. That’s… new.”
Cross allowed a faint smile. “It’s a start.”
Horror inclined his head with a soft smile. “You’re cleared.”
Red smiled. Small, but real. But then blinked in confusion when he let the others' words sink in. What did they all mean by that?
Dust stood beside Red, not touching, but close enough to feel the warmth.
For now, that was enough.
_____
Healing took time. And Red was beyond surprised that he hadn’t been kicked out of Nightmare’s domain. In fact, it was clear he wasn’t allowed to leave just yet.
Time in Nightmare’s castle didn’t rush the healing like Red expected it to. He was given time, patience, accommodation.
The whole realm belonged to Nightmare, so it was hard not to feel him in every nook and cranny in the castle. With every breath he took.
Red learned the castle’s rhythms in small pieces. Waking to low, steady magic humming through the stone. Drifting in and out of sleep while voices passed in the halls. Some loud, some soft. Feeling the way the castle itself adjusted subtly to his presence. Never hostile. Never warm.
Just… accommodating.
Red wondered if that’s how Nightmare felt about him. And it was showing through the way the magic flowed in the castle.
At first, Dust stayed close only out of necessity.
He checked Red’s bindings every morning in the infirmary with clinical efficiency, never meeting his eyes for long. He kept conversations short. Professional. Distant.
Red told himself it was mercy.
Then the small things began.
Day Three
Red woke to a tray beside his bed. It was food that actually suited his tolerance levels, neatly labeled with rough handwriting. Red didn’t have much of an appetite, and even less of one while he healed. He couldn’t handle heavy things. But this meal looked… perfect. A light stew with jello on the side.
Killer leaned in the doorway, chewing on something that was definitely not light in any capacity, based on the grease that dribbled on his chin.
“Dust cooked,” he said casually. “Which means he cares. Don’t read too much into it.”
Red blinked. “He… cooked?”
Killer smirked. “Yeah. Don’t tell him I told you.”
Day Five
Red was allowed out of the infirmary. Supervised.
It was actually nice getting to see where everything was. Realizing the castle wasn’t that intimidating when he learned where to go. And Red had been absolutely going stir crazy in that infirmary.
Cross walked with him through the western hall, his pace carefully matched to Red’s limp.
“You don’t push yourself when you’re hurt,” Cross said after a while. His tone not leaving any hints to his feelings, but his eyes were calculating. “That’s rare.”
Red shrugged. “I’ve learned the cost of not listening to my body in the past.”
Cross nodded. After that, he didn’t hover, but he stayed close.
Day Seven
Horror sat across from Red in the common chamber, sharpening the blade of his axe.
Red actually enjoyed the time out of the infirmary. He no longer had to be supervised. So he casually sat with Horror, unperturbed by the sharpening. He simply read his book. Getting weapons prepared for battle was an old comfort for Red at this point.
They didn’t speak for a long time.
Then Horror slid a heavy cloak across the table. “The castle is cold… at night,” he said. “You heal… better when warm.”
Red stared at it, startled. “…Thank you.”
Horror grunted. But his eye softened on Red.
Day Ten
Dust sparred with Killer in the training hall while Red watched from the benches.
Every time Red flinched at a hard hit, Dust noticed.
Every time Dust overextended, Red opened his mouth, but then stopped himself.
Afterward, Dust brought Red water without being asked.
Their fingers brushed.
Dust pulled back too fast.
Red pretended not to notice.
Day Thirteen
Red woke from a nightmare to find Nightmare himself seated in the corner of the infirmary room, legs crossed, chin resting on his hand.
“You scream quietly,” Nightmare observed.
Red swallowed. Sweat beating down his skull “Sorry.” He spoke quietly. Still not used to the way Nightmare just observes.
Nightmare hummed. “You’re not disturbing anything.” He then stood, leaving without another word.
The next night, the nightmares were… less painful.
Day Fifteen
Killer flopped down beside Red on the couch, draping his legs over Red’s lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. It startled Red from reading his books.
There were a lot of books in the castle.
“You’re still here,” Killer said. Not tauntingly. Just a statement.
Red blinked. Unsure how he was supposed to respond. Was this when they told him to leave? He wasn’t fully healed up at this point. But it was nothing he couldn’t handle on his own. “I… am?” He stated like a question. Unsure.
Killer grinned. “Yep. Means you’re part of the scenery now.”
Red laughed softly. Not really sure what that meant, but it felt… welcoming. And that feeling of being welcomed, of being a part of the castle… Red didn’t realize how much that mattered. He didn’t understand why the thought made him smile.
Day Eighteen
Dust stayed up late repairing Red’s armor. He only wore it when he went into battle for The Council. They didn’t like having him around, but they loved being able to send him out on missions.
Red fought the idea of wearing armor at all until he came back home to the Omega Timeline within an inch of his life. Edge had really laid into him the importance of good quality armor. Red may not have needed it in their universe, but it was a whole different battlefield out in the multiverse.
Red didn’t want to accept the armor. Just another debt he’d have to pay to The Council. He was already working his butt off in battles so Edge could continue living in the Omega Timeline. If the Council had their way, they would have sent Edge to the battlefield too. But Red violently refused. He wasn’t going to lose his baby brother. The only person he was able to save from his crumbling universe. The only one who even mattered to Red other than Dust.
It was worth it though. Edge was happy with a refugee Papyrus. As long as Edge was happy, Red was happy.
Red sat nearby, pretending not to watch the careful way Dust handled his armor. Cleaning old scorch marks, reinforcing weak points, polishing edges.
“You don’t have to do that,” Red said quietly.
Dust didn’t look up. “I want to.” He stated simply.
The silence after that was warm.
Day Twenty-One
Red woke to find his limp gone. The pain was manageable. His SOUL steady.
Red stood in the training hall, rolling his shoulders, testing movement. He had spent the day testing his limits, seeing how far he’d healed. And it was pretty much fully at this point.
Dust watched from the doorway, arms crossed. His face a mixture of conflicting emotions. Too many for Red to read.
“You’re healed,” Dust said quietly. Almost sad.
Red nodded. “Yeah.” He didn’t know what else to say to that. He couldn’t even really look at Dust. He knew what this meant.
A long pregnant pause. Neither of them speaking up.
“Well,” Red added, forcing a smile. He realized he was probably making this awkward for Dust. Dust was too kind to give him the boot, but Red could take a hint. “I should probably head back to the Council soon.”
Dust’s eyelights flared and his hand flexed with a flash of magic. Just for a moment. “Oh,” he said softly. His voice sounded hollow. His SOUL was screaming. But Dust bit back every emotion. Every tremble. He showed nothing.
From the shadows above, Nightmare observed, amused and thoughtful.
They weren’t going to get it on their own, Nightmare concluded. Hope had taken root. Neither of them realized yet how deep.
_____
Red packed quietly.
Nightmare’s castle and magic didn’t object. It never did. The walls shifted just enough to give him space, a silent acknowledgment that this was his choice to make.
His armor lay folded on the bed, freshly repaired. His clothes mended and removed of any blood stains. His daggers sharpened and polished. Everything was ready. Red slowly put everything back on, strapping it all into place.
He would go back to his old life again… Living day by day for whatever battle The Council sent him on.
Red took one last look around the infirmary. It had become his room basically. Stacks of books next to the bed. The extra blanket Horror had given him, neatly folded.
He didn’t think he was allowed to take it. All he could take with him were memories of this place and everyone in it.
A heavy sigh escaped Red. His body felt like lead even though he was healed. His SOUL screamed at him to stay. But he knew he had already overstayed his welcome. Any longer and he’d just be a burden.
Red slowly walked out of the infirmary, turning the lights off one last time on his way.
When Red stepped into the corridor, the castle felt… still. Too still.
Killer was leaning against a pillar near the exit portal, twirling a knife between his fingers. He stopped when he saw Red fully geared. “Oh,” he said. “So it’s like that.” He couldn’t hold the bitterness away from his voice.
Red hesitated. “I don’t want to overstay.” He spoke quietly. Not sure why he felt guilty all of the sudden.
Killer scoffed. “You didn’t.” Then, quieter: “Just got used to being here…” Killer tried not to think about all the jokes he shared with Red. The teasing Red took like a champ and shot back with just as sharp a tongue.
Cross shuffled in his stance a bit, his arms crossing over his chest in an attempt to look casual, or intimidating. Red wasn’t sure. “You stabilized our formation,” Cross said, thinking back to all the battle strategies he and Red went over. “You improved our coordination and created contingency plans for us out in the field.” He couldn’t help but think about all the ways Red had helped them in training. Pointing things out to them that neither of them had noticed. Only obvious when a pair of fresh eyes looked at things. Cross tried not to sound bitter or hurt.
“You also bring calm,” Horror added, quieter. “That matters.” Horror thought to all the times Red had shared the living room with him. Telling Horror about the books he was reading. Horror had admitted reading gave him a headache, and without prompt, Red began to read the books out loud to Horror. Pausing to answer any of the big guy’s questions with nothing but patience and kindness.
Red swallowed.
Killer pushed himself up from the pillar he had been leaning against, suddenly more serious. “Look. You don’t hover. You don’t pry. You don’t treat us like weapons.” A grin tugged at his mouth. “Which is annoying. But… yeah. We like you.”
Cross nodded once. “You earned space here. If you want it.”
Red stared at them, caught off guard by the sheer normalcy of it. “I didn’t think…” He hesitated. “I didn’t think I was staying long enough to matter.”
Killer snorted. “Buddy, Nightmare adjusted the castle’s layout for you. You mattered.”
As if summoned, a ripple of shadow passed overhead. Nightmare lounged above them, perched like a cat on a beam. “You are efficient,” Nightmare said pleasantly. “Emotionally inconvenient. But… beneficial.”
Red exhaled a shaky laugh. “High praise.”
Nightmare smiled. “You may stay. Or go. But do not mistake tolerance for indifference.”
That was when Red finally said it. “I didn’t want to get in the way,” he admitted quietly. “Especially not with Dust.”
The room stilled.
Cross’s eyes softened. Killer looked away. Horror turned slightly, giving privacy without leaving.
Behind Red, a familiar presence faltered.
“…You thought you were in the way?”
Red turned.
Dust stood just inside the doorway to the chamber, hands clenched at his sides, eyelights pulsing faintly like dying embers. His SOUL was screaming louder than it had ever screamed before. His magic cracked along his mana lines. Stirred by the typhoon of emotions raging inside Dust.
“You have a family,” Red said gently. “I saw that. I didn’t want to be a complication. Or a memory you felt responsible for.”
Dust’s breath hitched. “I never felt responsible for you,” he said hoarsely. “I felt…” He stopped, swallowed hard. “I felt like if I let myself want you, I’d be asking for too much! For things I didn’t deserve!”
Red’s chest tightened. His SOUL cramped painfully with the embers of hope.
Dust took a step closer. Then another. Slow. Careful. Like approaching something fragile. “I didn’t stop loving you,” Dust said. “I just convinced myself it was safer if I didn’t reach for you.”
Red whispered, “Dust…”
“I watched you heal,” Dust continued, voice trembling now. “Watched you laugh with Killer. Spar with Cross. Sit quietly with Horror like you belonged.” His eyelights flickered. “And every day I thought - he’s already home. He just doesn’t know it.”
Red’s eyes burned. His eyelights trembled as tears began to build in his sockets unbidden.
“You were never just passing through,” Dust said. “You… reminded me who I was before everything broke. But even more than that you accepted me for who I am now. You didn’t just accept me, you accepted all of us.”
Silence wrapped around them, thick and reverent.
Red stepped forward. “I stayed by your side while I healed because I thought you didn’t want me… but at least I’d have a few selfish moments to cherish and remember you by…”
Dust laughed softly, broken and relieved all at once. “I stayed by your side while you healed because I was terrified you’d leave.”
Red reached out. Dust didn’t pull away.
“I love you,” Dust said at last. “I don’t need answers right now. I just…” His voice cracked. “Please don’t go like I don’t matter.”
Red rested his forehead against Dust’s. His hands holding Dust’s firmly. His thumb rubbed soothingly over Dust’s knuckles. His SOUL finally eased with peace.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Red said. “If you’ll have me.”
Behind them, Killer grinned. Cross nodded. Horror turned back fully, satisfied.
Above, Nightmare smiled. Not cruel. Not kind. But satisfied.
Hope, it seemed, had decided to stay.
_____
Time passed. Not in battles or crises that Red had come to expect with The Council, but in soft, quiet mornings.
Red learned the castle’s rhythms the way one learns a heartbeat. He learned which corridors warmed at sunrise, which halls Nightmare preferred to leave dark. He learned that Killer talked more when nervous, that Cross kept watch even when resting, that Horror cooked when anxious and expected everyone to eat.
Most of all, Red learned how to exist with them.
At first, he hovered. Careful with space, careful with touch. He sat at the edge of couches, kept his armor close, slept lightly. Not that he expected the gang to attack him. Just… old habits die hard.
Having his own room slowly helped with that.
No one rushed him.
Dust was the worst about it.
He never pushed. Never assumed. He would ask, softly, before sitting too close, before brushing Red’s shoulder, before letting Red rest against him after long days.
Red didn’t realize that was love until much later.
Some nights, Red joined Cross in the training hall, sparring until sweat and magic burned away the static in his SOUL. Cross corrected his stance without judgment, nodded when Red adapted.
“You listen and adapt,” Cross praised. “You’re quite the opponent.”
Red would do his best not to let the praise get to his head and forced any blushes away from his skull.
Other nights, Killer dragged Red into card games that devolved into laughter and half-cheated victories. Red lost badly at first.
“Don’t worry,” Killer said, slinging an arm around his shoulders. “You’ll learn. Or we’ll teach you how to cheat better.”
Red barked out a laugh. A real genuine laugh.
Horror shared silence.
He’d sit across from Red in the common room, both of them working on their own projects in peace. If Red wasn’t reading to him that is. When Red finally asked why Horror was okay spending time with him like that, Horror answered simply: “You ground me...”
Red didn’t argue. He simply smiled and hid his soft crimson blush behind his book.
Dust and Red re-learned each other slowly.
They cooked together. Not touching at first, then bumping shoulders, then leaning without comment. Dust laughed more when Red was around. Red slept better when Dust stayed the nights, simply existing in the same bed.
Sometimes Red woke with Dust’s arm draped over him, careful but certain.
Sometimes Dust woke first and stayed still, afraid to break the moment. Only to be pulled into a tight hold and snuggled against with Red’s warm, comforting presence at his back.
Neither rushed to name it.
Nightmare watched it all with idle fascination.
He would sometimes join Red if he was alone in the common room and read next to him with his own book. The moments were quiet. A little tense, but mostly peaceful.
“You have changed the emotional balance in the castle,” he observed one evening, lounging next to Red with his own thick heavy book in his lap.
Red stiffened instinctively. “Is that… bad?”
Nightmare considered. “No. Merely inconvenient.” A pause. Then a soft, endearing smile. “I find I do not dislike it.”
That was as close to approval as Red expected.
Weeks turned into something like peace.
One evening, Red realized he’d left his armor untouched for days.
Another night, he caught himself laughing, unguarded, full, and didn’t immediately brace for an attack. The claws of his past life and trauma were slipping away like smoke through his fingers. Somehow a group of murderers with the most LV in the multiverse eased the anxiety buried deep in Red’s SOUL better than the Omega Timeline ever could.
Even missions with the Bad Sanses were more calm than the ones he was placed on from The Council.
The final shift came quietly.
Red was curled on the couch, half-asleep, when Dust settled beside him, curled up into his chest and slipped under Red’s arm like he belonged. Killer claimed Red’s legs without asking, further trapping Red on the couch. Cross sat in front of everyone, on the floor, gently resting his head against Red’s arm. Horror sat carefully at the end of the couch, placing Red’s skull in his lap. His large clawed hand stroking pleasantly across Red’s head.
Red didn’t tense.
He didn’t move away.
He just breathed.
And for the first time since the multiverse had taught him how to burn, Red understood something simple and terrifying: He wasn’t surviving anymore.
He was home.
_____
The common room was quiet in the way it only ever was when no one felt like leaving. A warmth settled with everyone. The TV playing quietly. The soft crackles of the fireplace warming the room. A calmness that just felt… right.
Low light from the castle’s chandeliers glowed and curled along the walls. Killer was sprawled across one couch upside down, reading Reddit stories on his phone. Cross sat nearby in another chair, drawing in one of his sketch books settled on his lap. Horror occupied his usual corner chair and knitted a new blanket for Red. But Red didn’t have to know that yet. Nightmare lounged half-reclined on the arm of an old and loved chair. Tea on the table next to him and a book on his lap.
Red hadn’t noticed when Dust sat down beside him on the ground in front of the TV. But he noticed when Dust didn’t move away.
Their knees brushed. No one flinched away this time. They simply stayed that way.
Red’s SOUL flickered in his chest with butterflies. Warm and restless. He shifted slightly, his hands rested at his sides, and Dust’s hand followed, settling on top od Red’s hand with deliberate stillness. Not squeezing, and not pulling away either.
Conversation drifted around them. Killer rambled about something stupid, Cross corrected him, Horror offered a single-word rebuttal. But Red heard very little of it.
Dust leaned closer, voice low. “You okay?”
Red nodded. “Yeah. Just… tired.” He was anything but tired. He was wired and aware. Nervous, yet excited.
Dust hummed, thumb brushing once across Red’s knuckles. Then his hand lifted and rested against Red’s thigh.
That was enough.
Red turned, really looked at Dust. The glow in Dust’s eyelights was soft tonight, not flaring, not restrained. Just there. Watching.
“You’ve been staring,” Red murmured. Entranced by the soft flicker of magic in Dust’s eyelights.
Dust swallowed. A soft violent blush blooming on his skull “You noticed.”
Killer snorted from the couch. “Oh my god, just kiss already.”
Red froze.
Dust stiffened.
Cross sighed. “Killer.” He chided.
“What? I’m not wrong.”
Horror shifted, shaking his head in amusement.
Nightmare smiled without taking his eyes off his book.
Dust exhaled, shaky but determined. “Red… I don’t want to keep pretending I don’t want you. And I don’t want to push.” He paused, then added quietly, “Tell me if this isn’t okay.”
Red didn’t answer with words.
He leaned in.
The kiss was slow. Intentional. Like both of them were testing whether the ground would hold. Dust’s hand slid up to Red’s waist, steady and warm. Red’s fingers curled around the back of Dust’s skull. Leading him into the kiss to make it deeper. Make it more.
Magic stirred in the room. Nothing violent. Just heat and presence and want.
Killer let out an appreciative noise. “There it is.”
Cross turned away, embarrassed but smiling despite himself.
Horror remained where he was, unflinching, approving with a single nod before going back to his knitting.
Nightmare watched with open interest, eyes gleaming. “How wonderfully… honest.”
The kiss deepened. Not frantic, but intense. Their lips moved together as the kiss continued. One leaning back in for more, then the other would follow. One kiss turned to two, which turned to three, which all bled together as their lips met again and again, not letting the kiss end. Both of them pouring years of yearning and lost time into the kisses. The spark that danced across their magic when their tongues met left Red breathless and Dust seeing stars. They leaned into each other more, the kiss becoming deeper. More urgent. Soft noises of appreciation and want filtered through the kisses. It wasn’t until the need for air outweigh the desire for more did the two finally part.
Dust pressed his forehead to Red’s afterward, breath uneven. “…You good?” Dust asked again, softer now.
Red smiled, dazed and certain. “Very.”
Dust laughed quietly, relief pouring through him, and rested his hand openly on Red’s hand this time. No hesitation. Their fingers slotted together, entwining in their hold.
No one objected.
No one needed to.
The room returned to its low murmur, the world continuing around them as Red leaned into Dust’s side, SOUL racing, warmth spreading through him.
In plain sight.
Accepted.
Wanted.
And this time, no one was going anywhere.