Chapter Text
Nightmare awakens in his bed. The lights are off, and his belongings are undisturbed. His door is shut, and he is alone.
Completely. Alone.
He jolts to terrifying clarity the second he notes the heavy weight that usually settles across his back was gone. His tentacles were gone. His corruption was gone.
Nightmare does not express his terror vocally, but it is a near thing. His corruption was gone, alongside a hefty amount of his magic that his corruption apparently carried.
Nightmare is just... A lowly skeleton now. One that looks all too familiar to the small skeleton the villagers killed all those centuries ago. His breath hitches as he notes that even his clothing matches that of which he wore in the past.
Not the typical hoodie and shorts that the corruption had taken form and given him. But instead his more regal uniform, that of which matches his brother's clothes.
A horrifying, terrifying jolt stabs through him, and Nightmare's phalanges jerk up to claw at the top of his head. Rather gracelessly, mind you. However, the lack of a circlet soothes him, and Nightmare puffs just the faintest sigh of relief.
Then his terror skyrockets all over again, because hey! Big bad scary boss is no longer big, bad, and scary! He is actually quite pathetic in this form. Nightmare doubts he could even summon a simple bone attack.
Which might be quite a problem, considering Nightmare enlisted a group of LV hungry murderers into his ranks. Nightmare is certain that if they caught wind of what has happened, they wouldn't hesitate to go for the kill.
Who wouldn't want to kill their horrible, emotionally manipulative boss, after all? Nightmare wouldn't blame them.
How did this even happen? Nightmare finally manages to pull himself to his feet, urging his aching body to move. He has perfected the art of multitasking, after all. Think and pack.
Nightmare quickly grabs an old bag from his closet, hurriedly pilling anything that might be helpful in his escape into the bag.
The last thing that Nightmare recalled, was fleeing from Outertale after what could essentially be classed as an ambush. Dream had shot him with his arrows as well, multiple times too.
On a good day, one arrow was already bad enough, but three? Nightmare has to stifle the urge to check over his now potentially mortal body to look for any wounds he might've somehow missed.
However Nightmare resists, hastily folding up an old, tattered cloak. He's unsure where it came from, but it will prove great use to him.
So, three arrows. Nightmare assumes this is the reason he feels so horribly weak. Even now, his hands quake from the simple task of packing a bag. Oh how the mighty have fallen.
However this proves all the more that Nightmare needs to leave. His men were ruthless, trained by himself. If they knew of Nightmare's predicament, he doubted any of them would look a gift horse in the mouth.
Which begs the question, how do they not know already? This question then leads back to, how, and when did Nightmare lose his corruption? Is it gone forever?
No.
Nightmare doesn't bother to give that thought any of his time. His corruption was his. Had overtaken his soul, his body, fused with him. It would not simply leave this easily. It was just illogical.
He stuffs the small pouch of gold into the bag with a bit more force than necessary. With that, Nightmare pulls the strings tight, and ties them twice. Ensuring nothing would tumble free in the chances that something were to happen.
A new question forms into his head as he pulls the bag over his back. How is he going to leave? He clearly does not currently possess the power to summon a portal. Perhaps he could use one of those emergency tokens he keeps in his office?
Nightmare is aware his boys, discluding Cross, were unable to create portals and travel the multiverse. So he kept multiversal tokens in his office, should the need arrive for one of them to go on a mission without Cross or himself. It was efficient, and it also allowed them to visit other AU's should they need to for something personal or otherwise. Nightmare did not bother asking. He knew they would return to the castle at the end of the day.
A travel token it is, then. Nightmare just has to make it to his office, first. A normally easy task, however with his newfound situation, it will prove difficult.
Nightmare cannot teleport with the meek stores of magic he holds. Therefore, he will be forced to walk. Of course, Nightmare knows the way to his office. The problem lies in potentially running into one of his subordinate's.
However that is a risk Nightmare is going to have to take, otherwise if he stays in this room he will be a sitting duck.
So, Nightmare creeps forward, hands silently turning the doorknob and swinging it open. It doesn't squeak, which Nightmare is quite grateful for. The halls are silent, as well. A deep, purple carpet runner stretching the whole hall, walls decorated with whatever had tickled his fancy back in the day. Back when Nightmare was still adjusting to the corruption, and the sheer power of being the only guardian at the time.
The irony is not lost on him, trust me.
The carpet muffles his steps down to nothing, thankfully. Allowing him to creep silently down the hall. He is unsure of the time, but even so it is rather odd the castle is so quiet. Usually at least one of his subordinates would be doing some sort of activity.
Killer would most likely be bothering someone, and rather loudly too. Dust would hover, or stay in his room. Depending on the day, whether it be good or bad. Horror would probably be in the kitchen, cooking up something he'd found in a book somewhere. And Cross-
Cross had been injured.
Nightmare stops with a jolt, and just the faintest squeak of floorboard beneath his feet.
Cross had been injured, and Nightmare had no idea if he'd been healed. Dust knows healing, sure, but he's certainly not very good at it. If any of them ever wound up injured, they always relied on Nightmare to heal them.
He shakes his head, and continues on to his office. Cross will be fine. He had been standing when they left Outertale, so it had obviously not been a life-threatening wound.
Nightmare festers in his thoughts as he creeps closer to his goal. He's just shy of clinging to the wall as he walks, ears strained for even the faintest of noise.
He does hear a faint creak from the old castle, caused by the wind outside. The structure is old, and such noises are normal. Nightmare still jumps anyway.
A jolted movement, followed by the quietest squeak that Nightmare can manage. Whilst it's embarrassing, it's much better than a shriek or a growl, which would've been much louder, and could've potentially drawn attention.
Nightmare stands huddled to the wall for a good moment, simply giving his heart a moment to rest as he strains his ears. Nothing. No bickering, no footfalls, no sounds of life.
Nightmare finds it eerie. Once upon a time, he had enjoyed the silence of his castle. Had thoroughly warned Killer to be quiet in the halls. Though, Nightmare had given up on that delusion rather quickly. Not one of his proudest moments.
Hesitantly, he begins moving again. Keeping close to the wall, and any furniture he might be able to duck behind, should any of his boys decide to teleport into this specific hall.
Or halls, he supposes, as he comes upon an intersection. His castle had been built with the purpose of being confusing to outsiders. Anyone who didn't know the layout by heart were sure to get lost.
However, Nightmare has lived here around a century now. Left leads to one of the lounge rooms, right leads to the guest bedrooms, and continuing forward would bring him to-
Voices.
Nightmare stifles yet another squeak as he ducks behind a small dresser. The piece of furniture looks as if it was placed there just conveniently enough to hide Nightmare from view. Convenient lamp.
"...looked pretty bad."
Dust, Nightmare quickly identified the voice.
"Yeah, no shit. Boss collapsed in front of us. When has he ever done that?"
Killer snorts, and the rustle of fabric follows shortly after. Somehow, Nightmare just knows that Killer has relocated his hands to his pockets.
"Y'think he overused his magic or somethin' like that?"
Dust questions, voice low in the way Nightmare associates with a bad day. Normally on bad days, Dust does not leave his room unless Nightmare coaxes him out.
"Press X to doubt."
Killer snorts.
"Did you see his weird goopy shit? It like- turned into oil. Slid right off of him. You ever see any magic exhaustion like that?"
Nightmare holds his breath as the two pass right by him, eyes wide and not even daring to allow his bones to quiver in fear.
"Boss isn't like yer normal monster, Killer."
Dust growls, and Nightmare can't help but flinch. That sort of tone usually warns a fight, or some sort of attack. Dust is nearing his limit.
Both of them have stopped walking.
"Listen."
Killer mutters, and Nightmare wonders if this will actually dissolve into a fight, right here. Killer beginning with his usual business, and Dust becoming more defensive by the minute.
All too late does he realize that Killer hadn't said that to start some aggravating speech to get under Dust's nerves. It held too much weight for that. No, it had been a command, similar to something you'd hear from him on a mission.
"...y'heard that too, then?"
Shit. Shit. Shit shit shitshitshitshit-
"Yeah. Definitely wasn't the castle."
Nightmare is so royally screwed.
"Y'think someone got in?"
"...Or someone's trying to get out."
The tone Killer uses is odd. There's probably a facial expression he's using to give further context. However, seeing as Nightmare cannot see said expression, he's essentially left in the dark.
He might as well be dead, actually. No, he *is* dead. Why else would Killer say something like that? They know he's trying to escape. What does Nightmare do? Does Killer know where he is? Does Nightmare stay hidden or does he take a risk and bolt for his office?
The decision is made for him when a hand slams down onto the dresser he's hiding behind. A scream errupts from his throat, right as Killer chirps a cheerful,
"Bossy! There you are!"
Nightmare bolts, because of course he does. However, in his fear-fueled adrenaline dash, he forgot that his men could teleport.
Nightmare collides right into Dust's chest, iron strong arms wrapping around him and restraining him. The impact sends a rush of air leaving his chest. It pulls an odd, wheezing noise from his throat.
"Got 'im."
Dust says blandly, completely indifferent to Nightmare's struggles for his life. Were they going to toy with him before they killed them? Is that why they haven't done so already?
"Awh, jeesh! Dusty you scared him!"
Killer scolds, earning a harsh sigh from Dust. He awkwardly adjusts his grip on Nightmare, managing to wrangle free his backpack and carelessly discard it to the floor. Nightmare fights the urge to flinch.
"Horror was supposed t'be the one doin' this. Not me."
Dust scowls, and Nightmare chokes. So Horror was going to kill him? His newest recruit? Nightmare was sure he'd done the least damage to him, nothing enough to warrant wanting to personally kill him in such a state. But then again, Horror has always managed to surprise him.
"Dust, Boss is doing the weird hitch-y breath-y thing...-y"
Killer chirps oh so helpfully. Dust growls and holds Nightmare out like a wet cat underneath his armpits. Nightmare kicks out his legs in a useless attempt to worm free.
"Well then you fix it, since ye clearly know so much!"
Dust demands, and so Killer takes Nightmare from Dust's grip. Which is so much worse. Out of the two, Killer would definitely draw out his death, and would toy with him. At least with Dust he'd bore quickly.
"You're shaking him too hard, dumbass. He's not some glowstick!"
Killer sighs loudly, pulling Nightmare close to his chest. Only then does he realize that he's somehow smaller than Killer and Dust. Great. Perfect.
"Killer. Look at 'im."
Dust sighed, making a frustrated gesture towards Nightmare, who has yet to control his breathing enough to manage even a single word.
"I told you somethin' was wrong, he isn't fightin' right. We should get Horror."
Dust mutters, waving a hand. Nightmare growls, sucking in a breath. Seeming to have finally realized they aren't going to kill him right this second. Maybe Nightmare can try and negotiate?
"Let me go."
...roll credits.
What once would have a bone shuddering demand was nothing more than a squeaky plea. Dust just stares, and Killer tilts his head.
"Well at least he can still talk,"
Killer hums, squeezing Nightmare just a tad bit tighter. As if the guardian was an oversized teddy bear. It is rather demeaning.
"But that's not happening, since you'll run off. And then Horror will be pissed we lost you. Oh, and you might hurt yourself somehow."
All of Nightmare's fearful thoughts stutter to a screeching halt at his subordinate's words. Killer speaks as if he cares about Nightmare being injured. As if him being wounded was a bad thing.
"You broke 'im!"
Dust accuses the instant Nightmare ceases his struggles, scowling at Killer who gasps dramatically. Nightmare blinks slowly, taking in the scene. It feels as if someone has dumped ice water over his head.
"Excuse me?"
Nightmare frowns, looking between the two. Now that he isn't focused on all of the ways he might potentially be killed, he's realizing something.
These two aren't arguing. They're bickering. Like they would over the last waffle, or who would do dishes that night. Something they very much decidedly do not do when debating what to do with a life.
"I didn't break him!"
Killer huffs, sounding personally offended by the accusation. Dust somehow looks equally offended.
"Then why’s he actin’ like that?"
"Because he’s panicking, genius."
"I wonder why he's panickin'!"
Nightmare briefly considers the option that he may be dead, and this is his personal hell. It certainly feels more logical than whatever is currently happening right now.
"Put me down."
Nightmare sighs, and whilst his voice is still pitched higher than usual, his tone carries the same weight as it did before he magically lost all of his corruption. He still intends to figure that problem out. However for now, there are more pressing matters.
Dust and Killer exchange a look, before Killer cautiously drops Nightmare to the floor. Wisely, neither of his men comment on the fact that he's smaller. Actually, he might be the same size he once was, all those centuries ago.
Nightmare supposed it made sense. Being corrupted as a child, perhaps his original body stayed the same? A flimsy explanation, but an explanation nonetheless.
"Boss, where's all your goopy shit?"
Killer asks, and Nightmare simply lets out a sigh. The guardian plucks the discarded bag from the ground, and begins to walk. Whilst it does make him uneasy to have Dust and Killer at his back, he says nothing. Allowing the two to follow, somewhat assured by the thought that if they wanted him dead, they probably would've killed him already.
"I am unsure."
Nightmare finally responds, glancing down at his hand. White bone greets his sight, rather than the usual black ichor that covered his body. Honestly, Nightmare had thought that he would never see himself like this again.
"Great. So the Boss doesn't know either."
Killer scoffs to no one in particular. However, based on the pained grunt that follows, Nightmare presumes that Dust had elbowed him in the ribs.
They walk in silence for an undetermined amount of time, Nightmare still making his way to his office. Though now unsure of what to do once he gets there.
As he walks, a glint in the corner of his eye catches his attention, and he stops. Ignoring the inquisitive noise from Killer.
Nightmare turns, looking at the mirror. The skeleton that stares back is both similar and not in the same way. He looks just as Nightmare had all those centuries ago. Small stature, regal clothing, and dim eye lights paired with a tired expression. He looks as if a small breeze can blow him over.
He looks so horribly weak it makes Nightmare nauseous.
"Is this what you looked like before you turned all goopy, Boss?"
Killer asks, and Nightmare can see the skeleton tilt his head in the mirror, grin widening. He can also see Dust slam his fist into the back of Killer's head with a hiss of his name.
"It is."
Nightmare wearily confirms, fighting the urge to lift a hand to touch his face. Instead he simply studies the skeleton mirroring him.
No tentacles curling behind him, the familiar weight gone. No ichor dripping off of his frame, that security gone as well. He also had both of his eyes.
This appearance certainly sparked a mixture of emotions he could not name.
"Boss?"
Dust prompts, and Nightmare finally turns away from the weakling in the mirror. The type of monster not even Killer would bother killing.
"I am fine. Just unused to this form."
Nightmare sighs, giving into the urge to drag a hand down his face. He still has no idea how to remedy this dilemma.
"...Well, c'mon then. We should probably go find Horror. You look like you're starving."
Killer observes, poking Nightmare in the ribs. It earns a warning hiss from the boss, yet the skeleton pays it noise no mind, as usual.
"I am a skeleton, I am unable to 'starve.'"
Nightmare defends, dutifully ignoring the snort that comes from Dust.
"Boss, you're no longer an eldritch horror. You need food."
Dust says blandly, and Killer nods in agreement.
"Fine then. I suppose I will humor you both."
Nightmare relents, and changes course to the kitchen. If his subordinates notice that he does not simply teleport there, they make the wise choice of not commenting on it.