Chapter Text
BE BACK SOON
(the handwriting is in shaky letters. the writer pressed down too hard on the pen while writing, and there's a large blot of ink on the page. there's also a thin line of ink running off of it, as if they dropped the pen afterward.)
Ink’s throat was tight, as if wound by string.
Nightmare never came to him of his own accord, save for when both of them were awfully drunk off their asses during the party. Even then, it was likely because Ink was bawling his eyes out and Nightmare had a thin grasp on his composure. This was important. This was serious because Ink was not one of the few people Nightmare wanted to spend his last two days talking to.
"What happened?” Ink hoarsely whispered, his hand briefly flinching toward a vial of solvent - before tucking itself into his pocket. Nightmare did not give any indication that he noticed. The only tells of his stress were the writhing tentacles wringing themselves out behind him.
“Dream’s gone.” Nightmare tersely replied. “He went out to one of the outer edges to stargaze, but he hasn’t come back. He wasn’t in his usual places.”
Ink pressed his mouth into a thin line, his brow pinching. “Did you see him go?”
Nightmare shook his head. “Ink… He’s… ”
The two of them stood there for another quiet moment, the thoughts racing through their head nearly audible with chaos and worry. Ink waited for the end of his sentence, the worst conclusions coming to mind and taking root in the absence of words.
The line of Nightmare’s shoulders was tight. His hands were clasped together as if to steady himself. He took a deep breath in, and then out, and warning bells began to up their pitch in Ink’s mind.
Slowly, his eye leveled with Ink.
“Ink, he’s… dead.”
Ink’s mouth parted, and he tried to say something, any kind of words of condolence, but his throat was closing on itself. He blinked rapidly as the world became blurry, and his breathing shuddered a little, like that of a fragile bird fluttering its wings.
“No,” Ink choked. “It’s too soon. It’s too soon, it’s too soon, we still had one more day -” and suddenly Nightmare was wrapped all around him, leeching the deep blue waves of grief out of him gently. Ink let out a mangled noise and dug his fingers into Nightmare’s back, clawing at the sludge as if to gain purchase in the ocean of emotions that swept him off his feet. Nightmare didn’t flinch.
“Just one more day,” he whispered, his face pressed against the crook of Nightmare’s shoulder. Extra appendages wrapped around his trembling body to secure him. He took security in their solidity, his legs weak with excess emotions. “We had one more day left.” Ink uttered softly into the room. Nightmare held him up, now, and Ink let himself sink into his arms.
“I know.” Nightmare responded, his low voice always quiet.
The moment was cut short by the tell-tale crackle of a shortcut. Nightmare released Ink as Killer’s raspy voice cut through the room with an unnerving seriousness.
“It’s starting.”
Nightmare’s pupil shrank in its socket while Ink’s flickered through a plethora of emotion. “Now?” Ink’s scratchy voice was bad enough to make even Killer wince slightly. But he nodded. “Now.” Killer said.
Nightmare glanced over at Ink, who wavered where he stood, still swept in the storm of denial and processing that Dream’s disappearance dealt him. Nightmare pressed his mouth into a thin line and looked over at Killer.
“We’ll do it all as planned.” Nightmare ordered. Ink tore away from his proximity to snatch a pen and notecard off of a dresser covered in wilted flowers. “Even without Dream, we can still get everyone into the Doodlesphere.”
Killer made no indication that he was looking at Ink, but Nightmare still clicked his tongue. “Don’t.” He swiped open a portal, and on the other side was the clutter of Ink’s house in the Doodlesphere. Killer stepped through almost immediately, unwilling to face Ink when he was visibly in the throes of grief, while Nightmare stood sternly beside the doorway.
Gone was the empathetic face. There were still a few people left that Dream would like to keep alive, for as long as they could. He had to do this, at least. He gave Ink a mental countdown of a few seconds as he watched the smaller man bustle about the room, gathering loose papers with paragraphs of writing and tucking them too carefully into the still hands of his former nemesis, who was wrapped up in thick white blankets.
He would be asleep for this, Nightmare thought with a distant sense of relief. Error’s peaceful expression was in sharp contrast to the lively bustle and chatter of the survivors holed up in Ink’s house. He seemed as if he were already dead.
Ink rushed past him into the Doodlesphere, sparing over his shoulder a second, pained glance, at the white notecard left on Error’s chest. Nightmare stepped in after him, closing the portal as Ink stared despondently at the other side.
The portal work was done quickly, smoothly, mechanically. It all went too well, considering who was missing. They were already accounting for a missing person from the start, but it felt awful all the same.
After around ten minutes, Nightmare and Ink were now surrounded on all sides by the remaining people of the multiverse. Just around twenty-four of them, now that Dream was gone.
Outside of the house, the Doodlesphere cried out in pain with shrieking, glitched noises, and the sound of papers tearing. Some people covered their ears with their hands, wincing at the sharp and sudden sounds. There was a child sobbing into someone’s shirt somewhere in the living room.
“What did you write to him?” Nightmare quietly asked once they had moved to a more private room.
Ink swallowed deeply as the house shook, and the island began to crumble. There were no papers left. Debris was raining down from above them, dust covering the windows in thick layers. The sky had turned a deep purple, close to black.
Nightmare took his hand. Ink squeezed it, his ribcage trembling. He shook his head and instead asked another question. “Where’s your gang?”
The aforementioned group burst through the bathroom door and clambered into any available spaces, specifically the bathtub. Dust closed and locked the door behind them as Horror hurriedly ambled in, grimacing at the sharp wail of several people upon the house shaking.
None of them said anything, crowding around Nightmare’s legs or his back, touching him in some way while trying fruitlessly to give Ink the privacy he needs.
Nightmare pointedly glanced at his swarm of subordinates before looking up at Ink with a cocked brow.
Ink sighed, the air leaving him in a slouch that leaned into Nightmare’s shoulder. In the tub, the gang tangled together in a mess of limbs, crowded around one of Nightmare's tendrils.
After a few rumbles, the ceiling shook down more dust. Ink found his voice in the cacophony of cries outside of the bathroom door, closing his eyes with a shallow breath.
“Be back soon.”
The lights went out.