Chapter 11

There comes a point in any mission where it is time to bail. Sometimes this is when the money runs out. Other times it's when a specific threat is in your way and the cost outweighs the potential benefits. And then you have the moment when you figure out you've been used, a pawn, that your employer told you less than what they should have, perhaps for noble reasons but their reasoning did not sting any less. Both Dom Cobb and Doctor Lisbeth Kincaid know this feeling intimately; from opposite sides of the looking-glass, in mirrored feelings of betrayal. While Dr Kincaid is disappointed because she has been entirely cheated, Dom's feelings are complex. He too had been lied to, though he knows and understands why it had been necessary, he wishes he had been given the full story. And so he watches, unable to look away, as the nets tighten around the Sandman.

Who waves a hand.

Tight rope cords disintegrate, collapse, into sand.

The Dreamcatcher's eyes flash bright, with anger or fear, or something in between both, entirely unnameable. Then, its smile reprises, a mask. The Dreamcatcher is desperate. It is afraid.

It looks around with panicked eyes, backing away, readying its talons for another attack.

Why does it still fight, when it knows the fight is lost? The answer: Because the fight is lost. Even when you know you are on the brink of the abyss, you persist regardless, and plunge into the depths never to return, stoop to new lows you would never have considered before. You do this because the alternative, surrender, leaves a bad taste in your mouth. There is to be no surrender, no compromise. Only death.

When the options are change, or die, that is no choice at all.

‡

Miles was almost certainly dead. He lay next to the anonymous patient in a pool of his own gore. Dom had dragged him into this, and Dom had got him killed, like Mal. It was his fault, all over again; Adelaide would never forgive him. If only the Dreamcatcher hadn't lied. If only there was a way to reverse death, the greatest medical advancement mankind would never make. You could leave the Dreaming, but there was no release from the subtle sting of death. Nice theory. Bullshit in practise, but as a theory, nice. A nice little theory that had killed Miles.

Dom pulled himself over to the body of his unconscious father-in-law and listened for a pulse. Before he could discern any details, he was thrown to the side by a stray fishing net.

Of all the jobs to take. Why couldn't he have just done what he did with the Constantine gig and let some crazy Germans take it instead, let them suffer and bleed and die, in this world of magic and strangeness? Why couldn't it have been someone else's aged father-in-law, why couldn't it have been somebody else? The Lord of Dreams had chosen them for this. But it was Dom who had brought Miles along. It was Dom's fault.

The Dreamcatcher eyed the Dream-Lord, feinting left then striking again. Dream stepped back, moving fluidly to the side and in under the Dreamcatcher's guard. It was the Dreamcatcher's turn to go on the defensive, ducking around him and pulling away. The emerald on the Lord of Dream's chest gleamed, in one hand he held a small pouch of infinite sand, infinite possibilities. Stepping back, he produced a helmet from the swathes of his robes, a contrastingly dark gas-mask that he raised up to place over his head.

"I wanted to speak to you face-to-face," Dream said, and some of that strange softness slipped through. "I did not want it to come to this, please understand. I wanted to find a peaceful resolution. There is still time."

do you really think so Dream-Lord did you think this could end any other way you are not the Dreamcatcher's master you do not give commands

it comes to this, the brink of death, quick summon your dear sister and it will be the Dreamcatcher's- it will be my turn to walk into the Sunless Lands hand in hand and the beating of wings the wings

The not-quite voice, the echoing sound inside Dom's head, seemed to linger now, heavy notes of sadness creeping in, with taunting fear, a cornered animal lashing out bitterly the only way it could. It lifted its nets again, but its movements were weary.

me I these are not words I was supposed to need I was supposed to have a family, a hivemind each of us, thinking in unison was not supposed - I was not supposed to be alone, to be an 'I' was supposed to have siblings a family.

what is it like Dream-Lord what is it like to have a family?

Dream hesitated, holding the helmet, paused where he was. "It is given too much stock, I think. Yes. Families are no certainty to peace, rather, they are an obstacle to it more often than not. They do not make life simpler. They complicate it, correct, Mr Cobb?"

Dom looked up from the unconscious form of his father-in-law and nodded wordlessly.

"Can second that one, mate," Constantine piped up, sarcastic as ever. "More trouble than they're worth." His contribution was, although abrasive, welcome, and actually useful for once, rather than just plain rude.

is that it? the Dreamcatcher queried, puzzled. have been doing all this to summon my kind with adequate food supply, provide them with dreams dreams dreams for usss to consume together and then you say I have acted in error that companionship and kindred are a hindrance that I was mistaken how could I be mistaken?

knew what I had to do

always knew

have acted as I knew to act

"It is your nature to consume." Dream lowered the helmet and put it away. "The damage you have done to my Realm will take me much time to repair. However, we may be able to come to some arrangement if you will agree to adhere to the Rules in future."

A slow, lazy shrug on the part of the Dreamcatcher.

should not let myself be so easily swayed should hold fast and yet and yet I see no reason to continue this fight I agree to your terms

surrender

compromise

"You're going to let it get away with this?" Dom couldn't control his anger. "It just killed my father-in-law. You lied to us about the job, you lied to us about the risk, used us as a distraction, and now you're making a decision without our consultation. What can you give us to make up for that?"

"Leave it, mate," Constantine interrupted. "These types have their methods. It'll be sorted."

"I just lost my father-in law, for god's sake..."

"Inevitable. He'll be in good company, joining the long list of my friends and acquaintances who've suffered an untimely push from their mortal coil. I was surprised he was still alive up to now, to be honest, but like I said, he always was a bit boring."

For a moment Dom was speechless. "Are you really this callous? What is it, so many people died around you it doesn't bother you anymore?"

"With all respect Cobb, I know you were close, was that really a clever thing to say to-" Eames threw a pointed look at John Constantine then trailed off.

The notorious occultist looked a lot older all of a sudden, nowhere near as furious as Dom would have expected. All the lines and worn scars on his face seemed to cut deeper, as he shook his head and sighed, taking a deep drag from his cigarette. "Good one. Low blow. Can't say I didn't deserve it, I was being a bit of a shit after all, sorry 'bout that. You see enough of this, y'know, you have to make a joke of it or it drives you mental." He spoke with the weight of experience, of a man who had been inside psychiatric institutes on-and-off for years, who had dealt with that burden. Who lived in this world of supernatural murder. This was hardly the worst he'd ever seen, after all. "You think I'm happy with our fates being handed to us on a platter by forces beyond our control? Almost all of my life has been spent fighting those same self-righteous twats who think they get to do what they like just because they're extra-special. But out of them all, I've found that one-" he pointed at Dream "To be less of a prick. I wouldn't say he's my best mate, far from it, but he's not a total tosspot. We need to let him deal with it, alright? Alright?" Dom nodded eventually. "So, Mr Sandman. The Dreamcatcher's your problem. Now off you two trot, that's it, and don't come back anytime soon. And next time, just call me instead of getting these amateurs involved."

Amateurs. Normally Dom would be insulted, but he would concede that, in these matters, he was barely more than a child.

The pale figure of Dream and the darkness that was the Dreamcatcher melted away like mist, leaving the room surprisingly still, Doctor Lisbeth Kincaid in the background struggling to breathe, relief overwhelming her. She had lived.

She had lived and Miles was- Dom felt something, and then checked, scarcely willing to believe it. Yes. He wasn't deceiving himself. After all that, Miles had a pulse.

He was alive.

‡

Through a haze, Miles could hear Dom's voice, arguing with that utter wanker Constantine. But it sounded far away, muffled and muted through layers of wool that blocked his ears, fog clouding his vision. He lay motionless, trying to rouse his brain and muster up the strength to do basically anything. Anything. Literally anything would do.

"Hello-o?" A female voice came loudly, from nearby. With a start, Miles opened his eyes, but nobody seemed to notice. He stood up, and found himself looking down on his bloodied, crumpled form. Shit. Not his finest hour, for sure.

Looking around the room, he saw a grinning young woman, dressed in all black, skinny jeans and a sleeveless top, with a head full of dark hair and a face of pale makeup, with black lips and curlicue designs around one of her eyes. There was an Ankh on a chain around her neck. She smiled when he saw her, a genuine, seemingly friendly smile. She did not put Miles at ease whatsoever. Rather, the opposite. He had a sinking suspicion he knew who she was, and he was really, really hoping he was wrong.

"Hiya!" Her teeth gleamed. "You know who I am, right? The introductions can be a little awkward, otherwise."

"You're Death," Miles managed. "Teleute. Sister to Dream. I'm dead."

"No no no," Death hurriedly shook her head. "You're only mostly-dead. There's a big difference between mostly-dead and all dead. You see, mostly-dead is slightly alive." With that, she looked extremely pleased with herself. "That's from the Princess Bride. You should know all about that, being a big part of extraction as you are, or used to be when you were younger. You know, a 'dweam wivvin a dweam', that speech? I love that speech. Used to quote it at my brother all the time, after I saw the movie. It's a classic."

Miles rolled his eyes. Beings like this were prone to their whims. He did not, however, expect Death herself to be quite so...whimsy.

"That's all well and good, but it answers nothing. Am I about to die? Are you pre-emptively striking while the iron is still hot, or, rather, while my body is still warm?"

Death laughed. "I like that one. Strike while the corpse is warm. Bit morbid though."

"A bit morbid?" Miles raised his eyebrows "Perish the thought. There was me thinking you were Death."

The cheerful 'young' woman shrugged. "Yeah, well, I don't have to live up to the image do I? Do you see a scythe anywhere? Do you? Am I a walking skeleton? No. The least I can do is not be a complete downer about it."

"So?" Miles asked, smiling despite himself. Death was actually quite a charming lady when you met her face-to-face. "Am I dying?"

"This is the part where I should say something like 'Everybody's dying' but honestly that's a broad overgeneralization. There are a lot of people who aren't dying. I mean it's a cool one liner, but it's been used so many times it's become a little watered down. Anyway," Death sat down in an office chair and casually spun around. "The answer to your question is 'not presently'. You're having a near-Death experience. Which means," she grinned, and Miles groaned internally, knowing there was some witty reference on its way "I'm having a near-Miles experience." Silence. "Oh come on, you must have read Discworld. Sir Terry. Great bloke. Met him a bit back, we had a fantastic time. Shame, isn't it?"

"Yes, indeed." Miles couldn't argue with that. It had been genuinely quite moving. "So I'm going to live, then?"

Death seemed to think about it. "Well now you mention it, yes, you are. Have fun with it. Avoid any future encounters with creatures that have an unfortunate tendency to vivisect. Tell my stupid-head brother to call me more. All the usual. I'll see you when I see you."

With a rush of wings, Death was gone. Miles cursed the vagueness of those parting words.

Still.

He would get to live, just a little while longer. That was good. Closing his eyes, he found himself gradually returning to his body, re-adjusting to it, and recoiling into wakefulness, still on the cold floor. Dom was leaning over him.

"This bloody job," he managed, letting out a wheezing chuckle. "This bloody job."

Dom wiped his eyes, relief clearly overcoming him. "Yeah. I know. Just hold on, there's an ambulance on the way."

Arthur and Eames were actually not bickering for once, making sure the other was alright. Ariadne looked worried about her former teacher, coming in to wish him her best. "We thought we'd lost you," she admitted. "I'm glad you're okay."

Arthur came over now. "Did you manage to stop the bleeding?" Dom nodded. "Good. I'm so sorry about this, Professor. You didn't need to be here, this didn't need to happen. I should have left you in Paris."

"Not your fault…you're as bad as Dom."

"Good show, old boy," Eames interjected. "It'll be fine. On another note, has anyone thought of what we'll tell the police when they show up?"

"Oh, bollocks," Constantine, in the background, muttered. "If I'm here, they'll blame it on me. They always blame these things on me. You wanna tell 'em anythin', tell 'em the patient went berserk attacked the prof and then mutilated himself to death. Trust me, they'll go for it. They love their good old tried-and-tested 'insane killer' theory, don't they?" He, certainly, was familiar with that, having been accused of murder several times and repeatedly institutionalised. Miles would have said he didn't deserve it, but he'd always been a little uncomfortable around Constantine and wouldn't have put it past him, quite honestly. "I mean, sure," the magician continued "We blacken some poor sod's name but that's their own fault, innit? Shouldn't have trusted the shady sleep clinic." Sirens sounded a short distance away. "Aaaaaand that's my cue to leave. Bye."

With that, the obnoxious piece of work was gone, leaving the smell of tobacco behind him. Disappearing to god knew where. Good riddance.

Still. There was no denying he was useful.

He had just given them their cover story, after all.

It was over. Rever were finished. Lying back, Miles listened to the sirens getting closer and closed his eyes. Dom was shouting, trying to keep him awake.

But Miles drifted off, into dreams, temporary, ephemeral dreams which he would wake from soon enough. He dreamt.

He dreamt of his daughter.

It was the beginning of a series of payments that would last for the next six months.