where you go (i will go) — i
Summary: A threat to your realm inspires an unlikely collaboration.
Pairing: Dream of the Endless x f!reader
Words: 3.9k+
Notes: After binging the Sandman, my heart went out to our favorite mopey, gothic dream prince. This will be a full multi-part fic. Set in the Netflix series universe. I haven’t written anything in a hot minute, so any feedback is appreciated - thanks!
series masterlist // mood board // ao3
. . .
“It starts at night when I close my eyes,
I still see you.
I drown my cries in some brand new lies,
I don’t see you like I used to.”
- I Don’t Miss You Anymore, loveless
. . .
Part i.
True peace is found in the still moments between dreaming and waking. Those moments in which the body and mind seem to exist on separate planes of existence. The body, just awakening to sensation; the mind, being coaxed back to reality after the uninhibited freedom of slumber. The infinite possibilities found in the realm of dreaming.
As your body calls your mind back home, you cling to the last remnants of your dream. A field of wildflowers, bursting with red poppies, purple bellflowers, yellow lady’s bedstraw. Standing tall before you, your love takes your face in his rough, calloused hands. You lean into his touch, relishing in the thought that tomorrow, your hands will be joined in the sanctity of marriage within this very field. Your heart flutters at the thought.
Your love’s dark eyes gaze tenderly into yours. You open your mouth to state your vow, one you’ve surely told him a thousand times, “I love you.”
Suddenly, there is a sharp tug within your chest. You’re yanked back, the scene before you fading to a pinprick. Your mind collides with your body with a force that is physically painful.
The first sensation you register is a pair of rough, calloused hands gripping tightly around your windpipe. Pushing, pressing.
The second is a pair of familiar dark eyes hovering over you.
There is no tenderness there.
. . .
Consciousness can be an alarming thing. While it has been many hundreds of years - or perhaps thousands, you’ve begun to lose count - since you’ve dreamed, even deities must rest. Your mind recoils back into the Waking World as your eyes snap open with a gasp. On instinct, your hands fly to your neck, hastily prying away a grip that’s not there.
No one is here. Your bedroom is quiet and empty. As always.
Heart hammering in your chest, you run your fingers along your scalp, peeling away the strands of hair plastered to your skin with sweat. Breathe, you tell yourself, inhaling deeply. Just breathe. Exhale. You relish in the feeling of air flowing in and out of your lungs, uninhibited and free. You are alive.
Well, sort of.
The end of your bed dips lightly, and you open your eyes. Your foster pup, Theo, peers up at you attentively. He places one white paw between your feet, his dark eyes twinkling with reassurance. You smile at him and lean forward, ruffling the mop of brown fur between his wide ears. “Good morning, my friend. Checking on me, are you?”
Sunlight streams through the thin curtains of your bedroom window, bathing the room in a golden glow. Your peace lily by the windowsill reaches for the sun, craning its green stems and white blooms toward the glass. A fantasy novel lays on your bedside table, colorful bookmarks denoting all your favorite passages.
And there, just under your bedroom door, is a stack of papers.
Slowly, a bright smile pulls across your face. Your rude awakening retreats to the back of your mind, waiting to strike again with a new dawn.
It’s time to start a new day.
. . .
“Oh please, Theo, don’t look at me like that,” you groan as you walk into the kitchen, shimmying into a pair of dark jeans as you go. Theo sits regally at your feet, eyes wide and gleaming, eager for a lick of the cream cheese warming on the kitchen counter. You drop to the floor to tie your sneakers, eyeing him carefully.
He stares at you. You stare at him. After several long moments of watching you tie your shoes, he sticks his pink tongue out and grins.
Your heart grows two sizes as your tough act breaks. “Oh, fine. How am I supposed to say no to that face?” In a jiffy, your toasted bagel has been slathered with cream cheese, and an extra dollop has been added to the rim of Theo’s food bowl. He sits triumphantly by the bowl and grins as you dip to rub him behind the ears. “You be a good boy today, okay? I’ve got a busy day ahead, but I’ll drop in at lunch. And please, no chewing on the trim. We really can’t afford another maintenance charge. Got it?”
Theo pants and gives your palm an appreciative lick. You grin and kiss him between the ears. “That’s my boy.”
The tender autumn sun warms your cheeks as you step out of your townhouse and onto the sidewalk. It’s a Wednesday morning and the streets are busy, everyone shuffling to jobs, school, daycare. You make the brisk walk to the small mom-and-pop coffee shop a couple blocks away, hoping to beat the line that is sure to be forming soon. The shop owner, an elderly gentleman with a shock of white hair and a kind, wrinkled face - Cliff, you remind yourself - smiles kindly at you as you walk in. “G’morning, miss. You’re off to an early start today, aren’t you?”
“The sun is awake, so I’m awake,” you reply jokingly, placing the exact change for your beverage into his waiting hand at the counter. “We’ve got a busy day ahead, Cliff. Your coffee is going to carry me through.”
“Good thing I’ve got it ready for you, then,” Cliff jests, sliding a to-go cup across the counter. “Have a g’day, miss.”
“You truly are a lifesaver, Cliff. Mankind thanks you for your service,” you say as you take the first sip. The dark brew slips down your throat, warming your insides as it goes. Nothing refreshes the immortal soul for a day of work quite like a good coffee.
“I’ll see you tomorrow!” you call with a grin, turning on your heel to head back out the front door. As you approach, a young man carrying a backpack, likely a college student, prepares to open the door. The street outside is busy, easy to disappear into. You turn over your shoulder to ensure Cliff is looking away. His back faces you, busying himself with cleaning the espresso machine behind the counter.
Turning to the young man in front of you, you slip through the door as he opens it. He makes eye contact with you, opening his mouth to give a greeting. You smile and, reaching out, touch your fingertips to the soft gray hoodie over his heart. You close your eyes, reaching out, reaching through. A warm breeze whistles through your hair. And when you open your eyes, you’re in to vasíleio tis proskóllisis. The Realm of Attachment.
It is an absolute kaleidoscope of colors. The most stunning masterpiece you have ever seen. Hundreds, thousands, millions of threads bursting forth from the hearts of the mortals surrounding you. Some are linked to an individual beside them, some halfway across the city, some halfway across the world. Each thread thrums, alive with the promise of connection, of attachment to another individual. Each thread glows with the promise of what bond these two mortals are to share.
Gazing around this masterpiece, your masterpiece, your chest grows tight with emotion, heart warm, mind buzzing. This is your purpose. This is what it means to be Agape, the Deity of Love.
You turn to the young coffee shop customer you passed through, who is now glancing around, looking quite dazed and confused. “Well,” you say, knowing full well he can’t hear you, “I suppose I should get to work, shouldn’t I?”
You pull the folded pieces of paper from your bedroom floor out of your pocket, unfolding them carefully. The first names on the Fates’ list are alight with a purple halo. You smile fondly. Erotoropia - playful, flirtatious attachment. These are always fun. You close your eyes and skim your fingertips over the words, reaching out for the attachment there. When you open your eyes, you find yourself in a high school hallway crowded with shuffling bodies. The air is thick with a heady combination of cacophonous chatter, cheap body spray, and raging teenage hormones.
A thick web of attachments surrounds you, burning brightly with reds, purples, blues, and whites. A combination of romance, flirtation, self-love, and friendship or romantic soul ties. Ah, to be a teenager, you muse, overwhelmed by the sheer number of connections around you. You inhale deeply and wade through the crowd, honing in on the attachment you have come to foster.
Ah, there they are - a young brown-skinned girl with hair the shade of night and a fair-skinned boy with bright blue eyes. They stand side by side at their lockers, the boy rummaging for books, the girl applying a thin streak of eyeliner to both eyes in her small mirror. A faint purple thread connects them at the heart, yearning to be established. You feel it call out to you, tugging at your heart, drawing you closer.
You smile, running the purple strand between your fingers. Let me see what I can do for you.
To your right, a stocky boy in a football jersey barrels down the hall, clearly late for some type of practice. You incline your head toward him and lift a hand, crooking your pointer finger ever so slightly. At your gesture, the boy’s shoe rolls over a pen on the hallway tile and he stumbles, shoulder colliding with the back of the brown-skinned girl. Her eyeliner careens across her temple, leaving a dark line in its wake. She gasps, rearing backward.
“Hey, watch it!” She calls out to the football player as he scurries away, too concerned about being late to pay her a glance. She leans back into her locker, examining the damage in the mirror. “Aw, shit.”
The fair-skinned boy glances at the girl to his side, glances away, glances back again. Obviously weighing the pros and cons of speaking up. You place an encouraging hand on his back. Go on.
“Sorry about that,” the boy finally says, briefly pausing in his quest to find his books. “Jocks, am I right?”
“No shit,” the girl groans. She pulls a Q-tip from her purse and leans in close to the mirror, trying to salvage her look. “This was the worst possible day for this to happen to me. I’m supposed to audition for Catswith the drama club after school.”
The boy grins, turning to face her more fully. Gaining courage. “What , a cat eye wasn’t what you were going for?” he prods, eyebrow raised.
The girl pauses in her wiping to return his friendly gaze. A playful twinkle lights in her eye, dancing as a smile pulls across her face. “How do you even know what a cat eye is?” she laughs.
The boy shrugs, closing his locker with a stout clang. “I may or may not have three older sisters. My knowledge of makeup is vast and, quite frankly, a little embarrassing.”
You glance down at the thread between your fingers as the two chat. Once pale purple, the thread now glows brightly. You smile with satisfaction. Your work here is done.
. . .
The Fates know how to keep you busy, and you thank the powers that be for the millionth time that you love your work as much as you do. By lunch, you’ve traveled halfway across the world, fostering a rainbow of bonds. Theo gets a quick check-in at lunch, something that lifts your spirits as much as it does his, before you dive back into the fray. By dusk, there is only one final set of names on your list.
As you lift your fingertips from the page, you find yourself on the landing at the top of a staircase. A large window to your right reveals the quiet cul-de-sac outside. The hallway is dark with shadows, every door lining the corridor closed firmly. All is silent.
And then, a sniffle. You turn to the first door down the corridor to your left. While no light peeks through the crack at the bottom of the door, the sound of quiet sobbing is unmistakable. The pitch and tone tells you that it is the crying of a young girl. Through the door pass two distinct threads; one faded and green, the other a pulsating black. At the sight of the black thread, you grow very still, a lump forming in your throat.
Desire the Endless has been here.
You take the threads in your hands and follow them down the staircase, moving quickly. You find that the threads trail into the heart of a middle-aged man lying on the couch. A comforter has been thrown onto the floor beside him; he tosses and turns in his sleep, restless.
You swallow quickly and close your eyes, gripping the black thread tightly. Show me, you command. In response, dark images flash through your mind: A family of three, happily moving into their new home. The father taking a new job. Casual glances at a co-worker turning into sly ones. Desire boiling until the pot overflows. One early morning run turning into multiple. The fallout. A wife working late to push the pain away.
A daughter crying in the room upstairs. Your heart sinks, forming a pit in your stomach.
Slowly, you shift your hands to grip the green thread. Gazing down at the restless face of the adulterer below you, you can’t help but wonder whether he deserves your gift. Whether he deserves you re-enforcing his family’s unconditional love for him. You can’t help but wonder whether, with Desire around, he’ll make the same grave decision again. You almost let the thread go. And then, you remind yourself, You don’t decide who or what. You are here to choose the how and to ensure that all proceeds as it is meant to.
“You will awaken and call your wife at work,” you command slowly, voice barely more than a whisper. “You will grovel at her feet. You will do marriage counseling, family therapy, anything that she requests. You will become a father that your daughter can be proud of. All of this will be as I have spoken it.”
You pause. In your hands, the green thread solidifies and glows, warm and alive. As you turn to leave, you whisper one final wish, “And you will shut Desire out of your heart from this point onward.”
It’s the only thing out of your control. The only thing you can’t guarantee.
. . .
You step through an evening jogger and onto the sidewalk in front of your townhome, back in the regular Waking World once again. The colorful threads of the Realm of Attachment no longer leap into view. The street is quiet, dark, and mundane. Admittedly, after a long day of work, it’s a sight for sore eyes.
As you fumble through your pocket for your house keys, a bright bubble of laughter rings through the open window of the townhome next to yours. You can’t help but smile softly and take a slight step back, craning your neck to peek through the open curtains. Inside, a young husband and wife - Ava and Matt, you think fondly - sit on the couch watching a game show rerun on TV. Ava throws her head back and laughs, blonde hair spilling over her shoulders. Matt places an affectionate kiss on her temple. His broad hand shifts to rest on her stomach, cradling the small bump that has begun to rise there.
Your heart flutters at the sight. You’ve been guiding their love story for a long time. You were there for their first meeting, first date, first kiss. Blessing their vows, inhaling in excitement when they learned that they were pregnant. Some were moments the Fates required you there for, while others were for your own satisfaction. While you cared for all mortals that crossed your path, there was something special about these two. In retrospect, you suppose they were the closest thing to family that you had.
Well, besides for Theo.
“Theo!” you call as the front door squeaks closed behind you. At the jingle of your house keys falling into the catchall by the door, Theo rushes to your side, pawing at your ankles. “Hello, little love. How was the rest of your day?” You lift his tiny body into your arms, and he gives your cheek a long, rough lick. “That’s my boy. Let’s get cleaned up, shall we?”
You pad quietly through the living room, down the short hallway, into your bedroom. And nearly bite your tongue at the sight of a dark silhouette standing stark against the streetlights streaming through your curtains.
“For the love of -” You slap the lights on with one hand, gripping Theo a little tighter with the other. As light floods the room, your adrenaline rush halts, energy suddenly pent up with nowhere to go. “...Death?”
Death of the Endless turns from looking out your window, offering you a sweet, toothy smile. “Hello, Love. Long time, no see.”
You breathe out a laugh, setting Theo down on the floor. He promptly runs to lick at Death’s ankles, and she crouches to scratch behind his ears. “Yeah, long time no see. What has it been? A hundred years, at least?”
“More, my friend. Unless you count our brief encounters on the battlefield,” Death says, lifting Theo into her arms. He nudges his nose into her dark curls and licks her cheek. “You grow stronger with each passing century, Love. You’ve progressed so well. You should be proud.”
You think back on the past hundred years, remembering the wars, sicknesses, and tragedies that occured in that time. Certainly, it was a busy time for humanity. In those days, you and Death often worked side by side. The sight of her sweeping wings was well known to you then. You think of those she carried to eternal peace, of the battles that ended in the name of love. You tuck your chin, smiling sheepishly. “Thank you. Surely you didn’t serve me a heart attack simply to flatter me. What brings you here, Death?”
Death quirks an eyebrow, her dark lips dropping into a playful pout. “What, an Endless can’t drop in to see an old friend? And her adorable dog?” At your laugh, Death smiles kindly and sits herself and Theo down on your bed, patting the spot next to her. “But you’ve caught me. There is something we need to talk about,” she murmurs.
At her change of tone, your throat tightens with nerves. You breathe in deeply as you sit at her side, gazing at her expectantly. Your anxious fingers shift to scratch Theo’s head absentmindedly.
Death’s lips part slightly. She seems to contemplate for a moment. “I’ve spoken to my brother recently. Destiny. As well as the Fates,” she starts quietly. Another pause. “They seem to be worried about your scales.”
“Ah, I see,” you say, your throat suddenly dry. Your fingers move more quickly, and Theo inclines his head to peer up at you. You give him a half hearted smile.
Death leans in closer, eyes asking questions before her mouth does. “What’s going on, Love? Share with me. Let me help you.”
“I’m afraid it’s nothing you can help with,” you say quietly. “Desire and I have never seen eye to eye, but lately it’s become more and more difficult to keep up with their work. They’re moving more quickly, becoming more ambitious. They’ve been disrupting my romantic attachments and soul ties, in particular. They know what they mean to me.”
“As do I. Which is why I don’t want to see you lose them.” Death places a comforting hand on yours atop Theo’s head, stilling you. She dips her gaze to make eye contact, eyes searching yours. “I’ve come to warn you of this as your friend. You know I care for you. But if you are unable to keep your side of the scales balanced, I’m afraid of what may happen. Nothing is guaranteed for gods and goddesses. And your kind is not so easily replaced as the Endless.”
The lump in your throat rises higher. You swallow thickly. “I know. And thank you. I appreciate your friendship, appreciate everything that you’ve done for me, more than you’ll ever know.” You inhale deeply, exhale slowly. Grounding yourself, gathering your thoughts. The beauty of the Realm of Attachment burns brightly in your mind, a kaleidoscope of color that you created. “I won’t let them take it from me. It’s all I truly have left.”
Death feigns a gasp. “All you have left? What are we, Theo? Chopped liver?” You laugh, the weight of your heart becoming a little lighter in your chest. She elbows you in the ribs softly. “I’m kidding, of course, but I love the sentiment. Any thoughts on how to tip the scales back in your favor, my friend?”
One idea does immediately come to mind. Whether it’s a good or bad one, you’re not sure. You start to rethink it, but it’s evident when you lock eyes with Death that she’s already seen the thought register on your face. You smile hesitantly. “The last time we spoke, truly spoke, I did mention one idea of mine. However, you weren’t much for it at the time-”
“Ah, Dream! My dear, mopey brother,” Death exclaims, remembrance dawning on her face. “Of course I remember. Granted, at the time, I did not think it was likely to be successful. Dream was, well… being Dream, which does not mean much in the way of collaboration.” Her bright smile softens into a wistful one. “However, much has changed for Dream in the last hundred years. He’s gained a new perspective on things, I think. And Desire has done quite a bit of meddling in my brother’s affairs lately. He might be open to a partnership.”
Your heart rises, chest fluttering with hope. “You think so?”
“I think it’s worth a shot, if nothing else,” Death states matter-of-factly. With a loving pat on your hand, she rises, walking to the window. “And after all, you and my brother are not so different. You’re certainly the brighter ray of sunshine, but neither of you are much in the way of getting out. You spend all your time with mortals, and he spends all his time with - well, his librarian. And his raven. Perhaps this arrangement will be good for the both of you.” You open your mouth to protest, and she gives you a playful shh. “You know it’s true, Love. Now, I wouldn’t waste any time. The faster you can work to balance your scales, the better. And if my darling brother gives you any trouble, do let me know, yeah?”
You shake your head incredulously, giving her a small smile. “Yeah, I will. Thanks.”
“You can thank me later, when your scales are balanced. I’ll be seeing you, Love.” And with a grin and a swoop of black feathers, Death is gone.
All is quiet in your townhome. You release a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding, falling back onto your pillows. Your hand trails over Theo’s fur absentmindedly as your mind races with possibilities. Besides Death and Desire, you’ve never associated with an Endless in person before. Despite his influence on your work, you’ve never met Destiny in the flesh, receiving your assignments through the Fates, instead. In fact, you rarely associate with any other deities at all. Let alone one with a reputation such as the Dream Lord’s.
You take a calming breath, closing your eyes. There’s no doubt in your mind that rest will elude you tonight.
