Chapter Text
Sometimes in the heat of battle, Dust truly felt consumed by his namesake. Wholly, he became a blaze of burning EXP and bloodlust, forgetting the who, where, and why; his sole purpose was to be a perfect killing machine.
That was when his LV got the better of him, when he allowed it to, if only to quiet the berating howl of his brother's voice and deaden his constant nervous inclinations. He always ended up worse for wear after pulling one of these little stunts, typically hiding out in a back alley and holding himself through a breakdown, isolated once again in an empty AU of his own making. And he had no one to blame but himself, an idea only reinforced by Papyrus, when he revisited the memories days later. After Nightmare had irritatedly come to collect him, more willing to pick up his broken toys than go through the trouble of finding new ones.
Nightmare had tried to partner up Killer and Dust before. He'd hoped they could keep each other more or less in check, but if anything, more animosity had built between his moronic lackies. Now the two could barely stand two minutes together without attacks being thrown, unless Nightmare was literally standing over them. He was their boss, not their babysitter, stars be damned.
So maybe that was part of the reason behind Horror's introduction. He didn't have Killer's lack of inhibition (or to put it bluntly, his dogged love of violence), or Dust's raw, overwhelming power in the LV department. In fact, the newest recruit's magic was nearly non-existent, prompting a harsh laugh from Killer, who'd immediately jeered at the bulky skeleton. Nightmare let Killer poke fun; it was of little importance to him whether Killer and Horror could get along or not. No, during Horror's unenthusiastic introduction, Nightmares toxic cyan eye had been diligently fixated on Dust, which did not escape his subordinate's notice. It did put him slightly on edge though.
Dust was expecting to be pulled into his boss' office directly after the impromptu welcome party, but everyone was dismissed, including him. All of this was to say that, yeah, maybe he had been a little snappish lately, so what? And if there were a few extra bottles littered around the surfaces of his absolutely disgusting living space, then it was his business and his business only. Not Nightmare's, not Killer's, and definitely not the new guy. Especially not the new guy, who had quickly become established as Dust's mission partner. Time after time again, they were sent out together on increasingly difficult tasks, while Killer gloated about being the boss' favorite and the only one trusted with real jobs. Dust did his best to ignore his jabs, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore anything. He felt like a ticking alarm, an elastic band stretched taut across two fingers, slowly pulling his psyche apart with paranoia.
So of course, he had to snap.
It was during a mission, because of course he could never have his mental breakdown in the privacy of his own room, he has to make it everyone else's problem too. All he knew was that he had been slashing down the resident Sans of whatever universe they were in (he was too apathetic to bother learning the AUs anymore), and the next he was surrounded by swathes of gray dust split across the snow. It filled the air, it got into his lungs and mouth, cloying at his senses. Dust turned around, looking for the next target, but all we saw was more fine powder through his watery eyes. His chest swelled in gasps for air, but no matter how much he tried, all he could take in was the sickly dust; it was all he could consume, all he was. As he looked down at his shaking hands, he mentally cursed himself.
Dust did not hear or see his teammate apprehensively step towards him. Horror reached out tentatively, about to call Dust's name, but the other was gone too late.
***
Hours after Dust was meant to get a signal from Nightmare, they hadn't returned from the castle, and to Horror's knowledge, there hadn't been any word from their boss either. He'd spent the time slowly picking through every good hiding spot and back alley he could think of (which was, unsurprisingly, a lot), looking for his teammate. Obviously the guy had been in some kind of distress, and what was he supposed to do? Just leave him there? Horror scoffed at the notion. No, that wouldn't be beneficial to either of them.
***
Dust was convinced he was just seeing more hallucinations than usual, as a barely recognizable skeleton appeared in his field of vision. He was tall, broad shouldered, and had a gaping hole in his skull. Dust just stared at the phantom dumbly from his place in the snow, hunched in on himself and pressed against a wall for support. Usually he just saw the faces of lives he'd taken, tormenting him, taunting him, but this one was eerily still and observant. Not knowing if he was completely comfortable with its bright red, one-eyed stare, Dust turned away, closing himself off further.
Another useless effort on his part, because less than a minute later he was whipping his head back in the phantom's direction, blaster at the ready. The ghost had moved to sit a foot or two away from him against the wall, and it eyed the blaster warily. Dust, paranoid as he was, realized no one was actually there and desummoned his weapon. He would be making plenty more of those mistakes to come, he knew, bitterly. If the wind whistled too loudly or rustled the leaves, he'd be up in a frenzy, nevermind if the satanic airflow decided to slam shut the doors to the newly deserted buildings in town.
The ghost in question just stared at him, inexplicably quiet. His eye was round and wary, but he didn't make another move. Dust collapsed in on himself once more, feeling for all the world like the dirt beneath someone's shoe.
"...good?" He only heard the tail end of the question, which arrived in a comfortingly low hum; it didn't grate his hearing like the shrieks of his brother usually would. Dust blinked cautiously at his imagined companion, and the other shifted in discomfort under his intense stare. Great, he could even turn his own hallucinations away by being a total freak. The strange, but somehow familiar, phantom looked like he wanted to say something else, but didn't. Instead they just sat, backs against the stone wall, for an indefinite time.
He felt different than he usually did during a breakdown. Maybe it was the fact that he had the other to look at, something else to focus on, other than his typical spiraling thoughts. Dust found himself slowly becoming distracted from his self loathing, interested in watching his companion with vague curiosity. The tension relaxed from his body, and he was soon staring up at the glittering, cavernous ceiling. His gaze shifted to his companion, eyelights near fully focused.
Dust blinked and he recognized the other wasn't a hallucination at all; it was Horror. The new guy. Horror wasn't looking at him, he was staring up at the false stars too. He only looked down at Dust when the other reached out and lightly touched his arm, verifying that he was indeed real. The question came again, rumbling out like a rusty motor; Dust could feel the vibrations from where his fingertips rested on his teammate's humerus (when did he start thinking of Horror as a teammate?).
"Y'good now…?" His voice was disarming, it held no blame for screwing up the mission or making them wait longer than they were meant to. No judgment for his mental breakdown over something externally trivial. Just a quiet calmness, and a warm red light washing over him, as Horror turned and his bulk blocked the street lamp from around the corner.
"Y-yeah… I'm fine. Fine…" Even to himself, Dust didn't sound completely alright. In comparison to Horror's steady purr, Dust's voice was breathy and rasping, like he'd just finished a marathon. On a good day, his voice sounded hoarse from disuse; he didn't make it a habit of actively engaging in conversation with Killer or the boss if he could help it, but this was a little embarrassing. Dust realized his hand was still lingering against Horror's arm and he abruptly pulled it back, shoving his hands in his pockets. He tore his gaze away to look down at the snowy ground, realizing that his shorts were soaked through from the melted snow. It was nothing he wasn't used to, but still, cold, wet polyester clinging to his femurs wasn't the greatest of feelings. He shook himself out of his haze, biting his tongue so he would not say something stupid. "Let's head back," Dust said instead, tapping on his communicative wristband that they were ready to return.
He knew Nightmare probably would have checked on them by now, since Dust estimated they'd been out nearly three times as long as they were told to be, and he wondered why the boss hadn't intervened. He could have at least taken Horror back to the castle, and left Dust alone in this sad, desolate AU to teach him a lesson. That's how this song and dance usually went, but Dust was… almost glad things hadn't gone that way. He noticed Horror had already moved to stand, and glanced up at the taller skeleton. Huh.
Dust took Horror's offered hand warily, following his lead and getting to his own shaky feet. Fuck, why did his legs have to tremble like that? He avoided the other's burning stare and supported himself on the wall. Apparently his teammate had other ideas, as Horror took it upon himself to wrap an arm around Dust's shoulders and guide him away from the security of the brick. "C'mon… boss said t'meet him outside'a library…"
Even if he wanted to, Dust couldn't argue with that, nor could he fight back against the exhaustion brought upon him by his breakdown. So, for once, he just let Horror lead him, letting the big guy take his weight, not that it would matter much to the other. And maybe, when they got to the castle, they could forget about this exchange entirely, and Dust could hole up in his room. Papyrus could remind him of how pathetic he was, and he could return to a strenuous normality. Killer's sneer would help.
But for now, the pair trudged through the dust-filled snow, one against the other, quietly reserved to their own private thoughts.