Chains of Negativity

Chapter 9

TW: Mentions of abuse & torture

------

Nightmare switched his lighter on and off, playing with it. The flame reached higher and higher until he switched it off again. He grabs Ink's forearm and switches the flame back on, ignoring the yelp out of him. The bone begins to turn black and scorch, eating away slowly. Nightmare blew out the fire after a moment of burning. No real damage was done, only a little dent in Inks bone.

Ink began to cry. A different type of cry that made Nightmare stop the flame. He almost asked if Ink was okay, but he quickly stopped himself. Of course he wasn't. That was why he was here after all. But it was still concerning. The negativity Nightmare was absorbing from his was too much for even him.

Ink cries got more odd until he began screaming, like he did when he was in pain. It almost scared Nightmare to hear.

"I'm not hurting you?" He said, in an almost reassuring tone.

"It hurts!" Ink cried, kicking his legs and holding his head.

Nightmare's gaze turned soft and he gently picked up the crying man. Ink started crying more, out of fear of being hurt once again as opposed to anything else. Ink stiffened in his arms, hoping for no more abuse.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," He soothed this time and brought Ink closer to his chest.

He stood up and began to walk down the long, winding hallways of the castle, Ink still in his arms. He stopped at a door and went in-no need to knock-he owns the castle after all. Cross was startled, falling off his bed. Nightmare just sighed at his fumbling and brought Ink over to him.

"I don't know what to do with him. You two are close. Help him," he ordered.

Cross nodded and took Ink into his arms, before realising something. He crawled himself and Ink under the bed, them laying on their stomachs. He yanked the bedsheets over the side of the bed, so he couldn't see hout from their hiding spot.

"Remember this?" he soothed, touching Ink cheek.

Nightmare had already walked out at this point. There was no need for him there.

Ink nodded in response to Cross's question as he tried to catch his breath. They often hid under the bed to hide from Dream. It would never work, of course, but it gave Ink a sense of security. He was used to it, the small, closed off area underneath the bed was comforting to him. It was a place he and Cross knew well. They had spent hours under their beds when Dream would get into his fits and take his anger out on them. They were scared of him, despite how they had been told they deserved it. They were the ones who usually made Dream angry like that, after all. So when Swap stayed downstairs trying to calm him, they stayed upstairs, hiding under one of their beds or in their closets, hoping that Swap's efforts were enough to save them.

Ink liked it under there, he felt safe in his friend's arms. Under the bed was sort of a safe place to him, and Cross knew it. They felt similarly, in fact, even after he had left to join the bad sanses they would lay under their beds. Cross picked up his phone, still hounding Ink closely, and messaged Horror asking him for some food. Anything would do, as he knew ink probably hadn't eaten since the last time they were in there a few days ago.

He cradled Ink in his arms, holding him close and comforting him to the best of his ability before Horror walked in. Ink froze and leaned into Cross more. Cross pulled the blankets up over them and carefully pulled the two of them out, gaining Horror's attention. He leaned down, a bowl of pasta in hand and he reached it out towards Ink. Though he didn't take it. He knew it would be delicious, just like the last food he had there was, but he didn't want to let Cross go for even a second.

Ink was eventually coerced into taking the bowl and he ate the food up greedily, as if he hadn't eaten in years. Once again, Horror and Cross were concerned for the skeleton. But they understood why he was the way he was.

"I'm sorry Ink," Cross began "I shouldn't have left you."

Tears welled in his eyes as he hugged Ink tighter. Ink was just sadly looking at his empty bowl.

"I'll get more," Horror said, picking the bowl up. He knew he shouldn't be there. This wasn't his conversation.

"I don't forgive you," Ink said.

"I understand."

They sat in silence until Horror came back and Ink resumed his starving act. The bowl was gone in mere seconds. But this time, he was too full for any more. He laid back in Cross's chest and closed his eyes. Everything was taking so much energy.

Ink had calmed down, and he allowed himself to relax in his friend's arms. He didn't even mind when he heard the bedroom door opening, assuming it was just Horror entering or leaving the room. He was virtually half asleep, his eye sockets drooping and his body going heavy and Limp. he heard quiet talking from the two people in the room, but put no effort into listening to their conversation. He didn't even care when he felt Cross pass him over to someone else, and he didn't care when he was carried through the room.

Ink was being held tightly, and the hands rubbed his back soothingly. He felt safe, despite everything that had happened here. He felt safe for the first time in years. He was laid down against a bed, and he felt the warmth of heavy sheets covering him, and he curled into the warmth.

Nightmare leaned down and kissed Ink on the forehead, even though it made him feel strange and uncomfortable. He left Ink alone in the room alone, letting him sleep and recover. For once in his life he felt bad, he felt bad for causing someone such bad negativity. He hadn't thought about it all that much before, especially when it came to someone like Ink.

Nightmare had been under the impression that Ink had joined in on abusing Cross before he came to them. But after having a chat with him, he learned that his assumption was the complete opposite of reality. He didn't feel too good about hurting him after he learned that. He needed him, for negativity of course, but that didn't mean he was going to treat him like Dream had. Despite needing negativity to live, he wasn't an asshole for no reason. Not to the point of torturing someone who didn't deserve it anyways. Not to the point that Dream was.