It's been a month since I updated sorry but I've been on holiday 😎 even experienced my first holiday romance in Italy so 🎉

Anyway so this idea came to me after reading the Endhawks fic 'Where the Archangels go' by surveycorpsjean on A03. They also inspired the One night only series so if you like MHA then read their stuff it's godly.

Anyway, the plot won't be hard to grasp 😁

3,000 words for you all

He hadn't thought anything different when he'd struck Killer.

The assassin was always getting hit, pummelled and broken. But he always got back up. Broken arm? No problem. Shattered ribcage? Deal with the pain later. Killer was the sort of fighter that was relentless, and Dream had almost respected him for that. He may be fighting for the wrong cause, but he certainly stuck to it. There was little question of his loyalty.

Panting heavily, his back pressed to a tree truck, Dream waited. He could feel his left shoulder was dislocated, leaving no chance to use his bow. It didn't matter, long distance fighting wasn't an option when your opponent makes it his goal to ensure you never stray more than five meters away from him. Blood stained his clothes so thickly that he knew he'd have to burn them. No amount of washing cycles would ever clear this mess. With his right hand he felt gingerly over his ribcage, counting three broken. Three was manageable.

Voice rasping, he spoke. "Playing dead only works on dumb animals." He assumed the other was plotting something, goading him to come over and investigate so he could roll over and jab a knife into his chest. Yes, that was right, he could see one of Killer's arms tucked under his chest. It was a trick.

Yet his body didn't move. He lay there in the snow, as if stunned. It occurred to Dream after a moment that the assassin's arm wasn't tucked, it was bent at a funny angle. Blood speckled the ground.

He was alive, that was certain. He could hear his wheezing breaths, followed by gurgling spits of blood. And then came the yelling. It was anguished, like the cry of a mortally wounded animal. It made his bones itch. He watched as Killer's good arm moved, clutching at his skull frantically before hitting into the ground. His body shuddered, trying to heave himself off of the ground before falling back down with a cry.

Something wasn't right.

Dream only made it two steps forwards before an axe thudded into the wood of the tree behind him. It split the bark cruelly, sap oozing down its iron surface. His staff clattered to the floor and he froze, golden pupils watching his own muddy reflection for a second. He looked mockable, scared. By the time he turned his vision back to Killer, bodies were blocking him from view.

Horror crouched over him, dirty fingers hovering anxiously over the other's body, as if scared to touch him. "Killer..?" His voice was scratchy, and scared. He didn't think he'd ever seen the brute scared before.

Hissing, Cross pushed him out of the way, knees thudding into the ground as he fell beside his friend. "Get up man, come on-" The clash of weapons sounded behind them and he glanced over his shoulder to see Dust knocking Ink off his feet and Nightmare slamming Blue into a tree so hard that his skull split. The stillness that overcame Blue's body was sickening.

Killer was still wailing, a haunting sound that echoed through the forest. It was disturbing. As he twisted on the floor Dream caught sight of his face. It was covered in blood. His spine scraped against damp bark. Had he hit him that hard? He could hardly remember, only recalling that he'd swiped his spear in an arch during the fight. Killer had been too close; his skull had been struck.

Cross cursed, strong arms scooping beneath the assassin's shaking body and lifting him up. Killer seemed to not know what was happening, scrabbling. A blade narrowly missed Cross' cheek.

"Killer it's me- we're getting out of here." His mismatched gaze flicked to Dream, burning with a hatred so deep that it made his soul drop. What had he done?

Shaking his conscious free of worry, he twisted, cold fingers curled around the handle of the axe and ripping it clean from the tree. He lurched, dislocated shoulder screaming in complaint. Their backs were turned, he could finish them off while they worried over their teammate. This war could finally be won.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Something cold crept around his throat, and dread gripped at his soul. Head turning slowly, his golden pupils met icy blue.

Nightmare had always looked cruel, something about his expression and stature reeked fear. Yet today he looked truly horrifying. His scale of intimidation was something he himself would never hope to comprehend. Clicking lowly with the back of his tongue, Nightmare let his gaze flick to his teammates. No concern showed on his face, but anger did.

"If you move so much as a finger, I'll snap your little friend's neck." He spoke cooly, as if explaining simple instructions to a child. Something about a soft spoken voice was even worse than an angry shout.

Behind him, Blue struggled on the floor, fingers sinking into the tentacle that constricted around his throat. He looked weak, eyes dull and movements slow. Nightmare would kill him without a second thought.

Swallowing thickly, he nodded, and the axe slipped through his fingers to fall uselessly to the floor. He hated obeying his enemy, but his friend's life was more important.

"Good." The Lord spat at him once before the pressure at his neck went lax, and he was free to stay pressed against the tree. He wanted to rush to Blue, who seemed in the process of hacking up his guts, but Nightmare's threat echoed in his skull. So he stayed still. Stunned, he watched as Nightmare regarded Killer, his black form menacing against the green of forest leaves. Seconds later Dust staggered over, Ink's burning paint scalding across the left side of his body. He didn't seem to register it, hands on Killer's skull within an instant as he muttered the incantations of a spell.

In the distance Dream saw Ink stagger to his feet, his paintbrush blasted several feet away. Their eyes locked, and moving as little as he dared, Dream shook his head. Don't engage.

Ink scowled, but sank back into a crouch on the ground, gaze darting to Blue. The skeleton was curled on the floor, fingers clasped over the crack in his skull and breath shallow. But he was alive, and he knew he could hold out until they got away for a healing session.

In front of him, he watched as a rippling black portal tore through the air, its surface swirling and twisting. Nightmare scowled down at Killer, who had gone weak and feverish in Cross' arms. The soldier stepped through first, Horror and Dust hurriedly following suit. They were worried about their friend. Head tipping, Nightmare stared at Dream, and in one cruel breath he spoke in a damning hiss.

"Remember what happens next, is your fault."

Before he could open his mouth to ask, the portal snapped shut and the was left echoing with silence. Releasing a breath he didn't know he was holding, Dream sank to the floor, knees weak. His body throbbed with pain, shoulder screaming and chest tight. A long, hot bath was needed. Twisting over, he crawled to Blue's side, coughing up blood. Despite their sorry states, they both grinned, teeth smeared a grimy red.

"I hit him-" Dream rasped, feeling as if he'd swallowed sandpaper. "I finally damaged the bastard."

Propping himself up weakly to one elbow, Blue gripped his hand, shaking it. "Let's pray he's used all nine of his lives."

——————

The bath had been blissful. With his shoulder healed and ribs fixed up, the warm water had been the perfect healing remedy. He found it easier to relax knowing Blue was healing up at home and Ink's injuries had only been minor. He had worried his younger teammate may have been too hurt to heal, but his golden magic had worked at the crack in his skull until it had formed a waxy seal and Blue was left with only a throbbing headache. Drugged up and curled in bed, Ink and Dream had left him at home with the promise that they'd check in on him tomorrow morning.

Wiggling fingers under mounds of soft bubbles, he let the scent of lavender waft over him. The battle today had been tough, but hopefully the results would be worth it. His mind flashed with the image of an axe inches from his skull, Blue's kicking legs as he suffocated, Killer's wails of pain. With a sudden start he realised he had left his staff in the forest. Amongst the yelling, the threats from Nightmare and the panic over Blue, he had forgotten to pick it back up.

Part of his mind tried to coax him into the idea that he should stop worrying, that he should simply collect it tomorrow morning. But another part of his brain hissed that it would be dangerous to leave such a weapon unaccounted for. Carved from the wood of the tree of feelings, it would grant great power to whoever wielded it. And if someone like Nightmare were to get his hands on it? The result wouldn't be pleasant.

He knew the Nightmare often revisited the sites of battles to look for leftover weapons or belongings. He knew because one time he'd sought to collect one of Blue's weapons only to see the Lord stooped over in the snow, long talon-like fingers reaching to hook the staff from the floor and regarding it with interest. He had fled before he'd been spotted, but the notion had made his body prickle with all sorts of wrongs. He didn't know why the other would retrace the steps of a battle (other than perhaps for training purposes) but the knowledge that it might not have been a one-time-occurrence haunted the back of his mind. He'd have to return; tonight.

The knowledge displeased him, and he tried to put it off long enough to enjoy his bath to the fullest extent. He stayed like that until the water went cold and his bones went numb. When he could delay no further, he hauled himself out of the tub and wrapped himself up into the comfort of a warm towel. Once out of the water he realised that his bones did still ache, but the healing had worked to reduce it from agony. Looking out of the window he noticed how the sky was starting to turn grey. He should move soon.

Shuffling to the counter he took the fresh hoodie and joggers he'd laid out prior to his bath, and slipped easily into the cool cotton. The thought occurred to him that he should probably bring a weapon, and as he left through the front door he shouldered a spare bow and a quiver full of arrows. It wasn't as flexible or fast as his personal weapon, but it would make do while he sought to retrieve it. It was only after he was outside he realised if he encountered Nightmare in the forest, these arrows would be useless against him and would be swallowed effortlessly by his liquidate body. He hoped that if he saw him, his escape would be swift.

A portal opened in front of him, shimmering with shades of yellow, gold and an opaque white. Praying the staff would still be there, he stepped through.

The forest had grown cold. Dusk was soon upon them, and the trees cast dark shadows across the hard ground. Casting his gaze across the trees, he searched for any deep gouges that bore the mark of Horror's deadly double bladed axe. The trees had many scars earned over the years, from time, animals and fights similar to what he had partook in earlier. Wandering in circles, he frowned. It should be somewhere round here..

His boot stopped short of a splash of blood. It had turned black and sticky, and when he raised his other shoe he realised bitterly that he hadn't managed to avoid a separate splatter. Bark and grass stuck to the sole, a splotch of red staining a corner. How annoying; he'd have to clean that off later. But the blood meant he was in the right place. Turning in a circle, he caught a glimmer of light on the corner of his eye. Instant relief washed over him.

The spear lay on the ground where he'd dropped it, abandoned. He breathed out for what felt like the first time in the past three hours, stepping towards it. Now that he looked closely at the tree, he could see the shadowy scar of Horror's weapon. He was lucky the man had been distracted by his friend's situation. If he'd paused and aimed properly, he feared he might not be stood here now, and would instead be reduced to a pile of dust at the foot of the tree.

Bending down, he let the cool wood of the spear roll beneath his fingertips, soothed. He'd have never forgiven himself if he'd lost it to Nightmare.

Tearing silk sounded behind him.

Within an instant his bones prickled, body twisting to hide himself behind the tree. The spear twisted, moulding into a bow between his fingers. He gripped onto it tightly, and held his breath. He knew the sound of an opening portal better than almost anything else. He was constantly alert for it, even when at rest at home he feared the sound of the air tearing open and his enemies surging through a dark swirling cloud.

The sound of a struggle echoed off the pines of the forest and he frowned. Muffled whispers of 'please don't' and 'I'm begging you' crept to his ears and his stomach felt sick. What was happening?

He caught the end of a low rumble, and with cautious hiss he realised the voice belonged to Nightmare. So he had come back, but with someone else? And why did he hear crying?

"You've been good to me.." A voice drifted in the wind, followed by a sob from another. "But you're simply... ... no use." He couldn't hear everything, a strangled plea cutting through his ears before the sound of someone hitting the ground rang out. Coughing and sobbing followed, and Dream dared to crane his neck round to have a look. For a second he took in the sight of Nightmare looming in the darkness, his mouth pressed in a grim line. "It brings me no pleasure to do this."

At his feet, a figure heaved, a hand clawing into the ground. "D-don't go-!" It was desperate, raw.

Staring down, Nightmare shook his head once before the portal sealed shut. The figure on the ground lurched forwards as if to followed him he crashed into the dust. They trembled, body shaking as they crawled on their hands and knees.

Dream felt sick. What had he witnessed? Turning away, he shouldered his bow and made to leave, but as he stepped, a twig snapped.

"Who's there-?" The voice rang out, sharp and scared. Dream looked back, but found they weren't facing him. It seemed they had their back to him, fingers clumsily scraping at the ground. One arm was cradled uselessly to their chest. "Tthis isn't funny- Boss?"

It was with a sudden realisation that Dream recognised their voice. He stepped out from behind the tree. An arrow rested in his hand, ready to shoot if it were some sort of trick. Another twig broke beneath his foot and the person twisted, giving a sound that he could only class as a sob.

"P-please- please-! this isn't funny anymore-!"

He paused, stood a few meters away. He was close enough to see the silver tears that streamed down his face, mixing with his black ones. He could see the blood staining his hoodie at the elbow where Ink had struck him with the metal band at the top of his brush. He could see the grey stains at the neck of his sweater where his tears blurred, and he could see how he shook. His body rolled with trembles, violent. He'd never seen the man so scared.

He took a step closer. Killer cried out like an animal, and with his good hand he pulled a knife from his pocket and swept it in an arch in front of him blindly. "I said who's there-?!"

Suddenly it dawned on him. Killer couldn't see him.

"Put the knife away, Killer." He spoke slowly, careful. Not careful enough. The skeleton slashed the knife out in front of himself again, a heavy lump forming in his throat.

"W-who- sstop this stop it stop it stopitstopitSTOPIT-" He scrambled backwards until his spine hit a tree, grating against his spine. "I-I want to go home.." It was an anguished whisper. "Please.. please-"

Crouching down slowly in front of him Dream frowned, voice a soft murmur. "Killer, I can't take you home; it's Dream."

Stiffening, Killer tensed and tipped his head to the side, as if trying to search for him. "I want to go h-home.." He didn't acknowledge him, whispering the same thing over and over.

"Killer. Killer." He snapped his fingers in front of his face, but that only succeeded in making him flinch. He still acted like he couldn't see him.

The truth hit him like a slap across the face. Killer wasn't acting. He couldn't see.

Lurching to his feet he resisted the urge to hack up his stomach. He hadn't wounded Killer, he had blinded him.

———————————————————

I firmly believe that Nightmare wouldn't abandon his teammates so easily, but plot purposes required it.

Basically, being blind, Killer has lost all his fighting abilities and stealth skills - that's what Nm uses him for. So he's no use to him, and he doesn't have the time or resources to help killer to recover so he dumps him like a stray dog 🥰

Fun

More coming soon hopefully. And I'm also working on a bigger oneshot too.

-Jess-