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Over the years, Dust has made leaps and bounds with his progress to a happier and stable state of mind. It’s a combination of the support of his new family, speaking with a trusted Psychiatrist that Nightmare had tracked down as well as working on himself personally. Because of all this, he hasn’t seen the phantom of his younger brother in years, hasn’t heard voices hissing in his ear for just as long. He’s doing better…but he still can’t help but feel stagnant in his life. His Psychiatrist had helped him realise the root of the issue, that while he sees Killer and Horror as brothers, they aren’t his younger brothers. Because that is really the main issue he’s having, that he used to be a big brother and now he’s not.
Horror is the eldest of them all even though Killer was taken in by Nightmare first. The lumbering giant is a comfortable sixty years of age, an age that would be considered somewhat old by humans but for monsters was more the equivalent of a human in their early thirties. Dust and Killer were the same age, both forty eight years old or the equivalent of a human in their early twenties. Killer liked to joke around that they were twins, something Dust denied strongly as he often joked it was bad enough they were both a Sans, it would be worse if they had shared a womb. It always led to playful ribbing and scuffles that left Dust feeling both lighter and heavier.
He’d accepted his role to play in the death of his timeline a while ago, had come to terms with the fact he’d murdered his younger brother. It had been a mercy in the end, sparing not only Papyrus but the whole Underground a fate of endless death, but it still stung, still ached and it was still their dust on his hands. He may no longer be driven mad by his guilt, but some days the hurt was more persistent than others. Some days, it tore at his soul to know he was no longer a big brother, it cut at his metaphorical heart to know he is no longer something he’d been for most of his life. Some days, it was hard to reconcile with the fact he had all this protective older sibling love with no one to give it to. Don’t get him wrong, he loved Horror and Killer more than anything, would lay down his life for his new brothers, but it wasn’t the same.
“You spent most of your life as a protector, a caretaker. There is no shame in longing for that role.” Nightmare had said when Dust had confided in the Guardian.
“It’s been years though, shouldn’t it not hurt anymore?” Dust had asked, desperate and filled with such hurt.
Nightmare had stared for a long moment after that, his face suddenly looking so very ancient and leaving Dust feeling so very young. When he did speak, it was with a voice that carried the weight of a centuries old hurt and wisdom. “Grief is love with nowhere left to go, because even though the person may be gone you still care for them. That love, it doesn’t go away, it sits in your chest and continues to grow. That is where the hurt comes from, from being so filled with love for that person but being unable to share that love with them anymore. And because you will never stop loving those people, the hurt will never truly go away. However, I can promise you that it will get easier with time. You will learn to grow around this pain, will learn to carry it with pride, and will learn to love someone as you have loved your brother once again.”
If Dust had ended up crying in his Boss’ arms that night, well that was only for him and Nightmare to know. It had helped, to hear those words and to know that his pain was valid. He’d been scared that he’d be told to get over it, to move on, to stop wallowing in his grief. To know that it was okay to still miss his brother, that it would be okay to always miss him was a relief. Still, Dust was dubious about being able to love someone as he’d loved Papyrus one day. He didn’t think he’d ever get to be a big brother ever again, but he did hope that one day he could be.
So when Nightmare showed up in the castle with a teenager, a kid, it greatly mattered to Dust.
Cross was young, anyone who looked at him would be able to tell that. For one, he was tiny. Sans’ are short by default, but Cross really took the cake in that area. His eyes would just barely reach Dust’s shoulders if they stood side by side meaning he’d barely reach Horror’s mid sternum. His eyesockets were also still overly large for his skull, a clear sign he’d yet to grow into them similar to how some humans had to grow into their ears or noses. This also meant his eyelights were still quite large too, something all young skeletons had in their youth. It made the deep determination red of his right eyelight pop out more as well as the large red zigzag scar under the eye. The sight of the scar has Dust fighting back a growl, fingers itching to find whoever had caused it and show them a bad time.
Nightmare runs through the introductions, taking time to assure the newbie they are all friends here and to come to any of them should he have any issues before sending him to his new room to rest. The second they are all in the kitchen and know for certain Cross is in his room asleep they demand answers from their Boss on why he’s taken in a kid, on what happened for a kid to be put in a position where Nightmare felt the need to intervene.
“His world was destroyed leaving him as the only survivor. He wouldn’t tell me exactly how it was destroyed, only that it was somehow his fault. I’m not sure how long he spent alone in the empty white void, but I can assume it was a while judging by the state of his mind and body.” Nightmare explained gently.
“Do we know how old he is? Cause I’m gonna be shocked if he’s older than majority.” Killer huffed while leaning back in his chair. To anyone else, he’d look unbothered, board even. Dust knows better, he can see just how unsettled Killer actually is. He knows the feeling, at least they were all in their late thirties by the time their universes went to shit, at least they were adults before they were put through the trauma most Sans’ seem destined to go through.
“It would appear that he is only eighteen, seven years away from majority.” Nightmare said with a displeased frown. It has them all hissing in shocked horror. An eighteen year old monster was basically the equivalent of a fourteen year old human, barely a teenager really.
The knowledge has a protective fury rising inside Dust’s ribcage, a need to keep the newbie close and safe. The emotions batter at him, physically and mentally for it’s been years since he’d felt such feelings towards another living being. He’s startled to realise that he hasn’t felt this way since Papyrus was still alive. He sees Nightmare send him a knowing look for a brief moment before the Guardian turns his singular eyelight to the trio as a whole.
“I want you all to keep an eye on him and make sure he feels safe and welcome. I don’t know the true extent of what he’s been through, but from his turbulent emotions I know it has deeply traumatised him. We will need to be careful in our interactions with him as we don’t know what could be a trigger for him. And remember, he is much younger than all of you so please try to be understanding.” Nightmare cautioned them all.
They all are quick to agree, eager to help their newest member settle into life at the castle as well as get to know him. It’s a difficult process, Cross is wary and distrusting of any act of kindness shown to him. He’s confused when Horror assures him that he doesn’t have to earn meal privileges, disbelieving when Killer tells him that yes, everything in his room is his and is constantly walking on eggshells around Nightmare. There’s a fear of authority figures there, an instinctive trepidation that speaks of a need to be constantly on guard around someone who held a position of power. It rears its head when he drops a mug one morning, just two weeks after arriving at the castle, and he instantly panics.
“Sorry! I’m sorry! I’ll clean it Sir, it’s my fault. I promise, it won’t happen again.” Cross rambled kneeling on the ground as he shakily scooped the shattered porcelain into his hands. Nightmare moved closer, intending to help and comfort only to freeze when Cross gave a full bodied flinch, soul screaming in fear-terror-panic-panic-fear-apologetic-panic-fear. “I’m sorry! Please, I’m sorry! I’ll do whatever you want, please! Please don’t hurt me, I’m sorry!”
Dust can’t stand it any longer. He crouched down beside the panicking monster, gently taking the smallers trembling hands into his own after removing the shards so he wouldn’t cut himself. Cross jerked, breathing stuttering to a fearful stop as his body grew tense, bracing for impact. Again, it’s a learnt behaviour, one that makes Dust’s LV crackle through his mana lines. No one, least of all a kid, should instinctively think they are going to be hurt every time they are touched or make a small mistake.
“Hey, I need you to breathe Squirt. Nice deep breaths, just like me, okay?” Dust pressed Cross’ hands against his own ribcage as he started taking deep exaggerated breaths in. They kept breathing together for a couple of minutes, until Cross was no longer hyperventilating and the trembling of his bones had vanished. The younger sat there eyeing him, face filled with a strange mixture of gratitude and guarded caution. Dust just gave a small smile, body relaxed and open to show he meant no harm. “There you go kid, nice and easy. It was just a mug, so no need for apologies. We got a whole cupboard full of them, especially seeing how Killer breaks at least one a week.”
“I don’t break that many.” Killer huffed though a smile was also tugging at his teeth, clearly seeing what Dust was doing to help distract and ease Cross’ fear. It works, pulling a soft huff of laughter from the youngest and slowly, the fear and panic of the broken mug is forgotten. Dust ignores the proud look Nightmare sends him, chooses to not acknowledge the aching longing in his soul as he assures the smallest from the kitchen.
It’s harder to ignore a month later when they are in the training room. Cross is running drills with some of the dummies, doing actual warm ups and stretches unlike the rest of them. They had all been shocked and a little angry to learn he was an actual fully fledged member of the royal guard, not happy that someone so young had been indoctrinated into the military. Dust had left the room when he first heard how young Cross had been when he joined.
“Ten! He was ten when he became a literal child soldier!” He’d screamed at Nightmare who could only stare sadly in his own horrified anger.
Now, they try not to show how upset it makes them when they see how precise Cross is with his training, how stiffly he holds himself as he fights, and how desperately he attempts to be perfect in everything he does. Still, it doesn’t stop Killer from poking fun at Cross’ fighting style in an attempt to lighten the mood.
“My fighting style isn’t stupid. Maybe you just don’t know how to fight correctly.” Cross scowled at the elder who just cackled as he leapt away from the barrage of purple bones sent his way. The words have Dust stumbling, mind flashing back to a different time, a different life.
“My puzzles aren’t stupid. Maybe you just don’t know how to puzzle correctly.” A seven year old Papyrus scowled up at the two elder monster children who had cornered him outside of Snowdin. He’d been putting the finishing touches on his latest puzzle when the two bullies appeared and began to belittle him.
“You tell them Paps.” Sans called out, proud of his little brother standing up for himself.
“You tell him Cross.” Dust called out, proud of his little brother teammate standing up for himself. Cross paused, looking back at Dust with wide eyes before giving a small hesitant smile. It has longing-nostalgia-grief-sadness-joy sparking inside Dust’s soul, feelings that he quickly brushes aside as he focuses back on his own training.
Four months after he first arrived, Dust wakes to the sounds of distress coming from Cross’ room. He’d been both relieved and hesitant when Nightmare had put Cross in the room right beside his own, wanting to keep the younger close but also still wanting to keep some distance. Tonight, he is thankful for the close proximity as it allows him to pick up on the younger's distress far quicker than possibly even Nightmare could.
It’s easy to slip into Cross’ room, eyelights quick to find the curled up lump on the bed that shudders with every choked sob that escapes past clenched teeth. Dust stared for a few moments, soul aching for the pain the other is clearly feeling. He moved closer slowly, making sure his footsteps are loud to alert the smaller of his presence. Cross tensed, turning wide terrified eyelights onto him that overflow with bright purple tears.
“I-I’m sorry, I d-didn’t mean t-to wake y-you.” Cross hiccuped, head ducking low and fingers gripping at his sleep shirt tight enough to poke holes into it.
“It’s alright Squirt, I don’t mind.” Dust soothed, moving to sit beside the other but not touching. “You wanna tell me what happened?”
Cross scowled at his bed sheets, face flushed purple in embarrassment. “It’s stupid, I’m too old to be scared of bad dreams. I’m a royal guardsman.”
A fourteen year old Papyrus scowled down at his bed sheets, face flushed orange in embarrassment. “It’s stupid, I’m too old to be scared of bad dreams. I’m going to be a royal guardsman after all.”
Dust stared down at the other, soul pulsing weakly at the painful memory that surfaced in his mind. Papyrus had started sparring with Undyne a week before that particular memory and the battle obsessed fish warrior had told the young skeleton all the gory stories she’d heard from Gerson which had led to a few sleepless nights. Dust still remembers how he’d comforted Paps back then and he finds the words coming to mind now as he wraps an arm around Cross’ shoulders to pull the younger flush against his side.
“I still get nightmares from time to time.” Dust said softly, watching as the heterochromic eyes glanced up at him in surprise. “Some nights, I wake up in a cold sweat. Other nights, I wake up crying from how scary they are. But fear doesn’t make you weak, fear keeps you alive, makes you strong. Everyone gets scared from time to time Kiddo, ain’t no shame in it. You just gotta remember that they are just dreams, they ain’t real and can’t hurt you.”
Cross gazed up at Dust, eyes shining with wonder at his words. His small hands slowly, cautiously reached out to grip at one of Dust’s, one of the first times since he arrived that he’d initiated contact with another being. “What if they aren’t just dreams though? What if they’re memories?”
Dust paused, contemplative as he unconsciously began to run a hand up and down the youngers spine in comfort. “Then you just gotta remember that those memories are in the past. They happened, and they may still fill you with fear or sadness, but they can’t hurt you anymore. They happened, so allow yourself to feel what you need to, learn from the mistakes you made, and keep living.”
It’s silent for a long moment, Cross slowly processing the words while Dust holds him close. Then the tears start flowing once more and a strangled whimper pulls itself from Cross’ chest. He twisted, pushing his face into Dust’s chest as his arms wrapped around the elders waist, shoulders shaking from the sobs that ripped through his body.
“I killed them, I killed them all! I only wanted to help, they weren’t supposed to stay dead! I didn’t mean for it to happen, it wasn’t supposed to vanish, they weren’t supposed to stay dead!” Cross howled with grief, clinging to Dust like his life depended on it.
The elder skeleton froze, the words washing over him and ringing with his own crushing guilt and grief that had held him captive for so long. He slowly wrapped his arms around the trembling body, pulling Cross into his lap and cradling the back of his skull, tears of his own pricking at the corners of his eyesockets.
“Please, please I miss them so much. Please make it stop hurting, please make the pain go away.” Cross weeped into his chest.
“Oh Kiddo, I’m so sorry.” Dust muttered as he held Cross even closer, tucking him under his chin and slowly rocking them back and forth. “I can’t take this pain from you, that’s something no one can do unfortunately. But this pain isn’t something to be scared of, isn’t something to run from. It will teach you important lessons, will help remind you of those you’ve lost.”
Cross sobbed, clutching at Dust’s hoodie tightly. “I don’t want to feel this way forever.”
“You won’t, I can promise you that.” Dust assured.
“How can you know?” Cross asked weakly.
“Because I don’t feel the way you do anymore. I’ve grown from my pain, I can think of those I killed, those I miss more than anything, and I can smile now. I still regret what I did, still feel the pain, but it’s dull now. It’s slowly being overshadowed by the love I still have for them and the love I have for my new family.” Dust said.
Cross looked up at him with wide eyes. “You killed them too?”
“I did, and I also did it cause I only wanted to help.” Dust sighed. He smiled down at the younger, gently holding his face with one hand as he rested their foreheads together. “It wasn’t your fault, Squirt. You were forced to make a decision no one your age should have.”
Cross whimpered, snuggling close. “I wish it didn’t have to hurt so much.”
“Yeah, me too Kiddo. But this pain you’re feeling, it’s not really pain. It’s simply love with nowhere left to go. It’s all the love you had for them and all the love you still have for them. And one day, you’ll learn to love someone the way you loved them once again.”
Once again, Cross gazed up at Dust with wide eyes. “Have you found people to love the way you used to love those you lost?”
And Dust stared back, felt his soul lurch with longing-grief-love-love-melancholy-love and smiled as he leaned down to nuzzle the top of the youngers skull. “Yeah Squirt, I think I have.”