Honeysuckle

1

Cross was an idiot.

That much was common knowledge. Cross had been, and continued to be, naive at best and the height of stupidity at worst.

And no one knew this better than himself.

What the actual fuck had possessed him to try and obtain Overwrite? What part of him thought that it would be a good idea? And, furthermore, he had gone a step further and made a deal with none other than the King of Nightmares himself, which essentially trapped him within the Castle, except for when he needed to go and bring pointless misery on the inhabitants of the multiverse. He couldn't honestly see how it could get any worse.

The worst part was that he'd enjoyed it at first.

He'd enjoyed hearing their screams, watching them plead for their lives. Served them right for living happily when all he had ever known was pain and suffering.

But somewhere along the line his moral code, which he didn't even know existed, kicked in. And the guilt exploded. Not just for his current situation. For what he had done to his universe.

For how he had treated his friends.

Every day was the same. Wake up, eat, set up his mental barrier to prevent Nightmare from reading him like the open book he was, train, terrorise, kill, return, sleep. Over and over and over.

The sheer monotony was almost as painful as the physical injuries he inevitably received from his fights. But not quite as bad as the guilt.

Once he would have cried about this. Now he'd learnt to completely numb himself to prevent any further hurt from occurring.

Cross' gaze drifted to the desk in his room. Unfinished sketches. The remains of a meal. His knives.

And his heart locket.

He walked over to the desk and carefully picked it up, running his fingers over the smooth, cool metal.

He didn't really know why he still held on to it. Maybe it reminded him of a better time, a time when he could laugh with no consequences and spend all his time with his brother, the guards and Frisk.

Frisk.

His once-friend, who betrayed him to seek revenge. Who he thought was there for him until it became clear that all he wanted was to use him.

And Ink was the same, wasn't he? Just looking for a way to justify himself, to drag himself out of the mess that he dragged them both into. To clear his conscience, making himself forget that he was the one who'd encouraged XGaster in the first place.

A wave of anger crashed on the shore of Cross' mind. He tightened his grip on the locket before hurling it across the room, watching it hit the wall and drop, cracked, to the carpet.

He buried his face in his hands, tears beginning to prick at his eyes as his emotions started to take over.

"You look like you could use a hand."

Cross flinched. He removed his hands from his face.

In front of him stood a man with chin-length blonde hair, honey coloured eyes and a determined, kind expression. He was wearing some sort of hooded yellow cape and a long, cream-coloured coat, fastened at the waist with a belt that was the colour of..... the colour that was called....

Wow, Cross really needed to start learning colours, didn't he.

What set off the alarm bells in his head was the golden circlet he wore. An accessory he'd seen in photos that Nightmare hadn't quite got to burning or scribbling over yet.

A crown fit for a Prince of Positivity.

Dream.

Cross's expression hardened as he forced himself to dull his feelings, hiding them from the Guardian in front of him. He suspected that Dream could read emotions like Nightmare could, a belief confirmed by the fact that he could feel Dream's dizzying aura washing over him, searching him for any clues.

Well Cross was not about to give it to him.

"What do you want, Goldilocks?"

A small smile spread across Dream's lips. "Well, we could always start with an introduction. Although I already know who you are, Cross."

It was getting harder and harder for Cross to conceal was he was feeling as the anxiety and anger ran through his veins.

Instead of talking, Cross picked up a knife and half-heartedly threw it at Dream, who simply sidestepped to dodge it, the movement seeming effortless, a second nature. "And you're intruding," he began, voice devoid of emotion. "So how about you leave me to wallow in my misery, and we don't have to make this personal."

Dream raised an eyebrow. "Personal? Do you mean the whole pseudo-war with my brother? Because trust me, it probably already is if he's anything like how he used to be."

Cross' mind poured over images of Nightmare changing the subject whenever someone brought up his more light-hearted brother. Of Nightmare destroying anything that reminded of him. He pondered for a moment how it all went so wrong between them before realising he was supposed to be emotionless and rebuilding his facade.

Too late. Dream had already slipped through the cracks.

"Huh. So he has changed. Well, it's hard to remember what a century can do to you. He used to be going on about me all the time, spewing out insults and lies whenever he could, making his minions hate me as much as they hated themselves-"

Cross threw his other knife at Dream, more aggressively this time. Dream dodged it just as easily, which was incredibly infuriating.

"Get out of my room and my life."

Clearly sensing that Cross was too mentally unstable for a conversation, Dream exhaled a sigh. "Okay. I can do the first bit. Unfortunately I'm stubborn, so you'll be seeing a lot of me."

Stars, could this guy get any more irritating.

Dream brushed some stray strands of hair out of his eyes.

"Adiós, mi amigo."

Golden light flooded the room. And just like that he was gone.

Cross groaned. Great. Now he had him to deal with, not just in fights but in actual life as well.

He collapsed on the bed, cursing into the pillow.

Looks like things had gotten worse after all.