Chapter 1
[Broken dreams fade into the night.]
The atmosphere had become heavy, heavy, unbearable, while Nightmare's hoarse voice hit him hard.
- What have you done for Cross' world? Or for any of the universes we've destroyed? -
She insinuated herself into him, embraced his soul, squeezed it until it cracked.
- What have you done for your world? What have you done for your own brother? -
Dream hiccupped, trembling, trying to repress those filthy thoughts, those thoughts that terrified him. But he was unable to fight back. Not while Ink was in Error's hands, wounded and unarmed. Not while all the BadSanses surrounded him, ready to react to his every move.
And Nightmare's voice rumbled again, forcing the young skeleton to lower his eyes, looking for some meager comfort in his fallen crown.
- Nothing! Your role as a guardian is just a trick, a poor way to give you importance! –
The crown shattered. Dream watched in horror as she was shattered, unable to believe that his brother could have done such a thing. Unable to believe... to believe that...
The sniggering of the others without reaching his ears, petrifying him with anguish, while his eyes were bathed in tears.
- YOU'RE NOTHING! -
Dream fell to his knees. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO! He was useful! He was the keeper... the keeper of... He was the... he was...
His empty gaze wandered through the assembly. Dream didn't understand. No, no, no, he didn't understand! He shouldn't feel that way! He struggled, he forced himself never to feel that way! He was a keeper of positive emotions, he couldn't break down, he had no right, he couldn't feel... feel... !
But the negative emotions took hold of him with deceit, with an incredible violence that penetrated his soul and cracked it a little more every second. His discomfort only increased more as he felt the storm growling, growing inside him. Guilt, anger, regret, torment, pain, PAIN!
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
His terror twisted his skull, his scream tore the atmosphere, froze space, petrified time in an instant of pure suffering.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
His throat seemed to tear, as if scratched from the inside, scratched by his harsh voice, strangled by the horror and disgust he felt towards himself. The weight on his shoulders, which had been too heavy for a long time, finally crushed and suffocated him. He grabbed his skull, his eyes wide open with horror, scratching himself violently without being aware of it, without paying the slightest attention to what was around him.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
Nightmare was wrong, he wasn't guilty, he did his best! He had helped people, supported them, gave them hope! He had made others dream, he had made them smile, and although he couldn't save the world from Cross, he had helped the Monochrome recover from this ordeal, to mourn and move forward!
... But that wasn't enough, was it? That kind of thing... that kind of help, support... anyone could do it. It wasn't that hard to reach out, to offer good feelings to others. Nightmare, the nightmare master himself, was able to do it. He'd done it with the Bad Sanses, given them a home and become their new family.
- Actually that's what's bothering you -
He froze, his scream choking in his throat.
- What bothers you is to be just one of many people, to do nothing exceptional -
His orbits became empty, he stopped breathing.
- What bothers you is being loved and worshipped more than you should. It's being admired for nothing -
He thought he perceived a sneer, a cruel and mocking snigger that stuck sharp claws along his bones.
- Ever since you were a kid, you've known you didn't deserve this admiration. You know that it should have been your brother who benefited from it. Because he worked hard. Because he made real efforts, real plans, real connections -
He hadn't realized that the world had been transformed, that Ink, his brother, the bad sanses had disappeared, replaced by an infinite void, a void heavier than anything he had ever known before.
He was the only one left. Only him.
Him and his conscience.
And she laughed painfully in his face, telling him a truth that he refused to hear, that he refused to accept.
- It's your aura that gave you everything -
He opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling of his room as if he was discovering it for the first time. His sight disturbed by the tears gave him a terrible burning sensation, as did most of his body. But he didn't move. He didn't observe himself. He didn't need to observe himself to be aware of his condition, to know that he had done it again that night.
He'd had another nightmare. His soul missed a beat. The last sentence of his consciousness was gently resonating in his mind, reminding him of the smallest details of this bad dream.
He choked a sob, felt his stomach twist violently, and had only just to turn around to the ledge before vomiting the contents of his previous meal, filling the room with the awful sound of regurgitation. A taste of foul acid seized his puck, the foul odor caught him in his gut and he thought he was ready to vomit a second time.
He didn't. Instead he had a violent coughing fit, grabbed his shirt at the place of his soul, felt his whole being boil, burn it. As in his dream, his throat seemed to be torn open, assailing him with a sharp pain, pushing him to sob again in spite of the self-control he was trying to show.
The little salty drops came to slide down his cheeks, fell to the ground and mingled with the vile puddle he had created. He closed his eyes. He was in pain.
[He felt bad]
He coughed again, tried to muffle the noise by putting a hand over his mouth, as if disturbed the silence of his home was a crime of great magnitude, as if he was afraid of waking anyone. But there was no one to wake up.
[Unlike Nightmare, he lived alone.]
He curled up on himself, feeling suffocated, strangled by his cough and sobs. His mouth filled with a new taste, a taste that disgusted him as much as bile. A metallic taste that made him open his eyes again, look at his hand.
He lives with horror his phalanges covered with a sticky, reddish liquid. Covered with his blood.
His trembling body fell back against the sheets and he came and clutched his pillow, plunged his face into it, bit the cover without worrying about the marks he left on it. His cold sweats made him tense up even more and for the umpteenth time he closed his eyes, both really and metaphorically.
For the umpteenth time he repeated the lie he had told himself over and over again:
"I'm fine…"
The impact was painful, the creak was sinister. Dream knew without hesitation that he had broken a rib. It was only a small surprise: he knew what to expect from the moment he threw himself into the fight.
Ink had come looking for him in panic, begging for his help as Error destroyed an AU. Normally, the Creator liked to fight singular battles against the Destroyer, but this time he couldn't do anything alone: the Bad Sanses were also part of the party and, as strong as the painter was, he couldn't do anything in front of a whole group, especially if Nightmare was present.
Dream couldn't refuse. He never refused anything, least of all to those he loved. Because Ink was one of the most loved people in the world. He was his best friend.
But they were outnumbered by their enemies, and despite some of their ploys that had put Killer, Horror and Dust out of action for a limited time, there were still Error, Nightmare and Cross to stand up to them. Ink naturally came to oppose his opposite, taking up the bad habit of joking and playing cat and mouse with him, leaving poor Dream facing his brother and Cross.
[Best friends, huh...?]
But Nightmare wasn't fighting. He had gratified the guardian of dreams with a mocking and haughty look before simply joining his subordinates to free them.
"Cross, we don't have to fight! cried Dream, narrowly dodging a blade stroke.
- You know I do!"
They were friends. Dream had supported him, helped him grieve. Helped him to move on and get back to positive emotions. But even so, Cross had returned to Nightmare: "There must be some good in him," the swordsman had said when Dream had told him and his twin their story. "You said it yourself: he lived a horrible life, rejected by everyone, full of hatred against everyone. So I want to do with him what you have done for me: I want to help him, to help him to enjoy life, to be positive, to be happy. »
And Cross had succeeded. With the help of the other Bad Sanses, he had succeeded where Dream had failed: to give Nightmare back some joy, to teach him to smile again. He had felt it, he had felt his twin emitting positive emotions again, even if he only showed them to his subordinates.
Dream wanted to throw up.
A final attack between him and Cross caused them both to retreat before they took up their respective weapons, allowing themselves a short pause to catch their breath.
But the guard heard that little voice again. That vicious voice that drove him mad, that drove him crazy telling him everything he did not want to hear:
- Cross will never come back to you, you know why -
- Ink left you for his beloved enemy, you know why -
- You know very well why -
"... Shut up…"
It was just a whisper, a feeble attempt to cover up. It's always the same old story, isn't it? You'd think he couldn't move on. Wasn't it ironic, the guardian of positivity telling everyone to look to the future while he himself was clinging to a false past?
- That's how Dream is. You can't change who you are. You have this aura, this aura that makes others feel good when they're around you -
His body petrified.
"Shut up."
It was firmer, but still insufficient.
- That should make you happy, that's why everyone's attracted to you, why everyone wants you by their side -
"Shut…"
- A beautiful illusion, as much for the others as for you. Isn't it, Dr... ? -
"SHUT UP!"
His cry echoed through the ruined Universe, echoed back and echoed back only more violently against him. He shuddered, let go of his bow to grasp his arms, to hold them against his trembling body, to cower as if it were the only way to protect himself.
He gritted his teeth, empty sockets stuck in the snow he couldn't see. All he perceived was his own terror.
"Dream?!"
Cross had taken a step in his direction, unsettled and confused by the sudden fear that had taken hold of him.
"What's going on? Is everything okay?"
- He attacks you and then asks you if you're okay. I've come to wonder if he's not laughing at you -
No, not Cross. Cross never made fun of him. He was kind, helpful, humorous. He was a... He was a...
- He serves your brother of his own free will, but sometimes he comes back to you for comfort -
Dream widened his eyes. Cross came a little closer.
How many times has this happened? When Nightmare hadn't softened yet, when Cross was trying to bring him back on the right side and he was starting to despair, how many times had he come to find Dream? How many times had the little guardian encouraged him, dried his tears?
- You're only good at comforting others, aren't you? –
- Not just Cross. –
- Blueberry, Ink ... even the Bad Sanses that you protected many times from the fury of your brother, even your brother that you continued to protect and refused to kill during your confrontations. You've always been there for them, you've always done your best. But them? What have they done for you? -
"Dream, answer me!"
- Who helped you when Nightmare petrified you? -
Cross put one hand on his shoulder.
- Who supports you in your night terrors? -
He crouches at his height, letting his guard down.
- Nobody -
- Because you mean nothing to anyone -
...
The earth shook with the violence of the shock. The din of the skull smashed against the ground froze every particle, froze the fight of Ink and Error, froze the Bad Sanses and Nightmare.
There was... ...nothing. For a few seconds it was absolute calm. Dream stood there, raised up, arms outstretched as he held the end of his bow between his palms. trembling. The half-open mouth, a drop of sweat beading down his temple, his pupilless orbits only amplified a little more the shadow that appeared on his face, only made the absence of emotion on his features more terrifying.
Until these features change, until these pupils slowly reappear, until they watch in fright at Cross' unconscious body, his cracked skull, his blood escaping from his wound. The same blood that was found at the other end of the bow, the end with which Dream had struck.
"CROSS!"
Nightmare's panicked scream brought him out of his trance. He raised his head.
Everybody was looking at him. The Bad Sanses, Ink... Everyone was looking at him with this feeling that no one had ever had before. This feeling that Dream hated so much, that made him tremble and retreat, away from the body of the one he had considered his friend until then.
[ Watching him in terror ]
[We were afraid of him.]
"D ... Dream?" stuttered Ink, unable to believe what the gentle guardian of dreams had just done, the supposedly sweetest, most innocent monster of the multiverse.
Something crumbled. Something firmly anchored in Dream's rib cage. His throbbing little soul, hidden in plain sight, painfully cracked.
Dream's gaze returned to Cross and little by little his expression changed as he became aware of his act.
His magic enveloped him vividly, teleporting him as he perceived Ink's cry trying to restrain him.
He reappeared at home, fell on the living room table which he broke in his fall, screamed in front of the pain of the impact, felt his breath cut off in front of the suffering of his cracked side.
[He'd hit Cross]
He leaned on his hands, stood up with short breath, looked at the tips of his fingers, his fingers that had held the weapon.
[He could have killed Cross]
He watched his bow fall to the ground, stood in the center of the room among the remains of his piece of furniture before a terrible rage gripped his soul, his breathing quickened.
He shouted, exploded his bow against the wall with all the force and anger he could muster, grabbed one of the chairs and threw it against his bookcase, demolishing both pieces of furniture and causing his books to fall against the floor. He grabbed a vase and broke it against the fireplace, tore the cover of the sofa, knocked into his television set, broke everything that could be broken, without ceasing to scream, without being able to repress the bitter tears that ran down his defeated face. But no matter how stubborn he was, no matter how much he raged at everything that came into his way, his guilt and shame did not diminish, but seemed to grow stronger.
He violently bit his hand, choking a new scream, inflicting a new wound on himself. He intensified the bite, pushed his teeth into his bone, felt the pungent taste of blood fill his mouth, while his able-bodied hand grabbed his arm to plant his phalanxes, scratching himself as if to atone for his fault, to inflict punishment on himself.
Again that feeling of suffocating, of drowning in tears and despair, like what he's been going through every night for all these fucking years.
He gave a violent blow backwards, hitting his skull against the wall and, bewildered, he let himself fall, ceased to bite himself to better push his sobs, his desperate screams that filled the whole house, while he cowered feverishly, his body heavy.
- Dream, Dream, Dream... Poor little fragile thing... -
"Go away... !"
His cry died in his throat, he closed his eyes.
He didn't want to hear that voice anymore.
- Poor dream keeper, so unfamiliar with negative emotions, unable to handle them properly when you feel them ... Another thing your brother does better than you-
He gritted his teeth, backed up against the wall. He wanted to disappear, disappear into dust.
"Let's see Dream, it wouldn't be fun anymore if that happened!"
He froze.
This ghostly voice, coming from his own subconscious, heard only from him and him alone ... was heard in the room, right in front of him.
[ No...! ]
He opened his eyes, terrified, and his descent into hell accelerated at the sight of what he found before him. That thing, that being, which he had until then taken for an invention of his mind, whereas from the beginning, from all these nights, these nightmares ... It was actually one of the most abominable beings of the multiverse.
Dream has a repressed scream.
[It was Shattered Dream...]