Chapter Text
It’s had been an hour since Dream had seen Ink last.
An hour since he was left alone with the buzzing silence. The Doodlesphere never spared a moment of quiet with the scuttling habits of The Creator to fill the space with as much color and sound as physically possible. That’s not to say Dream didn’t like it. Having someone as energized as the artist shooting a rapid fire of words at him was always better than suffering the haunting quiet alone.
It just bothered him whenever Ink left was all.
The Doodlesphere wasn’t exactly a world. It was devoid of life, if you didn’t consider the AUs that scattered all over the place as alive, that is. Much like the anti-void, the place couldn’t harbor life exclusive to itself. It was made to house, yes, but not something complex, not something with constant needs and maintenance like Monsters or Humans did. It was a place of concepts, ideas, more than anything else. The ingredients for its function came first, and how it completed said function came secondary.
All that to say, it was unnerving when Dream had no one to speak to. Not meant in insult to Ink, of course, the place was beautiful, but, the Creator’s adversity to emptiness just meant that every corner and space had been filled with things. Things of all sorts.
Ink liked things. Here. There. Everywhere.
It was… a lot. All clutter. If it had been just one or two things, Dream thinks he’d have been able to stomach it, but no, every nook and cranny had something there, and it’s tight. The sort of tightness that’s stifling and oppressive. No one place was spared. Dreams space? Things. Wherever he walked to take his mind off his troubles? Things. Things Ink had no need for, much less desire, but it made Ink happy, so who was he to really judge?
His eyelights flickered down to follow the curve of his hands. The scars he marks into the canvas he holds, digging his fingers into the cotton fabric like it had personally owed him g. Another of Inks' paintings. It was left against the table this time, surrounded by the clutter of paints ‘n brushes that had been left in his rush to who knows where.
Dream didn’t see himself capable of hatred in any way, shape, or form, but he did have a particular dislike towards Ink’s disorganization. Nothing could be found when wanted, as there were twenty million other things stacked atop it, keeping its secrecy. Tightly concealing anything he could possibly want whenever he did (begrudgingly) need something. It truly did emphasize the tightness of the platform he stood upon more than its current state did.
Despite all these internal complaints, Dream would never raise a voice to it. Such a disrespect of The Creator’s hospitality about something as silly and nonproblematic as a mess should be beyond him, so the guardian would much rather quietly reorganize to the best of his ability, and move on with his day, not like Ink would have much notice if his things moved.
It wasn’t a big deal, really.
Actually…
No…
No yeah, it was a big deal. A very big deal. Too much to stare at, so little time to process. Ink liked having things, liked being around things. Tiny trinkets, gifts, things from the AUs they’d protect from Nightmare or god forbid the Destroyer—whatever god that reigned above them knows how annoying it is to clean up after their messes. So did the folks they aided.
The Protector liked being appreciated. Liked being acknowledged. Like being validated. If Dream was being honest with himself they’d probably liked the recognition of it all more than they liked the idea of helping people in need. It was once a subconscious notice at first. Brief flutters of warm yellows and starry eyelights before its fade into Ink’s usual bravado. Then it would be the way the other monster danced along the soles of their feet in barely contained twitches. They’d beam at praise, talk with a pace so quick he could scarcely keep up. Vexed was the most polite way he could describe his feelings towards the artist, and it wasn’t just because of his disorganization.
The Creator spends so little time in their own home Dream doubted the other monster considered it “home” at all. He might grow annoyed with some of the artist's antics, but he has a certain attachment towards the creator that draws conflict into his heart. When he’s with Ink, he’s snappish and longs for the quiet; however, when that quiet arrives, he mourns for the noise lost…
Maybe it’s a subconscious want for something else to distract him and keep his mind from wandering back to the things past, for some sort of reprieve–
Did he mention the bursts of creativity? Ink’s title was quite literally the Creator and Protector of AUs. It was no secret that they had an affinity for… well creating. Crafting AUs. Then, protecting them from the outside once they were brought about. Much like himself and other guardians, Dream had assumed Ink performed a role assigned by the Multiverse. By the very Creators themselves, a vessel born to filter their ideas through. That’s why he acted so…
Well…
Dream stares pointedly at the canvas in his hands. At the shades of blues and yellows that mark its surface at random points. Does Dream know what it’s supposed to be? No. He didn’t exactly have the eye of an artist, so maybe that’s why he couldn’t understand. For all he knows it could be a masterpiece, and he was just too blind to see its intricacies.
But he feels the intent woven into the threads, sunk into each splotch of paint. Faint as it was.
The skeleton continued to organize the platform to the best of his abilities, fighting scattered papers and utensils alike to give himself some form of room.
The platform itself was nestled far along the corners of the floating isles that speckled the doodlesphere. One of the few areas Dream could flee to when he needed some time to himself–even if the mere idea of needing to was silly to him–and while the Doodlesphere was vast, its enormity did not mean escape whenever he wanted. If The Creator wanted to find him, they would with shocking—if not a bit annoying–ease.
There was no way to really tell how long Dream would be waiting, though he had no doubt he would be waiting longer. The hushed words and spooked glances from the Creator had made that clear enough.
He looks towards the “sky” with a squint. Cool yellow painted across its visage as it fades into an ombré of low saturated pinks. Like an endless sunset welcoming its visitors with open arms. The Doodlesphere did have a sense for time unlike most other “voids” that one could find in the multiverse if they searched hard enough.
Three hours had passed by since he had last seen the Creator.
Three hours since this squirming and shifting ache in his soul ripped its claws into him like it intended to burrow within him like a maggot.
He steadied a heave that had been building in his ribcage for stars know how long, and stifles a gasp for air as he flexes his fingertips into his gloved palms. He blinks away the spots that fell into his vision like ash and focuses up above.
Negativity. An incredibly specific feeling. Like hot embers against his bones, searing marks into his ribs like physical blows. Others did not feel it in the same sense Dream did, they couldn’t. He sensed it like it was a scent, a physical presence that twisted and pulled at the air like it made claim to it. It clung to the dust of the fallen. Ripped into his soul and ravaged his magic until he was weak in the knees with a curse on his tongue. And it had been three hours since those very same symptoms had started to rear their ugly heads again.
He didn’t need to put the pieces together when the puzzle lie finished before him.
If Ink were going to return soon they would’ve done so by now, which only left a very select few conclusions. The Destroyer had begun its march towards mutually assured destruction once more. Or Nightmare had set his… friends on yet another “errand”. Worst case scenario, if the stars managed to align themselves in such an unlucky fashion, it was both.
The pair did not work in tandem like Dream and Ink did, if they could be called a pair at all. And in the brief spouts of time Dream himself had encountered them in the same AU as each other; the biting malice that permeated the air around them painted a clear picture of their mutual standings with one another. They just so happened to coincide with each other and their ideals once in a blue moon.
During those few moments of agreement amongst the two, there would be no saving whatever AU the two had set their sights upon. No matter if both Dream or Ink were there to stand in their path.
A pit settles in Dream’s soul and he’s quick to rid his mind of those thoughts with a shake of his head. Thinking about it now will do him about as much good as sitting around twiddling his thumbs. If he wanted a change, he would need to change it. The multiverse could be kind but it was never benevolent. It didn’t bend to the whims of thought, it bent on ACTing on those thoughts.
Dream intended on doing just that.
Finding the AU was his first priority. Despite what a lot of folks thought him capable of, Dream could never sense what AUs were in danger. A sense like that was left to the devices of Ink, who would be painfully unhelpful considering they weren’t here.
He had to do it manually.
Dream scrambled off the platform and onto the grass of the connecting isle with a decisive huff. Firmly planting the soles of his boots into the waiting ground below to steady himself. The bursts of negativity were long and drawn out. The Destroyer liked to play games, but it was never one to prolong the suffering of the AU itself. It much preferred taking the victims(if it took any at all) somewhere where the Stars would never find them. Most victims of which, it would quickly dispose of if not entertained long enough. Swap had been a testament to those habits, however, he was fortunately set free. Not without its effects, of course.
The hot pain that seared itself into Dream’s bones was stationary. Fluctuating, yes, but unmoving. Which left one (if not dreaded) answer. Nightmare. That narrowed down his search to a select few worlds.
Nightmare never attached himself to already negatively influenced AUs. In the same way Dream tried to mind his own in AUs with budding positivity. It was a waste of resources and time that could be better spent. If the world happened to be in a state of equal neutrality or, god forbid, one of the ones Dream swore to protect. Then it was only a matter of time ‘til Nightmare would manage to worm himself in.
That spared quite a few worlds of Nightmare’s wrath (though not enough to comfort).
The beads of sweat that pool at Dream’s brow sends him searching with a bit more urgency. He threads and weaves between dangling parchment worlds with searching eyes cast above. Pivoting and squinting when his view was unsatisfactory. It shouldn’t be as hard as it is to find one AU when all of them were in one place, but it is. Painfully so.
His hopes again go unanswered. He casts a look to his left, the sheets of blues that meet his gaze are woefully unhelpful, and the reds to his right even more so. He passes them by without much more than a second glance. They blur as he draws by in his search.
Nothing.
That feeling didn’t pull closer, didn’t push him away like it was ought to do. Even as he looks towards the AUs in the throes of a Pacifist run his silent pleads go unanswered. His bones throb as he slid and scrambled with just that as much urgency.
Underswap.
Magic sparked and warmed his fingers as the thought flashed through his mind. Blaring in his head like an alarm. That would make sense, that–
Dream quickly turned on his feet, eyes wide and searching the “skies”. Underswap would make the most sense now that he really gives it much thought. A copy of course—not the original Underswap. Nightmare wouldn’t dare–he hoped. The Guardian of Negativity was malicious and cruel but never without what he considered to be necessary for his goals.
Attacking the original Underswap would be too much hassle, a high risk for such a minuscule reward. There were too many things that could go wrong–too many uncontrollable variables—had he attacked the original.
But a copy?
Nightmare could leverage Dream’s personal relationships with Swap. Could dance the idea of damning Swap’s universe without so much as lifting a finger to his actual universe. Nightmare may not have the Destroyer fully on his side, but the two brothers knew its habits enough to guess that if they were to attack any world—it would be one closest to self destruction. The healthier AUs were never its priority. With enough attempts, Nightmare could guarantee an AU’s destruction without saying so much as a word to the Destroyer. It was a show of power more than anything else. A threat to what he could do, rather than a threat made on the intention to pursue.
It was unnerving. How willing his brother was to commit atrocities in the name of tilting the scales of Emotions ever so slightly in his favor. Cruelty that isn’t needed. But that… that didn’t make him cruel. No. Dream could never see a being that dwelled in corruption and agony for so long as something cruel. His brother could be mean, but it wasn’t his actions that were his own that were made in unjust wickedness. His brother was lost.
But he wasn’t lost, no not forever.
He could save him.
Dream would save him.
No matter the cost