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Killer is a flirt, a jokester, chaos incarnate and revels in pushing other people’s buttons and crossing lines not meant to cross. He’s constantly testing Nightmare’s patience, always seeing how far he can push Dust before the other throws him bodily across the room, always wanting to know how annoying he can be before Horror ties him to a chair in the corner. He’s a man child, likes to make light of serious situations and pull startled laughter from his teammates whenever he can. Many look at him and think he is incapable of having a serious bone in his body. Only his little family knows otherwise. Only they know how he struggled in the beginning, how much he’s grown, how hard he’s had to fight to heal from his trauma.
Killer is a jokester, but he knows when he needs to be gentle, when he needs to be comforting and understanding. He knew not to push Horror about his issues with food when he first arrived, knew not to confront Dust about his hallucinations of his deceased brother. He knew not to ask Nightmare about what happened to his goop covered eye or why he doesn’t allow apples into the castle. He knows when to be tactful, knows when jokes, teasing and pranks aren’t the right course of action. So he knows that he’ll have to be gentle and slow when it comes to their newest member, Cross.
When the monochrome skeleton had first been brought home by Nightmare, Killer had known right away that he’d have to be less intense and rambunctious around the other. For one, he was young, far younger than any of them had been when they were first taken in by Nightmare. At eighteen years of age the smaller is barely even a teenager in monster years and yet he’s got the haunted eyes of a battle hardened soldier twice his age. Killer can also tell almost immediately that the younger has suffered from some form of abuse, most likely physical and mental if his reactions to certain things are any indicator. He’s quiet and respectful in a fearful way, terrified of making a mistake or offending one of them in some way. He’s stand-offish when it comes to kindness, suspicious of every intention, wary of any hidden meaning that might be lurking in every conversation. He’s a ball of anxiety, a coiled spring of fear and self imposed expectations, a pot of boiling guilt, shame, regret and grief that was ready to explode.
Killer sees all of this and tones his normal personality down. He offers soft smiles, gentle words and silent support. He doesn’t push, doesn’t pick and dig, he waits and listens until he’s needed. He keeps a close eye on the other during missions, tries to keep him safe and out of trouble. Normally, they just head to an AU and cause some chaos to stir up negativity. Contrary to popular belief by other universes, they don’t kill if they don’t have too. Nightmare has always said that unless it’s life or death they are not to kill. This time though, it would seem Cross was unfortunately put into a situation where it was either his life or another’s.
Killer had lost sight of the youngest during a fight between the gang and a bunch of native Hotland residents. The AU was an Underfell variant, making the native monsters much more violent and willing to hurt and kill than others. For Killer, it felt like he’d blinked and suddenly, Cross was no longer in his line of sight and neither was one of the Royal Guardsmen that had been chasing them. His soul had dropped in horrified dread, target shape twisting into a smear of red and white as he started running around calling out for the other. Dust and Horror heard his slightly panicked cries and also began searching, all three fearing they would turn a corner and find a white jacket covered in dust. Killer eventually finds him, curled up into a dark corner staring down at his hands that are covered in blood and dust, eyes small and distant.
“Cross! Hey, hey, hey, look at me. Look at me buddy, are you hurt?” Killer asked, gently grabbing the smallers shoulders and feeling his worry skyrocket at the faint tremors he could feel running through the others body. Those small fuzzy eyelights looked up at him, through him, and Killer felt like screaming with worry. “Hey, you with me buddy? Can you tell me where you're hurt?”
Cross continued to stare for a few moments more before he blinked, looking back down at his shaking hands that Killer was slowly cradling in his own, turning them over to try and find any injuries. “I’m…I’m not hurt. It’s not, the blood, it’s not mine.”
“Okay, okay. Can you tell me what happened?” Killer asked, noting from the corner of his eye that Horror and Dust had found them as well.
“The guard, he wouldn’t stop chasing me.” Cross muttered, voice distant and eye’s shadowed. “I tripped, and I…I told him to stop, I told him! But he, I didn’t, he was going to kill me! He wouldn’t stop.”
“Easy Squirt, deep breaths.” Dust cut in, firm and grounding. Cross took a shuddering breath in, eyelights looking desperately up at them as he did so.
“I killed him. I know we’re not supposed to, I know, I’m sorry but, he wouldn’t stop!” Cross said.
“Shh, easy buddy. We know, you did the right thing. You did everything right.” Killer assured as he squeezed the others hands, ignoring how blood and dust rubbed against and between his joints. “Let’s get out of here, okay? We’ll go home and wash up and Horror will make a nice dinner. How’s that sound?”
Cross just looked at Killer in silence before giving a small hesitant nod. He stood on shaky legs, flinching away when Dust tried to offer him an arm to lean on. It wasn’t ideal to have him stumbling after them, but at least he was aware enough again to be wary of touch again like he normally was. Killer kept eyeing him the whole way back to the portal, watching how he just kept staring down at his hands with a far away look. He stays by the youngers side until they reach his bedroom, Killer ushering him inside with the promise to come fetch him before dinner.
He makes a point to actually go and report to Nightmare straight away for once, leaving out any jokes or stupid commentary and just giving the Guardian all the straight hard facts. He also makes sure to mention the incident with Cross, unease washing over him when Nightmare frowned in worry as he confirmed that Cross’ emotions were still turbulent and disconnected, as if he was mentally untethered from his own body. By this point it had been three hours since they returned to the castle and dinner would be ready in about twenty minutes so Killer decided to go and fetch the Oreo.
Arriving at the door, Killer once again decided to be mature for once and knocked respectfully instead of just barging in. He waited, rocking on the balls of his feet as the sense of something being wrong grew with each passing second. When nearly a whole minute had passed he knocked again, louder while also calling out for Cross. Killer clenched his teeth, pressing his skull against the door to try and hear anything inside. The only sound he could hear was the distant trickle of water from the en suite which had him frowning in confusion. Was Cross only just now cleaning himself up?
“Hey, Criss-Cross, I’m coming in!” Killer called out, waiting a moment more encase the other decided to finally answer back and being discouraged when they didn’t.
Stepping into the room, Killer notes that the lights are turned off with only the bathroom light being on. As usual, the bedroom is absolutely spotless, not a speck of dust or dirt to be seen, not a piece of clothing out of place and the bed made with militaristic precision. Cross was a neat freak, but not by choice. Killer and Nightmare had both picked up on the fact that it was a conditioned response, a learnt fear to have everything be perfect and tidy. They were working on it, slowly. At least outside of his bedroom Cross seemed somewhat willing to get dirty, something he’d done everything in his power to avoid when he first arrived.
With one last passing glance at the room, Killer made his way to the bathroom door that was wide open. He knew from the sound of running water that it wasn’t the shower, it was too quiet so it had to be the sink. Being inside the room also meant he could hear another sound, one that grated on his nonexistent ears, the sound of bone rubbing violently against bone. Soul sparking with worry-fear-worry-worry, Killer all but ran the last few steps to the bathroom, freezing in horror at the sight that greeted him.
Cross stood by the sink, water running at its max setting as he shoved his trembling bleeding hands underneath the stream. The water running off his hands was diluted with red/purple blood, the thin fragile bones rubbed raw from over three hours of constant scrubbing. Cross didn’t even seem to be aware of the damage he’d done to himself, eyelights still small and fuzzy, seeing something else entirely.
“لعنة الله عليه” Killer cursed as he rushed forward, snatching the smaller skeletons' wrists in a tight grip as he pulled them back from the sink and each other. The reaction was instant, Cross gave a loud scream of complete and utter terror as he began to thrash in Killer’s arms.
“No! Please, I’m sorry! Please no quise decir eso. Don’t hurt me! Don’t leave me! Lo siento, por favor.” Cross screamed as Killer wrestled them both to the floor where he held the younger in his lap, both wrists still kept firmly in his hold.
“Shh, you're alright Crossy. Wherever you think you are, you ain’t there. You’re okay, you’re okay, I’m here.” Killer soothed as the other continued to weep into his chest, a mixture of English and Spanish passing his teeth as he did so. They stay on the floor, both shedding tears and taking comfort from each other. At some point, Killer texted the others to inform them of the situation but to ask them to just let him handle it. He knows Nightmare is lurking in the shadows, ready to intervene should he need to, and he knows Horror has probably already left some food for them both outside Cross’ bedroom door, but other than that they respect his wishes and don’t come charging into the bathroom.
Once he’s sure that Cross has calmed down enough and isn’t going to do anything to hurt himself, Killer gently releases his wrists to instead cradle his hands. He eyes the bleeding scrapes, hisses in sympathy at the inflamed bones that tremble in his hold. “Oh kiddo, I’m sorry I didn’t come check on ya sooner.”
Cross gave a strangled cry as Killer began to cover his hands in weak green healing magic. It won’t completely fix the damage, but it will help lessen the pain as well as prevent infection until they can be properly wrapped up.
“The dust, it wouldn’t come off.” Cross whispered as Killer finished with the healing magic and had dug out a first aid kit from under the sink to cover his injured hands in antiseptic cream before wrapping them in bandages. Killer paused, his empty sockets gazing back at Cross who just stared at his bandaged hands. “I could still feel their dust on my hands, I had to get it off.”
Killer knows that Cross isn’t just talking about the Underfell guardsmen he’d killed. He knows, because he’d felt the same when he’d first arrived at the castle. Killer can still remember what it was like in those early days, when he was first picked up by Nightmare and brought into an environment where he had a chance to slow down and process things. He can still remember the guilt, the panic, the regret that finally had a chance to set in, still remember how Nightmare refused to numb him completely because the Guardian knew how important it was to feel these emotions. And eventually, that pain grew less prominent, the guilt less all consuming, the regret not as sharp. He learnt to live, learnt to forgive himself and he will do everything in his power to help Cross forgive himself as well.
He lifted a hand, gently cupping the side of the youngers face and rubbing his thumb along the red scar. Cross flinched at the initial contact, breath stuttering in his chest for a moment before he relaxed, leaning into the hand and gazing back at him with tear filled eyesockets. “It gets easier, Little Guard. One day, you’ll wake up and you’ll make your breakfast, will go for a training session, will read a book and watch TV, and you’ll realise that you haven’t thought about it at all. You’ll never truly forget it, but it won’t be all consuming.”
“Gods I hope you’re right.” Cross whispered tearfully. Killer smiled weakly back at him before wrapping his arms around the smaller, standing up and making his way to Cross’ bed. He collects the food from the door, sits beside his smallest teammate and allows Cross to pick a movie to watch on his phone while they eat. He has to help the other with eating seeing how his hands are completely out of action but he finds he doesn’t mind too much. It reminds him of nights spent staying up late with his brother, of hiding under the covers so they wouldn’t be caught as they whispered stories back and forth to one another. He looks at Cross who is still so young and has suffered so much and feels his soul twist. He hides it well though, smiling as drowsy eyelights look up at him from a tired face.
“You should get some sleep Kiddo. Nighty will want ta look at your hands tomorrow and you’ll need all your strength to deal with his mother henning.” Killer joked. It pulled a small smile from the other, though his face still looked anxious and worried at the prospect of sleep. It sparks an idea in Killer, one that has him shifting with his own sudden anxiety that he’s quick to push aside. His new little brother needs him, he won’t let his own hang ups stop him from being there for him.
He pulled Cross flush against his side, guiding his skull to be resting against his chest right beside his soul. The other tensed, looking up at him warily but Killer just gave a soft reassuring smile before he began to hum a tune under his breath. They stay like that for a bit, Killer humming softly while Cross slowly grew less tense. And then, Killer began to softly sing, the lullaby one he’d sung many times in his youth to a much younger Papyrus whenever his little brother couldn’t sleep. He sung it now, his native tongue filling the air and helping to lull Cross into a dreamless sleep even though he didn’t understand the words.
لقد غادر أحباؤنا الوطن
رحلوا دون أن يقولوا وداعًا...
عندما ذهبت إلى منزلهم ذات صباح لأحيي شجرة التوت
لم يكن أحد هناك ليدعوني للدخول...
لم أجد سوى طائر يبكي
أوقفني الندم وعلق قدماي على الأرض الشائكة...
سعيت عبثاً لأعرف ما حل بهم
من البيوت التي عاشوا فيها ذات يوم
يَا حَسْرَتِي، لَطَّخَتْ دُمُوعِي جُدْرَانَ بُيُوتِهِمْ...
يَا قَائِدَ الْقَافِلَةِ
إذا صادفتهم
أخبرهم أنني ما زلت أبكي عليهم
قل لهم أن عيني الحبيبة لم تغمض بعد في النوم
وَذَهَبَتِ اللَّيَالِي الطَّيِّبَاتُ الَّتِي ... كَانَ يَجِبُ أَنْ تَدُومَ إِلَى الأَبَدِ
أخبروا أحبابنا الذين رحلوا عنا
أن المشقة لا تدوم للأبد بالنسبة لأي شخص
لا يدوم إلى الأبد... لا يدوم إلى الأبد…
As the last note faded into the air a single red tear mingled with the black ones that constantly poured from Killer’s eyes. He looked down at Cross, pleased to see the other fast asleep and snuggled up against his chest. They would need to have a serious chat with Nightmare and the others tomorrow to help Cross know he wasn’t alone and to make sure something like this never happened again. But for now, Killer was content to lay back and drift off to sleep with his little brother held safely in his arms.