Sandman fanfiction
I've been reading fic on Yuletide, and stumbled across their Sandman section, and one line in a fic about the Corinthian really grabbed me. A comment about Dream, and oh the possibilities. This is what I've done so far, it's more a collection of tiny vignettes than a fic, really. They're not all in the same tense...it's just not the way they wanted to come out for some reason.
But I'm not done in this 'verse, believe you me. >:)
When they realized what had happened, Delirium cried for a week. She stayed in Death’s apartment, sobbing rainbow tears and bubbles into the fish bowl and turning the goldfish chartreuse. Death held her when she could, when she wasn’t busy with her own duties, and pretending that she wasn’t crying into her little sister’s hair.
When Del recovered a little, they went looking for the others. Despair her twin Desire were together, lost in each others’ realms. Desiring for things to be as they were. Despairing because it will never happen. Their sister-brother’s pain was sharper than they’d expected, he-she had never expected for all the long-planned plots and machinations to end like this. Death and Delirium leave quickly, a dance line of sad elephants trailing behind them.
They asked Destiny if he’d known that it would happen. He said nothing as he turned away, head bowed over his book and his face hidden by his cowl. Delirium started crying fish scales and withered flower petals and Death led her away without another word.
Death takes her sister to Central Park and buys her an ice cream, knowing that it won’t cheer her up, not really, but it may at least help the tears. She buys herself one too. It’s not even particularly warm out, but they only manage to eat half of their ice creams before they’ve melted and even Delirium can’t summon much enthusiasm for the treat. As Death takes their dishes to the trash cans she nearly runs into the tall redheaded man standing there. She stares for a moment as Delirium runs past her and embraces him, babbling grief into his chest as small fish darted through her curls. Death shakes herself, she’d been so wrapped up in her own grief that she’d failed to notice her brother so close. His jeans and hands are stained in chalk dust again, she notices as she steps forward to embrace him as well.
They go back to his, sharing grief and pain that only their siblings can and though Death is glad of the company she’s also glad when Delirium sleeps and their prodigal brother offers to look after her if Death wanted some time to herself. They had always gotten along well, and so Death is glad for the chance to get outside and just walk, nowhere and everywhere. The press of people is oddly comforting. Familiar and peaceful, at least until the calm is shattered by familiar faces coming up and asking if what they’ve heard is true. Immortals both human and not, Mad Hettie, the most recent of the adventuring Constantines, an envoy from Faerie seeking her ought in the human world, even Lucifer Morningstar himself with Mazikeen by his side, looking troubled. It breaks her heart all over again when she has to tell them that it’s true. Perhaps she was letting herself be found, or most would not be able to see her at all.
She doesn’t know why she wanders where she does all that long day, but she knows why she walks into this particular bar and sits beside this particular man. It’s not the first time she’s seen him, though he hasn’t properly met her that he remembers, and he looks surprised when she sits. He does a poor job of hiding the haggard look as he greets her, and stops trying when she introduces herself. For the first time she almost breaks down in front of someone other than family when he asks what happened to his friend. Her brother. He hadn’t been sleeping well and he’d already guessed that something had happened, the pain she hadn’t been concealing in front of his as well as she’d thought had confirmed it. They talk for a long time that afternoon, and before she leaves she tells him not to go to their usual meeting place when the time comes again. She hopes he’ll listen. Somehow she doesn’t think that he will.
Lucien hasn’t left the library of the Dreaming in over a week. It’s still there, though it’s darker than it was. The dreams and unwritten stories recorded in its shelves are still there, but they have become darker as well. He organizes and catalogues and tries not to think about how many other denizens of the dreaming have vanished or become warped, something other than what they were, what they have always been for so very, very long. He tries not to think about what the family must be thinking, and all the time he listens for the sound of footsteps on the floor behind him. He knows though that he won’t hear them. He never does.
The Corinthian laughs loudly to himself, unsettling the other people in the bar as he gestures for another drink to be brought. It wasn’t that the idea hadn’t occurred to him before, but he would never have expected that anything like this could possibly happen. And yet, somehow, it had! It’s just too much and he lets out another roaring laugh behind his sunglasses, raising the fresh glass in a toast to his dear old boss.
Robert Gadling knew that Lady Death herself had told him not to come here, but he couldn’t help himself. The last time he’d seen this man he’d called Hob a friend, and Hob couldn’t just throw that away even if he’d been directly warned off and hadn’t been sleeping well besides. Hadn’t been sleeping well for the past few...decades. That worried him more than a deliberately vague warning, but he just settled farther into his chair, requested a beer from the waitress, and watched the door. He couldn’t have said if he was hoping to see it open, or hoping that it would stay closed. Eventually, though, both his hopes and fears came true as the door swings open to allow a tall, pale, lean man to walk in. Hob nearly leapt to his feet, eyes wide and staring. It was him, the man he’d made a fateful bet with one drunk night the man he’d met once a century for the past six hundred years now, but he was obviously and terribly changed. The usual black clothing was somehow darker, absorbing all light as his fine, flyaway hair did. It was his face that was different, and the way he held himself. He’d nearly always been confident, but now there was an easy arrogance in the way he carried himself, a vicious smirk twisted his lips and spread into a slow smile like an open gash across his face as his eyes fell on Hob, and his eyes. Hob realized with horror as he stared into the depthless eyes of Lord Nightmare that the light of the ancient stars within them had gone out.
But I'm not done in this 'verse, believe you me. >:)
When they realized what had happened, Delirium cried for a week. She stayed in Death’s apartment, sobbing rainbow tears and bubbles into the fish bowl and turning the goldfish chartreuse. Death held her when she could, when she wasn’t busy with her own duties, and pretending that she wasn’t crying into her little sister’s hair.
When Del recovered a little, they went looking for the others. Despair her twin Desire were together, lost in each others’ realms. Desiring for things to be as they were. Despairing because it will never happen. Their sister-brother’s pain was sharper than they’d expected, he-she had never expected for all the long-planned plots and machinations to end like this. Death and Delirium leave quickly, a dance line of sad elephants trailing behind them.
They asked Destiny if he’d known that it would happen. He said nothing as he turned away, head bowed over his book and his face hidden by his cowl. Delirium started crying fish scales and withered flower petals and Death led her away without another word.
Death takes her sister to Central Park and buys her an ice cream, knowing that it won’t cheer her up, not really, but it may at least help the tears. She buys herself one too. It’s not even particularly warm out, but they only manage to eat half of their ice creams before they’ve melted and even Delirium can’t summon much enthusiasm for the treat. As Death takes their dishes to the trash cans she nearly runs into the tall redheaded man standing there. She stares for a moment as Delirium runs past her and embraces him, babbling grief into his chest as small fish darted through her curls. Death shakes herself, she’d been so wrapped up in her own grief that she’d failed to notice her brother so close. His jeans and hands are stained in chalk dust again, she notices as she steps forward to embrace him as well.
They go back to his, sharing grief and pain that only their siblings can and though Death is glad of the company she’s also glad when Delirium sleeps and their prodigal brother offers to look after her if Death wanted some time to herself. They had always gotten along well, and so Death is glad for the chance to get outside and just walk, nowhere and everywhere. The press of people is oddly comforting. Familiar and peaceful, at least until the calm is shattered by familiar faces coming up and asking if what they’ve heard is true. Immortals both human and not, Mad Hettie, the most recent of the adventuring Constantines, an envoy from Faerie seeking her ought in the human world, even Lucifer Morningstar himself with Mazikeen by his side, looking troubled. It breaks her heart all over again when she has to tell them that it’s true. Perhaps she was letting herself be found, or most would not be able to see her at all.
She doesn’t know why she wanders where she does all that long day, but she knows why she walks into this particular bar and sits beside this particular man. It’s not the first time she’s seen him, though he hasn’t properly met her that he remembers, and he looks surprised when she sits. He does a poor job of hiding the haggard look as he greets her, and stops trying when she introduces herself. For the first time she almost breaks down in front of someone other than family when he asks what happened to his friend. Her brother. He hadn’t been sleeping well and he’d already guessed that something had happened, the pain she hadn’t been concealing in front of his as well as she’d thought had confirmed it. They talk for a long time that afternoon, and before she leaves she tells him not to go to their usual meeting place when the time comes again. She hopes he’ll listen. Somehow she doesn’t think that he will.
Lucien hasn’t left the library of the Dreaming in over a week. It’s still there, though it’s darker than it was. The dreams and unwritten stories recorded in its shelves are still there, but they have become darker as well. He organizes and catalogues and tries not to think about how many other denizens of the dreaming have vanished or become warped, something other than what they were, what they have always been for so very, very long. He tries not to think about what the family must be thinking, and all the time he listens for the sound of footsteps on the floor behind him. He knows though that he won’t hear them. He never does.
The Corinthian laughs loudly to himself, unsettling the other people in the bar as he gestures for another drink to be brought. It wasn’t that the idea hadn’t occurred to him before, but he would never have expected that anything like this could possibly happen. And yet, somehow, it had! It’s just too much and he lets out another roaring laugh behind his sunglasses, raising the fresh glass in a toast to his dear old boss.
Robert Gadling knew that Lady Death herself had told him not to come here, but he couldn’t help himself. The last time he’d seen this man he’d called Hob a friend, and Hob couldn’t just throw that away even if he’d been directly warned off and hadn’t been sleeping well besides. Hadn’t been sleeping well for the past few...decades. That worried him more than a deliberately vague warning, but he just settled farther into his chair, requested a beer from the waitress, and watched the door. He couldn’t have said if he was hoping to see it open, or hoping that it would stay closed. Eventually, though, both his hopes and fears came true as the door swings open to allow a tall, pale, lean man to walk in. Hob nearly leapt to his feet, eyes wide and staring. It was him, the man he’d made a fateful bet with one drunk night the man he’d met once a century for the past six hundred years now, but he was obviously and terribly changed. The usual black clothing was somehow darker, absorbing all light as his fine, flyaway hair did. It was his face that was different, and the way he held himself. He’d nearly always been confident, but now there was an easy arrogance in the way he carried himself, a vicious smirk twisted his lips and spread into a slow smile like an open gash across his face as his eyes fell on Hob, and his eyes. Hob realized with horror as he stared into the depthless eyes of Lord Nightmare that the light of the ancient stars within them had gone out.