Chapter Text
Nightmare is done. He needs a change. Something. Anything. Please.
He sits between the roots of the Tree, hugging himself with both hands, chin on the knees. The position gets awkward, uncomfortable, but he doesn't have it in himself to move. He's drained.
He's fearful, uneasy with the deepest pain that never ends, but he's also empty. That's how it feels, at least. It's a void that nothing can fill, not even anxiety and doubts that have Nightmare in their cruel cold claws. The way misery blooms in the emptiness of his being is so alluring though, so mesmerising. Nightmare lets himself drown in the feeling. Nightmare never fights it, like he never fought the villagers, neither verbally nor physically. He's weak, isn't he?
But he isn’t evil. He's not. Can't be.
Right?
These thoughts break him more than any of the villagers ever could. Nightmare doesn’t know who he is anymore, and that makes it so much more frightening. He can't bear it. He's not brave, and he's not strong.
His hands are trembling. His whole body is trembling, Nightmare notices belatedly. His vision is blurred, too; he's crying again. He can't help it, useless even against his own tears.
Nightmare hugs himself tighter, so tight it almost hurts.
Can it be that the villagers are right? Were right all along?
No, no, no. Please, no. He doesn't want to be evil. He doesn't want to be a freak. It's supposed to count, right? He tries, he really does. It must count.
If only Nightmare could find a way to prove himself. Abruptly, he stops hugging himself, both hands limp by his sides. Does he even deserve this poor attempt of comfort? Is he really what the villagers say, a useless, stupid, good for nothing villain?
No!
The tears keep flowing down his cheekbones. He doesn't hiccup, doesn't sob, doesn't tremble anymore.
He's drained. Done.
He really, really needs to change something. Or something to change — and wouldn't that be perfect?
Too good to be true.
His fingers touch the grass beneath him, and the trunk of the Tree is solid as ever, always there to rely on.
Nightmare tilts his head back. Just then, he sees the apples. Black, but also some of the golden.
Maybe... Just maybe, but...
He'd need to stay alone for that though. Dream consistently declines any help requests from the villagers, seemingly determined to never leave, but he’s just too kind, there’s bound to be someone he can’t say no to. It’s a matter of time. And waiting is fine by Nightmare, now that he has a plan. He’s not wasting his time anymore; instead, he’s being patient, ready to take the first chance he gets. It’s a smart move. Besides, the reward will be worth it.
Tired, Nightmare wipes the tears with his sleeve and makes himself as comfortable as possible, resting beside the Tree’s rough trunk. If he’s lucky, he’ll even drowse and nap a little.
Ironically, an opportunity comes up later that day.
Nightmare doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he must have at some point since some noise wakes him up. When his head gets clearer, Nightmare realises it’s two voices, one his brother’s and the other only distantly familiar. A villager, then.
“Please, don’t talk so loudly,” Dream pleads in a small voice. “Nightmare is sleeping.”
How Dream always manages to be so caring and gentle is beyond Nightmare’s understanding. His little brother doesn’t deserve all that. Luckily, Nightmare knows what to do. Currently, he just has to keep listening intently, and it’ll be better if they think he’s still asleep. So no movement or sound. Nightmare’s good at that, he likes to think.
“Of course that useless garbage is sleeping in the middle of the day. But who cares!” the villager says, clearly irritated. They do lower their voice, though, if only to please Dream a little. “We need your help, and you can’t sit this one out!”
Dream sounds tired and somewhat hurt when he replies, “I’m so sorry if my brother upset you, but please, don’t talk about him that way.” Only when the villager mutters a “Yeah, whatever” that Nightmare barely hears from his position on the other side of the Tree, Dream continues. “Can you tell me what’s so important you think I need the Tree?”
“Took you long enough to ask! Some guardian you are!” the villager huffs. “Just so you know, Ava is so sick she’s dying, it’s getting worse, and we’ve tried everything, but nothing helps! There’s no cure but the golden apples. It’s our last hope.” They insist, not giving Dream a moment to hesitate, “Come on! Do you really want us to lose Ava just because you decided to be stubborn?”
Nightmare tenses. He knows exactly how much of a bleeding heart his brother is. No chance he’s turning this one down; not when it’s a matter of life and death. He’s coming to the aid if only this one time. Meanwhile, Nightmare can set his plan in motion — prove himself worthy and good. Everything’s going to be fine. Everything’s going to get better. Finally.
Despite himself, Nightmare smiles. However, he keeps his sockets shut, just in case Dream decides to check on him before going to the village. He will go, without a doubt.
And indeed, Dream gasps, terrified, “Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry to hear it! Of course, I’ll help poor Ava!” Then, there are steps and rustling, quiet huffs, and at last, this specific sound of a fruit being picked from the Tree. Nightmare knows that sound, although he’s never done it himself. Nobody asked for a black apple, after all. Nobody wanted it.
Nobody wanted him.
But now, that’s alright. He’ll just show everyone that he can take care of the golden apples, too. Everyone loves them, and they will love him as well. It’s so easy, Nightmare just cannot fathom how he hadn’t come up with it before.
For a few seconds, there’s a pause.
“What are you waiting for? You got the apple, now let’s go!” the villager hurries. Suddenly, the steps sound much closer to Nightmare, and he’s been ready for that, it’s exactly the reason why he never opened his eyes, then why does he jerk?
Luckily, it doesn’t give his act away. Dream sighs and whispers, ever so softly, “I’ll be right back, brother. Sleep tight.” He goes away and says a bit louder, worry evident in his voice, “Let’s go. I really hope we’ll arrive in time...”
If the villager replies, Nightmare doesn’t hear it. He counts to a hundred five times, just to be sure, and gets up only after that.
This is his chance to make the tables turn.
For a minute, he simply stands there, looking at the Tree, his chest heavy with anticipation. His gaze is fixed on a single golden apple, the nearest to him. The one he’s going to pick and keep from harm all by himself.
While Nightmare stares at the apple, a strange feeling arises in his entire being. It’s light and unobtrusive, but also comprehensive. He’d try to identify it if he had more time, he thinks. As it is, he can’t quite put a finger on it right away and so just lets it be.
It’s getting late, Nightmare notices. The sky darkens steadily, the sun already gone. Pinks and purples linger on the horizon, and for the first time in a while, Nightmare finds himself appreciating the view. It’s been so long since he last enjoyed... anything, really. Everything except for misery and pain has become dull, faded. Being able to drink in the sight now, suddenly thrilled by that fleeting moment between day and night, relishing in the cool breeze...
Nightmare forces himself to look away. He has a plan to execute, and Dream might come back any minute. His brother is nice, but... he doesn’t understand. He wouldn’t even if Nightmare explained. So he has to do this alone.
Not like it’s the first time anyway.
Deepest sadness and utter hopelessness creep back into Nightmare’s mind and heart, but before they take hold of him, little guardian decisively comes closer to the Tree and reaches for a golden apple, the one he’d chosen before.
A moment stretches to what seems a tiny eternity. That’s what it feels like to Nightmare, who freezes, terrified. His hand trembles. The apple is so close, one slight movement and he’ll have it, feel its surface. Is it warm or cool? Nightmare wonders, distantly. Is it soft or hard?
After a long, long pause — one that lasts barely a minute, Nightmare’s mind knows, but his heart doesn’t believe it, — his hand withdraws. He holds it with his other hand against his chest, aching all of a sudden.
What’s wrong with him? Why can’t he do this? He’s a guardian just like Dream, who’s done this plenty of times! It’s so simple! It should be simple.
But his body refuses to cooperate. He’s shuddering, so anxious and afraid it’s suffocating. No wonder his chest hurts.
Tears prick the corners of Nightmare’s sockets.
Come on! Why can’t he move? Just why?
It’s not fair. This might be his only chance. Dream made an exception today, sure, but it’s not every day someone is on the verge of dying. He’s going to come back, and stay beside the Tree like a good guardian he is, and nothing’s going to change.
Filled with despair and fear, Nightmare tries one last time, putting all effort he can into stretching out his hand.
It doesn’t work. His body doesn’t work, not properly, anyway.
What’s even happening?
Just then, Nightmare hears familiar footsteps from behind. The sound makes something in him snap. The pain in his chest, the tension in his body, the feelings in his heart, and the thoughts in his mind — everything dissipates, leaving him tired and empty.
And — oh.
Nightmare sees now. That light feeling was hope. And it’s gone.
“Nightmare!” Dream calls out, not quite close yet but already explaining himself. “Sorry I left when you were sleeping, I hope you weren’t too worried when you woke up all alone... I didn’t mean to take so long or to take any time at all, but it was urgent and you don’t sleep much, so I...”
Utterly exhausted, Nightmare shrugs his brother off with a quiet “It’s fine” and, when Dream abruptly stops talking, goes away to the other side of the Tree.
Leave it up to him to not do a single thing right.
Of course, it’s all in vain. Pointless and futile.
He’ll just sleep.
Only that night, Nightmare tosses and turns restlessly.
As energy beings, they don’t exactly need sleep, so for Nightmare, it’s more of a way to escape than anything. Being awake means thinking and feeling, while sleep, although it seems to last just for a moment without dreams Nightmare’s only read about, gifts him a blessing of unconsciousness. When he sleeps, it’s almost like time and space cease to exist.
Almost like he ceases to exist.
It’s sweet and alluring. It’s also terrifying.
But none of this matters anymore, because, after that incident, even light sleep just won’t come. It’s called insomnia, Nightmare thinks.
Something did change after all. For the worse, that is.
It really could have been funny, but after a week of long, long days and nights Nightmare’s forced to spend wallowing in his misery, he can’t find it in himself to laugh.
Tired.
He’s so very tired.