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Bless his cracked heart, Cross was fucking lost. Not only that, he had managed to separate himself from his retinue so thoroughly that he couldn’t even hear them anywhere in the forest. Oh, he was never going to hear the end of it from his father—hopefully he could bribe the canines with enough treats that they’d keep this one hush-hush.
His horns flared out from his skull in a brief lapse of composure as he succumbed to his frustration, and he immediately whacked them on a low-hanging branch. Dammit! Damn this forest. It was as if the fabled Nightmare King had deliberately made the woods surrounding his territory as unhospitable as possible. Shadows flickered and writhed, feeling almost tangible enough to wrap around his limbs.
Cross hadn’t even wanted to go on this mission. His father wanted to establish possible diplomatic relations with the infamously reclusive Kingdom of Balance, which was all well and good—but Cross wasn’t a diplomat. That was Papyrus’s forte; however, the Nightmare King was also well known for his rather…murderous proclivities, so Cross suspected he was sent on this mission for his own reputation for having a heavy hand. His LV served him well in battle and war campaigns, but diplomacy? That never ended well for Cross.
He sighed. Best bet was to just settle down and let the canines sniff him out, lest he wander around and just get himself even more hopelessly lost.
A sudden obscenity in a high voice floated through the murky darkness; Cross stopped short, his skull on a swivel, until he saw it—a glimmer of yellow hidden by a dense thicket. Oh, he hoped this wasn’t some trick. His sense of chivalry overrode his sense of caution, and Cross found himself silently gliding toward the tantalizing light. As he pushed through the thicket, his breath caught in his throat.
It was like a scene out of the fairy tales that Cross refused to admit he enjoyed. Another skeleton monster, sitting on the riverbank, one slender leg drawn up to her chest as delicate phalanges massaged her tarsal bones. She was dressed in a loose, flowy golden tunic to match the golden circlet around her skull, and black leggings that just accentuated the subtle curve of her legs.
Cross’s soul pounded in his chest, and despite his impressive self-control, he could feel his horns flaring out from his own circlet. It was…it was like a dream.
With a start, he realized that the angelic creature on the riverbank was staring up at him with wide, startled amber eyelights. Deep breath. Present yourself like Father would want. “Hell—” his voice cracked; Cross’s horns flared in his embarrassment, compounded by the twinkling amusement he saw in her still cautious eyelights. He cleared his throat and tried again, deliberately deepening his voice. “Hello.”
She gave a tentative smile. “Hello.”
His own eyelights flickered down to look at how she still nursed her ankle. “Are you hurt, my lady?”
“My lad—” Her sockets widened, and a yellow flush overtook her skull. Stars, every single thing about her was just so lovely. She visibly swallowed, but her smile remained on her face. “O-oh, well, I was just out for a walk and I…I seem to have twisted my ankle. It’s silly, really.”
Without even thinking, Cross approached her, oblivious to her startled gasp as he kneeled at her feet and took her ankle in his huge, gauntleted hands. He poked and prodded gently at the joint, feeling for any instability in the magic, any cracks in the bones.
He sat back with a relieved sigh, smiling at the delicate angel still staring at him with wide sockets. “You’re right—it just seems to be sprained. Still, it would probably be best for you not to put any weight on it for now.”
“Oh, thank you,” she said, and her smile relaxed into something genuine. Cross felt his soul flutter at the sight. What was wrong with him? He had never felt this way about—about anything. “One of my brother’s guards should be along shortly to bring me back to the castle. I thank you for your concern, Sir…?”
“Cross,” Cross said eagerly. He belatedly thought of his father’s insistence on titles and proper introductions, and he reflexively corrected himself. “L-Lord Cross.”
“Oh, Lord Cross,” the other skeleton said with a laugh. Cross flushed a solid purple, but he didn’t feel as if she was mocking him. Her eyelights flickered up to him, a note of shyness in her voice that just had Cross’s soul pounding harder in his chest. “I’m Dream.”
Dream. What a fitting name. Cross returned her smile with a shy one of his own, and was rewarded with a glittering of those perfect, beautiful golden eyelights.
“Well, Lady Dream,” Cross said, rising to his feet; as he ducked another low-hanging branch, he missed the way she incredulously mouthed ‘Lady Dream’ before planting her smile back on her face. He offered his hand to her, doing his best to ignore the roaring of his soul in his skull. “Let me do the honor of returning you to your home.”
~~ ~~
“Nighty?”
Nightmare gave a hum to let Dream know he was listening, but he continued to look over the latest fiscal reports from the outermost villages. Dream fidgeted nervously, trying to work up the courage to process the revelations of yesterday out loud.
Lady Dream…that handsome knight’s words had echoed through his skull all day.
All his life, Dream had felt…off. Something just not quite right, something he could never put his finger on, until the knight had called him lady. Then, it just…clicked. He had always known he was more feminine than his twin, always preferring loose, flowy clothes and bright colors, but had just chalked it up to the natural dichotomy between him and his gloomy brother.
Lady Dream…it had just felt right. Dream hadn’t felt offended by Cross assuming his gender. He had felt flattered, that such a handsome knight had thought him a beautiful princess. Oh, like something out of those fairy tales that Nightmare used to read to him when they were children.
“Dream?” Nightmare had turned to face him fully now, a look of concern at Dream’s obvious distress. One of his tentacles reached out to gently nudge his cheek. “Is something wrong?”
“I—I—” Dream stammered. Thank the stars Killer was off doing something else for once. He didn’t think he could handle this conversation with anyone but Nightmare. Finally, he blurted out, “I—I don’t think I’m a prince!”
Nightmare’s face hardened, a dark glimmer in his lone eyelight. “What makes you say that?” he said harshly. “Has someone said something to you?”
Oh. Oh no. Dream felt his sockets growing misty at the immediate anger from his twin. Was he wrong…? Nightmare rose from his seat when Dream remained silent, taking both of Dream’s shoulders in hand as he leaned in close. “My title of king is nothing more than a formality,” Nightmare said, his eyelight looking deeply into Dream’s own and his voice pitched low. “It is only to present our kingdom as a unified front. If I could have made you king as well, I would have. You know this, Dream. You are just as worthy as the throne as I am. So if anyone says you are not worthy of the title prince, I will personally—”
“Nightmare!” Dream cut in, smiling despite his exasperation at Nightmare’s ranting. “I didn’t mean—I meant—do you ever think I might be, um…a princess?”
“A princess—” Nightmare blinked. Then, he blinked again. “Ah. Ah. Well…I cannot speak for you. What do you think?”
Dream swallowed, looking down at his feet. His ankle throbbed, reminding him of how he had felt, watching Cross kneel at his feet, treating him like a delicate princess. And yet…he felt silly. “I—I don’t know…I just…I know I’ve always felt…different than you.”
His brother’s hand was cool against his heated bone as he reached up to cup Dream’s face. “Dream,” Nightmare said softly. “No matter how you identify, you will always be my equal. My sibling. Do not feel as if you have to put a label on yourself. We can explore this together, but I want you to take this at your own pace, and I want you to know that I will always be on your side.”
Dream sniffled, and Nightmare immediately drew him into his arms. Hands and tentacles alike grazed over him comfortingly. Nightmare, taller than Dream thanks to the corruption that had twisted his body, brushed his teeth over Dream’s skull, still speaking softly. “How would you like me—and the others—to address you?”
Oh. Somehow, Dream hadn’t even considered that part. “I—I don’t know,” he said shamefully.
“It’s alright,” Nightmare reassured him. “Like I said, do not feel as if you have to label yourself. We can start with more neutral labels, and see how it progresses, perhaps?”
“Um.” Dream thought about it. It still didn’t feel quite right, but it was something. “O-okay.”
“Excellent.” Nightmare stepped back, looking down at Dream with a rare, genuine smile. “Dream. Never doubt for a second. I would be proud to call you my brother, my sister, or anything in between.”
Dream’s sockets filled with tears yet again, and Nightmare gave a resigned sigh as he found his arms filled with Dream yet again. “Oh, Nighty,” Dream choked. “I love you so much.”
Nightmare sighed again, but still brushed a gentle nuzzle over Dream’s skull. “I love you too,” he murmured, before he barked out a sharp, “Dust!” Dream jumped at the sudden change in volume, looking up curiously.
Dust appeared, sullen eyelights sparking curiously at the scene before him. “What.”
“I’d like you to accompany Dream into town, and help them do some shopping.”
“Eh?” “What?” came the near-identical grunts from Dream and Dust.
“Well,” Nightmare said loftily. “If you’re changing yourself, a change in wardrobe is due, is it not?”
Dream cracked a wry grin. “I’d argue I’m not changing myself. I’m just trying to figure out—”
“Dream. Do you want an excuse to go shopping or not?”
“Oh, of course, Nighty,” Dream said, eyes wide and an incredulous smile on their face. Nightmare kept a tight hand on the purse strings of the kingdom, and Dream had long lamented the sorry status of their wardrobe for many a season. “New me, new clothes, right, right.”
Nightmare rolled his eye, waving the two of them off. “Of course. Spare no expense.” Dream giggled and flounced off, excitedly chattering away to a curious Killer at the door to the throne room about how wonderful today was turning out to be. Nightmare yanked Dust back to his side by his scarf before Dust could follow, earning himself a sullen glare as he lowered his skull to Dust’s and whispered, “Spare some expense. Keep Dream in check.”
Dust gave a grunt and plodded off after Dream. As if on cue, Killer slank in, a sly smile on his face that was met by a wary look from his king. Killer slithered up to Nightmare, perching himself on Nightmare’s lap despite the exasperated sigh it earned him.
“Little Light’s in a tizzy,” Killer drawled, toying with Nightmare’s circlet before Nightmare slapped his hand away. “Wouldn’t have anything to do with that strong, handsome knight who came up to the castle carrying them in his arms, would it?”
His face soured at the memory. Gaster’s precious progeny, carrying Dream in his arms like some gallant knight, as if he didn’t have an entire platoon of poorly-disguised soldiers camped in his forest—as if that would intimidate him. If Lord Cross thought rescuing Dream from the horrors of a twisted ankle would make Nightmare magically pliant to all of Gaster’s demands, he was sorely mistaken.
Nightmare hummed, his phalanges drumming thoughtfully on Killer’s knee.
He’d have to deal with Cross.