#implied cream

Nightmare looked up and gave him a look over.

Every year, the twins switched who decided their costumes for the year. This year it was Dream’s pick, and he apparently decided to indulge in some classic nostalgia feeling because he had picked the theme of angels and demons. And no, Nightmare wasn’t the demon of the pair this year, unlike all those years ago when they were ten and picked the theme for the first time. He was the angel this time, with some white clothes and a LED halo glued to a headband, complete with some cardboard wings that Dream had gotten Ink to make for them.

In matching spirit, Dream’s costume was a wash of red clothes, a pair of cardboard wings shaped to resemble demon wings instead of angel wings, and some cartoon-looking horns glued to a headband. A tail dangled behind him, connected to the belt, and it was finished with a pair of red shiny boots. All in all, it was a good costume, and Dream had put far more effort into creating the accessories than Nightmare did for his own.

Read: he just had the base clothes and accessories and nothing else. Yes, yes, he was boring. But it wasn’t his fault, not exactly. It wasn’t his fault Dream picked a boring theme this year.

“I don’t want to,” he lied, stubbornly drawing it out.

“Too bad. If you wait any longer, I’ll confiscate your book.”

“Then I’ll just read on my phone.”

“Then I’ll take your phone or shut off the Wi-Fi.” Dream walked away, giving him one last glare. “Get dressed.”

Nightmare groaned, but obeyed, dragging out the motions to show his reluctance. “It’s embarrassing.”

“It’s honestly not, though, and I hate that you think it is.” Dream’s tone softened and he smiled. “It’s tradition, Nighty. We’re not changing it.”

“Couldn’t you have picked a different one then? This one is childish. And unoriginal.”

“And that’s exactly why I chose it. It’ll be your turn to pick next year, anyway.”

~oOo~

Blue arrived at the house shortly before they left. Dream gave him a hug and they immediately started talking about random things as they waited for a certain brother of his to get annoyed and leave them alone. It wouldn’t do to hear him overhear their plan, as that would just make it so that the plan never worked in the first place.

And Dream needed it to work.

Simply because it’d be funny. And it would be. God, would it be. He’ll need to be quick, and send the video to the group chat before Nightmare realized what happened and started chasing him to get him to delete it. His brother was stronger than him on most days, so the video would probably get deleted off of his phone, but if he sent it to the group chat, the others would’ve already saved it and his brother couldn’t track down all of them.

“And now that Nightmare is officially out of hearing range, care to run it by me again?” Blue asked, even though he already knew most of the plan.

“Of course.” Dream smiled. “You don’t need to do much. I’ll text you when we’re on our way back to let you know to get things into place. The most you need to do is wait for my signal and tend to the trick-or-treaters.”

Blue was pretty much a necessity to the plan. His dear friend usually came over to help hand out candy anyway, as this was one of the neighborhoods that got lots of kids and Blue liked seeing the many, many costumes; his own house was in a rather quiet part of the city, so he didn’t get much of an opportunity on Halloween to see them. And because the twins were going to see a movie with some friends, he would both be able to hand out candy and prepare for the prank to take place.

He even had the perfect supplies for it.

“I can do that.” Blue nodded and then held up his bag. “Where am I going to put it again?”

“If you can get it above our bedroom door and make it so that once Nightmare enters the room, it’ll fall on him, then that’ll be perfect.” Nightmare honked the horn of his car and Dream rolled his eyes. “I better go. Wouldn’t want him to leave me here and miss the movie.”

“Have fun!”

“I will!”

Dream quickly made his way to the car, and Nightmare sighed. “Finally,” he said, turning on some music and backing out of the driveway. “What were you two doing? Gossiping?”

“Something like that.”

~oOo~

The rest of the gang had a bit of a laugh at their costume until Nightmare threatened to show Dream some particular photos from a party the other day and everyone waved him off and finally entered the theater. They didn’t hang out with his brother often and always seemed to want to keep up the appearance of being ‘unreachable bad boys who were mysterious and bad and not dorks’. Of course, because they were twins, Dream already knew the truth, but he liked playing with his boys and keeping the illusion up.

Nightmare stood with Killer and Cross, part of the designated snack team as they waited for the employee to get them their food.

The bunny had been eyeing Dream from the minute they walked in, and was obviously disappointed to see him enter the cinema without getting a snack himself. And when Dream realized this, he would most likely spend a good hour or so playing along and flirting and drawing the poor bunny in. The whole thing about the game was that they wouldn’t meet again, which would be fine with Dream but would probably crush that bunny’s spirit a bit when he realized he’s been played with.

“That’s a stupid bet, Killer,” Cross said, drawing Nightmare’s attention. He was dressed as Mario this Halloween, complete with a fake mustache. It was odd to see him frown in that costume; just didn’t suit the look.

“No, it’s not,” Killer argued. He was dressed as some kind of killer doctor, complete with blood stains and everything. The only thing he didn’t have was a knife. He already got arrested last year because of an incident and now he was cautious about taking a knife with him. Nightmare suspected he still carried one in his boots, but he would have to wait to see if it was true. “It’s a really good bet. You’re just scared you won’t win.”

“I actually know I’d win. It’s still a stupid bet.”

“What bet?” Nightmare butted in, startling the two.

Killer turned and wagged a finger in front of his face. “You can’t join the bet.”

Nightmare frowned, shoving the finger away. “Why not?”

Before Killer could be any vaguer about it, Cross rolled his eyes and explained. “Killer wants to bet on whether or not Dream will, and I quote ‘shit his pants’ because of the movie. He thinks he’ll be scared. I say he won’t be. Killer says I’m being too biased because of my—” He cut himself off, cheeks going red. Killer smirked and Nightmare raised an eyebrow but decided to ignore whatever was implied there.

(He’ll torture Cross about it later. Dream can date whoever he wants to, he doesn’t really care, but he does like making them sweat a little.)

“And I can’t join because I’m his brother and, therefore, what I say will be correct.” Nightmare nodded, thinking the words over and struggling not to laugh at the irony of it all. It’s true, he did already know the answer, and it pained him that he couldn’t rub it in now but he knew that it would be even better to see Killer’s face when Dream doesn’t get scared.

Spoiler warning: whenever there’s a jump scare or someone dies in a horror movie, Dream doesn’t scream, not even close. Dream laughs. He laughs like it’s the best joke he’s ever heard.

Nightmare was too used to it now to be surprised by it. But God, was it amusing to see people’s reaction when they realized ‘innocent’ Dream was the one leaving the haunted house unscathed while so many cried or screamed and that he laughed in the face of those scares. It was like watching someone’s world come crashing down around them, something tainting their view of the person in front of them in an irreparable way.

Killer nodded. “Exactly.”

“I see.” Nightmare smiled, pulling Cross closer and patting his chest. “Cross, you should take the bet.”

Cross blinked. “Why?”

“It’s just a harmless bet. Sure, you’ll lose a couple of bucks, but so what?” The employee placed their food down and Nightmare strode forward to grab it, listening to Killer exclaim about how ‘Night just confirmed I’m going to win, so suck it’. He smirked and shoved some of the food into his friend’s hands and followed them as they entered the cinema.

They found the rest of their friends right in time, the lights starting to dim around them. Usually, Nightmare would sit with Dream, but he willingly gave it up to Cross as he wanted to have a first look at Killer’s face when he hears Dream laugh and realize he was the one losing his own bet. As the movie progressed, he watched out of the corner of his eye as Killer kept glancing at Dream and smirking, and then the first jump scare and death hit. A lot of the theater jumped, and Killer even barely muffled a gasp of surprise.

Dream, of course, just snorted.

Nightmare smirked, looking over. Killer was looking at Dream with wide eyes, mouth hanging open. He had the urge to just shove some popcorn into his mouth and see what would happen, but he didn’t. He did, however, lean over, making his voice as light as he could like he was just discussing the weather for the day.

“Oh, Killer,” he whispered, intentionally keeping his voice low enough for only Killer to hear. “I forgot to mention that Dream loves horror movies. They’re his favorite movies in the world. Horror as a genre is something he adores too. He’s always making up ghost stories to tell at night. One time, we were at a summer camp, and there was this kid that kept bullying me. I asked Dream for a favor and told him to tell him a scary story. Later that night, big bad bully wets the bed and spends the rest of the summer far, far away from me.”

“And he’s always reading horror books, listening to true crime podcasts as he gardens, and he even said that to help him practice his archery, he imagines the targets as zombies.” Nightmare let himself laugh and leaned back a bit, watching Killer’s cheeks start to turn pink. “Movies specifically, though, he finds the most joy in. I don’t personally have a big attachment to the genre, but it makes Dream happy, and I do like seeing the numerous ways things are done. October is just a win-win for both of us since we get to indulge in all of this and have everyone else actually listen in earnest.”

Nightmare snorted, gesturing forward. “Also, he is literally the Devil for Halloween this year. How did you look at that and think, ‘this is definitely someone who gets scared easily’?”

Killer grumbled slumping down in his chair. He shoved some popcorn into his mouth and mumbled through it, Nightmare just barely able to understand. “I thought it was supposed to be ironic…”

~oOo~

“Hey.”

Dream turned as he left the washroom, eyes landing on the guy that spoke, a bunny monster—an employee of the theater, if the shirt was anything to go by—leaning against the counter, eyes half-lidded and a sucker in his mouth. His fur was a light pink colour and he had that magnetic look to him that Dream had seen multiple times before when he decided to indulge in some fun and flirted with a boy from school or one of the cashiers from 7-Eleven.

And hey, today was Halloween. He was wearing a Devil costume. This was just him asking for some fun, wasn’t it?

Smiling to himself, he walked to the bunny, leaning against the counter in the same way. He matched his gaze, smoothing his smile into a sweet one that hooked all of the boys he talked to. “Hey.”

Hook, line, and sinker. There we go.

The bunny leaned closer, dropping his head into his hand, slowly taking the sucker out of his mouth. “How was the movie?”

“It was awesome.” Dream said, and meaning it too. It would definitely go on the list of movies to watch on Halloween night. “I recommend it, for sure.”

“You don’t really seem like the kind of person to like horror.” The bunny blinked, and it seemed that the words weren’t supposed to be spoken out loud. “Uh, no offense.”

Dream inhaled, barely keeping his eye from twitching. Practice was the only thing that kept his smile from slipping.

He actually took much offense to that statement. People always assumed he was some angel that could do no harm, and they took that literally, too. Most of the jocks at school didn’t swear around him, were hesitant to make ‘inappropriate’ jokes around him, and they always laughed whenever he tried to make one, and this particular laugh was soft and disbelieving, and they just brushed it over with the words ‘I don’t think you really understand what you just said’. It was infuriating, and he would kill for the day someone finally looked at him and asked him about his favorite movies and didn’t laugh when he gave them a list of horror movies, instead just smiled back at him and asked him more about them and let him ramble—

And he was getting ahead of himself. It was frustrating, yes, but he usually raved about it to himself when he was falling asleep, and this was far from that time. Right now, he was flirting with a boy and would like to continue.

“None taken,” he lied, waving his hand around. “I get that a lot.”

The bunny hummed, looking more guilty. “Really?”

“Mhmm.”

“Well then,” he said, pushing himself up and glancing around the lobby as if to make sure no one was around. He walked around the counter and leaned across. “I think I should make it up to you anyway. Don’t let anyone know, but I give free popcorn to my friends after a movie’s done. Would that be a sufficient apology?”

Dream’s smile turned more genuine, mentally pumping his fist in the air as he counted this as a win. “I think it might. As long as you can put extra butter on it?”

“Of course.”

The bunny turned and started getting the popcorn together. Dream leaned on the counter and watched. He would never turn down getting free stuff, even if sometimes it made him angry with how often someone wanted to buy him something or give him something purely because of how he looked. It just left him with too many things, but he did like indulging in people and letting them give him things that he wanted.

And he did want some more popcorn.

His phone started ringing.

Immediately, his smile faded. He glanced at the bunny, just to make sure his back was still turned, and then turned around himself, making sure he had a good view of the street as he answered the call and send the person on the other end, who was currently leaning against his car that was conveniently parked right outside the theater, a raised eyebrow through the glass doors.

“If you want something, you know you can just come back inside to talk to me. Right?”

Nightmare snorted, and Dream watched as his tentacles flicked. “I don’t want to hear you flirt with an innocent guy.”

“Innocent?” Dream mirrored the snort. “Why would he be innocent?”

“Really? Oh, let me guess. Maybe it’s because you like to flirt so much that you never actually get into a committed relationship and this makes you a classic heartbreaker in every single way because you let down all the boys you maybe like?”

Dream opened his mouth to protest, but nothing came out.

Slowly, he glared at Nightmare, shoving aside how true all of that was. “It’s Halloween.”

“So?”

“Stop attacking me with things I would rather not think about. What do you want?”

“For you to hurry up.”

“That’s all?” Dream asked, dumbfounded, and he groaned in annoyance. “Nightmare, I swear, if I didn’t take pride in being a goody two shoes, I would be flipping you off so hard right now.” In fact, he was imagining doing so right now and might’ve actually done so had a mother and her two children not walked across the sidewalk outside.

“I have no shame.” And Nightmare flipped him off as soon as the mother went by, holding it there as he spoke. “And goody two shoes my ass. I know you sneak Mom’s wine to your parties with your friends.”

Dream rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I’ll be out soon.”

“Make it five minutes. Not a minute more, or I’m gonna just leave you here and let you walk home.” Before he could respond, Nightmare hung up and then walked around the car to get in the driver’s seat.

Dream grumbled to himself and turned, jumping slightly when he realized that the bunny was standing at the counter with the popcorn in hand, looking anywhere but at him. He sent him an apologetic smile and took the popcorn, making a hasty retreat without saying goodbye. Outside, he was surprised to see the beginning of snow making its way down from the sky. Just light enough to be missed.

When they were officially on the road and making their way home, Dream shoved a handful of his popcorn into his mouth and texted Blue to let him know they were coming. And he spent the rest of the car ride imagining what it would be like when they arrived, a smile on his face.

~oOo~

They pull into the driveway, and the first thing Nightmare noticed was that the lights were off. Not that unusual, no, especially considering it was nearing 10 pm and trick-or-treating was wrapping up for most kids.

Still…Blue was here, and Dream’s friend usually stayed up to make sure they got home whenever they left him in charge. There would’ve been some kind of light on.

Killing the engine, Nightmare got out of the car, sending Dream a glare when he stayed put, on the phone with someone. His brother only smiled back at him and waved him forward, laughing at something that was said. Rolling his eyes, he left his brother alone in the car, walking forward to the front door.

He stopped.

The front door was open, just a crack. Maybe Blue forgot to close it after he gave out the last of the candy? But surely he would’ve noticed the chill wind sweeping through the house. He would’ve clued in as the temperature lowered and he would’ve closed it. It definitely didn’t help the picture that the hallway light was off, pure darkness in the gap, hiding whatever was going on inside.

Something was wrong.

His tentacles curled behind him and he crept forward slowly.

“Nightmare?”

Dream. Must’ve finished his phone call.

“Front door’s open,” he said, more to himself than anything. He pushed the door open, hearing it creak as he glanced around. Nothing. He turned on the light to make sure. Still nothing. “Stay behind me.”

Slowly, carefully, Nightmare made his way around the first floor, turning on lights and checking all the rooms. Nothing seemed to be amiss, but still. Maybe it was all those horror movies finally catching up to him, but something just told him something here was wrong. That something happened or would happen, or whatever. It curled up in his chest and didn’t let go. He peered through the blinds of the back door and surveyed the empty backyard.

Nothing.

And then something crashed from behind him, making him whirl around. He blinked as he didn’t see his brother behind him—stupid idiot, never listens to me—and he stepped away from the door.

“Dream?” he called and waited.

No response.

He backtracked, cursing in his mind. He called out for his brother a few more times, still getting nothing in response. Back in the front hallway, the front door was still open. Nightmare shut it with more force than he wanted, and his gaze was drawn to the floor when something crunched under his foot.

Popcorn.

Dream.

Popcorn seemed to form a trail up the stairs, and as his eyes followed it, he swore that something—or someone—moved along the second floor, the floor creaking beneath them. He frowned and started up the stairs.

“Dream? Dream?!”

Still no response.

More popcorn was on the second floor, forming a trail around the railing and heading into their suspiciously door-opened-a-crack bedroom. His eyes narrowed, tensing even more. He knew that nothing would be wrong—maybe Dream just dropped some popcorn and decided to change out of the costume or whatever. He knew that this was probably just his mind trying to string together a scenario that wasn’t there. This was the perfect setup for something, and he knew that, was back in his mind.

He knew that. But still.

Still.

He rolled his shoulders and walk forward confidently, intent on slamming the door open and revealing whatever was going on. And he did just that, opening the door as if he was just going to sleep, and the room was pitch black. Someone went the extra mile and turned off all of the sting lights and hide all of the glow-in-the-dark stuff Dream had. But why? What kind of person would do—

Something furry dropped onto his head.

“MOTHER—”

Nightmare continued cursing as he jumped, struggling against himself and stumbling over his feet as he brushed whatever it was off and kept waving his arms around until he was sure it wasn’t on him. Panting, he tripped over something on the ground and crashed onto the floor, grunting in pain. It was still dark, but the hallway light slowly bled into the room and it was silent for a few seconds.

Silence…and then laughter.

“Oh, you should see your face!”

“That was so funny.”

Nightmare blinked. Slowly.

He pushed himself up onto his elbows as someone turned the light on. He looked at Blue, who held in his hand a fake furry spider tied to some string, and who was grinning as he had a hand up as if in an effort to keep most of the laughter in. He looked at Dream, who had his phone in front of him, pointed right at him, and shamelessly laughed at him. He looked between the two as his breath calmed.

Then it hit him and his face flushed, heat rising as he stumbled to his feet. His tentacles rose like a cat’s tail when they were scared—Dream’s comparison, not his—and they thrashed wildly. He scoffed, higher in pitch than he liked.

“Funny? Fun—”

“What?” Blue said, drawing his attention. He held up the spider, waving it at him. He glared at it and then at its owner. “Not a fan of spiders? I don’t really care for them either, but you gotta admit, they make for some of the greatest pranks imaginable.”

“And now,” Dream spoke up, “you can’t ever get away with saying that no prank has ever gotten you before. Because this one did.” His brother grinned, pulling his phone closer to him and typing away at it like he was in a race.

Nightmare blinked again.

God…dammit.

Of course. This was a prank. Of course it was! And of course it was Dream’s idea, because who else? Who else wanted to huminite him like that in front of a friend and record it and then share it for the world to see? Not that Dream would share it publicly, not without his permission. He knew that. But he would still share it with their friends and boy, would this be perfect teasing material for a few months.

Unless, of course, he gets that phone away and deleted the video before Dream could do anything…

Nightmare inhaled. “Say, Dreamy,” he said, coating the words in sugar, and he walked towards his brother with his fists clenched. “I think you deserve a reward for this. Don’t you?”

Dream snorted, shaking his head. He held his phone close as mischief and joy lit his eyes, stepping backward. “No, actually. And it’s too late, I already sent the video to the group chat for all our friends to see.”

God dammit!

Nightmare lunged and Dream sidestepped, already out the door and making his way down the steps as his brother chased after him. “Get back here—”

~oOo~

Nim got home shortly after midnight. Her shift had slipped into overtime thanks to a co-worker of hers not showing up when they were supposed to, leaving her to manage their clients and phone calls until they waltzed in with some coffee and some donuts in hand, acting as if they weren’t three hours late. The audacity of people, sometimes…

Most of the lights in the house were out, but she knew better than to believe her sons were asleep. She knew very well the tradition they had on Halloween and knew that they were carrying it out in the living room already, eyes glued onto the screen as a girl ran from a murderer.

Sighing, she locked the front door behind her and placed her keys in the shallow ceramic bowl her mama had made her as a home-warming gift years ago. Another yawn threatened to take over, but she held it in, hanging up her bag and taking her shoes off. She turned on the hallway light and looked into the living room, the light pooling into the darkened room and illuminating the back of the couch, and spilling over onto the wall. It glared into the TV a bit, obscuring Urban Legend. Smiling briefly to herself, she entered the room quietly and peered over the couch, placing a hand on the back.

Blinking, the smile widened as she took in the sight before her.

On the couch, Dream and Nightmare sat together, though they weren’t awake like she had assumed they were. Their snacks—some chip bags, soda pops, the leftover candy from the trick-or-treat bowl littering around—and some small remnants of their costume lay on the coffee table. And her two boys, boys she hadn’t seen even hug each other since they were, what? Eight? They were asleep, curled up with each other; Nightmare had his legs out, feet on the table, a bowl of popcorn held loosely in his arm spilling over onto the couch, and his other arm was thrown over Dream, who had his legs tucked close to him, head resting on his brother’s shoulder, a blanket barely covering him.

They seemed to almost breathe in sync, and it honestly would not surprise Nim if she heard later on in the morning that her sons had one of those shared dreams they get sometimes.

Biting her lip, she held in the coo she wanted to let out and walked around the couch, gently pulling the popcorn bowl away, managing to save a handful of pieces, and with his arm now free, Nightmare immediately rolled over, wrapping it around Dream securely, one foot falling off of the table. Nim chuckled to herself and kept nudging him, knowing that if she let him sleep like that, he’d be even more grumpy in the morning than he usually was, and eventually, Nightmare grunted, half lifting his hand to wave her away, pulling his legs in as he shifted into an almost laying down (but not quite there) position, Dream following behind as he let himself be dragged, turning further into Nightmare’s chest and reaching up a hand to clench loosely at his shirt’s fabric. She paused, admiring the even cuter position her boys were in and eyeing the way Nightmare’s neck lay as she debated on helping him even more—she already got him this far, might as well make sure he was comfortable.

After getting a throw pillow in place, she made sure her boys were in a comfy position and untangled the blanket from Dream’s legs, opening it up and laying it over both of them, tucking them in. Leaning in, she gave each of them a kiss on the forehead, whispering “I love you” in Spanish. She stood there for a second longer, a scream coming from the TV, and then she gathered up the empty bags and cans, taking them to the kitchen.

The apple incident, as it has come to be known, is something that will always haunt his thoughts. Nightmare can’t remember his exact line of thinking now, but he knows that he ate the apples as a desperate act to protect Dream, mostly, and to protect himself. His brother was the most important thing in his life. The villagers tried to take that away from him, but he wouldn’t let them. He ate the apples, but something about his big plan to protect went wrong. The protect aspect got lost, which just left him and a ton of power he couldn’t control and people who were glaring at him and one person who was crying.

He couldn’t recognize his own brother. All he saw was someone defying him and stopping him from fulfilling his plan, even if he couldn’t remember it. And that someone stopped him from becoming unstoppable, so he got angry. How dare this little runt stand in his way? Doesn’t he know that he should be begging, grovelling on his knees, pleading for mercy? Doesn’t he know that he’s outmatched and out of hope? And then he did what any villain faced with a hero who wouldn’t give up did: he tried to kill him.

Luckily, he failed, but Dream ended up encased in stone for years, while Nightmare was left with a multiverse and a sick thought to conquer it. So, he set out to do just that. He didn’t look back. He didn’t stop for a minute to wonder if the person who stood against him still lived, if he was conscious in that prison. Instead, he turned with a smile, believing the stone to hold forever and leave no one to oppose him.

The years left alone were good for only one reason, and that was that it let him learn how to control his powers and regain the initial thought process he had. He grew calmer and more comfortable, barely able to remember a time when he felt so good. He remembered the villagers and their abuse and Dream, which put a whole spin on his way of thinking. Nightmare had realized, randomly while working away at a stack of paperwork, that Dream was the one who he had turned to stone and that thought, that little thought right there made his heart twist, something that he hated to feel. Whenever Dream came into his head, he would force himself to not love him, not worry about him, not give a fuck about him.

It never truly worked.

That’s the thing about love. It doesn’t go away, not if the person was nice and good for you, if they were your everything, your world. Losing that person would make all your negative emotions and worst thought rear their ugly heads, trying to tear into and cut you open, pour salt into wounds that may have just been freshly healed. It would make you regret everything that you think could’ve made them leave like that and why you deserved it, why you should feel so bad. Losing the one you loved tears out your heart and lets it rot while you stare blankly at it, unable to comprehend why this is happening.

No matter how much he forced himself to disregard his brother, he still cared and that hurt. The hurt only intensified when Dream came back, a mix of hardened and fragile look in his eyes and aura that made Nightmare’s worry expand deep down in the pit he buried it in. It made him think, all through their numerous battles, Did I do this? Did I create this hurt that surrounds him? How am I any different from those bullies when I can make my brother look so broken, so wrong, like how they made my bones look?

He did so many terrible things, said so many insults and what he thought were truths. Every fight they had, he saw Dream lose more and more hope, lose the will to fight but keep pushing anyways. He hated it. He hated himself. He felt disgust at every word he said. But he was too committed to stop now. Everything was woven too tightly to be undone now. He couldn’t go back, couldn’t give that thought a possibility of happening. Nightmare himself willed Dream to keep fighting, even when he looked the most tired, because he didn’t want to win anymore. He was tired. They both were. And he knew that him losing would be the best option for everything.

Then…one final act of cruelty pushed Dream too far and he ate an apple of his own.

Nothing hurt more than seeing the one person you care for above anyone else do the exact same mistake you did. Nothing. He could only watch, horror filling him, as Dream shouted in pain right in front of him, the corruption spilling over him like a wave. All his thoughts were jumbled and there was an ache in his chest that made it hard for him to breathe. Nightmare realized, at this moment, that he had played the villain for so long, he had no clue what words to say to play the hero, or even if he could. This process was impossible to stop once it started.

None of his actions would do anything worthwhile, and that scared him. Everything about this outcome of his actions scared him. There was a guilt building on his back that he was sure he would drown in in the aftermath, but for now, the guilt and the fear all culminated into the need to run. Just…get out. Get somewhere to sit down and think. He found himself following that need without realizing it, taking a slow step back, followed by another, and another, until something snapped and he turned and ran. He ran without looking back, taking no notice until later of Cross standing there, watching Dream also with tears streaming down his face.

He ran and ran until he was out of the AU and in his home, the castle he’d built for himself to keep the rest of the world out and him safe and sound inside. His team he had gathered, stupid followers of a mad king, noticed him and, upon realizing that their king had fallen so low into a weak monster, grew angry. They yelled and barked, growled in hate and left, saying that if Nightmare was willing to give everything up just because of one small consequence, then he was unfit to lead.

Nightmare never replied, only absorbing the words and letting them wash over his mind. He was unable to think of anything else besides Dream and corruption and how much of a monster he had become. It killed him inside and he fell to his knees, staring blankly at the floor, not seeing anything besides Dream eating the apple, corruption overspilling over him, everything he said that led to this moment.

Briefly, all of that went away and he caught a glimpse of his hand, the white bones burning into his vision. He held it up and stared, turning it over slowly.

Oh, he thought faintly, so the corruption was pushed back by my own fear and panic.

It’s rather ironic, in some ways.

He heard a step echo through the room and he let his hand fall, his eyes drawn to the only one of his subordinates that stayed. Killer. The other stared down at him with concern, and crouched in front of him, opening his mouth and—

“Nightmare?”

Something pressed down on his shoulders and Nightmare blinked, the images of the past fading away, stored back in his memory as they should be. He looked up to Killer, who had put his hand on his shoulder and looked at him with the same concern as before. For a minute, he was lost. What was happening again? Then he looked around and made eye contact with Cross, who gazed back with anger and desperation, tears tumbling slowly down his face, and his eyes were drawn down to the guard’s arms, to Dream—and he remembered.

Oh.

Killer had left, claiming that he was going to think for a while, but Nightmare knows that wasn’t the truth—they both knew Cross and Dream…Shattered would come eventually, for good or for worse—and had come back looking conflicted, if a bit panicked. Nightmare had been concerned, but before he could ask what was wrong, Cross entered behind him, his brother in his arms, unconscious and covered in apple blossoms, the white colouring looking so out of place it was all he could see for a minute.

His feet seemed rooted to the ground. The world seemed to disappear, leaving only him and his brother, the version of him formed out of Nightmare’s mistakes, and all he could see was what led to this version, led to all of this happening. He saw nothing but the past until Killer broke him out of it, reminding him about the current and important situation.

All at once, now he remembered, the emotions came flooding back: worry, fear, panic, confusion. They were all tangled together, so woven into a ball that held itself in his chest and made it difficult to breathe. He forced himself to work past it all. His feelings didn’t matter at this moment; all that did was Sh—Dream and what was wrong with him.

The apple blossoms were new, that was the only piece of thought he could hold onto amidst everything. That was where the confusion stemmed from. During his corruption, no apple blossoms had ever grown on him before. He couldn’t understand it. He had to try and understand it. From the looks of things, that was what caused him to go unconscious in the first place, and most likely the source of other problems that they could deal with later.

It was decided then; the first action would be to know about these flowers—where they came from, when they started appearing, what were they and, finally, why they were there.

Nightmare swallowed and stepped forward, calling upon his experience as a king to help him keep his emotions in check as he found out how to help. “Lay him down.” He cringed slightly at the way his voice shook, but pushed that aside as Cross obeyed silently, staying kneeled beside Dream, keeping his eyes on the one he followed.

Nightmare watched for a minute, knowing time most likely of the essence, but finding himself unable to bring himself to take away such a caring and loving gaze. It was obvious that Cross loved Dream, no matter his actions or how much he tried to push him away. That was how strong his love was. And Nightmare already knew, without having to see it himself, that Dream loved him back just as strongly, no matter how much he denied it. Their love was a love built on the understanding of each other's vulnerabilities and deepest, most ugly anger and hate and loving the other through it all. It was beautiful to see.

But that love, while nice as it may be, wasn’t the focus right now and Nightmare hesitantly kneeled down opposite of Cross, on the other side of Dream.

It pained him to see Dream in pain this close up. He could see it in the way his fingers twitched so slightly and there was a grimace in his sleep, seemingly permanent. The corruption was still strong, which caused another wave of guilt over Nightmare, which he stubbornly ignored for this moment, and contrasted greatly with the apple blossoms. There were more flowers than he thought. They covered his brother’s eye that hadn’t been covered by the corruption, rendering him blind. They peeked through the top of his shirt, continuing down until they poked out of the ends of the sleeves, meeting the ones coming out of his gloves, a thin gap where there wasn’t any between them. They were practically everywhere. Nightmare could even see a couple of stray ones on his feet, which were surprisingly bare.

It was much worse than he thought. That only increased the importance of fixing things.

“How…how did—when, when did this start?” Nightmare asked, eyes flicking over to Cross, who shifted, but only shook his head.

“I’m not sure.” Cross’s voice was quivering, on the verge of full-on sobs and it hurt Nightmare to hear. “He didn’t…he tried to keep them hidden, the idiot, so I wouldn’t know, until they started on his eye and he couldn’t hide them anymore.” He swallowed. “I know they hurt him. They itch and he has a habit of picking and scratching at them, which only makes them worse, and I try to tell him that but he does it anyway and—” He cut himself off, and Nightmare looked away as he wiped a hand across his eyes.

So…when did this start? Not sure of the exact date or time, but Nightmare’s going to go out on a limb and guess it would’ve started shortly after he corrupted, all that time back. It was a painful thing to think about, but it made sense, even if he hurt just thinking about all those days Dream was in pain and didn’t tell anyone, just like…just like he always did.

Shifting, Nightmare slowly reached out, giving enough time for Cross to object, but he stayed silent, and so Nightmare gently set his fingertips on one of the flowers by Dream’s eye. He flinched when he saw Dream flinch, but only lightened his touch as much as he could instead of pulling away, like he wanted to. He didn’t want to hurt his brother any further than he already was.

The flowers were, surprisingly, soft to the touch, as if they were innocent of their cause, meant to be there. As if they weren’t harmful and hurting his brother and causing so much pain. It didn’t help that, on any other thing, any tree like they were supposed to be on, they would look beautiful and people would smile and appreciate them.

Nightmare took a breath and focused. The little, lone flower he was touching shifted as if moving in a wind that no one else could feel and glowed a pale golden colour. They left Nightmare feel, in a small and slow stream, what they held and represented. They couldn’t say why they were there, but they could share whose magic they held and that information made Nightmare pull his hand back like it had been burnt.

He stared at Dream, switching his gaze between him and the flowers and his hand, his eyes wide. His vision turned the slightest bit blurry and he blinked before any tears could fully form. It shouldn’t be possible. No. He…did he make his brother sadder than he thought? Did he do something else? Or…or was this just…how Dream was? No. No. He refused to believe that. That would be even more hurtful than watching his brother make his mistakes.

But if there was even the smallest chance of that being the cause, then he had to check it. He had to. Not just for himself, but for Dream and Cross and, heck, even Killer. He had to make sure it was a possibility, a 100% possibility, before saying anything and doing anything.

“What?” Cross was saying when Nightmare caught up and realized he was talking. “What? What’s wrong?” He had risen to his feet and was towering above Nightmare, seconds away from taking out his sword and threatening him if he didn’t get an answer.

“I…I have to check something.” Nightmare muttered, ignoring Cross. He moved his hand to Dream’s chest, above where the soul would be if it were summoned. He laid his hand gently down and closed his eyes, focusing again.

At first, there was nothing. Just the sound of Cross’s question growing in volume and Killer trying to calm him down, but those sounds grew gradually muffled, like Nightmare had put his head underwater. He would’ve thought that he had passed out or something, but he could feel his breathing and knew he was still awake.

Just…somewhere else.

Not here.

Not there.

Somewhere else.

Nightmare let himself float back, let himself be open to anything. If he could connect with the flowers, let them guide him to the truth of why they existed, then that would help. As he lay there, just breathing, just floating, he felt it.

Wisps of positivity. Of light, hope, happiness, love. Of everything good in the world. He felt it like it was his own, but he knew it wasn’t. He knew it was Dream’s magic, everything his brother represented and just was. He felt what the emotions were connected to, as well. Happiness, with Nightmare, before the first apple incident, with Ink and Blue, the first real friends he ever had. Hope, for the Multiverse, with all it’s flaws and stories, for Nightmare, who he longed to be friends, be brothers, with again, and for Cross, who lost so much. Love, too, for Cross, only Cross. The one who loved him above everything. The one who stayed despite everything. The one who saw Dream and no one else, no immortal thing that should be happy all the time.

Nightmare felt the urge to smile. He loved this part of his brother. He loved the feeling of it, the way it made his soul soar and shine with happiness, the way it could make others smile, even on their roughest days.

This positivity was Dream, whole, no doubt about it.

But…something was wrong.

It felt…drained. Hurt. It felt like there was barely any left, that even as he felt it, it was going away. It felt twisted, like it was turning back on its host, its owner, making them hurt and pick away at the negativity that surrounded them so much, as if as a sort of punishment for not being good enough.

Because that was the purpose of the flowers, the apple blossoms—to punish Dream for giving in, punishing himself for allowing his feelings to get the best of him and punishment for treating the one he loved so badly.

The flowers were created by Dream to hurt Shattered, a cycle of self-destruction that can’t be stopped.

Nightmare opened his eyes. More tears gathered in his eyes, spilling down his cheeks as a sob escaped his throat. His hand reached up to stifle the sound, before it caught the attention of Cross and Killer, but it was too late. He shut his eyes tight in order to compose himself somewhat, as the argument behind him stopped and there were hurried footsteps towards him and he was spun around, face to face with Cross once he opened his eyes again.

“What?” Cross asked, desperation coating his voice. His eyes held a hope that killed Nightmare to see, for he knew he would be the one to smother it. “What?! What’s wrong with Dream?!” He shook Nightmare when he didn’t answer. “Answer me! What’s wrong with Dream, Nightmare?”

Nightmare inhaled shakily. “The flowers…” He started, unable to raise his voice more than a whisper. “The flowers are made of—of positive magic.” He inhaled again, smoother this time. “Dream’s positivity, to be exact.”

Cross blinked, unable to process this. “…I don’t understand.”

“When Dream corrupted,” Nightmare attempted to explain. “he did so out of sadness, and hurt, and…tiredness. He viewed himself as not good enough to continue, growing more desperate to listen to that foolish hope that if he ate the apple—” Nightmare’s voice cracked on this part. “—then I would accept him again, view him as an equal again. He was wrong.” He shook his head. “I never, ever wanted him to do that, I just…” He trailed off, because this wasn’t about him.

Cross had let go of his shoulder and drawn in on himself. He hugged himself tight, looking small. Even his voice was small, betraying no emotion he was feeling. “What does this have to do with the flowers.”

Nightmare swallowed and started again. “The flowers are made of positivity, as I said. Dream’s positivity. They embody all of his happiness, his love, his hope—everything. They’re meant to represent everything he gave up when he ate the apple.” He glanced behind him, looking over his brother, who still looked to be in so much pain. “The reason why the flowers are there…is because they’re to act as a punishment, made by Dream and given to Shattered. It’s a punishment for every time Shattered thinks or feels something positive, a flower grows on him, made up of that positive feeling or thought.” He fell silent.

Cross shifted. “But…they hurt him.” He raised his head a little, looking behind Nightmare to Dream. “Why do they hurt him?”

Nightmare blinked. “My guess is that it's part of the punishment. Shattered is meant to be Dream giving up on positivity, so whenever he does something to tie him back to that or something like that, and a flower is formed, it hurts because he was supposed to have given up on positivity.” Nightmare’s voice went sad. “He wasn’t supposed to want to feel it anymore.”

They were silent for a while, taking everything in.

Then, Cross’s head snapped up, a sort of manic hope in his eyes that was worse than the hope of before. “That punishment…you can stop it, right?” He rose to his feet, stumbling a bit. “You can still help Dream, right? Right?!”

Nightmare blinked. He stood up slowly as well. It twisted his heart to see Cross so desperate, so willing to believe anything. But he couldn’t say no, even if he didn’t want to feed into a lie of yes. “I…” He swallowed. “Our corruptions are different. Mine was formed through my hate and anger. My fear, as well. Dream’s was formed by his sadness and desperation. He was tired.” He wrung his hands. “I might have been able to take control of my corruption, but I have no clue how or if I could help Dream do the same.”

Cross shook his head, either ignoring his words or vaguely registering them. “That doesn’t answer my question.” His voice was unnervingly calm and he stepped forward, his sword forming in his hand. Killer stood nearby on the ready. “Can you help Dream, or can’t you? Yes or no.”

Nightmare swallowed, retreating a slight step, overly conscious of Dream lying behind him. “I…” He couldn’t answer. He wanted to. He really did. But because their corruptions were so different, it would take different circumstances for Dream to take control of his. And Nightmare didn’t know where to start with it. He didn’t know if the answer was yes or no, or even if there was a right answer.

Either way, his silence was answer enough for Cross. The guard stepped forward again, his sword twitching higher, but before he could do anything, he was manhandled away by Killer. They went a few feet away, where they started fighting, Killer never attacking back. He was letting Cross get all of his anger and heartbreak out. Nightmare was glad that he understood.

A small noise from Dream caught his attention. Nightmare turned and knelt beside him again, watching with another round of tears in his eyes as two more flowers appeared, the only two on his neck for now. They were small. He raised his hand and hovered over them, but never touched them, a feeling that they might be sensitive stopping him. Instead, he gently held one of Dream’s hands in his, taking care not to press or squeeze too hard.

A tear slipped out and onto the intertwined hands.

He turned around again, barely three steps away from where he started. Lux stared back at him, a challenge in her eyes.

He shouldn't be here. He shouldn't be listening to her. She was a child, barely even a teenager! He was hundreds of years older. Matureness was practically written and sewn into his bones at this point. What was she going to do that he would ever be affected by?

"Aw," She leaned forward, hands clasped under her chin, batting her eyes mockingly. "is wittle Nightmawe too afwaid to talk back? Awe his feelings huwt? Does he need some hugs?"

His eye twitched stronger this time.

"I'm not afraid of you." Dammit. He sounded too defensive. He was trying to show her he couldn't be talked to like that, lot edge her on. Judging by her laugh, she heard it too. He gritted his teeth. "I'm not."

Lux—no, sorry. The little heathen made a show of rolling her eyes. "Suuure..."

"I'm not."

"I believe you." She most certainly did not.

Nightmare took a deep breath, standing tall. "I'm not afraid of anything."

"Everyone's afraid of something." Lux—heathen shrugged, eyeing him with a smirk. "You just so happen to be afraid to fight little girls. Not your fault."

His fists clenched tight enough that if he had skin, he would've drawn blood already.

Before he could do anything he'd regret, he took a deep breath. "I'm not fighting any little girls, whether I'm afraid of them—which. I'm. Not—or if I'm not. Which I am." He spoke as calmly as he could. "I'm an adult. Adult's don't do that."

"Yeah." Lux—heathen—oh, forget it, he'll just stick to her name—nodded, making Nightmare look at her suspiciously. Was she...agreeing with him? "You are old." Ah. Nope. She was just making another comeback.

"I'm not old." Nightmare said, even though he did admit he kind of was. But he didn't want to be called it if it was used in that tone.

Lux scoffed. "Uh, yeah you are."

"No."

"Yeah."

"No."

"Yeah."

"No—why am I arguing with you about this?!"

Nightmare felt like screaming.

Was this hell? This certainly felt like it.

"Yeah, you are." Lux ignored Nightmare's question to himself. "You're older than boomers, dude. That makes you like a...mega super boomer. Maximus." She paused, apparently needing to think over if the insult was good enough, before nodding. "A maximus mega super boomer."

Nightmare gritted his teeth. "Whatever. I shouldn't be arguing with you. You're just a kid."

"A kid who's bored. And your niece."

"Unfortunately," Nightmare muttered, before shaking his head and stepping back. "Again: Whatever. I'm going to go get something to eat. Away from you." He turned. "Goodbye."

He kept his guard up as he walked, but Lux kept silent. When he turned the corner, he paused for a minute before relaxing. Finally, his patience rewards him. Now he was free to do whatever he wanted. And he was hungry, he realized—that had just flown out of his mouth because it was the first excuse he could think of.

Hm. You know what he wanted?

Wine.

A big fat glass of red wine.

He needed it after the conversation he just had.

He started walking again.

"JUST REMEMBER: YOU'RE STILL A SIMP!"

He froze.

That brat.

She screamed that for the entire castle to hear.

All thoughts of hunger and wine disappeared as Nightmare growled, tentacles flaring. He turned and rounded the corner again, speed-walking his way over to Lux, who turned around into a run in the other direction, giggling like mad. He followed suit, chasing after her.