One-shots [Reqs: 5]

Aftermath

[this is not an aftermath of anything, that's just the title]

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Killer's spine was throbbing, aching from being hunched over so long. He didn't move, of course. Why would he?

Dead roses hung sadly from his fist, their stems no longer firm enough to keep their rot-darkened head of petals up anymore. He should've brought rocks, like Dust had suggested. Flowers always die so quickly.

Despite his curled position, he shifted back as far as he could, the stone he was sat against hard and unyielding on his back. He stilled and pulled his knees to his chest, dropping his head into his arms with a heavy breath.

What would Nightmare say if he saw him like this?

"How dramatic you are," would probably be his first statement. After all, what better way to force people into bottling their emotions than making mourning something cliche. Ridiculous.

Nightmare's voice echoed in his mind, poisonous and vile as the bastard himself. "Picture perfect. And if someone finds you like this? The pity you'll be able to draw from them would have fed me for months."

Killer could almost picture the sneer on Nightmare's face, the glint of glee as he alienated someone from their own emotions. So much worse, and far more complicated, than asking if it was for attention. "And, really, isn't it always for attention? People will always want attention when they're hurt. The sole reason, if not for want of money, that hospitals exist."

He didn't answer. Why would he, when he knew that it wasn't real. There was nothing to answer to. "Oh, but imagine the number of people you might attract with it! Perhaps when they come and inevitably ask if you're alright, you'll be able to use the oh-so-original line," a pathetic imitation of Killer's voice, "'I'm fine.' Hook, line, and sinker."

If only he could kill Nightmare a second time. "You can't kill what's already dead." Killer knows that it's all in his head, that Nightmare is only in his head. "Well, perhaps you could 'kill' me. It would be simple, after all. A gun would solve this little dilemma, don't you agree?" No. He'd promised. "Of course, in taking me out, you'd kill yourself. Another thing you'd have in common with your little partner, I suppose."

Killer flinched. His senses flooded back to him, every little thing registering all at once. Every sound. The highway on the other side of the chain-link fence, the birds in the overhanging tree branches, the rustling leaves being pushed about by a warm breeze. Every sensation. The coldness of that warm breeze on his freshly tear-stained cheeks, the shifting rocks under his feet, the horrible chill of the headstone seeping through his clothes.

The wind tugged at his clothes and sent Cross's heart locket swinging in the little space it had within the cocoon of Killer's body. He was shaking. Nightmare's voice was as clear as day, so damn real and yet not, dripping with the fakest worry and care that Killer had ever been cursed with. "You miss him so dearly, don't you?"

He did. Fuck, he did. Every day he spent without him left his memories feeling fuzzy and faint. He couldn't even remember what he sounded like anymore. What his favorite joke was, how he liked his coffee, his favorite chocolate brand. Already, he could've sworn that Cross's face grew more blurry every day.

"Only. If he hadn't died.. then I wouldn't have either. And that's not an option. Is it?"

The dirt hadn't even settled yet. No grass had begun to grow yet, with how freshly turned the soil was. A small circle in the ground, untouched by vegetation.

"You're hesitating."

The headstone was clean of filth entirely. No grime had settled in the grooves of Cross's name, the carved letters pristine and the polish still shining like brand new. Perhaps because it was new.

It was strange to think that only a week ago, he'd been throwing puns back and forth with his partner and joking around about throwing a party. Killer snorted, and, amidst the shame that flooded him for it, he thought to himself that it was stupid how much he could forget in just a week.

"Was it worth it?"

Cross's locket dangled, still swaying, the scuffed gold bathed in the dull red light of Killer's soul. He shouldn't respond. There was nothing to respond to, because no one was there. No one was speaking to him. Yet the question still hung in his thoughts.

Was Nightmare's death worth the price of Cross's life?

He could remember the moment it happened. It was only an image, but it would haunt him for the rest of his stupid life.

Cross's knife had pierced the right spot. And Nightmare's tentacle had too. Killer's chest constricted, a scream in his throat, his soul shredding into pieces-

He threw up at the party. The celebration of Nightmare's tyranny coming to an end was also a celebration of Cross's sacrifice. Killer had thrown up. He didn't want victory anymore. He'd only wanted it for one, single reason. And it was thanks to that victory that he no longer had that reason. He didn't have Cross anymore.

That was hardly a victory.

He didn't want it. He didn't want this.

"You don't want safety? You don't want happiness? Why not? Why don't you celebrate with the others?" Dream didn't understand.

"Cross's sacrifice will always be remembered. He will always be respected as a hero." No one but Killer, Dust, and Horror came to the funeral.

"Even if it meant Nightmare was alive? You'd exchange everyone's happiness just to save one person? That doesn't make sense." Ink didn't even have emotions, why even talk to him.

Killer just couldn't understand why they expected him to care more about Nightmare than Cross.

"Was it worth it," Nightmare cooed in Killer's mind, "Was I more important in the end? In the grand scheme of things, did you not even once think that what Cross did was necessary?"

Killer's throat hurt.

He'd screamed until his voice was shredded, until he tasted blood, and he kept screaming, and screaming, and screaming-

"...not even once.."

He just wants Cross back.