Chapter 9

[Help me. Back me up]

Dream was in a coughing fit. A painful, unpleasant cough that irritated his chest and throat. His breathing was heavy, difficult. His whole body seemed to be made of stone, preventing him from moving as he wished. And he was so hot ... too hot...

He painfully opened his eyes. His mind was elsewhere, foggy, making him all the more confused.

He really wasn't feeling well...

"Tch, drinking in your condition was really the worst idea…" he heard next to him.

He blinked softly, could only look sideways for a moment, and had great difficulty discerning his brother who was keeping an eye on him.

"... N-Night... ?" he breathed with difficulty, before being caught up by another coughing fit.

The master of the house frowned, came and put his hand on his forehead and grimaced:

"Shit, like we need this...

- ... wh-what's wrong with me?

- You were already pretty weakened. The alcohol added a dose, not to mention... whatever. Just to say that you've got a nasty virus, and your immune system is too weak to save your ass."

Nightmare sighed, moved slightly aside:

"Go back to sleep, you need to rest. We'll wake you if we need to."

Dream didn't answer, taking a little while to process the information. He felt... so... tired...

"...all right... Night…"

His eyes closed on their own.

He plunged into unconsciousness again.

Nightmare grunted: seeing his brother like that, he had the horrible feeling that he was back to the starting point...

Horror gazed at the wooden plank, where he'd left some vegetables without knowing how to cook them. Was it better to make a soup, a soup... ? And what vegetables could Dream like? No, he actually didn't give a shit what Dream liked. The most important thing was to know which vegetables were best suited to heal! Like, uh... Carrots maybe? No, that made it kind of nice. Maybe he should give some to Nightmare? Yeah, no, bad idea, actually...

"Hor', what are you doing?" Dust asked as he entered the kitchen with his hands in his pockets.

The cannibal sighed, put down his knife before looking at his friend:

"I'm cooking for the sick man. Aren't you supposed to be watching him anyway?

- Yes, but he fell asleep. And the boss is already at his bedside. I'm gonna wait for him to leave before I go."

He joined Horror and looked at the vegetables:

"You should add tomatoes. It's full of good things for the body.

- Mm... It's true. But it's bad acid, I'm afraid he doesn't like it.

- The most important thing is to heal, right? ... No, you're right. Might as well do something he likes.

- Yeah... it's bad enough being sick…"

Silence ensued as they both looked at the vegetables and thought about them. Finally, Dust stretched:

"Well, I'll leave you to it, I've got to go and see Cross.

- Cr... Why?"

The dustman turned his back on him:

"He didn't come to see Dream once. And quite frankly... It's starting to eat me up."

Wait a moment, with a heavy head, full of confusion. Waiting for his gaze on the golden reflections, on the little palpitating soul between his knuckles. Observe it as the most beautiful of treasures. The most fragile of crystals. Observe it and cherish it gently. Cover it with a soft, terribly tender and protective gaze, but filled with a bitter guilt, a suffering that leads to tears.

Cross gritted his teeth, stroked the poor tired heart with the tip of his thumb, without understanding why Nightmare had entrusted him with it. Why to him? Why did he, who had participated in Dream's misfortune, have to watch over the source of his being, of his life?

Cross didn't understand. He hated himself for not understanding, and he resented Nightmare. He resented him for trusting him so much, trusting him blindly. Oh, he should have felt privileged and proud, he should have. But... no, no, he couldn't. Not when Nightmare was risking so much by trusting him with his soul.

Cross resented his superior for giving him such trust ...because he knew he did not deserve it. He didn't deserve it at all. Not when he would believe everything about everything, when he would undoubtedly be the cause of further misfortune. An unhappiness that would soon fall upon the guardians of feelings.

Cross sensed it, and God only knows how much he hated having bad hunches, for these proved to be true most of the time.

He closed his eyes, continuing to cuddle the little golden soul. The little soul who, for some unknown reason, was curling up in his palm, was looking for his touch.

And Cross felt even worse. He felt even worse when he realized that, even after hurting Dream... he still loved him, still wanted to protect him.

Because Dream was like that.

[Too nice for his own good]

Cross was suddenly startled when the door of his room burst open, revealing a Dust as neutral as usual ... although his eyes shone with a most disturbing glow.

Suddenly deeply uneasy, the monochrome stood up, on guard.

"Dust? Haven't you been taught to knock?" he growled on guard.

- I'm gonna hit you, asshole."

The threat contrasted sharply with the calmness of his voice, so much so that Cross thought for a moment it was a joke. But when the other suddenly teleported in front of him and hit him in the stomach, the monochrome grimaced and then backed away sharply:

"Wha... What the hell is wrong with you?!" he exclaimed.

Dust the shot from the gaze:

"No, Dream is! Then you're going to do me the pleasure of going to see him!"

The swordsman shuddered, as he did every time the guardian of dreams was mentioned. He looked away, bitterly:

"I'm probably the last person he wants to see.

- What do you know about it? Did you even try to talk to him?

- Don't take me for a fool! You see the signs too! It's bad enough he doesn't want Nightmare anymore, but what about me? He doesn't even want his crown! Because I fixed it for him!"

Dust clenched his fists:

"So what... you're playing the fatalist? You're not even going to insist? You're just gonna stand back and let everyone else take care of Dream?

- I just... (Sighs)

- ... ...can't do anything? You, who's been his friend, who's spent time with him, who probably knows him better than any of us, you expect me to believe that you can't do anything?"

Cross swallowed an oath with tears in his eyes:

"...friends... ? I didn't even see that he was in trouble... I betrayed him for his brother... I'm the worst of all...

- Then take responsibility and go see him. So that he can kick the shit out of you."

Dust turned his heels without the slightest remorse.

With his soul tight, Cross took a breath to stay calm. He took another look at the little golden soul, which he had held tight throughout the exchange. This little, trembling, feverish soul, who was just asking for attention.

Cross sighed. Apparently he had no choice.

He hid the little golden soul under his clothes, close to his own soul, and left the room in silence, noting that he would still have to have the door repaired.

The crossing of the corridor was difficult, and when he arrived in front of Nightmare's room - which had recently become Dream's - he froze, with a knotted throat.

He didn't dare come in. Even just knocking was torture. He nervously fiddled with his scarf, his phalanges trembling with apprehension, while his mind was preaching to him, screaming at him that he was pathetic. Yes, he knew he was pathetic, that he had to take his courage in both hands! But ...he couldn't. He couldn't do it at all.

He insulted himself mentally, desperate about his attitude, and decided to go back to his room as soon as possible...

But he didn't get the chance. No sooner had the idea crossed his mind than he saw with horror the door open, revealing Nightmare who stopped at his sight:

"Cross? he wondered.

- ... hey…"

The monochrome quickly lowered his eyes, his mouth dry, and moved aside slowly to let his leader out. He watched him do so, before simply sighing and passing him:

"Dream sleeps. Please don't rush him."

Cross answered nothing, shyly rushed into the room and found nothing but dead calm.

He was taken by a shiver.

Dream, his sweet Dream, was asleep in the bed, his heavy but steady breath filling the room. He was just as adorable as ever, but the dark circles on his face and the sweaty fever clearly showed his miserable condition.

Cross approached cautiously, tears burning his eyes, but he didn't let them fall.

Stopping near the bed, he gently raised his hand to the sleeping man's face ... before suppressing his movement and stepping back. He couldn't afford such gestures... not without the guard's consent.

Cross sighed again. He sat down on the chair by the bed. The chair where Nightmare, or Ink, sat when they watched over Dream. Even though the Creator hadn't returned for a few days.

That was one of the reasons Cross had not shown up: he suspected that Dream and Ink must have had a violent argument, otherwise the painter would have come back. What could have happened? What words had been spoken?

Cross tapped his foot frantically, anxiously. He dreaded the return of the flames...

One movement froze him clean. He held his breath, listening. Dream had moved but hadn't woken up, fortunately. The longer the time stretched, the less the swordsman felt he could cope.

Trembling, he began to observe the window, or rather the curtains among which filtered the rare rays of sunlight from DreamTale. The afternoon was well advanced, yet the castle was very quiet.

Normally you could hear Killer and Dust bickering, Horror putting music on loudly while he was cooking and Nightmare yelling at everyone. That was the Bad Sanses' daily routine. A hectic but happy daily life, which showed the complicity in spite of all the crap they had done.

Cross was happy about it. Seeing the Bad Sanses softening, becoming more loving, especially Nightmare, he had thought that Dream would be proud of him, that he would be proud to see that he had been right to believe in them!

And there was the result: a destroyed Dream, closed in on itself, as if it carried all the misery of the world on its shoulders.

Cross had a high heart: how could he not see anything? Not to understand that Dream needed help as much as Nightmare?

He was really... really the worst friend ever.

He took his head in his hands, closing his eyes to stay in control of himself, not to run away in a second. But it was damn hard. It was always hard to face his mistakes, his responsibility, his guilt.

"... Dream ...I'm so sorry... forgive me…" he whispered.

But the Dream Keeper couldn't hear him, sound asleep.

Cross sighed, straightened his head feverishly. He got up, approached the patient again to observe him attentively. He was like a caged lion, an impatient but hesitant feline who could not make a decision.

"... I don't want to wake you up... but waiting like this drives me crazy…"

He looked away. His pupils fell on the wreath left on the bedside table. His soul missed a beat. He approached it gently, took the object delicately.

He knew Dream cared about that crown. That's why he had worked hard to repair it, clean it, polish it so that it would fit the young guardian beautifully. He wanted ... he wanted to at least do this for his friend, even if it wasn't much, even if it wasn't worth anything to anyone ... he wanted to show Dream that he was there, present for him.

But Dream wasn't counting on him anymore.

He'd never count on him again.

And this, in addition to crushing Cross's feelings, only made him more confused, and he asked himself again the question: why did Nightmare trust him? Why had he entrusted him with the soul of his twin?

"... Fucking…"

He clenched his teeth, very nearly cracked:

"... Fucking... !"

But he froze in the moment. Out of the corner of his eye, he had perceived a movement. Like a jolt triggered by his exclamation. It made him violently pale and, slowly, very slowly, he turned his head back towards Dream ...who was looking at him.

Cross felt faint:

"D-Dream... !"

The guardian of dreams, who had been asleep until then, had been awakened by the swordsman's raised voice. At the sight of the swordsman, he finished waking up fully and straightened himself up hastily, before cowering in the bottom of the bed trembling, darting a look of panic and anguish over the monochrome.

"Ah, Dream, calm down!" Cross worried, raising both hands, as if to signal that he didn't have bad attention.

The guard's eyes suddenly darkened, before he lowered his head:

"...what are you doing here... ?"

Cross was about to answer but was interrupted by Dream who started coughing quite heavily. Anxious, the swordsman approached to pat him on the back, but the guard pushed back his gesture with a sharp slap on the hand:

"DON'T TOUCH ME!"

The voice was harsh, but cold enough to petrify the swordsman.

"Dream...

- DON'T TALK TO ME! DON'T COME NEAR ME!

-I just want to...

- HOLD YOURSELF! SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP !"

If Cross was upset by these screams, he was even more upset when Dream's face turned pale and his eyes mist up with tears. But what finally brought him down, what gave him a masterful slap, were the desperate sobs of the young guardian:

"DON'T PLAY... D-Don't play anymore... with... with my feelings ...I-I…"

Dream pulled his legs back against him, hid his wet face in his arms, his deranged voice rising miserably in the room:

"...don't act... like you care about me... stop using me... !"

His sobs were like a stab for Cross, whose legs trembled under the pressure of his words, his accusations.

"D-Dream, I've... never…"

The monochromatic man fell silent, his eyes wide open with horror, remembering all the times he had come to ask Dream for help, all the times he had cried in his arms, only to turn his back on him and go back to Nightmare, before starting the same merry-go-round again the next day.

He, uh... He used Dream.

He wasn't a friend, he wasn't anything.

"I-I'm sorry... I…"

He backed away, horrified at his own behaviour, horrified at what he had done to Dream, without realising that his terror had been felt by the guardian of good emotions.

Dream raised his head, his throat tight, and froze at the sight of a Cross on the verge of tears. A Cross who had been hurt by his words... just like Ink.

"... C-Cross …" called out to the little dream.

But the monochrome no longer listened to him, with an empty gaze, as if his terror had disconnected him from reality.

Dream felt a deaf panic take him. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no! He wouldn't... He didn't want to hurt Cross, just like he didn't want to hurt Ink! He only wanted to... He only wanted to ...say what was in his heart, to take his anger out on those he felt were responsible for his condition...

Except they weren't the culprits... They'd only been factors in his illness. His negativity, his suffering had been born from an accumulation of too many things, up to the point where Shattered had appeared. Where... where he had given him the final blow.

Dream rose feverishly, feverish and trembling, his face ravaged by tears. He didn't bother to think, and rushed to the icy tile floor, ignoring his bones, which were crying out for grace to throw himself into Cross's arms, crying, pouring out all his sadness and guilt:

"Cross! Cross please, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I-I!"

The swordsman seemed to come to his senses. He spun in contact with Dream, hiccuped when, in his chest, he felt their two souls coming into contact, uniting in an emotional bond far too powerful, in a wave of fear and anguish.

He sobbed back.

His arms came and grabbed Dream with force, clutching him to his chest, as if for fear of seeing him disappear:

"No Dream, no! It's me, it's my fault, it's all my fault! I should have stayed by your side! I should have... I should have... !

- C-Cross... no... I pushed you to my brother, I encouraged you, I... it's m-me…"

They couldn't line up a sentence without being cut off by their hiccups, their sobs. Crossed by jolts, unstable one as the other, they fell to their knees, tightly squeezed together, crying hot tears without realizing the situation, nor the place where they were, completely forgetting what was around them. Exhausted and confused, terrified and full of apprehension, they let their feelings pour out without noticing the presence of two other skeletons.

In the doorway, keeping silent, Dust and Nightmare didn't even look at each other. They were well aware that the situation had not been resolved...

But a step had been taken. It was always that way.

Killer had a funny idea when he suggested watching a movie, saying that "Dream had to take his mind off things and staying locked in a room wasn't going to help! "

So the dream keeper had been moved into the living room, lying on the sofa and wrapped in a duvet, while a hot meal stood on the coffee table next to him, within reach of his knuckles.

Horror, who was watching that he was eating well, had come to join him and was leaning on the couch, but was quickly taken by the film that Killer had chosen: "Isn't Romantic". It was a dumb parody of a musical. Killer was there too, sitting on the floor against the sofa, watching TV with passion.

"Do you really like this shit? Horror asked distractedly, who was himself deep in the plot.

- Yeah... Don't you wonder how she's gonna get home?

- Not really... I'm more wondering who the jerk is who's gonna marry her. It's gonna end up another clichéd marriage to the best friend, that's for sure.

- No, not so sure... He doesn't care about guys. And she's right.

- Wow... you haven't gotten over your breakup with Color toi."

Killer tensed up, kept his eyes glued to the screen with some discomfort.

Dream, listening distractedly to their conversation, looked at the one with the round soul:

"... You were dating Color... ?" he asked in his broken little voice.

Killer took a quick look at him before lowering his eyes in shame:

"... Yeah. I mean, it only lasted two months…"

He weighed down, anger and regret poisoned his soul:

"Hell, to think I almost left the team for that asshole…"

Feeling his negativity, the young goalkeeper straightened up slightly, enough to gently place a hand on his shoulder. Killer was about to question him about his action but stopped when a gentle warmth came over his body, making him shiver with wellbeing.

Horror looked at them with surprise and perplexity:

"Dream is...

- My aura, yes…"

Dream avoided their gaze, concentrating on Killer's feelings in order to erase the negativity that was hurting her. When he no longer felt this virulent anger, he withdrew his hand and settled back into the couch, under the circumspect gaze of the other two skeletons.

Killer went back to the movie, embarrassed:

"... Thank you Dream …"

The guard looked at him with big eyes:

"... What's that?

- Well... I said thank you."

The youngest remained mute, his face being gently coloured without him noticing. He, in turn, looked at the screen again, but could no longer concentrate on the story.

That was...

[ It was nice to receive gratitude... ]

Nightmare watched tenderly as his twin took care of Killer. Would the guardian of dreams never change? Always worrying about others even when he himself was at his worst?

This observation, although it made him smile, gripped his soul. He turned his heels quickly, hurried across the corridors to his office and locked himself in.

Cross and Error were already waiting for him there, one serious and the other annoyed.

Nightmare turned to the swordsman:

"What's the evolution?"

The monochrome lowered his eyes and carefully took out Dream's soul.

Nightmare and Error tensed up, alerted by the greyish hue of the little heart. The golden glow was no more, as if the poor soul was sinking, giving up.

This made the Destroyer growl:

"Night, I thought you were handling his negativity.

- I am, but... I was already having a hard time dealing with mine and the whole multiverse. Having to take care of Dream brings me to my limit.

- In short, you're telling me you can't stabilize him?

- No, I'm saying we had to find a solution as soon as possible! Black apples are a poison that you can't get rid of easily, but my brother is 'lucky' to have only eaten three apples."

The master of the house walked away to his library, from where he took an old book from DreamTale.

"Normally, eating one to three apples is 'not much'. The effects wear off quickly. But Dream is the guardian of positivity, so these black apples are harmful to him, they cling to his being like the plague …"

Cross shuddered, brooded the little soul with his eyes before straightening his head towards his superior:

"But there is a way to cure him?"

Nightmare put the book on the desk, opening it directly to a certain page:

"I can't say for sure, but we can always try. In a few days, it will be the multiverse ellipse.

- Multiversal ellipse? repeated Error with a raised eyebrow.

- A very rare event that lasts only a few minutes. A moment when opposites become one, when negativity and positivity blend in perfect balance, to start the cycle of the worlds from scratch.

- What does that basically mean?"

Nightmare snapped the book shut, looking more serious than ever:

"Dream and I used to participate in this event through a ritual left by our mother. I don't know how it will look today... but maybe it's the solution to cure my brother."

Error scowled:

"What if it doesn't work? Is there a risk that the ritual will go wrong?"

Nightmare didn't respond, which upset the Destroyer:

"I asked you a question.

- I don't know. The ritual has never failed, we've always been in perfect symbiosis.

- Except that today you both ate black apples. I'm not sure the balance is 'perfect'!"

The master of misfortune felt a deaf rage vibrate him. He glanced at the glitch, his voice getting darker:

"You don't know until you try it."

The atmosphere became colder and Cross became tense, intimidated in spite of himself by the magic of the two other skeletons, which crackled with impatience and challenge.

Error growled, more threatening than ever:

"My duty is to watch over the multiverse and its balance ... and it's clear that Dream's condition makes him a major threat. So let's get things straight Nightmare…"

He looked at the guard with a black look:

"The moment I considered him a danger, I would shoot him."

Nightmare's tentacles wiggled, whipped the air with a ferocity that he struggled to master:

"Killing him will be like upsetting the balance.

- Do you take me for an idiot? You and your brother watch over emotions and dreams, sure... But need I remind you that you arrived long after the original world, where other AUs?"

He turned his back on them dryly, creating a portal to his void:

"You are useful…"

He crossed the gate, his last words resonating in the sudden silence of the room:

"...but not necessary."