A WAKING CONVERSATION WITH DREAM | The Sandman Fan Fiction
or Morpheus initiating a conversation with you who, he realized, was spending too much time in The Dreaming. | An Endless House short story.
Pair: Dream of the Endless × f!Reader
Word Count: 1.1k | Warnings: None
Themes: Mental Health (Implied)
“[Y/N].”
His voice was like cold breeze in the night, a little hoarse, made ominous by the darkened room. It didn’t appeal to you well how he could appear out of nowhere—how any of the Endless could do such a thing. It was fascinating, sure, but troubling. (What if you were doing something? Surely, they would know timing, right?) You always tried to hear the whistling of sand or the shuffling trail of his coat, but somehow it always slipped your ears, no matter how attentive you were.
You groaned, opening your eyes. You’ve been in the living room since the first struck of daylight, and you hadn’t gotten up. You didn’t feel like it—being an adult, a human—and every time you felt like so, you spent majority of the day inside the house away from the realities beyond its perimeters. Dream knew that, most likely. You realized, recently, that when you’re like this, when you go to sleep, you visit his realm—The Dreaming.
“Did you need something Dream?” you asked, sitting up groggy.
“Answers.”
You smiled—laughed, almost. It was simple, just something one wouldn’t normally ask from a landlord. What could the Lord of Dreams not know enough to ask an average human like you?
“Okay.” You were hesitant, yet compelled. “Shoot.”
His looming presence behind you was gone. There was the familiar sound of sand, a faint whiff of the wind then he materialized in front of you.
“The time you’re spending in my realm is concerning,” he started. He had his head down, but his eyes were on you, intent and stern—all while hesitant to satisfy his curiousity. “I want to know why.”
It wasn’t the time to get snarky with the Lord of Dreams, but you were; an unnecessary byproduct of your exhaustion.
You cocked your head saying, “Aren’t you supposed to know things like that? It’s your realm after all, isn’t it? You govern dreams?”
He sat up straight at your remark; a king sitting on his throne. You felt a chill run through your spine. Perhaps you should have answered him properly, but you were curious how he would react.
When you noticed shadows subtly moving around him, you gave up and said, “Come on, Morpheus. I’ll talk. You don’t have to intimidate me like that. This is probably why you have a lot of ex-girlfriends.”
You didn’t expect it, but you got a reaction from that. He shifted on his seat and looked away. Guilty. There was shock in there. You knew, you could feel it. He was likely wondering how you came to know such information.
“Some of your siblings are quite the gossips.” You noticed his eyes narrowed. He knew exactly which siblings.
“If you’re unwilling to give me answers, then I'll—”
You cut him off before he could stand up.
“Alright, Dreamlord. You want to know why I spend so much time in your realm?”
He nodded.
“I don’t do it every time. And you probably knew that already.”
“You realize you’re not supposed to.”
“I know. We’re supposed to spend majority of the day—of our lives—in the Waking World.” You dared to look at him, to meet his eyes, and almost got lost in them. They were beautiful and distracting. You turned away, directing your eyes on the floor instead.
“I feel safe in your realm, Morpheus,” you admitted. It sounded like a romantic confession, yet the phrasing felt right, honest and sincere. You didn’t remember your dreams—most of them—or the things you’ve done in The Dreaming, but every time you wake up, you always want to go back; to sleep. You wanted to feel safe again, away from reality while you can; to ease yourself off your stressors, to be comforted by the things you wanted and needed, the things you love—even if you can't remember all of it in the waking hours.
“Are you grieving?” It was a fair assumption. You lost your grandparents after all, and you were close. “Disheartened?”
But you were neither. It was hard to explain. Perhaps it was as inexplicable to Dream of the Endless that he had to ask you personally. He knew neither were the right words to describe how you’ve been feeling, your current state—did he want to help you?
“I”—you stopped, realizing this wasn’t like you to talk so openly (although you haven’t said much)— “Morpheus, can we stop? This is not a fun conversation.”
“Am I making you uncomfortable?”
“No, but—”
“I was told talking would help.” Death, you guessed. There was no one else you could think of.
“I just feel like this sometimes, okay? I can’t explain it. Doing so makes it worse, somehow. I just—I don’t feel like myself. And I don’t want to do anything else besides—”
“Coveting the entire living room for yourself?”
He smiled and you stifled your laugh. You didn’t think it was possible for Morpheus to make a joke—if this counted as one.
“Yes. Sorry.” You sighed. “You can have it back later on. I just need time away.”
“Away?”
“Let’s just put it this way: I’m taking a break from life. Everything is overwhelming and I don’t want to do anything to try and solve it or something.”
“So it seemed.”
“We’re you voted by your siblings to take the living room away from me.” You didn’t mean to say it out loud. But the conversation had finally struck you as something Dream wouldn’t engage, let alone initiate unless he was forced into it.
“No.”
“Really?”
“You needed someone to talk to.”
This didn’t sound like the Dream you met weeks ago. Or the Dream your grandparents had described in their letters. Lord Morpheus, Ruler of the Nightmare Realm seemed friendly.
“Am I dreaming?”
“No.”
“Are you Death in disguise?”
He rolled his eyes playfully. “No.”
“This is a strategy to block me out of The Dreaming then?”
“Is this your strategy so we would not have to talk?”
“Maybe.”
You smiled and he reflected it. It made you realize how much time has passed—admittedly, not a lot, just a few minutes—but talking with Morpheus hadn’t made you want to go to sleep or take a break from life, as you’d put it.
Whoever or whatever brought him to you was a blessing. A gift, perhaps.
“You’re right, talking helps.” You gathered your blanket, folding it away. The living room was warming up. “Thank you, Morpheus.”
“You’re welcome, [Y/N].”
As you walked away, Dream of the Endless reminded himself to thank his raven later. Matthew was right. He has been right about many things since he became the raven for the Endless.
Thank you for reading! I hope this piece was okay. It felt like an appropriate theme to start off Endless House—Dream trying to be more like Death and all; friendly and more approachable.
The way things are right now, something more romantic might result from this set up. No promises though. (Although, I want it to happen so bad.)
Your grandparents died and left you a house, a large cottage just outside the city. In their letter, they strictly told you not to sell the house or anything inside—you wouldn't, of course. You loved the cottage. It held your most treasured memories.
The letter also explained the cottage's circumstances and its tenants. Tenants. You didn't know they had the rooms rented out. It was big enough to house at least twelve people.
They've been accommodating a family (of anthropomorphic personifications of powerful natural forces) who called themselves the Endless.
They wanted you to move to the house and take over as the Endless' landlord.
ENDLESS HOUSE STORIES
Welcome to Endless House! Thank you for reading. This post will serve as a masterlist and introduction to my first Sandman fic. Please be kind. It's been a while since my last fan fiction.
Endless House is basically a roommate au, in which you live under the same house as the Endless—you are also their landlord; a collection of short stories and headcanons about living with the Endless.
