Take Me Home.

Chapter 12: One More or One Less

Killer slowly opened his eyes, though it did nothing to cease the darkness that surrounded him, almost like a void.

He blinked a few more times, curious if this was a dream, but if it was- Then how come he was here?

A voice spooked him out of this, one that was oh too familiar..

"You." The voice said in disgust.

He turned around, trying to find the source of the voice, but found nothing there. No one but him and his thoughts.

"You killed me."

Killer shook his head, taking steps back in the plane that seemed almost limitless.

Out of the shadows, a figure formed into existence. It reminded him too much of one of Nightmare's creations. But then the goop had slipped down, leaving no stains, as if it hadn't been there.

But again, he reminded himself persistently. This is just a dream. Things don't have to make sense for it to happen here.

He wanted to cry at the sight of who it was, a familiar hooded skeleton standing before him. "It's your fault." It spoke, voice echoing.

Killer refused to give him the amusement of speaking back, settling instead for running away.

A new voice joined the other.

Horror. He thought helplessly as he ran.

He was tiring himself out, and he knew that, yet the other two seemed restless, not even being affected.

This is just a dream. He told himself again.

Even if he is caught, he will not suffer consequences. ..So why was he running then?

Fear, perhaps.

He could've sworn that he was getting better though.

Soon, the voices melded together, and then there was everything, voices echoing alongside the walls (When were there walls?), and then nothing, and the silence was overbearing.

His thoughts were suddenly too loud, and it echoed in the way that it hurt his ears.

But he wasn't speaking so there shouldn't be an echo, would there be?

Before he could think over that for much longer, a new figure formed in front of him. He would have ran, but he found himself unable to move, and he could feel the darkness seep into his bones, his marrow, and clinging to his clothes like persistent stains that could never go away with just one or two washes.

Killer's breath was caught in his throat at the sight of who it was.

Cross! His mind desperately supplied.

Instead of reacting how Cross usually would, he simply met him with a cold glare.

His soul ached at this, acting as if this was his Cross, and that Cross was acting like this.

"Killer." He spoke, as if a statement. Killer winced. He couldn't remember the last time Cross had used his name instead of his nickname.

"..Yes?" He said hesitantly.

"It's your fault."

"What?"

"Nightmare wins in the end. He killed us all. It's your fault. If only you had given yourself up."

"No– We- We have a plan. And we might not win but it.."

"But?"

He thought back to all the times Cross had insisted it wasn't his fault.