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Dream hated living in the Void. It was boring. It was plain. The whiteness was often painfully bright. At least, those were the reasons he told himself. Those reasons were logical, made sense, fit his character. And most importantly, they didn’t bring up any... difficult feelings.
Sometimes the Void was too much for Cross. After spending so long trapped in the remains of Xtale, sometimes it was difficult to remember where he was when he woke up. He’d see the blank white surroundings and just assume the worst. The guardian told himself that he didn’t care, that this was Cross’s problem, but deep down, he knew he was lying. The guard could leave the Void if he wanted, but he didn’t. He never tried, or even brought it up. He didn’t have to torture himself by staying here, waking up and assuming his worst fears had come true.
Dream hated those nights, listening to his guard’s sobs as he relived nightmares from the past. Cross was so full of weaknesses, but this was one Dream didn’t want to even think about exploiting. This wasn’t just some pitiful twist of emotions, like holding onto hope that Dream could be saved. This was a fear that he couldn’t control, rooted deep within his soul. And he put up with it, intentionally stayed in a place where everything made it worse, for Dream.
For some reason that the guardian simply could not fathom, this thought twisted his corrupted soul, making him feel emotions that he was sure he’d forgotten. Cross had claimed to care, the guardian had never believed him. But if he didn’t, why would he stay in this place where his fears were amplified? Dream sent him out on missions all the time. It wouldn’t be hard for Cross to just... leave. Never come back from a mission. Fade into the multiverse. What could Dream do to stop him?
One night, as he felt that familiar, painful twist of Cross’s emotions, Dream couldn’t stand it anymore. The guardian usually avoided the soldier when he broke down, but Dream must have been feeling particularly generous, because he found himself at his guard’s bedside, sitting on the edge of the bed, gently rubbing his back, pulling him closer, whispering reassurances.
“Shh. It’s alright. I’m here.”
Because if Cross insisted on torturing himself to serve Dream, then it was only fair for the guardian to comfort him when it became too much. Right?