Another story I forgot to publish over here XD Ya'll are being treated today.
Abril: I've been working on this thing for a long, long time. It's grown so much that my initially short one-shot is now a monster I have to cut down for my own sanity.
Please, enjoy :heart:
Hob is fighting the pull of the waking world. He doesn't have to wake up yet, despite his internal clock telling him otherwise; he would much rather remain in the metaphorical arms of Morpheus, thank you very much. The immortal turns a bit in bed, eyes still closed and willing himself to sleep for a couple of minutes more.
As he drifts within the threshold of wakefulness and unconsciousness, his mind goes to his stranger, his friend. He ponders about their last encounter yet again, and about all the questions still left unanswered. Hob still does not know his name or what he is or where he was. He remains, for all intents and purposes, as clueless as he's ever been. Somehow though, he is not as dissatisfied about his lack of answers as he's been in previous centuries. Their last meeting had felt unlike any of the ones before.
Hob feels as if he'd been allowed more in their last meeting than in the 600 previous years. He got a semblance of an apology. He got an admission of friendship. And perhaps, most surprisingly and wonderfully of all, he got an openness and disposition of self from his stranger Hob hadn't witnessed before.
His stranger has always been sharp in all the ways one could be sharp- in physicality, in presence, in personality- but something about him had been different in their last meeting. It had not been a subtle thing either, as most of his friend's actions were, but something even people who do not know him would be able to see. Despite the worrying new thinness of his friend, he seemed softer somehow, as if, if Hob were to reach out, he would not be cut upon contact.
It was something wonderful to behold. And precious, definitely precious.
He sighs, content in his half wakefulness and drifting thoughts when out from thin air, a hard projectile is launched straight into Hob Gadling's face.
The man startles to a sit with a cry of pain. He's completely awake now and ready to spring up to a fight from skills ingrained into his blood by years of soldiering. There is no threat in the room though, he's alone.
He looks down at his lap.
Over the cream colored sheets rests a familiar, beautiful piece of jewelry.
It's his stranger's ruby.
Hob takes the stone in hand- oddly light, oddly heavy- and looks up towards the ceiling in puzzled bewilderment.
"Wot?" Is all he can find himself to say.
Eight Months Ago
John Dee does not destroy the Ruby, Dream's Ruby. He almost did. But the faceted stone held stronger in the end. Its bearer on the other hand, did not.
With the stone in his hands Dream feels safe again, albeit uncomfortable. The Ruby is changed and it feels like a taint on his vast self to hold it so close. It is both a relief and a most discomforting experience to have his power back, so much of him held within the carmine beauty. It is another immeasurable part of himself just like the Dreaming is.
He sighs quietly in relief, though the violent encounter has left him feeling untethered.
Dream holds the Ruby close to his chest with the tenderness given to a lost child returned. He must fix it at all costs, lest it rejects him again when he most has need of it. Now more than ever, if he ever did before, he cannot part of it. The man John absorbed too much of Dream into it, a dangerous amount. More than had any right to be separated from him and trapped somewhere outside of himself. It makes the Endless feel brittle and small and fragile. Like a wind could pull him apart or his skin flake away if he does not concentrate enough on keeping a shape.
And he'd thought he'd felt fragile under Burgess' captivity.
He wants to squeeze his fingers around the gem to remind himself that it is his again and that everything will be alright, but he dares not. For the first time ever, Dream worries that if he applies too much pressure upon the Ruby it will shatter. He shudders to think of it.
He must fix his Ruby, whatever it might take.
It takes, as it turns out, too much. Undoing the changes made to the Ruby is… excruciating, to say the least. With the devastation laying waste to his realm, it is not only excruciating but excruciatingly slow for a number of reasons.
Dream has much to fix within the Dreaming: things to rebuild, dream kind to reform, dreams and nightmares to pull back and decide adequate punishment for if need be. But the power he has access to is a modicum of what he should have, laughable at best and frightening at worst. He can use his Ruby minimally to fix larger things that he can't do with his sand or on his own, but even these, actions that he would've easily done before his imprisonment, are done at a tremendous agony to himself.
The Ruby does not recognize him; he is not John Dee and therefore alien and wrong. It is not that the Ruby is punishing him for not being John, but that the wrongness of its changed form is such a desecration to his Self that they cannot coexist together.
So yes, using the Ruby is an unpleasant business Dream would rather keep to a minimum, but it is not the only new unpleasant thing he's forced himself to submit to because of his precious stone. There is also the matter of its fixing.
Inside his private floor of the castle, impossibly tall and large, Dream sits and observes his Ruby. He observes its prevailing beauty, its wrongness- the one he can look at and the metaphysical one that he can't. He can feel how close to his essence the Ruby is, but also how alien it's become. It's like looking at his reflection in a mirror and recognizing himself while at the same time knowing he should not be as he is. It's disturbing, and it makes something within him pang with hurt.
He gathers his power, small and diminished as it is, and Dream pulls at a strand of light within the Ruby.
The stone screeches around him, high pitched and unbearable. His body vibrates like glass about to shatter, he feels the whole of himself, the whole of the Dreaming too, tremble with this one action.
He stops at once, feeling like he can't draw in enough air, even when he doesn't need it. Oh, Dream does not think he's felt that sort of terrible undoing since… since sometime ago, sometime he can't quite remember. He frightens at the mere thought of ever trying that again.
It is not long after that a panicked Lucienne rushes into his private quarters without knocking. Very unlike her. Her face and body scream at him how terrified she is; she kneels to his side asking about his well being.
"My Lord, what is wrong? Please tell me? How do I help you? Lord Morpheus?" His Librarian asks quickly and anxiously. The Endless takes a moment to realize his own labored breathing and his half fallen position on the ground. Lucienne's hands hover over him, wishing so bad to reach and touch and make better, but one does not touch the Lord of Dreams unless he initiates said contact. His arrival back into the Dreaming and her reaching hand had been a slip from his loyal subject, one he knew she would not soon make again, even if Lucienne looked like she very much wanted to.
Dream goes to extreme lengths so this sort of incident never happens again in the presence of his subjects. From then on, the endless being only fiddles with his Ruby in the space between worlds, where only he and only him will be shaken by the pulling and rearranging of the particles of the Ruby, and not his grander self, which houses his dreams and nightmares and all of the dreamers and thoughts that are.
He cannot bear the frightened look of another raven in his presence again, even when that raven does not have feathers or a beak anymore.
Whenever a moment of peace arrives, few and short as they are, Dream fiddles with his Ruby. And it hurts, it hurts so very much. But he must fix it, he must make it better, the Dreaming needs to be restored and to flourish again, dreamers need a decent place of rest, the dream kind deserve a home. He must do this at whatever cost, it is his duty, his responsibility.
So Dream bares it, not with a lot of grace, though he's not overly worried about that. In the space between worlds, there is no one to hear him scream. If he does, well, there's no one to tell the tale so it might as well never have happened to begin with.
The Ruby is not wholly his again, not yet at least. It is an arduous job which he has to undertake. It will be through, eventually. Someday in the distant future. He just needs to persevere and weather the hurt. It makes him glad then, that he did not have to withstand its original changing outside of the binding circle– it would've driven him mad otherwise. The thought is a souring one; if he had not been bound, nothing would've ever happened to the Ruby in the first place.
Dream keeps working on the trends of light and the precious particles within the gem. Despite how much it hurts, he does these things with care and love, as he did when he first spun the Ruby into being.
He's frazzling at the edges when he decides to finally take a break, weary from his duties and the righting of his essence that is the Ruby.
He feels thin and not wholly himself as he weakly tears at the baguette in his hands. Chunks small enough for the small birds, round and soft and with no major concerns for the world at large. He envies them, but that thought lasts little, for it brings him more peace to watch the creatures enjoy themselves from his offering.
His sister arrives and she's a balm upon his soul. When she leaves him though- with his spirits risen and a rekindled, gentle light in his eyes- she looks even more worried than before. Dream cannot blame her; he must look as terrible as he feels. Still, there's nothing to do about it now, he has a meeting he's 33 years late to.
His stranger arrives at the New Inn, glorious as he's always been. Otherworldly. Hob can't help the painfully large smile that slips on his face. His friend smiles at him too, a tired, weary sort of smile, but it's genuine.
Hob does not ask about it, too worried about the invisible lines in their friendship, too worried he might cross some landmine he wasn't aware of, but his friend looks diminished somehow… less radiant. He's glad his stranger can't read his mind, because that sounded quite unflattering. It is true nonetheless.
His stranger sits before him, his back not as straight as every meeting before, though he does not slouch- his proud friend would not stoop so low,- but it's not ramrod perfect. He looks like it's an effort to even be upright at all.
Hob puts his worries in a neat little box where he can examine them later, for now, he chatters away like he hasn't in a while, lost in the exhalation of having his dark stranger here with him.
As the immortal talks, a gentle but constant smile graces his stranger's face, and he notices too a thing that has changed from their previous meetings. His friend's beautiful, absurdly expensive, and possibly magical ruby shines with a different light, an almost strange sort of light. Hob does not remember it ever looking like that. He wonders about it, but more than the subtle change to the stone, it's his friends' behavior about it, he keeps his pale, thin hand over it where it rests upon his chest. It is not a possessive hold, but more, perhaps, a reassuring hold, something to seek comfort of.
Hob talks away. He's so glad to have his stranger back.
The Corinthian smells the weakness on his lord like a hound on the hunt smells blood. It makes all of his mouths grin with pleasure. The opportunity too good to pass.
The Corinthian stabs his master through the palm, and in that one, shocked moment of distraction, the nightmare snatches the Ruby from its master's neck. The world around them shakes at the violation, but it's not the only reason. A vortex is breaking the walls between reality and dreams as well.
The Nightmare runs away with a smirk on his lips as the Lord of Dreams struggles to get back to his feet. He's got a child to make powerful and a realm to help destroy. He goes to Rose with all the will of a concerned friend.
"He's going to kill you. He'll kill your friend's baby too. He murdered Hector, remember?" All these things he whispers to her ear until he's got her shaking with fear. Then, from out of his coat pocket, still in this half world of dreams and reality, he takes out a most precious thing.
"This will protect you," the Corinthian tells her softly as he hands her his lord's gem, his Ruby, his Ruby. It is more than a mere magical stone and the Corinthian knows this. "It will give you the power to protect yourself and fight against him, even more than you have now."
When Morpheus catches up with them, he looks unsteady on his feet. If he were a mortal, the Corinthian would put his money on him passing out any second now. But the Lord of Dreams holds as they both fight for the loyalties of this small, scared Vortex. She does not unleash hell upon them before Rose lifts the walls between dreams back up, but it doesn't matter, she has the Ruby now. The Corinthian has set the pieces; he only needs to wait now.
Dream of the Endless holds a small modicum of power still, which he uses to painfully unmake his masterpiece back into sand. The Nightmare dissolves with a vindictive smile on his lips. He may not be able to see the devastation to come, but it will come, he's all too happy to exist with that knowledge before darkness consumes him.
Dream cannot tear away the delusions from the collectors, they are too deeply rooted. This failure tugs at his heartstrings with vengeance, but before they can leave, he makes sure every last one of them dreams about the horrors they inflict upon the world. For now, it will have to be enough.
He wonders if his small act of vengeance was a mistake as he returns to the Dreaming, that might've been strength he should've spared for his confrontation with Rose Walker. He can't regret it now, nor will he, it was the right thing to do. Dream follows the trail of destruction upon his kingdom; it will lead him to the Vortex.
Rose pulls and pulls at everyone and everything around her. Hal, and Barbie, and Chantal, and Lyta, and the Dreaming itself. It all swirls in a hurricane of everything. She is pivotal. She's a cosmic power herself. She cannot be stopped.
There is screaming around her– she recognizes the voices though she doesn't know who they belong to. She is so scared, she's been so scared as of late it's a wonder she can be anymore at this moment, but she is.
The dark figure of the Lord of Dreams appears floating before her. He does not seem as tall and imposing as she had thought at first. He looks thin, frail. She thinks he will not be an issue as she closes her fingers even more tightly around the pulsing ruby.
Dream looks barely held together, he gasps, for some reason unknown to her. Good, this means he cannot hurt her or her friends right now. Somewhere in the back of her head, where her consciousness recedes in a sort of autopilot, she never thought herself capable of such violence as this. It makes her want to cry.
Dream comes as close to her as he dares. It's a tremendously hard feat with the whole of the world being pulled towards its new center and twirling about her.
"Rose, you may have no regard for me, but would you really take away the lives of your friends? Their dreams and hopes? The whole of the world's dreams and hopes?" Dream pleads to her, reaching for that softness inside of him that he keeps a tight grip of. That part of himself that others must not see less they think to stab a knife through it. But it's the only thing he has left now, it's the only thing he has to offer to Rose; his hope and his care for every single dreamer out there in the galaxies. "You can destroy me, it does not matter in the end, dreams go on. But would you wish the same upon the earth?"
And from within his eyes, Dream lets the girl see every living thing that dreams on planet earth. Even the sun dreams and it is too much.
Rose Walker lets go of the Ruby. It slips from her fingers as if she'd not been holding onto it for dear life. The precious thing whirls away- somewhere- and through the vortex of dreams and reality.
"No," she answers with a sob. Of course she wouldn't, she loves them all. Her friends, her brother, these wonderful strangers that she lives with. The whole of the earth. She would not have them destroyed for her dreams and desires. "No, I wouldn't. Help me please. I don't want to hurt anyone." She's not a violent person, she's not, it's not what she is. This grandiose, terribly powerful thing she's become is not her.
"You won't," Dream whispers to her ear as she finally allows the Lord of Dreams to approach her enough. He hugs her then, engulfing her small form in his cloak of night. Rose lets herself be encapsulated completely. The thundering around them stops, and the world is quiet again.
With the last dregs of his power, Dream raises back up the walls of reality. It is not enough to set things to right, but the world, as of right now, is not collapsing into itself.
He sits, shell shocked, with Rose trembling in his arms. He witnesses the desolation lain about the Dreaming, like the Creator himself had torn at it with his bare and holy hands. He feels the rips deep within himself. He does not cry. There's too little of himself left for that.
"I'm scared," Rose whispers against him and Dream hugs her harder, he knows that's the sort of thing humans enjoy in times of great grief and sadness. "Will it hurt?" Her voice breaks.
"No, you will not feel a thing, I swear," he promises.
"Okay," Rose whispers, not willing to let go of the security of the night holding onto her.
Dream separates her a little from himself so he can hold her head between his hands. He looks somber and sad.
"Can-!" She interrupts him, before he ends her life. "Can you tell Jeddy I love him and that I'm sorry?" She asks, scared of being denied, for she's just torn into this cosmic creature, she knows this, like it's natural to know in dreams. She has no right to ask, but still, her poor brother, Unity…
And as if summoned by the thought, from the wrecks of the Dreaming appears Unity Kinkaid, an old black woman, then in a blink, a young one, radiant and beautiful and full of life.
"Why don't you tell him yourself, love?" She tells Rose with a gentle smile. Her voice sweet and lovely.
The young Vortex bursts into even more tears, escaping the embrace of the Dream Lord to enter that of her great grandmother. A far more comforting place to be held in.
Lord Morpheus exhales a breath that carries like a gentle wind throughout the whole of the Dreaming. Monumental relief, for he will not have to kill anyone in this era.
The Vortex dies. Rose Walker lives to tell the tale.
A Week Later
Hob muses upon the jewel, again and again and again like the keeping of a mantra. He thinks about his friend, about how to get it back to him. He ponders about how it came to him? Why Hob? The significance of it. If it doesn't mean anything at all. He palms the Ruby, turning it over and over in his hands and thinking about it and thinking about it and thinking about it. How to fix this? How to get it back to the right hands? What is this ruby so important to his stranger?
Thinking. Thinking. Thinking. Pondering on it. Pouring every spare thought into the radiant carmine jewel.
Unbeknownst to Hob, the Jewel has been listening to him. All his constant hours of thoughts and attention and unintended prayers acting upon it.
The Ruby is not yet wholly Morpheus' again, so it obeys the wishes of its temporary master.
Stopped in the middle of a task inside Eve's cave, Dream of the Endless froze in recollecting fear.
"Lord?" Eve asks, for Dream had all together cut himself off in the middle of the sentence he'd been in. She found it quite strange for this was not something the ruler of this realm did.
Dream feels a pulling deep within his soul. Like someone is taking hold of his essence and yanking him. The personification of the collective unconsciousness is terrified.
"Lord Morpheus?" The resident of the Dreaming questions, alarmed now at the state of the being.
"No," is the only thing he manages to say before he can resist the pulling no longer.
Dream of the Endless has been summoned.
Abril: Comments are the food for us writers. Be kind and leave us a hefty meal.