No, no, not laughter, jeers. People whisper to each other, nasty things about his brother—

No, no, no, not about his brother, just comments on whatever is going on—

No, wait. More people are shouting, some proclaiming that they knew it, some hurling insults, some just scoffing in disbelief—

In disgust.

Someone in front of him shifts to the right. He catches a glimpse of a skeleton huddled on the ground, curled up by the base of something—

A tree, Mother—

No, stop, stop being stupid—

And something rolling on the ground in front of them—

An apple—

Stop.

Dream’s breath hitches.

He steps back, turning, trying to get away from it, telling himself it wasn’t real, it couldn’t be real. It was the past. He wasn’t there anymore, he left long ago. This wasn’t happening. Someone shoves at him—

And if this wasn’t real, would he still feel that? He can’t tell.

There are more leers and someone whoops, throwing something in the air—

Rocks rain down on Mother.

Nightmare tries to talk over all the noise, frantically explaining himself, but no one is listening.

Dream tries to fight his way through, get in front of the crowd, in front of his friends. He’s confused because they never acted this mean before. They keep throwing rocks, and he knows being hit with a rock hurts, so why are they throwing them at Nighty?

Something is wrong, something is wrong, something is wrong.

The wrongness fills him in rhythm with his footsteps. He’s breathing heavily, using all of his efforts to get out of this blasted crowd and find Nighty and get him away from all of this noise. His brother doesn’t like loud noises anymore. He doesn’t know why, but that doesn’t matter, because this is a loud noise and Nighty hates it here, he’s sure of it.

They need to get out.

Dream runs—

Stop, stop, stop, get out of here, this isn’t right, move on, move away—

Find Nighty and protect him, find him and protect him, find him and protect him—

Hurry, hurry, hurry—

With a final shove, he steps out in front of the crowd and looks up frantically, searching.

Only, Mother isn’t here. Neither is Nighty.

Blinking, he turns, facing the crowd of villagers, but this crowd is warped, wrong. They are all wrong. He doesn’t recognize any of them. He backs away from them, confused and worried and alarmed. His back presses against a wall and he stops breathing.

He can’t move.

He can’t move.

He can’t move anymore, something hardening his body and making him numb—

No, no, no, no, no. Not happening. You’re not there.

Stop being stupid.

He needs to find his brother. He needs to find him. They’re in danger. Nighty’s in danger. They need to find each other and run before it all goes wrong. They need to escape.

Where is his brother? Where is he? Where—

The word looks dizzy, he feels dizzy—

There’s someone beside him and—

“Dream?”

—They know his name.

Dream blinks.

The breath he was holding escapes him in a gasp.

The person beside them is dark and blurry. He can’t make out many details. Something moves behind them. Another villager? Then that means this is a villager. Not one that he recognizes, though. But maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe they can help.

They might know where Nightmare is.

“Dream, what…” the villager starts, confused, and concerned. Dream jolts into action, frantically grabbing onto their shoulders. His hands slid, almost like he was grabbing at oil. That’s odd. It’s familiar, too. Odd. He tightens his grip. “Hey! Get off—”

They don’t like that very much. Dream doesn’t care what they do or don’t like as long as they help him. “Have you seen my brother?”

The villager stills. “Huh?”

Frustrated, his fingers twitch. He glances around as the villager takes a moment to reorient themselves.

No Mother, no brother. Still the same.

His chest is beginning to tighten again.

“What?”

“My brother.” Dream exhales sharply at the villager’s confusion. “Looks like me, exactly like me. Just wears purple instead. It’s his favorite colour.” He doesn’t know why he mentioned that. The villager didn’t need to know that. Can’t he do anything right? “Have you seen him? I need to find him. I need to find him. Fast.”

The villager laughs harshly in disbelief. “Is—Is this a joke or something? Dream—”

“It’s not safe here. Not safe. I need to find Nighty. I need to get to him. It’s not safe here.” Dream explains, glancing around again. No change. Has it gotten hotter? He feels like he’s sweating a lot. “We’re in danger. Very bad, bad danger. He’s in danger. I need to find him. Have you seen him? Please tell me where he is.”

“Dream…”

Though he hears the villager try to speak, Dream rushes over him, impatient. “Tell me, please. Tell me, tell me, tell me. Please. I need to get there in time. I can’t be late again. Things—” He chokes on a breath and something pricks at his sockets, the edges of his vision darkening. “I can’t lose him. I can’t. He’s all I have. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please…” His voice cracks and he repeats the word over and over.

Please help him, please, please, please—

Please save Nighty, please, please, please, please—

Please, please, please, please—

He’s being led somewhere. Is the villager helping him?

Please, please, please, please—

The music—when did that start? Where even was he?—fades the further they get.

Please, please, please, please—

Doors shut behind them.

Dream can’t see anything anymore; he’s panicking too much.

Where was he? Where is Nightmare? He needs to find Nightmare.

The villager makes him sit down. He frowns, trying to get up. He can’t rest now, not when Nighty needs him. The villager doesn’t let him up.

“Breathe, Dream.”

He is breathing. Isn’t he? Maybe he’s not. Maybe he’s dead and that’s why this place is so unfamiliar and Nighty wasn’t here and, and, and—

“Breathe.”

He’s breathing. He’s trying.

He wants his brother.

“I’m right here. Keep breathing, slowly. Match me. In…out. Good. You’re not in the village, Dream. Okay? You’re not there.”

But wasn’t he just…?

“You haven’t been there in years. We’re both safe. It’s okay.”

But it wasn’t. It wasn’t okay.

He needs to—

“Keep breathing, focus on breathing.”

Dream wants to scowl. He wants to frown and complain that he is doing all of that and it’s not helping. But he doesn’t, he instead inhales—

And his chest lightens a bit.

He squeezes his eyes shut, and exhales, trying to do as ordered.

His chest continues to lighten, cracks appearing in the stone as patches fall off of him—

You’re not there. You haven’t been there in years. Focus, Dream.

But it all feels so real.

And he can practically taste the apple on his tongue, the smell of negativity in the air—

And he inhales—

And the feel of a smooth staff in his hand, fabric clenched in his fist, tinging in his legs as he’s turned to stone—

And he exhales—

And the sound of wind and silence and manic laughter—

And he breathes—

And he sees—

And he—

And…

And he blinks, sockets aching.

And he sees the darkness in his vision fading. It bubbles away, letting his surroundings take its place. He’s sitting against the railing of the balcony of the building. One of them, at least. The bars bite into his back. There’s a faint breeze, carrying the smell of flowers from the garden below. It’s nice.

And Nightmare is in front of him, kneeling, hand outstretched and hovering.

Dream blinks in surprise.

Nightmare looks concerned, eye wide.

They stare at each other for a moment.

Brow furrowing, Dream clears his throat, craving a glass of water. His voice is hoarse. “…Nightmare?”

Nightmare shifts, hand lowering. “Yeah.” His brother relaxes a bit, still watching him.

Something drips off his fingers.

Goop the same colour as the goop that covers his brother covers his hands. It’s slimy and gross and the minute he notices, he wants to wipe it off, but it feels awkward and inconsiderate of him to do that in front of his brother.

Dream glances around, avoiding looking at him. Shame begins to heat his face and he internally sighs. Of course. He just had to get this way in front of Nightmare. This is like, the worst possible thing. But it’s just his luck. And now he’s left here afterward, wanting nothing more than to teleport straight home and sleep the next week away.

But doesn’t he owe it to Nighty for an explanation?

“Sorry…” His voice cracks again, and he coughs. “I—”

His mouth continues moving, but nothing comes out.

He frowns, trying again. “I—”

“Hold that thought.”

Dream looks up as Nightmare stands, walking back inside.

Well, if he really wants to, he could teleport away now and not face the humiliation surely coming his way. Nightmare will probably return with one of his guys and then a fight will break out, taking advantage of his weakened state. He doesn’t want to fight right now, doesn’t even want to move. If he could, he would just flop over and sleep right here. Then all of the aftermath of this can be dealt with once he wakes up.

But, no, he’s a big boy, and he will face it now as he should.

He wraps his arms around his legs and buries his head in his knees. God, he’s such an idiot. No, he’s weak. He knew coming to this party with Ink would be a risk. He felt the panic at the start, the minute they arrived and people were still pouring into the big, big room, but he swallowed it back and tried to forget about it. It was only when the crowd pulled him along that he got lost in his head. Everyone he pushed in his fight to get away must be so confused, and they must’ve talked about it with their friends and now everyone was probably wondering why he was acting so weird.

Hopefully, no one noticed the terror he felt, but he has a feeling it might’ve been obvious…

This will be such a big mess to clean up. Why did his brain have to betray him like this? Why did he give in so easily? It was like he wanted to get lost, and he never wants to get lost. He always says that it’s the last time he’d ever feel like this, but there always ends up being another thing that triggers it again. He doesn’t know how to stop it besides avoiding anything he manages to clue in on, like crowds.

And yet, here he was. Here he fucking was.

A hand grabs his wrist. Dream’s head snaps up. He watches, eyes wide, as Nightmare holds his hand and runs a damp washcloth over it, cleaning it. For some reason. Why? Why would his brother come back just to clean him up?

This wasn’t his mess to deal with.

This…this, the cleaning, reminds him of patching Nightmare up under Mother. It brings the aching longing he got sleeping in branches and walking through the woods to the front of his mind. It hurts and hurts and he’s unable to shake it off.

“Are you alright?” Nightmare asks, focusing on his task.

Dream swallows. “I’m fine.”

His brother looks up, unconvinced, raising a brow.

“Really, I am,” he insists.

Nightmare’s eye flicks over his face, searching for a lie.

Dream prepares himself, resigned at explaining. The words are on the tip of his tongue, ready, when—

“Okay.”

“Huh?”

“Okay.” Nightmare goes back to cleaning. He’s ruing a perfectly good washcloth just for Dream. He doesn’t know how to feel. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

The words feel foreign to him. “Oh…Thanks.”

Nightmare hums.

Odd.

Dream’s not used to being told he doesn’t have to talk about things if he doesn’t want to. The villagers always wanted to make sure he was happy, asking him again and again if he was and flocking to make him feel better if he said he wasn’t. Even now, people prefer to know everything about his job. Most of the conversations he has with people besides Blue or Ink or a few others are one-sided questions about himself.

He's relieved that Nightmare is giving him a choice. He wants to stay silent and let them both forget this ever existed. If they can, that is. Still. He wants to keep any of what he was thinking about to himself, as much as he can. His brother is still his enemy, after all, and giving away all his vulnerabilities will only result in more difficult battles.

He doesn’t want to say anything, and yet he does.

For some reason, having a choice makes him want to tell Nightmare something even more. “I don’t like crowds. Specifically, not, um…big ones. Or loud ones. Or big loud crowds crammed in a small room. Whenever I’m in one for a long time, it…” He swallows again, glancing up and catching Nightmare’s eye. “It brings back bad memories,” he whispers, feeling childish that he’s avoiding saying anything specific.

Nightmare watches him for a moment. “Okay.”

His face is expertly blank. He can’t tell what his brother is feeling.

“I apologize that you had to deal with this.” Dream sighs. “I usually handle it.” He chuckles, tired. “It’s stupid, really.”

Nightmare still doesn’t say anything. Still blank. He’s finished with his task, setting the washcloth aside so he can fiddle with his fingers.

Dream starts, “I—”

“I don’t like apples.”

He blinks, forgetting what he was going to say. “…What?”

“I don’t. Brings back some bad memories. So, I don’t buy any or eat any. And that’s fine. I’m sure my boys know my dislike of them, too, ‘cause they never bring any home when they go shopping.” Nightmare pauses. “They may not…understand, exactly, but they don’t need to. They’re my friends. They accept it and live with it.” He looks right at Dream. “We all do.”

Dream blinks, looking at his hands. There wasn’t a speck left on them. Even all the dirt from the week, the build-up of grime he hadn’t had the energy to wash off, it was all gone. It felt strange to see the white bones underneath, marred by scratches as they were. He clenches them and opens them, admiring them.

Nightmare wasn’t talking about himself anymore. In his own, roundabout way, he was offering some advice that Dream really needs to hear. Stuff he has told others to do—trust those around you because the fact they were still there meant they cared far more than you realized. Friends lean on each other; no friendship is one-sided. Communicate, and you’ll have a better relationship. Whenever he had given the advice, he always felt he was lying, spouting facts he didn’t know were true. His brother seems to say it with such belief, and he probably does because he's learned all of it himself.

While Dream was stuck in stone, Nightmare was growing and moving on. He already knew this but it still surprises and pains him when he sees what that really means firsthand.

And yet…for all of his moving on, his brother still helped him today.

His brother could’ve just left him to his panic attack, let him make a fool of himself in front of everyone. Let rumors spread across the multiverse about him, watch his reputation and others’ trust in him crumble. Let him be weak. That was his goal, right? Beat him and give him a taste of what was owed to him, a sliver of what happened to his brother all those years ago? Why help his enemy out of a vulnerable spot, why not take advantage?

Dream wants to say it’s because, despite everything, they were still brothers, and that took priority over anything else.

With a new surge of confidence, Dream clenches his fists. “Right…Night, I—” But when he looks up, Nightmare is gone. He falters, looking around the empty garden as if his brother was simply hiding from him, but he knows he is gone.

He doesn’t sense him in the AU anymore.

Sighing, he stands on shaky legs. He’s disappointed, yes, but not surprised. He’ll just have to tell him another day how sorry he was about what happened, how much he misses him. Ask if he feels the same way. Ask if he wants to be brothers again in more than just title. Maybe, just maybe, Night’ll listen to him and maybe he’ll even say he wants to as well.

For now, though, Dream steels his resolve and leaves.

Tears started forming in their eyes as they looked at their reflection. Today was one of those days when their insecurities just took over them. Everything about them appeared ugly to them. They tried looking at the parts of their body they usually love the most. Even those parts seemed ugly now. Suddenly they just wanted to change everything about themself. They wanted to be skinnier, have better hair and well basically change everything.

Usually they never compare themself to other people, but now they found themselves scrolling through their Instagram feed picking out the best part of the people they saw and puzzled them together in their mind, creating a “perfect” version of themself. She just sat there crying now, because they would never look like the way they imagined it.

“Tenerezza I’m back home and I-” as soon as her boyfriend saw them there sitting on the bed crying, he stormed over there taking them into his arms.

The Italian boy rubbed their back, gently kissing their forehead. When they slowly stopped crying he placed a hand under their chin making them look at him.

“What’s wrong, love?” he asked them now.

“It’s one of those days.” they said in a small voice.

This wasn’t the first time Ethan found them crying in their shared bedroom. That didn’t mean it broke him any less. For him, they are the most beautiful person in the world. He did not understand how they could not see their beauty as well. At least on those days.

“Bellezza listen, you’re gorgeous and even though you can’t see it yourself today, I can. I see it every time I look at you. Everyone who looks at you sees it. There isn’t one thing about you, I don’t love. You are perfect the way you are, and I wouldn’t  want change the tiniest about you, and you shouldn’t either ok?

They started crying again. Not because they felt ugly, but because of how lucky they are to have someone like Ethan as their boyfriend. He always made them feel better. At the end they knew he was right. Maybe they didn’t meet today's beauty standards, but honestly who does. Yes, they weighed a few pounds more than they should, but they still looked beautiful. They just wished, they could see themself from Ethan's point of view.

“Thank you buba I feel a bit better now” they said cuddling up against his chest.

The drummer looked down at them smiling. Maybe they didn’t always see their beauty, but he would make sure to remind them of it every day.

Everything was green.

Everything was green, green, green, green.

He was electric.

Eclectic.

Jam packed it was

Hot (cold).

Vitality counterclockwise at 90°.

He was alive dead

Not to be dramatic, but everything screamed now.

Loud in his core. Ear. Both.

Everything buzz-buzz-buzzed.

Moved.

He could hear it [the energy] (feel it) it was a bit like the portal.

It started deep within him, curling and contorting (instantaneous, everything else was the thunder; the boom) a spike stretching outwards from his torso. A wave expanding whenever he felt a clump of it.

The churning. Ozone and acid and coy sweetness. Indescribable feelings rolling through him. He knew, but he didn’t want to.

He never hated it. He feared it, he did. But he never hated it. He never managed to hate what he should. An absence of eyes and an over-abundance of neon. He couldn’t find it in himself. That’s what home was.

Could ghosts be adrenaline junkies? Nah. That wasn’t what he was after

The ghosts shifted awkwardly. Skulker managed to shuffle through the crowd.

“It’s… Benjamin‘s deathday. He…”

Skulker took the ghostly equivalent of a breath.

“His… core is acting up.”

Every ghost cringed. Danny stared (and not just because Boxy’s name was Benjamin what the fuck).

“The fluctuations get worse?!”

Shit he should HAVE NOT said that (there is no way that wasn’t rude)

…

Either he was still really really bad at ghost body language or nobody was mad?

Did something happen? (Were they afraid?)

He peeked out from his hands.

Skulker looked him right in the eye, his aura near imperceptible.

“What in the realms do you mean, child?”

Danny had never seen Skulker so scared.

Frostbite let out an actual sigh, his aura turning a little gaseous in guilt.

(His core twinged in pain. His heart constricted somewhere beyond the ether.)

“You have so much to worry about. We didn’t want to burden you, Great One.”

(You can’t take it, can you? Figures.)

“Why don’t we talk about it now?”

Frostbite had his jaw clenched.

Huh. He’s still hiding something.

“Well, to what this began with…”

His aura blared a bright white, that familiar bubbling trickling out. He didn’t feel like stopping it.

“Cores are known to be stable things. They aren’t usually active.”

Woah, really? He never knew!

“Great one, you must understand, there’s a reason-“

that you’re not called a ghost

What are you?

Space cadet turned to Miss Persephone, silver eyes wide.

“Hold hands,” asked the teenager.

His fingernails looked like seeds. Their lip twitched in an ancient memory from yesterday.

“That’s not an option,” she lied.

He smiled softly, innocent eyes twinkling. He looked forlorn.

“Why don’t we try?”

They always liked seeds too much. It was one of the unfortunate traits she had inherited from their mother.

So she took his hand and ate it whole.

His screams ripped reality apart as Christmas poured from the stump of his wrist.

They had been by a kid's house, whose dream was just on the edge of turning into a nightmare. He watched from the window as Nightmare expanded the drop of fear into something more, watched the kid start to turn and whimper. His brother appeared beside him not long after and they both stood there for a moment.

Fidgeting with his fingers, Dream found himself talking before he really knew what he was going to say. "Are you sure you need to do it this way?"

Almost immediately, he inwardly cringed, tensing up for the coming response.

Nightmare's gaze turned to him. "Do what this way?"

Dream had shifted in place, uncomfortable. "Well, you know...spread negativity, I guess. Do you have to do it this way? It just seems..."

Nightmare still stared at him, almost daring him to complete his sentence.

"...cruel?" Dream's voice lowered, bordering on a whisper. It almost feels like saying something taboo, he thought.

"Why would it be cruel?" His brother's voice was clipped.

"I just mean--"

"I know what you mean," his brother had said, icy, turning to walk away. Dream hurried to follow. "I had thought we were past this, Dream."

"We are. I honestly didn't mean it that way. I just--"

"What other way is there? For kids, nightmares are a sure way they learn what to fear. At the same time, it creates a memory for them with their parents or guardians or siblings, good or bad. It helps them."

"Yes, I know."

"Do you?" Nightmare stopped at the end of the block. "Do you? I think you still have a bias about what is good and what is bad. You agreed to not let this bias control your actions."

"I am not."

"Aren't you?"

Dream floundered for something to say, understanding he upset his brother and wanting to make things right. "I...I do not think so, no. I had simply meant that I don't see the need for scaring a child into submission." He remembered something one of the villagers used to say, repeating it absently. "Negativity is not something to be pushed or heeded, simply something to be controlled and rid of."

A beat of silence passed.

Nightmare straightened, smiling bitterly. "Funny. That sounds exactly like something the villagers that beat me used to say." He ignored Dream's flinch away, turning. "You claim to be learning and go and say things like that."

Dream stood frozen for a moment. "Night, I--"

Nightmare held up his hand. "If you want to be rid of me, you just had to ask." Then, Nightmare slipped into the shadows and vanished from the AU. Dream stood there alone, hand half-outstretched.

The position reminded him of someplace else. He hastily shoved his hand into his pocket.

In the present, he took another drag of his cigarette.

He can see that he said all of the wrong things. That's easy to understand. It's also easy to understand why Nightmare got so defensive over what he did. He is not angry over that. He is mostly angry at himself and his stupid beliefs that he can't seem to shake. Why must he always see things through a black-and-white lens? Even Ink and Blue are far better at being open-minded than he is. Is there just something wrong with him?

A guardian should be mindful and respect their opposites, he reminded himself. And yet, when had he done that? He's failed at the simplest thing of being a guardian.

(Just like everything else in his life.)

It was probably for the best that Nightmare left him here before things escalated even more.

And yet, just as he finished the thought, someone sat beside him. Nightmare gazed out across the street, stoic. Dream watched him anxiously, an apology running circles in his mind. Just as he managed to get it down to his mouth, Nightmare spoke.

"We just can't seem to get it right, huh?" he said, holding his hand out as he turned to him. Dream stared for a moment, not getting it.

Nightmare sighed, plucking the smoke out of his fingers to take a drag himself.

"What do you mean?" Dream asked, tugging his knees to his chest.

"We seem to always argue, even when we don't mean to." Nightmare said, taking another drag. "I apologize for leaving you here. I just had to cool down for a moment. And I already know you're sorry, the guilt is practically dripping off you, so shut your mouth."

Dream sighed, ignoring him. "I'm sorry for what I said."

Nightmare groaned. "Did you not hear me? I said to shut your mouth. I already forgive you." He fell silent.

Dream looked away. "I..." He struggled for the right words. "I think...I think I've been taught that negativity is akin to a sin, something to atone for should you indulge in it. I am truly trying to understand that that is wrong, but..."

"You haven't had five hundred years to unlearn everything," Nightmare finished, saying what he was hesitant to. "I know. And it might be overdue, but I'm sorry for that." He seemed genuinely sad as he said it.

"It's not your fault."

"Isn't it?"

Dream frowned, turning bitter. "No. If anything, the villagers should be to blame." Something in his soul instantly tried to protest, still clinging to the belief that they were once friends. He shook it away.

Nightmare hummed. And Dream must really be getting sleep-deprived because he could've sworn he felt a prick of pride from his brother for saying such words. "I suppose you're right, brother." Taking one more drag, he held it out for Dream to take. "They were really shitty people, weren't they?"

With a heavy soul that felt ten times lighter from the simple act of Nightmare calling him his brother, Dream let himself smile. "They were. They really were." He took the cigarette and took the last drag, stamping it out with his foot.