Chapter Text
The blaring sound of an alarm jolted Dream awake in his bed, his daggers summoning in his hands instinctively as he whirled towards the source of the noise. He sighed as his eyelights fell onto the dusty digital clock, and he allowed his weapons to dematerialize. Recklessly, the skeleton reached to the nightstand and hit the snooze button as he pulled the blankets back over his head with a groan.
Soon after, a knock sounded on his door, and it was opening before he could even tell the person to come in (or go away. It was one of those mornings, after all).
“Oh, Dream!” a chipper voice called. “Get the fuck up! I made breakfast for you before therapy!” Said monster could hear the sound of the lamp next to his bed clicking before the voice’s owner settled at the foot of his bed. “The toast may be a bit burnt, but I think that the jam will mask that flavour. It’s grape! Your favourite, I know.”
It was not, in fact, Dream’s favourite, but he didn’t bother correcting the other. Hesitantly, he pulled the covers off of his head and looked up to his friend with a frown. “Do I have to, Ink?”
The other skeleton, Ink, cocked his head, eyelights turning to question marks. “Do what? Eat the toast? I guess not, seeing as you’re a skeleton and all that. Though I think your soul would appreciate the nutrients, especially considering-”
Cutting him off, Dream shook his head. “I’m not talking about the toast, idiot.” He cringed at his bluntness and mumbled out a half-hearted apology. Ink didn’t seem to mind, though, waving him off.
“Therapy then? I mean, I guess you don’t have to do that either,” he said with a shrug. “Though I think that’d just fuck both you and your brother over.”
“So what?” Dream grumbled, and he sunk further into the mattress and attempted to pull the blankets over his head again.
His attempt was stopped by Ink’s firm hand, but he didn’t say anything to address Dream’s angsty response. “At least get up and eat something? I worked hard on that toast.”
For a moment, Dream was silent, then he groaned loudly in hesitant agreement, pushing the sheets off of himself, much to his friend’s delight. When the skeleton noticed Ink’s joy, though, he made a point to frown as he got up, not that it affected the other at all.
“I’ll go pour you some orange juice!” Ink cooed, hopping up and rushing out of the room.
Dream let out a breath that he hadn’t realised he’d been holding when his friend left the room. He placed his head in his hands and blinked tiredly. It’d been another night of, ironically, bad dreams, that left him feeling more like he’d ran a marathon than slept for a full eight hours, and the skeleton did not feel like getting up and talking about wishy washy feelings with a therapist, let alone in the same room as his brother. Nevertheless, Ink was right. Not going would only make it more difficult for both himself and his brother, no matter his current feelings surrounding him, to recover.
Hesitantly, Dream swung his legs out of bed and pushed himself into a standing position. He made a point to lock the door before changing (something he’d had to quickly learn to do when he started living with Ink as he was notoriously bad at remembering to knock), and lazily shrugged on a light grey sweater that was just a bit too big, causing it to slide off of his shoulders ever so slightly, and black leggings. His closet was full of new clothes that he and a few friends had bought together a couple of months ago. After what happened, none of his other, brightly coloured and heroesque clothing felt right to wear anymore. Ink had insisted that he kept them despite this, so they sat, collecting dust, in the back of his closet. He tried to avoid looking at them, but it was hard to ignore the bright yellow, stained cloth.
This morning, Dream didn’t bother to avert his gaze. He looked down at the dingy, ripped clothing and allowed himself to hate it as much as he wanted to. The feeling made him feel sick to his stomach, but that only served to anger him even more. Staggering a bit, the skeleton squeezed his sockets shut and closed the closet door.
When he made his way to the kitchen, a plate with two pieces of toast and a glass of pulpy orange juice greeted him at the table as well as the smiling face of his friend, followed by a sharp laugh.
“Woah, are you okay?” Ink asked lightly, eyelights turning a bright yellow and green. “You don’t look so good.”
Dream didn’t bother to answer as he sat down at the table. He picked up a piece of toast and scoffed in surprise at the state of it, remembering the other’s warning about it being “a bit burnt” earlier. “Ink, you said ‘a bit burnt,’ not blackened! No amount of grape jelly is going to mask this!” He gestured to the rock hard toast in his hand which elicited a frown from his companion.
“Yeah, you’re welcome for making you breakfast, Dream. It was no trouble at all,” Ink grumbled incredulously as he crossed his arms with a huff.
“I’m not even sure this counts as food anymore.”
“I get no appreciation in this household!” Ink screeched.
Suddenly, another, glitchy voice chimed into the conversation, voice warped nearly to incomprehension. “Why is everyone yelling at eight in the fucking morning?!”
Dream tensed at the anger in the voice, but Ink didn’t seem to miss a beat as he laughed even louder.
“Sorry, Berry!” he called, and Dream was quick to give a quiet apology as well.
“Ah, no, I’m sorry!” the monster replied, and his voice was much less distorted now. “I didn’t mean to yell like that. I’m not as much of a morning person as I used to be, you know?” He rubbed the back of his skull sheepishly. He then looked to Dream, who was still tensed up ever so slightly, and frowned. “Hey, Dream, I’m sorry. I promise I’m not really mad.”
At the mention of his name, Dream looked up at the multicoloured skeleton with tiny stars lining his sockets. It was a cute touch to a monster that could be scarily unhinged sometimes despite still having a heart of gold. “No, it’s okay,” Dream reassured. “I’m just a bit nervous for therapy, is all.”
Berry hummed in understanding, then caught a look of the food resting on the plate in front of his friend. “What the fuck is that?”
“Uh… toast?” Dream said, though it seemed like more a question than an answer.
“It’s toast with grape jelly!” Ink chimed in cheerily. “If I’d known I was going to wake you this morning, I would have made you some too. Sorry!”
The other stepped forward and examined the charred food before picking it up and gently hitting it on the table. The food (if it could really be called that) made an unappetizing clunking noise as it made impact, and both Dream and Berry cringed.
“I think I may have dodged a bullet, actually,” the latter mumbled, drawing a snort from Dream. “Well, I’m going to make something that’s actually edible, if anyone’s interested.”
Ink was quick to shoot his hand up in the air, and he nearly fell out of his chair from the urgency. “Me! Me!”
Berry raised a browbone, gesturing towards the plate of charcoal. “Aren’t you going to eat what you made?”
“Uh, no? That’s for Dream.”
Said monster shook his head violently. “No the fuck it’s not! I bet the only reason you gave it to me is because you knew it was too burned for you to eat.”
Ink gave a nervous grin. “No…?” he said, though uncertainty laced the word. “I made you that food out of the goodness of my heart!”
“You bastard!” Dream laughed.
“Oh, my stars, you really tried to give your scraps to Dream when it was so bad that not even you would eat it.” Berry placed a hand to his chest in feigned shock. “I thought you were supposed to be a hero.”
“I am a hero!” Ink retorted. “This is a battle against food waste, and I would’ve won it too if it weren’t for the villain that is a better cook entering the kitchen.”
“There’s no way that Dream would’ve actually eaten that even if I hadn’t shown up!”
Then, Dream chimed in, giving a shrug as he hesitantly drawled out, “well…”
Berry’s face scrunched up in disgust. “No way.”
“Now there’s a true hero!” Ink said through cackles.
“Dream, what the fuck?! That’s so gross!” Berry shuddered.
“At least I’m not going to eat it now!” Dream retorted.
The other opened his mouth to argue back but seemingly decided against it, shivering the disgust off with a wave of glitches. “Okay. I’m just going to make actual food now and forget this ever happened. Deal?”
“Deal.”
“I’ve already forgotten!” Ink chirped.
Before long, the air was filled with the smell of something edible; namely, bacon and eggs. The scent made Dream’s mouth water which was odd to him as, before, it would have made him feel sick. He’d been a vegetarian for so long, centuries even, that the mere smell of bacon had twisted his stomach into knots. Something had changed, though, and, now, that was no longer the case. Though the realisation made his soul feel just a bit heavier, Dream really couldn't complain. Afterall, it was delicious, and his body felt much healthier now that he’d gone back to eating meat. That’s not to say that being a vegetarian was inherently unhealthy, but the way that Dream had done it was less than stellar. He’d frequently skipped meals or only eaten one thing for weeks at a time which generally left him feeling more gross and fatigued than rejuvenated like a diet should make someone feel.
The skeleton gave a small thank you as Berry placed down a plate of cheesy eggs and crispy bacon, taking a few bites. It was delicious. Berry’s cooking had really improved recently. Dream remembered him saying something about his therapist saying that a hobby would be healthy, and Berry really took that suggestion and ran with it. He’d worked for weeks nonstop on improving his skills which Dream was sure wasn’t exactly what his friend’s therapist had had in mind when she made the suggestion, but at least it meant that someone other than him could make food for everyone.
Ink hummed happily as he shovelled copious amounts of food into his mouth, chunks flying out as he made various comments on how good it tasted. Berry was quick to chide him for talking with his mouth open, but it was obvious how much he was beaming at the compliments.
Glancing at the clock, Dream cursed under his breath and shoved a few more bites of food into his mouth before downing his orange juice and pushing himself out of his seat.
“Going to therapy?” Berry questioned after swallowing the food that was in his mouth.
Dream hummed in response, pulling his shoes on haphazardly.
“Good luck! Say hi to Nightmare for me!”
Still eating, Ink shovelled Dream’s leftovers onto his own plate, earning a glare from Berry. “Yeah, tell the Old Mare that his former enemies say hello.”
It was then Dream’s turn to glare, and Ink yelped as Berry smacked his shoulder.
Considering that justice enough, Dream turned to the house's door, calling out goodbyes as he left. He let out a sigh of relief once the door closed behind him and took a moment to compose himself. It was insane how long the day felt already despite it only being half past nine. He wasn’t sure how much he wanted to go to therapy today. He hadn’t seen Nightmare, not properly, at least, since everything happened. Honestly, he was worried about what would happen when he saw him again. Dream knew that things were different now. They’d both agreed on that. Somehow, though, centuries of fighting had seemed to leave a mark. It didn’t feel right to think that the two could talk as if they were actually brothers again, though, at the same time, it felt like the only right thing about all of this.
Feelings aside, Dream knew that it was too late to cancel on their therapy session today. Maybe, deep down, he knew that he shouldn’t cancel no matter how much he wanted to. Maybe, even deeper, he didn’t care.
Nevertheless, the positivity guardian used his shortcut power to blink himself in front of the office that his and Nightmare’s therapist worked in. Sure, his other therapist had asked that Dream not use his shortcuts and walk when he could help it, claiming that the fresh air would do him good, but, this morning, the options were using a shortcut or being late to an appointment that they’d specifically asked him to go to, and he figured that they’d prefer this decision.
The building was rather atypical for a medical office, Dream noted. It lacked all of the cold, modern architecture that most buildings that were meant to aid in the maintaining of health of any kind typically had. The roof wasn’t flat, but, rather, pointed like that of a home. The outside was covered in fake wooden panelling, and the windows had decorative shutters complete with planter boxes that had mostly but not quite dead plants in them. The building didn’t feel so much like an office than it felt like someone’s house, and, for a second, Dream wasn’t sure that he had the right address.
The skeleton, however, was startled out of his thoughts by a familiar voice calling his name and confirming that he was in the right place. He remained tense as he turned to greet the owner of the voice. “Hi, Nightmare.”
Said monster gave an awkward wave. He was wearing a dark blue turtleneck sweater and sweatpants, an outfit that was obviously lazy like Dream’s. His shoulders were slumped forward so much that it actually looked uncomfortable, although Dream was sure that he didn’t look much better. It was still weird, almost disconcerting, to see Nightmare look so similar to how he used to look when they were kids. Aside from the rather large crater in his skull from where the negative magic had violently forced itself out, the porcelaine bone and purple eyelights were the exact same. It took everything Dream had to not cringe at the sight.
For a few seconds, an awkward silence filled the air, but Nightmare was quick to break it.
“You’re not wearing your crown,” he noted.
Dream grit his teeth, wringing his hands. “Neither are you.”
His brother frowned in response. “That’s not what I-” he cut himself off. “Nevermind.”
The quiet befell them again, but, this time, it was Dream who broke it.
“Your skull looks better,” he said, reaching up and touching his own damaged socket.
Nightmare mirrored the action, though there was less for him to touch. “Uh… thanks,” he muttered. “It’s… it’s not.”
“Oh.”
“Yours is, though,” he offered.
Dream laughed mirthlessly. “Not really.”
Nightmare returned the bitter laughter. “Yeah… I guess not.”
A beat.
“Let’s stop talking,” Dream mumbled.
“Yeah,” Nightmare agreed, “okay.”
Silently, the twins entered the office together. The inside was just as homely as the outside, something that Dream took comfort in despite the wildly uncomfortable situation that he was in now. As the two sat down on the couch after checking in to fill out a clipboard’s worth of preliminary information, making sure to leave ample room between each other, Dream couldn’t help but wonder if his brother felt the same discomfort that he did.
Trying to push these thoughts from his mind, the monster put his focus into completing the forms that the woman at the front desk had given them. Contrary to popular belief, Dream wasn’t really one to talk about his feelings. He’d always been expected to be happy. He was the positivity guardian, after all. That wasn’t usually the case, however. It was hard to be happy when the weight of the multiverse was on your shoulders and your own brother was the one jeopardising it in the first place. It was to be happy when your own brother, your twin, openly told you that he hated you and that he blamed you for what happened to him. When he fought you, hurt you, tried to kill you just so that he could make you and everyone else suffer. No, Dream wasn’t happy. He’d never been happy since the incident when he was a kid, but he couldn’t say that. He was the positivity guardian, and he was supposed to be happy. He was supposed to be happy when no one else was. The pressure was crippling. So crippling that it broke him, and then things had gotten so much worse. Even when that shitstorm had stopped, nothing felt the same; nothing felt right , and what was he supposed to do about that? He didn’t know what to do. He never knew what to do.
As Dream looked down, he found that he’d written down most of his thoughts on the paper. It was an oversimplification and just vague enough to not provide much help or guidance to his therapist, but it would have to do. Besides, how is he supposed to talk about what happened with his brother and then what happened to him? What section does that go under? How are you supposed to summarise centuries of trauma into one, tiny section on a clipboard? Does your family have any history of mental illness? Does corruption count?
The skeleton sighed, putting the pen down and placing his head in his hands. He absentmindedly picked at a few flaking pieces of bone around his socket as he tried to regain his bearings. His own negative feelings were making him feel sick, but the sickness was only making him feel worse, and–
“Hey, are you okay?”
Dream jolted and quickly looked over to his brother, eyes wide. Then, he remembered where he was and took a shaky breath. “I’m fine.”
His response caused his brother to purse his mouth, and he narrowed his eye socket. “Are you sure? I can feel your negative emotions, you know.”
“Leave me the fuck alone, Nightmare,” Dream hissed, voice containing a venom that even surprised himself.
Nightmare seemed taken aback, then almost angry, but he didn’t bother with a response, only turning himself back to his own clipboard.
For a moment, Dream considered apologising, but the bitterness that had caused the outburst in the first place hadn’t yet dissipated. He ignored the growing nausea in the back of his throat and picked up his pen again.
It wasn’t but maybe fifteen minutes later that the two brothers were called into a room in the back of the house by a comically large bear monster who was so tall that he had to lean forward ever so slightly in order to avoid his head making contact with the ceiling. Dream had to hold back a snicker at his fashion sense or, rather, lack thereof. The monster was wearing a tacky, multicoloured floral button down with horribly wrinkled khakis. His outfit reminded Dream of a particular Gaster in Haventale, though those memories weren’t particularly pleasant… He clutched the clipboard in his hands a bit tighter, earning a look from Nightmare.
The room they entered was intentionally decorated to feel inviting with soft pillows on the couch and armchairs that were strategically placed to face the windows in the room. The direct beams of the sun were partially blocked by floral curtains similar to the shirt of the man whom the room belonged to, but the space was still bright enough that the lamp on the desk in the corner didn’t need to be turned on. Several paintings, mostly of flowers and other flora, lined the walls which were covered in a soothing green coloured wallpaper that didn’t match at all with the room’s dingy, brown carpet.
The bear monster introduced himself as Doctor Remus Lutz (“but please just call me Remus!”), their therapist, and he offered his hand for the two to shake which Dream happily obliged and Nightmare happily declined, though the man didn’t seem offended. Afterwards, the twins handed over their respective clipboards and awkwardly took their seats– Dream on the couch and Nightmare in one of the armchairs– while they waited for Remus to review what they’d written.
He didn’t take long before placing the clipboards on his desk and taking his own seat in the leftover armchair, clapping his hands together as he started to speak. “Well! It’s very nice to make your acquaintance, boys! It’s not often that I get to see twins in family therapy, so this is a special treat for me.”
Nightmare audibly scoffed at Remus’s words, and Dream tried hard to hide his discomfort, rubbing his hands on his knees. If the man noticed, though, which Dream was sure he did, then he didn’t make a comment on it and continued his speech.
“Now, before we start talking about what brings you two here, I’d like to tell you a bit about myself so that we can get to know each other a bit better.” He paused and gave the two a beaming smile that somehow made Dream relax, if only a little. “So, like I said earlier, my name is Doctor Remus Lutz! I’m from a town about three hours from here called Trayborough, but I moved here to pursue an education in psychology. While I was working on getting my Doctorate, I met my now husband, Garret Lutz. He’s a very lovely human who also has a degree in psychology, though he prefers to work with individuals rather than groups.” Remus’s smile only seemed to get brighter as he talked about the one that he loved. “Let’s see, what else?” He paused to think, though only for a moment. “My husband and I have a very lovely dog named Pickle. He’s a chihuahua, but he thinks he’s a big dog, of course.” Dream laughed a bit at that, earning another smile from Remus. “Well, what about you two? Introduce yourself! Name, hobbies, pets, whatever you feel comfortable with.”
The tension that had left the room before now returned in full force, and an awkward silence befell the group with no one quite willing to break it. Dream looked to Nightmare, and Nightmare looked to Dream. Dream flicked his eyes towards the man in the chair across from them, and Nightmare frowned, waving his hand impatiently and rolling his eye.
With a sigh, Dream cleared his throat and spoke. “My name is Dream. I’m not sure I have any hobbies, really. I guess I like cooking. Walking in nature is alright, too. Sometimes I’ll read.” A beat. “I don’t have any pets. I never have, really, unless you count unnamed bugs that I’d mess around with until they died.” He shrugged. “I live with two of my friends, if that’s relevant at all.” He finished the introduction with an eloquent “so, um, yeah,” and looked up at Remus nervously, wringing his hands in his lap.
“A pleasure to meet you, Dream,” Remus said with a reassuring smile. “I look forward to getting to know more about you.” Then, he turned to the other brother, that same smile on his face.
Nightmare, seeing that there was no longer any excuse to avoid it, crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m Nightmare. I read, and I don’t have any pets, though the people I live with have to be treated like one sometimes.”
The bear monster laughed at the comment, gaining a subtle, nearly unnoticeable upward twinge of Nightmare’s mouth. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, as well, Nightmare.” Remus slapped his hands on his knees and leaned forward, the seemingly perpetual smile on his face fading a bit. “Well, boys, I’m afraid we can no longer avoid it. I’ve got to ask the most dreaded question of every single first therapy session… what brings you two in to see me today?”
Yet again, the twins got into a staring match of silent communication, but, this time, it was Nightmare who began the conversation, though it was clear how unhappy he was to do so.
“Our individual therapists asked us to come to this session,” he said simply. When Remus didn’t speak, prompting him to say more, he only shrugged, forcing Dream to take over.
“We’ve had… issues , for a while now,” he said hesitantly. “We’re really only just now in a proper place to deal with them, hence why we’re here.”
Remus nodded, quickly writing something down on a notepad that Dream hadn’t even seen him grab. “What kind of issues?”
Dream’s eyesockets widened at the question, and he struggled for words. “Ah- I…” He looked to Nightmare desperately for help, and, though he expected to find none, he was pleasantly surprised to hear Nightmare cover for him.
“It’s a long story.”
Their therapist leaned forward a bit more, looking almost eager, and glanced at the twins. “I’d really like if you could tell it to me.”
“No,” Nightmare said almost immediately, and Dream sent a pointed glare in his direction. Once his brother noticed this, he returned the glare. “What’s that look for?”
“Are you serious?” Dream gawked. “How is he supposed to help us if you refuse to tell him what happened?”
Nightmare scoffed, straightening his posture and placing his arms on the sides of the armchair he was sitting in. “I don’t see you jumping to recount it either. Besides, we barely know him. He’s not entitled to any of that knowledge.”
“He’s our therapist , Nightmare! He’s quite literally the only person who’s entitled to that!”
“Well?” Nightmare gestured. “Go on, then.”
Dream opened his mouth to speak, then stopped, pursing his lips.
His brother waited a few more moments before laughing mirthlessly and leaning back into his chair. “Such a hypocrite.”
As Dream went to respond with a similarly biting insult, he was interrupted by the strangely firm yet still friendly voice of Remus.
“Alright!” he said and placed his pen down for a moment. “I’d like to discuss what just happened there. I’ll start by saying that you’re both right!”
The two brothers grumbled bitterly at his words, though Remus didn’t pay them any mind.
“While Dream is correct that I won’t be able to help you two as well if I don’t know what I’m supposed to be helping with,” he gave said skeleton a thumbs-up, “Nightmare is also correct in saying that I’m not entitled to that information.” Another thumbs-up followed. “I’ve been in this business for a while, boys. I know that it takes some time to get comfortable, and that’s completely okay. During these first few sessions especially, I’m going to push your boundaries and see how much you’re willing to give me. If, at any point, you feel uncomfortable, it’s perfectly alright to tell me that.” He looked to Dream. “Healing can’t always be completed at a breakneck pace. It’s okay to not be ready to discuss something immediately, and it’s important to be forgiving towards yourself and your brother in that right.” He then turned to Nightmare. “You will have to talk about hard things. That’s an unfortunate truth in the process of recovery. It doesn’t have to be now. It can be whenever you’re ready, but it will come eventually.” The bear monster paused, allowing the brothers to process. “What are your thoughts on that?”
Dream was the first to speak, his gaze trained on the floor, tracing shapes into the carpet. “I thought that you were supposed to be uncomfortable in therapy,” he said.
“Sometimes,” Remus agreed, “but certainly not always.”
Then it was Nightmare’s turn. “Why should I talk about it if it hurts me?”
“Sometimes you have to hurt a little to get better,” came the response.
“That seems counterintuitive,” Nightmare mumbled.
Remus chuckled a bit. “You’re not wrong. It’s a proven successful tactic, though.”
“Will it really help?” Dream asked, trying hard to mask the desperation in his voice. He didn’t see the concerned look that his brother had trained on him.
“Only time will tell!” the bear monster said. “Though I believe in its effectiveness. If I didn’t, I certainly wouldn’t stay in this line of work, yeah?”
When Dream looked up, glancing at his brother, he only caught Nightmare’s eye darting away, a small frown on his face. At the sight, a frown found its way onto his features as well, and he looked back to the floor. He was surprised to hear Nightmare continue the conversation.
“You know who we are already, don’t you?” His voice contained a thinly veiled frustration, though it didn’t seem like it was directed towards Remus.
Their therapist shrugged. “It’d be hard not to,” he admitted. “I’d much rather hear all of the stories from you than from the rumours that have been carelessly passed from universe to universe, though. I think there’s much more truth to them that way.”
“There’s a lot to tell. Centuries of stories.”
“I’m counting on it.”
Nightmare’s gaze sharpened, eyesocket narrowing. He recrossed his arms and huffed quietly. “Fine, then. I’ll talk. Not now, not any time soon, but I’ll talk.”
Remus returned his glare with one of his signature smiles. “That’s all I can ask.”
It took everything that Dream had not to gawk at the two, barely able to hold back his genuine shock at his brother’s willingness to speak even if it was buried deep within an outward projection of unwillingness. The Nightmare that he’d known as a child would have rather died than talk about things, and, in a way, he had. Though, Dream supposed, centuries of fighting and a broken relationship hadn’t really allowed them to get to know each other. They’d had decades upon decades to grow up, and neither of them were really the same as they had been all of those years ago under the tree. As Dream looked at his brother now, pouting aside, he couldn’t help but think that not all of those changes had been bad. At least, not on Nightmare’s part.
“Our mother turned into a tree, you know,” Nightmare said nonchalantly.
Remus’s eyes widened, if only for a moment, and he picked his pen back up. “Really? How did that happen?”
“Magic.” Nightmare shrugged.
The rest of the session was, surprisingly, mostly led by Nightmare. They didn’t talk about anything particularly important, but it felt like they’d made a breakthrough nonetheless. It wasn’t a feeling that Dream was used to when it came to therapy. He was used to coming out of that office feeling completely floored and as if he’d never recover, and, while he still felt like he’d been hit by several buses, there wasn’t that same heaviness that normally dragged him down when Remus told them both that their time was nearly up.
Nightmare had seemed relieved, yet there was an odd tinge of sadness that Dream could feel emanating off of him at the words.
“See you at the same time next week?” Remus questioned, and Nightmare gave a slow nod that Dream copied.
Quietly, Nightmare gave a quick thank you and made his way out of the door before their therapist could respond. Dream went to do the same before he was stopped by a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“Hey, Dream, can I talk to you for a second?” Remus asked.
The skeleton cocked his head, confused, but nodded.
“I just wanted to make sure that you were okay,” the bear monster said. “You were awfully quiet during the latter part of the session.”
Dream shifted uncomfortably, eyes going down to his feet. He’d hoped that Remus hadn’t noticed that. “Yeah, I’m alright. Just got a lot on my mind.”
The other nodded in understanding. “Well, if you feel like vocalising what’s on your mind next time, I’m sure Nightmare wouldn’t mind. This is for the both of you, yeah?”
“Yeah…” Dream mumbled. “Thank you, Remus.”
“Sure, Dream.” He smiled. “See you next week.”
The skeleton returned the smile, albeit weakly, then walked out the door. He briskly walked through the hall and lobby, quietly echoing the secretary’s wish for him to have a good day, and pushed open the glass door to the outside with an urgency that he nearly hadn’t realised was there. Once he was outside, he took a deep breath, the stale smell of the suburbs not really doing much to comfort him but reminding him that he didn’t have to worry about any more needlessly intense conversations until his next therapy session.
Almost immediately after that thought, though, his vision was greeted by the piercing glare of his brother, and Dream sucked in a breath of surprise (fear?). He stopped in his tracks, even taking a step back, then gathered himself enough to put on a pointed look back.
“What?” he asked.
Nightmare’s glare only increased at the look. “What’s wrong with you?”
It took Dream a second to process what his brother had said, and his mouth dropped open. “What’s wrong with me?” he questioned, anger edging his voice. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“No, not like that,” Nightmare said quickly, waving his hands as if to clear the air. “I mean that you’re… different.”
Dream relaxed a bit initially, but was back to his tense state once his brother had finished speaking. He crossed his arms, averting his gaze. “Yeah, that tends to happen after centuries…” of trauma . The last part was left unsaid, but both of them knew that it was there.
“Right,” the other mumbled, “of course.”
“You’re different too, for the record.”
The two shared a look; a short moment of vulnerability that left them both feeling uncomfortable. Although neither of them were mind readers (well-trained empaths at best), it was easy to tell what they were both thinking.
I feel like I hardly know you, and that’s not right because, throughout all of these years, you were the only one that I really thought I knew. What happened to that?
Nightmare shifted nervously. It seemed like there was more that he wanted to say, but he bit his tongue. “See you next week.”
Dream frowned but didn’t push. “See you next week.”
As he watched his brother begin to walk away and then disappear in the blink of an eye, Dream’s hand subconsciously raised to his damaged skull again. It had been a while since he cried, but, suddenly, he felt the urge to do so. Or maybe to vomit. It was hard for him to tell anymore as the two seemed to go hand in hand these days. His train of thought rapidly jumped from topic to topic as he desperately tried to prevent himself from getting sick in the parking lot of his therapist’s office. Throughout all of his racing thoughts and churning stomach, though, one statement rang clear:
This therapy thing had better work .