Her Guardian || Demon! Dream Sans x Reader

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"Get off of my minions," Nightmare snapped, his tentacles batting Swap and Ink away from Horror and Killer, then they wrapped around his minions' chests and pulled them back towards Nightmare, where Waylon's demons had stepped back to give them room. Nightmare's expression remained stoic and impossible to read, but his tentacles almost seemed affectionate as they ran over his minions checking for injuries. "I do hope you two are ready to see Error and Dust again," he said evenly, meeting both of his minions' eyes.

"It was great working with you, Boss," Killer said with a wide smile, though it didn't hold the easy mirth it always used to carry. His target soul flickered unsteadily in front of him, and without the knife his fingers were used to playing with, his hands flexed almost nervously. Horror seemed to relax at the prospect of not needing to fight anymore, and though his grin remained unnerving, it almost seemed bittersweet now. (Y/n) hardly knew them, and though she'd spent this whole time fighting them, she couldn't help but feel sorry for them anyways. Tears misted her eyes as an almost unnatural amount of sadness washed over her, but this time, Dream didn't combat it. Mrs. Waylon's demons didn't deserve this, forced into a battle that wasn't their own just to die because they happened to get summoned by the wrong human. And maybe they were stereotypical evil demons, but (Y/n) almost wished she'd summoned them instead just for the chance they wouldn't die unfairly. But that's all this was: unfair.

"I wonder if they missed us too," Horror asked quietly.

Nightmare's reply came easy as a tentacle rubbed the minion's head. "I am certain they did." Fell shifted uncomfortably, unsure why he felt so bad about killing Dust now. "I will have to apologize to Error."

Dream's sockets widened. "[Nightmare...apologizing? That is not like him...]"

"He knows you didn't mean it—even if he'll act all grumpy about it," Killer said, his grin easy as he leaned against his boss and snickered behind his hand, his empty sockets playful. "I can't wait to see the look on Glitchy's face when he sees you again. There'll be hell to pay, heh."

"[So there is an afterlife for demons?]" (Y/n) glanced up at Dream hopefully, but Dream's expression only sunk deeper into despair.

"[It is...unlikely.]"

"[Then why are they talking about it like they'll see each other again? That doesn't make sense...]" She looked between the evil demons in confusion—though now they looked anything but evil.

"[Because you cannot see the way their souls tremble at the fate that awaits them. Their sadness is soul aching, yet they do not let it show, choosing instead to believe so strongly that they will see each other again to avoid the uncomfortable truth.]" It was impossible to tell Dream ever saw them as enemies, as now all she saw in his eyelights was sympathy and pain.

"What game are you playing?" Mrs. Waylon asked, her uncaring eyes on her demons with disdain. It was like she scoffed at sentiment, seeing the demons only as objects to exact her revenge on her daughter and too stuck in the past and her own false beliefs to see them as lives undeserving of her cruelty. If perhaps she was able to let go and move on, she wouldn't have to die—even (Y/n) would let her live, if barely, after all that had happened if she could find some shred of humanity in her to let her demons go. But there was none left, and she was unable to let go even when it cost her her life.

"Do you not see the emotions your daughter is experiencing?" Nightmare asked mockingly, extending a hand towards (Y/n)'s wet eyes almost proudly. "All of our sappy words are having a negative effect on her. If you truly want to see her in pain then look no further than her reaction to seeing us die." At first, (Y/n) glared at him as Mrs. Waylon nodded, pleased with her demon. He was going to die and he was using this time to rub it in (Y/n)'s face? But then she realized something as she met his unsteady turquoise eyelight: he was doing it only so Mom wouldn't force his hand to take her life sooner than he was ready. She had all the power in this situation, and she could give him a command to take her life right this instant, not giving him time to say goodbye or make amends. But by giving her what she wanted in her cruel, heartless soul, he was taking back a small shred of agency, letting him go out on his terms—even if he wasn't ready.