#puppywrites

It felt stuck to the inside of its skull. Standing was more manual than it should’ve been, even two weeks into the host like it was. The weight of its body felt like too much for its brittle joints.

“So flipping annoying", it growled to itself. And boring, to add to that.

There wasn’t much it could do to entertain itself without putting itself in danger– its lack of its usual quickness leaving it vulnerable to all of its usual favorite targets. There was one Fresh knew wouldn’t risk chasing it off permanently though.

It landed in an undignified heap, the neon fog it created with its teleportation desaturated and nearly grey. The tone matched the AU’s sky and dead vegetation.

Quickly getting to its feet, Fresh made sure nobody was close by. The imposing silhouette of Nightmare’s castle loomed, blotching out half the sky. It wasn’t as close as it wanted to teleport. Hissing to itself, it began trudging closer. The lack of spatial awareness was as annoying as it was disquieting.

Empty eyes greeted it by the entrance, but they scuttled off quickly. It was almost disappointing, but that monster always proved to be unreactive and boring to play with. Messing with it wasn’t a past time anybody but the castle’s owner were allowed to partake in anyway. Possessive bastard.

“Helllooo!” It called out as it entered, sauntering in. The sound was dampened by all the drapery inside. It knew they could tell it was here anyway. It called out again.

He wasn’t coming out to greet it, though, and it was too annoyed to walk itself into his jaws. The day was already bad, it didn’t want to pander to that egotistical prick too.

Maybe it could raid their snack cupboard, get itself a treat down in the dungeon. A new host wouldn't really make it feel better, and the thought of breaking them in made it feel nauseous, but most things did in the moment, so it beelined towards the basement entrance. It wouldn’t hurt, anyway. 

Fresh wanted a pick-me-up, and if he wasn’t planning on being it, it would have to make do with something else. 

The place was cold and dreary, the chill permeating even to its true soft body. Curse that guardian and his devotion to that horrid aesthetic of his. It could imagine so many more interesting places to keep prisoners than a damp stone basement. 

The steps were uneven, and it had to brace itself on the wall as it meandered downwards. The darkness didn't help matters, the stairwell steeped in shadow. It would give Nightmare points for sticking to the vision, if nothing else. Someone called out from below as it neared the bottom, really adding to the dungeon vibe.

“Hello? Is someone there?”

It perked up as it answered, putting on a cheerful affect, “Yup! Though hearing a voice coming from the dungeon is pretty spine-chilling!”

Silence. 

“Tough crowd, tough crowd.” Thought skeletons enjoyed funny little puns.

“Sorry.” Eventually they answered again, a bit more subdued. “That just… reminded me of my brother.”

Ohhh, it was one of those. An absolute score in its books. It swiped the keyring holding all the cell keys and turned down the hall it could hear the other’s voice echoing from, eventually coming face to face with him.

“Yo,” it said, grinning down at the skeleton. He'd hopped up to face it, but still stood a full two feet shorter.

“Hello!” He said again, an almost reserved smile on their face. A bit of reluctance it usually didn't see on a swap. The skeleton had probably been down here for a while. “My name is Sans! I'd say it's very good to meet you, but my situation is… not the best.”

Fresh snickered, the wrung out optimism was amusing. It wondered if this guy would even be able to fit in his universe anymore, if it let him out. Diverged from his cookie cutter, ultra palatable start. Not as cute. A stuffed animal covered in mud.

It couldn't imagine him being missed for long. It couldn't imagine him not being replaced.

Leaning in, it settled a clawed hand on the bars, taking a break from holding itself up, “The name's Fresh, pal. It's nice to meet’cha.”

The smile brightened. An expression like that wouldn't fit in the dungeon if it wasn't for the bags still obviously under his eyes. “Fresh, that’s a good name.” A pause, “Are you with the… the monsters who own this dungeon? I do not think they are very kind. I would really appreciate some help leaving.”

“Well I wouldn't describe myself as ‘with them’. Bet they'd be pissed if I took you out.” It pouted and drooped, hoping its genuinely tired state would add to the act.

Sans waved his hands, as if trying to keep its attention, “It's okay! I could protect you.” He patted his bicep, “I’m actually training to be part of the royal guard. If I’m not surprised, I could definitely put up a fight!”

It dramatically swooned, but moved its hand further up when the other tried to hold it through the bars. Yuck!

“I'll take that in mind, my knight.” Fresh couldn't hide the amusement in its voice as it fingered through the key ring for the proper one for the cell. The other was pushing out of the cell as soon as he was able, practically falling as he shoved their weight against the door. 

“Okay, Mr. Royal Guard, lead the way!”

Sans smiled, bashful and tired, “I'm not a royal guard yet. I'm sure they'll consider it once I get back though–escaping an evil castle, how many monsters can say they’ve done that?” He did some exaggerated motions as he went on, hands gesturing widely. 

It felt oddly like looking in a mirror, and it realized the other was trying to calm it down. That would be cute if it wasn't so annoying to be looked down upon like that– it was the one outside the cage. Fresh just smiled and motioned him forward.

As he made his way down the hall, he made sure to look back at Fresh every few steps. There was a certain keenness to his eye lights that made it hard for Fresh to keep its hackles down. “I was a bit worried– well, it doesn't matter. Thank you again, you’re being very brave for this, you know.”

It grinned, baring its teeth, and the words would've come out strained if it were a lesser person, “Aww thanks bud.” No response, more of that horrible stare. It did a cute pose, jazz hands, “Take a picture if you like my swag so much, bro! Don’t know if now's the time to check out my style though.”

“Right, right, we really should get moving.” Sans said, picking up the pace down the hall, forcing it to stagger after him.

Stupid cobbled dungeon floor, uneven and not at all helping its uncooperating balance. It should’ve removed the wheels in its shoes before this, the plastic catching on the stone as it tried to keep itself steady. As if to further show how obvious its weakness was, the other slowed his pace almost as soon as it failed to match it. Terrific. It felt like gagging.

“Sorry,” his droopy sympathetic eyes were worse than that knowing look, and it wanted to get this over with even more than it did earlier. 

As soon as they were out of this dungeon, it could teleport the two of them into some isolated AU and start its meal without risk of Nightmare showing up. It just needed to get this over with quickly, just needed to stop slowing down.

“Just ignore me,” the words were nearly growled, and it made sure to smile widely to hide its annoyance, “We just gotta get out of here, yeah?”

The other nodded, as if agreeing, but still started walking beside it instead of front, arm poised to grab it if it fell, “It's okay if you need help, Fresh! You’re already doing quite a lot right now.”

It panted, struggling to keep the emotions tamped down. It wanted to sink its claws into him early, wanted to rip his throat out for the suggestion that it would need him to do anything but cooperate. “I’m fine.”

Sans clearly didn’t believe it. He moved closer, hand outstretched to steady it. 

It reminded itself it was to play the role of damsel, and he the role of weary hero. Fresh needed to calm down. The emotions were like water cupped between its hands– no matter how hard it tried, it slipped between the cracks. Doomed from the start.

It took a step back, too much weight on its heel making the wheel slip out from under it. 

The next moment felt like it was in slow motion; as soon as it started truly falling, he rushed forward to catch it. His short stature compared to it did nothing to stop him from grabbing it, holding its weight up by himself like it was only a sack of flour.

 Its instincts screamed that it was being held by something stronger than it, able to snap its spine if he only moved his hands a little further back.

It wasn’t fear that it felt though. Hot and rushing through its body like fire, anger. Vitriolic and like poison. The world had gone completely silent, it could see him trying to say something to it, calm it down, like it was nothing but a startled animal. It couldn’t hear him.

It couldn't move, paralysed by the intensity of the feeling.

It just wanted to eat. It just wanted to leave this stupid dungeon. It just wanted to stop feeling sick. It just wanted this all stop, be over with so it could go back to sleep, it just wanted–

“Now, what’s going on here?” 

Nightmare.

Sans pushed it to the wall, bracing its back to the cold stone as he stood in front of it. “G-get back!”

“So hostile,” Their smile stretched across their whole face, “is it so horrible I wish to know what’s going on in my own basement?”

“That’s– well that makes sense but,” he floundered, searching for words. “I would really appreciate it if you stayed a few feet back.”

Nightmare placed his hand to his cheek, “So very demanding.”

“I’m sorry, I really would like to give you the benefit of the doubt but–” he glanced back at it. It didn’t meet his gaze though. 

Nightmare was seeing this, Nightmare was seeing– Its eyes met theirs instead. Crescent, amused. Sans didn’t seem to notice this small exchange, or maybe he just thought its raised shoulders were fear. It certainly was acting pathetic enough to warrant that.

“--I really can’t do that right now.” he finished, conviction steadying his voice to something firm. This was so embarrassing. 

“You’ve really put yourself in a pickle, pet.” Nightmare disregarded him, completely focusing his attention on Fresh. “Are you mad at me?”

It was.

Sans tried to get between them more, but it was too tall for his silhouette to block from Nightmare’s sight. It was a polite try, at the very least.

“I can give you that, if you want an apology.” He gestured vaguely, but it knew what he meant. 

Fresh looked away, palms braced against the wall to keep itself up. It didn’t really know if it’d be able to actually take the other over at this point, if given the chance. Wouldn’t that just be the cherry on top of all its incompetence? Unable to even butcher its meal.

Sans said another heroic protest against what he most definitely assumed was Nightmare harassing it, but the guardian made a good impression of not hearing him. “That’s no good?” He tilted his head like a curious cat, it a puzzle he wanted to claw treats out of. “I assume you are hungry, otherwise you wouldn’t be trying to nick this fellow…”

And that smile was back, content with whatever conclusion he had drawn, “How about a meal, together. I’ve always wanted to be more involved in… what makes you unique.”

It didn’t answer right away, and they stalked forwards. Sans widened his stance, hand held out in a ‘stop’ sign. “Could you stop ignoring me? I see you have a history with Fresh but that doesn’t give you a right to talk to them.” 

They took another step forward. Sans tensed, ready to start a fight.

It shoved him in the back.

Nightmare used his momentary unbalance to grab him, their tentacles striking at the weakness and restraining him easily. Gagged and rendered imobile.

“Was that a yes, my dear?” he cooed with a smarmy smile, “Oh how exciting.”

“What do you even mean, involved?”

He shifted his cargo, the struggling monster kicking at air silently as Nightmare made his way to Fresh’s side, “Whatever you want it to mean, darling.” 

He offered his hand, and after a moment’s hesitation, it took it. He seeped between its bones.

“I could always just watch, but that would be so boring, and so overdone…” Nightmare glanced up at it, catching its eye, “I’m more looking forward to, let’s say, helping out.”

He started to lead it onward, the two of them making their way to the stairs, Nightmare using his unoccupied tentacles to grab things off the dungeon walls as they went. It barely paid attention to it all. Chains and other restraints– probably things to make sure its prey couldn't run away. Distrust in its ability to restrain them.

It scowled, “Do you think I can’t eat by myself?” It ignored the fact it could barely walk up the stairs without leaning on them.

“Not at all, darling,” he gave it a closed eye smile, “I’m just saying I would enjoy that. And wouldn’t it be a nice apology? You won’t have to do anything at all, just let me do all the work, easy as breathing. You could even direct me– wouldn’t that be a nice role reversal? Ordering me around while you lounge.”

“Stop trying to act all sweet, it doesn't suit you.” It faked a gag.

They made it to where Nightmare had been leading them, the dining room, and Fresh regarded the large open space with distaste. Nightmare laughed at its expression. Usually, it was fed in the bedroom, so it could lounge around and nap after eating. It seemed Nightmare wanted to make this more of an event.

“Right here, darling,” Nightmare cooed as he seated it at the head of the table, where he usually sat. It relaxed into the plush of the cushions despite itself.

He swept everything actually on the table to the other end. Seeing it watching him, he shot it a satisfied smile and made quick work of restraining the struggling skeleton as well.

Sans took big gasping breaths after Nightmare’s tentacles left him, the chains restraining enough. It was a wheezy wet sound, almost gagging. That probably wouldn't get the rotten apple taste out of his mouth, Fresh knew from experience.

From where he lay, his head near where Fresh sat, he couldn't see it looming over him easily. He could see Nightmare though, and tracked the guardians movements with his head.

“What are you doing?” He asked, struggling against the chains. On any good day, it knew the other would be able to pull until the wooden table legs the chains were attached to snapped. The amount of time he'd spent in confinement wasn't doing him any favours though.

Fresh wrinkled its nose bridge with distaste at the rattling sounds– the metal sound ringing in its already aching head.

Nightmare laughed at the question, nearly shaking with amusement. “I'm being kind and considerate to my dear friend. Isn't that what your sort are always advocating for?”

He stalked closer, until he could hold the other’s skull, tilting it around. The guardian met Fresh’s eyes as he did, and it knew they were showing the body off to it. Useless, Fresh already saw all it needed to know. 

The skeleton spluttered at the touch, frozen stiff for a moment by it, “My-? What? Well you can't just harm someone and say it's fine because you're doing it for someone else.” 

“So picky. Can’t even appreciate the effort,” he sighs, “I need to get a few more... specialty supplies. Fresh, my dear, could I leave you for a moment?” 

“Just get on with it,” It grumbled, slouching in the chair as Nightmare left. There was only Sans and it in the room now. A few moments after Nightmare left, the skeleton seemed keen to use this to his advantage. “Fresh?”

It ignored him, pressing its face to the upholstery of the chair to block out any light. The room was already kept dim, but the darkness was still more welcome.

“Are you…” A few moments of silence, it could hear him squirming on the table. Was he trying to look at it? “You’re not really with him, right?”

“You don’t know me, pal.” It grumbled, voice muffled. “I know that you showed me a moment of kindness. I know that you have the potential to do the right thing.” His voice got stronger as he continued. 

It turned just far enough to see his eyes looking up at it, and kicked him in the back of the head. The wheels of its shoes made a satisfying crack against his skull. “Can it.” It snarled. 

He was silent except for measured breathing, and it wished he would just cry instead. Lash out already. Call it a monster. Do anything. 

“I’m sorry.” The skeleton finally got out, “You- you, must be really going through something terrible right now.”

Fresh wanted to scream. 

It was contemplating if another kick to his skull would cave it in when Nightmare got back, voice whiny as it asked why he took so long to return. “He’s been so annoying,” It pouted.

The guardian dumped his supplies on the table before making his way to Fresh’s side. “Oh, I’m sorry, dear,” He cooed, reaching a hand out to hold its cheek. It leaned in, his chill welcome. “He won’t be talking much longer, don’t worry.”

Their tentacles shifted behind them, and it sat up to watch. The only thing it could see was the restrained skeleton struggling, letting out a choked “stop–” before Nightmare moved so Sans was no longer in its sight. 

Eyes on him. It huffed, but obliged, leaning back into his palm, blinking expectantly.

Nightmare brought up his other hand, so both were settled on its face. It scrunched up its nose and leaned back when he drifted one closer to its eyesocket– he laughed, but didn’t go any further than cupping its chin. He was cold, an icy balm to its achy bones. 

“What’s your plan, anyway?” It asked as he petted its face. 

“Well, I suppose that’s up to you, my dear.” He replied, trailing one hand down its jaw and around the back of its neck. 

It whined, closing its eyes and pressing further into his hold, “Man I am done thinking today. You said this’d be easier for me.”

He laughed; it could feel it through his hands, and hear a muffled noise behind him. The guardian leaned forward until he could press a kiss right under its eye. They stepped back with a flourish, presenting what they’d done with the skeleton behind them as if it was a nine course meal. 

Sans had been gagged, this time with an actual implement instead of one of Nightmare’s appendages–the taste probably wasn’t any better though. He’d also been blindfolded, but it could still tell how stressed he was from the rest of his expression.

It clapped dryly at the display, a wry smile on its face. Nightmare bowed, making it snort. 

They held a finger to their mouth, shushing any further noise, and began moving their tentacles around the table. The appendages slithered around the bound skeleton, brushing against his clothes but not touching him yet.

It was surely felt though; he flinched in his bounds, and let out a muffled noise, the gag not letting any words out. 

Nightmare sent it another smirk, and it kept a keen gaze as the points of his tentacles wormed around and then between Sans’ joints. The skeleton jolted at the first touch. It knew most other monsters found the guardians’ cold slimy exterior uncomfortable.

The tapered ends easily pressed in, but the further the appendage went the more resistance was no doubt felt. Slower and slower as the seconds tickled by, extra slime weeping between the cracks. 

There was no one moment the bound monster reacted, but it could see him breathing more heavily as the seconds ticked by. At that point it could see appendages pushing through, like shoots of bamboo. He let out a shaky gasp, breaths soft and short. Tremors shook him, but he kept purposefully still.

Fresh looped a hand around his bandanna and gave a sharp tug, jarring him harshly. The tentacles barely followed the motion, and it could feel the resistance, the tugging at the bound skeleton’s joints.

He didn’t react much past a tightening of his face and another huffing sound. It wondered what it could do to make him cry.

Nightmare tsked at it, "Impatient, are you?” 

“Only because you’re taking forever,” it pouted. 

He stalked closer, crossing the small amount of distance he’d put between them in two strides, grabbing its hand in his. It tugged it back, but not before enjoying the touch for a moment. 

“You never want to take things slow,” Nightmare complains. It rolled its eyes; the other was clearly feeling the same thing, his tentacles waving and jerking with the bits of slack they had between his back and the bound skeleton. 

He reached back for its face, and this time it made no move to stop him from tracing a finger around its eyesocket, the one that housed its true body. “Do you want to get to the main course then?”

“Don’t know if that thing,” it pointed towards Sans, who was breathing loudly now, sweat beading on his skull, “Is quite ready yet. He seems like a struggler, and you said I wouldn’t have to put in any effort.”

“You won’t,” they assure it, “You won’t need to take control just yet… just sit there and look pretty.”

“Flatterer.”

“You like that about me,” he laughed, plunging his hand into the cavity of its skull. He didn’t scoop it out, instead putting pressure outwards until the fragile bone started to crack. 

It let go of the host’s Soul, and without Fresh holding it together, Nightmare’s action did too much damage for the body to recover. Sitting in Nightmare’s palm without a host, its tentacles coiled closer. It watched from there as Nightmare dusted off their chair– they'd probably order one of their little pets to clean up more later. 

The guardian curled his fingers until he was clutching the main part of its soft body. The pressure was pleasant, but it didn’t want to be in the open. He seemed to get the message, setting it on Sans’ face. 

He jolted violently, making another noise beneath the gag. It slipped a tendril underneath the blindfold and slowly slipped the rest of its body in afterwards. The body jerked and shook underneath it, the head waving wildly from side to side as if to dislodge it. It held tight, pressed to the walls of the skull.

Abruptly, the shaking stopped, and the body let out a pained grunt. 

Everything was still, and warm, and dark. Fresh sent out more feelers as it settled into its new perch.

And then light started spilling in, Nightmare removing the blindfold with one hand and looking at it with that knowing smirk, his other arm positioned to hold the body down by the neck. It squinted at him, unable to word its displeasure but confident he could feel it.

Nightmare leaned down to that socket and made as if to kiss it. It squirmed in the cavity, amused by the way the body had jolted and grunted, no doubt able to see Nightmare out of the other eyesocket. 

The guardian giggled as he leaned back out. With an almost careless motion, they ripped all his tentacles out from between the body’s joints. The body shook and panted around it, falling mostly limp. A tenseness missing now with Nightmare no longer exerting as much pressure. It knew there was more to come though.

Nightmare made good on that implicit understanding, moving to unchain the body. Their tentacles wrapped around every limb they removed the chains from, until it was only them keeping him in bondage.

He lifted the body into the air, admiring his work, and it looked down on him from its eyesocket. He smiled up at it, and settled where Fresh had been seated beforehand: the head of the table. 

Gently, the most they had been since they ferried it from its old dusted corpse to its new body, they set him into their lap. Tentacles wound tighter and farther, taking advantage of how close the two of them now were to slide between bones and around arms and legs. 

The body shifted as Nightmare arranged it to his liking. The torso arched forward, and the arms and legs held behind them; it could feel the jarring motion of Nightmare tugging him into place. 

His grinning face was all it saw out from the eyesocket, content with what he had wrought. It curled up, making itself comfortable as Nightmare pulled the body further into extremes with his tentacles. 

Once he was satisfied, he pressed his cheek to the body’s, inches away from Fresh. It roiled in place, before squirming closer to him. Eye to eye, he smiled, a cyan crescent moon. “Are you enjoying yourself, dear?” he asked.

After a moment's consideration, it bobbed up and down. The motion startled a laugh out of the guardian, shaking the body with the motion and tugging out another wheezy breath from him.

“This is taking longer than I thought it would,” He continued, slowly twisting the already strained bones. “I know you’ve been so excited to start your meal.”

There was very little it could see from its place inside the body’s eyesocket, but it could feel him slowly being shifted around by Nightmare. Grinding bones vibrated up through the body to where Fresh could feel them– It shifted angrily, flashing a warning blue when it heard something snap. 

Nightmare seemed to find this much more amusing than it, smiling widely at its antics. “Don’t be so anxious, dear. That was just a finger.” He poked it with his own when he said that. There was still a discomfort to letting him touch its soft body, but his surface was soft and smooth, and it allowed him his moment. 

It’d be fine as long as he didn’t damage the body too much, it reminded itself.

“You are more pampered than any pet in the world,” Nightmare said, petting around its eye. “And you probably don’t even realise it.”

It gave him a look. It very much knew the situation it was in, at all times. He was the one who didn’t know he was pampered. The guardian couldn’t know what it was thinking though–even he wasn’t that powerful– so he took its non-answer as agreement.

The two sat like that, quietly enjoying each other’s presence. Anytime Nightmare got bored, he’d entertain himself with the body. Fresh slowly dozed off, knowing there wouldn’t be any power struggles if it let its guard down. 

Eventually, it jolted back awake, the first thing it processed being the sound of the guardian's laughter. He gave it another smile, stretched so wide it reached his eyes. It knew he blew on it to wake it up. Annoying freak.

“I think it's about time for you to have your taste, darling.” Nightmare cooed, “He’s been so delicious so far.”

It wasn’t like the two of them ate the same part, it couldn’t say. Why would it care if the body’s misery was enjoyable? It spread out anyway, tendrils digging into the skull and splitting into tinier growths, permeating the bones it could reach like mycelium.

Fresh was much slower than he usually was– on a good day he could do this in seconds– but there wasn’t any rush. The body wasn’t getting away no matter how long it took. It got through the ribcage easily enough, spreading from there to the shoulderblades, arms, pelvis, legs. It carefully avoided the Soul. The best for last, as they say.

Eventually there was nothing else left, but as it reached for it, the body jolted once more. Lashing out randomly, in a last ditch effort to get away from the sensation. Nightmare put a stop to most of the convulsions by tightening his tentacles, but the scowl on his face made it obvious he wasn’t very pleased.

It wasn’t either. 

“Don’t worry,” he sighed, ripping open the body’s shirt with a clawed hand, exposing the ribcage and, more importantly, the Soul, “I’ll handle him.”

Carefully shying back, it let him reach into the body’s ribcage without touching any of its tendrils. His hand enveloped the thing easily, the glow dimming to near nothing through the negativity that encased Nightmare. 

The body shook more violently, Fresh letting go of any small amount of control it’d gotten and leaving containing the struggling thing up to Nightmare. They barely seemed to notice, their attention laser focused on the Soul in their hand.

They squeezed. The body thrashed, knowing that he was nearing his end, that he'd be dead if this continued. Each movement was uncoordinated and stilted, unable to move out of the stress position Nightmare had forced him into.

They squeezed. Whistling breaths came from the body’s nose, each kick and struggle weaker than the last. 

They squeezed. The body went still.

“Viola,” Nightmare grinned, splaying his hand out at the now limp body. It looked like jazz hands, but it knew he’d give it an offended look if it said that.

Hesitantly, it reached back out to the Soul. It was half worried he’d crushed it too much and there wouldn’t be anything left for it. It’d be in character for someone like Nightmare, afterall. The damage was only superficial though, and with a little coaxing, it got the Soul under its control, safely tucked in the eyesocket with its true body.

“Done?” He prodded.

It grunted, not up to figuring out how to talk again yet. 

He didn’t force it, just keeping that stupid smile on his face and learning back into the chair. 

His tentacles remained wound tight around its body, but manhandled it into something much more comfortable. Its face was tucked against his chest, its legs cushioned by the seats upholstery, him wrapped securely around its arms and chest. He peeled off the body’s gloves and boots as he did that, leaving it only in the ruined shirt and shorts.

The pressure was comforting, and it was too sated to want to get up anyway– maybe it could shapeshift itself a look that matched its sensibilities after a nap. Nightmare seemed to share its sentiment, content to just sit there with it on his lap. He nuzzled its face with his own. The man acted so similar to a haughty cat, it mused to itself.

“We should do this more often.” 

When Ford asked Stan if he wanted to sail the sea together, Stan thought things couldn't possibly get any better. Sailing the world with his other half like they always dreamed, what more could he ask for?

Then, impossibly, things got even more perfect, when a night of drinking led to the both of them being way more honest than usual and, well...

They were together now, as both brothers and life partners, partners in every possible way. It was perfect.

Except Ford was acting weird.

Not that that was odd for Ford. Stan would and had literally gone through hell and back for his brother, but he'd be the first to admit Ford's always been a bit of a character. But he'd been acting weird in ways he hadn't before, and Stan was starting to get concerned.

The two of them fell into a sexual relationship pretty quickly, not wanting to waste anymore time together, and while Ford always seemed eager, he wouldn’t undress in the same room as Stan. Stan's mind was still a bit fucked in certain places, but he knew Ford definitely didn't always have a hangup about that because he vividly remembered Ford changing in the same room as him when they were teens and shamefully trying to sneak a peek.

Stan's first thought was that Ford must've been ashamed of his body (Which made absolutely no sense when he was built like a greek god, but whatever. Ford was self-conscious about weird shit sometimes.) or his scars. But they had had sex with the lights on before, and while Ford would sometimes get upset looking at his scars, he'd told Stanley it was less shame and more melancholy that filled him when he thought of the marks of his past.

Stan just couldn't figure it out, and he was at his wits end. Soon he'd have to just ask Ford what his deal was, abd he wouldn't be a true Pines' man if he didn't exhaust every other possible option before trying emotional honesty.

So he barged in the bathroom while Ford was getting ready to take a shower.

"Stanley, what the fuck!" Ford shrieked, having pulled out a gun immediately upon Stan bursting into the room. Probably not Stan's best idea to startle a man with such strong survival instincts, but Stan was distracted from his almost being shot by finally seeing Ford partially undressed, wearing nothing but his turtleneck and-

"Are those panties?" Stan asked stupidly, completely struck dumb at the sight of his manly, sci-fi action hero brother with a lacy little number fit snug around his hips. Ford looked down, as if also surprised by what he was wearing, and his face flushed as pink as the pretty little silk panties he was wearing.

"Ah, well." Ford stuttered, before looking up at Stan with an embarrassed little grin. Stan needed to destroy him. "Yes, I suppose they are. Apologies, Stanley, it's not that I didn't trust you, it's just as much as I enjoy wearing such things I've always been a bit embarrassed..."

"You should apologize." Stan growled, taking a step forward and crowding Ford against the bathroom wall. "Dressing like a slutty little girl all this time and not letting me see."

Ford's eyes dilated, his breath hitching, and Stan grinned. Bingo.

"Now then, how's about you start making it up to me, doll?"

CB had been mulling over words of one of his best friends [of which he had many] all evening. Blue said that today, April 20th, was Fresh’s birthday when he dropped by. [Always when Fresh was away; he’s pretty sure Blue doesn’t like him very much.]

He didn’t know how much he believed that, because a little under three weeks ago they’d celebrated Fresh’s birthday already. It would be really unfair if he got Two birthdays, in CB’s humble opinion. But… Blue hadn’t ever lied to him, at least, not that he could remember. And it was good to trust your friends at their word, Fresh told him that all the time.

He kicked at the floor, watching as rocks skidded away. It didn't really matter, he decided. He'd celebrate Fresh’s other birthday with as much gusto as his normal one, cus even if it wasn't really his birthday, it was another excuse to have fun. Another example of how much of a good friend he was. He grinned at the idea.

A quick glance at his phone showed it was almost time for Fresh to get back, so he ran back to where they’d been when he left. On cue, there was an explosion of magic saturated fog, a Fresh Poof! With it, the sound of his best friend’s voice calling out, “I’m back, lil dude!”

CB rushed at him, before the other had even slowed down on his heelys. “Fresh!” He yelled, slamming into its middle and wrapping his arms around it.

“Wouh!” Fresh exclaimed, hands [which were almost hesitant, but that would be absurd. Hesitant and Fresh were words that don’t belong together] settling over CB’s shoulders- they were big, so it felt almost like he was hugging back. “What’s the occasion, Stripes?”

CB didn’t even fight it on the nickname, just looking up at him with a big smile, “It’s a birthday hug!”

For some reason, Fresh got a weird look on his face at that. Words CB didn't quite catch flashing over his glasses before he fell to his knees, hands still on his shoulders– something he did when he wanted to talk to CB more face-to-face. His best friend must be super moved by his ultra-cool birthday hug!

Instead of some profuse thanks, Fresh gave him a more serious expression. “It’s April 20th, who told you it was my birthday?” He didn’t say it wasn’t, but he did seem a bit grumpy, maybe because he was embarrassed he had two?

“Blue did!” He chirped, which made Fresh groan, his head falling forward until it rested on CB’s shoulders. He wrapped his arms around its skull in a hug, not really used to being the one to comfort Fresh. “Do you not like your birthday…? I think its pretty cool you have two.”

“Thanks lil man.” Was its response, the hold on his shoulders tightening until Fresh pulled him into a fuller hug, making CB fall into his lap. He squeaked, arms flailing a bit as Fresh got more comfortable on the ground with him, “I guess having two is pretty rad, huh? Twice the celebration.”

There was a smile in his voice, and CB grinned. “Does that mean we get more cake? And get to prank your friends some more?”

“We only did that cus it was April First, Stripes,” he laughed.

“Yeah! Your birthday!”

Hunger was a familiar feeling to Fresh. Like the cold of chains or the feel of another’s hands on it. Facts of life it would just have to deal with. That’s how things had always been.

Hunger was a less familiar feeling while living with Color, but it hadn’t been stupid enough to think that was a hard rule. Once the other was finished playing ‘house’ with his new dog it would return. It just thought things would happen a little less… gradually.

He’d not fed it in the past two days, not letting it soak in the flowing Soul magic that surrounded him near constantly. When it first came into his possession, he was easy and quick with affection. It would wobble, whine, even look at him sadly and he’d be all over it.

Now though? Now he’d always hover a little out of reach, that indulgent smile on his face like he wasn’t depraving it of sustenance. Pampering his poor sick pet was probably easier for him. Sure the thing would appreciate any scrap of affection he gave.

With its new… health, he must’ve wanted it to be more ‘proactive.’ Nightmare was always complaining about it lacking a ‘will to please’. Like he wouldn’t puke if it felt any real positive emotions directed at him. It could easily imagine Color reacting with more… genuine joy, if it acted all happy and affectionate with him. He seemed the type to at least want it to pretend to like him.

He’d been trying to coax it out of its room more often, too, so a bit of initiative being his goal made sense. Make it actually work for its food for once. It still didn’t really fit the ‘sweet owner’ look Color was going for, but that could just be why he was trying to get it to do all this without really asking it. Plausible deniability, with his own image. 

It groaned into its pillow and pushed itself up on shaky arms. Better get this over with before it got really bad. 

The living room was a short walk, and Color was already there; sitting on the couch, eye glancing at the tv. It was playing some cooking show Fresh paid no mind to— it wasn’t what it was here for, and it didn’t really think it could watch monsters and humans eating without feeling like puking.

His eye zipped over to it as it stumbled in, turning into a gentle curve as he smiled. “Oh, hey Fresh. Glad to see you about.” Said with a grin, and it let itself relax, knowing it had made the correct choice. He wanted it out.

“Yeah,” it mumbled back, a burn of irritation for how weak the word sounded as it said it. After a fortifying breath, it tried again, “Yeah thanks uh— Color.”

“Always, dude.” He laughed, the noise a bit wispy, like he hadn’t in a while. It knew he just had a bit of dryness to his voice; he was always laughing and talking, never a moment left silent. It was like if he didn’t fill in the space, he’d get scared Fresh would forget he was there.

Stupid. There wasn’t a scenario where he wasn’t at the forefront of its thoughts while in the same room as it. Maybe Killer wasn’t as obedient, it could imagine them ignoring Color. 

The skeleton had turned back to the TV before Fresh managed to force itself forwards, movements stilted and quick. It saw Color’s eye lights flicker to it for only a moment before he looked away. How considerate, it almost scoffed. It didn’t, of course, it needed to be on good behaviour if it wanted to eat, the whole reason it came out in the first place.

He couldn’t keep this up as it reached barely a foot away, finally turning to it, a bemused smile on his face at its pathetic display. It wondered when if he’d ever get his phone out and record it– it knew Killer was always sharing videos of cats or dogs doing silly things or getting scared by their reflections. What better than to make his own?

Another set of eyes, another use of it as entertainment. Was that better or worse than Nightmare? Better or worse than its life before all of these captors? Unable to look at him any longer, it settled onto the floor, back to the couch. The pressure was nice, and it leaned further into it as it tried to ignore Color’s burning gaze. There was half a moment to consider if Color would like that pun [he was a sans, surely he liked puns–] before it thought better than saying it was uncomfortable with him looking at it.

“You can sit on the cou—“

“I know.” Fresh interrupted, its face burning. It wished he wouldn’t keep testing it like this. Wished he didn’t keep trying to coax it into doing things he definitely didn’t really want it to do. Every sweet request a trap. It had played these games before, it wasn’t falling for it. “Sorry.” It mumbled after another moment, the space between them feeling electric and unignorable.

A sigh. It didn’t turn around. It didn’t turn around. “It’s okay.” 

It could see his knees in its peripherals, and it scooted an inch closer. He didn’t move. 

There was a burst of laughter from the TV, tinny and fake, and it couldn’t help a flinch. And another when Color’s hand landed on its shoulder, with words it didn’t catch, tinged with a questioning lilt. The other nearly let go before it remembered how it was supposed to act. 

Forced relaxation, pressed back into the touch, appreciative. His hands were warm, even through its shirt. He could probably loop a finger through its collar from there, could— 

It let out a rattling breath. Color asked, probably again, “You okay?” His voice sounded far away, like the TV. It wondered if the yellow light filling the room was him or the machine. It nodded.

There wouldn't be another chance like this soon. He was already touching it [he was so warm] so he probably wanted it, right? Wanted more than it already offered, they always wanted more. Its body didn’t move. He did though, pulling away after one last squeeze. It felt unceremonious, the closing of that door, its only way out. 

It needed to move, it needed to move, it needed to move. With a jolt it followed his movement, tipping to the side until its shoulder hit his knee, tilting its head back until it could place its head on his thigh. The TV was still laughing, but it could barely hear it over its own rattling breaths. Clawed hands uselessly hung onto his sweatpants, most of its weight pressed to his thigh. 

Should it stop? Did he want it to act scared? Probably not, right?  It took in another raspy wheeze, trying to suppress the noise. Nuzzling closer, working out the logistics of if pressing its face to his stomach would be better or worse. It tried to convince itself this was good, it was being good. 

Nothing was working, and it helplessly looked up at him, hoping for at least a shred of approval for its initiative. 

That was not what it got.

Eye blown wide, hands pulled up, his flames spun wildly and crackled in the air. He didn’t look happy, frozen in shock and what was probably disgust. He looked sick. 

It flinched back the same moment he did, scrambling for a moment on all fours before it wrapped its arms around itself, pressing in on its chest like that could do anything but make breathing harder.  A low whine filled its chest, and no matter how hard it pressed the sound kept coming out. 

“Sorry!” He made as if to stand before freezing mid motion, watching it scoot another foot back. “Sorry…”

It needed out. It couldn’t be here right now, couldn’t stay so close when he finally came out of whatever mood this was and actually punished it. Stupid stupid stupid how did it think this could have ended any other way?

“Why did you…” he trailed off, staring long and hard at it. It couldn’t help the way its eyes skipped over to the hallway before back to him. His hands tensed, his feet shifted— was he getting up? Was this the last straw that would lead to punishment?

It bolted. He didn’t follow. 

——-

The spot between the wall and bed felt familiar, and it felt a hazy recollection of hiding there when it first came to this house. A worthless hiding place, already known. Maybe Color would find the pathetic display cute. Sometimes, Nightmare got like that, utterly endeared with its attempts to get away from him. 

The thought didn’t feel comforting, and it dragged another blanket in. He wasn’t usually happy with it though, most of the time he found it annoying. Useless animal that didn’t allow its owner to touch it. It curled its mouth into a grimace, teeth bared at the memory. 

It definitely looked stupid, growling at nothing, hiding somewhere that offered no protection. It felt stupid, even. Floor boards creaked outside the door, Color, because Killer was always quiet. It grabbed a pillow to add to its makeshift nest. 

This would need to be cleaned up later. That fact felt nausea inducing compared to all the other things it would have to deal with ‘later’, so Fresh ignored it.

——-

It knew it shouldn’t make a fuss out of this. Knew that as it stifled its whimpers and sniffles, knew that as it kept in whines. It knew that but did so anyway.

It hadn't gotten more than a whiff of magic out of Color the previous day, and now it was surely in hotter water than it had been earlier. Hungry to the point of disobedience. A stupid mangy mutt. 

A stupid, keening, pathetic part of it wanted so badly for Color to swoop in and fix things. Like the man could snap it all away, as easily as Nightmare could snap a bone. Such a miserable thing to want, Color’s attention on demand, like it was anything but an animal to him, a prized possession at most. Plus, asking for more than its due would definitely make the punishment worse.

It needed to be taught a lesson. Beforehand it could’ve construed him not feeding it as a hidden order, now it knew it was punishment. The similarities with Nightmare were as obvious as they were surprising. It guessed no matter Color’s moral feud with Nightmare, starving was just too good a punishment to put away. Stupid of it to think it was anything else. How else, why else, would he let it get this sick on his watch when the solution to all its problems was so very easy to give? It needed magic, and he… wasn’t giving it any.

It tried to focus on its recent memories again, [and again and again and it didn’t know what it was missing-] wondering about the offense. It needed to figure this out, the longer it took the worse this was going to get.

He’d flinched back, when it tried to set its head on his lap. Taking affection not freely given. It had just… seen Killer do similar. Draping himself upon Color’s shoulder, head hooked into the crook of his neck. Color had even looked pleased at it; easy smiles over both their faces. Foolish, to think it was anywhere near Killer to him, that it could make Color give it that expression.

But before that, because the punishment started before that blunder, it had to have done something. Its mind wasn’t clear, hazy with the consequences of its actions, and it growled. For the first time since it entered the house it hadn’t been sick. Was that really it? The man the type of freak to only want his pet sick and dependent on him? Poison would’ve been more effective, less waiting around than slowly starving it.

That left nothing though. A mockery, a clear sign it had blundered again. Not a single clue left to show it where it had erred.

Its efforts had failed– like most things in its life, really. What did that even leave? Begging was out of the question [he always hated when it did that], and so was hunting… no dust or old magic attacks…  It felt nauseous all over again at the thought of food, breathing coming out hard and wheezy, its spines rattling.

He’d been giving it looks, the last day [or two…?], single eye slanted and sad and strange. And he’d reach out, just before touching it, and then stop himself. The fine tuned act of someone who saw themselves as a kind and loving owner, probably ‘miserable’ to have to punish his pet. The thought made it all worse– definitely more prone to lashing out.

It curled further as another wave of pain coursed through it, all its joints achy and pained from the lack of magic. It had been stingy in the last… it couldn’t remember the last time it Hadn’t been stingy with its magic, but it had been more so, recently. There wasn’t any room to waste such a precious resource, not unless it wanted to lose the rest of its wits. It wondered if Color would be kinder to it, if it was like that. Nightmare certainly liked it to be a little clever, if only to entertain him, but Color was proving to hate everything Nightmare had trained into it.

Shifting for what felt like the hundredth time -some sort of mix between restlessness and bone deep tiredness permeating its form- it couldn’t keep in the whine, a shiver wracking its form. This sucked. This sucked so bad and it wanted Color to make it stop.

What did its previous owner like when he was mad…? It couldn’t remember Color being mad at it before this, or, mad enough to actually enact a punishment. But Nightmare, he got mad all the time. Over everything, if it didn’t cuddle back, if it seemed too eager, if it ate too slow, too fast. He’d… he’d like when it made it clear it was sorry, and when he knew the punishment was affecting it. Maybe it could start there.

The latter wasn’t something it thought Color would enjoy, but they were both probably things he’d need to see to decide to stop punishing it. So it just needed to figure out how to show that to him. He’d have to have seen it lagging in the past week, simpering and cowering more than it had done since it first came into his custody.

None of that had satisfied him. Which just meant it hadn’t shown him it was sorry enough, it was sure. The most logical conclusion, the only thing it could reason as to why this was still going on. So all it had to do was show it was really, truly sorry. It could do that, had done that constantly for things it really wasn’t sorry about. And for Color, it thought it could even shove a bit of sincerity in.

With what felt like a monumental effort, it got out of its makeshift nest, over the bed. The floor wobbled beneath it [or its legs, it couldn’t really tell] but it didn’t fall over. A victory, one it would take between its teeth and not let go of.

The walk to its door went by in a haze, and before it knew it Color’s own stood before it. The world tipped, and it leaned its weight into his door knob to try and stop itself from following suit. Failure stung as much as the fall, dizzying and confusing as it tumbled into his room. Was it unlocked? Already cracked open? Did it break something?

It ached so fully it nearly puked to splay across his lap, press its face to his stomach and stop thinking. To become an unfeeling object without want or need or purpose except for what he deemed fit. It couldn't deal with being an animal today, couldn't bear the thought, for it knew if it was truly free it would be dying in a ditch, alone and cold and hungry.

It didn't want to be confused and disorientated and surely, surely minutes before punishment. Or, another punishment. The thought of two made its head spin.

The room was dark and its eyes awful, so it heard more than saw Color rise. He was lit from the inside, his eye a spotlight directed at it. The flames spun blues and purples, light cold and dim next to the roaring orange and yellows it sometimes took on. It found a comfort in that fact though, Color unable to see how pathetic it was— just glimpses, only small portions. It hoped it was enough to take pity on.

“Killer…?” He murmured, rubbing at his eye socket with a scratchy sound, and it kept in a keen. He called out the other’s name, which just meant he hadn’t expected, wanted, it here instead. It rattled uselessly, some poor imitation of a behavior it only half remembered. Its prey used to rattle before it ate them, and wasn’t that what it was, now? Prey before a predator?

“Oh- Fresh…are you okay?” his voice was gravelly with sleep and softened further by realisation it was the one who’d creeped in. It wanted to cry. “What’s wrong bud?”

Fresh half crawled half lurched to his bedside. Jerky, like someone had stuck a cattle prod into its back, shivering as it settled its head upon his duvet. No words escaped it, the only sound it managed was a panicked whine between its teeth. Something strangled, like its collar had restricted some non-existent windpipe.

His face twisted up, the expression harshened by the deep shadows his flames cast, rendered clearer still by the way he’d scooted closer. It was within striking distance. “You don’t- you don’t have to say anything if it’s hard, Fresh.”

Shaking its head before he’d even finished, it let out another keening sobbing noise, claws digging into its covers like it was scared to be washed away. He had to see it was sorry, or this wouldn’t end. The words just wouldn’t come out.

Hesitant hands drew close, clear that Color didn’t know if he should be doing this yet. It whined again -like it couldn’t do anything else- and pushed into him before ‘shouldn’t’ won over. He was soft against its face, joints leaking a gentle warmth that made it start sniffling even more.

It wondered if he’d jerk back, or yell at it, or let his bony fingers scratch at its cheeks. It hoped it was the last. Greedy thing, a voice in its head chided. It sounded like Nightmare.

Color hadn't done any of those things though, gently running his thumb over its cheek instead, catching the tears leaking out of its eye sockets. Was he building up to something worse, setting up a false sense of security? Maybe that’s why there hadn’t been many punishments before this, every kind word when it failed, every sweet reassurance, all just a prelude.

The inside of its skull buzzed with questions, but its attention was still focused towards Color. When he stopped moving, so did it, hardly daring to breathe. A second more and he started up again, gentle as he always was, “D’you wanna get off the floor, bud?”

The question sounded like a trap, one it didn’t know how to get out of. The same trap from before, beckoning it places it was not aloud. Maybe it was supposed to fall for it, maybe he wanted it to follow his orders over rules.

It just pressed further into his hands with a small sound, too confused to try and figure out. The words seem leading; he probably already had an answer in mind, and letting him project on some neutral response had worked in the past. It came off too desperate, but he already knew it was a mess. Couldn’t dig a deeper hole than the one it was already in, half sobbing onto his hands.

“Okay, okay,” he cringed, and it didn’t even wonder what it had done wrong this time. There were too many candidates to pick one answer.  “I’ll help you up, that okay with you?”

It really couldn’t express more how okay it was with him doing anything he wanted as long as he kept touching it.

The expression on its face was probably good enough, because he was leaning closer to settle his arms under its armpits, dragging it up. It tried to make it as easy as possible, but definitely wasn’t much help— its body was still wracked with shivers, and finally at its destination so tired it could barely keep its weight up. He pulled it up with a harsh tug, leading to the two ending up tangled on the bed, Colors arms wrapped around it firmly. It was like being in Nightmare’s bed in all the ways except for the ones it wasn’t.

The covers were soft, the two sinking slightly into the mattress. His flames had gone purple at some point, painting the surroundings the same. Closest yet, was the arms around its chest; it didn’t know if it had the energy to struggle out of them if it tried. Except… it was warm. And bright, and it didn’t want to leave.

Before Color could decide he wanted to instead, greedy and hungry and so, so tired, it lurched forward, pressing its face to his collar bone and taking shaky breaths. It wanted. It wanted so badly it hurt. Tears sprung to its eyes, when did it get so pathetic?

He didn’t push it off for its hubris, didn’t do anything but let out a quiet “oomf-” when it reached him and hold it steady as it cried. Even when it knew the snot and tears had definitely soaked through his shirt, even as its sobbing petered out into tiny little sniffles, he held it.

“Shh, shhh-“ he shushed quietly, head hooked over its shoulder. He shifted his hold- making Fresh let out a squeaky scared whine- and started petting it along its back. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Everything’s fine bud.”

“Owner-“ it choked out, the rest getting stuck like barbed wire in its throat.

“No, no no no buddy,” the hold tightened. It felt like a constrictor snake. It felt like home. It went limper in his arms, “you’re not back there, okay? Everything’s okay.”

“Okay.” Fresh parroted back, sniffling miserably and making some half hearted nod into his neck.  Of course, it forgot he hated being called that.

“Yeah. Okay.” He repeated, again. The words rumbled pleasantly through his chest. “Can you… can you tell me what’s wrong?”

“M’ stupid,” it mumbled, drawing the word out. It wanted to spend as long as it could tucked under his chin.

“No you’re not.” He hugged it impossibly closer, “you’re one of the most clever monsters I’ve met.”

That wasn’t… the answer it thought he’d give. That didn’t matter, because it still got the effect it wanted, so it just let out an agreeable hum and soaked in the physical affection. Things were starting to get fuzzy at the edges; it was becoming harder to keep its eye-sockets open.

Words lingered at the edges of its vision, tinny and filled with static, “Why would you think that?”

It took an extra moment before it answered, one half wondering if the words were directed at it and the other knowing once he figured out it was trying to get out of its punishment he’d probably shove it off. “Don’t know how to be good… to get outta my punishment…”

“Punishment…?” He was the one to parrot back, this time, leaning back slightly to look down at it.

It missed the dizzying magic being pressed to his neck gave it access to. Now it could only focus on his voice. The tone was empty and carefully even; Nightmare only sounded like that when he was really mad. It wanted the static back so bad. Did he want it to explain what it thought was going on? Force itself to relieve the experience?

“Mhmm.” It agreed, searching for the proper explanation. It needed the report to be factual, but still emotional enough that he understood it didn’t need to keep being punished. “I’ve been bad, and it, ah, hurts.” The words felt like molasses as it struggled to get each one out. That was… that was good enough though, right? 

“Hurt how?” The words were sharp, tinged with urgency. Was it getting close to the right answer?

Fresh blinked slowly, chin already dipping down as it grew tired of holding itself up. “Hungry. Really hungry.” 

Would Color be okay with it cuddling back into him? There was a nearly unreadable expression on his face, some mix of anger and confusion, though at this point it had failed at reading him more than it had ever succeeded. This whole mess wouldn’t have happened if it wasn’t such a failure at the task. The only thing it could tell definitively was that he looked serious and considering– which means this could go very well for it, or very very badly.

“Fresh…” the first word out of his mouth was a pity filled call of its name. It could work with pity, it could do so much with it, pity was practically the only thing that got any of the right reactions from Color. 

Confidence bolstered, it couldn’t stop itself from inching closer, a moth to his flame, so easily walking into a possible trap. The bugs had always struck it as stupid; witless beings unable to tell the moon from a light-bulb, killing themselves in pursuit of home. Was this how the moths felt? The thought came unbidden.

Part of it shook and begged to run, that nothing good would come from this, yet the rest of it felt a blooming apathy at the idea. It was already bad; things couldn’t get worse than it was now, whining and sobbing at its owner, waking him up in the night, invading his bed, there was nowhere further down.

“Really...?” He questioned, eye looking into its own for a single beat before moving on– dismissive, probably. Just skittering over its form, trying to decipher whatever it was he needed to by himself. It guessed the stupid animal act had really sunk in.

It just blinked at him, making no movement but a slight sway in the spot. There was no flinch as his hands reached it, burning like heated oil. First around its cheeks, cupping its face like a treasured item, then along its neck, shoulders, around its back– just touching, almost searchingly. Firm but not harsh, leaving a trail of the chilled aftermath of a burn. It couldn’t help but lean in further, pressing its face flush against him.

“Your magic tastes nice,” It mumbled into his neck, so far past the point of no return it wondered if there ever even was one. Little keening giggles spilled from its lips, nervous and enraptured in equal part. It really wouldn’t survive a day in the wild, ruined as it was, a moth eager to cozy up against a live wire.

“Oh... oh!” Color murmured quietly, before repeating himself, louder. It didn’t notice his arms had paused halfway down its back till they started moving again, and it let out a happy little trill, arching into his hands more. “It's uhm- this is okay.” He said, higher-- nearly the squeal of cornered prey.

There was a confused hum it realized came from it a second after it started, airy, probably more of a purr than anything readable as a question. He awkwardly pet its back a few more times, mumbling to himself. “How didn’t I notice this.”

“Ignore that. Let’s… get comfortable,” He said when it chuffed at his question, trying to be useful. It didn’t really know what he was talking about though. “if you’re okay with this. Or… okay as you can be.” He didn’t sound very sure, so it nuzzled his chest, in a way it was sure was very cute.

He shifted it in his arms, leaning back further. It followed as easily as if that was what it was made for. They settled next to each other. The searching touch had stopped, replaced by a soothing stroke down its back. Fresh shivered, body caught between pressing forward into Color’s chest and pressing back into his hand. There was a question, something about comfort…? It couldn't remember the last time it felt so nice, so it mumbled a sleepy affirmative.

“That’s good,” said by its ear, as Color hooked his head over its shoulder. It could feel the words vibrate through his ribcage. It mimicked the noise, deciding that hugging him was the easiest course of action. He was just so soft, and squishy, and warm. More movement, he was leaving he was leaving he was leaving– a moment after a keen broke from it, something settled over the two of them. It was a heavy duvet, cooled from the lack of contact– it felt like being buried under dirt and mud. Apologetic murmurs flowed by its ear.

A dream, given form. That must have been what this is. A very nice dream. One it didn’t want to end… The gentle touches and steady flow of magic made it hard to stay awake though, awareness dipping in levels.

It squirmed with a whine, trying to press closer to him when they were already flush– he did nothing but shift in place, accommodating its needy grasping with gentle coos and shushing. “I’ll be here in the morning, just to get to sleep.”

It wanted to argue, but the words were that careful self-assured cadence Color always took when he was trying hard to sound believable. A few more slow blinks as it tried to hold onto consciousness, a futile effort. There was no need, the words repeated themselves, ‘He’d be there in the morning’. It was out like a light in the next moment.

“You look tired.” From behind him; Killer, he recognized instantly.

Color turned to look at him, smiling something small, “how can you tell? You were looking at the back of my skull.”

The other didn’t answer, just slinking closer so they could settle their head on his shoulder, and their hand on his other. Color laughed; the slant of his shoulders told them all that? Trust his closest friend to always notice when he felt off.

“Is it really that bad…?” He asked. Sometimes it wasn’t. They were scarily observant, and when they pointed things out to Color, it wasn’t always something anyone else would notice.

His hopes were dashed when Killer huffed, annoyed, “Yes.” 

“Sorry about that…” Color said, lifting a hand to cup Killer’s cheek, “you know why.”

He leaned into the touch, but let his eyes fall half-lidded in a ‘done with this’ expression. “If I’d know you’d want to keep it, I wouldn’t have brought it here.”

“Hey!” Color chided, “don’t talk about Fresh like that. And I’m not ‘keeping it,’ it just… needs a little help getting on its feet. I’m sure it’ll strike out on its own when it’s feeling better.”

Killer gave him a piercing stare [it resembled all his other expressions, but Color could guess the intention]. He was still happy they felt comfortable enough to get snippy with him; it hadn’t been too long since Killer got away from Nightmare, and any agency they showed couldn’t help but make him smile.

“Okay,” he huffed, “even if it doesn’t, I’m happy to give it a place to stay. You know that.”

They wrapped their arms around his shoulders, more of a hug than the lean they were doing beforehand. “Yeah yeah, just the type of monster you are.” The words were blasé, nearly apathetic, but Color knew there was affection underneath. It made the guilt worse.

“Yeah.” It felt bad to agree, when he knew Killer clearly felt a little jealous of all the attention Fresh was getting, but he really couldn’t do anything else. Even without the six Soul’s influence, he didn’t think he could leave a monster to flounder without help, let alone one as clearly traumatised as Fresh.

“I’m going out tomorrow,” Color said, instead of any of the words he’d wanted to about duty or greater good, about how really, he was sorry, “just ah, to get clothes for Fresh. Want to come with?”

A silent stare, so he knew Killer was really considering it. Finally, just before he could take it back, affirm that Killer didn’t have to do anything they didn’t feel comfortable with, they answered, “sure, Color. Sounds good.”

He smiled. It’d be nice to spend some time with his best friend.

———

He woke early, because he knew he’d need that sort of energy.

Any type of routine was difficult to manage for him, after so long in a space without time or need for anything of the like, but he thought he’d been getting his morning routine pretty locked down lately. Brushing his teeth, getting dressed, cooking breakfast- all things he’d struggled with right when he got out of the void, but not as much these days. It made him feel good, that he’d made such clear progress, hopeful for those he was helping to be able to do the same.

Of course, there was more than just him who relied on that routine [probably the only reason he tried so hard with it]. With that in mind, he knocked on Killer’s door, letting him know breakfast was ready.

They were opening the door before he even stepped back, already awake and waiting. A little unsettling, but he knew Killer just liked to follow the routine they usually did, even if it wasn’t enforced at all; that meant, of course, leaving his room when Color went to fetch him for breakfast.

“Breakfast is on the table,” he told Killer, already moving to Fresh’s room. Killer followed him instead of heading to eat right away— a clingy mood already, probably because Color promised to hang out.

“Joining me?”

They gently pushed their shoulder to his as they walked, a silent confirmation. He smiled, “Got it.”

He gently rapped his knuckles against the door, with a warning that Killer would be joining as well. 

Fresh made an acknowledging noise, and he wondered if everyone woke up before him.

Just like always, when he entered it regarded him with wide eyes and an attentive posture. Nothing too nervous though, and he smiled at it, glad Killer’s presence didn’t seem to be a problem.

“Morning, Fresh.”

“G’morning.” It mumbled back. It eyed Killer and gave him a slight dip of its head in acknowledgment, to which they regarded it with a blank stare in turn. Neither seemed to be blinking.

“Ooookay-“ Color interrupted, “Got breakfast! Bacon and eggs good?”

It turned its attention right back to Color at that, giving him a shaky nod before standing up, silent in its movements. It was almost alarming how such a large and imposing monster just disappeared into the background. 

On the way to the dining table, Killer and Fresh regarded each other again with nothing but a quick meeting of eyes before their attention went back to him, and he wondered how well they knew each other from before they got out from Nightmare’s thumb. There had to have been a little affection on Killer’s half, else Color didn’t know why he’d decide to take Fresh with him at all. Neither showed it though, barely even acknowledging the other ever, so he wondered if his theory was wrong. Still, the little glances could mean anything. He knew they were both very clever.

They made it to the table before the silence got too awkward, and the three settled in to eat breakfast. He passed Killer the bottle of ketchup for his eggs before he asked.

“We’re, me and Killer,” he said, once they were all sat, “going out to buy you some clothes. Got any preferences?”

It shifted awkwardly at that, frozen with a fork halfway to its mouth. “Uh- I’m good with anything, man.” 

“It likes colorful things.” Killer said as Color was trying to figure out how to press for more info without spooking it.

“Killer,” he hissed, though there was no vitriol. While he did trust Killer to be right about things like this, he just… wanted Fresh to feel the agency of choosing to reveal facts about itself. Make it feel like what he got for it was its choice. 

Killer had no remorse on his face, though he did do a token, “sorry.”

He sighed, though didn’t push further. There was no was no way he’d be able to stay mad at him anyway, and they both knew it.

Looking back at Fresh, it had a pinched look on its face, eyebrows pressed downwards and mouth in a frown. When it noticed him looking, it quickly schooled its face into something more ‘open’ looking [though he doubted it really was].

“Were you confused on something?” He asked.

It was silent for a bit, but after a glance at Killer [for support?], it mumbled, “You ain’t mad? That sorry was sooo off base.”

There was a well of sadness in his chest at that. Did Fresh think he’d get angry at Killer and treat them as badly Nightmare assuredly was when he himself got mad at the two of them?

“No, no,” he reassured it, “I love Killer, he’s my best friend- I just got a little annoyed is all. And even if I did get mad, we’d talk it out.”

Fresh hummed, the picture of easy acceptance, but he could tell it was going to be mulling that over for a while underneath the surface. 

Coughing into its fist, it changed the subject, “I do like colorful things- brighter the better.” More shifting, eyes catching sneak peeks at him before skittering away. He made sure to smile encouragingly. It couldn’t keep eye-contact. “The sweaters you let me borrow were pretty rad too…”

“I’m glad to hear that,” he smiled wide, something settled in him knowing he didn’t shove it into anything it didn’t want to be wearing. His eyes couldn’t help but drift to the collar at that, but he didn’t linger. Anytime it caught him staring it would clutch at the tag and press it close to itself— whatever meager comfort it brought to it, he would never understand. That was okay though, he wasn’t going to force the issue.

It nodded, shy, and didn’t say anything else, fully focusing its attention on breakfast. He didn’t press, letting it retreat out of the conversation.

Breakfast was done quickly and he was left feeling satisfied for more reasons than how good the eggs tasted. Progress was made today, which he was glad for.

Killer had already ambled out of the room, in the direction of the door most likely. Before Color left, he turned to Fresh.

“We’ll only be gone for a few hours, hope you don’t get too bored without us.” He laughed, “you have free reign of the house, just don’t go into either me or Killer’s rooms without a good reason, yeah?”

It nodded, giving him a thumbs up, “you got it. Same as always.”

He… did usually give the same spiral every time he left. “Sorry sorry, repeating myself here” He laughed, “I’ll get outta your hair. Bye Fresh.”

“Ah- see’ya.” It said, awkwardly.

He took that as his cue that he’d probably started to overwhelm it, and left to follow Killer out. 

He’d left it alone in the house a few times already— things were going to be fine, he reminded himself. 

Killer bumped shoulders with him as he got out, and he smiled, relaxing at the support. With his best friend at his side, things felt a lot more manageable. Maybe it really was going to be okay.

———pov: Fresh———

It woke to a kick to its side, and a sharp hiss from above ordering it to get up. It sounded like Killer.

The other must have been on pet duty. Usually he didn’t feel so energetic to it though. Maybe that was because it felt so awful today— it must’ve not woken up when he’d first tried to rouse it. Everything felt kind of hazy, a rare occurrence even though it just woke up; it was almost always quick to categorise its surroundings, it had to to survive.

His hand curled around its collar and dragged it up. Speaking back was usually useless, and it didn’t really want to deal with whatever power trip Killer was on, so it went limp. He wasn’t allowed to harm it too much, so it had some leeway to make his life difficult, at least until Nightmare got back from his trip and heard about its attitude.

This was doing nothing for the phantom of throat pain it was already dealing with, and it choked down any coughs. It needed to look unaffected— coughing and spluttering would be the opposite of that.

A pull, “get up.” The sharp words weren’t helping Fresh want to work with him anymore than the painful tugging.

Still, it noted something; a hint of genuine emotion colored his words. It hadn’t seen that with Killer often, the other usually a mask of empty cheer. “There’s even something innit for you.” He continued.

It regarded him with a half-lidded stare, asking, “What?” in a voice sounding a bit gravelly, and it forced itself not to cringe. Even after years away from its normal act, things that contradicted its image still got to it.

It tried to ignore the discomfort, focusing on the moment at hand, Killer’s offer. There wasn’t much that interested Fresh these days, except the possibility of escape; it highly doubted that was what Killer was suggesting.

“Got a special treat to go with your food today.”

Boring, bordering on insulting. Treating it like a mangy mutt excited for a bigger slice of meat, as if it wasn’t still going to be rotten.

“It’s going to be dog food either way.”

“Cat food.” Killer corrected.

It regarded him like he’d said something particularly stupid, but didn’t argue further. Whether it was dog food or cat food, neither made the idea of a treat alongside it any better. “Fine, fine. Lead the way, ‘boss’”

Killer didn’t take the bait like the other two would. Maybe he really didn’t care how similar to Nightmare he acted. He just pulled harder on its collar until it had no choice but to get its feet under it. At least it could be comforted by the fact Killer was going to be punished for leaving bruises on its neck.

Once up, Killer wasted no time in clipping its leash to the collar, before setting a brisk pace to the kitchen. A no-nonsense attitude. It was both better and worse than the others. They, at least, seemed uncomfortable interacting with it. Still, it meant there was less hesitance, that things would be over with quickly.

It wouldn’t have been able to keep pace if its legs weren’t almost double Killer’s in length. Normally it didn’t have trouble with that, but its joints ached and it felt a headache forming. It didn’t want to be doing this right now.

Its feelings on the matter didn’t matter though, not to anyone but Nightmare anyway [and he certainly cared about them in a way wholly unhelpful to it]. They found themselves at the entrance to the kitchen much quicker than Fresh would have liked.

Killer looped the leash around one of the many knots of stone and wood the castle seemed to  have in abundance [courtesy of being made by Nightmare, a plant adjacent… thing, Fresh thinks], and started prepping Fresh’s ‘meal.’

It hesitated to call it that. Meals were supposed to be alive, squirming, and, most importantly, containing magic. What Nightmare had scheduled it to eat whenever he was gone was not that, not in anyway at all. The cheapest dog or cat food one could buy, usually smushed up with a spoon and mixed with kibble. All served up to it in a little red dog bowl, only labeled ‘pet.’

Another way to demean it, Fresh was sure. When Nightmare was in, he’d only feed it new hosts or sweet treats Nightmare was enjoying himself. An association the guardian of negativity was trying to brute force into existence, that he meant it was getting fed real food. 

It stubbornly refused to wish Nightmare was here so it wouldn’t have to eat this horrid mixture while sick just to spite him, resolving to be extra awful to its ‘owner’ when he got back.

Of course, if Killer really was giving it a treat along with its dish, that could throw a wrench in things. It couldn’t see any reason Nightmare would want it to associate good things with anyone but him. 

It was shaken out of its thoughts by the sound of Killer setting the bowl down on the floor. It was the usual fare, though something about it seemed… off.

“And the treat?”

“It’s in there.” He pointed at the bowl of slop. So the treat was a lie. 

It huffed, but settled on the floor and picked up the bowl to start eating anyway. Killer, similarly, took a seat at the kitchen table.

It couldn’t really refuse to eat, even if the meal served no purpose further than making it suffer. Nightmare would be less than happy to hear it wasn’t following one of His orders. Egotistical prick.

It tipped the bowl and resolutely ignored as much sensory data as it could. It was the same as always, but it couldn’t help but think Nightmare got it the most putrid smelling wet food he could find because he knew its sense of smell was strong. Unfortunately it had no nose to pinch, so it just tried not to breathe until it was done. 

It could feel Killer’s eyes burning into it as it finished. The gaze didn’t wander as it coughed and gagged, nor when it pushed the now empty bowl back in his general direction. What a creep— not as bad as Nightmare, but that would be impossible.

There was a slight, almost imperceptible, sweet after-taste. It didn’t believe Killer would actually put a treat in, so maybe it was a placebo. It didn’t have time to linger though, because Killer was already wrapping the end of the leash back around his clawed hands. And well… tiny sweet aftertaste didn’t make up for the fact that the rest of it tasted rancid.

“What would you do if you got out?” 

It took it a moment to realize it hadn’t imagined Killer speaking, and another to understand he was talking to it. 

“What?” Fresh hissed, eyes narrowed. The words just screamed ‘trap.’ It would make the rest of the day make more sense too; Killer could definitely be trying to influence it into disobedience with the treat and the extra emotion in his voice could be from the stress of the plan. 

He didn’t respond, just looking at it with his awful empty eye-sockets. It glared back, spines raising as he didn’t elaborate or back down.

Eventually, seeming to realize he wasn’t going to get anywhere unless he gave in more, Killer said, “He knows we all want out. Saying something to me can’t make this any worse with him.” There was a gentle tug on the leash, a silent continuation it could practically hear in the air ‘and not answering could make things worse with Killer.’ 

“I don’t know,” it grumbled, annoyed, “run off? Hide in a ditch? Go back to eating people? What do you want me to say.”

Its voice got scratchier and more rough as it spoke, leaving it to end the sentence coughing.

He just hummed, and it felt like tearing something apart with its teeth. Would it kill someone for these people to say what they thought aloud? Did they get some sort of sick thrill in leaving it confused? 

“Okay.” He finally said. If it wasn’t so frustrated with the lack of information it had, it would find that fascinating. What was that supposed to mean, ‘okay.’? He believed it? Got what he wanted? Just felt like saying that?

It stifled a growl and just followed him silently. 

——

It couldn’t stop thinking about the day before Killer took it here, to live with him and Color. Looking back, the signs that something strange was going on were so obvious. He was just digging for information on how it would act once he took it here— see if it would be a good gift for Color, it now knew.

The fact that he did, took that short and angry response and decided it was worth it to steal it away as a gift for his… for Color, it didn’t know how that made it feel.

Insulted, to be treated like a commodity to pass around, or… it shook its head, it couldn’t be thinking about this right now. Already it could hear the gentle knock at the door; Color, coming in for their morning routine and inviting it for breakfast. 

It did as it was bid, replying with polite little one-word answers to all his questions, ignoring how Killer was at Color’s heels. Not regarding them with suspicion like it wanted too. Clearly he was Color’s favorite— it couldn’t get on his bad side.

It kept trading glances with Killer as they made their way to the table, wondering why he decided to follow so closely to Color’s morning routine to even follow him to its room. They gave nothing away, of course, and it nearly stuck its tongue out in annoyance. Nearly, of course, because it still didn’t know these monsters’ preferences, no matter its best efforts. Nightmare would have found the brattiness cute [except the times he very much didn’t], but it couldn’t get a read if the same would hold true for Color— and Killer, but he wasn’t in charge, so it didn’t care for his response much.

The meal turned awkward when a question aimed at it, and that it thought it’d answered… not well, but good enough, was answered by Killer as well. Color hadn’t said he wanted Killer’s opinion.

It froze, carefully still as if that would make it turn invisible. It barely kept in the stressed squeak when Color berated Killer and they gave an absolutely lacklustre apology; Killer was valuable, liked, Color’s favourite, so of course he wouldn’t punish him, but what if Color decided to take out his anger on Fresh instead…?

There wasn’t any type of explosion though, and Color didn’t even seem particularly angry. Just a bit miffed at Killer’s actions. That was- that was just weird!

The emotion must have shown in its face, because Color was asking if it was confused. It felt stupid, but quickly hid anything negative before it could get too annoying.

A response was probably still expected though. It looked at Killer, who didn’t seem stressed at all, and it nervously asked, “You ain’t mad? That sorry was sooo off base.”

There was something so soft on its owner’s face, it felt a little sick looking. “No, no,” he cooed at it, like it was a skittish animal, “I love Killer, he’s my best friend- I just got a little annoyed is all. And even if I did get mad, we’d talk it out.”

That was… really weird. Best friend privileges maybe? It really couldn’t see a world so nice to it that that courtesy would extend to it as well. The information was still useful though, so it stashed it away.

It couldn’t focus on that right now though, remembering the actual focus of the conversation. He’d appreciate it keeping on topic, hopefully. “I do like colorful things- brighter the better,” It mumbled, eyes darting towards him nervously as it tried to gauge his reaction. Neutral still, so it flaked on some flattery, “The sweaters you let me borrow were pretty rad too…”

There it was, a wide satisfied smile. It relaxed as it heard his next words, “I’m glad to hear that,”

Thankfully, it didn’t have to navigate any mine-fields as breakfast was finished and Color told it all the rules for when he was out.

“You have free reign of the house, just don’t go into either me or Killer’s rooms without a good reason, yeah?” He reminded it. He always mentioned the free reign of the house everytime, and it could hear a hidden order when it was given one— it would be expected to not be in its room when he was out. An easy enough task.

After some painfully awkward farewells, it skittered off to the living room and to the couch in front of the TV. It knew it was probably allowed on the furniture, but didn’t really want to do so when Color wasn’t there to invite it on.

Instead, it carefully settled behind the couch, pressed in-between it and the wall. Small and comfortable, a perfect place to wait until Color got back. 

It smiled to itself, feeling proud of how well it had been doing recently. Maybe it could even get as much affection and leniency as Killer. Maybe it could even get more. A pipe-dream, but… it wanted Color to look at it like that too.

Only for its safety of course. Having his affection, his attention, his soft smiles, gentle laughs— it shook its head before settling more comfortably behind the couch. Now was not the time for those thoughts; it didn’t know how it was supposed to compete with Killer and… it already lived a life more pampered here than nearly all its time with Nightmare. 

The cold was starting to get to it.

Its host could definitely last for a day or two in the biting cold, but it was beginning to seep far enough into it that its true body was getting affected. Still, it probably had a good hour before it had to skiddaddle to easier hunting grounds. 

Fresh had been waiting in a snowdrift for… some amount of time. [Time was hard to tell in the underground, especially snowdin, and it didn’t have anything tuned to this AU’s speed.] It knew it  had been much longer than it should have. The query of its hunt, the AU’s sans, hadn’t shown his face yet.

It thought it got the schedule correct, the monster always visiting the ruins door during weekdays on his breaks. Maybe it had missed something…

It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility, but it still rankled at the thought. No, there had to be more extraneous circumstance dictating the failure of its hunt. Something was going amiss, and causing its meal to run very, very late. 

Crunching snow alerted it of someone coming closer. The footsteps didn’t match its prey’s, so it pressed further into the snowbank. Its coat dampened with the snowmelt, but it was a price it was willing to pay. An ambush predator should be able to deal with sub-optimal conditions to hunt its prey.

They came closer, slowly, the gait tickling some forgotten memory. It couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was, which made it raise its guard.

A moment later, the footsteps vanished. That didn’t make any sense, the only monster who could teleport in this AU was Sans and that wasn’t his-

It lurched forward; on all fours for a moment before rising to its full height, movements all hidden behind a plume of its colorful magic. It dispersed the cloud as it turned to the thing that had snuck up behind it. 

Nightmare.

He was smiling, something smarmy. “Hello, Fresh. Fancy running into you, hmm?”

It took another step back, right outside of his range. He definitely knew it would be here; that glint in his eye told it everything it needed to know.

“Course dude,” it flashed him a grin, determined to be a bit more… casual this time. Looking back, it acted rather embarrassing last time they met. “You got business in these parts? ‘Sides seeking out my wonderful company.”

“Hunting different prey, my dear; just passing through, though…” He gave Fresh a once over- which it struck a pose to, of course, “I’d never miss the opportunity to get to know you better.”

“Everyone wants my time broski, I know, I know.” It preened, though kept its gaze locked onto Nightmare. He had a lot to keep its eyes on, creeping appendages making his silhouette large and blurry.

He laughed, his tentacles lashing in gentle arcs as he did so, only serving to make him more confusing to behold [among many other reasons],“I can see why.”

Nightmare seemed, ignoring physical appearances, rather jovial, almost harmless. The sharp glint in his eyes and edge to his voice gave him away though. Along with that, it had done some snooping after their last… encounter. 

A drop by the Omega Timeline and some one-sided conversations [read: eavesdropping] showed that many had been displaced by him and his posse. People held deep scars from him, both physical and mental. 

Described as someone who didn’t hesitate to torture, murder and pillage in any AU he visited; it could fit Nightmare into that description easily.

The other was pretty famous over the multiverse. Something whose effects were sweeping and grand. Looking back, it could link many an empty universe it had dropped by to Nightmare’s own actions. Actions that had affected its life before they even met.

So, someone with both influence and power, all focussed on it in that moment. 

It meant, however, that he had many other obligations to focus on. It could definitely make itself more work than he was willing to dedicate to some side-project- as much as it rankled to call itself such.

But… it wanted to see where this went. Fresh could be a cameo in his story, at least, for a little while.

It took a few steps closer, just within range. Walking a gentle arc around him, it asked, “You see any skeletons, ‘sides us, walk by, any chance?”

“Is that your reason for being here?” 

“One of many.” 

“Well,” he said, like a sigh, like wind through a tree, “I can’t say I have. Though I do think I’d know where to find one.”

“Lead the way then, dude!” It laughed, leaning in close enough to jostle his shoulder.

Narrowed eyes and real anger flashed across Nightmare’s face. A tentacle grabbed its wrist, and it stifled the urge to snarl at him. “Don’t touch me.”

“Awww- do you not like it?”

“I wouldn’t push this.” The tentacles around Nightmare’s own feet, like a halo of shadow framing him, grew spiny like blackberry thorns.

It acquiesced, stopping its teasing, but was certain its amusement was palpable, “Well, if you say so. I guess we could get going…” it gave him the out.

Nightmare grunted some acknowledgement before he took a step closer, tentacles close to winding around its ankles. It kept a close eye on those. Rather hypocritical, considering how he’d reacted to It touching him without permission.

Seemed Nightmare only had a no touching rule if it wasn’t him. Figures.

“With me, pest. I’ll transport us there.”

“Am I not ‘my dear’ any longer?” It let him wind an appendage around its tibia, though flashed him a warning look before he could coil too much more. He already wound tight around its wrist; he was just getting grabby. 

“You’re not acting ‘dear’ enough for that.” Came his response. He felt like a rabbit snare around its leg, though it thought it still could get out. 

The guardian of negativity [and wasn’t that a doozy to find out] didn’t hold it too tightly. Was he trying to get on its good side? It almost laughed at the thought.

The ooze that seemed to pour from his every surface lurched in one disconcerting, coordinated motion, surrounding its entirety. It only lasted for a moment, but it felt as though it was fully submerged in a swamp: dense, cloying mud on all sides, pressing in, cold.

After it retracted, it could see they were in the judgement hall, the grand stained windows letting in swathes of light. If it were not attached to its new… acquaintance, it would have preferred the full body bog experience. It almost felt sleepy.

“Nice ride man.” 

Nightmare gave it a strange look, though he didn’t comment why. “The only skeleton in this AU would be somewhere down here, if I had to guess. The other is dead.”

“Nice, nice,” it acknowledged, and wondered what the other gained from this exchange. He couldn’t only be after some of its radical company, as much as it would like to say he’d want it.

It started walking at a leisurely pace down the hallway; Nightmare fell easily beside it, one step ahead, the arrogant prick.

“I notice you’re in a different body, the one I gave you not to your taste?” An olive branch, albeit one clearly probing for more info on it.

“Nah- it was all good. Jus’ felt like a change of pace; dropped that old thing last month.” It flashed him one of its million dollar smiles, “I keep up with the latest trends, ya dig?”

Looking at its 90’s regalia, he regarded it like it was a particularly stupid animal; it couldn’t help the laugh that erupted from it. It strided up ahead, turning around and walking backwards so it could talk with Nightmare face-to-face.

“C’mon, we’re both fashion forward here, you in your-“ it wriggled its fingers at him, “kingly fit and me in my hip one.”

“Of course,” he drawled, definitely mocking, “five hundred years ago is so… ‘in the moment.’”

“You get me! You get me, dude!”

He was certainly only humoring it, but that was still far more interesting than most. The most common reactions were either people not realizing it was razzing them, or annoyance. Nightmare was interesting, unique; fun.

“You seemed very determined not to let me ‘get you’ the other day; have you changed your mind?”

It blew a raspberry at him, skipping a few more steps back as he made a motion to grab it with one of his tentacles. The grab was clearly telegraphed, easy to dodge; he was trying to get on its good side, or at least seem like less of a threat. 

Interesting; it would have pegged him as the type to flaunt his power at all times. It once more wondered why, exactly, he was so interested in it.

“You want me so bad it makes you look stupid bro!” It almost giggled, the sound only growing louder at how Nightmare glowered in response.

“You flaunt yourself like you want the attention.”

“And if I do?”

“I would say it’d make you an idiot, but you fit that label for more reasons than just that.”

It clutched at its chest, right over where the average skeleton monster’s Soul would be, “you wound this delicate maiden deeply!”

“The only thing delicate about you is your ego, my dear.”

As it was about to dig back at him, a voice distracted it.

“Am I interrupting something here?” The sans of the AU; they’d reached the place he stood. His words were phrased as a question, but there was a shrewd look in his eyes. He knew they shouldn’t be here.

“I suppose this is my queue to leave,” Nightmare hummed.

“Not staying to watch?”

“I’d love to, but alas, I’ve wasted enough time already.” 

Without another word he’d already teleported away. The two remaining skeletons stared at one another.

Fresh summoned its wiffle-bat. Sans was on guard. This would be… difficult. 

That didn’t matter, it was in a good mood.

———

It stretched its arms above its head as it walked down a Hotland street, its new joints popping pleasantly.

The AU really was decimated. Dust was all over, along with leftover bones and magical attacks. Picking out the marks with its eyes, it matched them to the monsters it knew Nightmare dragged along with him. 

Each were unique, and looking at them he could put together a pretty good idea of the damage each monster could dish out. Not the most reliable, of course -some monsters left little to no evidence, or had techniques that only made sense if you saw them yourself- but better than nothing. Any advantage was worth clawing at, in the pursuit of survival.

No magic attacks from Horror, and some left-over bones from Murder. The latter probably had a similar fighting style to most Sans’ if not a bit more erratic, so it didn’t think to pay too much extra attention to them. The former, well, it thinks it could handle someone half-starved and shown to be the most reluctant to enter combat.

Most strikingly, however, were knife marks gouged into a wall [or well, many walls]. It imagined the position he’d be in to leave that marks, the arch his arm would take and where he would be standing as he did it, the range he’d have. Any information, even the aftermath, was to have on this individual.

Killer, Nightmare’s loyal attack dog.

Not a monster it’d want to fight, though it supposed it should still get as much info as it could.

Nightmare was relatively friendly with it, in their limited interactions, but it didn’t doubt that could change at the drop of a hat and he’d not hesitate to send Killer after it.

More reason to get on his good side, but it knew it couldn’t count on the inner workings of anyone besides itself. Even someone who seemed to have a similar view on things.