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pingguins · 1 year

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When Dreams Despair

|| Ch. II || The Regent

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Dream of the Endless x F!Reader

Word Count: 16.2k

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of death and pain.

Notes:

I *know* that I'm uploading this later than I said I would, but to be fair, I thought I'd only have to edit 4k words since this chapter was originally only 4k.

The word count ended up being 16k.

I poured my heart and soul into this one, and it's the longest I've ever written for a single chapter. I hope you guys enjoy it as much as I did while writing! As always, please tell me what you think!

Summary:

Y/N has had a very long day.

Morpheus, too.

But what's important is, by the end of it, they're both where they needed to be. Even if it means that Y/N gets a headache or two.

"Alex Burgess is dead."

Johanna’s voice pierced through the phone's speaker, clear as day even in the midst of the bustling inn.

The New Inn had always been a popular place in town, and yet Y/N rarely saw it become so busy so fast. Customers flooded in quickly; there were a lot of familiar faces, but also a number of new ones.

Their dissonant voices pestered her.

She had attempted to tune them out, but her phone’s sharp ringing had made her jump in her seat, breaking through the mental barrier she set between herself and the loud voices of the strangers around her.

However, as Johanna delivered the news, she was finally able to deafen the noise, her ears suddenly feeling like it was stuffed with cotton.

The air became thick, and time seemed sluggish as the clock hanging on the wall ticked unnaturally slow. Y/N’s thoughts began to blur and all she could hear was her shallow breathing as her heart began to beat faster.

Ever since she could remember, a low, quiet humming would appear in the back of her mind at seemingly random times.

But there were moments like these where the peculiar sound was at its peak, buzzing in her head like bees stuck in their hive.

The phone began to slip from her hand, making Y/N flinch as she fumbled to get a proper grip before it landed on the table. She was able to catch it mid-air, the adrenaline waking her up from her daze.

“Do you want me to check it out?”

“Uh, n-no.” Y/N sat straighter, running a hand down her face. “There’s no need for that,” she scrambled. “I wouldn’t want to take you away from your job.”

“This is my job, Y/N.”

“And I’m not your client,” she replied, more stern this time. “Besides, it seems a bit insensitive to investigate the house of the recently deceased.”

"Y/N I—”

"—have to go now, I'm with Amelia," Y/N interrupted before ending the call.

After more than two decades, she was content to leave the dream be, and investigating the Burgesses would be doing the opposite.

She was finally able to help the caged man, changing the trajectory of the nightmare he was in. It felt foolish of her to ever fear doing so earlier in her life.

Of course, it was not like she never wanted to, she was simply unable to.

It was her childhood nightmare, haunting her for the longest time, and it would certainly be difficult to face.

The dream was only a story, one that was over because Amelia had asked her to make it so.

The story was over . It was done.

There was nothing more to dwell on.

Amelia had been sitting next to Y/N when Johanna called, and she was left picking at her food since, waiting for their conversation to end.

She only wanted to see her favourite babysitter again, and after compromising with Maurice to bring her along as she went to work at the Inn, Amelia looked forward to spending time with Y/N.

She was not yet finished with her school assignments, and so she was only allowed to go on the condition that she would finish them there, while being able to talk to Y/N during her breaks.

Amelia was restless, a small frown on her face, disappointed that what was left of her break was taken over by a phone call. She tapped her fork on her plate, her legs bouncing up and down, sighing.

Next to her, Y/N smiled pitifully, knowing how much the little girl looked forward to her trip at The New Inn. “Thanks, Amy.” She leaned towards her, giving Amy a genuine grin.

Y/N propped her elbow up on the table, resting her chin on her hand as she took a sip of her tea, a silent apology twinkling in her eyes, hoping that Amelia would understand.

Amelia whipped her head towards her, gleaming now that she finally had her attention. She cringed when Y/N ruffled her hair.

“Thank you for helping me save him,” Y/N said proudly, compelled to express her gratitude regardless of her struggles with grasping recent events.

Y/N was grateful and considered herself indebted to Amelia, if not for helping her free the man, then for changing the course of a long-time nightmare that, until then, had not ceased to loom over her sleeping and waking hours.

She had chased the man for most of her life in search of the reason for his frequent appearances in her dreams; however, no matter how desperate her longing was for understanding his existence, there were never any answers, because she had always been helpless, only being allowed to see his anguish rather than break the circle and the glass—something she had been wanting to do for years.

Amelia had changed that, though.

But she has yet to understand how.

The little girl squealed, jumping off of her seat to hug her, but not quite reaching due to the height difference of the stool Y/N sat on. "You saved him!" She cheered. "I knew it!"

Y/N stood from her seat, crouching down to Amelia’s level and opening her arms for the welcomed embrace.

“Is that him?” the redhead asked, pointing at something over Y/N’s shoulder.

There was a moment of silence. Y/N knew what Amelia was referring to, she felt its presence everywhere like a pair of eyes following her around, especially now that it was at the Inn.

It was the painting she hung hours ago. Many stopped to view it, most of them taking pictures of the new decor.

And for a moment, one fleeting moment, their irises seemed to twinkle with the stars that covered the night sky, entering a quiet haze of admiration.

Not for its beauty, but for its muse.

Y/N cleared her throat, pulling away and offering her hand to Amelia. “Yes, that’s him.”

Amelia gladly took her hand, and they walked until they stopped in front of the painting. She was lifted up into Y/N’s arms, now getting an eye-level view of the man that she had only heard the story of.

She awed, enthralled by the image, her eyes shining with delight.

Y/N finished the painting the night she returned from her visit to Johanna’s, immersing herself within it until just hours later, she was making her way to the Inn at the brink of dusk, holding the wrapped canvas protectively.

Though it was barely morning, she had invited her father, wanting him to be the first to see. He had only ever heard of her dreams and it would be the first time he would see it through the eyes of his daughter.

He had seen her work before, as many had as well. She illustrated hers and others’ books; many of her readers could pick out her art from a mile away.

When the dreams became unrelenting, however, it stunted Y/N’s work. He could no longer consult her for new decor at the Inn, and he stopped seeing her sketch the little things that sparked her interest.

Though none ever saw the light of day, if he knew of them, he would be awed at the heaps of half-finished paintings kept within the confines of her room. They only ever gathered dust, covered in spare cloth or blankets.

For one particular painting, though, the one she carried to the Inn at the brink of daylight, there was no doubt in Y/N’s mind that she wanted her father to see it.

After all, it was painted for the Inn. It would find its home there—with the approval of her father, of course.

It would undoubtedly be easy to acquire, as he had always wanted to display one of her paintings in the Inn. He hid behind the excuse that it would be good for business, as Y/N was a household name when it came to children’s books—he would never admit that it was solely so he could show off his daughter.

When Y/N showed him the painting, his eyes brightened, so much so that she swore it contested the brightest star in the galaxy.

He was overjoyed to see that his daughter was once again making art, and he took a moment to himself to take in each brush stroke, going over the intricacies and each minute detail.

And upon further observation, it was clear to him that he found it incredibly familiar. There was something about it that reminded him of something— someone.

But he shook it off. Y/N had simply told him too much of her dream, he knew the details all too well after years of hearing it be told; it could very well be his dream, too.

For her comfort, though, he would never say that deep within his mind, the part of it that held his memories from the centuries he had lived, something told him to look closer .

This was about his daughter, he could wait to assess the painting later when she was gone.

“Amelia!”

Y/N was snapped out of her thoughts by Maurice, calling her daughter from the back room.

“Break’s over, darling, you need to finish your homework.”

Maurice approached them with open arms, gesturing for Y/N to pass Amelia over to her.

“Thank you for taking care of her as always, Y/N,” Maurice said, carrying her daughter in her arms as she smiled warmly, looking over to the little study corner they had set up for Amelia. "Thank you for giving her a place to study as well."

“But I want to talk to Y/N more!” Amelia whined, crossing her arms as she faced her mother, pouting. She gave her best puppy eyes, but Maurice stood firm, not wanting for her to develop a habit of extending break times.

Amelia wrapped her arms around her mother, placing her chin on her shoulder in defeat.

Y/N rubbed a hand up and down Amelia’s back to console her. "If you finish all your homework today, I promise I'll tell you the most fantastic bedtime story when I get the chance, okay?" She offered, feeling a pang in her heart at Amelia’s displeasure. After all, had she not been on the phone with Johanna, they would have gotten more time to talk, which was what Amelia came there for in the first place.

Begrudgingly, Amelia kept silent, only nodding her head and nuzzling her face in the crook of Maurice’s shoulder. Maurice cooed, rocking her daughter gently as Amelia sniffled.

She gave Y/N an apologetic smile, mouthing a small ‘thank you’ before going back to their table.

Y/N took another glance at her painting, delighted that she no longer feared what it represented—but an inexplicable feeling lingered.

Since her return from the Dreaming, she had been feeling out of touch. Her mind would wander to places she had only been to in her dreams, causing her to make small mistakes throughout the day.

Though she no longer worried about nightmares that came during her slumber, it was quite unexpected for her to drift off in the morning, getting stuck in her own daydreams at the most inconvenient times.

And there was no doubt that others felt the same when viewing the painting. Most would pass by with lingering stares, some would look from afar.

But for whatever reason, even the most distracted person passing by the Inn, if ever the painting would catch their eye, they would enter only to admire it.

Y/N decided that she would no longer keep parts of him locked up; deep down, she and everyone who took even a single glance at him inside of that painting knew that Lord Morpheus had come back.

And so have their dreams.

In a place so dark and solitary, the Dream Lord would never be alone; everyone who entered the Inn would know of the torment he was put through, most would understand that it was not his fault—nor was it his decision—to leave them.

Through one of the windows, Y/N noticed the leaves falling from the nearby trees. Her eyes strained, trying to ascertain why she was suddenly drawn to them.

Her brows furrowed—the leaves were falling slowly.

It was quite windy that day; the trees should have been shaking in the breeze instead of the unnatural swaying that Y/N had noticed. The bushes below did not rustle, and instead danced sluggishly back and forth as if someone had taken a video and played it in slow motion.

She walked closer to the door, raising one of her hands to pinch her arm.

This only happened in her dreams, and though she usually knew when she was not in the waking world, she hoped that this was an exception.

She looked around, observing the people around the Inn—had they noticed what was going on outside?

Y/N quickly found that the answer was no, as they were all behaving as normally as they had before she peered through the windows.

The employees were serving meals, some preparing drinks. Amelia was determined to finish her homework, speedily scribbling through the pages of her textbook with Maurice right next to her, ready to help her should she need it.

No one noticed Y/N's puzzled expression, and she wondered if it was all somehow part of an elaborate, hyper-realistic dream.

Driven to find some answers, she approached the door, cautiously opening it and stepping through to the other side to search for the cause of the disturbance.

Instead of trees and grass, she saw pillars and the tall, familiar set of stairs that lead to a throne; one she knew very well.

The palace was no longer broken, not a single piece of stone out of place. The cracks on the walls that she had come to know in her many visits to the Dreaming had disappeared.

But regardless of its beauty, the light that shone through the windows was not as bright, and the colours that gave the room life—even in its worn-down form—were faded.

It reminded her of a photograph, capturing only the mere image of something but never quite encapsulating the essence and the spirit of its subject.

Though Y/N marveled, captivated by the mended palace she had only hoped to see, it was unsuccessful in deceiving her.

The Dreaming was her second home, and she knew whenever she stepped into its warm embrace.

"Y/N Gadling" A woman spoke.

Y/N tore her gaze away from the palace, her eyes landing on the woman standing a few feet ahead of her.

She had brown skin, curly black hair and dark, piercing eyes. She was not malicious, no, Y/N could tell, but the air around her was unsettling, enclosing you in its hold, warning you to tread lightly.

She was not alone, however. She stood between two other women, one that looked older, and another one—the oldest one—who had wavy, salt and pepper hair.

The Fates eyed her, assessing the girl before them, their curious eyes wielding more power than any human could comprehend. They knew, of course they knew, and it was up to her to raise three important questions—three that would have everlasting effects upon the events that would take place in the near future.

“The Daydream,” the Mother added, keeping the same regal stature as her sister-selves.

Y/N looked at them carefully; Greek mythology was something she had taken an interest in as a writer, and she had an inkling of who they might be. One would certainly remember The Three, as they held a crucial role in the entire sequence of the universe.

“His regent,” the Crone called.

She adjusted her bearing, squaring her shoulders as she held her hands behind her back, holding her head high. “The Fates. I’ve heard of you—stories, mostly.”

The Three smirked, giving each other knowing looks at Y/N’s commanding posture; she no longer looked inferior to them, and held herself with pride rather than the child-like curiosity that lingered in her gaze when she stepped into the faux throne room.

Y/N knew the falseness of the ground she stood upon, and though she had not entered the Dreaming, any place that looked as such she would stand on with the utmost respect.

The Fates were, in fact, more powerful than she could ever imagine. However, fake or not, they would fail to look down upon her in her own home.

“It has begun,” The Maiden spoke.

Y/N’s eyebrows gave the slightest twitch, looking at the other two beings and waiting for their turn to speak.

“Careful where you tread, our dear Daydream,” The Crone said, her voice dark and low, vibrating through the air—though in the form of an ordinary elderly woman, her warning could turn the heads of the most powerful beings.

"The power you hold does not go unnoticed. Many will seek you now," The Mother continued. Her voice was warmer, but nevertheless vehement.

The Hecate talked in riddles, most of which hard to decipher; Y/N would have to make the most out of her three questions if she wanted to understand.

“For me to have received such a visit, I would have to be something other than the person I think myself to be,” Y/N replied, The Three listening intently, seemingly waiting for a slip of the tongue.

“I know not what I am, but you refer to me as his regent. Who might that be?” Y/N asked, her voice unwavering despite her internal disarray. She kept her mouth shut as an active effort to try and keep the questions at bay.

She held no control over the circumstance The Fates had forced her into. However, as long as she remained cautious of each word she spoke, it would influence the answers she would get.

Decrypting them would be the challenge, but she could already think of one Johanna Constantine to help her with that.

Behind her back, Y/N’s hands were balled into fists. Her composure did not falter, but in the back of her mind was a tsunami of questions she would not be ready for in the waking world.

She hid her nerves quite nicely from The Three, and to a great extent, to herself as well.

"He is not a person, my dear. He is the monarch of the realm you have sought shelter in for many years," The Maiden responded.

"He is the ruler of dreams," The Mother continued. "But you have known him to be your dream."

Y/N remembered flashes of the man in the sphere. Were they referring to him? Had she been dreaming of the King of Dreams for a long time? Was it really the Sandman?

The oldest stepped forward. "And the one that came long before you."

Much to Y/N’s displeasure, with only a few words, The Crone had muddled the clues she was piecing together. They spoke of the man she knew from her sleep, surely—at least, from what she could gather, The Three should have been referring to him.

However, she knew not of his past. The Sandman would have existed aeons before herself, and though it should be overt information, The Fates felt it important to let her know in person.

Why? In what world would their fates be attached to one another? What did his past have to do with her present?

"You call me ‘daydream’, as my father does. What is the significance of this?" Y/N asked, hoping to have asked the right question to gain further knowledge. She fiddled with her fingers behind her back, anxious that she might have wasted one of her chances.

"There is no more significance, my dear," The Mother replied.

Y/N held her breath.

"There is only power," The Maiden continued.

Y/N’s hands shook, balled tightly behind her back, her nails digging into her palms. Her face began to show disdain, her eyebrows shaping into an obvious frown as their cryptic ways began to frustrate her.

She only searched for answers, and though she had not expected The Fates to be of much help, it still upset her that they only seemed to aggravate her questions.

"And there is only you." The Crone added.

Y/N exhaled, releasing the breath she did not realise she was holding, and relaxed her hands, clasping them together gently—still behind her back—instead of squeezing so tight that she reduced bloodflow.

"You are an intelligent one, dear. Your words have not been wasted,” The Crone reassured, though she kept her words simple and esoteric.

"Certainly better than her predecessor," The Maiden quipped as the other two repressed their laughter, only allowing their snickers to be heard. Regardless of their quiet amusement, their voices still seemed to echo inside of the palace replica.

Y/N smirked, however bemused by their antics. "One does not get a visit from The Three often. It would be a shame to squander the questions I have been gifted."

Though the Hecate had their purpose, it seemed as though they were not one to deny small conversations, and Y/N hoped to take advantage as she was only left with her final question.

"You speak of gifts. Very fitting for one of your kind," The Mother commented.

"When dreams despair, the sleeping shall receive a daydream as a gift from Death,” The Crone spoke, each word purposeful and carefully crafted into a phrase that lingered in the air—one whose meaning was obvious to all but the person it was intended for.

"And they have.” The Mother looked at her other self, sending a knowing glance, their eyes speaking a million different things that they may never say aloud.

"But what is a gift, if not wanted?" The youngest asked.

“And what becomes of it when it is not?" The eldest finished.

Y/N lowered her chin slightly, her eyes pointed, stern and peremptory towards The Three. There was a low rumbling that shook the ground below them, one that challenged the pillars that held the palace up proudly.

A smirk graced their faces, indifferent to the trembling stones and structures that surrounded them.

Y/N had many questions, and yet she only had one left to ask.

She inhaled, closing her eyes and lifting her chin, then opened her eyes once more and exhaled, staring at the Hecate with volition that bled into the atmosphere around them.

The shaking stopped.

It was not her home, and yet the false palace remained obedient under her mere presence.

“What has begun?” She asked, keeping her composure steady and her words clear; she dug her nails into her palm once again.

Light flashed through the windows, thunder roaring all around them. The Three did not waver, but their smirks turned into grins, glancing at the windows for a moment before returning their gaze onto Y/N.

Their eyes darkened as they all held their hands together in front of them, tilting their chin up proudly; The Three’s power grew, the air growing thick as they replied.

“The end,” they yelled, their voices echoing and tonitruous before the entire palace turned to one great flash of light, momentarily blinding Y/N.

She shielded her eyes with her arm, then it was over, when the blinding light had gone, she put her arm back down, finding that the view in front of her was different.

“Excuse me?”

Y/N flinched, quickly turning around to face whoever had tapped her shoulder. It was a woman, shorter than her, looking curiously as Y/N regained her composure.

She wiped the baffled expression off of her face, replacing it with an apprehensive smile, waiting for the woman to continue speaking.

“Are you okay? You’ve been standing there a while,” she asked, concerned, before chuckling shyly. “And you’re, uhm, kind of blocking the door.”

Y/N laughed, nervous, clearing her throat and blinking rapidly, trying to get rid of the haze and the feeling of dust in her eyes.

“I-I’m fine. It’s just been a weird day. Thank you for asking, though,” she replied, grateful for the kindness the woman had shown. If she was blocking the door, the stranger could have easily pushed her to the side.

The woman, though, was now preoccupied with something else. She was looking directly into Y/N’s eyes, studying them carefully. Y/N awkwardly shuffled her feet to try and get away from the prying gaze.

“I…I think there’s something in your eyes, miss…” the woman trailed off, mesmerized by the lights that twinkled within Y/N’s irises.

Y/N looked at the ground, tearing herself away from her curious stare as she waved her off. “It’s, uhm, I have allergies,” she sniffled, quite forcefully, rubbing her nose and her eyes, the skin appearing red from the irritation. “I’ll be fine.”

Before the woman could voice more of her concerns, Y/N had already given her thanks, walking away briskly while muttering something about allergens being in the drinks. The stranger watched her leave, reluctantly telling her to get help if she gets sicker.

* * *

Y/N’s knee bounced up and down as she sat alone on a park bench, tightly clutching her phone in her hands. She had long lost track of time, pondering over the strange circumstances that she seemed unable to escape.

She spent a while trying to decipher what The Fates had said to her, which was surely the hardest to do seeing as she was only given pieces of information she did not know how to connect.

There had been many moments in her life where she was left completely dumbfounded and she thought that maybe, there was nothing left in the universe that could leave her as shocked and confused and afraid.

One of those moments was finding out about her father’s long, long life, and how he would outlive her for—well, forever. She thought that it was as much as her human mind could comprehend, choosing to accept it rather than to question it.

After all, she had seen him get hurt to the point where it was considered fatal, but he would always come out of it just fine.

She guessed that, maybe, when someone has lived for centuries, they have the tendency to get quite reckless over time, something she had repeatedly scolded her father for.

Point is, her perception of human reality had long been warped. However, it was never to the extent where a supposedly mythological being found it rather important to transport her to another realm in the middle of the day—in public, no less.

Not to mention leaving her physical body blocking the door to a busy establishment, susceptible to any and all outside forces without a care in the world about the harm it could have brought her.

She stared at her feet, her hands starting to switch between picking at her phone case or relentlessly tapping the screen with fingernails she had bitten too short that her nailbeds began to sting.

It was a kind of pain that she hoped would wake her up. She was too uncertain of the world, too unsure of whether or not she was stuck in a dream.

After all, she was only human. Mortal? Possibly. But human, of course.

Y/N flinched as a soccer ball hit her knee and landed by her feet.

Curious, she picked it up, looking around and scanning the park for the owner. A young boy, no more than seven years old, came into view, jogging towards her.

“Is this yours?” Y/N asked, a warm smile gracing her face as she gestured to the ball in her hand.

The boy stopped running, standing just a few feet away from her, his eyes going wide and his mouth agape as he called out for his mother, his eyes never leaving Y/N.

Alarmed, Y/N stayed frozen in her seat, resting the ball on her lap as she watched his mother run towards them both. She stammered, trying to explain that she did not mean any harm to her child, but the boy beat her to it.

“She’s the girl from my dream! The one with the rocketship!” he beamed as he excitedly pointed to Y/N. “She’s real! She’s real!”

Of course.

Y/N began tapping her fingers on the ball, feeling her chest constrict as she heard the hum once more, creeping to the surface of her mind like an oncoming storm—the distant thunder growing louder and louder.

Raymond and the Rocketship.

Raymond Campbell.

“I’m Raymond!” The boy extended a hand for her to shake, then pulled it back. “But you know that already!” he giggled. “You remember, right?”

How could she forget?

He was the little boy in her first best-selling story book, the one she sloppily wrote down on her notebook a long time ago in the middle of the night, after yet another adventure-filled dream.

He was a beloved character brought to life by the words she typed on her laptop, illustrated on the pages of Amelia’s favourite story book—her very first one written by Y/N.

The book that sat proudly in the middle of Amelia’s bedroom shelf, ready to be reread whenever she pleased.

Raymond seemed to grow apprehensive when she gave him no response, tugging at his mother’s shirt. “She remembers me, right?” he asked, his voice losing its enthusiasm and lowering down to a shaky whimper.

Blinking away her stupor, she smiled at Raymond, hoping to create a convincing facade. “Of course I remember!”

She looked at Raymond’s mom, who looked at her apologetically and was intending to stop her son from further bothering a stranger at the park.

However, Y/N subtly shook her head to let her know that she was more than willing to play along.

The mother smiled in return, relieved to see how she was kind enough to entertain her son, blissfully unaware of the trepidation clouding Y/N’s brain.

Y/N offered her hand for Raymond to shake and he happily accepted. “I’m Y/N.” She extended the gesture to his mother as well, who gave her a grateful smile in return, silently thanking her for being kind to her son.

“I’m Amanda,” the mother replied, placing both her hands on Ray’s shoulders. “I hope he wasn’t being too bothersome.”

“Oh, he could never!” Y/N replied, kneeling down to Raymond's eye level before handing the ball over to him. “Raymond here is a good friend, aren’t you, Ray?”

The little boy nodded, taking the ball with glee, “Do you actually have a spaceship?” he asked, narrowing his eyes from suspicion.

Y/N gasped, splaying her hand over her chest, feigning offence. “Why—of course I do! Who do you take me for? An imposter?” she accused, playfully pouting at Raymond who laughed and began to jump up and down.

“I want to see it!” He turned to his mother, his eyes wide and pleading. “Can we see it, please!”

Y/N exaggerated a huff and pointed towards the sky. “The ship is up there right now, so sadly, I can’t show it to you even if I wanted to.” She smiled apologetically and placed a gentle hand on Raymond’s arm. “I lent it to a good friend of mine. I’m sorry,” she pouted.

Raymond’s shoulders slumped and his jumping seized, bowing his head in discouragement. “Aw! When can I see it, then??” he asked, hopeful.

“Hmm.” Y/N squinted, removing her arm on his shoulder to place a finger on her chin as if she was deep in thought. “Do you follow your bedtime?” She eyed Raymond carefully, who now seemed to be interested in everything around them but her, so she turned to look at Amanda who only laughed in response.

“Him?" Amanda asked. “Never.” She earned a glare from her son, but she only chuckled as she ruffled his hair. “I’m only telling the truth, honey.”

Y/N sighed, giving Raymond a stern look. “That’s not very healthy, is it?”

The little boy shuffled his feet, shaking his head no.

“Tell you what,” Y/N began. “Whenever we go to bed, we go to a place called The Dreaming. If you follow your bedtime, you’ll get there even faster; you’ll see the rocket there,” she smiled. “When it’s available, of course.”

“But it wouldn’t be real!” he argued, a deep frown on his face as he fidgeted with his fingers.

“Says who?” She defended. “If it weren’t real, then I wouldn’t be here, would I?” She raised her eyebrow at Raymond as she waved her hands around and gestured to herself. “Right?”

Raymond gasped. “Woah,” he whispered, his eyes glazing over with wonderment and curiosity when he saw the stars that seemed to twinkle within the depths of her eyes.

Only for a moment, though. They disappeared as soon as he saw them.

Thinking that he had only been reacting to her, Y/N simply laughed and stood up, placing both of her hands on her hips. “Your dreams are just as real as you, me, and your mom, right now. Never forget that.”

She clapped her hands once and sighed. “Anyway, unfortunately I do need to be somewhere, I have to prepare for that rocketship’s landing when my friend gets back. Is that okay, Ray?”

“As long as you promise that I can see it again next time?” He asked, holding out his pinky finger. “Pinky promise?”

Y/N held her hand out, hooking her pinky around his without a second thought. “Promise.”

Before Raymond could respond, he was called by his dad standing several feet away, gesturing for him to come over. He let her finger go, smiling widely and waving goodbye, running to his dad. “Bye Y/N! Remember your promise!”

She laughed, waving back. “I will!”

Y/N turned towards Raymond’s mother, who had her hands clasped in front of her. She wore a thick white coat, her hair was blonde and she had thin-rimmed glasses on. “Thank you,” Amanda said, smiling gratefully.

She waved her off. “It’s no problem, he seems like a good kid.”

“Still, it was kind of you to play along like that.” The mother laughed. “He genuinely thinks you look like someone from his dream. Lucky coincidence, don’t you think? It made him really happy.”

Y/N cleared her throat, smiling as she tried to hide her nerves. “Yeah, it is. I go here a lot, though, so if you’ve been here before, maybe he’s seen me around and his brain just imagined someone who looks like me?”

Though it was not a lie—she did often visit the park—Y/N could not help but feel a pang of guilt for having lied to Amanda.

Raymond could very well never see that rocket ship again, and his mother would have to explain that the kind lady he thought was the same one in his dream was only being nice, playing along to make him happy.

Y/N, however, would have to keep the truth to herself, having no choice but to hide it from Amanda. After all, how could one describe The Dreaming? How could she ever explain it to her without seeming quite delusional?

Her dreams, no matter how frequent, could never truly be called her own. Some were, but she would eventually venture outside of its barriers, unknowingly travelling from one person’s sleeping mind to the next, accompanying them in their own little adventures, helping them grow and even defeat their own nightmares—nightmares she had come to know and love, sometimes seeing them around the Dreaming, too, if they ever decided to come visit.

They were only characters to her, though. She would write them down in some of her books, never knowing that those were indeed the physical forms of nightmares that she had come across and even befriended.

One simply becomes accustomed to their own creativity…most of the time. In Y/N’s case, however, a major component of accepting her “vivid imagination” was an unimaginable amount of denial.

She had to turn away from the truth in favor of lying to herself that her mind was merely creating vivid fantasies.

“This is our first time here, actually,” Amanda responded, keeping an eye on Raymond, who was joyfully playing soccer with his father. Her expression held fondness for the two, cherishing their happy faces as they relished in their game.

“Oh, I guess it is quite the coincidence, then,” Y/N chuckled, internally cursing herself for her presumption. “Anyway, I really do have to go, miss.” She held out her hand once more. “It was nice meeting you!”

Amanda held her hand in both of hers, smiling warmly. “Likewise, Y/N. You were so lovely with Ray.”

They said their goodbyes, and once again, Y/N was alone, walking aimlessly away from the park. She rubbed her eyes once, annoyed by the dust she could feel in her eyes.

There was no moment of rest for her—the park only made her all the more confused. It took her a mere moment to decide that she needed help, as she would never be able to settle these strange affairs on her own.

While meeting Raymond had not gone as badly as she would have expected, it was not supposed to happen in the first place. Not when he was only supposed to be a fictional character.

She groaned in irritation, swiftly unlocking her phone to dial Johanna’s number while trying to blink the itchiness in her eyes away.

The phone rang, and Y/N picked at the fabric of her shirt, grinding her teeth as she silently cursed Johanna for failing to answer the phone immediately.

She rubbed the back of her neck, her chest tightening as she swallowed the lump that began to form in her throat.

“Hello?”

“Jo!” She shouted. “I spoke with The Three—as in, The Three. The Hecate, The Kindly Ones—

“Wait, wait, hold on—”

“No! Jo, I saw The Fates—” She gulped, lowering her voice down to a whisper. “And I saw Raymond.”

“Who’s Raymond?”

“Raymond and the Rocketship.”

Y/N kept walking, her eyes to the floor and distracted by her thoughts.

“Come over. Let’s talk about it over some tea, yeah? Make sure to keep your eyes open for anything strange; call me if you're in any sort of danger. Got it?”

Y/N nodded to herself, thanking Johanna before she gladly took the offer and hung up, looking forward to a warm drink to calm her slightly shaking hands.

Johanna had never been the most sociable, let alone hospitable, keeping her distance from most to avoid having them in the way, for better or for worse.

And Y/N had known to be cautious, especially around people who provoked the supernatural. Her father had enough stories, and he was intent that she learned from them.

However, she somehow managed to remain friends with the demon hunter, visiting from time to time just to check in or talk at least once a month, even if only through a phone call.

It never went unnoticed by the occultist, developing a soft spot for Y/N as time went on.

Johanna Constantine had never been the best at friendship—or any kind of relationship, really—but if there was anything she could assist Y/N with, it was surely the kind that involved otherworldly affairs.

Y/N pocketed her phone, eyes scanning the crowd of people in the streets. It was a nice reminder from Johanna; assuming that her day would continue the way it had been going, there was a high probability that she may encounter something else—or someone else—as unexpected as her last four—two?—visitors.

Ironically for her, the day was nice—the sun wasn’t too hot and the wind blew just enough for the temperature to be comfortable. The streets were bustling with people, some hurried off to work, some were ready to head on home, and some were simply taking a stroll out to take advantage of the weather.

“I want some chips.”

Y/N jumped, anxiously looking around her with a hand up to the side of her head. The voice sounded as though it was right against her ear, loud and high-pitched like the voice of a child.

She spotted a little girl, dressed in a bright pink coat and dark jeans, holding her mother’s hand as she jumped up with glee, pointing to a bag of chips displayed on the top shelf of a shop window.

“Mum look! Can I have some?” The little girl asked.

Y/N frowned. The girl had the same voice as the one she just heard, only this time, she could actually see who was speaking.

“Please let her say yes.”

“Shit,” Y/N cursed, flinching as she covered both of her ears out of instinct when she heard another voice. The volume had not been the problem, but it was the proximity. Was there actually a person talking to her? She would have felt their breath against her skin from how close it sounded.

“I wonder what I’ll get for my birthday.”

Y/N turned around, her eyes rapidly scanning the people that passed by. She chewed the inside of her cheek and focused on her breathing, closing her eyes for a few seconds, waiting to hear more voices.

But there were none, and she exhaled in relief, letting go of her ears as she gathered herself before continuing her walk to Johanna’s house.

“Fuck, the deadline’s tomorrow.”

“One more day, just one more day.”

“Why isn’t he here yet?”

“Would they like this? No, probably not.”

Y/N’s head began to spin and her eyes began to water. The voices were getting louder, overlapping as they increased in numbers. She stopped walking, holding her head in her hands, crouching down and groaning in pain.

Though she was outside, she could feel walls beginning to close around her, the air stale and unmoving.

Y/N searched the crowd, desperate to find who the voices belonged to, but there was no one. Most were not talking, minding their own business as they passed by. Some conversed with others; however, she could no longer make out what the voices were saying, there were too many, and they were all equally as loud.

She wiped the tears that fell down her face, balling her hands into fists as she stood up, ignoring the nausea and reaching for her phone to call Johanna.

That was, until she bumped into someone; she fell backwards and dropped her phone on the ground, hearing a small shatter. She cursed, immediately looking for her phone without checking to see who she had run into.

“Are you alright, miss?”

Y/N whipped her head around, looking up to see a woman who offered a helping hand. When she did not respond, only stared, the woman crouched down and retrieved her phone, examining it before returning it to her.

“The screen’s a little cracked, but other than that, I think it’s okay.”

Apprehensively, she took the phone from the woman’s hand, checking to see the damage. There was a big crack from the top corner of the screen all the way to the bottom with small lines branching off of it. Fortunately for her, only the screen protector had been broken, and it would work as normal—she could still call Johanna.

“How about you?” The woman asked, standing up and offering her hand once more. “Are you okay?”

Y/N took her hand this time, holding it tightly before pulling herself up; she found her footing and dusted herself off. She opened her mouth to say her thanks, but it was then that she noticed the silence.

The voices had gone, and so did the pain.

She could feel the air moving again and inhaled deeply, relishing in the relief her lungs felt as the heaviness in her chest vanished.

Patient as ever, the stranger only observed her with a kind smile, one that Y/N awkwardly returned as she let go of her hand.

The woman wore an all-black attire, her black, curly hair complementing her dark skin. She wore a tank top with thin straps and a necklace that Y/N recognized as an ankh .

“I’m quite alright, thank you,” she lied, then clenched her jaw tightly, her eyes looking everywhere as if waiting for something else to happen—mainly, for the voices to return.

Though she felt calmer, her brain still ran a hundred miles per hour, wondering what had even caused her to stop hearing voices in her head. Was it the woman? Will she turn out to be another strange encounter for her to tell Johanna? Or was it something else?

Her body was stiff, shoulders tense and breathing still shallow. She cleared her throat, about to excuse herself—

“You don’t look alright.” Death, though many think of her as an entity to be feared, gently placed a hand on Y/N’s shoulder, hoping to ease some of the tension. It was rather blunt to say that to someone who, in her eyes, certainly was not alright, but she managed to say so without a hint of condescension.

Humans were strange; she understood their need to hide true feelings, especially to a stranger—but she was not really a stranger, was she?

Death was a familiar concept to everyone who ever lived, and thus, every one knew who was waiting at the end of their Earthly lives. At one point or another, a human will encounter Death, whether it is their time or the loss of a loved one—she will always be there, and she always has.

But she was not only Death—she was also Life. She only sought to help a human in need, to ease their life’s stressors if only for a little bit.

However, it would be wrong of her to deny that the woman she faced piqued her interest from the moment she bumped into her.

Although she did it quite often, she had not meant to be visible to anyone. She was merely fulfilling her purpose, when she ran into a woman who was not even supposed to see her.

Of course she meant to ask, maybe she was not human—but as she learned during her interminable existence, especially while on Earth, there was a time and a place.

“It’s been…an eventful day,” Y/N sighed, her voice wavering. The tension on her shoulders eased and she was able to breathe deeply again.

“It happens to the best of us, don’t worry about it,” Death sympathised, her eyes warm and understanding, looking at Y/N without a hint of judgement.

The woman’s expression faltered for a moment, then turned into confusion. “Pardon me for asking—but you aren’t dead, are you?”

Y/N froze, her eyes widened and flickered to the ankh. “No, I’m not dead,” she answered, gulping. “Pardon me for asking, but are you ?”

A part of her felt ridiculous for asking such a question, but assuming her day would go on as it had been for the past few hours, it would not be an impossible concept.

She almost wished that the woman would say yes—maybe it would convince her that she had finally gone mad, because if so, she could find some semblance of sanity. It would be easier to accept that she was merely insane than to force her mind into believing things such as other realms and the existence of The Fates.

The dark-haired woman squinted her eyes as if deep in thought, before going back to her normal, kind smile. “No, I’m just joking with you,” she laughed, positioning herself beside Y/N and looping her arm around hers, giving her a moment to pull away if she wanted.

Instead, Y/N seemed to relax at her touch.

“Walk with me?” Death asked, and Y/N cleared her throat in response before nodding silently, looking straight ahead, refusing to look at the woman beside her.

Death was a very perceptive being—she considered it a requirement as her job was to accompany people to the Sunless Lands. She was curious to know more about the clearly anxious woman who she—quite impossibly—ran into.

However, similarly to when she would show herself to the recently deceased, precautions had to be taken.

She would not want to distress anyone who had just passed, but especially not someone who was still alive. Whatever Death would tell her, she would carry with her for the rest of her life until they meet again at the end of it.

“So, where are you off to?”

“A friend’s” Y/N answered stiffly. Still busying herself with watching her surroundings, and she made sure to cover as much area as she could. As Johanna had told her, she was to keep an eye out for any possible danger—who was she to ignore the expert?

Death hummed, seeing that Y/N’s attention was being given to everything else but their conversation. “You can talk to me.” She shrugged, waiting for Y/N to look her way. “I’m a complete stranger to you. You won’t lose anything.”

The Endless wanted to know more about her, curious as to how she could perceive beings such as herself, when humans are not inherently capable of doing so.

Y/N chuckled, looking at the floor as they continued to walk aimlessly. “I don’t think you have much time for that.”

The stranger had been kind to her so far, and there was truly no harm in telling her about the day she had, but there was always a chance she would be labelled as a liar, or completely out of her wits.

It was certainly the least of her worries, though.

Death nodded, “You’re right, I do have somewhere to be.” She thought for a moment, wanting to say the right words to make use of the little time she had to get sufficient information. “Tell me the important bits, then. The most ridiculous part of your day.” She grinned; although she hoped to get some answers, she was also genuinely interested in her well-being.

She might not be able to offer any solutions to her problems, but she could always lend a hand here and there in the form of comfort and reassurance. Death had learned that sometimes, all you need is the right person at the right time, ready to listen and accompany you, if only for a little while.

Y/N chewed her bottom lip, thinking of how she could possibly recapitulate her recent experiences without sounding completely insane. Though she thought it unlikely for her to get ridiculed—since the stranger had been understanding so far—she did not want to bother the poor woman with her bizarre and unbelievable stories.

“Well…” She trailed off. “I met three women today—technically three—and they told me some rather peculiar things. They had been incredibly cryptic, and I’m still trying to figure out what they meant.”

She paused for a moment, picking at her fingernails as she pondered over what she would say next. “Then I met this little boy—he said he saw me in his dream. When he described it, I remember having the same one. He was in it, too. And then I began to hear voices in my head—but they stopped when you came. My dad’s immortal, too, but I don’t know if that has anything to do with today. Maybe. I wouldn’t be surprised if it did,” she rambled, nervously laughing at the end. She tore her gaze away from the pavement and to the stranger beside her, trying to gauge her reaction.

She considered telling her about the man but quickly decided against it. He has not been a part of her day—not completely—but he has always been the most peculiar part of her life.

It would take a while to explain, and she did not want to take more of the woman’s time, nor did she want to take her kindness for granted.

Death looked away for a moment, a frown growing on her face. There was something deeply familiar with her stories, and she was disappointed to have only obtained more questions instead of answers.

She had a purpose to fulfill and people to attend to, she knew that the answers she sought would have to wait. If the girl beside her was something more than human, their paths would surely cross again.

Her eldest brother had a plan, as he did for most, and she would not interfere. She would not expose her true nature, not when she felt it was the wrong time.

Maybe she could pay him a visit next, though she was certain that she would not get very far if she were to question him.

“Humans are so strange,” Death spoke, unlinking their arms, stopping their pace beneath the shade of a nearby tree. “You will go through some of the strangest things and carry it with such strength and elegance.”

“Humans?” Y/N asked. “You refer to humans as if you aren’t one yourself,” she chuckled. There was something so otherworldly about the strange woman, she stared at her with such kind eyes—an attribute she could not recall seeing on anyone else except for one.

Whenever she looked into her eyes, it brought her back to when she looked into the man’s eyes.

Hers were welcoming, holding unconditional warmth for all those she would encounter, while his were filled with sorrow.

They were vastly different, yet they both gave the same feeling of something ethereal and incomprehensible.

The closest person she knew who had similar eyes was her father, but his were distinct. Unlike the other two, she could describe what she saw in the depth of her father’s irises.

They were old—the eyes of a man who had lived longer than he should have. His eyes were wise and full of memories she would never truly know, and he may never truly speak of.

Death gently took one of Y/N’s hands and held it in both of her own. “Whatever had happened to you, I’m sure it means something. My brother isn’t so careless, and neither are The Three.” She glanced at someone behind Y/N, seeing the soul she was to visit next, and concluded that her time with Y/N was up.

Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed, looking over her shoulder to see what the woman was looking at.

“I wish you the best in your adventures, Y/N—hopefully we bump into each other again soon.”

Alarmed by the sudden farewell, Y/N turned her head back to the woman, but she was no longer there.

Her hand remained extended, as if someone was still holding it, but there was nothing there. The woman had disappeared, and her heart sank, ready to hear the voices once more.

But her mind stayed quiet as she looked around, trying to find where the kind stranger had gone off to.

She brought her hand back down, and a part of her sought a reason to panic. She was certain that she had been with someone, their arms were even looped together as they were walking.

There was no unease, though, and she continued to stroll through the familiar streets of her town as if it was a normal day.

And thankfully, she was not very far from Johanna’s house.

Y/N’s hand—the one that the strange woman held—opened and closed at her side. She fidgeted with her fingers, rubbing it on her pants or holding her hands together, trying to get rid of the tingly feeling.

Eventually, the sensation crawled up her wrist, to her elbow, and then to her shoulder until she was subtly scratching her entire arm.

Her eyes were distant, and her mind was clouded and blurry. Due to this, her arm was merely a nuisance to her instead of being a source of concern, nor did she notice that the sensation started after the woman held her hand.

In her haze, Y/N also failed to recall her name leaving Death’s lips before she vanished. She held an empty expression, not having felt so in tune yet so out of touch with reality.

She missed most of the glances that went her way, the people taking a second look just to see her eyes again as they sparkled under the sun, conspicuous even in the daylight. The children that would nudge their companions, pointing at her reflection as she passed by store windows, went unnoticed as well.

On every reflective surface, she appeared the same; she wore a dark coat, one that billowed unnaturally in the wind, moving in a slow but elegant dance as she walked by. Whenever her coat would move a certain way, one could catch a glimpse of the galaxy it held within the inner layer of the fabric. Everything about her attire was black, her feet clad in the same Doc Marten boots she wore in her dreams.

Yet those were only in her reflections; she did not own a single piece of that outfit.

Eventually, the weird static she could feel on her arm dissipated.

Unbeknownst to her, there were small, almost unnoticeable white lines that developed on her fingers, crawling up her palm like cracks on damaged pavement.

The light was bright, but exposed only enough for them to show a subtle glow, much like the sand in Amelia’s room.

Y/N’s grasp on reality seemed to have been warped, as if she was swimming in deep waters. The atmosphere felt thick but not suffocating, her vision tinted by some form of film that made her incapable of fully grasping the realm she walked on. She could feel the wind along her skin and every wisp of hair that touched her forehead, moving ever so gently in the soft breeze; she could hear every breath she took and how the oxygen entered her lungs like taking your first few breaths after you have just gotten out of the water.

Before she knew it, she was knocking on Johanna’s door, waiting to be let in. Johanna’s muffled voice could be heard, rushed, yelling for Y/N to give her a moment.

* * *

“Hey.” Johanna poked her head out of the door, slightly out of breath. “Sorry, change of plans. I’m kind of in the middle of something, so if you could just give me a moment—”

Her eyes grew wide but she caught herself, forcing her composure to return. Her eyes narrowed, studying the obvious difference in the way Y/N held herself.

It was the eyes again, though, that had caught her attention.

Because Y/N’s eyes had actually changed. Johanna was seeing her friend stand in front of her with glowing eyes that contained the depth of space instead of seeing it in her reflection.

“Nevermind,” Johanna mumbled. “Get inside, but don’t go near the living room. You’ll know why when you see it.” She decided that for the sake of them both, because of Y/N’s strange demeanor, she would bring her into the safety of her home.

It might not be as safe as the average household, especially with what her living room contained, but it was better than leaving Y/N exposed outside.

But whether or not she was in danger or was the danger, Johanna was yet to decide.

Y/N nodded silently before walking into the house, offering Johanna only a slight smile before frowning.

She had been to her house before, she was accustomed to all of the strange objects littered around it, but as she entered, there was an immediate shift in the air—one that felt familiar and strange at the same time.

Usually, the artifacts that Johanna would take home had an effect on the general feeling of the house. Sometimes there was a dark cloud looming around the rooms or—as most people would be—she would become anxious when in the presence of something demonic and supernatural.

Out of respect, Y/N generally never asked about the artifacts and she was normally none the wiser about the happenings inside of the Constantine household.

If it involved Johanna’s work, she left the subject alone, knowing that it was much preferred by the occultist to be that way.

The Constantines had their fair share of tragic stories. Getting involved with any of them was a risk on its own, and Y/N did not want to be in the way of Johanna in fear that it might result in calamity.

Johanna Constantine has suffered great loss. Y/N was not interested in being one of them.

Not only for her sake, but largely for Johanna’s.

Cautiously, Y/N walked into the house, keeping herself alert for any unusual creatures or objects. There was an itch at the back of her mind that called to her, but she could not quite get a hold of the thought.

Something was inside of Johanna’s home, something she knew of but could not quite recall.

But as she reached the living room, her eyes immediately landed on a very familiar binding circle drawn onto the floor.

It was smaller, less intricate than the one she saw in her dreams, and the symbols were different

What interested her the most, though, was the humanoid shadow trapped inside of the circle.

Y/N squeezed her eyes shut, feeling her grip on reality loosen. She inhaled deeply, hoping to regain some semblance of control when her mind seemingly drifted away from—

“It’s a demon,” Johanna mumbled. She was behind Y/N, careful to keep a close eye. There was a supposed demon in their midst, and yet she had a gut feeling that her starry-eyed friend might be more powerful than the creature she had in her living room.

Johanna cleared her throat, shifting her feet as she looked at the shadow. “I think it’s a demon, anyway,” she admitted. “I’m actually not sure. I caught it wandering about my house. I tried sending it back to Hell but it wouldn’t work.”

Upon Y/N’s entrance, the unknown being warped into a more solid, humanoid form. Their skin was made up of grey and black nebulae patterns that seemed to absorb light, their eyes now dimming into a dark maroon than the previous bright red. They had no hair, but instead, a faint, smokey grey hue resembling flames emitted from the top of their head.

The creature put their hand up to the invisible barrier, making it ripple in waves that spread throughout the unseeable dome, the light that bent around it being the only indication it even existed.

“I am no demon,” they grumbled. The words echoed around the room, unnaturally low yet still present—the floor and the walls seemed to vibrate with every intonation.

Y/N walked closer, and Johanna took one instinctive step towards her, prepared to pull her away if anything were to happen.

“You belong in the Dreaming…” Y/N spoke, unsure of her words, but choosing the next ones carefully. “A nightmare.”

The creature’s eyes widened and Y/N gently placed her hand over theirs through the barrier, creating a black shadow that surrounded their hands, emitting off of their nearly-touching palms as dark wisps of smoke.

“I’ve seen your kind before in the realm of dreams. Is that not where you reside?” She questioned gently, keeping in mind the possibility that they may be one of the residents that went rogue when their world started to crumble.

No harm would come to the creature, and though she sounded sure of herself, an inkling of desperation could be heard from the resolution in her voice and the persistence in her stare, almost as if purposely showing her dismay.

“You know of us—you wear his clothing,” the being responded, glancing at the windows then back to Y/N. “Your image wears his clothing.” There was wonderment in their voice, but they were not there to study her—the creature was there for the same reason Y/N was.

They wanted answers, too, but Y/N could not give them what she was also still seeking.

She dropped her hand, the wisps of shadow disappearing. “Go back home, Nightmare,” she ordered, noting how the creature’s expression seemed to drop at the mention of their lost home. “One such as you mustn't wander the waking world so carelessly.”

There was a part of her that wondered if she had gone too far. She did not know their whole story, and it was not an easy feat to see your once prosperous world decaying.

However, she also knew that their loyalties should have been to the Kingdom—the Dreaming—instead of losing trust in their monarch.

Lucienne stayed, and it was all Y/N needed to know that there was still hope. The librarian’s determination to see their Lord return was enough for Y/N to decide that there was no abandoning the Dreaming—not until Lucienne’s belief lasts.

“I could say the same for you.” The creature had tilted their chin up, as if to challenge the woman in front of them. “Do you not possess powers in which only our Lord wields?” They paused, looking over Y/N’s shoulder to gaze at Johanna.

“There have been stories about a regent,” they spoke, tearing their eyes away from the occultist’s narrowed ones and back to the woman in front. “If I may ask, am I right to assume that I have found the regent in question?”

“I’m not anyone’s regent,” Y/N answered. “Go back to the Dreaming. I know not who you speak of—I barely know your realm’s true nature, and I do not wish it to interfere with the waking world’s inhabitants.”

Putting her foot forward, Y/N broke the circle, feeling Johanna’s tight grip on her elbow. “We’re safe, Jo,” Y/N reassured, but the hold on her arm had not changed.

The creature stepped over the lines, free to do anything they desired in the waking world. They turned to the window, staring into the eyes of Y/N’s reflection. “You will find that the waking world is not your only realm, my lady.”

With on more words left to say, the Nightmare turned itself into a cloud of black smoke, floating high into the air before completely disappearing.

Johanna roughly pulled Y/N back to face her. “What the fuck was that?” she glared. “Why did you let it out? You don’t know what it’s going to—”

Y/N shook her head, calmly pushing Johanna’s hand away and holding it in hers. “They won’t do anything, I know that much. They came here for me, and if they do what I told them to do, they’ll just go back to the Dreaming.”

Pulling her hand away, Johanna ran it through her hair while her other hand rested on her hip. “And you know that how?”

“That was a Nightmare, Jo, not a demon. That’s why you couldn’t send them to Hell.”

Y/N told no lie when she mentioned her previous knowledge of the Nightmare. There were many like the one they had just encountered—she was familiar with their kind and knew that most of them were not malicious.

They had their duties, something they lost when their monarch vanished. Now they simply wandered wherever they wanted and acted how they chose to, but it did not necessarily change them into creatures of malevolence.

“Is that why you’ve been acting weird since last night?” Johanna questioned, both of her hands now on her hips, her eyes boring into Y/N’s. “So the Dreaming exists? You’re sure of that now?”

Y/N shook her head, breathing deeply and trying to digest Johanna’s words. Whatever had clouded her mind was starting to wear off, and though she was not completely herself, she was starting to feel the panic rise up in her chest when she remembered why she came there in the first place.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “That’s why I’m here. You’re the only one I can think of who can help.” She gave Johanna a tight-lipped smile, wanting to make the tension vanish, hoping to see the usual level-headedness from her friend.

Johanna stayed silent to take a few deep breaths, regaining as much of her composure she was capable of. She could remember all of her other so-called adventures and encounters with the supernatural—but none were as strange as this.

If everything Y/N said over the phone were true, she was faced with someone who acted as a magnet for the things she was paid to get rid of. Johanna felt helpless; deep within her mind, something told her that this was not something she could help with.

She was only human, one with many limitations—she feared that this may be one of them.

“Sit.” She pointed to the sofa. “I’ll make tea; then you better explain what’s been going on with you,” she sighed, walking towards the kitchen to prepare their cups.

Instead of sitting down, though, Y/N browsed through Johanna’s collection of books that she obtained through the years. They were all strewn around the house, so inevitably, she decided to do a bit of cleaning up while she was at it.

She knew better than to clean excessively, though. As she had tried once before, but Johanna simply liked the chaos of her messy home.

Y/N flipped some books around, making sure that the titles were visible. Sometimes she would wipe the dust off the covers—she even tried to alphabetize them before she had gotten a stern look from Johanna.

“Do you have any books on the Fates?”

Holding two cups, Johanna went to sit on the couch, placing their tea on the coffee table as she waited for Y/N to join her, which she was very happy to.

Y/N took a sip of her tea. “I think they were the ones who talked to me earlier.”

“I have books, but tell me what happened first.”

Clearing her throat, Y/N tapped her short nails on the cup. “They were cryptic. I haven’t made sense of it all just yet, but I was hoping you could help.”

“Did you ask them why they were there?”

“No,” Y/N scoffed. “I couldn’t be that direct. I’ve read about them, Jo. I wasn’t planning on wasting my questions.”

“Just making sure,” Johanna responded, taking a sip of her own drink. “Tell me what they said. I can’t promise anything, though. They obviously sought you out—what’s so important about you that the Three-in-One came for a visit?”

Y/N mulled over their conversation; it was practically impossible to explain just how dreadful it was. While she succeeded in remaining level-headed during her time with The Fates, her mind had not been clear, especially with the events that transpired before and after.

“They kept calling me ‘Daydream’” was the only response Y/N could muster, deciding that she would take it one topic at a time when it became too difficult for her to try and tell the story as a whole.

“Like your nickname?”

“Yes,” Y/N nodded. “The other one called me ‘his regent’. That has to mean something, right? The nightmare called me the same name, and my father had been referring to me as ‘Daydream’ for most of my childhood.”

“ His regent. Any ideas on who you’re a supposed ‘regent’ of?” This was certainly a curious case for Johanna, especially because it was happening to a friend. Her mind was reeling with questions—ones that she was unsure she would ever get answered, but she had to try anyway.

“The ruler of dreams, apparently.”

Johanna choked on her tea, covering her mouth as she tried to keep her coughs at bay. “The Sandman,” she stifled, clearing her throat. “You mentioned him last night.”

If this case was certainly related to the Endless, Johanna Constantine was mystified; it was obvious to Y/N that she had finally caught the attention of the occultist.

Not that Johanna had not already been paying attention, but she seemed to take the situation more seriously now that an all-powerful being could possibly be involved.

Y/N L/N, a friend she made by chance, could be the Regent of an Endless. She was drinking tea with a ruler of an entire realm.

“Oh…” Y/N trailed off, her eyebrows furrowing in deep thought. “I guess I did, didn’t I?”

She had not noticed the slight gap in her memory. She could remember Amelia and how she told her the story, but after that—after she had woken up from her latest dream—the events were indistinct.

Whenever she did try to remember, she did not feel as if it were her own memories. They felt almost stolen, like peering into another’s mind; watching from their point of view and waiting for them to make their next move.

There was a buzz inside of her mind—silent, barely there, but its effects were ever so present. Her ears would become muted and clogged, her senses detaching themselves from reality.

It was definitely her, there was no doubting it. Had she been possessed, it would feel a little more aggressive than that—at least that’s what she thought, she had never actually been possessed before.

She concluded that maybe she had been distracted that night, and more questions appeared in her mind, fueled by the need to remember .

Ironically, though, these instances were not uncommon for her, as she could recall several moments where she often felt that she had lost some of her memories. However, that night at Johanna’s was the worst of it.

Y/N wanted to be able to look back and say that her actions were her own, and that whatever had been hiding inside of her brain for the past thirty years would finally come to surface.

Her dreams, her father, her abilities—they had all been normal to her.

Sure, she could eventually come to admit that, like her father, she was no ordinary human.

But what then? What could she be? Had she been anything else other than normal, her father would have told her a long time ago. He was no liar, and he has said before that it would not do them any good if he hid his true identity from his own daughter.

To be fair, though, he only said that once she noticed how no matter the wounds or illnesses he faced, he never seemed to mind the fatality.

The dangers that came with being something other than human—other than a human mortal —were immeasurable, and he decided to come clean.

Eventually.

Johanna waited patiently, giving Y/N time to think. She could remember how dissociated she looked that night, and it would not surprise her if she was having trouble remembering.

Her eyes had been distant, and her mind was obviously elsewhere. It was tough to get through to her; Johanna figured that Y/N might have only needed the company—of course, until later on when she noticed the difference in her entire demeanor and the very distinct reflection in the window.

Y/N cleared her throat, keeping her eyes away from Johanna’s as she took another sip of her drink. “He’s only a story. Nothing more.” She shook her head, holding the cup down on her lap, keeping her focus on the tinted liquid inside.

“And so are the Fates, and every other creature I’ve encountered,” Johanna contested, tilting her head to try and get into Y/N’s eyesight, hoping to have her attention. “They’re all stories, we just don’t know which ones are true.”

Johanna was being kind, having rid her words of any snark or sarcastic undertones; something Y/N silently appreciated. Her friend spoke softly, making conversation instead of arguing with her about the facts.

Of course she knew that they all began with stories. Some might have been invented by some aspiring writer—a story that some mistook for real events.

There were other stories, though, that came from long-forgotten origins that were yet to be disproved or even discovered.

Deciding that she was not prepared to answer Johanna, she continued with her retelling of the Fates’ visit, praying to catch Johanna’s attention enough to ignore that she had changed the subject.

“They said that the end has begun, and left after that,” she mumbled, gulping down the rest of her tea.

The demon hunter scoffed, putting her drink down on the coffee table and crossed her arms. “The end as in…what? The apocalypse?”

“If it were the end of the world, why would they tell me that?”

Johanna clicked her tongue. “So they're talking about your end, then?”

“Maybe,” she answered honestly. There was no point in lying, but she was tempted.

Johanna had never been considered the nicest person, and most people she got into a relationship with would leave her. That was, if Johanna had not already beaten them to it.

Y/N did not want the same fate to befall their friendship.

“Maybe you’re like your dad,” Johanna shrugged. “It could run in the family, you know?” she joked, laughing despite the harsh truth that lay behind her words.

Both of them knew her father had had children before her, and a number of them faced an untimely death.

Regardless, Y/N snickered along with her, entertaining the possibility that maybe the blood of an immortal could be passed down—her half siblings may have just simply been unlucky enough not to receive it.

“One thing stuck with me, though.” Y/N paused, chewing on her lip as she tried to recall the exact words that were said to her. “ When dreams despair, the sleeping shall receive a daydream as a gift from Death.”

“What the fuck does that mean? Do they mean that you’re the gift? The daydream?”

“If I am, why?” Y/N asked. “And I'm supposed to do something?”

There was silence for a few moments as Johanna picked at her nails. “If you want to live, probably,” she mumbled.

“All jokes aside,” Johanna continued, holding her hands together to stop herself from fidgeting. “If you’re just like the rest of us, the Fates would not have had a reason to talk to you. I think it means that it involves other people, not just you. Powerful beings like them always have a reason, and they would not have had one if you were normal.”

She leaned back against the sofa, swinging her arms over the backrest. “You’ve always been weird, Y/N. Admit it—”

“I’m not—”

“You are!” Johanna insisted, putting her arm back to her side and leaning forward. “The sooner you admit that, the faster we can get to dealing with it.”

Y/N shook her head, to which Johanna groaned in annoyance. “Maybe we don’t. Maybe it’ll all go away tomorrow. This is probably just…a mistake. Or a hallucination.”

“Y/N,” Johanna sighed. “Hell exists, demons exist. Cursed objects, runes, witchcraft—they’re real. There is more than one realm. The Fates, they—”

“No.” Y/N stood up, moving to collect her things. It was ironic—she had asked Johanna for help without ever thinking that she might not be ready for it.

“Y/N look at yourself!” Johanna snapped, grabbing her by the shoulders before she turned Y/N around, holding her in place so she stood right in front of the window.

Finally, Y/N came face to face with herself, the one she only saw in the waters of the Dreaming. Someone who had been following her for a long time—the figure in the glass, in every mirror she faced.

It had always been there, but she had been too blind to see it, choosing to see her human form instead of the reflection she was always meant to have.

She could see herself— really see herself. The same white eyes she saw in the water, the dark clothing, how her cheeks looked more sunken.

“ This.” Johanna tapped on the window, making a loud thud as her hand hit the glass. “Isn’t normal! And you have to stop pretending like it is!” She walked in front of Y/N, looking intently at her eyes.

Y/N stared blankly into the window, her eyes trained on the figure in the glass.

“Gods, demons, devils, Fates—they all exist, Y/N. We both know that. Your father is immortal for heaven’s sake!” Johanna’s eyes sparkled with unshed tears, her voice composed, yet it gave the slightest quiver before ending in a low whisper. “Listen to me unless you want to end up like Astra.”

Y/N tore her gaze away from the window and to Johanna, her trance broken by the mention of the late girl’s name.

“The Fates warned you, the end has begun,” Johanna reiterated, her hands falling back down to her sides. “Whatever the hell that means.” She turned around for a moment, wiping her eyes and facing Y/N once more, stoic as ever.

“Okay,” Y/N mumbled weakly, unsure of what she had just agreed to. She looked over Johanna’s shoulder, her strange reflection looking back at her.

And slowly, she stalked towards the window, her arms outstretched as she attempted to reach out, not quite sure of her next actions. The closer she got, the lesser her grasp on reality.

The air became thick, and with it, her reflection glitched, changing to the one she had always known and then changing back to the version she saw in the Dreaming.

Eventually, it started to look like broken glass. Some fragments of her figure looked human, some looking otherworldly.

"I could say the same for you. Do you not possess powers in which only our Lord wields?" she recalled what the Nightmare said.

Maybe there was some truth to that, and maybe all that was left to do was finally accept it.

She stepped closer, and her fingers brushed against the glass.

The window cracked, the deafening sound echoing across the room, making both of them flinch. It webbed outwards, the cracks becoming bigger and bigger the longer her touch remained on the glass.

Slow shattering could be heard, the crunching getting louder as the damage grew.

Y/N stepped away, her fingers no longer touching the window.

“Y/N, your hand,” Johanna pointed out, looking at her with uncertainty. The one that made contact with the window was cracked as well, similar to the glass pane.

The damage started with her fingers, the cracks webbing higher and higher as white light emitted from underneath her skin. She stared at it in horror, watching it grow brighter to blinding degrees.

That was when Y/N realized that it burned , feeling the unbearable heat brought upon by the light that seeped from her skin, her shock subsiding the more she looked at the sight before her.

The light beseeched for escape, pushing against her and testing the limits of her human body to see when it would break. She screamed, falling to her knees as she grasped her arms tightly, as if trying to close the cracks that were beginning to climb up from her hand.

“Y/N, I need you to tell me what’s going on,” Johanna spoke with urgency, hoping that her voice could be heard through Y/N’s cries of pain.

Wind began to howl inside of the living room, circulating Y/N as the pain became more unbearable.

Johanna was unfazed, knowing that the strange disturbance could only be coming from one person. She put her arm up to shield her eyes, her hair billowing as she slowly walked closer to the girl hunched over on the floor.

The house shook; books fell from their places, their pages ripped apart and scattered by the violent winds. Gadgets, documents, trinkets and more began to crash onto the floor, the smaller fragments carried in the air as they flew away.

“Y/N! You need to tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it, okay?” She yelled, hoping to get Y/N's attention without adding to her distress.

When she failed to get an answer, she knelt on to the floor, close enough to Y/N but never enough to touch. The wind was most dangerous near her, and though Johanna tried, it would not be possible to cross such a threshold without being swept away.

She tried to reach out, hoping to touch Y/N’s arm to pull her away from the storm—but it was scorching, like fire crawling up her hand, prickling and irritating her skin.

If she got closer, the light would incinerate her.

There had to be a reason, though, right? The recent events proved that Y/N was not an average human, she was something else. Something they had yet to figure out.

Johanna’s mind was going into overdrive, fumbling through her brain for a solution, attempting to connect the dots.

The light was only getting brighter, the cracks on Y/N’s skin wider by the second, and the room—though wrecked by a whirlwind—was increasingly getting hotter.

The dreams, her father, the Fates —Johanna’s eyes widened as she recalled the creature that trespassed her home only minutes ago. “Y/N look at me— listen to me!” she yelled, desperate trying to get her attention.

It was far-fetched, even by her standards, because of the lack of evidence she could rely on. There was no proof or promise of accuracy, but it was her only theory.

Johanna Constantine did not want to lose another friend.

“The nightmare said that this isn’t your only world.” Her voice held steady, never taking her eyes off of Y/N.

This time, she got a response. Y/N forced herself to look at Johanna, tears falling down her face and brimming the edges of her eyes, choking out a sob as she held her arm tighter against her chest.

The wind grew stronger and she curled into herself, the cracks and the glow radiating from them reaching her neck and jaw.

Horrified, Johanna continued, feeling her own tears threatening to fall. “They said that the end has begun, but it’s only begun—this isn’t the end, not yet— not fucking yet.” Hoping that her loud, albeit wavering voice, could be heard through all the chaos, she continued. “Follow them, follow the nightmare. Go to your world—wherever that is!”

Y/N screamed louder as the cracks crawled higher, reaching the side of her head as Johanna shielded her eyes from the now blinding light that emitted from them.

For a moment, Johanna felt the light cover the entirety of her living room; there was a force like an explosion and she was thrown to the nearest wall before painfully hitting the ground with a thud and a groan.

As fast as she could, Johanna got to her feet, her eyes trailing to where Y/N once was, only to find that there was nothing but an empty space, her destroyed living room being the only proof that everything had even happened.

She would wait for Y/N to return—if she was still alive to do so. Johanna hoped she was right, and that Y/N was safe.

Until then, she would avoid going by the Inn for a little while. She knew that Y/N’s father deserved to be informed that he might have just lost his daughter—but then again, when had she ever been good at those conversations?

If she ever had to deliver such news, she would have someone else do it. It would be a kindness to both him and herself.

Neither of them would have to face the woman who could not save his daughter.

“Shit,” she muttered. “You better come back soon, you arse.”

* * *

“Before we go, my Lord—I feel there is something you should know.”

Turning back to face Lucienne, Morpheus awaited the news. His realm, in his absence, had decayed and collapsed. There was nothing Lucienne could say that would make matters worse.

They were just about to leave the ruins of the palace, concluding that if the Dreaming was to return to its previous self, they would have to pay Cain, Abel, and Gregory a visit.

“There was a child—one who frequented the palace long after you had gone.”

Morpheus’ eyes narrowed, standing straighter if it were even possible. The Heart of the Dreaming was not easily accessible to humans; a child, no matter their ability to lucid dream, should not have been able to come into his Kingdom unwelcomed.

Unless of course the child was a Vortex, in which case he would have a bigger problem on his hands.

Lucienne cleared her throat before continuing. “The last I saw of her, she had already grown up. And in the years she spent here almost every night, she…” Lucienne paused, not knowing the right words to say. “...helped sustain the realm. She—”

“That is not possible,” Morpheus interrupted.

What had given this child the right to enter his realm, roam its lands and interact with its inhabitants, taking advantage of his absence to welcome herself in the heart of the Dreaming?

But most importantly, what had given her the ability to sustain it? Clearly Lucienne would not feel the need to inform him if this had only been a lost human, finding themselves in a place in which they had not intended to be.

“But it is, my Lord,” the librarian responded, walking a few steps closer to Morpheus, but still remaining a good distance away. “I had not seen her in more than a decade, but shortly before your return, she came back with powers I had not seen since your capture. She was able to mend the throne room in mere seconds.”

“You mean to tell me that this… trespasser was capable of altering my realm?”

Lucienne bowed her head. Lord Morpheus was clearly angered, but she did not wish for Y/N to be the subject of his wrath, not when she had only ever been a gift to the Dreaming and its inhabitants.

“Yes, my Lord,” she gulped. “But her actions held no malice—”

“She had no authority to do such things. I must find her when I am in possession of my tools. A creature with such disrespect for the Kingdom in which she does not belong must be punished.”

Instinctively, Lucienne took one more step toward Morpheus, one word escaping her lips before she could stop herself. “No.”

The King of Dreams was taken aback. He had not known his librarian to have such audacity, and it rendered him momentarily speechless.

“No?”

“With all due respect, Dream Lord, she was never a creature of harm. She was human. One who held much love for the Dreaming.” The librarian tilted her chin up, willing herself to stand her ground against Morpheus.

Her last interaction with Y/N did not go very well, but it did not take away all she had done for their realm.

Y/N, to much of the Dreaming’s inhabitants, represented hope that they had not seen in decades.

“Your siblings may not have come to your aid, but she did, regardless of her ignorance about who you are. She wore your clothing, she resembled your power. I believe you must go to her, but I implore you not to punish her for simply caring about our home.”

Lucienne’s description of the girl sparked a memory in Morpheus’ mind, his anger being wiped off his almost-expressionless face, replaced with one of curiosity and recognition.

In the years of his capture, he had only seen one woman who wore the same clothing as he—one who held the cosmos in her eyes.

The woman who was the sole reason for his escape.

He must find her.

“And what is this human’s name, Lucienne?”

“Y/N.”

***

There was only silence.

Darkness enveloped Y/N’s being as she floated aimlessly somewhere void of any life or matter. There was no burning, and there was no light. Only quiet and eerie solitude

She was conscious, but she could not move, she could not scream, and she could not breathe. Y/N could only think, and in the blackness, she was unsure whether or not she could even see. Was she blind? Or were her eyes simply closed?

Fresh air entered her lungs and she inhaled deeply, not able to control her breathing as she finally felt herself get thrust into existence. She coughed, choking on the oxygen reviving her body.

She opened her eyes, realizing that she was lying on her back. Still clutching her hand to her chest, she sat up, beginning to hyperventilate as she assessed where she landed herself in this time.

Judging by the sky, she was no longer in Johanna’s residence.

She had spent quite a while in the void between realms, having floated in nothingness for hours before she arrived at the destination she was meant for. It had absorbed the light that escaped her, healing the cracks that took over half of her body.

Around her, Y/N could see the very familiar plane of the Dreaming. She sat on the wooden pier, the fog no longer as thick as the last time she visited.

“Ma’am?” a voice called, and the figure of Lucienne cautiously approached her from several feet away.

Y/N’s eyes brimmed with unshed tears. Her body was wracked with silent sobs, hiccuping frequently as she tried to swallow her cries, her breathing getting worse as her now-healed hand became pale with how tightly she gripped her arm.

Lucienne had just seen the Dream Lord leave to begin his search for his tools, and she was on her way to get him a raven despite his disapproval, when she heard a thump near the edge of the pier.

Aside from Morpheus, there was only one who dressed so similarly.

It was apparent to Lucienne that Y/N had come back, but by the looks of it, her usual enthusiasm upon arriving was no longer present.

“Ma’am?” Lucienne asked once more, softer, as she kneeled beside Y/N and placed a firm but gentle hand on her shoulder.

As Y/N looked into Lucienne’s eyes, she began to understand what the librarian was so afraid of when they last met; she remembered her reflection in Johanna’s window.

How did she look as she sat there, weeping from the pain and uncertainty of who or what she might be? Was she still the same Y/N that belonged to the human realm? Or has she embodied her form in the glass?

She brought her knees up to her chest, curling into herself as she tried to even her breathing, unable to respond to Lucienne.

A part of her hoped that Lucienne did not fear her anymore, but another part wanted to tell her to stay away.

Y/N saw how the light burnt Johanna, how it caused her pain, and it was the kind of hurt she wanted away from the Dreaming.

“What happened, ma’am? Are you okay?”

When Y/N kept quiet, Lucienne gingerly moved her hand to hold the one Y/N was keeping tightly against her chest. There was a look of sincere kindness on her face as she patiently waited for her to speak.

Y/N had not known it then, but Lucienne would have waited days if it meant letting her talk when she was ready.

She choked back a sob. Y/N, though she never knew Lucienne to be cruel, expected her to run from her considering their last encounter. Then, she was considered a threat.

And now, Y/N believed she still was.

Lucienne softly squeezed her hand. “You are in the Dreaming, ma’am. You know nothing will harm you here.”

Not then, at least. Lucienne did not know what would become of her once the Dream Lord came back, but until then, she spoke true.

And if Morpheus wished to punish her, he would have to answer to the rest of the Dreaming’s inhabitants.

Y/N only seemed to cry louder, and just when Lucienne was ready to sit with her for however long she needed, Y/N wrapped her arms around the librarian, embracing her with as much strength as she could muster.

Hesitantly at first, Lucienne reciprocated,

As Y/N attempted to utter her next words, Lucienne wrapped her arms a little tighter around the weeping girl.

It seemed that it was all she needed to be able to admit what she could not for the longest time.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

It was then that Lucienne realized that though Y/N was all grown, despite all the years that had passed, Y/N was truly just a human unfortunate enough to have been given powers she was never made to understand.

This version of her, the one who had exerted such control over a realm not her own, was still as innocent as the little girl who wandered the halls of the palace years ago.

Notes:

Aaaaand we're done for this chapter! What did you guys think? I would love to know.

Like last time, I'll *try* to upload again in two weeks. But of course, if the word count ends up being 16k again, it's going to take longer.

#When Dreams Despair #dream of the endless #dream of the endless x reader #the sandman netflix #lord morpheus #morpheus x reader angst #morpheus x reader fluff #sandman netflix #the sandman #the sandman fanfic #the sandman imagine #dream of the endless imagine #morpheus x you #sandman x reader #dream of the endless x you #morpheus fanfiction #morpheus imagine #dream x reader #morpheus x reader

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starlight-shades · 8 months

Text

Called Home to the Depths of the Forest Ch 3

• summary – Simon goes grocery shopping and proceeds to have lots of feelings

• rating – M

• wordcount – 4.3k

• warnings – references to Ghost's backstory, mentions of previous character deaths, mention of previous suicidal thoughts

• This is my first fanfic, so please let me know if there's anything I forgot to tag. Feedback is welcome and encouraged

Read on Ao3

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2, Chapter 4

Leaving that morning had not been hard per se, but he hadn’t really known what to say. To Johnny, sure, he just gave him his usual nod and a bit of a grunt and that was that, but how do you say farewell to a child? To one you had only known for a day or two, but had unexpectedly come under your guardianship, and formed a hard and fast bond with? How about two?

Simon was still thinking about it as he stood in front of the village’s meagre offering of parenting books in their local bookshop. Alice, the older woman who owned the shop, was already familiar with him as he would semi-regularly stop in to pick up a new book whenever he got bored of the ones he had in his cabin (many of which he had already reread half a dozen times). He could feel her eyes boring into him, and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to deduce why.

“Simon, love, why on God’s green earth are you looking at parenting books?”

She wasn’t known for being subtle.

“Needed something to read,” he rumbled back at her, a little more gruffly than he had intended. He liked Alice.

“Aye, I ken that, but why parenting?”

Simon shrugged. Liking someone only got them so far. He knew that this would send the village gossip mill into a frenzy, but his life wasn’t their business. His reputation as “brooding and mysterious” hadn’t been earned by answering questions.

“Have you gotten someone pregnant, Simon?”

That was laughable, for more than one reason. Instead of actually laughing, however, he just made his selection and moved onto the children’s book section (this did not help assuage Alice’s curiosity).

He grabbed books for children ranging from the board books for babies all the way up through chapter books with no pictures. Simon still had no idea how old they were after all.

Alice was still muttering to herself about him, but he tuned her out, instead directing his attention elsewhere.

When he saw a book about famous artists, he added it to the pile with Johnny in mind. There was something in him that ached at the thought of the little ones curled up with Johnny on the couch as he read to them about something he loved. He could picture the feral smile that would stretch across his face as he added his own commentary to the short descriptions about Van Gogh and Frida Kahlo. Would Ailsa be interested in art? Would Duncan?

Simon found himself thinking of all the different possibilities that stretched before them. They could be anything, like anything, love anything. And he would be there to witness it all. Like a gentle beast in his throat, he could feel Hope stretch her wings in welcome for the future.

But like all good things in his life, this tentative joy could not last.

His heart gave a stutter when he came across “Where the Wild Things Are” by Maurice Sendak. He paused, hand hovering over it. Setting down the books he had already chosen, his hands, only barely shaking, opened to the first page. There was a burning sensation behind his eyes, but he ignored it, mouthing along to the words as he slowly read through the book.

Simon remembered doing the voices of the Wild Things. He could practically taste the sounds in his mouth. His feet would not be the only ones stomping on the floor, and a tiny growl would join him in the rumpus.

This had been Joseph’s favorite to read with Uncle Simon. He had liked to read “Goodnight Moon” with his mom, and Dr. Seuss with his dad, but when it was Uncle Simon putting him down to sleep, he would always request “Where the Wild Things Are.” Sometimes, Simon would substitute his nephew’s name for that of the main character, and he could remember the little giggles that always resulted when he did that.

Shaking himself from his stupor, he closed the book and shoved it to the middle of his pile. He threw a few more on top, just for good measure (one of which was a cook book as he only knew how to cook like two things).

Luckily, he had driven into town today instead of hiking, so he had plenty of room.

Alice looked like she had wanted to say something as she rang him up, but his continued silence seemed to be enough to dissuade her. At almost the last minute, a bookmark displayed on one of the end caps caught his eye. Noting the ladybird pattern, he added it to his purchases. He watched Alice’s eyebrows creep higher on her face, but she refrained from commenting.

Simon knew that the book club she hosted would be rife with gossip and theories. Janet at the hardware store always caught him up on everything they said about him whenever he was in there. Whether he liked it or not. Speaking of Janet, that was his next stop.

He dropped off his haul at the car, and only spent thirty minutes sitting in the driver’s seat in silence. His shoulder where he got stabbed was also bothering him, but he resolutely ignored it. Simon had changed out the dressing this morning, and Johnny’s sharp glare at the wound told him that there would be a conversation about it when they put the little ones down tonight.

His cabin was quickly becoming too cramped, and he needed to start making plans to expand it. From his experience building the rest of it, Simon already had a pretty solid idea of what he would need.

In those early days, he had fallen into woodworking. He couldn’t be around other people for very long, but he had needed something to do with himself. Woodworking, he found, was physical enough to engage him to the point where he could shut off his mind. There was no thought beyond the next phase of construction, or later, the next piece of furniture he needed. He could escape his own ghosts.

If he had seen that book when he had first retired, it would have broken him. Even still, Simon knew what the muzzle of his handgun tasted like. And the echoes of the past that he was getting now were reminding him of those tortured days. At least when he had actually been tortured, he had a goal in mind.

Oh how fervently he had worked to stay silent, to avoid giving into the conditioning that his comrades had fallen prey to.

But when he got out of the military, when he had retired the Ghost, there was nothing left for him. It took all he had to get through each day. Having a project had helped.

And now, he was thankful for those skills. Because of them, he would be able to help Ailsa and Duncan.

For that, he would need lumber.

“There’s a man I like to see!” Janet’s voice crowed out to him.

As he turned to where her voice had come from, he saw her standing sentinel at her till (only she was allowed to use that one).

Janet was a hag of a woman, with wrinkled, gnarled hands, and age spots dotting along her skin. Her white hair was wild in the bun she always had it tied in, but strands of it escaped and hung, wisp-like around her face. Around her wrists and neck were always rows upon rows of beads and baubles, which was an odd choice for someone who worked in a hardware store, Simon thought.

She had been his first friend.

They had bonded over their shared disdain for most other people. Her son, a middle-aged man named Donald who also worked there always gawped at them when he saw them speaking with each other. Most people, he had gleaned, found her to be rather unpleasant.

What had solidified Simon in Janet’s esteem had been when he had thrown a drunk man bodily out of the store when he had started threatening her for refusing to sell him anything. He had scared the piss out of the bastard, but Janet took one look at him, and a rather frightening smile had creeped across her face. From then on, whenever he came in, she would be the one to help him, answering his questions when he couldn’t figure out a particular problem he was having in his cabin construction. Once she tried to give him a discount, but he had refused.

“Janet,” he greeted. On his way from the bookshop, he had stopped at the bakery in town and gotten her a pastry.

“I knew I liked you for a reason, laddie,” she cooed, more at the pastry than at him, but Simon didn’t mind.

When someone tried to approach her register, her narrowed gaze shot up. A finger that looked like it could belong to a witch from one of those old fairytales stabbed in the direction of the other (empty) lane.

“Can’t ye see I’m helpin’ someone else?” she barked. Taking an eager bite of her pastry, red jam spilling onto her chin, Janet clicked on the walkie-talkie on her apron. “Donald get yer scrawny ass up here and help a customer.”

After knowing her for years, Simon knew how to handle interactions with Janet. It was at this moment that he would wait, let her finish her snack, then tell her what he needed.

Taking the last few bites, she spoke again. “Heard you were in town the other day. What are you doing back so soon?”

“I’m expanding the cabin. Need to order some things.” She knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t elaborate.

“Think we can handle that for you.” Licking the last of the jam off her fingers, she got out a pad of paper and a half-chewed pen she kept tucked behind her ear. “Alright, tell ol’ Janet what you need, and we’ll go ahead and get that ordered for you.”

After detailing an extensive list of supplies to her, he added. “And put a rush on it.”

“Aye.” Tucking the pen behind her ear again, she narrowed her eyes at him, studying him far closer than he was comfortable with, but he had long ago learned that this was something he would have to put up with from her. She was one of those rare people who was more stubborn than him. “You look too skinny. You need to eat more.”

He didn’t but she always said that.

“I’ll take it under advisement, thanks.”

Janet just glared at him. “Oh sod off, ye big British cunt.”

He smiled at that. “Just give me a call when it comes in.” She was one of a handful of people with the number for the landline at his cabin.

That done, he quickly made his way through the next few errands. His car, an old Land Rover that looked like it had been through both World Wars, began to fill with toys (both for human children and dogs— he had no idea which the pups would prefer), more dishes, more towels (they were messy), and anything else he could think of. There was even one of those backpack (front-pack?) things you could strap babies to your chest with. He was covering as many bases as he could.

Deciding against getting clothes was a difficult call, but there were just too many factors at play. The biggest factor was the question of what size to get, but he was also worried about whether or not they struggled with certain textures like him.

Now, he was back in the grocery store, loading up now that he had three more mouths to feed (but from what he had seen Johnny could eat for three more people all by himself) Simon was overwhelmed as he stood in the cereal aisle of the grocery store. There were so many options. What did kids eat? The sugary ones were out of the question, but he couldn’t tell which ones would taste good. He usually just had tea for breakfast.

Simon knew that this much thought was likely unnecessary when it came to a decision like this, but he felt like he was on a dangerous precipice any time he had to make a choice when it came to Ailsa and Duncan. He really didn’t want to fuck them up.

“Can I help you, sir?” an employee asked as they approached him. He didn’t recognize her, luckily.

“Which of these is your favorite?” he asked.

She shot him an incredulous look. “Ehm, this one I guess,” she said, pointing to something with freeze-dried strawberries in it.

He put four boxes in his cart, nodding his thanks to her as he turned and left.

She looked even more confused now when she caught sight of his cart. And maybe to an outside perspective, the contents might be a little odd.

He had about a dozen different meat products (for breakfast and supper purposes—maybe the pups liked sausage with their eggs), a bag of bones that he had to make a special request at the butcher counter for (would they teethe? if not, he could use it for stock), three gallons of milk (one 1%, one 2%, and one whole), practically all of their stock of orange juice concentrate (he knew they liked it, and it froze well), six loaves of bread, and what could only be described as close to a metric ton of produce (mostly potatoes—they stored well in his cellar). There were also three bags of the sour candies that he knew Johnny liked.

Simon also had so many things that he could only guess what they were, but the cook book he picked up had called for them in some of the recipes he flipped through, so he added them to the cart. He was satisfied if he ate the same things every day, but he wanted to be able to feed the pups properly. There was also an element of not wanting to disappoint Johnny, but that was less relevant… mostly…

After much deliberation and more bewildered looks from staff, he checked out and loaded the groceries into his car.

A rather brisk gust of wind blew with it the scent of rain on the way. A look up at the horizon showed storm clouds on their way in. Usually his joints would alert him to inclement storms, but he attributed the pain he felt to all of the stress he’d been under. It was also harder to pick out those usual aches when he had a stab wound in his shoulder.

Simon sighed, daydreaming about the hot shower waiting for him when he got home as he slid behind the wheel. It was a two-hour hike from the village to his cabin, but it was an hour drive back. The winding roads added more time than he thought necessary, but he also wasn’t going to advocate to the local council for a more direct route. Less traffic meant less people out in the woods.

Thinking back to the other night, it usually meant less people out in the woods.

At least the coming storm would wash away the blood in the clearing. He and Johnny probably needed to have a conversation about what he had done with the bodies, but if Simon was being realistic with himself, he probably wouldn’t bring it up. Better to let it rest, he thought. They were deep enough in the forest that it was unlikely anyone would find any evidence left behind.

Simon allowed himself a small smile as he slowed along the gravel drive leading to his cabin. For once, he was glad to be home for more than the freedom from the attention he always got in town.

The sound of the car door thudding shut echoed through the front yard. Ghost’s senses were immediately on high alert.

It was far too quiet, not even the warble of a bird.

His sidearm was still shut away in his bedroom, but he never went anywhere unarmed. Sliding his hunting knife from his belt, Ghost approached the cabin door on silent feet.

Adrenaline racing through his body, he pressed his ear to the door. Nothing. No sign of any movement that he could hear, not even Johnny’s rumbling snore if they were asleep.

With his back to the cabin wall, Ghost crept along the perimeter of the building. A glance through every window he passed revealed empty room after empty room. Luckily there was no blood that he could see so far, but it did nothing to assuage the pounding of his heart in his chest.

He approached the front door again, having finished a complete walk-around of the cabin. Ghost was about ease the door open, one hand on the knob one hand with the knife at the ready, before he heard a voice behind him.

“Si!”

Whipping around, he only managed to stop the knife throw that was his automatic reaction, registering a friendly face before he was taken to the ground.

Two wiggling, yipping young wolves covered his face in a thick layer of saliva as they licked anywhere that they could get to. It took him a moment to fully comprehend the situation, and an even longer moment to process the very naked man standing over him, laughing his ass off.

Johnny was wheezing, he was laughing so hard. He had apparently just shifted back into his human shape.

Simon could taste his pulse, the faint flavor of vermilion lingering in his mouth. Ailsa and Duncan had slowed, but not stopped their excited greeting, and he couldn’t bring himself to yell around them in that moment. This was the happiest he had seen them so far.

“They missed you,” Johnny was saying. “We were practicing our stalking, and you presented the perfect opportunity.”

“Don’t ever do that again,” he seethed as calmly as he could, his racing heart pushing him to pursue rage over fear.

The other man’s face fell.

“I could have hurt you,” he tried explaining, sheathing his knife once again.

“Even if you got me, I could heal most wounds, Si,” Johnny argued, brow furrowing.

“I don’t care,” he snapped, stroking his hands over the pups when they startled. Trying again, he took a deep breath, gentling his voice. “I thought something happened, that someone had come to hurt you, or take them or— I don’t know.”

Duncan whined, pushing into Simon’s lap.

“Oh, I’m sorry, dove, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he murmured into the baby-soft fur on his head.

Johnny let out a long breath. “I’m sorry too, I should have thought that through better. Just wanted to have a bit of fun.”

“I know, just… just don’t do that again.”

They were quiet for a few moments, Simon sitting and stroking Duncan with one hand and Ailsa with the other.

“Did you have fun with Johnny while I was out?” he asked them, trying to lighten the mood again.

Ailsa perked up a bit, and nodded enthusiastically, stepping up with her front paws on his leg. She let out a couple excited yips, forgetting that she was still in her wolf-shape and Simon couldn’t understand her.

He humored her anyway.

“It sounds like you had a good time. And Duncan, did you have fun today?”

The darker pup in his lap shifted, looking up at him and giving him a smaller, but no less definitive nod.

“Ailsa here is going to be an ace hunter soon, but I have a feeling Duncan would enjoy another activity instead,” Johnny added, still sounding chastised.

“Well I might have some options for him here in the car.”

That perked up both of the children who scrambled off of Simon and eagerly followed him to the aforementioned car. He wordlessly started handing Johnny the groceries before digging around in the bags to find the ones he was looking for.

“I wasn’t sure what kind of toys you’d like, so I just got a bunch,” he told them, feeling a little ridiculous as he handed Ailsa the bag of dog toys and Duncan the bag of toys for human children.

“Why don’t you two bring those inside?” Johnny called from the doorway where he had propped it open.

While the pups dug into their toys (some quite literally— there was cardboard and plastic shredded everywhere from all the packaging), the two adults set about unloading the rest of the car. Moving around each other, working as a team, falling into a rhythm was something Simon hadn’t experienced in years. It was strangely comforting, to have someone else there with him.

When he realized on their next trip what exactly was in the bags Simon had given Ailsa, Johnny snorted. “You do know that they’re not dogs, right?”

He shot him a look. “Yeah, but I wasn’t sure what they’d like to play with. Wanted to make sure they had something no matter what shape they’re in.”

“Oh that’s actually sweet,” Johnny cooed at him. “Aren’t you just a big softie.”

“Oi, shut it.” He pushed at his shoulder, soft enough to make sure the other man knew he was teasing, but still plenty rough.

And he did shut up, at least for as long as it took him to find the baby backpack.

“What exactly were you gonna do with this?” he practically squealed, or as much as a grown man is capable of squealing.

“Well, do you know how old they are?” Simon shot back.

“Older than this, that’s for sure,” he laughed.

Johnny paused for a moment, and he could practically see the wheels turning in his head. A sinking feeling settled into his stomach when a feral grin lit his face, teeth a little too sharp to be human. The Scot slid the backpack on and took off for the cabin.

“Ailsa, love, come be a dear!”

“Well shit,” Simon sighed.

He gathered more bags to take inside, walking in to see Johnny tucking Ailsa, still in her wolf shape, into the backpack.

“Didn’t you just say they were too big for that?”

He was struggling, as Ailsa had started wiggling, bored of this activity already.

“Yeah, but I think I can still get her in it.”

She let out a couple barks, wiggling even harder, tail wagging.

“I don’t think she’s going to let you,” Simon chuckled, moving to take her from Johnny.

As he gathered her up in his arms, she gave him a couple quick licks on his chin before wiggling enough for him to understand that she wanted to be put down again.

The rest of the unloading was uneventful, but hauling all of the supplies had aggravated his shoulder. Simon thought he had been discrete enough about his pain, but as soon as the door shut on his bedroom, the pups tucked in for the night after another chapter or two, Johnny was there.

By that point in the evening, the storm had begun in earnest outside.

“Let’s get you looked at, big guy.”

Johnny directed him to sit on a stool in the bathroom where he had already pulled out a first aid kit.

“I’m fine,” he tried to argue.

“Oh none of that. Off with the shirt before I rip it off you.”

Simon felt his ears burn and the telltale rush of blood rushing to his cheeks. More to avoid any observations about his reaction to Johnny’s words than anything else, he pulled his shirt off and sat, facing away from his friend.

His friend. They were friends, he supposed.

Rough, calloused, warm hands settled on his bare skin, and he flinched.

“S’just me, Si,” Johnny murmured in his rumbling Scottish brogue. He rubbed at the tension in his neck for a moment before he began peeling back the bandages Simon had haphazardly applied.

“Oh that must’ve been a bitch,” he hissed as he caught sight of the wound for the first time.

“Should’ve seen the other guy,” Simon tried joking before remembering that Johnny had indeed already seen the man who had stabbed him.

Silence fell in the fluorescent light of the bathroom.

Wordlessly, Johnny cleaned out the wound again before he reached back into the first aid kit to grab the needle and thread. He didn’t question why Simon had included it in the kit, he never questioned anything. When he touched him again, pressing the sides of the wound together so he could begin the sutures, Simon flinched again. Johnny just rested his hands against his back, letting him get used to the touch again, only moving when he relaxed marginally.

“I ripped them to pieces.”

“What?”

Johnny spoke again, his tone grave, but his voice soft. “I tore them apart. When I saw what they had done, I lost it. Seeing the wee ones already sent me into a bit of a frenzy. But those hunters, I— it sent me over the edge.”

He didn’t say anything, just let Johnny speak, listened to the creep of rage slinking its way into his voice.

“We’re hunted by a handful of idiots who know what is out there, but that don’t believe that we have any humanity.” Johnny let out a sarcastic huff. “Ironic. The monsters being more human than the actual humans.”

They sat in silence for another moment as Johnny finished the last stitch on Simon’s shoulder.

"I'm sorry again about this afternoon."

"I know."

Silence again before—

“I wish I had done worse,” he confessed. “I know you killed them already for what they did, but I want to kill them all over again for hurting you too.”

Frozen, Simon just gaped like a fish out of water as Johnny applied another bandage. He couldn’t even gather his thoughts enough to speak by the time he was done cleaning up the mess they had made on the counter.

“Goodnight, Simon,” he murmured on his way out of the room, giving him one last squeeze to his good shoulder.

#soapghost #fic #my fic #fanfiction #werewolf soap #john soap mactavish #ghost #simon ghost riley #soft simon #eventually we'll get a chapter where simon doesn't have to relive his trauma

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