Archive of Our Own

In just a few hours the negativity had started to speed up the villager’s decay. Unable to move, six-year-old Dream’s sockets may have been as stone as the rest of him, but he was still completely aware. His Mother’s power pulsed in his newly consumed apple-soul, giving Dream abilities he had no want of. The ghosts of the villagers milled around in shock, except for the few trying to drag themselves away from the carnage of their own mutilated bodies. Dream had hysterically realised some time ago that the spirits had retained their wounds in death: some were headless, others had gaping holes in their chests, while others still were hacked roughly through. Mayor Naru was pulling herself down the crest of the hill with her remaining arm, ghostly guts loitering behind her severed torso. Dream wanted to retch.

Stuck between living and dead, Dream could not only see the ghosts, but the physical realm, too. He really wished he couldn’t. Dream’s soul squirmed as the pale, gelatinous skin from Sarah’s body quivered. With a wet sound it sloughed off her body in wrinkly, slimy sheets, slumping to the ground in a trembling lump. Where the skin had fallen away were revealed slick, writhing worms, wriggling over each other for the best position in the squirming carpet of Sarah’s flesh. Her ghost was turned toward the gore, though she lacked a head, and Dream felt the hysteria rising when he considered whether that was a good thing.

Worse arguably still was the villagers’ negativity, which was striking an offensive against Dream’s soul. His Mother’s ‘gift’ allowed their invasive emotions in, splintering through Dream’s own grief and horror before he could process any of it. The empathy hewed into the apple like an axe in Dream’s chest. The distress kept building and building, peaking into panic that Dream could do nothing about in his rigid state. He’d realise over and over: he was entirely stone, still except for the apple-soul thudding in his rocky ribcage. The panic would reach a pitch so intense Dream would feel numb from it, only for him to refocus on a dismembered arm or exposed, veiny flesh, pulsating with the movement of maggots, and the screaming terror would claw and tear its way back to the forefront.

He'd occasionally refocus on the little spirit kneeling in the centre of it all, but so far Dream had only managed to steal glances, unable to stand looking any more, sick to his soul. Avoiding the little spirit, and with little else to look at, Dream found himself instead watching someone else’s decomposing corpse. Their flesh became slowly gummy as Dream watched, pustules pushing blackened heads though the skin’s thin membrane. It was the negativity rushing the progress of the rot, Dream thought again helplessly. He could feel its frigid burden upon his soul as if Mother’s boughs had crushed him.

Thoughts of negativity drew Dream’s attention slowly, inexorably, toward the group’s centre once more, and, unable to watch the progress of the corpses any longer, he resolved to finally take it in. Kneeling there, expression haunted with trauma no child should have to face, was Dream’s brother, Nightmare. His hands lay palm-up on his femurs, his whole ghostly body shook, and his skull—

Dream felt so sick, but avoiding it wasn’t going to change anything, and he forced himself to actually, finally look. On one side, Nightmare’s skull was caved in. One of his sockets was missing, not even an eyelight left intact. Dream traced the craggy edges of it with his gaze, trying desperately to process that he could see the bodies behind Nightmare through the hole in his head. It felt unreal.

Dream startled suddenly, feeling an icicle slice right through his apple-soul. His emotions were stricken with what he knew, somehow, was Nightmare’s feelings of vehement disgust, shock and regret. Dream had no idea how to control Mother’s power. Helplessly, he was tortured with the sheer strength of Nightmare’s self-hatred, bearing down on them both like a cleaver. He wanted to scream, but Dream could not move, and without Nightmare’s body his brother’s share of Mother’s power belonged to someone else. He couldn’t talk to his brother, and Nightmare lacked the ability to feel Dream’s desperation like Dream could feel his.

Though – as if Dream’s very soul had cried out and his twin had heard some faint echo of it, Nightmare finally raised his gaze: only slightly, but just enough to meet Dream’s. He hadn’t moved at all in hours and Dream felt his soul seize. Tears welled in Nightmare’s good socket. His shoulders shook, but the only sound Nightmare permitted himself was one tiny, hitched sob.

It was enough.

At once, as if broken from a trance, the other ghosts turned in on Dream’s brother. Lit poorly by a muddied sky, the ghostly figures twisted in unison, those who had faces cocking them like owls zeroing in on a wounded mouse. Their eyes were empty, sunken in toughening ghostly flesh, going rigid and cold and white with death. Their mouths were drawn down, and as if their skin and fur and scales were beginning to forget what they were meant to look like, their faces were stretching at the seams. What should have been meat beneath the tears in their skin instead oozed out in thick, pale globules and strands. Dream found Albert, the metalsmith, standing eerily in the crowd, and watched in horror as he was the first to take a step toward Nightmare. The others followed, just a single step. Dream silently begged Nightmare to run, but now that he was looking at Dream it was as if the rest of the world no longer existed. The ghosts’ heads cocked to the other side. Albert’s skin stretched, spilling off his ghostly face as if it were made of thick slime. Dream watched it cover his features entirely, the sheet of slime-skin sucking in and out where his mouth mocked living breaths. Albert took a second step, the rest of the villagers following. The skin sloughed off his face entirely, revealing a meaty mouth in a permanent, silent scream.

The sudden change in the crowd’s emotions hit Dream like an axe, vile and bloodthirsty, and Dream had a panicked moment to wonder if this is what they’d been feeling when they’d murdered his brother. If Dream had eaten an apple then, would that’ve warned him in time? Could he have saved Nightmare?

Fear jolted through Dream so powerfully he thought for a moment he’d been broken from stone. Hunter, who’d been dead before Dream had arrived to this gruesome scene, who Dream thought was possibly responsible for starting all this, broke through the phantom crowd, head hanging on by a grisly thread. Her fury burned frigid like the coldest southern windstorm, and Dream realised: if death could be called an escape, for Nightmare, this time there was none.

One more step, and finally Nightmare jolted when a fist was raised over him. Dream was helpless to even close his sockets.

The fist came down.

“enough!” echoed a new voice. The ghosts all stumbled back, the blow to Nightmare’s vulnerable skull not landing. Dream felt a strange, out-of-place dread consume him – followed swiftly by the terror of the ghosts. Something anticipatory and absolute was unfolding itself from the universe’s fabric, and Dream reeled at the emotions of the newcomer that emerged from it.

“you pieces of shit can  r o t,” said the shadowy newcomer. A cloak like the night sky pierced the veil, billowing out in a flare of starlight before consuming it like a blackhole. The person raised their hand to the soiled crimson night, clasping skeletal phalanges over the crescent of the moon and dragging down a scythe of moonlight from the heavens. They swung the weapon around skilfully, leaving a glittering trail in the blade’s path. Dream couldn’t see their face.

“cOMe hErE,” they growled.

One of the villagers screamed. They all scattered, but far too slowly. They tripped over each other, pushed each other out of the way; shoving; yelling. The figure effortlessly stalked forward, and with one swing of their moonlit scythe, cleaved every ghost in two. Terror left teeth marks in Dream’s soul, but as the scythe drew back and the figure’s fluttering cloak settled, to his instant relief he realised they’d aimed over Nightmare’s head. Nightmare remained kneeling, but he twisted to watch as the newcomer stalked down the hill away from them. There was a short scream, and the figure reappeared, holding a white, floating orb in their hand. It was Mayor Naru, Dream realised, who’d unsuccessfully been trying to get away.

The other villagers had been reduced to the same tiny, dense balls of light, their horrific, translucent bodies transformed. The people who’d murdered his brother were gone, and despite himself, Dream felt gratified.

The figure loomed over Nightmare and held out their hand. Despite their apparent gentleness, something in Dream’s soul screeched that he and Nightmare should run, at any cost.

“i can take the hurt away, kid,” the figure said, hand still outstretched. Their voice had turned kind. Nightmare stared at their hand numbly. The figure wiggled their phalanges, the edge of a smile quirking their mouth. They said, “if you come with me, i'll even let you hold my hand. kids get hand-holding privileges.”

“W-who are you?” Nightmare spoke at last. Dream wasn’t remotely curious. It was as if he had some kind of instinctual knowing: they had to get away. The figure let out a low chuckle.

“i am Death,” said Death.

Dream felt something drop sickeningly inside him. Nightmare stared at Death dumbly for long moments. Eventually, he let out a single, “Oh.”

“doesn’t that hurt?” Death asked, gesturing at Nightmare’s head. Nightmare’s tiny fingers went to the hole and Dream wanted to throw up all over again.

“i can take it all away,” Death repeated when Nightmare didn’t say anything.

Nightmare stood and turned toward Dream once more, and Death finally dropped their outstretched hand with a short huff. Nightmare looked so small and uncertain, not at all like his usual self. He’d always been quiet and reserved, but never like this. He looked… defeated. The negativity he felt made Dream feel like he was being crushed.

Timidly, Nightmare asked Death, “Can my brother come?”

“he will,” said Death, “but not yet. you'll see him again.”

“I want him t-to come,” Nightmare insisted, his voice cracking.

“no, you don’t,” Death chuckled.

“I’m not leaving him!” Nightmare suddenly screamed. In a blizzard of fury, Dream’s brother crashed into him, arms wrapping around Dream’s frozen chest and sobbing. Dream couldn’t hug him back. He couldn’t move. The frigid panic threatened to choke him.

Dream started becoming so cold it was painful, driving into his body as if he weren’t stone. It was only as it seemed to reach his soul that it came to him – what in Mother’s name was he doing?! Dream was the Guardian of Positivity! Dream had given no thoughts to his role, suffocating as he was in biting cold, but Mother had given him power, and finally Dream thought he might see how to use it.

He wasn’t certain how, but he could feel the tiny aura of warmth around the apple, and though he felt tiny and insignificant against the frigid atmosphere of negativity, he knew he had to try. Dream pushed as hard as he could, feeling queasy with the strain but refusing to stop. By tiny increments the warmth grew. Nightmare’s sob caught on a hitch, and though Dream’s chest hurt, he felt victorious. The frost had barely receded at all, but something in Nightmare’s remaining eyelight had changed.

“Dream?” he asked shakily, “A-Are you…?”

Dream pushed even harder, though it felt he might burst. The negativity around the twins pushed back marginally more, and Nightmare gasped.

“H-He’s awake!” Nightmare cried.

“shit, not again,” Death hissed, “hold on kid, i'm getting help.”

“Dream?” Nightmare’s hand went to Dream’s stony face, “Dream, hold on, please. I can’t do this alone. Please. I-It’s all my fault. I- I can’t- I can’t-”

Dream couldn’t answer him, and he didn’t have the strength to push the positivity out any further. He focussed on keeping it steady, and wanted so badly to cry when Nightmare pressed himself in even closer.

Behind him, Death had poured some strange, dark liquid on the ground from a tiny glass vial. They leant over it, frowning.

“i know you can hear me. i need your help.”

As Dream watched and Nightmare sobbed into his chest, the liquid shimmered and something dark and oily emerged from it. Even Nightmare finally whipped around as the dark blob formed into a person. A long brown scarf whipped out behind them, and they put their phalanges to the handle of the giant paintbrush strapped to their back, as if to soothe themself that it was still there as they continued to solidify. Dream hadn’t had his empathetic powers long, but still, the new skeleton’s emotions felt strange to him somehow. They waved Death off flippantly the moment they fully formed.

“I was in the middle of something!” they told them. Death barely acknowledged them, soul twisted with exasperation. The new person glanced around, giving a whistle.

“Wow!” they exclaimed heartily, putting their hands on their hips, “The scripts I saw didn’t do this story justice. This is brutal!”

“this is Ink,” Death told Nightmare, ignoring them, “they helped relieve your mother of suffering when being unable to move or change the world around her became too much.”

“I did?” Ink asked. Death sucked in a breath as if to speak, but Ink waved them off again, bringing their long scarf around in front of them, “Hold on, I started writing stuff down.”

“Nim,” Death reminded them impatiently.

“You put her to sleep,” Nightmare realised suddenly. His twin’s shock left Dream reeling, unable to process his own. Nightmare said, “That’s why we stopped hearing her.”

“yes,” Death said, “meaning, at least, she didn’t have to feel that.”

Death gestured behind Dream, where he knew Mother’s stump lay. Ink blinked a few times, their colourful eyelights shifting to where Death had pointed. Sadness emanated from them. The negativity made Dream dizzy: the apple was still straining to keep Nightmare calm.

“…Oh,” Ink said, “This is why I don’t like getting involved with the characters.”

“death is an inevitable relief,” Death said, “Nightmare, you and i need to talk. Ink, my charge’s brother is in a similar situation to Nim. he needs to go to sleep.”

“No, wake him up!” Nightmare shook his head vehemently, “I told you, I’m not leaving him!”

“we don’t have the power to free him,” Death’s voice was kind when they spoke to Nightmare, but Dream could feel their inner frustration. It scared him. Death said, “but we can grant him mercy.”

“Uh, I don’t think he’s due to die yet,” Ink said, “But lemme check the script.”

Ink made a strange waving movement with their hands and terror thrilled through Dream and Nightmare both. Death sighed.

“we aren’t killing him, Ink. i want you to put him to sleep, like you did for his mother,” Death repeated. Relief spun from Nightmare. The whiplash of emotions was dizzying: Dream hated this power. He just wanted things to go back to how they were before.

Ink hummed, and Death gestured at the bloody massacre Dream had almost managed to tune out with his fear for Nightmare. Death hissed, “he can’t stay here, awake, on a hill with corpses. he's six.”

“Define ‘six’,” Ink said, distracted, “Time’s weird in the multiverse. This AU only popped up the other day, but time would move differently in here than outside, I guess. It’s weird.”

Weird, it was. Dream couldn’t parse much of what Ink was saying. What he did understand was what Death was asking them to do. Dream didn’t want to go to sleep.

“does it matter? just do it,” Death told Ink. Ink looked unsure.

“I dunno, Nim was one thing, But-”

“we cannot leave him alone here!” Death snapped. Ink flinched, their emotions swirling into distress as they glanced away. They pushed their hands down as if brushing something out of the way, though there was nothing there Dream could see. Nightmare had flinched at Death’s yelling, too, clinging more desperately onto Dream’s stony arm. Death noticed. They softened.

“Nightmare,” they said more gently, “Ink will look after your brother. you don’t need to worry about anything anymore. you can finally just… be a kid. no bullies, no responsibilities…”

“But I’m a Guardian,” Nightmare pleaded.

“not anymore,” Death said. The second it came out of their mouth, Dream knew it’d been the wrong thing to say. Nightmare had always taken their responsibilities seriously. Nightmare’s posture grew stiff, and determination radiated from him.

“I am still the Guardian of Negativity,” Nightmare asserted, “I have to fix this. I’ve always been a spirit. You’re here for me because I don’t have my physical body anymore, right? What if I could get it back?”

“kid, you’re dead,” said Death.

“If I could kick that thing out of my body...” Nightmare wasn’t listening. He had that determined look on his face that he’d so often been missing lately. His remaining eyelight was distant, but no less intense for it. Dream felt so proud of how smart his brother was, even as he itched to soothe him. Ink, meanwhile, who’d been staring intently at empty space, suddenly made the same strange hand movement they had earlier.

“I don’t see anything in the script saying whether you have to be awake or not, so I guess it’s fine,” they told Dream quietly. Despair filled Dream to bursting for a moment. He only remembered to fight it when Nightmare’s anger increased suddenly. Dream didn’t know how any of this worked, but, he thought, the apple seemed to be linked to his own emotions. As Dream spiralled, the embers of positivity in the atmosphere flickered dangerously low. Scrambling for something happier, he thought of sleeping under Mother’s shade on a hot day with Nightmare, and though it was tainted with desperation, it also gave Dream hope. The apple’s warmth stretched out again, and Nightmare calmed a little. Dream felt exhausted by the effort.

Inner anger receding, Nightmare seemed to be able to concentrate again. He paced back and forth - another thing he hadn’t done for a while, after some villagers had told him it was ‘creepy’ to see a kid so deep in thought. (Those people were dead now. Dream was trying not to look at their dismembered bodies still.)

“you can’t get your body back,” Death was saying, but Nightmare was already interrupting them.

“How do you know?” he asked, pinning his last eyelight sharply on Death, “Is there a precedent?”

Death glanced away, “well, uh-”

“Then I have to try,” Nightmare said, folding his little arms over his chest. Death loomed, their scythe slung low over their shoulder.

“i can’t let you stay behind, kid,” they said.

“One chance,” Nightmare bargained, “If I fail, I’ll go with you quietly, I promise. There has to be a reason you haven’t used your scythe on me like you did with the villagers.”

Stars, Nightmare was so smart. Dream felt the pride in his chest swell. He focussed on that, trying to block out the terror and disgust of everything else about this situation. Ink had sidled up to him, staring intently again. It was unnerving. Dream didn’t know what they were looking at, but they kept making strange tapping movements with their phalanges against the air.

“we are not negotiating,” Death said.

“I think you’re scared to take me,” Nightmare asserted confidently, “Why didn’t you take the evil spirit when Mother first killed him?”

Dream could feel Death’s intense irritation. It scared Dream, but Nightmare was feeling vindicated, a smug look on his face.

“careful of your tone, Guardian-child.”

“Old man,” Nightmare crowed. They stared each other down for long seconds. Nightmare’s hands drew into fists. Eventually, Death was the one to relent.

“that other spirit was so intwined with your mother’s that i risked killing her by reaping him,” they explained, “with anyone else, i might’ve tried anyway, but Nim is... was important to the multiverse. Nim wasn’t quite dead - she was in much the same state as your brother is now.”

“That doesn’t explain why you don’t take me by force now,” Nightmare said. As impressed by his brother’s cleverness and fortitude as Dream was, he begged him silently to stop challenging Death. He wished he would just run.

“i can,” Death growled lowly. There was a hefty pause, where Death and Guardian both stared each other down. Moments later, though, Death shrugged, “but you’re a powerful spirit, even if you are injured, and i don’t want to fight.”

“Let’s not fight, then,” Nightmare said. He held up a single bloody phalange, “One chance at getting my body back. That’s all I want.”

“that other spirit’s no joke,” Death growled, “it leaves a wake of malice everywhere it goes. even if you can force yourself back in and force it out, with all the negativity magic coursing through that body, it’ll be hard to control. you might lose yourself to it.”

“I’ll take that chance,” Nightmare said.

“you could become the same type of psychopath you’re trying to kill,” Death said coldly.

“’Could’ is better than definitely leaving one running around,” Nightmare said dryly. He’d always sounded so grown up, Dream thought. Dream startled when Nightmare let go of his hand.

“We killed these people together,” Nightmare said. Dream’s nausea had never truly abated, but it roiled in him once more at hearing that. The apple felt hugely strained, trying with increasing desperation to keep Nightmare calm. Nightmare said, “I wanted the people who hurt me to suffer, but this isn’t only…”

Even with Dream’s influence, Nightmare’s despair rallied. He moved through it, as he always had. He growled, “He’s out there, hurting more people, wearing my face. Using my name.”

He stared Death down. Dream could feel Death’s frustration and Nightmare’s cold fury. He could see Death’s angry face through the hole in Nightmare’s skull.

“I have to fix this,” Nightmare told Death. They stared each other down again, but this time it was a short wait. Death huffed, tossing their head back at the moon and cursing under their breath.

“one chance,” they said loudly, waggling a phalange at Nightmare, “if i decide you’ve failed, you come with me. no ifs or buts, capiche? i’ll be watching.”

And with that, they raised their scythe above them and cleaved through the air, revealing a screaming town with a pitch black sky through the rip. Both twins startled. Nightmare gave Dream a short, determined nod.

“I’m going to make sure you’ll be okay,” he said, “No matter what, remember that I love you, Dream.”

And then, he left. The rip closed, and Dream was completely unable to say anything back.

He wanted to scream.

He couldn’t feel this way: he had to stay positive for Nightmare. His brother had been given another chance, and Dream knew better than most that Nightmare could handle anything. He was smart, and cunning, protective and stronger than people gave him credit for, and Dream couldn’t stop thinking about the hole in his skull and how terrified he felt without his brother here and staring at the guts sown upon the ground like gnarled, bloody branches reaching up for-

He cut that thought short.

“i’ll look after him,” Death told Dream, “when he comes with me, he’ll finally be at peace. i don’t normally make promises, but you two deserve that much... Ink? how are you going?”

“Nearly got it,” Ink said. They’d summoned and stuck out a vibrant rainbow tongue.

“thank you,” Death said. Once more, they sliced their scythe through the sky, opening another rip, and stepped through, tossing a “see you round, kid” over their shoulder as they left.

Ink glanced at them, then back at Dream. They pulled up and stopped making their strange hand movements.

"I have the code implemented, but I wanted to wait until you saw that to run it,” Ink said. Despondency shrouded them like a veil. They tapped the handle of their giant paintbrush a few times.

“Broomie said you’d want to,” they shrugged, “And I guess it makes sense for your character. Anyway, I hope you’re ready now.”

Dream wasn’t. Now that Nightmare was gone, the apple finally seemed to give out, positivity spluttering like a soaked flame. Ink frowned, as if they could feel it – well, probably, Dream realised, they could. Ink shook it off almost immediately, regardless.

“Now, don’t move,” they chuckled, and Dream wanted to grimace, but, of course, he couldn’t. Ink’s demeanour had changed unnaturally fast. Ink tapped at the air and said, “I’m still learning how to code a bit - don’t tell Reaper, hah, he and everyone else think I’m already a pro! I just need a bit more practice, so thanks for helping me out with that, buddy!”

Something strange shifted in Dream’s awareness. The world seemed to darken a bit.

“I tried not to rewrite too much,” Ink said. Their hands were on their hips again, “You might not remember much of this if I do, and trust me, not remembering things isn’t as nice as everyone tells you.”

They laughed again, but their emotions were strained. Dream believed them. He desperately wanted Ink to stop.

What was happening to Nightmare? Did he manage to do it? Had he gone with Death? Was he happy? That was all Dream had ever wanted - for everyone to just be happy. That thought floated gentle as embers off a campfire as his world got darker still.

“Think that’s done it,” Ink was saying. Their voice was growing distant, “Script says you’re gonna be here a while, so get comfy buddy. If I’ve done this right, by the time you wake up, this’ll all just feel like a dream, ey? Ey?”

Ink laughed.

“Hey, maybe I’ll see you again. Bett e r  w r i  t  e   t  h   i   s    d   o    w     n    .     .     .”

The world drowned, and Dream went with it. In the place of Ink’s voice, another carried Dream softly away. Dream didn’t have to cling to it, it stayed with him, supporting him on his way.

I’m going to make sure you’re okay,

                                                said the voice.

No matter what,

remember I love you, Dream.

Dream’s soul sung, and was lain to rest.