Our Pen

Chap 16

YOOO! NOW I'M #1 IN UNDERTALEAUS?!?! BRO IT HASN'T EVEN BEEN THAT LONG WTH?
CELEBRATORY CHAPTERRRRRR
*Nightmare POV*

Y/n's lack of mental health was concerning. Crack ice cubes? Maybe I'll sneak one later after grilling Ink out for giving them such things. I sent Horror, Axe and Killer on an LV run in hopes of Killer eventually tiring himself out.
Y/n was currently leaning a bit on Dust, who didn't seem bothered. They had gone quiet again, and I could tell Dust was trying to formulate the words 'thanks' and 'human' in his mind into a sentence to say to them for saving him. It wasn't working, so I said it for him. "Dust had wanted to thank you for assisting him."

Y/n nodded, and I could see that they were tired both physically, and mentally. Dust slowly guided them back to their seat, and when they looked down at the soup again, they shook their head. Cross, who hadn't left the table since pointing out Killer's off behavior asked why Y/n wasn't eating.
"I don't deserve it." Their thoughts screamed, "I hurt Killer, and I'm a horrible person. I hurt your feelings, too. Why are you still being nice?"  "I'm full." "I'm sorry." "Why does it hurt?" It truly broke my soul to watch them be self-deprecating, even without noticing. Unfortunately, I'm full (Nightmare's powers v.s. Dream's are explain differently. Dream = absorb / Nightmare = eats/feasts[??] from what I've heard). Anymore, and I might start spewing liquid negativity. I'm already abnormally larger in size, which surprisingly, nobody has seemed to notice.

I wrap a tentacle around their wrist again, exuding calm. Their thoughts stop, and they lean into me and off of Dust, who (from what I can see) secretly frowns at the disappearance of their touch. I pick them up with my appendages (additional limbs/tentacles/tendrils) and take them to their room. When I set them in their bed and tucked them in, I found that they had already fallen asleep. I caught some writing on their arm from the position they were in.

"Dust.... Jar... Fell to Edge... Food. Horrortale.... time.... diff-"

I searched the room, to find a jar of dust on a desk nearby. I decided I'd question it later. Dust and Cross were at the door, taking in the inside of Y/n's room. I passed them on my way out, and some stairs, which I peeked down, just because I wanted to know what was there. When I saw a glimpse of yellow, I did a double-take and went down.
There it was, a painting of Dream in tears... hugging... me? We were smiling. I looked in the corner, spotting Y/n's name. I drifted off toward the pile of finished canvas and sifted through. Dream and Y/n hugging. Dust hurt. All by Y/n? I couldn't tell when these were made. Do these foreshadow real events, or is this just some pointless art to get out some blocked feelings?

Probably the latter.
I left without a word, making sure to close the door in case either skeleton on the same path behind me would've looked (just as I did). I went on ahead and sent Cross to inform the three out and about that we would be going back to the castle, and not Y/n's house.
Dust made tea and put it in a plastic cup, before rinsing the dishes (I'm not a fan of water, and everyone's just accepted that) and waving me to the room with the wall. I've heard how Y/n painted this to make it look less empty with Ink's vials, but that makes me wonder how strong those things really are if I manage to get my hands on them.

*Bff/n POV*

Error portaled me back into the Doodlesphere and left without another word after tacos, skull pale. He looked ready to vomit, and from what I could tell myself, my stomach was not happy with the amount of overall inedible ingredients in Blue's food. My gag reflex made me realize how bad the food was for the human body, so I went to the restroom and stayed there, sitting by the toilet for the night, scrolling on my phone when I got bored.
Well, it was solitary for a while, when around 2-3am, Y/n burst through the door (startling both me and jostling my stomach), shouting, "Why do you hate me?" They must've taken the blue vial ice, because the frown on their face was evident. Puffy eyes, and a runny nose was also seen. It made me feel guilty for avoiding them for so long. "I don't hate you, Squid." I whisper, before I gag.

"Wh-" Blotch tries to ask, but I end up barfing (again, into the toilet bowl. I'm never eating Blue's tacos again). They were pretty quick to rush to my side, pulling my hair out of my face and patting my back. "Do you need anything?" They ask quietly, and I shake my head. They leave anyways, returning with some crackers and a water (with MY ice cubes, not theirs [I hope, anyways]).
"Little sips. You don't want to make yourself throw up again." Y/n says as they pass the water, and I sigh when I take a slow drink of it. Y/n sat criss-cross on the floor with me, asking how I had gotten sick. "Blue's tacos." I whine, "They suuuckk." "Well, I don't think Blue knows what humans can and can't eat. Also, didn't you know the tacos would be bad?" Y/n defends, and I groan, clutching my stomach, "Not THAT bad!" We can't help but chuckle.

"Nice face."
"Yeah, I like yours too."

Comfortable silence.

"Sorry for ghosting you in your own house."
"Did I do anything, or was it something you were just worrying about?"
"You nearly died, and I wouldn't've been able to do anything!"
"Yeah you would."
"What?"
"Be there for me in my final moments."

That was by no means funny, but we ended up laughing (Y/n must've taken two ice cubes instead of one [happy and sad], maybe to balance out the effects of each) anyways.

"I still haven't taken the stitches out of my arm."
"Should we go to a doctor-?"
"Nah, I can just do it myself."

Y/n takes out an exacto-knife and I watch with wide eyes as they slash at the stitches on their arm, pulling out and leaving small bleeding dots along their arm.
"Is it just me or does my blood look black to you?" they ask, and I confirm that by retelling the event from their 'almost death' in my point of view. 

"Wow that's traumatizing. Sorry man." Following with a pat on the back and a proud smile, I snort a bit. "Where'd that even come from?" I ask, gesturing to the knife, before groaning a bit and clutching my stomach once more. Y/n seems overly confused by my question. 

"My pocket??"
"How much can fit in those things?"
"A lot?"
"That sounded more like a ques-"
"I know that!"

We chatted for the rest of the night.