Her Guardian || Demon! Dream Sans x Reader

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The silence that followed was suffocating, and as (Y/n) caught her breath, Outer bent down next to Slash. He looked over the other Renegade with worried eyelights, putting his glowing green hands on the young demon's sternum. Healing magic. (Y/n) gingerly felt along Slash's ribs, feeling splintered bones under her fingers characteristic of blunt force trauma injuries, and she grimaced. Slash shuddered from the pain as she looked up at the Demon King.

Dream was breathing heavily, trying to calm the rage festering inside him as Swap talked to him quietly. She couldn't quite hear what he was saying, but his brows were furrowed as he reached out to Dream. Dream looked down as he mumbled something, deflating some as Swap set a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. "[Is everything alright?]" She knew the thought was quiet and downright uneasy leaving her mind, but Dream didn't even glance at her. She couldn't tell if he was simply ignoring her or he didn't hear her, but at Slash's groan, she figured that could wait—even if she was suddenly uncomfortable around him. That fury was what a Demon King was known for—and what her family died to—and the power Dream held that entire battle was now on the forefront of her mind. He could've killed the minions effortlessly, the only thing stopping him being his aversion to killing. But that moral code seemed to slip when it came to Nightmare. If even the other enemy demons knew not to fight with Dream when he was pissed—actually listening to his command to leave despite their very goal contrasting with the order—she wondered just how she was alive. She royally pissed him off before, no doubt toeing that line of death, and realizing just how close he was to killing her made the fear sink its teeth deep into her.

Dream glanced back at (Y/n) as if feeling her distrust coming off her in waves, his expression displeased, and she quickly kept her head down. Her survival instincts were screaming at her to get away from him, especially right now when he could so easily slide back into a furious state at the smallest push, but it wasn't like she had any say in keeping her life anyway. If he could kill a minion easily, he could kill her with no effort at all. A shiver traveled up her spine.

"I need to go check on Ink," she said quickly, getting to her feet to run out the door. She felt multiple pairs of eyes follow her, but only one seemed to burn into the back of her head. Despite her efforts to avoid thinking about it, her mind conjured up the memory of the last time she saw her dad and Dance. Demon Kings like Dream could kill easily, and only a King could leave no sign of struggle behind—killing so fast neither Dance nor Dad were able to react and thus unable to struggle in the first place. Again she wondered if Dream was the very Demon King that killed them, and despite how easily she dismissed the thought before, this time she couldn't push it aside. She knew so little about his past, and his soul remaining white even after killing Theo and his men meant he could kill without any change in purity. She might've been safe the first time she pissed him off because she was female and in demon culture it was dishonorable to kill a female demon thus he'd have an extra aversion to killing her, but she couldn't count on that saving her next time.

(Y/n) found Ink as she got to the top of the stairs leading down to the living room, and at seeing him unharmed, she relaxed. She could just see Error in the entryway with his eyelights pointed out the window in case Waylon's men tried to make a move, an almost smirk on his teeth—though (Y/n) wasn't sure why. Ink looked up at the movement and waved. "Hey (Y/n), what's up?" he asked brightly, relaxed on the couch with his hands behind his head.

She headed down the stairs as she answered. "We barely made it. Did you get attacked?"

"Nope." He spoke with ease, and she frowned as her feet slowed to a halt.

"Why didn't you help us?"

"Help you with what?" His eyelights turned to question marks and she sighed. Of course, Ink was forgetful, so why would he remember to come help them? All of her worrying about him made a sour taste fill her mouth. What a waste of attention.