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Thick, black tar drips down his face. There is much more liquid pouring down than usual, staining everything around him. Killer lays in his bed, flat on his back, staring at the ceiling. He stared at the silvery glow on the walls coming through his open window. His room would be pitch black if it weren’t for the moon's light and the glow in the dark stars that stuck on his ceiling. His clothes feel damp and heavy from all the determination that has fallen from his sockets, not having changed his clothes for days. It was on the floor, his bed, the walls, the furniture, everywhere. The big amounts of determination made his room smell heavily acidic, making him nauseous. Killer decided to solve this problem by simply keeping his window wide open. Yet he still felt nauseous, completely sickened to his core by the monster he is.
He didn’t care about the loud and freezing wind filling his room. It was better than the heavy silence, which he has endured most of his time isolating in his room. The silence only made the voices in his head worse, filling his skull with violent, graphic ideas and memories. Killer’s body felt cold and heavy, unsure how long his window had been open. He slightly moves his head towards the window when he feels a cold drop of water hit his skull. The wind whips the rain into his room every now and then, creating a big puddle of water in front of the opening. He can see the liquid determination he left on his window and floor mixing with the raindrops, smudging the floor and wall making a big mess.
Killer is unsure how much time has passed. It’s been day and night multiple times already, if he remembers correctly. He hasn’t been sleeping well, nightmares haunting him everytime he closes his sockets. His night terrors consisted of a terrible creature covered in dust. A huge grin covering their face as they slayed everyone in their way. The victims screamed for help, pleading, begging for mercy. Something the creature is unfamiliar with. They fought for their lives, scars littering every crevice of their bodies. Magic and dust poured down their figures, looking at the monster with fear and betrayal in their eyes. Yet the demon keeps going, laughing at their misery, continuing their torture. The murderous intent in his nightmares were thick and heavy, leaving no room for hope.
The victims called out for help.
They called out for Killer.
But nobody came.
Killer lets out a bitter and hollow laugh at the memory of his nightmare. His voice is raspy from crying, screaming and the injuries he inflicted upon himself. His throat feels tight, claw like phalanges scratching at the now dark bruise on his cervical vertebrae. He almost lost himself again yesterday. Horror came to his door, wanting to give him his dinner. Killer could feel himself slipping into madness and slammed the door in his face. It took everything inside of him to not mutilate Horror. So he took his bloodlust out on himself, his body covered in scars and bruises. He wanted to storm out of his room to seek out his teammates. To throw them against the wall or floor, pinning them down and cutting deep lines into their bones. He wants to watch their magic pour out of the gashes until they bleed out, the metallic smell feeding his bloodlust even more. To gouge out their eyelights and watch them squirm under him. He wants them to beg for Killer to come back to his senses while he twists the knife in their eye sockets. To break their bones one by one, starting with the wrists and arms so they couldn’t fight back as easily. To snap their ribs off and-
And his vision blurs, snapping Killer out of his thoughts. Cold and clammy phalanges subconsciously have found their way back to his cervical vertebrae, squeezing down hard. Black spots filled his vision, feeling dizziness take over. The room spun before his eyes, yet he didn’t let go of his neck. He knows he can’t easily die by suffocation. He's not a human, but it isn’t impossible. He refuses to let go as he remembers his night terror, Cross crying under him as he disfigured him. The creature traced the red scar on Cross’s skull, reopening it by slowly dragging a knife over it. It leaned down, giving a mocking kiss to the reopened scar and whispered cruel things to him. The creature stood up, covered in more dust than before.
Killer’s grip on his own throat tightens, magic flooding to his neck worsening the colour and size of the bruise.
All he can remember is Cross's terrified expression looking up at him before he passes out, darkness overtaking his vision, dragging him down even deeper into his misery.
-
Killer’s absence was quickly noticed throughout the whole castle. It was a surprise when Kiler didn’t show up for dinner again. Everyone sat in their own seat, with a hot plate of food in front of them. Dinner time was unnervingly quiet without Killer’s talking. He knew how to bring a conversation to life, always engaging with everyone around him. The first one to speak up and break the silence was Cross, which was quite unusual in itself.
‘’Is Killer sick?’’ Cross asked.
Everyone at the table looked around, expecting for someone to answer. Only to be met with a tense silence. After some moments Nightmare finally spoke up. ‘’Killer’s feeling unwell.’’ They all knew Killer had his moments and usually it was best to leave him alone for a day or two, but this was different. The last time Killer was gone for so long, he had a terrible breakdown. They all knew how bad Killer could get, except Cross. Cross has only been here for a year or more, not having experienced the others' worst moments.
Horror’s face was scrunched up, looking intensely at Killer’s dinner that still had steam coming off of it. He had been hoping Killer would be downstairs for dinner this time, but his shoulders sagged the moment he realised Killer wasn’t coming. Horror knows about the others' struggles. Usually Killer needed some time alone, avoiding everyone until his fit was over. Horror made sure the other still ate, bringing Killer’s dinner up to his room. The next day he would always be himself again, wearing the same cheshire grin like always. It always satisfied Horror when he found Killer’s empty plate on the floor the next morning. It made him feel relieved knowing the other has eaten and isn’t hungry. But that stopped. The past few days the same plate of dinner would be on the floor, untouched. It made horror feel upset, worried that something was wrong with the food.
The next time, it happened again. He found another filled plate when he walked past Killer’s room. From this moment on he knew something was extremely wrong. It worried him to the core, how Killer hadn’t eaten anything.
The third day it happened again. So that evening he decided to personally hand Killer’s plate over. He knocked on the door. He knocked again. And again. Yet nothing but silence greeted him. Horror flinched as he heard footsteps speed walking towards the door, before suddenly halting. He didn’t hear anything else after that coming from Killer’s room. ‘’I’m bringing the plate in to your room.’’ Horror called out, unsatisfied with the situation. Before he could reach for the handle, the door quickly opened revealing Killer. He looked like a mess, black tar smudged on his face and clothes. He stared at Horror with one dim eyelight, catching Horror by surprise as he stared back. Killer reached out for the platter, sighing out a shaky breath. He slightly shook as his phalanges brushed Horror’s, quickly hiding back into his room and slamming the door. This morning when he walked past Killer’s room he didn’t find a plate at all, concern gnawing away at his soul.
‘’Horror, are you listening?’’
Horror looked at Nightmare, being taken away out of his thoughts. He looked around to see everyone at the table looking at him. Horror was so lost in thought that he forgot he was at the dinner table. He hadn’t even heard Nightmare start talking.
‘’No.’’
Nightmare sighed as he told Horror to pay attention and started to explain their duties for tomorrow.
-
Killer is unsure what he’s feeling. Usually he doesn’t feel much of anything, but right now he is filled with emotions making him highly unstable. He feels rage boiling inside of him, wanting to release it against anyone who comes near. The creature wants to satisfy his bloodlust, taking joy in killing. Killer doesn’t feel much when it comes to killing people, only feeling numb when doing so. He doesn’t regret any of it either.
But Sans does, making his soul ache painfully
. The thought of hurting his teammates.. brings more emotions to the surface. He didn’t feel numb or satisfied in his nightmares where he brutalised them. He hasn’t felt this emotion for so long. Pure fear entered him at the thought of hurting the others. He feared himself, his capabilities and the creature inside that wanted to hurt the only people he had left.
He is utterly disgusted by himself, unable to look at his reflection in the mirror. He could only see a cruel monster staring back at him, empty sockets filled with murderous intent and liquid determination. His cervical vertebrae aches and burns, almost completely a deep ugly red and purple. Moving his neck sends sharp bolts of pain throughout his body, but he doesn’t care. Killer first tried to cope healthily, since carving wood or sparring with the others helped him. But it didn’t work this time, ruining every wood piece and nearly driving a knife into Dust’s chest. His fists are bruised, having punched his walls over and over again trying to get rid of his bloodlust. It didn’t work, so he resorted to more harmful ways to cope. It can’t hurt anyone if he’s weak and hurt, fighting the creature inside by self destructing himself. He wished he could go back to feeling numb. He wished he wasn’t such a monstrous being. He just wishes for this episode to be over soon. He wants to go on missions with Cross, fool around, annoy everyone in the team and to eat normally without feeling nauseous. Now he’s just an unstable freak that can’t be trusted around anyone.
Killer was laying down on his bed again, glancing over to his desk where his food of yesterday was messily put down on. Put down.. more like thrown on it. He feels bad for not eating Horror’s food. He knows Horror issues surrounding food and he must be freaking out. Yet he can’t do it. Everytime he raises the fork he feels like throwing up. It’s no use feeding the creature, giving it more strength. He feels weak and sick, his whole body aches and moving around feels painful. A part of him is angry, angry that this is the only way to keep himself from hurting his
loved ones
team. Something else inside of him is angry too, the creature fuming for not being let out. All he can feel is anger, sadness, pain and FEAR consuming him whole. All Killer needs to do for now, is to keep himself controlled and pray this passes by quickly. Fatigue hits him hard, making him drift off into another night full of terror..
-
Dinner just ended, it being very tense and feeling like forever. His food was full of positive intent, leaving him warm inside. Yet no matter how hard Horror tried to hide it, he could still slightly taste Horror’s distress in his mouth. Cross was unnerved by all of this, not used to Killer disappearing like this. Usually he’d see Killer everyday, whether it was on a mission or just them simply bothering each other. Everyone knew he was doing terribly. Cross was still unsure what was happening. It really worried Cross when Horror told him that Killer wasn’t eating anymore. Even more so when he told him what the other looked like when delivering the plate to his room. Killer’s his partner, accompanying him almost everywhere. Where Cross is, Killer is too. He knows Killer needs time and space, but this has gone too far. He’s completely isolating and not taking care of himself, making Cross so worried for his well being. Killer has been there for him throughout thick and thin, and now he needs it more than ever even if he won’t admit it. So Cross confidently walks over to Killer’s room, his plate of food in hand. He’s determined to take care of his partner in crime, even if he’s an annoying asshole most of the time.
When he reaches Killer’s room it’s eerily silent. Cross slowly raises his hand to knock on the door in front of him, unsure what he’ll face. After knocking, he waits for a minute. Then he knocks for a second time. And then a third time. Fourth time. Fifth time. Each time Cross knocks, the bigger the frown on his face gets. Usually Killer swings the door open quickly, greeting him with that big dumb grin of his. Yet nothing, not even the slightest sound coming from inside the room. He doubts Killer is asleep, considering most residents of the castle have sleeping issues. Cross grows increasingly more concerned, resorting to calling out for Killer.
‘’Killer? I brought your dinner for you.’’ Cross calls out in a stern voice.
...
‘’Killer, if you can hear me open the door. You have barely eaten anything.’’
Still nothing, so Cross decided to take a different route. Maybe their usual banter would make Killer come to the door? ‘’Okay asshole, it’s time to eat your dinner and come back to us. You’ve been in there a whole fucking week.’’ Cross hesitates before continuing ‘’If you’re ignoring me, i’ll kick your ass harder next time we’re sparring.’’ It’s so silent, that Cross wonders if he’s even inside his room at all. Usually Cross never enters the others bedrooms without permission, but concern unconsciously makes his hand move towards the door knob, twisting it down to open the door, only to find that the door is locked. Alarm bells ring in Cross’s head, quickly going into the room next to Killer’s and entering through the shared bathroom between both bedroom’s. The bathroom was a mess, black stains on every surface and clothes piling on the floor. The moment he swings the door open he sees the state of Killer’s bedroom. It was freezing cold, making Cross shiver violently as a frigid gust of wind hit him. The window was wide open with rain pouring into Killer’s room. Cross quickly put the plate of food on Killer’s desk and rushed over to the window trying to close it shut, struggling against the hard wind. The weather was almost always terrible in the AU where Nightmare decided to reside. He wonders how long and why Killer had left his window open. It’s been raining heavily all week.
Cross’s shoes absorb the water as he walks through the puddle, wetting his feet and socks, making Cross grimace at the uncomfortable feeling. He swiftly turns back walking towards Killer’s bed, seeing him laying down on his back. ‘’Killer? Are you okay?’’ Cross asks, yet still no response. The other is deadly still except for his soul, which is spinning and actively distorting, glowing a bright red.
He slowly approaches Killer, inching closer as he keeps calling out his name. When the other still doesn't reply he moves to sit on the edge of Killer’s bed, still trying to get the sleeping monster to wake up. He studied Killer’s sleeping form, seeing thick tar dripping down in huge quantities. Cross could barely see his face, but he didn’t look good at all. Scars and bruises were on the other's body, shocking Cross to his core. Especially the one on his throat, making Cross finally reach out to Killer. He was burning hot as Cross touched his cheekbone, staining his hand with the black sludge. Normally the liquid disgusted him a little, but now he suddenly didn’t care. He was sure the other became sick because of the rain and icy wind. Cross tried to gently shake him awake, unsure what to do and fearing the worst.
He recoiled as Killer snapped awake, grabbing his wrist with a deathly grip. ‘’Killer what the hell-!’’ Before even finishing his sentence, Cross was dragged down onto the floor. The impact of his body hitting the floor knocked the air out of Cross, making him swear out in pain. ‘’Fuck!’’ Killer was pinning him down and staring down onto him with an empty look. By reflex, Cross’s hands flew up trying to fight off the strong grip on his throat. A very dim eyelight flickered in and out of existence and Cross could feel the other shaking on top of him. He could feel Killer’s hold slightly loosening and quickly changed their position, trying to carefully hold Killer down by his wrists. He saw Killer coming back to his senses, looking up at him with those eyelights. He slowly stopped struggling, staring back at Cross with an unreadable expression.
The room was now filled with silence again, besides the rain’s pitter patter against the window. Both monsters were panting from their sudden tumble, Killer’s breathing sounding laboured. ‘’Killer…?’’ Cross breathed out, loosening his grip on Killer’s wrist. He heard Killer muttering under his breath, feeling his body tense under him.
‘’You need to leave.’’ Killer said, his voice sounding rough. Cross frowned at that. He just doesn’t understand why Killer is isolating himself. It’s never gotten this bad. The monster under him is not the Killer he knows. Right now, no matter how hard he studies the other, he only sees a small vulnerable person. Killer’s confident attitude is nowhere to be seen. He can’t let this go on anymore.
‘’No, i’m not leaving.’’ Cross firmly stated. He sees something in Killer’s expression slightly change for a second, that’s the most emotion he’s seen from him today. ‘’Leave.’’ Killer snarls out. Yet Cross stays where he is, unbothered and not letting the other go. His touch is gentle, as if Killer was something precious and delicate. ‘’You’ve been here for a
week.
You haven’t been eating or drinking and you look like you went to hell and back! I’m not fucking leaving.’’ Killer doesn’t know what to do now. He needs the other to leave. His body is aching for bloodshed, the creature filling his head with voices. He wants to scream at Cross, but he doesn’t have the energy. He tries to say something, anything. Yet not a sound makes it out of his mouth. Killer wants to escape, hide somewhere so he can never hurt the people around him. He’d do anything to protect them, even if it means protecting them from himself. But the moment he feels Cross’s hands cupping his cheeks he’s overwhelmed by multiple emotions. Fear, sadness, anger and
love?
confusion filling him. Killer’s expression turns into a pained one, softly pleading for Cross to leave. He can’t deal with all of these feelings, it’s all too much for him.
Killer’s soul is like a red storm, continuously swirling and twisting. Even with the dark tar mostly covering his face, Cross is pretty sure he now sees red tears slipping down his face. ‘’I’m so.. scared.’’ Killer softly admits, and Cross has never heard the other sounding like this. Neither did he expect Killer to fear anything, considering his reckless behaviour most of the time.
‘’Scared of what?’’
There was a minute of silence before he answered. ‘’Myself. Hurting everyone. Of hurting you..’’ Killer looks tired and in pain. Cross’s soul can’t help but clench with sadness. He carefully pulls Killer’s upper body up from the floor, getting off of him to sit in front of him on the ground. He pulls Killer closer to his chest, mindful of his injuries and listening intently. ‘’I keep losing myself Cross.. All my nightmares end the same way.’’ He can see Killer struggling while he talks about it, pausing for a second before talking again. ‘’I don’t want to see you make those same pained expressions as in my nightmares. I hate it, but in my nightmares I feel happy. I laughed while dusting you all.’’
...
‘’Fuck i’m such a monster Cross!’’ Killer cried out, his bones shaking from everything he’s feeling. He felt better and worse as Cross pulled him to his chest, holding the other closer. Killer doesn’t understand why. Cross should be leaving him alone, not pulling him closer. Killer clutched his own chest, holding his shirt tightly. ‘’I don’t understand all these feelings.’’
Cross pulls away slightly, making Killer tense up and think that he’ll leave. ‘’Feelings are always complicated Kills.. It’s okay if you still don’t understand them. ‘’ He can feel Cross’s hand gently rubbing his back in a soothing motion as he speaks in a soft voice. ‘’And you’re not a monster.’’ He can feel Killer’s stare on him, a disbelieving look on his skull as he tries to argue against that. ‘’No i’m-’’
‘’You’re not a monster.’’ Cross says again. ‘’Even if you don’t believe that yourself.’’
‘’Would a monster care if someone precious to them got hurt?’’ Cross questioned, looking back into Killer’s eyelights. He patiently waits for Killer to answer him, giving him time to think about it. Killer softly answered no. ‘’Remember when Dust got hurt?’’
Fuck, ofcourse he remembers. Dust was on a solo mission, given the task to observe a new universe that fell under Nightmare’s rule. It was supposed to be an uneventful job, but the universe’s residents found him and turned out to be more violent than expected. Killer was sent to retrieve him, holding the people back and quickly dragging Dust back to the castle to be taken care of. He helped with bandaging him up and wouldn't leave his side, sleeping in the bed next to him in the infirmary. He wanted to be there when Dust woke up, so he wouldn’t be alone.
‘’Did you care?’’
The answer to that question is loud and clear to both of them, but Killer still hesitates to voice it. He looks down to the floor, unable to say it in the end. Cross doesn’t push him for a response, only taking his hand and gently pulling him up from the ground.
‘’Let’s go to my room and get you cleaned up, okay?’’ Cross says, as he gently pulls him along towards the door of his room. Killer looks back to his room, his personal prison. His bedroom is a huge mess, only darkness filling it. Then he looks back at Cross, who is affectionately smiling at him. There is not a sliver of judgement or fear on his skull. His hands feel warm to the touch like sunlight on a hot summer evening. Cross is not looking at the creature or the monster within. He’s looking at Killer.
‘’Okay.’’
And he lets himself be pulled along to Cross’s room, where only warmth and love is present.