From Murder to Dust

ATE - 16 - My

I had been kept in Ink's room for twenty-eight years and three months. I understood Ink's plot by this time; he was trying to make me hate my brother. I couldn't think of anything more diabolical than doing that to someone..but..he was affecting me. I had to hold on to my love for my brother, or Ink would play me like a fiddle; he was a master of manipulation, and as much as I tried to ignore him, it was impossible. My friends had agreed with me on the subject of Ink's evilness, but all they could do was delay the inevitable; I wanted to delay it as much as possible. The support I received was enough to keep me going, though; I would last as long as I could, and hopefully, by then, something would change. Even if it was the smallest, most insignificant thing, change was needed desperately. At the moment, I was looking around for my Hope; Ink had taken to hiding it while I slept, but he would have given it to me if I didn't find it - I wouldn't even react to his worst paint if he didn't let me have my Hope. After a couple minutes of searching, I found my Hope under a blanket, and I was contented; Ink walked over soon after that.

"Good job, Dusty!" Ink patted my skull, making me chuckle a little. "You found it!"

I held my Hope close.

"Well, that's enough play for today." Ink sat next to me. "Dream wants to see you later; isn't that nice?"

"Yeah." I replied; Dream was always kind.

"He should be coming around noon, which gives us a couple hours together! Dusty, your brother has been annoying me lately; he's quite mean at times.."

"He's not mean.."

"That's only what you say. Lie down."

Although I didn't particularly want to, I lay down on Ink's lap, hoping the pain wouldn't last too long. Before Ink could start the torture, he hummed.

"I almost forgot!" Ink laughed. "Dusty..do you love your brother?"

"Yes!" That was still a ridiculous question.

"Then you won't mind this."

Ink started the torture at that point, and I would have been lying if I said it wasn't painful; I was slowly getting used to it, but it still hurt worse than death. Speaking of death, that didn't really phase me anymore; living happened to be more painful in this scenario. Actually, pain that was under the level of just above death did nothing; that included broken bones, Ink's older paints, death, blasters, and pretty much everything other than Ink's newest paint, which hurt worse than anything else. He tried his new paint on torture victims once, but they couldn't handle it; they were still in comas. I was apparently the only one in the multiverse that could stand that much pain - apart from Ink himself; he often spilled paint on himself and didn't even flinch. He was either immune to paint or very disciplined. After an hour, Ink stopped the flow of paint; he was trying to calculate how long I would scream after doses of varying amount, and he was getting closer with his guesses. After two hours, Ink forcibly stopped my screaming; I didn't know how he managed to do it without knocking me out, but I didn't mind not having to scream. Dream knocked soon after that occurred, and he was let in promptly.

"Hello, Dream!" Ink greeted. 

"Hello.." Dream knew what had just happened.

"Dusty, don't do that!" Ink batted my arm away from wiping the paint off of my skull; it would dry if I didn't do that. "I just don't know what to do with you sometimes.."

"S-sorry.." I held my Hope close.

"Anyway, I suppose you want to do whatever you do now; bye!"