(no subject)
I can't tell you exactly how long I've had this hanging around my harddrive. It's the same 'verse as my previous Sandman AU, Death visits her little brother.
Death stared expressionlessly at her little brother as he leaned back on his throne in the heart of the Dreaming, outwardly calm. Inside she was screaming. It hurt, more than she’d dreamed to see him like this. They’d always been so close, and somehow she’d thought that if she ever lost him it would be through her own office.
Before they lost the first Despair she’d never thought about it at all.
She almost wished he’d died, it would have been easier to accept that he’d died and the mantle of Dream had been taken up by the next incarnation. It had been hard enough to see Delight fall apart into Delirium but this, seeing dear Dream twisted into something else so that she must lose him without losing him, was somehow worse. Maybe it was because that through it all he remained so completely, painfully sane.
“Welcome to my Realm, dear sister,” he said, his voice a sharp mockery of the man he’d been the last time they’d met, a sarcastic and arrogant edge to it that she’d never heard before. A thin smile sliced across his face, it was no wonder that all of the dreams she’d known who had managed to truly remain themselves avoided the heart of the dreaming with all the fervor with which they’d sought it out during their master’s seventy year captivity in the mortal realm. All except for Lucien, and her heart went out to the old librarian for having to endure this every day. Morpheus and Lucien had become so much closer when he’d returned, as they rebuilt the Dreaming...suddenly the raven-shaped absence on her brother’s shoulder became incredibly apparent and she realized she hadn’t seen Matthew once since setting foot into her brother’s realm.
But her thoughts were scattering and she knew that it was just because she didn’t want to confront this, and she knew she had to. “Greetings, Lord Nightmare.” She tried hard to keep both the pain and the bite out of her voice. Mostly she succeeded.
“Lord Nightmare,” he said thoughtfully, as if tasting the words to see how well he liked them. “Is that what they’re calling me, now?” He smiled that terrible smile again, she assumed that meant he liked the title.
“Well, you have always acquired names like most people collect knickknacks.” She folded her arms behind her head, presenting an image of relaxation although she was anything but. If she were human she’d be worrying that he could hear her heart racing. He rose from the throne gracefully and stepped toward her, and even the way he moved was different and wrong. He’d been so stiffly formal before and now he moved with a graceful loose sinuousness that was wholly unfamiliar, like a watch that had been wound too tightly too many times and just snapped. As beautiful as ever but entirely broken and always a little bit off.
“Come, elder sister,” he said as he took her arm. She let it fall back to her side and his cool, long fingered hand remained loosely around her upper arm. She didn’t pull out of his grip yet. “Walk with me a while.” She nodded but he wasn’t looking, he’d already started forward and she had to walk quickly for a few steps to catch up with his longer strides.
The gardens were beautiful like they’d always been, but not as they’d always been. They had a terrible, sharp beauty now, a sort that warned the walker not to get lost among the paths or look at anything too closely. She reached to touch the blossom of a rose but pulled her hand back a moment before her fingers would have brushed it. The petals she realized were razor sharp and the thorns had grown into spikes. Changed like the man beside her, and as abruptly. She wondered how long the pressures had been building up, perhaps this had always been lurking beneath the surface, only showing in brief flashes. Like when he cursed Nada. Perhaps it had started then, long ago even for the Endless. Growing with every lost lover, the death of Despair, the breaking of Delight, the departure of Destruction, his own imprisonment. Having to kill his own son, even long estranged, must have just been the straw that broke him. He brother had always been such a strong and unyielding presence, it had been reassuring. However, when one existed as long as they did, one had to change or die. Bend, or break. And Dream never had taken change very well.
Death stared expressionlessly at her little brother as he leaned back on his throne in the heart of the Dreaming, outwardly calm. Inside she was screaming. It hurt, more than she’d dreamed to see him like this. They’d always been so close, and somehow she’d thought that if she ever lost him it would be through her own office.
Before they lost the first Despair she’d never thought about it at all.
She almost wished he’d died, it would have been easier to accept that he’d died and the mantle of Dream had been taken up by the next incarnation. It had been hard enough to see Delight fall apart into Delirium but this, seeing dear Dream twisted into something else so that she must lose him without losing him, was somehow worse. Maybe it was because that through it all he remained so completely, painfully sane.
“Welcome to my Realm, dear sister,” he said, his voice a sharp mockery of the man he’d been the last time they’d met, a sarcastic and arrogant edge to it that she’d never heard before. A thin smile sliced across his face, it was no wonder that all of the dreams she’d known who had managed to truly remain themselves avoided the heart of the dreaming with all the fervor with which they’d sought it out during their master’s seventy year captivity in the mortal realm. All except for Lucien, and her heart went out to the old librarian for having to endure this every day. Morpheus and Lucien had become so much closer when he’d returned, as they rebuilt the Dreaming...suddenly the raven-shaped absence on her brother’s shoulder became incredibly apparent and she realized she hadn’t seen Matthew once since setting foot into her brother’s realm.
But her thoughts were scattering and she knew that it was just because she didn’t want to confront this, and she knew she had to. “Greetings, Lord Nightmare.” She tried hard to keep both the pain and the bite out of her voice. Mostly she succeeded.
“Lord Nightmare,” he said thoughtfully, as if tasting the words to see how well he liked them. “Is that what they’re calling me, now?” He smiled that terrible smile again, she assumed that meant he liked the title.
“Well, you have always acquired names like most people collect knickknacks.” She folded her arms behind her head, presenting an image of relaxation although she was anything but. If she were human she’d be worrying that he could hear her heart racing. He rose from the throne gracefully and stepped toward her, and even the way he moved was different and wrong. He’d been so stiffly formal before and now he moved with a graceful loose sinuousness that was wholly unfamiliar, like a watch that had been wound too tightly too many times and just snapped. As beautiful as ever but entirely broken and always a little bit off.
“Come, elder sister,” he said as he took her arm. She let it fall back to her side and his cool, long fingered hand remained loosely around her upper arm. She didn’t pull out of his grip yet. “Walk with me a while.” She nodded but he wasn’t looking, he’d already started forward and she had to walk quickly for a few steps to catch up with his longer strides.
The gardens were beautiful like they’d always been, but not as they’d always been. They had a terrible, sharp beauty now, a sort that warned the walker not to get lost among the paths or look at anything too closely. She reached to touch the blossom of a rose but pulled her hand back a moment before her fingers would have brushed it. The petals she realized were razor sharp and the thorns had grown into spikes. Changed like the man beside her, and as abruptly. She wondered how long the pressures had been building up, perhaps this had always been lurking beneath the surface, only showing in brief flashes. Like when he cursed Nada. Perhaps it had started then, long ago even for the Endless. Growing with every lost lover, the death of Despair, the breaking of Delight, the departure of Destruction, his own imprisonment. Having to kill his own son, even long estranged, must have just been the straw that broke him. He brother had always been such a strong and unyielding presence, it had been reassuring. However, when one existed as long as they did, one had to change or die. Bend, or break. And Dream never had taken change very well.