A/N

So, this might be the last update in a while. I still need to write a couple of scenes that come right after this, but I'm currently busy with some of the later scenes. There's no real incentive yet to try and focus more on the upcoming parts so I'm simply writing this story as the scenes come to me. Meaning, I don't know exactly when there will be another update. It will come, for sure, because I do want this to be a complete story. But the lure of the later chapters is strong!

Three weeks had passed after she left the Dreaming–or was kicked out it, actually–and Hope felt like shit. It felt as though half of her heart was still back there and the remaining half was struggling and fighting to get back. It was a new kind of misery she had not yet learned to accommodate. In fact, lately the pains had become so physical, she was contemplating visiting a doctor. It was perhaps time to face the fact something might actually be wrong. Something that had nothing to do with the altercation.

She still hadn't heard back from Dee, so she suspected she'd so far been unsuccessful in her quest to gain Hope back entrance to the heart of the Dreaming.

Spiteful git!

Another little gem portraying his spiteful nature, was the fact that when it came to her, he wasn't doing his fucking job!

Now that the Prick of Dreams was back in his domain, she'd at least expected to dream of something other than music. Instead, each night she was revisited by the same haunting dream, or memory... the one in which she saw the world through Jessamy's eyes during her last flight.

Though she had no way of knowing if things really had transpired that way, the dream was haunting enough to startle her awake, weeping, each and every bloody time. To the point she was actually afraid to go to sleep.

And yet, even though the King of Pricks was obviously not doing his job in monitoring or governing her dreams, she also didn't think he was actively behind them.

Hope sighed deeply. She had to get her shit together. After all, she was now running her own business. Something she'd started up out of necessity really.

As it turned out, several weeks in the Dreaming had equalled to several months in the waking world. The Ladies of Bethesda had terminated her contract. No one had come to ask what had happened at Fawney Rig that day. In fact, there had been nothing in the news at all. Save for the headlines that people had miraculously been cured from the sleepy sickness (or Lethargica Encephalitis) with a side note that Alex Burgess had slipped into a coma for unknown reasons. That was it.

So: no job, no income and no one around to give a fuck about how she was going to live.

She'd tried applying with other agencies but all positions were filled. It left her in a bit of a pickle.

One could only have an apartment if one paid rent. One could only buy food if one had the money to do so. And so on and so forth.

Then the idea struck.

End of Life counselling. A death doula.

In her profession as a live-in nurse, she'd seen the fear people had of dying, of the unknown, of what happened next, of… death. And at least on that front she was in a unique position to help.

It was a big risk of course; she had no education in the field, no papers, nothing to recommend herself besides the testimonials of the families she'd already helped in her capacity as a live-in nurse.

And so she'd started up her own service of spending time with those on the threshold of death–who faced the end with fear in their troubled eyes–and their loved ones who couldn't bear to see them so. With the added bonus of medical know-how should it be needed.

She called it: Mors Benigna.

Only a week in and she was already receiving plenty of requests and messages asking for more information via her shiny new website, fresh off the digital presses. She could not afford a mental break-down due to lack of sleep.

"Hiya! How have you been keeping, my friend?"

Hope glanced up from her laptop, her fingers first hovering over, then lowering down to the keys. She watched as Dee curiously turned around, taking in her apartment. She'd moved a few times since they got to know each other, and the last time Dee was here had not exactly been an optimal moment to have a look-see. Dee now looked around the room and seemed to absorb each colour used, each painting and decoration.

"How have you been keeping?" Hope echoed mockingly.

Dee gave a short laugh that was just shy of a bark, less sharp, and flopped down next to her on her second-hand couch with faded upholstered linen of an obscure mustard colour.

All of her decorative cushions, including the teal one with the single tassel, clashed with the colour, yet she believed that lend it a certain charm.

"Sorry, I think I might still be calibrated to Dream-speech."

"He does seem to love his formality," Hope replied rather wryly.

There were a lot more things that could be said about the Lord of the Dreaming, the King of Dreams, the Prince of Stories, the Spiteful Twat and what other titles he'd accumulated for himself, but as Dee was, unfortunately, genuinely affectionate about her brother, it was perhaps better not to–

"That's all you have to say about my little brother? What about his tendency to take himself just a tad too seriously? Or his churlish nature?"

Hope dropped her jaw, then quickly clapped it shut again when she saw Dee give her a smile she generally reserved for wicked humour. Perhaps she allowed a little Dream-bashing? He did deserve it after what he'd put her through.

"Or the fact that he can be an overdramatic, spiteful prick?" she tried carefully and gently transferred her laptop to the small, chestnut, round coffee table.

Her friend's smile grew even wider.

And she could feel it bubbling up just then, rising to her throat, no longer to be quelled or tamped down… the joke she'd desperately wanted to make after her first few experiences with Morpheus.

She bit her lip, tried to prevent the words from coming out, but she took a deep breath and then, before she could stop herself, she blurted, "You know what would do him some real good?"

Dee battled with another one of those wicked, delighted smiles; Hope could see it tugging at the corners of her mouth. She slowly shook her head. "Please, enlighten me."

"Well, I was thinking," Hope began, trying to ply her face into a serious expression, "that he should lay off that lemon diet."

It took a long moment before Dee replied and when she did, her voice was suspiciously quaky, as if one wrong word could give the starting signal for a bout of hysterical laughter.

"I wasn't aware he was on a lemon diet?"

"Really?" she asked on an air of feigned surprise. "You never noticed? Cause, each time I spoke with him, I swear he looked at me as if he'd just been sucking a lemon."

For clarification purposes, Hope sucked in her cheeks to make her cheekbones pop out, then slightly pursed her lips in a disdainful little pout and finally allowed her brows to dive together in a frown.

And Dee actually shouted with laughter. Hope had never heard her laugh quite like this. Not with this joyous, free abandon and she perceived it as a personal little gift.

"I'll admit there's room for some improvement," she said after a while, still laughing a bit.

"Some?" Hope muttered.

Dee didn't comment on that and Hope simply assumed that poking more fun at the expense of her brother was now off limits. Instead, Dee now took in the vases with yellow chrysanthemums, the mismatched furniture she'd gotten at flee-markets and second-hand shops, the two paintings on her wall: one of Hades hidden almost completely in shadows as he captures Persephone who looks at him with both fear and intrigue (she laughed seeing that one), the other one a copy of Williams Waterhouse's Lady of Shalott. Finally, her eyes rested on a black, velvet backdrop, with a collection of bronze, Egyptian symbols pinned to it.

The most prominent one being a large, finely sculpted ankh.

Dee. arched a fine brow at her. "I'm sensing a little bit of a theme here."

Hope shrugged her shoulders. "Theme of my life, really."

Slowly, Dee leaned forward and gently slid the laptop towards her, her eyes fixed on the title of the webpage. Mors Benigna.

"What's this?" she asked, her voice uncharacteristically unsteady.

"Well," Hope said on a sigh, "with no job to get back to, I decided to start something for myself and I thought it was about time that the world got to know the real nature of death."

"Death is kind?" Dee shot her an incredulous look.

"Yep. I've spent so much time with dying people, all afraid to go. Afraid of what comes after. Afraid of death. And although the dying part is often terrible, and what comes after largely depends on that person's own beliefs, at least the death part I can help with."

"Thank you," Dee simply said with a lovely smile. "This really means a lot."

"A small favour."

"I thought friend's didn't owe favours?" Dee said, turning Hope's own words against her.

"They don't. That doesn't mean they can't give one when they want to."

When Dee spoke again she spoke quietly, quite seriously. "You never expected… asked… for anything. You're the only one."

"It seemed impolite," Hope said softly, "to offer friendship with one and hand and hold up the other in supplication. Besides, there's nothing you could give me I value more than what you've already given me. As you very well know."

For a few disconcerting moments she didn't speak.

"I think you are entitled to a favour from me," Dee began, slowly, lowly, "to some–"

Hope furiously shook her head. "No. Don't you even dare say it. You know, better than anyone, exactly why I did what I did. And it was most certainly not because I was angling for a reward. We are friends and we don't owe each other favours. If we start down that road, I'm afraid I will come up short very, very soon!"

"I'm not talking about a boon, you silly. I would just like to give you something! Isn't that what friends do too?"

It was a lie and they both knew it. Dee had definitely been about to offer the one thing Hope would never accept. It was all over her suddenly guilt-ridden face.

"Then you can buy me a fucking coffee!" Hope snapped. "Or something else, something that comes wrapped in pretty paper and is tied with a bow. You don't offer me a fucking boon!"

This was a decidedly dangerous way to talk to Death, actual death, but she was past caring.

Thankfully Dee took no offence, as her little brother most certainly would have. Had she addressed him in such a manner, she'd be stewing in some godawful nightmare by now.

"Then we will speak no more of it," Dee said instead. "How are you doing, Hope? Are you fully healed? Any lingering side-effects? You look a bit tired."

A multitude of thoughts started to swirl through her mind. Yes, she was healed. No, she didn't think there were any lingering side-effects except for her heart cramping painfully lately. Something that may or may not be related to what happened.

And, even though Dee had offered to talk to him about it, she didn't feel comfortable asking about her progressions.

Tired. Yes, she was tired, very much so in fact, because she was afraid to go to sleep. Because, even though at the moment she hated his fucking guts, she couldn't bear to see him like that.

She even wondered if that recurring dream perhaps was less about her feeling haunted by it, and more about Morpheus' and how something inside of him maybe had splintered a bit.

And feeling sorry for him was the last thing she wanted.

Yet, she couldn't forget that haunting expression on his face: the hope, the unbridled gratitude, the tenderness… and then the shock, the trauma, the grief.

An artist might have created a complete collection of paintings on that moment alone, and call it: The Death of Hope.

But she was not an artist, and dreaming about it every bloody night really wasn't fun. It forced her to remember that deep down he had a more vulnerable side to him. A side of him she didn't want to see because she wanted to be angry with him.

But, she doubted Morpheus had been able to confide in anyone since his return.

For who could understand him? Who was qualified enough to share his burdens, his worries?

His own creations?

Mortals he visited in their dreams?

Who took care of the Endless when they needed a little caring?

Another train of thought she didn't need or want.

And yet…

"When was the last time you saw him?"

"Dream?"

She nodded.

"A few days back. He was getting a bit annoyed with me. He's still not budging by the way." Dee's voice suddenly turned a bit sharp, as did her gaze. "Is he the reason why you look so tired? He's not been sending you nightmares?"

Hope shook her head. "No, there's a dream. It's not a nightmare but it's hard to… watch. And, I think your brother could use a heart to heart with his sister. You were close, were you not?"

"We were. We are, but, he won't appreciate me butting in, Hope. He never does. He's ornery that way. And he's already annoyed–"

Hope gave Dee a quelling look and her friend studied her for a long moment.

Then she nodded. "I'll talk to him again. Look, he was a tremendous bastard when he kicked you out of the Dreaming, and I know he can come across as distant, cold, perhaps even uncaring. Trust me, I already gave him an earful for the way he treated you and for stepping over you the way he did, but, there is more to him. And he's still my little brother," she said with a helpless little shrug.

The words hit her like a sledgehammer. If Dee noticed anything, she didn't let on.

Hope hardly noticed her leaving. Her mind was too occupied replaying those innocently, casual words... For stepping over you the way he did.

The words echoed in her mind over and over again until she was fair dizzy with them.

Air. She needed fresh air!

She stumbled to her feet and stood there like a complete dolt.

Her hand fell to her side and she fell right along with it, in an endless nauseating free fall. She could barely even think through the vertigo.

A moment later she found herself flopped down on the couch again.

When her heart gave another painful squeeze, she placed a hand over it, almost reflexively.

So, why did you do it then? she'd asked him. You could have simply walked away.

The irony in that statement was sublime, because she had not expected the small little fact that, had Dee not been there, Morpheus would have walked away.

Details from a vague memory bubbled up from whatever abyss inside of her they'd been lurking. And she remembered that peculiar moment in which she realised she was going to die, without any real regrets, and her last semi lucid moments… When two pale feet approached her as she lay bleeding, dying on the cold basement floor. And then two, maybe three heartbeats of hesitation before they… before they stepped right over her. Leaving her all alone, her mind already floating and starting to slip away.

That's when Dee arrived, and shortly after the arguing had started.

"I already gave him an earful for the way he treated you and for stepping over you the way he did."

Her exact words.

Everything just stopped. Time. Her breath. Her heart.

And rage splintered everything into crystalline detail.

That stone-cold bastard!

A coldness entered the room and an ominous shadow appeared on the carpeted floor, growing larger and larger.

Oh, good. He was here. There were a few things she was dying to tell him.

When she deemed herself calm enough to meet his gaze without the risk of clawing at his face, she finally looked up at him. And she hated that, no matter how much she wanted to do something very violent to him, it would only end with some horrible fate inflicted on her and he would simply breeze away.

And of course the very air in the room seemed to rearrange to accommodate him. Because why the hell not?

For a moment they stared at each other. Pure, cold fury snapping between them.

"You dare manipulate one of the Endless?" His words, though softly spoken, held a most ominous edge, the equivalent of the soft snick of a blade drawn from its sheath.

Perhaps she should have cowed in his presence, especially when he was like this, but she was too angry to care. Her fear, apparently, had decided to observe this moment from a safer distance.

"What the hell do you mean?" she asked through gritted teeth.

"I offered you a boon as acknowledgement for what you did for me and my realm, and you rejected it without a moment's thought. Yet, you cry to my sister, in the hopes of what? Garnering her sympathy? Another sly attempt at immortality?"

Her anger prickled hotly in her cheeks. It took her a moment before she could speak.

"I don't know what you're thinking with that warped mind of yours, but I did not go crying to your sister! I didn't ask her for anything!"

"Did you not manipulate her into requesting my aid for your benefit? To put an end to a certain recurring nightmare?"

"I did not, and I most certainly did not ask her to play the sympathy card with you."

He stalked closer to her and fixed her with a look of such cold contempt, her fear got yanked into place again and Hope's insides started screaming, bleating with it.

"And yet, my sister asked me to lift a certain dream from the hours you sleep, when all you had to do was ask me yourself. But you would rather pretend you magnanimously rejected a boon offered by one of the Endless. You misused my sister's kindness and exploited her one weakness, her family! I see right through your feigned concern for me. After all, what am I to you? Nothing!"

"I think you've got that a little backwards, oh, Dream of the Endless!" she spat at him. "It is we who are nothing to you! I am nothing to you," she said with a low, deep voice, as if she was dragging the words up from the depths of her soul. "Less than nothing!"

The vehemence of that last word made her heart squeeze painfully.

Oh, God. Pain!

The perfect moment for her fear to scramble away again.

She made a short involuntary sound as though she'd just burned herself on that word.

Her heart wrestled in her chest like a captured hare, kicking painfully.

"To think I thought so little of my own life that day, it makes me sick! I walked into that basement, knowing I could die, accepting it even! All because I thought I saw a spark of kindness in you. In a bloody dream! And I, like a complete nutter, thought I could preserve that spark."

She laughed without humour, then groaned in pain when her heart gave another agonizing squeeze. And that bastard just stood there, unmoved.

"I was so utterly stupid!" she continued seething at him. "I accepted your anger towards us might be overwhelming, and that perhaps you wouldn't have any empathy for me. I accepted that! All in the belief, or hope, that one day you'd remember that at least one mortal had been kind."

Somehow she hadn't considered the naivety behind such reckless, altruistic thinking.

That something other than her life, that she'd willingly offered up, might be savaged: her heart broken, an ideal destroyed, her hopes shattered. A mistake she was now paying for in a most excruciating way.

She slid from the couch, landed on her knees and she coughed, blood spattering on the carpet as she did so.

That was new. And also alarming.

Yet, she powered on, on what little steam she had left. "Today I learned you never even cared about us in the first place. I would have died that day, had it not been for your sister, and it would have been for nothing! I was lying there, bleeding out, and you stepped over me. Like. I. Was. Nothing! Trust me, had I known what an unfeeling, merciless bastard you really are, I would have let you rot in that basement for another century, no matter how much I care about your sister!"

Now she gagged and she could taste the slightly metallic of blood in her mouth. "You didn't even b-bother, t-to check on me," she said weakly, "o-or even to just s-stop and look at me."

"How long have you been having these pains?" Morpheus asked, completely ignoring the furious words she'd flung at him.

"Oh, don't you dare pretend to care now. It's a bit late for that." Hope coughed, and more blood filled her mouth.

It was incredible… here she was: her heart battered away in her chest, she was spitting up blood, and she was so reckless from her disappointment in him, that she was now drawing on her feelings of anger to confront the King of Dreams with his own bullshit.

Morpheus was with her in a heartbeat. He knelt beside her and wrapped such a gentle arm around her shoulders, it nearly convinced her that perhaps he did care a little.

Nearly.

"Oh, bugger off." It was just a murmur, and so weak, the exclamation wasn't inflected.

"I need to take you back to the Dreaming," he told her. "Hold on to me." All thunder from his voice was now gone. Only a soothing whisper remained.

And then he whisked her away.