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Killer and Dust had gotten resource gathering down to an art form.
Killer looked like the more approachable one of the two, so, usually, he’d be their distraction. He would waltz into whatever store they found in the random neutral AU that got picked that time around (anything worked fine as long as the shop carried some basic produce they needed, that usually being medicine and some harder-to-grow foods like meat and fish) and get the attention on him. He could be quite a charmer when he wanted to, slipping in a small pun here and there, maybe making his tone a little flirty when he knew it would be appreciated, or just going for a polite request for help when all else failed. He wasn't sure if getting all eyes on him was a skill he always had or if, like most other parts of him, it had been instilled in him at some point by outside forces, but it always came in handy.
All the while, Dustbunny would move in his shadow, teleporting in, quickly grabbing anything he could reach while not being in view of the cameras, and then popping back out again. Unseen and unheard. He always had the best control over his magic out of any of them. He even had Crossy beaten on that front despite the little guard’s arduous and constant training. Sometimes natural talent (and all the hard work Dusty put into it when he thought that nobody was watching) couldn’t be beat. So with him doing the heavy lifting, Killer never had too many worries.
All in all, it was a pretty safe gig and a good way to get any non-renewable resources they could think of, plus some little treats for themselves here and there. Wood for Killer to carve, drawing materials for Crossy, books for Boss, cards or table games for Dusty, new and exotic plants they didn’t yet have back in his old timeline for Horror to try growing, that kind of stuff. Usually, they were done in less than an hour.
They’d been doing that same routine for decades before something went wrong. But, when it did, it was something major.
Usually, it was Nightmare that picked the AU for them, but recently their boss had been feeling unwell due to an unusually high spike in positivity caused by a new onslaught of AUs that Ink had overseen the creation of. New AUs weren’t a problem in and of themselves as long as they developed naturally, but the God of Creation had the annoying habit of butting in and nudging them in whatever direction pleased him most. Usually that meant catering to Dream’s wishes for more positivity in the Multiverse, which inevitably ended up causing an imbalance that then produced anomalies at an abnormal rate unless Nightmare and his gang intervened… it was a vicious cycle that kept repeating endlessly.
He wished he could say that the end was in sight, but not even Core could get through their thick skulls that balance was a requirement for the health of the Multiverse as a whole. They were always so fixated on their little details and silly missions that they never stopped to look at the big picture.
That time, in particular, Ink had gone overboard even by his standards. There were a dozen new AUs that kept popping up each day and they simply could not keep up with it. Not even with Error’s help, as the man was already swamped with anomalies and working full time with Core to locate and contain them so they at least wouldn’t be able to corrupt any more of the code of their world while the two Gods handled things on a larger scale.
Anyway, with Nightmare being momentarily incapacitated, Killer figured that, instead of risking it with a new unexplored AU, it would be safer for him and little Dusty to just take on one they were more familiar with. They just needed some medical supplies after all, and they knew of a Swapfell Red timeline that had some decent items and very low security. And it came with the bonus of being a rather violent place, so nobody would look at their high LV with suspicion there even if they decided to check them.
Thinking back, Killer should have known that it was all a setup. He was a strategist himself for Asgore’s sake!
He should have known that they were aiming at weakening Nightmare on purpose, hoping that would lead to a misstep. They probably had gathered data on every timeline they’d already robbed in preparation. He should have known that those two scatterbrains wouldn’t have changed their routine so drastically without a reason…
But he was exhausted by the constant fights, he’d been out of his ADHD medications for a few weeks, and he was out of painkillers for Horror and of LV balancers for Dust too, so he’d had to take care of those two more than usual, and he was worried sick for their Boss. He had not been thinking as clearly as he should have. And that had been his mistake.
When he exited the small pharmacy they decided to rob after his usual routine, he found Dust captive in one of Ink’s semi-indestructible paint cages while Dream aimed a positivity arrow straight at his head. Killer froze in place.
“Ah, Killer” Ink greeted him with an all too fake cordial smile. The only thing betraying his aggressive demeanor was the red tint and the target-like shape of his eye lights. “Just the skeleton we wanted to see!”.
Killer frowned.
He had never interacted with them much outside of the battlefield. One would have thought that maybe they would have been by Core’s side when the gray child was offering a way out to all of Nightmare’s old lackeys. That they would have had a vested interest in trying to get them all away from an abusive situation and to safety. That they would have wanted to try and convince him when he refused to go, that they would have been there to tell him, like Core had, that his loyalty might have ended up getting him killed one day. But they weren’t. They were nowhere to be found back then.
According to Murder, one of the old teammates in question that Killer was still in touch with to that day, they’d never checked up on them afterward either despite having their base in the Omega Timeline where both he and Axe (their other old teammate he was also still friends with, but saw less frequently as he was busy getting a life) resided.
So, genuinely, he didn’t know what they could have wanted from him.
Maybe they hoped they’d be able to beat the location of Nightmare’s castle out of him (why then they wouldn’t have just taken Dustbunny and ran was beyond him). Maybe they just finally figured out that their Boss cared about them and they wanted to use him as leverage. He didn’t know and he didn’t care. The only thing that mattered to him was that Dust be released unharmed. Especially as he could see that his teammate was already mumbling to himself under his breath in that manic sort of way that usually preceded one of his episodes. It took much longer for that to happen usually, even if he was under duress, but, then again, they’d run out of his medications a while ago…
“If you let Dust go I’ll hear you out” he proposed.
Ink’s eye lights turned into a yellow star and a green square for a moment, making his amusement at the offer apparent. He would have undoubtedly remarked on how they were the ones holding all the power in that exchange and that he was in no position to make demands, had Dream not stepped forward, interrupting him. “It’s a deal” the Positivity Mogul said.
Without another word, Dream opened a portal underneath Killer. He could have teleported away had he wanted to, out of the portal and to safer grounds, as he’d seen the move coming a mile away, but he didn’t. He wasn’t willing to take any risks that might endanger Dust. Instead, he just let himself be dropped into a cage. Not even a fancy golden one, the bars were pure steel and somewhat rusted in places.
Dream and Ink appeared from another portal soon after, right outside of his new little enclosure (it had been a while since he'd last been treated like a proper pet. He certainly hadn't missed the feeling. Well, most of him hadn't. He suspected that a part of him would always crave that type of dependence). Dream opened a one-way portal in front of him as soon as he found his footing to show him that Dust had indeed been freed and was as unharmed as his mind let him be. Killer was satisfied with that. His teammate was the one with Nightmare’s negativity crystal, so he could get himself back home once he’d gathered his bearings. As for him, well, he always found a way out of sticky situations. He just had to wait for his opportunity to strike and he’d be fine.
“Killer…” Dream sounded and looked tired to the bone. Heh.
Immortals didn’t need to sleep or eat. Their magic was pretty much limitless anyway, and they didn’t feel hunger or tiredness the way mortals did, a lack of care toward themselves wouldn't bring them major side effects that, pushed to their extremes, would lead to their deaths. However, the one thing they didn’t have an infinite supply of was energy, or, more accurately, a capacity to properly deal with the situations at hand logically and effectively. Killer would know, he often had to drag his Boss off to bed against his will when he noticed that the other was starting to get a bit too irritable or moody. Error too needed a break sometimes, though the Destroyer was surprisingly good at self-care and often indulged himself in small naps, snacking, or moments of relaxation where he’d do nothing but watch Undernovela either alone or with Cross.
It wasn’t a surprise to find that Ink and Dream chose to just run themselves rugged instead. They always gave off the impression that they’d consider anything that mortals did to be below them. Elitists pricks, they made him want to stab them.
“Truth be told, we want to help you” Dream confessed after an unnecessarily long pause.
Ink’s eye lights turned into a question mark and an exclamation mark. He was confused. Either he hadn't been told about the purpose of the abduction, or he’d simply forgotten. With the artist, the two possibilities were equally as likely.
Killer refused to engage with their unwanted attempts to 'help' (or whatever they actually meant by that. Because he was sure that they didn't care for his well-being in the slightest. And, whatever they were planning to do with him, would not benefit him).
They’d never tried when he truly needed it. Back when his timeline went through thousands upon thousands of genocide runs. Or when Sans and Chara made their little deal and fused into him only to then leave him to deal with the consequences of their actions. Not a monster nor a human. Desperate to feel but unable to. Existence had been agonizing at first. And no RESET could fix their mistake (especially as he'd been far less familiar with the concept of codes and Players back then. He wouldn't have known how to alter the functioning of the button. He had literally just come into existence). By then, they’d already erased the anomaly from the timeline. No higher power could turn back time to before they made the deal anymore. They were stuck forever as one and that one wished beyond anything that his creation had never happened.
They weren’t there when Nightmare decided to move into his universe one day as he found it to be a suitable base of operations. Something about how the actions of Chara and Sans, the same that led to Killer’s cursed existence, had severed its connection to the Multiverse at large. It no longer appeared in the Doodlesphere. But, of course, it wasn’t like the so-called ‘Protector of the AUs’ actually cared when one disappeared from his radar. Killer doubted the man even knew what was out there. What he contributed to creating. What he never cared enough to try and save.
Through the years of witnessing Nightmare’s cruelty not once had they stepped in or offered help. They fought him, Axe, and Murder with the same tenacity they would use against the King of Negativity. Uncaring of their fragility as mortals and the injuries they inevitably left on them. All of them were nothing but villains in their eyes. They never cared whether they got a choice in the matter or not, and, back then, none of them did. Killer couldn't just leave and move to another world by himself. He had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, and no clue of how to even exist by himself. Axe had been ripped away from his home and left to starve until he couldn't even think on most days. And Murder had been stopped from killing himself just to make him wish he'd gone through with it. And not once had those poor excuses of protectors extend them an ounce of compassion or a drop of empathy.
Dream kept talking, though Killer mostly tuned him out. He heard something about how they knew his loyalty was due to Nightmare’s influence. They even mentioned that they intended to fix it. And, man… he really wished that kind of offer had come at a time when he’d needed it. When his loyalty truly was nothing but a result of Nightmare siphoning out any emotion he felt to keep him compliant and desperate. Just enough that he’d kill for him. And then, if he behaved, if he sewed enough sorrow and destruction, he’d be rewarded with an avalanche of sensations. Usually, the sweet notes of nostalgia were his favorite.
But those times were behind both of them.
His Boss would have done just about anything to keep him- to keep anyone working for him from harm. He had changed. And he put an effort into learning and improving every day, and Killer found that profoundly admirable. He'd never know if his forgiveness was genuine or just an act of desperation back when he still didn't think he could be a person (despite Color's insistence on the contrary), but it had turned genuine in time. He wouldn't ever be able to forget the hurt, but they'd both moved on from it.
If only his Boss' goody-two-shoes of a brother could follow his example maybe then he would have been more inclined to listen to his blabbering…
Instead, all he did was step into the cage, hand outstretched in Killer’s direction as he unleashed the full power of his aura. Their great solution to ‘free’ him was just force-feeding an addict his poison of choice after years of sobriety.
Killer hated how much it undeniably felt good.
Warmth trickled into his soul, slowly filling it up. The sensation came and went in waves at first, but soon all of him was golden as he became fully submerged. Logically he knew that none of the emotions invading him were his own. They were as artificial as the empty vacuum Nightmare used to create once upon a time. It was all flashing lights and toxic fumes filling up his skull and pushing out with a painful but lovely amount of pressure.
He basked in the familiar yet alien sensation for a few moments, before he managed to catch his bearings enough to summon a wall of sharp and bloodied bones between himself and Goldilocks.
The sudden threat was enough of a distraction for the other to break the flow.
“You don’t have very nice bedside manners” he teased snarkily in a half-growl. “I would suggest you invest in a manual about it, but I know trying to think for the first time might just kill you” he continued mocking the God while struggling to catch his breath. It wasn’t the most dignified he’d ever been, even in front of them, but he didn’t actually care if they thought lowly of him as a result. He just wanted them to stop and to leave his soul the fuck alone.
Because he knew himself. He knew he eventually would give in. That he’d do just about anything for another fix.
He wished he could have said that, after so many years clean, the nagging desire to be consumed and molded into something new and perfect was no longer there, but it would have been a lie. He rarely felt whole by himself, and that was something he was working on accepting. That emptiness would be a companion for him for the rest of his life. The waves of apathy that overcame him at times would keep happening no matter how much he wished they didn’t. And it was healthier for him to find ways to cope with that (something his ADHD medications had been helping with greatly) than to rely on what was basically substance abuse with extra steps.
But he couldn’t help it if they were literally shoving that shit down his throat.
Needless to say, the two Gods did not see his point of view nor did they appreciate what to them registered as a violent outburst. Ink was quick to splash some acidic green paint on the bone wall with his paintbrush and melt them away, and Dream was ready with his bow in hand, arrow already loaded, behind it.
At least the Guardian of Positivity had the decency to look a bit embarrassed by his overreaction once he realized that Killer was still half-laying on the ground, half-leaning against the bars focused on keeping his soul stable. About as nonthreatening of a sight as he could get.
“He was trying to fix you” Ink argued from the height of his ignorance.
Killer really wished he had eye lights at that moment just so he could give the Squid a proper unimpressed look. Still, he did his best to at least infuse his words with as much sarcasm as he could manage: “By manipulating me? Wow, I’m sooooo lucky. I’m sure many would kill for the opportunity and, if I’m the target, I might just let them”.
Dream looked like he’d just sucked on a particularly sour lemon. He probably hadn’t thought through the implications of what he’d been doing yet (he wasn't much of a thinker in general. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he couldn't read, or so Killer heard, or maybe he was simply born to be a himbo only to get saddled being a jock at most, nobody could say for sure). Though Killer was certain he’d soon suppress whatever inkling of guilt he felt and would go back to rationalizing it all in his mind as a worthy sacrifice for the greater good. That being his own comfort, really.
Many had tried to get through to the pair before, Core, some versions of Underswap Sans they’d recruited, Cross, Error, Nightmare. He knew he wouldn’t be any more successful than all of them combined. To change a God was just an almost impossible task.
Predictably, Ink didn’t recoil at the accusation. Instead, he rolled his eyes and let out an annoyed huff. “Oh boo hoo. At least we’re doing it to free you from Nightmare” he said, as if the ends could justify just about any means. “You should be grateful” he added, and his pupils turned into small red pinpricks once more.
For being an emotionless mess, he sure was quick to anger.
Killer couldn’t relate… anymore.
Dream still looked undecided. After a few more moments of him doing nothing but frowning as he stared straight at the tiled floor, he turned to Ink. “I think maybe we’ve been a bit too forceful. Let’s give him some time to adapt” he proposed. His eye lights shifted for a moment to Killer’s sockets as if he’d been looking for validation. There was none for him to find.
He didn’t need more time, he needed freedom. He wouldn’t even have been there had they not threatened one of the people they were now offering to forcefully drag him away from, how could they not see it?
His mind shifted to Dust, how manic he’d looked, how hard the past few days had been for him. He hoped his friend managed to recover well. If he was okay at the end of the day, then Killer would gladly take whatever the two misguided Gods managed to dish out.
“Fine, we’ll back off for now” Ink conceded, there was a whiny quality to his voice that grated on Killer’s already sensitive nerves. One day he’d get to stab a knife through that arrogant prick’s throat and he’d enjoy every second of him slowly choking on his own marrow.
At least they left him alone.
---
The next few days passed him by in a blur.
He was only given something to eat and drink once every few days when he was lucid enough after one of the aura sessions to remind them of his mortality. One would think that after the few times he'd reminded them (and after having shared a roof with countless Underswap Sanses who were all, to his knowledge, also mortals), they’d manage to keep that very simple fact in mind on their own but no. They were not, in fact, anywhere near that smart or thoughtful.
All the sessions themselves went much like the first.
Dream came in whenever he noticed that Killer was sufficiently distracted, then he’d immediately crank his aura up as much as it could go, and soon Killer would be lost to the foggy and blissful highs of emotional manipulation. Every day he stayed there a bit longer. And, every time he came back down to Earth, he was a bit more disoriented and out of it, but still capable enough to summon some form of magic he could attempt to stab the two pricks with.
Around day five, they started interrogating him about Nightmare.
They asked all the questions he’d been expecting: where is the castle? Do you and the other henchmen of his live there too? Are the ones we know the only people working for him? Do you know of any weakness other than positivity Nightmare may have? Why did you join in the first place and how can we keep others from doing so in the future?
All of them remained unanswered as he did nothing but glare at the two throughout the whole interrogation (not an easy feat to accomplish when stoned out of his mind on positivity juice, but he was nothing if not a good actor. He didn't need to feel anything at all to be able to look at them as if he was planning to rip off a bar from his cage and shove it so far down their throats that they'd be shitting metal from then on). No matter how much they forced him to feel good at the idea of cooperating with them, he would not betray his family. Because that’s what Dusty, Roro, Crossy, and Boss were to him. They were all his most precious people and he was nothing if not loyal. Especially since he knew that they were too.
In his soul he knew that they were out scouring the Multiverse for him. Even if the onslaught of creation from Ink persisted and they were weaker than ever, they wouldn’t give up. But they were set up for failure. Killer recognized the gray tones of the Omega Timeline around him, he knew that place was detached from everything else and under the protection of Core who was no doubt unaware still of the events unfolding under their nose. They would remain unaware until at least one of the infinite versions of them was alerted to it, and then they’d claim to have always known. They were an odd one.
That, combined with how soaked with positivity every centimeter of that place was made it invisible to Nightmare.
So he couldn’t rely on being rescued. And he stupidly hadn’t brought along his Negativity crystal on the mission, so he couldn’t hope to get himself out of his predicament either. His only real options were to either wait for a convenient opportunity or succumb to the two dumbasses’ requests and he knew from the start what option he'd be choosing.
---
Things went on unchanged until the beginning of week three when he noticed a small, almost imperceptible, crack in his soul. It was only on the white ring of his soul, couldn’t have been more than half a centimeter, but it was worrisome nonetheless. Damage to the soul from his knowledge was irreversible and it could signify the beginning of the end.
He didn’t want to die there without ever seeing his family again. He didn’t want to die there period.
He still had things to do! People he missed and wanted to reconnect with. Old friends he wanted to check up on and catch up with after the several weeks of absence due to his captivity. And he needed to make sure that Dust and Horror were taking their meds, those two could be forgetful at times. And that Crossy was taking breaks from training. And don’t even get him started on Nightmare! For how smart his Boss could be, he was utterly incompetent when it came to the topic of his own health. Mental or physical. And if there was one thing that threatened to break the iron grip he had on his corruption at the moment it was taking away the one guy he allowed to care for him.
So, when Dream approached his cage next, he teleported out and away from him, quickly caging him in instead by stabbing four giant red knives on the ground around him.
“You have to stop” he said, and he was proud beyond belief that his voice didn’t quiver. “You’re literally breaking my soul with your dumb savior complex. It didn’t work for the first three weeks I’ve been here, it’s not gonna work if you keep going. You’re just gonna come in here one day to find a pile of dust”.
The God could have freed himself at any point and they both knew that. Killer was nowhere near strong enough to go head-to-head with him on his own. But still, maybe understanding the need for safety Killer was experiencing, in an unprecedented show of compassion, Dream stayed where he was.
He did, however, push his aura out, letting it coil sweetly around Killer’s soul until it choked the life out of him with its honeyed warmth. It was different from the freezing oily tendrils of Nightmare’s aura, and yet not at the same time.
They were dressed differently, but the poison was one and the same.
“I wouldn’t kill you” Dream rebutted stubbornly, as if he wasn’t doing so right at that moment. He reminded Killer of a child burying their head in the sand to avoid hearing their parents say they were grounded. “I’m helping you” he insisted. “If only you would allow me to help…”.
Once one ascended to godhood they remained as they were. Immutable, eternal. They needed a big shift in their life if they hoped to have any chance at changing, and even then it was up to the individual whether they’d take it or not. Killer knew that his efforts would be worthless, but he still hoped that maybe there would be a flicker of understanding in the God’s brain. That maybe, even if his worldview didn’t change he’d understand that he was pushing things too far that time. That there would be no going back if he insisted on going down that path.
But, then again, it wasn’t like the two ‘protectors of everything good’ ever valued mortal lives before…
They swapped out Underswap Sanses with the same frequency humans did socks.
He gritted his teeth preparing himself to try and make a run for it despite knowing he had no way out when someone he hadn’t seen in years appeared in the room. Color was standing there, his flames and the slash wound across his ribcage were as bright as ever. It was undeniably him, and he was still just as radiant as the day Killer lost him. “Dream you called for-” all his words died on his tongue at the sight in front of him. The scene he was witnessing was no doubt familiar: Killer cornered by a God, scared and holding his soul together with nothing but his phalanges and spite.
He truly wished they could sometimes meet under more pleasant circumstances.
Unaware of the silent exchange between the other two skeletons present, Dream teleported out of his makeshift cage and in front of Color. “Color! Thank you for coming on such short notice my friend. My brother has been stirring up a lot of trouble recently and I cannot afford to let that go unchecked any longer” Killer could tell he was grimacing at that even while standing behind him. He truly was an open book if one knew his tells. It was a pity that there was no way to use that to create a crack in his steely convictions, stubborn bastard. “Could you keep an eye on Killer over there while me and Ink are gone? We won’t be long! And he’s been… more or less behaving”. That was just a lie. He only hadn’t stabbed him and Ink yet because they were annoyingly good at dodging.
Color nodded numbly.
Dream shifted in place uncertain for a moment, before turning to Killer again. “We’ll continue our conversation later” he promised before disappearing.
As if.
Killer just got his opportunity, he wasn’t gonna waste it.
Color was on the same page as him (he wasn't always, but he'd tried his best to understand him since the very first time they met. That was why Killer liked him so much. That was why when his botched attempt at an escape put him in danger he cut contact with him altogether). He appeared by Killer’s side as soon as the Guardian was gone. Killer could tell that he was checking him and, had he been anyone else, he would have complained about the invasiveness of it. But that was his first-ever friend. The one and only being in the universe that never judged him for a violent past that didn’t entirely belong to him as he was now, but more so to Chara and Sans, back when they still existed as separate individuals. He was the one who time and again stood up to Nightmare for him. Who showed him that he was more than just a killing machine. He trusted the other with his life.
They lost contact a couple hundreds of years before when a scuffle with Nightmare left both Killer and Color heavily injured. Killer knew that the other had survived. He heard about him joining Core in their mission to maintain balance and create a safe space for all of those who didn’t get the chance to attain that in their own timeline. He just always figured that, after everything, the other probably didn’t want to see him (and he was scared of what could happen if he did. He was scared he wouldn't be as lucky the next time he ended in the line of fire).
Seeing Color’s concerned expression now, he knew he’d been foolish, at least as far as Color wanting to see him went.
“What happened?” Color asked, and Killer spilled everything. Every single blissful and agonizing minute he’d spent in that cursed place. How he’d been clean for so long (and that had garnered a shocked gasp from his old friend who was all too honest and threatened to make him lose focus just so he could giggle about it) that his soul no longer had a tolerance for it. And he showed the other the small fracture… or what had been a small fracture until Dream put pressure on it again earlier. It was now a sizable crack running from the center of his soul to the outside of it.
That would definitely make his HOPE take a dive…
Hopefully, not so much that he became useless for missions. He knew that his family would want him around regardless, but he didn’t deal well with standing idle for long stretches of time. And he was even less capable of dealing with feeling useless.
Color took a few moments to analyze the situation, before nodding to himself, mind made. “Okay, I’ll take you to Core, they’ll know how to help” he said, and, even if it wasn’t meant as one, it came off as a question.
He didn’t move to just pull Killer along through the void, instead waiting for his explicit permission to do so. That was something Killer always appreciated about the colorful skeleton. Though he knew his answer wouldn’t please him.
“No… I want to- need to go back home. To Nightmare. In my old timeline” he stated. Color narrowed his sockets at him, ready to fight him on that point. After the way they last parted, it wasn’t surprising. So Killer did his best to give his old friend a reassuring smile. “He’ll help me. I promise”. And, for good measure, because he still was a chaotic little gremlin at his core he added: “Pretty please” in the most obnoxiously flirtatious voice he could manage.
Color huffed, amused despite himself.
It was clear that he still wasn’t thrilled at the idea. He would have rather whisked Killer away to a place he perceived as safer. He was stronger now, a demigod, like Crossy. He knew that, if push came to shove, he could have forced Killer to follow him. He could have let his anxieties win and did what his brain was convinced was the best for someone he truly cared about.
But he didn’t because, unlike Dream and Ink, he respected Killer’s autonomy. He always did. Always aiming to convince him to leave instead of brute forcing a half-assed rescue attempt when he wasn’t ready for it.
In the end, Color settled on a compromise that, as always, was entirely in Killer’s favor: “Fine, but I’m staying until you’re feeling better”.
Killer smiled, the first genuine one since he got abducted, and nodded.
---
He stumbled into the kitchen of the castle leaning his weight entirely on Color.
Dust and Horror were there, both looking worse for wear. Nightmare and Cross must have been the ones out causing mayhem then. Killer was very grateful to them for the distraction they’d provided him with. He most likely owed them his life.
Dust whirled around as soon as they stepped foot in. He already had a couple of blasters summoned behind him before he registered who they were, and they doubled in number and size as he noticed Color’s presence. “Let Killer go” he mumbled. His left eye light was already burning with the yellow and red of justice and determination.
Color rolled his eye light. “I’m the one who rescued him” he pointed out. Dust relaxed marginally as Killer didn’t deny it, though not enough to dismiss his blasters. It was good enough for Color to take his eyes off the threat to point to Killer’s damaged soul. “He needs medical attention” he stated.
Horror seemed to have fully accepted the situation already and chose to go flank Killer on the other side and silently wrap an arm around his midsection for support. Between his teammates, the gentle giant had always been the most level-headed one (it was one of the many noticeable differences between them and their predecessors because nobody would have ever been able to describe Axe as cool and collected with a serious face). One might have assumed that it was Cross as the youngest of them always looked so serious, but Horror was more thick-skinned. Under stressful circumstances, he was the most reliable. Possibly because of how used he got to living in survival mode due to the conditions of his AU of origin.
Together, Horror and Color brought him to the castle’s mostly barren infirmary.
None of them were good at healing magic. And, while Dust, Horror, and Killer all shared an interest in science, none of them had gone into the medical field. Killer was mostly into astronomy, Horror liked to study nutrition and agricultural stuff and chemistry, and Dust was more into technology and machinery. It was fun sometimes to think how three skeletons all originating from Classic AUs could come to be so different. Even if it was rather inconvenient for him at the moment not to have an expert.
It wasn’t the time yet to think about that though. Later, once Nightmare returned he would probably search the Multiverse up and down for something or someone that could help, he was certain of it. His Boss could get slightly obsessive when he was given an objective to bring to completion. It was his way of showing he cared.
For now, however, he just wanted rest. Enough to sleep through the unpleasant withdrawal phase that was about to hit him. Hopefully, he would still wake up in time to keep Color and Nightmare from attempting to murder each other. Again.