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 ringing of her cell taking a few moments too long to register. It must be what shook her loose from the nightmare's hold — usually, she'd have been trapped there a while longer. The adrenaline spike leaves her shaking as she climbs out of bed and rushes to get dressed. Most nights like these, she'd be headed to the all-hours diner down the street with not-too-terrible coffee to wait out the hours before she could head to HQ without drawing too much attention, but duty calls and she'll have to forego the much-needed caffeine. There's an evacuation going on across town that needs her help.
⟪ dream of the endless stands stoic before the burning church, its once-proud spire now ablaze, tendrils of smoke spiraling into the starless night. around him, firefighters wage their futile war against the flames, the townsfolk living nearby ushered to safety by officials. the wind picked up a little while ago, and it’s sheer chaos down here, a cacophony of screams and too many loud conversations at once; dream remains unaffected by the heat, by the noise, immobile as his gaze sharpens on ancient stone and stained glass.
can’t say i expected you to show up. constantine, seemingly surprised beside him, pleasantly so. figured it might be beneath your notice.
and yet she called. dream doesn’t budge, a furtive sidelong glance in lieu of a verbal answer. he’s here because of her. mostly. he’s here because she asked, wondering whether the dreaming might be involved somehow. there have been… incidents, lately, similar patterns etched in terror that only a nightmare could induce. reports of various victims all indicated the same thing: worst fears made tangible, and some have already succumbed to them. but it’s not the purpose of nightmares to harm, and dream knows, without the shadow of a doubt, that no creation of his has gone astray, all of them accounted for.
what’s more, the stench of sulfur in the air is unmistakable and, quite frankly, pretty incriminating.
lucifer’s taunted him enough times already — has their grand devastating plan finally been set into motion? perhaps. but dream’s noticed something else. lucienne, actually, a curious knot between her brows as she skimmed through one book in particular, over and over. the conversation occurred years ago. dreams, like everything else, should be balanced, but one dreamer drew the lord of the dreaming’s attention, assaulted by nightmares night after night, never fading in intensity. it’s been worse, lately — not just hers but the entire slumbering state of the waking world, and with constantine’s growing concerns towards recurrent and unusual demonic occurrences…
well. here he is.
and he’s not alone.
matthew’s been appointed as daisy johnson’s personal… watcher. for lack of a better term.
…okay, fine. he’s pretty much stalking her, peering through her windows, observing from high above. sitting and walking closeby, sometimes. he serves as dream’s eyes, essentially, a means to understand her better, to dissect the wretched nature of her dreams. it’s hard to tell whether the nightmares that plague her nights are at all related to constantine’s apprehension, but dream’s already taken an interest in her. call it curiosity, or fascination, maybe; without his intervention, the scales should have tipped over already. the universe demands balance, and daisy remains an anomaly.
as the church burns brighter, matthew flits between the trees as daisy exits her home across town. he likes to think himself stealthy, though his aerial grace can’t measure up to the smoldering ashes drifting in the wind. the caustic sting on his glossy feathers immediately throws him-off balance, a curse on his tongue as he plummets earthward in a panic. he never hits the ground. he does collide with something relatively solid, and leathery; daisy’s coat, his beak stuck in one of her zippers as he frantically flaps his wings.
he croaks once, twice, his voice half-muffled. ⟫
Uh, lady? A little help would be appreciated here? ⟪ please don’t mind his semi-sardonic tone. ⟫
[ It's fairly unusual for Daisy to be caught off-guard. Between years of work as a spy and her power that allows her to feel the frequency of every vibrational frequency around her, there have to be exceptional circumstances to slip past her defenses and take her unawares. Unfortunately, a bird falling out of the sky while she's studying the map on her phone is just one such exceptional circumstance. ]
Holy shit! [ The SHIELD-regulation phone slips from her grasp and drops to the ground as her hands instinctively try to grasp the struggling creature, trying to fit underneath its body to help fight the pull of gravity until she can get it free. ]
Okay, just hold still so I can— [ Her words cut off abruptly as her mind catches up with what's actually happening. Not the bird practically dive-bombing her, and not the gentle but firm way she'd spoken to the animal as if it could understand her. No, it's the fact that she understood it that's throwing her for a loop. ]
I'm talking to a bird. [ Her hands work while she mutters to herself, balancing him with one while the other hovers over the offending zipper. ] But the bird talked first...
[ Right? The bird definitely spoke first. Maybe this is a Rocket the Racoon situation, an animal experimented on to gain sentience. Or maybe one of the sorcerers across town is trying out a new spell; she's never dealt with them before, but she's heard they can be a real handful.
Or, much more likely, her usual three hours of sleep a night is catching up with her and she's hallucinating. Cool, cool, cool, this is just what she needs.
Whichever it is doesn't really matter, though. What matters is getting him free. The zipper's teeth vibrate ever so slightly as she uses her ability to widen the gaps between those tiny metal spokes enough to release him. The change is almost imperceptible, but she knows she'll have to mess with it later if she wants to ever use the zipper again. ]
⟪ listen. sometimes you’re just no match against a dreamling raven that has all the grace of a ballet-trained goat. one of you had to out-spy the other. one of you had to make an utter fool of themself. in matthew’s mind, he’s probably winning both games here, but let him have his metaphorical balm; it’s a lucky thing his master’s pride remains intact.
but yes. holy shit indeed. the bird talked first, and… ⟫ Yeah. And now you’re talking to yourself. ⟪ it’s okay, though. he does that too, a habit that grows pretty fast when your lord is dream of the endless. beak unstuck, matthew slowly glides to the ground and flaps his wings to test the pain, its head tilting three different ways as he studies her from various angles. ⟫ Aren’t you, like, a superhero or something? I’m sure you’ve seen waaaaaaay weirder stuff than a talking bi—
⟪ the rest of whatever he was going to say is swallowed in a sudden sharp wind. across the pavement, a shadow stretches long and dark from a tall silhouette that wasn’t there just seconds ago.
dream.
the sting. the panic. the mortification. dream of the endless’ seen it all, felt it all, a sharp twinge in his chest as he left constantine without a word. demons and the fires of hell are her business; matthew is his to protect, and the death of jessamy has left a sour, rueful tang in the back of his mouth. it’s been years — he hasn’t forgotten, even though humans like to say that time heals everything.
well. it doesn’t.
there’s an austere air about him as he watches from a dozen feet away, sand dust trickling down his black coat. but matthew’s fine, hopping towards him, and dream drops to a crouch to accept the bird, long and pale fingers delicately exploring the wing that’s been burnt. barely.
dramatic corvid. ⟫
I see you’ve found my raven.
⟪ dream rises, matthew perched on his shoulder as he returns his attention to the woman who saved (helped) the raven. daisy johnson, in the flesh, most likely on her way to help with the evacuation. the church continues to burn a couple of blocks away, and dream slowly walks towards her, halting a mere foot away to crouch again and grab the device on the ground. he doesn’t spare a second to examine the thing, all gestures deliberate and unhurried as he straightens up and lets his gaze drift to her face, a gentle scrutiny. ⟫
Thank you.⟪ he doesn’t smile, but there’s a soft little thing in his eyes, unnamed as he extends one hand to give her back her phone. ⟫
[ This bird has an attitude, that's for sure. But he's not exactly wrong. She has seen weirder than a talking crow or raven or whatever he is. Still, this is completely out of nowhere, and she's honestly not sure how to respond to the situation, so it's a good thing that Mr Bird is interrupted by that suspiciously well-time wind.
Her brown-eyed gaze finds that silhouette immediately, the streetlights making it all too easy to notice that shadow that seems almost alive as it stretches into existence. And somehow, she isn't afraid. There's no spike of adrenaline that would normally accompany such a sudden change in surroundings, no wariness or mistrust of a possible adversary. She's self-aware enough to realize how odd it is, wondering what exactly has triggered the instinct to be okay with all of this, but then off goes the bird, hopping across to the stranger with purpose.
Oh. She stands there feeling a bit like an idiot, just watching the man examine the bird as if making sure it's alright. And then he speaks and comes close, closer than people usually would, just walking right through any personal bubble without hesitation. Her hand automatically moves to accept the phone, her eyes moving from those hands to his coat and that strange, beautiful face that defies explanation. If she were to try to describe the person in front of her, no words would ever suffice, and that both bothers and intrigues her. ]
You're welcome. [ Why is her voice so soft, as if she's afraid of waking the slumbering world around her? Clearing her throat slightly, she forces herself to sound a bit more normal, the lightest joking tone wrapped around the syllables. ] I would say you should probably try to keep him from dive-bombing anyone else...
[ She looks back at the bird, the raven, and a ridiculous wave of affection rolls through her. Animals and children just have that effect on her. ] But it seems he has a mind of his own.
⟪ intrigued is a nice term for it — a sentiment they share. dream has been watching her for a while. her nightmares, anyway, their nature not quite abnormal but still worth observing. she’s a magnet, almost, drawing them to her like flies to honey, and though some aspects of them are mere memories, the emotional violence wove into them is slightly alarming. he has yet to intervene, curious to decipher the enigma she represents — one of the reasons why he decided to watch her in her natural habitat.
and the way she seems at ease, looking altogether unafraid in front of him, intrigues him even more.
it probably shows on his face, a hint of curiosity in the crease between his brows, his stare lingering as he searches her gaze unabashed. he’s probably too close for comfort, crowding her space uninvited — he does that. whether it’s because of all his time spent with no one in his vicinity, or because humans tend to fascinate him more than he wishes to admit, it’s anyone’s guess. she does, though. fascinate him, the vicious content of her mind clashing with the genuine kindness that emanates from her.
and up close, he can confirm what he’s noticed in her dreams; she’s not disagreeable to look at.
on his shoulder, matthew grumbles: sure. just. talk about me like i’m not even here, it’s fine. dream’s mouth stretches ever so slightly in response, his sigh exasperated but undeniably fond. ⟫
Yes. ⟪ his voice drops lower, not quite a whisper but a string of words solely meant for her. ⟫ I suppose he does. ⟪ all of his acquaintances do, in a matter of fact. he’s not the king of much, honestly, when he can barely get anyone to really listen. but daisy is listening now, and dream’s eyes sharpen soft, a hint of burning stars flickering in them. ⟫ As do you. ⟪ it sounds like it could be praise, fact, or even the semblance of a question. mind your own business, dream of the endless. but he doesn’t, crimson motes around them as the fires farther away roar more insatiable.
dream slowly tilts his head, peering over his shoulder. constantine is most likely dealing with a demon — or ten — and daisy is heading straight to the lion’s den. the wind catches his voice first, his face still angled towards the church. ⟫ You were called upon to assist the relief effort. ⟪ a pause, and then: ⟫ I can’t ensure your safety if you choose to join them.
[ It's been a long time since Daisy felt an immediate pull toward another person, but it's there now like a string has been tied around her, gently tugging her in the direction of the man still standing far too close. His proximity isn't uncomfortable, though; if anything, she wants him to stay there, to reach out and grab hold of that coat that seems ready to melt into the darkness around them and—
Yeah, no, she needs to shove those thoughts right out the proverbial window. Already, she can smell the smoke in the air and feel the energy of the fire raging. That is too close for comfort, and that is what she needs to put her attention to. Not the enigmatic man in front of her who seems to be saying so much with so little that she doesn't fully understand.
And then he says something that breaks the spell a little, bringing her back to the here and now with startling clarity. How does he know where she's headed? Does he recognize her from the news or the old days when she was the literal postergirl for a new SHIELD? It should bother her more than it does, only the mystery itself scratching at her mind, though it too is put immediately out of her mind when he follows it up with something entirely unexpected.
She can't help it: she smiles, a bright thing that stretches across her lips, and there's an echo of a laugh in her voice as she shakes her head and replies. ] I can take care of myself.
[ It's not bravado or arrogance, nor is she shrugging off the idea of a man protecting herself for the idea itself. She's a SHIELD agent, she can take care of herself. But more than that, she's Quake, and she knows precisely what she's capable of.
Taking a step back that almost aches, then another, she lifts her chin to gesture at the grumbly raven perched on his shoulder. ] You just worry about him.
daisy rebuffs him like he’s been rebuffed a thousand times before, even though she wished not even 10 seconds ago to bury herself in his coat. the duality of human beings, probably. he knows she can take care of herself. the many pages of her own personal story tell as much, some of them creased from countless perusals. he’s spent hours studying her, which is an odd thing to say when it feels like there is so much left to uncover.
but no. she’s not having it, him, and dream looks back just in time to catch the smile pursing her lips, a faint trace of laughter scurrying in her eyes. it doesn’t look like arrogance. it’s homegrown confidence, if nothing else, and the reverberations lodge themselves somewhere between his ribs. the sting is soft and bitter; he ignores it because of course he does, rehinging his jaw with an audible click. ⟫
And what of your nightmares?
⟪ there. can she handle them? he says it before she withdraws too far, absolutely intent on catching her unaware. dramatic effect, and all that. he couldn’t possibly just introduce himself and speak plainly. that’s too simple.
taking back the step she’s forgone, dream nurtures a pause, his eyes sweeping across her face like searchlights. for once, he doesn’t mean to be terrifying. this is unknown territory, more or less — someone somewhere is pulling strings that have no business being pulled, and daisy is dealing with enough nightmares as is. her waking hours shouldn’t be troubled with unidentified horrors that could very well make her life a living hell. literally. so he holds her gaze, a silent plea in his otherwise stern expression. ⟫
There are forces at play here that even I cannot fully grasp. Not yet.
[ And what of your nightmares? He might not mean to be terrifying but he is, a chill racing up her spine as her psychosomatic response to emotional distress kicks in. That smile slips from her face and she stares up at him as if expecting him to tell her the world has ended and she has failed to save it.
Because that is what she fears, not her own torment. She's lived with pain long enough to accept it as her due, something she cannot escape no matter how hard she might try. Part of her still believes she even deserves it for the mistakes she's made in the past. No, what she fears most is that terrible future coming into being, where the world is torn apart and she is powerless to stop it. Her purpose is protecting the people of this planet; nothing else will ever matter as much. ]
Who are you? [ The taste of smoke fills her mouth as the wind picks up, and her fear adds a strained edge to her voice as she demands answers to questions she hadn't cared to ask until this moment. ] How do you know anything about me?
⟪ she could be condemned to witness the false destruction of her world. over and over. helpless. hopeless. so tangibly she wouldn’t be able to differentiate reality from delusion. though dream is the prince of stories, lucifer morningstar doesn’t lack in imagination, and their domain doesn’t forgive.
neither does dream. there’s a myriad of implacable entities out there… and then there’s dream, but truth be told, some of his harsher edges have considerably softened in recent years, and this is probably one of the very few times he has ever resented his tendency to frighten. she doesn’t fear him, exactly. she fears whatever his words have evoked in her memory, and the sudden loss of her smile is a stone breaking the surface of a lake in his stomach, sending ripples up his spine and scratching at his throat.
he doesn’t have to peek. he can surmise, more or less, what she must be imagining, and her overall panic, laced with a great deal of confusion, prompts him to retake that step back. telling most mortals about the who, and the what, and the how often winds up complicating things; so he shows her instead. ⟫
You know me. ⟪ each syllable lands precise and meaningful, always mindful of their weight, of their power. he’s never meddled with her nightmares, but he’s watched, many times, unbeknownst to her. it’s that barrier he lifts now, so that she can remember as he holds her gaze the reassuring presence in her dreams, the little push she sometimes needed to wake up faster, starlight in the dark. ⟫
[ As the veil is lifted from her memory, Daisy's mask crumbles further, revealing a woman being stripped bare down to her very soul. He'd been there. There in her dreams. Watching her as she relived her worst memories and suffered through fears that tormented her day and night.
Her mouth opens as she tries to find words but can only pull in ragged breaths. Yes, he'd been perhaps the brightest part of all those terrible nightmares, a silent reminder that she would survive this too, but he'd been there. He'd born witness to all of that pain and she— ]
I have to go.
[ The words are more breath than voice, and she takes another step back, her instinct to run when things get hard kicking in with full force. Daisy Johnson isn't someone who talks about her trauma; she suffers alone, pushing it all down beneath the facade of being okay. So for someone to suddenly have seen that side of her, to have seen all of it without her permission or knowledge...
It's like her feet have been kicked out from under her as she's been punched in the chest, air refusing to enter her lungs as it's supposed to. She wants to cry and scream and rage, but she wants to hold on to him while she does so, and she doesn't know what to do with that. So she takes another step and turns toward the not-so-distant fire. ]
⟪ ...oh. okay. that went well. as well as you’d expect for someone with the social skills of a house cat. where did he go wrong. all of his dreamers are stripped bare the second they enter his realm. it’s a necessity for dreams to come alive, for nightmares to thrive and help them overcome unspeakable fears. it just doesn’t occur to him — not right away, at least — that most people might not appreciate being watched while the key to their subconscious is on display; while the most intimate fragments of their imagination run wild. it’s just a given for the lord of the dreaming, the natural order of things, nothing to stew over, but then matthew gets a little agitated on his shoulder and dream can practically hear him think.
and it’s loaded with judgment.
daisy has been utterly perceived, and dream can’t apologize for simply being. he should let her go. figure it out on her own, come face-to-face with her inner demons even, should constantine fail to exorcize the place. he might have, once upon a time. without a care in the world. it’s what he liked to tell himself, anyway, and even matthew seems to know better; he nudges him with one of his wings, a loud croak in his ear.
oh, for the love of— ⟫
You need not fear me. ⟪ he speaks a little louder, frustration draining from his voice as the brief half-roll of his eyes — that matthew knowingly provoked — dissolves. hands in pockets, he waits for her to turn back, hopes that she will, standing as non-threatening as he possibly can. the urge to shield her within the confines of his coat is a hard one to resist, and the truth of it hardens the line of his jaw; he exhales long and deep through his nose, bothered by the contradictory sensations in his chest. ⟫ Or yourself. ⟪ whatever her vulnerabilities, they aren’t his to judge — though he does wish to understand them. he doesn’t move closer, but he leans down, just a little, his tone firm but gentle. ⟫ I have seen your nightmares, yes. But I could ensure that they do not trouble you anymore. ⟪ he swallows, voice dropping raspier. ⟫ If you wish me to.
[ Fearing herself is as natural to Daisy as breathing. It's written in her DNA, her first brush with her Inhuman heritage being drenched with terror. She might accept and embrace who she is now, but that dark shadow of what if always haunts the corners of her mind, lurking in the memory of a broken Earth. Never mind that they stopped the loop; she will always be afraid of what could happen if the wrong person gains control of her or her power.
But that fear doesn't control her. She reminds herself of that as she does indeed stop and turn back to the strange man who might be anything but. That fear keeps her grounded but it does not dictate her life — and neither will he. ]
Look, whoever you are. I don't have time for whatever this is. [ Strength returns to her as she speaks, the panic previously roiling inside her slowly settling like ash coating everything a dark shade of grey. There's little more than an arm's length between them, but it's enough to let her think properly. To focus on what is important. ]
People could be dying right now. I have to help them. [ And then she takes a step closer to him, bridging the gap between them so she can pitch her voice low, this conversation between the two of them and not the rest of the world. ] That's who I am, not whoever you saw in my nightmares.
[ Not the weak, broken woman crying as yet another loved one died. As another home was taken from her. As another friend betrayed her. As she failed to save a life. No, she is so much more than that. ]
⟪ whatever this is, she says, borderline defiant, and though the flicker of displeasure in dream’s eyes is brief, the warning comes free of pretense. how dare she. there’s a billion other souls he could be guiding, and yet he chooses to help her. but that’s entirely on him, and somewhere in the far back of his mind, he’s vaguely aware of that. she spurns him with the aplomb of a thousand stars, and dream is a vagrant wandering between annoyance and beguilement.
she’s not wrong. at least not entirely. her resolve is — among other things — beyond inspiring, all up in his face and unafraid, but then something she says instantly has him frowning, a curious tilt of his head. ⟫ You would forsake half of what you are, simply because it does not please you? ⟪ dreamers tend to readily discard their dream-selves, often out of shame, but the dreaming is just as substantial as the waking world, with its strengths and its weaknesses. she is both a force of nature and vulnerable, just like he is. but it’s not a question. it’s more of a quiet observation, and when he feels her breath on his face, he realizes with a start that he’s drifted too close, leaning back to resume a less overbearing position. ⟫
Far be it from me to keep you from your purpose, but know this: there will be nightmares walking this earth tonight, demons in disguise in search of prey. ⟪ shaped by hellish hands, most likely, and dream is not their master. whatever lucifer is playing at doesn’t bode well, and daisy is a beacon they wouldn’t want to overlook.
dream draws a breath to speak again, one last attempt to warn her. ⟫ The Morningstar will assuredly find you, should they wish to.
[ Forsaking half of herself is nothing. Daisy Johnson has remade herself time and again, reforging herself into who she needs to be in order to survive. The core of her might remain the same, that broken women who has always just wanted to belong, but she can change the person shown to the world as easily as changing clothes. Who she needs to be tonight is the strong hero the world requires her to be, and she won't let anything stand in the way of that.
But he might have just tried to throw a wrench into that plan.
It takes a moment for the dots to connect, the pieces of this puzzle so completely out of her realm of experience that the picture refuses to form for her. But demons? The way he says it hints at it not being a metaphor for something, and when he says Morningstar...
Daisy's relationship with religion is a complicated one. Does she believe in God? Not exactly, though she would like to believe that if there is some great entity out there, it's more loving than vengeful. But she remembers some of the broader strokes of those terrible lessons droned at them again and again, with talks of fallen angels and the creatures doing their bidding. A few years ago, she would have dismissed the idea of any of it being real as crazy, even with things like aliens being proven real, but after meeting the literal Spirit of Vengeance, she can't be so dismissive anymore. ]
Demons. [ She repeats the word as if she can't believe it, but there's a seriousness in her expression that says she's fully grasping what he's implying. ] And Lucifer. The actual Devil. Just walking around.
[ In search of prey, he'd said. It's crazy. It's absolutely batshit insane. But he was in her dreams and has a talking bird, so apparently, it's a night for crazy. She shakes her head, leaning closer to him to bridge the space he'd created. Anger wraps around her words, her voice as taut as a steel rope. ] And you were just expecting me to stay out of it? You might have spied on my dreams, but you don't know a damn thing about me if you thought I was capable of that.
⟪ honestly, he doesn’t know what he was expecting. not this, her stubborn streak rivaling his own, her convictions a series of quick stabs in his chest that he doesn’t dare name. is it awe. is it exasperation. who knows. not him, except he probably does, somewhere in the depths of his many denials. it’s not anger, at least — she possesses enough of it for the both of them, and dream finds himself a little dumbstruck. it’s not unpleasant. it should absolutely be, but it’s not, and while he senses matthew tensing up on his shoulder, a faint hint of amusement begins its slow creep into the subtleties of his face, laced with surprisingly well-contained impatience.
he does enjoy a challenge. ⟫
Perhaps not. ⟪ he knows some things. he might have overestimated his ability to sway her though, but then again, the main reason of his presence here is to remedy his deficient knowledge. it’s not just her nightmares he wants to decipher. it’s her, and he wants enough to allow her victory.
he should be dwarfing her. he isn’t, her vehemence prompting him to bow into her space once more, testing her boundaries. she has no issues defying his own, and dream meets her gaze unflinching, a very hazy trace of gentle interest. he may not know as much about her as he wishes he did… ⟫ But I am trying to. ⟪ and she’s making it so damn difficult. his chest rises and falls with a sigh too long, debating his next choice of words. demanding, as he’s so used to — and it usually works — probably won’t have any effect on her, so… ⟫
Allow me to come with you. ⟪ that’s a pretty decent compromise, yeah? ⟫
[ She expects him to argue. It seems his style, given the stubborn insistence he's displayed in this conversation thus far. But instead, he takes the tempestuous wind out of her sails with that quiet request.
But I am trying to. Why? Who is he that he's so interested in her? Sure, there are plenty of people in the world interested in what goes on in her head, but they're from rival spy agencies, or mad scientists wanting a peek at what makes her tick. They aren't strangers with untold power who swoop in out of nowhere to try and protect her. (She understands that part least of all.) ]
Okay. [ It slips out before she can have second thoughts, and while she knows she should step back, start walking, get her head back in the game — she stays right where she is, so close that she would barely have to move to touch him. And she wants to touch him, a magnetic force pulling her toward him, but she can't, not even to prove to herself that he isn't just some strange figment of her imagination. ]
⟪ oh. so there's merit in asking nicely, apparently. it's worth taking notes — or allowing matthew to take them for him anyway, cawing in approval and then muttering to himself: "see, that wasn't so hard". whether it's meant for daisy or dream is a mystery, but dream shoots him a sidelong glance nonetheless, tight-lipped as the raven takes off and flies towards the church.
his gaze follows, clouds of smoke billowing above. sirens blare still — he's loath to bring her anywhere near the fire, but she would go with or without his approval, with or without him. might as well surrender, if only for the sake of his own captivation; her trust has yet to be gained, and he's adamant on earning it.
it's a bit distracting, the way she looks at him, like she can't decide whether she wants him closer or farther away. it might have left a satisfying tang on his tongue under different circumstances, but he finds himself rather mesmerized by her splendor as he returns his attention to her, silently studying her face and the rich brown of her eyes. he could easily get lost in there, but the wave of apprehension that crashes over him breaks the spell; however different, it feels a little like déjà-vu, and it's highly dangerous territory for dream of the endless.
his gaze drifts down, a fan of long lashes sweeping across his cheeks. beyond the uneasy growth in his chest, there's an imbalance here that needs rectifying; he knows a lot more about her than she does about him. ⟫
Any question you might have, I will answer. ⟪ reluctantly he steps back, half-turned towards the fire; to start, an offering. ⟫ You may call me Dream.
[ She heard that, bird, and she's going to choose to believe it wasn't meant for her.
Does she want him closer or farther away? It's impossible for her to decide, that strange magnetism of his tugging at her in a way that's intriguing and infuriating. How is he doing this? Is this effect on her intentional, or is it just something that happens with him? Does he even realize it's happening?
Relief crashes over her when he moves back, even as her hands want to grab hold and pull him back. That's ridiculous, she chides herself, stuffing her hands forcefully into her coat pockets to keep them under control. Even then, the urge is there to step fully into his orbit, to embrace whatever strange ethereal aura is wrapped around him.
The thread connecting them threatens to unravel when he says his name, a brief and sudden laugh bursting out of her like a shot. She shoots him an apologetic look as she takes a step toward the fire, then another and another until she's properly heading to her destination. ]
Sorry, it's just really on the nose. [ Which is kind of hilarious, to be honest. But he's offered her an olive branch and she intends to take it. Might as well start with the obvious. ] What are you, exactly?
[ Because she's pretty damn well certain he's not human. ]
⟪ it’s the nature of dreams to be enticing, attainable and still just a little out of reach, leaving you aching for more. the dreaming is where hopes and desires awaken — no matter how spitefully his sibling might protest — and it’s where they rise and fall, challenged, conquered, or shattered. dream is all of that and more, though his own interests are carefully curtailed, however deeply he craves connections, and bonds, and intimacy.
you’d probably have better luck convincing the moon to release the tides than convincing dream of the endless to let go of whoever manages to grab his attention.
even if they burst out laughing at his expense.
it’s much preferable to her anger — however thrilling it might have been — and the sound lodges itself where his stomach churns fluttery, causing his legs to move of their own volition. he chases it down quietly, walking alongside her in unhurried strides and keeping his gaze steady on her. no, he’s not human. but then again, neither is she — not completely. ⟫
Your kind has given me many names over the millennia. ⟪ because simply stating that he is an endless probably wouldn’t mean much to her. ⟫ Oneiros. Prince of Stories. Sandman. ⟪ morpheus, too, but he keeps this one undisclosed for now, perhaps the closest to his heart. ⟫ All sentient beings, mortals and immortals alike, enter my realm the moment they close their eyes, expand and re-shape the many worlds I create for them. ⟪ he leans slightly closer, a brief nod to help drive the notion home. ⟫ I am Dream. ⟪ not just a dream, but the embodiment of everything it’s made of. ⟫ Dream of the Endless.
[ Millennia. That's the word that sticks in her mind, burrowing in deep and taking root with all its many implications. She doesn't recognize the first two monikers and only knows the third from an old song, but if he really has existed for millennia...
It makes sense now, that indescribable thing she's been feeling from him. The undefinable something that has been beyond words, an otherness that is both welcoming and offputting. Her steps falter for a moment as she processes what it all means, as she weighs whether she believes him and quickly decides yes, she does. With her entire being, she believes what he's saying. ]
Cool. That's cool. [ Good job, Johnson. There's an ethereal entity walking down the street with you toward literal demons and that's the only thing that comes out of your mouth? But as she chides herself, her overactive mind races to the next logical step, and she looks over at him apprehensively. ] But I'm just a person, so why are you here?
[ Why is he here with her? Trying to protect her? ]
⟪ just. as if gods and a multitude of entities didn’t exist solely because people believe in them. just a person, with her incredible inner strength, her resilience, her accomplishments and her kindness. dream stops, looking at her like he’s misheard somehow, and then like he’s never heard anything so dumbfounding before. is she not aware of the many powers she possesses? of her vast influence on mankind? just a person… ⟫
And yet without you, without dreamers, my purpose would cease to be. ⟪ so how’s that, daisy johnson. you’ve more or less brought this being to life billions of years ago and continue to foster the entire collective unconscious with your hopes, and your fears, and your passions. you’re essentially behind his very existence, and dream smiles in spite of himself, vaguely incredulous. ⟫
You are much more than just a person… ⟪ you have the attention of an endless, for one, but. dream’s smile drops as quickly as it appeared, and his frown deepens, unamused this time. ⟫ …but tonight, you are a beacon for darker forces. ⟪ remember the nightmares he mentioned he sort of spied on? ⟫ Demons have paraded as nightmares recently, inspired by yours, mimicking and feeding on your fears. ⟪ not hers personally, not yet. but it’ll be a feast for them if they do find her. ⟫ Lucifer has desired my demise for a long time… ⟪ to conquer earth, too, and the dreaming. for all dream knows, the lightbringer could be trying to harm dreamers in order to ultimately harm him.
he glances down, somewhere in the space between them. ⟫ …and you and I are intrinsically connected. ⟪ her and all dreamers; hurt one hurt all of them. ⟫
[ There's something in the way he responds that reminds her of Coulson, the man who believes everyone is important, who could inspire anyone to strive toward a better version of themselves. To Phil Coulson, no one is just a person, and it was one of the things they'd first bonded over. There are no unimportant people, no acceptable losses, no one who wouldn't be missed by someone else.
But as much as she believes it of other people, she has always struggled to believe it of herself. After twenty-five years of feeling unwanted and like she would never belong anywhere, the instinct to think of herself as less is bone-deep. So it's a damn good thing he steers the conversation back to the most important topic, though she hates seeing his smile fall like that.
(When she is less overwhelmed by everything suddenly coming at her, she'll process that and recognize there's far more to her reaction to his fallen smile.) ]
Great, because my life isn't complicated enough already. [ She grumbles, only realizing after a moment how he might interpret what she's said. Holding out a hand as if to physically stop those thoughts from forming in his mind, she quickly clarifies, the words practically tumbling over each other. ] Not the you and I being connected part. You seem nice enough, a bit pushy, but I can deal with that. But the whole demons being inspired by my nightmares thing? That's... bad.
[ She looks up at him, her hand still held in that space between them. ] What do I do? How do I stop them?
⟪ nice enough and a bit pushy. well then. he’s been called worse things before — if he looks mildly offended for a moment, it doesn’t last. she’s not completely wrong… and coulson is, without a doubt, a much less authoritarian being. dream does care. feels, too, entirely too much at times, which can and has jeopardized people and worlds alike before. there’s a fine line he can’t afford to cross, if only for the sake of his dreamers, of the universe. but dream isn’t selfless, and sacrifices for the greater good are still, unfortunately, sacrifices.
daisy stands there waving her metaphorical white flag, and dream notes, distantly, that his fists have loosened in his pockets, his shoulders sloping back into their barely-there slouch. it doesn’t taste like victory. it tastes like tentative hope, though he won’t dare explore that thought, a warm little thing behind his sternum. there are other matters that require his full attention, and yes. it is bad. maybe worse than he’s already surmised.
she can’t stop demons or lucifer the same way she’s used to shielding her world from human or supernatural assaults, and the faint apologetic glint in his eyes says as much. ⟫
There is nothing you or I can do at present. Not until we fully understand their intent. ⟪ not until he has just cause to retaliate, if necessary. ⟫ An associate of mine is disposing of them as speak, but there will be more, perhaps too many to contain. ⟪ he breathes in, not quite defiant in the way he looks at her but absolutely expecting her to rebuff him again. ⟫ Though you do not wish to hear it… caution is advised.
Understood. [ With a sharp nod, she turns and continues walking, her steps quick and purposeful. There's nothing she can do against the apparently very real demons swanning around the city? Fine. She doesn't like it and probably won't accept it for long, but for now, fine. But just because she can't do anything about the demons, that doesn't mean there's nothing she can do at all. ]
I was called in to help with the evacuation, so that's what I'm going to do. And if I can stop the entire city going up in flames, I will. [ She's in full agent mode now, professionally stuffing her fear and worry deep down into the darkness where they belong. ] I know you would probably prefer I just stay out of it altogether, but protecting the people of this planet is my job.
[ It's more than a job, of course. It's her reason for being. It was once believed that every Inhuman had a purpose, a reason they were given their specific gift, and Daisy fully embraces the idea that her reason is the protection of others in a time when so many need it. No one is going to keep her from that — not even someone like Dream. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
won't you wake me up —
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⟪ dream of the endless stands stoic before the burning church, its once-proud spire now ablaze, tendrils of smoke spiraling into the starless night. around him, firefighters wage their futile war against the flames, the townsfolk living nearby ushered to safety by officials. the wind picked up a little while ago, and it’s sheer chaos down here, a cacophony of screams and too many loud conversations at once; dream remains unaffected by the heat, by the noise, immobile as his gaze sharpens on ancient stone and stained glass.
can’t say i expected you to show up. constantine, seemingly surprised beside him, pleasantly so. figured it might be beneath your notice.
and yet she called. dream doesn’t budge, a furtive sidelong glance in lieu of a verbal answer. he’s here because of her. mostly. he’s here because she asked, wondering whether the dreaming might be involved somehow. there have been… incidents, lately, similar patterns etched in terror that only a nightmare could induce. reports of various victims all indicated the same thing: worst fears made tangible, and some have already succumbed to them. but it’s not the purpose of nightmares to harm, and dream knows, without the shadow of a doubt, that no creation of his has gone astray, all of them accounted for.
what’s more, the stench of sulfur in the air is unmistakable and, quite frankly, pretty incriminating.
lucifer’s taunted him enough times already — has their grand devastating plan finally been set into motion? perhaps. but dream’s noticed something else. lucienne, actually, a curious knot between her brows as she skimmed through one book in particular, over and over. the conversation occurred years ago. dreams, like everything else, should be balanced, but one dreamer drew the lord of the dreaming’s attention, assaulted by nightmares night after night, never fading in intensity. it’s been worse, lately — not just hers but the entire slumbering state of the waking world, and with constantine’s growing concerns towards recurrent and unusual demonic occurrences…
well. here he is.
and he’s not alone.
matthew’s been appointed as daisy johnson’s personal… watcher. for lack of a better term.
…okay, fine. he’s pretty much stalking her, peering through her windows, observing from high above. sitting and walking closeby, sometimes. he serves as dream’s eyes, essentially, a means to understand her better, to dissect the wretched nature of her dreams. it’s hard to tell whether the nightmares that plague her nights are at all related to constantine’s apprehension, but dream’s already taken an interest in her. call it curiosity, or fascination, maybe; without his intervention, the scales should have tipped over already. the universe demands balance, and daisy remains an anomaly.
as the church burns brighter, matthew flits between the trees as daisy exits her home across town. he likes to think himself stealthy, though his aerial grace can’t measure up to the smoldering ashes drifting in the wind. the caustic sting on his glossy feathers immediately throws him-off balance, a curse on his tongue as he plummets earthward in a panic. he never hits the ground. he does collide with something relatively solid, and leathery; daisy’s coat, his beak stuck in one of her zippers as he frantically flaps his wings.
he croaks once, twice, his voice half-muffled. ⟫
Uh, lady? A little help would be appreciated here? ⟪ please don’t mind his semi-sardonic tone. ⟫
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Holy shit! [ The SHIELD-regulation phone slips from her grasp and drops to the ground as her hands instinctively try to grasp the struggling creature, trying to fit underneath its body to help fight the pull of gravity until she can get it free. ]
Okay, just hold still so I can— [ Her words cut off abruptly as her mind catches up with what's actually happening. Not the bird practically dive-bombing her, and not the gentle but firm way she'd spoken to the animal as if it could understand her. No, it's the fact that she understood it that's throwing her for a loop. ]
I'm talking to a bird. [ Her hands work while she mutters to herself, balancing him with one while the other hovers over the offending zipper. ] But the bird talked first...
[ Right? The bird definitely spoke first. Maybe this is a Rocket the Racoon situation, an animal experimented on to gain sentience. Or maybe one of the sorcerers across town is trying out a new spell; she's never dealt with them before, but she's heard they can be a real handful.
Or, much more likely, her usual three hours of sleep a night is catching up with her and she's hallucinating. Cool, cool, cool, this is just what she needs.
Whichever it is doesn't really matter, though. What matters is getting him free. The zipper's teeth vibrate ever so slightly as she uses her ability to widen the gaps between those tiny metal spokes enough to release him. The change is almost imperceptible, but she knows she'll have to mess with it later if she wants to ever use the zipper again. ]
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⟪ listen. sometimes you’re just no match against a dreamling raven that has all the grace of a ballet-trained goat. one of you had to out-spy the other. one of you had to make an utter fool of themself. in matthew’s mind, he’s probably winning both games here, but let him have his metaphorical balm; it’s a lucky thing his master’s pride remains intact.
but yes. holy shit indeed. the bird talked first, and… ⟫ Yeah. And now you’re talking to yourself. ⟪ it’s okay, though. he does that too, a habit that grows pretty fast when your lord is dream of the endless. beak unstuck, matthew slowly glides to the ground and flaps his wings to test the pain, its head tilting three different ways as he studies her from various angles. ⟫ Aren’t you, like, a superhero or something? I’m sure you’ve seen waaaaaaay weirder stuff than a talking bi—
⟪ the rest of whatever he was going to say is swallowed in a sudden sharp wind. across the pavement, a shadow stretches long and dark from a tall silhouette that wasn’t there just seconds ago.
dream.
the sting. the panic. the mortification. dream of the endless’ seen it all, felt it all, a sharp twinge in his chest as he left constantine without a word. demons and the fires of hell are her business; matthew is his to protect, and the death of jessamy has left a sour, rueful tang in the back of his mouth. it’s been years — he hasn’t forgotten, even though humans like to say that time heals everything.
well. it doesn’t.
there’s an austere air about him as he watches from a dozen feet away, sand dust trickling down his black coat. but matthew’s fine, hopping towards him, and dream drops to a crouch to accept the bird, long and pale fingers delicately exploring the wing that’s been burnt. barely.
dramatic corvid. ⟫
I see you’ve found my raven.
⟪ dream rises, matthew perched on his shoulder as he returns his attention to the woman who saved (helped) the raven. daisy johnson, in the flesh, most likely on her way to help with the evacuation. the church continues to burn a couple of blocks away, and dream slowly walks towards her, halting a mere foot away to crouch again and grab the device on the ground. he doesn’t spare a second to examine the thing, all gestures deliberate and unhurried as he straightens up and lets his gaze drift to her face, a gentle scrutiny. ⟫
Thank you. ⟪ he doesn’t smile, but there’s a soft little thing in his eyes, unnamed as he extends one hand to give her back her phone. ⟫
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Her brown-eyed gaze finds that silhouette immediately, the streetlights making it all too easy to notice that shadow that seems almost alive as it stretches into existence. And somehow, she isn't afraid. There's no spike of adrenaline that would normally accompany such a sudden change in surroundings, no wariness or mistrust of a possible adversary. She's self-aware enough to realize how odd it is, wondering what exactly has triggered the instinct to be okay with all of this, but then off goes the bird, hopping across to the stranger with purpose.
Oh. She stands there feeling a bit like an idiot, just watching the man examine the bird as if making sure it's alright. And then he speaks and comes close, closer than people usually would, just walking right through any personal bubble without hesitation. Her hand automatically moves to accept the phone, her eyes moving from those hands to his coat and that strange, beautiful face that defies explanation. If she were to try to describe the person in front of her, no words would ever suffice, and that both bothers and intrigues her. ]
You're welcome. [ Why is her voice so soft, as if she's afraid of waking the slumbering world around her? Clearing her throat slightly, she forces herself to sound a bit more normal, the lightest joking tone wrapped around the syllables. ] I would say you should probably try to keep him from dive-bombing anyone else...
[ She looks back at the bird, the raven, and a ridiculous wave of affection rolls through her. Animals and children just have that effect on her. ] But it seems he has a mind of his own.
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⟪ intrigued is a nice term for it — a sentiment they share. dream has been watching her for a while. her nightmares, anyway, their nature not quite abnormal but still worth observing. she’s a magnet, almost, drawing them to her like flies to honey, and though some aspects of them are mere memories, the emotional violence wove into them is slightly alarming. he has yet to intervene, curious to decipher the enigma she represents — one of the reasons why he decided to watch her in her natural habitat.
and the way she seems at ease, looking altogether unafraid in front of him, intrigues him even more.
it probably shows on his face, a hint of curiosity in the crease between his brows, his stare lingering as he searches her gaze unabashed. he’s probably too close for comfort, crowding her space uninvited — he does that. whether it’s because of all his time spent with no one in his vicinity, or because humans tend to fascinate him more than he wishes to admit, it’s anyone’s guess. she does, though. fascinate him, the vicious content of her mind clashing with the genuine kindness that emanates from her.
and up close, he can confirm what he’s noticed in her dreams; she’s not disagreeable to look at.
on his shoulder, matthew grumbles: sure. just. talk about me like i’m not even here, it’s fine. dream’s mouth stretches ever so slightly in response, his sigh exasperated but undeniably fond. ⟫
Yes. ⟪ his voice drops lower, not quite a whisper but a string of words solely meant for her. ⟫ I suppose he does. ⟪ all of his acquaintances do, in a matter of fact. he’s not the king of much, honestly, when he can barely get anyone to really listen. but daisy is listening now, and dream’s eyes sharpen soft, a hint of burning stars flickering in them. ⟫ As do you. ⟪ it sounds like it could be praise, fact, or even the semblance of a question. mind your own business, dream of the endless. but he doesn’t, crimson motes around them as the fires farther away roar more insatiable.
dream slowly tilts his head, peering over his shoulder. constantine is most likely dealing with a demon — or ten — and daisy is heading straight to the lion’s den. the wind catches his voice first, his face still angled towards the church. ⟫ You were called upon to assist the relief effort. ⟪ a pause, and then: ⟫ I can’t ensure your safety if you choose to join them.
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Yeah, no, she needs to shove those thoughts right out the proverbial window. Already, she can smell the smoke in the air and feel the energy of the fire raging. That is too close for comfort, and that is what she needs to put her attention to. Not the enigmatic man in front of her who seems to be saying so much with so little that she doesn't fully understand.
And then he says something that breaks the spell a little, bringing her back to the here and now with startling clarity. How does he know where she's headed? Does he recognize her from the news or the old days when she was the literal poster girl for a new SHIELD? It should bother her more than it does, only the mystery itself scratching at her mind, though it too is put immediately out of her mind when he follows it up with something entirely unexpected.
She can't help it: she smiles, a bright thing that stretches across her lips, and there's an echo of a laugh in her voice as she shakes her head and replies. ] I can take care of myself.
[ It's not bravado or arrogance, nor is she shrugging off the idea of a man protecting herself for the idea itself. She's a SHIELD agent, she can take care of herself. But more than that, she's Quake, and she knows precisely what she's capable of.
Taking a step back that almost aches, then another, she lifts her chin to gesture at the grumbly raven perched on his shoulder. ] You just worry about him.
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⟪ WHY IS NOBODY EVER TAKING HIM SERIOUSLY.
daisy rebuffs him like he’s been rebuffed a thousand times before, even though she wished not even 10 seconds ago to bury herself in his coat. the duality of human beings, probably. he knows she can take care of herself. the many pages of her own personal story tell as much, some of them creased from countless perusals. he’s spent hours studying her, which is an odd thing to say when it feels like there is so much left to uncover.
but no. she’s not having it, him, and dream looks back just in time to catch the smile pursing her lips, a faint trace of laughter scurrying in her eyes. it doesn’t look like arrogance. it’s homegrown confidence, if nothing else, and the reverberations lodge themselves somewhere between his ribs. the sting is soft and bitter; he ignores it because of course he does, rehinging his jaw with an audible click. ⟫
And what of your nightmares?
⟪ there. can she handle them? he says it before she withdraws too far, absolutely intent on catching her unaware. dramatic effect, and all that. he couldn’t possibly just introduce himself and speak plainly. that’s too simple.
taking back the step she’s forgone, dream nurtures a pause, his eyes sweeping across her face like searchlights. for once, he doesn’t mean to be terrifying. this is unknown territory, more or less — someone somewhere is pulling strings that have no business being pulled, and daisy is dealing with enough nightmares as is. her waking hours shouldn’t be troubled with unidentified horrors that could very well make her life a living hell. literally. so he holds her gaze, a silent plea in his otherwise stern expression. ⟫
There are forces at play here that even I cannot fully grasp. Not yet.
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Because that is what she fears, not her own torment. She's lived with pain long enough to accept it as her due, something she cannot escape no matter how hard she might try. Part of her still believes she even deserves it for the mistakes she's made in the past. No, what she fears most is that terrible future coming into being, where the world is torn apart and she is powerless to stop it. Her purpose is protecting the people of this planet; nothing else will ever matter as much. ]
Who are you? [ The taste of smoke fills her mouth as the wind picks up, and her fear adds a strained edge to her voice as she demands answers to questions she hadn't cared to ask until this moment. ] How do you know anything about me?
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⟪ she could be condemned to witness the false destruction of her world. over and over. helpless. hopeless. so tangibly she wouldn’t be able to differentiate reality from delusion. though dream is the prince of stories, lucifer morningstar doesn’t lack in imagination, and their domain doesn’t forgive.
neither does dream. there’s a myriad of implacable entities out there… and then there’s dream, but truth be told, some of his harsher edges have considerably softened in recent years, and this is probably one of the very few times he has ever resented his tendency to frighten. she doesn’t fear him, exactly. she fears whatever his words have evoked in her memory, and the sudden loss of her smile is a stone breaking the surface of a lake in his stomach, sending ripples up his spine and scratching at his throat.
he doesn’t have to peek. he can surmise, more or less, what she must be imagining, and her overall panic, laced with a great deal of confusion, prompts him to retake that step back. telling most mortals about the who, and the what, and the how often winds up complicating things; so he shows her instead. ⟫
You know me. ⟪ each syllable lands precise and meaningful, always mindful of their weight, of their power. he’s never meddled with her nightmares, but he’s watched, many times, unbeknownst to her. it’s that barrier he lifts now, so that she can remember as he holds her gaze the reassuring presence in her dreams, the little push she sometimes needed to wake up faster, starlight in the dark. ⟫
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Her mouth opens as she tries to find words but can only pull in ragged breaths. Yes, he'd been perhaps the brightest part of all those terrible nightmares, a silent reminder that she would survive this too, but he'd been there. He'd born witness to all of that pain and she— ]
I have to go.
[ The words are more breath than voice, and she takes another step back, her instinct to run when things get hard kicking in with full force. Daisy Johnson isn't someone who talks about her trauma; she suffers alone, pushing it all down beneath the facade of being okay. So for someone to suddenly have seen that side of her, to have seen all of it without her permission or knowledge...
It's like her feet have been kicked out from under her as she's been punched in the chest, air refusing to enter her lungs as it's supposed to. She wants to cry and scream and rage, but she wants to hold on to him while she does so, and she doesn't know what to do with that. So she takes another step and turns toward the not-so-distant fire. ]
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⟪ ...oh. okay. that went well. as well as you’d expect for someone with the social skills of a house cat. where did he go wrong. all of his dreamers are stripped bare the second they enter his realm. it’s a necessity for dreams to come alive, for nightmares to thrive and help them overcome unspeakable fears. it just doesn’t occur to him — not right away, at least — that most people might not appreciate being watched while the key to their subconscious is on display; while the most intimate fragments of their imagination run wild. it’s just a given for the lord of the dreaming, the natural order of things, nothing to stew over, but then matthew gets a little agitated on his shoulder and dream can practically hear him think.
and it’s loaded with judgment.
daisy has been utterly perceived, and dream can’t apologize for simply being. he should let her go. figure it out on her own, come face-to-face with her inner demons even, should constantine fail to exorcize the place. he might have, once upon a time. without a care in the world. it’s what he liked to tell himself, anyway, and even matthew seems to know better; he nudges him with one of his wings, a loud croak in his ear.
oh, for the love of— ⟫
You need not fear me. ⟪ he speaks a little louder, frustration draining from his voice as the brief half-roll of his eyes — that matthew knowingly provoked — dissolves. hands in pockets, he waits for her to turn back, hopes that she will, standing as non-threatening as he possibly can. the urge to shield her within the confines of his coat is a hard one to resist, and the truth of it hardens the line of his jaw; he exhales long and deep through his nose, bothered by the contradictory sensations in his chest. ⟫ Or yourself. ⟪ whatever her vulnerabilities, they aren’t his to judge — though he does wish to understand them. he doesn’t move closer, but he leans down, just a little, his tone firm but gentle. ⟫ I have seen your nightmares, yes. But I could ensure that they do not trouble you anymore. ⟪ he swallows, voice dropping raspier. ⟫ If you wish me to.
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But that fear doesn't control her. She reminds herself of that as she does indeed stop and turn back to the strange man who might be anything but. That fear keeps her grounded but it does not dictate her life — and neither will he. ]
Look, whoever you are. I don't have time for whatever this is. [ Strength returns to her as she speaks, the panic previously roiling inside her slowly settling like ash coating everything a dark shade of grey. There's little more than an arm's length between them, but it's enough to let her think properly. To focus on what is important. ]
People could be dying right now. I have to help them. [ And then she takes a step closer to him, bridging the gap between them so she can pitch her voice low, this conversation between the two of them and not the rest of the world. ] That's who I am, not whoever you saw in my nightmares.
[ Not the weak, broken woman crying as yet another loved one died. As another home was taken from her. As another friend betrayed her. As she failed to save a life. No, she is so much more than that. ]
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⟪ whatever this is, she says, borderline defiant, and though the flicker of displeasure in dream’s eyes is brief, the warning comes free of pretense. how dare she. there’s a billion other souls he could be guiding, and yet he chooses to help her. but that’s entirely on him, and somewhere in the far back of his mind, he’s vaguely aware of that. she spurns him with the aplomb of a thousand stars, and dream is a vagrant wandering between annoyance and beguilement.
she’s not wrong. at least not entirely. her resolve is — among other things — beyond inspiring, all up in his face and unafraid, but then something she says instantly has him frowning, a curious tilt of his head. ⟫ You would forsake half of what you are, simply because it does not please you? ⟪ dreamers tend to readily discard their dream-selves, often out of shame, but the dreaming is just as substantial as the waking world, with its strengths and its weaknesses. she is both a force of nature and vulnerable, just like he is. but it’s not a question. it’s more of a quiet observation, and when he feels her breath on his face, he realizes with a start that he’s drifted too close, leaning back to resume a less overbearing position. ⟫
Far be it from me to keep you from your purpose, but know this: there will be nightmares walking this earth tonight, demons in disguise in search of prey. ⟪ shaped by hellish hands, most likely, and dream is not their master. whatever lucifer is playing at doesn’t bode well, and daisy is a beacon they wouldn’t want to overlook.
dream draws a breath to speak again, one last attempt to warn her. ⟫ The Morningstar will assuredly find you, should they wish to.
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But he might have just tried to throw a wrench into that plan.
It takes a moment for the dots to connect, the pieces of this puzzle so completely out of her realm of experience that the picture refuses to form for her. But demons? The way he says it hints at it not being a metaphor for something, and when he says Morningstar...
Daisy's relationship with religion is a complicated one. Does she believe in God? Not exactly, though she would like to believe that if there is some great entity out there, it's more loving than vengeful. But she remembers some of the broader strokes of those terrible lessons droned at them again and again, with talks of fallen angels and the creatures doing their bidding. A few years ago, she would have dismissed the idea of any of it being real as crazy, even with things like aliens being proven real, but after meeting the literal Spirit of Vengeance, she can't be so dismissive anymore. ]
Demons. [ She repeats the word as if she can't believe it, but there's a seriousness in her expression that says she's fully grasping what he's implying. ] And Lucifer. The actual Devil. Just walking around.
[ In search of prey, he'd said. It's crazy. It's absolutely batshit insane. But he was in her dreams and has a talking bird, so apparently, it's a night for crazy. She shakes her head, leaning closer to him to bridge the space he'd created. Anger wraps around her words, her voice as taut as a steel rope. ] And you were just expecting me to stay out of it? You might have spied on my dreams, but you don't know a damn thing about me if you thought I was capable of that.
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⟪ honestly, he doesn’t know what he was expecting. not this, her stubborn streak rivaling his own, her convictions a series of quick stabs in his chest that he doesn’t dare name. is it awe. is it exasperation. who knows. not him, except he probably does, somewhere in the depths of his many denials. it’s not anger, at least — she possesses enough of it for the both of them, and dream finds himself a little dumbstruck. it’s not unpleasant. it should absolutely be, but it’s not, and while he senses matthew tensing up on his shoulder, a faint hint of amusement begins its slow creep into the subtleties of his face, laced with surprisingly well-contained impatience.
he does enjoy a challenge. ⟫
Perhaps not. ⟪ he knows some things. he might have overestimated his ability to sway her though, but then again, the main reason of his presence here is to remedy his deficient knowledge. it’s not just her nightmares he wants to decipher. it’s her, and he wants enough to allow her victory.
he should be dwarfing her. he isn’t, her vehemence prompting him to bow into her space once more, testing her boundaries. she has no issues defying his own, and dream meets her gaze unflinching, a very hazy trace of gentle interest. he may not know as much about her as he wishes he did… ⟫ But I am trying to. ⟪ and she’s making it so damn difficult. his chest rises and falls with a sigh too long, debating his next choice of words. demanding, as he’s so used to — and it usually works — probably won’t have any effect on her, so… ⟫
Allow me to come with you. ⟪ that’s a pretty decent compromise, yeah? ⟫
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But I am trying to. Why? Who is he that he's so interested in her? Sure, there are plenty of people in the world interested in what goes on in her head, but they're from rival spy agencies, or mad scientists wanting a peek at what makes her tick. They aren't strangers with untold power who swoop in out of nowhere to try and protect her. (She understands that part least of all.) ]
Okay. [ It slips out before she can have second thoughts, and while she knows she should step back, start walking, get her head back in the game — she stays right where she is, so close that she would barely have to move to touch him. And she wants to touch him, a magnetic force pulling her toward him, but she can't, not even to prove to herself that he isn't just some strange figment of her imagination. ]
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⟪ oh. so there's merit in asking nicely, apparently. it's worth taking notes — or allowing matthew to take them for him anyway, cawing in approval and then muttering to himself: "see, that wasn't so hard". whether it's meant for daisy or dream is a mystery, but dream shoots him a sidelong glance nonetheless, tight-lipped as the raven takes off and flies towards the church.
his gaze follows, clouds of smoke billowing above. sirens blare still — he's loath to bring her anywhere near the fire, but she would go with or without his approval, with or without him. might as well surrender, if only for the sake of his own captivation; her trust has yet to be gained, and he's adamant on earning it.
it's a bit distracting, the way she looks at him, like she can't decide whether she wants him closer or farther away. it might have left a satisfying tang on his tongue under different circumstances, but he finds himself rather mesmerized by her splendor as he returns his attention to her, silently studying her face and the rich brown of her eyes. he could easily get lost in there, but the wave of apprehension that crashes over him breaks the spell; however different, it feels a little like déjà-vu, and it's highly dangerous territory for dream of the endless.
his gaze drifts down, a fan of long lashes sweeping across his cheeks. beyond the uneasy growth in his chest, there's an imbalance here that needs rectifying; he knows a lot more about her than she does about him. ⟫
Any question you might have, I will answer. ⟪ reluctantly he steps back, half-turned towards the fire; to start, an offering. ⟫ You may call me Dream.
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Does she want him closer or farther away? It's impossible for her to decide, that strange magnetism of his tugging at her in a way that's intriguing and infuriating. How is he doing this? Is this effect on her intentional, or is it just something that happens with him? Does he even realize it's happening?
Relief crashes over her when he moves back, even as her hands want to grab hold and pull him back. That's ridiculous, she chides herself, stuffing her hands forcefully into her coat pockets to keep them under control. Even then, the urge is there to step fully into his orbit, to embrace whatever strange ethereal aura is wrapped around him.
The thread connecting them threatens to unravel when he says his name, a brief and sudden laugh bursting out of her like a shot. She shoots him an apologetic look as she takes a step toward the fire, then another and another until she's properly heading to her destination. ]
Sorry, it's just really on the nose. [ Which is kind of hilarious, to be honest. But he's offered her an olive branch and she intends to take it. Might as well start with the obvious. ] What are you, exactly?
[ Because she's pretty damn well certain he's not human. ]
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⟪ it’s the nature of dreams to be enticing, attainable and still just a little out of reach, leaving you aching for more. the dreaming is where hopes and desires awaken — no matter how spitefully his sibling might protest — and it’s where they rise and fall, challenged, conquered, or shattered. dream is all of that and more, though his own interests are carefully curtailed, however deeply he craves connections, and bonds, and intimacy.
you’d probably have better luck convincing the moon to release the tides than convincing dream of the endless to let go of whoever manages to grab his attention.
even if they burst out laughing at his expense.
it’s much preferable to her anger — however thrilling it might have been — and the sound lodges itself where his stomach churns fluttery, causing his legs to move of their own volition. he chases it down quietly, walking alongside her in unhurried strides and keeping his gaze steady on her. no, he’s not human. but then again, neither is she — not completely. ⟫
Your kind has given me many names over the millennia. ⟪ because simply stating that he is an endless probably wouldn’t mean much to her. ⟫ Oneiros. Prince of Stories. Sandman. ⟪ morpheus, too, but he keeps this one undisclosed for now, perhaps the closest to his heart. ⟫ All sentient beings, mortals and immortals alike, enter my realm the moment they close their eyes, expand and re-shape the many worlds I create for them. ⟪ he leans slightly closer, a brief nod to help drive the notion home. ⟫ I am Dream. ⟪ not just a dream, but the embodiment of everything it’s made of. ⟫ Dream of the Endless.
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It makes sense now, that indescribable thing she's been feeling from him. The undefinable something that has been beyond words, an otherness that is both welcoming and offputting. Her steps falter for a moment as she processes what it all means, as she weighs whether she believes him and quickly decides yes, she does. With her entire being, she believes what he's saying. ]
Cool. That's cool. [ Good job, Johnson. There's an ethereal entity walking down the street with you toward literal demons and that's the only thing that comes out of your mouth? But as she chides herself, her overactive mind races to the next logical step, and she looks over at him apprehensively. ] But I'm just a person, so why are you here?
[ Why is he here with her? Trying to protect her? ]
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⟪ just. as if gods and a multitude of entities didn’t exist solely because people believe in them. just a person, with her incredible inner strength, her resilience, her accomplishments and her kindness. dream stops, looking at her like he’s misheard somehow, and then like he’s never heard anything so dumbfounding before. is she not aware of the many powers she possesses? of her vast influence on mankind? just a person… ⟫
And yet without you, without dreamers, my purpose would cease to be. ⟪ so how’s that, daisy johnson. you’ve more or less brought this being to life billions of years ago and continue to foster the entire collective unconscious with your hopes, and your fears, and your passions. you’re essentially behind his very existence, and dream smiles in spite of himself, vaguely incredulous. ⟫
You are much more than just a person… ⟪ you have the attention of an endless, for one, but. dream’s smile drops as quickly as it appeared, and his frown deepens, unamused this time. ⟫ …but tonight, you are a beacon for darker forces. ⟪ remember the nightmares he mentioned he sort of spied on? ⟫ Demons have paraded as nightmares recently, inspired by yours, mimicking and feeding on your fears. ⟪ not hers personally, not yet. but it’ll be a feast for them if they do find her. ⟫ Lucifer has desired my demise for a long time… ⟪ to conquer earth, too, and the dreaming. for all dream knows, the lightbringer could be trying to harm dreamers in order to ultimately harm him.
he glances down, somewhere in the space between them. ⟫ …and you and I are intrinsically connected. ⟪ her and all dreamers; hurt one hurt all of them. ⟫
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But as much as she believes it of other people, she has always struggled to believe it of herself. After twenty-five years of feeling unwanted and like she would never belong anywhere, the instinct to think of herself as less is bone-deep. So it's a damn good thing he steers the conversation back to the most important topic, though she hates seeing his smile fall like that.
(When she is less overwhelmed by everything suddenly coming at her, she'll process that and recognize there's far more to her reaction to his fallen smile.) ]
Great, because my life isn't complicated enough already. [ She grumbles, only realizing after a moment how he might interpret what she's said. Holding out a hand as if to physically stop those thoughts from forming in his mind, she quickly clarifies, the words practically tumbling over each other. ] Not the you and I being connected part. You seem nice enough, a bit pushy, but I can deal with that. But the whole demons being inspired by my nightmares thing? That's... bad.
[ She looks up at him, her hand still held in that space between them. ] What do I do? How do I stop them?
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⟪ nice enough and a bit pushy. well then. he’s been called worse things before — if he looks mildly offended for a moment, it doesn’t last. she’s not completely wrong… and coulson is, without a doubt, a much less authoritarian being. dream does care. feels, too, entirely too much at times, which can and has jeopardized people and worlds alike before. there’s a fine line he can’t afford to cross, if only for the sake of his dreamers, of the universe. but dream isn’t selfless, and sacrifices for the greater good are still, unfortunately, sacrifices.
daisy stands there waving her metaphorical white flag, and dream notes, distantly, that his fists have loosened in his pockets, his shoulders sloping back into their barely-there slouch. it doesn’t taste like victory. it tastes like tentative hope, though he won’t dare explore that thought, a warm little thing behind his sternum. there are other matters that require his full attention, and yes. it is bad. maybe worse than he’s already surmised.
she can’t stop demons or lucifer the same way she’s used to shielding her world from human or supernatural assaults, and the faint apologetic glint in his eyes says as much. ⟫
There is nothing you or I can do at present. Not until we fully understand their intent. ⟪ not until he has just cause to retaliate, if necessary. ⟫ An associate of mine is disposing of them as speak, but there will be more, perhaps too many to contain. ⟪ he breathes in, not quite defiant in the way he looks at her but absolutely expecting her to rebuff him again. ⟫ Though you do not wish to hear it… caution is advised.
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I was called in to help with the evacuation, so that's what I'm going to do. And if I can stop the entire city going up in flames, I will. [ She's in full agent mode now, professionally stuffing her fear and worry deep down into the darkness where they belong. ] I know you would probably prefer I just stay out of it altogether, but protecting the people of this planet is my job.
[ It's more than a job, of course. It's her reason for being. It was once believed that every Inhuman had a purpose, a reason they were given their specific gift, and Daisy fully embraces the idea that her reason is the protection of others in a time when so many need it. No one is going to keep her from that — not even someone like Dream. ]
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