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Cross shivered in Dream’s hold. The breath came hot and steady, and he was ready. Cross’s summoned soul blinked under the weight of Dream’s resolute fingers scrawling over the sensitive soul-skin.
His eyelights could not move even an inch away from the Guardian, his Guardian, his. Dream’s name lay on his tongue begging to be called but his tongue was dry, still, with not even a breath to calm it into bleeding relief.
Dream’s arms linked across bare ribs that, though were not his, still belonged to him. Golden eyelights gazed not at the shivering boy in his arms, but at the soul in his grasp. A wistful breath left him, as if Cross’s soul was his relief.
A soft, fluttering kiss was pressed to the glowing soul. Cross shuttered, fleeing away instinctively from the touch and leaning into Dream’s arms. The golden eyelights fell to him, then his voice.
It was quiet, but it was sweet and it was all he heard.
He let the voice lead him. It was all too easy for it to drag him along the current Dream wanted, singing the sweetest songs as he kissed his neck and soul. He keened into the touch, body aflame, a trail of cold sweat barely even visible even in the burning gold light.
Dream held him. That dizzyingly-sweet aura washed over them with the same honeyed air, fresh and sweet and a relief from everything else. A sole tear fled his eyesocket, dripping onto Dream’s arm and falling fresh onto the already stained mattress. Dream saw it.
Cross ached as the honeyed air receded. Dream shook his head, withdrawing from Cross’s neck but he grabbed right back.
Cross. His name was sung. Cross, Cross.
Dream. He tore through and bit just above his shoulder, drawing crimson blood. Dream’s hands landed behind his skull, one still and the other stroking the throbbing part of it. The wound bled the freshest red as his fangs slipped out.
Cross. It was soft. Sad. Sorry.
His tongue lapped across the tear in Dream’s neck.
Not like this. Never like this.
Dream drew away and kissed his nose. Always like this.
Cross could not smile. Dream’s blood still stained his teeth.
Their relationship had not always been this twisted. Once upon a time, they knew what they were to each other. Once upon a time they were enemies, simple and plain. Enemy by proxy, yes, but still enemies.
Back then, when their locked gazes meant nothing but just that. Passing looks between enemies who held no grudge against the other.
Not yet.
How had they become such a mess?
Ink supposed that was a valid question. How did Dream and Cross get so attached to each other through but a series of coincidental meetings? How did Cross steal Dream’s heart and Dream steal Cross’s soul?
Was it mere fate?
Ha. As if. That would make things a thousand times easier. But no, in truth. It was nothing even close to fate. It was not coincidence. It was all planned.
And the plan had worked.
“I can’t believe you,” Error said slowly, as if still trying to comprehend what he had just said.
“Please don’t lecture me,” He sighed. “It worked, didn’t it?”
Error whirled around. “I can’t believe you— you matchmade one of Nightmare’s people with Dream? How did you not think Nightmare would notice?”
“I knew he would,” He spoke bluntly. “But there was no better option than Cross.”
Error sighed. “You have a plan.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I always do.”
“This isn’t about their love, Ink.” Error drew back, trying to steady himself. “You made sure Cross would turn traitor.”
“Yup.”
“Do you have any idea how angry that’ll make Nightmare? And now you’ve put yourself in his line of fire again. ”
Ink hummed.
“Ink!”
“Aww.” His head tilted. “You’re worried about me.”
“If Nightmare doesn’t kill you, I will.”
“Error.” He smiled. “Trust me.”
He shook his head, almost unbelievingly. “You ask too much of me.”
“Error,” He called out again. “You know why I did what I did. I had to.”
He sighed with bites of anger in his glitching tones. “You underestimate Nightmare. He’s—”
“Are we or are we not Gods?” Ink interjected.
Error rolled his eyes. “That’s besides the point! Nightmare is too much of an integral piece of the puzzle to be destroyed. Even if we could, which I know we can, we mustn’t.”
“You’re going in circles,” Ink said bluntly. “Of course I know Nightmare is dangerous. He thrives off misery and anguish, blah blah blah I know. So trust me, Error. I know what I’m doing.”
Error didn’t relent. “I know him better than you. I’ve worked with him for so long now. He is the personification of hate. “
It was this that finally made Ink tear away from the conversation with swift heavy steps. It didn’t last long, of course, with Error quickly coming after him—
“And I’ve worked with Dream, for so long too,” He bit back. “You don’t understand how much of a threat he’s becoming, and I did what I had to to quell it.”
His eyelights were gone.
Error shook his head.
“You just had to agitate Nightmare.”
“For stars sake— Nightmare and Dream are brothers,” Ink hissed. “They think the same way. They act the same way.”
This gave Error pause. A quiet, confused, “ What?” left him.
“Think about it.” Ink took a step closer. “Nightmare collects the broken. He takes those who’ve fallen into disarray and feeds them bloodlust like watering withered flowers. As for Dream,” He laughed without humour. “Look closer. Is he any different? He may not realise it, but he does the very same thing.”
“His intention is purer,” Error began.
“Can obsession be pure? Can’t it be cruel but unaware? Can’t he be unknowingly selfish? Can’t they both be the same in collecting the broken?”
Error blinked.
“But it isn’t malice that draws Dream to the broken.”
Ink shook his head, intent heavy in his eyelights flickering back into existence. “Neither is malice what draws Nightmare to them. It’s predatory instinct. They take the vulnerable, the broken, so they may procure what they want.”
Error exhaled quietly. “Then, what— what is it that they want?”
Ink smiled slowly.
“They share an obsession with broken souls. They adore the control they have over the worlds. Nightmare likes making them worse. Dream likes making them better. Listen to me.”
Error frowned, but it did not reach his eyes. “Dream’s kindness is not a rare thing, Ink.”
“No, not at all, but it is selfish. And that’s why Dream’s a bigger threat than Nightmare.” Ink grimaced. “Nightmare’s sadistic, cruel, and malicious, but we know who he is. Dream is kind, compassionate and selfish— but not just that. He’s unpredictable. His conscience directs everything he does. His loyalties lay with his conscience, and his conscience lies with his heart. He has not a single constant loyalty. Nothing that overrides the rest. Nothing. ”
Error’s frown dropped.
“Oh.”
“We can’t have an unpredictable Guardian, Error,” Ink breathed. “I did what I had to. What do you do with someone who’s so unpredictable, but so important?”
Error’s breath caught in his throat. “You give them a weakness.”
Ink slowly nodded. “You give them a stake. You let them become obsessed, not with something, but with someone. And Dream, with a weak heart for the weak and kind to the kind, how do you think he’d react to someone like Cross? ”
The silence reigned all else.
“That’s cruel,” Error murmured. But he did not argue further. The mere idea of it pulsed in his chest accusingly.
Ink had chosen well.
Dream was a liability. They needed to tie Dream to someone so he would have a constant conduit for his kindness, and to spare the rest of the worlds from it.
Cross was sought after by all the major powers in the Multiverse for his relationship to XTale’s OVERWRITE. He had to be protected until, and likely when, XGaster emerged again.
It was… advantageous, that Cross had been so desperate for companionship after XTale; and Dream responded so well when it was reciprocated.
It was a perfect plan, indeed, to tie the two of them together. Yet it was one of the cruelest things Ink had done to date. He was well aware he had locked the pair into a codependency.
Ink smiled sadly.
“Sometimes the cruelest things have to be done for the greater good.”
Error sighed. “I’ll handle Nightmare.”
They were a wreck. Cross laughed into the warm air, a gentle hand on the skull in his lap. Dream did not laugh, but he smiled almost indulgently up.
This wasn’t love. Cross knew this. This was nothing like love. It felt him constantly, aching and cracking with all the fury of a thousand scorned souls. It was the type of passion that wanted every last ounce of the limelight. It was the type of passion that was deadly.
Love never stood a chance.
“My light,” He mused without second thought. As if an instinct.
“My love,” Dream replied gently.
Dream would not know the difference between love and the fire in his chest, because this sort of love would be the closest thing to love he would ever feel. It was closer to obsession.
He was not a bad person, in truth. Dream was kind, and technically only selfish if you considered wanting the rest of the world to be kind selfish. Yet his heart was weak, and he let it rule him. Perhaps that was his fatal mistake.
There was one more thing Dream and Cross shared.
They had a history of lying to themselves.
They made eye contact with each other. Steadily, both recognised the look in the others’ eyes. They saw the lie there. Silently, they agreed to keep lying to themselves, but never to each other.
What was this twisted thing? Who knew.
Obsession? Love?
Torment?
Cruelty?
Revenge? Repentance?
They didn’t know.
But what they did know, was they cared about each other.
Wasn’t that all that mattered?
Even if it wasn’t, they weren’t inexperienced with lying to themselves.