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Walking the chilled, dark stone halls of his new residence hadn't gotten any easier despite the number of months Cross had had to grow accustomed to them. Their ancient bricks felt like ice, biting through even the thickest coats. Shadows seemingly stalked and coiled around anyone daring to tread through them. The deceptively endless corridors grew darker and darker with each step further into the castle, defying the warm yellow-orange glow of the torchlight. Symptoms that only worsened as Nightmare's office drew nearer.
The swordsman anxiously rubbed his hands together when his feet slowed to a stop at the glacial darkness' pinnacle. The sheer biting frost emanating from all around left him fighting to withhold shivers. His eyelights wavered under the presence of two looming regal doors, which barred the source of his plight from view.
Pushing down his nerves (as much as possible), he tentatively grasped a golden handle and shuddered under its icy touch. The black/white-clad Sans turned the creaking metal - likely faster than he should have - before shifting its connected door inward, not wanting to maintain contact with the handle longer than he had to. Thus, allowing him to advance inside.
The inner room was just as cold, if not colder, than the hall that laid beyond its doorway. The heatless shadows twisting around the space weren't helping either. At the center of the umbra - in the middle of the room - sat a grand desk covered in books and papers, and sitting behind the furnishing laid a luxurious chair occupied by the skeleton's latest overseer: a dark, viscous monster with eight tendrils, twisting and turning not too dissimilarly to the darkness shrouding the room, and a lambent cyan eyelight that effortlessly pierced the blackness.
The only positive to the other's form was that he didn't nearly have the height required to look down on him like X-Gaster did. However, that small fact did little to diminish Nightmare's intimidating presence.
Cross gingerly waded through the shadows, stopping a respectable distance away from the desk.
"Sir, you called for me?" He asked.
"Indeed," The dark lord confirmed, placing down his writing implement and lifting his gaze from some papers to examine Cross. The swordsman stood stockstill under the scrutiny, shoving back any feelings of discomfort, as the other continued, "I've been thinking recently- It's been several months since your addition to the team. I feel it's time we make your placement here more official."
Cross couldn't help the spark of surprise that fizzed in his soul. Official, he said. Nightmare wanted to make him an official member of the team. The black/white-clad Sans always knew his stay was more of a trial than anything, given his past connection with Ink (before the artist abandoned him). However, he'd never truly expected anything to come from it; Always assumed he'd end up right back with the consequences of his past actions. Forever left to dwell in the amaranthine whiteness that was once his vibrant and lively home.
The swordsman repressed a flinch at the reminder of the desolate place, and his mind couldn't help but whisper to him: Being an official member of the team doesn't make you a permanent member of the team. He can always send you back whenever he wishes.
Cross kept a straight face even as an uneasy pit formed in his non-existent stomach. Aside from a brief twitch from his tendrils, the dark guardian before him showed no signs of picking up on it, and for that, the monochrome skeleton was grateful. He'd put too much effort into maintaining neutrality around Nightmare to have it ruined now.
Impressions are everything if I want to stay here for as long as possible.
"Excuse me, sir- May I ask a question?" Nightmare gestured a "go ahead" motion in response, spurring Cross to follow with, "Official in the sense of what? Will I be stationed in an AU to defend the negativity, or-"
The negativity-laden skeleton raised a hand, causing him to promptly click his jaws shut. The appendage slowly lowered down behind the desk whilst Nightmare elaborated. "No. Official in the sense that you will be living here for the foreseeable future with all the basic amenities the others receive: food, clothes, lodging, health care, etc."
He failed to hold back a slight startle. What the dark guardian offered- It was everything and more than what the black/white-clad Sans had had prior to moving in; Even more than what Ink had provided during their brief time together. The swordsman would need to start pulling his weight far more seriously if he wanted to continue to reap the luxury of these benefits.
A chill ran down his spine when a voice - a haunting and demanding one Cross had silently hoped he’d never hear again - whispered in his ear. Best show respect when you are given something, Sans, lest that generosity be taken it away.
The monochrome skeleton fought passed the lump in his non-existent throat. “I am very grateful, sir.”
Nightmare gave the words no acknowledgment, favoring to move behind his desk. Cross’ soul spiked at the drawling sound of a drawer opening, and a faint rustling followed as the dark lord searched for something before seemingly capturing it. The hand previously hidden raised above the edge of the desk. In its grasp laid a neatly wrapped rectangular box that then descended to the desk’s surface. The item sat, unmoving. The warmth of its soft, light blue wrapping paper clashed against the room’s innate darkness, not to mention Nightmare’s overall aesthetic.
Perhaps, in other circumstance, he could have found it oddly comforting. Alas, the object felt horribly out of place.
His soul-beat quickened by several paces.
I… What is the purpose of... this? A gesture of goodwill to ensure my cooperation?
Likely not. The negativity-laden skeleton was more than aware of Cross’ position. His lack of option. Cooperation couldn’t be anything other than guarantee.
So why?
Nightmare pushed the gift box forward – a prompt to take it – and said, "May this serve you well."
Cross cautiously approached the desk, hands slowly taking the box and pulling it close to his person.
"Thank you, sir." He politely stated, "I will take good care of it."
The other nodded, returning to his papers.
Cross took the action as a dismissal and exited the room, quick enough to not overstay his welcome yet slow enough to not come off as fleeing. Upon closing the grand doors, he released a breath he failed to notice he’d been holding. His mind was overcome with… relief at how well things seemed to go? He couldn’t say for certain.
The blue-wrapped box weighted heavy in the black/white-clad Sans’ hands as he swiftly continued on his way towards the living quarters. When would it be proper to open it? Once he reached his room? Should he have opened it in front of Nightmare in order to show proper appreciation? Had he offended Nightmare by not opening it in front of him? Would Nightmare change his mind about letting Cross stay if his action were perceived as a slight against the other?
No, no- He’s not the type to make an impulsive decision like that. If I messed up, I still have time to rectify it.
With amends in mind, the swordsman decided to withhold opening the item until he reached his room. There, he could formulate a decent plan to thank his benefactor and brainstorm potential items to gift in return. A small part of him, however, felt a rising curiosity. The box in his hands was light despite the stress of holding it. The mystery of what it held was unknown.
Maybe a weapon of some sort so he could be more efficient in battle? It seemed fitting given his team’s missions, and with how often they found themselves caught up in conflicts.
Before the monochrome skeleton had the chance to further ponder, Killer stepped in his path. Dust turned the corner shortly after. While the former could hold enough conversation for five monsters combined, the latter was far trickier to navigate a conversation with. Both talked casually and uncomfortably warm for associates. However, Dust left too much dead air for Cross to fill, which made it far harder to exit an interaction. That didn’t even touch on that fact that most of what they said flew right over Cross’ head. The jokes, the almost domestic conversations- Had Cross understood those thing better prior to his greatest mistake? He wasn’t sure he could remember.
"Heya, rookie, whatcha got there?" Killer said, “Finally decorating the ol’ room?”
There goes my opportunity to excuse myself, Cross silently lamented.
“No. It’s a…”‘Gift’ seemed too personal of a word to call it. “-Token from Nightmare. It is to commemorate my official residency.”
Dust leaned against the chilled stone walls, impressively not shivering. “Bout time.”
Killer nodded in agreement, a finger pointing the box with a knowing grin. “Well, aren’t you going to open it?”
Cross turned over his potential answers. Declining seemed improper after being asked. Plus, he planned on opening the gift eventually regardless. It wouldn’t hurt to open it front of Killer and Dust, would it?
“Of course, it would be a shame to leave it wrapped for too long.” He decided. With that, his hands carefully worked at the wrapping paper until box lid revealed. Pulling up the cardboard unveiled… something unexpected.
The box held a plushie. A plushie.
The black/white-clad Sans stared down, dumbfounded at a pastel plush fox. Something the exact opposite of a weapon, like he previously theorized. It looked soft. So very, incredibly soft.
Did he ever have anything like this as child? His memories provided no answers.
"Heh! Sweet!” The target-souled skeleton congratulated. “Welcome to the club, newbie."
"I don't... understand. This… isn’t useful?” Cross found himself floundering.
Dust shrugged. “Tell that to Nightmare. Apparently, having something to hug is good for mental fortitude or whatever.”
"Yeah, we all got one when Nightmare decided we were staying indefinitely." Killer added, “Means you’re here to stay; Hope you weren’t planning living anywhere else in this lifetime.”
The swordsman blinked, words echoing in his mind.
Means you’re here to stay.
Here to stay.
Cross slowly pulled the box close to his chest.
I’m staying.