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“Heya Criss-Cross.”
Killer had made a habit out of stalking Cross, sneaking into his room at night, watching him do meaningless tasks. Tasks filled his routine, which he followed through with every single day, and had been doing so since he got here. 1 year, 3 months and 12 days ago.
He stares at his teammate with annoyance, quietly folding clothes and putting them away. Thursday routines were a little different to Tuesday and Wednesday routines- usually, they were filled with training, missions, writing up reports, general paperwork, and assisting Horror- Thursdays were cleaning days.
This meant he’d pace around the castle back and forth, making sure everything was spotless. He’d avoided his teammate’s rooms (quite frankly he didn’t want to know what was in Dust’s, but he could’ve sworn there was literal monster dust on the floor), but there wasn’t anything else in their way oversized house that went untouched, un-cleaned.
He was now on point 29 of 103 on his carefully thought-out routine, which he’d written in a notebook and hung on his wall. Washing clothes, drying them, ironing them, tapping the door knob twice, going back to the stack of clothes, folding the clothes, ordering them by shade, tapping the door knob twice to leave, putting the clothes away, tapping the wardrobe twice-
Two was his lucky number, everything was done twice, he looked through his notebook twice, and his schedule, twice. He always wrote his name twice on reports filled out, crossing it out and rewriting it. Killer is currently looking through his schedule as he makes sure to tap the wardrobe, he might just explode if he doesn’t.
“Your schedule is kind of intense, Crossy.” He whips his head over to his teammate, who is reading out each individual step, as well as the dot-points accompanying them- just to make sure he doesn’t forget to do his little rituals (which he’s memorized, but what if he forgets suddenly?) “What’s with all the tapping? And the repetition- you’ve got a ton of things written down twice, you’d have way more time if you just did stuff once.”
The two make eye contact, and Cross pulls a face. Killer laughs quietly, smiling a little. “Right.” Cross walks towards his bedroom door, getting ready to leave before hesitating. He turns the lights on and off once, taps the doorknob twice, and then turns the lights on and off again before he opens the door. Killer follows him, but he expected that much. “Why don’t ya talk, Criss-Cross? I’m sure you can talk, so why don’t you?”
He rolls his eyes, walking off to the kitchen. It was a mess, it almost always was a mess- not on Thursdays or Fridays though, because it gets cleaned. He goes into the kitchen, quickly looking for some gloves and cleaning supplies, whilst Killer just watches. Honestly, he wishes he’d just help out, but he doesn’t. He just watches, it’s weird. Once he gets all of his supplies out, he looks over at the nearest kitchen counter.
Cross takes a quick breath, pacing back and forth for a moment, opening a drawer, taking his gloves off and putting them back on, walking back to the drawer to close it, and tapping the counter. Now he can clean it. “You know, my Alphys did a lot of that stuff too. Well, I mean- not to this extent but, you know. The weird little rituals,” Killer spins on the chair he’d decided to claim today, “Did you do this back in your AU too?”
He pauses for a moment.
Sort of, he did it for a while unconsciously. XGaster made him stop after a doctor’s visit, though. It was difficult, and it made him feel like he might just die if he didn’t pat the doorknob one more time, but he forced himself to stop this habit. He couldn’t ruin his father’s perfect world with his weird rituals and habits.
Cross isn’t sure what to do, so he just nods while he cleans the countertop. “Could be OCD- Do you know what that is? Kind of have to assume you don’t half the time, your AU is really bad at this stuff, so, you know.” He turns to face his teammate for a second with a puzzled expression, the question going unspoken as he returns to cleaning.
“I know what you’re thinking, ‘oh but Killer, isn’t that just the thingy where people like being organized blah blah blah you’re so handsome Killer blah blah blah I have work to do,’” he can hear the other fall out of his seat, hitting the floor with a loud noise, but he doesn’t turn around, “It’s really not though, Alphys told me all about it.”
He tunes out most of what Killer says next, focusing on cleaning the kitchen, trying not to go through with some of his rituals now that Killer is watching him, but he ends up doing most of them anyway. It’s so painful not to do some of them.
But he can’t help but think.
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Gaster was dragging his son to a doctor’s appointment. It was the first time he’s done this before- with them being skeletons, it’s very rare that any of them get sick. Papyrus has had a cold twice since the last overwrite, and Sans has had minor headaches, but they don’t interfere with his schedule in the Royal guard. Gaster, himself, has never been sick before.
Sans had been acting weird. He’d been acting off for a while now, and maybe this behaviour has been occurring behind closed doors, but now it was happening around him more often. Normally he’d just overwrite the small skeleton, but he'd spent so long getting him this obedient, it’d be a pain to undo all that work. So here they were, waiting outside, because Sans too, wanted to know what was wrong with him. He kept asking, kept bothering him whenever they saw each other.
The talking was annoying.
His son is swinging his legs, there’s consistently a 2-second gap between one leg swinging up and the next following. He pats down the chair when they first got there, and keeps repeatedly touching each finger on his left hand with his pointer finger on his right. It’s strange and imperfect. Gaster does not tolerate imperfections.
“Sans peñaloza?”
Gaster watches as his head snaps up to face the doctor, who’s standing across the room from them. Gaster takes his hand, walking towards them. The 14-year-old could have gone to this appointment on his own- but he needs to know what this sickness is, so he can make sure Papyrus doesn’t also get it. He needs to know the warning signs.
He’s not expected it to go like this so far, he’s not expected to be told it’s a mental issue. Mental issues are harder to fix, he can’t cure a mental issue so easily. Well, without using his overwrite. But it would be very difficult to explain why his son is suddenly acting different, and very annoying to have to retrain him after years of doing just that.
“I’m not a psychologist or anything of the sort,” the doctor gets up from his chair, walking over to a box of papers, searching through it for a moment and pulling one out, “but I have colleagues who are that used this room. I’d talk to one of them, but it sounds like Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.”
Gaster frowns as he’s given a piece of paper, detailing different symptoms.
“If you come back tomorrow, I think one of them has a free spot for you and your son to come by and work on a proper diagnosis?”
They don’t talk to the doctor as they leave, although Sans stares at him weirdly. “Bye, sir.”
“Sans, be quiet.”
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Cross doesn’t realize he’s not been moving for a while until Killer interrupts his train of thought. “Come on, man! Oh, you’re back! You missed my joke, dude, it was so good too! Your kind of behind on your thingy though- “He starts to panic immediately, looking at what’s left of the mess in the kitchen, looking around for some kind of indication of the time.
Cross hates being behind on his schedule, it’s very important to him, the one constant in his life. Bad things are going to happen if he doesn’t follow that- Killer picks up on his distress quickly, reassuring him it’s okay, and giving him hugs. Even he starts to panic though, looking around for backup as Cross shuts down in his arms.
“Hey, Buddy- Look I know you don’t want to talk and all, but I need you to tell me what you need me to do to make it better.” Cross is silent. He is always silent. Cross hasn’t spoken in 1 year, 3 months and 12 days. Killer continues to panic as Cross tries to figure out how he could get his schedule back on track, and how to make up for this disruption.
His teammate picks him up after a bit, walking around for a while to find someone, anyone else. Unfortunately, Nightmare is the first one they find. “What happened to him, Killer?” It’s almost accusatory, and Cross wants to say how it’s not Killer’s fault, how the other did nothing wrong, and he’s just being a crybaby, but as per usual, the words don’t leave his mouth.
Killer mentions his schedule, how he’d zoned out for a bit, and how he wasn’t sure why that happened. How he’d frozen- Cross now notices the little purple teardrop stains on his teammate’s jacket. He’s ruined it, it’ll never come out, and magic stains are hard to remove- He could maybe get it out, he’s experienced, but Killer could never do it on his own.
Nightmare quickly takes him out of Killer’s arms with his tentacles, saying something to his partner before dragging him into another room, dark and empty. Usually, this would just worsen his panic, but weirdly enough, the absence of any external stimuli almost calms him down right now, as he continues to think about his schedule.
“Cross, speak.”
He looks up at his boss, trying his best to obey his orders. He opens his mouth, hoping maybe this time, something will come out. His vocal cords are underused and sore, and all he can get out is a squeaky ‘i’ sound. Nightmare nods in understanding, pulling some paper out of his inventory and a pen. “I want you to write down why you’re upset.”
He struggles for a moment to hold the pen with a shaky hand, but after a few minutes, he manages to write the words out. ‘I messed up my schedule. I don’t like messing up my schedule. I’m behind on the schedule.’
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“His answers are very similar to those of people with OCD, and his brother has ADHD symptoms- ADHD is hereditary and usually with siblings, they both end up having it, and OCD is comorbid with ADHD.”
XGaster looks mad. Furious, even, He’s seen that expression many times before. The psychologist hands him a sheet of paper.
“There’s a couple of other comorbid conditions to look out for, mostly depressive disorders, anxiety disorders, Body dysmorphic disorder, Autism spectrum disorder, eating disorders, Tourette’s syndrome and schizophrenia, some common symptoms are on there, you should look out for those and tell me at our next appointment- “
“There will be no next appointment, we’re leaving.”
The psychologist seems confused, quickly glancing over at Sans Cross with a look of concern as he starts rocking back and forth, his breathing speeding up a little. She tries her best to convince him to come back because his son is clearly upset and he clearly needs help, but XGaster doesn’t listen.
He opens his mouth to say something, but his father beats him to it. “Sans, don’t say a word.
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The next time he sees someone is the next day when he goes to train. Killer and Horror are already there, talking to each other. Neither person is training so Cross isn’t really sure why they’re here of all places, but he picks up the knife and walks over to the opposite side of the training compound without bringing any more attention to it.
Cross has always had poor coordination, it’s been an issue for as long as he can remember. It was one of the things ruining his perfect little life in the royal guard. He has poor coordination and poor aim, he’s always resorted to close-range attacks as opposed to long-range to compensate, but he can’t hide behind that anymore.
He needs to prove he’s worthy to stay after yesterday’s outburst, yesterday’s failure. His frustration grows with each fail, each miss, each time the knives he’s been throwing miss the targets, the still targets. He wants to scream, remembering how Killer could hit each target perfectly when it was moving, or the effortless way Dust controls his long-range attacks or the way he’s never seen Horror have to train to hit his enemies. He’s the only one with issues.
The only one who couldn’t be normal.
Tears start to drip down his skull as he grows more frustrated, he takes a throwing knife and throws it at the ground, causing an indent in the floor. The others go silent, clearly looking at him now. Great, his temper tantrum means he now has an audience, a real one. Killer walks over, offering one of the knives he has strapped to him under his shirt.
“Here, you’re holding it wrong, just…” He puts the knife in Cross’ hand, carefully changing the way he holds it. Almost like a child with a pencil grip- making sure they don’t hold the pencil like they’re about to stab someone, and rather holding it carefully so the words on the page don’t come out wrong. He looks at his teammate for a moment, expecting further advice.
“Oh, also, you’ve gotta follow through when you swing and aim just a little above where you’re trying to hit, you keep aiming slightly low down.” Killer repositions his arm just a little, then gives him the signal to follow through. It's not a perfect throw, and it misses the middle of the target, but he finally it’s the damn thing.
He gasps quietly, staring at the knife. “Is that what your voice sounds like? Wait, do it again, C’mon Crossy, do it again-“
Cross tears the knife out of the target, looking at where it pierced the object. He quickly runs back to the same spot from earlier and throws it again. Closer. He jumps in the spot, quickly tapping each of his fingers before he rushed to get the knife again, tapping it once, then tapping the target, tapping the knife again and pulling it out.
“Did you hear that H? dude, Cross, please do It again, it was adorable- “
Cross leaves the room to continue with the rest of his schedule.
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Dust is outside when he plans to do a few laps around the castle, something he integrated into his schedule to help clear his mind. It meant he had fewer shutdowns when he strayed from his routine because he wouldn’t do that anymore! No distractions. The other greets him, putting a hand on his shoulder before he moves to start his run.
“Mind if I join you? Boss, uh, wants us to keep an eye on you, said something came up.” Cross looks around for any signs of their boss’ presence before nodding. It’s mostly silent, something he appreciates, but occasionally Dust comments on a puddle in the way, a slippery area where he’s running, or a weird tree he hadn’t seen before.
The conversation slowly drifts towards his lack of speech. For some reason, everyone seems obsessed with how much or how little he speaks, Cross doesn’t understand it. 1 year, 3 months and 13 days without speaking, and today is when everyone decides he should speak. Well, that’s kind of a lie.
The others had been trying to get him to speak for months, Killer was the most annoying about it, following him until he at least acknowledged his teammate. One time, a few days after day 365, they were all at it again.
He decided he’d laugh with them, okay, maybe they can kind of hear what his voice sounds like, just this once. They all freaked out, Killer, like earlier, tried to get him to do it again, so they could get a better idea of what his voice sounded like. Horror tried to mimic him quietly, saying random words in his voice, or what they thought was his voice, anyways. They didn’t get a good enough sample to really know what he sounds like.
Dust was the coolest about it.
“You know, we’re alone right now. If you spoke, I wouldn’t tell anyone, I promise. You know I hate making promises.” They stop running for a moment, for a break. Cross smiles but shakes his head. No, he can’t if he wanted to, his vocal cords wouldn’t cooperate anyways. Dust sighs, “are we ever gonna hear you speak?” Cross shrugs, maybe.
The conversation changes quickly.
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Nightmare seems oddly obsessed with him lately. Usually, it’s Killer he pays the most attention to, Killer’s always been his favourite. This time, in his free time, Nightmare asked him to stop by to talk, or, well, write down his responses. They usually just sat in the same room and enjoyed a moment of silence, but occasionally he asks about the others or a mission report. Normal conversation stuff.
“Cross, why won’t you talk?”
He scrambles for an answer, repeatedly writing and crossing out words, not quite knowing how to say it.
Talking ruined his perfect AU. If I hadn’t spoken, I wouldn’t have been told about Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I wouldn’t have made his life more difficult, he told me that.
He writes a few more sentences, but Nightmare makes him stop, pulling the notebook away. “You don’t have to be quiet anymore, Cross. You can speak. You were a child, children should not have that kind of responsibility, and you didn’t ruin anything. Perfection does not exist, XGaster just tried to hold a child to unrealistic expectations. Our lives were already imperfect, as most are, you talking can’t make it any worse.”
Cross nods, quietly tapping his fingers as Nightmare hugs him for a moment, before returning his notebook. He contemplates writing in it again for a moment before words start to pour onto the page quicker than he can process his own emotions. It's okay, though, Nightmare can do it for him, Cross can almost see the way his boss watches him carefully, the way his face contorts just a little more as he continues to experience new sensations, different complicated emotions.
He stays with Nightmare for a while, the calmness being a nice change. He's lucky it's a Friday, Fridays have the least busy schedules. He has lots of free time on Fridays because almost everything else is taken care of before then. Unless there's a sudden mission Nightmare needs them to take care of, he has very little to do, and even then, on Fridays he's the least likely to be sent out because he takes care of most missions throughout the week. Usually, it's just whoever else is free, but it's rarely him on Fridays.
Nightmare starts to read a book to himself, he's reading out loud very quietly but Cross can kind of hear what it's about. Their boss had been reading more lately. He remembers when he sided with the stars, Dream talked a lot about his brother, his twin, before he became this. He mentioned his love of reading, and how he would ramble on about a new book he found for hours on end if given the chance.
At the time, it amused Cross, the idea of the big, bad, Nightmare being into reading of all things, he looks like he'd have some sort of dangerous hobby. Well, murdering and torturing people is kind of a dangerous hobby, but that usually wasn't entirely intentional. Spreading negativity was his thing, murder was just something that happened when they were reckless in doing just that.
Cross looks over Nightmare's shoulder at the book he's reading, getting more and more interested as the plot progresses. Considering he's become more interested, he isn't sure why he's starting to feel tired. It's not that late yet, is it? He doesn't remember what time it is, but he knows it can't have been more than 2 or 3 hours because he has an hour of training planned before bed 5 hours after he goes to see Nightmare.
He exchanges a glance with his boss as his eyelids grow heavy, he can just barely see the smile on the other skeleton's face. "Rest now, Cross. It's been a long day."
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1 year, 3 months and 14 days.
Cross sits beside Killer for breakfast on the 469th Day of Silence, October 7th.
“Hello, Criss-Cross.”
He smiles, building up courage. His throat is sore, it burns as he tries to get the words out, and everyone is looking at him weirdly. He looks down at the floor, nervously, as the others begin to talk again. Killer seems to be able to tell something is up, but he doesn't say anything, instead looking straight past him at Dust.
Dust sighs, readjusting his hood. A small amount of monster dust falls to the ground as he does so. Cross would usually be concerned- when they got injured, usually, there wasn't blood that could drip from their bones, so it was just magic and monster dust, but knowing his teammate, his partner, it was probably just from a mission that took place the previous day.
From what he heard, it was hectic, very all of a sudden. Error had appeared out of nowhere, needing them to take care of the stars, and get them to leave an AU he was going to get rid of. It was 'malfunctioning', all the characters were in the wrong locations, in the wrong roles- and not in a 'Storyshift-swap-fell' way (although everyone hated that AU and nobody wants to know why Ink protects it so much, for once, Cross agrees with Error, it's an abomination), more in a 'Sans is Undyne but in Hotland' and 'Toriel is Flowey in a Snowdin shop.'
The stars were ruthless, Killer broke a finger and Horror has been limping since. They had to dust a few other monsters along the way because for some reason they were all extremely strong, and extremely distracting, Dust retells this story.
He laughs quietly enough that the others don't hear him, he'd hate for Killer to make a big deal out of that just moments before he can go through with his big plan. He coughs to get their attention, even Horror turns to face him as he looks up from the floor and towards Killer, a light purple blush dusting his cheeks. This time, He looks his teammate in the eye.
"Hi, Killer.”