-24-

"Pit Stop"

The house was clean. Morpheus had done a good job sweeping up - you'd never know that H.R. Giger's masturbatory material had ever thrown a messy, orgiastic party in there.

When Morpheus had told John to go outside, apparently John decided to go further than just outside the room - he was all the way outside the house, smoking on the front porch. He was leaning against the porch beam, hands in his pockets - very quiet, and very still. A silent smokestack in the grey morning light.

He heard us move past the front door. "Well?" John asked, not moving to look back at us.

"She's dead."

"Did she…?"

"She is at peace." Morpheus put a hand on his shoulder. "She died… happy."

"Yeh, GREAT. Ta." John didn't sound thankful; he sounded bitter. "You've lost your sodding sandbag, then. So where are you going now?"

"To Hell."

Now, at that, John turned with a sly and rueful grin at Morpheus. "Hehhh… aren't we all, mate?"

"Indeed. We three are going to Hell - unless you have objections?"

John looked confused. "'old on, ye're serious? Wot would ya be goin' there for?"

"I have matters which I must attend to. I merely thought, because you have been given the moniker of Hellblazer, that it would be fitting for you to visit the true place… and, after all, it is you who possesses what we need."

"Aah? An' wot's that?"

Morpheus extended his hand. "Show us what you have in your pocket, John Constantine: show us the Key."

John brought one of his hands out, and grasped inside it was a gnarly, corroded, big-ass iron key. "Wot? Yeh mean this here key?"

"The very one. But that is not merely a key, John Constantine - that is THE Key, which may open or lock the Gates of Hell. The TRUE Hell."

John twirled the key around his finger, looking it over. "Huh. Fancy that - 'ad the key to the kingdom right here in me pocket, this 'ole time."

"Give it to me now."

John hesitated, regarding the Key carefully. "For wot you did fer Rachel, eh?"

"Yes… and for the other boon I have granted you - which you, as yet, know not of."

John's eyes got kind of dangerous-looking at that moment - he looked displeased hearing that he'd been caught owing someone, without knowing how or why. He dropped the key into Morpheus' pale hand. "'Ere you go, then - take yer bleedin' key. I didn't 'ave plans for it - always figured it'd turn out to be a useful bargaining chip for dealing with some demon or other, if I ever found meself in a bind."

Morpheus' long fingers curled gently around it. "I thank you, Constantine."

"Yeh yeh, sure… so, will we be 'eadin' off now?"

"You're really going to come with us?" I asked. "To Hell?"

John finished his cigarette, tossed it aside. "A'course. Why not? As yer special friend 'ere says: I AM the bloody Hellblazer, aren't I? Just wish I weren't so bloody PREDICTABLE is all…"

"Rose," said Morpheus to me, "I need your help."

I felt a strange thrill run through me - it was nice to be needed for a change, instead of being treated like the problem-child who deserved nothing but death and dishonor. I just hoped that Morpheus couldn't see that excitement - and so I covered it up with snottiness. "Oh really? You, Dream the Great and Powerful, need help from a lowly little human like me?"

Morpheus' eyes narrowed; the expression made me gleeful. "You have Dreamsand - which I am, for the moment, unable to collect."

I decided to stop pestering him. "Okay old man - tell me what I've gotta do." (alright, so I didn't TOTALLY stop pestering him - but he seemed unlikely to take offense at being called 'old'. He probably had complete control over how I perceived him anyway - and what he looked like to me was a very good-looking but distinguished 40-something, not much older than Constantine).

"Close your eyes," Morpheus commanded.

I did, even though it felt a little foolish. "You're not going to make me meditate, are you?"

John giggled - and yes, unfortunately that's the best descriptive word for it: a short, combined giggle-cough.

"Feel the Dreamspace around you," Morpheus soldiered on, unamused and undeterred. "Imagine where it is you wish to be."

"What, Hell? Sorry, but that's going to be hard to wish for."

"No, not Hell; we need not go there yet. We shall go to where we may rest and prepare: my home. The castle grounds, at the heart of The Dreaming."

I opened one eye. "I don't know what that looks like."

"I know. That is why I shall give you a hand."

And then he literally grasped my hand, lifting it up delicately in his.

Because, contrary to what anyone would assume just looking at his impassive face, and listening to his dry and dreary voice, the man-entity had a wicked sense of humor.

Apparently making damn sure he didn't get left behind, John grabbed my other hand.

I hadn't realized what his hand felt like, the previous time I held it - it was over too quickly before, and I was distracted by the hellish vision it gave me. But this time, not only was I able to think about it, but I was also able to compare: because my one hand was in Morpheus', dry and cool, while the other one was in John's: warm, supple, and just ever-so-slightly sweaty. I wasn't all that surprised that Morpheus' hands were soft - but it seemed odd for John, who seemed like he should've had rougher hands than that. Actually, the only rough thing about them was how they forced my fingers to intertwine with his, locking together tightly.

Just like how he held that unfortunate little girl Astra's hand - before he lost the rest of her.

I shuddered, trying not to think about that too hard.

Sand swirled out of my sleep-robe pocket, and around the three of us.

And then, the Dreamspace consumed us.

It didn't matter that I had my eyes closed.

This place was the subconscious made manifest. When I was acting as the Vortex, I felt that I was bigger than the subconscious - that the subconscious space was orbiting around me. I was absorbing it all, and weaving it together, so that it was impossible to tell what was me and what was everyone and everything else. And that (before I realized that I was teetering on the edge of ego-death, and losing my individuality in the process) was kind of a calming experience… just floating there, freely, while everything swirled around me - but I had been removed from the chaos at the edges of my Vortex. I was in the eye of the storm, and I was safe.

Right now I was an individual, and it was frightening - because I felt so small and insignificant. The collective subconscious space was HUGE - I was just one little fish, swimming in the dark depths of a gigantic ocean.

Thank goodness I wasn't alone.

Morpheus knew these waters well, and was unafraid.

John was freakin' terrified, but would never admit it; he smiled a self-assured smile, wanting to put on a good show of being the cocky fool who dares to go where angels fear to tread, due to having some kind of ace hidden up his sleeve (I think that's why he was so loathe to give up the Key - he saw it as one of his aces, a real one, and now he was going to have to act like he had others… when the truth might have been that his sleeve was now empty, and this was all one giant bluff).

So many images floated around us. Thoughts, feelings, sounds. It was noisy and chaotic, like walking through a rambunctious crowd and listening to everyone speak at once. It was intimidating, and overwhelming… and, frankly, claustrophobic, like I couldn't get away from everybody's aggressive points-of-view buffeting me on every side, and from every angle.

Sex. Monsters. People being chased by monsters. People having sex with monsters. People having sex with people they weren't normally attracted to in their waking lives. Anxieties - teeth falling out, voice gone, paralyzed, trapped; being caught unprepared for the pop quiz; finding themselves naked, or otherwise publicly shamed. Lost loves. Weird collages of places they remembered, and places they'd seen or heard or read about, and places that never existed at all. Their loved ones - or the dreamer themselves - performing roles in an alternate-Reality sandbox, like actors. Flying. Breathing underwater. Stopping time. Shapeshifting.

We'd fallen down the rabbit-hole, and most of it made me feel like we'd landed in the basement of a Stephen King horror novel.

John kept looking around at everything like an amused and delighted tourist, and would glance at me occasionally as if to say 'Did you see that? Isn't this fun?'

No John, I kept thinking. I don't like this at all. I'm scared. I want to go home.

Except I didn't really have a home anymore, did I?

I didn't even have my dollhouse anymore, I realized - along with the rest of my apartment flat, it had been, well, FLATTENED, by a magical tornado of my own making; and, funny enough, I felt more of a deep sense of loss over the dollhouse and its toy occupants than about that crappy little apartment building. I just hoped the other dispossessed tenants, like Wanda and Paul, found decent accommodations to move into - but somehow I knew that with Wanda and Thessaly managing the situation, it would get sorted out just fine.

I knew that Morpheus was attempting to take us along the back-alleys and less-travelled side-streets of The Dreaming, to avoid getting caught up in the chaos of other people's psyches; even so, I was wondering if I was going to survive the journey without my head exploding, or at least losing all sense of sanity.

Suddenly, I felt like Morpheus' mind was reaching out to mine, tapping gently on the closed door: he was telling me to let him in.

I had been blocking everything out, in self-defense. But that was what was preventing an immediate arrival at our destination: because along with everything else, I was blocking out Morpheus' guidance.

I forced myself to relax, and accept his thoughts as they seeped into my brain. It was a strange sensation - sort of the opposite of what happened when I unleashed the Vortex, and felt myself being dispersed. This felt like being melted from the inside-out, and having that internal goo infused and melded with something foreign.

Was I me, or was I him? Or maybe... both?

That was a scary thought.

I would just have to trust that this wasn't going to destroy me completely.

A shiver went through me as I surrendered to it, accepting the vulnerability - and I wouldn't have been able to tell you if that was a pleasurable feeling, or one of absolute fucking terror.

It seemed like an overly intense, intimate process, just to be able to give me his home address.

But now that I was partially him, I knew the shortcut.

And then, in an instant, we were there.

I opened my eyes, and gasped. I guess I wasn't really breathing, up until then, and now I was playing catch-up. My limbs were shaking - I couldn't get them to stop.

John looked down at me, sidelong. "I want wot yeh're 'aving, luv."

I yanked my hand away from his. "Gross, John." I wanted to tell him he was way off-base in his thinking - but honestly, I was wondering myself whether I'd just gotten literally mindfucked.

Suddenly I felt Dream's hand go limp in mine - I let go and he fell forward, face-first, into the grey sand.

"Dream?" I asked, standing over his still, prone body.

He raised his head. "Yes?"

"Just checking." I took in my new surroundings - seemingly endless grey sand dunes as far as the eye could see, fine and soft as ash. The only thing that broke up the landscape was a pile of rubble that looked like the ancient ruins of a castle (it looked very much like it does right now, in ruins around us as we speak). "This is your home?"

Dream was slowly, painfully, lifting himself up into a kneeling position. "It's but a shadow of its former self."

"It's in need of some serious remodelin' work, mate," said John, lighting a cigarette. "I'd reckon shambolic-chic is a tough sell in today's market."

Hearing us talking, some weird characters (you people of The Dreaming crew, who are listening to me right now) emerged from the ruins, and ran toward Dream. They did not have to run far - with every step they seemed to be bringing the castle with them, collapsing the distance between us and it.

Of course, fantasy storybook creatures and talking animals and places that defied the laws of physics were things I'd ceased to be amazed by at this point.

"Dream Lord!" cried the skinny little fairy, who I came to know as Nuala.

"BOSS!" yelled a coarse, gravelly voice, emanating from within the pumpkin-head of a stick-bodied scarecrow - who, with his smoking stogie cigar, could have passed for a Constantine effigy, if only he'd been wearing a trenchcoat, instead of overalls (of course, we all know that the pumpkinhead I'm describing is Mervyn).

"Good heavens, sire!" exclaimed the tall, bespectacled elf.

"I'm all right, Lucien… it seems I misjudged the dangers of the waking

world. Again."

Dream reached out to me, silently requesting my help. I decided not to be snotty, and helped the old man up.

His servants all looked confused and shocked - whether it was because I'd broken protocol by laying hands on his royal person in such a familiar manner, or because their powerful Dream Lord was such a weak, wobbly mess at the time and needed help to stand, I don't know which (you're saying it was both? Ah - thought so).

A raven, who was perched on a broken tower window and at first seemed like just part of the natural scenery (instead of a bird-bodied guy named Matthew, as I now know to be the case), flew to Morpheus' shoulder. "You look like you haven't slept a wink for days," he said to Morpheus.

"I don't sleep, Matthew."

"Didn't say you did. I just said that was what you looked like. Been busy, huh?" Then the talking bird peered at me. "Who the hell… I mean, who's the young lady you got with ya, Boss?"

"A temporary inconvenience."

I glared at him - what kind of an introduction was that? What an asinine thing to say! And when I was helping him, too - he was making me support his full body-weight at the time, like a weary old traveller leaning on his walking stick.

"Prepare rooms for us - three separate ones, please."

Mervyn looked distressed, and gestured uncomfortably. "Well uh… ya see, Boss… that ain't so easy ta do right now on short notice, considerin' the state a'things…"

"Oh yes." Morpheus turned to me, with a pleasant and friendly look on his face. "Rose, I'd be much obliged if you'd rebuild my castle."

"I thought I was the 'inconvenience'," I said nastily, letting go of him and slipping out of his grasp. He stumbled, trying to regain his balance. The servants stiffened, aghast - all eyes were on their Dream Lord, waiting to see what he would do.

"I did not mean it that way."

"Wow thanks, I feel better now."

"I'm glad."

I couldn't believe this. "Jesus! Are you dense?"

"Heh heh hehh," John chuckled, darkly.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP, JOHN," I warned.

"Rose, what is it you want from me?"

I just barely heard Mervyn whisper none-too-quietly to Matthew the Raven: "Sounds familiar, don't it?"

"Why don't you just kill me and rebuild it yourself, oh mighty 'Dream Lord'? That way I don't have to be such a goddamn NUISANCE to you!"

Dream rubbed his temple with his pale, delicate hand - if you didn't know better, you'd think he had a hangover something fierce. "I am very weary, Rose. If you wish for an apology, I shall grant you one: I am sorry."

The servants gasped with awe - I don't think they'd ever seen their master apologize to anyone before, let alone what looked to them like a regular-ass human girl (...and now you're confirming that to be the case. Again, thought so).

"Now that's more like it," I said.

"I apologized to you before; you insisted that I stop." This was almost too much for the gathered servants of The Dreaming - they seemed about ready to ask who the imposter was, and what I'd done with their real master.

"One apology per infraction is the standard rate," I told him. "Now what is this thing about you wanting me to build you a castle?"

Nuala was very helpfully dusting off a mended chair and placing it behind Dream, so he could sit down. "Sculpt the Dreamspace, as if it were clay; The Dreaming remembers the castle, so let it guide you. You should have enough power left from me to do it on your own."

"You mean when we touched? Why does that happen, by the way?"

"Your body tries to absorb my power; the effect should lessen over time."

I laughed at that.

"What is it?"

"No, never mind." I was laughing because it sounded like he intended to keep having contact with my 'body' for some time yet to come. I halfway expected John to be making a quip at this point, but he was busy comparing his Silk Cut cancer-sticks with Mervyn's stogies.

I closed my eyes and concentrated on the Dreamspace. I imagined it as something tangible, something thick and malleable as clay, as Morpheus had suggested.

And then I reached out to it with my mind, and I messed with it. I poked and prodded it, stretched it, reformed it… and once I got the hang of that, I began to visualize the castle. Dream was right: the dreamstuff did remember the castle. It was more intuition than anything else - it's like it just felt right to make a wall here, and a tower there.

Sand swirled around me, whipping the wind into a stinging frenzy. I could hear the granules of the sand as it hit the servants, and the rubble - but the sounds changed. It's like it was hitting more and more surface: suddenly I could hear it bouncing off walls, furniture, and even a ceiling.

Sand cleared away under my feet, until I could feel a smooth, polished stone floor underneath my slippers.

When I opened my eyes, we were standing in the grand entrance hall of a looming, majestic castle.

The servants cheered and rejoiced. John was smiling, but he looked a bit quizzical, and taken aback.

And then a wave of dizzying, nauseating exhaustion hit me.

I fainted.