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The small greenhouse leaning against the back of the Castle was ankle deep in regular, run-of-the-mill dust. It had been built fairly recently on their timescale, but to the air and the bugs it had been an eternity, so they had long since reclaimed it. The windows stuck, the hinges squeaked, and the glass was so grimy it was dark even in the middle of the day. The magic-electric lightbulbs hanging in the rafters still responded to the switch, though, fizzing and crackling to life like they were millennia old and not barely a fraction of it.
None of them knew when the building had first appeared. The Castle didn't always have things built: it grew like something alive, twisting into new shapes alongside its inhabitants.
Well, that was partially a lie. In fact, the Castle only responded to Nightmare. The greenhouse seemed about as old as Horror's return to sanity and passably-good health, but it had been a reaction to Nightmare's… something. If asked, he'd probably say pride. Horror suspected it ran a little deeper than that, but he wasn't one to question his definitely-only-a-boss if he didn't have to.
As he slowly forced open the very rusty door, it looked like the building hadn't been opened since its creation. Only a few telltale signs gave him away: a few suspiciously clean bags of soil, some almost believably rusty tools, and Horror's confidence that any kind of gardening could begin today. Also, he flipped the light switch without looking for it.
Horror was, a little hilariously, in full gardener's attire. He had a dark grey apron loosely tied around his waist, a long green skirt, thick white gloves, and his jacket had just been left on a hook next to the door. He still had his t-shirt on, but it was weird how much of his bulk was secretly the fur. Besides, his arms were visible. Killer felt a little weird about that one, too, but this time it was less about his insightful commentary on the nature of physical space and more about the very loud sirens going off in his head. He wasn't complaining! He was admiring respectfully.
Okay, maybe it was a little disrespectful. The skirt wasn't helping.
Horror looked at him strangely, and he realised that maybe his brain-to-mouth filter was not as strong as he had thought. The end of a wolf-whistle echoed into silence, reverberating off the glass panes.
"I'll kick y'out if ya can't b'have," he warned, lightly.
Killer raised his hands in surrender, backing away. "I'm behaving! Model citizen. Cross my soul." He made the motion, target buzzing at his fingertips. Horror hummed disbelievingly, but a smile was pulling at the corners of his mouth.
Half-heartedly sweeping some of the dirt away, Killer perched on the edge of one of the emptier tables. He swung his legs back and forth, taking in the admittedly rather dismal sights. One side of the room had a couple layers of raised beds, boxed in securely with wood and completely barren of anything living. The other side had rows of tables, scattered with a couple of earthenware pots and wooden trays. To call it a greenhouse was a stretch, and that was coming from a guy who some called a "person."
He drummed his fingers on the rough edge of the table. Horror had pulled out a ratty broom from somewhere, beginning to sweep away the years of neglect through an open door in the back.
"So, am I just here for decoration, or what?" Killer asked, cheerfully.
"Wanted company," Horror responded, then paused. He leaned on the broom to look at Killer, who beamed with his usual energy and the desire to misintepret other's words at every possible opportunity.
"Your company," he clarified. "'Cause…" he waved a hand in the air, vaguely. "'S nice."
"Don't think anyone's ever described being 'round me like that, but sure. Your funeral."
"'Less you'd rather go back t'chores."
Killer scrunched his face up in disgust. "No thanks. 'M fine watchin' some other loser be productive."
Horror glared at him, but went back to sweeping. It was turning out that the floors were a much lighter shade of grey than it had first appeared to be.
"Very fine."
Horror turned, flexing his hand like he wanted to grab something and maybe shake some sense into it. "'F yer gonna be weird about it—"
"I'm not being weird!" He kicked his feet, a little childishly. Horror looked strained, and this time that genuinely wasn't the intended effect. "I didn't say nothin'."
He definitely had, but Horror's expression softened anyways. Seriously, where did the guy get the impression that Killerwould make fun of— okay, yeah. That was fair. Reap what you sow and all that.
Speaking of sowing, Horror had switched tasks. Apparently satisfied with the cleanliness of the floors, he'd started to haul bags of soil into the raised beds.
"Y'know, for the real farmer's outfit, ya need a straw hat."
"No sun," he deadpanned, "'n you'd say I look like Crop."
Killer squinted up at the ceiling. Even if it had been sunny out, he couldn't see a thing. "Yeah, dark as hell in here. Y'gonna clean the glass?"
He shrugged. "Dunno how."
"Ask the guy with gravity magic?" Killer suggested.
"Dust's not gonna scrub glass f'r three hours."
Killer laughed, leaning precariously off the table. "If you asked nicely, he prob'ly would."
Flushing slightly, Horror waved him off.
"Could try the ol'ladder and a broom?"
He paused, elbows deep in a bag of soil. "Y'mean… a stepladder?"
"So? What's the difference?" He grinned. "You need to stop judging things based on narrow-minded cultural assumptions, H!"
The room was dead silent. Horror tilted his head, trying to figure out if any of that was worth the effort it would take to untangle. Clearly, he'd decided it wasn't. "'Sides, w'my balance?"
Killer sucked in air through his teeth. "Right. Uhh… maybe we can find one of those window cleaning thingies in a surface AU."
Horror shrugged. "Maybe." He continued to transfer soil from bag to box, coated up to the humerus in dark soil. The gloves were entirely useless, but he didn't seem too worried.
"Where'd you get all this shit, anyways? I didn't see ya lootin' any gardening supplies."
"…Farmtale."
"Oh, like a trade?"
Horror went pink, fiddling with the edge of the bag. "Somethin' like that."
"Crop gave you all this for free?" Killer realised, incredulously.
"I didn't ask 'im… he jus'…" He turned an even deeper shade of pink; Killer could swear his face was starting to steam. "Shuttup."
"What's next, ya gonna come home with a shoebox of baby chicks?"
Completely catching him off guard, Horror looked at him with the saddest, wettest eyes (eye) he'd ever seen. He looked like a dog begging for something it absolutely couldn't eat.
"Seriously?" Killer exclaimed, actually surprised for once. "You wanna raise animals in this place?"
"Got th'space."
"Got the— yeah, sure, but we also got the fuckin' guardian of Negativity!"
The last bed was packed full of soil, with one bag to spare. "Night's aura ain't so bad… now'days." He pulled a trowel out from his inventory, held it in the air for a moment, then put it down.
"Good luck with that, I guess."
Horror walked over to a cabinet in the corner, which Killer suddenly realised had a small crack of light coming out from under the door. Steadying himself on the cabinet, he lowered himself carefully to the floor. Killer considered offering to help (what with his functional joints and all) but Horror was already sitting on the tile, so…
He slowly pulled out a wooden tray full of seedlings, lined up in messy rows and held in brown paper pots. His face lit up, unrelated to the golden light spilling out from the small lamp in the cabinet. Transferring each one gently to the table, the joy radiated from his every bone. It looked as if he had something sacred, something holy, cupped between two dirt-stained gloves.
Killer, for once, didn't have anything to say. He didn't want to intrude on such a private moment. Something like this was best left between—
Horror turned to him, beaming. "Wanna help?"
Killer almost looked around in shock, like there was anyone else but him in the room that he could be referring to. "Me?" he asked, just in case.
A second trowel appeared from hammerspace, held out like he was passing a baton. Killer took it hesitantly. "Take out… twice as much soil," he instructed, "'n untangle the roots a bit. They're… a 'lil rootbound. Was waitin' for warmer weather."
"Ew, just with my hands?" he complained.
They both looked at his hands, which were so heavily stained with tar it was like he'd broken into an ink factory. Or just Ink.
"D'you want… my gloves?" Horror suggested, but Killer just sighed dramatically.
"I guess I'll survive without."
They worked in parallel, carrying each miniature plant into its rightful place. Although the seedlings had seemed like thirty-ish identical sprouts at a distance, Killer noticed little differences in the shape of the leaves as he worked. Their names were scribbled on the side of the pots in black felttip pen, and a couple had little hearts doodled at the end. It was funny how two things that started off so similar could grow into something completely different.
He picked up a plant, turning it over in his hands.
"Basil's over here, Kills," called Horror.
"Why? Is it like an aesthetic thing, or what?"
Horror shook his head. "They grow better together. Somethin' about pests… or soil? Dunno."
"Aight." He placed it in the designated spot, a little lopsided. The sprout leaned to one side, as if its leaves were outstretched to its companion plant. Killer had the urge to straighten it out, but resisted for the sake of his remaining dignity.
Besides, if they worked so well together, did it matter if they got a little too close?
Horror flicked him on the nose, spraying a little bit of soil onto his forehead.
"What'd ya do that for?" he exclaimed, covering his face instinctively.
"Get outta yer head," Horror chided, and then added for good measure: "Idiot."
"Shuttup, I'm not in my head! You are!"
Horror paused, and began to grin madly.
"Wait, fuck, that's not what I meant. Stop smiling like that!"
"Y'wanna kiss me s'bad it makes y'look stupid."
"Where'd y'even hear that?" he complained, burying his face in his hands.
Horror just hummed in response, taking advantage of his limited vision to press their foreheads together gently. A low rumbling purr filled the room, almost making the windows shake.
Killer started slightly, moving his hands away. "Woah. Y'good?"
"Mmm. 'S just nice."
He started to purr back. "This plant stuff's got you all soft, huh?"
Horror flicked him again, splattering even more dirt.
"Ow!"
"You," he insisted, jabbing at Killer's collarbone for emphasis, "'S you. We're havin' a moment. Stoppit."
"Hah, you wanna kiss me so bad it makes ya look stupid."
"Yeah. C'mere." Horror leaned further down, clicking their teeth together in a slightly awkward kiss. It tasted a bit metallic, a sensation Killer automatically assumed was blood until he realised it was a little too sandy.
As they separated, Killer pawed weakly at his shoulder. "Ew, not in front of the kids," he teased, pointing a thumb over his shoulder at the plants behind them.
Instead of laughing at his frankly hilarious joke, Horror choked, bending over to cough in a way that would be inconspicuous if they had lungs. When he straightened back up, he was avoiding eye contact.
"You're insane. You're insane," Killer repeated, dumbfounded. "You w—"
"Don't— let's… not. Jus'… not. 'S not important."
"It's pretty important."
Horror shrugged. "N't yet."
"Not y—?!" The rest of his sentence was cut off into muffled protest as Horror placed a hand firmly over his mouth.
"Shh. Y'll wake th'kids."