Chapter Text
There’s a monster under your bed.
You’re not sure how long he’s been there, but you know he’s been watching you. He’s big and tall, and has grey skin and candy corn coloured horns. His eyes are the same color as violets and broken egg yolks, and they stare at you from under the bedskirt sometimes when you’re getting ready for school.
Most kids would be afraid of monsters under the bed, you think, but he doesn’t really seem all that scary- just bored. You’d be bored too if you were stuck under someone’s bed all the time; there can’t be very many things to do under there, after all.
“Cro?”
Your older brother is the very best person in the world, and when you say his name he looks up from his homework and smiles- a special smile you only ever see when you’re alone. He’s in his room, at his desk, and the one table lamp casts shadows over his face and the floor beyond the small circle of light.
“Hey, kiddo, what’s up?”
“There’s a monster under my bed.”
His smile melts from his face, dripping into a frown like ice cream on a hot day; he looks so tired, so unhappy, that you almost regret saying anything for a moment. With a sigh, he reaches out and scoops you into his arms, holding you close as if his presence alone could defeat any monsters that dared come after you. You have no doubt that he could; he’s strong and good and any monster would cower before him, like a dragon before a knight in shining, flame-resistant armour. Even though knights wearing armor to fight dragons is dumb, because armor is made of metal and metal is a heat conductor; obviously knights are not very good at science.
“C’mon Eri, you know monsters aren’t real. Aren’t you a bit old for bogymen?” he says, sighing, "There’s nothing to be afraid of, alright? Please, I gotta finish this before I go to work-“
“He’s not scary,” you interrupt, patting your brother on the face with one of your small hands, because wow your hands really are small compared to his; he has really big hands, and you think he could probably hold you up with just one of them.
“I think he’s just bored. Do we have any coloring books or something? What do monsters like to do?”
You twist your face into your most terrifying scowl when Cro laughs at you, but you secretly like it when he does. He looks less tired when he laughs.
“Only you, kid. There should be some stuff in my closet, why don’t you go shove that under your bed? Have fun.”
He puts you down, but not before hugging you tight; you wrap your arms around his neck and hug back and wince when you feel how much he shakes. He doesn’t smoke anymore, not since he took you to the doctor and they’d given you something called an in-ha-ler to use when your chest got all tight and gross, but you know sometimes he really, really wants to, and you feel bad that he can’t. You are the reason he can't do something that used to make him feel better even if it was something that smelled really terrible and made him smell terrible and his clothes smell terrible-
It still made him feel better and now he can't do it because of you. So instead of bringing it up and making him feel worse, instead of asking him if he's okay and fussing at him, you just bite your lip and say ‘I love you’; he ruffles your hair, says it back, and pushes you towards the closet, telling you to go find things to entertain your monster. You grab a few coloring books, and some of the stories Cro never reads anymore- the ones about magic and adventures and other really cool stuff- and you run back to your room, dumping your armful next to your bed.
You’re not really sure how to announce yourself to your monster, but you figure it’s always best to be polite, so you knock on the wood floor and say, “Hello?”
Nothing. You wonder of your monster has somewhere else to go during the day.
“Hellooooo…"
There! One single violet-and-egg-yolk eye peeks out at you, round and wide and glowing slightly, like the night light you’d never admit you still have plugged in right next to your bed.
“You’ve been under there for a long time, so I got you some stuff in case you’re bored,” you say, pushing the things towards your monster. He reaches out, slow, and carefully extends a hand tipped in sharp, lethal looking claws, grey skin muted and dull underneath the single lamp in your own room.
“For me?” he asks, voice low and rumbly, like thunder right after the crash, and when you nod, he scoops the pile closer, picking through it with careful claws.
“Thank you,” he says, poking his head out a bit further, enough for you to see his dark hair and the lightning bolt horns, “It does get a little boring under here, sometimes.”
You ask him if he wants to color with you, and he nods, looking a bit bemused, like no one’s ever asked him to color before. You think that’s very sad, and you let him have first pick of your crayons.
You love your crayons. You’d gotten the huge box, the one with all the colours, from your art teacher because you won the drawing contest at school. You’re super careful with them, and you keep all of them pre-cise-ly ordered and sharpened, because there is nothing worse than having a crayon in the wrong spot. It makes you itch, and you don’t like it, not at all.
He picks black, and starts filling the spaces, every move slow and thought out. He moves very deliberately, and you think it’s because he’s a monster, big and strong and powerful, and he could probably break things if he moves too fast.
“What’s your name?” you ask, picking purple- your very favorite colour- and begin working on your own picture, “Mine’s Eridan.”
“I am the Orphaner,” he intones, and though he looks quite serious you think he might be teasing you.
“That can’t be your name,” you respond, and trade him the red for the black, “That’s a- a title, not a name. Do you gotta name?”
“Do I have a name,” he corrects, and, dutifully, you repeat, “Do you have a name?”
He stops, thinking, before he nods, even more slow than before.
“I suppose you are correct. You can address me as Dualscar, if you so desire.”
“Du-al-scar,” you repeat, sounding the name out, “Are you called that ‘cause you got- ‘cause you have two scars on your face?”
He smiles when you correct yourself, revealing sharp, brilliantly white teeth, pointed and slightly ridged, like a shark’s. You like sharks.
“That is correct. You are quite intelligent, for your age.”
“You must know a bunch’a really dumb seven year olds, then, ‘cause that’s kinda obvious.”
You spend the rest of your hour awake coloring pictures with your monster, talking quietly, so as not to disturb your brother, who only has this hour to finish all of his homework before his shift at the club starts. When Cro comes to get you ready for bed, though, your monster nods at you, pats you very, very carefully on the hand, and disappears back under your bed, leaving the picture behind.
“Did you have fun coloring with your monster?” Cro asks, smiling, and even though you can see the tired slump of his shoulders, he still picks you up and carries you to the bathroom, brushing your hair for you while you brush your teeth and babble about Du-al-scar the Or-phan-er, the monster under your bed, and how he’s good at coloring and has six syllables in his name- not counting the the- which is your favorite number.
You can tell he doesn’t believe you, but that’s ok. Cro has a hard time believing in things he can’t see and touch, it’s just the way he is. Maybe Dualscar will let you introduce him to Cro one day, then you can all sit on the floor and color together.
You let Cro finish helping you get ready for bed, and, when he tucks you in, you hug him tight and tell him you love him because it always cheers him up and he looks really sad and tired right now. He clings to you, carding one hand through your hair, and tells you he loves you back, pressing a kiss to your head.
“I’ll take you to school tomorrow, ok? Do you have your alarm set?”
You nod, and he gives you one more pat on the head before he leaves, turning your light out on the way out the door.
“Goodnight,” you yawn, and, to your delight, a deep, rumbly voice replies, “Goodnight, child.”