feels like i'm falling into a world i can't control (♫)
Sleep is not kind to Daisy Johnson. It never has been. As a child, she dreamed of parents who never came to rescue her, of mean scary nuns who showed little kindness to her, and of the foster families who no longer wanted her. The loneliness of her waking life was infinitely better than the life she found in dreams — something that did not change as she got older. With each new tragedy, the arsenal of nightmares stacked against her grew both in number and strength. Betrayals and losses, emotional and physical trauma, she was plagued by the original memories as well as twisted versions of them that were often even worse than what she experienced firsthand.
The solution to this problem is, obviously, to sleep as little as humanly possible. Coffee is her best friend, helping her stay awake and alert through the deprivation, and when she does have to finally get some rest, she works out until she's on the verge of exhaustion in the hopes of collapsing into a dreamless nothing for a few hours. It works sometimes, but more often than not she's waking up crying or shaking or screaming in the early hours of the morning, the room shaking from her powers activating as her body's instinctive reaction to fear. Sleeping anywhere but her own quarters is never a good idea for that very reason — she needs the power-absorbing panels lining the walls of her bedroom or she might bring the building down.
Tonight, it's the barn that haunts her, except this time Malick turns his attention to Sousa first. She has to watch as the SHIELD legend is dragged out of the room, powerless to help him, and then his screams fill the building. When they dump his body back in the room with her, there's nothing she can do except hold on to him as he slips into unconsciousness. And then they come for her.
Daisy wakes with a scream in her throat, each shuddering breath like razors as she struggles to calm her racing heart. The adrenaline spike leaves her shaking as she climbs out of bed, gets dressed, and grabs her phone and keys. There's an all-hours diner down the street with not-too-terrible coffee where she can wait out the rest of the night. It won't be the first time she's rolled in hours before dawn.
Except when she opens her front door, she's back in that barn, standing alone on the dusting of straw and waiting for her own personal boogeyman to return. These are the worst dreams. The ones where she knows she's dreaming and yet she can't do a damn thing about it except play along. The door is still locked, her power still beyond her reach, but she's not helpless now. Since she can't get out the main way, she'll just have to find another. Breaking that small window on the outer wall seems like a good first option.
{ Since his capture, much has changed. The world kept moving forward while he was inside glass, lips sealed out of a flaming stubborn habit. Part of it was pride, and part of it was for the sake of the original intent of his captors. They had wanted Death, his sister. That would not do, and thus he waited over a century until he could be freed. Humanity, always fickle and impulsive. They surprised him on occasion, and at the moment the circle was compromised, he took to his even more stubborn mission to get what was taken from him. His tools, all scattered, took much of his attention while the rest of the world started to shed the remains of the sleeping sickness caused by his departure.
Rebuilding his kingdom was the only aspect on his mind since he settled the vortex matter (and potential end to the universe). No true breaks for the King of Nightmare and Lord of Dreams. Nightmares and dreams were needed, from the molding of his own essence and wonder within each new creation. He's always been at ease when he creates. Dream is attempting to be attuned, as he had promised Lucienne he would try. There was too much to do, requiring time. Thankfully, it ran differently in his realm.
He'd been at his workshop, the potential creations still half ideas and others with details ready to come alive when he heard it. A ringing seized his ears, faint and only to be heard by him. Dream knows what it is immediately. His quickening river is calling out for him, paving a new path towards the streams. For the most part, they have been back in his command. Something is telling him to follow it, and he sinks down deeper into the sands of his blackened quartz grains.
His shadow becomes an overcast over what appears to be a usual dream at first glance when he catches sight of the ominous barn. Why had he been called there? A nightmare of his shouldn't be far off. He descends, swift as a leaf moving in the wind at a soft speed. He's propelled into the center of the inside, and soon rises from it, his void of a shadow the first to be seen. Probably not the best way to appear before someone, but he’s never been one to actually have success in it. It is just him. His voice is next to be heard. It is deep compared to his willowy appearance. His face is partly obscured by the dimmed room of where he has emerged from the other side. }
[ The strange shadow suddenly appearing in the barn doesn't bother her as much as it might during the waking hours. This is a dream, she knows it is, but the strange turn of events is intriguing more than frightening. Still, as interesting as it might be, she still has work to do — Daisy shrugs off her jacket while the shadow becomes something with a voice, a figure she doesn't recognize.
That is the strange part of it all. This man, who is he? With a distinctive voice like that, she should remember him, right? It doesn't make sense that she would dream up a perfect stranger out of nothing. As she rolls the jacket into a sort of bundle she can use to shield her hand from glass, she tries to recall all the faces of the missing she'd pored over for years, drowning in her own guilt after Thanos. Because that's the next logical possibility, according to her own self-analysis in lieu of going to actual therapy. Those faces are too far away, though, obscured by the fog of her dream-addled mind, so she's really on her own with this one.
Cool. Well, might as well just roll with it. Frowning with a somewhat skeptical expression, she addresses the dream man directly, as if this were a totally normal experience. ]
Okay, Figment of My Imagination. What do you suggest, then? Because standing around just waiting for him to come back isn't an option.
[ There's authority to her words, the tone that of someone used to calling the shots. Maybe she can convince her own subconscious to play nice and do what she wants, for once. But if that doesn't work, she's more than prepared to take her chances with the window. Hell, she'll try punching her way through the wall, if that's what it takes. ]
{ He remains at the side of the barn where they are at a reasonable distance. From here he's able to assess the situation, all while keeping to a slow watch. She moves, and he follows her with his eyes. Dream has witnessed all sorts of reactions. Those that have impulse on their minds and hands ready to keep moving forward, always seem to have the most burning drives. It stems from somewhere, often from a need to survive.
He's not there to invest. Dream is there to figure out why his streams brought him to this woman, of which he can understand more of if he were to get back to his library. All it would take would be sinking back for what her would be seconds and to him a different time stream, but he wants to see what will play out. He takes a few steps forward, ones that could be seen as gliding. His black boots are visible. It makes him appear under the lighting more and centered, his dark-clad clothing visible against his pale skin. }
I want to see this play out, Daisy Johnson. { He speaks the name he finds, the one he can bring froth from the massive knowledge he's able to tap into, but it is only that - a name. Dream wouldn't be able to actually know more until he goes back. } Why are you afraid of him coming back?
{ He's an Endless, but he's not as wise as his sister. He might be lacking a sense of understanding the situation, is probably odd. Daisy is taking it far better than most would, he'll give her credit for that. He spots the jacket on the floor as he hears heavy footsteps in the distance. It might simply be an ordinary nightmare, but if so, where is the one who weaved it? Too many pieces are not adding up at the moment. }
[ Surviving is what Daisy has always done best — even when she would rather have not. She'd survived a childhood of neglect and isolation, followed by an adulthood full of risk and loss. Despite more close calls than most people have in a lifetime, she's made it through every mission, pushing forward because she has to. The world needs her and she can't turn away from that. Period.
There's something in the way he moves, some element of his essence that could be almost terrifying if he didn't feel... not quite safe, but close. Nothing about him feels overly threatening, and it's actually almost kind of nice to not be alone in this hellscape—
Until he says, "I want to see this play out," anyway. After that, she's fantasizing briefly about what it would be like to punch him in the face. But she reminds herself this is all just a figment of her imagination. Perhaps something in her subconscious is triggering her guilt response, and so it's pulled up some forgotten face from a time when she failed to protect someone. And if he is just a projection of her psyche, then why not address him as such? Because really, who needs a therapist when you can just interrogate yourself about your emotions? ]
Why am I— [ Okay, so she's not exactly calm in her response, those distant footsteps triggering a deeply ingrained fear that seems to get worse with the more time that passes. ] Because he's a psychotic monster who tried to destroy the world!
[ But it's so much more than that. She's stopped the end of the world before and it hasn't haunted her the way this time did. Bending down to pick up the jacket, she shakes her head, as if the action can ward off her personal monster. ]
He kidnapped me, tortured me, took my power, and then used it to ki— [ The word catches in her throat and she can't say it. He killed my mom. She shakes her head again and starts pacing, back and forth, just a small space. It makes her seem like a desperate, caged animal. ] This is ridiculous. He's dead, I killed him years ago, so why am I—
{ He often speaks with sentences that are half of the weigh they actually carry, as if revealing the rest will only hinder the words themselves. It could also be his way of having to be direct, having to keep it to himself. He wants to see it play out, to a certain point. His priority is to understand above all. He cannot remedy or figure out the danger if it is not apprehended when it wants to explode. Dream is not cruel in the slightest, but some say he has been a cold individual at times. Now is not those times.
He can sense her aggravation, fairly so. If he really concentrated, he might be able to feel her heartbeat accelerate and ripple against the surrounding walls in an echo. She would be able to hear it. He won't let it get to that point. }
Destroy the world...? { His features nearly darken, and he seems at loss. Had he missed too much? Technology advances, humanity became something else, and with the rampant growth of powers, it was almost too much. Almost. All he can do is catch up. His voice is sharper. } I cannot allow it.
{ He looks towards the door, the individual in question going to grasp the doorknob as he hears her fear in the anger. Morpheus is also not without any empathy, and even more so when he had been contained by force himself. Listen to them, he recalls his sister telling him. That faithful day refreshed him, made him ponder under the sound of her wings that will outlast even him.
The man comes into the room with a menacing intent, and he does what he can do at the moment, meeting her frustration as if it were his own in the calamity of what he is. He steps in front of her, shielding her from the man and with the tugs of his sands, he looks at her directly, calling her attention to him alone. What he may not know, is that if there is no nightmare of his here, then the dream will be out of their hands. It wouldn't be good. It's also a way for him to test it out. }
Is there a place that you would go to that calms you? Think of it. Now.
[ I cannot allow it. Those words practically reverberate through her, hinting at something she doesn't yet understand. Allow it? The statement doesn't match up with what she's been assuming of this stranger, that he's merely some conjuration of her guilt-ridden mind. But if that's true, why would her subconscious have him take such an assertive charge? She should be the one stepping in front of him, standing between him and the monster who would gleefully cut him to pieces if given the chance.
It's just a dream. None of this should matter. It isn't real. Malick is dead, he can't hurt her anymore, he can't hurt anyone anymore. And yet her fear is just as strong as it had been that day, knowing what someone with Whitehall's training could do, what someone with her powers would be capable of. Even knowing all of that, knowing that she would suffer the same way her mother had, Daisy still feared more for Sousa that day than she had for herself. And now she fears for this stranger who isn't even real.
That fear is almost too strong. Even as she looks at her possibly would-be savior, she almost can't focus through it, the terror engraved in her bones through the memory of trauma. But there at the back of her mind is that place, one still untarnished by pain. The old speakeasy that was part of SHIELD's history and now was the place they all gathered in perhaps the world's most unconventional family reunion. The dark wood of the bar with the bottles in neat rows, the circle of chairs at the center of the room, the cushioned booths lining the walls... She can see it all and it makes her want to cry. ]
You need to go. [ It's barely above a whisper and half a plea. Is it crazy for her to be addressing the figment of her imagination this way? ] If you can, you need to get out of here.
{ It could be a simple dream. It could also be more. What is beyond the threshold of his power is yet to be understood on a level akin to staring directly into the sun and trying to sustain from being harmed from its rays. People eventually have to look away. He knows it is a dream taken from memories, but as he stares at Daisy, and he feels the hollow dome wanting to crack, to clash against what awaits outside it - Is it truly safe? }
Something is not right here. { There he goes with more half explanations. It could be he is absorbing the energy of the room. He finally looks away to turn and see what has Daisy rigid with an absolute fear. These are painful memories, painful recollections. It is undeniable. Suddenly, the dome fortifies, and it is her avail to keep to it protected.
There's a flicker of the room, of those bar shelves. It is not powerful enough. Her fear is too great, too entrenched, and he finds someone grab for him, this Sousa trying to grasp his cloak to yank him back. There's a hissing sound, and the one wearing the nightmare is left with the sizzling print of a burning hand from an Endless' defense. It is a shift. Something that was solid is veering, but it is also still tied to Daisy, to her trauma. He is forced to step to the side, to re-assess the situation. Dream grows silent. }
I cannot go. Your concern is now mine. There's a parasite here, one I intend of purging. Tell me how you got your power back.
{ He tends to get self-absorbent when threats come about. He needs to know more as the imagery of Daisy's tormentor flickers in and out, the rope swaying while they are approached with a snail pace. It gives him more time to think, and perhaps it will ease her fear if she understands he is not here to harm her. }
[ Everything he says is another puzzle piece she can't quite put together, none of the edges lining up or forming any sort of picture. Once upon a time, she'd believed that puzzles could solve themselves, the pieces coming together to figure out their own place. Is that what needs to happen now? Are all of these fragments of information glimpses of some truth she can put together if she just looks at them in the right way?
The barn flickers like a projection, showing for just a second a place she'd much rather be. That moment is enough to give her a spark of hope that she clings tightly to with both hands. This is a dream, she knows that... but does she? For a single instant, she wonders if this is the Framework, or a machine like the Chronicoms used, or perhaps even someone's abilities. Is this something else and now just her own mind tormenting her?
And then Malick flickers the same way and her fear slowly starts to fade. It'll never be fully gone, she'll probably always live with some measure of terror when it comes to the HYDRA son who'd tried to destroy what family she had left, but she's lived with fear like that for a long time as it is. What seeps in now to take its place is anger. ]
I never lost it. [ Daisy stares at her tormentor with steel-laced fury in her eyes. ] Not really. He drugged me so I couldn't fight back but he couldn't take my power from me, he just copied it for himself.
[ Taking a step toward the boogeyman, her fear dissipates more with each passing second. She isn't drugged now. She isn't helpless. ] I was given a gift and this asshole used it to become a goddamned supervillain.
[ He'd misused her birthright and it makes her fucking furious. ]
{ Seldom does sense become an attribute an Endless can successfully muster. At least at first glance. Destiny above all has more confusions and leaves people with more questions his brother may not answer directly. Dream is the odd one in comparison to the others with his brood, and it's what one might expect from them all. Daisy is only encountering one of them right now. The barn flickers, and he catches the glitch with a considering gaze. It's eerie, but he can become accustomed to it, just as he had walked in the diner after a massacre to retrieve his power back in a stone from Dee. He can't interfere all the time, and often actions are out of his control.
It's slowly becoming apparent how much is lacking and how much is starting to seam together at once.
The Dreaming is different. He is it. He is everyone's dreams at once. It means he should have control over it at all times. It is precisely the problem right now, that he is attempting to see if he can reach further back to the core, but it's as if he's been locked in. Daisy's anger disrupts his thought, and he looks between what is wearing her nightmare and her. The history there is not his to witness, but he is there regardless. }
Supervillian. { Dream's eyebrows crease as he repeats from her. Such terms of good versus evil tend to become more gray when it comes to the span of what he's encountered, of what he has to maintain. The anger is justified, however. He knows it is fruitless for him to attempt to domain what is plainly in sight. }
He's there. What would you have done back then? You can do it now. I suggest you do.
[ When Daisy first started down the path to who she is now, she'd seen much of the world in black and white. There was good and there was evil, and anyone who claimed to be in the grey area was either lying or deluding themselves. It had only taken a few months of working with SHIELD for her to learn that she'd been the delusional one; meeting her parents had cemented that life lesson. Her father did horrible things out of love for his family, and her mother truly believed she was doing what was right by potentially murdering millions in order to protect her people. Neither of them was Evil, but they weren't Good either.
Nathaniel Malick did not exist in a grey area. He'd used his power and privilege to buy and steal his way to having actual powers, which he'd tried to use to create his own new world order. There had been no altruistic meaning to his actions, just power and cruelty for the pure sake of it.
Daisy doesn't regret killing Nathaniel Malick. She regrets not killing him sooner.
What would you have done back then? You can do it now. The stranger's words reverberate through her and after only a few moments of hesitation, she heeds his advice. Spreading her hands at her side, she focuses on Malick, reaching out with her powers — and there they are, just where they should be, no longer hidden by her fear and panic. It's as easy as breathing to concentrate on the molecules making up his body and flip the switch to set them all vibrating as hard as she can. In seconds, the vibrations become so violent that the molecules break apart, the bonds between them destroyed, and her torturer's body disintegrates before them.
It might not be what really happened, but it sure is therapeutic. The barn around them shudders, glitching again like a computer program, and then they are in the bar, their feet planted firmly on the ground. It's just the two of them here, standing amid that circle of empty chairs. After looking around the space in confusion, she turns to the stranger with a furrowed brow and hope for answers. ]
{ Dream has a way of folding his ask into a telling. He knows that he can be more brash about his need to hold the seams into place, but he also understands when he has to step back. It is still a slight step. The barn shakes, and he feels the sensation of the vibrations against the walls. It claps throughout the rest of the dream, causing ripples across that he can see from afar. Powerful, the molecules could knock anyone in place. It is akin to being in the center of an explosion, and all he does is absorb the blast. There's a brief raise of his eyebrows to the loudness that is less noise and more of a piercing blow of negative energy becoming all emotions at once, and then it's all over.
The utter destruction reminds him of his lost sibling. He holds conflicting feelings over his abandonment, but he thinks he might also just be feeling a reflection of Daisy's released emotion having dragged one of his out. There are some cathartic particles in the aftermath, however.
When he lands back to the bar, one foot moves back, halting him in place. It takes a might to move an Endless. His glide becomes soft steps from his boots upon the now calmed ground of the bar, and he moves towards the back of it, where his hand ends up running along the bottles. They clank against one another. He takes a wine bottle, placing it upon the table. }
It's empty. { When he looks back up to Daisy, he's now standing behind the bar. A rather odd sight of a being that does not belong there, but makes it work (it's his brand). } You altered your dream, that is what happened. I believe something that manifested while I was away is hiding here. It is not mine, and it intends on eating away nightmare and dream alike. I require your help finding it.
{ He takes out a pouch full of his sand, and unzips the ribbon holding it together, taking a handful of it. It's a deep containment of his essence from the Dreaming. His intent is to get a better reading, if he's able to get a proper handle. The grains are poured into the bottle, filling up to the top with a slowness that takes enough time for him to continue speaking. }
Once it is taken care of, then you'll be able to wake. I will also be able to return to the Dreaming.
[ Never in her life has Daisy been able to influence her own dreams to this extent. Sure, she's tried before, following the advice of the various therapists whose offices she's been in and out of since childhood, but as with so many things, their advice had turned out to be less than helpful. Her nightmares were trauma-induced and those aren't the type you can simply will away with happy thoughts of rainbows and kittens. And maybe that's all this really was — maybe she'd needed something more effective and, in this case, destructive to overcome the fear she carried with her. Or maybe this stranger had something to do with it. Either way, he is at least partially to thank for the small weight lifted off her chest, and she is grateful to him for that.
That doesn't get him carte blanche, though. ]
Hold up. [ She raises her hands as she approaches the bar, waving them slightly as if to physically halt wherever his line of thinking is going. ] I need to work this.
[ Just like any other problem, she has to think it through, analyze the situation, process the data. There are patterns in everything, and she's always been exceptionally good at recognizing them. Those are talents she'll put to use now. ]
At first, I thought you were just a manifestation of my own guilt, but I'm fairly certain that's not the case now. And since my dreams have never produced anything like [ she gestures in his direction ] you before, I can only conclude that means you're not actually from my dreams. But from what you just said, you're trying to stop something that sounds pretty bad, so maybe you're on the good guy side, or just trying to do good.
[ The sand is a puzzle piece she doesn't want to connect because it's wild even by her standards. Talk of nightmares and dreams from a guy playing with sand? That sounds like old pop music folklore. But, considering her own extremely weird origins, it might be worth considering... Still, best to get all the information she can from the source. ]
So I'm just gonna ask. Who are you? What are you? [ A pause, only for a moment, and then she adds with a swell of hope: ] Are you Inhuman too?
{ The sands keep falling, going as far as overfilling the cup and essentially sinking the bottle into itself. It is slow, festering and not what Dream is paying mind to at the moment. He takes from the sands that are now sinking the bottle, dissolving it as if it were part of a self-sufficient quicksand. It is sort of one. They have time, or at least for now. They would only have to worry if the dream itself were to crumble from the outside. He'll worry about that if it were to get there. }
You are quite fortified. { Another way of saying she trusts less, when dreams are often the place where people can let their guard down. She did mention nightmares, and he has to wonder if she has gotten an abundance of them that outweighs any actual rest. It can go in such a way. Morpheus has the decency to pause, and actually intake the questions being asked. Fair. He has never been the sort to explain what he considers to be the obvious, but he can't solo it right now. }
Inhuman? I know creatures of another dimension that once roamed the waking world, but have long decided to leave. You might know them as fae. You will have to explain it to me. Are you one? { Bold of him. He also considers how to answer. Dream has many titles, and names. He's long gone by Morpheus for a while, but it is not what he presents at first - it is a name of intimacy for later. In the Dreaming, to everyone else, he is simply: }
Dream of the Endless. My siblings and I are known as Endless, older than the oldest God. I am the king of dreams, ruler of the nightmare realm. It is how I was led to you.
{ The bottle has now disappeared within the sand, and he takes his hand to dip it into it, to pull out what it has created. Dream nearly gives a crack to his expression when he revels the gem in his hand, one that would be in the image of Daisy's birthstone. He's always been most comfortable creating. The gem gleams under the lights of the bar in its crimson color as he inspects that it is intact. }
A locator. It will be useful in finding whatever intrusion is here. { He carefully sets it down on the table, and it shines amongst the sand laid around it. } Any more questions?
[ Fortified. Against what, weirdness? There's very little in life that she takes at face value these days, always questioning everything and looking for the ways something could go wrong. She is a fairly trusting person, more so than many in her organization, but the more she finds herself out of her depth, the more that trust begins to erode. This right here is a prime example: he'd helped her face her nightmare and she genuinely feels like she should trust him, but then he goes and says something about fae and other dimensions and—
The king of dreams. Most people would probably laugh it off and assume it's all a load of bullshit, but Norse gods are aliens and she's met the monster HYDRA was founded to worship. The ruler of the nightmare realm who's older than the oldest gods? For Daisy, it's crazy enough to ring true.
She watches the creation of the ruby warily, sorting and organizing the information in her mind like she's putting together a jigsaw puzzle. By the time he asks if she has more questions, she's ready for it, posing her questions evenly and with all due seriousness. ]
Three: Why do you need my help? How long will this take? And does time move the same in here as out there?
[ Sorry, Dream King. She's not to the fangirling, being impressed by gem making and other tricks stage yet. ]
Even I am bounded by certain rules. { He says it with a hint of bitterness, and with the reminder that he can be rendered powerless. It is the not having a choice part that draws out his unforgiving nature. Considering he had been trapped in a circle for a century, since magic has a way of even keeping the Endless in their wake. Dream was weakened, and now he's anew. Any reminder is going to be absolutely bitter. He's also rather out of touch, but one has to wonder if he had ever been in sync with those he lends his Dreaming? There might be many folks forming out the line that would indicate his attempts are rusted.
His slighted impatience is more from the fuss at not knowing what comes next. Rarely does he allow much emotion to show openly, even if by reflex he is capable of telling a million stories in one singular expression. }
One. You don't have to believe me. Two. It shouldn't take long. Three. Time is different when dreaming. But, should you have to wake, then you will find yourself back here in the room you seem to hate. An endless loop. I cannot promise I will be here next time you sleep. If you do find yourself back here alone, you might end up lost. In your world, it's called being comatose.
{ Dream takes the gem and holds it out to Daisy, all while the wall to one side of the bar begins to form a portal into another part of where they are. It showcases a widespread linear piece of land, as if they were to look into the horizon of a desert, and made to wonder if it were an illusion or not. }
I need you to throw this. { A considering pause, then — } Please. We can speak as we do.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
won't you wake me up —
no subject
Rebuilding his kingdom was the only aspect on his mind since he settled the vortex matter (and potential end to the universe). No true breaks for the King of Nightmare and Lord of Dreams. Nightmares and dreams were needed, from the molding of his own essence and wonder within each new creation. He's always been at ease when he creates. Dream is attempting to be attuned, as he had promised Lucienne he would try. There was too much to do, requiring time. Thankfully, it ran differently in his realm.
He'd been at his workshop, the potential creations still half ideas and others with details ready to come alive when he heard it. A ringing seized his ears, faint and only to be heard by him. Dream knows what it is immediately. His quickening river is calling out for him, paving a new path towards the streams. For the most part, they have been back in his command. Something is telling him to follow it, and he sinks down deeper into the sands of his blackened quartz grains.
His shadow becomes an overcast over what appears to be a usual dream at first glance when he catches sight of the ominous barn. Why had he been called there? A nightmare of his shouldn't be far off. He descends, swift as a leaf moving in the wind at a soft speed. He's propelled into the center of the inside, and soon rises from it, his void of a shadow the first to be seen. Probably not the best way to appear before someone, but he’s never been one to actually have success in it. It is just him. His voice is next to be heard. It is deep compared to his willowy appearance. His face is partly obscured by the dimmed room of where he has emerged from the other side. }
Breaking the window will only bring you back.
no subject
That is the strange part of it all. This man, who is he? With a distinctive voice like that, she should remember him, right? It doesn't make sense that she would dream up a perfect stranger out of nothing. As she rolls the jacket into a sort of bundle she can use to shield her hand from glass, she tries to recall all the faces of the missing she'd pored over for years, drowning in her own guilt after Thanos. Because that's the next logical possibility, according to her own self-analysis in lieu of going to actual therapy. Those faces are too far away, though, obscured by the fog of her dream-addled mind, so she's really on her own with this one.
Cool. Well, might as well just roll with it. Frowning with a somewhat skeptical expression, she addresses the dream man directly, as if this were a totally normal experience. ]
Okay, Figment of My Imagination. What do you suggest, then? Because standing around just waiting for him to come back isn't an option.
[ There's authority to her words, the tone that of someone used to calling the shots. Maybe she can convince her own subconscious to play nice and do what she wants, for once. But if that doesn't work, she's more than prepared to take her chances with the window. Hell, she'll try punching her way through the wall, if that's what it takes. ]
no subject
He's not there to invest. Dream is there to figure out why his streams brought him to this woman, of which he can understand more of if he were to get back to his library. All it would take would be sinking back for what her would be seconds and to him a different time stream, but he wants to see what will play out. He takes a few steps forward, ones that could be seen as gliding. His black boots are visible. It makes him appear under the lighting more and centered, his dark-clad clothing visible against his pale skin. }
I want to see this play out, Daisy Johnson. { He speaks the name he finds, the one he can bring froth from the massive knowledge he's able to tap into, but it is only that - a name. Dream wouldn't be able to actually know more until he goes back. } Why are you afraid of him coming back?
{ He's an Endless, but he's not as wise as his sister. He might be lacking a sense of understanding the situation, is probably odd. Daisy is taking it far better than most would, he'll give her credit for that. He spots the jacket on the floor as he hears heavy footsteps in the distance. It might simply be an ordinary nightmare, but if so, where is the one who weaved it? Too many pieces are not adding up at the moment. }
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There's something in the way he moves, some element of his essence that could be almost terrifying if he didn't feel... not quite safe, but close. Nothing about him feels overly threatening, and it's actually almost kind of nice to not be alone in this hellscape—
Until he says, "I want to see this play out," anyway. After that, she's fantasizing briefly about what it would be like to punch him in the face. But she reminds herself this is all just a figment of her imagination. Perhaps something in her subconscious is triggering her guilt response, and so it's pulled up some forgotten face from a time when she failed to protect someone. And if he is just a projection of her psyche, then why not address him as such? Because really, who needs a therapist when you can just interrogate yourself about your emotions? ]
Why am I— [ Okay, so she's not exactly calm in her response, those distant footsteps triggering a deeply ingrained fear that seems to get worse with the more time that passes. ] Because he's a psychotic monster who tried to destroy the world!
[ But it's so much more than that. She's stopped the end of the world before and it hasn't haunted her the way this time did. Bending down to pick up the jacket, she shakes her head, as if the action can ward off her personal monster. ]
He kidnapped me, tortured me, took my power, and then used it to ki— [ The word catches in her throat and she can't say it. He killed my mom. She shakes her head again and starts pacing, back and forth, just a small space. It makes her seem like a desperate, caged animal. ] This is ridiculous. He's dead, I killed him years ago, so why am I—
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He can sense her aggravation, fairly so. If he really concentrated, he might be able to feel her heartbeat accelerate and ripple against the surrounding walls in an echo. She would be able to hear it. He won't let it get to that point. }
Destroy the world...? { His features nearly darken, and he seems at loss. Had he missed too much? Technology advances, humanity became something else, and with the rampant growth of powers, it was almost too much. Almost. All he can do is catch up. His voice is sharper. } I cannot allow it.
{ He looks towards the door, the individual in question going to grasp the doorknob as he hears her fear in the anger. Morpheus is also not without any empathy, and even more so when he had been contained by force himself. Listen to them, he recalls his sister telling him. That faithful day refreshed him, made him ponder under the sound of her wings that will outlast even him.
The man comes into the room with a menacing intent, and he does what he can do at the moment, meeting her frustration as if it were his own in the calamity of what he is. He steps in front of her, shielding her from the man and with the tugs of his sands, he looks at her directly, calling her attention to him alone. What he may not know, is that if there is no nightmare of his here, then the dream will be out of their hands. It wouldn't be good. It's also a way for him to test it out. }
Is there a place that you would go to that calms you? Think of it. Now.
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It's just a dream. None of this should matter. It isn't real. Malick is dead, he can't hurt her anymore, he can't hurt anyone anymore. And yet her fear is just as strong as it had been that day, knowing what someone with Whitehall's training could do, what someone with her powers would be capable of. Even knowing all of that, knowing that she would suffer the same way her mother had, Daisy still feared more for Sousa that day than she had for herself. And now she fears for this stranger who isn't even real.
That fear is almost too strong. Even as she looks at her possibly would-be savior, she almost can't focus through it, the terror engraved in her bones through the memory of trauma. But there at the back of her mind is that place, one still untarnished by pain. The old speakeasy that was part of SHIELD's history and now was the place they all gathered in perhaps the world's most unconventional family reunion. The dark wood of the bar with the bottles in neat rows, the circle of chairs at the center of the room, the cushioned booths lining the walls... She can see it all and it makes her want to cry. ]
You need to go. [ It's barely above a whisper and half a plea. Is it crazy for her to be addressing the figment of her imagination this way? ] If you can, you need to get out of here.
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Something is not right here. { There he goes with more half explanations. It could be he is absorbing the energy of the room. He finally looks away to turn and see what has Daisy rigid with an absolute fear. These are painful memories, painful recollections. It is undeniable. Suddenly, the dome fortifies, and it is her avail to keep to it protected.
There's a flicker of the room, of those bar shelves. It is not powerful enough. Her fear is too great, too entrenched, and he finds someone grab for him, this Sousa trying to grasp his cloak to yank him back. There's a hissing sound, and the one wearing the nightmare is left with the sizzling print of a burning hand from an Endless' defense. It is a shift. Something that was solid is veering, but it is also still tied to Daisy, to her trauma. He is forced to step to the side, to re-assess the situation. Dream grows silent. }
I cannot go. Your concern is now mine. There's a parasite here, one I intend of purging. Tell me how you got your power back.
{ He tends to get self-absorbent when threats come about. He needs to know more as the imagery of Daisy's tormentor flickers in and out, the rope swaying while they are approached with a snail pace. It gives him more time to think, and perhaps it will ease her fear if she understands he is not here to harm her. }
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The barn flickers like a projection, showing for just a second a place she'd much rather be. That moment is enough to give her a spark of hope that she clings tightly to with both hands. This is a dream, she knows that... but does she? For a single instant, she wonders if this is the Framework, or a machine like the Chronicoms used, or perhaps even someone's abilities. Is this something else and now just her own mind tormenting her?
And then Malick flickers the same way and her fear slowly starts to fade. It'll never be fully gone, she'll probably always live with some measure of terror when it comes to the HYDRA son who'd tried to destroy what family she had left, but she's lived with fear like that for a long time as it is. What seeps in now to take its place is anger. ]
I never lost it. [ Daisy stares at her tormentor with steel-laced fury in her eyes. ] Not really. He drugged me so I couldn't fight back but he couldn't take my power from me, he just copied it for himself.
[ Taking a step toward the boogeyman, her fear dissipates more with each passing second. She isn't drugged now. She isn't helpless. ] I was given a gift and this asshole used it to become a goddamned supervillain.
[ He'd misused her birthright and it makes her fucking furious. ]
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It's slowly becoming apparent how much is lacking and how much is starting to seam together at once.
The Dreaming is different. He is it. He is everyone's dreams at once. It means he should have control over it at all times. It is precisely the problem right now, that he is attempting to see if he can reach further back to the core, but it's as if he's been locked in. Daisy's anger disrupts his thought, and he looks between what is wearing her nightmare and her. The history there is not his to witness, but he is there regardless. }
Supervillian. { Dream's eyebrows crease as he repeats from her. Such terms of good versus evil tend to become more gray when it comes to the span of what he's encountered, of what he has to maintain. The anger is justified, however. He knows it is fruitless for him to attempt to domain what is plainly in sight. }
He's there. What would you have done back then? You can do it now. I suggest you do.
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Nathaniel Malick did not exist in a grey area. He'd used his power and privilege to buy and steal his way to having actual powers, which he'd tried to use to create his own new world order. There had been no altruistic meaning to his actions, just power and cruelty for the pure sake of it.
Daisy doesn't regret killing Nathaniel Malick. She regrets not killing him sooner.
What would you have done back then? You can do it now. The stranger's words reverberate through her and after only a few moments of hesitation, she heeds his advice. Spreading her hands at her side, she focuses on Malick, reaching out with her powers — and there they are, just where they should be, no longer hidden by her fear and panic. It's as easy as breathing to concentrate on the molecules making up his body and flip the switch to set them all vibrating as hard as she can. In seconds, the vibrations become so violent that the molecules break apart, the bonds between them destroyed, and her torturer's body disintegrates before them.
It might not be what really happened, but it sure is therapeutic. The barn around them shudders, glitching again like a computer program, and then they are in the bar, their feet planted firmly on the ground. It's just the two of them here, standing amid that circle of empty chairs. After looking around the space in confusion, she turns to the stranger with a furrowed brow and hope for answers. ]
What just happened?
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The utter destruction reminds him of his lost sibling. He holds conflicting feelings over his abandonment, but he thinks he might also just be feeling a reflection of Daisy's released emotion having dragged one of his out. There are some cathartic particles in the aftermath, however.
When he lands back to the bar, one foot moves back, halting him in place. It takes a might to move an Endless. His glide becomes soft steps from his boots upon the now calmed ground of the bar, and he moves towards the back of it, where his hand ends up running along the bottles. They clank against one another. He takes a wine bottle, placing it upon the table. }
It's empty. { When he looks back up to Daisy, he's now standing behind the bar. A rather odd sight of a being that does not belong there, but makes it work (it's his brand). } You altered your dream, that is what happened. I believe something that manifested while I was away is hiding here. It is not mine, and it intends on eating away nightmare and dream alike. I require your help finding it.
{ He takes out a pouch full of his sand, and unzips the ribbon holding it together, taking a handful of it. It's a deep containment of his essence from the Dreaming. His intent is to get a better reading, if he's able to get a proper handle. The grains are poured into the bottle, filling up to the top with a slowness that takes enough time for him to continue speaking. }
Once it is taken care of, then you'll be able to wake. I will also be able to return to the Dreaming.
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That doesn't get him carte blanche, though. ]
Hold up. [ She raises her hands as she approaches the bar, waving them slightly as if to physically halt wherever his line of thinking is going. ] I need to work this.
[ Just like any other problem, she has to think it through, analyze the situation, process the data. There are patterns in everything, and she's always been exceptionally good at recognizing them. Those are talents she'll put to use now. ]
At first, I thought you were just a manifestation of my own guilt, but I'm fairly certain that's not the case now. And since my dreams have never produced anything like [ she gestures in his direction ] you before, I can only conclude that means you're not actually from my dreams. But from what you just said, you're trying to stop something that sounds pretty bad, so maybe you're on the good guy side, or just trying to do good.
[ The sand is a puzzle piece she doesn't want to connect because it's wild even by her standards. Talk of nightmares and dreams from a guy playing with sand? That sounds like old pop music folklore. But, considering her own extremely weird origins, it might be worth considering... Still, best to get all the information she can from the source. ]
So I'm just gonna ask. Who are you? What are you? [ A pause, only for a moment, and then she adds with a swell of hope: ] Are you Inhuman too?
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You are quite fortified. { Another way of saying she trusts less, when dreams are often the place where people can let their guard down. She did mention nightmares, and he has to wonder if she has gotten an abundance of them that outweighs any actual rest. It can go in such a way. Morpheus has the decency to pause, and actually intake the questions being asked. Fair. He has never been the sort to explain what he considers to be the obvious, but he can't solo it right now. }
Inhuman? I know creatures of another dimension that once roamed the waking world, but have long decided to leave. You might know them as fae. You will have to explain it to me. Are you one? { Bold of him. He also considers how to answer. Dream has many titles, and names. He's long gone by Morpheus for a while, but it is not what he presents at first - it is a name of intimacy for later. In the Dreaming, to everyone else, he is simply: }
Dream of the Endless. My siblings and I are known as Endless, older than the oldest God. I am the king of dreams, ruler of the nightmare realm. It is how I was led to you.
{ The bottle has now disappeared within the sand, and he takes his hand to dip it into it, to pull out what it has created. Dream nearly gives a crack to his expression when he revels the gem in his hand, one that would be in the image of Daisy's birthstone. He's always been most comfortable creating. The gem gleams under the lights of the bar in its crimson color as he inspects that it is intact. }
A locator. It will be useful in finding whatever intrusion is here. { He carefully sets it down on the table, and it shines amongst the sand laid around it. } Any more questions?
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The king of dreams. Most people would probably laugh it off and assume it's all a load of bullshit, but Norse gods are aliens and she's met the monster HYDRA was founded to worship. The ruler of the nightmare realm who's older than the oldest gods? For Daisy, it's crazy enough to ring true.
She watches the creation of the ruby warily, sorting and organizing the information in her mind like she's putting together a jigsaw puzzle. By the time he asks if she has more questions, she's ready for it, posing her questions evenly and with all due seriousness. ]
Three: Why do you need my help? How long will this take? And does time move the same in here as out there?
[ Sorry, Dream King. She's not to the fangirling, being impressed by gem making and other tricks stage yet. ]
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His slighted impatience is more from the fuss at not knowing what comes next. Rarely does he allow much emotion to show openly, even if by reflex he is capable of telling a million stories in one singular expression. }
One. You don't have to believe me. Two. It shouldn't take long. Three. Time is different when dreaming. But, should you have to wake, then you will find yourself back here in the room you seem to hate. An endless loop. I cannot promise I will be here next time you sleep. If you do find yourself back here alone, you might end up lost. In your world, it's called being comatose.
{ Dream takes the gem and holds it out to Daisy, all while the wall to one side of the bar begins to form a portal into another part of where they are. It showcases a widespread linear piece of land, as if they were to look into the horizon of a desert, and made to wonder if it were an illusion or not. }
I need you to throw this. { A considering pause, then — } Please. We can speak as we do.