Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He remembers.

He remembers the way the fruit felt underneath his phalanges. The golden skin pulsed warmth against his otherwise cold bones, filling his soul with positivity if only for a moment. All too soon, it was drowned by darkness. He watched as black tar bubbled from his palms, pooling in his hands underneath the apple. His soul screamed to move before it was too late, but he was frozen stiff. He watched as the pure, golden fruit was tainted beyond repair. The black tar bubbles grew, then rose up along the outsides of the apple. He could see through the golden skin as black veins shot through, sprouting up like an infection and taking hold onto the seeds at the core. 

The birds in the sky stopped singing, and the sky slowly grew dark. The sun stopped shining, the meadow cast in darkness. Nightmare’s soul felt like it had grown a sudden weight, and sunk deep into the earth. He began to shake, the force of it rattling his ribcage and creating a harsh clacking noise. He stared up at the tree, where many apples still hung. He could feel his mother staring back through it. He could see the golden and purple glow between the bark of the tree. The Tree of Feelings.

Nightmares hope dimmed to a soft flicker. What would the villagers say when they saw what he’d done? This wouldn’t fix anything, no, things would get a thousand times worse, Nightmare knew. Everything was too much. He couldn’t focus, couldn’t think of anything comprehensible. He couldn’t see past the ever growing panic and sorrow in his soul. Nightmare looked down at the now black apple, trying to focus on its shape through his tears. His eyes burned. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. Nightmare lifted the apple up to his face, jaw falling open. His sockets shut tightly, an audible sob leaving his mouth. His teeth met the apple's skin, small fangs piercing into it. He bit down into the tender fruit, feeling it squish beneath his jaws as they clamped down onto it. He felt the juice seep into his taste buds, feeling the fruit’s flesh on his tongue. Roughly, he swallowed it down.

Pain exploded into the back of his skull, a sickening crack splitting through the air. Nightmare gasped, the apple tumbling from his palms into the grass below. He turned his skull, just in time for another rock to smash into his left socket. Nightmare made a wounded, animalistic sound. People- villagers, likely- were screaming at him. He could hear- no, feel their fury.

But Nightmare felt fury too. He could feel the way it boiled within his soil- that, and endless other horrible emotions. He felt sorrow, he felt grief, he felt…

He felt. Truly he felt, maybe for the first time in his existence. True emotion, wild and untamed within him. 

Another rock came hurling at him, worsening the crack on the left side of his skull. He could feel a large chip of his bone break off. The feelings were all too much, and he couldn’t focus on anything at all. Nightmare felt like he was drifting down, deep into the muddy waters of negativity. 

When Nightmare woke, he was alone. As he forced himself into a sitting position, he caught a glimpse of villagers running toward the village near the base of the hill. They would be back, he knew so. Purple blood leaked heavily from Nightmare's face and body. A shaky hand felt over it, and through painful touches he learned the left side of his skull was shattered. He let out a sob, single socket shutting. 

The villagers, he could hear them now. There was an uproar from the village, a tsunami of outraged emotions washing over the land up to where Nightmare sat in the soft grass. His hands found their way to the roots on the floor, and he grasped at them.

“Mama,” He cried out desperately, looking up the trunk into the branches above, “They’re going to kill me mama.”

He sobbed, he wailed- he begged the Tree of Feelings to save him from his fate. 

But nobody came.

Not Dream, not his Mother. Nightmare was alone.

All he could see through his tears were the apples above. All he could feel was the burn of his wounds. All he could hear was the approaching villagers, pitchforks and torches in hand. All he had, Nightmare realized, was himself. 

The skeleton scrambled up the tree, taking shelter in his mothers high branches. Black apples surrounded him now. His mother could not save him on her own, he knew. But maybe…

Nightmares hand reached out to another apple. It was him, and he was it. Both of them were beings of negativity to their own degrees. Nightmare was meant to protect this apple. But now, with precious time running low, he needed its strength to save his life. 

“Please, don’t forget who I used to be, Dream.”

The villagers grew nearer by the second. Dream pelted after them, begging for them to stop, to listen and think about what they were doing. Nobody seemed to hear him..

“He’s upset the balance!”

“He must be slaughtered!”

“I knew from the beginning!”

Their furious yelling was a jumbled mess, but all words insulted and belittled his brother. Dream was trying his best to catch up to the mob, but couldn’t, no matter how fast he tried to run. They were too far ahead, and he hadn’t realized what they were doing until it was too late. At last, the villagers reached the tree. Silence fell at last.

“The apples are gone! ” Someone shrieked.

Their screams grew louder, then louder still. The apples couldn’t be gone, it had to be a lie. It was hard for Dream to hear his own thoughts, or process the horrific information. Dream shoved and clawed his way to the front of the mob, stopping when he stood in front of the Tree of Feelings. As his yellow eyelights gazed up, he saw the villagers were right. The once plentiful tree was bare, and the cores of the fruit were in a scattered pile among the roots.

Something fell from the trees branches, a purple blur. Dream yelped, stumbling backward. The thing squirmed in the grass, clawing at its sides. A golden circlet that matched Dream’s own sat atop the broken skull.

“It’s the devil!” Someone shrieked.

The villagers, who had grown quieter, erupted in fury once more. They circled Nightmare, throwing rocks and pitchforks his way. Dream tried to stop them, horrified, but to no avail. Any response Nightmare gave was drowned out by the mob.

Nightmare’s entire body burned. A black fluid clogged his throat, burning his mouth like bile. He coughed it out into the grass, his pained wail bubbly and distorted. He could feel things battering him, but nothing was as painful as this. Something was forming, he could feel it. It felt like something wiggling in his ribs, burning and dripping.

I’ll protect you. 

The loud crunch of bones broke through the villagers' outrage. Tendrils sprouted from Nightmare’s back, twisty and gnarled like an old tree. They dripped, growing sharper as they took their full forms. One grabbed a pitchfork as it was hurled, curling around it and crushing the wooden handle. Another caught a torch, throwing it back into the mob. Nightmare writhed as the tendrils formed, crying out. It was agony, all of it.

Seeing him- or whatever this creature was- fight back, the villagers scrambled. They stopped their throwing, trying to help the person the torch had hit. Silence fell, and all eyes were on the thing curled in the grass.

“Brother!” Dream cried out.

Nightmare’s response was a gurgle, one that resembled a growl. The black tar adorning his newly formed tendrils spread across his body, covering him like a shield. He rose up in a fashion not unlike a zombie rising from the dead. He shook and spasmed, body slouched over as he still grasped his sides. At last his arms fell off himself, his sockets opening back open.

“…is that really you?” Dream whispered.

Nightmare stared, purple eyelight and a narrow slit. His tendrils were poised up like snakes, sharp and ready. Time seemed to freeze as the two brothers stared at one another, but now only one of them was scared. The moment was broken when something hit Nightmare from behind.

The tendrils exploded into motion, body whipping around to annihilate the threats. All of them were threats, every last one. His tendrils tore into the villagers bodies, a scream of fury leaving Nightmare. His soul burned with emotion as he attacked, ripping into every villager he could reach. The soft grass beneath their corpses grew wet with blood, screams filling the air.

Dream watched the slaughter in terror. This wasn’t his brother. His kind, patient, lovely brother. He could see it his eyes. Something truly awful had changed in him. Dream ducked down, instinctively diving toward the tree for safety. He shuffled into the small dug out area beneath the tree that he and his brother often napped in together. Roots covered him from view in a protective wooden shield. Dream’s breaths came out as quick, horrified pants. His bones trembled, his mind trying to quiet the horrible noises of the villagers. 

Through his blurry vision, Dream saw something golden. It laid in the untainted grass where he crouched, shining at him. He could feel it. It visibly pulsed, and almost looked like it was pleading to him.

Save me, Guardian.

Please.

Dream reached out from where he hid to scoop up the apple. He cradled it close, as if to soothe it. The apple was warm and comforting against his sternum. A shaky gasp left him when it began to melt into his bones, seeping through his clothing and through the gaps of his ribs. It was burning hot, but fortunately the uncomfortable sensation didn’t last long. Dream clutched his chest as it reformed inside where a soul should’ve been. He felt the immediate connection, like the apple had grown invisible roots and latched onto his insides. It was an instinctual urge based on his guardian nature to protect this apple, the very last golden one there was. Dream’s mouth was a thin wobbly line, and he tried to get himself to focus. He couldn’t cry, not now- he wasn’t little anymore. Despite the words repeating like a mantra in his mind, the tears began to spill. There was no time to waste, even in tears he had to try and stop this massacre. On shaky legs he pulled himself upward, clutching his fists. 

“Brother!” Dream choked out, stepping out from where he hid. 

The tar ridden monster covered in blood turned its skull to look at him. A villager was at its feet, a tendril coiled around its neck. With a sickening crack, it snapped beneath its grip. Dream held back a gag and stood his ground. He had no idea what to say, but judging by the look on the monster's face his presence said enough.

“Why are you crying?” The monster asked.

If everyone else around hadn’t been dying, dead, or fleeing, Dream would’ve never guessed it was Nightmare who had spoken. 

“They got what they deserved.”

It took Dream a moment to process the brutal words his brother had just spoken. His brother, who always put others first- that couldn’t be him speaking now, could it?

“ What? How could you say that, brother! They didn’t deserve to die!” Dream yelled.

An eerie chuckle filled the air. It felt like a cold fog blanketing Dream's new soul, and it sent a shiver down his spine.

They deserved the pain. Idiots, all of them. They’ll all regret, all of them. The words were like the wind, on every side of Dream- but he knew he wasn’t the one feeling or thinking them.

“I am not your brother.” A distorted, gurgling voice growled.

Dream frowned, eying the circlet atop the monster's head. It was the same golden branchlike texture that his own was, except the middle was shaped with a crescent moon. Dream spared a glance to their surroundings. The villagers who hadn’t fled were either dead or dying. Some were sliced in half, guts strewn across the floor. Others were crushed, like discarded toys. It was sickening.

“Why are you doing this?” Dream managed to say despite his wobbling voice, returning his gaze to Nightmare.

The monster scoffed, eyelight narrow. “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

Dream furrowed his brow. What was that meant to mean? They had always been happy. They had a nice home together, they played in streams, picked berries… Nightmare was never all that social, but even he had a friend in the village who would look after the two of them when meals came hard to come by. His confusion must’ve been obvious, because the monster began to explain.

The tar-like goop coating its face leaked off on the left side, revealing that his skull wasn’t fully intact. It was shattered, his socket gone. Dark purple stains and goop crusted around the edges of the wound. Somehow, despite the recency of it, the wound didn’t look entirely new.

“W…what happened?” Dream asked quietly.

“The villagers. Not just today- since our very birth. While you played and mingled… I was beaten. I was insulted. Belittled. Violated. Only now do you choose to notice my torment, when it’s right in front of you. Pathetic.” The monster spat, tendrils thrashing behind it.

Dreams socket widened, eyelights small and shaky inside.

“I-I don’t… I don’t understand Nighty-”

“As if you could ever,” The monster growled deeply.

A tendril whipped forward, grabbing Dream's neck and pushing him to the ground. Dream yelped, thrashing and kicking desperately. Being the skeletons that they were, breath wasn’t essential, but the lack of it was extremely uncomfortable. It felt the same as normal suffocation, even if it wasn’t fatal. The image of the villager from before getting their neck snapped flashed in Dream's mind, and Dream realized he was going to die.

His new soul began to glow. It began to shine through the cloth of his shirt like a flare, momentarily blinding Dreams attacker. In the brief moment he was able, Dream scrambled free from the grip. His body throbbed in unison with his soul, a reminder of its presence. He could feel the power of it flowing through the magic in his bones, making the bits of yellow in his joints glow with it. It was like his soul had been fully activated, somehow. Is it… trying to save me? 

Dream's mind screamed at him to flee. His brother, or whatever this creature was, seemed intent on either harming or killing him. It was a horrible reality, but a reality nonetheless. The pain of the villagers made his soul sting in a way he’d never felt so intensely, and it urged him to fight against the negativity his brother had become.

Dream didn’t understand his pain. Dream wanted to save the villagers. He didn’t even seem to believe Nightmare when he told him about what they’d done to him. Maybe his brother was no better than the villagers who’d abused him, if that were truly the case.

Nightmare squinted at the other, the light emitting from him uncomfortable against his eyelight. It was like positivity itself, and it made him want to puke. Hot yellow light sparked from Dream's hands, a long branch summoning from them. 

“Is that your excuse for a weapon?” He scoffed, raising a brow.

Dream had a determined look on his face as he clutched the branch in his hands. Despite that look, Nightmare could sense the uncertainty in not only his body language, but the air itself. It was like a scent, and it made Nightmare chuckle under his breath. If Dream were to disrespect him like this, at least let it be confidently. 

Nightmare pounced toward Dream, but the other was prepared. He dodged the attempt, using the stick to defend against a tendril that attempted to slash at his upper torso. Surprisingly, the puny branch he held seemed to be sturdy, refusing to break against the attack. Nightmare’s tendril burned from the contact on the direct positivity. His mind was a boiling blur of fury, but his body felt like a corpse. The sudden change of warmth when he came in contact with Dream during his continued attacks was uncomfortable, and Nightmare hissed under his breath each time. Their battle was a cycle of Dream scrambling to escape or defend himself against Nightmares assaults, just barely making it out each time. Scratches and bruises began to litter Dream's body as time went on, and yet Nightmare stayed unscathed.

The two stood, staring at one another as they caught their breath. Dream opened his jaws to say something, but stopped. The grass around them began to wilt and shrivel, stunning him into silence. It spread out along the hill like a wave. A monster who’d been attempting to return back to the village for safety cried out in pain when it reached them, crumpling to the ground. Dream glanced toward the sound, leaving a window of just enough time for Nightmare to strike. He tackled Dream into the dead grass, their bodies a mess of tangled limbs as they writhed in the grass like stray cats. Nightmare was burning from the direct contact, but he refused to stop until Dream was defeated. At last the fight began to leave Dream's expression, and Nightmare had his victory. 

Dream was pinned down by the wrists, Nightmare looming over him like a shadow. They both panted against each other, faces twisted in opposite emotions ironic to their nature.

“Brother, please. Have mercy,” Dream choked out.

Nightmare could smell the apple inside Dream’s ribcage. Drool was pooling in his mouth. It was right there. He could peel Dream’s ribs back, and sink his teeth into the familiar golden fruit. He bared his fangs, excitement making the black apple inside his ribs tremble. 

“I’m going to eat your soul, Dream. I’ll devour it, and Dreamtale will come to an end. You will come to an end. I will reign supreme, and you will all regret.”

As the words were spoken, something began to happen- and Nightmare didn’t notice until it was too late. Grey had begun to spread along Dream, covering his ribcage beneath his clothes and reaching up his skull. It spread along his clothing, encasing him in a stony barrier. His limbs grew stiff as the stone took it’s hold. His heartbroken expression was frozen as a statue, the last sign of his life being a golden tear that leaked from his socket. 

Chapter Text

Nightmare clawed and tore at the now stone cloth of his brother's shirt, trying desperately to get to the apple inside. He slashed at it with his tendrils, but the stone failed to dent or break under his assault. 

“You idiot of a brother!” Nightmare snarled, kicking into the statues side.

The pain that flared in his feet only made him more angry. After a moment of recovery, he whipped toward the Tree of Feelings, face twisted in fury. 

“And you, ” Nightmares tendrils raised up, tips sharp, “A failure of a mother you are.”

There was so much more to say, but the being of negativity didn’t want to waste his time- not when his actions could speak so much louder. His tendrils began their attack without need for a command. They sliced and tore into his mothers bark, acting on Nightmare's emotion as if they were his personal soldiers. The wood split and cracked, a loud groan sounding as it leaned downward. Nightmare watched with a satisfied look as the tree was torn, grateful for his tendril’s work. The yellow banner adorned in a sun emblem was tossed aside, drifting in the air and landing atop Dreams statue. Nightmare scoffed, nasal bone scrunching. At last, he had achieved justice in an otherwise lawless land.

Now, Nightmare stood in the grass. His fury had turned from a hot boil to a steady simmer in his soul, and now without emotions leading his every move, he had to think of what to do. His clothing was matted in the blood of many. Clearly, he was the most powerful being in this land now. It was a wonderful feeling, one that Nightmare found he quite enjoyed. He had the power for once in his existence. The corpse littered meadow was eerily silent. The still-grey sky refused to let sunlight show, casting the village below the hill in a solemn darkness. It felt like a blanket of invisible fog made of every terrible emotion enveloped the land, weighing down and dampening anything positive. Somehow, it felt right. 

He shifted where he stood, grumbling at the uncomfortable stiff feeling his clothing had due to the red liquid that had half-dried onto it. With a sigh he began to walk to the cabin he and his brother share- shared . The walk there was silent and uneventful. The door opened with a soft creak, and Nightmares dull purple eyelight stared into the hollow-looking area. 

A book laid open on the dining table. Carved wooden toys painted with berry juice lay in a small woven basket. The fading scent of the stew he and Dream had made together the night prior hung in the air, the remnants in a wooden bowl by the firepit. Dried berries, meat, and vegetables were together in another woven basket. A yellow wool rug lay on the wooden plank floors of the makeshift living room. The brothers beds were a small, square dug out area in the corner layered with wool blankets. Although their bedding was separate in the shallow pit, they often found themselves holding one another for warmth or comfort. The entire home was a single room. Memories hung heavy like dust in the air. 

Nightmare’s eyelight drifted to the woven baskets lined by one of the walls that the two had used for storage. He walked over, kneeling down to begin rummaging through with the help of his tendrils. He began to sift through the belongings, picking out what was his. He didn’t have much, so it didn’t take all that long. Various books lent from the village library along with a few garments of clothing (one outfit for sleeping, the other a backup outfit matching his soiled pair) and a waterskin with a moon emblem lightly scratched on. On the other hand, Dream had a heap of various items- a large portion being gifts from the village. Jewelry, artwork, candies, toys… a sad reminder of the different lives the two had. Nightmare clutched his own things close, the treasures pressing against his sternum.

“At least I was grateful for what little I had,” Nightmare bragged to the air.

His things were neatly set into a leather bag except for the secondary set of clothing. Begrudgingly he stripped his current soiled garments, tossing them next to the door. Additionally, he kicked his shoes off, pushing them with his ankle to the side. For the first time, Nightmare got a full look at his body since the transformation. It was more or less the same structurally, except for a few scattered dents from the beating he’d received earlier in the day when it’d all went to hell. Underneath the tar coating his skeletal body, other scars from previous abuse hid, although the new dents were the only noticeable now. Nightmare wondered what it might look like if he bathed, and if the tar would even come off of him. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure he wanted it to. It protected him. Besides, his tendrils seemed to be made of the stuff, and Nightmare didn’t want to harm the things. They had protected him from the villagers' attacks, had helped him reign terror upon them all, and had helped tear his mother down. He quite liked them, as well as his goop. Curiously, Nightmare brought his arm up to his tar covered nasal cavity to give it a sniff. The liquidy substance covering his body smelled of apples, with a sour ashy tinge to them. It wasn’t entirely pleasant, but there were far worse scents in the world.

Finally, Nightmare reached a hand up to his skull. His hand met the golden bark of his circlet, and it was angrily tossed off and to the side.

“Stupid thing,” Nightmare hissed under his breath.

He pushed the thoughts of his circlet and his memories as a guardian aside, focusing on the task at hand. Nightmare pressed the tips of his fingers onto the left side of his skull that had been shattered. It wasn’t until now that he noticed his goop had formed along, giving the illusion of a fully intact skull. After feeling the outer goop-skull form a bit longer, Nightmare realized the area his left socket was meant to be remained covered. It was slimier there, and a bit drippy. He wished he had a surface of water closeby to see what his face looked like now. Nightmare’s hand sunk into the false side of his skull, exploring the anatomy of it. The goop seemed as thick as the rest of the bone, mimicking it nicely. It was a tougher surface at first, but gave way easily to Nightmare’s touch. It was even hollow inside, and the feeling of his hand going through the false skull was definitely an odd one. With each new discovery, Nightmare grew happier with his new self. Tendrils to defend and protect, a layer to protect his form, and even an attempt at mocking his old skull shape- this goop was truly something special.

Satisfied with the inspection of his new form, He began to redress in clean clothing. Neither he or Dream had more than three sets of outfits, and it was one of the few planes of life where they felt more or less the same. They each had two sets of identical clothing for outside wear, and one specifically for sleepwear. Each of Nightmare’s outwear had a few patches due to exploration or villagers. Lifting his collared shirt, Nightmare frowned. It had gold colored outlining the collar and down the middle, which could be unbuttoned. Two small curved flaps outlined gold were attached- they served no practical reason, and were just for design. The pants were a simple dark grey. His shoes lay to the side where he’d left them. Any blood that’d gotten onto them could be easily washed off with a wet rag due to the material being wax coated leather. The shoes were a dark grey nearing black, nothing all that special. 

Nightmare raised the shirt he was holding over his skull, tugging it down. Only when he had pulled it on completely had his tendrils come to mind. He blinked, confused as to how the shirt was fitting with them being attached to him. A quick feel with his hands told Nightmare that they had formed through the fabric, as if it weren’t there at all.

“Fascinating,” He murmured quietly. 

It occurred to Nightmare that perhaps he should be writing his discoveries down- for personal use, and because he enjoyed writing whether it be stories he conjured or research. He knew not of any blank books to use, but a look around wouldn’t hurt. After tugging his pants and shoes on, he began to search the cottage. He double checked his own belongings, but found nothing he didn’t already know existed. After uselessly searching the toy bin and kitchenware, Nightmare admitted to himself that if he wanted a blank book he either would have to look through Dream’s things or venture to the village. His rampage had left him tired, not to mention the mental downsides going back to the village would have on him. He supposed it’d be easiest to shuffle through Dreams items. Begrudgingly he began, looking for any books. Mostly, the ones he found were either children's tales or gifts from villagers. Nightmare was about to accept defeat, when he noticed something wrapped at the very bottom of one of the baskets. He pulled it out, getting a better look. It was wrapped in thin animal skin, tied together with twine with a bow in the middle. In childish yet neat writing read: For Nighty. There was even a small moon emblem drawn alongside it.

Nightmare unwrapped the item, and what he found was a book and piece of paper. It was slightly crumpled, but the words on the paper were still readable.

Happy Birthday, Nighty!

I hope you like this. I made it myself. I can’t believe we’re going to be seventeen! I hope you like your gift, it took moons. Another surprise- I have your favorite pastries ready down at the village bakery for us for dessert! We can eat them all up together by Mom.

“Our birthday isn’t for a moon,” Nightmare said to himself. 

The brother he’d known had always barged into things, and wasn’t much of a planner. Nightmare’s attention drifted to the book in his palm. It was leather stained purple, the spine bound tightly with twine. It wasn’t as neat as one he might find in the shops of the village, but it was usable. That’s all that mattered. The birthday note was neatly folded, along with the animal skin. The twine held them together, and Nightmare tucked it back into Dreams basket. He put his new notebook away in his bag with his books from the library, waterskin, and sleepwear. He didn’t feel like writing now.

Instead, he sits in their old bed, sipping at the leftover stew he had decided to reheat. His magic felt stranger sure, but exerting himself earlier so intensely had depleted his energy. The stew’s nutrients turned to magic when he swallowed, dissolving into his mana lines and slowly restoring his strength. He made a mental note to test his limits at a later date. He couldn’t achieve his goals if he didn’t know his capabilities.

Speaking of himself, something was different with Nightmare- not just physically. He could sense it before, back when he was eating the apples. Now that his body had newfound energy and his mind was rested, it finally felt worth thinking about. He could tell he was… much different now. The urge for suffering, it felt like something similar to hunger, although right now he felt satisfied with the stew and villagers' agony. He’d never craved that kind of thing before- hell, he used to be scared of it. 

If I had kept them alive longer, I could have fed off their misery further.

It felt natural to think such a thing now, but it caught Nightmare off guard. The thoughts and desires he’d had today were beginning to get him to question everything. His morality, values, and his entire being.

“What am I?” Nightmare asked himself.

It was hard to properly describe to himself at first, but when the thought graced his mind, he knew it was undoubtedly true.

“...Negativity,” He murmured quietly.

He surpassed his previous guardian role, descending into something much more powerful and sinister. It began to make a lot of sense. It wasn’t just his mindset that had shifted from his inevitable blow up, it was his very essence. It was a difficult concept to grasp, but part of him felt like it knew all along.

“I am Negativity,” He declared to no one. 

It felt better to say it aloud, like it somehow solidified the fact into some sort of physical matter.

“I am the King of Negativity,” He corrected with a satisfied smile. 

The string of words hit a perfect chord, like the song of himself had been missing an essential tune. Nightmare knew he had so much to learn of himself and beyond in order to fit comfortably and securely into his newfound role.