Summary: Why Nightmare can't go on vacation.
Nightmare trod the rustic stone brick path heading straight to his lovely castle's dark, iron accented wooden doors. His hand pulled along a rolling suitcase filled with travel amenities/necessities. And souvenirs, which he gathered during his peaceful one-week vacation to a musty sunless cave.
For his boys, of course.
The four hellkites would no doubt give him all kinds of grief if he forgot about them.
Not that he ever would.
They certainly strived to make very, very lasting impressions, not all that unlike the vivid face imprint Killer had somehow left on the ceiling in the dining hall. Nightmare still failed to understand how the target-souled Sans managed that feat. Without help, no less.
A fond smile crept up the negativity-laden skeleton's jaws. Giving an amused shake of his head, he casually hurried down the path, more than happy to finally be home and able to revel in the chaos (and delight) his boys brought into his life.
Plus, sleep in the luxurious king-sized bed awaiting in his chambers.
The rough, stony ground at his vacation spot left much to be desired when it came to comfortable sleeping arrangements. Despite his history of resting on tree branches and the hardened dirt below his mother's thick leafy canopy.
Perhaps the luxuries of a king had spoiled him.
Mostly like, Nightmare decided as he approached the two large double doors at the castle's entranceway. All the while, noting that they were, surprisingly, in one piece. His free hand gripped the goat-shaped door knocker's metal hoop and banged it against the small metallic plate beneath it, then waited a moment.
No answered.
The dark lord's brows pinched together while the first stages of a frown tugged down his teeth. Slowly, he pulled open the door - it was unlocked, worryingly enough - and stepped inside, dragging his suitcase in along with him.
He expected to be greeted by four eager, snickering murderers immediately upon entering, but no one was there. The foyer was devoid of any living monsters and merely held hollow, unwelcoming suits of armor and old faceless paints he never bothered to take off the walls.
His suspicion automatically raised. Thus, leading him to notice something peculiar. The atmosphere- the heavy, oddly quiet air encompassing everything it touched, making the old building feel like the haunted castle it was meant to be.
Dare I utter the cliché phrase, "It's quiet. Too quiet."
As silly as it may be, that didn't make it any less true. Especially considering the typical excessive volume of the insane individuals who should be lurking within the long, winding halls.
Nightmare hesitantly shuffled forward, closing the door behind himself.
It slipped shut with a creek and an all too deafening bang in the surrounding silence. Again, nothing happened. No feet hammered excitedly against the stone floors to his location, no voices shouted to greet him, no magic crackled to signify a teleport- No anything.
Did something happen while I was gone?
A nigh sub-zero chill ran through his bones at the thought, and the corrupted soul hidden inside his rib cage gradually began to beat faster and faster. His cyan eyelight scanned the surroundings for any signs. Of what? Nightmare didn't know yet. Though, he silently feared what the answer might be.
When all appeared in order, aside from the extremely thin layer of dust (normal dust, not monster dust) on everything, it seemed high time to do a different type of investigating- i.e., searching for emotions.
After all, those would allow him to find his boys.
Provided Killer, Horror, Cross, and Dust were still within the castle.
Somewhere.
The Guardian of Negativity clenched his jaws before closing his eye socket and focusing, calling forth his greatest magical ability. With it, he gently probed each room (primarily, their favorite locations), searching. Feeling around for the slightest indicator of his boys' mental state.
The hunt stretched on a whole minute longer than he wanted until he finally felt a cacophony of various emotions in the- Nightmare double-checked his mental layout of the castle and confirmed that, yes, they were in the living room/den.
His magic closed in on the designated space, allowing him to sort their feelings; gauge the current situation.
It was loud, messy; A mixture containing distress, sorrow, anger, and almost nonexistent mirth.
The first three were all that was needed to send the negativity-laden skeleton speeding across the castle, feet propelling him forward like an angry mob laid at his heels.
His breaths came out ragged by the time he halted in front of the room's darkened doorway.
Part of him wondered why he didn't just teleport or traverse the shadows. It would have been far easier and fast. Not to mention, more efficient.
Alas, poor decision-making happened to be one of worries/fears many side effects.
Nightmare cautiously took a few small steps forward and peeked inside. The tension he failed to realize he'd been carrying withered.
But, unfortunately, found it replaced by exasperation and alarm.
The living room's state fared worse than ever seen: furniture toppled/pushed aside, trash shoved into a corner, blankets from who knew how many rooms fashioned into tents, and on a large throne of pillows (some possible from the dark lord's own bed) rested a four-inch-tall cardboard roll with several measly squares of paper on it.
Those details paled in comparison to the madness of the skeletons dwelling in the space, however.
His boys...
They were filthy! Their bones bore enough dirt to convince Nightmare they hadn't showered a single day since he left, and nonsensical crayon markings covered their faces. Furthermore, to make matters worse, their usual clothes appeared to be nowhere in sight. The four Sanses wore a makeshift toga of rags (curtains, sheets, table cloths, the good table cloth, etc.) in their stead.
Only Killer's apparel seemed objectively the worst. It featured toilet paper wrapped atop his skull, a wooden spatula in his hand, and a heinous robe crafted from sewn-together, mismatched cloths.
The scene ongoing in the room didn't look much better either.
"This is unjust! Cruel! How could you forsake me?!" Cross sobbed, kneeling before the toilet paper's throne.
Killer stood tall at its side, his patchwork robe billowing in the nonexistent wind as he shouted, "Silence, your god has spoken! You shall not have a single piece of chocolate for the rest of the day!"
The monochrome-clad warrior crumpled, light purple tears streaming down his cheeks. "NOOO!"
Around him, his fellow Sanses chanted, "The god has spoken! The god has spoken! The god has spoken!"
"What the fuck."
Nightmare blinked, eye socket widening while his jaws clicked shut. He had not intended to say that aloud but found himself grateful for it, nonetheless.
Killer, Horror, Dust, and Cross simultaneously startled, halting whatever that spectacle was, and turned toward him.
Their faces instantly lit up. Then they surged forward, shouting an enthusiastic, "Nightmare!"
His gooey hand raised in a signal to stop, causing them all to freeze in place.
The Guardian of Negativity took a deep breath. "I leave for one week, and you four create a sorry little society worshiping a used roll of toilet paper."
By some miracle, they had the decency to look marginally ashamed.
Nightmare continued, glancing at his eldest son- follower. "And, Killer, I know I'm going to regret asking this, but what in stars' name do you think you are wearing. It's hideous."
The target-souled Sans puffed in indignation.
"Excuse you! I am the revered Priestess of the Scared Roll." He snapped, proudly gesturing to his criminal garb. "These magnificent robes are my holy regalia."
"It's true; This is the peak fashion of our society." Dust agreed.
A small sigh brushed past Nightmare's jaws.
"I swear you four will drive me insane one day." He murmured, pinching the bridge of his nasal cavity.
The dark tendrils on his back proceeded to gesture at the room's horrid state. In a clear, commanding (one might say fatherly) tone, he added, "I want this mess cleaned up before dinner. If there is even a hint of cardboard or toilet paper in the castle by that time, then everyone is banned from the kitchen - yes, even you, Horror - and I will prepare dinner tonight. And every meal for each subsequent night a piece of toilet paper is found."
His boys blanched and scrambled to pick things up, screeching a mutual horrified, "NO!"
A tiny smirk graced Nightmare's face. "That's what I thought. Now, you best hurry up, lest I begin preparing ingredients for wild mushroom, berry, and oak bark stew."
Once the threat left his mouth, they moved impossibly faster; bumping into one another in their haste as the dark lord watched.
After this, let's hope you four think twice before worrying me like that again. Or ruining the good table cloth.
It was expensive.