Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ink jumped through the portal, landing soundlessly on the ground below. Even as his feet touched the greying soil, he was struck with an onslaught of toxic negativity, thick and cloying. He repelled it as best as he could, weaving his own magic around himself and pushing the resulting fog, nearly tangible, away from the portal.

At his nod, his companion jumped through the portal, only to land with a crunch on the dead soil. Despite the rolling sheet of clouds over their heads that seemed to keep the world in a constant twilight at brightest, Cross’s armor gleamed, ever battle-ready.

He made a face as soon as he took in their surroundings. “Why this place? It looks like it’s in an even worse shape than any of Nightmares’s other worlds.”

Ink surveyed the area around him, scrutinizing the empty hills and valleys around them. He couldn’t see anything… yet. “I’m honestly not sure myself. Just… a hunch. Bear with me, will you?” At Cross’ nod, he began walking towards the one landmark in the endless sea of hills- a cobbled path of stones.

The landscape around them seemed wrong, somehow. The soil was too dry, and the air had a stillness to it that felt uncomfortable to break. Ink privately thought that the toxic fog around them was almost whispering to him to drop his barrier, and let them both be consumed by the negativity.

He kept walking.

Ink startled as Cross started speaking, having almost forgotten he was there. “This fog, Ink. I’ve never seen anything like it. How did you manage to get in here?”

Ink spoke over his shoulder. “I don’t know. I just happened to glance over it and saw the access codes… flickering. I’ve never seen anything like it, so I took the chance.”

Ink was more perplexed by their entrance than he let on. Normally, worlds with any amount of toxic negativity took at least some effort to break into. His natural affinity towards world codes was often at odds with the shroud of toxicity so often covering them, making doing almost anything while affected take more effort and time than it should have.

Lives had been lost as Ink struggled to get into worlds, before.

But their entrance into this dark, dead world, more filled with negativity than anything he had seen before? It had gone as smoothly as stepping into the Doodle Sphere. Seamless and quick. Like he was supposed to be able to do anywhere. It felt as though, instead of having to travel to it, the world had simply opened itself to him.

Cross tapped his shoulder, startling him, and he realized he had been in his own head again. Ahead of them, the stone path they were on diverged, splitting off into a crossroads. Ink couldn’t see where the path led, the haze around them blocking most of their sight. With a rumble from Broomie, Ink pushed the fog back further, until it stopped about a stones throw away from the two of them.

Cross gasped, his eyes on the ground, and Ink followed his gaze. Weathered stones lay around them, so eroded as to barely be noticeable, forming geometric patterns that Ink couldn’t quite make out. A message? Art? He couldn’t quite make out what-

“They’re building foundations.” Cross pointed at one of the lines of stones with a small jut facing out. “That would have been a door, leading-“ he traced his finger to the path, “to the road.”

Ink cocked a brow at him. “You sure? I’ve not seen too many houses with stones only at the bottom.”

Cross nodded. “Cottages. You don’t see them often underground, and surfaces are usually cities. These are more… rural.” At Ink’s inquisitive look, he glanced down. “We used to live in them. Before, well- In one of the first timelines.”

Ink silently cursed himself. It wasn’t often that Cross would talk about his time in Xtale. He quickly pivoted instead. “Well, cottages mean people lived here, at some point. But this rubble is old. All this might have been destroyed before most universes existed.“ He offered his hand to Cross. “Shall we continue? I think we might be getting close.”

Cross took his hand, and they continued on, taking the right path. The building rubble got more cluttered as they went on, implying that they were moving towards the center. As they passed what may have been a town square, Ink came up short as the rubble suddenly stopped at the base of a hill.

Cross stopped short beside him. “Whatever is up there, they didn’t want to build near it. Look.” He gestured, showing that the line of buildings wrapped around the base of the hill as far as he could see.

Before he could psyche himself out, he took a grounding breath and marched upwards, towards the peak, hearing the soft clinking of Cross’s armor trailing behind him. Whatever was up there was enough to stop the villagers from expanding, but they clearly also built around it. As he neared the summit, he braced himself for anything that this strange, dead universe could have prepared for him. An enemy. A trap. Maybe he was being crazy, and was simply about to find the world edge.

Instead, he found a statue.

It was a carving of a small skeleton, wearing an equally small crown. It was dressed in a lined tunic, with a cape pressed to its back. Both of its hands were pressed above where its Soul would be, covering a wound that punctured straight through its rib cage. By far the strangest part of the statue was its pose. It knelt at the base of a tree stump, bent forward far enough that its forehead would almost have been resting on the tree, had it still been alive.

Ink released his grip on Broomie, something he hadn’t even realized he had been doing. Feeling rather miffed at how anticlimactic the hilltop had been, he looked to Cross, only to see him looking just as confused.

“This is it?” Ink looked around for more rubble, but there was none.

Cross walked up and poked at the head of the statue, his usually guarded expression now replaced with curiosity. “Huh. Maybe they worshipped the statue up here? Or the tree?”

Ink chimed in. “Maybe they used the hill to look around? It’s pretty tall.”

“Maybe a building that was here fully crumbled.”

“Maybe they hung a basket on the statue and had a picnic.

Cross laughed. A simple, pure sound that made the dark fog outside of their barrier hiss and steam. Ink wondered how long it had been since this world had heard laughter.

He looked a bit sheepish. “Heh. Nerves must be getting to me.” As Ink moved to say something, Cross’s expression sharpened and his hand moved to one of his swords. Ink turned, his hand back on Broomie, to what Cross was looking at…

Only to see the statue cracking.

The both of them backed up, having fought together for long enough to move without needing to speak. The statue continued cracking, leaving Ink tense as he stood ready, his bones taught with tension. The cracks spread from where the Soul would be on the statue, leaving a slow expansion of crumbling stone around it.

Just as the Ink felt he was about to snap from the tension, the front of the stone fully crumbled, revealing the inside of the carved sarcophagus.

And a small skeleton fell into Ink’s arms.

Chapter Text

Touch was the first sense to return.

His back was pressed against something soft, with more of the plushness covering his body. His whole body felt light, impossibly so. He felt so free! Whatever this dream was, he hoped he didn’t wake up anytime soon.

The rest of his senses slowly trickled back to him. Distantly, he could hear the sounds of birds chirping. He hadn’t even realized how long it had been since he had last heard the birds sing until now. He also smelled something fruity in the air. It reminded him of when he and Nightmare would go down to the village market, on the rare occasion that he would be able to peel his brother away from the tree. If he had worked really hard that week, one of the merchants would sometimes give him a pastry, which he and Night would eat under the stars.

Then there was a clang of metal on metal from below him, and his eyes shot open.

He was laying on his back in the softest bed he had ever felt, tucked under perfectly crisp sheets, the corners creased with military precision. As his eyes slowly adjusted to the light, he saw he was in one of the strangest houses he had ever seen. The walls were perfectly white and smooth, with several paintings hung around it adorning them, and not a single candle was lit anywhere. Instead, a single small square protruding from the wall gave the whole room a dim light, much like the ghostlights that the village scribes had worked under.

As he moved to sit up, his whole body gave a shudder in warning. Any amount of movement irritated his bones, and even the bed of pure fluff under him felt like coarse sand under his fingers. Far more carefully, and with the utmost gentleness, he inched his way up. Even with the endless, crushing pressure removed from his bones, he still felt far too weak. Twice, his arm gave out from under him, leaving him to collapse back on his back with tears of frustration in his eyes.

Don’t cry. You’re supposed to make everyone else happy. You can’t do that if you cry.

On his third try, Dream managed to get an elbow under himself and push his uncooperative body into a sitting position. Panting with the effort, he took a second to get a better look around him.

His bed was in the corner of the room, with little but an empty bookshelf and a single dresser with a strange device on top to keep the numerous paintings company. There was a carpet, finer than any Dream had seen before, that furnished the entire room, stopping at the only door to the room, where it transitioned to a wood floor that led into the beginnings of a hallway.

With a sudden urge to move, he kicked the blankets around him away with a burst of energy, leaving him light-headed and shivering with the cold. He swung his bare feet off of the bed and marveled at the softness of the carpeting below him. Anything would feel better than stone.

Keeping one hand pressed on the bed to steady himself, Dream slowly stood. His head was pounding, his leaden bones grating on each other, and his magic was swirling uncomfortably in his core, yet he couldn’t stop smiling. He was moving, and Mother forbid he let any slight discomfort stop him.

He gracelessly took a step towards the door, and then another, trailing his hand along the wall. With some effort, he made it an the way to the hall. It appeared to have a simple layout, with only four doors, leading to a staircase at the end of the hall. While two of the doors were closed, Dream was able to get a glimpse of the room adjacent to his, which appeared to be an office of some kind, with a large wooden desk taking up a good portion of the room. While many of the art pieces he had seen had appeared masterful, the ones in this room seemed far less experienced. Many of the brushstrokes appeared splotchy or thin, much like Dream’s own did when he used to paint for fun.

Continuing on to the stairs, Dream heard the clanging sounding again. However, being nearer, he was able to make out more details, hearing a clinking along with the clanging.

Cooking, he realized. Wanting to get a better look at who was in this strange house with him, Dream padded down the stairs as quietly as he could. Although the stairs were wood, his bones felt light enough that he could sneak anywhere without a sound.

Clutching the handrail, he emerged into what he assumed was a kitchen. The person making the noises was bent over, apparently putting something inside one of the many large metal machines in the walls. He closed the door to his box, dusted off his hands, and turned, only for both monsters to freeze.

“Nigh-“

“You’re awake!” The taller person turned out to be another skeleton monster. While Dream had initially thought that he was his brother, he began to see the differences between them. For one thing, this skeleton was far taller than either of the twins had been, and with a slightly different facial structure. He also had a shockingly red scar under his right eye, giving a break in color from the rest of his monochrome form. He wore a thick white jacket, with black accents and a large X in the center. Underneath it, Dream could barely make out the glint of armor, explaining some of the bulk on the other skeleton.

Other than the species, the main resemblance to his brother was the light purple eyelids. Even those were a different shade, though. His were a light violet, while his brother had always had a lovely lavender color, no matter how faded and greyed it looked when he swore that he was fine, and had merely tripped again. Eyelights that had been replaced entirely by that one, piercing cyan that had chilled him to his core and made his bones feel like lead.

He realized that he had been staring. Oops. The other monster had probably said something. “I’m sor-“ he was unable to finish his words, breaking into a cough with shock at how hoarse his voice sounded.

The larger skeleton rushed to steady him. “Easy, buddy. You were out for a while.” He offered his arm, which Dream gratefully took, allowing himself to be guided over to a small nook with a table and chairs. Once he was firmly seated, the other monster bustled back to the kitchen, where he got a glass from a cabinet above him and filled it with water from somewhere. Dream was too out of it to care much about where it came from, until the taller skeleton placed the glass in front of him. Dream took it in his shaking hands and greedily downed the whole glass, spilling water down his front in his haste.

“Easy bud. Let’s take things slow. You were out for a while.” When Dream blearily looked at him, he continued. “So… my name is Cross. What’s yours?”

“I’m… Dream.” He was shocked at how much more steady his voice sounded already. “Where am I?”

Cross let out a short puff of breath, then took a seat across from Dream at the table. “Well, that’s complicated. We are in my house, in the Omega Timeline. This is a place that many people come to live, and acts as a sort of bridge between universes.” He waited then, checking how Dream would react to that information. When he just stared numbly, Cross continued. “We found you in your universe, but you were unconscious and didn’t look healthy, so we took you back here so that you could rest up. You’ve been out for about a week.“

Dream took a second to process this influx of information before blurting out, “So, does everyone live like this?” At Cross’ confused expression, he clarified. “In a house, like this one? With all the softness and the water whenever you want?”

At this, Cross chuckled. Catching himself at Dream’s earnest look, he answered “Yeah, for the most part. Some monsters have specialized habitats they need, and some people choose different types of houses to live in, but for the most part, yeah.”

“How many universes are there!”

Cross kept grinning at this, clearly having expected different questions. “I dunno kid. We keep finding new ones, and as far as the OT council can tell, more and more seem to be able to travel between each other every day. In the past few years, I swear the amount of people moving in here has doubled.” At this, Dream saw his smile become a little more forced, but was too preoccupied to think why.

He was nervous. He had another question he wanted to ask, but was afraid of the answer. Spit it out, the villagers would have told him. But Cross just waited patiently for him to ask.

“What- What year is it?”

Cross’s grin faded too, leaving him looking pensive. Unlike others had when giving him an uncomfortable answer, Cross didn’t dance around the question. “Kid,” he said, locking eyes with Dream. “It's 761 D.C.”

Dream started shaking, his smile becoming overly wide.

And he retched with a stomach that had been empty for 500 years.