Chapter Text
In your youth, you had had numerous aspirations for the future, many different career paths you considered following—paths which you slowly found dwindling in number as you progressed through your childhood and teenage years into your early adulthood. Yours was a boring life; no drama, no angst, no real conflict. Out of all the dreams for the future, none manifested themselves when it came time for you to follow your destiny—no voice booming down from the heavens, telling you to go forth and become a doctor, a writer, an insurance adjustor.
No matter, you weren’t in a rush. You simply moved through life at the glacial pace it set for you, going through the motions and waiting for inspiration to strike.
It took a while. Guess all the good muses were on vacation, you supposed. Meanwhile, you got a job at a laundromat as a laundry attendant. Nothing glamorous—but it paid the bills. An interesting mix comprised the clientele of the facility; humans and monsters alike came to you to wipe away the evidence of their sins (and stray food), drawn in by your quiet lack of judgment and your ability to remove even the toughest of stains. You asked no questions, made no comments or small talk, which in this line of business apparently made you a star.
One of your regulars was a skeleton monster dressed in black and white with a vivid red scar underneath his right socket, always bearing a veritable mountain of laundry and grumbling about certain ‘murderous jerkwads splashing around in carnage’, which left you with many unspoken questions, especially whenever you saw the numerous dried, coppery blotches on their clothes. He was always very polite, even when he was visibly annoyed at having to drag in more than one load of laundry after what he mysteriously described as a ‘productive week’.
Less polite were his coworkers who started to accompany him more often as you established yourself as their premier launderer, or whatever the nonbinary equivalent of a laundrywoman was. Curiosity (and a healthy dash of boredom) brought them out of the woodworks to get a look at you.
“So, this is the reason my shorts have been smelling like lavender, huh?” Another skeleton, this one with unsettling black smears of an unknown substance under his eyes leaned over the counter to peer at you. You couldn’t see his eyelights, but you could feel them looking you up and down, cold and calculating despite the disarming, cocky smirk on his skull.
“Lavender and vanilla, actually,” you said quietly. He looked like he had a sharp retort for that, when the first skeleton—Cross, you remembered seeing on his invoices—nudged him in the ribs and shot him a look. Pretending you didn’t see the ensuing little scuffle in front of the counter, you continued adding up the tally for Cross’s new invoice.
The next coworker, yet another skeleton who looked identical to the other two save for his eerie red eyelights that smoldered as he stared unblinkingly at you. He didn’t say a word, just watched you lug the oversized basket of clean, freshly folded and pressed laundry up to the counter for Cross to lift effortlessly. Though, you noted to your quiet discontent, his phalanges seemed to be flexing and clenching at his sides, as if he were restraining certain…urges the entire time he was in your bland, off-white little laundromat.
Cross happened to look to his side and caught how intently his friend was staring at you; with an exasperated sigh, he grabbed the scarf at the top of the pile and tossed it at the other skeleton, who snatched it out of the air. Ah—you remembered that scarf very well. It had been the bane of your existence for much of the day late last week; there had been so much dust and grime enmeshed in the fabric that it had taken several good soaks and a lot of scrubbing before you could call it any semblance of clean. It stood out amongst the laundry, a vivid splash of red amongst the muted blues and olives and white to match the blazing crimson of his eyelights.
The skeleton looped the scarf around his neck, and his entire demeanor shifted in the blink of an eye. He visibly relaxed, his shoulders sagging and the color leeching out of his sockets until they were the same shade of white as Cross’s. “Thanks,” he mumbled, and you weren’t sure if the sentiment was directed towards you or Cross, but you smiled at him anyway.
Last of the coworkers to make their appearance was, you guessed it, another skeleton, this one bigger than all the others by several inches and with a hole in his skull that looked as if something had just punched its way through, leaving nothing but splinters and jagged edges in its wake. He was much more amiable than the others, grinning at you and actually making conversation while Cross meticulously reviewed the invoice you had handed him.
“Dust seemed to really like you,” he said casually. His phalanges drummed a constant rhythm on the counter where he leaned, his mandible resting in the cradle of his other hand as he stared you down with his lone red eye, huge and swollen in his socket. “Said you had good vibes.”
“Who?”
“Dust. Y’know. The one covered in dust.” Your blank stare elicited a rumbling chuckle from him. “Man, I can see why Killer liked you. You’re not much of a looker, huh?”
“Uh.”
“Oh—hehehe.” Something in your face must have conveyed your slight offense at the slip of the tongue, because he gave an apologetic grin after he finished his cackling. “No, no, I mean you don’t really look at us, do ya? Most humans tend to stare at us, but you barely glance up from that register.”
Cross spared him one of his trademark exasperated glances, his expression pained. “Axe, c’mon. Quit being rude.”
“I ain’t being rude. I’m making conversation—that’s like the opposite of being rude.” Axe protested. “Look, I haven’t even made one joke about cannibalism—you know how much that’s been eating at me?”
“Uuuugh.” Cross rolled his eyes even as Axe giggled at his own wordplay. “Ignore him, human.”
Axe scoffed. “You’re the rude one, calling them human. They have a name.” Cross’s skull turned an interesting shade of purple at being called out; he spluttered some nonsense about nametags and social norms, then slapped the cash down on the counter before dragging Axe and the laundry out the door. Axe gave you a cheery wave, not seeming to be bothered by Cross’s manhandling of him as he was bodily dragged by the scruffy hood of his jacket.
Almost reflexively, you waved back, and were rewarded with an eager brightening of Axe’s eyelight.
They weren’t so bad, you ruminated over the course of the afternoon. Honestly, they were a nice change of pace from your usual clientele—you weren’t sure why you liked the skeletons so much, but something about them seemed to break up the monotony of your job. Certainly, their laundry provided enough of an interesting challenge to engage your focus.
Now, whenever Cross made his weekly visit, he would be accompanied by one of the others, who all seemed oddly eager to make conversation with you—even Dust, though his train of thought was a bit harder to follow than the other two. Often he would lose track of a thread of conversation in the middle and jump onto another topic, or, more concerningly, he would start arguing with some unseen person. Killer enjoyed poking and prodding, trying to find weak spots in your psyche or triggers, only for your blank stare to thwart him every time—only fueling his drive. Axe, meanwhile, had only one topic of conversation: food. He’d ask you about every restaurant you’d ever been to, or wanted to go, as if compiling a massive list of places to hit up at some point in time.
Several months went by in this fashion, until he finally took notice of your weekly visitors.
The bell above the door jingled, alerting you to the entrance of a customer. It was late, just a few minutes before you were scheduled to close. Not many people came in at this time—it was after rush hour, so everyone had picked up their laundry on their way home from work, or ran out to get it before dinner. Your stomach rumbled, reminding you that you needed to get dinner yourself after you left here.
It was a skeleton monster, but to your surprise, it wasn’t Cross or any of his coworkers. No, this one was…different.
As you looked up to greet your customer, your rehearsed words stuck in your throat. He stood in the door in just the right position in front of the setting sun; soft yet radiant amber and orange framed his silhouette, giving him oddly angelic vibes, accentuated by the gentle yellow eyelights regarding you curiously. His frame was small, delicate, with a quiet strength hiding underneath.
It had never occurred to you that a skeleton could be beautiful, but there was no other word you’d use in that moment for him.
Looking closer at him, you didn’t think he was here for any laundry-related concerns. He held no bag, no basket of soiled clothes, and his own clothes—a regal yet simple, flowing gold tunic contrasting nicely with black leggings and arm sleeves, complemented by yellow gloves and boots—were pristine, with nary a wrinkle or fold out of place.
The skeleton cocked his head, the movement making the circlet on his skull glitter appealingly in the light of the setting sun. “Hello.”
“H-hello.”
Another light jingling of the bell as the skeleton stepped forward to let the door shut behind him. His soft radiance faded a bit under the harsh fluorescent lighting, but still you felt your throat go dry at how warmly he smiled at you. What was wrong with you? You had never found yourself so worked up over anyone before, and all he had said was hello!
“Are you okay?” he asked, drifting closer to where you quaked with unfamiliar emotions behind the safety of your counter.
Oh no! Was it obvious you were freaking out about being attracted to someone for the first time in your life?! What should you do—you let out a braying, nervous laugh, the harsh sound of it piercing the air, but you found yourself stammering, “Ah—haha—ahhhhh, yeahhhh. I’m—I’m fine—w-w-w-why—”
“You poor thing.” He was right next to you, suddenly, when did he get so close????? Amber eyelights looked you up and down worriedly, and you almost fainted when he reached out to touch you. The leather of his gloves were cool against your heated skin, one hand cradling your cheek as the other held your shoulder. “Did they hurt you? Threaten you? I’m so sorry it took me so long to notice them in this AU. What have they done to you?”
You had, just, absolutely no idea what he was going on about. Honestly, your brain wasn’t even capable of processing the sounds coming out of his mouth, let alone any comprehensible thoughts other than oh my god he’s so pretty. So, with your brain on the bench, your body shut down with a shiver and yet more nervous laughter that had his eyelights flickering anxiously.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he told you, his low yet light voice flowing pleasantly through your addled mind even as he gently pulled you up onto your feet. “Here, follow me. I’ll take you somewhere else, so we can talk without worrying about them finding us, okay?”
“Okay…” you mumbled.
His magic was warm, surrounding the two of you, and through it you could feel his intent—protect, care, safe—infusing your body and filling you with a sense of contentment that you hadn’t even realized you had been missing until now. So distracting was this newfound emotion, that you didn’t notice until he sat you down that he had pulled you through some sort of portal into—was this a restaurant?
“Are you hungry?” he asked you, and dimly you remembered that yes, actually, you were starving. Your brain was still in the middle of its reboot sequence, so you just nodded, and were rewarded with his pleased smile. “Good! I’m still trying to learn the eating habits of humans, so I’m never sure when you need to eat. Feel free to order whatever you’d like—it’s on me.”
This was the most bizarre Thursday night you’d had yet, but you were never one to turn down a free meal. Tearing your eyes away from his beatific smile and the hypnotizing allure of his eyelights, you forced yourself to focus on the menu before you. Something about perusing the pasta entrees was oddly soothing to your jumbled brain; as you moved onto the dinner specials, you could actually feel your heartrate settling and your brain resuming normal function.
After a minute, the waiter came by to get your orders. To your surprise, your abductor ordered dinner for himself as well—you supposed skeleton monsters ate too…somehow. Did the food not just fall out of his ribcage? Something about the question struck you as potentially being offensive, so you left it unspoken.
Without a menu to hide behind, you found yourself yet again under his calm gaze. He smiled at you when you finally dared to return eye contact, and you could feel your heart picking up its pace yet again.
“So…tell me a little about yourself.”
What? You stared at him in confusion, and to your bemusement, a light yellow flush overtook his skull when he noticed your bewilderment. The skeleton rubbed at the back of his skull, looking almost nervous. “I—I read somewhere that it’s important to get to know someone when you’re trying to connect with them. I just, um, thought I could help you relax a bit, considering everything you’ve been through, before I ask about them.”
That didn’t really answer a lot of your questions, but you found yourself asking anyway, “What do you wanna know?”
He perked up at the first full sentence from you so far, his smile so bright that you were almost forced to lean away from the force of it. “Well, for starters, I’ve never heard of a—what is it called? A laund-o-mat? What is the purpose of it? What do you do there?”
“You’ve never heard of a laundromat?” you asked incredulously. “How do you do your laundry?”
That blush darkened, spreading across his skull as he sheepishly admitted, “W-Well…I guess you can say I’ve been a bit…sheltered for the majority of my life. I don’t know a lot about the modern world, or the human world. My friend Blue helps me with my laundry—he likes to complain that if it weren’t for him, I’d be running around the Multiverse in nothing but rags and a smile.”
Oh, well, now you felt a little bad for your remark. “O-oh, well…a laundromat is just where you go and pay someone to do your laundry for you. I guess you wouldn’t know about it because you never needed one—not everyone’s lucky enough to have a Blue.”
He laughed, a light, airy sound that had your heart fluttering in your chest. “Ha! I suppose not. I’m very lucky indeed to have Blue in my life. He’s been helping teach me all about the world—or worlds, I guess. So, what do you do every day at the laund-o-mat?”
You thought he had just asked out of politeness, because really, who would want to listen to you talk about your job as a laundry attendant? But, to your surprise, the skeleton seemed absolutely fascinated as you regaled him with harrowing tales of running wash cycles, folding laundry, and even doing basic alterations; his eyelights never wavered from your face, and he leaned forward, his mouth slightly open in rapt interest.
No one had ever paid so much attention to you when you talked before…you never realized how validating it felt to have someone hanging onto your every word. You found yourself relaxing, your speech losing its halting, nervous patterns, which only served to engage the skeleton even more.
“What about you?” you asked, when you had finally ran out of exciting, laundry-related topics.
“M-me?” he asked, taken aback.
“Yeah. What do you do?”
“Oh my stars, I never introduced myself, did I?” His embarrassment was interrupted by the arrival of your food. The skeleton gave a grateful smile to the waiter, waiting for him to leave before he turned back to you. “My apologies! I’m Dream, the Guardian of Positivity in the Multiverse.”
You gave a confused grunt around a mouthful of noodles. Dream waited patiently for you to slurp up the rest of your forkful and hurriedly chew it so you could ask, “Whazzat?”
“What’s what?”
“Uh. A Guardian of Positivity. And, uh, a Multiverse?”
That set Dream off on a tangent of his own, and now it was your turn to listen with wide eyes and mouth full of noodles as he waxed on about his sacred duty to maintain the balance between negativity and positivity, almost quite literally a battle between light and dark throughout the many worlds of the Multiverse. Unbeknownst to him, you were also struggling to come to terms with the fact that there were other worlds, other universes while Dream prattled on like it was as simple a concept as laundromats.
Dream’s plate lay cooling before him, long forgotten, but Dream didn’t seem to notice, nor that you had finished eating ages ago. The both of you were caught up in his stories of saving the Multiverse from imbalances, from rogue Outcodes, and from Dream’s brother—though you couldn’t help but notice how a slight melancholy, almost guilty, crept into his voice whenever he spoke of his brother’s corruption.
Finally, Dream fell silent, having exhausted his vast repertoire of heroic tales. He glanced down at your plate, then his, and that yellow flush crept over his skull as he realized just how long he had been talking.
“Wow.” You took another sip of your water; the waiter hadn’t come by to refill it in a while, no doubt because he and half the waitstaff were standing in the kitchen door glaring daggers at the two of you for still being there. “That sounds…don’t you ever feel scared?”
“O-oh? What do you mean?”
“Well. It’s just.” You bit your lip, wondering whether what you were going to say would be rude. “Going to all these unknown worlds, fighting all these dark forces…doesn’t it ever scare you?”
Something about your question seemed to really throw Dream off. His sockets widened, then he looked down at his hands, which were twisting his napkin into a knot before him. Finally, he said quietly, “Well…no one’s ever actually asked me that before.” Before you could fall over yourself to hastily apologize for the offense, Dream laughed softly, a note of vulnerability creeping into his voice. “Everyone just praises me for all the good that I do, and how I’m always such a beacon of hope and joy, and it’s just so amazing that I stay so positive through it all. But…the truth is…I do get scared. I fear that I’ll be too late, that I’ll slip up and one day my brother will finally end my life…but, more than anything…I get tired of it all. And, I know I shouldn’t—I can’t feel that way, but sometimes—”
Before you could think better of it, before you could tell yourself that it was too forward of you, you reached out to rest your hand over his, stilling his anxious fidgeting. Dream looked up at you, startled. You swallowed, not having the slightest clue what you were doing, but you forged ahead anyway. “I—I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that! B-being tired, or scared. You shouldn’t ever feel like your, well, feelings aren’t valid.”
Dream stared at you speechlessly for several more moments, before he gave a soft huff, his mouth twisting wryly. “Is it sad that I’ve never thought about it that way?”
“No,” you replied hotly. “It’s not sad. I think…I think you just needed someone to actually listen to you for once.”
A third voice cut in, heavy with irritation. “And I need you to listen to me for once when I tell you that we. are. closed.” The two of you looked up to see your waiter glaring down at you, with the kitchen and waitstaff all crowded around in the kitchen shooting daggers at your table.
That was your cue to leave—well, not so much a cue as it was someone blatantly yelling it in your face as you scrambled to escape the judgmental looks of several disgruntled, sleep-deprived restaurant workers. Dream ushered you out, spewing out several heartfelt apologies that went unacknowledged.
The two of you stood awkwardly on the sidewalk outside the restaurant. Dream’s hand lingered on your back, the sensation of his gloved hand resting hesitantly in the small of your back sending goosebumps up your spine.
“I had a good time tonight,” you offered up clumsily, more to break the silence than anything. “Thank you for taking me out.”
Dream glanced at you in surprise, then smiled so warmly that you felt a corresponding heat spreading across your face and your chest tightened. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. I must admit, I enjoyed tonight far more than I anticipated. You’re…you’re very easy to talk to. If it’s not too much trouble…would you like to meet again?”
“Yes!” you blurted immediately. You didn’t even care if you seemed too eager. “I’d like you a lot. I—I mean!! I’d like that. A lot.”
“Truly? That’s wonderful.” Somehow his smile grew even brighter, and you could have sworn there was an angelic aura around him, and all you could think of was that he was so happy about seeing you again. He liked you. Maybe, maybe liked liked you. Calm down, you told yourself sternly, before you gave yourself a conniption. But how could you be calm, when this beautiful, perfect being wanted to hang out with you?
Oblivious to your internal struggle—though you didn’t notice his raised brow at some of your more…interesting spikes in emotion—Dream focused on summoning his magic again to take you home. The warmth of his aura and intent surrounded you once more, and you felt your chest tightening again. Home, to your boring, empty apartment, where you’d sit, and wait to hear from this spot of sunshine.
Why did that still make you feel happy?
“Any new reports, Cross?” Nightmare asked wearily, leafing through yet another stack of paperwork as he struggled to keep up on the latest developments in the Multiverse through his vast network of spies and implanted magic.
“Uh, some unusual movements from Dream, but other than that, nothing. Blue’s been in his home AU for a while now, probably taking his yearly vacation, and Ink’s wrapped up in some collaboration between creators.”
“Keep an eye on Ink,” Nightmare ordered, barely paying any attention to Cross’s words while he focused on the paperwork before him. “Depending on what they’re creating, could be a potential source for negativity. It would b—wait. What kind of unusual movements?”
Cross blinked at the rapid change in direction, but took it in stride like the soldier that he was. “Oh—he spent a lot of time today in a certain AU. It’s a Swap AU, pretty neutral, leaning towards positive, so I just found it odd that he’s spending so much time in an AU that doesn’t need his presence at all.”
“Hm. Is that all?”
“Yeah. It’s not a notable AU for anything. The only reason I know about it is because that’s where the laundromat is.”
Nightmare’s eyelight shrank to a pinpoint as he connected the dots. “The laundromat…you fool! That’s why my idiotic brother is there!”
“To…do laundry?”
“No!” Nightmare slammed one tentacle down on the desk, hard enough to make the papers shake and one pile to topple to the ground. He paid no attention to the bureaucratical hell unraveling on his carpet, instead pointing a furiously shaking finger at a bewildered Cross. “Is it not obvious?! Dream has noticed your frequent excursions into that AU, and is seeking to remove what is drawing you idiots in! He is going to steal our laundry human!”
An expression of pure skepticism flashed over his face before Cross could school his emotions, earning himself a sharper glare and many threatening wiggles of Nightmare’s tentacles. Still, Cross carefully said, “Boss…do you really think Dream cares that much?”
“I know he does! I told you not to bring any of the others with you, lest you draw unwanted attention. And look what you’ve done!”
“…draw unwanted attention?”
“The most unwanted attention. Quickly, take the others with you and procure the asset.”
“Procure the what?”
Nightmare hissed in aggravation at Cross’s obtuseness, his tentacles writhing angrily behind him. “Must I spell everything out for you?! Go. Get. Our. Human. I will not go back to whatever swill you were laundering our clothes with, and I will not share her with Dream.”
With a sigh, Cross quickly left the study to avoid incurring Nightmare’s wrath, and went to find the others. It wouldn’t be the first time they kidnapped some poor laborer who had caught Nightmare’s eye—the dark god was very picky, and very possessive. Once he found someone who could do a task to his standard, Nightmare immediately saw them as belonging to him.
Hell, that was how they had filled half the castle. The chef used to be a line cook at a Waffle House that Nightmare had taken a liking to, whereas the janitor had been taken straight from his bed simply because he had wiped down a table before Nightmare sat down at it and had even called him sir—instant trigger for Nightmare’s possessiveness.
It would be the first time kidnapping someone that Cross and the others actually knew. He liked you, and he knew the other three liked you too—you were quiet, didn’t stare, and patiently listened to all their shitty puns without rolling your eyes. Plus, you had been able to get that persistent chocolate milk stain out of Cross’s jacket (why did he insist on wearing all white, he had despaired to himself the day his milk box had exploded), restored Dust’s scarf to its former glory, gotten the cat fur out of Killer’s jacket (that he immediately replaced with more fur but it at least didn’t set Nightmare’s allergies off as badly), and even fixed some of the more gaping holes in Axe’s shirt and jacket.
He just wondered why Dream was there…