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Stupid Fight

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It had been so stupid. Infinitesimally unimportant and Bad couldn’t even fathom what it had been about. An argument about nothing and everything all wrapped in one because it was easier to yell and shout than it was to admit to actually hurting each other, accidental or otherwise. It was so odd, that even after all these years of loving each other. Of pledging their vows, of even raising a child together, they still managed to fight about things that had no importance. Bicker and have spats and say things they didn’t mean because they would rather save face. Or maybe that wasn’t entirely true. Bad knows that he is guilty of riling Skeppy up for no reason other than he wants the attention, that undivided passionate attention, all on him. Good or bad. But this fight, Bad didn’t even remember what it was, what was so important that he had refused to budge, had gone silent and ignored every attempt Skeppy had made at trying to get his attention until he had walked out the door.

He would come back. He always did, with a gift, maybe some flowers, maybe a snack or one on occasion, a pretty little bottle of colored sand from some far off village who said it was a good luck charm in marriages. Sometimes Bad was the one who came back bearing gifts, or sang to him under their bedroom window to convince Skeppy to let him back in. Bad would apologize, or Skeppy would, maybe the both of them. He would cry and hold him tight and wrap him up with all available limbs, tail tight around his waist and never want to let go. They would talk, and they would settle it all and go back to normal.

Until the next fight.

But it always turned out alright. He always came back.

Until he didn’t.

It’d been longer than a week now. Aimless empty days and silent solitary nights where he laid awake in their bed and wondered where he was. He had gone out and looked, running until his feet felt raw, heart pounding ceaselessly as he searched for his husband, his soul. He could not find hint nor hair of the man, or his blue headbox, none of his belongings, or snarky signs that he was wont to leave about. There was no trace of him, no sign of him in any of their secret bunkers, nothing to show that he was even in the Badlands or surrounding areas. Friends shook their heads and confirmed they hadn’t heard or seen him. Promised to let Bad know if they did. But no news came of it, day after day.

He was gone.

Bad had been staring listlessly off into the distance, when Puffy had grabbed him by the arm and dragged him along, talking a mile a minute about Punz, and Dream, Tommy and Tubbo and all sorts of things he couldn’t bring himself to actually care about. With dead eyes, he trudged forward to where she directed him, stepping through the portal and waiting for the whirling of the magic to stop affecting him. He watches with a calm blank face even as he watches the children scramble towards the crowd, turning his head to watch as they snatch up the discs and cling to each other behind him, crowing their safety at Dream, who only looks increasingly less and less confident.

He hears almost nothing, all of it sounding like nonsense, gibberish that may as well have been in a different language, as he listlessly watches the proceedings. He lets himself be guided forward, to help force Dream into a corner, the corridor of belongings. Idly, he notices the Axe of Peace, Beckerson, Mars, and far off in the distance he catches a bit of a deep blue, Friend, was it?

Coming closer, he plucks Beckerson and Mars up in their cramped fishbowls, and brings them to Sapnap, managing a small smile at the joy in his son’s face as he stows the fish away in his enderchest immediately.

Turning back around, the joy is short lived, as he walks forward like a zombie, mindless other than to follow the other’s leads as they slowly force Dream back, further and further down the hall of stolen treasured pets and belongings. He doesn’t even flinch, as he watches Tommy strike him down, with that same stolen axe. Doesn’t feel a thing, as he sees Dream’s body fall, hacked and torn, before fading away as the respawn hits. Two lives left to a man who thought himself a god.

A swift undignified death for a deity.

He walks forward, a mild spark of curiosity in his chest, and then stops dead near Tommy, a sign that makes him feel as if he was thrust deep into the ocean before him, breathless from its implications.

“Skeppy?” He murmurs, and shrugs off the hand that Tommy tries to land on his shoulder, walking forward, his mind going fuzzy around the edges, red seeping into his vision as he slowly gets closer.

It’s dark, almost impossible to see, as if it’s empty, as if there isn’t something, someone in there. Hardly enough space to stand in, let alone rest in comfortably, Bad cannot hear the gasps and murmurs of shock from his friends, as his body morphs and cracks loudly, changing.

His spine elongates, his fur lengthening and his skin bursting out from under his clothing. His diamond sword clatters to the ground among the tatters of his clothes, and his eyes blaze brightly, searing points of light against the dark, darker, darkest, pitch black of his fur, as if he was an absence of light, where his long limbs ending in wicked claws waves through the air it was as if he was devouring the light around him, dimming the corridor.

He sniffs, talons dragging over the obsidian underfoot and leaving behind shallow dips in the floor, instincts telling him to investigate the cage. A feeble hand reaches out, brown fingers speckled with blue coming into view.

The noise that comes up from inside of him is like that of nightmares. A deep growl that promised only pain and torment as he lunged forward, his fingers hooking under the flimsy iron bars and ripping them away, throwing them behind him with no concern as to where they landed, clattering and clanging loudly as he carefully reaches in and ghosts his hands over Skeppy.

He was so small. So much more than normal, thin, malnourished and decorated with various bruises in different stages of healing. He offers a soft, pained smile, and reaches up to put his tiny in comparison hand against Bad’s cheek.

“Knew...you’d find...me…Sorry, for the...the fight...was...dumb...” He murmurs, before passing out, limp in Bad’s hands.

Bad stands at his full demonic height, heads and leagues over all the others, and walks, tail lashing and knocking down the item frames, his talons leaving a trail of deep gouges deep in the ground as he stalks forward.

The elevator from above is slowly coming down, only just beginning it’s descent, and his eyes cut to the figure in green standing on it.

His prey.

He turns, and the crowd backs away, wisely, as he approaches Sapnap. His spawn looks up at him, eyes hard as he catches sight of Skeppy, and drops his things carelessly to the ground, reaching up to meet Bad’s huge hands halfway to carefully kneel down, his papa laid out on his lap.

“K̴̢͖̗͙̭̼̠̼̲͖̤͈̃̅̌̉͊͋͂̈́́͑͠͝ê̴̺͖͐̓̕e̵̤̭̞̎̑̉̓͒̂̓̔̿p̸͔̹̟̲̥͖͙̘̉̂̉̍̾̈́̇͐͋͜.̷̦͗͂̈́̈̓͛̔͠ ̷̢̘̎̉͒̋̅́Ŝ̷̱̣̒̊̊̾̓͑͝a̵̢̠̖̥̗͚͎̤͍̳̥̰̳͛̓̇̒͑̽̅̏̍͒͋͘͠ͅf̶̠̲̠͍̖̳̖̫̣̳̍̒̎̓̅͗̍͠e̴̢͕͉͚̭͚̻̱̪̗̣͑̓.̷̭́͑̇̈́͗̄͐̀̂̋͜” Bad says, and does not wait for the response, before whipping around as the elevator touches down to the ground.

“Bad, we can talk about this can’t we? Like reasonable men...No lives were lost. I kept him alive, no harm no foul, yes?” Dream tries, as he searches desperately for a route of escape from the demon on a rampage.

Everyone else, again, using their brains, or perhaps a hard ingrained instinct, step away and part as he makes a beeline to Dream, too fast for the man to dodge, as he picks him up in one hand and lifts him high in the air, legs kicking and dangling as he struggles in the iron grip.

“Y̴͓͚̘̙͕̭̗̗͍̝̞͓̖̓͋̾͋̆̽͊͑͛̂o̶̧̙̹̦͔̖̦͂͑ŭ̷̬̠̜̖̟̱͉͙̱̬̝̬͖̀̈́́͋̑͜͠ ̶̠̞̩͉̮͊́̏d̷̡̢͖͔̂̏̈́͗̍̄̉̍̂̏͝ȧ̶̡̛͈̟̹̱̗̬̇͑͋͒̃̾͑͌̚̚r̸̢̨̛̖̣̩̱͍͎̯̰̆͛̌̅̎̔̐̆̏̊̅̐͝ẽ̸̛̖̞̻͔̳̩͇̝͚̊͗̌͗͑̈́̎͌ͅ ̷̧̢̛͈̳͓̺͇͈̞̗͖̹̇̎̓̆̀̈͘͠ͅͅt̵̪̿̃͐̋̈́̋̊̆̈́͊͑͋ò̶̡̡̡̩̩͔͙̪̹̜͐̍̾̽ṷ̷̠̗͍̞̥͑̅̽͐͒̉̍̕ć̶̯̹̰̹̤͇̣̺̩h̸̻̜͚̝̯͎͖̆͗̎̈̎̒͆͛͂͛͒̾̕͘ ̸̛̰̣͉̼̪̫̾̆̿̈́͜ẘ̶̹̬͍̖̮̠̻̠͚̼̳̗̙͚̅̍̿͊̈́̄̒̓̾̈́͠h̴̻̠̥̫̺̦̪̺̬̮̯̮̒̎͒̕͜͠ā̵͔̓͂ț̵̙̜̭̬̭͍̯̼͋̋́̌̎̒͗͑̆̅̎͐̕͝ ̴̨̝͍̞̰̠̥͇͂̾̔̏͂̋̒͑̌̽̂i̵̼̠̘̦͍̹̹̮̙̥̣̊͑̓͆̃̿͛̀͆͛͠͠ͅs̸̢̞̪̥̺̪̗͙̤̲͔̬͔̥̈́͛̉̐͐̍̕ ̵̢̟̗̰̹͎̫͎̂͛͆̽̓͂͗͆̈̃͗M̷̨̧͍̤̻͕̠̟̖͂͌͊͂͐͊̂̓̾î̶̢̢̹̣͇̯͎̟̫̲̪͔̟̣̮̐̈́̌͗̓̎͛̑͘̚͝͠n̸̢̢͖̳̳̟̼͉̥̞̙̟͙̓̈́̿͌͐̈́͒̄ȅ̵̩̝̼̯̫̑͐͛̓̕?̶̢̝̬̖͉̫̩̲̼̖̙̪̻͙̅̓̽̽́͐͂̒͜” Bad asks, before shaking him roughly. “Ẏ̵̡̞̤̗̗̼̗̙̫̝̥͔̟͔̃͐̄̑̎̈́̽̂̔͑̀̋͜ọ̷̏̈́̎̓̑͌̈́̒̍u̵͕̞̙̯̭̭̤͈͚̬̰͎̰͛̎͜ͅ ̸̱̫̩̩͐͒̉̃̓̌̀̈́̈͂̕͝ţ̵̨͈̬̩̣̟͉̑ḥ̸́͛̏̈́͛̇͂̚̚͠i̴̛̪̬̼̲̘̾̊̒̇̑̈́̌̍̓n̸̨̺̩͔͒̚͜k̴̢̃͜ ̷̘͉̝͍̉͌̈́̋̾̽ͅy̴̛̻̠͖̲̽̍̅̇͛́̈̂͜͝͝o̶̢̡̳̤͙̝̤̼̖͈̳̣͛̐u̵̞̒̽́̄́̊͒̊̐̀̊̅͘ ̵̧̨̛̛̘̲͖̄̈́͑̿̈́͆̾ḑ̵̡̢͕̭̩͓̆̽͊̿̐̾̈́̂͝ͅe̷̢̠͎͚̦͙̍̌̽͛s̶̳̖̏͋̄̑̑͑͗̓̌̊̾̕͘͘͠e̶̯̬͍̠̦̩̩̝̝̯͔͚̜͆̋͌̇͠ͅr̷̘̦͙̱̯͓̥͇͈̦̖̞̤͓̃͒̓͋̆̀̏̈́̎̎͌̚͘v̶̛̩͖̟̝͌̔́̀̎͊̀̊̋̍ę̴̨̨͙̞̦̙͖͔͎̍̆͐̍̔̑͆͂̐ ̶̧̠̮̳̲̠̱͌̓͐͝t̴̛͕̩͍͔̝̗̬̄͊̏̂̔̚o̴̧̡͖̤̫̮̳̺̜̥̻͗͛̌̊̋̄̕̕͝ ̵̨̜̞͓̼̘̤̝̝̓͝l̴͔͉͍̩̟̯͒͛̈̔͊͜i̴̡̨̲̙͍̙͍̥̔̆͘v̶̛̞̠̱̓̐̒̌͂̾̒͑̓͠e̷̡͓̩̩͉̭͎̱͎̗̥͕͇̓̄͗̅͆?̴͙͕̣̺̻̌̊̆͆͛͋̑͊͒̒͐͠ͅ”

He slams Dream to the ground, stealing the air he would have used to answer, and presses down on him, one finger laid over his throat, another laid across his hips to keep him in place.

Leaning down, he snarls, his fangs and jagged teeth flashing in the darkness, as he stares down at the one who thought he could steal away his husband, his gem.

“I̸̮͋̆ ̵͔͈̱̿̇w̷̛̗̗̗̃̅̃̈̓̈́̋͑͌͝͠i̵̡̪̦͛̉̎̈̄̈́̈́̅̈͠l̶̛̰͓̬͖̭͚̺̹͑̃̒͒̉̊̃̍̐̃͂͝l̶̡̺͙͙̑̂ ̷͉͙̗̜̣̩͚̼̩͂͑̈́̕m̸̺͓̏̈́̈̃̒ä̵͕̩͎̱̩̥͔̤͑̈́̀̋̒̿͌ͅk̴̮̣̮̗̦̖̺̣̞̱̥̑̽̂͐̋̋͐̀̈́͒ͅẽ̷̥͕̺͕͙̝͖͖͓͉̀́̿̕͝ ̵̩̳̞̪̏̇̔͋̕y̴̨̧̨̻̘͙͍̙͖͎̬̘̘͂̈́ȍ̸̘́̆͗̋͠ư̸̟͆͗͋̊̀̑ ̴̨̠̥̯͍͓̖̙͇̘̭̗͍͉͋̿ḇ̷̨̣͔̟̳͖͕̼͔͊̓̅͋͂̍̀͑͛̓̓͠͠ͅͅȩ̵̗̗̘̳̥̺̰̟̄̊̏̅̏̈́g̸̙̜̓̀̆́̿̚͘͝ ̶͍͓͇͇͚̝̣̮̫̋f̸̧̧͙̥̬̖̞͇̰̿̎̅͒ͅͅo̶̮͈͔͔̲͘̕͜ȓ̶̮͗̓͒̆̔̽̏̚͝ ̵̧̧͉̜̺̮̜̘͍̠̫͇̿̋̆̿͋̚ͅd̸̰͔̻̙̪̖̩̦̙̮̣̓̒̂͂͒̌͘̕̚͠e̸̡̢͉̘̪̙͕͈̜͙̻̫̲͆̍̅ͅȁ̴̧̺̣̠̺̞͚̅̿͘t̴̞̖͎̱̫͖̯͝ḩ̴̢̟̺̞͉͉̟̃” He snarls, before hooking the claw of his free hand into the soft fleshy part of Dream’s stomach, and tore.

The wet slick sound of skin being split fills the previous silence. The obsidian beneath Dream runs red in rivulets as his life pours from his soon to be broken body. A hand comes up to scrabble and scratch at the heavy finger over his throat, and then with a grisly sounding crack, a sound like that of tearing leather or what you would hear when stumbling over a wolf mid feast of a lamb, and that arm was gone. Flung over Bad’s shoulder to land with a deafening thud in the middle of the crowd all witnessing this execution.

Dream breathes in, a ragged drowning sound, as he tries to replace the blood in his lungs with air, and tries to scream out, but is cut off as those same sharp fangs pierce his flesh and rend his vocal cords. His body is twitching, still alive in a state of shock and agony, as Bad growls once more before leaving him there to rot. The blood running down his maw drips at the floor, a plinking star map of pain following him, creating a constellation story, a warning to all those present what the punishment for crossing Bad, truly was.

Tommy goes to step towards him, axe in hand to deliver the mercy blow, and Bad whirls around, fur standing on end as he growls.

“L̶̢̹͈͓̾ĕ̸̢̬̖͙̤̫̙͒̎̎̇̋̇̅͘̕͝͠a̷̛͚̦̪̳̹͚̙͖̞̤̹̎̍͌͝͠v̵̡̢̻̟̦͓͈̝̍̏̇̇̈́̀̏͑͗̓͠͝ě̵͕͕͕͉̲͙̲͚̯͍͍͖̺͌͌̽͑̾ ̵̨̲̪̞͔̝̦̫̠̲̖͈̘̪̾̿̽̕͜h̶̛̥̫̰̜̺̜̫̮͔̟͍̔̎̈́͒̒̾̌͠i̴̢̟̞̟̤͒̌̄͊͋̐m̵̢̮͑̉̍͌̒͐̌̓́̂̇͘͝͝ͅ.̶̢̛̬̖̬̝̝̻͍̫͓̗͍̮͇́͐̽̇̒͋̅̑̌̈́̊ͅ ̵̧̡̺̣͉̙̼̬̘̰̝̠̊̊̇ͅ” He warns, staring down the shaking child. “M̵̨̫̫̖͖̼̞̩̤̆̆̌̕ė̸͓̫͖͔̖̥̥̟͚̺̻̗r̷̡̨͚̪̘̻̯̙͙̿̈́̃̏̎́̓̐͊̔̔̾͜͝c̶̢̣͕̹͕̣̙̜̜̙̩̳̅y̵̡͉̪̼̬͉̓͛̾͗̓̐̕͘͘͠ ̶̛̟̬͚̬͈̯̬̝̠̰̥̠̪̘̑̒ͅî̶̡̨̩̩̞͇̫͇̾s̷̪͕ ̵̧̨̻̝̩̜͎̩̖͈̯̫͙̻͉͐̈́͗̈̈́̂̕͝ņ̸̧̛̤͉̭̹̥̯͉̹̎͛͐̽̅ơ̶̡̤̜͖̭͖͚̻̦̫̳̻̭̆̾̌̌̽̃̄̽͐̕͝͝ţ̶̤̘̺͍̭̙̎̆͗̅̀̔̂̉̆̇͐̓̕͝ ̴̞̞̦̯̮̝̣̘̯̱̠̀̈́̎́̒͝ͅh̶̥͎̤̯̥͚͕͓̣͒̐̅͑͜ï̴̢̢͍͈̟̗̲̞̻̮̬͙͓̥͐̀̒̇̊̀̈̔͂͒̍ͅş̴̛̛̙̭͈̣͇̘͔̣̓̔̔̂͌̋̚̕̕͠ ̸̰͎͈̫͈̗̻̻̯͉͈̯̟̘̑̇͊͜ţ̵̠̐ò̸̤͙͎̘͕͓͔͕̈́͘ͅ ̷̛̛̞͔̈́̔̋̾̅̏̽̓̉͘ḩ̷̺͚̼̑̅͗̅̈́̾̌̕a̵̧̺͕̒̉̏̚͘v̶̡̹͎͔̖̣̬͚͖͕̱́̈́̓̑̓͆͛̓̌͘͘͝ͅe̶̡͇͍͍̪̱̙͓͎̬͈̐̈́̇̀̾͗̓͋̒.̷̜̳̩̘̤͕̰̅̏̐̎̔”

He stalks towards Sapnap, who only smiles up at his father with watery eyes.

“H̴e̷’̷s̶ ̵o̷k̶a̴y̴ ̷d̷a̷d̵.̷ ̴I̵ ̸a̴l̴r̷e̵a̷d̴y̶ ̴g̷o̵t̴ ̸a̴ ̸g̶o̶l̷d̷e̶n̶ ̷a̵p̸p̷l̵e̶ ̶i̴n̶ ̵h̴i̶m̸.̴ ̶H̸e̵’̴s̶ ̴o̴k̶a̶y̵.̴ ̵W̴e̸’̸r̵e̸ ̵o̴k̵a̴y̶” Sapnap says, his voice layered but not the the extent Bad’s was.
“He’s okay dad. I already got a golden apple in him. He’s okay. We’re okay.”

Leaning down he nuzzles his son softly, not realizing he is smearing him with gore, and carefully picks the both of them up in his arms, curling them in close to his chest before turning towards the portal.

He cared not what happened now. He had made his point, and had a family to heal.

In the silence left behind him, Quackity was the first to speak, and didn’t even manage that. He laughs nervously, and glances at Dream before averting his gaze, looking sick to his stomach.

“I’m never swearing again.” He mutters.