The book o' random Oneshots

Hurt comfort!

BSP :)

Enjoy!
~~~~~

Cross wakes to the sound of his door opening, a slow and even creak that's become familiar to him over the past couple of years in the castle. He sits up groggily, rubbing his sockets. He stops when he realizes he's hearing crying. His sockets open to find no light but that of the moon seeping through the shear curtains shrowding the window; though he's more focused on the blurry figure in his doorway, hooded and tearful.

"Dust?" He questions, not really receiving more answer than a stifled sob, "...Bun, what's wrong?"

"Cross, Cross shhhh— they could be listening— I didn't know where to go, there's people in the castle... There was someone in my room, they were in the halls, they're—" he breaks down into a heavy sob, looking behind him. "They wanna hurt me. I c'n feel it. I c'n feel their intent, t's another genocide run, we have to hide... They're gonna hurt us... They're gon..." his voice pitches up when he takes a shaky breath and cuts him off.

Cross has never seen him like this, he's hyperventilating and frightened as he shuts the door behind him, locking it with a sort of frantic look in his fuzzy eyelights.

"Oh, Dust, I've got you bun, it's okay, everything is okay," Cross begins, getting out of bed and walking towards him.

Dust seems frozen against the door, putting all his weight against it as though he were bracing for something to hit it. He can see magic sparking along Dust's bones, defensive and scared. The smaller hiccups a little on the next cry, and when Cross wraps his arms around him, he melts into the contact like candle wax dripping into an open flame. There's nobody in the castle that's not supposed to be there, at least not as far as his aura can extend. Especially not anyone with harmful intentions.

He's never experienced one of Dust's episodes of Psychosis firsthand. Sure he's seen the early signs and ends of them, but he's never been the first person Dust seeks out when something like this happens. Cross wracks his mind for any helpful information. His episodes are accompanied by delusions, paranoia, hallucinations, dream-reality confusion, magic spikes, and disorientation; all the symptoms of the mottled mess of Schizophrenia and PTSD that influence Dust's current state. Clearly, it's hitting him hard right now. Cross feels sympathetic for him, deep in his soul. He shouldn't have to feel unsafe in his own home. He should always be safe here, from threats both real and imagined.

These days, episodes are a rare thing for him. Cross was warned about them nonetheless, instructed on how to keep him safe and what to do to help him. It's not like Dust is harmful or dangerous during his episodes. If anything, he's a lot more helpless than usual. Not in reality, but he usually forgets he has any LV or more than one HP when he's like this. Attack is, realistically, the last thing on his mind, fleeing being the first. Dust has described it all to him before, how frightening it can be, the kinds of things voices will tell him sometimes. The intense confusion that comes from delusions and reality confusion. Cross wants to make things as comfortable for him as possible until Night can help him.

"I will never let anyone hurt you, I promise."

None of them take promises lightly.

Dust grasps at the back of his night shirt, burrowing his skull into the taller's ribs. "Is it safe here?" He murmurs shakily.

"Of course, my love. You're completely safe here. Nobody is in here, nobody is gonna get in here. Even if they did, they'd have me to face if they wanted to hurt you," Cross vows.

Dust nods into his shoulder, gasping a little when Cross takes him up into his arms with only a little warning, bringing him to bed and settling under the covers with Dust tucked close to his side.