Archive of Our Own ^beta

With a heavy sigh, you rolled over and pulled the blankets up around your neck. You curled into a ball and stared blankly at your phone screen. 

Today was not a good day. You woke up to a splitting head and a tender ache in your Soul and emotions that made you long for the comfort of the headspace. Immediately, you’d tried to get in contact with Blue, but all you were met with was radio silence. 

Your stomach began to sink when you realized it wasn’t one of those rare times you woke up before him. The more you woke up and actually paid attention to what and how you were feeling, you could feel the barrier separating you and Blue. That meant that the ache in your Soul was the beginning of the pain that plagued you every time this happened.

Your mood continued to plummet as the day progressed. You tried getting out of bed once, when someone knocked on your door, but your Soul and head both pounded in unison at the movement. So, you groaned out a dismissal and stayed curled up under your covers, where your emotions continued to roil. You were left with this disgusting, pathetic helplessness that you hated, but Blue wasn’t here for you to talk to. You were all alone in your misery, nothing but your phone to keep you company. 

Sometime between a blink and several hours had passed when your nonexistent stomach clenched and grumbled to make itself known. You huffed and rolled over. You brought your phone closer to your face and kept on scrolling, hoping that if you numbed your mind enough, the pains in your stomach would go numb, too. 

…This wasn’t working. 

The longer you tried to ignore your stomach pains, the worse they got. You groaned and rolled onto your back, letting your arms flop limply to either side of you, and stared listlessly up into the ceiling. Static, punctuated by a dull throbbing all throughout your skull, crept through your mind, chasing away any other feelings or thoughts. 

You really did not want to get up. The thought of putting in the effort to move or stand, of running into one of the guys when you didn’t feel up for talking, it made your head pound harder and your Soul clench tighter. You’d already tried getting up once today, and look at how that turned out. 

Even so, a voice that sounded annoyingly like a mix of Horror and (a replication of) Blue broke through the static. You need to eat, it said. You’ll feel better with something on your stomach. 

You scrunched your face up at how absurdly correct it was. 

As difficult as if trying to move underwater, you brought your phone back up to your face and stared at the lock screen. It took turning it back on three whole times for your mind to comprehend the time that stared back at you. 

4:42. You’d missed breakfast and lunch. No wonder you were hungry.

…You hoped Horror wasn’t too worried. 

With a heavy sigh and even heavier body, you forced yourself out of bed. 

The walk from your room to the kitchen was lost in a sea of pain and static. Almost within the space of a blink, you went from staring absently at your hand on the handle of your bedroom door to stepping in front of the fridge. With not even a thought breaking through the numb that blanketed your mind, you tugged open the fridge doors and glanced through its contents.

There were a couple of pounds of ground beef sitting atop paper plates - probably what Horror was preparing to cook for dinner tonight. Aside from that, there was milk, orange juice, a carton of eggs, a slice of chocolate cake on a plate wrapped in saran wrap labeled “Cross”, some cheese, veggies… 

Ugh. Ingredients. 

You shut the fridge with a sigh and shuffled over to the pantry. You didn’t have the energy to prepare an actual meal, but if nothing else, you could just have a bowl of cereal. A quick glance through the pantry’s shelves, and before you reached for the last box of cereal, you realized how barren they were. Your hand suspended in midair, you frowned. When was the next supply run supposed to be again…? 

The thought slipped away like sand through a sieve. Trying to think about that right now felt like wading through molasses in your mind. Instead, you focused the little energy you had on grabbing the cereal, then a bowl. When you tried to pour it out, though, all that came out was a handful of crumbs. 

With a frown, you took the plastic bag out of the box, only to find it empty. You stared, helpless frustration welling up and making your Soul ache more as your stomach clenched in complaint. You marched over to the trashcan and threw that disappointment of a cereal box in. “Who the fuck puts an empty box back in the pantry?” you snapped - or, well, intended to snap. What actually came out was closer to a pitchy whine. 

Now what were you supposed to do? You stared at your pitiful bowl of crumbs, half considering just saying fuck it and leaving the kitchen altogether. You just couldn’t with this today. But, your stomach chose that moment to remind you of its existence and growl as loudly as humanly (or, monsterly…?) possible and threaten to start digesting itself if you didn’t put something in it, right now. With a whine, you clutched your stomach and turned reluctantly back to the pantry, scanning dejectedly for something quick and easy. 

You couldn’t even fathom the concept of ramen. All those steps were already hurting your brain. Straight flour or sugar would just make you feel worse. Dried pasta noodles? Honestly, that might be your only option - but, no, there were only two boxes left, and Horror might be making pasta tonight… 

You slouched against the pantry door, arms crossed over your aching stomach. You dragged your gaze over the pantry one last time, almost ready to throw in the towel and wait for dinner, when your eyes caught on a box of minute rice. You stared at it morosely. 

Guess you were stuck with rice and milk. There was literally nothing else. 

With a groan, you snatched the box of rice and skimmed through the directions while trudging over to your discarded almost-cereal bowl. 

Step one: pour the rice and water into the bowl.

Okay, easy enough. You poured in what was probably a cup of each. You couldn’t be bothered to grab a measuring spoon. 

Step two: microwave for 6 minutes.

You stopped in your tracks halfway to the microwave. Six fucking minutes? That helpless feeling started to grow in your chest again, and heat burned at the backs of your eye sockets and made your headache worse. You stared at the bowl in your hands with true sorrow. 

“Why is it called minute rice if it doesn’t take only a minute to cook?” you half-groaned, half-whined (mostly whined) as you shuffled the rest of the way to the microwave and threw the stupid bowl of rice in. You set it for six minutes and slumped against the counter. You threw your head back with a strangled noise when you glanced back down at the instructions and saw the last step:

Let rest for five minutes.

Man, fuck this.

So, eleven whole minutes later, you snatched the bowl out of the microwave - “Why is this shit still hot!” - slammed it on the table, and haphazardly threw some milk and sugar in. 

Finally, finally, you grabbed a spoon and flopped down at the table. You slumped over your bowl, took your phone out to start doomscrolling again, and half-heartedly brought a spoonful to your mouth. You closed your bony lips around the metal, letting the flavor of the slightly-cooler rice fill your mouth – 

And froze. With slow, stiff movements, you set down your phone, your face scrunching around the spoon in your mouth. You pulled the spoon away and set it in the bowl, staring down disgruntledly at the unsuspecting white grains. 

The food sat heavy in your mouth, quite like a stone, and just as tasty as one, too. You chewed slowly, unwillingly, before swallowing with a grimace. The grains seemed to catch in your nonexistent throat, refusing to go down smoothly. 

…What the hell was this? How did you manage to screw up rice and milk? You even waited for those damn extra minutes!

It was atrocious. Aside from the typical grainy, creamy sweetness one would expect from a bowl of rice and milk and sugar, it felt like you were eating the broken dreams and lost hopes of orphaned children. It was like everything you were feeling right now was dialed to fifty and shoved right back in your face, heightening your horrible mood and terrible headache and making your stomach clench in distaste. 

With a broken noise rising from the depths of your heavy Soul, you pushed the bowl away from you and let your head fall against the table with a heavy thump. There was no way you were going to be able to eat that. No matter how hungry you had been earlier, your stomach was already churning at the thought.

How come you couldn’t seem to get anything right today? You couldn’t get the headspace to open up to you. You pushed away every knock at your door from your lovers, not feeling up to the social interaction, but also only making yourself feel worse from the act. Now, you couldn’t even seem to get this right – this simple, incredibly easy meal that was almost impossible to fuck up, and yet somehow you’d made it completely inedible – 

“Hope that table isn’t as good a kisser as I am. I’d hate to have competition with an inanimate object.” 

The unexpected voice made you jump. You turned your head in its direction just enough to see Killer looking down at you, a wide, self-satisfied snarky grin across his face and a playful twinkle in his one dull eye light. 

At the sight of your face, his expression softened, his grin turning sweet rather than teasing and his eyes crinkling in that way you loved. 

You wanted to respond to him, press into the joke and ease some of the tension creeping into your shoulders. But you just didn’t have it in you today. Killer seemed to realize that, as well, because at your continued silence he pulled up the closest chair and sidled in next to you. He laid his head down on the table, cushioned on his arms, facing you. A thin streak of black liquid trailed down his cheek from his eye socket, dissipating as soon as it landed on the hard wood of the table. 

“Hey, songbird,” Killer said, his voice light and soft and like a balm to your aching Soul. “Rough day?” 

Those words alone were enough to chip away the last of the walls holding everything back. Your vision blurred with tears as a swell of overwhelming helpless emotions surged up. You nodded, trying to convey everything with that one movement as you reached for your bonefriend. “Yes,” you whimpered, your voice breaking in the middle on the verge of a sob. 

Killer readily accepted your reaching grasp. He pulled you up against his side, scooting his chair as close as he could get to you as he held you and rubbed your back. You clung tightly to his shirt, shifting in your seat and pulling your knees up to your chest to better slot in against his side. Small, wet sobs wracked your body as he held you, the warmth of his exposed Soul comforting as you pressed in close. 

It didn’t take long for you to tire yourself out. Within a few minutes, your tears had run dry, reduced to sniffles and an uncomfortable heaviness to your eye sockets. Killer’s hand smoothed over your skull and cupped your cheek. You leaned into the touch, closing your eyes as he wiped away your tears with his thumb. 

“What’s got you so rattled today, babe?” Killer murmured against the crown of your head. 

The pun, registering a few heartbeats late, had you drudging up a half-hearted huff of laughter. 

You shifted your head to lean against Killer’s collarbone. You took up a handful of Killer’s jacket to fiddle with between your fingers, just now registering that you hadn’t even put your gloves on today. You sighed. “…I just feel horrible.” Your voice wobbled, came out a near-whisper, threatening to disappear altogether. 

“Headache?” Killer’s hand drifted from your cheek to the back of your neck. You relaxed slowly, letting your eye sockets flutter shut, as he started massaging out the tension from between the vertebrae. 

“…Yeah. And…” Your voice broke off, failing you for a moment. With a huff, you settled against Killer’s side more heavily and opened your eyes again to watch the steady, slow way the rings of his inverted heart-shaped Soul pulsed and rotated. “…and I – I can’t get into the headspace. Or hear Blue. And I just – I don’t know why but, every single thing’s sending me into a breakdown today and I just – I can’t…” Once the words started coming, they wouldn’t stop; they spilled out from between your teeth, your voice getting higher and wobblier and so pitiful that, if it were almost anyone else, you would’ve been embarrassed. “- …and I can’t even seem to make myself food without fucking something up.” You pressed your face against Killer’s shirt as fresh hot tears sprang to your eyes. Maybe if you could just hide from the world for a bit, everything would reset and you’d come out feeling normal again. 

Killer hummed thoughtfully. The hand massaging your neck was suddenly absent, drawing a whine from you as the tension immediately started to creep back in. “Food, you say? Is that what this is?” 

Dreadful realization hit you. You quickly raised your head, eyes wide with horror as you watched Killer pick up the spoon from your abandoned bowl. “W-Wait, Killer, don’t – “ 

You were helpless to stop the inevitable. Killer brought the spoon to his mouth and very confidently took a bite. You flinched back, expecting the worst, and – 

…Sure enough, as soon as the food came in contact with Killer’s mouth, he froze, blinking as if in surprise. He set the spoon down and chewed slowly before swallowing with just as much difficulty as you had earlier. He glanced down, and his unreadable expression had you looking down in embarrassed shame. 

“I told you it was bad,” you grumbled, your voice growing wet and thick against your will. 

A snrrk of laughter had you huffing and glowering back up at Killer. “Yeah, it’s pretty bad,” he agreed, a grin on his face and a hint of humor to his voice. 

The sheer audacity of this skeleton had you puffing up as annoyance crept up alongside your misery. You sat up and leaned back, crossing your arms and glaring up at him. “Well, you don’t have to rub it in.” 

“No, seriously.” Killer leaned forward and pulled the bowl closer, gesturing to it to prove his point, grinning all the while. “How on earth did you even manage that?” 

“I don’t know!” You threw your hands up, a whine creeping into your voice. “I did everything right! I don’t know how it ended up so bad!” 

“I know, right?” Killer glanced between you and the bowl, his grin only growing and getting more and more snarky. “I mean, come on. How much bad intent can you fit in that thing?” 

You opened your mouth, ready to retort, but his wording made you pause. You glanced towards the bowl of rice, brow furrowed. “…What?” 

“What, what?” 

You glanced back at Killer, but he seemed genuinely confused. “What did you mean by that?” 

“What? Bad intent?” At your nod, Killer blinked. His brow furrowed in his confusion, and he shifted in his chair to face you more directly. “You’re asking what I mean by intent?” 

You nodded again, and you crossed your arms with an exasperated huff.  

Now Killer was fully facing you. He grabbed your hands, startling you, and held them close to his chest, a strangely serious expression on his face. “Baby. Songbird. Sweetheart. Sugartits.” Your face heated ever so slightly at that last pet name. “You’re telling me, in all the time you’ve been a monster, no one’s thought to explain intent to you? Not even Blue?” 

…You were really getting concerned, now. What was so important about this “intent” thing that you were apparently supposed to have known about? “…No?” 

“Fuckin’ hell.” Killer released one of your hands to drag his own down his face. “How the fuck did we miss this? Okay.” Killer picked up the bowl of cursed food and held it up to you. “You know how when you ate this, it made you feel like absolute dogshit?” 

“Still don’t think you have to be so blunt about it,” you muttered bitterly, but you didn’t dissuade the fact. 

“And you know how when you eat Horror’s food, or hell, even something from Ccino’s, it makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside?” 

You paused. You thought back on the last dinner you’d had – the night before, if you weren’t getting your days mixed up. You do remember feeling better after eating, but you thought it had to do with being around the people you loved. 

But, now that you really thought about it, you did know what Killer meant. Every single dinner you’d had here, usually made by Horror, and whatever other meals and snacks you’d had, had left you with this lightness in your chest that you never really paid much attention to before. And yes, the same happened with anything from Ccino’s - even if it was to go. You couldn’t chalk that up to being around the cats. Slowly, you nodded to answer Killer’s question. 

“That’s good, or positive, intent,” Killer explained. “When Horror says he makes his food with love, he means that literally.” He waved the bowl of rice around for emphasis. “I’m gonna guess that, when you made this, you weren’t exactly focusing on warm and fuzzy thoughts.” 

“…No,” you acquiesced. You were starting to understand this just a little better, but still… “…How does one actually put their ‘intent’ into their food?”

“Well, basically, you just focus real hard on the feelings you want to convey. And it doesn’t just work with food.” Killer finally set the cursed bowl back down on the table and held an arm out for you. You readily settled back against his side, relaxing as his arm settled around you and began to gently rub your shoulder. Your eye sockets started to drift shut all on their own with the sense of comfort that blanketed your entire being. 

“It can also be conveyed through actions,” Killer continued, voice soft and easy, squeezing your shoulder to prove his point, “gifts, words, and even body language. S’ got something to do with magical signature. It bleeds into the things we do.” 

You hummed, the sound detached and distant as you mulled over Killer’s words. “Is that how Nightmare does his... weird… aura thing?” you asked. And Dream, too, I guess, you added silently to yourself. 

Killer’s hand stilled against your shoulder as he burst out into snickers. His laughter jostled you against his side as it shook his body. “No,” Killer replied breathlessly as he took up gently massaging your shoulder again, “no – Nighty’s aura magic is a whole different beast. Intent through magic signature is mostly just a suggestion, but Night can use his aura to completely change what you’re feeling.” 

“Oh.” 

Silence fell between the two of you, but you didn’t care. You snuggled closer against Killer’s side, letting your eyes slip shut in contentment as his hand moved from your shoulder to gently petting over the top of your head and down the back of your neck. You realized suddenly that your headache had mostly dissipated by now, and that, while the bubble of pitiful emotions still resided firmly in your chest, you were much calmer now, and there was less threat of it rising up and spilling over again. Even the ache in your Soul seemed soothed. 

You weren’t sure if it was Killer’s company or his intent or even some mix of the two that was settling you. Either way, you were glad for the change. With a quiet sigh, you allowed yourself to recognize that maaaaybe it had been just a tad silly of you to push company away earlier when you were feeling so down. You were only just getting used to being able to rely on Blue, and he wasn’t… around today. You got so caught up with that fact that you kind of… well, forgot that the others were here to help, too. 

Grrrrrowlllll. 

Both you and Killer startled at the sudden exclamation from your stomach. You glanced at each other, and as Killer burst into giggles, you felt the exasperated annoyance in your chest dissolve a little at the edges. You were even able to conjure up a smile. Killer removed his arm from around your shoulders, and you sat back in your own seat to let him stand. 

“How ‘bout we get some actually edible, chock-full-of-positive intent food in you?” Killer announced more than asked as he took the horrible rotten bowl from the table and whisked it away as he moved out of sight. “I’ll bet you’re starving, yeah? You missed breakfast and lunch.” 

You cringed at that. Of course he would say something. Thankfully, though, the guilt only nudged at you, rather than bring you all the way back down into your slump. But… “Are you gonna try to do something with that rice?” 

“Pssh, no,” Killer retorted, and when you looked over your shoulder you could see the playful scowl-and-smirk combo that only he could pull off. “No offense, babe, but this is beyond saving.” 

“Wait, but Horror hates it when we throw out food.” You turned around in your chair, faux lips pursed and brow lowered anxiously as you watched Killer head… not towards the trash or garbage disposal, but towards the door. The bubble of anxious energy was beginning to rise again, not yet threatening to burst, but definitely making itself known… 

“Hey, don’t worry.” Killer grinned and turned around, meeting your eye as he walked backwards out of the kitchen. “This is going straight to the compost. That way it’s not wasted and no one has to eat it – OOF!” 

Killer stumbled, nearly dropping the bowl, as he walked backwards and straight into Horror. Horror quickly steadied him with a hand on his shoulder, his one good eye blown wide in alarm. Killer, upon regaining his balance, turned around to grin up at the unexpected newcomer. “Oh, hey, H.” 

Horror’s eye flickered around the room, scanning Killer and lingering on the bowl in his hand before flitting over the kitchen and landing on you at the dining table, where his gaze rested for a moment, softening ever so slightly, before returning to Killer again. “What’s goin’ to the compost?” 

You sunk down in your chair a little bit, not quite trying to hide but not really trying not to, either, as Killer explained, “Just this.” He showed the bowl to Horror, who furrowed his brow. “Songbird here tried to fix something up for them to eat and didn’t realize their bad mood was sinking into the food,” he elaborated upon seeing Horror’s apparent confusion. 

You laid your head on the table, curling in on yourself and half-hiding your face with your arm in your rising shame. You knew how much Horror hated wasting food. Even if it was going to the compost, where it would actually be put to use, it was still using up a perfectly good bit of rice for absolutely no reason. Rice that could’ve actually been eaten by someone, especially since the food supplies were low. 

You didn’t expect Horror to be raving mad about it – that fear had slowly faded the more time you spent with the guys, now reduced to only a passing worry rooted in the now-distant past – but picturing his scrunched-up expression, the corners of his mouth pressed taut into a line as he stared down at you, slowly shaking his head – “I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed” – was just as bad, if not worse. It didn’t matter if you meant to do it or not; you’d still done it, and the food would be wasted, and it would be your fault that Horror was upset… 

Lost in your resurfacing misery as you were, you almost missed the moment when Horror glanced between you, the bowl, then you again before his expression hardened into something resolute, and he deftly snagged the bowl from Killer. Killer spluttered in confusion as Horror eased his way past him and made his way towards you, taking the spoon in hand. 

For a moment, all you knew was dull acceptance as you realized what Horror was going to do. Of course he wouldn’t let Killer take the rice to the compost. You were the one who caused this; of course you’d be the one to deal with it. Even if it meant forcing the rest of the barely-touched, horrible meal down your throat. That way, it wasn’t wasted, and you got the lesson you deserved so you didn’t do it again – 

“Finish the rest of your food, or so help me – “ 

“- You caused this problem, so now you have to deal with it – “ 

But Horror didn’t shove the bowl in your face, or glare down at you, or even cast a frown your way. No, instead, he came to a stop by your side and leaned back against the table, bringing the food to his own mouth while glancing your way, a twinkle in his eye. You watched, eyes wide, as he braved the spoonful with not even a flinch.

If Horror was affected by the cursed rice at all, you couldn’t tell. You watched, incredulous, as he took bite after bite, not making a single face or even twitching an eye socket. Not believing what you were seeing, you glanced back at Killer, who was standing in the doorway in silent shock. He met your gaze and quickly schooled his expression, whirling around and heading towards the fridge to apparently resume his quest of making you a snack “chock full of positive intent”. Snorting in a brief spell of amusement, you cast your gaze back to Horror, who winked at you knowingly as he chewed his most recent bite.

At least, you thought it was a wink. He only had the one working eye socket, after all. 

“So.” Horror swallowed his mouthful and looked properly your way. “What d’ya want to eat tonight? Anything you want.” 

The words, so unexpected, refused to sink in. “W-What?” You blinked in surprise at Horror. 

“I was already ‘boutta start dinner,” Horror explained, taking another bite of the God-forsaken rice. “That’s why I’m in here. So, what d’ya want me to make?” 

You spluttered for a moment, at a complete loss. “I-I… I thought it was Cross’s turn to pick dinner?” 

Horror chuckled, a deep, throaty sound that never failed to bring either a flush or a smile to your face. Today, your cheeks burned hot. “Cross’s tacos can wait. Tonight, I’m asking you.” 

His gaze met yours, and you were struck by the soft, utter devotion you saw there. A brief, passing thought had you wondering if this was what Killer meant by intent through words, or gestures, or magical signature, or whatever, because there was no way you’d have been able to pick up all of that on your own. You weren’t quite sure what it was, but something about the way Horror was looking at you right now, combined with the way he was just so casually eating something you made that you knew for a fact was horrible, like it was nothing, brought tears to your eyes. You quickly blinked them away, glancing down at the table and fiddling with your shirt sleeves as a small smile tugged at the corners of your mouth.

“…Can you make those porcupine meatballs again? With the sauce like how you made it last time?” 

You glanced up just enough to see the grin on Horror’s face. “’Course, lil’ bird. Angel hair noodles?” 

You nodded, your smile growing as Horror’s did. He passed his hand over top your skull and leaned down to press a kiss against your head, one that you gratefully pressed into. You watched Horror leave to join Killer at the sink, who, when Horror wasn’t looking, quickly reached out to snatch a handful of Horror’s ass. You giggled softly to yourself as Horror retaliated by body-checking Killer in the side, just enough strength behind the motion to send Killer stumbling but not falling. Your boys glanced at each other, meeting gazes for barely a moment before they both broke down laughing. 

Despite everything, you… really were glad you came out of your room today. You’d needed this, needed your boys. 

You weren’t as alone as you thought you were. You had people here who cared about you, wanted to help you, and, dare you say… loved you. 

You just needed to remember that. 

“You ate all of it?!” 

As Horror’s laughter filled the room, you were certain. This really was all you needed.