A Mortal's Touch (A Killer x Dream Fanfiction)

Come Back...

It had been a month since the incident. A month since Dream had betrayed Killer and pushed him down back to the mortal realm, leaning himself back up top.

And the little sunshine God had been nothing short of miserable. He'd been cooped up in his castle the whole time, not coming out to talk to anyone or just go out for some general fun. He stayed alone, every second that went past making the ball of guilt compressed around his soul grow even larger.

On multiple occasions, either Ink or Blue had come round in a panic, wondering where he'd been for the last week and a bit. But he just waved them off, not answering any of their questions. Yes it hurt to see their shocked and sad faces. Yes he wanted to burst into tears and hug them. Yes he wanted to tell them everything. But he couldn't.

By leaving Killer, he could technically spill his whole story to everyone. But he didn't. For his brother's sake.

He'd seemed so happy with Cross for once in his life that Dream couldn't bare to think of shattering that only happiness he'd had in years.

It seemed quite funny really. They'd been at each other's throats before, constantly trying to kill or weaken the other. But then two insignificants came into their lives and turned their whole worlds upside down. More Dream than Nightmare with the upside down part. Suddenly attacking each other really didn't seem right. It was as if Killer and Cross had both slapped some sense into the two of them.

Of course the irony of it was that Nightmare was now all happy, while being the God of Negativity. And Dream was depressed, despite being the God of Positivity. Yes it didn't make sense, but they couldn't do anything about it.

Well, Dream could...

"Stop it Dream." He muttered to himself, clenching his now crack-free fingers into a fist. "He's better off without you, and you're better off without him."

He glared at the floor, both his arms hanging limply by his sides. As hard as he tried to stop himself, his mind constantly wandered to Killer. He remembered how he'd bandaged him up when he'd first found him, looked after him and covered all his wounds. Made sure he was okay...

By now all those cracks and breaks had healed and he could do everything perfectly fine again. But there were still faint scars that showed in jagged marks across his arms, legs, hands and chest. He didn't mind though, they weren't horribly visible. And Killer would have probably made some stupid comment about how they looked badass or something.

He could literally picture him standing right in front of him, arms crossed over his chest as he smirked widely. "Showing off your battle scars, hey Dreamy? Trying to match my badass look?"

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to banish the image of Killer from his mind. Just the thought of him sent more pangs though his aching chest. He'd tried to convince himself that the aching was because the section of his chest where his soul was ripped out hasn't fully healed. But he knew what it was really, just refused to acknowledge it. He just forced it away.

He didn't need Killer. He could continue on without him perfectly fine. He could live without his cheeky smile, without his his warm hugs, without his comforting hand holding gestures. It wasn't as if he dreamed of being with him every night, curled up in his arms and pressed against his chest happily on the sofa watching a film or in bed. He certainly didn't picture Killer by his side every living second. He never caught himself talking to the air, imaging Killer was there. And he definitely did not regret pushing him away with every single breath he breathed. No, of course not. Never ever ever.

Dream looked up from the floor, imagining Killer sat at home all alone, a blank expression on his face as he stared at nothing. And then he pictured him muttering his name, sitting by the giant crater in the garden as if he could sense the God through it. He pictured him crying all alone...