Chapter Text
It was no secret to anyone that Dust struggled. His past haunted him every day he lived. Not-Papyrus enjoyed tormenting him every time he got closer to forgiving himself.
When he was not on missions or with the others, he spent most of his time cooped up in his bedroom; yelling at his ghost, suffering from nightmares, or causing harm to himself.
At first, Nightmare had not known how to make it stop. He had assumed company would help, as it did for most mortals, so he had attempted to make his subordinates talk more. Killer and Dust did not get on very well, so he introduced a new employee; Horror. The two had become more positive with the new addition quite easily, and Nightmare assumed he had solved the simple issue of loneliness.
It had almost worked.
Now it was well past midnight, and if their AU had a sun, it would have surely begun to rise by now. Dust had been awake for quite a while, and his negative emotions had been incredibly prominent despite the fact that Nightmare’s living quarters were on the complete opposite side of the castle. Before, he would have liked the emotions; he would soak in the delicious negativity and continue on with his paperwork. Unfortunately, he had previously figured out that he did not enjoy the taste of negativity from his own lackeys. It would be a lie to say that Nightmare cared about his subordinates – the only thing he cared for was whether they would be able to efficiently go out and spread negativity for him – but it did bother him when they felt down.
Which was why Nightmare had gotten up from his desk and melted into the shadows, quick-travelling to his subordinates’ quarters and rising in front of Dust’s mildly damaged wooden door. Knocking was beneath him; he simply turned the knob and walked in slowly so as to not startle him. There was a dim white glow that did practically nothing to light up the room.
“Dust?” His voice was smooth and calming as it carried around the small room, or, at least, that was the effect it usually had on the others. Unfortunately, it did not catch the skeleton’s attention as he continued to mumble panicked gibberish and hold a sharp bone attack in front of his summoned SOUL– the source of the light. His hood was down, how unusual. His crumpled expression made Nightmare want to look away, but he did not.
Nightmare could not have one of his servants dusting under his watch, could he?
A cold, dripping tendril slithered from his back and coiled around the other’s shaking arm with a gentleness that he firmly chose not to think about, finally grabbing his attention. “Bo- oss…” Dust attempted to defend what he had been doing, deny what Nightmare had clearly seen, but his voice was strained and – from what his emotions told him – hurting. “Hush.” Was his response as Nightmare closed the door with another tendril and simultaneously walked to the small bed, sitting down next to Dust. The guardian’s weight made the bed dip, causing Dust to tilt and lean his skull against Nightmare’s shoulder.
Only then did Nightmare’s appendage unravel from the other’s arm, taking the bone attack at the same time and crushing it into dusty flakes. The murderer next to him’s face scrunched as he began to cry for what seemed to be the umpteenth time this night, unsummoning his SOUL and burying his face in his hand as the other pulled his hood over his face in shame. Nightmare’s chilling hand pulled them both away as his other wrapped around the small, quaking skeleton. His corruption was cool against Dust’s warm, wet phalanges.
Wet phalanges?
A quick glance down proved that Dust was bleeding. Probably self-inflicted, too. Nightmare let out a worried disappointed sigh, and turned so that he was now facing the crying skeleton. “You are to tell me when you think about harming yourself.” He pulled Dust’s head against his chest, letting his SOULbeat give a steady rhythm that would hopefully calm the other down. “I’m… so- rry…” Dust choked out, arms slowly lifting from his sides and wrapping around the body of his king. “Woke y- ou up…”
Nightmare shook his head, which Dust could not see but definitely felt. “I do not sleep.” He stated. “What is the cause of your anguish?” His question hung in the air for a couple of still, silent moments. Dust shook with each quiet sob, unknowing of how to reply. “I- I’m a mu- rderer… k-killed everyone I… I loved…” He stuttered, grip tightening on Nightmare’s clothes, enough to leave wrinkles. Nightmare hummed, the thrumming noise echoing around Dust’s skull. “There is no further need to explain yourself. You will be fine. I am sure of it.”
Dust looked up at him, hood falling slightly to let a cyan and red eyelight peek through timidly. The look in his eye was filled with such complete, undoubting trust, that it reminded Nightmare of Dream after a thunderstorm; when he had had to comfort his small twin with calming stories and gentle words. Nightmare carefully pulled the hood back off of his head, to see that precious face again.
“Let me tell you a tale,” Nightmare said quietly after a couple of minutes, stroking Dust’s bare skull with a clawed hand, careful not to scrape the delicate bone. The only acknowledgement he got was a small shuffle against his chest. “Of two twin brothers.” Dust flinched at the mention of a sibling, understandably. “They both guarded something important to them– a pendant, let us say. One of the twins, the wiser one, advised his brother to look after their important pendant with him. The other, the more carefree one, instructed his brother to keep watch of it whilst he went to play with the other children.” A frown crossed Nightmare’s face as he tried to keep his wording vague and unrelated to himself.
“Upset, the wiser twin told the other that he could go away and play as long as he would like, for he was selfish and did not care for their pendant like he did. The carefree twin angrily blew a raspberry at him and disappeared for the entire day, and he would catch glimpses of him playing with the other kids.” Dust leaned backward slightly, letting go of his king to sit cross-legged and listen obediently.
“The carefree twin was gone for the whole day, and then the whole night. Multiple children and adults came to their home, asking him and forcing him to give them the special pendant. In rage, the wiser twin – or rather, he believed he was wiser – destroyed the pendant and fled from their home in anger.” Nightmare watched as Dust’s mouth opened to say something, and then clacked shut again. He gave a small nod for him to speak.
“Children’s st- story. ‘M not a child.” He mumbled in slight offense, crossing his arms. “A story of children, not a story for children. Are you going to let me continue?” Nightmare tutted. Dust sighed and nodded, unfolding his arms and letting his hands rest in his lap.
“The carefree twin soon heard of the news from others about what had happened. When he arrived home, his brother was gone, and their pendant was broken beyond repair. He wept and wept until he could not any longer, and went out in search of his brother, day and night – all alone. But when he found him, they fought again. Both twins knew that they would never make amends again.” He shook his head slowly and closed his socket. “‘S that it?” Dust spat. “The mo- moral of the story is that we’re both assholes who h- hurt our brothers? Is that it?” He tried to sound angry, but all Nightmare could hear was the desperation in his voice for him to tell him otherwise.
“You do not understand. You both hurt your brothers, whether it was abandoning them or, well, murdering them.” Dust looked away in shame, and Nightmare’s tendril lifted his head by his chin to look at him again. “And you both extremely regret it. And neither of you have moved on, either.”
“Is it a true story? Do these twins actually exist?” Dust asked, and Nightmare smirked at the thought of Dream finding out he was the antagonist in a made-up children’s story. “Yes. It was definitely not over a pendant, and there was a little more killing involved, but those twins are real and are still fighting to this day. I doubt there is a day that goes by where the carefree twin does not wish he had stayed with his brother.” Nightmare sighed. “But they have nothing to do with us. I want you to know that you are not alone, and everyone in this castle has been through something. You are no less than the rest of your teammates.” He said, placing a hand on Dust’s cheekbone. Dust sighed and leaned into the touch, closing his sockets. “H is gonna call us down for breakfast soon…” he mumbled. Nightmare shook his head at him. “I will inform him you will be eating later.” And he pulled him against his chest once more, leaning back until he reached the pillows, and let his tendrils pull the covers over them. “Go to sleep, Dust. You will not have any bad dreams as long as I am here.” He assured, holding the other close. “Murder.” He whispered. “Pardon?”
“Please… call me Murder. I don’t wanna be Dust anymore.”
Not long after, Dust Murder relaxed in his hold, his breathing evening out as he finally drifted off.
It was nobody else's business if Nightmare occasionally let Murder visit his bedroom at night, when he asked for some help with his bad dreams, and to listen to the story books Nightmare had grabbed out of his personal library just for him.