Chapter Text
“We’re going shopping today.”
Ichor looked up from where he was glaring at his current pan of rice pancakes with potato and chickpeas, a recipe he chose after perusing the bounty that Crop had so kindly donated to them - that he helped pick himself. He’d burned the last batch when Killer “passed” him a stick of butter and “accidentally” dropped it down his ribcage, where it rapidly melted before it even reached his pelvis due to his limited magic reacting hostiley towards the intrusion. Nightmare had volunteered (insisted - ordered - whatever one wanted to call it) to eat the overcooked meal (something about a lack of anything resembling genuine taste buds?). It still left a sour taste in Ichor’s mouth, wanting to provide for his team the way he couldn’t for his world, but he’d conceded only because he knew Nightmare was near impossible to argue with and win. Still, he vindictively left Killer’s plate on the stove for a few minutes too long as a petty form of comeuppance, knowing that Nightmare and Cross would ensure he ate every bite no matter how much he complained about the rubbery texture. And now, as he plated the final batch - for himself -, Cross swallowed the last of his meal and engaged in Nightmare’s conversation starter.
“huh? for what?”
It was true that they certainly didn’t have a need for food, what with their recent restock being just the week before, and Ichor couldn’t imagine what else they’d want for, and voiced as much as he took his seat next to Cross.
“Food is all well and good,” Nightmare agreed, “but I was thinking more along the lines of frivolities. Clothes, books, and the like.”
“clothes are a necessity,” Cross protested.
Nightmare smiled thinly. “All the more reason to outfit our newest member with more than the rags on his back, hm?”
Cross looked abashed and slightly guilty as he looked over at Ichor, who stared back blankly, mouth full. Sure, it was cold enough in the manor even without taking into account the additional wear and tear of every article of clothing he owned, but he was long used to it from his own world, and despite his small pool of magic, he burned hot enough to counter it as long as he was conscious - he voiced that aloud, too, and was again perplexed by Nightmare and even Killer looking at him oddly, with something that wasn’t quite pity but he couldn’t properly read. His words evidently didn’t make Cross feel any better, either.
“Clothes are non-negotiable,” Nightmare declared. “I also have a list of items that I need that you can collect while refitting yourself with proper attire.”
Ichor shrugged while Cross nodded and Killer choked down the last of his food. Ichor quickly wolfed his own, too, as Nightmare stood from the table and began collecting the cleared plates, a tentacle slithering from the hem of his jacket and outstretching to the doorway of the kitchen, opening a rift. He dug a folded paper and a bulging bag (that jingled with G) from his jacket pockets to pass to Cross.
“Take your time, and don’t be stingy,” he said. “We can’t afford the risk of these trips often, so get what you need and make sure it has an enduring quality at the least.”
“Yes, Boss,” the trio chimed as they filed through the Void and exited the other side in a damp alleyway. The path closed behind them and they could hear the buzzing of crowds outside the enclosed space. Cross was reading the list when Ichor finished blinking away bright spots from an indiscernible light source.
“it’d probably be best if we split up,” he suggested. “killer, you take ichor while i buy what’s on nightmare’s list.”
“Sure thing, Crossy,” Killer chirped, holding out a hand. Cross opened his pocket and emptied half of the gold into it before tossing Killer the bag.
“stay out of trouble,” Cross warned before he blipped away.
“you’ve been here… before?” Ichor guessed as Killer strolled out into the light, following close behind and a little overwhelmed when the dim noise rose to a din that left his skull ringing. They appeared to have been sent to a marketplace of sorts - something similar to that that Ichor had seen in the past when New Home was alive and thriving. Throngs of both monsters and humans bustled to and fro, hopping from stall to stall, and there were even proper, albeit small, shops teeming in the spaces between. Ichor subconsciously stopped breathing at the first whiff of perfume wafting from a gaggle of elegantly dressed human women; they smelled like petunias, and all Ichor could think about was his first kill.
“Once or twice,” Killer said, taking the lead through the crowds. Ichor knew he stuck out like a sore thumb, towering over most of the denizens around them (not to mention his physical malformities), but even though no one looked at them twice (somehow), people parted around Killer almost instinctively, like they knew he was always two seconds from snapping. “It’s got a Grillby’s, and a bit of everything besides.”
Ichor tilted his head up and gaped at the empty, palest blue sky he’d ever seen. They definitely weren’t underground, but they were not on the surface, either.
“what is this place?” he breathed, letting Killer pull him out of the way of a wibble of Moldsmal.
“It’s a draft.” Killer smirked at Ichor’s blank expression. “A universe that was abandoned by its creator before it was complete. Like…. Oh! Look there.” Ichor followed where Killer was pointing and watched as the sandy-colored cobblestone that made up the streets slowly tapered off into a blank white space. Some of the monsters and humans walked the path, chatting and laughing as if they weren’t about to walk into an abyss, and as they stepped into the white, they faded away. Ichor felt nauseous from the wrongness of the sight, though a beat later, the same monsters and humans strolled back into existence, arms no longer laden with their bags of goods.
“it’s a loop,” Ichor realized.
“Now you’re catching on.” Killer slapped Ichor’s back before taking the lead once more, away from the endless white. Ichor was all too eager to follow. “We can come here and shop without worrying about some random shopkeeper remembering us long enough to tell any star pests that show up.”
Ichor made a noise of acknowledgement and let Killer’s continued ramblings wash over him without really registering the words. An elbow to the ribs finally got his attention and he looked down at Killer, who gestured to a shop that he’d nearly walked past.
“We can start here. Let’s get you some nice clothes.”
When they walked in, the human running the register - who reminded him a little of Aliza in appearance - audibly gasped. Ichor cringed slightly, waiting for the questions or exclamations of horror, but they bounded up to him fearlessly, a shimmer of sadness in their eyes.
“You must be freezing!” Ichor opened his mouth to rebuke them, to say he doesn’t really feel the cold like he had to the others at breakfast, but they continued before he could eke a word out. “Come with me. We don’t have a lot that might fit you, but there should be something in the back.”
As the petite human began dragging him away by the arm, he cast a plea for help over his shoulder, but Killer just grinned and wiggled his fingers at him before strolling over to a rack of jackets, leaving Ichor to his fate.
“... but-”
“No, really, I insist - no one else would fit them anyway, so you’re doing us a favor.”
Ichor scowled at a laughing Killer as he was pushed to the door (willingly - there was no way the scrawny little human with a Kindness soul would be able to actually physically move him) without being allowed to offer a form of payment, clad in new clothes and with a bag bulging with more hanging from his elbow. He dug his heels in at the doorway, though, turning and catching the human’s tiny hands. He awkwardly shook them, not really sure what procedure to use in a situation like this, and offered a crooked smile.
“thank you.”
They beamed and he could feel the soothing warmth from their soul flare as they bid him goodbye and retreated back into the depths of the shop. (He felt almost sad when he saw the stutter of their loop resetting as they settled back behind the register.)
“So? Feel any better with new threads?” Killer prodded.
Ichor looked down at himself. He was currently clad in a red jacket with black faux fur lining the hood that had seemed too baggy until he put it on. It was still a little loose, but he could tell that he was retaining more magic than before, enough to fill out clothes again. He also had on a (as form-fitting as could be for a literal skeleton) black shirt, tan cargo shorts, and had been allowed to keep his own shoes (only because they actually didn’t have any his size), but given new socks that were green with little pictures of drumsticks on them. All in all, he felt…
“good. i feel… less hole-y.” Killer gave a pity snicker at that, but it was enough to draw a smile from Ichor. “i’m… less tired already, too, ‘cause my magic don’t have to work overtime to keep… me warm now.”
“Good for you, big guy.” Ichor was almost blindsided by the genuine smile on Killer’s face. Since their encounter in the kitchen a few nights ago, they’d been able to be almost cordial to one another. It was a strange development, but not an unwelcome one. Ichor didn’t want to be part of the continued cause of unrest in their group.
Ichor then noticed a bag hanging loosely from Killer’s phalanges. “what do you… have there?” he asked, gesturing to it. His brow furrowed. “you didn’t pay for it, did you?”
It wasn’t a question, and the ghost light in Killer’s right socket rolled, though his grin didn’t falter. “Neither did you. Relax, don’t give me that look. ‘Sides, they won’t know, or care, for missing merchandise a couple loops from now.”
Ichor grunted unhappily, but didn’t pursue the topic further because loathe as he was to admit it, Killer was right; no one would notice or remember. “so?” he prompted. “what did you… get?”
Killer pulled out a jacket that also had a fur-trimmed hood, black on the top half and white on the bottom. He brandished it proudly for Ichor to scrutinize.
“didn’t think monochrome was… your thing,” he admitted.
“It’s not,” Killer agreed. “It’s for Cross.” Now that Ichor took another look, it did sorta resemble the jacket Cross already wore with his usual outfit. “I gave him some of my spare clothes when he joined, since he didn’t have any belongings besides the clothes on his back, but he usually sticks to his uniform except on laundry days. I think he’s got some attachment issues, so I’m hoping this might be something he can use as a security blanket instead. Would be a Hell of a lot easier to get on and off.”
“... huh.” Ichor never really took too much notice of everyone’s outfits, but he knew he’d never seen Cross outside his many, many layers before. It wouldn’t be so bad to see him in a more relaxed setting.
“good idea,” he said, and Killer preened under the praise.
“I know,” he quipped proudly. “Now c’mon,” he stuffed Cross’ gift back into the bag, “we can hit some food stalls on our way back to collect Crossy and -”
“Killer!”
Killer froze. In the time Ichor had gotten to know him, Killer never froze - not even when he was caught red-handed slicking all the manor’s twisting doorknobs with oil or slow drying glue by Nightmare. He was always full of cheek and vigor, so to see him stock-still, splat-shaped soul writhing, concerned Ichor. Killer clearly wasn’t going to turn around, so Ichor did instead, and made eye contact with the strangest alter of himself he’d ever seen - minus Nightmare, of course. Though this one had color-changing flames billowing out of two holes in his skull (Ichor winced in sympathy), one that even extended to the right half of his face, and a jagged gash across his torso that was mirroring the kaleidoscope above. The skeleton was focused on Killer, but his gaze flickered to Ichor’s when he realized he was being looked at, and a prickle of d a n g e r ran up Ichor’s spine. The newcomer shifted as if he was going to approach, and suddenly a hand fisted into the front of Ichor’s jacket and he was being hauled into the crowd, another call of his teammate’s name being lost to the cacophony of noise around them.
“We have to get out of here,” Killer said as he led Ichor through enough twists and turns to make his head spin. The smaller skeleton’s soul had rounded out slightly and Ichor couldn’t help but feel like some progress had been lost - though progress towards what, he couldn’t quite tell.
“who is that?” Ichor asked, fumbling for his phone so he could shove his bag of goodies into the inventory.
“Color. An old friend.”
Ichor frowned at the back of Killer’s skull, flabbergasted at the high contrast between their frantic actions and Killer’s suddenly nonchalant announcement. It sent his thoughts scattering for a moment, but just as he gathered them to ask another question, he felt a pit form in his pseudo-stomach and then his soul was plummeting - literally. His body quickly followed suit and he collapsed, chin striking the ground with a sharp crack that stole his breath away as it echoed through his skull in all too familiar a manner. The blue magic gripping his soul wasn’t hostile, exactly, but it had all of Ichor’s senses going haywire. He only noticed that Killer had disappeared when he realized that the strange alter was standing over him. The crowd had dispersed the second Ichor hit the ground - or sometime when he was spacing out while his mind replayed the day he lost his eye and part of his skull -, so he had no one to help him or get him help. He was on his own, and the dredges of his remaining calm withered away when he was pinned under the gaze of the newcomer.
“Are you okay?”
Ichor stared in disbelief as the other crouched beside him, not letting up on his magic in the least, but looking genuinely concerned.
“I’m not used to Sanses besides Killer having so much Determination; I meant to grab him, not you. Did he do this? Did N i g h t m a r e ? “
Ichor shuddered as Color’s fingers ghosted across the edge of his head wound. His phalanges twitched, but he couldn’t summon the magic to defend himself, or the words to reply. Something about this skeleton’s presence was absolutely overwhelming, like being in the presence of human mages. (Or rather, how old history books written by war veterans had described the feeling.)
“... tsk. He’s probably gone by now.” Color sounded like he was talking to himself more than Ichor now. “I guess I should bring you to the Omega Timeline. We can figure out what to do with you then.”
His magic eased up as his fingers curled around Ichor’s arm, and running on pure impulse now that he could move, Ichor whipped his head to the side and sank his teeth into the other’s hand. Color grunted in pain as his bones cracked; Ichor might not’ve gotten the… odd “benefits” the other monsters got from eating humans, but his additional Determination had more of an effect on his physical body than his magical abilities, including being able to break bones with his jaw strength alone. (Not that he ever had to use such an ability outside of mealtimes; he startled Cross the first time he munched down everyone’s leftover bones after having chicken for dinner.) Color increased the blue magic, causing an acute pain in Ichor’s chest, and tore his hand away. Before he could retaliate, the scents of lavender and ice, blood and Hate, invaded Ichor’s senses, accompanied by the sound of energy gathering in the maw of a beast (but it sounded wrong, wrong, wrong). Color’s magic released Ichor as he turned to summon a wall of bone attacks to block the beam of energy. Gentle hands landed on Ichor’s spine, and he was drawn through the Void to the other side of the path. Cross eased him to his feet, and he found himself staring at Killer’s back; whatever creature he had used to draw Color’s attention was already gone.
“We’re leaving, Color,” Killer said flatly. “I don’t want to fight you.”
It wasn’t something Ichor ever thought he’d hear Killer say, with how much he constantly complained about wanting a fight to ease his ever-burgeoning boredom. Color hesitated, and it was enough for a white void to open beneath their feet, dropping them out of the draft universe. The last thing Ichor saw of it were blue strings raining from the non-sky; then there was nothing but white; then they were deposited in the common room. Nightmare was upon them immediately; he gave Cross and Killer cursory once-overs, his tentacles curling around their elbows and ankles to keep them from sneaking away as his hands landed on Ichor’s shoulders. One flew up to grip Ichor’s jaw, phalanges brushing what surely had to be a nasty bruise in the least or a series of deep cracks in the worst. Either way, it hurt, even at the lightest touch.
“That annoying p e s t,” he growled. “Cross?”
The monochrome skeleton stepped forward, fingers glowing green. As he cupped Ichor’s jaw, the taller monster sinking into the warmth of the healing magic that his bones soaked up with a ravenous fervor, he tilted his head towards Killer.
“killer, can you grab some of the sponge cake we made last night? it should have enough to heal what my magic can’t.”
Cross, having the lowest LV paired with working magic, was the only one with the ability to use green magic. Killer had too high LV; Nightmare’s body was just… unsuited for healing; and Ichor couldn’t draw a dredge of such potent magic if his life depended on it. But still, Cross had LV and Determination, and that affected the output of healing he could offer at any given time. That was why they began stocking up on intent-laden foods, to give an extra boost to the healing effects in case he has to heal more than one of them at a time in the future; food by itself didn’t do enough, sometimes, but together they would hopefully be sufficient until they found a more worthwhile solution or Cross trained to increase the amount of green magic he could produce.
“Did you manage to complete your shopping, at the very least?” Nightmare queried.
“i got everything you asked for. it’s in my phone’s inventory,” Cross said as Killer returned form the kitchen with a plated slice of cake.
“got more clothes in my phone, too,” Ichor mumbled around Cross and Nightmare’s steadying hands.
“We’ll have to find a new place to shop, though,” Killer said, passing the plate to Ichor as his face was finally released. His jaw ached like he’d been grinding his teeth, but it was leagues better than before, and he dug into the treat happily.
“It was a necessary sacrifice,” Nightmare muttered dismissively. “Error got to destroy an ‘anomaly,’ and for that I don’t owe him for your safe passage back here. There are plenty of other drafts to use for our future errands.”
Ichor wondered if Error had any foods he personally liked; maybe he’d whip him up a meal to give proper thanks, but he was ready to retire for the night after all the excitement.
“Ichor, rest. We’ll collect you for dinner. Cross, Killer, I have a few things to discuss with you later.”