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Dream and Ink have been best friends for quite some time now— as Ink was susceptible to other’s whims, Dream set a good example. In turn, Ink taught what was basically a clueless god what it was to live in the modern era. It was a very symbiotic relationship.
Naturally, Dream himself was curious about many things, but something that especially intrigued the skeleton was the lives of others. It always made him curious, how people with a wider range of emotions function. As someone who cannot feel much negativity without physically weakening, in turn instinctively avoiding it, he sometimes wished emotions like this would come easier to him.
He does wish he could comfortably express his feelings on what happened to his brother, or what happened to himself, many years ago.
Dream tended to have ideas. Many would go swimmingly— plan a party, battle strategies— But this one concerned him a bit. He had never once asked Ink for a favour yet in all these years, it seems obtrusive now…
But he must. He simply must find out more about those vials.
The overlord definitely wasn’t a fool, even straight out of stone. Before Ink even introduced himself Dream knew the monster was SOULless. Any emotions he had were simulations of real ones.
Dream was just curious about it, see. To see if he could simulate something like sadness without that terrible gnawing pain, all the pressure in his skull. Just time to ruminate, to reflect without feeling too much agony over it.
So then came the request.
It was a rather nice atmosphere, pacifist timelines. Said one he had dropped into was a -Fell timeline, which he often avoids out of cation. Timelines devoid of joy are both unpleasant and debilitating for the overlord. This one was serene, mostly rid of the sour atmosphere of an average neutral -Fell timeline.
Dream found it easy to track his old friend down, not just any monster feels nothing at all.
“Hello Ink!” He projected to his friend, leaping over to the small clearing in the wintery forest. Ahead lay one of Fell Papyrus’ many spiked traps. Looked as though Ink was using his free time to figure out his own creations.
Ink didn’t startle. “Dream,” He replied simply and cordially. “What brings you here?” Quizzically, Ink hopped over a few spikes to appear right next to the slightly taller skeleton. “Need somethin’?”
The latter shifted, pawing at his own gloves in a jittery manner. “…Yes, I do, actually.” Dream said, tone wavering on embarrassment. Always so expressive, the god tended to be. He felt a light pang from his own anxieties. “I was wondering if you’ve ever let another monster try a vial of your paint? If it would work or not?”
Suddenly, Ink seemed much more alert as he patted his own vial satchel. “Ohh, No, nobodies ever asked!” His eyes turned to different coloured stars and sparkles.
“Does that mean you wanna try it? If it works, I can start offering it to those type of monsters who need it. Really interesting.” Ink pondered, seeming more intently focused on the effects it would have than any worth it would be helping people.
Dream felt better once Ink responded to his inquiry with enthusiasm. The artist was a wildcard. “…Yes, That’s correct.” He responded politely. “I’d like to see if I could feel what mortals feel when they are—“ He hesitated for a moment, then reminded himself he need not be embarrassed in front of someone who could not feel real embarrassment himself. “—when they are sad.”
Ink tapped a phalange to his mandible. “Good idea. I remember you telling me about the whole, can’t be sad without feeling pain.” Dream chuckled in response to Ink. “That’s because I told you a few days ago.”
The creator laughed back, but there wasn’t much substance. He didn’t get the irony. “Yep!” His mind suddenly switch objectives and immediately grabbed at his paints, offering a small light blue vial to Dream. It was nearly completely full— Ink doesn’t find sadness that fun, not compared to happiness or comedy. He reserved sadness for only when it was appropriate. “Here you go! Take a swig!”
With the encouragement, Dream reached out and took the vial, looking around as if someone was spying on them. Seeing as the PLAYER has already progressed through this part of the map, of course there was not. Gingerly, the overlord took a small sip.
Nothing happened. Not stray thoughts, nor a bleak outlook. Absolutely no traits of anything but his own personality and the positivity always running through his veins.
“Ah, phooey.” Dream murmured over the vial, looking back at an unreadable Ink. “It didn’t work.” He stated, handing the paint back to Ink who only pushed it back. “No, no, drink a little more!” The other pressured. “It takes more for me to feel much immediately!” The god was a bit shocked at the resistance of Ink towards giving the whole science experiment up, but surrendered.
He took a few more sips before recognizing, suddenly, the flavour. That flavour. For some reason, that comfort that existed in his system from the pacifist timeline turned to ice— the vial felt cold, so cold, through his gloves, like frost bite.
Dream gasped, taken aback as he shoved the now half empty vial back into Ink’s hands. The artist didn’t react much besides taking it back. “…I,” Dream began to say, before stumbling back and putting his soft gloved hands over his face. It was suddenly so sweet in his mouth, despite the turmoil that flooded his SOUL. The god sniffled very uncontrollably. He found this feeling parallel to those he’s experienced before— does sadness feel as overwhelming as excitement may feel to the god?
Ink interrupted his short reflection. “…Hey, it does work.” He said casually, like he had found a hidden prize. Leaning forward, much too far forward that anyone who could feel awkward would muster, Ink pushed one of Dream’s gloves to the side. “You’re cryin’, Dream.” Ink commented, eyes flashing to question marks.
He was so overwhelmed with the puddle of emotions in his head to have payed attention to his physical reactions to the paint. Dream was crying, he was nearly cowering, he couldn’t get the taste from his teeth. “I—I had thought it would be different than this,” Dream despaired in a tone he hadn’t heard from himself.
While not physically in pain from his negative emotions, the fake feelings felt more like a soft psychedelic episode. His eyes felt more tired, he could not escape from the years of bottled sadness by overlapping it with inspirational wisdoms. It was raw, so so terribly fragile and weak of a feeling.
“Yeah, you look like you hate it more than I do!” Ink chirped unhelpfully, unlatching a yellow vial and sipping it before sliding it right back in. His arm looped around the drooped, sometimes shuttering shoulders of the god. “It’s alright, buddy. You can let it out.” Ink said, in a much more kind tone than the one before.
Dream looked grief-stricken for a short moment before tucking his head off to the side so it was obscured from Ink’s view. “…I think I miss my brother.” He said low, like it was a taboo. His arms wrapped around himself. “I, I want to have my brother back.”
His knees felt sore. He wanted to lay down forever underneath a blanket. He wanted to be outside in the summer centuries ago. Panic seemed to be creeping about in his brain the closer he got to that time. He had ignored this all for so long, Dream felt as if he were about to go limp. Ink didn’t reply other than stare at the god with intrigue, eyes yellow with childlike joy.
He was about the throw up— but he cannot, Dream does not require physical consumption, he’s never spat anything but blood. He vaguely realized his mouth felt flooded with some sort of liquid.
Not thick like ink or paint, it felt regurgitated and when it leaked from between his teeth, Ink seemed even more confused. “That’s not the colour the paint was.” He mentioned, almost resting his head on the soft clothed shoulder of Dream. “It’s golden.”
Dream merely gagged and leaned over, then proceeded to crouch down on his knees unsteadily. “Taste wont get out.” He blabbered through tears. Ink remained standing and scratched his head a bit. “You’re not lookin’ too hot. Why’ja ever wanna feel unhappy to begin with? Kinda weird…”
The god dragged himself to sit down away from his… vomit? From what he can assume, it must be his system rejecting the positive emotions in some way. “Just, can’t be sad about, about people I care for.” Dream replied, as if he had forgotten he was venting to a brick wall. “I never got the chance to mourn poor Night.” His tone neared a whisper now. “...And now I can’t do anything besides that.”
He wished to hold that hand once more, the one not covered in sludge, the face not unrecognizable, distorted. And with these old memories of his brother came the suffering and strife Dream had witnessed in his time protecting the multiverse, the AU's he could not bring peace to, the genocide timelines that caused his crippling pain. The sounds of crunched bodies beneath his brother’s feet.
Overwhelming, overwhelming, then suddenly he felt a pang of a headache— then it disappeared. Those phantoms of what once was, the horror, it subsided, leaving only him with tears not yet wiped from his face and that taste in his mouth. “I—it’s over.” Dream suddenly said, somewhat out of his own control.
Ink gave a very out of tone thumbs up, the held out a crafty hand to the collapsed skeleton. When Dream accepted it, light as a feather, he pulled the overlord up with a ‘hup!’. “Seein’ as you don’t eat, you must have super quick digestion!” Ink theorized. Dream sighed wistfully, trying to restrain his feelings once more. Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to do this at all.
“Oh, here.” The artist said informally, wiping off Dream’s face like he was shining a shoe. The god sputtered, but would have been significantly more taken aback if Ink weren’t… exactly who Dream knew him to be.
“…Thank you.” Dream responded after a brief pause. An uncomfortable beat passed before Ink bolted back into animation, grabbing his friend by the covered wrist. It seemed as though the vial he had drank earlier was still in action. “This is great!” Ink exclaimed, which surely would’ve been rude to say to anyone other than Dream. “I can’t wait to tell people about my vials! Y’know the colour and emotion order, right?”
The god nodded, very slowly, and stopped to smile.
“Yes, I do, but I wouldn’t mind you telling me again, Ink.”