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Twas the Gyftmas season.
The season of giving. Gifts or bullshit—sometimes both, perhaps in the simple form of a sock left upon the floor.
The season of Santa. Fanciful stories filled with a childlike wonder. Eyes that would sparkle as they imagined a simpler form of magic, used for spreading cheer and joy…only to dim at betrayal so unfathomable that it shouldn’t have been more than a terrible dream.
The season of lights. Colorful ones framing a home…or the blinding white of endless, silent snow.
The season of family.
Dust hadn’t meant to think about any of these things. They flitted into his mind unwelcome as he lay in bed, too unmotivated to bring himself to do…anything really.
‘You can think about me, Sans. All the wonderful times we had together,’ the voice sneered, too sarcastic to ever truly be his brother’s.
A distortion of reality that he fully deserved; that all those ones should bleed into his own now. The same had happened before, to Papyrus, after the first few times.
‘Sans, I had the most terrible dream!’ he would proclaim, innocent in his disbelief even as Dust stood before him wanting nothing more than to make the madness finally end.
His bones were cold, perpetually so, but he couldn’t bring himself to seek the warmth of his blanket. Not when his brother’s dust had been left in the snow.
It didn’t matter anyways. The cold came from inside; his Soul painfully fragile, ready to shatter at the slightest tap.
But that’s just what the holidays did to him.
They made him remember.
“Fuck, I can’t—” shaking his head with a strained whisper. “I told them I would try and that doesn’t mean lying in bed and letting all of these things…consume me.”
For their sake. For the ones who were still here.
He couldn’t imagine why they had chosen to entangle themselves with him. Why they loved him when he was such a mess.
But the fact was that they had. And their emotional state, in part, depending on him getting his shit together and keeping it together.
For the holidays.
For them.
He needed to find something to distract himself with—to keep his mind busy and stop the spiral that was always just in his peripheral.
“It means you’re gonna have to move,” he said, eyelights glancing down to the feline that had chosen to lounge against his hip. “There’s no way you’re even comfortable in that position.”
Green eyes looked back at him with knowledge that superseded their language barrier, uncaring for his judgements or desires. Why this animal had chosen his room to wander into, he couldn’t fathom. Not when Killer had spaces set up specifically for them that were surely more suitable.
“Which one are you again?” he asked deadpanned. It was a falsity—Dust knew this one was called Sour Cream, after its soft white coat. But it was better to not let it know that seeing as how it already felt entitled to his space.
Despite Dust’s standoffish demeanor, Sour Cream was unrushed in his movements, stretching to the fullest extent of his spine before readjusting himself slightly to the left, curling into a ball and promptly resuming his nap.
Dust took the moment to slip out, silently acknowledging the fact that his transgression would result in an exceptional amount of fur to deal with later.
“At least warm the bed up while I’m gone,” Dust chuffed with a roll of his eyes, slipping his feet into his well-worn slippers and exiting his room, careful to leave the door cracked for when the mischievous intruder decided to depart.
He had no destination in mind. No desire to partake in festive preparations or spoil the good mood of his partners that did.
But he needed some air. And hopefully it would help to clear his mind. He could use a bit of a mental reset restart.
As it turned out, walking alone with only your own psychosis for company did very little to dissuade dark thoughts from filtering in.
‘Am I so easily forgotten?’ the phantom quipped, its words familiar but painful nonetheless.
He would not humor it with a response. Would not play into its sadism or his madness.
He needed to focus on something else. Something other than the crunch of snow beneath his own feet as he wandered the castle outskirts. Although humorlessly, he couldn’t help but note how easily he fell into the routine of walking alone in the winter weather. As if he hadn’t had enough of it time after time after time…
At the very least, it wasn’t always winter here. Weather in Nightmare’s domain was a cyclical, though somewhat unpredictable thing. A natural cycle, as it had been explained to them, although their shared confusion at the concept bolstered their confidence that perhaps this was something their Boss simply desired without wanting to say as such. Until Cross came, and seconded the experience as an event of the natural order.
A surface dweller thing, as it turned out.
‘Remember your jealousy, knowing they could see the stars and we never would? Your anger at the injustice of it all.’
He didn’t want to be angry, although it would be far too easy to fall into that mindset. Even now, his LV was an ever-present reminder, brimming just beneath his bones, waiting for any opportunity to surface and grow…
The tension of it caused him to startle at the familiar sound of Horror’s axe, suddenly breaking the oppressive silence. His fingertips were alight instantly, prepared to summon a bone attack as he rushed further into the wooded surroundings of the castle proper.
Another thud, louder this time as he drew near, revealed an unhurried, rhythmic swing completely different than that of one in combat. Dust slowed his steps, relieved as the sound proceeded, although the spark of pent-up magic would take a few hours to settle.
A result of his own idiocy. He needed to not let himself jump to such unwarranted conclusions. That was how the LV took over.
“Watch out!”
Horror’s call preceded the sharp crack of wood splitting, the tree groaning as it was toppled harmlessly to Dust’s side.
He blinked at the felled thing, as if it would jump up to proclaim its distaste for such a barbaric show. When it did not, he looked to Horror instead, who simply grinned from where he stood, bundled in his warm winter clothing with his axe upon his shoulder.
“What are you doing?”
“I chopped the tree down!” he proclaimed, pointing towards it as if that explained everything.
“I see that…but why did you do it?” he asked carefully. There were times that Horror’s mind led him astray. Moments where there had been some grand idea that simply flitted away until only shreds of the concept remained. “We had plenty of wood for the fireplace in storage. Did you need more for something?”
“Nah, Cross said we needed a whole tree inside. You know, to decorate,” he explained with a shrug.
Dust wasn’t unfamiliar with the concept. After all, decorating the town tree was one of Papyrus’ favorite activities during the Gyftmas season. But they’d never brought an entire tree indoors for such a thing.
But then again, Cross came from an unusual world with unusual customs. The disappointment on his face had been palpable when he realized that none of them had celebrated Gyftmas since joining Nightmare’s crew, as the Boss had no concept of the practice.
But instead of letting it die, Cross was determined to bring it here. Their first Gyftmas together as a band of misfits and murderers.
“I think it’s because they lived in a city,” Horror surmised. “Too many buildings to grow a proper Gyftmas tree.”
“Or perhaps with all the access to nutrients and sunlight, they have so many Gyftmas trees that there’s enough for everyone to have their own,” Dust shrugged. “And then they can decorate them however they want.”
“That’s a good theory too! We’ll have to ask Cross for more details once I drag it back,” Horror said, reaching towards his shoulder to grab his---
…
His bag. That was normally slung over his shoulder, a silly rucksack thing that was helpful for carrying junk around, since Horror’s inventory no longer functioned.
The realization hit both of them at the same time, each blinking awkwardly at the missing object. Horror’s hand absently moved to rub at his cracked skull instead, a look of frustration overtaking his features.
“Well, shit,” he cursed. “I packed rope to tie this thing up and drag it back. It’s probably sitting in the kitchen. Or my bedroom. Or maybe I didn’t pack it at all and just walked right out the door with the thought of it.”
It had been bad lately, Dust noticed. But they had moments like these, where his injury left Horror forgetful and absentminded.
Which isn’t bad for having a huge chunk of your skull missing, in his opinion. But it was little consolation to Horror, who was notoriously hard on himself when this happened.
“Don’t wait out here, Dust. That thin jacket of yours isn’t going to keep you warm,” his partner waved him off, clearly embarrassed with himself as he bent down to grab at the trunk of the tree.
If he meant to drag it by hand, he’d have a hell of a time. Horror’s body might have stood a chance at recovering under Nightmare’s attentive care if he hadn’t had such a disruption to his magic. But without it, he would always be rather fragile.
And it was quite a large tree. Probably picked a big one to make Cross smile.
Lovable dork.
“Hold on, maybe I can help…” Dust suggested, knowing that if Horror continued on this path, he’d be limping around with a tweaked spine for the next few days.
The fact that he needed an excuse to drain his magic reserves was a convenient bonus. This way perhaps he could be useful rather than having to interrupt everyone’s good mood with a sparring session and worry them.
With a flick of his wrist, he summoned a series of small, blunted bones beneath the log, lifting the hefty item enough from the ground that hopefully the bristles would be preserved. With a little fenagling, he managed to coordinate the bones into a slow-rolling train, carefully moving their cargo forward towards the castle.
An excited ‘ohh’ slipped from Horror’s lips as he caught onto the idea, grabbing his axe once more and falling into step at Dust’s side.
The act required more dexterity and concentration than he was accustomed to. Whereas his LV allotted him with ample magic with which to make sharp, aggressive attacks and fling them in staggering amounts towards an enemy, it was significantly more precise to keep that volatile energy tamped down now. Add the challenge of having a couple dozen of them moving independently of one another, and he’d surely feel like he’d had a full workout by the time they reached home.
But something prickled against the back of his neck. The uncanny feeling of being watched twinging at his senses…
He turned his eyes away, only to meet Horror’s softened gaze and honest smile.
“You’re really amazing, you know that?” he said with genuine sincerity. “I’m really lucky you came out this way.”
It brought an immediate flush to his cheeks, words lost to him as his partner’s honest proclamation made his Soul swell in a way he was far too unused to. But this was new to them as well, wasn’t it? This big relationship with so many complicated feelings…
The sudden crack of a branch breaking snapped his attention back to the task at hand, cursing himself for losing focus with the simple compliment. Horror laughed at his embarrassment, nudging him playfully in the arm as they continued their trek back in peaceful silence.
Thankfully Cross spotted their approach, coming to meet them at the door and carry the tree to its final destination. It saved Dust from having to try and spare the carpeting; the effort to this point leaving him pleasantly sore with a light sheen of sweat coating his bones.
“Thanks, love,” Horror whispered, his tone both sweet and sultry, like an unspoken promise to return the favor later. It didn’t help that he leaned down shamelessly into Dust’s personal space to grace him with a gentle kiss to his cheek.
The hood tugged over his head was hardly enough to cover the blush that coated his face, although Horror was merciful enough to let it slide, turning back to chase Cross down the hallway as they continued their task.
For himself, however, a nap was most certainly in order. The rapid rise and depletion of magic was always enough to leave him drained, and his bed was surely—
—waiting for him, cold and silent, just as it was every other time he’d needed to crawl beneath the covers in a vain attempt to hide from his sins, depleted both physically and emotionally from the destruction wrought by his own hand.
‘Not the bed then,’ he thought bitterly. It was frustrating, how despite his best efforts to not fall into the well of depression, there were times it seemed to cling to him at every turn. Brought forward by even the slightest of triggers, with his memories all too eager to fill in the blanks.
He was trying to be better.
The library then. The smell of books and lingering presence of Nightmare’s energy was always enough to make for a peaceful napping spot. It was one of the reasons the Boss had a couch placed in the room to begin with.
A simple jaunt through spacetime saw him sitting upon that very couch in the blink of an eye. Immediately, the aura within the room brought a heavy, overburdened sigh to slip from him, welcoming him to let go of his troubles for a time.
He was exhausted, and all too eager to be encompassed by the blissful unconsciousness that came with a proper rest. Dust flopped to his side, letting his slippers fall anywhere that wasn’t the upholstery. Grabbing the couch pillow like a lifeline, he buried his face into its softness, eagerly awaiting the moment that darkness would overtake him.
He hadn’t expected a blanket to be slipped atop him wordlessly, nor the tentacle that gently brushed the side of his face in a lover’s caress. It would have flustered him more, but being in Nightmare’s presence always brought a peaceful mellow to his Soul, as though any lingering negativity was simply being absorbed by the powerful monster nearby.
This was good. He could fall asleep listening to the soft shuffle of Nightmare’s feet and the gentle turning of pages. Just enough to keep his mind occupied with a pleasant imagery.
A page, or two, or three, turned in quick succession—perhaps trying to find a previous place?
The covers closed with a nearly inaudible thwap. Not the correct book then? Research instead of pleasure.
Another one slid from the shelf, softly placed upon the table before the rustling of pages began once more.
This one showed some promise, the sounds dying down as Nightmare’s attentive eye surely scoured the words for information.
Only for it to be suddenly shut, quietly aggressive, followed by the creak of the spine—as if someone were strangling the book.
Welp, that wasn’t good.
Dust slowly peered over the back of the couch towards the table that Nightmare stood before. Sure enough, the book in question was glared upon with an accusatory stare and displeased frown before being cast aside in a growing pile of other rejects.
“Not the right one?” he asked.
Not having realized he was being observed, Nightmare’s head turned towards him now, his features softening the barest amount with regret.
“Apologies,” he said. “I hadn’t meant to keep you awake.”
As if Dust hadn’t been the one to interrupt his research, but he let the comment slide.
“What are you looking for?” he asked instead.
Nightmare sighed heavily. “Information regarding the proper rituals surrounding Gyftmas. Cross has been rather invested in making this event a successful one and I wished to offer whatever resources I could. But this is a tradition that I am not familiar with and it turns out there is a great deal of variation depending on location and timeframe. I’m growing rather frustrated.”
“Couldn’t you just ask Cross about it?”
“Yes, except I’ve been told before that my “body language” is “aggressively unimpressed” when receiving information that does not meet my standards. I thought it would be best to prepare myself ahead of time so as to not dampen Cross’s spirit.”
The statement brought an amused snort to Dust, as it was far too easy to imagine the words coming from Killer’s mouth and directly to Nightmare’s aggressively unimpressed face.
Regarding the topic at hand, however, Nightmare was right. Even in Dust’s own travels the past few years, he’d noticed a number of unusual variations to the Gyftmas event of his own world. For someone with no experience whatsoever, it would be easily overwhelming to try and discern which information was closest to their own.
Particularly since those worlds were dead now. It didn’t make for the easiest dinner conversation.
Something stirred within him, a conflicted feeling that Nightmare immediately latched onto with a curious brow. Thankfully, he waited, giving Dust the moment he needed to sort through the sudden wave of sadness that threatened to fill him.
“I think I have something that will help,” he said carefully, opening his inventory to pull forward a book that he had stored.
It had been a stupid thing that he’d found a few weeks ago. A children’s book that was identical to one from his own universe. A nagging voice compelled him to take it, to hold onto it…
To stare at it when he was alone at night. And remember his crimes.
But he was trying to be better. And perhaps this was just another step in that path.
“Here, take this one. The customs are similar to Killer and Horror’s experiences. Perhaps a bit different from Cross’s, considering XGaster probably removed anything he didn’t personally like, but I’d bet money that it’s close enough,” he muttered, his eyes grazing across the cover one last time before turning and handing it to Nightmare.
The dark prince looked at the book curiously.
“Fluffy Bunny Prepares for Gyftmas,” he read aloud. “A children’s book.”
And one of Papyrus’ favorites this time of the year.
“Yeah. It simplifies all the basics. You can’t go wrong.”
Nightmare was quiet, contemplative, as he flipped carefully through the book. It was exposing, in a strange way, as if opening the pages to a piece of his own life for Nightmare to view, along with all the sad, complicated emotions that went along with it.
Perhaps that’s why the Boss was being so gentle with it.
“Thank you, Dust. This will do perfectly,” Nightmare smiled, taking the item and tucking it safely away. “But I believe I cut short your rest. Allow me to make it up to you.”
Even as Nightmare walked to join him on the couch, a stray tentacle slithered to one of the nearby shelves, carefully plucking a familiar book from its place.
Dust couldn’t remember how this routine started. He hadn’t always been of the soundest mind, after all. But it was something new that he looked forward to.
The pillow was situated upon Nightmare’s lap, perfect for Dust to lay his head and let his eyes slip shut once more. The blanket was tugged up to cover his shoulders, encouraging a comfortable rest.
And the smooth, low drawl of Nightmare’s reading voice drowned out any that would have tried to worm into his mind, coaxing him into a peaceful slumber.
He couldn’t be certain what time it was, only that his metaphorical stomach was rumbling and there was always food to be found in the kitchen.
Which made his next task easy.
And while he could have teleported, Cross had mentioned that stretching his legs was important, that it would regulate his magic more evenly and promote bone health, etcetera etcetera…
So, for Cross, he would try to be just a little bit healthier.
Nightmare’s castle was strangely expansive, considering only five of them lived here. Perhaps at one point the Boss had the intention of turning it into an entire compound? Gathering a large following of people and turning the flock into a cult—
He really needed some food.
And apparently, he wasn’t the only one.
“Crouton~! Crouton~! Where are you, you fat bastard?” Killer shouted, shaking the bag of cat treats from his place on the floor. Dust watched as the other crawled around, checking behind curtains and décor.
“I don’t think he’s going to be in the vent,” Dust said deadpanned.
“Well I didn’t expect him to escape my room either, but now who knows what he’s capable of!?” Killer protest, shaking the treats once more. “But maybe he’ll hear it from wherever he’s hiding.”
‘This is why dogs are better,’ his phantom mocked. ‘But perhaps that’s why he names all the felines after food. He’s going to give them to Horror once they’re fattened up. Maybe Crouton got wise to the scheme.’
“Why do you care where he’s hiding anyway?” Dust said, ignoring the voice. “You always let the cats roam free. Hell, one of them was in my room this morning. Just put out some food and wait for him to come back in a few days.”
“But he was sick!” Killer protest, turning to face Dust fully. It was only then he could see the genuine concern; his eyes dripping with far too much emotion…
Dust sighed, “Alright…where did you see him last?”
“In my room! I was keeping him there until he felt better, so he wouldn’t make the other cats sick too. But when I got back, the door was cracked open and he wasn’t in there!” he exclaimed.
“Did you check the kitchen? Maybe he went for more food or water.”
“Yup. And the cat room. Nothing.”
“We have a cat room?”
“Yeah, of course. I can’t keep all their toys and trees in the hallway,” Killer grinned, like it was obvious.
“…does Nightmare know we have a cat room?” Dust pressed with a quirk of his brow.
“Of course he probably does! But Crouton wasn’t there either even though it’s got one of his favorite napping beds.”
Dust couldn’t speak much in terms of feline habits, but from a logical perspective, it wouldn’t make sense for an unwell cat to want to travel away from all its mortal comforts. If it were him, he’d find a quiet, dark place to nap in.
“You know, I spotted some of the others messing around with Cross’s decorations over in the living room,” Dust noted, walking down the hallway towards one of the nearby storage rooms. Cross had repurposed one for holiday items, and had been in and out the past few days, possibly with just enough time for an intruder to sneak their way in unnoticed…
Opening the door, the room was uneventfully plain, if not meticulously organized with perfectly labeled totes. Immediately, they each noticed a small pile of stray tinsel—something that Cross would have cleaned the moment it fell.
“He was in here!” Killer exclaimed, quickly shaking his bag of treats once more. “Crouton! Come on out! I’ve got your favorite snack!”
A food motivated beast, much like Horror, Dust thought absently. A crooked smile slipped onto his face at the thought of what might happen if Killer attempted much of the same with their partner.
He might find himself missing a few fingers.
They shuffled boxes around carefully, checking nooks and crannies for any further signs of life. Upon hitting the far wall, however, Dust couldn’t help but turn his nose to an unusual odor.
‘I suppose if it’s sick, it makes sense why it doesn’t want treats,’ he thought, careful not to give any outward indication until he found something. ‘Please just don’t be dead back here.’
Dust didn’t care much for animals the way others did. He respected their prowess, certainly, but would never go so far as Killer did to house and pamper them.
But so long as Killer loved these creatures, Dust would wish for them to thrive as well. He hated to see Killer invest such emotional energy into something, only to be crushed and lean dangerously back into unfeeling as a way to guard himself.
Stepping further in, a cardboard box had been tipped over, a number of blankets it had held now sprawled onto the floor. Quietly, Dust peered into it, steeling himself for whatever state the animal might be in.
Only to blink down in surprise, his hand coming to rub across his face with the inevitable headache he was in for.
“I found your cat,” he said flatly.
Killer perked up from across the room, quickly jumping over a few boxes to reach them.
“Crouton!” he exclaimed with relief, only to freeze much the same at the sight of him. “Wait, where did all these kittens come from?”
“They came from Crouton, you idiot,” Dust chuffed. “Also, congratulations, you’re a father of five more cats. Have fun telling Nightmare.”
If Killer held any concerns, none showed as an elated grin spread across his face. He dropped to his knees to coo at the newborns, petting their mother approvingly. “All this time I made fun of you for having your pair chopped off,” he chuckled. “Turns out you were playing the long game after all, you little minx.”
With a shake of his head, Dust slipped away to let his partner manage the growing brood. All the activity had only made him hungrier for a snack—and he should probably tell Cross he wasn’t going to want to use those blankets.
“Hey Dust.”
He stopped, turning back, uncertain if he’d be needed further. Would he need to bring them extra food and water? If that was the case, he was definitely teleporting—
“Thank you,” Killer said, the words carrying such Soulful sincerity that it brought a flush to Dust’s cheeks.
“Uh, yeah, of course. Don’t mention it,” he muttered, pulling his hood up reflexively and ducking out the door.
He was more accustomed to snark and banter. Good natured jabbing or even the occasional wrestle to win an argument. Particularly from Killer, it was wildly unusual to receive such an openly emotional display.
Apparently, Cross had already succeeded in getting them all a little more into the Gyftmas spirit.
They were supposed to gather late tonight to enjoy the fruits of Cross’s labor.
The living room was most certainly going to be transformed into a Gyftmas wonderland, if the sampling of what he’d done with the rest of the castle was any indication. There would be snacking and drinking; he’d already sampled some of Horror’s creations when he passed through the kitchen earlier. And hopefully, after a few drinks, they’d play some cards and Dust could lighten some money from Killer’s pockets.
And perhaps, if everything went well, it would all remind Cross a bit more of home.
He was prone to homesickness. It was a far cry from Dust’s own experience, as he wanted nothing more than to forget entirely that he had another life before this one.
It had always been interesting, that despite the influence that XGaster had taken over their partner’s life, that he was so determined to keep those memories and experiences as his own. Not only that, but to take what had been his and share it with the rest of them now.
Where they had withdrawn, Cross had stepped forward. And they loved him for it.
It wasn’t to say it wasn’t difficult, but the smile on his face and excitement in his voice helped to drown out his own phantoms. Dust wouldn’t sour this season just because he had his own shit to work out.
Sure enough, when he stepped into their living space, it was like a scene straight out of a Gyftmas story.
The large Gyftmas tree that Horror had delivered was decorated from tip to trunk in sparkling tinsel and ornaments that Dust didn’t recognize. The doorways and shelves were lined with cute, meaningless decorations like little snow globes and fake gyftmas boxes. A wreath hung over the door with a festive chain of garland encircling the room, and what looked suspiciously like mistletoe hanging over the walkway.
He couldn’t remember what Cross said about that one, but he was sure he would find out later.
It all seemed quaint and lovely—which is why he didn’t understand why Cross now sat at the base of the tree with his brow furrowed in such a displeased way.
“You put a lot of effort into all this,” he said casually. “You should be proud.”
Cross startled, having clearly been absorbed in his work. “Dust! I wasn’t expecting you so soon. I was hoping to have everything done before you got down here.”
An unusual statement that made his brow raise curiously, glancing around the room for something that was out of place.
“Certainly seems all done.”
But that was very much like Cross, to fret over the tiniest details and want perfection. An overt need for control, which Dust couldn’t blame him for after having had none for so long.
“I, uh, made a bit of a silly mistake,” Cross rubbed the back of his neck with a sigh. “I didn’t test the lights before I hung them up on the tree and covered it with the decorations. Apparently, the string was dead.”
Dust could see how that was a bit of a problem. He would have to take down all the decorations he’d put on just to unravel the lights from within the branches. A task that Dust himself would absolutely have skipped if it were up to him.
“Do you have another string that can go on top?” he offered instead. “It would be a little cluttered, but much more feasible than redoing all your work.”
“I was thinking the same thing. I have one set of lights left…” Cross muttered with a deep frown. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he grabbed the end of the string and plugged it into the outlet, prompting the lights to burst to life in an array of—
—bright white light.
A nonsensical thing, to anyone else. To anyone that hadn’t been trapped in the abysmal AntiVoid, surrounded by nothing but hopeless white nothingness for years upon years.
“It’s stupid,” Cross spat at himself. “I should just hang them up.”
It was far from stupid, in Dust’s opinion. He couldn’t blame anyone else for their own quirks when he had so many of his own.
It wasn’t right, that Cross had worked so hard to bring them this Gyftmas only to be forced into this predicament. Those lights were the embodiment of everything that was wrong in Cross’s life. It wasn’t right for them to be up now, blaring at him in silent judgement while he tried to turn a blind eye to the pain it caused him.
Nope, Dust wouldn’t stand for it. Not after everything Cross had done for them.
Wordlessly he sat on the floor beside his partner, quickly grabbing the white lights and unplugging them with a forceful yank, only to cast them aside with as little care as they deserved. It was time to focus on the lights already hung within the tree.
Visibly, there was nothing amiss, so far as he could tell. Typically, these strings would light up until they hit a bad bulb or faulty bit of wiring, giving an indication of where the disturbance was. Since this one wasn’t working at all, it must have been right at the start somewhere…
Taking a small, sharp bone, Dust stripped the coating from the string. It was easier to see now that there were some obvious defects that would result in a faulty connection.
“Cheap bastards,” he cursed, cutting out the bad wire in order to bypass it.
Cross watched from behind him with wide, excited eyes, staying quiet as if afraid to break Dust’s concentration.
But this kind of thing was easy. He’d worked with electrical and mechanical energies for years, and that knowledge never quite left him. At least now he had something useful to apply it towards, rather than hopeless machines that served no good purpose.
Before they knew it, Dust was rewrapping the string in electrical tape, the finishing touch before plugging it in to test out his work.
And just like that, the tree lit up in an array of colorful, sparkling lights, shimmering between reds, greens, blues, and golds in an ornate, festive display. The room was suddenly brighter, highlighting all the glass ornaments that adorned the walls and reflecting their beauty.
Cross gasped excitedly as he looked around the room, eyelights shining with happiness as a grin jumped to his features.
“Dust, you did it!”
He shrugged, much more interested in his partner’s pleased face than the display around them.
“It was nothing. You did all the real work,” he brushed off.
But Cross was having none of it, whipping around and throwing his arms around Dust’s shoulders in a tight embrace.
“Thank you! You fixed everything!” he said.
Just in time too, it seemed, as the sound of footsteps entering the room preceded a few appreciative hums and whistles.
“Damn, looking good in here. You’ve been busy Cross,” Horror admired.
“A splendid display,” Nightmare hummed, a smile sneaking onto him. “I’ll have to have you decorate the library as well next year. And perhaps my office.”
“I’ll need more decorations in that case,” Cross grinned. “It’ll be enough to fill the storage room to the ceiling!”
“Ah, yes, about that…” Killer coughed, rubbing the back of his neck as he trailed off inconspicuously.
It was all so natural, their easy banter and laughs. Horror had brought trays of snacks and drinks while Nightmare unloaded a series of holiday reading material for them to indulge in.
But outside the window, the snow had picked up. The wind whipped aggressively, loud enough that Dust could hear it through the walls, although he seemed to be the only one. It was a veritable blizzard out there, surely enough to bury them inside with enough time…
‘Enough to leave you alone with me, dear brother,’ Papyrus whispered behind him. ‘And we will have the merriest Gyftmas, won’t we?’
Because at the end of the day, all the gyftmas lights and presents in the world never stopped evil in its tracks. Carols turned to screams and hiding never saved anyone.
Not when they were hunted. Not when he needed every last bit of EXP he could find, just for the chance to make a difference.
He had never made a difference to anyone.
“Dust!”
Cross grabbed him by his shoulders, turning him away from the window and forcing him to meet all their concerned gazes.
His Soul was beating rapidly, his breathing frantic, and eye alight with power he never wanted.
Seeing them now, in this moment that was supposed to be joyous and looking instead so worried, he couldn’t’ take it. They hadn’t asked for this; for his delusions to bring them down.
He’d tried and failed. But he wouldn’t ruin it for them.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered, grabbing his hood and tugging it down to cover his eyes. “I need to go.”
He moved quickly, pushing out of Cross’s concerned grasp and making to shortcut from the room…
Only to be enveloped within a band of tentacles, nipping his teleport short and leaving him trapped there between them, with only his shame on display left to show.
He was pathetic, taking their joy and squashing it like the monster he was.
“Dust, what’s going on?” Horror asked carefully.
But what could he say? How could he explain without ruining everything they worked so hard for?
“Talk to us, Dusty,” Killer pressed again after a moment of silence. “You know we’ll understand.”
They knew, of course. All the horrible things he’d done. All his demons he still carried. But still it was hard to put to words.
How could he say that all these joyous, festive things brought him such profound sadness as well? That happiness was painful when his brother was dead by his hand.
“I just…” he muttered, his words catching in uncertainty. “…I just miss my brother.”
A profound relationship that each of them once carried—and a shattering pain they had all faced. But where they were now so much better, Dust still lagged behind. Still heard the voices of ghosts behind his shoulder.
“I don’t want to ruin your holiday,” he continued, his voice strung threadbare and vulnerable. “But I see him everywhere. He’s in the lights. The books. The snowmen. The cookies. He’s still smiling at me. And I just can’t bear to think about him anymore right now.”
“You’ve been trying to distract yourself all day, from the sound of things,” Nightmare said.
Cross stepped up to him with a sad, understanding smile, putting his hands gently on Dust’s shoulders once more.
“Yeah, I’ve been having a lot of hard feelings today too. My brother and I used to decorate together every year. It’s challenging to make new memories over the old ones. But there are a few things we could still do to…you know, separate the experience.”
“…and what’s that?” he dared to ask, desperate for whatever relief he could find.
“Well, we’ve just got to do things that our brothers would never have done with us,” he explained with an awkward little laugh. “It was Killer’s idea, actually. He’s been, um…helping me.”
He didn’t understand, even as Killer and Horror snickered from behind him. It only made Dust ache further at his own idiocy.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he muttered pitifully.
A hand cupped his cheek, tilting his head up the barest amount. He froze as the warm intent passed through Cross’s fingertips, brushing against the bone in a soft caress. He couldn’t help his wide eyes, even as the other leaned their foreheads together, nuzzling their noses as Dust’s understanding rapidly grew.
“You’re under the mistletoe,” his lover whispered, pressing in gently to grace him with a soft kiss.
‘Oh, that’s right,’ he thought. ‘Now I remember what that was.’
The voice in his head was his own, certainly, a barely-there moan as Cross slowly deepened their kiss. His arms had been freed at some point, and he grabbed ahold of his lover like a lifeline.
And he was—they all were. Keeping Dust in these moments when the past would drag him back clawing and screaming.
He would much rather be kissing.
Cross had barely pulled back, just enough for Dust to gasp for breath before he was taken again, this time a warm, wet tongue slipping into his mouth to curl invitingly against his own.
“Now Cross, remember to share with the rest of us.”
It was the only warning he received before he was abruptly tugged away, only to be spun around into Nightmare’s grasp. The dark prince wore a wicked smirk, as if a treasure had been laid bare before his eye.
The implication made Dust gulp, his mind frantically blank.
He couldn’t breathe as he was drawn in, pressed against Nightmare’s chest as his prince leaned in to run his teeth across Dust’s neck, delighting in his shiver.
“I’m still new to the custom,” he murmured devilishly. “Is this right?”
He didn’t await an answer before sinking his teeth into his lover’s neck, just enough to send a rush through Dust’s leylines. His Soul was suddenly alight, just like their tree, the colors dancing as he grew lightheaded.
“I’d like a bite myself,” he overhead Horror mutter eagerly from the side.
“Yeah,” he agreed easily. “Please—”
His tension drained as he willingly gave himself over to them; his lovers eagerly taking ahold and tugging him to the floor beneath the Gyftmas tree.
And they looked at him with love and gratitude, like he wasn’t a nuisance at all, but a gift.
“I think we’ve got a few things to keep you preoccupied,” Killer chuckled mischievously, his hand already trailing itself down Dust’s sternum. “Certainly nothing your brother would want to watch.”
An unexpectedly welcome turn of events. They had a way about them, their laughter and terrible jokes, the way their energy seemed to feed into one another in a way Dust simply had never experienced before. They made him feel warm again, the first time since the snow had come, and he clung to them as they made him forget his troubles.
The snow couldn’t touch them here. Not as they lay in one another’s arms, the aftermath filled with the peaceful crackle of the fireplace. They were protected, warm, fed, and loved in ways Dust wanted desperately to get used to.
He knew they could never change what had happened. But like this, they could make a new life, free from the burdens of the old ones. They could have laughter and love and color, even on these dark winter nights.
Perhaps the Gyftmas season wasn’t so bad after all.