Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Screams rang out in the distance, snow blowing down onto the small town heavily. Feet thudded against the snow covered ground, briefly leaving behind footprints before the roaring snow quickly covered their tracks. Despite the unusually harsh snow, a large, messy fight raged on between a group of skeleton monsters.

“fuck!” Killer shouted out in surprise, just barely not getting scorched to dust by a large, dark Gaster Blaster. He regained his footing quickly, another knife dropping from his sleeve into his hand as he turned and swung at the fast approaching Ink. The shorter skeleton leaned out of the way, the handle of his giant paint brush coming up and hitting Killer square in the jaw. His head flew back, and he struggled to keep his balance, forcing himself to push through the shock. Ink reacted faster, flipping his brush around and splashing Killer’s torso with paint in one swift move. The purple paint hardened in milliseconds, effectively restraining him and pinning his arms to his chest at an awkward angle. He fell back onto the ground with a grunt, already dreading the humiliation he’d feel for this when they all got back to the castle. 

He turned his head, shuddering at the feeling of snow under his skull, and saw Ink already rejoining Dream and targeting Nightmare. Killer’s small, muted spike of anxiety quickly washed away as he saw Cross at Nightmare’s side, though he wondered where Horror and Dust were, if not with Nightmare. The sounds of a blaster going off made him roll over towards the direction of the noise, and he saw a flash of blue before hearing a shouted curse, his focus zoning in on Dust, who was now clutching his left arm and standing stiffly off to the side. Horror jumped in front of his friend, deflecting a pointed bone with his axe. 

Cross’ voice rose against the sounds of battle and screams of the AU’s monsters, the words not exactly reaching Killer, and just a moment later Killer was being hoisted up off the snowy ground by a large, dark tentacle. In his peripheral vision, he saw horror clashing with Swap, the two fighting up close. At Nightmare’s barked orders to retreat, he quickly removed himself from the fight and hurried over to the rest of the gang, a hand clasping Dust’s shoulder just before they were all brought through the portal Nightmare had made.

Nightmare stepped through into a hallway of his castle, Killer held a foot or two from the ground by one of his tentacles. Cross came right behind him, followed by Horror and Dust, before he closed the portal and stepped into the infirmary. It was fairly spacious, a few small beds each with one or two pillows and a thin blanket. It held their general medical supplies, and so was used often enough. Killer was set into the bed closest to the door, though he quickly sat up and swung his feet off the mattress, ignoring his boss’ half-hearted glare before his attention went to Dust. 

“What happened?” Nightmare asked, reaching out a hand for Dust’s arm, which he still clutched tightly to his chest. Dust made a slight face, but still shakily held the arm out without complaint. Nightmare rolled up the sleeve, pausing briefly at Dust’s small wince, and looked over the injury. His left forearm had a not so clean break, looking a bit splintered even. 

Dust’s face contorted into something of a scowl, his words biting. “that blue bastard’s stupid hammer.” He glanced down at his arm. One of Nightmare’s tentacles slowly came up and wrapped around the broken bones, squeezing slightly.

As nightmare’s healing started to take effect, Killer’s restraints slackened and fell to the ground. He stood, stretching his arms and wincing at the soreness in his jaw. It wasn’t bad at all, though he thought about asking Cross to heal it later. Zoning back into the present, he caught the end of Nightmare telling Dust not to mess with his arm for a few days, he thinks. 

“I healed the worst of it, but you’ll have to wrap it and wear a splint for a bit until it heals fully, or it could get worse.” Horror was already digging through drawers for a splint, Nightmare taking the quickly offered bandages from Cross and beginning to wrap Dust’s now less broken arm. Dust groaned, annoyed, but continued to show no outward resistance.

“don’t worry dusty, we’ll give baby blue a nice ‘ol matching break next time we see him.” Killer’s shoulders shook lightly with silent laughter.

. . .

“I Said, ‘I Want To Join Your Gang.’”

Swap remained stone-faced, an odd determination lingering in his gaze. Killer, having asked him to repeat himself three times, still wanted to ask again just to be sure he wasn’t crazy--well, more crazy than normal. He’d been on sent to scope out some random AU with Cross, and suddenly, Swap was just a foot away, stating that-

“....could you repeat that one last time, please? just so i’m clear.”

Swap’s face twitched, and his fits clenched at his sides. “I Want You To Take Me To Nightmare. I Refuse To Repeat Myself Anymore.”

Killer just couldn’t believe it. Swap had somehow sought them out, to ask to join them. This has to be a trick . “...uh, nice try, baby blue. you can’t get directions to the castle that easily.” He snickered. Cross remained silent beside him, though he usually didn’t say much. Killer’s words seemed to annoy Swap further.

“Take Me To Nightmare, Bring Him Here, I DON’T CARE! But I Want To Speak To Him. Preferably Soon.” The blue-clad skeleton summoned his giant Gaster blaster hammer suddenly, dropping it upside down onto the ground, a hand on the handle threateningly. Killer is reminded of Dust’s arm injury.

Cross tugs on Killer’s sleeve, making him glance over. “I’ll get Night. Stay here.” 

Before he can respond, before he can ask ‘what the fuck? You believe this guy?,’ Cross has teleported away. He thinks he hears Swap mutter a “ finally ” under his breath. The two stand in silence, not looking at each other directly.

. . .

The silence is unbearable. Killer considers just.. leaving. Or maybe fighting. Maybe he’d break one of his arms, see how he likes that. He looks back to Swap, startled to see him full-on staring at him.

“It’s A Bit Unnerving To Not Be Able To See Where You’re Looking.” 

Killer hums under his breath in place of responding verbally, taking the rare moment to look over the other. He wouldn’t usually think about Swap’s body language or his appearance or anything, with them fighting, though now that they were just standing around, he noticed Swap’s stiff posture, and the way his voice seemed just a tad strained. He seemed oddly tired, even if Killer knew he’d still be up to defend himself if needed. Now that he’d taken a moment to really look, he couldn’t stop noticing the little things about him that he usually wouldn’t think twice about.

“How Long Will He Be?” Swap seemed tenser, and Killer realized his grip on his hammer had tightened. He seemed to be leaning against it a bit.

Killer didn’t know if he meant Nightmare or Cross, so he didn’t answer. Instead, he asked, “when’s the last time you slept?” 

Swap flinched at the question, then scowled. “I Can Fight You If Needed, Tired Or Not.”

“didn’t answer the question.”

“None Of Your Business.”

Hmm. “if you’re ‘joining’ the gang, it actually is my business.”

Swap, not catching the hint of sarcasm in his words, seemed conflicted. “... forty-nine..? Eh-- Fifty Hours Ago.” He nodded to himself.

Killer winced. “.....riiight. okay.” Maybe he had really bad insomnia, like Dust. He certainly had no room to judge the other for something like that.

The two skeletons’ attention turned suddenly to a flash of black to the side, a portal opening an inch or two from the ground. Cross emerged from the inky-looking portal first, and then Nightmare. Swap straightened up immediately.

“Swap. Cross has told me you wish to join us.” Nightmare stared at him expectantly. Swap nodded. “Care to explain?”

“I Refuse To Aid Ink Or Dream Any Longer. I Told Them So, Though I Know They Think I’m Just.. ‘Having A Fit’ Again. That I’ll Be Back Soon Enough.” His fists shook at his sides, eyes narrowed at the ground. “I Will Not. I Figured Joining You Would… Well. I Am Willing To Do Whatever It Takes To Earn Your Trust, To Join You.” Swap met Nightmare’s gaze.

“How do I know you aren’t going to go running back to my brother?”

“I Doubt That Working For You Will Be Worse.”

“Why?”

Swap spared a glance at Cross, then looked back to the ground. “You Have Four Loyal Followers Already. I Do Not Think Any Of Them, Most Especially Cross, Would Act In Such Ways If You Did Not Treat Them Fair Enough.”

Nightmare was silent for a few moments. His tentacles twitched behind him as he stared unblinkingly at Swap, deep in thought. Sweat beaded on the back of Swap’s skull.

Finally, He broke eye contact and looked over to Killer, then to Cross. The three seemed to have some kind of silent conversation before the corrupted skeleton turned back to Swap and nodded. “Fine. I’ll see how this goes. I must speak to the others first, of course, and you must prove your loyalty to me before you are truly accepted.”

Swap’s shoulders sagged in relief, and he bowed his head to Nightmare. “Thank You. I Will Do My Best.”

Nightmare blinked, then turned back to the portal and stepped through without another word. Killer glanced at Swap briefly before hurrying close after. 

Cross went to enter as well, but paused and turned back to Swap. He stared a moment, then held out a hand, a small smile on his face. “You coming?” 

He looks at Cross’ outstretched hand, a matching smile hesitantly growing on his own face. He reaches out, letting Cross pull him through the murky portal.

Chapter Text

Feeling like he was being plunged into a lake, Swap scrunched his sockets shut against the cold of the portal. Nightmare’s portal felt completely different from Dream’s--quiet, dark, and empty feeling compared to the overwhelming warmth he’d grown used to. Even Error’s were more pleasant.

His feet met solid ground after only a second, though it felt like much longer. He shuddered, opening his eyes and quickly trying to absorb the details of his surroundings per habit. They’d entered a long, dark hallway, with many similar-looking doors. Cross squeezed his hand lightly before dropping it, making Swap straighten up.

Nightmare grumbled something under his breath, slouching as he addressed Swap, “Killer will show you to a room. I’m going to discuss with Dust and Horror.” He signaled for Cross to follow as he turned away and stalked off down the hall in the opposite direction. 

When Swap turned back to Killer, he was already many feet away. He squeaked a sound of surprise he would later deny, hurrying down the hall to catch up to his supposed escort. 

Killer ignored him, continuing down the hall lazily with his hands stuffed in his jacket’s pockets. Swap narrowly avoided bumping into him when he came to a sudden stop. A door was pushed open, revealing a spacious bedroom. In the center of the room, a king-sized bed covered in pillows and comfortable looking blankets was pushed up against the wall, a dark wooden night stands on either side. (Swap wondered if it was actually as comfortable as it looked.) A matching desk sat under a stained-glass window on the left of the room, next to a plain looking door. On the right side of the room, right by one of the night stands, there was another door, and just by the entrance of the room, sat an intricate wooden dresser.

Swap took a hesitant step forward, then another, silently taking in the room.

Killer was unfazed, considering the rooms were all about the same, though he understood some of the amazement. They’d all been shocked by the size of the rooms and beds originally, too. 

While he was walking down the hall, he had been preparing his ‘don’t try anything or I’ll kill you’ speech. Killer had planned to open the room’s door, wait a moment, and then let this guy know he Did Not Trust Him , but the words dried up on his tongue as he watched Swap’s eyelights morph into literal stars. (He is reminded of joyful eyes, and red mittens.)

“i don’t trust you.” Killer forced out, but his words lacked the bite he’d meant to say them with.

“That’s Fine. I Can’t Say I Really Trust You Either,” Swap turned his head, his response coming without a trace of hesitation, “But I Plan On Earning Your Trust.”

Killer openly stared at the other. He couldn’t think of a response to that, all the taunts and threats washing away, leaving his mind blank. Instead, he turned and walked off to find Nightmare.

Swap watched him leave, then closed the door to his new room and took another moment to look around. The dresser was empty, as were both of the night stands. The bed was more comfortable than it looked, and he had to force himself to get up before sleep pulled him under. He decided the bed could be left alone until he was sure he would have enough time to sleep. The door on the left, by the desk, revealed a nice closet, stocked with hangers though empty. The door to the right of the bed led to a somewhat large bathroom, with a marble sink and a bathtub that included a shower. 

After growing bored of poking around, Swap decided to stand by the door--not trusting himself to stay awake if he sat--and to wait for word from any of the castle’s other occupants. He imagined how he’d rearrange and decorate the room, if he was allowed to.

* * *

“Dust, cease your tantrum.” Nightmare’s voice dipped low, an underlying threat in his tone. 

Dust scoffed, leveling Nightmare with a glare that made Cross half-hide behind Horror, who was getting progressively more annoyed at the disturbances in his kitchen. “tantrum?! that bastard smashed my arm barely two weeks ago! he’s been fighting us for- for so long! how could he switch up so fast? how could you trust him so fast?” 

Nightmare gave a long, tired sigh, leaning forward in his seat and side-glancing at Dust. “It’s not like I’m asking you and him to be friends all of a sudden. I simply want to give him a chance to prove whether or not he’s genuine. All I ask of you is that there is no fighting, and that you aren’t an asshole.” 

Killer snickered from his seat at the table, quietly muttering “can’t wish for the impossible.”  

Dust kicked him under the table, the barest hint of a smile crossing his face at Killer’s hiss of pain.

“Dust. Just give him a chance, alright? I understand why you are not exactly thrilled, but Swap could be a great asset to us. Whether he gives us any information on my Brother and the squid or not, you can’t deny that he is very skilled. We shouldn’t pass up this opportunity.” Nightmare kept his voice level, holding eye contact with Dust until he blinked and looked away.

“... fine. but if he’s just here to spy, i’ll kill him. and i don’t promise to be nice , either.”

“How about being tolerant .” 

“sure, whatever. i’m not holding back if he’s rude.” 

Nightmare seems to accept that’s the best he’ll get, so he relents. Now that everyone was aware of and (mostly) alright with Swap joining their small group, he sent Cross to go fetch him for dinner. 

Horror began to set the table, huffing through his nose and lightly smacking Killer in the head when he tried reaching for something across the table mid-process. 

Cross returned with Swap in tow a few minutes after Horror had finished placing everyone’s plates and had seated himself. The monochrome skeleton took the seat by Nightmare, opposite of Dust. Killer reached for his plate, hands stopping mid-air at another warning huff from Horror. The tall skeleton turned in his seat, observing Swap a moment before turning back around, patting the chair next to him a few times. 

Warily, Swap stepped forward and slid into the seat Horror had patted at. When Horror made no move to stop Killer from reaching for his food again, he dug in, leading to the rest of the table sharing their thanks for Horror’s cooking and beginning to eat as well.

The smell of the meal in front of him made Swap’s mouth water, and he gave a quiet “thank you” to Horror as well, grabbing his fork. Horror’s large, red eye light stayed trained on him though, making him tense. The taller made no move towards his own meal until Swap brought a forkful to his mouth and took a bite, only then averting his intense gaze, ignoring utensils completely and eating like a starving dog. Swap tried to focus on his meal, pushing away the questions that arose in his mind at the odd gesture.

Nobody tried for any small talk throughout the meal, and Swap found himself relaxing gradually. He ate slowly, doing his best to not zone out and poke at the food any, not wanting to offend Horror somehow. The meal was, honestly, delicious. Considering those around him were supposedly like his brother, he hadn’t expected it to be so good. Papyrus wasn’t a bad cook by any means, but… Anyways. 

Startled from his thoughts by an oddly concerned looking Horror and a hand on his shoulder, Swap realizes that everyone has finished eating. “..aren’t ya’ gonna…finish your food?” 

“Uh-” Swap glanced at his plate, then back to Horror. “Yeah.” He pokes around at the food left on his plate, taking another few bites and doing his best to ignore the stares of the other skeletons. When he finishes, mostly, Horror seems pleased enough and takes his plate to the sink along with the others. He turns his attention back to the table.

“We’ve agreed on your stay.” Nightmare speaks up, meeting Swap’s eyes for the first time since he’d entered the kitchen. “You will be expected to assist around the castle if so needed, to train with us, and to come with us on missions. You’re going to have to prove your loyalty to me, and I expect that you will be respectful of everyone in this castle for as long as you might stay.”

When the corrupted skeleton paused, as if waiting for any objection, he simply nodded. 

“If you have any problems or requests, don’t be scared to ask me for anything. Within reason, of course.. The kitchen is always open, but be careful of making a mess. Please refrain from fighting in the halls, or in general. There are rooms you can use to train or spar if you’d like…” He squinted at something unseeable, seeming to check things off in his head as he said them, “...Don’t barge into anyone’s rooms, please knock and wait for permission to enter. The library is always open, as well. My study is off limits, do not enter without explicit permission… You don’t have to work if you are sick or injured.” He shot a pointed look at Cross with the last statement, before looking back to the newcomer. “Any extra questions.. Ask Killer, or one of the others.”

To punctuate this, he stood, and then melted into the ground like Swap had seen him do in battle before.

At the boss' departure, Killer moved his elbows onto the table, placing his chin on his folded hands and tilting his head at Swap. “soooo, any questions, Blue?” 

He swallowed the automatic ‘no’ loading in his throat, going back through his thoughts for a moment. “... May I Rearrange My Room?” 

“uh.. yeah?” 

Swap smiled, thinking back to the ideas he’d thought up while he waited around. “Great! And What Time Should I Get Up In The Morning?”

Cross cut in, interrupting Killer before he even made it through one word. “Horror makes breakfast every morning around nine. There should be a clock in your room if you have trouble keeping track of time. Try not to miss meals, it makes Horror upset.”

Killer flashes Cross a look for the interruption, while Dust nods solemnly at Cross’ words beside him.

The blue-clad skeleton mentally files that information away to think on some other time. He flashes Cross an appreciative look, then smiles at Killer and Dust, stating that he “shall return to his new room now.”

As Swap turns the corner, the sounds of his boots echoing lightly down the hall, Killer drops his head onto the table fully and looks up sideways at Dust. “wow, you didn’t say one mean thing to him the whole time! congrats, Dusty!” 

Dust whacks him in the skull with the back of his hand, barking out a laugh at Killer’s overly dramatic reaction. Horror chides them for their childishness.

* * *

After walking through the too long hallways and accidentally ending back up at the kitchen twice, Swap finally reaches the door to the room Killer had shown him earlier--his room. He swings the door open, smiling despite the fatigue pulling down his bones like weights.

Shutting the door behind him, he struggles slightly to remain upright while yanking off his boots, then dropping them by the door unthinkingly. He unties his short cape from his neck and lets it fall to the floor somewhere by the bed as he approaches slowly, the remains of his energy draining with each step towards the bed.

He bent forward, pulling his battle body up and over his head as he twisted and fell backwards onto the unimaginably comfortable bedding. The clothing was dropped off the side of the bed without thought, leaving him in his dark blue pants and a plain white t-shirt. He rolled over onto his stomach, not even bothering to get under the blankets before sleep overtook him, and he was out cold.

Chapter Text

The strong smell of pancakes and coffee filled the kitchen, Horror placing down the last plate onto the center of their dining table. Nightmare seated himself at the head of the table like always, fresh cup of coffee in hand and still steaming. Killer slid into the seat on his left, starting on some rant already while stretching his arms flat across the table. Tired muttering signaled the entrance of Dust, who shuffled over to sit across Killer since the shorter had taken his usual chair. The three shared meaningless chatter, Killer doing most of the talking while Nightmare and Dust would give short responses occasionally until Horror joined them as well, taking the chair next to Killer.

Meanwhile, across the castle, Cross had been sent to remind Swap of breakfast. He knocked on Swap’s door twice, then four times, then six. When all that came from the other side of the door was silence, he steeled himself and turned the doorknob. Cross stood stock still in the entrance for a beat, anxiety beginning to grip him as he called out into the dark room, still receiving no response, not even a shuffle. What if he figured out where our base was, and then just snuck off back to the Stars’? Cross had recognized that look in Swap’s eyes yesterday, seen the way he looked moments from passing out, noticed the longing and doubt and the determination in his gaze. He hadn’t thought for even a second that Swap was lying. But what if he was wrong? What if he’d misjudged? 

He flicked on the lights, already tensing, preparing himself to return to the kitchen and to tell everyone Swap had ran off back to his friends, to see the smile slip from Horror’s face after all the excitement of making a nice breakfast to welcome the newest member--

The first thing he noticed was the bright blue boots, discarded without thought by the door. His eyes then trailed to the matching cape, strung across the floor and leading to the gray mesh-armour top Swap always wore, which was laying half folded over itself just by the bed, where- 

Cross sighed, relief washing over him in waves.

The usually energetic and bright-eyed skeleton was laying face-down on top of the blankets, snores muffled by the poofy bedding, with half his body hanging off the side. 

“Stars,” Cross mumbled under his breath, grateful to not need to break the news of any double-crossing (hah) today. He walked over to Swap’s sleeping form, placing a hand on one of his shoulders and shaking him gently. “Swap, get up. It’s time for breakfast.”

A muffled, tired groan was his response. “ ..ten mur’ mnn’s. ”

“C’mon. I don't want the food to go cold.” He shook him with a bit more force, a bit amused despite the earlier worry.

Going to jostle him again, one of Swap’s hands suddenly shot up and grabbed Cross’ wrist, stopping him. “stop it.. m’ up, m’ up.” 

Swap started to push himself up, pulling at the other with an iron grip, making Cross face plant into the bed as Swap sat up straight at last. “Cross?- OH, CROSS!” Immediately, he released Cross and shot up from the bed, swaying a moment and blinking harshly before his vision cleared. “SO SORRY ABOUT THAT, FRIEND CROSS!”

Cross pushed on the bed, forcing himself up. “It’s fine, Swap, don’t worry about it. We need to get goin’ though, before Horror comes to lecture us about skipping meals.” He rubbed at his wrist.

Swap frowns slightly at that, though shakes his head as if clearing whatever thought had intruded his mind. “YES, LET’S-” He cleared his throat, smile tight, “Sorry. Let’s Go. I, Uh, Probably Don’t Remember The Way.”

“It’s fine, you’ll get used to the layout soon enough.” 

The two exited the room, Swap snatching his boots as they left and hopping along by his companion on one foot as he pulled them on. They quietly traded conversation, Swap pausing to yawn every couple minutes.

When they reached the kitchen, the smell of pancakes greeted them. Horror’s shoulders lost a fraction of tension as he noticed them enter, and he happily raised a hand to wave at Swap. Cross grumbled about Dust stealing his seat, pulling out the chair just to the right of it and sitting. Dust swore at him before pointing at Killer. Swap hesitantly sat in the seat he’d taken the night before, which remained empty, putting him next to Cross and across from Horror. He found he didn’t mind the arrangement much as everyone loaded up pancakes and bacon onto their plates and idly talked. The atmosphere felt peaceful, ironically.

Horror huffed, making Swap glance up at him from his food. His single eyelight was fixed on Swap’s plate, making him frown.

“Everything Alright, Horror?”

“...not enough.” 

What? “What?” Swap stared forward, confused. This seemed to make Horror even more upset, or frustrated. He wasn’t sure which it was yet.

Without verbally responding, Horror reached across the table with his own fork, placing another pancake and more bacon onto Swap’s plate before he sat back into his own chair. Swap stared at his plate. “Uhhh??? Why’d You Do That?” 

“ya’ need to eat more than.. that.”

Swap disagreed. His brows furrowed, “I Don’t Want To Overeat. Maaayybee.. It’s Different For You, Since You’re A Bigger Monster. But I Shouldn’t Have As Much.” 

The idle conversation at the table came to a screeching halt.

Horror made a sharp whine, looking like Swap had just told him the most devastating news in the multiverse. 

Cross turned to him, an odd expression on his face. “..Why shouldn’t you have ‘so much?’”

“Eating This Much Would Make Me Sluggish? I Didn’t Leave Dream And Ink To Laze About Here.” He looks at Cross like he’s an idiot. Cross’ look is full of sympathy. He doesn’t like the implications here. “It’s Fine. If I Needed To Eat Anymore, I Would.” 

As if to appease the concerned gazes, he grabs his fork and takes a large bite from one of the pancakes. It’s really good, and in any other scenario he’d have gasped and loudly exclaimed how great it was, but the change in atmosphere stopped him. 

“You-” 

Nightmare rested a hand on Killer’s shoulder, giving him a look that made him quiet. “You’re fine, Swap. We’ll talk later, just eat however much you want to now.”

The boss glanced around the table, seeming to communicate something to each silently that made everyone go back to their meals without another word on the topic. Swap tried to ignore the occasional looks from Horror and to finish his meal. 

The table stayed quiet for a while, until Killer, Dust, and Cross engaged in a calm conversation that Swap didn’t bother to pay any attention to, only thankful for the broken silence. 

He ended up eating everything on the plate but half a pancake, which Horror took and ate instead after he said he’d finished. Cross gathered the plates and silverware, placing them all into the sink to assist Horror. There was a quiet, settled air in the room that made Swap uncharacteristically nervous. 

“Is There Anything For Me To Do Today, Nightmare?” He placed his hands on his hips, masking his anxiety. Nightmare raised a brow at him, making him remember the Dreamtale Brothers’ abilities to feel others’ emotions. Sweat beaded on his skull.

“...Sure. Killer will spar with you, see where your skill is at, what you’ll need to work on.” 

Killer raised his head from the table, “i’m wha?”

With a sigh, Nightmare turned to the side, “Go spar with Swap. You know the rules. Maybe tell him how we do things here, too. I’ll be in the library.” 

He stalked out of the room, tentacles dragging on the floor behind him. Killer got up, waltzing over to the newcomer confidently. “ready to get your ass kicked, Blueberry?” 

A smirk grew on Swap’s face, his hands falling from his hips and clenching. “Are You?” 

* * *

Killer shakily took a breath, laying flat on the floor of their ‘gym.’

“OH STARS! I AM SO SORRY, ARE YOU ALRIGHT?” Swap ran over, leaning over the injured opponent with his hands hovering uselessly.  “I THOUGHT YOU WERE GOING TO DODGE THAT!”

“i think i dislocated somethin’.” He wheezed, a hand on his chest. 

Swap’s face twisted guiltily. “LET ME LOOK.” 

Killer sat upright, his jacket and shirt to the side to allow Swap to check his exposed bones for injury. The blue-eyed skeleton took a sharp breath, making Killer sweat. “what? what is it?-”

He cut off with a yelp when Swap wordlessly grabbed his shoulder, pain flaring momentarily before he was released. 

“You Dislocated Your Shoulder.” The other said, plainly, sitting back on his knees.

“and you didn’t warn me???” 

“No, You’d Have Freaked Out And It Would Have Been Worse To Relocate.” 

Gathering up his clothes and pulling his shirt back down over his head, he muttered under his breath. This dude was supposed to have no training, besides from the Stars’, but he’d gotten plenty of hits on Killer that would have been a pain to deal with in real battle. “have you been trained?”

Swap tilted his head. “Of Course I Have. I’d Train Everyday With Alphys For The Royal Guard! they never let me in though ..” he grumbled the last part angrily. 

Ignoring the thought of nerdy little Alphys training someone in combat, he responded with a shocked “what? why?”

“Because Of My Stats. Low HP Or Whatever. I’d Have Been Let In If It Were Higher, No Doubt.” He huffed, still annoyed over it even though it’d been so long ago now.

Oh. It hit Killer suddenly how different Swap really was from the Papyrus he knew, or that any of the others’ knew. Of course they’d known he was completely different, being a Sans and all, but it was weird to see just how unalike they really were. Swap could have actually been in the guard, having no moral dilemma over fighting, or being ‘too kind.’ A small part of him he wasn’t aware of until then untensed.

“they were stupid, then. you’re great in combat, Blueberry.”

Despite groaning about the annoying nickname, Swap felt an odd level of acceptance in the words. “Thanks.”

Killer pushed himself to his feet suddenly, not waiting for Swap. “welp, i’m beat. nice talking with you, Blue. I’ll be in my room, feel free to knock or just barge right in for whatever reason.” He teleported from the room, presumably right into his bed, leaving Swap sitting alone. 

With a huff at his friend’s exit, he got up and left. The halls were quiet, and a shiver crawled up his spine at the feeling of eyes from every shadow. He hurried his steps, nearing his own room. He’d asked Cross to put a marker or something on it for him, and stopping in front of the door, he saw a paper taped to the wood, a scribbly blue circle with a green splash towards the top. “SIGH.” He pushed the door open, searching the ground for his battle-body and cape. 

Pulling the top on with minimal struggle and no furniture broken, Swap carefully folded and tied his cape around his neck, letting it sit as if part were a scarf. He walked into his bathroom to throw up finger guns at himself in the mirror, stepping out immediately after and leaving the room. 

This time, finding the kitchen felt less like navigating a corn maze, and he silently turned the corner and entered. It was empty. Part of him had hoped for someone to be around, to give him another task. To his luck, though, the sink was still full, and he happily bounced over and started to scrub the dishes and place them to the side, quickly falling into a thoughtless routine, until the sink was empty. 

Before the buzzing feeling in his bones could come up and take hold of him, he started to sort through the cupboards and drawers, putting away the silverware, cups, and plates. 

As soon as that was done, he located a broom closet, and swept the kitchen’s floors, scrubbed the counters, wiped down the table. 

Next he cleaned his room, taking apart his bed and pushing it to the opposite wall, giving a struggle to pull the sheets back on and put all the blankets back neatly, as they were. The nightstands were moved to the other side of the room too, on either side of the bed. He dragged the desk over to where the bed had been and pushed it to the wall. The dresser, cast aside so he could move the giant bed, was pushed under the window in place of the desk. He swept the floors, and then wiped down the window, mirrors, and sink. 

Standing in the middle of the rearranged, spotless room, he took a moment to appreciate his efforts. 

He needed more to do. This “free-time” was killing him. 

Swap left his room, and as he had been invited to earlier, barged into Killer’s room without warning, broom in one hand and bucket of cleaning supplies in the other. 

Killer lay in the middle of his bed, blankets and pillows a mess around him. Actually, the whole room was a mess. laundry was everywhere, and dust collected on the furniture. Swap got to work. 

* * *

When Killer finally woke up, he felt confused. He remembered teleporting in, landing on the bed and being out cold immediately, though now he was tucked under the blankets, head on a pillow. He sat up, stretching his arms above his head, and froze. His jacket was laid out at the foot of the bed, clothes he was sure had been on the floor were now gone, and the floor was spotless.  

He pushed the covers aside and got up, dazedly looking around as he headed to the door and went across the hall, knocking loudly.

His hand stopped midair as the door swung open, Swap swaying in place before grabbing onto the doorframe, a smile on his face. “KILLER! H-Hello! Do You Need Something?”

Pausing a beat, Killer stared blankly at the other. He’d need to talk to Night later. “Swap, did you clean my room while i was asleep?”

“Yes. You Said I Could Enter Without Knocking For Whatever Reason, And I Was Trying To Keep Myself Busy. Was That Not Alright?”

“..i guess i did say that. just didn’t think ya’ would come in to clean. ” Okay, so he’s a bit of a neat freak, like Cross. Way worse than Cross. That’s fine. Totally fine. The castle could use the cleaning. 

“If You Need Anything, Let Me Know. I’m Totally Up To Sparing Again! Or Cleaning!” Swap started to close the door, then stopped. “I Put Your Laundry Into The Washer, By The Way”

The door shut in his face. 

He really needed to talk to Nightmare.

Chapter Text

Swap clenched his teeth, hitting the punching bag with more force than he probably should have. It was late, and like usual, he elected to busy himself rather than lay boredly in bed. (Killer had already come to drag him back to his room from the gym two nights in a row.) Now, he’d been at the castle for five nights, and had settled into routine surprisingly quickly: 

Cross would come to wake him up (with varying struggle) and the two joined everyone for breakfast, then he or Cross would do the dishes. Swap would then head to the castle’s gym, sometimes accompanied by Cross or Killer. He’d stay there until his hands started to feel numb, or until someone forced him out. Without a task at hand, his mind would wander, letting those unwanted thoughts claw their way up to his throat and-

Next, Swap would reprimand himself for standing around idly, indulging in such thoughts when he could be doing something productive! He’d clean the kitchen, the halls, and his room. When there was nothing left to clean, he discovered that Cross was nice to talk with. The two spoke about their AUs, the Royal Guard, and about the Stars’. 

It was.. nice. The gang had all been surprisingly welcoming, minus Dust. Horror continued to watch him closely, an odd concerned look in his eyelight that Swap couldn’t figure out. He already considered Cross and Killer to be friends. Dust hadn’t been exactly unwelcoming… though he had yet to say a single word to Swap, at least directly. And Swap hadn’t heard from Error since the destroyer sent him to that fell AU Killer and Cross were poking around -- it’d been only a couple of days ago, but it felt much longer. Of course, he knew better than to worry: Error came and went as he pleased. The glitchy skeleton would show up sooner or later. Perhaps he’d been busy fighting Ink? Swap did wonder what his old friends—teammates , had thought about his disappearance. It was likely they first assumed he’d been abducted by Error again..

Swap huffed, drawing a deep breath and throwing more force into his next punch. The punching bag broke from its clip, a small hole finally tearing in the fabric, sending beads flying out as the bag slid across the room, stopping with the other two. He took a moment to collect himself before reaching for another bag, jumping up to clip it into place.

“Blue? whaddya doin’?”

He turned, fists lowering. Killer walked over, empty sockets almost narrowed.

“Killer.” He sighed, already moving to gather up the busted punching bags. “Sorry, I Know You Guys Don’t Want Me In Here So Long.”

The other clicked his teeth a few times, eventually seeming to give up on finding a response and opting to just stare. Swap hauled the bags over to lean against a wall, leaving them to deal with tomorrow. 

“I’ll Go To Bed Now, Promise. Goodnight, Killer!” He let some of the usual enthusiasm drip into his voice, throwing up finger guns and backing out of the gym. Walking back to his room, he ignored the feeling of Killer's eyes on him the whole way. There was no way he’d get to turn right around and go back to the gym.

With a groan, he untied his cape, taking a moment to fold it up and leave it on his left nightstand. His battle body and boots had already been taken off earlier. The blankets were lifted, and Swap pulled them over his head, burying himself in the covers. Some sleep would be good for him, he supposed. . .

---

. . .

The sun shone bright in the sky, light pouring into the home through the windows, painting the interior in a nice, warm glow. A muffled hiss of pain cut through the peaceful atmosphere.

“Sorry, Swap. I know it hurts.” A gentle voice says. Golden eye lights glance up at him briefly with the short apology. Gloveless hands wrap a bandage around his injured leg.

“if you’d have been a liiittle quicker on your feet, we totally would have won back there!” A tattered brown scarf comes into view.

“Ink, no need to act like that. You know he can’t help it.” Dream chides the shorter, sitting back from the wrapped bone. A faint glow shows the remnants of his healing magic.

“uuuggghh, you mortals are so weird!! food gives you energy, food makes you sleepy- why-?” 

“Ink! We can’t have him eating any less, he’ll get sick.”

The artist groans, hands on his hips as he gazes at Swap. His eye lights flicker through little shapes and symbols, never staying the same more than a few moments. 

Swap’s fists balled in the fabric of his pants.

“Ignore him. Ink just doesn’t understand that you’re different from us.” The guardian turned to Ink, speaking in a scolding tone. Ink frowned, eye lights flickering again.

Swap stared forward, gaze unfocused. His mind hardly registered the rising argument, everything around him growing distant.

He wasn’t like them.

--- 

Swap shot up with a start, limbs flailing to push the thick blankets off of him. With a grunt, he twisted and fell off the side of the bed, covers and pillows getting dragged with him. In an instant, he’d shoved the blankets off and pushed himself up, fingers digging into his upper arms painfully. 

He needed a distraction.

Silently as he could, he left his room and started down the hall. His mind felt hazy, like there was a small barrier between his body and his brain. Yet at the same time he felt all too alert. The castle felt chillier than usual, and he winced each time he stepped too loudly. 

Without really meaning to, his feet led him to the kitchen. He could probably grab a glass of water, or make some tea, he thought.

The kitchen was quiet, as he assumed it’d be so late at night, but the lights were on. Stepping through the doorway, he realized he was not the only one awake. Swap didn’t need to see the skeleton’s face to know who it was, realizing right away by the look of his hood.

Hesitantly, he entered the room, heading straight to the sink. Swap reached up and grabbed a glass, turning on the tap (he wondered how they had plumbing here) and filling it. He gulped it down quickly, a small sigh escaping him. He quickly refilled it, realizing only then how dehydrated he felt. 

“...it’s late.”

The voice was quiet, but slightly strained, like he’d had to force the words out. Swap looked across the room to the dining table, where the hooded skeleton sat. His mismatched eye lights had honed in on Swap. He felt rooted to the spot, suddenly, just by the other’s gaze. 

“It is.” His grip on the glass tightened, and he forced himself to set it down on the counter before he broke it.

Dust stared at him, leaning forward against the table with his arms folded. He’d probably been laying his head down before hearing Swap approach, even though he’d done his best to stay silent. The tense staring contest only broke when Swap tore away his gaze, facing the floor.

Dust’s stare didn’t falter, burning holes into his skull even if he couldn’t see it.

“y’know.. i was very against you coming here.” Dust lifted an arm, letting his chin rest against a propped up hand lazily as he glared. 

Swap turned his head to the table, a smile forcing its way onto his face despite his screaming thoughts. “I Mean.. I Didn’t Expect You To Be Celebrating Or Anything.”

“hm.” 

He let the smile drop, watching Dust quietly. Something clicked in his mind, and tiredly, he took a couple seconds to fully comprehend the thought before he spoke back up. “How’s Your Arm Doing?”

Clearly he’d hit the target, because Dust leaned back and folded his arms again immediately, sockets narrowing. “it’s. fine. blue bastard.”

“..I Apologize For That. I Wish I Could Say I Felt Sorry For Any Other Injures You May Have Sustained From Me All This Time, But We Were On Opposite Sides, So... I Don’t Expect Any Of You To Apologize For Hurting Me In The Past, I Mean. But I Understand Being Upset Over That.”

Dust stayed silent, his expression not betraying his thoughts in the slightest. Without another word, he pushed back his chair, stood, and left the room.

...

Well, he did finally speak to me, at least.. Swap mused, a small smile forming on his face subconsciously. He downed his glass of luke-warm water and then left the kitchen, too.

Chapter Text

It had been more than a week since he’d disappeared.

At first, they had no reason to be worried. He’d always had a flair for the dramatics, so it hadn’t been the first time Swap made a scene and loudly announced his departure. But he’d never be gone for this long unless something had happened. 

“Dream, i’m telling you, Error has to be hiding him!” Ink groans frustratedly, trailing behind the guardian. “why are we poking around AUs when we can just go to the anti-void and find him??” 

Dream stopped, sighing. “We’ve already looked there enough. Besides, Error has no reason to kidnap Swap this time. It’s got to be something else.” 

“what about Nightmare, then?” 

“He.. Nightmare has never taken anyone prisoner before, and there’s still no reason to take Swap. If anyone, he’d have taken you.”

Ink crosses his arms, eye lights flickering rapidly while he thinks. “doesn’t he, though? Swap could have some information he wants, and it’d be much easier for him to kidnap Swap than me. if Swap was out in any AU on his own, Nightmare could’ve done that feely-locate thing you do, and just.. grabbed him.”

“But we have no way of locating them! My brother’s lair is somewhere my power cannot reach.”

“...Error probably knows where it is.”

---

Error was getting pretty sick of people showing up uninvited in his anti-void.

You help one skeleton with directions, and suddenly the whole multiverse starts bothering you!

Sure, maybe he knew exactly where the little Underswap Sans was, but was he going to tell Dream or the Squid that? No! Still, with all the annoying pestering from them, he was tempted—just to get them to leave him alone.

“Error!”

Sigh. He already felt a headache forming. Strings shoot down and apprehend the nuisance before he even turns to look at him. He forces himself up from his beanbag and walks over to where Ink is now upside-down and a foot off the ground, arms pinned to his sides and head level with Error’s. 

“WhAt Do YoU wA-aNt NoW, s-SqUiD?” 

Unbothered as always, a stupid smile appears on Ink’s face. “you know where Nightmare’s lair is, right?”

“s-S-sO wHaT?”

“we need help finding it!!”

“‘wE?’”

Suddenly, Error is made aware of another presence in his anti-void. He jumps back, a hand raising to command his strings. A second skeleton joins Ink, held aloft and upside-down. His headache increases.

“Sorry.” Dream smiles apologetically. 

“w-W-wO-wOw. I-i DiDn’T eXpEcT y-YoU tO b-BeC-cOmE a NuIsIaNcE tOo.” His eyes narrow at his own stuttering, glitching voice as he fights to get the words out. Through the errors that started filling his vision as Dream startled him, he can barely make out the golden blob held up by his strings. “..I-i-I’m NoT tElLiNg YoU aB-b-BoUt ThE c-Cas-StLe.”

Ink groans dramatically. “Error! we need to know!! c’mon, i’ll even promise not to bother you for.. a whole week!”

Pausing, Error considers this. He didn’t really want to deal with an angry Nightmare, but... “A yEaR.”

“what?!” Ink shouts indignantly, “no way! three weeks.”

“tHrEe MoNtHs.”

“four weeks!”

“OnE mOnTh!”

“fine!”

“FiNe!”

Ink grumbles under his breath, but holds out a hand that he somehow weaseled free from his confinements.

The glitching skeleton hesitates, though grabs Ink’s hand to seal the deal. He shudders, pulling his hand back immediately as error signs fill his vision once more and the uncomfortable feeling of glitching out travels from his hand up his arm. 

As Error freezes, a crash overtaking him and a “rebooting” bar glitching into place just above his head, Ink turns to Dream with a growing smirk.

“you’re welcome.”

Dream sighs exasperatedly. 

A loading sign appears at Error’s head for a moment, flickering out as his eyes clear and he jolts back to awareness. He mutters under his breath, swiping at the air and letting Dream and Ink fall to the floor.

“DoN’t B-bR-bReAk ThE d-D-dEaL.”

With another swipe of his hand, a glitchy portal opens under their feet. The Star’s fall through, landing on their backs in a dark, gloomy feeling hallway. Ink glances up, seeing Error laughing as the portal closes, leaving behind no trace.

“Error..” Ink growls, annoyed. 

Dream shushes him, even as his head pounds, pushing himself up and looking around warily. Nightmare’s presence is overwhelming in this place, and it feels like a physical weight on Dream’s senses. He offers a hand to his companion, pulling him to his feet as well. “Keep your voice quiet. My brother cannot feel for your soul, but he might be able to feel my aura already. I can feel his magic radiating from the walls. We must be careful.”

“see if you can sense Swap in here. We’ll grab him, and get out.” 

Eye sockets sliding closed, the guardian reaches out his magic, searching for Swap’s familiar aura. It’s not too hard, with all the darkness around. He inwardly gasps as he feels it, forcing himself to keep focused to pinpoint the location. A dim light shining against a harsh fog.  

“He’s here. There’s.. two others with him, one feels—muted?” He frowns, taking a deep breath as he tries to concentrate on the other two souls. “I think one is Killer, and-” Cross.

His eyes snap open, and he flinches back at the closeness of Ink, who had leaned into his personal space with two bright question-mark shaped eye lights. 

“Ink!” Dream whisper-shouts, gaze hardening. “Personal space, remember?” 

“sorry!” Ink smiles, leaning back. He didn’t look very sorry to Dream.

“We need to move quickly.” Dream puts effort into keeping his steps quiet as he heads down the hall. Ink hurried after, steps effortlessly silent.

The two move quietly through the castle, alert. The two move quietly through the castle, alert. Dream stumbles more than once—negativity pours from just about everything, throughout every hall. It’s in the air, and in in the wood of the floor, and in everg candlelight they pass by. Ink stops to steady him when his knees threaten to give out on one step. He takes a careful breath, doing his best to center himself, focusing in on that dim little ball of positivity within the building. 

They determine Nightmare absent as Dream pauses to feel for the others, and can only sense the two with Swap. Nightmare must have taken Horror and Dust out on a mission, causing damage that Dream and Ink were not present to combat. Dream felt a little guilty at the thought.

As Dream held a hand up, Ink came to a halt behind him. Ahead of them were a series of doors on either side of the hall. They continued forward slowly, Dream careful to pinpoint the exact room Swap was in.

“Here.” Dream whispered, pointing at a door with an odd paper taped to it; a crude drawing of a.. blueberry? Ink had to choke down the snort threatening to come out as he saw it.

They took a moment to prepare for the coming fight and rescue, Ink securing broomie in his hands and Dream forming two machetes with his magic, rather than the usual bow he’d use against Nightmare.

Dream held up three fingers, counting down. When he’d lowered all of them, the two rammed into the door, bringing it down with a loud thud. They both bounced back up in seconds, weapons at the ready. The yelled demand for his friend’s releasement died in his throat, though, as he took in the scene in front of him.

Killer had jumped up immediately, knife in hand. Cross slid off the bed, summoning his weapon only as he realized who’d broken in—he was without his usual get-up, his jacket missing. Swap was sitting in the center of the bed, cape on but missing his battle-body and boots. His eyes were wide and upset, but his gaze was locked onto the splintered door that Ink and Dream stood on, not them or his captors.

“MY DOOR!” He exclaimed loudly, distraught. His gaze raised, only then realizing who had broken it down. If even possible, his voice raised an octave as he exclaimed again, somehow louder, “INK AND DREAM?!” 

Dream frowned, weapons lowering slightly in his confusion for his friend’s reaction. Ink, on the other hand, did not stay quiet.

“Swap! we have come to rescue you, don’t worry!!” The artist ran at Killer as he spoke (yelled), his brush swiping at Killer and covering him in paint in seconds. The captor fell to the ground, paint hardening into restraints.

Killer clenched his teeth in his annoyance. “stupid bastard. every time!”

Swap rolled off the bed, falling into a battle stance and summoning two bones in his hands, his sockets narrowing.

The movement spurred Dream into action, rushing at Cross, who met him halfway. Cross slashed at his middle with his large, red blade, and Dream just barely dodged it as he flinched back. He blocked another attempted blow, both his blades up and facing forward as Cross pressed his weapon into Dreams’, forcing him back. He struggled under the pressure, not really wanting to harm Cross, until his back hit solid wall and his arms were pressing uncomfortably to his chest, straining to keep hold of his machete. He heard clashing from behind Cross, but his vision was obscured too much to see what was happening. 

“What are you doing here?!” Cross growled, eyes hard. “How dare you come here!”

Dream’s weapons shook with his efforts of holding back Cross’. “We’re just here for our friend.”

“Swap isn’t going anywhere with you!” 

With his shout, Cross tilted his blade and Dream’s machetes to the side, throwing his weapon away and forcing Dreams’ to go with it. Before the guardian had time to react, Cross grabbed his wrists and slammed him into the wall. 

“I won’t leave him behind.” Dream choked out, gritting his teeth.

Cross glared at him with a fierceness that Dream hadn’t seen before. He adjusted his grip on Dream’s wrists to restrain him with one hand, using the other to grab at his chin harshly. He stepped to the side, forcing Dream’s head in the direction of the others’ fight. “Does he look like he wants to be ‘rescued’?”

Dream prepares to retort, but falls silent as his mind comprehends the scene. 

He’d assumed the sounds of fighting were because Killer had freed himself from his painted restraints, but he remained on the ground, shouting profanities at Ink. Ink was fighting Swap. Their friend, their teammate—with an unfamiliar glare and tense posture, Swap fought valiantly against Ink, a sharpened bone in each hand that he methodically aimed at the artist, side-stepping and dodging the attempted blows from Ink’s brush. 

As Ink swung the end of broomie towards Swap’s legs, the taller faltered, unable to get out of the way in time. Swept off his feet, he fell back. Ink quickly pounced, brush dropping to the side as he fell forward onto Swap, straddling his waist and holding his forearms to the ground. 

Cross drops his hand from Dream’s face, taking half a step towards the others before Swap shouts wordlessly, bringing his head up and slamming his skull into Ink’s jaw. The effect is immediate, Ink wincing and releasing Swap’s arms on reflex. He shoots his hands forward as soon as they’re released, grabbing onto Ink’s wrists and shoving him backward, flipping the scenario around.

Ink stares up at Swap, expression conveying more confusion than hurt. “Swap..? i don’t understand- we’re here to rescue you.”

“I Don’t NEED To Be Rescued.” Swap bites out, voice tight.

“...you’re betraying us.” The moment of realization is obvious, as Ink’s eye lights hesitate on exclamation-points, then begin to change rapidly again. 

Swap’s expression softens slightly. “I Suppose I Am.” He keeps his grip in Ink’s wrists firm, but stands, pulling the shorter up too. He glances up at Cross.

The monochrome skeleton gives Dream a final look, and Dream is shocked at the burst of indecipherable emotion suddenly coming off of him. Cross pulls Dream forward, letting go and shoving him towards Ink. Swap releases the artist, stepping back. 

“I’m Sorry.” 

Feeling Swap’s emotions, he knows that his.. old friend, means it. Dream frowns, a hurt expression overtaking his features. He thinks back on old interactions with Swap, wondering what would lead him to wanting to work for Nightmare, or to even leave. Deep down, though, he understands why. He can feel the emotion radiating off of Swap. He just doesn’t want to accept the reasons. 

He refuses to meet Swap’s eyes, placing a hand on Ink’s shoulder and focusing on the positivity from their base’s universe to teleport to.

As they disappear, Killer’s restraints fall and disintegrate. He’s up and across the room in a second, halting his cursing at Ink. Cross hurries over to Swap as well, grabbing onto his shoulders as Swap falls to his knees, head hanging limply. Cross pulls him into his side, glancing up at Killer.

“He’s passed out. Did you see him get hurt at all?”

Killer frowns, “he took a hit to the head, i think. didn’t look too bad.”

Cross nods, sighing. He crouches, pulling Swap up to get his legs out from under him, then lowers him again to reach an arm under his knees and an arm around his back. Standing, he carefully adjusts his grip, then he and Killer wordlessly leave the room and head for the infirmary.

Chapter Text

To say Nightmare was “mad” was to put it very, very lightly. 

He’d returned to home to discover the castle had been infiltrated, his newest follower unconscious in one of their plain infirmary beds with two uneasy skeletons hovering by him. 

His tentacles twitched behind him as Killer recounted the attack, an ugly, quiet anger rising in his chest. A small part of him settled, though, as this was also a confirmation that Swap had indeed been truthful with his intentions.

Cross wrung his hands, anxiety practically dripping from his bones. Nightmare allowed himself a moment to soak in the negativity before he ordered that the ex-guardsman go rest. He could tell Cross wanted to argue, but refrained, as he gave a sharp nod and left the room. 

Turning then to Killer, Nightmare’s request was cut off before he even started.

“-i’ll make sure he eats later, don’t worry.” The taller gave an exaggerated smile, hand raising for a ‘thumbs-up’ as he stepped out, leaving Nightmare alone with Swap.

He exhaled, gaze returning to the still passed-out Swap. There was a scuff mark in the center of his skull, where Ink had supposedly whacked him right in the face with the end of his brush, but besides that, he seemed unharmed. Though, his fingers twitched every moment or so, and his sockets crinkled the smallest amount. Hm. Even asleep he did not relax, Nightmare mused. He wondered what could be happening in Swap’s head at the moment.

Lucky for him, he didn’t have to wonder. Nightmare reached a hand forward and rested it on Swap’s skull, letting his eyes fall closed as he reached out with his magic.

. . .

When Nightmare opened his eyes, he saw nothing. The dream was dark, surprisingly so, and he couldn’t tell which way was which until he heard a faint voice in the distance.

Slowly, he headed towards it, confidence growing as the voices got louder and he could make out a blue, hunched figure in the distance. Swap sat on his knees, arms wrapped around his midsection and head hanging low. His sockets were squeezed shut, a scowl fixed on his face as he mumbled quietly. In front of him were a few somewhat familiar figures, though different than most of the alternates he’d gotten used to seeing.

“You’re Not Real, You’re Not Real, You’re Not Real, You’re Not Real-” Swap shuddered.

The one standing closest to him, a tall skeleton wearing a bright orange hoodie, bent down to his level, a solemn look on their face. “why did you leave me behind, brother?”

“I’m Sorry, I’m So Sorry!” He exhaled shakily, fingers digging into his arms. 

Nightmare had never seen Swap so.. distraught.

A figure he recognized as an Alphys stepped forward, donning heavy armor rather than the typical lab coat. She opened her mouth, presumably to taunt him as well, her face hard with anger.

Nightmare scoffed, “Wow. Booooring.” He swiped a hand through the air, and the character’s of the dream disappeared. He approached Swap, still shaking, and kneeled in front of him.

“Swap?”

Hesitantly, the other forced open his sockets, eye lights hazy as they locked onto Nightmare. “...What? Oh, Stars, Don’t Do This.” His hands unclenched and he reached up to rub at his eyes.

“Don’t.. Do what?” His head tilted to the side.

Swap groaned, pushing himself away from the corrupt skeleton and drawing his knees to his chest. “You- AGH! Screw You, Octopus!! I Don’t Want To Deal With YOU Telling Me How Awful I Am Too! You’re Not Even Real.”

A startled laugh escaped him . “‘Octopus?’ Really, Swap?” 

He glared, hiding the pleasantly surprised feeling that arose from hearing The God of Negativity laugh like that, even if it was only a dream. “Yes, Really. Are You Gonna Start Yelling At Me Or What? Just Gonna.. Creepily Stare At Me, Instead?”

“Hmm, no. Just checking out this dream of yours.” He smirked, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. 

“...You’re Not Real.” Swap’s brows furrowed, though a bit of unease rose in him.

Nightmare thought for a moment, then let a copy of Dust appear by Swap. The shorter startled, scooting away. He made dream-Dust cross his arms, a familiar scowl forming on his shadowed skull.

“i can’t believe you’re sooo rude, doing the dishes and cleaning the manor. and i’m soooo petty that i’m goin’ to pretend to hate you, cause you broke my arm, like, a month ago. scoff .” Dream-Dust says, in Dust’s voice though somewhat robotically.

Swap hesitantly chuckles, then quickly devolves into laughter at Dust’s expense. After a moment, he abruptly stops, and turns to Nightmare. “You’re Actually Nightmare.”

“And you called me an octopus.”

“I’m Very, Very Sorry!! I Thought- I-” Swap stumbles over his words, growing panicked.

Nightmare huffs, standing. “Relax. Wake up.”

The other frowns, brows pinched. Nightmare rolls his eye lights, pulling out of the dream.

. . .

His hand retracts from Swap’s skull as he returns to himself, and he takes a step back. Swap’s figure has lost a bit of the usual tension now, as he slowly flexes his hands and forces open his eyes. Immediately, the taller one's eye lights snap to him, a hesitant.. look, on his face, that Nightmare can’t quite decipher. His emotions were oddly jumbled.

“...Did You Just Invade My Dream?”

“Yes. You should be glad that I did, considering..” Nightmare glances off to the side boredly, posture lax. “Are you feeling alright? I can heal you, if needed.”

Swap thought for a moment, then shook his head. “I’m Okay. I Fear My Room Is Not, Though.”

“I’ll make Killer and Horror repair your door. Nothing seemed broken apart from that, don’t worry.”

“Oh. Thank You. Were Killer And Cross Okay Too?” His relief is quickly drowned out by worry for his new friends, and before Nightmare can step forward to hold him back, he’s already pushed himself up and swung a leg off the bed.

“ You are the only one not okay right now.” He huffs when Swap swings the other leg off the bed too. None of these children ever listen to him when it comes to their health.

“Nightmare, I’m Fine. No Pain At All!” He forces a smile onto his face.

Although annoyed, the god stepped back. “I might be tolerating this now, but you’d do well to not lie to me in the future.”

Swap’s shoulders hiked up, but he held back a retort. Truthfully, he wasn’t injured, only having a bit of a headache. He knew what Nightmare meant, though. The sudden encounter with Ink and Dream had pushed many unwanted feelings and thoughts right back to the forefront of his mind, and Nightmare knew it, even if he wasn’t direct about it. Hurt, grief, anger, loneliness, desperation—the sharp-edged emotions swirled in his chest, and he found it difficult to push them down. 

Before, Swap would have found someplace else to settle down, an alternate Underswap to hide away in, or maybe he’d have just pushed through and ignored how he felt. He did feel guilty for working for what he had previously been fighting against, but the anger he felt got just a little louder each time Ink or Dream would pull him from whatever AU he ran to, each time they brushed him off, each time they pushed him just a little too far. He didn’t want to kill innocent people, or to really hurt anyone, but if working for the God of Negativity meant the protectors couldn’t drag him back…

But they’d gotten in. Would they force him to return, even if he’d “betrayed” them? He didn’t know. Swap knew that Nightmare could feel his fear in waves, but to address it was to admit something to the god he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

“Swap?” Nightmare’s voice cut through his thoughts, and he jolted back to awareness. A hand rested on his shoulder, retracted as the corrupted skeleton leaned away from him. “I can assure you, nobody’s going to come capture you on my watch. Even if you were, somehow, I’d come get you.”

Despite the clear grimace on Nightmare’s face as he tried to be comforting, Swap allowed his worries to quiet for a moment. “Thanks.”

The other huffed. “Sure. There’s food set aside for you, when you’re hungry. Bother Killer if you need anything else.”

As Nightmare stalked out of the infirmary, Swap’s shoulders sagged, and he fell back onto the mattress. Reflecting on the interactions he’d just had with his boss, he felt a bit of gratitude rise. 

Letting his sockets fall closed now, he thought that was a great feeling to fall asleep with—except he couldn’t sleep. 

Rising from the bed, Swap carefully exited the room, letting his feet guide him back to the gym. He had rested for long enough, anyway.

Chapter Text

The routine continues.

Swap waits quietly behind his door, boots tucked away somewhere in the room and cape removed. By then, he had learned Killer’s usual schedule, so the skeleton knew when he was safe to push open his door and to slowly make his way towards the gym. With every creak, he’d freeze and count the seconds until it felt safe to move again. There was no room for error. He knew that if he was caught out so late again, Nightmare would surely forbid him from using the gym all together.

Each night, after Swap had been there for a while, he’d cleaned the gym of any evidence he’d even been there. There was nothing wrong with his habits, anyway. His teammates just didn’t understand the need to keep oneself busy at all times.

He was fine.

***

Nightmare continued to not bring Swap along on missions.

“It’s barely been a week since the Stars’ came after you, Swap, I’m not letting you run about so quickly.” Nightmare had said, “Get some more rest.”

Hmph! Swap had rested plenty, in his opinion. He was just itching to get out, to run and yell and summon his battle hammer and- and to-

He found himself almost missing the constant working when he was with his old teammates. They’d never have had him lazing around this long, always needing him to be up and about, ready to hop into whatever AU needed assistance, ready to fight at the drop of a dime.

Maybe Swap had tried to run away from them a few times, and maybe he felt desperately helpless when he thought too hard about that, but it just.. It felt so weird, to have these monsters tell him to sleep, to make him eat more, to treat him like…

The skeleton shook his head, trying to bring himself back to reality. He only succeeded in making himself dizzy, blindly reaching for a wall to hang on to as he waited for his vision to clear.

It was fine. He’d probably just overworked a bit that night.

***

Swap spent a lot of time thinking, locked away in his head. He brushed off the concern of his teammates, anyway. He was only feeling a bit tired, after all.

But, soon, it started to worry him, too. He felt absent, distant. Like he was merely observing his interactions with the others; like he wasn’t even him. It was difficult to pull himself back to his own body, to stay grounded, to.. remind himself that he wasn’t just some vague, third-party merely seeing through his eyes.

He was- … He was going to be fine.

***

It took a couple shakes on the shoulder from Horror for him to finally zone back in. His right hand idly held a fork, hovering over his barely touched plate. The others’ must have all finished already, because Horror was the only other at the table. Swap shook himself, blinking hard before smiling at Horror.

“Sorry. Bit Spaced Out.” Swap says lightly, pushing a forkful of his dinner into his mouth. He barely registered the taste, setting his fork down quickly after. “Actually, I’m Not Very Hungry Today. You Can Have The Rest, Horror.”

Turning to his friend, he then hesitated, leaning away a little. Horror’s red eyelight was small in his socket, almost shaking as the large skeleton squeezed his fists. He looked upset, but Swap didn’t know why. With a moment's pause, the smaller delved into apologies, unsure of what he was apologizing for but sorry nonetheless.

Horror held up a hand to make Swap stop, only looking sadder. “you didn’ do anything. just- have another bite, first.. please.”

With the look Horror was giving him, he felt there was nothing to do but comply. Knowing Horror’s food-related anxieties, Swap didn’t mind trying to give him some peace of mind.

Forcing down another bite, Swap pushed his plate towards Horror and then stood from his seat. He wobbled a second, then headed for the kitchen’s exit. He really felt like he should sit down, sweat beading on his skull despite the chill running up his spine. He’d definitely stepped away from his nightly-training for too many nights, if that was all it took to make him feel so faint, Swap thought crossly.

Reeling himself back into the moment, he managed to process Horror asking if he was alright, his chair scratching against the floor as he hurried up and after Swap.

“Yeah, Just Feeling- Tired.” His bones started to feel heavy, and he had to ignore the urge to grab onto Horror for support. He wasn’t even sure where he was going, though he heard Killer call out a greeting and an annoyed grumble from Nightmare as he passed through another doorway, Horror hot on his heels.

Swap forced himself to blink away the darkness that began creeping into the corners of his vision, but this time it didn’t stop. His thoughts seemed to blur into silence along with the jumbled noise from around him as he took another step forward, feeling a tingly sensation run up his whole body, vision going completely dark while the world seemed to tilt under him.

Everything’s… fine.

***

Being the closest to him, Horror darted forward and grabbed Swap by the shoulders, lowering the both of them to the ground carefully as Swap went limp. A distressed whine escaped him as he held the smaller skeleton to his chest, looking desperately at Nightmare.

The corrupted skeleton rushed forward, hands moving swiftly as he checked over Swap for a potential injury, or a possible fever. There didn’t seem to be anything. His healing magic didn’t appear to do much, either, much to his annoyance.

Nightmare glanced briefly up when he heard a gasp. Cross had arrived, and he could sense Dust was not far behind.

One tense moment of silence later, he stood. Horror followed suit, adjusting his hold on the smaller skeleton’s body. “Let’s at least move him to the sofa, Horror. He shouldn’t be out for long, if he’s only fainted.”

True to Nightmare’s words, Swap stirred just as Horror laid him down onto their couch. His body sagged, and Nightmare could almost feel the exhaustion—both mentally and physically—as Swap blearily blinked his sockets and looked over to them, eye lights only seeming to half-register the other skeletons for a few seconds. Horror immediately dropped to his knees and grabbed at him, poking and prodding and muttering nonsense that clearly did not register in Swap’s tired mind, if his confused expression was anything to go by. He fell to silence as Nightmare jabbed at him with a hand, trying to gesture to give their teammate a bit of space.

Swap pushed himself up into a sitting position, wincing as the motion threatened to darken his sight again. He looked to Nightmare, voice only slightly quieter than usual, as he looked as though he were preparing for ridicule; “..I’m Assuming I Passed Out.”

“You did. Would you happen to have any idea of why?”

“...I, uhm.” Swap faltered, seeming to struggle unusually to force out his response. “I May Have Not Eaten Enough Today.”

Of course, Nightmare already knew that Swap ate less than the rest of them, and that it seemed to be a delicate subject, so he was willing to accept the plausible excuse, despite knowing it was likely not a full truth.

—However, Horror interrupted before Nightmare could get his words out, hands gesturing excessively as he spoke; “he’s barely eaten anything today! or.. yesterday, or any day since.. bein’ here!”

Swap gaped at Horror’s unexpected outburst. Nightmare’s sockets widened surprisedly, and he glanced between the two skeletons.

“That!! Is Not True! I Eat Every Day, You All Watch It Happen!” Swap sputters out, posture battling between offensive and defensive. Honestly, you’d think he was fighting a murder accusation rather than.. This, in Nightmare’s humble opinion.

Horror huffs, disbelieving. “ya don’t eat enough ‘ta even... keep a rat alive.”

“That’s Completely Unrealistic, And YOU KNOW IT!” Swap grits out, glaring despite his condition.

Then, even more surprising to Nightmare, Dust speaks up, muttering in his usual, quiet drone, “he doesn’t hardly sleep either.”

Gasping offendly, Swap wracks his head for defense. “You—You Don’t Either!! I See You In The Kitchen Every Night!”

Huh. The corrupted skeleton tilts his skull in Dust’s direction. He stands with hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets, scowling per usual. “Have you been having trouble sleeping again, Dust? You should have come to me.”

Scoffing, Dust turns away. “we’re talking about Swap right now, yeah?”

Whatever. Nightmare will speak to him later. He directs his attention back to Swap, who’s now engaged in a quiet argument with Horror. “Swap.”

Immediately a hush falls over the two. Nightmare’s decided, suddenly, that he will not allow this to continue any longer.

“You understand that these habits of yours, Swap, cannot continue.” His sockets are narrowed as he speaks, unrelenting to the shock and whirlwind of emotions that flood Swap’s mind. His tentacles twitch behind him as he takes in the negativity.

“I Don’t-”

“I do not care for your objections.” He harshly interrupts, unrelenting. He holds eye contact for a quiet moment before sighing, forcing his tone to soften a small amount as he sits onto the sofa beside the other. “Swap, you’re not well. You need to understand that your behavior is not healthy. I know that my.. That Dream and Ink have made you think this is how you should act. But there is no reason to continue those habits anymore.”

Gods, it is so draining to attempt comfort.

The smaller skeleton stared at him, sockets wide and eyelights reduced to pinpricks. He couldn’t find the words to argue, though Nightmare knew he wanted to desperately. He was clearly still exhausted, too exhausted for the conversations that needed to be had.

Nightmare stood sparing a look at Swap before directing attention to Cross, who’d been standing silently since arriving at the scene. He could taste the soldier’s anxiety.

“Cross, take Swap to his room. Make sure he actually sleeps.”

The ex-guardsman blinked, hands ceasing their fidgeting. Horror and Dust stepped away with varying levels of resistance to let Cross closer to Swap. (Horror seemed like he’d start growling and biting any second like the rabid he was, while Dust’s face was blank and showed nothing.)

“Uh, can you stand up?” Cross asked, pushing down his nerves.

Swap, silently, swung his legs off the couch and stood. He swayed as he did, causing Cross to grab at his shoulders, though he managed to remain upright. This barely did anything for Cross’ anxiety, so he kept an arm around Swap’s shoulders as they walked off and out of the room.

The walk to his bedroom was tense.

If possible, it was even tenser after Cross had gotten Swap into bed. He stood, awkwardly, while Swap stared blankly up at his ceiling from his spot.

…

“I haven’t been sleeping.”

The admission comes unexpectedly, spoken so soft Cross took a moment to really process it. “What?”

Swap turned his skull to the side, eyes retaining the blank stare as he looked now to his teammate. “I haven’t been able to. I’ve been going back to the gym at night, before bed, but I haven’t really slept in.. the last two days. At all.”

Cross doesn’t know how to respond. Swap continues, anyway.

“Any time I’m not.. doing something… I feel like- I’m..” He frowns, looking back to the ceiling, unable to voice his thoughts.

…

“You’re not a tool, Swap.”

He looks back at Cross, sockets wider. Of course, Cross would understand. He always did.

“I know that sometimes it feels like that, but- Swap, the Stars’ didn’t see you, they saw a weapon. And you are more than what others use you for.”

“It doesn’t always feel that way.”

Cross sighs, taking a seat on the mattress. “I know. But I mean it. Your worth doesn’t change if you’re.. sick, or if you don’t want to fight, or—or anything. It might take some time to realize that, but it’s true here.”

A hand grabs for his, and Swap sits up as he squeezes it, thankful for the show of support.

He thinks of his old friends, Ink and Dream. Memories flash in his mind. Swap opens his mouth, words he’s wanted to say time and time again just on the tip of his metaphorical tongue, but. His mouth shuts. Swap smiles, bittersweet, as he looks at his teammate friend.

Cross smiles back, and opens his arms in invitation. The pair’s positions make the hug a bit awkward, though neither mind too much. Swap gives a short exhale of relief, squeezing his friend tighter.

He’s going to be fine.

Chapter Text

The low thumps of footsteps grew louder, echoing through the halls. It was tense, the air crackling with ticked energy as the commotion neared. 

A hand darted out, catching the hood of the running skeleton and pulling him into the cover of the opposite turning hall, a shadow casting over the two and hiding them from sight well enough that the skeleton’s assailant ran right by without a clue. 

The two figures remained still a beat. Two beats. Three. Then, satisfied they hadn’t been discovered, the runner pulled away to face his savior. 

“swap!” 

The bandanna-wearing monster violently shushed him, sockets narrowed though he wore a good natured smile. “Don’t Want Cross To Hear You, Do We?” 

Killer smiled back, head tilting in confusion. “right. why’d you grab me? y’know i was messin’ with crossy.”

“He Seemed Quite Unhappy!! What Sort Of Joke Did You Pull This Time?” 

Instead of the accusatory tone Killer had expected of his alternate, Swap spoke with a quiet buzz of excitement. 

“…i thought you didn’t like pranks.”

Swap laughed, sockets closing as he did. “I Don’t Like Bad Pranks.”

He couldn’t help but let his smirk drop a fraction. Not Papyrus. He turned his lightless eyes back to the other hall, where Cross had run off.

“i put a cardboard cutout of a cow on his bed.”

. . .

“KILLER! You Shouldn’t Use His Fears For A Prank, It Is Not Funny.”

…A little like Papyrus, even though he clearly was one of his alternates, he conceded. The reminders always left an odd, dull pang where his soul should be. 

“aww, why not? he can handle it.”

Swap groaned, clearly annoyed. “That’s Mean , Not Just A Prank. You Should Apologize.” 

—And that brings him to the present, where he stands in front of a glowering Cross with Swap a little behind the other. Fantastic. Swap gave him an encouraging (threatening) look, and Killer sighed.

“i am very, very sorry for putting a cutout of a cow in your room. it was… uhhhhh…” 

Cross stared at him, unimpressed. 

“…it wasss wrong of me to do. annndd.. iii…” 

Killer’s voice trailed off, squinting empty eyes at Swap over Cross’s shoulder. His hands were making an odd repetitive gesture, palms up and pulling his hands back toward himself and back again. What..? Oh! He was trying to help.

“—iiii.. want, you to- no, i want to forgive.. you? wait, wait- i want to t- to have- get- to earn yooouurrr .. for fuck’s sake swap, i don’t know what ‘ya want me to say!” Killer finally gave up, hands bunching into fists.

The monochrome monster turned his glare behind him, where Swap stood with his hands frozen mid-air. Sheepishly, he smiled, pulling his hands behind his back. Cross scoffed.

“Whatever. I forgive you… Asshole.” 

With that, Cross stalked off, hands in his pockets and his lower face hidden in his scarf. Killer let out a breath of relief that the painful conversation was over , finally, but was interrupted by Swap’s too happy smile and wide, squinting sockets. 

Oh, shit.

Killer teleported away in a blip, landing in Nightmare’s study much to the latter’s immediate annoyance. Killer clutched his metaphorical pearls, nervous sweat on his skull. Nightmare turned in his chair to face Killer, a brow raised and scowl on his face. The dark skeleton narrowed his eyes in slight concentration, which a moment later became confused as he zoned back in. 

“… Why is Swap ….. scheming??” 

Oh, shit.

*** 

Cyan boots stomped tiredly towards the kitchen, a frowning and slouched Swap dragging them along with each step. His gloves were gone, as well as most of his usual mesh-armor. All the skeleton wanted was a glass of cool—not cold—water, and to curl up in bed and hopefully ignore the nagging voice in his skull telling him to quit lazing about like his brother.

… His brother. Papyrus. Witty and good natured, with a knack for easing those around him and cheering him up. Oh, Swap missed his brother. On days like these, the memories hurt the most, and the prickly voice in his head sounded more like a certain paint-splashed monster than a cruel twist of his own monologue. 

Pushing into the kitchen, Swap paused to slump against the door 

way, sockets weary and head hanging as he tried to push away the memories he could never return to. 

Apparently too tired to have noticed the presence in the room, Swap now found himself held to a firm chest, large arms wrapped around him and a chin resting on the top of his skull. Subconsciously he sunk into the hold, the tall stature reminding him again of his younger brother, yet it was still so painfully different. 

Horror hummed deep in his throat. For a while, he simply stood there in the doorway holding Swap, letting the shorter soak up the closeness. 

After what felt like an eternity, Swap tried to force his tired bones to pull away from the comfort. Horror, on the other hand, seemed reluctant to let him go so soon. The taller skeleton lifted him from the ground with ease, keeping his arms wrapped around him until he was dropped into a chair at the table. Before he could protest a large skeletal hand patted him on the head, stunning him into silence. A kettle was placed on the stove, a somewhat comfortable silence falling over the kitchen as Horror went about, grabbing two small ceramic mugs and a little box from a cupboard Swap knew he would never be able to reach without climbing onto the counter. It was clearly a space only Horror used, and maybe Nightmare, if he were to use his extra appendages. 

The sudden whistle of the kettle pulled back his attention, and Horror quickly slid it off the heated stovetop. With practiced movements he went about dropping little packets into each cup and then slowly poured the steaming water over them. When a white mug was placed down in front of him, reading “Stab Happy,” with a little cartoon knife underneath, he noted that it was surely Killer’s usual cup of choice. The piping liquid inside was a yellow-green color. Tea.  

Horror slowly sat diagonal from him, his hands wrapped around his own cup of tea. Besides Swap’s whispered thank you there were no words spoken between them, the pair periodically sipping from their mugs and enjoying each other's company. 

The voice in his head was quiet for the rest of the day.

*** 

Swap sat, the damp grass not bothering him much as he directed his attention to his friend.

The dark oozing determination wasn’t as bad today, and Killer wiped at his under eyes with his sleeve. His grin felt flat, blank eyes staring down at Swap.

“The Stars Are Nice Tonight, Don’t You Think?”

A new sluggish wave of determination dripped from the other’s sockets, which he wiped at again with more aggression. “i don’t like stars.” 

He tilted his head, smile faltering. Something about Killer’s tone made him think he shouldn’t press further. Instead, he pushed himself up to his feet. 

“you think just ‘cause i’m a sans, means i gotta have all the same interests?” Killer continued, even though Swap hadn’t responded. His fists balled, shoulders subtly shaking. “well, you’re wrong. i’m not the same. i’m not. i- i-“

Killer cursed, hands flying to his face as he shook. 

“Killer..?” 

“fuck off!”

Swap stepped back, shocked by the outburst. Falling to his knees, the shaking skeleton hunched in on himself. When Swap tried to approach, hand outstretched in worry, a knife rushed past his skull, just barely missing him as he fell to the side. 

His concern doubled, and with it so did his annoyance. “KILLER! WHAT THE FUCK! What Was That For??”

The other froze, his single barely-there eyelight fizzling out in his left socket. He breathed heavily, leaning on one hand and on his ass, looking surprised.

The silence stretched on as they stared at each other, until Killer exhaled shakily and leaned forward. “… sorry. i don’t.. i don’t know where that came from.”

“..Are You Okay Now?”

“yeah.” He responded after a moment. 

Nightmare had told him about the ‘episodes’ that some of the team sometimes had. They could be short, like this one luckily was, or last even hours. Perhaps some sort of flashback? Swap wasn’t sure, but the actions lined up with what Nightmare had described to him; unawareness, a spacey-look, aggression; it seemed that he’d snapped out of whatever ‘it’ was before anything really happened. 

Killer offered him a hand to stand up, a hint of hesitation in his movements. Swap took it and pulled himself up. Then, as Killer tried to retract his hand, he pulled him into a hug. 

“I Know You Didn’t Mean That.” The blue-wearing monster said, voice dropping to a whisper as his grip tightened, “I’ll Avoid Mentioning, Uh, Stars, In The Future. But If You ever Try Throwing A Knife At Me Again Nightmare Will Have To Heal You.” 

“....okay.” 

*** 

“Oomf!” 

Swap slumped against the mat, sighing loudly. He’d been bested.

“Never let down your guard, even when your opponent is down.” 

Cross and Swap were sparring in the gym, and when Cross went limp under his hold, Swap had assumed victory. Clearly he was too soon to celebrate, as Cross immediately knocked him off and sent him practically flying. 

“Don’t sweat it, Swap,” he offered a hand, helping his friend to his feet. “This is why we’re practicing.”

“Hrmf.”

Summoning two dulled bones—he didn’t want to genuinely hurt his opponent—Swap darted to the side, winding up an arm and aiming a blow to Cross’ shoulder. Cross responded by jumping back, grabbing the outstretched wrist of Swap and twisting until he dropped the bone. 

Twisting with his arm, Swap dropped the other too, bracing himself with his back to Cross and grabbing the wrist apprehending him with his free hand, using the momentum to throw the monochrome monster over his shoulder in a swift move. Cross yelped, unprepared, as he was slammed onto the mat at his opponent’s feet. A cyan boot planted itself on his chest, one arm in the air and twisting at an uncomfortable angle.

Swap smiled brightly down at his friend. “Surrender now?”

Grumbling, he nodded, rubbing at his arm when it was released. Plopping down beside him Swap began to prod at Cross’ skull with joking jabs at his stance. He scoffed, a grin pulling at his features as he swatted at the hands.

***

A knife stabbed into the table, angry shouting from a certain tear-streaked skeleton following. 

“that’s bullshit!” 

“killer, shut the hell up.” Dust spat, “what’s the point in denying it?”

“fuck you, you musty psycho! it’s definitely me.”

Horror interrupted, “can we.. please .. jus’ eat, without.. th’ arguing?” 

“Of course not, did you forget who we’re eating with?” Cross muttered, skull resting against a palm as he leaned on the table. His other hand poked at his food.

Killer’s smile strained at the edges, fingers tightening around his embedded knife’s handle. “i wouldn’t be arguing if dust’d accept the truth.”

“kill yourself.”

“Dust, you can’t just say that anytime you disagr-“ Cross started.

“kill yourself.”

He deadpanned, eyes narrowed. “Dust-“

The quiet, repetitive thumping of Nightmare’s skull on the table continued, though nobody paid it mind. 

“Guys, Horror’s Getting Upset. Can’t You Save This Topic For Later?” 

“no.” Dust and Killer replied in unison, followed by a sharp glare at each other.

The hooded skeleton picked up his fork anyway, taking a bite from his dinner. “ you need to accept ya aren’t his favorite.”

“wh- y- as if it could be you !” 

Horror took a calming breath, Swap patting him comfortingly on the arm as the bickering went on.

“could be.”

“could not!”

“I Doubt It’s EITHER Of You!”

Before either could respond, Nightmare finally raised his head, a suffering look on his skull and a tired frown. His voice was low and immediately shut both arguing skeletons up.

“Horror is my favorite. Does that make you happy to hear?”

The mentioned monster perked up, his single eyelight dilating in its socket. Killer’s expression dropped, whereas Dust simply shrugged and returned to his plate.

“but i do everything you ask! i’m the most loyal person here.”

When Dust muttered a sneer of “dog” under his breath Killer kicked him under the table. 

“Horror is quiet… and he cooks.”

Dust smirked at that, sending a pointed look to the determination-dripping skeleton beside him. With a yell, Dust was knocked out of his chair, plate knocking to the floor with him as Killer shoved him to the floor. The pair tumbled across the ground with a series of outraged insults and jeers, fists flying.

Watching the scene unfold—Nightmare angrily pushing away from the table, moving to tear Killer and Dust apart; Cross, jumping up with a huff to help, hands finding Dust’s hood; Horror, more distressed about the plate of food that had dropped than his screaming and hitting friends—Swap, despite everything, grinned exasperatedly, taking another bite of food.

It was still better than the Stars’. 

Chapter Text

The castle was quiet, dimly lit hallways sitting still, each soul having fallen asleep; fitful rests or not. Deeper in the manor, behind an unusually labeled door, lay a tired soul, finally in a deep slumber. Tension bled from the poor monster’s shoulders, nightmares ironically seeming to be warded off for once. 

How sweet.

How humorous.

The dull pain of using his strings went casually unnoticed, swept up by the usual undercurrent of discomfort that came from simply being. Manic smile in place, he flexed his fingers and apprehended the sleeping Underswap Sans. It was time for a chat, he thought amusedly to himself, retreating back through a portal. 

“TiMe to w-w-WAKe uP, BluE.”

***

Once again, Swap found himself in a rather unwanted situation. Don’t get him wrong, he was glad that Error had taken enough of a liking to him to want to hangout, but hanging upside down in an otherwise silent, endless void of white with only the static-sounding words of a homicidal-maniac to keep him company…it wasn’t the best scenario. Still!! Swap happily chatted with his friend, pushing his anxieties—(what if I speak wrong what if I trigger him what if he kills me-)—to the back of his mind. It had been awhile since he’d last seen Error, anyway, and he has been wanting to say hello.

“…aNd so OFcOursE, I-I-IIII dUstEd tHe-ThEm!- No, thE O-oThe-OTHeR oNe.” Error’s glitching words carried on, having not noticed Swap’s lack of focus as he spoke presumably to his voices. 

“Error?” Swap swiftly interjected, sensing a small break in his glitching friend’s tangent. “Could You Let Me Down, Please?” 

The dark skeleton paused, hands held aloft in front of him as his distorted gaze dragged over to his hanging company. With a flick of his wrist, Swap fell to the ground in an ungraceful heap, a small oomf escaping him as he hit the unseen ground. Immediately the other went back to his seemingly one-sided conversation, going on about whatever AU he’d dropped by and wrecked last. Swap shivered involuntarily at the giddy recollection of broken bones and horror filled pleas.

“Error-“ He interrupted again, this time not waiting for a pause in speech. He held himself casually despite the sweat on the back of his skull as his friend stopped and slowly turned his head to face him. 

“…WhaT?” 

He swallowed nervously. The soldier didn’t wish to experience another one of Error’s meltdowns if he spoke wrong, but there was an itch in his head that begged to ask; “Have You Spoken To Dream Or Ink Recently?” 

Error turned the rest of his body, arms crossing as he stared down Swap. The blank white encompassing them both felt a little more overwhelming than usual, Error taking his time before replying. 

“yEs. Th-th-ThEy sto-s-SToppEd by, ThInkinG I-I-III tOOk yOU.” 

His chest squeezed uncomfortably at the information, but he smiled genuinely. “Of Course They Did.. Thank You For Protecting Me, Error.” 

Error tilted his head, narrowing his good eye. A hand reached up, and a hand-stitched doll descended from somewhere above to land in his palm before its string shot back up empty. Error turned it over in his hands, smirking down at it in his usual demented manor. The doll was another Sans, as they usually were, with a brown scarf and clumsily stitched sash. Another fell at his command, bearing a blue bandanna and gray shirt. 

Each doll was grabbed by a dark honey hand, Error giggling glitchedly as he turned a little from Swap, clearly in his own world once more. He puppeted his dolls, having the Blue one lightly bat at the Brown one. 

“BLuE s-s-SUrE g-gAve tHE SQUiD a G-Goo-GOOd fIgHT..” 

Swap stared, confused, narrowing his sockets as a small feeling of dread pooled in his gut. “I Didn’t Mention The Fight Yet. Did You.. Watch It?” 

The other’s smile grew, letting strings shoot down to grab his dolls as he dropped them. At his silent command, the dolls continued their puppeted mock-fight, blue string pulling at them while Error looked over his shoulder with wide, crazed sockets.

“WanTEd t-to SEE thEm FAiL… afT-aft-After-AFTeR tHeiR ConFId-fidEncE. Ha.. hA.”

“You Told Them.”

Error’s giggles stopped, his smile falling an inch. “NNnno. DiDn’T. JuSt-st.. LeT THeM fFfffffOLLoW thEir LeAD.”

Swap’s eyes fell to his feet, shocked. Quietly, he said, “you promised.” 

“whaT?”

“You PROMISED! You Said You’d Hide Me! You Let Them In!” He yelled, taking a step back as his fist clenched at his sides. How could he be so stupid, to trust the Destroyer?

“ProMISe…? DOeS THE Bl-L-LuE onE thInK mE-E-me h-i-i-sss GuArD DOg, tOo?” Error growled, hand darting out to snatch up his blue-clad doll dangling beside him. His dark fingers clenched tightly around it. “YOu aRE PrOT-eee- ProTECtEd ennnnouGH By th-That.. OcToppuS aNd BanD OF.. GlItchEss.” 

Another step back, and a blue string shot out to grab Swap by the ankles, pulling him to the ground. “Send Me Back Home,” he bit out.

The Destroyer scoffed, shooing away both his dolls and letting Swap be pulled back up by his feet to hang upside down.

“FiiIInE. Ha-AAAng OuT wITH th-the OThEr ggGlIt-gli-GlitCheS.. A-As iiF I-I-I cArE.” 

A static portal opened up beneath him, and Swap could tell even from his position that the ground opened up into a blanket of snow. His scream was cut off as he was released and dropped backwards into the AU, portal closing behind him as though it was never there. Agh, Error knew he’d meant Nightmare’s Castle!

The air left him as he landed flat on his back, even with the snow to break his fall. For a moment he simply lay there, catching his breath. 

As his skull turned to the left, a chill wracked his body that had nothing to do with the cold. A large sign sat just a foot away, with blinking lights and large bold words. 

WELCOME TO SNOWDIN TOWN!

“FUCK.” Swap swore, immediately pushing himself to sit up. He was in the Underground, or, well, a Underground. It couldn’t be his; that AU was gone, something he’d long since accepted. This could be any sort of universe.

How was he meant to get back to the Gang? Swap couldn’t open portals! Sigh. He could only hope that Nightmare would pick up on his location with his feely-findy thing… and, hopefully, before Dream might.

In the meantime, he decided, he best figure out where he was. 

Getting to his feet, the skeleton headed off into the snowy town. Based on the vibe alone, he could assume it wasn’t any Underswap. It was a little familiar, strangely, but he couldn’t quite remember if he’d been there before. So many universes had needed positivity and assistance from him and his old teammates. How was Swap to recall one in particular?

The tree in the center of the town was pointier than many he had seen though nothing worth much thought. An odd look or two from some less-than-friendly looking monsters walking about had sweat beading on his skull, even as he smiled and waved greetings.

Finally a building he recognized came into view: darkly purple with the blinking sign spelling out “GRILLBY’S” at the front. Swap always did prefer Muffy’s establishment, when he was lucky enough to get to see an Underswap-adjacent AU, though even the Magnificent Swap had to admit Grillby tended to hold down a nice place. (Despite the greasy food.)

The door pushed open with the ting of a small bell, and at once patrons turned to pierce him with their glares. One drunken bunny monster called out to him, slurring a “Hey, Sansss~!” which he awkwardly waved to in response, walking up to the bar counter. 

A skull peeked out from the spiky-fluffy fur lining of a hood, connecting to the black jacket that the fellow skeleton monster wore, sitting on a bar stool. His voice ranted on to the bartender; a fire monster with purple, cackling flames tinted with green.

Of course. Where would Error send him, if not the Underfell he so love-despised? Part of him had hoped for a Swapfell, but he was glad for a familiar face. (He ignored that all the Sans-es he knew were technically familiar faces, being his own face and all.)

Swap sat in the barstool to the Sans’ left, hands folding neatly on the bar. His counterpart startled, frowning as he leaned away. 

“who the fuck-?“ came the skeleton’s gruff, muttered voice. A gold tooth glinted in the warm light the bartender was putting off.

“Hey, Red.” 

He froze, his single lit eye light flickering as the two locked eyes. It had been a while, and Swap wasn’t certain this was the Underfell Sans he knew, so he very well could have just made a fool of himself and now the skeleton could try to kill him for being an imposter—

Except that didn’t happen. Recognition sparked in his minutely relaxed posture, a lazy, happy grin raising. His teeth were so, so pointy. It did always shock the soldier. 

“blue! i thought ya up ‘n died! yer pals were allllll over here a bit ago lookin for you. what’s goin’ on?”

He suppressed a shiver, smiling back. “I’ve Been Doing QUITE WELL, Actually!! Much Better Than Before!” 

“that’s great ta hear, pal.. what brings you over ‘ere anyway? more multiverse drama?” 

“Oh, No, Nothing Like That! Error Dumped Me Here. You Know How He Gets.”

“....i still don’t get know you can be so chill around the literal proclaimed ‘god of destruction’ but okay.” 

Swap scoffed. “Error’s Just A Big, Superpowered Toddler. Seriously.” 

“and the idea of a baby with superpowers isn’t scary as hell to you???” 

“Okay, Point Taken. But I’m Used To Him By Now.” 

The chatter continued on easily, conversation picking back up like it had never ended. Swap, inch by inch, felt his shoulders untensing and his anxiety leaving. Red was so unconnected to everything, and surprisingly easy to talk to. He had missed having a friend like this outside of the castle. 

Eventually the pair found themselves settled on Red’s worn-couch. Some springs poked through the cushions, and the home was all-over a bit scuffed, but Swap leaned back and settled without care. His SOUL was doing excited flips in his ribcage. It would be nice to hangout with Red until Nightmare tracked him down. (Swap ignores the thought that Dream could track him down just as quickly. Surely after their last encounter the guardian understood Swap’s allegiance?)

The TV was turned on at some point, and now played some dramatic romance starring only a sharp looking robot in several different cheap wigs. It was vaguely entertaining. Swap missed watching Napstabot’s movies. 

“that bag o’ scrap metal is all paps wants ta watch. ever.” Red commented, the two having directed their attention to the screen. Mettaton, Swap recalls, was singing some heartfelt junk about himself in a blonde-wig. 

“Back In My Universe, I Only Liked Watching Napstabot.” 

“huh? is that liike.. napstablook? its so weird that our worlds are opposite.” 

“Probably. I Lose Track.” 

Swap’s shoulder brushed Red’s, the armored skeleton relaxing back into the old green cushions of the sofa. 

Four knocks sounded in quick-succession at the door, rasping firmly against the wood. It was like a bucket of ice had just dropped over Swap, sockets wide. 

He recognized that knock. Seriously, why was he always having to deal with these situations? Always? It was getting tiring. 

Red shared a look with Swap, taking in his tense form. The underfeller narrowed his eyes and jutted his chin, gesturing upstairs. He got the idea, quickly hopping off the couch and climbing the steps. By instinct alone he grabbed the knob of the first door he saw, pushing inside and shutting the door behind him. It luckily had a lock. 

This was not him room, though. It was Papyrus’s. The race car bed Swap knew was instead red, here—everything was red, pretty much. All edgy looking. 

Voices came from the other side of the door. Swap pressed his skull against it, trying to make out any voices. Oh—shoot, Dream was here. He’d sense Swap. He would. He- Oh, was Swap panicking? Jeez, okay- He tried to count his breaths. Panicking would only draw the guardian up here faster. He needed to hide. Focusing, like he’d been used to as a Star, Swap pressed in his emotions, tightening them into a little unnoticeable ball, and projecting out as much blank-dullness as he could. 

“…re you sure?…” 

“…yes, It.. of course..” 

“…its just that… yes, see-“ 

…

“No, they… Nightm…” 

…

“…rry for this. yo…”

…

Steps echoed up the rickety staircase. Swap held his hands over his mouth, crouched at the foot of the door. A knock came. 

Tap. Tap. 

But there was no response. He didn’t dare move, didn’t even think.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“…Blue?” 

No. No. Not again. Please. 

“Blue, come on- Just talk to me.” 

He shook. 

“It can’t be your fault. I know he did something to you. I can help.” 

“I can help, Blue. I can take away your pain.” 

Swap is plunged into the memory with such a force he cannot fight it.

He shivered, the sobs wrenching through his body with vengeance. Each hiccup hurt more than the last, his hand clutching at his chest, digging into his ribs. Everything was gone. All of it. Nothing was left. And it was all his fault. All of it. 

Papyrus was gone. Nothing mattered anymore because of that one, simple fact. His baby brother was gone. Not even just dead- he was erased. As if he had never existed. 

Swap was officially an outcode, with no home AU to tie him to. No brother. No friends. Nobody. Nothing. 

The sobs kept coming. He cried out, shouting and begging and pleading for… what? He didn’t know. Just.. something. Anything to quell the pain. Anything to give him back his brother. 

Then, there was a tug at his chest, and a harsh warmth. Then, there was Dream. The guardian’s gold glow eased him forward until he was wrapped up in his friend’s arms, crying into his shoulder. 

“I can help, Blue.” Says Dream. “I can take away your pain.” 

Swap wants so desperately to believe it. His SOUL can’t handle this heartbreak. He wants his friend to hold him and whisper that everything is going to be alright. 

Dream seems to understand. Dream, who always could name his feelings before even he could, nodded and smiled. Warmth again overtook him, burning and searing and all over too much. The pain was not gone, but buried, smothered and choked and drowned in the calm-calm-calm that encompassed his very being. Slowly he went limp, and Dream lowered them both to the ground, gloved hands wiping his tears.

…Tears? That wasn’t right. What was there to be crying about? Swap had never been more content in his life. 

Dream had made it all okay. 

Burning. Searing warmth. Overwhelming calm-content-tired. These feelings are what finally brought him out of the long-repressed memory. First, he was aware that he was hyperventilating, and shaking, his hands scratching at his sockets. There was a voice. Was someone talking to him? 

“Easy, easy. Relax.” 

His bones slumped. What? Hang on- Swap tried to push away from the hands—the pressure—but was stopped. Hands caught his wrists. Gloved hands. He felt his eye lights extinguish.

“Blue, you’re panicking. Stop fighting me, I’m trying to help.” 

No. Not again. Fury surged up, catching the guardian by surprise. He wrenching his hands out of the other’s grip and swung hard, scrambling backwards until his back hit the wall. 

Dream’s hands hovered over his left socket, pained, until he seemed to steel his resolve. He rose up to his full height and stepped forward with outstretched hands. A small splinter-crack sat just below his eye socket. 

The warmth pressed in again, and Swap valiantly tried to force it away. “STOP IT!” 

“Blue. You are being irrational. What has my brother done to you?” 

“NOTHING, YOU PRICK!” Yelled Swap, pushing himself shakily to his feet with the wall behind him as a brace. 

Reaching out for his magic, the skeleton conjured his battle-hammer, slamming it down. He wasn’t messing around anymore. This wasn’t like last time at all, no Killer or Cross or Ink. Just Swap and Dream. No more holding back!

Dream was shocked, hesitantly summoning his two blades. He didn’t want to fight Swap, but it was clear that’s what his friend was preparing for. 

“Please, just talk to me!” 

“I’M DONE TALKING.” 

Swap swung first, his war hammer  slamming down and splintering the wood flooring of where Dream had stood not even a second before. 

He wouldn’t submit this time. Not ever again. Hopefully, he’d hold him off long enough for Nightmare to show up. 

Chapter Text

It had been steady, at first. Nothing to look twice at. Never changing too much, staying at its typical level of upset.

 Then, a small brightness. 

Then, an eruption of raw, traitorous anger.

Even as unnatural waves of calm-calm-calm rushed through, the anger remained strong. If anything it grew. 

It didn’t take long for Nightmare to pinpoint the exact AU, after that. The guardian, out at the time (even a being as old and violent as him needed to get out on his own occasionally), had been immediately aware of his ward’s absence upon returning to his domain. The rest of his no-brain crew (and Cross) hadn’t yet seemed to notice, a fact that annoyed him greatly. There was nobody to blame, though. Nightmare had declared Swap no-longer a flight risk after the remaining Stars’ had infiltrated the lair; Swap had the chance to leave then and there, if he’d wanted to. 

Rage pressed in on the small room as he threw open the door, reaching out to each corner and suffocating any trace of his “brother.” The golden skeleton was upstairs, clearly- Nightmare could feel his aura trying to press in on the ball of absolute raw negativity with him. 

A disgusting burst of joy had his attention snapping to the left. On the ground lay an Underfell Sans-variant, unconscious. Nightmare stepped over to them, and immediately understood: Dream had placed them into a deep, deep sleep. Their dreams were filled with the same artificial positivity the room upstairs was leaking. Suppressing a growl the guardian rested an appendage onto their leg, slowly drawing them out of the rest. Then, he stepped over them, leaving the Sans behind to thunder up the stairs. 

With Dream, another blast sounded, barely giving him time to jump out of the way. Glass shattered and burnt to a crisp as the window and surrounding wall exploded with the Gaster Blaster’s ray—where Dream had stood a moment prior. Swap really wasn’t pulling his punches. A shrill “eep!” escaped the Guardian of Positivity when another Gaster Blaster formed, and he had no choice but to take a leap out of the now-hole in the wall. 

He rolled with his landing, though stumbled in getting to his feet. The summoned-machetes fell into the snow a foot away. A guttural shout announced Swap’s departure from this AU’s skeleton’s house followed by a thud as his booted feet hit the ground. 

“Bl- Blue, just- you aren’t acting like yourself! Listen to me!” Dream stuttered out, unable to quench the pinch of fear grabbing at his Apple-SOUL. He had never seen his friend like this before. The negativity pouring from him brought Dream again to his knees as he tried standing, reaching for his weapons, just- something, he needed to do something to stop this fight. Underfell was already a negative enough AU for the guardian to be in, and the added pressure of Swap’s fury felt like a physical weight on his back.

“I TOLD YOU TO SHUT UP!” Came the heated reply. 

Another pang against Dream. The hammer came down once more, leaving splintered bone in its wake. Dream screamed in pain, mouth hanging open even as his voice died out, hands scrabbling behind him for purchase in the snow to drag himself away. His leg was already starting to heal itself, but that didn’t take away from the hurting. 

Then, through the waves coming off the approaching Swap, was an aura of pure negativity moving slowly toward him. He felt like emptying his non-existent stomach, nausea churning throughout his body. The force of it pressed in on him painfully. It almost felt like it would crush his skull beneath it. As a shadow raised above him once more, Dream tried desperately to scoot backwards, to focus his eyes—The warhammer Swap wielded was posed, ready to swing downward right where his chest currently lay. Panic bloomed within him. He couldn’t drown it out fast enough, and the feeling of negativity within himself was so overwhelming he shook. 

A practically immortal being, Guardian of Positivity throughout the multiverse, spawn of Nym; reduced to a shaking, crying, scared mess of bones beneath a mere mortal monster. Swap wouldn’t be able to kill him he knew, being what he was- only Negativity could, the raw kind that- that was.. standing right behind Swap. 

The dark coated boots thumped mutedly through the snow as they approached. A dripping, twisting tentacle rested on Swap’s shoulder. The hammer raised above him quivered, being eased from Swap’s grip by the rest of Nightmare’s dark limbs. 

It was then that Dream registered the thick tears spilling from the blue-clad skeleton’s empty sockets. He, himself, was shaking in place. Nightmare—the proximity was burning him it burned it burned oh Stars please it burned—silently turned Swap around, dropping the hammer to the side and allowing the slightly taller of the two to wrap his arms around him. Swap clenched his fingers in the fabric of Nightmare’s stained hoodie, shaking harder with the force of his unleashed sobs. 

Nightmare’s one eye light remained unwaveringly staring into Dream’s over Swap’s shoulder. 

“We’ve been worried about you, Swap.” Said Nightmare. 

“I-“ 

“Don’t force yourself to speak.” 

Another hiccup left the crying skeleton. His guard was yet to lower, mind yelling that there was still an enemy around and why was his back turned to them, but despite the anguish he felt, he knew that Nightmare would take care of it. It was difficult to trust the sentiment in many ways, but he felt himself minutely relax in Nightmare’s hold regardless. 

Nightmare, on the other hand, was seething. His tentacles twitched behind him, reacting to the negativity that was pouring from Swap’s SOUL. Nightmare was soaking it up like a rotten sponge, and Dream flinched as he felt his brother’s enemy’s aura grow stronger in real time. Had his ward not made it clear enough that he didn’t need “saving” before? Perhaps Nightmare had been too hesitant in his claiming of Swap for his side in the Guardians' of Feelings little war, too unwilling to send Swap into the field just yet. Well, now was as good a time as any, he supposed, hesitantly resting a hand on Swap’s shoulder all while not breaking eye contact with the pathetic form of his “brother.” 

“I assume things need to be cleared up,” Nightmare’s icily calm voice stated rather than asked. “Your little.. teammate… came to me willingly. He is under my protection. He is mine.” 

Swap tensed slightly in Nightmare’s hold, soothed a moment later by a stroke of a dark-boned hand. His figure slumped with the motion, put to a light rest with a simple whispered command. 

“Y-You.. Night, don- don’t… don’t.. he woul.. wouldn’t.” The skeleton really wasn’t sure what he was begging for, but the words tumbled out past the pain. “Blue’s not li-like that. He couldn’t ev.. ever..” 

The oozing form of the self-proclaimed King of Negativity smiled down at him in a wicked way, all sharp and antagonizing. He leaned down closer to Dream, presence intimidating even as he cradled Swap to his chest like a baby-bones. 

“If you think he couldn’t… then you never really knew him at all, did you?” 

Dream didn’t have a response for that. 

Nightmare knew it, too. His smile dropped as he stared down at the gold-clad man. “You’re really pathetic,” He said, entirely unsympathetic. “Swap sought me out, on the brink of exhaustion and with no defense. He didn’t want to help me. He didn’t want to betray you.” 

He wanted to escape you. I don’t want to think you could be so oblivious, but.. it seems I gave you too much credit, ‘brother.’”

Pain wracked the Guardian, Nightmare’s boot coming down on his still-mending leg. The raw negativity in the disgusting tar which coated his form was searing on Dream’s bones. He screamed, hands clawing at the snow while he tried in vain to pull away. Nightmare slowly rolled his foot, taking satisfaction in the feel of bone crunching under it. Finally he grew bored of the screams, letting the pressure up and turning around without another word. A portal opened with a strike of a tentacle, and then Nightmare and his ward were gone.

Dream didn’t know how long he laid there, panting in the snow. Waiting for his leg to heal itself.

He couldn’t understand. Where had he gone wrong? Blue, so happy and kind and selfless and loving, strong though so, so fragile.. Dream couldn’t imagine his friend ever turning to evil. Nightmare’s voice rang painfully in his head. It wasn’t about being good or bad, for .. Swap. It was about…

Not being with Dream, not being with Ink. If they were on the other side, would Bl- Swap have left evil for good, too? Something told him, yes, he would. But- why? What had happened? Yes, it was dangerous, but it was dangerous for Nightmare’s troupe, too. Swap’s AU had been a casualty, but that wasn’t a fault to Dream nor Ink; if that were the case, it’d make more sense that he run from Error. 

No, this was personal. It had to be. But- What had he ever done? What had Ink done? Dream had done his best to keep Swap happy. How could he have felt so bad without the Guardian noticing?

… Oh. 

Dream pushed himself up to his feet, testing his freshly healed leg. There was shouting not too far in the distance, coming from the house Swap had been hiding out in. He paid no mind to the noise or negativity, tried to ignore the lurch of his SOUL and the urge to press out his aura and to help the arguing monsters’ feel better. 

Maybe Dream had messed up. 

Chapter Text

Consciousness returned to Swap slowly. 

Immediately alarm bells rang in his head. 

He never woke slowly; jumping up, ready to fight at any moment—that’s how Swap was meant to wake. If he was so.. sluggish, pushing himself up with more effort than he liked, Ink must be out, and so, Dream must be out too. 

It wasn’t often that Swap got the base to himself. What was the occasion, he wondered..? Certainly no skirmish with Nightmare. They’d have taken him with- 

-…them. To fight… Nightmare. 

Nightmare. 

Swap pulls the meticulously tucked blankets off of himself and hops off his bed. He knew instinctively that Horror was the monster to tuck him in, unable to keep down a fond smile as he noticed the multiple packaged snacks on his bedside table. 

He shakes away the bittersweet feelings rising up in his SOUL and swiftly pulls on his blue combat boots. His battle-body is missing yet his cape is found folded neatly on the desk near the door. Swap grabs it on the way out, tying it around his neck with a practiced ease.

Not too long ago, Swap had thought these looming halls to be unnavigable, yet now he wandered without thought, like he’d been traversing the manor all his life. 

So much had changed so fast. It was disorienting how comfortable he’d fallen with his new crew. 

Nightmare, who he really ought to have feared most of all, Swap trusted, in some weird way. How crazy was that? 

His ponderings falter as he nears a corner, the open archway leading into the main sitting room. Voices carry from inside, and Swap can’t help but pause, listening around the wall.

“…as if… yer serious?”

“yeah… hasn’t said…”

“always…”

“…really? never…  skittish…”

“well, it has been… since…”

… It isn’t easy to make sense of whatever discussion is going on with the lowered voices, Swap conseeds. 

He backs up a few paces quietly as he can and purposefully lets his steps make noise as he walks forward again. 

A hush falls over the room just before Swap rounds the corner and steps inside. He doesn’t let it bother him; he’s long grown used to his name being quietly uttered when he’s not looking. 

Killer is sitting sideways on the main sofa, leaning his back against one armrest with his legs across Horror’s lap. Nightmare is seated on the far side, looking entirely unhappy, with Cross in the middle of the sofa. Dust is… standing off to the side, as he does. And…

“RED!” Swap exclaims, unable to hold back his surprise nor a spike of elation that has Nightmare squinting.

He rushes over, almost falling to the ground embarrassingly as one of his knees suddenly gives out, but his old friend immediately grabs under his arms and keeps him upright. 

Before Swap can even try to speak, he finds himself subjected to an awfully awkward yet bone-crushing hug. He melts into the hold, squeezing his sockets shut. 

For some reason, his SOUL flutters uncomfortably, and he feels like crying. 

He misses—

Swap shoves the feelings down quickly and without any present thought, burying them deep, deep down. He forces thoughts of peaceful evenings with Papyrus and joyful runs with Alphys into the back of his mind and projects them out just barely. 

Pulling back from the hug he smiles brightly at his friend. Red coughs into a fist and rolls his shoulders. Swap shakes his head fondly, knowing how awkward Red was about ‘friendship,’ and especially hugging. He truly appreciated his weird, rugged variant.

Nightmare grumbles, pulling at Swap’s attention. The gooey void of a skeleton that was his Boss scowled harshly, fingers digging into his arms. Cross patted at his shoulder with a nervous expression for the change in demeanor.

“..Stop that.” Nightmare practically spat at Swap.

Swap, in turn, blinks dumbly. “Stop.. What?”

“That.” He repeats, as if it were clear. “The positivity.”

He… still did not understand. Confusion pulsed from his SOUL and Nightmare scoffed at it. 

“You’re projecting. Stop it.”

Swap tilts his head and thinks to himself. His spine straightens at the same moment he stops pushing out thoughts of his happy memories.

He… hadn’t even realized he was doing it. The self-disgust twists in his chest. Swap can see the exact moment Nightmare registers it.

To his surprise, the Guardian doesn’t speak on it. With a dark, critical look that promises a conversation Swap is sure he doesn’t want to have, Nightmare waves him off and glances at Horror. 

At the silent allowance Nightmare grants him Horror is standing in an instant, pushing Killer aside to grab Swap in an almost painful hug that has his boots leaving the floor. He can hardly move his arms, but tries to reciprocate by patting at Horor’s jacket. The Soldier in him keeps him from wincing as he’s finally set down.

“was so worried.. y’were.. gone.”

“Oh, Yeah.” Swap had almost forgotten about the abduction, with all the commotion in Underfell. “Error Grabbed Me While I Was Sleepin.”

Horror huffs harshly. 

“It-It’s Alright!” The shorter skeleton quickly backtracked, “He Just… Wanted To, Uh, Say Hello.” 

…The betrayal is still fresh. This time, when Swap buries the negativity that threatens to rise up, it is purposeful. He doesn’t miss the way Nightmare’s eye narrows.

“‘s not all right.” Horror sighs.

“yeah! not cool at all,” Killer agrees, “we almost thought ya got ‘napped by goldy. roro here was totally. freaking. out.”

Swap’s throat would surely be bone dry if he had one, now. A familiar nervousness surfaces, deep in his bones.

(Papyrus would have liked that one.)

Swap laughs boisterously. “Mweh-Heh-Heh… The Supreme Swap Was, Of Course, Much Too Strong For Dream To Conquer!”

Neither of the pair bat an eye.

The play of overconfidence didn’t land the way he intended. He switches tactics. 

“..Th- Nightmare Arrived Quickly!! He Fought The.. Majority. Of The Battle.”

“No I didn’t.” Says Nightmare, blandly.

Swap shoots him a dirty look. 

“What? You handled him just fine on your own. Don’t downplay your skills.”

(The image of Dream, scared and pathetic in the snow, flashes in his mind. 

The handle of his hammer was cold, chilling his phalanges through his gloves. The weight of it, poised above him, was easy to ignore. 

It would be so easy to swing down.

If Nightmare hadn’t shown up when he did… How far would Swap have gone?

The answer isn’t one Swap wants to hear.)

“But-“ What’s he even trying to deny? That he could hold his own against Dream? He could, can, has. “-It Was Fine! Hardly A Battle At All. More Of A.. Minor Scuffle. And I’m Back Now.” 

There. Now they’ll move on.

“we still worried.”

… Why aren’t they moving on.

Horror is grumbling, tone terse with a gentle sort of irritation that could only come from the fondness he holds for Swap—for the whole gang. Swap’s stopped hearing him. 

Why do they care, anyway? 

… Why do they care??? 

“I’m Hardly Shaken By This,” Swap affirms flatly when questioned. To whom he says it, he doesn’t know. He’s hardly the mind to confirm it even left his head, that he spoke at all.

Nightmare’s dull murmurs swim around in his skull with Horror’s. 

When did Swap begin making excuses like this? When did he start brushing off these skeletons’ worry? When did they start to worry???? 

“No, No,” Swap murmurs in answer. Again, he isn’t quite sure who he answers, or what the question was. 

Killer pokes him in the shoulder near-painfully a few times as he rants, and then continues pacing. Swap can’t hear him over the roaring ocean of confusion he’s found himself suddenly stranded in. 

They care.. in a way they shouldn’t. 

Or… In a way that they should. Which would mean that his old friends were the ones who.. 

If Swap was taken hostage by Nightmare, back before… 

The Stars—They’d search for him. He knows they would. They’d fight for him. Dream would fret.

When Swap inevitably returned, they’d worry and coddle him for a bit. Maybe he’d get a day to rest, to relax. 

But then, with no injury, nothing wrong, he’d get back to work. 

Swap can’t wrap his mind around all this, all of a sudden. Because- 

Because Dream and Ink know Swap is strong, but they also think of him as delicate in all the worst ways. 

Mortal, but only worth note when he was too weak, too slow, too tired. 

They’d stress because Swap is mortal and too fragile; they’d push him past his limits because Swap is strong, can take it. 

But… 

But Horror, Killer, Cross, even Dust- 

They’re all mortal too. 

Weak in the same ways Swap is. 

Strong in the same ways Swap is. 

They know that he isn’t going to crumble down to dust over something as insignificant as fighting Dream, or being strung away by Error for an hour. 

A gloved hand waves near his face. He doesn’t acknowledge it.

They know he can take more. 

None of them worry because ‘he’s weak’, but they still worry! Care, fret, smother—

Why.. 

Why hadn’t Dream cared, like this? Why not Ink?

These monsters want him to- to sleep well, to eat proper meals. They want to include him in their dinnertime banter, and to help with little pranks. They want him in good health, happy, connected.

They make him tea and hug him when he cries.

They sit silently, a supportive presence, while he struggles to fall asleep. 

They crack lame jokes to ease the tension in his shoulders. 

Why? 

Finally, something breaks past the fog clouding him. Swap’s eyelights stutter as they refocus, glancing to his left. 

A battered hood, connected to an old blue jacket. Red fabric peeks out from beneath.

Why? The thought bounces around, hushing the rest of his inner turmoil. It was so loud, but the silence replacing it is thick and just as clouding.

A hand rests on his left shoulder. It’s firm, almost unnaturally still. 

Swap is led out of the room. 

He doesn’t understand. 

WHY? Why is he being treated like this? What’s different here? 

Why is this the thing to make him pause? 

Swap’s spiraling. He knows it, can feel it. And he can only watch as it happens, unwilling to reach down into the angry waters to drag himself out. 

Cross said things were different here, with Nightmare. Different, but in a good way.

“You’re not a tool, Swap.” Cross had told him. “—It's true here.” 

Is it? 

Nothing is making any sense anymore. Swap can’t decipher what he’s stressed out over. His thoughts are circling, tangling worse and worse with each passing minute, and he’s not getting anywhere. Not making sense, not at all. 

He presses his palms into his eye sockets, fingertips pressing into his skull. What’s the matter with him?!

Why is this what makes him freak out?!

Firm fingers pry his hands away from his face. Swap stares down at his lap, where his hands are pulled down and held.

.

..

…

Someone is. Holding Swap’s hands, held over his lap. 

His lap… because he’s sitting.

When the hell did Swap sit down???

His brows furrow at the sight, and he reflexively tightens his grip. The other hands squeeze back. 

Dark wood flooring. Not much light. Quiet. Calm. 

Swap’s fully, properly refocused, now. Someone clearly dragged him out of the main room when he got too absorbed by his thoughts, and he’s too scared to raise his eyes to see who. 

They stay trained on his hands, their hands. The both of them. 

Because he’s still holding Swap’s hands.

“y’know,” He starts up, words evenly spoken in a quiet, flippant manner, “i dissociate a lot. get stuck in my head, or the past.”

Swap does know this, but he refuses to say a word. 

“nun’a those idiots are any help when i have my moments. cross tries, but he’s way too anxious. horror’s.. horror. and that shitface… he’s basically fuckin emotionless, but you wouldn’t know it with how stupid he acts. no help at all.” 

“..He Is Pretty Stupid,” Swap sighs out.

“mh.” 

Swap’s hands are released, left in his lap. 

“I’m Sorry, Dust.” 

The other merely hums. “i get it. but never fuckin bring this up or i’ll break both your legs.”

“…Right. Sure Thing.” He agrees carefully, face pinched. 

“the stupid squad won’t know they’re overwhelmin’ you unless you tell them to back the hell off.” Dust easily gives the advice, uncaring as ever to the put-off expression Swap wears. 

“Thank You, Dust.” 

It's a thanks for more than the oddly worded advice. 

“… yeah. whatever.” 

He thinks that Dust knows what he really means.

*

When Swap lays back down on his bed, it's with an active mind. 

He’s got a lot to think about. 

Chapter Text

A mile a minute races the thoughts of one tired skeleton, his body weary and his eye-sockets aching. 

It is with leaden bones that he drags himself out of bed in the morning. 

Swap finds himself sticking much closer to Dust than ever before, that day; and the following day, and then the day after that, too. Nobody messes with Dust, and if he keeps within four feet of the other Monster, nobody will mess with Swap, either.

He knows they are only worried about him. But… he doesn’t want to deal with all the fretting and hovering. 

Dust seems to understand—or, at the very least, he doesn’t comment on Swap’s sudden clinginess. 

The hooded Monster doesn’t comment on much at all, actually; Swap already knew Dust was quiet—you’d have to be blind not to—but now it was especially clear. 

So, in sitting quietly within Dust’s space in the days following his encounter with Dream, Swap was left with an abundance of silence. 

Naturally, Swap let his thoughts run wild to fill it. 

Dream’s face when Swap summoned his hammer. The distress. The pain. The small hairline-fracture above his eye-socket. 

“Fuck.” Swap groans, rubbing his temples as familiar agitation fills him. 

Dust looks over curiously. “what?”

“Sorry. Thinking.” 

“‘bout dream again?”

Swap shrugs, turning away. His jaw clenches. 

There’s a rustle of movement. Dust enters Swap’s field of vision, standing now. He looked bored, but Swap knows better. 

“you want to get it off your chest?” he asks—offers, more like. 

Swap wants to do anything but. He deserves to have it weigh on him, after all. He— Stars, he’d nearly—

“I Would Have Killed Him,” whispers Swap. He’s shocked when he hears himself say it; saying it aloud makes it real. 

To his part, Dust doesn’t outwardly react to his admission. “who, dream?” 

He nods after a beat.

“If Nightmare Hadn’t.. Come When He Did, I..” 

“and… this is what’s bothering you?” It’s spoken with a hint of judgement.

Swap raises his head to stare incredulously at his teammate. “Yes, It’s Bothering Me! I Wanted to KILL My Friend. I Almost Did. How Fucked Up Is That?”

Dust stares at him, flatly. “pretty fucked up,” he agrees. 

“I’m Awful,” he breathes, upset.

“man, get over yourself.” 

Swap startles. “..What-?”

“we’re all fucked up, you knew it long before you decided to join this shitty group. you wanting to kill one bitchy twink is hardly anything to whine about.” Dust sneers, “so shut up.”

Swap stares, and continues to stare as Dust walks out of the room without another word. 

*

“this isn’t gonna be a thing again, right?” Killer dryly asks, stepping into the gym.

Swap halts his fists, turning to look over his shoulder. “Killer! Want To Train With Me?”

“uhh..” he chuckles lightly, glancing behind Swap and to the damaged punching bags already dragged to the side. 

“Don’t Look So Nervous!” Laughs Swap. He crosses the gym, stopping a foot away from the other Monster. “I’ll Go Easy On You, ‘Emo.’”

He’s met with a flat look. “you’re hangin’ around dust too much.” 

“He’s Not So Bad.” 

“right,” Killer agrees, sarcastic, “mr. broody ‘isn’t so bad.’” 

“Will You Spar With Me Or Not?” 

He takes a minute to debate it, and reluctantly agrees. 

They take their places at opposite sides of the large training mat that covers half the gym’s floor. Swap charges forward, and Killer meets him halfway.

“so,” Killer starts, dodging beneath a Blue bone attack. “you done—huff—hiding behind dust all day?”

Swap’s fist connects with solid bone, and Killer goes flying. “I’d Hardly Say I Was Hiding,” he tuts, absently tapping at his chin as he summons a wave of jagged bones behind him. “Anyway, I Wouldn’t Have Been ‘Hiding’ If Horror Would Stop Acting Like I’m Going To Perish At Any Given Moment!”

With a yelp, Killer throws himself out to the side, narrowly avoiding the line of bones shooting his way. 

“he’s just—“ 

His body jerks, Swap landing a fierce jab to his ribs. He grits his teeth and spins around, aiming to lob Swap in the head with the blunt-end of a dagger. Swap staggers, effectively dazed, giving Killer a clear opening. The floor-mat squeaks as under Swap’s back when he’s rudely tackled down. 

“—concerned,” Killer finishes. He holds a blade to Swap’s neck. “yknow he means well.” 

Frustration overwhelms Swap, almost suffocatingly potent. “Be That As It May, I’m Not A Child To Be Fretted Over!” he spits, and as he speaks he surges upwards, catching his assailant by suprise. 

Pain shoots down his spine, but he vehemently ignores it, anger boiling high. His arms push out with all his strength, and Killer is forced onto his side, one of Swap’s arms around his neck, the other twisting his knife-holding hand at a painful angle. 

“fuck, blue! stop!” Killer barks out, struggling. 

“NO!” 

“swap.” 

The tone-shift makes something in his SOUL shiver, and after a beat, he releases Killer, shuffling back on his knees. 

Killer’s pushing himself up the second he’s free of the hold. He reaches for swap, hands landing on his shoulders. 

“the hell is wrong with you?!”

Swap opens his mouth, but Killer is quick to his feet, hoisting the solider up with him. Before he knows what’s happening, the world shifts and warps and then he’s being pushed down onto a lavish chair. 

Killer turns away, yelling out into the room. “boss!” 

“Wait-“ Swap straightens in alarm. Rows and rows of bookshelves, fancy chair, dim lighting; this is Nightmare’s library. 

Nightmare doesn’t take more than ten seconds to appear. His single, cyan eyelight finds Killer, and he sighs loudly. Then, he looks at Swap, and his expression pinches. 

“What did you do?” 

Scoffing, Killer crosses his arms. “he’s insane. knife to the throat, the match was obviously over. not my fault.” 

“Just.. Get out. Please.” 

Swap feels very, very confused. As his teammate shortcuts out of the library, he looks to Nightmare flatly. 

“You weren’t attempting to hurt yourself, I hope?” he asks calmly, moving to stand beside the velvety-cushioned chair. 

Swap balks at him. “…WHAT? NO! WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON!!!” 

His boss hums. “I didn’t think so, but figured I’d ask.” Dark hands confidently reach for Swap’s neck. One cups the bottom of his chin, tilting his head slightly, and the other hovers above his cervical vertebrae. Warmth spreads from Nightmare’s fingers to Swap’s throat, making his mind go cloudy. He just barely notes the green glow of his boss’ healing magic. 

A moment later the hands recede. Swap blinks, taking a second to refocus himself. “What Was That For?”

“Your neck? It was bleeding.” 

“It-?” He touches his neck-bones, thinking back. Surging up despite Killer’s knife hovering just below his chin; ignoring the sting of pain; Killer acting weird. “-Oohhhhh. That. Yeah. Apologies, Nightmare, I Got Caught Up In The Fight.”

“Do not let it happen again. I expect these lapses in good-judgment from Killer, or Dust, but not from you.”

Swap murmurs his agreement, bowing his head shamefully. The dizzying whirlwind of his emotions spins around and around still. He’s not sure why he’s so out-of-order these days; he chalks it up to the stressors that are Dream and Ink and Error. 

Nightmare watches his ward curiously, eye-light flickering. 

“Since you’re here—I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

…Well, that’s not at all terrifying.

“Y’know, I Did Agree To Help Horror In The Kitchen Today, I’d Better-“ 

“Sit down.”

He drops back into the chair, huffing. 

“You’ve been with us for a good amount of time, now.” 

The soldier nods along nervously.

“I think,” Nightmare says carefully, “it’s about time I send you out on a proper mission.”

Swap freezes. He waits one.. two.. three seconds, for Nightmare to add anything more to the statement. Then, when he doesn’t, Swap jumps up from his seat, hands clasping together with glee. 

“OH MY STARS!!” He gasps out. His SOUL stutters with excitement, making Nightmare wince. Swap takes a moment to reel his joy in, but it only folds down so much. 

“Horror and Cross are going out tomorrow for a simple supply run. You will accompany them.”

For a first real mission, it’s entirely reasonable—though Swap has done his fair share of fighting, planning, and searching already. Dream’s had him do much, much harder.

Surely Nightmare knows that he’s capable of doing more than a supply run. 

“Aren’t There More Important Things That Need To Be Done? I Can Handle Something—Something More!”

Nightmare studies Swap silently. The lack of response brings forth a bout of frustration, surprising the Guardian of Negativity with its abrubtness. 

“I’m Not WEAK!” Swap barks out, scowling. “You Should-“

“Calm down.” The other skeleton interrupts.

“No, It Isn’t Fair! I’m Strong Enough To Handle-“

“Swap,” Nightmare interrupts him again, “calm yourself. That’s an order.” 

He stares, stunned by- by the audacity!

…But if there is one thing Swap is, it’s a soldier, and even pissed as he is, he won’t disobey a command from his boss. He looks at the ground to avoid Nightmare’s eye, and forces in a deep breath he doesn’t really need, then lets it go. Swap repeats this action three times more, rolls his shoulders, and looks back at Nightmare. 

“…Odd,” the black-boned skeleton hums. 

“What?” 

“You’re still aggravated.” 

Swap holds in the vile reply that tries to snake its way out in face of his boss’ annoying, ignorant—

“I’M FINE!” He snaps. His teeth grind together. 

It’s evident that Nightmare doesn’t believe that in the slightest, but he doesn’t push it. He restates Swap’s objective, firm and unswayed by the attempts to argue. 

A nod is all Swap can manage.

After being dismissed he wastes no time fleeing the library. Blue boots stomp the whole way down the hall, echoing an audible expression of his discontent. 

When he reaches his room, the door slams behind him, a loud bang echoing for a short moment. His glare cuts across the room as he crosses it, stopping at his bed. 

Nightmare, Nightmare, Nightmare-!

He scoffs loudly. If he had eyes to roll, they’d be spinning. Hands tear at his blankets, ripping them off the mattress and to the floor. The pillows are next, pelted across the room with as much strength as Swap dares to muster. 

Dream, for all he did to Swap, understood he was strong. That’s why he sent Swap out so much—he knew that the mortal could handle it! So why does Nightmare not utilize Swap the same? 

His fingers claw at his skull as Swap lowers down to a crouch with a heavy sigh. He peeks out from behind his hands to survey the mess of his bedroom, shame replacing his rage. 

It’s embarrassing, throwing a fit like that. What’s wrong with him? Swap’s not supposed to be so angry, or destructive. He’s always had a tight lid on his emotions, so why are they splashing about so— so hazardously, now? 

Swap gathers himself up and begins to clean his space. He straightens out his sheets and then shakes out his blankets, laying them back onto his bed. Then, he moves to retrieve the pillows he tossed, setting them back into their proper places. 

Once everything is tidied up, Swap lays back on his bed wearily.

He isn’t Dream’s or Ink’s ‘partner’ anymore; he’s Nightmare’s… minion??? 

Well. He’s a.. volunteer, of Nightmare, or a glorified employee. So, he’s got to keep a right-mind. As much as he hates the idea of another immortal Monster screwing around with his emotions and his SOUL, maybe… it’s necessary?

(Gods, banish the very thought! As if Swap would ever allow that to occur, no matter the ‘need.’) 

With resignation weighing him down, the skeleton trudges back through the halls, back to Nightmare’s library. 

He’s got to apologize for his abrupt anger, firstly. After that… 

It’s time for Swap to ‘Talk’ to someone. (Disgusting! Awful! Shameful!!!!!)

Chapter Text

After trashing, angry-cleaning, trashing a second time, and then angry-deep-cleaning and finally rearranging his bedroom, Swap’s anger subsided. 

Killer laughed at him for it as he explained himself over dinner. Swap lunged across the table, and had to be pried off of him by Nightmare. 

The reason for his outbursts?—A talk with the Guardian of Negativity himself. 

An emotional, disturbing talk, in which Swap subjected himself to ridicule, annoyance, and feelings which he much preferred to keep buried far, far away. 

It was awful, but unfortunately necessary to ensure his health and reliability for the team. He listed his concerns, and ‘vented,’ whatever the Hell that was supposed to do. 

Nightmare poked around his head with that creepy empath-magic of his to see what the problem was. Turns out, Dream did a lot more SOUL-related tomfoolery than Swap knew. Or, at least, it impacted him more than he’d realized. 

To rephrase the Guardian, Swap was so used to Dream regulating his feelings, that, now, he is unable to regulate them himself. 

Hence his ‘loud tantrum.’ (Seriously, Fuck You Killer.) 

And then Nightmare had the gall to ask Swap if he’d had any ‘anger issues’ before joining the Stars. 

..Admittedly, yes, Swap recalled such a time—back when his name was simply Sans, and his lazy-bones baby brother would make jokes about ‘Sans’ lil’ anger problem’ that paired with ‘his lil’ height problem.’ 

But he was still mad Nightmare would accuse him of such a pitiful trait!

—Again, the reaction unfortunately proved Nightmare’s query, as the Guardian simply raised a brow at Swap when he finally paused his angry ranting. 

So. The mood-swings, annoyance, and general unhappiness could all be chalked up to Swap’s now-inability to regulate his emotions like the adult he is. Nightmare suggested he inform the rest of the gang, so that everyone is aware they shouldn’t take Swap’s pissiness too serious for the time being. At least, not until he Gets A Fucking Grip. 

“Swap, you good?” Cross yells back, pausing in his tracks from up ahead on the path.

At least he can get some of that excess energy out today. 

“YEP!” He calls back, hurrying to catch up to Cross and Horror. When he’s close enough, he continues, “I Was Just Thinking, Apologies. It’s Not Quite The Same, But Seeing Snowdin Is Still…” 

“‘s okay, swap,” Horror says before he can continue. The larger Monster places a bony hand on Swap’s shoulder, squeezing lightly in a small gesture of understanding.

He nods. The trio continues forward. 

So far, Swap’s Very First Official Outing has been nothing but smooth. Nightmare brought him, Cross, and Horror to some quaint version of Mafiafell first, to Swap’s surprise—what supplies could be found in this…

… well, dump is really the only word he can think of to describe it. 

Apparently their Boss had some sort of deal in place with the Sans of this AU. Despite Swap’s attempts to keep his judgement quiet, Nightmare still shot him annoyed glances whenever his emotions flared up in disgust or the like. 

Come on, though! How can he not have such reactions when this place is so shitty? 

“—IS THAT A FUCKING CORPSE?” Swap exclaims in horrified shock as they pass by a small, gross alley. Cross shushes him immediately, but he doesn’t care. There is a Toriel-Damned body on the ground, beaten and bloody and- it’s THERE! 

ON THE GROUND! 

SOLID!

Monsters are supposed to dust, not- not do this!!!

Horror slams a hand down over Swap’s mouth before he can start shouting again. 

Just as Swap pushes the hand away, gesturing wildly at the body, the Rabbit Monster’s form shudders and then finally gives out on them. Their dust leaves a small pile on the grimy ground. 

Swap stares at it with the utmost shock, disgust, and horror possible. They’d looked that awful, and were still ALIVE?!

“You get used to it,” Cross murmurs in a low voice to him, 

“….Right, Y- Yeah,” Swap stutters out, feeling choked. His eyes don’t leave the dust until Horror nudges him onward. “Ha, I Know I’m— Well, I-I’m Evil Now, But I-“ 

“‘Evil?’”

He scoffs at Cross, “You Know What I Mean! I’ve Joined A Band Of Murderous… Eh.. Sociopaths, Really. But It’s Not Like I’ve Ever- Ever… KILLED Someone!”

Swap carries on his ranting, judgements pouring from his mouth. 

He doesn’t notice the glance Horror and Cross share as he takes the lead. 

“We don’t really… kill people, though.”

“Scoff!”

“he’s not messin’. boss doesn’t like it so much.. can’t get negativity from a corpse, see?” Horror chimes in, awkward. 

Swap gives a skeptical look back over his shoulder, but it turns contemplative as he refocuses forward. 

*

Nightmare finishes up his dealings with the Mafiafell Sans within an hour, whatever dealings they may be. He takes three steps out into the snow from the Sans’ house front before an inkling of alarm takes his attention. 

Just as he starts on towards the loud whirlwind of mad-agitation-ANGER, a satisfied smile coming to form on his face, there’s a spark of surprise-dread and the tell-tale sound of a bullet leaving its chamber.

Nightmare sighs, hurrying his pace. He rounds a corner and then comes to a stop. There’s more dust than he was expecting, with that he wasn’t expecting any at all.

“Boss, I tried to stop him—“ Cross starts immediately, hands up as he sees Nightmare’s flat expression. 

Swap snaps at his friend, “HE WAS TRYING TO ATTACK US!” 

“That doesn’t mean you—you weren’t supposed to kill him, Swap!” 

“Uh, We Work For THE GOD OF NEGATIVITY!”

Cross and Swap continue to yell, and Nightmare lets his eye follow the metallic glint of the gun Swap begins waving around in Cross’ face pissily.

“Horror,” Nightmare calls the tallest, who’d been watching the conflict silently, 

“Was he well?” He asks, carefully. 

Horror nods. “jumped right up inna’ action.”  

“Thought so,” The Guardian hums quietly. Swap wasn’t supposed to dust the assailant, but, then again, the arranged assailant wasn’t supposed to have a gun. It’s a surprise, really, that his freshest ward disarmed and even finished off an attacker so quickly. 

It’s the perfect show of dedication—of his moral-compass chipping at last, irreversibly so. 

…Though, Nightmare will, of course, need to have a chat with the AU’s Sans for the stunt he tried pulling. The arrangement they made did not include any weapons. 

“Silence,” he growls, at last putting an end to Cross and Swap’s argument. Nightmare rolls his shoulders, subtly wincing at the blossoming soreness in his spine. “I have to have a ‘final’ word with this world’s Sans. You three can manage gathering some food from Farmtale without me having to babysit, I hope.” 

“Of Course, Sir!” Swap barks immediately, posture straightening like a rod. 

Cross nods, simply, the barest hint of purple on his cheekbones the only indication of shame for his bickering—to Horror and Swap, that is. Nightmare can practically taste it, and he waves a hand at Cross to dismiss any concern over it. 

“Farm?” Horror speaks hesitantly, eyelight large in his socket. 

“Yes,” Nightmare agrees, “You can have a little chat with the Farmer.” 

His sharp smile grows wider, red light wavering with his excitement. Nightmare opens his mouth—

“—CAN I KEEP THIS?” Swap shouts suddenly, just as Nightmare’s about to send the three off. The Guardian’s displeasure is made clear as he gloweres, though Swap doesn’t appear to care, attention instead taken-up by the firearm still in his hold. “I Grabbed It Off That, Uh.. The.. Monster.” 

Guilt trickles and seeps from Swap’s SOUL, with a hint of self-loathing and an aftertaste that somehow contains both glee and disgust. Nightmare shrugs, then glances down at the ground; the dust has all been swept away with the breeze, or otherwise is good as untraceable, mixed in with all the surrounding snow; a dark holster lays where the Monster must have Fallen, half-sticking out of the snow now. 

“..Why not. Don’t shoot anyone, I don’t want to waste my time healing Killer.” The tar-dripping skeleton waves a hand, gesturing at the weapon’s holster in the snow. Swap alights with excitement, quickly moving to grab it. 

As Nightmare finally sends the three through a portal to Farmtale, in the silence of his short-standing reprieve, his grin morphs into what could have been a proper smile on anyone else’s face. 

*

Horror vanishes the second the three skeletons step out of Nightmare’s portal, feet just touching the grassy ground when he’s speeding off in a hurried pace. 

Before Swap can say a word, Cross is shaking his head exasperatedly. “Horror always gets really excited to see Farm—that’s, ah, Farmtale’s Sans.”

He nods. Swap figures he’d be really excited to see Red, too, after such lengthy times. The familiar face (pun intended) surely would be nice; seeing a friend rather uninvolved in the Multiversal conflicts Swap’s been dragged down and tied to. 

Cross shows Swap the way to a nice little barnhouse, and instructs him on what all to grab. The pair make short work of gathering what fruits and vegetables Horror will want, placing everything into tough, tan sacks they found hung on racks in a corner. Swap grabs a bundle of carrots, and hesitates a little too long in putting them into the sack—

(“carrot,” Ink had called Papyrus once, way back when. “it matches with ‘blueberry,’ y’see?”

Swap had told Ink to stop calling him that, for what must have been the hundredth time. “Oh, Ink, It’s Just ‘Blue!’” 

The joke was… heartwarming, though.)

—Cross chuffs in the way only a skeleton-Monster does; in-place of clearing one’s throat. Swap looks over, sees his friend staring at him with the flattest expression possible. Cross raises a hand, and as Swap’s mind registers the single blueberry held pinched between Cross’ thumb and index finger, he promptly bursts out laughing and his troubles are forgotten. 

When they finish up, Swap and Cross make their way towards the small home Horror ran off to, bags carried in-tow. They take to loitering a few feet away from the porch, allowing Horror his own time for leisure.

In the meanwhile Swap studies his new, nifty weapon. It's a shiny matte-black that could be described as non-descript, though he thinks it’s rather nice—sleek, maybe, would be a fair word-choice. The holster-belt is something else altogether; old, dark-stained pleather that feels cheap beneath his gloved fingers. Still, the attached storage is quite exciting.

He holsters the firearm a little clumsily, securing it with a sewn-on little hoop attached to the belt. “When Horror Gets Back, Let’s Go Ahead And Leave.”

“Mh,” hums Cross, and Swap can tell by now that it’s his friend’s way of giving a lazy agreement.

Vworp. The faint sound of magic.

“Sorry, are you—?” A voice begins to ask from behind. 

Swap spins around, gun unholstered and pointed straight out. A cut-off shriek answers in turn. 

Another skeleton—another Sans, stands with his hands up in surrender. The guy looks exhausted, big bags under his sockets and a scared smile on his skull. He’s got on a weird blue hat, and a matching uniform. Nothing like a Royal Guardsman’s uniform, he can’t help thinking.

“Who Are You?” Barks Swap threateningly, pushing the barrel of the stolen gun harder against his alternate’s forehead. 

“i’- i’m j-just the messenger, bro. just the mail guy.”

“Aahhh, Post.” Cross snaps his fingers, nodding. To Swap, he says, “I know him. He’s some weird, ah.. sans-versial mail service. Came by the Castle once to deliver Killer a letter.” 

The gun lowers, but Swap remains wary. “Okay.. Apologies, Then.”

‘Post’, apparently, sighs in relief, straightening himself out. “its cool. cool cool cool. uh, i got a letter for a ‘swap?’”

“… That’d Be Me.”

The mailbringer reaches into his satchel and procures a wrinkled, bunched up ball of paper, which he extends out to Swap. 

“Well, You Mustn’t Be A Very Good Mail-Man,” he huffs, taking it. 

Post looks away. “he gave it to me like that..” 

Swap shrugs, not really caring. He begins to unfold the paper. 

“…Ah.”  Swap finally manages, staring down at the page. It’s.. thoughtful, coming from Error. 

Maybe. 

Almost suspicious, really, considering Error is apologizing (APOLOGIZING!!!) to a ‘glitch’ like himself.

Cross grabs his arm, trying to look over his shoulder. “What? Who’s it—damn, that handwriting..”

The Soldier shrugs Cross away, folding the paper up much more neatly than it was delivered. It’s tucked into his bandana. “It’s… Kind, Of Him, To Write Me An Apology.”

“Seems half-assed.”

He glances sideways at Cross. “It’s Kind,” Swap repeats. “Error Isn’t … Normal. Coming From Him, This Letter—It Means He Went Out Of His Way To Write This, And To Find, Er.. Post, Here, To Deliver It To Me, Instead Of Simply Dragging Me Off To The Anti-Void To Say He’s ‘Sorry.’”

The monochrome Monster simply stares at him, blankly. “…You’re too nice, Swap.” 

“I Know,” he sighs. “But… Error’s My Friend.” 

Swap feels something dull in his chest, something like surprise, muted but present, at the truth in his words. He shouldn’t by any means think of Error as a proper friend, but he does. His insane, cruel, destructive friend… who, despite his nature, writes letters saying he apologizes rather than just a simple sorry, and who would draw a stupid little doodle of them together on the same page. 

He sighs again, louder. “…I’m Far Too Nice.”

“cool. i’m gonna head out now, so..”

“Can I Send Something Back?”

“……yyyep. ‘course,” Post grits out, looking annoyed yet resigned. 

Post hands over a blank piece of paper from his bag, and a blue pen, chuckling under his breath at the look Swap gives him for it. 

He writes a quick note, thanking Error for apologizing, and as a last thought he doodles a little something as well before handing it to Post. 

Horror comes out from the house just a few minutes after Post’s gone. He lifts the food-filled sacks with ease, and it’s not too long at all before their Boss decides to come get them. 

“So, Can We Get A Shooting Range? Please, Please, Please—“

Chapter Text

“keep it in your pants, swap!” Killer jeers at his starry-eyed companion, chuckling at the other Monster’s visible delight.

Said Monster doesn’t lash out at the inappropriate remark like Killer wanted him to. He scoffs, posture lax and annoyed as he stuffs his hands back into his pockets. For the alleged ‘anger issues’ Nightmare had warned them all to be cautious of going forward, Swap wasn’t acting very uncharacteristically irritable. Killer had been trying to get a rise out of Swap for days now, but it was, so far, without much reward. A few little rages here and there, sure, but Killer could hardly stand to even call them ‘rages.’ He’d had to resort back to bothering Cross for his daily entertainment! Practically medieval, honestly. 

Killer watches Swap sauntering onward, happily exclaiming and pointing at this and that. Candytale’s version of Waterfall is a sight to behold, he can admit, and while Killer doesn’t actually care about Swap’s excitement towards the very edible-looking scenery, Nightmare clearly does.

“Swap,” he grumbles the skeleton’s name—just his name, a quiet little warning. 

Swap looks back over his shoulder, smiling sheepishly as he speaks a short apology. Killer knows Swap’s likely just ‘reeled-in his emotions,’ as he’s heard the others describe doing on occasion for Nightmare’s sake. 

(The mental image the phrase conjures up is that of folding clothes, placing them into a small bag for one’s convenience. 

He imagines what that would be like for himself. He imagines piles of clothes, and struggling to squeeze them all into an ill-fitting bag. More likely, he’d have no clothes to pack up, and no bag to carry them in, either.)

Nightmare stalks more than walks after their newest addition to the team, shoulders set and his near-permanent scowl taking up its normal residence on his skull. Killer tries to imagine the Boss’ discomfort—be it physical, or more of a nagging, mental thing—when faced with the Positivity he has no doubt Swap radiates. He comes up with a blank, to no surprise. Killer’s empathy reaches only as far as his knives can cut.

A growing gloom has been steadily planting itself in Swap’s head, day by day—Killer’s been watching it happen. The little falters of his grin during mealtimes, when he’d look down at his plate and lose himself in thought a beat too long. The tired, narrowed look on his face when he zones out sometimes, resigned with a silent, simmering anger that Killer so desperately wants to see take hold of him. The sorrow he bites down on, unwilling to feel; though sorrow for what, exactly, Killer’s never quite certain…

The Castle is bearing down on him, slowly but surely. Nightmare’s aura, specifically—or, maybe, it’s not so much Nightmare’s increasing influence, but Dream’s influence fading. 

Maybe it’s both, equally. 

The milk-filled rivers flow downstream, tranquil in contrast to the glowering King of Negativity who skulks through the dimly-lit, wet caverns of Candytale’s Waterfall, Killer and Cross trailing not far behind. Swap stays in the lead by a good three feet, and Horror’s at least one room ahead of the group, ‘scouting.’

(They all know he’s just eating chunks of the walls.)

There’s a sharp cry from up ahead, after the group’s spent another couple minutes rather aimlessly wandering.

Horror’s gotten hold of a small Monster, they find when they rush into the next room at the noise. They’ve got pink frosting for ‘hair’, and Killer wants to laugh at the sight. 

The mission plays out as they normally do, once the group’s finally gotten to a populated area. 

No killing, Nightmare reminds Swap, and Killer watches the guilt wash over him as he breaks the arm of a helpless Monster amidst the gang’s created chaos. 

Still, Swap acts. His attacks are swift and efficient, expression firm now with grim resignation. He strikes and breaks with strategy, maximizing pain while minimizing the actual damage. 

Despite all his earlier excitement with his new-found weapon, Swap keeps his gun holstered the entire time, fighting instead with summoned bones or his gloved fists. 

Killer has no such careful-grace. He dances around, room after room, knives swinging as he laughs. Shyren, a Monster Killer can finally recognize in this candy-crafted Hell, makes for some sweet target practice when he catches up to her. 

“if i were just a lick less sane, i might be tempted to try a bite!” Killer calls over to Cross, a blue tongue sticking out from between his teeth. 

“That was really, really bad,” Cross yells back, shaking his head as if disappointed. 

“bad like your mom in my bed last night!”

“..I don’t have a mom. You know-” 

“yeah, not after last night, you don’t!”

“None of us have moms!!!”

Killer’s about to continue pissing off Cross, but he’s interrupted (rudely!) by Nightmare shouting, a barked “Swap!” making both Cross and Killer pause. The Aaron he’s got on the ground at his feet gives a sharp cry when he yanks his knife from their shoulder, and Killer plants a stomp down onto their tail for good measure before he runs off back to the last room. 

Nightmare’s back is to Killer, quickly joined by Cross, and his inky-black extra appendages are on a full display, stretching out menacingly from his back. 

Predictably, the Stars have shown up to defend this random, insignificant AU. Horror is already in a scuffle across the room with Ink, and Cross pushes past Killer to assist. 

Dream is fighting off Swap, Killer sees—and then Killer’s at Nightmare’s side, and he has to take a second to process the scene.

Dream isn’t even fighting Swap properly, and Killer thinks he’s holding back from harming his confused friend until he gets closer, and processes the full scene. There’s another Monster on the ground behind the golden Guardian, and at first glance, Killer thinks it’s Error. They’ve got the same black, staticy bones as the maniac, that similar ‘Error’ text glitched around them. Though, in difference, this new skeleton’s got a red scarf—or bandana, perhaps—around their neck, and blue pants not too different from Swap’s own. 

“Blue!” Dream shouts, struggling against Swap’s rather ruthless strikes. “Blue, please, let me-!”

Splitting a crack through the ground, a bone shoots up, cutting through the front of Dream’s tunic-shirt and knocking him hard in the jaw. It keeps the Guardian stuck there in that spot, trying to pull himself free.

“YOU… RECRUITED… HIM!” Swap’s voice carries, louder than Killer’s ever heard him be, even back when they were enemies. Dream winces, teeth clenching down on a sound of pain. Whatever Swap’s feeling, Killer thinks, it’s strong enough that the Guardian reacts as though he’s been struck by a physical attack.

Nightmare moves forward a step, but then Horror’s grunting loud on the other side of the room, down on the ground, and Ink’s moving towards Nightmare. He mutters a curse under his breath, turning instead to assist Horror.

“Killer!” Night barks, and he can tell that the Boss is pissed. Killer shortcuts over to Swap without further instruction, and from the edge of his sight he sees Cross return to Nightmare’s side as Ink takes an offensive position. 

Dream ends up slicing his own shirt down through the front with one of his machetes to get away that bone Swap summoned. It hangs open, exposing his ribcage and some of his spine and well, shit, Killer’d probably be making some lewd jokes right now if Swap wasn’t whipping out his fancy new gun to shoot the bastard between the eyes. 

If Killer had been expecting hesitation, he’d have found himself surprised, because Swap’s trigger finger does not waver. Within the same second he’s aimed the pistol a sharp crack echoes throughout the room—everything seems to freeze, even Nightmare and Ink’s clashing movements some feet away. There’s only silence, and Dream’s stuttered breathing.

Dream’s eyes are wide, his pinpricked eyelights so small they’re hardly even present, stuck on Swap—stuck on the barrel of the gun inches from his skull. 

“Sw— Swap,” Dream chokes out breathlessly, after a moment that feels like a century. Killer thinks this might be the first time he’s heard the Guardian not call him ‘Blue.’

Swap has this dark, pained look on his face. Something regretful—no, not regret. Something wretched, and cold. It’s singing from every part of the Monster, not just his face. It’s in the set of his shoulders, the rigidness of his hands. He looks pissed, and spins the pistol on his trigger finger to punch Dream in the face with the back end.

Dream is knocked backwards, and he hits the ground hard. The bullet embedded in the center of his frontal bone still smokes as he lays there, flat, and his eyelights extinguish. 

The silence stretches, cold and flat and stunned. 

A wild grin stretches across Killer’s face. There, he thinks, there’s that anger Nightmare was talking about.

Killer hears his name—Nightmare’s called it out again. He spares a glance in that direction, and the beckoning wave the Boss gives him is a clear enough ‘we’re leaving’ to send him into action. The hand he gets around Swap’s arm is shaken off immediately, and the furious Monster starts to descend upon the glitchy skeleton who now begins to push themself up. 

“drop it,” Killer drawls at him, like one would to a dog chewing on something it shouldn’t. Predictably he does not listen, and Killer sighs. Swap never does make it easy, does he? 

Killer gives a clipped, too friendly apology as he tackles Swap to the ground. He manages to get Swap’s arms pinned to his sides by the time Dream’s started to stir.

The Guardian moves slow, at first. His eyelights are hazy as they reform. The newcomer helps Dream to sit up, and then he reaches up, plucking the bullet from his skull with gritted teeth and only a short grunt to betray the pain of the action. There’s a small hole left behind, and that, too, begins to repair itself almost immediately, while he tosses the bullet somewhere over his shoulder.  

(Killer can’t help the reflexive wolf-whistle that leaves him at the sight, even as he wrestles to keep Swap down.)

“LET GO!” Swap yells, trying to slam his head back into Killer’s face. It works, but he manages to keep hold of Swap. A headache begins to develop, unfortunately, reminding him of the times he and Swap used to fight like this, on separate sides of a long war.

Killer huffs, pushing Swap into the ground harder. “mmmmmmm, no.”

It feels like he spends ages wrestling with Swap, trying to keep him on the ground, fighting to get that gun out of his hands. Swap tries to fire it another three times, aiming at the glitchy guy, and each time the barrel remains empty, to Swap’s very vocal frustration. Finally, someone comes to assist him—Horror drops to a knee, and together he and Killer get Swap raised up to his feet. A leg swings up and gets Killer in the pelvis, and so they rather quickly shift so that Killer’s got Swap’s legs gathered together, while Horror’s fighting for hold of his upper body. 

They shuffle over to Nightmare. It’s only when he’s opened a portal back to the Castle (the Manor, as Nightmare keeps trying to correct them all) that Dream’s recovered enough to stand. Ink’s moved to Dream’s side, and has an arm around his middle for support. 

Killer doesn’t look back again. He steps through the portal with Horror, and drops Swap’s legs once they’re inside one of the main living spaces. 

Horror holds fast to Swap’s upper body—he’s still yelling, struggling against Horror, and now kicking his legs about, even as they don’t touch the ground. 

“you’re gonna be in soooo much trouble,” Killer helpfully tells him, grinning. 

The response he gets is, unsurprisingly, more shouting—something half-coherent, about Dream, probably, and “that awful ASSHOLE!” He even gets a snap of teeth.

Cross steps through the portal next, looking stressed. He walks up to Horror, rubbing at his face.

“Swap,” he groans into his hands, frustrated, “why would you— just— Swap.” 

Killer gets it. He remembers when Cross had only just joined them; that first time he ignored Night’s orders… well, nobody had envied Cross that day. 

Nightmare is the last to step through the portal, and then it closes. 

“Drop him,” he bites out, voice low. Killer watches as Swap hits the hardwood floor. He sort of wants to laugh, but he knows that would be an inappropriate reaction. Instead he stays silent, and stares at Night.

“He didn’t—“ Cross starts, anxious, his hands waving in the air as he steps around Swap. “He wasn’t trying to—“

The Boss’ one visible eyelight smooths to settle on the Guard. A moment passes in tense silence, and then Cross turns away, walking out of the room without a word.

That cyan eyelight returns to Swap.

“… You. Come with me.” His tone is plain enough, but it leaves no room for argument. He stalks off in the direction of his office without checking to see if Swap is following.

Swap scrambles to his feet, hurrying after. His boots stomp loudly down the hall, and Killer glances sideways at Horror for it.

“… i’ll.. tell cross t’ bring him.. his food, tomorrow,” Horror says after a long silence. Killer nods along in agreement, still staring towards the doorway.