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Killer hadn't meant to do something stupid, really.
He did a lot of stupid things, but this wasn't supposed to be one of them. Stupidly embarassing? Sappy as hell? Sure, he'd said that under his breath the whole time. He could recognise when he was metaphorically baring his soul, because he did it literally all the time. That was definitely how this worked; he would know.
But actually a bad idea? It hadn't seemed that way until the floor was rushing towards him in a blur.
He couldn't remember the impact; he wasn't even sure if he had experienced it. Everything was just suddenly blinding, a deafening burst of pain that tore through his thoughts like they were wet paper.
Killer'd fought through worse pain before, but there was nothing to fight. It was just him, the cold tile floor, and the force of a thousand suns. He curled up instinctively, clawing at the hard surface.
It hurt. It continued to hurt as something cast a shadow onto his face, movement barely registering on the edge of his vision.
Suddenly, the world lurched. He was scooped up into two arms and a couple tentacles, his head tucked into a dark shoulder. In a humiliating display of weakness that wasn't at all new, his hand found its way to the edge of a black shirt.
A tentacle brushed his forehead. The gesture was familiar, and he relaxed his death grip slightly.
"Ow," Killer whined, extremely coherently.
"I know. You'll be alright," Nightmare reassured him.
Killer shifted slightly in his arms. "Mmm."
"Do try and stay conscious. You'll respond better to healing, and you've got a head injury."
"Nnno… shit."
Nightmare smiled, his features tense. "Do not make me drop you," he warned, but it had no bite.
The Castle corridors passed in a blur. It could have been a few hours of torment, or it could have been the half-a-minute the walk to the infirmary actually took. His faux-stomach protested in the form of overwhelming nausea as he was set down on the couch. (It wasn't standard medical equipment, but they were Sanses.) Nightmare pulled a chair up beside him, and began to wring the excess water out of a soaking washcloth. Killer tried to curl back in on himself, but Nightmare had a tentacle on his breastbone, holding him up.
He clicked his tongue in frustration. "Hold still."
He wanted to say something about how difficult it was to hold still when the world was spinning, but it just came out as another meaningless noise. Meanwhile, Nightmare had wiped away most of the blood that he was sure still dripped down his face, mixing with the tar. He began to apply something to the break that smelled like shit and stung worse. Killer squirmed in protest.
"Would you rather bleed out?" he snapped.
Killer froze. "S'rry," he slurred.
Nightmare rubbed his forehead, sighing. He had rolled his sleeves up to the elbow, his hands (and now forehead) smeared with blood. "What were you thinking? You were alone, out of earshot of anyone else. If I hadn't been here—" he stopped short, but the quiver in his voice had already betrayed him.
"Dunno. Jus' thought I'd…" he trailed off, words swimming out of his reach.
Nightmare gave him a strange look before moving on to the adhesive bandage. He ran his thumb carefully over the edges of the white square to seal the glue, but paused as he reached the final corner.
"We've become terribly soft, haven't we?" he murmured.
"'S th'worst," Killer complained, and Nightmare exhaled sharply.
"Of course you would say that."
Killer started suddenly, a little bit of alertness entering his posture. "Y'can't tell Horror," he pleaded.
"I'm afraid I was talking to him when you fell," Nightmare said, then added, "he may notice something is amiss."
"Fuck." He buried his head in his hands and groaned. A couple fingers found their way absentmindedly into his eye socket. Then, he looked up suddenly. "You need to kill me, b'fore he does."
"It seems to me," Nightmare mused, "he'll be more inclined to worry."
"Tha's worse!"
Placing his hand back on Killer's forehead, he pushed his head back. "Sit up straight. I still haven't healed you."
"'M fiiiiiine," Killer protested.
"How many fingers am I holding up?"
He tilted his head slightly. "…Fffour?"
Nightmare put down his single raised finger and steadied Killer's skull instead. He hoped desperately that his intent would not be as glaringly obvious as it felt.
Once the first wave hit, Killer stared resolutely at the wall past his shoulder. The lack of a snarky comment was much, much worse than whatever he could have said. It wasn't just the worry— although that was bad enough— but the almost frantic desire to see him well and whole. The healing process was blasted through at record pace, as well as what remained of Nightmare's dignity. He might as well have gotten a sign installed on his forehead saying "IN LOVE WITH MY STUPID-ASS HENCHMAN" in huge glowing letters.
Well, he was, and he'd definitely even implied it a couple times. That didn't make it any less mortifying.
Nightmare stood up, pulling a traitorous limb out of where it had curled itself around Killer's hand. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "I'll go talk to Horror," he declared. Killer gave a little mock salute, nearly missing his forehead entirely through the post-healing haze.
Once he had wiped most of the blood off his hands, he stepped outside. Horror was already there, sitting on the designated wait-for-your-teammate-to-stop-dying bench. It had been installed after Cross had passed out standing guard in the hallway with two broken ribs and a handful of fractured metacarpals. It was now fairly worn; the wooden frame covered in knife scratches and the pillows mildly bloodstained.
Horror was picking at the jagged edge of his skull, and Nightmare reflexively pulled his hand away. His nerves were so frayed that he just held it for a second, eyelight unfocused.
"Night?" Horror prompted.
Snapping back to reality, he let go. "Ah, my apologies, I've been… running low for a few days," He sighed. "I did not expect to have to heal today."
He realised, seconds too late, that it was not the best moment for honesty. The worry Horror had already been radiating gained an edge of panic, and he tensed almost imperceptibly.
"I'm alright, love," he reassured him. "Just tired." Finally remembering what he was here for, he added, "Killer is as well. Nothing permanent."
"Wha'happened?" he asked.
"As he's not here to defend himself, I do have to ask you to show him some mercy."
"Y'have blood on yer face," Horror pointed out.
Nightmare cursed in a dead language and wiped his face with his sleeve.
"Jus' tell me."
"He has a head injury," Nightmare stated simply. "No long term damage."
Horror winced slightly. "Kinda figured." His hand went for his skull again, only to find itself ensnared by one of Nightmare's tentacles. "He'll b'fine…" he said, more to himself than anything, "Yer a pretty good heal'r."
You shouldn't trust me with him, Nightmare thought, You shouldn't trust me at all. I can't keep you safe. He wrung his hands together silently, scratching at an old scar on his radius. Not even in my own domain.
"Moonlight, yer gettin' worked up. 'S alright."
Nightmare almost denied it, before catching himself. "I— you're right, of course."
"'N th'second thing?"
"Th— the second thing?" Nightmare stuttered, taken aback.
"Yer still worried. There's somethin' else."
"Ah. Well. It appears he was injured attempting to clean the upper windows of the greenhouse."
Horror stared at him. "…Killer?"
"I don't know if you've noticed, but he seems rather infatuated with you."
"Yeah, b'…Killer? It's…" He tried desperately to reconcile the two images. "'S not like him?"
"You tend to have that effect on others."
Horror bumped him playfully with his shoulder. "…Hypocrite."
"Perhaps."
"Flatterin' me ain't gonna get him off th'hook," Horror warned.
"No, of course not," Nightmare said, "I believe your own affection for him will do that."
Horror finally cracked, turning away to try and conceal a rapidly forming blush. Nightmare pretended he couldn't have sensed it from the next AU over. When he turned back, he was only mildly pink.
"Can I see 'im?" he asked.
"He's still a little out of it, but yes."
Horror pushed through the door, Nightmare following close behind. Killer was lying horizontal on the couch, feet up on the wall. He had his hands folded on his stomach, and he looked thoroughly bored.
There was, completely coincidentally, just enough space on the couch beside him for one Horror-sized skeleton to sit. He did so.
"Dumbass," he teased, and Killer sighed dramatically. "Yer sweet."
"Nooo!" Killer whined. "'M not. Jus' the dumb thing!"
Horror bent down to bump their foreheads together, starting to purr. "Ador'ble. Cute. Light o'my life."
"Boss, he's bein' mean to me!" Killer cried.
"He's right."
Killer pouted. "I'm quittin'. Gonna go be a barista at Ccino's. Inhumane workin' conditions."
"I'd start drinkin' coffee t'see ya."
"I'll leave you two to—" Nightmare stopped abruptly, nearly knocked over by the wave of disappointment. He frowned. "What?"
Killer placed a hand on his forehead, doing his best to swoon while already lying down. "Ohhh, I'm so lonely 'n injured, if only there was a stupid fuckin' octopus w'a fear of intimacy t'save me!"
Nightmare spluttered. "I do not—!"
"'M also injured," Horror joined in, "Stubbed m'toe. Y'gotta stay, Night, we're… defenceless."
"You're perfectly capable—"
"Please?" Horror asked, and how could he deny him when he said it like that?
"Alright, alright," Nightmare conceded, "Just for a little while."
Killer sat up, opening a gap for him… right between the pair. He took a seat, and Killer sank back down, resting his head in Nightmare's lap. He was suddenly incredibly grateful that he was the only empath in the room, although he had a feeling he was giving himself away in other ways. Namely, the possessive tentacles curling their way around the two, and the cyan constellation that painted his face.
He was an adult, and an ancient one at that. He could deal with physical affection when it wasn't after dark and he wasn't actively treating an injury.
He could.
Horror leaned on his shoulder, his purring starting to reverberate in Nightmare's chest, and he felt faint. How the hell did anyone do this regularly?
Killer also started to purr, and oh Stars he was going to dust right here and now. Nothing was said, but he could feel a slight hint of amusement coming from the skeleton on his lap. Killer reached a hand up to his face, brushing the stars with his thumb. Nightmare's breath hitched.
"Soft, huh?"
"Quiet."