Chapter Text
On June eighth, 1389, the most peculiar thing happened. It was not talked about given the subject so the event went unnoticed. However, everyone who had such feelings had a wet dream that night.
Dream of the Endless was so lost in his sibling’s realm he was almost to his youngest sister’s. Which is a vague and polite way of saying he was so sex crazed he was about to lose his mind. He’s never experienced anything like it. The moments of lucidity were few and far between the more time went on and Dream was convinced he would burn forever. Or at least until he incinerated completely, leaving nothing of his realm left.
Dream’s affliction lasted a little over two weeks, but the complete recovery of all himself and the Dreaming took the better part of two years. Complete may be a generous description, however. There was an ache Dream carried at the core of him now, and he felt more rooted in a specific human form than he has in any other. He was weakened, and that was unacceptable. Especially when he still had no idea what caused this.
When the Burning arrived again, ten years after the first, Dream was convinced he was cursed. If asked beforehand, Dream would scoff and answer the all consuming pain would be easier to deal with than the indignity of the arousal. If asked after, he would not respond.
Dream seemed to have created skin for himself for no purpose other than attempting to claw it off. It wasn’t a craze like the first, more like a torture. Dream had never felt so helpless before, so small. There was no greater wish than to hide somewhere dark and safe, except the need for someone to come and make him better. It was confusing, and the emotional pain was as great if not greater than the physical. The agony is a new type than he is accustom, it's the screaming of a terrified child not understanding why it’s not been picked up and soothed. Something primitive and mortal that the Endless should not be capable of.
“Oh, honey,” Desire takes one look at Dream and has to cover their red painted mouth to conceal the laugh bubbling up, “What did you get yourself into, Dream?”
“Do not insult the both of us pretending this was not your doing,” he spat back, he was already shaking, being in as hostile territory as the Threshold. Desire stopped trying to conceal just how funny they thought Dream’s misery was and laughed,
“I’m sorry but you look like someone dropped a kitten in a puddle and it’s honestly the funniest thing I’ve ever witnessed,” they held a hand out as a signal for Dream to give them a moment to compose themselves, “What make you think this was my doing? Okay, okay- I can’t even play dumb with that one you smell like a brothel.”
“What curse have you put on me?”
“Ooohh, big brother,” they tut, “This one wasn’t me. Hard as it is to believe, you’re in Destiny’s jurisdiction now.” Dream bares his teeth and hisses, a humiliatingly automatic action,
“Destiny?”
“Yep,” they pop the p at the end, “That or go find who did this to you. Human, by the looks of it. But that’s just an educated guess, you’ll have to get a name or face from Destiny. And brace yourself, Dream,” they have an uncharacteristically serious look on their face, “Any human who did this is probably already dead with how long ago it happened.”
With the amount of time it took for Destiny to reply to his summons, Dream had already suffered two more cycles bringing the grand total to six. As it was, Dream was about to enter the seventh as they occurred with little variation to schedule. Seventy years have made it easier to function, but Dream still hesitated to have Destiny in the Dreaming so close to the start of one. The degree of “function” Dream managed to keep was not having to rebuild nearly everything every ten years. He trapped himself in a contained space, it was even worse for him but he could no longer stand what the disasters did to the inhabitants of the Dreaming.
“Forgive me skipping the pleasantries, brother, but I am rather short on time. You already know why you’re here as well as what questions I have.” Destiny did not move from the spot he appeared in Dream’s gallery,
“I am aware.” Dream gritted his teeth at the monotone of his voice, all the more infuriating since Dream himself was in such turmoil.
“So. Answer them,” Dream growled, “Or cease wasting my time with your games.”
“You wish to know the identity of your soulmate.”
“I do not have a soulmate,” Dream no longer has the patience for this, “One tends to need a soul for that.”
“I fulfilled my duty in this regard, and I will not alter what’s been written.”
“Leave then! If you refuse to answer what is wrong then your invitation has been revoked!” Dream is left overheating and panting for breath, staring at the spot Destiny once was. He slinks off to his containment void with a whine he wished he was not capable of making, much less be out of control to stop.
A soulmate? Dream’s eighth and ninth cycles were enough to make him grasp at any possible solutions. A soulmate. He knows it is not true. None of the Endless have soulmates. Why should Dream be any different? Perhaps, he thinks, it is because he seems to be the only one who experiences romantic attractions? He had never delved into the intricacies of why he was different from his siblings in that regard, but this could very well correlate and lends validity to Destiny’s statement.
A human, Desire had said. That would complicate things greatly. No human would still be alive for the ninety years required for this theory. If his soulmate was dead, Dream does not see how he could rid himself of this curse. This is doubtlessly the most grateful Dream has been he’s Death’s favorite sibling. But if she couldn’t fix this, Dream isn’t sure what he'll do next.
“Hey buddy,” Death gives him a pitying smile that reminds Dream as to why he’s not reached out to her earlier, “I heard you’ve been having a bit of a time lately.”
“To say the least,” but he finds himself stepping further into her embrace for once and gaining comfort from her support like never before. She’s clearly surprised but pets his hair where he melts against her shoulder.
This is a level of contentment he never experiences any time but when he would sit cuddled with Jessamy. It didn’t relieve the yearning ache but it calmed him down greatly. Death’s hug more so, because he could be held rather than holding Jessamy. He was small, but in a good way where he counted on his big sister to protect him. He didn’t even want to fight the indignity of needing protection in fear this feeling would sour. He had so little respite as of late.
“What can I do to help?” They’re sat on a couch, Death rubbing his back as he leans on her. It brings back hazy memories of when he was first created. Death would comfort the third Endless where Destiny was unwilling.
“Destiny says I have a soulmate. I am beginning to accept he may be right.” Death chuckles,
“He’s not known for being wrong, Dream.”
“He can-” Dream purses his lips, “misrepresent facts. And he most certainly is known for lies of omission.” Death nods, giving him that one. “It’s been brought to my attention my soulmate was human.”
“Was?” her eyes widen a fraction in realization, “Oh Dream, how long did you wait to tell me? They’re for sure dead?” Dream’s head thunks back to her shoulder, letting out a pathetic wail. It seems so much more real now that he hears Death say it. He’s crying in grief for a random, faceless mortal he likely never did anything but pass by. “I’ll talk with Destiny- see if there’s anything I can do. Even if I can’t bring them back to life maybe they can live in the Dreaming? There has to be some sort of loophole there with people dreaming about dead loved ones. Worst comes to worst, you can visit as often as you like, I promise.”
“I would be forever in your debt, dear sister,” he sniffs.
“In happier news,” she bumps him playfully, “I won our bet.”
“How is losing supposed to cheer me up?”
“Well,” she laughs, “happier for me at least. If you don’t believe me go to the White Horse Tavern this June seventh like you said you would. It’ll do you good, call it my reward if nothing else. I’ll meet with Destiny,” she nudges him again, “and I’ll push him around too if he makes me, a bit of favoritism for you.” Dream rolls his eyes but twitches his lips up in a smile. It was a good idea to call Death. He feels lighter than he has since this started, maybe even a little hopeful.
The Waking World seemed worse than the last time Dream had the displeasure of visiting. The smell was rancid, feces and disease everywhere as usual, but there were a lot of different smells he can’t remember being here before. Did humans always smell like this? Body odor and sweat, yes, but now everyone he passed had something distinct about their scents. Most were neutral, a handful were almost comforting in their mild sweetness, but as soon as he got to the part of the city the White Horse was more of them started to make the hair on the back of his neck stand up in alarm. He got looks. Dream was confident his human guise was believable, he’s been in it often enough to know now. Still, heads turned when he passed. Nostrils flared. He was certain, somehow, it had nothing to do with his ruby. That was not reassuring in the slightest.
Fear. Real, true, visceral fear for his safety was not something Dream was familiar with. He should definitely not be contending with it now. He was among nothing but humans looking at him like starving men in front of a very nice piece of meat. It was irrational beyond measure. Dream could alter the very fabric of reality but he couldn’t do so much as remind the rabbit quick heartbeat he didn’t even need he could dissolve into sand at a moment’s notice. Not that he should even need to!
“You’re walking like you have somewhere to be, pretty thing,” a man falls into pace alongside him and Dream suddenly feels much worse, “I know this part of town real well. Lemme be a gentleman and offer an escort. Show you around some of my favorite spots.”
“I know my way,” Dream snaps once he realized this man will not be ignored. He should have just appeared in front of the door and not cared who saw him.
“Maybe so, but I don’t see any guards and a lot of alphas here won’t be as nice with you as I will, your highness.” Dream approaches the White Horse and lets the door close in the man’s face. Another two men follow him inside. Dream freezes like a prey animal when his back hits a wall. He can’t disappear, he can’t even manage to pull his sand from his sleeve. All he can do is stay very still and try to make himself small. “Listen,” the man waves the two others to hold slightly back, “You obviously know what you’re doing, sweetheart. Coming here smelling like that. Escaped whatever guards mum and dad had on you to look for a bit of rough to spend your heat with. No harm there,” he cages Dream in, “I’m even willing to show you a good time, not just ruin your haughty ass and slit your throat after. But don’t you get disrespectful with me you little omega-”
“Oi! Fuck off before I ruin your haughty ass,” Dream can’t even look to where the voice is coming from, too focused on the threat before him.
“Quit playing knight, this one’s mine!” There’s the crack of bone breaking and the man in front of Dream drops to the floor. He does not move although Dream can tell he’s merely unconscious. The other two men do not approach, strangely.
“You’ll find I got to him first,” he growls and Dream realizes with dawning horror and clarity that this is his soulmate. Hob Gadling waits for the two rivals to clear out after recognizing the same thing, not even waiting to collect the third. He turns to Dream with a brilliant grin and wipes the blood from his knuckles onto his shirt, “Hullo love,” he addresses Dream with an unbearable fondness, “You’re late.”