Chapter Text
Nightmare was hardly through his second cup of tea when he heard movement from the bedroom. Reaching for their magic signatures to gauge their moods, he sagged with relief to see that both of them were more tired than upset. The idea of dealing with two irritable and miserable children, especially one that bore temperament, was more than enough to cause a shudder down his spine.
Shuffling to his feet and minding the quiet twang of his wound, he ambled to the doorframe and peered through. The twin, kid-sized lumps in the bed were still very unconscious. His younger self was breathing poorly, with a wet, rasping sound that made him recall Killer’s broken rib. There wasn’t much he could do about that but prop the child up on the meager pillows so that he may breathe easier. He radiated an aching pain that Nightmare was constantly sapping from him, in an effort to soothe his slumber.
In contrast, Dream’s leg was carelessly hanging off the mattress. The rest of him was curled around his brother. Nightmare gave thought to helping his foot back onto the bed so that he wouldn’t wake up with a sore hip, but didn’t want to chance bothering him. There was the additional possibility that his touch could turn their dreamless slumbers for the worse, as his domain was over granting night terrors.
Nevermind, then. Nightmare returned to the kitchen and sat down at the table. The sun would rise soon, and with it, the tiny dandelion boy would naturally awaken.
While he waited, he sipped his tea and turned his thoughts over and over in his mind, inspecting them with a clearer mind.
Dream was his child and responsibility, now. He would not allow anyone else to take charge of him, and he would not trust any other soul but himself to properly protect him. The same went for his younger version, especially with all the scars he saw on his body.
Nightmare touched his throat, tracing the gouges there, now made shallow with his corruption to fill them. His gaze darkened, eye narrowing into a glowering, electric blue slit.
How was it that anyone could do such a thing to a child? The ones guilty would all suffer and pay in due time. His first priority was his children, but the retribution he was owed remained centuries overdue. Public humiliation would not be enough.
He stilled in his violent thoughts, hearing a disturbed shuffle from the bedroom. Checking again for their emotions, he wondered if the sharp, glacial fury he felt was disturbing them. If they could sense him from the other room, what with how dull their abilities currently were, he must have been extending his shadow to encompass everything. Nightmare still felt uncertain about the capacity for sensing he must’ve had as a child. Perhaps he ought to ask them later, to avoid disturbing them with his… more violent planning.
With a deep inhale, he retracted his magic, containing it once again in himself. Darkness, swallowing any of the burgeoning sun that dared breach the curtains, reluctantly slunk across the floorboards and window sills, seeping down, down, down, draining into an innocuous puddle of shadow at the elder guardian’s feet. Yes, he had lost track of himself.
The hearth now smoked, fire extinguished by the crushing tide of his rage. Even the coals were quiet and subdued, lacking any orange veins of their previously burning temper.
Nightmare grumbled under his breath, reaching for the matchbox and relighting the embers. It was not his fault that his control waned from disuse.
It was odd to think of them as his children but felt natural enough. If any paperwork was needed, he was perfectly suitable as their legal guardian. He was their only living relative and facially similar, if not the only other skeleton monster here. Their mother would not step forward to claim them, anyway. She was frozen in her hibernation as a tree.
Some insane part of him wished to meet her again, just to know what his creator could have looked or acted like. Would she be welcoming and kind? Or perhaps more cold and detached, disconnected from the innate love that monsters had for their offspring? He had read that tree nymphs were a more solitary sort, though they lived in forests.
At some point during his childhood, he had learned about Nim and about her tale from the perspective of the village. It was their only way of even learning that they had a mother, much less how they were created. Nightmare had learned it from a book or small script, though he wasn’t sure where it was or what it looked like anymore.
Perhaps he could locate this material again, should it exist, or simply relay the information as he remembered it to his wards. He would gain more credibility if they learned information first from him, then verified it later with the accounts of the villagers. However, that would also mean explaining how or why he knew what Nim looked like… and he was uncertain whether to actually claim that he was their uncle, or a distant cousin, or… even their actual birth father.
He grimaced, as that would mean inferring a connection with his mother. Although it would be an easy cover story… His facial features matched that of his twins quite easily.
Nightmare was clueless as to why Nim specifically chose the likeness of a Sans or whether she had met any skeletons in her time. Monster history, as far as he remembered from his well-read childhood, did not mention much of skeletons or tree nymphs like his mother. Little was documented in the history books he could get his hands on back then. Given the privilege of having no prior reputation, now, Nightmare concluded he may be able to visit their local library and finally peruse its shelves without bearing the weight of unwanted glares. Although… his engagement with the rabbit lady may have spread word of his disposition.
He stewed over what little he could remember of this world after centuries of living outside of it. Nightmare closed his eye to think, leaning back in his chair and ignoring the phantom pain where his tendrils should be.
In comparison to the more common timelines and worlds, there lacked any substantial wars or conflicts between humans and monsters, much less an Underground to exist as a result. A kingdom hidden beneath a mountain would be quite hard to conceal, and as he recalled from Horror’s timeline, population density would grow very difficult to manage. The village itself was small only because it was situated on the outskirts of some unnamed kingdom, and there wasn’t enough abundant food, trade, or business to sustain more than the same few generations of families or farmers.
In this timeline, he theorized there may be monster villages under the surface of mountains or burrows of families in the right climates. The thought of a rabbit monster family with a hut that led to their burrow seemed natural.
He clicked his empty cup on the table, his mouth curling in distaste at the memory of the rabbit lady from the village.
It was more plausible to the elder guardian that the events of his past would occur long before the human versus monster wars could happen. It was possible that humans and monsters were too far separated by land in order to fight, although tales of the other species would’ve spread by now.
Monsters as a whole were old enough to know of humans, but younger generations would likely never see one unless a traveler came to visit or if they intentionally left their village for some reason. Humans were the same-they only left their villages or kingdoms on political pursuits, religious pilgrimages, for marriage, or for scholarly excursions. Not for pleasure. Those humans who did live in the village locally were born there by circumstance or brought in as children.
He had no intent of assisting the local village, should war begin to burn on their horizon. His mission was to secure the safe futures of the children in this home, and to prevent the village from pushing his past self to the same fate he found. Moreover, this new responsibility meant that he was technically a Guardian of the Tree again… He couldn’t leave his younger self to shoulder that burden again, now that he was here.
Nightmare was disturbed from his rumination by a noise. There was a yawn from the bedroom. They were waking up. But which one?
He turned slightly in their direction. In the darkness behind his eyelid, he reached out to them.
Dream’s thrumming emotions bloomed from the shadows. They were a relieved, pale yellow in shades of aged parchment, and anxious, a dampened ray blinking in and out from the hazy dimness of heavy, comfortable slumber. Aligned beside him, a second smaller star remained dimly blue and hazy gray, flickering in shades of exhaustion and sadness. It felt as if it were just on the brink of extinguishing, yet had remained stubbornly twinkling all night.
Nightmare tapped on the table in thought, then remained seated in the kitchen as he continued to observe the two.
At first, Dream’s star brightened considerably, accompanied by his relieved whisper of Nightmare’s name. In response, Dream’s brother seemed to recognize his voice. Nighty’s emotions glowed, flaring briefly with a hazy, warm recognition, but he ultimately gave no physical reaction. The exhausted child then slipped back into total slumber, peacefully resting and healing.
That was, until Dream began to desperately shake him.
“Nighty! Wake up! Are you dead? I know you’re not!” Dream whisper-yelled. His voice sounded hoarse. He had cried himself to sleep again.
This seemed like the time to step in.
“Please,” Dream begged, to someone who couldn’t hear him. His voice wavered, high, fearful.
“Please, Nighty, please, do something. I don’t wanna be alone again.“
He wasn’t sure when he stood or moved. Nightmare stopped just outside the doorframe, making his footsteps louder to alert the other to his presence. With a gasp, Dream looked at him, eyes wide.
The boy was hunched over his brother’s small, sickly frame. His hands were grasping his brother’s little shoulders. His face was so frightened, as if he were still in his sleep, unsure of what was real or fake.
Mare did not reach out, only steadily holding his gaze as he silently drained the terror from Dream’s shivering frame.
“Good morning,” the eldest eventually uttered, for lack of better words. His scar was aching again.
“G’morning,” Dream automatically replied, peeling off of his brother reluctantly, some sanity returning to his fraught expression. A tinge of embarrassment entered his uncertain, tentative expression. He looked like one of Nightmare’s dogs, he mused, when one of them misbehaved and was aware there’d be a consequence.
“Would you like some tea?” Mare gestured over his shoulder, where he had reignited the fire in the hearth. “I must go to the village soon, and see if they have any healing food or medicine for your brother.”
Dream’s round face twisted with childish contempt, and unnaturally bitter for his typical demeanor, he said, “They won’t give it to you if you say it’s for Nighty. They hate him and they don’t care if he dies or disappears.”
Mare remained unflinching. “Then I’ll just ask for the medicine.”
“Are you gonna lie to them?” Dream asked. His mouth was still curled into a pouty frown, his short fingers clutching his brother’s purple tunic for the comfort of a beloved teddy bear. “Lying is bad.”
“I need medicine, though.” Mare gestured at himself, and Dream’s pinched expression brightened with realization. “I am still wounded, and it has not healed for a few days now.”
Dream looked strangely guilty for a moment, and Mare wondered, fleetingly, if he housed the spirit of his future self. This version of Dream had nothing to be guilty for. The boy slowly let go of the clutch he had on his brother, sparing him a worried glance, and then slinking off of the bed to follow Nightmare into the kitchen area. Hopefully their voices wouldn’t disturb the sleeping child.
“I’m sorry I can’t heal you,” Dream sadly said. Nightmare gave no reaction to the painful twinge in his chest. He hoped Dream didn’t know about it.
The boy continued, anxious to explain. “I can’t do it yet. I get too tired afterward. The Healer said I’m too young to be healing anyone, cuz I’m not… I have too little to share.”
Finally, someone with sense. He hardly remembered a Healer in the village. They were a limited presence in his life, isolated from the rest of the community in their own cottage away from everyone else. They slowly disappeared from everyone’s memories when they stopped visiting. They were likely tired of the Village’s drama and went on their own path. He couldn’t remember whether anyone investigated their home for any signs of living after they stopped coming, but that was irrelevant.
“By ‘too little to share,’” Nightmare questioned. Dream bowed his head a little as he swung his feet off the edge of the bed. “you mean magic?”
Dream nodded assuredly, with the confidence of a child who fully believed what was told to them. “Yeah. He said I was like this big-“ and Dream made a pinching motion, as if holding up a pea. “-and that was all my magic I could share, and if I gave it all away, I would be so tired and faint again. Which is why I shouldn’t heal anyone unless super nece-ss-ssary and even, even then, it has to be someone super important and very not so hurt. Bad.”
“Uh huh.” The elder guardian stared at him.
“Yeah.”
“Right. Where can I go to meet the Healer, instead of going into the village?”
The boy’s expression brightened. “We go out to the field, and we go into the forest, and onto the path!”
He puzzled over this. ‘The path’ meant there was only one main route that was used consistently by the locals. Nightmare had not seen a path while he was in the forest. Presumably this was easier to find if one had been there before, led by a villager who knew the forest like a guild hunter would. It was an odd location, to say the least. Why not settle in the village where the most people needed help?
“Hmmm,” he pondered this, standing from his post and resisting a grimace at the sore ache of his spine. As he stood straight, he noticed his reflection in the window.
What he saw made him grimace. It was a light-absorbing black silhouette that was dimensionless, hunched forward like an old woman. Without his tendrils to correct his center of gravity and pull him backward, he instinctively stood strangely.
How ugly of him.
Something in his expression must have tipped Dream off to his thoughts, as the boy leapt his feet to interrupt his gaze. With something bright yellow jumping around in his periphery, he had to stop staring at his reflection.
“Let’s go now!” Dream tugged at one of his hands. He had the instinct to yank it away, but thought better of it.
Nightmare remained solid and unmoved by Dream’s tugging towards the door. “One of us must remain to monitor your brother’s condition. He is sick and fragile.”
The boy looked up at him with a frown. “He won’t get better without medicine, though. And you don’t know where the Healer is, and I know where they are, so-”
Dream’s face lit up with an idea, an expression which Nightmare knew intimately well and associated with bad results. The elder guardian interrupted him before he spouted something like ‘I’ll go get it on my own!’ which was not an option.
“You will stay here with your brother. I cannot be here when he wakes up. I am a stranger to your brother, and will only scare him.” Nightmare sternly said. “I imagine your brother doesn’t trust strangers like you do.”
His charge gasped in protest. “I don’t trust strangers! They could take me away into the forest never to return and then I’ll get eaten by a big wolf! I know better.”
He really didn’t remember that children’s folk tale, but as long as it did its job to warn off kids from stupid adventures.
“I hope so, being that you dragged me into the cottage when you found me outside.” He wryly said. Before Dream could interject and protest his dry remark, he added: “but I can handle the Healer.”
“I can help! I’m the Guardian of Positivity, they’ll listen to me too. I’m not a kid!”
Dream continued to stubbornly stand before the doorway, now blocking it with his hands balled into fists. Nightmare noted that he seemed suddenly rather eager to be independent again. Perhaps whenever he felt like he wasn’t being useful enough, he had to prove himself.
With a sigh, Nightmare knelt before his charge. Dream looked at him anxiously, begging with his butterscotch eyes to be allowed. “I know you want to help, but your brother needs you right now.” He softly said. Dream’s eyes watered a little.
“You said so yourself. You need to be with your brother because he’s afraid of being alone. You are the only one he can depend on right now, and I imagine that when he was at the river, your brother was very scared. He will be confused when he wakes up.”
“He needs you to be there.” Nightmare said, gazing into Dream at first and then past him at the floor. “No one else in the village cares about him like you do.”
Dream shook his head slowly, mouth a tremulous line.
“Why do you think you have to go to the Healer so badly?” Nightmare gently brushed the tear off of Dream’s cheek.
The child shifted, now guilty and reluctant to answer, sniffling softly and rubbing his eyes. Nightmare waited patiently as Dream took in a deep breath.
“I just…” Dream mumbled. “I thought I had to.”
“Why?”
“I dunno.” He helplessly said, aimless frustration welling inside of him. It was clear he didn’t understand very well himself, which should have been expected of a child. Dream wasn’t the same person he remembered.
He still doesn’t trust me. Nightmare still thought. Does he think I’ll poison his brother?
“What if you don’t come back?” Dream helplessly blurted.
Nightmare did not move. Not to breathe or to flinch back in shock. He only stared at him.
“What if you, you go to the Healer, and they tell you all about Nighty and why no one likes him, and you think that you’d- you shouldn’t be here,” he stumbles. “What i-if you decide you don’t wanna stay here anymore, a-and you actually don’t like me or wanna take care of us, and it’s too much, because-”
“Hush now child,” and Dream quiets himself, eyes wide and his chest stuttering with hiccups. Nightmare felt a burgeoning headache and slowly sapped the mounting terror from Dream.
Slowly, the boy began to calm down, and the elder guardian realized he was being clung to. His tendrils would’ve wrapped around him, but without them there, he had to use his hand to rub Dream’s small back.
“I’ll stay and help you care for Night,” he said. Hearing himself say it aloud felt different from thinking about it. More real. “I’ll care for you both, because no one else will.”
Dream squeezed him tightly. He was so small against him, so fragile and so alone. Nightmare’s ribs hurt. He ignored that the boy was leaking tears all over his shirt.
“Don’t go away, Mister Mare.” his little brother whispered into his chest. “Come back, okay? No matter what anyone says. Please, please, please don’t go away.”
Nightmare disliked that Dream would grow so reliant so quickly on a stranger, but he couldn’t stop himself from answering. His expression had softened.
“Of course, child.” He smoothed a dark hand over Dream’s skull. “I will come back.”
Then came the damning question.
“You promise?”
Nightmare tensed, and Dream’s fear began to rise again. He knew what he had to say, but still felt reluctant to swear himself so. Yet, he felt annoyed with himself. Where else would Nightmare even go? This was exactly where he needed to be.
They were his children now, and if he should say he’d care for them, then he would follow his word.
“I promise.” Nightmare firmly said.
No one else would protect them. Not properly. Not like he would.
The journey to the Healer’s abode was far less treacherous than he thought it would be. As the child had said, he only needed to traverse the wheat field and enter the forest. From there, he would need to find the befabled path and follow it to the Healer’s location.
Perhaps it was some form of magic that previously masked it from himself, Nightmare mused. It was also rather dark the last time he was out here.
He arrived at a cottage that seemed rather old but well loved. A garden of herbs and flowers exploded out on one side of the house, and chickens freely roamed about within the fenceline. He eyed them curiously, wondering if he might later trade for them.
A gate was left open, allowing the trodden path to be guided to the footstep of the quaint little cottage. From its chimney, he could smell something medicinal being smoked or brewed. Perhaps he could learn what to forage or grow back at home, such that he wouldn’t need to come back out here again. It depended on the attitude of the Healer. He distantly recalled reading that doctors commonly refused to share their knowledge during this general era, until the modernization of medicine.
He curiously looked up at the wooden windchimes dangling by the door. What were those for again? He often thought they only made pretty noises, but in some books and tales, he read that they’d be used to ward off evil spirits. A wry feeling made him want to smile. Should he step back?
Before he could breach the gate at the fence, the door to the cottage swung open. White fur absorbed the warm white sunlight. He briefly glimpsed someone moving about behind the Healer before he locked eyes with them.
A waft of something warm, baked, and smokey passed over his senses. Nightmare acknowledged that the Healer had scanned him. He let the magic pass over himself harmlessly, allowing them to check him for injury. Meanwhile, he took in their appearance.
His first instinct was to identify them as a Toriel, due to their benevolent expression, their small figure, and their purple garb. However, they lacked the symbol of the Delta Rune and had horns more reminiscent of an older Asriel or Asgore. They bore aspects of both sexes and wore them without hiding one or the other. Perhaps they were a distant ancestor of Toriel or Asgore, being that monsterkind was not forced underground. There weren’t any goat monsters in the village, either. Nightmare had so much reading to do.
“Good morning.” They cordially said, hands in front of them. Their sleeves were long and white, covering their arms. Their eyes were firmly closed, long thick lashes cast over their soft face. Perhaps they had an issue with their vision. “Come inside. I see you require my assistance.”
Hmm. Nightmare felt the phantom sensation of his tendrils flicking behind him, despite knowing they weren’t there. He tilted his head slightly, intrigued despite the enigmatic nature of the Healer, and crossed through the gate. He let them watch him as he passed under the windchimes, their expression serene and unreadable. They stepped aside to let him in.
He could sense their slight unease as he came close to them. He held on tight to his aura, sparing them his judgment. They felt more curious than uneasy, and that was what he immediately liked about them.
The door was left open behind him. Nightmare took in a warm kitchen covered in every surface by a wooden bowl or flask full of mystery medicine. From the ceiling, numerous bundles of colorful berries, local herbs, and dried brown and green plants were within reach of the tall goat monster. He realized that they were about a head taller than him once he had gotten closer, and wondered how he could’ve mistaken them for a small creature. The Healer’s white horns brushed against some of the things hanging from the ceilings.
They gestured for him to sit at one of the only mismatched stools not covered by plants or an unfinished tincture. He spotted a bundle of papers as he sat, and a brief spark of longing surprised himself. He wanted to read-more than that, he wanted to write and own paper and quills and ink. He had been rather preoccupied with the children and forgot that he once had hobbies and collections of his own back in the castle.
No matter. His attention ought to be on the current issue. The Healer slowly sat across the crowded table and gently moved some pots so he could face them properly without leaves in the way. Even while seated, the Healer looked down at him.
“What is the problem?” Their voice was closer to a whisper, with a faint raspiness that came from disuse. Much like Dust’s voice once was. Nightmare shook the comparison from his mind.
“One of my wards has fallen ill. He is breathing poorly with a rasping sound. His condition is rather severe, and he’s been coming in and out of sleep since I last found him by the river yesterday. He was unconscious then, and covered in a manner of old bruises and scratches.”
Nightmare wondered if the Healer may blame him for how the boy looks. Their expression gave nothing away but their soul told him everything. They were concerned. He hoped that they retained that same concern when he revealed to them who his ward was.
“I worry that he may recover poorly if not given treatment, but I do not know what exactly ails him or if he may wake up soon enough for me to ask what’s wrong.”
The Healer inclined their head in acknowledgment. “This is a troublesome case. It is good that he is still resting. Do you know why he was by the river? Perhaps he slipped?”
Nightmare’s mouth flattened into a thin line and briefly, he felt a little ashamed to answer. “No, I only learned of his condition yesterday. He was missing for two days.”
They gave no reaction besides calm acknowledgment and sadness. “Children are capable of getting into such terrible mischief. May I ask what the name of the boy is? In case I’ve treated him before.”
He hesitated, but answered. “Nightmare.”
Their sadness swelled into a seed of grief tinged with shame and relief. He watched in slight confusion and astonishment as the Healer sighed heavily, breaking their serene professionalism to bow their head and rub their eyes with one massive paw.
“I see you must be the new parent of the tree children.” The Healer wearily said, standing from their seat to begin picking through their many herbs and bowls. “I am glad someone has finally come forward and claimed them. I take it that you are also a newcomer, being that I’ve never treated you before.”
He hummed in response. It feels… refreshing to find someone who is on his side, and who seems to see this village for what it is. But how old was the Healer to know with certainty who was and who wasn’t local to the village? “You are correct. I’ve only recently arrived and was nursed to health by Dream. Being that the child said no one from their village was caring for them, I found myself moved to ensure their protection.”
The Healer smiled at him. It was a small, tired expression. It was nice. “I see. Dream aspires to learn from me someday, but I believe he needs time to mature and grow before his reserves should be put to use for healing.”
“He spoke of you.” Nightmare watched them pluck a branch of thick, round leaves from the counter. The Healer cut them into a bowl of dubious green paste and began mixing with water intermittently. Silence lapsed between them as the Healer worked.
He thought of asking why the Healer did not take care of the children. They answered his unspoken question.
“I’m not fit to care for two children. Additionally, I live far from their Tree.” The Healer neutrally said. “If I were to come and consistently visit them, I’d still be dragged away by the village folk to solve their problems or check their livestock.”
“I see.” He replied, just as quiet. The Healer sighed again.
Were we meant to be alone? Nightmare quietly watched their back, noting the process they took to prepare the medicine. The sound of wooden bowls and glass instruments was soothing, and birds were loudly chirping outside the open windows. He could smell something freshly baked under the overwhelming perfume of the herbs. Outside, wooden chimes clunkily waved in the breeze. He tried to imagine, briefly, being able to live here as a child. He could not vividly envision it.
“Nightmare’s bruises and cuts will heal better with this salve.” They turned around with the wooden mixing bowl, passing a glowing green paw over the paste and imbuing it with the intent to heal. They did not lower their hand, instead lifting their head to face Nightmare again.
“If you could please hold your hand over the bowl,” they politely requested.
Nightmare stared at them, but reluctantly obliged. “I am not able to perform healing magic.”
Their mouth twisted slightly in confusion, brow lowering, before smoothing back over into their serene expression. “All magic creatures are able to.”
Nightmare felt like protesting, but instead lowered his gaze to the bowl. The green sludge within seemed rather sickly. What if he made it worse, somehow?
“If you are incapable, then you may lower your hand. But imbuing the mixture with your magic and intent will greatly aid the healing process.” They patiently explained.
“I truly am not capable of healing others.” Nightmare sighed, but tried anyway. He felt the ache of anticipation grow in him, yet he still-slimly-hoped something might come from this. Their paw remained hovering under his own, and he channeled his energy into his palms. He readied himself for disappointment as the seconds passed.
In the time he spent staring at his hand, he saw the corrosion coating his bones twist and weakly stir. It was used to him trying to shapeshift, not whatever this was. It anticipated an idea, a change in form. He had no visions for what to transform into.
“Think of your desire for young Nightmare to recover,” the goat monster encouraged. “Think of your care for him, and for your children.”
Who will take care of him? A small, battered body, hidden under sheets.
Who will take care of you? Dream’s pleading expression as he clung onto Nightmare’s shoulders.
More seconds ticked by. A weak blue glow began to fight through the thick blackness of his corrosion. Nightmare realized his whole body was beginning to ache from the effort of his concentration-was there less in his reserves than he realized? His hand was trembling slightly.
Unbidden, he thought of Dream’s expression- the older Dream-after he was shot. The shock, the remorse, the fear. Then, of his younger self and the scars they shared all over their body.
Nightmare exhaled slowly through his teeth as the glow began to change color-blue, then teal. Seafoam green. It had to be enough. He needed it to be enough. Dream needed him to do this. The world and its sound faded away, all his concentration into how much he wanted for this.
The Healer’s white paw eclipsed his own and cupped him in a soft hold before he could push himself too far. Nightmare remained sitting properly, though his shoulders sagged and he wished to slump over. His scar, curiously, wasn’t aching.
“It’s done.” They softly said. “You can heal.”
Nightmare really wanted to laugh. He only puffed out a small breath of air, glancing up at them with a tired, wry look. “I won’t be doing it again, if you ask.”