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"At what point do you give up, and decide enough is enough? There's only one answer really. Never."
-Forbidden. Tabitha Suzuma.
They were back in the park, and for the first time in a hundred years (longer, far longer than a hundred years) Dream felt a warmth spread through his core as he and Death walked across the grass. She had reminded him of the reason he existed. To serve. And it was true. He wondered how he had forgotten, because he was sure he used to know before.
They both said goodbye in the park, and Death smiled at him and told him not to become a stranger. She still had a lot of work to do.
The words left Dream's mouth before she disappeared. "Do you mean it?"
"Which part?"
"Meeting again soon," said he looking at her. "If it doesn't interfere with your work."
Her surprise lasted only a second. "Of course. Anytime. I mean it."
"Next week then, in the same place. I bid you farewell now, Sister. There’s one person I must see now."
Dream turned around and went his way. Death stood there looking at him curiously, before she heard someone yelling 'Franklin!' across the park and she had to go back to work.
Friendship was, by simple definition, a relationship of affinity in which both parties gave and received consideration and appreciation. In a way, it was a pledge of loyalty. Something very serious. He didn’t give his lightly.
He finally offered Hob one of his names. Morpheus, because it was the most popular among humans, and by presenting himself as a god he saved himself the inconvenience of having to explain things that humans simply could not understand. He intended to, eventually, but it would be better to go slow with his friend. Hob asked the expected questions. How old was he? (As old as the first being able to dream). Where did he live? (His own kingdom, made of dreams). Why had he chosen him? (He didn’t choose him, it was simple coincidence and curiosity). Did he have family? (Six siblings and two parents). Did he have a wife or children? (It was complicated).
He then proceeded to tell him about what his life was like in that century. He was a literature professor and had a girlfriend, Gwen. Answering Hob’s questions made him feel strange, as if it had actually been better not to do that. But then he remembered all the people he had met that day walking with Death. And if all of them had deserved kindness and consideration, much more someone he had known for six hundred years.
"Romantic relationships are not something I'm very skilled at."
"Sounds like you have someone specific on your mind."
Dream kept his eyes on the tea he hadn't touched. He had never liked to eat, but the smell and the heat were welcome. "I've had many relationships over time." Most of them, tragic and catastrophic. Usually as a result of his own actions. Maybe loving him just wasn't good for anyone. Perhaps the time had come for him accept he should stop trying.
"Me too. And I loved them all, with all my heart," said Hob smiling. "Each one of them changes you a little bit, I guess. And that's good. Being alive is meeting new people every day. Constantly changing. Gwen would have hated who I was two hundred years ago. I still feel guilty about some of the things I did. And I feel the urge to apologize, but there's no one left to apologize to." Hob took a sip of his coffee. "Would you apologize to someone, if you could?"
Dream put both hands on his cup. "There are some things I can't do, because they go against my nature."
"Apologizing goes against your nature?"
"Change goes against my nature," replied Dream. "Repentance is born from a change of character. Mortals are capable of it. Almost all immortals are as well. I am different. I can not.”
"Yet over a hundred years ago you told me we're not friends. But here we are," said Hob smiling. "Maybe you’d surprise yourself, if you open up to new experiences. Nobody knows what will happen tomorrow. And it's a free country."
"That's not how it works for me, but I shall heed your words, Hob Gadling," answered Dream softly. His eyes fixed on the tea. "I ask you a question. You know that one day you will die. Not today, not tomorrow, and I hope not for a long time."
"I know I'm not immortal but rather a sort of paused mortal," replied Hob. "That doesn't change the fact that death is stupid."
Dream once again had the good grace to ignore the insult to his sister. "If you knew you were going to inevitably die in a week, what would you do today?"
Hob looked at his coffee for a moment. "In the unlikely case that it was totally and completely unavoidable, as you say, and I knew I was going to die soon… I’d go lay flowers on my son's grave. Then I’d take Gwen and travel somewhere. I don't know where, because I'd want to be everywhere at the same time. And in the end, I'd leave all my money to Gwen because she'd know how to do something nice with it, come here, and wait for the big moment eating a burger or two. But the angel of death would have to knock me out and make me leave. I love living. I can never get enough of life. It's just the way I am."
A small smile appeared on Dream's face. "Is there something you'd like to do, but could not?"
"Well, I'd like to marry Gwen. But if the time limit is still only a week she'd get suspicious if I insist so suddenly. Besides, it would be too cruel to get married knowing I'll be leaving her soon." Hob finished his coffee. "Anyway, why are we talking about this? What I want is to know about your mystery girl. What is she like?"
Dream leaned forward a bit, clasping his hands on the table. "I can’t describe her with human words."
Funny how a mere human could have given him something more precious by offering his honest friendship than almost all his lovers had with their fascination. Dream was moved. He would make sure Hob had pleasant dreams more often.
He was free, but as he had told Death, taking revenge hadn't given him the same satisfaction it would have given him before. By Hob's logic, then, a change was inevitable.
Dream sighed and folded his hands on his lap. He had had doubts, but now he was certain. He already knew how it was going to end.
But he had things to do, before then.
The normal thing was for an Endless to not see another Endless in many centuries. The exceptions were when Destiny called them together, or if some important deity threw a party and invited them. It was their nature. To see each other very little, and act as if they had never been apart when they met again. They were seven parts of a whole cosmos, after all.
That's why Death found so strange that Dream wanted to see each other again in just a week.
But any opportunity to spend time together was welcome, she supposed. It was part of her defect that she enjoyed his company more than anyone else's. It didn't make much of a difference, and after his (moronic) imprisonment maybe it was what he needed. Reconnect with his surroundings.
And those were the reasons why she waited for him in the park, sitting on the same bench and next to a dying bird. As the bird drew its last breath and Death bent down to gently pick it up, she heard Dream's footsteps walking towards her, and straightened up to find him at her side. "Did that pigeon starve to death?"
"Forget what I told you about fat pigeons," said Death getting to her feet. "It seems that people don't feed them as often as they used to."
"I will bring bread for them next time," replied Dream, and Death decided not to ask what he meant by 'next time'. "I have something for you," he said, reaching into the pocket of his cloak, and pulling out a small red apple.
Death looked at him in surprise, smiling when she saw the fruit. "I thought you didn't like apples."
"It's not for me," he replied. "A farmer in Chile dreamed of the wild apples by Lake Nahuel Huapi, so I went looking for one."
Death took it and bit into it. "Mm, it's delicious. Give me gifts more often, Brother. It's much sweeter than the ones on this side of the world."
That tiny grimace that was his version of a smile appeared on his face. Her brother stood up and offered his arm. "Shall we go?"
Death took his arm, smiling, and they both went their way.
That day, Dream accompanied his sister as she took away a motorcyclist who had an accident, a woman who was strangled to death when her scarf caught on a branch, an old man who was taking a walk with his grandson, a man who sacrificed himself to save his lover from a fire and his wife who committed suicide after discovering that her husband had a mistress, a doctor addicted to drugs and a woman killed by a jealous boyfriend.
He watched silently, without interfering.
Death was everywhere, at every moment, just like him and the rest of their family. They were there together, just as they were in the death of a butterfly in Australia, or the dream of a rose in Argentina.
He walked by her side through the streets, looking at her out of the corner of his eye.
"I know there's something you want to tell me, doofus. Just spit it out," said Death after the sixth time she found him staring at her. She considered herself very patient, but everything had a limit.
Dream looked away. "Are you still angry?"
"For what?"
"For refusing your help to free me years ago."
Death released his arm. "Well, I wasn't a moment ago, but now that you mention it, I am."
Dream looked at her again, as they continued walking. "I don't think you're interested in my reasons for doing it."
"Because those reasons are stupid, and hearing it again would only make me even angrier. If it had been me who had been caught, I want to believe that you’d have at least done a little to help me. If only just because your realm would’ve been unavoidably affected, like everyone else's."
Destruction would have burned the house down and saved her, Death thought sadly.
Dream looked surprised for a moment. "I hadn’t thought of that."
"Because you don't think, period."
"What would I have done if they had caught you?" he asked aloud, looking almost confused. "I would have…" Dream started, but then stopped. And when he spoke again, his eyes sparkled. "I would have thrown anyone who dared to hurt you to hell."
Death looked at him with surprise, because she hadn't expected that answer. She was sure that Dream simply wouldn't have bothered to act on something he didn't consider any of his business. "Then you understand the fury I felt when you told me to leave."
Dream pursed his lips, taking a deep breath. "I didn't mean for you to feel that way. I will make sure something like that never happens again. You have my word."
"I accept your apology."
"You know I never apologize."
"You don't apologize with words, but that doesn't mean you don't." Death took his arm again. "Let's forget about all that and just keep walking."
She was convinced that that was it. Dream felt guilty and had wanted to offer some kind of apology. Or the closest he was able to do.
Death was sure they had settled that matter. It touched her that he cared. She never knew why Dream fell out with Desire, but sometimes she wondered if he would also be able to cut her out of his life altogether if he felt insulted. She regularly made sure to remind him not to blindly trust his own instincts, because Dream had a massive lack of common sense.
But she had made it clear that things between them were fine.
So she was surprised when she found him again in the park the following week, feeding the pigeons, with a yellow apple from Paraguay next to him.
She found him there again the following week.
And the next one.
The next one he didn't show up, and she felt very pathetic to discover that she was disappointed.
She didn't expect him to be there the following week. But there he was, with a basket of green apples from Brazil.
Apparently Desire had tried to kill him.
The fury she felt was expected but at the same time, very confusing. Desire couldn't control their own actions like the rest of them, because their nature was different from theirs. They followed no rule other than their own will.
She wasn’t supposed to want to punch them, but she did anyway. But well, maybe it was just because it was Dream. She had always been defective when it came to Dream. She was used to it.
Dream offered her his arm, and Death allowed him to tell her all about Rose Walker as they walked side by side.
The following week they talked about notable mortals they had both known. As expected, both ended up talking about William Shakespeare. On one of her previous Days Off, Death bought all of his works and put them in a place of honor in her apartment, even though she had never actually read them. She just didn’t have the time. Usually, when it came to writers, she would have them tell her about their works in their own words when she went to take their hands.
Dream proceeded to tell her what the private performances Shakespeare put on just for himself and his guests used to be like. Even fairies loved a good play.
Next week, in addition to the apple, he brought her a book from his Librarian's own library. They were the plays that Shakespeare dreamed about but never wrote.
The gift filled her with joy, pure happiness, and to thank him she gave him a big hug. And if it lasted a little longer than usual, neither said anything about it.
She wasn't breaking any rules, was she? Their parents had never forbidden them to see each other more often instead of just a few times every hundred years. There was nothing wrong with her and Dream just talking and enjoying each other's company. Nobody ever said they couldn't do that. They were just-
It was more than what she thought she could ever have. The defect with which she existed was satisfied. She would take it.
The next time, it was she who gave him a gift.
"Hyperman?" asked Dream reading the cover of the superhero comic.
"You have to modernize yourself," she said after taking a bite of her Uruguayan apple.
"I'm sure this is in my library."
"It's not a book, it's a comic," she said opening it to show him. Dream seemed slightly surprised to find pictures instead of words. "Comics are the future."
"Yet there is no beauty in this art. What public prefers mediocre drawings to the beauty of written word?" Dream asked sullenly. "This phenomenon should not have a place in my realm. I see no love for the art of storytelling here. Just simple greed for money and an ignorant public fooled by an empty story."
"Hey, not everyone has time to read. And that's a good one, I promise. Give it a try. Besides, it's part of your realm whether you like it or not. If it's trash, it's your trash." Death took his arm again and they continued walking.
The following week, she stopped on the street to buy two pairs of dark glasses. She gave one to Dream, who put it in his cloak with all the intention of never wearing them for the rest of his existence, as she put hers on.
"So cool. It’s supercalifragilisticexpialidocious." At Dream's silence, she asked. "You never watched Mary Poppins?"
"I haven't had the pleasure," he said in a way that made it clear he preferred comics.
"You should someday." Death placed her open hands in front of her face, grinning widely. "Peachy keen."
The Bolivian lady who broke her neck falling down the stairs was very kind to them, thanking them for being there. Shyly, she admitted that she had always been afraid of being alone. Death smiled kindly at her and told her that she wasn't alone.
"Both of you look like an adorable couple, thanks," she said before taking her hand.
Neither of them corrected her. For the next six days, she wondered why they hadn't.
She was
was
so happy
Around the world, people began to notice that thousand of people died with a smile on their lips.
Dream was quieter than usual that week. He never talked too much. His nature was to listen, and only speak when there was something worthwhile to say. He had always been that way.
"You're more gloomy than usual today," said Death. "What's wrong?"
And then he told her what had happened with Calliope.
Oh.
She had always felt strange when she thought about her brother's love life. A silent hard feeling, which she had never been able to put a name to until she had her first Day Off. Humans had their own word for that feeling. Envy: painful or resentful awareness of an advantage enjoyed by another joined with a desire to possess the same advantage.
(She sometimes wondered if her defect was Desire's way of getting revenge for taking Despair's hand.)
They both went back to the park, which meant that Dream would say goodbye until next week. But instead, he squeezed her arm tightly. "Can we talk?"
"I thought we were already talking," she said sitting down at their usual bench, and he did the same. "What's on your mind?"
"Do you remember the Parliament of Stars? It was a long time ago, but forgetting isn't really something we do, is it?"
Death grimaced and looked away. "I wasn't at my best. But yeah, of course I remember. I literally crashed the party."
Though honestly, she didn't regret punching Rao. She still disliked the bastard.
"Remember our conversation in the balcony," said Dream. "Remember what you said."
"I said a lot of things, Dream," replied Death wondering where he was going with this. "You're going to have to be more specific, Brother."
Dream stared at his own hands with an unreadable expression for a few seconds, then looked up again so their eyes met. "You said you wanted me."
Over the eons, Death wondered many times if her brother would ever say anything about her confession in the Parliament of Stars. And when that never happened, she just assumed that Dream had nothing to say about it and decided not to think about it again. Her defect was hers and hers alone to deal with. Dream had been kind enough to pretend that her moment of weakness had never occurred.
That's why his words were completely unexpected, and yet she replied "And what about that?" in a neutral voice, because it wasn't really a big deal. Nothing he had to worry about. "Why bring it up now? You never did before. I figured you just never wanted to talk about it." She had never let her defect get in the way of her work, anyway. She lived with her defect as she lived with her goldfish.
"It was never just you," Dream answered. "It’s also me. It was also me even then."
.
.
.
Then he...?
.
.
.
Their sibling was really determined to screw them over.
This had gone too far. Their feud with Dream, their resentment for what happened with Despair. Even if taking her younger sister had broken her heart, Desire had never cared about anyone else’s feelings. For less than a fraction of a second, Death searched hopefully for some sign of falsehood in her brother's face. But there was none. Of course not, it was Dream. Dream couldn't lie.
"This time Desire went too far," said Death, getting up furiously. "I have to go back to my apartment."
"Why?" said Dream getting up too, stopping her before she disappeared.
"To take my sigil, go to Desire’s realm, and beat their sorry ass with it! They have to stop messing with the stability of cosmos. They went too far this time. Desire can't keep doing these things and I can't just keep waiting for them to stop wanting to destroy everything around."
"Sister, Desire hasn't done anything."
"What do you mean? Of course they did. Just listen to yourself."
"Death, I've always been like this," he said without letting go of her wrist. "Since before our sibling was born. Since I was born."
She had never heard such an absolute silence, as the seconds after hearing that became a minuscule eternity.
And still, it was true. She knew it was true. Because it was Dream, and lying was against his nature. And yet it was almost unbelievable.
"You too?"
"Yes."
Death pursed her lips. "Think carefully before you answer me. Aren't you telling me this because you feel lonely and I'm here? Because you've been cruel in the past, Brother, but I want to believe you wouldn't do something like that. Not to me, at least."
"I would never."
"You and I know that you can have whoever you want."
"And I have tried, many times, yet it does not work," replied Dream. "I am just like you." The hand on her wrist lowered to press her palm. "I don't want anyone else either."
A thousand years could have passed, before Death spoke again and turned her attention to any thing other than his eyes. "Then we both have a problem, because the Endless must remain separated. Dreams and death can't become one. It just can't be. Nothing has changed."
"Change? No, of course not," he said, his voice smooth as silk. "Nothing has changed, changing is not in my nature. As I said before, I have always been like this. But my time away has given me the opportunity to... review what I already knew. And changing is not the same as implementing a new perspective you haven't noticed before." Dream took her other hand. "Don't you think it's too much of a coincidence? That we are both the same way? If it were a defect, something that should not be there, it would not have been both of us. It's impossible for nature to make the same mistake twice."
"You think it's not a defect."
"It can not be. It wouldn't make sense."
"And yet we still can't unite. It would be catastrophic. How do you explain that then?"
"We don't have to unite," said Dream. "We don't have to mingle in any way that affects our obligations. I think we are both capable enough to find a way. I want you and you want me, and that's who we are." Dream released one of her hands and slowly and delicately placed his palm on her head, on her thick hair. That hand was even softer than she had ever thought. "I don't need anything more than for you to let me walk beside you."
Her common sense, her best quality, said no. It would be too much. And yet, logic dictated that as long as they didn't do anything compromising, there was no reason why they should stop. There was no reason why they had to lose what they already had, what they had built in an incredibly small amount of time. Maybe Dream was right, for once. Maybe it was too much of a coincidence. Perhaps it had never been a defect but simply her nature. Their nature.
"I want you to keep walking beside me," said Death with a small smile. "I want whatever we can have together."
Dream's other hand touched the left side of her head, and both hands moved down to her cheeks, tracing the smooth, strong-boned cheeks with his two thumbs. "Good," he said moving closer, and closer, until his forehead rested on hers. Being so close, Death could see that his expression was the closest thing to a smile she had ever seen on his face, small and sincere, staring into his eyes until the intensity of his starry gaze was too much and she had to close her eyes.
And in the park, no one paid attention to the guy and the girl dressed in black, with their hands joined and their foreheads together. And on Earth, that day mankind had the sweetest dreams, and all the people who died did so with a smile on their lips.