Chapter Text
Nightmare remained in his office for days after the fight.
The room had long since fallen into silence, the paperwork on his desk untouched despite the hours that had passed.
He had tried working at first. He had tried reading reports to distract himself.
He had even attempted organizing some of the old scripts he kept stored away to do something noteworthy.
Nothing seemed to keep his attention for long.
Every time his thoughts wandered, they inevitably returned to Dream.
"They won't be enough."
"Let them go."
"Why are you torturing those poor monsters?"
The words looped endlessly through his skull without mercy.
Nightmare scowled and leaned back in his chair.
It was ridiculous.
Dream had always been wrong, even back in their childhood where Dream had sided with those horrid villagers.
He always assumed the worst of Nightmare no matter what. Always believed Nightmare was some mindless monster incapable of caring about anyone.
So why were those words affecting him now, when usually he just ignored it?
His eyelight dimmed slightly.
Perhaps because for once Nightmare wasn't entirely certain Dream was wrong.
His gaze drifted toward the office door.
His jewels.
The title still made warmth spread through his soul whenever he thought it.
Nightmare wasn't entirely sure when he had started calling them that.
At first they had been subordinates.
Then a gang.
Then somehow they had become treasures.
Jewels.
Gems.
His jewels.
It simply felt right.
Far more right than any other title he had tried, and trust him, he had tried a lot.
Of course, Nightmare would never say it aloud, especially not in hearing distance to one of them.
The very thought made his cheekbones warm and made him feel uncomfortably hot.
If Killer heard it, he would never stop teasing him.
Dust would probably stare at him like he had grown a second skull.
And Horror...
Nightmare didn't know what Horror would do, but he was fairly certain it would be humiliating.
Besides, they would hate it.
They would think Nightmare was objectifying them and treating them like possessions.
The thought alone that they could hate him made his soul twist unpleasantly.
A pulse of emotion brushed against his senses and forced him out of his anxiety driven spiral.
Nightmare straightened immediately as he knew what this meant.
Someone was outside his door.
Again.
This had become strangely common over the last few days where Nightmare had locked himself in.
One or more of them would wander down the hallway and stop outside his office.
They would then linger there with nervousness practically oozing from them.
Then leave after five minutes without knocking or calling his name.
Nightmare wasn't sure if they knew he always sensed them or if they were just deliberately ignoring this fact.
He could even identify each of them instantly.
Killer's emotions bounced around chaotically but they still felt somewhat muted.
Dust's were quieter and more layered, they didn't express a lot, and rarely ever more than two emotions at once.
Horror's felt steady and deep like an underground river that was smooth and not hidden like the way Killer or Dust's was.
Several times Nightmare had almost called out to them as they lingered outside his office.
He almost opened the door for them and allowed them inside.
Yet every time just as he was about to let them in, he stopped himself.
He needed time before he could face any of them.
And he needed answers for those weird emotions he has been feeling for a while now.
Still...
Something felt different this time.
Nightmare focused more carefully on the aura outside.
His eyelight narrowed at what he felt coming from the other side of the door.
There was fear, anxiety, self loathing, guilt, and so many other different emotions that Nightmare usually enjoyed but made him feel sick right now.
There was even enough negativity that Nightmare could practically taste it through the door.
His grip tightened on the armrest of his chair.
That wasn't right.
None of his jewels should be feeling this badly while he was here.
Concern curled through his soul before he could suppress it.
Who was it?
With this many negative emotions it could be any of them, for some reason their own auras seemed to blend together when feeling a massive amount of negativity.
Well, who it was didn't really matter he supposed, what mattered was what had happened and how he could fix it.
For a second Nightmare debated ignoring it.
Why shouldn't he?
He had ignored every other time one of his jewels had lingered outside his office. They had always eventually left on their own.
This time should be no different.
And yet...
Nightmare knew he couldn't just ignore it this time.
A deep sense of unease filled his soul at even the thought of it.
His mind whispered that allowing this one to leave would be a mistake.
A terrible mistake that would cost him a lot.
With a quiet sigh, Nightmare pushed himself out of his chair, even though he was still hesitating.
His shoes clicked softly against the hardwood floor as he crossed the office. Each step seemed louder than the last in the otherwise silent room.
When he reached the door, he hesitated visibly.
His hand hovered above the handle, debating if he should truly open it, he didn't feel ready.
Then he opened it.
Nightmare's eyelight widened slightly at the sight that stood before him.
Dust stood there, and he looked terrible.
His clothes were wrinkled and disheveled as though he had spent hours fighting something or ripping his own clothes. His hood hung crookedly around his shoulders and there were tears in the fabric.
His eyelights were the thing that most caught Nightmare's attention however.
They burned brightly, far too brightly than what was considered normal.
Nightmare had only ever seen them look like that when he first found Dust in that alley back in his AU.
Back when he had been insane, talking to thin air.
Back when he had been drowning in negativity and had nothing to pull him out of it.
The sight immediately made Nightmare tense, his tentacles instinctively sharpening.
Not to attack Dust, but to the thoughts that someone had made Dust this upset, this guilty.
Nightmare's gaze drifted downward as he noticed something.
Dust's phalanges were coated in dust, and it was falling down onto the floor as Dust stood there trembling.
Small cracks and nicks marred the bones of his phalanges as if he had been clawing at something or punching walls.
The sight made Nightmare's soul twist painfully.
He had seen monsters like this countless times throughout his existence.
Monsters that looked like this after losing loved ones.
Monsters that looked like this after wars.
Monsters thay looked like this after tragedies.
He knew exactly what spiraling looked like.
Yet seeing it on Dust felt different from seeing it on anyone else.
It looked wrong. Painfully wrong.
A bubbling sense of worry rose through Nightmare's soul before he could suppress it.
For a moment neither of them spoke.
Dust simply stood there breathing unevenly, staring at the floor.
Nightmare stared at him silently, he tried not to let the concern shine through as he tried to understand.
Tried to understand what could have possibly happened to reduce Dust to this state.
And realizing, with growing alarm, that he even though he wanted answer, the questions could wait.
Whatever isolation he had been forcing upon himself could wait.
Dust couldn't wait.
Without another moment of hesitation, Nightmare stepped forward and gently reached for Dust's phalanges, carefully taking both hands into his own.
His grip was impossibly delicate, as though Dust were made of fragile glass rather than sturdy bones and magic.
Nightmare lowered his gaze to inspect the damage.
The nicks weren't severe.
Nothing looked broken.
Yet that did little to ease the knot of worry tightening inside his soul.
He held Dust's hands with such tenderness that anyone outside the castle would likely refuse to believe it possible.
Nightmare was supposed to be cruel. Monstrous. The God of Negativity. The creature children were warned about and adults feared.
A being like Nightmare wasn't supposed to look at someone with concern.
Wasn't supposed to hold another person's phalanges as though they were precious.
Wasn't supposed to care.
And yet Nightmare found that he couldn't bring himself to care about those expectations right now.
A slight frown settled onto Nightmare's face as he carefully examined the scratches covering Dust's phalanges, trying to determine what could have caused them.
Then something wet landed against his own goop covered phalanges.
A small lilac droplet that innocently slid down and fell onto the floor.
Nightmare froze at the sight of it, he couldn't even feel it since his bones were covered in goop.
Another followed moments later.
Then another.
Slowly, confusion and pure worry began creeping through him, Nightmare had a theory on what it could be, and so he lifted his gaze to look at Dust.
His breath caught as soon as he caught sight of his face.
Dust was crying.
Lilac tears slipped continuously from his eyesockets, rolling down his cheekbones before falling onto their joined hands.
The tears shimmered faintly in the light of the hallway, beautiful in a heartbreaking sort of way.
For a second Nightmare could only stare.
Something inside him hurt at the sight of these tears.
A sharp, unpleasant ache that spread through his soul and settled heavily behind his ribs.
Dust was crying.
Dust, who rolled his eyes whenever Killer got dramatic.
Dust, who always tried to act annoyed rather than vulnerable.
Dust, who carried so much pain inside himself yet rarely allowed anyone to see it.
Was crying.
And Nightmare had no idea why.
Panic immediately began to creep into him.
Had he done something?
Had ignoring them for days hurt Dust this badly?
Had something happened during the raid that Nightmare didn't know about?
Had someone gotten injured and Nightmare didn't know it?
The possibilities raced through his skull too quickly for him to grasp any of them.
All he knew was that Dust was standing in front of him crying, and Nightmare desperately wanted it to stop.
Without consciously deciding to, Nightmare tightened his hold on Dust's hands slightly and stepped closer.
Their faces were suddenly only inches apart.
Close enough for Nightmare to see every tear.
Close enough to notice the trembling in Dust's jaw.
Close enough to hear the uneven breaths he was desperately trying to hide.
Under any other circumstances, Nightmare probably would've become flustered by the proximity.
Right now he couldn't bring himself to care.
"Shh... shh..."
His voice came out softer than intended.
Gentler than intended.
"I am sorry."
Nightmare wasn't even sure what he was apologizing for, but the words left him anyway.
"Why are you crying?"
Another tear slipped free.
Nightmare felt his soul twist painfully.
"It will be alright."
His phalange carefully brushed across Dust's knuckles.
"It will be alright, Dust."
His voice had lowered almost to a whisper.
The kind of voice one used when speaking to something precious that they didn't want to hurt.
"I'm sorry."
The words came again.
"I will make it better."
Nightmare continued murmuring reassurances without even realizing he was doing so, his voice calm and steady despite the panic swirling inside him.
"You are safe."
Another gentle squeeze of Dust's hands.
"Nothing bad is going to happen."
A pause.
Then softer still.
"I promise."
Nightmare didn't know what was wrong or why Dust continued crying no matter what Nightmare said to him.
Dust just kept crying.
At some point Nightmare stopped trying to understand why and gave up the worthless reassurances.
The reason still mattered, of course it did, but right now Dust was hurting and talking clearly wasn't helping the way Nightmare hoped it would.
Maybe it was the pain that was causing his tears.
Nightmare doubted it, if he was being honest.
Dust had endured far worse injuries since arriving at the castle.
Killer wasn't exactly gentle with Dust, and Dust was sometimes too lazy to do the safe thing which often times ended with him hurt.
He had shrugged off broken bones, ignored magical exhaustion, and walked around with wounds that would've put most monsters in bed for weeks.
Still, Nightmare couldn't simply stand there and do nothing.
So he focused on healing him instead, hoping that'd help.
Dark magic flowed from Nightmare's goop and onto Dust's damaged phalanges.
The process was slow and clumsy, nothing like the elegant healing magic most monsters possessed.
Nightmare had always hated that weakness of his.
He was made from negativity itself, he was made to hurt, not heal.
The magic somehow resisted him at every turn.
It drained his energy.
Made his eyelight flicker.
Caused small droplets of goop to slide from his tentacles and splash quietly onto the floor.
Yet Nightmare refused to stop, Dust needed his phalanges to he healed, so Nightmare would heal them.
"It's alright," he murmured softly, almost subconsciously.
The cracks in Dust's phalanges slowly began knitting themselves together.
"You are safe."
The dust spilling from his bones started slowing.
"I am here."
The damage became less severe.
Nightmare continued whispering reassurances the entire time, his voice low and steady despite the exhaustion slowly settling into his bones.
He wasn't even thinking about the words anymore.
They simply came naturally, as if he had done this a thousand times.
A realization that would've horrified him a few months ago.
Eventually the damage was gone.
Dust's phalanges looked normal again which was a relief to Nightmare.
Only a few lingering traces of dust remained clinging to the bones.
Nightmare carefully brushed them away with his phalanges, ignoring the way it clung to his goop.
"There," he whispered, finally satisfied that Dust's hands were healed, Nightmare prepared himself to try asking again.
He lifted his gaze.
"Dust, what—"
The words never finished leaving him before something heavy suddenly crashed into him.
Nightmare froze, and for a split second he thought he was being attacked.
His tentacles reacted immediately, shooting behind him and bracing against the floor to keep him upright and stable.
Then realization came on who had crashed into him this strongly.
Dust was the culprit.
Dust had practically thrown himself forward into Nightmare's arms.
Nightmare looked down.
And immediately felt his soul ache even worse than before.
Dust had buried his face into Nightmare's chest even though Dust was almost as tall as Nightmare himself.
His phalanges were clutching desperately at Nightmare's clothes, bunching the fabric tightly between trembling fingers.
Past Nightmare would have only felt annoyed by the wrinkles, good thing past Nightmare isn't present Nightmare, because all present Nightmare could feel was worry.
And Dust was sobbing too.
Not the quiet tears from before that slid soundlessly down.
Not the controlled crying of someone trying to hold themselves together but ultimately failing.
No, these were full-bodied sobs that wrecked through his frame.
The kind that shook a person's entire body and came from pain that had been bottled up for far too long.
Nightmare could hear every broken breath that gasped like Dust was running out of air he didn't need.
Could feel every tremor that shook through him.
Could feel warm lilac tears soaking into his clothing that would likely end up staining his clothes in the end.
For a moment he simply stood there, completely lost on what to do.
No one had ever come to him for comfort before, not even Dream back when they were children.
People always came to him and felt fear, hatred, negativity, all of them.
No one had ever come to Nightmare and felt comforted by him, comforted he his presence, his touch, his voice.
He didn't know what words to say, what sentences would soothe him.
Didn't know how to make this better.
The realization that he was useless right now filled him with panic.
Slowly, hesitantly, he lifted his arms even though the movement felt awkward and unnatural.
Like back when he was learning to use his tentacles.
Yet he forced himself to continue despite his own feelings, they didn't matter right now, Dust did.
Carefully, Nightmare finally wrapped both arms around Dust, The embrace stiff at first.
Like a creature trying desperately to imitate comfort without fully understanding it.
But when Dust didn't pull away—
When Dust instead seemed to clutch him even tighter—
Something inside Nightmare softened.
His hold tightened slightly.
One of his tentacles quietly curled around Dust's back as well, providing additional support.
"It's alright," Nightmare whispered.
Dust only cried harder.
Panic briefly returned.
Was that the wrong thing to say?
"...You do not have to be afraid."
Another sob.
Nightmare winced.
Clearly he was failing yet again.
But Dust wasn't letting go.
If anything, he was pressing closer.
Nightmare swallowed anxiously.
Then slowly rested his chin against the top of Dust's skull.
An action so instinctive that it surprised even him.
"You are alright," he murmured again.
His voice was softer now.
Gentler.
"I have you."
The words left his mouth before he could stop them.
Dust's grip tightened.
Nightmare felt his soul flutter strangely.
It quickly became obvious that his words still weren't helping however.
Or perhaps they were helping a little but just not enough for it to really mean anything.
Dust's grip remained tight around Nightmare's clothes, his shoulders still shaking every few seconds as exhausted sobs escaped him.
Worse, Nightmare could feel his magic reserves slowly draining away.
The overwhelming negativity from before was still there, but underneath it was something else.
Exhaustion.
The kind that settled into a person's bones and that came after crying too much and for too long.
Nightmare's concern only deepened at these feelings, he knew he needed to do something, but what?!
And then a memory surfaced.
An old one from back before the apple incident.
One he rarely allowed himself to think about because it simply hurt too much.
For a moment, Nightmare considered dismissing it and just continuing his reassurances.
But Dust gave another broken sob against his chest, and suddenly Nightmare found that his pride wasn't nearly as important as helping him.
Dream used to do this back when Nightmare was injured, back when they were cold and hungry and upset.
Back before the fighting began and Nightmare ate the apples.
Back when Nightmare still answered to Nighty and Dream still called him Nighty.
The memory hurt. A lot.
But if it helped Dust, then Nightmare could endure it, Nightmare could endure anything if it meant making Dust feel even a little better.
Slowly, he began swaying.
The movement was awkward at first, Dream had usually been the one to sway him, and even then it was over 500 years ago.
Dust didn't react negatively to the swaying however, which Nightmare counted as a win.
If anything, his death-grip on Nightmare relaxed slightly.
Nightmare cleared his throat ans his cheeks flushed a slight turquoise.
The action felt strangely embarrassing.
He hadn't sung in centuries after all.
Not since those long-forgotten days beside the tree with Dream singing in harmony.
Not since Dream used to laugh whenever Nightmare forgot lyrics halfway through and fumbled.
His eyelight dimmed slightly at the memories.
Then he began before he could yet absorbed into his own thoughts again.
"Days seem sometimes as if they'll never change..."
His voice was quiet and hesitant, it was deeper than when he was a child.
It was also barely above a whisper.
Still, he continued.
"Sun digs its heels to taunt you..."
The words felt familiar despite Nightmare not having sung them in hundreds of years.
And to Nightmare's surprise, Dust's sobs began slowing.
The frantic desperation that clung to Dust gradually eased.
Nightmare felt some of the tension leave Dust's body.
The realization encouraged him and his voice grew steadier, more even, louder.
"But after sunlit days~"
One of his tentacles slowly rose and began gently stroking the back of Dust's skull.
The familiar motion seemed to help.
Dust relaxed further into Nightmare's arms.
His weight settled more heavily against Nightmare.
His breathing gradually evened out.
"Rises the moon~"
The final words drifted quietly into the hallway.
Then silence returned.
For a moment Nightmare continued swaying.
Continued petting Dust's skull while holding him close.
Then he noticed something.
Dust wasn't crying anymore.
In fact—
Nightmare looked down, his expression immediately softening.
Dust had fallen asleep, his face buried against Nightmare's chest and his grip had loosened from desperate clutching to something gentler.
His breathing was now slow and steady instead of panicked and desperate.
The tears had stopped too.
Relief flooded through Nightmare so quickly that he nearly sagged where he stood.
Carefully, he adjusted his hold so Dust would be more comfortable and at less risk of falling.
One tentacle wrapped protectively around him just to be extra sure Nightmare wouldn't accidentally drop him.
Another brushed away a few remaining traces of dried tears from his face and gently pat his cheek.
Nightmare stared down at him quietly.
Without the crying and panic, Dust looked so much younger and smaller.
Sometimes Nightmare forgot that these were mortals he had taken, that they weren't even a hundred yet.
Mortals were soft and always so young, they were filled with so many intriguing things and yet till so fragile.
Fragile in a way Nightmare rarely remembered his gems could also be.
It made his soul ache.
What could have happened to drive Dust into such a state?
Who had hurt him?
What thoughts had he been carrying alone?
Nightmare's gaze lingered on the healed phalanges.
Then it drifted to the exhaustion written across Dust's face.
Then to the remnants of fear still clinging to his aura even in sleep.
A protective feeling settled heavily within him.
Stronger than before.
Far stronger.
Carefully, so carefully, Nightmare rested his forehead against the top of Dust's skull.
"What happened to you, my dear?" he whispered.
The sleeping skeleton didn't answer, not that Nightmare had expected him to.
He needed to figure out how to help, what to do. He wouldn't allow his jewels to he this hurt ever again.