Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Creation

To create is to bring about something new, to create a spark of life even if not of the kind that can live and breathe.

To create is to take an observation, a thought and turn it into a concept.

To create is to take a concept and turn it into an idea.

To create is to take an idea and turn it into words.

to create is to take the words, and speak them, correct yourself over and over again, until you have made a story.

Everyone has a story, even if their story is as simple as their creation and destruction. As everyone has a beginning and an end, an alpha and an omega.

Not every story starts at the beginning, but every story starts, and that in itself is a beginning.

The universe itself has many creation stories. from that of words that took root in the very soul of the galaxy, the simple "let there be light" and then there was. Or the raging chaos that brought about the earth and the sky whose children plotted, murdered, and abused. Or the combination of two unlikely beings birthing the earth itself. or maybe, perhaps, the loneliness of one who wished for more. Or maybe, a simple reaction of cause and effect and suddenly, there was something.

And stories, create art which inspires the psyche.

For the one who creates is also one who is an artist.

As the artist creates new realities off of existing ones. the artist critiques the reality we live in or maybe romanticizes it.

But what does it mean to separate the art from the artist? does the art reflect the artist, or the artist the art? if the art is bad is the artist? if the artist is bad is the art? if the one who inspires and gives hope to us all is the reason we need hope in the first place, how do we judge them?

If the art drives someone to do something, is it the artist's fault? if the art was misinterpreted, is it the artists fault for not being clear in their point, or the viewers fault for being the one who didn't understand? If the artist means their message and the message gets across, are they at fault for the change that quakes the consciousness of those who view it?

But what is the most important is that art creates dreams which branch and wind and twist and reach.

For dreams, define not what isn't real, but what is.

For without dreams, who could create? Who could create reality itself without something to base it off of?

If dreams ceased to exist, what would ground us in this reality of ours. What would blur the lines to change and shift our reality. If enough people dream the same dream, if enough people make the same choice, will who and what we are change completely?

Dreams extend the self into the reality of the subconscious. offers new perspectives, collapses boundaries that do and don't exist.

dreams threaten the walls you've hid behind. nightmare illuminate truths. fears. possible and absurd realities. Simply because you are the most vulnerable when you sleep and nothing can be done about that.

So, just as one might destroy to pave the way to creation, dreams illuminate reality.

Creation leaves the hungry mind wanting, and the thirsty soul parched.

Waiting to be filled by the feast of the creator.

A role I will ponder, and envy.

Envious of the impact of those who dream.

To be the one to bring change and to inspire is something I will long for, in an oppressively loud silence.

Chapter Text

I took in a deep breath, wanting nothing more than to disassociate into the sound of the waves crashing into the shore and the smell of salt and various dead things. I dug my heels into the sand, looking at my lap, which held a half-completed sketch of a crow picking at something in the rocks of the beach. I held my head in my hands with a sigh as if I continued to stare it would allow me to figure out what was wrong with it and where my motivation went. Maybe it got lost in one of those stupidly repetitive rocks that I've been drawing and shading for the past 30 minutes. Thank God for music, or this would be a living hell.

Why did I choose a beach? It's too hot for this. Like, I understand I don't get out much and have a horrible tolerance to heat, but come on.

"LOOK OUT!"

Suddenly, I felt thousands of tiny particles on my face and an extra weight in my lap. I grimaced, knowing there was probably sand in my hair. I slowly opened my eyes to see a decently tall teenage boy looking at me guiltily, running his hands through his hair.

"Sorry man, uh, ma'am, uh… dude?" he stuttered out, "didn't mean to hit ya."

I sighed, looking down at my lap to see a sand-covered and mildly wet Frisbee on my sketchbook. I picked it up with a grimace, looking up at him as I held it up, and more sand fell on me, getting all over my towel.

"I guess this is yours?" I said, matter-of-factly.

"u-uh yeah. Sorry, didn't mean to bug ya," he said, reaching towards it, grabbing it and holding it like it was a test with a less-than-amazing grade drawn right on the front of it.

"Yeah, yeah, don't worry. It's okay." I said, my tone and my face contrasting with each other. I watched him with a smile as he walked off, apologizing the whole time. When he left and went back to his group of friends, my smile dropped to a neutral expression. I turned to inspect my sketchbook.

Another deep sigh couldn't help but escape my throat. My drawing was vaguely stained by a ring of moisture and particles of sand stuck to the paper. I'd have to wait for the page to dry before working with it anymore. Of course, there would be sand in the place covered in sand. Why didn't I think of that?

I closed my sketchbook with a sense of finality. There goes all motivation for today. officially robbed from me. can't even be mad at that one kid because he just sucks at frisbee. I'm not even good at frisbee either and yanno, hypocrites suck.

I put my sketchbook away into a small, stained, and fraying bag beside me. Standing up and beginning to pack away my stuff into the bag, I felt for my phone and saw a notification from a friend on my home screen.

[THEY ARE DOING THE ENTIRE REST OF THE COMIC SERIES IN SEASON 2]

I paused, opening my messages app.

[your talking about Sandman, right?]

[you're* and yeah! You said the comics were good, right?]

[okay, one screw you. and two, if we watch season two together, I'm going to cry towards one of the later episodes.]

[you? cry? during a tv show? I'd pay to see that.]

[You already do. you own the Netflix account.]

[Either way, you should probably do your ritual of re-watching the entire show before a new season comes out. That way I don't have to wait an extra month to watch it with you.]

[fine. I'll do that now. But it will make me very sad to think the story is going to die sooner than expected.]

[...what?]

[just dramatic musings of mine. I had a massive book hangover when I finished sandman, so it's going to suck when season 2 is done and they enviably miss content that I'm going to want to re-read.]

[oh. L.]

[Ima go re-watch now.]

I closed my message app, pulling up the Netflix app, staring at the resume button with a grimace.

"Welp. time to go through ten layers of emotional brutality." I mumbled to myself, putting in earbuds and starting episode one.

"We begin... in the waking world, which humanity insists on calling the real world."

I watched as the introduction played, I gasped, realizing the sheer amount of foreshadowing in it that I had missed previously, occasionally looking up to see the waves approaching or a random bird attempting to steal someone's food.

I watched as Hathaway entered the Burgess mansion and interacted with Alex, finding his way through the halls of the mansion into the study to discuss with Roderick. When they began their conversation, I put my phone back into my bag, listening to the dialogue and imagining the scene in my head as I walked the beach. grimacing at the line "Randall was my greatest joy." How do you just say that In Front of a kid?

"If I give you the book... can you really...?"

"Capture the angel of death? Oh yes."

I chuckled at the dramatic irony and kicked a rock on the beach, watching as it bounced into the waves with a splash. The scene continued to play out a bit.

"Please...."

"Here in the darkness... here in the darkness... here in the darkness..."

welp. There he goes off to 106 years of imprisonment.

"I give you a coin made from a stone, I give you a knife from under the hills, and I give you the blood from out of my vein." Roderick's voice echoes into my ears, "I give you a song I stole from the dirt, and I give you a feather, pulled from an angel's wing, for you to lift up into the heavens." Does anybody know where he got that? Like, some of this stuff is oddly specific.

I pulled out my phone, deciding to watch this next part, only to grimace when my phone screen went black. Was it water-damaged or something? I swiped at the screen wildly, trying to see if the brightness was low or something of the sort. But it wasn't working, and yet I could still hear the climactic music coming from it.

"Here in the darkness. Here in the darkness. Here in the darkness. Here in the darkness!"

"I summon you with poison! I summon you with pain!" The sounds of the pages turning in the grimoire reverberate in my ears. "I open the way; I open the gates." The signal burst to life. I try to turn my phone off and on again. nothing. "I summon you in the name of the old lords. Namtar, Allatu, Morax... Maborym calls you. " The sound wraps around me, feeling almost 3D, "Horvendile calls you."

I take out an earbud, confused, before my eyes widen, hearing the sounds of the chanting continue.

"haha... I thought delirium didn't show up until the season of mists." I joked out loud to nobody in particular as I took my earbuds out completely, trying to stop the sound of the chanting, feeling like my eardrums would burst from the noise.

"We summon you together. Come!"

I close my eyes, my fingers tightening from some sort of invisible pain and willing it to stop. I felt nauseous and like my body was twisting in on itself. The sun felt too bright, and the sounds of the beach felt too loud.

silence.

Like in a moment, all I felt was an oppressive silence as my body kept moving, but of its own volition, twisting and writhing in pain. Not a sound was made. not a scream. nothing. The noises were gone. Every noise was gone. All signs of life except for myself were gone. Not even the life of the ocean crashing against the shore violently was there to comfort me.

Then there were no smells of the salt, brine, and Dimethyl sulfide that the human senses were so well... sensitive to. Nothing of the sort was there, though.

It was suffocating. The air had escaped my lungs. I felt like I was sinking. Maybe I was.

Then went my ability to feel. The sand between my feet continued to shift, yet there was a dull numbness that prevented me from being able to actually feel it.

I could only watch as the sand stuck to my clothes came off, and circled me, some sort of invisible wind picking it up and new particles from the ground of the beach. It was nauseating. If I could even control my stomach, I would have thrown up.

I was falling. or sinking. I couldn't tell anymore.

I was brought to my knees by some sort of intense pressure, instinctively pushing my hands into the beach, only to continue sinking, watching as it covered my hands. my elbows and knees. My arms and legs. then... me.

The sand dragged me into it, wrapping around me like a suffocating blanket.

Then went my sight. sudden and instant.

I tried to scream with one last burst of energy, but sand filled my mouth

Then there was nothing.

Chapter Text

I've fallen from large distances before, but I've never fallen like this.

I don't know how to begin to describe it, but I will try anyway. You deserve a proper explanation.

Have you ever woken up from a nightmare of falling to your death, but you still feel like you're falling, almost through your bed? Where you aren't moving, but your body is convinced that it is?

Now, combine it with the feeling of being shoved underwater by a force outside of your control.

I say this because the sand around me had changed from a solid to a liquid

I had gone from sinking to drowning.

But I wasn't doing either. I was falling.

The particles cut my skin. leaving just the smallest scratches all over my body, but somehow leaving me bleeding in random areas like I had been well... sanded down.

Then I was floating.

I was still falling, even in my complete-out-of-it-ness, I could still tell that. However, it was happening so quickly and through such a large empty area that I couldn't feel it anymore. I was weightless.

I tumbled through the very seam of existence and watched, not with eyes, but with some sort of 6th sense as the world's oceans bled into stars and clouds folded and sprouted into mountains. It was like I was being ripped apart in the 4th dimension and then being pulled into literal concepts.

Then I was falling again. Liike, normal falling. full on wind through the hair and the constant fear of what is at the end of it.

then-

THUD

Everything came at me once. sounds. smells. Feeling. sight. Not to mention how everything hurt. How everything stung and how I knew my entire body would be covered in bruises the next day or so.

My lungs and mouth felt clogged, and I coughed and coughed, almost to the point of throwing up. I'm glad I didn't. I'm not sure what would have come out if I did. But something did still escape me. thousands upon thousands of particles of sand escaped my mouth to the best of its ability. I continued to spit and sputter until as much as I could had escaped my mouth. However, little grains continued to stick to my gums and the sides of my mouth, refusing to leave unless my mouth was more hydrated.

So, with a dry mouth, I opened my eyes.

The outside world hurt way more than the feelings and textures of my own body. It was almost sharp. Light had a form, and that form was a knife to my chest. I was hyper-aware of the colors and patterns of the world around me. I was drowning in sensation. Something was constraining me.

I closed my eyes and tried to ground myself, clenching my fist.

okay. You got this. One thing you can taste.

The sand in my mouth. Okay, that's a little obvious. But that works, I guess.

okay. What about two things I can smell?

that sort of musky-moisture smell that comes from being underground, and... smoke from extinguished candles.

oddly specific. Three things I can hear.

My heartbeat. whispers. footsteps.

That can't be good. Four things I can feel.

metal. stone floors beneath my hands. My own scratched skin. The clothes I am wearing.

alright. last one. 5 things I can see.

large pillars... smooth stone floors... metal gates... candles-

shit.

Lo and behold... was a glass sphere, suspended by metal chains, floating over a binding circle. Inside the glass sphere... was Morpheus. Completely naked, as expected, hunched over and staring directly at me with a mostly blank expression and mild glare.

I tried to meet his gaze, but grimaced. in extreme pain from whatever the fuck just happened to me.

"Hey, uh... sup?" I said simply, before groaning. "I apologize in advance for the torture that is my mere presence; you already got enough issues as is." I smile self-deprecatingly and look up at him.

He doesn't reply. Of course. I knew not to expect anything different. but he cocked his head slightly at my apparent understanding of his situation.

"I'd tell you everything, but I don't think either of us is in much of a position to disclose information." I smiled a little at his head tilt, "You kind of look like a cat when you do that." I said bluntly, respectively earning me a glare. "uhhh shit. Sorry, I should probably be a bit more respectful with one of the endless. You aren't gonna curse me to eternal nightmares for that, right?" I ask, slightly joking, but now realizing with my sense of humor I'm screwed.

I sighed, looking away from him, curling into a ball against the wall. My ears perked up to the sound of metal and looked to see chains that were attached to metal bands around my arms and legs.

"So, I'm trapped too? great." I grumbled, lying down on the stone, shifting slightly when the texture of the sand around me continued to cause mild discomfort, like it was more annoying than the intense headache I had along with the various cuts along my body. "I'm just a person, come on." I looked up at him. It seems like he hadn't stopped staring at me.

"I'm really bad at reading expressions. I don't suppose you know asl?" I joked, before sighing again, trying to downplay my sentence by running my hand through my hair, but stopping when I realized my chains made way too much noise than I wanted right now. "Normally, I'd be really awkward over the fact I'm talking to myself in front of other people when they are completely, but considering I'm so incredibly overstimulated from... whatever brought me here, silence is actually amazing right now."

I paused for a moment, looking him in the eyes briefly. "Maybe when you're free and you get all your stuff back, you can help me get home? actually. no. Ignore that. I'm not sure if I want to go home. And also, I feel bad asking you for anything while you're in this state. especially because I'm not sure if you're dealing with Roderick or" I paused, not wanting to ruin something if he didn't know "... the other one... right now." I said simply before stopping. "I swear I'd help if I could, but..." I gesture to my own chains.

oh god, I hope I'm not too late to prevent Jessamy from dying. Even if Matthew is super cool and amazing.

"Why did they leave you naked anyway? It's not like the cloak has any magical abilities. That I know of anyway. Unless looking emo is required to be the king of dreams," I joked, looking up at the ceiling, before feeling nauseous again and deciding not to do that. "But in slightly more seriousness. This sucks a lot. uhh.. sorry I'm talking too much, uh.. nod your head or something if you want me to stop, I guess?" I said, shifting my weight back and forth.

nothing.

"I'm... going to assume that I'm allowed to keep talking then," I mumbled. Looking around, I noticed a moat around him that I had never seen before. Maybe it was in the show the whole time, but the lighting made it difficult to tell? I eventually just settled back on him.

"Yanno it's kinda interesting how where I'm from there's like a Christmas ornament... maybe it was a snow globe... You could get for like a bunch of money, which was you in the little ball." I leaned back, putting my head to the wall and rambling.

"You'd think that for being dream of the endless, you'd get stuck in something like a dream catcher, not a literal fishbowl." I looked up at him. "Do dream catchers even work? I doubt it. or do like, people think they work, and because of that it subconsciously makes them more likely to have good dreams because like... they aren't as scared to have nightmares?" I paused, looking down at my lap and fiddling with my hands. "Sorry, that was in poor taste."

I sighed, closing my eyes, trying to think through my new scenario, but just plagued by what-ifs. "What's even the purpose of the anti-sleeping pills they give the guards if you're in a glass ball that's supposed to keep your incorporeal form trapped. Like, wouldn't that mean that even if someone fell asleep, you couldn't do anything? or could you like... still go in that person's dreams? Or is it just to be safe?" I asked thoughtfully.

I shut up for a while, just trying to think through this situation. Maybe, given some time, I'd have a panic attack or a meltdown about being trapped in not only a fictional world but in some guy's basement, but right now I can only treat this like some crazy dream. ironic really.

I really hope Alex is currently the one holding him hostage because I might be able to free Dream more easily. If not I have to worry about dying of old age before actually doing anything. That could... be bad.

"Hey, do you think if I die, your sister will make it easy-ish on me?" I said suddenly, looking up to see him have a very very mildly confused expression, "Actually, how would that work if Roderick was trying to capture her and not you? Maybe she'd just wait."

I stopped speaking for a while. I remembered that Death came for Jessamy, so she would probably come to get me if I died, which I probably will, knowing my big fat mouth.

Then... footsteps and the room was suddenly illuminated.

I slowly crawled behind the nearest pillar I could find, careful not to have the chains make noise. If I'm chained up, then someone had to have put me like this, and I highly doubt it was Alex. I don't need to be considered another person Alex is scared of.

oh god, I'm totally gonna die. There's no way I'm surviving what's probably about 90 more years of this.

How do I know that I'm going to be stuck for 90 years?

because I looked up to see Alex, likely as a teenager/young adult, coming down the stairs towards Dream.

"Hello...?" he called out cautiously. "It's... Alex, the magus's son."

Chapter Text

I felt my breath hitch as Dream looked up from me to Alex, his eyes trained on him as he awkwardly stepped down the stairs and circled the moat

"See, I don't know whether you can speak or..." Alex paced a bit "or even understand me, but... I just wanted to ask...." he stopped, turning to look at Dream directly. "You alright in there?"

I could almost imagine when the camera cut to Dream's expression and he turned to look at him, as if truly inspecting him for the first time.

This caused me to pause. I had been so caught up in my issues that all I did was joke about him. Does he hate me? should I have asked if he was okay even if I knew the answer? would he be comfortable with me knowing that I care about him, or would I be another human? Am I being selfish by prioritizing my safety? Do I even care about him, or just the character that I was attached to? fuck I still don't know how to rescue Jessamy. I don't have time-

no. okay. Stop. Calm down. breathe. you mentioned briefly about freeing him. you'll be fine. just make your actions speak louder than words. Right? That might work.

I bring myself back into the conversation, staring at Alex from behind the pillar.

He scoffed at himself a little self-deprecatingly, "No, of course you're not." he stood in one spot this time. "I'm... I'm sorry about all of this. He's not a bad man, my father, he... he just..." yeah yeah, not a bad man. just a horrible person. we get it.

"See, if you could bring Randall back, or... or just give him something, anything. or even just speak to him. Then I am sure he would let you out." Alex bargained, his expression panicked.

Alex sighed, before continuing. "See, I... I would let you out... if I could."

Dream stared at Alex for a long while, trying to figure out his motives and how honest he was being. I, on the other hand, hid myself against the pillar. not wanting to be sensed by Roderick.

"You would, would you?"

Roderick's voice reverberated throughout the room, immediately drawing the eyes of the two figures to him, perched on the stairway.

Ohhh shit. welp. here where I get caught and die.

I closed my eyes tightly, holding my breath as my ears were drawn to the sounds of Alex's pained protests and Roderick's berating and yelling.

but then something stuck out to me.

"You boy! go to my study. I'll deal with you later." Roderick shouted, and the sound of someone's body hitting the floor was heard, but I dared not turn around and see what had happened to Alex or I assumed so anyway). I heard Alex run up the stairs, creaking the metal gates to a close.

That definitely didn't happen in the series. it just cut straight to his study. fuuuucckkkk.

"you're awake now," he said simply, walking closer to the moat.

but I knew he wasn't talking about Dream.

and that was the scariest part.

"You don't need to pretend you can't hear me. I know you can," he said simply, crossing the moat and standing directly in front of me. "What I would like to know is two things: who are you, and why did you appear similar to your friend over there, but years later?" he stood above me, tapping his cane to the floor impatiently, staring directly into my inner being, hoping to find something useful.

"What? haven't done the research yourself?" I said, with way more confidence than I actually had. I opened my mouth to continue but he interrupted me.

"Ah. it seems like at least one of you will speak. good." he smiled in a way that was both malicious but... like he knew I was going to be way easier prey than Dream. "As for research, I certainly tried."

I looked up at that, not nearly as dramatic as Dream. Who was, for the record, watching all of this.

"you're human. I can tell that much. However, I can't seem to find any records of someone who matches your description." he said simply.

"Well, it's not like that sort of technology is particularly developed. What did you do? go to police stations and ask for someone who looked like me? I can't imagine that will go well. 'Sure Mr. Burgess, we'll look into it right away. Anyway, we've heard some reports about some strange noises coming from your basement would you like to tell us about that?'"

"How do you know my name?" shit. "Did he tell you that?" Roderick asked cautiously, pointing his cane at Dream.

okay. How do I play this off? witch? No, I don't know magic, and those actually exist in this world... prophet? no. he'll try to use me... fuck think think think... okay whatever. I can just be vague and not put a label on it.

"Does it matter?" I reply smoothly. "So? What if I know who you are? You're already a pretty famous guy Mr. 'Magus'"

His expression changed, trying to hide his annoyance. "While you're certainly not as… pesky as your friend here, considering you actually speak, I can't say I enjoy listening to it."

Your... friend? I just realized he thinks I know Dream personally. wait. okay. I think I have an idea. this will either go really good or really bad. Drama classes don't fail me now.

"My friend? oh please, the endless don't have friends." I rolled my eyes, trying not to laugh at the irony of my statement. "What they do have, however, is servants."

"Are you one of these servants? sent to help him escape? well, I won't let you." he said, poking his cane at my chest. I held up my hands with a smirk.

"No need to get all up in my personal space Mr. Burgess, as you see I'm completely chained up. and I'm afraid I'm not strong enough to break metal." I spoke. Now that was true. I'm as weak as a noodle. I'm an artist for fucks sake, do you know how rare strong artists are? However, my tone of voice made it seem like I was testing him to see if he would check the validity of my claim.

He backed away from me at that. good. Seems like faking it til' you make it works surprisingly well.

"Well then. seems like I'll have to dispose of you. some... other way. unless your Lord here would like to say something?" he looked to dream.

Dream said nothing. Just watched with mild interest at what I was doing.

"You could always free me and my master," I said simply, looking at my nails. "You've gotten more than enough power for your lifetime. if you quit now, you can still save yourself from the wrath of my lord"

Welp. I guess I'm Dream's new servant. That... that will work for now, I think.

Roderick chuckled at that. eh. It was worth a shot. "Save myself? I do not think you are in a position to bargain, my dear." I winced at that name. Evil old men using pet names is very hard to stomach. "Seems like every time one of you associated with him pops up, I get some sort of gift. makes me wonder what the raven will give me"

I looked up at him. "Jessamy is just a watcher. she will do nothing. it's not in her nature" I said simply, lying through my teeth as I avoided Dream's gaze. "And what 'gifts' as you call them, have I imparted upon you?" I spoke uninterested. Leaning my head against the palm of my hand.

"Not much, for now, it seems. A small bag with some small goodies. A sketchbook, artist utensils, a little white case with some sort of earplug, and..." he paused, almost for dramatic effect. "this" he said simply, holding up a small black rectangle. my phone.

I looked up at him. fuuucck my sketchbook? That's embarrassing. He's definitely looked through that. I really hope I don't have any fanart in there. I always get my sketchbooks confused. Also, I custom-made that bag out of random fabric I had! What the fuck! interesting to know all that stuff came with me though.

"So? I'm a human, not some sort of magical being. I don't have super-powerful items. but hey, if you want to hold onto random junk, be my guest." I cringed as I thought of the hours I spent in that sketchbook.

It's okay. You can always redraw them. Dream has to remake a realm, you can remake a few pages

"Random junk? sure. I'd believe that if this didn't appear to be some sort of technology" he said simply, waving my phone. "And it wouldn't be so suspicious if it wasn't for the fact that I'm a rich man and I have access to all of the newest gadgets you youngsters seem to come up with."

Man, he's really outing himself as an old man right now.

"It doesn't work anymore." I shrugged. "None of my stuff has any purpose in the waking world. just a normal sketchbook, normal pencils, and normal devices."

"And what would this device normally do?" he said suspiciously. He didn't believe me about my phone, but if I could play off the other items maybe he would return them to me. my phone didn't have much use here and honestly would be better if it disappeared somehow. too much saved fanart with too many spoilers that would be used against me.

"It's just a bunch of normal human devices combined into something slightly more convenient. It's nothing worth noting," I said simply, "Not like it can do anything in this state. It needs energy from a power source that doesn't exist in the waking world. It's just junk now, along with all my other stuff."

he looked it over for a moment, folding it over in his hands. "So, if I broke it, you wouldn't mind?"

"Not at all," I lied. "It gets damaged by water, if you want to throw it into the moat over there." I gestured to the water. He raised an eyebrow at my willingness to tell this information, assuming it was some sort of trap.

"I'll hold onto it for now," he said simply, putting it into his jacket pocket and turning away from me. "I'll dispose of it on my own along with your other items."

At that I grimaced, physically holding back a deep sigh at the idea of all my hard work being lost permanently. I look over at Dream, who continues to stare at me, silently observing. His expression reflects that of either intrigue, confusion, or some sort of respect. It's hard to tell when all you have to go off of is micro-expressions, considering his sad and angry face looks literally identical.

"I'll have the guards bring you food and drink for your meals. I'm not a monster," he said simply. "But since you are in cohorts with him, you will remain here. understand?" he said, this time stern.

"Cool with me," I said simply, picking at a hangnail.

I tried to seem uninterested as I heard his steps get quieter and leave the vicinity. When I heard the metal gate open and close, I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding, my entire body visibly relaxing.

"Yay... What a great day." I said unenthusiastically, doing small little jazz hands, looking up at Dream. "He's a dick. but we get to deal with him together! wooo.. power of friendship..." I said tiredly, exhausted from this entire mess. But I couldn't afford to sleep. Not if Jessamy was in danger that same day.

I can dream later, yanno, when I'm not actively saving his raven.

Chapter Text

I placed my hand against the nearby pillar, trying to stumble into an upright position. My entire body ached from my fall, and my lungs still felt tight and overall… bleh. But I managed to stand up, placing both a hand and my forehead against the wall, taking a few deep breaths.

Dont puke dont puke dont puke

I continued to stand, breathing deeply and looking up at Dream, giving a thumbs up to him. “It's okay. I totally got this.” I joked, closing my eyes tightly. My chains felt much heavier now that I was standing up. I tried to ignore how cold the metal was against my skin and how uncomfortably everything fit.

It’s okay, just test to see how long the chains are, maybe it will be easier to free him than you thought. 

I took a step forward, still clutching the wall. I stopped. Gaining my balance for a moment, before continuing forward. I walked towards him, one step at a time, holding my hands slightly out, feeling too unstable to be sure that I won't fall over immediately after taking actual steps.

Then my ankle snagged against the metal, bringing me to the floor with a thud. I laid there for a while, not having enough energy to even sigh at my misfortune. I looked up at Dream, his expression holding mild amusement and irritation.

“It's okay, you can laugh at my suffering,” I mumbled, sitting up and massaging my ankle. I looked to see how much distance there was between me and Dream. I laid down completely, trying to reach towards the binding circle, but no matter what I did, I was just an inch or two too far. I had learned two things from that. One, my arm chains are longer than my leg ones, and two, Roderick is smarter than I'd like him to be. Dumb villains are easier to deal with.

Okay. Phase two. If I can't smudge it myself then maybe I can find something to smudge it with. 

I looked around the vicinity, looking for a stick or anything that would add some sort of length. Nothing. It seems like they kept this area clear on purpose. I looked up at Dream. “I'll get us out at some point. I promise. I just... hope it's sometime soon.”

I do not want to spend my entire life here. Ten years max. Maybe with a person willing to communicate, Alex will be more likely to let us go free?

Even though he could not read my thoughts or anything of the sort, his face seemed to hold a similar sentiment. He suddenly paused and looked up at the ceiling. I, in confusion, followed his gaze and heard Roderick arguing with Alex just above us.
“Shit.” I mumbled, standing up and pacing, trying to think of something to prevent what was about to happen. I thought by distracting Roderick I might have lessened the argument, but it sounds just as intense, and the fact that Dream is looking upwards tells me he can sense Jessamy’s presence.

The screaming began, and the sound of footsteps rushing back and forth, commands being shouted as they (probably) attempted to stop a fire that I knew was spreading.

Then I could smell smoke.

I watched as little wisps of smoke made their way into the basement, making me cough and cover my mouth and nose with my shirt. I looked towards the metal gate, watching it intensely, hoping to whatever Greek, Norse, or Egyptian god would listen that Jessamy would not come through the gate.

However, the gods did not care about my pleading, and a little beak popped through the metal.

Dream looked up at the stairway, a small smile coming to his face as Jessamy attempted to squeeze through. I watched in horror as she succeeded and flew up to the glass sphere, tapping the glass.

“Jessamy, you've got to hide, it's not safe.” I spoke, loud enough for her to hear, but not enough to alert anyone.  I waved my hands, trying to scare her away.

Nothing.

She continued to tap the glass, trying to crack it. Dream perked up to his raven, moving towards it, comforted by her presence. I looked to the gates, seeing Alex with shaky hands holding the gun, aiming at Jessamy. “GO! Please!” I yelled at her.

She turned to look at me, and then-

She was gone.

Just as quickly in the show. She fell to the ground silently, her blood exploding onto the glass.

I froze, staring at her corpse on the floor. The blood on the glass. The gun. Dream recoiled back into the center, staring at her killer, overcome with emotion. With loss. With surprise. He looked down at her body, as if checking to see if she was truly gone.

“Idiot!” Roderick scoffed, taking the gun from Alex's hands, “You could have shattered the glass.”

Roderick stared at Dream for a moment, as if challenging him. I could only glare at him. Not Alex, for shooting Jessamy, Dream held enough rage for both of us. But Roderick for forcing his son to do this. For scaring him into submission. For being the reason Alex is too scared to free Dream even after his father’s death. It was easier to be mad at fictional characters when you could no longer blame the plot or the character development, and all you were stuck with was a horrible, horrible excuse for a person.

“Clear that mess up.” he gestured towards Jessamy, before walking out. I grimaced, clenching my fists.

Why are you angry? You knew this would happen. Come on, you’re no savior. Besides, Matthew is a much better character.

Shut up. These aren't characters anymore. These are people. Creatures. Maybe Jessamy is funny or witty or motherly or- I don't know some other trait, but we’ll never know now. And I could have prevented something, but didn't. I could have- 

I didn't notice when Alex took Jessamy’s body away. I didn't see the look Dream gave Alex as he took away the body of his companion. I didn't see the silent, rageful tear slip from his eye. I didn't see how the guard offered Alex a trash can to put Jessamy in, but Alex continued to walk onwards. I didn't see how dream looked down at the floor, contemplating his capture and the cruelty of his captors.

All I could do was slide to the floor. My head rested against the pillar in defeat. My shirt contains splotches of the raven’s blood. My hands subconsciously wandered to my arms, seeking comfort in a warmth that I could not give myself, no matter how hard I tried.

Comfort was not a luxury I could afford in this dark place.

As much as the tears wished to form…

I could not bring myself to cry.

Chapter Text

Nothing about what had just happened could be relieved with any amount of dark humor or jokes.

It was a silence that blanketed us oppressively. A mournful rage and a tearful condolence. I didn't speak for fear of saying the wrong thing. What was there to say? Nothing could be said, not after that. You can't tell stories of the dead with someone who refuses to speak. You can't ask what's wrong. You can't ask what will magically solve the pain. You can't-... why is it so hard to comfort, when you aren't even the one going through the pain? Why is expressing empathy almost harder than being the one who needs it?

And so I had hoped that with most things, I'd come up with a solution the next day. I took in a shaky breath, looking one last time at the stain on the floor, an unclean splotch of blood where Jessamy once lay.

I closed my eyes, willing the image from my brain. Curling into a ball and leaning against the wall. The stone pillars left uncomfortable grooves in my back that made it impossible to sleep properly. But I made do. I used to sleep in horrible places because it seemed fun; the only difference was that now it was just horrible.

I slept that night sitting up. I couldn't afford to be any more vulnerable than that.

My sleep was, if I had thought about it, expectedly… dreamless. No blackened void. No swirling mist or picturesque field. No nightmares of falling or teeth falling out. Just… an absence.

I woke up. Not suddenly or groggily. Instead of swimming to the surface, I had… simply floated. It was an acute type of emptiness I had never experienced before, and it was so so so… wrong. I had been so used to being able to manipulate my dreams due to my overactive imagination.. But to not only forget my dreams, but know for certain that I didn't have any… was like I had lost some sort of control I didn't realize I had.

People dealt with this for 106 years?

I sighed, looking up at Dream. He was hunched over, sitting criss-crossed and looking downwards. And as if sensing my gaze, he looked up at me slowly. His eyes conveyed a bitter emptiness, and I wasn't sure how much that was directed towards me. Did he blame me for distracting Jessamy? I was trying to save her from being shot. Did he think that if I didn't say anything, she would have noticed the gun?

I hope I'm just overthinking this.

“Hey, uh…” I started awkwardly, not actually sure where I was going with this. “I'm.. Sorry if I'm not good at comforting people. I've experienced so many things, so you would think I would know how to comfort people in similar situations, but… I don't,” I said honestly, looking up at him, before looking down at my hands. “We’re… we’re going to get you out, alright? I.. I don't know how. Hopefully in the next decade, but… we will. Okay?” I looked up at him, offering a small smile, before sighing, running a hand through my hair. “This is a nightmare…” I mumbled.

I sat up suddenly. “Not like that's a bad thing! I mean like, it's just.. Hard to communicate like this. I'm so used to changing who I am depending on who I talk to and… I guess it's scary to not be able to hide behind some sort of mask.” I said, trying to offer some sort of explanation. “I don't know if I'm saying too much or too little. If what I'm saying is insensitive, or like pitying you or-”

I picked at a blemish on my arm. "Oh, who am I kidding?” I said, looking up at him, fiddling with my hands. “I tried to save her,” I said softly. “Your raven, I mean. Jessamy. I guess just… not hard enough.”

His expression went from neutral to that of an empty sadness. I could only hope my words got across.

“I.. I don't know if you need time to mourn, or- something to distract you, but.. I have more than enough things to ramble about… just.. Could you nod your head or something to tell me you need time? I.. I can shut up. I swear.” I looked down at a particularly interesting brick on the floor as I spoke, before looking back at him, watching for some sort of sign he wanted me to stop. Nothing. Fair. I mean, that's what happened last time I asked him to do that.

I sighed thankfully, looking up at the ceiling.

“I wasn't able to dream,” I said softly, analyzing the patterns in the cracks. “Thought.. You would find that important, considering it's your realm and everything." I explained. “It's not like I don't normally dream. I have an… overactive imagination, as you might have figured out.” I joked softly, trying not to be too insensitive but also.. More light. “But I’ve never.. Not dreamed. Not remembering dreams, sure, all the time. But… I've never not had a dream.”

His expression did not change much, maybe slightly more thoughtful. As if considering the damage that had been caused to his realm in his absence. Or, I would assume so anyway.

“But uh.. Your realm has been doing decent in your absence.” I said softly, “Not amazing, I assume by now some of it has begun to fall apart, but.. If we can get you freed.. The sooner the better, right?” I pause, thinking. “I mean, either way you’re going to have to deal with the Corinthian, so…” I laugh awkwardly. “Sorry, you’re probably just hearing me spew information I shouldn't know and desperately trying to determine if I'm some sort of threat to the dreaming. I promise I'm not. Or.. I don't think so? I really hope I'm not”

A silence fell over us, interrupted by the faintest sound of me occasionally running my hand over the stone floors. Little particles of sand still covered the floor from when I arrived, occasionally sticking to my hand.

Footsteps could be heard and caused me to look up, watching as a guard side-eye cautiously, Dream as he approached me, carrying a thing of water, a spoon, and a bowl with… What I could only hope was oatmeal instead of some other suspicious colorless slop. Only when he came out did I realize how incredibly not hungry I was. He placed the bowl on the floor, nudging it towards me with his foot, and then stepped back and watched.

I look up at him, furrowing my brow, before picking up the bowl and swirling the spoon in the goop, hoping to identify what it was or at least make it more appealing. I stared at the guard silently for a while, trying to either figure out why he was lingering or to get him to leave.

“The Magus wants me to keep a close eye on you when you’re eating. Especially considering you are provided tools for consumption, which could be utilized in other ways,” he spoke in a monotone voice, gesturing to the bowl.

I rolled my eyes. “What am I going to do? Throw it at the glass really hard? That glass looks thick.”

“The Magus is nothing but cautious.”

“The Magus is nothing but cautious,” my ass. He tried to use a basic spell to capture death, but he just crazy lucked out on Dream being weak at the time.

I spooned a small amount of the literal sludge into my mouth, grimacing as the texture hit my mouth. Imagine a horrible fusion of every grain imaginable mixed into the consistency of mashed potatoes. I gagged.

I reached for the water, sipping it, relieved to finally no longer have the lingering taste of sand and whatever that cursed “meal” is in my mouth. I finished about half of the glass in that moment, before turning back to the bowl, eating in small amounts, taking sips in between.

When I had finally finished (what I could anyway), I put the bowl and glass down, sliding them back in the general direction of the guard. He took it silently, walking out of my field of vision. The gate closed behind him, and I was trapped in that oppressive silence. I looked up at Dream one last time.

“I just really hope I'm making this easier for you, not harder.”

Chapter Text

It had been a while since Jessamy died. I couldn't tell you how long, as every day passed painfully slow, which caused time to be really weird. However, I would guess maybe a month or two. In that time, I had managed to get the guard to give me at least some minor form of privacy while eating. He still remained in the room with me when I was eating, but at least he was out of sight, which made it easier to pretend he wasn't there.

"Okay, so, I've been thinking...." I start, swirling around the mush in my bowl with my spoon.

I looked up to meet his expression, which held unbridled sarcasm, as if he was saying something along the lines of "you have? That's unusual. And scary."

"Okay Mr. 'Lord of the dreaming', no need to make that face," I grumbled. "It gets boring here and I have to do something." I took a few bites, grimacing. Despite the time that had passed, the same meal never got better tasting or any less nauseating. What did occur, however, was a slow tolerance that was built up.

"How does the whole 'divine inspiration' thing work?" I asked him. "Because like, clearly there's something there if so many people are inspired off of endless like yourself. I mean concepts personified is like a huge thing in poetry, mythologies, and fantasy stories."

I chuckled awkwardly. "But of course you know how popular that is. You have that giant library of yours with every book ever written and the ones that were never finished and stuff like that. Which, by the way, I'm incredibly jealous of. It would be so much easier to overcome writer's block by just looking at a future book I write instead of actually writing it," I joked.

"But I say this, because like, you have a billion names, dream of the endless, Morpheus, Oneiros, king of cats, king of dreams and nightmares..etc. But one name that is particularly interesting to me is 'Sandman', I mean, it's like a huge part of your whole deal and a lot of pop culture is inspired by that, but like... I think it's interesting how the stories are not entirely true, but when averaged out, they kinda are?" I said simply, gesturing a little as I talked, sliding the empty bowl towards the guard as I finished my sentence, watching as he left, then turning back to Dream.

"Like, in the E.T.A hoffman Sandman, the sandman is like this super evil fantastical creature who throws sand in people's eyes and causes them to pop out and he just collects them to feed his children, which is like, so similar to the Corinthian's whole deal, but the only thing that vaguely reflects you is the actual throwing of the sand." Dream grimaced at the mention of Corinthian, suddenly remembering that he would have to deal with him when he eventually got out of his prison.

Me too man. I hate thinking about my responsibilities.

"Then we have the Hans Christian Anderson sandman, which is less horrific and a little more like you. he has the whole 'sprinkling stuff in people's eyes to make them dream' deal. Also, he is referred to as Ole Lukøje, which I probably just butchered the pronunciation of." I joked, "he's said to know more stories than anybody in the world, which sounds like a certain someone." he rolled his eyes.

"But what do I know, right?" I said, awkwardly rubbing my back. "It's probably annoying to have a random human act like they know everything about you, huh?" I asked. "Sorry that I run my mouth so much. I don't really have anything else to do here..." I trailed off. "My choices are either to ramble and listen to the sound of my own voice or deal with the silence that follows." I sat for a moment, trying to rack my brain for anything else. He stared at me with a neutral expression, waiting for me to continue.

"Oh! There's also music like Mr. Sandman by the Chordettes or Enter Sandman by Metallica." I explained. "Which I find kinda funny because both of them have VERY different vibes. Like the chordette song is super cute and very dream-like, while the Metallica song is like 'I'm going to kill you in your sleep and it's going to be epic'. And I'm near certain that the Metallica song is inspired by the ETA Hoffmann story, while the Chordettes song is inspired by the Hans Christian Anderson story or just the general folklore. I'm not exactly... sure."

"Also! I read once that because of the stories, many people said that rheum, which is like the weird gunk that comes from your eyes when you sleep, comes from the sandman. Which is an... interesting thought."

I sighed, out of further ideas to talk about. I didn't want to begin rambling about Greek mythos or something like that because I didn't want to bring up something with Orpheus.

Speaking of Orpheus. I wonder if he would like the Hadestown musical. I think Orpheus would be a musical person.

"But uh.. Yeah. I just kind of think that it's neat how the endless inspire nearly everything, indirectly or not." I finished awkwardly.

Silence fell over us as it often does, letting me become lost in my thoughts. Replaying the events of previous months over and over again, wondering what brought me here, and what I should do to not die of old age, but also not fuck up the story to the point where knowing things becomes useless because it's just a completely different story. The same three plot points just played in my head on repeat without anything I could really do about it. I let out a sigh, running my fingers through my hair, shaking my head to try to clear my thoughts.

I turned back to Dream who seemed to notice my gaze before I really knew what I was going to say.

"What do you think about when you're in there?" I asked, my voice more serious, almost somber. "I wonder how different endless are from mortals." I explained. "Its not like you would have much use for contemplating reality itself as you've had more than enough time well.. I suppose creating what isn't reality. Or maybe that's more of a delirium's job? Or maybe she blurs the lines I guess." A flicker of humor crossed his face at the mention of his younger sister, along with my general attempt to understand his mindset.

"What I mean to say is that while obviously you aren't human... I wonder to what extent you experience life in the same way we do." I laughed awkwardly. "Which probably isn't a whole lot. But I mean, you still experience sadness, anger, and boredom at the least. I mean, I'm certain I've seen those emotions just from our time stuck here together." I gestured vaguely at him, causing him to raise an eyebrow in response.

"No need to give me that look! I'm trying my best here."

Chapter Text

“Yanno, sitting all hunched like that for-” I paused, nearly letting the 100 years part slip “-a long time might make you have horrible back pain or something.” I joked. “Not a big issue, but definitely not pleasant to deal with on top of everything else.”

Dream gave me a look in response, before hunching over further to spite me.

You are such a little shit. Never change.

Well. Actually. Do, because you cause way too many problems, and character development is good for you.

I huffed in amusement from the situation, rolling my eyes. “No need to be petty like-”

Suddenly, footsteps were thundering down the stairs to the basement. I shut up immediately, straightening my own back and tensing. Dream looked away from me, turning to the source of the noise.

The footsteps slowed, the person who created them calming down as they approached, as if preparing themselves to try to control the scenario.

These footsteps, unsurprisingly, belonged to Roderick. What was surprising, however, was that he was here so soon. How long had it been since we last saw him down here? Had Ethal already left with Dream’s tools?

“The woman who lives with me has gone...” Roderick started, hunching his form over the glass. Gripping onto the metal that held it together, like he was too weak to stand for himself. “... and robbed me of my fortune.”

Ha. sucks to suck.

“She’s also robbed you,” he tried, not-so-convincingly, “she’s taken your helm. Your sand and your ruby.”

Way to just give him important information that you could have totally used as a bargaining chip to force him to keep you alive, under the assumption that he did make the deal. Man, you can't even villain properly. Be better at being evil.

“Now I can unlock this and you can go after her…” Dream’s head rose to make eye contact with him. “If you give me what I've been asking for. Wealth, youth, immortality.” Roderick proposed, unrelenting.

Notice the distinct lack of “bringing my dead song back.”

“Oh, you're a god. These things mean nothing to you.” Dream glared. Seething in silence. “Don't you want your weapons and your freedom?” he pointed to me with his cane, increasingly desperate. “What about her freedom? Your precious servant?! I’ll kill her too if I have to!”

I debated whether I should stay silent or provoke the bear. Neither option seemed safe. I held my breath.

“Speak to me! Speak to me! SPEAK. TO. ME!” Roderick shouted, banging his cane against Dream’s glass. “Come on! SPEAK TO ME!”

“It's alright, father,”

Alex whispered, touching Roderick’s shoulder, causing him to turn around in disgust. “Get away from me,” he shoved Alex off of him. “If you were any kind of son to me...” he began swinging his cane at Alex with practiced brutality. Alex dodged in response, his youth to his advantage, grabbing his father’s cane to save himself from another blow.

“If Randall were alive today-”

“If Randall were alive, he would hate you as much as I do.”

Roderick tried to shove Alex away, but Alex retaliated, shoving him off first. The force sent Roderick into the glass instead of Alex into the floor. His head hit the glass with.. Well, the sound that glass makes. I'm not going to even try to figure out how to describe it.

Alex froze. Roderick touched his head. His hand was red. Blood.

Just as quickly as everything had happened, Roderick was on the floor (Luckily, nowhere in my immediate vicinity). Alex and the nearby guards rushed to his side.

Roderick turned to dream weakly, his eyes half-lidded. “You’re never getting out of there.” Alex turned to Dream, who was sitting perfectly straight for the first time in god knows how long, looking down condescendingly.

Why is that what I'm thinking about? I just watched a dude die. Well. Watching a dude die.

“Never,” he said. Before resting his head in his blood. His body splayed out- wait. Wait a god damn moment.

His hand is perfectly resting on top of the binding circle. How did that never break when they took away his body?! What the hell?

Alex pulled away from the corpse of the man who had abused him all these years, emotions flashing on his face as he came to terms with the fact that he had killed his father. He stood up shakily, stumbling and looking over at Dream, who stared back at him, rising to meet him and reaching out a hand.

Alex walked towards him, almost in a trance, shakily reaching out his hand.

“Don't do it, sir. He’ll kill us” Maurice spoke to Alex, trying to stop him. I stood up, my chains rattling, and shot Maurice a look.

“Don't you dare ruin this.” I whispered menacingly towards him. “More harm will come to you if you stop him now.”

“What would your father say?” he spoke again, sterner than before. Causing Alex to pull back, sorrow and confusion clouding his face.

Dream pulled his hand back, his expression betraying his new feeling of hopelessness.

“I need to think,” Alex spoke softly, beginning to walk away.

I reached towards him, before stopping, not wanting to seem intimidating. “Please, Alex, make the right choice,” I said softly. “Don't let your father define you. You are a different person from him.”

That was so cheesy, but whatever. It's probably the words he needs to hear. Besides, if his father’s voice is gonna haunt his decision, then mine will too.

Alex turned to stare at me for a moment, his eyes wet, nodding subtly, and leaving.

I think that's a good sign..? At least we got some ground to negotiate on now.

Dream stared as Alex left. His mouth was slightly agape, almost physically inflating. The guards lifted Roderick from the floor and carried him off. Leaving me and Dream alone.

“It's not completely hopeless just because he didn't let you out now. He’s… scared, I suppose,” I told Dream, settling back down on the floor. “He thinks he’s still trapped in his own cage that his father made for him. If there's one thing humans are good at… it's letting dead people voice opinions they no longer have the right to hold.” I explained.

“I know you hold a grudge against your captors, our captors…but… ” I sighed, not knowing how to approach the topic. “Give him a chance to prove himself.”

“You don't have to forgive him for what he's done to Jessamy, I wouldn't either if someone had killed a close companion of mine for whatever reason. But it might be worth trusting him, if only long enough to see yourself free.”

He regarded me with sorrow for his lost companion and missed opportunity, but gave a small nod, acknowledging my words.

The closest to direct communication he has given me thus far.

Chapter Text

“You know the very first thing I want to do when I get out of this place?” I asked Dream, pointing my spoon at him as I finished my meal. He looked up at me, raising an eyebrow. “I want to go to a bakery and get a stupidly decadent chocolate cake. The kind that you need like ten glasses of milk to get through.”

“Oh, and a decent night's sleep,” I joked, as if I wasn't talking to the person who would control that. “Honestly, if it wasn't for the fact that it would be incredibly bad for my mental and physical health, I would probably stay just in my bed for a couple of days after we get out of here.”

“Although I probably wouldn't even stay there for long. After doing a whole lot of nothing here, I want to do everything.” I smiled, beaming up at him. “Pick up my old hobbies, try new ones. Start projects I'll never finish. Honestly, I could probably fight art block for a solid few weeks-”

He stared at me incredulously as if to ask: “Only weeks?”

“Hey! My best streak is normally only a week or two of pumping out creative content. More than a month would be a literal miracle. Also, it's not like I'm some sort of “king of dreams” with unlimited creativity.” I teased.

“Besides, it's… entertaining to do normal things in such a… not-normal situation. I mean, I got summoned from my normal life, suddenly transported here, then got trapped in a basement for… awhile. Maybe a year now? That might be too long an estimate. Also, yanno, face to face with an endless, which last time I checked, doesn't exist where I'm from. A different reality, I suppose?” I said awkwardly, reluctant to go in-depth with my origins while he's still unable to respond.

“Although I suppose, while I'm still trapped here, something other than mush for a meal would be incredibly appetizing. Honestly, I could go for some sort of… I don't know, anything with substance. Something solid, preferably.” I finished, pushing my bowl away for a guard to take, watching out of the corner of my eyes as the bowl was lifted up. Dream turned from me, eyeing the guard.

“I... I think I can help with that.”

I turned to face the voice, which came from where the guard stood. I looked up and saw not the annoying man who had been delivering my meals, but Alex, who held my bowl uncomfortably along with a large book.

“Oh- I uh. Wasn't expecting to see you.” I said awkwardly.

I mean, I was, just not now.

For a while, we just stared at each other in silence, not sure how to start. I waited for a moment for him to collect his thoughts.

I'm nearly 100% percent certain that he spontaneously came down because this has been on his mind since his dad died. If I had a clock, I bet it would be at LEAST midnight.

“I… wanted to apologize,” he started, “to both of you.” he clarified quickly, fiddling with his hands, nearly dropping the book on him in the process. “I haven't been very…” he trailed off, not knowing how to put it. “Sorry. What I mean to say is that I have been too… blind to my father's own actions. Dismissing them out of fear”

I looked up, hopeful. Maybe I wouldn't have to spend the rest of my life here.

“But… I still do live in fear of him, and the image he created of you. So.. please, prove to me I don't have to be scared,” he begged to dream, approaching his dome.

Nope. fuck. This won't work. He’s too stubborn for that. I'm dead.

As expected, Dream was unresponsive, looking away from Alex and downwards towards the floor. A sign that he was ignoring him.

“Please…” he begged softly, before turning to me. “Please, can you try to get him to talk to me? I just.. I just need to know i won't be harmed.”

“I... I can't do much about it, I'm sorry. He’s… stubborn. He doesnt trust you,” I explained softly. “You’ve got to keep trying with him, and trying harder. Prove yourself to him that you can be trusted, even if you have to take risks.”

“I'm not sure how many risks I can afford to take.”

“That's okay, but when you figure that out… come back here, and contemplate if it's a risk worth taking despite it.” I paused, staring at the book in his hand. “Uhm… can I ask what that is?”

He looked down, as if suddenly remembering it was in his arms, “Oh- uh.. It's uh, for you. If that's fine. I thought you should probably have something to well… do down here.”

I blinked for a moment, surprised by this action.

Oh my god, for once I'm not just existing in the background. I'VE BEEN ACKNOWLEDGED YAYYY.

“Oh, uh… thank you, may I… see it?” I ask, holding my arms out to grab it. He nodded awkwardly and placed it in my hands.

It was a nicely bound leather book with those funky metal bits in the corner, with a large metal clasp keeping it together. I ran my hand over the embossed leather, looking for a title or an author, unclipping the clasp and opening the book to be shown page upon page of filled text, but only a completely blank first page. I looked up to Alex for an explanation.

“It's a… book. From my father's study… I-I uh thought you might want it.” he stuttered out.

“Is it like.. Anything in particular.. Or is it just like.. A random book..?”

“It's uh.. A book on mythology. Gods and such. I don't know, I just thought it couldn't… hurt…?”

I look down at the book, as if expecting it to start glowing or some shit. Can't trust nothing in the Sandman universe.

“Well… thank you. I appreciate it. I will.. Definitely read this.” I smiled awkwardly. Even after being transported into another reality, I still didn't know how to reply to spontaneous gifts

With that, Alex looked to dream one last time, looked at me and nodded, before leaving the basement with my bowl and a lot to think about.