Chapter Text
The sleeted January cobblestones flashed and glowed beneath the amber street lamps whilst Death and Dream walked alongside one another, linked arms and considerate steps, as they witnessed humanity embrace the coming of the new year. The rhythmic thumping of ceilidh dancing and delighted laughter drummed out into the cool night air and Death smiled, eyes bright, as her companion’s own eyes spasmed with stars.
Hogmanay, Scotland’s New Year, was among the two siblings’ favourite mortal celebrations as the emotions of humanity found their heights. The cleansing nature of time’s tides as one year fell away and another arose demanded a host of new dreams and inspirations, ones full of hope, optimism and potential. Dream’s steady gaze followed the erratic, stumbling movements of humans as they milled the streets, arms slung over one another’s shoulders as they laughed drunkenly. He did love to serve them, despite their frequently questionable and frankly misguided ways.
Death giggled delightedly at two women, dancing ungracefully over the cobbles as their high heels click and catch in the grooves of stone, cackling as they hang onto one another in love.
“The two days that mortals invented high heels and cobbled streets were the two days they would forsake themselves the most,” Death commented with mirth and turned to her brother whose face remained largely impassive to many but relaxed and warm to her.
“One mustn’t state these ideas for mortals, it risks challenging them to commit greater follies,” Dream responded softly, his voice low and difficult to detect under the waves of noise erupting from the pubs. Death snorted and rolled her eyes, bumping Dream’s black-cloaked shoulder as his own face curved lightly with a smile.
“You are far too serious my dear brother. We’ve met many lovely mortals in pubs,” she retorted, gesturing to the glinting windows passing buildings, “particularly your Hob!”
Dream faltered, blinking in mild irritation, “He is not my Hob, sister. Despite his position as a ‘friend’,” he sounded out the word slowly as he drew himself up and tightened his coat.
Death smiled warmly to herself at her brother’s small signs of progress, chuckling mentally at the 600 year wait that it took for him to accept the notion of friendship.
“We could get you some more friends,” she probed gently as Dream tilted his head, “we are in the ideal place for it. And I have been told by many mortals that they make many friends when they have had a few drinks.” The pair walked further along the street, her face mischievous and his cautious.
“I have no need,” he spoke after a drifting pause, “I do not like to leave the Dreaming more than I need to. It is my duty to be a King, not a frequenter of taverns and friend to any mortal.” Death stayed silent, consistently aware of the fragile territory surrounding Dream’s protectivity of his realm.
They walked side by side in silence before Death tugged her brother at an angle. His head snapped to look at his sibling and she glanced back at him, “Come on, I like the look of this one. It’s got all those cute fairy lights and those wooden beams that mortals loved 400 years ago!” The music emanating from this particular establishment rang out melodically, the audible signals of live music and a solo singer with a wistful, celtic tone. Dream walked obediently behind his sister, his eternal eyes absorbing the worn front of the building as both siblings entered the threshold with an ethereal smoothness.
Death pulled him to a table lodged in the corner, knowing her brother’s preferences for observation all too well, before disappearing to the bar to retrieve drinks. Dream reluctantly allowed his back to rest upon the chair, eyes scanning the room and shoulders remaining regally stiff. A variety of different groups were located all around the heated pub, emitting laughter, chatter, squeals and drunken singing. Students, young couples, thirty-something year olds disillusioned with the working week, all looking to find solace in one another in these mortal meeting places. Dream’s chest twinged, his thoughts drifting to his fallen nightmare, Corinthian, whose greatest aspiration was to achieve what it felt to be human. The atmosphere was cloaked in what he longed for, his unfulfilled hope.
His love for his creations ran deeper than they ever truly knew.
Two cups hit the table before he could allow himself to linger further upon the loss, Death’s face stealing the attention of his twinkling eyes. She plopped down, opting to allow Dream to recover from his thoughts of which were evidently sombre, by glancing around the room.
“Seen anyone interesting?” she prompted cheerfully, raising the cup to her lips and taking a slow sip. The music revolved around the room as Morpheus evaluated his surroundings more closely.
“They are,” he began, “typical mortals. None appear to be vortexes, malicious or any similar threat.”
Death huffed, covering her brother’s pale hand with her own and looking deep into his eyes. “Dream,” she sighed, “You don’t need to see every human as a threat. They aren’t all like… him, you know? Give them more of a chance.” Morpheus glanced downwards, wary of falling prey to his darkened thoughts.
“Come on, let’s people-watch together. It’s one of my favourite hobbies and it’ll make your big sister happy,” she tapped his hand playfully as she took another swig and gave a wink, “besides, I don’t have much time. Lots of mortals have accidents on New Year's and I have a lot of work to do today.”
Dream bowed his head slightly, a concession, as his eyes returned to the surrounding thrum of humans. The two siblings passed the time, with quiet comments shared to one another as they drew upon individuals within their sight as pub-goers milled in and out the building, the crisp night drifting in the door with each disturbance. The noise of swinging doors became a background feature to the ears of the Endless until a languid push of the door was accompanied by a tall, lithe figure and a distinct frosting of the windows. Both siblings felt a surge of power, chaotic and unrefined, within the atmosphere of the pub and both bristled suddenly at the sensation.
A woman, or what appeared to be one, stepped slowly and purposefully into the room; each footstep regulated like a resounding death knell ringing from human churches. She was alone, her head bowed and gaze downwards as she continued her path. The Endless’ eyes drifted over her person, absorbing the long tweed coat and tan brogue boots adorning her slow step. The tight shoulders. The pocketed hands. The unobserved manner of her graceless air.
Morpheus knew what someone looked like when they did not want to be seen.
The intent stares of the siblings, Dream and Death, bore into the material of her back. She felt them, she felt their interest. A mutual recognition of power. Upon this moment she knew she had become a target, she knew their suspicion and knew that she would not be left alone.
The figure’s head began to turn. She needed to know who and what she was dealing with, who and what she was now to run from. No one could know her. It was not safe.
Stolid blue eyes met Endless sight, she felt the flash and their otherworldliness. Panic lit up her chest as Dream’s sparkling stare ignited her vision and all she knew in that present moment.
Her breath caught and step quickened as she chased the back door of the pub as the Endless siblings made a move to rise in response. They would have caught up with her, were it not for the combustion of the windows and every individual fairy light, sending a twinkling array of glass shards into the fluctuated atmosphere, enveloping the pub in darkness and a screeching silence.
She was gone. Hogmanay, born of light and spun with questions. The glowing eyes of the Endless caught one another, both set in stunned silence as the woman’s power evacuated the atmosphere in no time at all.
“Well then,” Death breathed, “I think we found someone interesting enough for you to investigate, dear brother.”
The mutterings of the pub rose as questions of wellness were exchanged amongst shocked mortals as the crescendo rose within Dream’s head, his mind entangled with the memory of her hardened eyes. The sound of her step. Her breath. The indulgent crackling pool of her power and soul that left bodies singing and minds asunder.
Morpheus exhaled slowly, as Mother night rose to greet the morning.