Chapter Text
The manor was quiet. Dust liked silence, but he’d grown to expect the noise that came with his new housemates. He knew that Ichor and Cross had left for Ichor’s timeline, and with them being the more social of the manor’s inhabitants, he supposed it wasn’t surprising that the noise had decreased dramatically. Still, it left Dust on edge; at least when Cross was home, he knew where not to go to avoid Killer. Plus, he wasn’t sure if any of the others knew or even noticed, but Nightmare’s presence was everywhere, coating the walls and even tainting the others’ magic. (It was most noticeable in Killer, or more specifically, his exposed soul.) It made Dust feel like he was being watched at all times, and in turn kept him on edge. It was no different from how he felt in his own world, with the Player’s poison infecting all his memories of people and places he’d known his whole life.
Dust was considering catching up on some sleep - he had found a great hiding spot recently that Ichor hadn’t discovered yet -, but Papyrus insisted that Dust follow him, so for lack of anything else to do, he did. He was led to a room that didn’t look any different from the others on the outside, but inside revealed that it wasn’t some nondescript storage room or unclaimed bedroom. There were stacks of bags of gardening soil and makeshift planters spread across the floor.
“I Saw Cross Coming In And Out Of Here and Investigated. I Applaud His Desire To Better Himself By Learning A New Skill, But He’s Going About It All Wrong! The Planters Are Lopsided And Dull; He Should Paint Them Warm Colors To Keep The Plants Happy! Not To Mention –”
Dust let his brother’s passionate spiel fade into the background as he poked at the constructs. Lopsided they were indeed, but they were sturdy. Some of them were filled with dirt that looked like it’d been dug through time and time again - perhaps because of failed germination. And no wonder, because it was as cold in the room as anywhere else in the manor - and barely warmer than the snowscape outside - and no natural light existed to coax the plants to life.
“UGH! BACK TO IGNORING ME? AND AFTER I WENT THROUGH THE TROUBLE OF FINDING YOU ENTERTAINMENT! FINE! I’LL GO OCCUPY MYSELF ELSEWHERE!”
Dust mumbled a vague farewell to Papyrus - knowing he’d likely feel guilty when his brother inevitably reamed him for it later - as he dug through the clutter in the corner. There were various hand-tools, some packets of seeds, and a stack of books on gardening. (He smirked at the “Vegetable Gardening For Dummies” at the top, a tasseled bookmark peeking from somewhere towards the end.) Upon closer inspection of the seeds, Dust realized it was a mix of Underground and surface plants and scoffed under his breath. A single room wouldn’t be enough to properly grow them, as they thrived in completely different environments. Underground crops thrived only in the humid climate of Waterfall, and surface ones required sunlight. Both environments would be difficult to reproduce indoors - but outdoors was absolutely not an option.
Dust thumbed through a book on surface farming, absorbing the words while also losing himself in his thoughts. There was really no reason for them to need to start gardening in the manor. He knew, from Ichor’s last excursion, that the manor’s stocks were filled from another universe; they could, and did, get everything they needed food-wise from there. Ichor was also the only reason Dust could think of that would prompt Cross to attempt to create a makeshift greenhouse in an empty bedroom. Dust didn’t know the details of anyone’s stories, and he didn’t really care to, but Ichor’s was easy to guess. He watched Dust almost obsessively when they took meals together, and if Dust didn’t seem satisfied, Ichor offered to get him more, or even went so far as to offer some of his own food. Plus, they had enough food to feed the Underground multiple times over. Whatever Ichor lived through, it seemed rough, and Dust couldn’t help but feel some miniscule kinship with the larger monster over it.
So, if the effort was for Ichor’s sake, Dust supposed the least he could do was attempt to come up with a long-term solution to Cross’ struggles.
The first step to bettering the garden room was to prevent as much cold from getting in as possible. Dust scoured the floors until he found some rugs rolled up and shoved into the back of a cramped storage room. He used blue magic to lift every item in the room as he plastered the wooden floors entirely with rugs. He’d also found duct tape during his search, which he used to tape the edges of the windows, outlets, and temporarily cover any cracks in the outer walls until he could find a more permanent solution. He needed to find something to shove against the bottom of the door, but that could wait until he was finished with everything else.
Dust made his way down to the common room. It was empty - an occurrence that only happened when Killer’s entertainment (who went by ‘Cross’) wasn’t around. Dust took advantage of the opportunity and grabbed the floor lamp that sat between the couch and armchair, and all three of the LED lights from above the kitchen counter. He’d already liberated a few bedside lamps from some of the unused bedrooms. With a bit of mechanical know-how, Dust jury-rigged a couple grow lamps and shoved a few of the planters into a corner of the room, hanging them above them and turning them on. The heat was almost refreshing after so long feeling cold, but Dust didn’t allow himself to linger, poking a few surface crop seeds into the dirt, watering them, and wondering how he’d know they worked if they took so long to grow.
“... Papyrus…?” he whispered.
His brother materialized before him, a pout on his face and his disembodied arms crossed.
“i’m sorry for ignoring you earlier,” he groveled. “i need your help, though. you know how to put magic into living things, right? i want to make the seeds sprout early so i can see if the grow lamps will keep them alive.”
Papyrus’ teeth grinded like he was contemplating saying no, but then his entire demeanor relaxed. “Of Course I’ll Help You, Sans,” he said, jaw lifting in a grin. “Here, Give Me Your Hands.”
Dust let his brother position his hands over the soil, explaining how to ease his magic into the faint vibration of life within the dirt, and though minute applications of magic wasn’t his expertise, he was proud when it only took a few minutes for some greens to sprout from the surface. He brushed a leaf with his finger, grinning slightly, and set to work filling the other planters with Underground seeds. It would be hard to recreate Waterfall’s humidity, but slowly increasing warmth would be a good start. Maybe he could convince Ichor or Cross to pick up a proper humidifier, and if not, he had a few ideas on how to make one himself.
“alright, let’s get out of here,” Dust said, shutting the door and putting a few bags of soil in front of it to block the bottom. He took a shortcut to the other side, Papyrus phasing through, and they returned to the kitchen long enough for Dust to steal some leftovers before retreating to his room. His endeavors had carried him through the entire day, and he was sure that Nightmare knew what he’d been up to since he hadn’t been collected for more magic-based training. Ichor and Cross had yet to return, which meant there were half the threats left in the building, but the remaining souls were the most dangerous ones, so Dust was definitely not sleeping. He settled at the desk in his room and started reconfiguring his notes on the machine in his basement.
Cross and Ichor were back by the next morning, but a few hours later, they were gone again - though this time, they took the boss and his attack dog with them. Dust, for the first time since he arrived, had the manor to himself. So of course, Dust took advantage of the isolation to catch up on his sleep. Or rather, that was the plan.
“There’s An Intruder In The Manor,” Papyrus whispered in his acoustic meatus, and Dust awoke.
He uncurled from his latest (yet to be disturbed by Ichor’s discovery) napping spot located in the rafters above the common room. He leaned over slightly, just enough to peer below, and saw an odd light coming from the kitchen.
“could be Killer fucking ‘round,” Dust mumbled through a yawn. He shifted his weight further to the side and let himself fall from the beam, through a shortcut that deposited him cleanly on the floor. He shuffled towards the doorway, peering in, and immediately went on full alert at the unfamiliar skeleton staggering around the room - recalling abruptly that he was supposed to be alone. The light was coming from a floating blue - color and literal - screen in front of his face, and now that Dust was closer, he could hear an irritating high pitched noise emitting from him. The only thing that stayed his hand was the fact that it was him who stumbled across the unexpected guest and not Nightmare, who had so far proven to always know every goings on that occurred in the building, “day” or night, and he was sure that still applied when he wasn’t present. So the newcomer was someone known to everyone but himself.
“Papyrus?” Dust murmured.
His brother hemmed and hawed, rubbing his chin. “I Think I Recall A Name Cross Mentioned… Error?”
“huh… Nightmare’s ‘business partner,’ yeah?”
Dust took a single step into the kitchen and was suddenly ensnared in a net of blue strings, sharp enough to slice through his clothes and dig into his bones. Papyrus’ frantic, soothing whispers saved the other skeleton from being skewered in response.
“w҉h-̸wh̶-̴ who the hell ar-r̸-̡r̕-e you?” Error all but screeched as he whirled around to face Dust…’s general direction.
Now that they were about face-to-face, Dust could see that the so-called “Destroyer of Worlds” was in less than stellar shape. His clothes were in tatters and marrow was pooling beneath his bare feet; scratches and chips were highlighted by the flickering blue screen. ERROR symbols were scattered across his body, and even more were filling and spilling from his red sockets. Static rolled across Dust’s bones as the other approached and he shivered at the sensation, causing the strings to tighten imperceptibly - like a spider to its web, Dust thought.
“um… guess you could say i work for Nightmare…?” he said, unsure if his own name would mean anything when they were meeting for the first time.
The strings flexed before dispersing. Dust wasn’t sure it was entirely by choice as Error collapsed, the ringing increasing sharply in pitch and volume, and a loading bar had replaced the screen, filling in spurts. Dust held his arms out, examining the holes, and was suddenly glad that he kept Papyrus’ scarf tied around his spine to keep it from falling loose during his slumber, protecting it from damage, or being stolen (by Killer specifically). He inched his way around the body splayed on the floor, heading for the pantry and digging through the crowded shelf of various teas, squinting to read Ichor’s hieroglyphic labels on the boxes, highlighting the benefits of each type. Just as he found what he was looking for, there was a shout from behind him.
“d̢on’̨t to̧u̡ch-̡ d̷o̵n’͢t to͘u͝c̷h-͡c̛h͢ m̵e!̨”
Dust peered over his shoulder in time to watch Papyrus yank his hand back as if he’d been burned while Error shot to his feet, staggering back into the wall. He was breathing heavy, ribcage heaving as he clutched the arm that Papyrus had grabbed close to his chest, eyes darting around the room before landing on Dust.
“hi,” the hooded skeleton said. “i’m dust.” And, when Error’s brows furrowed, “my name is, i mean. or… nickname? title? just- call me dust.”
“nightmare has a p͟-̧p̕e͞nc̴h͢an̨t for terrible nąme̸s͟-͏s-̸s̡,” Error scoffed.
Dust had chosen his own name, but he ignored the jab with a shrug. He was still in a neutral mood, sleepy from his nap being interrupted, and went through the motions of making tea - something he vaguely recalled learning to make from Asgore hundreds of timelines ago, forgetting in favor of burning trap schematics and memorizing physical fighting tactics for when he inevitably ran out of magic fighting the Player, and relearning recently from watching Ichor do it every other night when they both happened to be up in the aftermath of nightmares (or never went to sleep in the first place, which was often the case for Dust).
“when did y̴o-̀o-͟o̡u get here?” Error asked behind him. “last time i c͢h͘͟͟ę̴̕c͜- checked, he only had three pawns: the xtale reject, sans[undertale].Something_New, and sans[undertale].Neutral_Route.Exiled_Queen_Ending_Horrortale.”
Dust paused, taken aback by Error’s suddenly unintelligible speech, but it didn’t take a genius to realize he was referring to Ichor, Cross, and Killer. “uh, yeah. i’ve been here a few… weeks? it’s a little hard to keep track of time with the lack of… y’know… light.”
Error didn’t have anything to say to that, and when Dust turned around with two mugs of tea in hand, he had his coat and shirt off, wrapping strings around a break in one of his ribs.
“what the fuck are you doing?” Dust asked incredulously.
“isn’t it obvious? if i let it fall off, it’ll take an annoyingly long time to grow back.”
Dust frowned while Papyrus snorted.
“IS HE AN IDIOT?”
“that’s not how bones work.”
“it’s how mine do.”
Dust cringed when Error pulled the strings tight and dust showered between the strands.
“stop! just-” Dust set the mugs down and pulled out a chair, maybe a touch aggressively, and jabbed a finger at it. “sit and drink the damn tea. i’ll get you bandages.”
Dust had his ribs broken by the Player more times than he could count, and even using proper bandages was painful enough; he couldn’t imagine how much more so those strings were, especially when they could cut through his clothes and nick his bones. Error looked a little stunned, but slowly sank into the seat, and only when he reached for one of the mugs did Dust leave.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Papyrus demanded.
“come on, Paps; haven’t you always preached about helping those less fortunate? i can’t do anything for our world right now, so why not lend a hand to a monster who doesn’t know basic medical aid.”
By the time Dust unearthed a medkit from beneath one of the bathroom sinks and returned to the kitchen, both mugs were empty and Error, with glasses perched on his nasal ridge from who-knew-where, was sewing up holes in his clothes.
“that drink was good,” Error said without looking up. “what was it?”
“uh…” Dust glanced at the box as he set aside the kit and began preparing fresh mugs of tea. “lemongrass. it’s supposed to ‘relieve pain and has antibacterial and anti-inflammatory properties’. according to Ichor.”
Error hummed and leaving the tea bags to steep, Dust approached the other with the medical supplies. He didn’t dare reach for the other, though, setting the box in front of him and taking a step back to reach for another chair.
“i’ll talk you through patching yourself up - unless you’d rather i do it myself.”
“d̶on’t͟ ͡ţou͢c̸h ̷m͟e,” Error growled, finishing his current stitch set on his shirt, then reaching for the bandages.
Dust guided him through wrapping the various lacerations and breaks, and afterwards, as they enjoyed their mugs of tea and Error started repairing his coat, they somehow got caught in a conversation about Determination and the useful applications it could have on magic if monsters could endure it.
“it’s a double-edged sword,” Error argued. “even your resistance to it isn’t infallible, you know. if you gained any more, you’d probably end up just like the amalgamations.”
Dust tapped on the side of his mug. “... i know. but i have too much to do to let that be my downfall.”
Error clicked his teeth as he lifted his coat, examining his patchwork on it. It seemed to be up to his standards (which Dust was discovering wasn’t very high), because he stood to pull it back on; as he did, Dust heard the sound (or rather, lack thereof) of a shortcut opening in the common room.
“that’s my cue,” Error muttered. “let’s keep this rendezvous between us, dust."
Dust shrugged. “‘kay. take the medkit; you need it more than we do.” He stood and headed for the kitchen doorway, nearly bumping into Ichor, who looked startled to be approached rather than the other way around.
“hey, dust,” he said. “i guess we didn’t really… warn you that we were leaving. what did you… do while we were gone?”
As Killer and Cross brushed past them to enter the kitchen, and Nightmare gave him a knowing look before disappearing into the shadows, Dust glanced back and saw that both half-finished mugs and the medkit were gone; though the bloodstains remained, and while Cross was giving it frequent, concerned glances, Killer was ignoring it in favor of the fridge.
“just, uh…”
Fortunately, Ichor saved him from coming up with any excuses. “what happened to your… jacket?” He reached out cautiously and picked gently at one of the tears in his sleeves. Dust had honestly forgotten about them, and the shallow cuts that accompanied them. “you’re injured. let me… help you.”
“Leave him be, big guy,” Killer called. “If he wants to hurt himself when his babysitters are away, let him.”
He was soundly ignored as Dust let Ichor guide him away to find a medkit. (“could’ve sworn… one was in here,” Ichor said in dismay as he dug through the first bathroom’s sink cupboard. Dust stifled a partly amused, partly guilty smile.)