Chapter Text
This new world is loud. Bright and jagged in a way his home never was. It's falling apart as he dodges blasters, ink, strings, and whatever else the two were using without any regard for those in the vicinity. Dream could see the residents running, children slung over shoulders and under arms as parents did their best to avoid being noticed by the two gods, their terror tasting like rot in Dream's bones.
He should be protecting them.
That was his role.
That's what Ink told him.
Amongst other things. Like the Multiverse. And Alternate Universes. And—
He shakes his head. This isn't the time for that. He needs to help them, to fix their problems, to keep them happy and content. Otherwise he would starve, a slow and painful death, which Ink says would bring a world of only pain and despair.
Snow crunches underfoot as he starts making his way towards the town. Ink and the other one seem absorbed in their battle, debris slowly filling the surrounding area, falling down the widening cracks of the floor. He doesn't want to look at them, but he can't help it. Can't tear his eyes away from the abyss yawning below.
Dark.
Oh, so dark.
Just like his little brother, melting, reforming, malice pinning him in place as he watched in horror.
Strings snag around his body while he's distracted, pulling him up, up until he's strung below the other one, wrists and ankles pinned together like a butterfly in a display case.
Buzzing fills the space around them, words appearing and vanishing before Dream could fully read them. He ignores the increased buzzing above him and squirms, trying to loosen the strings that weave over his limbs.
'You?'
They dive down towards Dream, their faces only inches apart as their mismatched eye sockets squint suspiciously at him, fragments of words fluttering between them like insects. The strings have loosened somewhat, nowhere near enough to escape — goodness knows what would happen to him if he even tried — but enough to be able to move without fearing accidentally amputating himself with them.
Their eyes roam his face, the gaze focused so strongly he fears it may burn a hole through his skull. He doesn't know what they're looking for, but their scrutiny is overwhelming. Helplessly, he looks around, taking stock of what is happening. It does him no good to be so unaware of his surroundings. Anything could've happened, and he would be none the wiser; he chides himself.
Ink is helping the residents escape while the other one's attention is focused on him. He's glad. Even if he was useless in a fight, at least his capture and subsequent death would not have been in vain. The town is, well, not great. There are still houses left, but not many. He accidentally meets the other one's gaze and quickly looks away, glancing down towards their hands.
Despite everything, they're almost pretty, clasped together, bright blue string weaving around the multicoloured bones. His own hands are muddy and wet, plain white bone a strong contrast against the multicoloured bones of the other. Soft blue strings loosely hold his wrists together, the same blue strings woven between their fingers, connecting them.
He has to save his brother.
He reaches out his hands, clasping them gently around the other's, lifting his eyelights to meet their startled gaze.
'Please.'
A small broken sound leaves them, but they don't pull away.
'Please don't kill me.'
Dream keeps his gaze firmly on the other, hoping that it'll keep them distracted while Ink gets the last of the people out. The other's hands are cold where he grasps them, trembling under his hold.
Their fingers relax in Dream's grip, the taste of rot shifting into something sweeter.
The strings loosen their hold, dropping him headfirst into a snow poff as his hands slip off of the others. They stay perched up above him, like a spider in its web, before disappearing with a loud screech.
Dream stares up at the empty space that the other occupied just moments before.
Peculiar.
He wasn't entirely sure why that had worked. Maybe people here are more receptive to kindness than he thought, they did seem to become docile awfully fast once Dream was nice to them.
Or maybe they had simply never been offered mercy before.
He ignores how the idea of someone suffering under his watch makes his soul ache, as Ink bounds over to where he landed, pulling him out of the snow while rambling loudly.
'Dreamy! That was so cool! I've never seen Error run away like that before. Weird.'
'Error?'
Was that the other one's name? It seems a little mean-spirited in Dream's opinion, but if that's what they wish to be called, who is he to judge? It seems to have been the wrong thing to say, because Ink starts flailing around, drawing the attention of the surviving residents.
'Shit! I forgot to tell you about Error. C'mon, I'll tell you about him somewhere safer, 'kay?'
He doesn't get a chance to respond before Ink's calloused hand roughly intertwines with his, and he drags Dream through a gross, inky portal to somewhere warmer.
It's sunny here. Not that he gets a chance to appreciate the warmth on his face before Ink drags him towards a nearby building with an unusually serious look on his face. A cheerful bell rings as he's dragged into a corner booth, his tattered cape dragging mud and water along the clean leather seats.
Dream makes a note to himself to ask for cleaning supplies after Ink finally decides to clarify what exactly happened in the previous world. Ink had already skipped over to the counter, where a decidedly weary skeleton was looking at Ink apprehensively.
Not the first time they've met, then. The skeleton looked exhausted, but made no attempt to send Ink away. A relative, perhaps. Or a dear friend.
It was comforting to know Ink had people who cared for him.
Dream files them away for future reference as he glances around the cafe; now that the adrenaline has stopped humming through his bones, he can focus on things he didn't get a chance to previously.
Monsters must be more commonplace in the multiverse than they were back home, because all manner of monsters are gathered around various booths and tables, laughing and playing with the various cats littered around. Their joy appeased something hungry inside him, something he hadn't even realised was there, making him sink further into the plush seating as Ink trots over with drinks.
'I didn't know what you liked, so I got you tea.'
Dream glances dubiously at the cup. The supposed tea was sweet-smelling, the liquid itself a soft gold, with flower petals drifting serenely across the surface. He takes a small sip as Ink settles opposite him. The flavour is floral, tasting like perfume, making him wrinkle his nasal ridge before he can stop himself. Quickly he schools his expression, hoping Ink didn't catch his disgust. It wouldn't do him any good to be rude about Ink's taste in tea, especially with how expensive it is.
Nostalgia catches him off guard, longing twisting at his soul. Tea was a rare treat, always gifted by happy villagers whenever he helped people, the earthy taste reminding him of his mother. His brother had always looked longingly at the pretty porcelain cups, always just out of reach.
Ink hasn't even taken a sip of his drink before he starts talking, words spilling out as though he can't contain them any longer.
'Okay, so Error is kind of a big problem, like, the biggest problem. He's been around nearly as long as I have, and he has it out for everyone.
Dream listens intently as Ink's hand nearly knocks his drink all over the table, missing it by mere centimetres.
'Like he could be doing anything, but for some reason he decides to target random AU's? Obviously, that's why we fight, well. That's why I fight him. He just kinda tries to destroy around me. As if I'm a pest in his way.'
That sounds lonely. No wonder the poor guy seems to have gone insane. He keeps the thought to himself as Ink starts ranting fully now, gesturing wildly as he speaks, nearly knocking over his own drink, yet again, in his irritation.
'Anyway. He's really powerful, like strings that can pull you into the anti-void, which is basically nothing, just. Nothing, forever, which is where he lives actually, which-'
Lives.
He lives there.
Alone, in nothing, forever.
Dream thinks of his own home, of the quiet golden fields, the small lively village, of his mother and his brother. No one should have to live alone, let alone somewhere as harsh as that, even if they're misunderstood.
Ink pauses his raving to sip on his drink, his eyes changing to red and blue briefly, before he continues with renewed vigour.
'Well, it's not actually empty. It's super creepy, actually. He has all his gross strings on the ceiling. Is there a ceiling? Anyways, that doesn't matter, cause he keeps dolls with people's SOULs in them strung up there. I think he even talks to them? Maybe it's because he hates everyone. And he's got this thing where he can't- he really doesn't like being touched. Like at all. Which is-'
Perhaps he simply doesn't want to be alone? It's an extreme measure, sure, but loneliness does extreme things to people, especially if they've been alone for most of their life. Poor thing probably has no idea how to even start talking to people.
It takes him a second to realise that Ink has paused again, this one more deliberate than the last one, as he looks at Dream's hands and back up towards his face.
'Exactly what you did back there, Dreamy.'
Oh.
'It was only handholding, it's perhaps a little overfamiliar, but,' Dream says, setting his cup down carefully. 'they were scared, Ink, their hands were trembling so terribly, and then they just ran away.'
He sighs, watching the petals move with the ripples of his drink.
'I think, perhaps if someone simply spoke to them kindly…'
He trails off, finally noticing that Ink is staring at him with an unreadable expression, his eyelights plain white dots.
'Ink?'
The air between them is the quietest it's been since Ink found him by what remains of mother. It's at times like this where he wishes he could taste what Ink was feeling. It's disconcerting, even though it's only recently he's been around enough people to be able to tell what they're feeling, it makes it so much easier to try and guess what they are thinking. Even if all negative emotions taste the same to him, at least it gives some indication.
But nothing.
Finally, Ink blinks, his eyelights filling back in with a soft yellow star and a purple spiral.
'Dream.'
At the mention of his name, Dream sits up straighter, nervously fidgeting with the handle of his cup. Ink had never referred to him just by name, not even when they first met.
'Yes?'
He tries to calm his nerves. If he'd done something wrong, surely he would've been informed by now, no?
'You cannot fix him.'
The villagers had said similar things. Something twists unpleasantly in his chest, and he opens his mouth to protest.
'Bu-'
'No buts. He destroys entire worlds for fun, Dreamy. There's a reason no one has tried to before.'
'Then how do we know if no one's tried, Ink. What if he simply doesn't know anything else?How is he supposed to know how to talk to people if no one's ever tried talking to him kindly?'
Ink's fingers still against the side of his cup as he tilts his head, studying Dream's expression.
He shrinks back into his seat, but he can't back down. Not when there's someone who needs him.
'You'll work it out soon, Dreamy,' he says instead, easy again, like the pause never happened. 'now c'mon we have more stories to help.'
'Can I at least clean the mud we've left behind?'
'Mud? Oh crap.'
The antivoid is cold.
Not silent.
Never silent, not with the creators constantly talking over each other in circles.
His hands still felt wrong.
Not itchy like they usually did when he thought of being touched, but warm where the other had grasped. He almost expected to see marks where the other had touched, something physical to explain why he could still feel them wrapped around his own hands.
Why didn't he pull away?
He hates them.
How dare they think they could touch him without any repercussions.
He glares up at the dolls strung along the roof.
Stupid yellow creature.
He pulls his glasses out of his inventory, taping them to his face as he pulls out his knitting needles. The creators were still gushing over the incident earlier, clamouring on and on about 'ships' and 'redemption arcs'.
One of these days he's going to work out how to shut them up.
But for now at least he can drown them out with Undernovella.