Chapter 8

[I don't know what I like better between suffering and dying.]

Underlust was not the most pleasant place to live, Dream had always known that. The signs were multiple: a lot of negativity came from this world, and the dreams of the inhabitants were ... hard to watch. Very hard to look at. The young caretaker had already found himself giving dreams that he himself didn't want to describe, so ashamed of what he had created. But he had continued to give birth to dreams that he hated, simply because it made other people happy. People who perhaps didn't deserve to be happy after all...

He shook his head. No, he couldn't think like that. Everyone deserved to be happy. Didn't they? What was he supposed to think now... ? Now that he'd faced the harsh reality? He didn't know. He didn't want to know anymore. He didn't want to go back into anyone's dreams for a while, let alone the dreams of the Undertlust.

And Underlust was worse than he imagined. Ink had warned him several times, telling him not to go there physically because it could go wrong, and Dream had obeyed him without hesitation, believing that he didn't need to set foot there anyway, that going into dreams was more than enough.

Yeah, he should have settled for dreams...

The streets were crowded, full of monsters laughing loudly, jostling without deigning to apologize, reeking of alcohol, cigarettes and drugs. All this mixed together gave a certain headache to the poor Dream who could barely keep up with the march, looking for Dust, Horror or Nightmare eyes, for fear of getting lost in this oppressive crowd.

But he couldn't see them anymore. Panic gripped him as he turned his head in all directions, not understanding how he had lost them so quickly. He tried to concentrate on their magic, but was lost when he was hit again. He grimaced as the pain in his arm woke up, only intensifying his anguish a little more, and he thought he was cracking when a wandering hand slipped across his buttocks.

But this hand did not remain for long: its owner screamed in terror, collapsing to the ground groaning in pain, holding his arm, which had just been broken at a perfectly abnormal angle. Dream held his breath, frightened ... before feeling a familiar hand grasping his arm. He turned to his brother who had joined him and shot the wounded monster with his eyes:

"Don't walk away from me. »

He pulled him into the crowd, managing to pull them out of there and into a quieter alley where Dust and Horror were waiting for them. Nightmare stopped, turned to Dream and examined it carefully, afraid that something worse than the wandering hand might have happened to him.

"Are you gonna be okay, Dream?" Horror asked softly.

The man nodded feverishly, but he was clearly not well in this world of debauchery. Nightmare gave Dust a look, a hesitant look that was understood as 'I don't know what to do, help me'. Dust in turn approached Dream and gently put a hand on his head, gently caressing him with a comforting smile:

"Don't worry, the rest of the night's gonna be a lot different."

He took him by the hand and led him to a rather remote house, far from the bustle of the city. Nightmare held back a grunt: he wanted Dust to help him, but he wasn't sure he appreciated the strange closeness between him and his brother.

Horror was the first to knock at the house, a huge smile appearing on his face as hurried footsteps were heard inside the house. Dream was surprised, looking with curiosity at the cannibal's attitude, feeling the joy and excitement that was climbing inside him at a crazy speed...

Until the door opens, making it reach the climax.

Lust threw him out of the house, right into the arms of Horror, knocking him over and collapsing in the snow, before the astonished eyes of Dream.

A great burst of laughter resounded, a soft, crystalline laugh. Lust stood up, radiant with joy, on all fours over Horror that he was devouring with his eyes:

"Hello, darling, you're late!"

Horror's smile grew much bigger and he rose abruptly, taking the purple skeleton in his arms and spinning it while holding it close to him:

"Plum! I missed you! »

The concerned one laughed again and came to kiss him passionately.

Dream widened his eyes. He looked at Dust yawning, obviously used to such a spectacle, before turning to Nightmare who looked away with some uneasiness, then he returned to Horror and Lust who were finishing kissing.

"Y ... You're... ?" he stammered shyly, not knowing what to say.

Plum turned to him and opened his eyes wide:

"Dream?! Wow, I didn't recognize you!"

But his face suddenly became much more worried. Confusedly, he looked at the bad guys:

"Um... Wait, I didn't know anything... You took it off again? I told you I wasn't part of your plan anymore!

- We didn't kidnap him, Horror replied. There was... some trouble.

- Worries that don't concern you." cut Nightmare cold before going into the house.

Lust raised an eyebrow, looked again at Dream who had come to cower behind Dust, trembling. The fragility of the guardian of dreams struck him immediately, gripping his soul more than usual. He approached him gently and approached with a tender smile:

"I hope these fools don't treat you too badly... Anyway you're welcome in my house!"

Dream hesitated for a little while before finally moving away from Dust, to give a feverish smile back to Plum who was even nicer than he remembered. Eventually they all entered the house and the caretaker felt much more at ease.

This house had nothing to do with the outside, not even with his brother's castle. It was a place with a pleasant smell of flowers and warm colours. The floor was heated, an aperitif was placed on the coffee table in front of the TV and the same TV was broadcasting the music videos of the multiverse in the background.

Dream let out a sigh of comfort, relaxing completely in this quiet atmosphere. He shivered, however, when Dust put a hand on his shoulder:

"Will you come and sit down?"

He gently nodded his head and let the taller one lead him to the couch where they both settled down, while Nightmare settled into a recessed chair and Horror and Lust went into the kitchen.

Dream immediately riveted his eyes on the television screen, afraid to meet his brother's gaze. But his brother was getting heavy on the feverish shoulders of the little dream. An intense look, too intense, which did not leave him, which analysed him, which gave him an unpleasant burning sensation.

No, Dream didn't understand this sudden interest in his person, this special attention his brother had been paying to him since his death... crisis. No, he didn't understand how the prince of nightmares could suddenly change his attitude, trying to protect him from other dangers. In the end, however, it was not so surprising: Nightmare was possessive. Perhaps he wanted to protect Dream only because he aspired to kill it with his own hands?

But in this case, why didn't he do it before? Out of pity, guilt? What a vulgar joke, the prince of nightmares helping the keeper of good feelings...

But what good feelings, when he himself could no longer feel them?

Dust's hand made him jump again. He turned away from his thoughts and turned to his neighbour, who covered him with a serious look. Much too serious. As if he could guess his deepest thoughts.

Dream shivered, wanted to get away from him but held back. He restrained himself when his comrade offered him a drink, gave him a very slight smile. He swallowed his saliva, not understanding why this smile had such an effect on him, such a warm feeling in his stomach.

He accepted the glass feverishly, didn't ask himself the slightest question as he slowly took a sip.

The taste of alcohol made him tense. He didn't like it. He hated it. The bitter taste, too bitter, too strong, that made his head spin in a very unpleasant way. He usually avoided it as much as possible, but tonight ... tonight he allowed himself another sip, then a third.

He let the liquid drain down his throat, gently burning it from the inside.

But the suffering was so minimal compared to what was being inflicted on him up to that point... So minimal that it almost became a pleasure. As if the spirit of the little dream was mocking, taking down this suffering that wasn't really a suffering, as if it sneered, "Ahah, I've been through worse, you can't have me!"

Taken by a desire to defy this pain, to take his limits from above, he finished his glass in one last sip, to return the container to Dust with a look that meant "I want some more".

Dust gauged him for a moment with his eyes before his smile grew larger. He served his young comrade again with great pleasure, ignoring the threatening look that Nightmare had on his face.

Dream's mind quickly fogged up. He was no longer really aware of what was going on around him, only vaguely understood that Horror and Lust had come back into the living room and were chatting with Dust, exchanging words that the caretaker didn't understand, laughing at times without when Dream was fully certain.

The guardian of good emotions simply let himself go in the couch, savouring his third glass of this alcohol which he didn't have the name of, but which seemed to do him good with each sip.

When he had finished that third glass, he felt as if he was floating, as if he had become lighter. He held his glass out in front of him, towards the silhouette he recognized as Dust. He liked Dust. Dust was nice, very nice... The proof was that Dust poured him a fourth time, and it was with an uncontrolled laugh that Dream drank his new drink.

Nightmare frowned:

"Dust, don't tighten it any more."

But his subordinate ignored him to serve a fifth glass. The negative prince's tentacles became nervously agitated as their owner tensed up a little more, not appreciating the glow he perceived in Dust's eyes. A gleam of anger and defiance, as if the other was trying to push him over the edge.

"Dream has the right to have as much fun as we do." Dust simply replied.

But that wasn't what Nightmare was thinking, Nightmare knew that. He knew his subordinate: even he wasn't vicious enough to dare to get someone drunk against his will.

"Do you think he's having fun? replied the master. He's on the brink, and you're pushing him further into it by serving him like this!

- So what does it matter to you? Yet it was you who sought to destroy it."

Nightmare froze, as did Horror and Lust. The latter two hadn't said a word when they noticed the tension between their two comrades, and Dust's last line had ended the atmosphere.

Nightmare's appendages got a little more agitated.

"Yes, I was trying to destroy it.

- You're the one who pushed him over the edge."

Another slap in the face for the prince of nightmares who was becoming increasingly confused and annoyed by his henchman's attitude. What exactly was Dust looking for? He wanted to make him regret it, to make him face his mistakes when he KNEW that Nightmare was already prey to deep guilt, hatred and anger towards himself? And what was the point of making Dream drink? Was it to preserve the young guardian, that he didn't become aware of their brutal exchange?

Even if they did, Nightmare couldn't let that happen. He couldn't let Dram drink knowing that his brother hated it. Knowing that his brother would probably feel much worse the next day, when he would wake up with an unbearable hangover and a deep regret for having let himself go.

Because Dream didn't like to let go. He had never been taught to relax, to let go, to think about himself and not about his responsibilities.

"I'm taking him back." Nightmare coldly let go of Nightmare as he stood up, retrieving his twin who could barely keep his eyes open, completely exhausted from the alcohol that had drained what little energy he had.

Dust remained silent, reluctant to start a fight which he was sure to lose in a home that was not his own, at the risk of further hurting the little dream that was drowsing.

Nightmare appeared in his room in a snap. If the return trip had been without the slightest problem, the arrival in his home changed his brother's behaviour: Dream began to gesticulate vehemently, trying to escape the tentacles that held him firmly while moaning plainly.

"Stop it." Weighed the master of the house, who certainly wasn't in the mood to deal with a whim, as he tried to undress his brother to put him to bed.

Dream wiggled more beautifully, emitting nothing but squeaks and semblance of incomprehensible sentences. His eyes veiled by alcohol didn't even seem to distinguish where he was or with whom, but it was clear that he didn't appreciate being deprived of his movements.

Nightmare sighed again, realizing that he would achieve nothing with this method. He decided to drop his twin - more or less gently - on the bed, before the twin whimpered and rolled into a ball in the blanket. The prince of nightmares raised a perplexed eyebrow, tidying his tentacles to approach the bed:

"Dream?"

Another squeak. This time, the master of the house had a twinge in his heart, especially when he saw his brother trembling under the duvet. He was terrified. Terrified of Nightmare's presence, even if he didn't do anything to him.

The prince of negativity came and sat down gently on the bed, put a hand on his brother's back and guessed his brother through the duvet:

"Dream, you need to get into your pajamas. You can't sleep like that."

A short silence during which Nightmare slowly rubbed the back of his cadet, in a timid attempt to calm him down. Finally, Dream took out his face, casting a misty look at his brother, before simply pulling himself out of the blanket to find himself sitting on the mattress as well. Seeing that he wasn't making any more gestures, the owner went back to his original goal, which was to undress his brother.

He removed the purple jacket gently but did not hesitate to throw it to the ground without the slightest respect. The sight of these clothes disgusted him, even more so when they were worn by his brother. These clothes... These clothes reminded him of too many memories, too many things that were long gone, too bitter things that he preferred to forget. To tell the truth, he didn't even know why he had kept them, let alone why he had left them to Dream.

He held back a growl, not wishing to frighten his younger brother again, who had closed his eyes, just about to fall asleep. He let his phalanges run over the blue shirt, removing one by one each button before removing it fully, to send him to join the jacket.

And Nightmare froze.

Oh, he'd already had a chance to see his brother's body. Many, many times. He had seen him a few days before, when he was treating him and changing his bandages. Yet tonight, in the faint moonlight, the body seemed even more fragile than before, as if his brother's bones had become porcelain, glass that could be broken by a touch. The wounds were not healing well, the bruises did not go away, and Nightmare cursed herself. Oh, yes, he cursed himself for being the cause of most of his wounds.

It was an automatism, a reflex, to slide his fingers over an old, very old scar on one of his ribs. A gesture that sent a shiver down the spine of the guardian of dreams, making him open his eyes in surprise.

"N-Night...?"

First understandable word from Dream. First word that froze Nightmare, the petrifying stupor. 'Night'..., the nickname given to him by his childhood brother. The nickname was full of love, which showed their complicity. That nickname...

"...how can you still call me that...?" the corrupt being whispered, his voice trembling without him noticing.

His gaze still wandered through the wounded body, as he felt a horrifying desire to cry taking hold of his soul. His phalanges rested on his brother's hips, with a delicacy that he did not know himself.

"... Dream... I'm sorry…"

A sob escaped him in spite of himself:

"I'm so sorry…"

He clenched his teeth, closing his eye to keep his tears from coming out. His forehead came to rest against his brother's bare shoulder. He tightened his grip on his little body, slipped his hands behind his back to hold him tight, to feel the little golden soul beat weakly.

"...you should never have had to go through all this, ...you didn't deserve this...!"

What a prick he'd been, what a fucking prick he'd been! A jerk, the worst brother, the worst monster of the multiverse!
Nightmare would've probably continued to insult each other for a long time, would've probably hurt his physical integrity... if Dream hadn't stopped him, hadn't hugged him.

The master of the house opened his eyes. His twin responded to his embrace as forcefully as he could, but not without violent tremors:

"... N-Night... Don't cry Night..."

This wave of kindness, this attention that Dream paid to him, had the gift of striking a fatal blow to the master of nightmares who melted into tears, burying his face in his neck.
In this strange clear darkness, Dream and Nightmare mingled with cruel sadness.

Nightmare hadn't noticed he'd fallen asleep. Perhaps his anguish towards his brother had exhausted him far more than he had let on, pushing him to fall asleep with his twin, keeping him close to him while he plunged into a sleep devoid of dreams and nightmares, not even allowing him to do his job as a guardian.

No, he had not noticed how tired he was, how his mind had finally lost itself in the meanders of unconsciousness. He had not noticed anything ... until a scream woke him up, roughly dragged him out of his sleep and brought him back to reality.

He opened his eyes, his senses on the lookout, without making the slightest movement, while he felt his appendages vibrating in his back, ready to attack the slightest enemy. But they calmed in the moment when, from the corner of his eye, Nightmare saw his brother.

Dream had once again sat down, went through intense spasms as he grabbed his skull, unconsciously scratching himself, his eyes wide open in terror, and the ghastly breath. This vision petrified the nightmare master, who only had the presence of mind to act when his brother let go of his skull to make his soul appear.

Nightmare knew immediately that he had to intervene.

His tentacles spun towards his brother, grabbed his wrists suddenly, forcing him to release the little golden soul.

"LET GO OF ME!"

Dream's scream made him shudder, but he didn't let go. He didn't understand what he was taking from his brother: had he had a nightmare?

"GET OFF ME NOW! DON'T! FUCKING NIGHTMARE !"

The master of the place hiccupped, destabilized by the sudden wave of negativity he perceived, which almost made him bend.

"Dream, calm down, it was only a...!
- I HAVE TO DESTROY IT! NOW!"

Dream violently bit a tentacle, surprising his twin who slightly loosened his grip under the pain. The guardian of dreams used this opening to struggle, reaching out his hand towards his soul, which he grasped without the slightest delicacy, pushing his phalanges into it, ignoring the wave of suffering that turned his stomach.
His desperate voice rose again:

"I MUST DESTROY IT! OR ELSE... BREAK...! EVERYBODY GO...!"

He squeezed harder, breathing faster and faster, much too fast, caught in a painful coughing fit when a cracking sounded, a slight crack formed on the golden surface.

Nightmare slammed him violently against the bed, making him yelp with surprise, before his tentacle almost broke his wrist, forcing him to let go of the little battered soul.
The Prince of Darkness threw himself upon the poor inverted heart, brought it back against him in panic, looking with horror at his brother screaming for death and continuing to struggle :

"DESTROY IT! DESTROY IT! -
- Dr...
- LET ME DIE!"

Nightmare was seized with a cold sweat as he became livid.
His own soul seemed to crack at the vision.
There was nothing he could say, nothing he could do. Just stand there, helpless, watching his twin struggling like a demented being, a being who had lost all consciousness. And in his trembling palm he felt the little golden soul palpitating, struggling against negativity. The negativity that he thought he was dealing with but which was coming back even stronger to devour his brother.

The black apples were trying to corrupt the guardian of good emotions.

Nightmare hardly swallowed his saliva. Never before had he felt so feverish, so helpless in the face of a situation.

Tenderly he began to pamper the little soul, to make little circles with his thumb to caress it, to calm it, to limit and suck up some of this parasitic darkness. His own magic began to work, trying to attract negativity towards him. But ...it was far too strong, even for him.

Nightmare felt faint. He felt himself faltering as the hours rolled by with a slowness he could not have described. He felt himself faltering as, little by little, the cries subsided, the blows too.
He did not allow himself a break until he was sure that Dream would no longer touch his life. That the moment he saw his sweet twin fall once again into the arms of Morpheus.

And Nightmare fell apart.

His body shattered against the icy ground.

The irregular breathing, much too fast for a living being, seemed to crush him from the inside. His magic crackled, crackled in an unpleasant way, as if to lecture him, to tell him that he was going too far, that he could not afford to do more.

He grunted, got up painfully, keeping the little golden soul in his hand.

He dragged himself to the door, went out into the corridor, slid against the wall and watched the darkness in silence. Then he looked at his brother's frail soul. He shuddered: the soul trembled, as if frightened. Scared ... ...of him. By his aura. By his presence. By his whole being.

The little golden soul needed him to counter the negativity, but was paradoxically terrified of him.

How ironic. But he couldn't afford to give it to Dream. After the way he had tried to take his own life...

He closed his eyes, glued his skull against the cool wall, sighed.

He had to trust that soul to someone who could protect it. Someone who would take care of it and be available to Nightmare at any time.

Oh... he already had the perfect candidate in mind. A candidate he trusted completely, even though Dream might not like it.

Yes ...

[ He was going to entrust the soul to Cross ]