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Ink went too deep.
He had led the Stars into another one of Nightmares traps. It was a common mistake, a usual occurrence, nothing too worrying. The Stars were strong, strong enough to fight off Nightmares gang.
Usually. Today hadn't been 'usual'.
Blue had almost died. Because of Ink. Because Ink went too deep.
Ink usually took some yellow before fights with Nightmares gang. It made it easier to talk to the wayward Sanses the way Dream and Blue did— good-natured and forgiving. But he had already taken yellow not too long before. Too much yellow made him air-headed and forgetful, useless in a fight that wasn't his own. He hadn't thought to check in on Blue, make sure he was okay.
And now Blue was hurt. Because of Ink. Because Ink went too—
"Ink?" The muddled sound of Dream's voice. Ink wishes he could speak, tell Dream to go away. He didn't need help. He didn't deserve it. Blue was hurt because of him. Dream should leave Ink alone and take care of Blue.
Heeled boots tap closer to his spot on the floor, curled up tight around a vial of blue. Ink stashes the vial away in his sash when the footsteps come to a stop a few feet away from him. Ink watches Dream's shadow as he reaches out to touch him, before flinching back.
Ink's phalanges twitch, wanting desperate to take more blue, feel more than he already did, but he knew Dream would take it again if he saw the pitiful amount of paint left in the vial. Blue was the only color Ink wasn't allowed to take as he wanted. It made him sluggish, sick, unable to work.
Useless.
So Dream made sure he didn't take too much. If he did, Dream was allowed to keep the vial until all the blue was flushed from Ink's system. Ink didn't like blue anyway, the taste was dull and the feeling it invoked made him feel flayed open, raw.
Ink must have gotten too absorbed in his thoughts, because he didn't notice Dream bridge the gap between them, crouching in front of Ink's spot and setting a hand on his shoulder.
"Ink," Dream says, in the soft tone that makes Ink feel full with artificial emotion, "Give me the vial."
Ink curls up tighter instinctually, staying silent. Maybe if he kept ignoring him, Dream would stop asking.
Maybe if he kept ignoring him, Dream would stop caring.
Ink hoped Dream would stop caring. Then he could take all the blue he wanted. Swim in an ocean of grief and sorrow forever. Undisturbed and undying, a being made up of nothing but bones and blue.
Dream's slack grip on his shoulder tightens, bringing him back.
"I need the vial, Ink." Dream sounds different, exhausted. Ink is suddenly reminded of the burden that sits on Dream's shoulders, not unlike Ink's own. Dream doesn't have a vial of joy to help cheer him up, he has Blue…
and Ink.
"I'm sorry," Ink whispers. He sits up properly, all the blue he'd consumed making him horribly nauseous. Dream holds out a hand, and Ink drops the nearly empty vial into it.
Dream doesn't even glance at it, tucking it into his belt and holding his arms out in a silent offer.
Ink doesn't care for physical affection unless he's taken pink, which is almost never. Ink doesn't care. Ink can't care. He collapses into Dreams arms anyway.
Here, in the arms of happiness, Ink feels safe.