Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It is seven in the evening, well past the reasonable interval for most people to be waking up. On the bright side, Sans can tell that he is in his own room, as opposed to under one of the bar tables or outside in some weird hole. He lays there, listening to the quiet of the house. Papyrus isn't home tonight. He must be out with Mettaton again. Sans is glad at least one of them can enjoy themselves. He's happy for his brother.

He isn't all that happy for or with himself.

Sans finally drags himself out of bed, stumbling like he is still drunk into the bathroom. He stops and looks himself in the mirror just long enough to be disgusted. He looks like he's not slept a wink, although he's done very little but. He turns the shower on as cold as it goes and stands under the spray just long enough to feel less like boiled milk and smell less like a gym sock someone left a wedge of cheese in too long. He dries off with a towel, fingering the poorly stitched little heart in the corner. He's touched those threads almost every day for almost a decade.

He looks up and finds himself blinking at the space his wall mirror used to be. He could have sworn he was just looking at it, but he supposes he must have thrown it out again in a dysphoric tantrum. Not the first time. He shrugs, saunters back into his room, and starts getting dressed. He's already starting to heat up again, so he pulls on a pair of low rise black jeans, tugs his usual crop-top over his head, and then throws on his sleeveless jacket. The soft blue fur lining of the hood he never uses tickles his cheek. It reminds him to put on a smile.

He has to pretend to be over it, nowadays. The pity in his friends' eyes when he doesn't just twists the knife.

Sans mechanically checks that he has everything: his phone, his brother-in-law's phone, his hand towel (never leave home without that), and the square of frozen icepack he can fit in his back pocket. He drags himself into the kitchen to get the last of those things out of the fridge, then shuffles to the livingroom to step into his boots. He keeps his eyes on the floor for just a little longer, indulging in his own depression as he reaches for the front door knob.

His hand bumps into flat wall.

This makes Sans finally look up. He usually doesn't miss the knob, but he's miscalculated on the rare occasion. What he finds is his hand is where the front door should be, but isn't. He looks around with a bit more awareness. There are... actually a lot of things missing, now that he thinks about it. The TV is gone. Two of the couch cushions are flickering from ugly green to black to orange and back again, sometimes in patches, sometimes all at once, which is especially odd when Sans' couch is blue. And Sans' front door is missing, replaced by a wall just like the rest of the wall around it.

There is no sign of Papyrus or Mettaton having a hand in this - usually they leave a note to take credit for such pranks. It isn't odd for them to leave Sans a little something when Papyrus overnights in Hotland. Sans takes a moment to really look for the expected sticky note; when he doesn't find it, he instead finds a shortcut to the front yard and steps out into the snow that way.

The air around Sans wisps and fogs as his body heat clashes with the Snowdin chill. He doesn't know he's moving until he's several feet to one side, staring at what looks like vivid cobalt razor wire now strung where he had been standing in a spiderweb. The world is silent, even the muted music that usually floats from Grillby's club now absent.

Sans looks up to see several more of those blue wires lunging for him from above. He does a backflip to escape, planning to rebound off a tree and get further away, but another wire he doesn't notice catches his ankle mid-air, and he drops like dead weight into a snowpoff. The impact stuns Sans long enough that those wires catch up with him: before he knows it, he's strung up like a model in shibari class and yanked up into the air well above the treeline.

From so high up, Sans can see that Snowdin Town is as empty as it sounds: there are piles of off-color powder and discarded clothes here and there. The windows of the Snowed Inn, the Librarby, and the Item Shop are all smashed in by masses of strings. Grillby's Club is dark, save for the warm flickering in the windows that means Grillby is inside. Several swarms of strings thrust through the roof...

And that warm light is abruptly snuffed out.

Sans feels something in him crack, deep and resounding. He feels several rasping words try to crawl out from between his teeth, but he can't seem to form any of them. He can barely breathe.

Below, a figure moves to a spot near where Sans had been before, kneels down, and pulls something out of the snow. "nIcE pHoNe. MiNe NoW," says a voice that sounds like it's coming out of a broken radio. The figure rises rapidly on a netting of wires to reach Sans' level, and looks back at Sans with a face too much like his own (in shape and only shape), bones black as pitch, eye sockets red like fire. He holds up the phone that isn't Sans' and wiggles it. "sO, nOw ThAt I hAvE tHiS, i DoN't NeEd YoU aNyMoRe, Do I?"

"give it back!" Sans growls, feeling the heat of his rage and his grief building in his marrow and spilling from his sockets. It's easier now with a tangible target to try and throw himself at. Grillby was- Sans was- He was- That phone had their memories on it-

The wires holding Sans tighten, too tight, too fine, too sharp. They dig into his bones a little more with every second. He gasps out as the pain hits his system, as his body fights to hold its structural integrity. Sans' spine arches on reflex, throwing his head back as he braces against the good pain that quickly turns to bad pain.

The thief chuckles. "bYe-ByE, aBoMiNaTiON-"

As the bastard is talking, a muted wave of joy washes over Sans. It reminds him vaguely of how he once felt years ago, heavily medicated and curled up in strong arms. It's surreal (and more than a little alarming) to feel that way now, when he's about to be sliced into pieces, still rationalizing yet another soul-crushing loss that Sans didn't have it in him to lose.

Sans wonders if he should just give up...

A streak of golden light shoots overhead, slicing through the strings holding Sans captive. At the same time, a glob of yellow slime hits the bastard in the face. As Sans starts to fall, still bound and tangled in webbing that has started to dig grooves into his bones, he sees the thief thrash and wipe his face.

Sans braces himself for a rough landing, squeezing his sockets shut against the overwhelming everything he's been made to deal with, but the impact never comes: arms catch him, and they come to a gentle stop.

"Are you alright?" A voice asks, like the brush of the wind asks, like the roil of magma asks. Sans cracks a socket open to look up at a face cast in the shadow of great glowing golden wings, bottomless eyelights of burning golden light focused on him.

"y-yeah..." Sans stammers in answer. He feels the smile on his own face. He feels the choking sob behind it, the heat and fury thrashing under the smothering blanket of happiness and relief he's not sure he should be letting in.

"Hold a sec," the be-winged thing intones, the depth of its words belied by the casualness of their utterance. Sans is set down in the snow, freeing the thing's hands to grasp at the wires still tangling Sans' body. It tries to tug them off at first, but it stops that when Sans gaps out in pain, the wires digging in more with the pressure. The be-winged thing then grasps at the wires with both hands. Its fingers spark in golden light, throwing a glow over its face to show a softness, a fierceness, a sharpness. Its face reminds Sans of his own, if something were different, if he had scars under his eyes. The golden circlet shines on its brow, and then the sparks surge one last time, burning through the wires until they snap, going slack and falling away from Sans in fluttering strands smelling of charred cotton.

Sans rubs at his arms where he feels the grooves he's worried will leave scars. "thanks," he murmurs.

Those hands which had just burned away cotton-spun steel cover Sans' with controlled gentleness. "Let me," it says. Sans tenses at such warm hands, but he holds still out of courtesy. An uncomfortable warmth seeps into him in strips, like his new injuries are flaring up again. He breathes in. He feels dizzy, and happy, and a little worried about feeling dizzy and happy and hot. The magnitude of everything rises, then the throbbing pain ebbs away, leaving just the dizzying heat and happiness.

Sans looks down at the bare bones of his arms. There are faint streaks of light woven into his bones now, a criss-cross pattern as if he has been filled in with gold to supplement the cracks. As he watches, the color shifts to better match the bone around it. He wonders if anyone else will notice the only-slightly-warmer tones patterned on his body now.

The creature smiles. "Better, right?" It- he- offers his hand. "I am Dream. Come with me, and be safe."

Behind the thing- behind Dream- the thief is screeching. He finally wipes his face clean enough to see. "fUcK yOu!!! YoU aBoMiNaTiOnS kEeP gEtTiNg In My Wa-"

Then the thief is flung across the ruins of Snowdin, screaming as he skips across the snow.

"Wow! That's a five-skip-er! That's a new record, Blueberry!" Sans doesn't recognize that voice.

"SURE IS!!" yet another person chimes in.

Sans takes Dream's hand without thinking, accepting his help to find his footing again. Dream smiles sharply up at him, and Sans finally realizes just how short Dream is, how big those wings are by comparison.

Behind Dream, Sans sees two more people: one is even smaller than Dream is, in pleated trousers, holding a comically oversized paintbrush; the other is in a chainmail tunic, pauldrons, thick blue boots, blue gloves, and a blue neckerchief, wielding an oversized warhammer like it weighs nothing. Sans stares at the group, stunned by the dissonance between what has happened to him today and the ambiance of the scene before him, the burning ache of his grief smothered by smiles and joy he can't rationalize.

"Come. While Error is distracted," Dream says again, squeezing Sans' hand.

The other two dart over to stand by Dream and Sans. The ground under them opens up into a pool of golden light, and they all fall through. The last thing Sans sees is his house flickering out of existence, leaving no sign of his life there behind.

Chapter Text

He chose the name 'Kink.' It's the best thing he can think of. Kink. He thinks he's funny.

Kink stands up from the computer lab terminal and gives a big stretch. His body aches in that way where he knows the heat is building up, but the actual pain of it feels unusually far away. Kink is happy to be here, to be at Dream's house, to be-

Alone.

Kink's head hurts. He feels something wet slide down from his nasal aperture to his teeth. He brings his hand up to feel at the wetness, and it comes away... red?

The floor rushes up to greet Kink. He feels an impact, and then everything goes dark for him.

Kink is only vaguely aware of what goes on around him. He thinks he's picked up, but he has no idea where he is taken, by whom, or how long he's carried. He fades in and out, that headache dragging him under until he stays there for a while.

When Kink really comes to, it's to the sound of voices.

"thanks for taking him on short notice," a voice says. "is he gonna be okay?"

"He will be fine. He just needs a little rest and some fluids," says another voice, a voice that Kink never thought he would hear again.

"cool," replies the first sort-of-unfamiliar voice. "got them test candies yet?"

"Oh! Yes, yes, right here-" That soft tittering makes Kink wonder if he's still dreaming. "See if these help with the nausea, and let me know immediately if anything goes awry, yes?"

"gotcha. i'm gonna go find my bro, now. he's been overnighting again..." There is a quiet little pause. "...see ya doc." There is the sound of a door opening, then closing.

Then Kink hears a sigh he knows like his own, and then some rustling and fussing. Kink tries to force his eye sockets open, hoping, begging, praying he hasn't just hallucinated himself into another soul crack.

When he can finally see again, a tall man in a long black coat is standing over him, holding a needle in leather-gloved hands that leave the middle and ring digits exposed. Although one eyelight is muted and grey, the other is swollen with hue, and a new crack runs across the bridge of his nasal ridge, Kink knows that face. He knows those hands, that smile, that tittering nervous laugh that makes the blue of his good eyelight even more vibrant and alive.

"Awake already? That's marvelous. Allow me to introduce m-"

Kink doesn't need a fucking introduction. His soul is so full of joy and relief and wonder and love that he throws himself off the table to hug that man, to sob with how overwhelming it all is, how wonderful. "falsi!!!"

Falsi gasps in surprise (as one tends to do when a person throws themselves bodily into giving you a bear hug). He holds the needle up over his head to avoid poking Kink, his other hand bracing around him, secure and familiar and real. Kink squeezes Falsi tighter, gasping in breaths he doesn't need, and yet he absolutely needs, because if he doesn't breathe he is going to cry and he can't start crying when he doesn't know if he'll be able to stop.

"Ah. Yes. Well. Hello to you, too..?" Falsi says, each word carefully placed.

Kink looks up at him. "fal? it- is it... are you alright?" He tries not to think about what that startled expression means- Kink doesn't want to be wrong. Surely he can't be wrong-

"...I- Yes, I am alright. I think. It is hard to tell, objectively, nowadays." Falsi has to pull himself out of his muttering thoughts. He shakes his head before refocusing on Kink. "Have we met?"

Kink feels his head hurt, his soul hurt, his everything hurt-

"Ah, nosebleed. I will take that as a yes-" Falsi carries Kink across the room with one arm, and Kink facilitates by clinging to him like a koala. He knows this maneuver like he's done it a hundred times, because Kink has, and it only makes him think that this person (whom he is so certain is his Falsi) has as well. Falsi sets his syringe down and picks up a wad of tissues, which he uses for Kink's face. "Try to think happy thoughts, for a moment. Keep from passing out while I try something. I'm going to set you down here, now, okay? Easy, now..."

Kink holds onto the tissues, dizzy, and lets go as Falsi lowers him to the exam table. Falsi backs up two steps, makes sure Kink isn't going to fall off, then spins on his heels and moves for the door. He closes it, then grabs a gold-looking metal bar that he slides into place in a pair of hooks installed in the back of the door. When it clicks neatly into a groove, Kink feels like something changes.

He hears a hiss of fans and moving air. Slowly, the fog over Kink starts to thin. It isn't gone completely, but he can feel a difference.

He can feel his grief shoulder-check its way back to the forefront of his soul.

"There. There, now. That should- yes, that should definitely make thinking a little bit clearer- now, about-" Falsi turns around and looks back at Kink... or so Kink thinks. By this point, Kink can't see so well through the tears that have welled up in his sockets two-fold. He sucks in a wet breath, and Falsi's whole posture changes as he rushes over to hover. "Hey- hey, shhh- Deep breaths, easy, slow, just- Oh dear, I'm not this kind of doctor-"

"Do you... not know me?" Kink asks, softly. He- Kink guesses that he- he shouldn't be surprised. He saw plenty of alternate universe variations just walking through the hallway. Why wouldn't Falsi have an alternate too? His Falsi didn't have a crack in his face. His Falsi's eyelights were both white. Why did he think this was his Falsi? Why does he, still? "I'm sorry. I must have mistaken you for someone else..."

Falsi hands Kink more tissues, which Kink uses to wipe his sockets and clear his vision. "Don't be sorry, darling," he says. "I don't... not think I know you. I don't remember you at all, but... My head hurts quite a lot looking at you cry, and... hmm..." Falsi picks up a bit of candy, green and yellow swirls under the wrapping. "That certainly is... odd."

Kink sniffles. He hasn't cried this hard sober before, and it makes his face feel hot. "You don't remember me...."

"No. But I've been having memory issues for some time." Falsi unwraps the candy ball and pops it between his teeth. He makes a face at the taste, which Kink finds odd: the Falsi he knows rather likes sweets. "And if I have forgotten you, it means you are likely... very precious to me..."

Kink has a lot of feelings about that. "what. what happened to you?"

Falsi has that distant, thoughtful look on his face. Then he brightens, smiling at Kink. "Oh, nothing so terrible, I don't think. I met some wonderful people, after all. Songbird has been a delight, and I have made great strides in studying the effects of Dream's Influence. That is the hypothesized cause of the memory loss, headaches, vomiting, and mood alteration. I'm finally ready for person-trials in the treatment! It's taken me-"

Falsi comes to a halt. "It- I..." He looks at Kink again, and Kink almost wishes he doesn't see recognition in his face, because it comes hand in hand with horror. "How long has it taken me... Sans..." Falsi holds his head, bracing himself against the nearest countertop. "Oh, how long-" His voice trembles, and so do his hands as he quickly fumbles for the syringe he had been holding over Kink. He jabs himself with it in the leg, sighing out a breath.

"fal?" Kink asks, softer. He's hopeful, but now that he's had a moment to process his own hurt, he is starting to hurt for his brother all over again.

"I'm alright. Just- Suppressed emotions are rather forceful in their return..." Falsi stands back up. He reaches for Kink's hand and holds it, thumbing at the open space in the back of Kink's gloves, where his metacarpals are bared. "If you're here... that must mean something happened to... our home..?"

Kink tears up all over again. "papyrus and tonton were in hotland... i was home alone-" He's been alone for so long now. "i- i woke up after another bender. and- and the door was gone? it was so quiet outside. strings- grillby-" Kink can't keep his voice steady. His head hurts. His soul hurts more, a strip of pure throbbing ache where he knows a new crack is. Realization makes that crack spread. "i didn't even give a thought to finding papyrus... i saw grillby's light go out and- and..."

When Falsi hugs him, Kink clings tighter than before and sobs into his shoulder. It finally hits him what more he's lost, who he has lost. His family, his home, the loves of his life; they're gone.

Falsi rubs at Kink's back, crooning softly, familiar and comforting.

When Kink thinks he's let it all out, he pulls back and wipes his face on another tissue. "okay. okay. so.... so i guess we're back to square one looking for percy." With- with Kink's world gone (like Dream and Ink said- destroyed, the whole fucking universe just destroyed-), there isn't anywhere for Percy to come back to. "we'll just have to find him ourselves, now."

Falsi is quiet.

Kink looks up at him. "do you... have any new clues yet?"

Falsi furrows his brow. "Darling, who is... Percy?" He asks it slowly, carefully. It takes Kink a moment to understand.

Kink feels everything inside him shift gears from grief to rage. He smiles, twisting the leash on his self control tightly around his metaphorical hand. "dream's influence, did you say?"

"I- I did? But you didn't answer my question about who is P-" Falsi meeps, backing up on autopilot as Kink slides off the exam table. "Where are you going? I never finished- Sans??"

Kink grabs a handful of those colorful candies as he walks, unwrapping one and swallowing it whole like a hangover pill. "i'm calling myself kink now," he says, still saccharine to try and hide his cyanide. He puts the remaining candy in his pocket, in the space that Falsi's phone was supposed to be, the one with the pictures of Percy on it. Kink supposes the pictures of Percy on his own phone will have to do.

Now, however, Kink has a lot of feelings he needs to give back to Dream. Six years of feelings.

Kink gingerly removes the metal bar from the door and gently sets it down on the floor. Immediately Kink feels that hazy fog of positivity try to drown him, but the medicinal candy does its job (of course it does, Falsi made it): he barely feels it. Compared to his fury, the effect is nothing. Kink marches back down the hallway, first heading to the right. He hits a dead end.

"Other way, darling," Falsi titters softly. Kink spins on his heels and marches faster back in the other direction, feeling Falsi's taller frame follow right behind him.

If Kink is honest, he has no idea where it is that he's going. He ends up stomping through several doors, ignoring the staircases, moving blind in his rage, until he comes to a big open room. A big red ball wizzes by him, and he has to quickly duck out of the way and down a nearby hall. He keeps moving, ripping open the next door he sees, which happens to be the one at the far end of the hall, just past two more doors (that he didn't notice until he got closer) and another staircase. On the other side is a hallway that turns to the left, and an open doorway that leads to a crowded room on the right. Kink goes right, because he thinks he sees a flash of gold that makes him see red.

Kink chases the trail of gold through two more rooms until he is back in the livingroom at the very front of the house. There is Dream, wings tucked to his back, standing to one side of Blue.

"I WILL COME HOME SOON." Blue says cheerfully to a taller skeleton in an orange hoodie.

"how soon is soon?" The hoodie-wearer asks, popping something into his mouth that looks a lot like Falsi's candy. Kink immediately has a better impression of him.

"I DON'T KNOW. BUT SOON."

Kink doesn't know what drama he's walked in on, but today Drama is a competition and he is going to win.

"Darling- Sans- Kink-" Falsi is still following him.

At the call of 'Sans', Kink sees Dream flinch. Dream turns from whatever Blue and that other guy are doing to look Kink's way. He smiles, sharp and bright and infuriating. "Hello, Kink. How are y-"

Kink doesn't let the moment pass. He lets go of the leash on his fury, pulling back his fist and taking a swing at Dream with everything his LT-fueled body has. Kink's fist makes solid contact with Dream's jaw, and one of his own fingers bursts in a surge of pain. Dream's body goes flying diagonally, feet leaving the ground until he crashes with a solid crack into a wall, and then falls limp as a broken doll to the floor. The moment Dream's head hits solid wall, his wings flicker in color from gold to red and back to gold again. Red drips and pools on the carpet under his skull where he falls.

The house is silent.

The thing that breaks the silence is maniacal, hysterical laughter. Against the wall is a pot, and in that pot is a golden flower. That flower laughs like it's never seen anything funnier in its life.

"fuck," rasps the guy in the orange hoodie.

"DREAM!" Blue all but screams, running over to the fallen angel's limp form.

Kink takes a deep breath. He feels... not 'better', better isn't the right word. He feels catharsis.

Behind him, the crowds are finally moving. Cacophonic voices swell and echo and call across the house.

"what happened?"

"DREAM?"

"what happened to dream?"

"I AM GOING TO BE SICK-"

"me too-"

"what the-"

Kink turns around to see a swarm of people coming from down one of the staircases, from around the corner, tumbling over themselves to see what has happened. Some of them look furious. Some of them look close to tears. Most of them look ill, or in pain.

Kink's hand throbs and burns. He hurts enough that he doesn't move. He feels a bit dizzy. Perhaps the candy is wearing off. Perhaps his rage is drained, and there isn't anything left to drive him. Maybe he used up all he had in that one hit. Kink's hand hurts.

"Oh no..." Falsi rushes to Kink, reaching to take his injured hand. "This is not good..." Kink winces when Falsi removes his glove with clever fingers. He takes one look at Kink's pinkie, 'tsk's in disapproval, and pulls out a small wooden splint. Before Kink knows it, Falsi has his finger wrapped in gauze and splinted securely.

As Falsi works, the crowds filter in. Kink hears them start to talk about getting someone named Sci. He also hears them start asking how Dream got floored. They don't sound happy. Falsi puts an arm around Kink's shoulder and hurries him towards a staircase.

"where are you going?" a voice asks. "dream is over there. can you look at him, doc?"

"I will, I will, I just need to gather myself a moment," Falsi assures, sweat sliding down the side of his skull. His smile is all anxiety, and Kink wonders how anyone believes a word he says. Still, Falsi gets Kink up the stairs, passing a large hand-drawn calendar written in crayon taped to the stairwell wall.

Kink absently notices one of the days on the calendar is colored in with a note: Dream's 22nd BD. There are little yellow stars around it. The whole month of that day and several weeks after are crossed out, having presumably passed.

Falsi gets them both to the next floor up and shuffles to the left, rounding a corner. Falsi looks to either side, so openly anxious it makes Kink's soul twist, before he knocks twice on a door. "Fresh? Are you there?"

"nope." A voice says from behind them.

Kink jumps, so he doesn't blame Falsi for jumping at the noise too. Falsi spins to face a skeleton in colorful neon clothes and sunglasses that read [YO]-[LO] in equally neon lettering. "You- mischief. I need to ask you a favor."

"What kinda flavor, doc?" The guy smiles, superficially friendly, but Kink doesn't see that smile reaching his eyes. Something about 'Fresh' isn't all it seems.

"I need you to take Kink here somewhere safe, somewhere he's not going to get caught up in..." Falsi waves in the general direction of the upset crowd noises that are only growing louder.

Fresh looks at Kink. Kink gets the distinct impression that Fresh looks first at his face, then his bandaged hand, then back up to his face again. Kink smiles, hoping it doesn't look as drained as he feels.

"And I should do that... why?" Fresh asks.

"Because if you don't, I will personally make it my next great project to rip you out of your oversaturated mobile home and stuff you in a jar to pickle." Falsi says it like a promise, and the way he steps forward, using his extra few inches of height to loom over Fresh, makes it very clear that for once, what he is saying is a threat. Kink cannot remember his Falsi ever wanting to threaten anyone. He can't help but feel a little something soft about it.

Fresh holds up his hands between himself and the very serious doctor, smiling wider. His glasses suddenly read [OK]-[OK], changing between one blink and the next. "A'aight, ya made yer point. I dun want him here now, anyway."

"If anything unfortunate happens to my brother-in-law, you will regret having the adaptations needed for self preservation." Falsi warns again, unmoving. Kink cannot see the expression on his face, but given how Fresh seems to duck lower as if to avoid it, he doubts very much it is one he recognizes.

"You help patch up the brotato-chip, and we'll call it square?" Fresh suggests.

Falsi remains frozen a moment, then steps back. "Yes, that's fair. Get Kink here out, somewhere safe, and I'll go help Sci with Dream."

"Deal." Fresh stands back upright, fixing his glasses. Then he offers Kink one of his hands. "All aboard the Fresh-train, choo-choo."

Kink looks at that hand, but he doesn't take it. He turns to Falsi instead. "i don't want to leave you."

Falsi pulls Kink into a hug that Kink has to return with all he has.

"I know. I know. But right now isn't the time. You made a mess and it needs cleaning..." Falsi speaks softly, how Kink remembers. "I'll come for you later. I won't forget again."

"you better not. i'll punch him twice next time."

That gets a laugh out of Falsi, and it makes it a little easier to let go. Kink takes one step back, and then a hand lands heavy on his shoulder. Before he knows it, his vision is clouded by a burst of color, the whole rainbow painting over the world around him.

All sound is cut off by a pop not unlike that of a party favor. Kink is in a sea of color, of light, of chaos, until it fades, leaving him and Fresh standing in the middle of the antivoid.

Fresh removes his hand from Kink's shoulder. "Well, I did my part. Better head inside before ya get lost, broski. Tell da lil Nightmare that Uncle Fresh says yo."

"what?" Kink turns to actually look at Fresh, but the guy poofs in a cloud of colored smoke, this time making the sound of a whoopee cushion. The displacement makes a gust of air that pushes Kink back a step. When he looks again, Kink finds himself staring not at empty space, but the wall of a giant castle.

The castle is huge, extending for over sixty yards in both directions. The walls are made of something that looks black as pitch in the blinding white of the antivoid, but as Kink gets closer, he can see that there is a dark, dark color to it. Before his eyes, the gates shift from a blue-black to a purple-black. When he reaches to touch them, the sound of stone grinding against stone rings out, and the massive doors open inward. Kink cannot see anything but darkness inside. He's understandably hesitant, but he goes in anyway. There is nothing in that darkness that can hurt him in a way that matters.

Kink walks several steps before the sound of stone grinding on stone resounds again. The massive doors close behind him, sealing him in and blocking out the light of the endless white. Kink rubs at his sockets, blinking as the dark closes in around him.

"You are bold," intones a voice. It sounds like the sky is speaking, like the darkness has made itself as words.

Kink holds his bandaged hand against his chest. He isn't sure where the voice is coming from, so he doesn't have a direction to flinch away from. He swallows, the throat he doesn't technically have suddenly dry and uncooperative. "i get that a lot."

"What are you called?"

"kink," he answers. He's not home anymore. He needs a nickname here as well as anywhere else.

"Then for now, Kink, you belong to me."

As they have been speaking, Kink has been adjusting to the low light. It is low light, specifically: Kink can now see the outline of bricks in the wall, of tiles in the floor, of carvings in the stupidly-high ceiling. All of the not-quite-black substance glows faintly, as if under blacklight (or emitting it), reminding Kink of the nightclub he'll never dance in again. Kink adjusts to this darkness that isn't true darkness just enough to be startled when a shape rises from the floor, squirming with tendrils until it resolves into a diminutive silhouette accented by a single purple eyelight.

"I am called Nightmare." The voice comes clearly from the figure now in front of him, still as deep, as resounding, as meaningful as it had been before.

"uh. nice to meet ya, nighty," Kink manages to speak again. The longer he actually looks at Nightmare, the easier it is to calm down. "i need a place to stay for a bit. got any room for me?"

Nightmare looks up at Kink, looks through him in a way that sends a shiver down his spine. "There is room enough, if you are careful," he says. "I suggest you are careful."

"i think i can manage that."

Kink gets the feeling Nightmare doesn't believe him, but he doesn't comment. Nightmare turns and starts to walk. He extends a hand, waving for Kink to follow as his footsteps echo in the too-wide hallways. Kink matches his stride with Nightmare, looking around at the bare dark walls and empty spaces that so pointedly contrast the house he had been in not a moment before.

Two turns later, and Nightmare knocks on a door.

The door opens, and out comes a skeleton in a ragged dark-purple tank-top and matching neckerchief. His right eyelight is a soft autumn orange that seems to color the scar on the same cheek. He's wiping sweat from his neck with a bright pink towel up until he sees who is standing in front of him. "boss!" He hides the pink towel behind his back quickly, the sweat only building. His eyelight and scar instantly turn red.

Nightmare lets a quiet pause hang between them. "See to it this one has the necessary accommodations. He is mine for the time being."

"yessir!" The sweaty dork answers. Nightmare stands there a moment more, then sinks into the floor and vanishes. The sweaty dork stays perfectly still until the last ripple of tile solidifies back into smooth unbroken floor, then lets out the breath he had been holding. "fuck."

"if you're up for it~" Kink jokes.

The sweaty dork flinches. "uh. no..?" He clears his throat. "i'm cross. i'm the- the uh- steward... here..." He mouths around the title, trailing off as he realizes what he has had to say.

"i'm called kink, now."

"uh. cool." Cross closes his door, stuffing the pink towel into his pocket. It sticks out as a splash of color on his hip. "i'll give you the tour. there's only four rules you need to know, and two rooms you need to be able to find..."

Kink, admittedly, isn't paying the best attention to Cross. He follows Cross as they walk, but Kink's thoughts are elsewhere.

He can't help but think that Falsi would love it here. He can't help but think that Papyrus would prefer the crowds of Dream's house a little better.