Dust sat at the table with his arms crossed over his chest, watching Horror cook with a bored expression. He always noticed that the larger would set aside a good portion, but it wasn't for him. Dust wasn't stupid, he knew exactly where that food went. Though not very interested, Dust wasn't very happy that Horror was being soft on the prisoner. Their boss specifically said to only feed him bread and water, nothing more. Yet, here Horror was cooking real meals, delicious ones he may add, and feeding them to the prisoner. Dust growled under his breath as Horror set aside a small plate of the pancakes and bacon. He knew better than to touch the dish. Horror got aggressive whenever it came to food, he learned that the hard way.
Mismatched eyelights focused on each dish Horror prepared, noticing how they weren't as neatly put together as the dish set aside was. He didn't like that. Why should that weak skeleton in the dungeon get a nicer looking meal than him, or any of them for that matter. Dust's bored expression slowly turned into a frown. Was he jealous? Over the presentation of his meal? It didn't make sense to him. The hooded skeleton sighed, and Horror looked over at him, raising a brow. Dust hummed, noticing Horror's attention on him. "What."
"...nothin'.." Horror shrugged and focused back on the dishes, grabbing two plates and heading to the table, setting one down in front of Dust and the other next to him. Dust looked over his food. He only ever had home cooked meals like this when Horror cooked. He remembers the time before the large skeleton was added to their team, and how bad each of them were at cooking simple meals. Cross was the best of all of them, but he wasn't able to cook meals like Horror. It was almost always take-out every night, which eventually made Dust sick to the bone. He got sick of eating shitty take-out food.
The rest of the team walked into the room and took their respective seats at the table, each of them digging into their food. Dust watched as Horror slowly ate, as to not eat all his food in one go. He often wondered why the guy who had no food for over 7 years was the best cook of them all. Dust mentally sighed and looked back down at his plate, poking his bacon with his fork. He should be grateful that he's getting a decent meal. It was a miracle that Horror hasn't put poison in their meals, he's had numerous opportunities to kill them, yet he never did. Dust gripped his fork a little harder. Horror was too nice, and it was going to get him killed.
"You ok...?" The sudden question made Dust flinch, jerking his head up at the larger skeleton who sat beside him.
"Don't worry about it, it's not your business." He narrowed his eyes at Horror, watching as he slowly turned back to his plate to finish his food. Dust's shoulders sank and he looked back at his half eaten plate. The broken skeleton was the only one who would ask him if he was ok, and he always replied with a nasty remark. It made his soul twist in guilt. He doesn't deserve any kindness, especially after what he's done. His head hung low as he finished the last of his food, quickly scooping up the plate and setting it in the sink before walking out of the kitchen, hands stuffed in his pockets. It was the least he could do to assist Horror in cleaning up.
Killer twirled his knife in his hand, leaning against the doorway of the training room where he watched Horror sharpen his ax. The wood splinters around the room had already been cleaned up shortly after Horror's training session. Void-like eye sockets eyed the way Horror handled his ax, so gently and full of precision as he ran the blade across the leather. As scary as the larger looked, he was just a softy. Killer didn't understand how someone who went through so much in his past, and even now in the castle, could still be so kind and caring.
His gaze trailed down to the knife in his hand, recently sharpened and ready to use. Horror had spent nearly 20 minutes on the small weapon just to make sure he sharpened it correctly and that there were no chips in the blade. He never even asked to have it sharpened. Horror just pulled it out of the broken target and began to sharpen it. Killer stood near him the entire time, watching him sharpen the weapon with such care. He even cleaned up the mess that was made from him throwing knives at the targets. Granted, it was Horror's ax that had done most of the damage, but he still cleaned up after them both.
It didn't make sense to him. Why was Horror so nice? Killer has been nothing but a dick to him and he still treats him kindly. The tear-stained skeleton was pulled out of his thoughts as he heard Horror make a quiet yelp, his hand shooting up to his mouth. Horror put his thumb into his mouth to lick away the blood from the cut, then wiped his hand against his jacket, smearing some more blood on the already blood-stained fabric. Horror quickly brushed off the incident and went back to sharpening his ax. Killer narrowed his eyes, the knife in his hand sliding back up his sleeve for later use.
Horror was always hurting himself in some way, and he always hid it from everyone. He remembered calling out to the larger when he ran by him just a week prior. He remembered the large quantities of blood falling from Horror's hand that was held over his mouth. The amount of bandages Horror wore that week was concerning, and it made Killer's soul shift. Even now as he recalls the memory, he felt his soul shift.
Horror always took care of them whenever they got hurt, always tending to their wounds and making sure they heal up. Yet, no one ever helped the larger when he got hurt. He was always ignored and left to deal with his own injuries. Killer felt slightly guilty for not chasing after Horror that night and alerting Cross. He knew the monochrome skeleton would've done something to heal him if Killer had asked, assuming Cross was in a decent mood. The only reason why Killer would've helped was so that he didn't have to look at the grotesque injury, yeah, only because he himself felt uncomfortable, not for Horror's sake. Killer turned heel and walked down the hall, his gaze distant. It doesn't matter, Shattered would've gotten upset with him if he dared to help Horror.
Cross walked down to the laundry room to tend to the laundry, as it was his turn. His hood was over his head and his mouth hidden behind his scarf. He never liked it when his clothes got mixed up with the other's, as their clothes would dye his. Upon getting to the laundry room, he stopped in his tracks. Horror was already in there and finishing up ironing and folding the last of the laundry. Cross noticed a pile of mostly black and white clothes set to the side, all ironed and neatly folded in the specific way he liked. Cross blinked, looking over all the piles of clothes, all neatly folded and sorted based on their respective owners. It must have been a boring day if Horror has already done all of the laundry.
Cross sighed and stepped into the room, beelining towards his pile of clothes. He swore it was his turn today to do laundry. . .why was Horror doing it?
"It was my turn today." Cross stated, kneeling down to pick up his clothes.
Horror hummed and looked up from where he was folding Ink's pants. "I know...but you were busy..."
"I wasn't. If you were paying attention, you would've noticed that I wasn't doing anything at all." Cross scoffed and stood back up. While he wasn't lying, he knew that Horror meant no harm. The larger was always stuck doing the chores, as no one else would give a shit about what they needed to do, or they would always half-ass it. Cross was going to do the laundry, he just got distracted by the TV is all.
"....sorry.." Horror mumbled, going back to folding the last article of clothing. Cross' shoulders sank. He didn't need to be that harsh about a simple task. He admits that he often puts his own routine before doing his chores, which always leads to Horror doing it before him. It made him angry. Horror didn't need to do his chores. Cross was just as good about finishing up tasks as the other.
With a huff, Cross stepped out of the room and walked back to his room, the pile of clothes in his arms. He looked down at the pile and sighed. Horror even organized the clothes just the way he liked it; Bottoms, tops, undergarments, and extras. The monochrome skeleton never realized how much Horror pays attention to them. He pushed open the door to his room with his shoulder, stepping into his personal space. Cross thought back on how he reacted to Horror doing his chore. He knew he should've been so harsh, he noticed the way Horror's large eye light dimmed. He always noticed whenever the broken skeleton was being belittled by anyone. It made his chest hurt. Why did he feel so bad for doing something the rest of the team always did?
YOU ARE READING
Horrormare Story
FanfictionNight had been kidnapped by Shattered and has been used by everyone on the team. Just when he feels like giving up, someone new comes into the cell to feed him, someone who's only intention is to give him a decent meal. (I had written this a while a...
