𓆩☬𓆪

There is the English version at the beginning and the French version afterwards •w•

The Post Dark Cream Comic and Aim belongs to @zu-is-here (and it's also thanks to her that you can read this story XD)

𓆩☬𓆪

The sound of a music box began to be heard in a distorted way, drowned out by the shores of the awakening. When the boy stretched, he tried to remember the melody. Where had he heard it? And who was that dark figure who had suddenly vanished into his dream?

He got out of bed, walking quietly towards the living room where Dream was, who had already started to prepare breakfast. Cross was still sleeping, taking advantage of this Saturday morning to sleep in.

The little one helped his father take the cups and the bowl he gave him, being too high for him, before putting them on the table. He sat quietly at the table, before starting to put milk in his bowl, while the positive one went to wake up his husband.

They both came back into the room, his father's eyes still clouded with sleep and calmly holding his soul mate, having still managed to trap him with his arms. Dream smiled, touched by this gesture he received from his husband every weekend.

He managed to free himself from his hold by sitting down quietly. Cross, before sitting down, kissed his son's forehead, wishing him good morning. They ate lunch in good spirits, as usual.

Then, as he did every weekend, the little skeleton got ready to see his uncle. He looked in the small library in the living room for his favourite book. It was the only one that had been made by hand and his father had already told him that his uncle had made it.

He loved its hardback cover covered with a layer of blue leather, where a huge apple tree was engraved. Some of the apples were completely engraved while others had only the outline defined. On the corners furthest apart, the leather was tinged with yellow at the top and purple at the bottom. Silver corners were attached to each edge of the book, representing a moon and a sun. He knew that the book was called The Power of Feeling, because his uncle told him every time, he read it.

He grabbed it, and then went into the kitchen, taking two small chocolate bars as usual. He checked that he hadn't forgotten anything before opening the door and greeting his parents. Cross said to him:

“You be careful going in.”

“I promise, have a good day.”

They said the same before he closed the door. He went as usual to the playground, where he always waited for his uncle. He liked to have fun here, and sometimes Killer would come and play with him too, but he left quickly after Nightmare arrived.

He walked over to the swing before sitting down, putting the book on his lap. He began to swing quietly, being careful not to knock the book off by going too fast. He stopped abruptly when he heard an unfamiliar voice behind him asking if he was expecting his uncle.

He turned to answer him when he saw his face: a skeleton with pastel pupils and a paintbrush with an ink stain on his cheek. The skeleton his parents had always told him to watch out for. He remained silent, not knowing what to do.

“...You're very quiet. I thought you'd be more talkative than that. You must get that from Cross, he was never really talkative at first. But after we became friends, he was more so.”

“Are you a friend of Dad's?”

“Yes, although I'm more Dream's friend. We've known each other for a long time, and we've had many adventures together. He even bailed me out a few times.”

“Really, it's so cool!”

“But then your parents met, and I never really saw them again... But they never told you about it?”

In the face of Aim's silence, Ink added:

“They never showed you where they declared their love? If you want, I can take you there. It's a place full of so many memories.”

“But Uncle Mare-”

“Nightmare already knows this place; he'll join us when he gets here and doesn't see us. Don't you trust your parents' friends?”

Deep inside, his instincts were screaming at him no, reminding him of their warning. But on the other hand, he knew his uncle and fathers and was a friend of theirs, so he could trust him...? And his uncle knew this place too.

He took the taller boy's hand before the latter combed the ground with his brush, then jumped into the puddle, dragging the child with him. They found themselves in a wooded area, the smell of pine trees could be felt. The snow covered them gently, giving the place a fresh feel.

Ink began to walk through the forest, followed by Aim who marvelled at the place. It reminded him of the woods where he and his parents used to go in the winter. They would have fun skating on the frozen lake that hid in his place, having a snowball fight where his papa would watch them, before starting to have fun with them after taking a snowball on his shoulder because of his dad, and they would end their day all at home over hot chocolate. Maybe he would see a place like that here, and he could go with his parents, that would be nice.

He was about to tell the other skeleton about it when this feeling, or rather lack of feeling, crept into his mind. It was strange, but usually he felt like he knew when someone was doing well or not, like a hunch. It had always been the case, yet when faced with this stranger he felt nothing, and unconsciously it twisted his stomach slightly, chilled his bones, without him really knowing why.

Inwardly he tried to find a reason for this exception, as the trees around them became less and less numerous. Buildings began to appear in the distance. Aim, seeing this, wondered who they would find. If this was where his parents had declared their love, then surely, he would meet friends of theirs.

The excitement of seeing more of his parents' friends was short-lived when he saw that the buildings were in ruins. Some had their facades ripped open, others had their roofs and probably their interiors collapsed. Others had only broken windows, and the only ones that had no apparent damage made the atmosphere strangely even heavier. A ghost town, that was the vision before their eyes.

Aim's bad feeling resurfaced, even more powerful than before. How could his parents have decided to declare themselves in a ruined place? What could have happened here? He pulled the book tighter to his chest, becoming slightly alarmed by the scene before them. He stammered:

“Sir... Are you sure Uncle Mare will find us here? He was waiting for us in the playground, he might get worried if he doesn't find us, and it's not inhabited here at all, he might not find us.”

“Do you know who destroyed this place,” asked the protector, his back still turned to the boy.

“...No...”

“It was your uncle with Killer, to try to show Cross that he could never be happy, and also because of his betrayal and escape.”

“You're lying! Uncle Mare and Killer would never do that!”

“You seem to like them, maybe that's a good thing... But know kid that I never lie.”

As he said his last sentence, he turned around completely, his pastel pupils and his slight smile had given way to a face devoid of all emotion. He crouched down facing the child, before declaring:

“What follows is simple: I ask for your help, you accept and after you have helped me, I will take you back to your parents, no one knows.”

“Help with what?

“You just have to use your power over me, you know the one that can change emotions.”

“Dad and Papa said that's a power that can hurt people, and that you shouldn't use it.”

“And why not?”

“They said that by using this power, people can get hurt because they wouldn't know if they really liked us. They said that it is more important that they like us for who we really are, than by lying to them and changing something so precious.”

Ink thought for a moment before saying:

“I won't mind you using your power on me, on the contrary. I have no soul; I can't feel emotions like others. But if you used it, I could be normal.”

“Don't you have a soul? But my power only works when people already have feelings.”

“How can you be so sure when you haven't even tried,” he asked in a colder voice.

“My power is used to change the emotions of others, to rewrite them. If they don't exist, I can't change them.”

“So, you can't help me... I don't see why I should do what I told you then.”

The atmosphere was becoming frightening. Ink's voice and face was like that of a cruel psychopath in frightening nightmares, and the quiet of the place seemed to become oppressive. The boy took a step back, shaking more and more.

“You're scaring me.”

“Scared? I'm just asking you to help me. Your parents never taught you to be nice,” Ink said as he grabbed Aim's arm, dropping the book he was holding.

A Gaster Blaster appeared beside him before firing at the other skeleton. At the same time, the boy's soul turned blue, throwing him into his dad's arms. He boiled with rage and anguish, his eyes now only two blood-red pupils.

The latter was about to use his knife to teleport with his son when Ink created ink bones which he hurled at them. Cross smashed them with his weapon before setting Aim down beside the tree behind him. He would have preferred to get his son to safety before starting this fight, but Ink prevented him from actually doing so.

So, he turned his knife into two daggers and teleported behind the protector, trying to slice him by surprise. Ink dodged before hitting him with a brush, knocking him back a few feet.

Even though the monochrome had failed to hit him, he was slightly pleased that the fight was taking place away from where his child was. He sent bones at his opponent, who liquefied, before resurfacing next to him and trying to summon a Gaster Blaster. Cross gave him no time, sending his leg slamming into his stomach, smashing it against the tree behind him.

Ink coughed from the impact of the tree and also from the kick. Even though they were skeletons and didn't have stomachs or diaphragms, their magic reacted as if they did, and they really didn't appreciate that kind of blow. He lay down on the ground to dodge the Gaster Blaster shot that Cross had just fired, which destroyed and burned the plant and those behind it.

Then he grabbed his brush which he had dropped before creating a wall of ink to protect himself from a volley of bones. This separation disappeared after his opponent sliced it with his daggers, coming closer to him. To keep him away, he created several rows of bones before landing on a low tree branch near Cross.

Black tears began to fall from Cross's eyes, showing his growing negative feelings to the point of overflowing.

“I haven't seen your face like that for years,” Ink added. “The last time was the day I paid you and Dream a little surprise visit. I didn't expect to see you with a baby, but what surprised me most that day was that your child had this power. Honestly, we could have a lot of fun, and thanks to him, I could have feelings like the others again. You can do that for your friend.”

“You're not my friend, you're just a skeleton who has become obsessed with something he doesn't have and never will. Because of your madness, you put Aim in danger that day and you just did it again today.”

“... In danger... I didn't do anything wrong... I took him to a place that is important to you, I told him everything that happened here, and I kindly asked him to help me. There's nothing wrong with that. On reflection, maybe I should have been more radical... But I can always make it right.”

Three Gaster Blasters appeared in front of the boy, startling him and his father. Before the shots were fired, they heard the AU protector speak his words like a death sentence:

“If Error can create new things when he is repulsed by it and our agreement still stood at that time, then I may as well do the same. I'll never be forgotten again, even if it means going from good guy to bad guy protector.”

“AIM!!!”

Cross was too far away from Aim to get there in time, so he made a giant wall of bones to protect him. He didn't have time to reassure himself that he was okay or even make another move, as Ink had already launched a bone attack. He had let his guard down, desperate to save his son, and before he could even protect himself, bones had embedded themselves in his torso, several touching his soul.

His purple blood began to stain his white top, and to run from the corners of his mouth, before falling to the ground. Two shrill cries rang out at that moment: Aim's, who had moved away from the half-destroyed wall to reassure his father, and Dream's. He was teleported to his son in spite of himself, thanks to his husband. The latter had arrived in his place after sensing his soul mate's overly negative feelings. But he had arrived too late to protect him from the treacherous attack that Ink had launched against him.

Dream held him in his arms on his knees, his eyes flooded with tears, trying to use his healing magic on him. But the wounds on his soul were too numerous for him to do so. Aim rushed towards them, seeing with horror the gaping holes in his father's torso, his breath choked and his soul cracking from the damage it had taken.

He searched his pockets, trying to find the chocolate bars he had taken a few hours earlier. He had taken two, but he was unable to find them. His hands were shaking, and his tears were appearing more and more, blurring his vision. He searched desperately before realising that they were not where he had put them.

He had probably dropped them without noticing, then he remembered the playground, that moment when they had jumped into the gate. Surely that was when he had lost them. After all, he had been careful not to drop and damage the book, but he hadn't checked for the chocolate bars.

“Dad...”

Aim didn't know what to say or do. His father was starting to crumble, and he didn't know how to save him. To reassure him, Cross pulled him closer to him, before giving him a kiss on the forehead, as he used to doing.

Then he put his hand on his husband's cheek, trying to remove the tears that were running down with his thumb, even though new ones appeared right after. He tried with difficulty to take a steady breath before saying:

“I'm sorry, I let my guard down again. I couldn't protect you anymore... Don't cry... I've always preferred it when you smile... I wish I could keep seeing you smile and laugh...”

His husband tried to put on a smile, but it looked more like a forced grimace distorted by sadness. Cross stood up slightly before placing a final kiss on his soul mate's teeth.

“You are my two rays of sunshine...”

He had spoken his words with the last of his strength, before disappearing entirely into a pile of dust. His son looked down at his remains, his tears growing more and more uncontrollable. His eyesight was blurred and he couldn't see what was around him, except for the dust as his tears fell.

Dream, on the other hand, stared into space before screaming at the assassin. His scream was filled with rage and hatred, changing to a promise of death as his voice became different, dark, corrupt.

Bones cracked as tentacles ripped through the back of his jumper, moving uncontrollably like snakes preparing to bite their prey. Black liquid began to cover him, devouring his blind eye again, making it disappear.

Before he left to take his revenge, he saw the look in his son's eyes that was mixed with sadness, fear and horror. He didn't know if it was due to his appearance, which he considered hideous, or because he was afraid of simply losing his papa, but that look made him even more angry at the painter. Because of him, he had lost his husband, but he had also had to traumatize his child with his appearance.

Nightmare and Killer arrived shortly afterwards, to see Dream in his corrupted form lashing out at Ink's inert and almost completely destroyed body, while Aim cried at a pile of dust. The two skeletons had quickly guessed who he belonged to by the scene before them.

The negative one moved towards his brother to stop him, but Killer stopped him by holding his arm, feeling only angst at the scene before them.

“I need you to take Aim and get out of here, while I calm Dream down,” he announced, pulling his arm free of the other skeleton's grip.

“No, you'll get killed. I-”

“Because you think you can do it? Take Aim and leave! That's an order,” he shouted.

The tearful man looked at him in despair, wanting to say something more. He knew that Nightmare was right and that he was just wasting time, but he couldn't help the fear that was eating away at his stomach. It was Cross who had managed to bring Dream to his senses, not Nightmare, so how could he be sure he would? He shook off his worries, confidently thinking that surely, he was the only one now who could do it. Then he walked over to the boy, before picking him up and teleporting into the boy's room.

The negative began to rush towards his brother, getting between him and Ink, dodging the tentacles that struck in the protector's direction. He caught him in his arms, trying to block his movements.

“Calm down, you can't kill him, he's immortal like us. Think of Aim and calm down!”

The attacks stopped, and his tentacles collapsed as if they were empty of energy. He dropped to his knees, his brother following his fall, still holding him in his arms. He turned his eyes and saw his husband's dust. If he had arrived earlier, he could have saved him, he would still be here. This sentence kept coming back in his mind, hammering him with blows, driving the nail of remorse even deeper.

Tears began to flow down his cheeks, creating ever larger wakes. He returned his brother's embrace, holding his coat as if it were the last thing, the last hope he could hold on to. His sobs were almost the only sound to be heard in this charred and destroyed world.

His soul froze, twisted, and felt as if it would crack and shatter at any moment. How he wished at that moment that it had. He would no longer feel that pain in his chest, that vice in his throat. He would like to join him, but he couldn't, and never would. It was one of the few privileges that was taken away from him.

The crackling of the flames was muted by the pain of the desperate cries that the positive was now throwing into the void, tearing at the same time at his brother's heart.

It was one of the few moments when the negative felt so helpless in the face of his younger brother's pain. What could he say, what could he do to heal his broken heart, except wait and show his presence and support through a simple hug. Only time would soften his grieving soul and they both knew it, but at the time it was hard to take.

All this pain and sorrow was preventing him from returning to his normal form. He didn't want to scare his son; he didn't want him to see him like that again. So, between his uncontrollable sobs, he stammered:

“I don't want to show myself to Aim like this.”

“Take your time,” his brother added in a calm voice.

Meanwhile, the boy was crying in Killer's arms, unable to get the image of his dad turning to dust out of his mind. It wasn't possible, his father had always been strong, he couldn't die like that. He would probably come back and say it was a joke, his papa would scold him for it, and to make up for it he would hug him, as always. As always, he would walk quietly out the door. He was coming back! He would come back... right?

He knew in his soul that reality was not what he wanted to see. He knew what fate had befallen his father, he had seen it with his own eyes, but he could not accept it. Or rather he didn't want to accept it.

“Dad will come back, right? He's coming home,” the boy whined between sobs.

“It'll be okay,” Killer reassured him.

It was the only sentence he repeated softly, as if he only knew that one, which was becoming more and more meaningless with its relentless repetition. He rubbed his back to soothe him. He kept a mask of calm to reassure the little one and not to show his feelings, even if his molten heart gave him away.

Aim slowly calmed down. He wished so much that time would wind up like a simple stopped music box. It was then that he asked Killer if he could rest, to wake up from this cruel bad dream, which the taller man accepted. Before going to sleep, he left his room, followed by Killer who did not understand why he was leaving.

The little skeleton walked through the house towards his parents' room. He entered the room and saw that it was in the same state as it was in the beginning, tidy, the bed still made in the same way, the wardrobe still closed, the sunlight partly filtered by the curtains almost entirely open.

It was like an unchanged vestige of time, a vestige that reminded him of that happy time he spent with his parents. He kept hoping that it was a nightmare, so that he could wake up and hug his fathers again.

He walked over to Cross's bedside table, picking up the slightly cracked heart-shaped locket that lay on it. He had seen it once and simply asked what it was. He remembered the image as he opened it and turned a small mechanism inside, making the soft sound of a music box playing Always with me.

He remembered the wistful look on his father's face, before he calmly told him that this jewel was very important to him, and that he would rather leave it safe than risk it being damaged even more than it was by wearing it. He remembered that his father had not said who the people drawn with him were, nor the meaning of the word written above it, and he had preferred not to ask him.

He hadn't touched it again, not wanting to risk breaking something precious to one of his parents. But now he just wanted to have it so he wouldn't feel like he was breaking himself like a fragile object. Or maybe he just wanted something that belonged to him so that he would feel like it was still near him.

He took it in his hand, tangling the golden chain between his knuckles. Killer said nothing, understanding that the smaller boy was trying to hold on to something that would remind him of Cross. Nevertheless, when the boy returned to his room, he said softly:

“Kiddo, if you need me, I'll be right here in the living room. Dream and Nightmare should be back soon, I'll wait for them.”

“Will you stay with me? I'd like one more hug.”

The teary-eyed man agreed, sitting down on the bed with his back against the wall before taking him in his arms. Aim, for his part, had abandoned his Rubik's Cube, which he used whenever he felt bad. Instead, he opened the locket and activated the mechanism, which instantly pierced the silence with the soft crystalline notes of the lullaby.

He stayed there, listening quietly, thinking of nothing but the hope of waking up from this nightmare. He closed his eyes, letting himself be carried away by the sound of the lullaby and the sleep. A tear rolled down his cheek, before falling onto the taller man's shirt as the last note of the song was heard, leaving them to be engulfed again by the morbid silence.

It was also at this point that Killer silently broke down, shattering the mask that had been forged on his face earlier, unable to hold back his tears and grief at the death of his friend.

𓆩☬𓆪

Le son d'une boîte à musique commença à se faire entendre de manière distordu, noyé par les rives du réveil. Lorsque le petit s’étira, il essaya de se souvenir de cette mélodie. Où l'avait-il bien entendu ? Et qui était cette silhouette sombre qui s'était soudainement évaporé dans son rêve ?

Il sortit de son lit, se dirigeant tranquillement vers le salon où se trouvé Dream, qui avais déjà commencé à préparer le petit-déjeuner. Cross quant à lui, dormait toujours, profitant de ce samedi matin pour faire la grasse matinée.

Le petit aida son papa prenant les tasses puis le bol qu’il lui donnait, étant trop haut pour lui, avant de les poser sur la table. Il s’assit tranquillement à table, avant de commencer à verser du lait dans son bol, pendant que le positif allait réveiller son mari.

Ils revinrent tout deux dans la pièce, son père ayant les yeux encore embrumés de sommeil et tenant calmement son âme-sœur, ayant encore réussi à l’emprisonner avec ses bras. Dream sourit, attendri par ce geste qu’il recevait de son mari chaque week-end.

Il réussit à se libérer de son emprise en s’asseyant tranquillement. Cross, avant de s’assoir à son tour, fis un bisou sur le front de son fils, lui souhaitant bonjour. Ils déjeunèrent dans la bonne humeur, comme d'habitude.

Puis comme chaque week-end, le petit squelette se prépara pour voir son oncle. Il chercha dans la petite bibliothèque du salon son livre préféré. C’était le seul qui avais été fait à la main et son papa lui avait déjà avouer que c’était son oncle qui l’avait fabriqué.

Il aimait énormément sa couverture cartonnée recouverte d’une couche de cuir bleutée, où un immense pommier y était gravé. Ses pommes étaient pour certaines entièrement gravée tandis que d’autre n’avais que le contour défini. Sur les coins les plus éloignés l’un de l’autre, le cuir se teintait de jaune en haut et de violet en bas. Des coins en argent était accrocher sur chaque bord du livre et représentait une lune et un soleil. Il savait que ce livre s’appelait La force des sentiments, grâce à son oncle qui lui disais à chaque fois qu’il le lisait.

Il l’attrapa, et se dirigea ensuite dans la cuisine, prenant deux petites barres chocolatées comme à son habitude. Il vérifia qu’il n’oubliait rien avant d’ouvrir la porte en saluant ses parents. Cross lui dit :

—Tu fais attention en y allant.

—Promis, bonne journée.

Ils lui répondirent la même chose avant qu’il ne ferme la porte. Il partit comme à son habitude vers l’aire de jeu, où il attendait toujours son oncle. Il aimait beaucoup s’amuser ici, et parfois, Killer venait aussi jouer avec lui, mais il partait rapidement après que Nightmare soit arrivé.

Il s’approcha de la balançoire avant de s’assoir, posant le livre sur ses genoux. Il commença à se balancer tranquillement, faisant attention à ne pas faire tomber le livre en allant trop vite. Il s’arrêta brusquement lorsqu’il entendit une voix inconnue derrière lui demandant s’il attendait son oncle.

Il se retourna pour lui répondre lorsqu’il vit son visage : un squelette aux pupilles pastel accompagné d’un pinceau et ayant une tache d’encre sur la joue. Le squelette dont ses parents lui ont toujours dit de se méfier. Il resta muet, ne sachant pas trop quoi faire.

—…Tu es bien silencieux. Je pensais que tu serais plus bavard que ça. Tu dois sûrement tenir ça de Cross, il n'a jamais été vraiment bavard au début. Mais après qu’on soit devenu ami il l’était plus.

—Vous êtes un ami de Dad ?

—Oui, même si je suis plus l’ami de Dream. On se connait depuis longtemps, et on a vécu beaucoup d’aventures ensemble. Il m’a même déjà tiré d’affaire plusieurs fois.

—Vraiment, c’est trop cool !

—Mais après tes parents se sont rencontré, et je ne les ai plus vraiment revus... Mais ils ne t’en ont jamais parlé ?

Devant le silence de Aim, Ink ajouta :

—Ils ne t’ont jamais montré où se sont déclaré leur amour ? Si tu veux, je peux t’y amener. C’est un endroit chargé de tellement de souvenirs.

—Mais Oncle Mare-

—Nightmare connais déjà cet endroit, il nous rejoindra quand il arrivera et qu’il ne nous verra pas ici. Tu ne fais pas confiance aux amis de tes parents ?

Au plus profond de lui, son instinct lui criait non, lui rappelant leur mise en garde. Mais d’un autre coté il connaissait son oncle et ses pères et était un ami d’eux, alors il pouvait lui faire confiance... ? Et son oncle connaissait aussi ce lieu.

Il prit la main du plus grand avant que ce dernier peigne le sol avec son pinceau, sautant ensuite dans cette flaque en entrainant l’enfant avec lui. Ils se retrouvèrent dans un lieu boisé, l’odeur des pins se faisait ressentir. La neige les recouvrés doucement, rendant une sensation de frai à ce lieu.

Ink commença à marcher dans la forêt, suivit de Aim qui s’émerveillé devant les lieux. Ça lui faisait penser au bois ou ses parents et lui avaient l’habitude d’aller l’hiver. Ils s’amusaient à patiner sur le lac gelé qui se dissimuler dans ses lieux, à faire une bataille de boules de neiges où son papa les regarder, avant de commencer à s’amuser avec eux après avoir pris une boule de neige sur l’épaule à cause de son père, et ils finissaient leur journée chez eux tous autour d’un chocolat chaud. Peut-être qu’il verrait un lieu comme ça ici, et qu’il pourrait y aller avec ses parents, ce serait bien.

Il allait en parler à l’autre squelette quand cette sensation, ou plutôt cette absence de sensation s’immisça dans son esprit. C’était étrange, mais d’habitude il avait l’impression de savoir quand quelqu’un allait bien ou mal, un peu comme une intuition. Ça avait toujours été le cas, pourtant face à cet étranger il ne ressentait rien, et inconsciemment ça lui tordait légèrement l’estomac, lui glaçait les os, sans qu’il ne sache vraiment pourquoi.

Il essaya de trouver intérieurement une raison à cette exception, lorsque les arbres autour d’eux devenait de moins en moins nombreux. Des bâtiments commençaient à apparaître au loin. Aim en voyant ça, se demanda qui ils allaient trouver. Si c’était ici que ses parents avaient déclaré leur amour, alors il rencontrera sûrement des amis à eux.

Cette excitation de voir d’autres amis de ses parents fut de courte durée, lorsque qu’il vit que les bâtiments étaient en ruines. Certains avait leurs façades d’éventré, d’autre le toit et surement l’intérieur d’effondrer. D’autres encore n’avait que les fenêtres de brisés, et les seules qui n’avait aucun dégât apparent rendais bizarrement l’ambiance encore plus pesante. Une ville fantôme, voilà la vision qui était devant leur yeux.

Le mauvais pressentiment de Aim refit surface, encore plus puissant qu’avant. Comment ses parents auraient pu décider de se déclarer dans un endroit en ruines ? Qu'avait-il bien pus se passer ici ? Il resserra le livre sur son torse, devenant légèrement inquiet par les lieux devant eux. Il bredouilla :

—Monsieur... Vous êtes sûr qu’Oncle Mare va nous trouver ici ? Il nous attendait dans l’air de jeu, il risque de s’inquiétait s’il ne nous trouve pas, et ça n’est pas du tout habité ici, il risque de ne pas nous trouvé.

—Sais-tu qui a détruit ce lieu, demanda le protecteur toujours le dos tourné vers le petit.

—…Non…

—C'est ton oncle avec Killer, pour essayer de montrer à Cross qu’il ne pourrait jamais être heureux, et aussi à cause de sa trahison et de sa fuite.

—Vous mentez ! Oncle Mare et Killer ne feraient jamais ça !

—Tu sembles les aimé, c'est peut-être une bonne chose… Mais sache petit que je ne mens jamais.

En prononçant sa dernière phrase, il se retourna entièrement, ses pupilles pastel et son léger sourire de façade avaient laisser place à un visage vide de toutes émotions. Il s’accroupi face à l’enfant, avant de déclarer :

—Ce qui va suivre est simple : Je te demande de l'aide, tu acceptes et après que tu m'es aidé, je te ramène à tes parents ni vu, ni connu.

—De l'aide pour quoi ?

—Tu as juste à utiliser ton pouvoir sur moi, tu sais celui qui peut modifier les émotions.

—Papa et Dad ont dit que c'est un pouvoir qui peut blesser les gens, et qu'il fallait surtout pas l’utiliser.

—Et pourquoi donc ?

—Ils ont dit qu’en utilisant ce pouvoir, les personnes peuvent se sentir blesser parce qu’ils ne pourraient pas savoir s’ils nous apprécient vraiment. Ils ont dit qu'il faut plutôt qu'ils nous aiment pour ce qu'on est vraiment, qu’en leur mentant et en leur changeant quelques chose d'aussi précieux.

Ink réfléchis quelques instants avant de dire :

—Je ne prendrai pas mal que tu utilises ton pouvoir sur moi, au contraire. Je n'ai pas d’âme, je ne peux pas ressentir des émotions comme les autres. Mais si tu l’utilisais, je pourrais être normal.

—Vous n'avez pas d’âme ? Mais mon pouvoir ne fonctionne que lorsque des personnes ont déjà des sentiments.

—Comment tu peux en être si sûr alors que tu n'as même pas essayé, demanda-t-il d'une voix plus froide.

—Mon pouvoir sert à modifier les émotions des autres, à les réécrire. S’ils n'existent pas, je ne peux pas les changer.

—Alors, tu ne peux pas m’aider... Je ne vois pas pourquoi je ferais ce que je t'ai dit alors.

L'ambiance devenait angoissante. La voix et le visage de Ink était semblable à celle d'un cruel psychopathe dans des cauchemars effrayants, et le calme des lieux semblait devenir oppressant. Le petit recula d'un pas, tremblant de plus en plus.

—Vous me faites peur.

—Peur ? Je te demande juste de m'aider. Tes parents ne t’ont jamais appris à être gentil, déclara Ink en attrapant le bras de Aim, faisant tomber le livre qu'il tenait.

Un Gaster Blaster apparu à côté de ce dernier avant de tirer sur l'autre squelette. Au même moment, l’âme du petit vira au bleu, le projetant dans les bras de son père. Celui-ci bouillonnait de rage et d'angoisse, ses yeux n’étant plus que deux pupilles rouge sang.

Ce dernier allait utiliser son couteau pour se téléporter avec son fils lorsque Ink créa des os d’encre qu’il projeta sur eux. Cross les brisa avec son arme avant de poser Aim à côté de l’arbre derrière lui. Il aurait préféré mettre son fils à l’abri avant d’entamer ce combat, mais Ink l’empêcher de véritablement le faire.

Alors il transforma son couteau en deux dagues et se téléporta derrière le protecteur, essayant de le trancher par surprise. Ink esquiva avant de lui asséner un coup de pinceau, le faisant reculer de quelques mètres.

Même si le monochrome n’avais pas réussi à le toucher, il était légèrement satisfait que le combat se déroulais loin de là où était son enfant. Il envoya des os sur son adversaire, qui se liquéfia, avant de resurgir à côté de lui et d’essayer d’invoquer un Gaster Blaster. Cross ne lui laissa pas le temps, envoyant sa jambe frapper son ventre, le fracassant contre l’arbre derrière lui.

Ink toussa dû au choc contre l’arbre mais aussi dû au coup de pied. Même si c’était des squelettes et qu’ils n’avaient pas d’estomac ni de diaphragmes, leur magie réagissait comme s’ils en avais, et elles n’apprécié vraiment pas ce genre de coup. Il se coucha au sol pour esquiver le tir de Gaster Blaster que venait de tirer Cross, qui détruisit et brûla le végétal et ceux qui se trouver derrière.

Puis il attrapa son pinceau qu’il avait fait tomber avant de créer un mur d’encre pour se protéger d’une salve d’os. Cette séparation disparue après que son adversaire la trancha avec ses dagues, se rapprochant de lui. Pour l’éloigner de lui, il créa plusieurs rangés d’os avant de se poser sur une branche basse d’un arbre, proche de Cross.

Des larmes noires commençaient à couler des yeux de ce dernier, montrant ses sentiments négatifs de plus en plus important, au point de déborder.

—Ça fais des années que je n’avais pas vu ton visage comme ça, ajouta Ink. La dernière fois, ça a été le jour où je vous ai rendus une petite visite surprise à toi et Dream. Je ne m’attendais pas à vous voir avec un bébé, mais ce qui m’a le plus surpris ce jour-là, ça a été que ton enfant est ce pouvoir. Franchement, on pourrait bien s’amuser, et grâce à lui, je pourrais de nouveau ressentir des sentiments comme les autres. Tu peux bien faire ça pour ton ami.

—Tu n’es pas mon ami, tu es juste un squelette qui est devenu obsédé par une chose qu’il n’a pas et n’aura jamais. À cause de ta folie, tu as mis ce jour-là Aim en danger et tu viens encore de le faire aujourd’hui.

—… En danger... Je n’ai pourtant rien fait de mal... Je l’ai amené dans un lieu important pour vous, je lui ai dit tous ce qui c’était passé ici, et je lui ai gentiment demander de m’aider. Il n’y a rien de mal. En y réfléchissant, peut-être que j’aurai dû être plus radical... Mais je peux toujours rectifier le coup.

Trois Gaster Blasters apparurent devant le petit, le surprenant ainsi que son père. Avant que les coups soient tirés, ils entendirent le protecteur des AU prononcé ses mots comme une sentence de mort :

—Si Error peut créer de nouvelles choses alors qu’il est répugné par ça et que notre accord tenait toujours à ce moment-là, alors je peux tout aussi bien faire pareil. Je ne serais plus jamais oublié, même si ça signifie passer du gentil au méchant protecteur.

—AIM !!!

Cross était trop loin de Aim pour arriver à temps, alors il fit un gigantesque mur d’os pour le protéger. Il n’eut pas le temps de se rassurer qu’il aller bien ou même de faire un autre mouvement, que Ink avait déjà lancé une attaque d’os. Il avait baissé sa garde voulant à tout prix sauver son fils, et avant même qu’il puisse se protéger, des os s’étaient planté dans son torse, plusieurs touchant son âme.

Son sang violet commença à teintait son haut blanc, et à couler des commissures de sa bouche, avant de tomber au sol. Deux cris stridents retentir à ce moment-là : celui de Aim qui s’était décalé du mur à moitié détruit pour rassurer son père, et Dream. Il fut téléporté vers son fils malgré lui, grâce à son mari. Ce dernier était arrivé dans ses lieux après avoir sentis les sentiments trop négatifs de son âme-sœur. Mais il était arrivé trop tard pour le protéger de l’attaque traître que lui avais lancé Ink.

Dream le tenait dans les bras à genoux, ses yeux inondés de larmes, essayant d’utiliser sa magie de soins sur lui. Mais les blessures sur son âme étaient trop importantes pour qu’il y arrive. Aim se précipita vers eux, voyant avec horreur les trous béants qui parsemés le torse de son père, son souffle haché et son âme qui craqueler à cause des dégâts trop importante qu’elle s’était prise.

Il chercha dans ses poches, essayant de retrouver les barres chocolatées qu'il avait pris quelques heures plus tôt. Il en avait pris deux, mais il était incapable de les retrouver. Ses mains tremblaient, et ses larmes apparaissaient de plus en plus, brouillant sa vision. Il chercha désespérément avant de réaliser qu’elles n’étaient pas là où il les avait mises.

Il les avait sûrement fais tomber sans s’en apercevoir, puis il se rappela de l’aire de jeu, ce moment où ils avaient sauté dans le portail. C’était sûrement à ce moment-là qu’il les avait perdus. Après tout, il avait fait attention à ne pas faire tomber et abimé le livre, mais il n’avait pas vérifié pour les barres chocolatées.

—Dad...

Aim ne savait pas quoi dire ou quoi faire. Son père commençait à partir en poussière, et il ne savait pas comment le sauver. Pour le rassurer, ce dernier le rapprocha de lui, avant de lui faire un bisou sur le front comme il avait l’habitude de le faire.

Puis il posa sa main sur la joue de son mari, essayant d’enlever les larmes qui coulaient avec son pouce, même si de nouvelles apparaissait juste après. Il tentait difficilement de prendre une respiration régulière avant de lui dire :

—Je suis désolé, j’ai encore baissé ma garde. Je ne pourrais plus vous protéger... Ne pleurez pas... J’ai toujours préféré quand vous souriez... J’aimerais tellement pouvoir continuer de vous voir sourire et rire...

Son mari essaya d’afficher un sourire, mais ce dernier ressemblait plus à une grimace forcée et déformé par la tristesse. Cross se releva légèrement avant de déposer un dernier baisé sur les dents de son âme-sœur.

—Vous êtes mes deux rayons de soleil...

Il avait prononcé ses mots avec les dernières forces qu’il lui resté, avant de disparaître entièrement dans un amas de poussières. Son fils regarda ses restes, ses larmes devenaient de plus en plus incontrôlables. Sa vue se troublait et il ne voyait pas ce qui l’entourer, à part les poussières lorsque ses larmes tombaient.

Dream quant à lui regarder dans le vague avant de hurler en regardant l’assassin. Son cri était rempli de rage et de haine, se modifiant en une promesse de mort en même temps que sa voix devenait différente, sombre, corrompu.

Des craquements d’os se firent entendre lorsque des tentacules déchirèrent le dos de son pull, bougeant de manière incontrôlable, comme des serpents se préparant à mordre leur proie. Du liquide noir commença à le recouvrir, dévorant à nouveau son œil aveugle, le faisant disparaitre.

Avant qu’il ne parte pour assouvir sa vengeance, il croisa le regard de son fils qui était mélanger de tristesse, de peur et d’horreur. Il ne savait pas si c’était dû à son apparence qu’il jugeait hideuse, ou parce qu’il avait peur de tout simplement perdre son papa, mais ce regard l’énerva encore plus contre le peintre. À cause de lui, il avait perdu son mari, mais il avait aussi dû traumatiser son enfant par son aspect.

Nightmare et Killer arrivèrent peu de temps après, pour voir Dream dans sa forme corrompu s’acharné sur le corps inerte et presque entièrement détruit de Ink, tandis qu’Aim pleuré devant un tas de poussière. Les deux squelettes avaient rapidement deviné à qui il appartenait vu la scène qui s’offraient à leurs yeux.

Le négatif se dirigea vers son frère pour l’arrêter, mais Killer l'en empêcha en lui tenant le bras, ressentant que de l’angoisse face à la scène qui se déroulait devant eux.

—Il faut que tu prennes Aim et tu partes d’ici, pendant que je calme Dream, annonça-il en dégageant son bras de l’emprise de l’autre squelette.

—Non, tu risques de te faire tuer. Je-

—Parce que tu penses que tu peux le faire ? Prends Aim et pars ! C’est un ordre, hurla-t-il.

Le larmoyant le regarda désespérer, voulant rajouter quelque chose. Il savait que Nightmare avait raison et qu'il perdait juste du temps, mais il ne pouvait s’empêcher d’avoir une peur qui lui dévorer le ventre. C’était Cross qui avait réussi à ramener Dream à la raison, pas Nightmare, alors comment être sûr qu’il y arrivera ? Il se débarrassa de ses inquiétudes, en pensant avec confiance que c’était sûrement le seul maintenant à pouvoir le faire. Il se dirigea ensuite vers le petit, avant de le prendre dans les bras, puis se téléporta dans la chambre de ce dernier.

Le négatif commença à se précipiter vers son frère, se mettant entre lui et Ink, esquivant les tentacules qui frapper dans la direction du protecteur. Il l’attrapa dans les bras, essayant de le bloquer dans ses mouvements.

—Calme-toi, tu ne peux pas le tuer, il est immortel comme nous. Pense à Aim et calme-toi !

Les attaques s’arrêtèrent, et ses tentacules s’affaissèrent comme s’ils devenaient vide d’énergie. Il se laissa tomber sur ses genoux, son frère suivit sa chute, le tenant toujours dans ses bras. Il tourna les yeux et vit les poussières de son mari. S’il était arrivé plus tôt, il aurait pu le sauver, il serait encore là. Cette phrase revenait en boucle dans son esprit, le martelant de coup, enfonçant le clou des remords encore plus profondément.

Des larmes commencèrent à couler le long de ses joues, créant des sillages de plus en plus imposants. Il rendit l’étreinte à son frère, tenant son manteau comme s'il était la dernière chose, le dernier espoir sur lequel il pouvait se raccrocher. Ses sanglots était presque le seul bruit qui se faisait entendre dans ce monde calciné et détruit.

Son âme se glaçais, se tordais, lui donnais l’impression qu’elle allait se fissurer et se briser à tout moment. Comme il aurait aimé à cet instant que ce soit le cas. Il ne ressentirait plus cette douleur dans sa poitrine, cet étau dans sa gorge. Il aimerait le rejoindre, mais il ne pouvait pas, et ne pourrais jamais le faire. C’était un des rares privilèges qui lui était ôté.

Le crépitement des flammes se faisait discret face à la douleur des cris désespéré que lancer maintenant le positif dans le vide, déchirant au même instant le cœur de son frère.

Ce fut l’un des rares instants où le négatif se sentait aussi impuissant face à la douleur de son cadet. Que pouvait-il bien dire, que pouvait-il bien faire pour soigner son cœur brisé, à part attendre en montrant sa présence et son soutien à travers un simple câlin. Seul le temps adoucirait son âme en peine et ils le savaient tous deux, mais sur le moment c’était dur à encaisser.

Toutes cette peine et cette douleur l’empêchais de retrouver sa forme normale. Il ne voulait pas effrayer son fils, il ne voulait pas qu’il le voit comme ça de nouveau. Alors, entre ses sanglots incontrôlables, il bredouilla :

—Je ne veux pas me montrer à Aim comme ça.

—Prends tous ton temps, ajouta son frère d’une voix calme.

Pendant ce temps, le petit pleurait dans les bras de Killer, n’arrivant pas à enlever de son esprit l’image de son père qui se transformait en poussière. Ce n’était pas possible, son père avait toujours été fort, il ne pouvait pas mourir comme ça. Il allait surement revenir en disant que c’était une blague, son papa allait le gronder pour ça, et pour se faire pardonner, il lui ferait un câlin, comme toujours. Comme toujours, il allait passer le bas de la porte tranquillement. Il allait revenir ! Il allait revenir... non... ?

Il savait au fond de son âme que la réalité n’était pas ce qu’il voulait voir. Il savait quel destin avait eu son père, il l’avait vu de ses propres yeux, mais il ne pouvait pas l’accepter. Ou plutôt il ne voulait pas l’accepter.

—Dad va revenir, pas vrai ? Il va revenir à la maison, pleurnicha le petit entre deux sanglots.

—Ça va aller, le rassura Killer.

C'était la seule phrase qu’il répétait doucement, comme s’il ne connaissait que celle-là, qui se vidait de plus en plus de sens à force d’être inlassablement répétée. Il lui frotta le dos pour l’apaiser. Il garda un masque fais de calme pour rassurer le plus petit et ne pas montrer ses sentiments, même si son âme en cœur fondu le trahissait.

Aim se calma lentement. Il aurait tellement voulu que le temps se remonte comme une simple boite à musique arrêté. C’est à ce moment-là qu’il demanda à Killer s'il pouvait se reposer, pour se réveiller de ce cruel mauvais rêve, ce que le plus grand accepta. Avant de dormir, il partit de sa chambre, suivit de Killer qui ne comprenait pas pourquoi il partait.

Le petit squelette traversa la maison se dirigeant vers la chambre de ses parents. Il y rentra voyant la pièce dans le même état qu’elle était de base, rangée, le lit fait toujours de la même manière, l’armoire toujours fermée, les rayons du soleil qui était en parti tamisé par les rideaux presque entièrement ouvert.

Elle était comme un vestige inchangé du temps, un vestige qui lui rappelait ce temps heureux qu’il passait avec ses parents. Il espérait continuellement que ce soit un cauchemar, pour qu’il puisse se réveillait et serrait à nouveau ses pères dans ses bras.

Il se rapprocha de la table de chevet de Cross, prenant le médaillon en forme de cœur légèrement fêlé qui était posé dessus. Il l’avait vu un jour et avais simplement demandé ce que c’était. Il se souvenais de l’image quand il l’avait ouvert et actionné un petit mécanisme à l’intérieur, faisant retentir le son doux d’une boite à musique jouant Always with me.

Il se souvenais du regard mélancolique de son père, avant qu’il lui dise calmement que ce bijou était très important pour lui, et qu’il préférait le laisser en sécurité, que de risquer qu’il soit encore plus abimé qu’il ne l’était en le portant. Il se souvenais que son père n’avait pas dit qui été ses personnes dessinées avec lui, ni la signification du mot inscrit juste au-dessus, et il avait préféré ne pas le lui demander.

Il ne l’avait plus touché, ne voulant pas risquer de briser quelque chose de précieux aux yeux de l’un de ses parents. Mais maintenant, il voulait juste l’avoir pour ne pas avoir l’impression de se briser lui-même comme un objet fragile. Ou peut-être qu’il désiré simplement un objet qui lui appartenait pour avoir l’impression qu’il était toujours près de lui.

Il le prit dans la main, emmêlant la chaine dorée entre ses phalanges. Killer ne dis rien, comprenant que le plus petit essayer de se raccrocher à quelque chose qui lui rappeler la présence de Cross. Néanmoins, lorsque le petit retourna dans sa chambre, il lui dit doucement :

—Gamin, si tu as besoin je serais là dans le salon. Dream et Nightmare ne devrait pas tarder à rentrer, je vais les attendre.

—Est-ce que tu veux bien rester avec moi ? J’aimerais bien encore avoir un câlin.

Le larmoyant accepta, s’assit sur le lit, le dos appuyé contre le mur avant de le prendre dans les bras. Aim, quant à lui, avait délaisser son Rubik’s Cube qu’il utilisait pourtant à chaque fois qu’il se sentait mal. Au lieu de ça, il ouvrit le médaillon et activa le mécanisme, qui perça instantanément le silence avec les douces notes cristallines de la berceuse.

Il resta ainsi, l’écoutant calmement, ne pensant à rien d’autre qu’à l’espoir de se réveiller de ce cauchemar. Il ferma les yeux, se laissant emporter par le son de la berceuse et le sommeil. Une larme roula sur sa joue, avant de tomber sur le T-shirt du plus grand au même instant que la dernière note de la chanson se fit entendre, les laissant se faire engloutir de nouveau par le silence morbide.

Ce fus également à ce moment que Killer craqua silencieusement, brisant le masque qui s’était forgé sur le visage un peu plus tôt, n’arrivant plus à retenir ses larmes et sa peine face à la mort de son ami.

The Error in Aim: Chapter two

This is a continuation! Please see chapter one (by me) and the prologue by @egnidres here!

@zu-is-here, and Egnidres, here's the continuation!

-oOo-

"He did what?!"

The monster appeared inside Dream once more. Shattered lunged for Nightmare.

Killer had little time to grab one of the tentacles and hold him back, but somehow, he managed.

Nightmare stood perfectly still, not even flinching as Shattered's tentacles came centimeters from his face. He held his head high and stared the curse that consumed his brother dead in the eye.

Aim wasn't supposed to be watching. He was told to wait inside as the adults discussed the surprise meeting from Error outside. However, that didn't stop him from watching out an open window as quietly as he could. He felt bad that it caused his father to crack again. He hated seeing Shattered cover Dream in endless black goop. Aim himself had decided to accept the deal... as soon as he could find Error. Despite what his parents said, he wanted to get revenge on the assassin and destroy him, even if the destroyer took his life for it.

He was tired of being babysat. He was tired of being watched. He would no longer stand around and be treated like a child. He wasn't five anymore; he was thirteen. It was time he was treated as such.

"I told you to protect him! And you let Error, out of all people, find him?! How could you?!" Dream cried. Half his face was still Shattered, but both sides were still furious.

Nightmare's gaze contained irritation. He stood with his arms crossed, observing Dream. "I told him I would wait to discuss it with you," he inquired. "He should be back shortly for your decision."

"After my decision?!" Dream hissed, breaking free from Killer's grasp. "My decision is obvious! Absolutely not!"

"Don't write off Error's offer like that just because he's Error!" Nightmare cried. "He would do a much better job defending Aim than Killer ever could!"

Killer rolled his eyes. "Rude."

"He would murder my son!" Dream hissed. "Before or after the deal is done, you can't trust him, you're a fool for even conversing with him!"

Killer watched Nightmare's eyes flash blue. He backed up, pulling out his knives in defense. Usually, Killer would be all for a brawl, but something about Nightmare's blue eye unsettled him.

The blue eye terrified Aim. He had never seen it in his uncle before. Why was Dream so upset at Nightmare? Why was Nightmare getting upset? Was he not hearing everything that was said between the two?

"Dream, Ink is after Aim. Error is the only one who can solely protect him," Killer grimaced, disgusted to admit that he was powerless against the painter. "I... I think we should accept the deal."

Before Dream could retaliate, Nightmare uttered the dreaded words himself. "I agree with Killer. I think we should."

"No," Dream twitched with irritation, trying to fight the curse and shove it back. Shattered fought, wanting to stay in control. It resulted in a half-and-half face on the positive. "I trusted my old friend, and he killed my husband. I will not make the same mistake with your old friend!"

Nightmare seemed just as angry. "Ink will never stop hunting Aim! Error is the only one who can defeat him! I know Error, and if there is anything that he hates more than anomalies, it's Ink! I know he's unreliable, but would you rather put him in Ink's hands or Error's?"

"Neither!" Dream grabbed Nightmare's shoulders and shoved him back, about to spring on him. "I'm going to protect my son-"

But tentacles intervened Shattered.

Aim watched in horror as the negative was also consumed with goop, retaliating at Shattered. Nightmare grabbed Shattered's tentacles with his own, his face melting at the positive. He hissed violently, his presence quenching Dream's as if it had been coupled up in a cage for many years.

When Dream saw the curse on Nightmare, his eyes widened in fright. The curse immediately left him as he stared at his brother. He started to cry. "W-Why didn't you tell me?"

The purple returned to Nightmare's eyes once more. He took a step back and looked at his own hands, terrified. The goop suddenly disappeared, and he was his normal self once more.

"I thought we were done with the secrets," Killer narrowed his eyes. "All of you! Not only did you keep all this from each other, but you kept it from Aim! He has the right to know! He could have the curse, too, for all you know! You guys kept the secret that you were still struggling. It only hurt the family! Look where it's brought us now!"

Aim's uncle glanced down at the ground. "I wanted to tell you that you weren't alone in your fight, brother," he sighed. "Just because you couldn't keep the curse inside didn't mean you had to ignore your son for seven years. But it would have only overwhelmed you. And right now, you seemed overwhelmed. Let me make this choice for Aim. I-"

Aim didn't hear anymore. He closed the window and sat on a nearby chair. Unlike his father, he had thought it over. There was nothing else that Aim wanted more; he wanted to kill Ink. He wanted to make them pay. If that meant teaming up with an evil killer and dying afterward, so be it.

It was reckless, but he removed his fear with his own power. Little did he know how dangerous that was.

Aim wandered over to the front door and stepped outside. Dream, Nightmare, and Killer seemed to have calmed down. They were all sitting down on the lime grass, conversing quietly. Dream perked his head up when he heard Aim's footsteps near. His eyes softened. "Aim, honey, we are almost done. Please go back inside-"

"I'm accepting Error's offer."

The three adults stared at him in shock. Nightmare and Killer looked relieved, but Dream was in denial. "No, you're not. You don't know what you're getting yourself into-"

"I'm not five anymore, Dad!" Aim cried. "I've heard enough to know what Error is capable of, and I don't care. I know Ink wants me for my power, and I know he will attack again. None of you can protect me, but Error can. Not only that, but Error will help me kill him to avenge my dad!"

"Revenge is not the answer," Nightmare commented. "I learned that the hard way."

"But you want him dead too, uncle," Aim interjected.

"Smart kid," Killer added. "He's right. We do want the painter dead." Killer put his knives away. "We don't really have a choice, either."

"Good job being the voice of reason," the negative smirked.

Killer smirked his iconic grin back. "I try."

"I can't allow it!" Dream shook his head, his eyes shaking. "Aim, I can't lose you too..."

"You can't protect me forever," Aim answered. "The best way to protect me is to accept this deal. And I'm going to."

"L-L-Look a-at that, a-a-anamonly #241 is a-already smar-rter than y-you a-all."

Despite only meeting him once, Aim memorized that voice by heart. He-along with the adults-turned around to see the destroyer staring at them. His arms were crossed and his robe blew in the wind. He glitched in and out of code, but his gaze remained steady.

"Leave," Dream hissed, standing up as his tentacles appeared again.,

"Looks l-l-like you d-don't have c-c-control o-over this s-situation any-ymore, Dre-SHattered," Error mocked. "The b-boy has d-decided, has h-he not?"

"No, he-"

"I have," Aim interjected. "I accept your offer, Destroyer-"

"E-E-Error works f-fine," Error rolled his eyes.

Nightmare walked over to where Dream hung his head low as tears streamed down his face. His uncle hugged the positive closely. "This is our only choice," he whispered slowly. "It's going to be okay..."

"I-I'm not k-kidnapping h-him, i-idiots!" Error hissed. "I-I will v-visit f-frequently to t-train h-him here. W-Why is t-t-that an is-ssue, Dream?"

Dream death-stared Error through his grief-stricken eyes. "I don't trust you..."

"Y-Y-You d-don't h-have a c-choice," The smile that appeared on the destroyer's face shook Aim's soul. He stretched his hand out to the boy. "Come, b-boy, we'll make h-h-history."

Aim stared at the hand. This was it. The moment he would start his path to revenge. The moment he would stop being treated like a child. The moment there would no longer be any secrets.

Aim accepted Error's hand, which made the destroyer glitch. Time warped around him as everything appeared white around him. His family faded as well as the setting around him.

It was the choice that marked his destiny.

𓆩☬𓆪