Chapter Text
Life was hard; especially when you were an Outcode, because having a bigger world to explore only brought bigger problems. If you thought being stuck in an ever-winding time loop with a seven year old holding too much power in their tiny little body was rough...
Well, let's just say that in the grander scope of the multiverse, you should prepare to multiply that hardship by fifty. And then square it.
However, that wasn't to say that everything was bleak and miserable. And if you managed to keep to the rules, then your first experience could even be damn rosy.
When one first began to establish themselves in the multiverse, it was greatly advised to take those delicate, tentative steps under the guiding hand of another veteran Outcode; or if one was incredibly lucky - or unlucky, perhaps - under the wing of a God. Not ones the humans were familiar with, mind you, but otherworldly beings of incredible power and ego nonetheless.
The Gods, after all, were respected far and wide for their power for a reason, and those who were fortunate enough to gain their interest were often destined to be favored among the multiverse's inhabitants and the Creators alike. Though whether the latter resulted in more suffrage or not was really up to the luck of the draw.
But even with such guidance, the road taken in traveling the worlds beyond one's own was never without a great risk of peril and danger. The multiverse was surprisingly cruel despite its inhabitants themselves not often being such. All it could take is a single misstep to send you hurtling into the void.
Still, with a good head on their shoulders and a healthy dose of determination, even the most unlikely of schmucks could last a week outside of their AU at the very least. Maybe...
Not that anybody was around to tell Killer these things, when his AU first glitched out and spat him out to face the wolves. Though, Killer had managed to score some fun as the wolf for a couple of years, before he eventually caught the eye of a certain collection of 'grand heroes'.
Or better known as... The Star Sanses.
Admittedly, finding himself on the run as some kind of world-hopping criminal was cool as fuck... For about a week, at best.
There were only so many times he could listen to the yellow idiot’s self-righteous and pitying monologues before wanting to stab out his ear canals- or more preferably the twat’s soul. That would also be great.
Besides, once he found out that the idiots were less about fighting and more dead set on ‘returning him to his rightful AU!’ All the fun and games were sucked right out of it.
. . . .
He was not going back. Never.
The day Killer let himself fall back into that living hell was the day he'd RESET for the last time. A sentiment he was certain shared among his cohorts; skeletons much like himself.
Dust was fun. He brought a new dynamic to the game Chara had brought him into so long ago, challenging him in ways that were more than just physical. It was mental. Emotional. As much as Killer hated the word and everything associated with it.
It was risky, more high stakes than if it was just his life on the line. Because at the end of it all, Killer could always RESET. His mortality was a thing of the past now. Probably. His emotions, however, were a bomb lying under the table. Dust knew how to drag them out of their grave and expose them for all to see, and taking the bet to see if he’d be able to rebury them again sent a special kind of thrill through him every time.
Plus... Dust helped him keep his head straight, when it mattered most. He was just the kind of asshole who could cut through Killer’s deflections with a single glare, like those stupidly overcompensating blasters he loved shooting off so much. It was impressive, in a way. Annoying as hell, but impressive.
There was a time where they might've killed each other. The pair were too alike in all the ways they both hated- and just different enough to piss the other off.
The only reason they haven't was because of their third.
Horror was the 'support' man. If Dust was the guy who dragged his emotions out of the grave, then Horror was the one who looked at the mess, shrugged, and handed Killer a shovel. He never pushed, never pried. He just existed in that quiet, stubborn way of his, all gruff patience and an eerie, knowing humor that made Killer squirm. Like he could see past all the layers, right to the core of whatever was left of his soul.
That was the thing about them. Dust and Horror. They were infuriatingly, undeniably real.
They weren’t the kind of friends Killer had back in his old AU- though maybe friends was a strong word to use in itself, when they tried to stab each other at least once a week. But they were certainly something.
Something solid. Something that made the endless, chaotic tumble through the multiverse a little less lonely. A little more bearable. More fun~
And so, here they were.
Three Outcodes, infamous across the multiverse, sitting in a dingy little bar on some backwater AU, pretending like they weren’t completely screwed.
All because of a babbling bunch of babies with savior complexes.
Unfortunately for Killer, avoiding the goody-goodies - or ridding himself of them altogether - was something easier said than done. Because as much as they were naive, and overly optimistic, and laughably underleveled, one thing they were not was incompetent.
Because apparently, two out of the three Sanses, were in fact not real Sanses, but Gods.
“Wait, waitwaitwaitwaitwait-!” He ignored the warning sneer Dust leveled him with for his theatrics, actually focusing more on their discussion than the idea of driving Dusty boy up a wall. “There’s Gods? Like- Gods exist, for real?”
Dust looked like someone just shat on his computer, which of course only made it harder for Killer to keep his amusement to himself. Like, c'mon? Gods? He threw that belief away long ago.
Too bad Dust didn't seem to share the same humor.
“You- are you fucking with me right now...?” Uh oh, Killer knew that tone. “You’ve been shitting around the multiverse for up to a year now, and you’re telling me you didn’t even know shit about the Gods?”
Killer tilted his head. Then looked around the dusty pub they were seated in, a reflection of his own Grillby’s if not considerably more stocked. He looked around as if someone would seriously appear to clear his good name, but when none of the dusted remains of the regulars saw fit to do so, he just shrugged his shoulders.
“Uhhh, nope.” Killer looked over to Horror with a hopeful look, only for the larger skeleton to pointedly ignore his beseeching, winning smile in favor of cleaning the rest of his plate with a wry curve of his teeth. Traitor.
Dust slammed his bony hand on the table, rattling the city of half-empty glasses he had scattered about his side of the bar top and winning back Killer's gaze. “You’ve got to be kidding me! Do you take anything seriously?!”
“Nah,” without looking, he took one of Dust’s many abandoned shot glasses and threw it back, slamming the empty cup a little more exaggeratedly just to play on the asshole’s nerves. “What’s the big deal anyway? Aside from being super annoying to shake off, they don’t really seem all that...”
The other Outcode took a deep, exaggerated breath, clearly struggling to keep his temper in check as his phalanges tore a small line through the wood. “That’s because they don’t see you as enough of a threat to treat you seriously, you fucking doughnut.”
That momentarily took Killer off guard.
“Doughnut...?” He whispered to himself. Over his shoulder, he could hear Horror chuckling to himself, repeating the insult under his breath with a breezy wheeze.
“That yellow fucker? Dream, or whatever? He’s the God of ‘Positivity’ or some shit,” as if recalling a particularly upsetting memory, Dust uncorked a new bottle before chugging it back. “First time I came across the little bastard, I was gathering up some EXP in an AU...”
The psycho’s eyelights shuddered out, a bitter look glaring into the bottleneck as his wrist absentmindedly swirled the contents of his drink. “Came outta nowhere, suddenly confronting me about all this bullshit about ‘helping me become a better person’ and ‘easing my suffering’ or whatever.” He took another swig.
“Been a long time since someone pissed me off like that...” his empty gaze jerked back to Killer as his voice trailed off. “Well, since someone who didn’t deserve it pissed me off, that is...”
Several glasses along the bar top went scattering across the floor- thankfully all empty, or Dust would’ve torn him a new one. “Ey! What’s that supposed to mean, Dusty?! I thought we were friends?!”
Both skeletons seated beside him leaned away in disgust.
“Yeah.. no thanks pal.” As if to make a point, Horror took his plate and scooted away. A motion Dust imitated a half-beat later.
“You guys are so mean to me..!”
Neither of them so much as bat an eye to his dramatics, and with the lack of attention, Killer felt his energy slowly subside.
. . . .
Killer allowed the brief silence to settle over their heads for maybe three minutes, only interrupted by Dust's glasses clanking and Killer's soul releasing soft hisses as it cycled back into a perfect circle.
But of course he got bored, like he was prone to. And given that neither of his playmates were likely to fall into a fight with him over just leaving, he decided to return to the interesting little conversation Dust was brewing up before.
“So what happened...?”
Dust side-eyed him with a completely new bottle in his hands, notably less twitchy as well. “Mmm..?”
“About Dreamy?”
Again, the same look of disdain flashed over the hooded monster’s features before he resolutely pinned his glare to the contents of his drink. “Tried to kill him.”
Horror snorted from where he was rummaging under the counter, his grin widening as he pulled back with something that looked like a mini-fridge. “Bet that went real well.”
Dust's grip on the bottle tightened, the glass looking strained under the pressure. “Bastard just kept dodging everything, wasn’t breaking so much as a sweat even after I busted out the blasters... Even worse, when he hit me with those arrows...” He stopped for a moment, suddenly leveling them both a serious look, “have either of you ever been hit by those?”
“Hah, I’m not that unlucky,” Killer replied, a playful smirk dancing on his face. Horror only made a questioning sound behind him, seeming to take interest in the conversation now with Dust’s seriousness.
“It felt like my skull was being... hotboxed or some shit... Like, the bastard’s magic was seeping into my head and- and I don’t even know how to describe it. I could still feel my LV burning, but whatever the bastard did was making it harder and harder to summon enough intent to attack. I didn’t want to fight anymore, but my magic still did- and- and it...” Dust's grip on the bottle relaxed slightly as he forcibly exhaled, a mix of frustration and resignation evident in his features.
“...I had to bail before I overheated. Was fucked up for a week after that, LV on the fritz... Was like a bad trip you couldn't sleep off.”
That...
Killer didn’t exactly know what to expect after Dust said ‘God of Positivity’ but that... that was not it.
That sounded... torturous; even for him.
He briefly imagined what it would be like to feel his LV screaming at him, not being able to summon any attacks. Experiencing his intent seeping through his fingers as some hopeless kid with a hero-complex tried to reprimand him for his life decisions as his magic burned itself outside-in...
Killer had to hunch over the bar as an intense wave of nausea radiated from his soul, causing large splatters of hate to spillover from his sockets and down the counter.
Oh... that... That was not a great feeling. Not at all...
Once his little episode faded, Killer leaned back, ignoring the pointed looks the two were giving him for his outburst.
He was fine. Just a little moment. Assholes.
Whatever. Killer waved off the passive urge to get his knives involved, instead choosing to lighten the mood with a joke. "Damn, sounds like a party pooper.”
Well, if he didn’t have enough reason to avoid the Star shits before...
Horror grunted, phalanges slowly creeping towards the socket housing his ill-gotten eye with a contemplative frown. “They've been a thorn in my side too...” he admitted.
“Sometimes, when things are getting a bit too rough for Traps, I try and do some ‘grocery shopping’ y’know...? But more often than not... that stupid Ink-asshole shows up to ruin everything,” Horror grumbled, his fingers now hooked along his socket. “Like he’s got nothing better to do than meddle in my business.”
Killer snorted, shaking his head. “Ink...? Seriously? What’s he gonna do, paint you to death?”
“Don’t underestimate him,” Dust interjected, his voice low and serious enough to startle Killer to attention.
“Ink might be a brainless loon, but he’s also probably the most dangerous out of the three of them. He’s got crazy power and little to no conscience in wielding it. You think Dream and his arrows are bad? Try pissing off someone who goes around warping timelines into ones like ours for shits and giggles.”
. . . .
Killer felt his sockets begin to ooze like crazy, but refused to wipe at it, more focused on keeping his composure intact, fighting against the wild something trying to send his emotions into a hurricane.
...What...?
When Dust said 'warping timelines' he didn't mean...
Dust gave Killer a dark look, a flicker of frustration passing over his features. “That other God? Yeah, that’s Ink. Calls himself ‘the Creator’ or something tacky like that. He supposedly plays a hand in making AUs, but I don’t know how legitimate that rumor is.”
Holy fuck. Seriously...?
Killer remembered Ink, even thought of the bumbling moron as the most palatable of the trio - at least he didn’t seem to be so obsessed with forcing morals down other people’s throats - but the idea of the scatterbrained artist being a God was almost laughable. Almost.
But the idea of someone like Ink wielding God-like powers...
Killer’s grin faltered slightly, a shiver running down his spine at the thought. “Great. So, we’ve got one God who can mess with our minds and another who sees us as runaway pets... That’s fantastic.”
Usually, he’d be all for a good challenge or two to mix things up, but this was clearly looking to be an inevitable nightmare. Would his RESET be able to pull him through his code being rewired, or his own head being fucked with...?
The uncertainty in that was very disconcerting.
“Oh? You finally realizing how fucked you are?” Dust's tone was filled with bitter amusement, though his glare spoke of a deeper frustration. “These guys are playing on a whole different level. And we're nothing but misbehaving brats from where they’re coming from...”
Killer slouched back in his seat, rubbing his sternum as if to physically dispel the discomfort creeping through him.
He didn’t like seeing the unease wobbling in his soul. He didn’t like feeling.
Like this, especially so.
“So we’re supposed to just keep running and hiding like a bunch of beat dogs?!”
Killer himself was startled by just how virulent his tone came out. However, he was quick to wave it off- he was mad, of course he was fucking mad. He came out into this multiverse, slayed the kid once and for all, gave up his very character, thinking he was finally set free from the monotony, the pain.
And now, just because of a couple of idiot gods with hero-complexes, he was back to bowing down in the face of some untouchable power...?
NO. FUCK THAT.
Emboldened by the frustrated growls sounding out in response to his spiraling bloodlust, Killer violently pushed away from his seat, sockets fixed upon the wooden grooves of the bar top as his soul fizzled with sparks of determination.
Immediately, he could feel the heavy intent hovering over the back of his neck. As well as saw the tell-tale glow of Dust’s magic reflecting in the multitude of abandoned bottles.
He didn’t even flinch as he craned his skull back to see the craggily ridges in Horror’s axe glint menacingly under the dim light. In the corner of his eye, he could see Dust braced for a lunge, a slew of bones twirling over his shoulder in caution.
But instead of feeling threatened, Killer felt a spark of inspiration.
“Let’s team up,” he proposed, his voice cutting through the tension much like his favored knives. And the moment he felt the words leave his mouth, he just knew that they were right. This was it.
This is how we continue the game.
Dust’s sockets narrowed, and Horror’s grip tightened on his axe.
“What kind of bullshit are you on now?”
Killer shook his head, a manic grin twitching wider, meaner, sharper across his face. “So you’re just gonna spend the rest of your lives living under the thumbs of those pricks? You two hated your worlds enough to find a way out into this multiverse, but now that the enemy ain’t some cheating little brat, you wanna call it quits?”
Neither looked amused - good, that’s exactly what he wanted - and Killer could taste the bitterness feeding into their LV.
Dust was the first to speak, his voice dripping with skepticism as he let the bones drop- but not yet dissipate. “So, you think teaming up will solve all our problems? You think we can take on Gods, Killer? Seriously?”
He didn’t let his expression waver. He leaned backwards instead, forcing his bones to languidly stretch out along the bar top in a show of confidence. “I’m saying we can be stronger together. We’ve all had enough of our lives being determined by someone else, haven’t we?”
Feeling a bit audacious, Killer reached out and flicked the remaining bone attack from Dust’s loose hold, sending it clattering to the floor in a playful, teasing manner. The typically neurotic maniac didn’t even seem to flinch.
“C’mon Dusty... don’t tell me you went and collected all that LV just to play it safe... Maybe getting out of that comfort zone of yours will finally help you loosen up a lil’.”
Horror's grip on his axe loosened slightly, a malicious grin slowly growing along his features as he let it settle over his shoulder. “You know what...? Fuck it, why the hell not? I’ve been wanting to show that little... blue pet of theirs a thing or two.”
Dust still looked skeptical, but there was a flicker of interest, of temptation, in his sockets that Killer was quick to latch onto. “You really think we can take them on..? The Star Sanses aren’t just powerful, they’re connected. They’ve got resources, allies, and a moral high ground that makes them practically untouchable.”
Killer’s head tilted, a coy smirk rising up in the shadows of his features as he chuckled, “the game wouldn’t be half as fun though, would it...?”
. . . .
He knew the moment Dust’s grin rose to match his own, he’d won himself a pair of proper teammates.