7-wonders

[7-wonders]

I’m squealing and kicking my feet at your praises! Thank you so much 🥰

Adventures in Babysitting

Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x GN!Reader

Summary: When an emergency leaves you strapped for a babysitter, there's only one option remaining for you: your eons-old, all-powerful boyfriend, who hasn't watched a child on his own for thousands of years. Maybe you should just stay home.

Word count: 4.6k

A note from the author: For plot purposes, you have a sister in this fic. My apologies if that's not the case in real life. I love writing not-the-step-dad-but-the-dad-who-stepped-up!Morpheus, and I'm so glad you guys love reading it. This is written in a pre-season 2 bubble at the moment, hence why Morpheus isn't as brooding and sad as we're currently seeing on our screens. Anyways, I hope you enjoy!

(This is an AU where you're a single parent to a four-year-old daughter and begin dating Morpheus, who can't not eventually become a father figure)

As a parent, you feel that there are few things worse than trying to find a babysitter at the last minute. Not only is it near-impossible to track down somebody who doesn’t have plans, but it also makes you feel like a terrible person who procrastinates—in this case, at least, you know that you’re not.

“I’m really sorry,” your teenage neighbor apologizes on the other end of the line, already halfway to her high school’s Friday night football game.

The smile that’s been plastered on your face to keep your panic from leaching into your voice falters. “No worries, Marissa, enjoy your night.” You hang up the phone and immediately let out a groan. “Fuck!”

There goes your last option. This is the first time you’ve ever tried to find a babysitter on the night of, and it’s a good exercise in always remembering to be prepared. But this isn’t for some last-minute date or night out with friends—no, your sister called you half an hour ago, fresh out of a car accident. The details she provided were haphazard at best, you assume due to the shock, but you know for certain that she’s on her way to the hospital and wants you by her side. While you’re never going to turn your sister down, especially in a crisis, you also can’t take a small child into that sort of environment. Hence, trying to find a babysitter who can be at your home within the hour.

Your mind races as you try to figure out what to do next. Daycare’s closed since it’s after five, and your normal babysitter rotation of Marissa, Tegan, Maggie, and (obviously) your sister are all unavailable. You can think of nobody else you know that you would trust with your own child for a few—

Wait. There is somebody whom you trust, somebody whom Caroline is already very comfortable with. Is he even going to feel capable of watching a child in the 21st century, though? It’s going to be a little embarrassing to ask, but you’re desperate at this point. Finding a small notepad and a pink Crayola marker (perks of having a kid), you scribble down one of your favorite names in the world, as instructed.

“Morpheus?” you call. “If you have time, I’d appreciate you swinging by for a bit.”

It takes him a whole thirty seconds to show up, eyes wide and almost frightened as he looks you up and down. “Beloved.”

“Hi. I’m alright, and so is Caroline,” you assure. “My, uh, my sister got into a car accident.”

“Is she injured?” he asks.

“She’s alright enough to have been able to call me from the back of the ambulance, but they’re taking her to the hospital, and I need to meet her there. Of course, it’s a Friday evening, which means that daycare is closed and all of our regular babysitters have plans and—” you cut yourself off with a deep breath in an attempt to stop spiraling. “What I’m trying to do is ask if you would watch Caroline?”

“Yes.”

You don’t hear him and continue pleading your case. “Just for a couple of hours! I wouldn’t be asking you if I had any other option.”

Morpheus takes your hands right as you realize he’s already said yes. “I would be happy to watch Caroline so that you may attend to your sister.”

“Really?” You know that you sound surprised, and it’s for good reason; Morpheus has told you enough about what happened to his son, the mistakes that he feels he made during his parenting journey, that you thought he might be too scarred from that to feel capable of keeping another child in his sole care. 

He nods. “I simply ask that I might take her to the Dreaming?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” You expected this amendment, expected that Morpheus would need to be in his realm to be comfortable watching your daughter, somebody not of his flesh and blood but whom he loves all the same, for the first time. “Let me put a bag together for her quickly.”

Morpheus follows you around your living room like a shadow as you begin to throw items that you think Caroline will need into a small purple duffel bag. Fruit snacks, a coloring book, a box of markers, a couple of her dolls—all go into the bag. All the while, you’re nervously chattering about the specifics that you would normally tell a babysitter.

“She hasn’t had dinner yet, but I can feed her before I leave—”

“Taramis would love the opportunity to cook for somebody,” Morpheus interrupts.

You nod, mind already on the next point. “Her bedtime is typically eight, but sometimes I let her stay up until eight thirty on the weekends. I’ll try to be back before she needs to go to bed so that I can—”

“I am the King of Dreams, my love. If anything, putting children to sleep is my specialty,” he assures. “You have nothing to worry about; we will be fine.”

“I know!” And you do. Trusting Morpheus is easy, especially when you know how much Caroline cares for him, and vice versa. You also know that you’re being a lot little overbearing, but you’re going to blame that on the stress of not knowing your sister’s current condition. “I’m going to let Caroline know that I’m leaving and what the plan is.”

You knock on her coloring sheet-adorned bedroom door before entering, forever an advocate for giving your daughter some privacy. Caroline’s lying on her stomach on the floor, finger tracing the illustrations on one of her board books. When she looks up, she grins. “Dream!”

Forcing a smile on your face, you go to your knees next to her. “I have to go somewhere for a bit, so you’re going to hang out with Dream!”

She looks up at you curiously, your empathetic girl always managing to read your emotions. “Are you okay?”

“Yep,” you assure her; not a lie, because you physically are okay. “Give me a hug before I leave?”

Caroline leaps into your outstretched arms and squeezes as hard as a four-year-old can. The hug is a balm for your heart, and you squeeze her back.

“Oh, that’s a good hug!” you commend, kissing her on the cheek. “I love you so much, sweetheart. I’ll be back soon, alright?”

She kisses you on your own cheek before letting go. “Love you more!”

The typical ‘love you’ routine makes you smile despite the circumstances. “Love you most.”

After packing Caroline a pair of pajamas and her toothbrush and toothpaste, you zip up the duffel bag and place it on her bed. With that finished, there’s only one thing left to do. You take Morpheus’s hand and lead him just outside Caroline’s door to avoid any eavesdropping.

“Seriously, thank you so much,” you say to Morpheus.

“It is no trouble. Go tend to your sister.”

You kiss him once, twice, and then you’re gone.

•••

Dream of the Endless watches the door close behind you, his mortal lover, and becomes uncomfortably aware of the fact that he has just agreed to watch over a child for the first time in thousands of years. He does not regret saying yes to you; Caroline has become dear to him throughout the course of your relationship, and she is an easygoing child. But to be overseeing a child’s welfare once more brings to the surface feelings that he had long since buried, parental instincts that he thought lost to him. The Waking has too many variables that he can’t control if he is to be in charge of Caroline’s care. Best to spend the evening in his realm, so as to be sure that nothing can go wrong.

Morpheus steps back into Caroline’s bedroom, the small child looking up at him with your eyes. “Would you like to accompany me to the Dreaming this evening?” he asks. 

Caroline gasps, delight coloring her face. It was only three short weeks ago that you and he brought her to the Dreaming proper for the first time, and she was enthralled by all of the wonders surrounding her. According to you, she’s talked about it almost nonstop since then, prompting a conversation with her about how she couldn’t share this with any of her friends or peers at preschool.

“Yes!” she cheers. “Yes, yes, yes!”

He cannot help the way his lips twitch at her excitement. “We shall depart, then, if you have everything you need?” 

Morpheus takes hold of the bag that you packed while Caroline looks around her bedroom one last time before choosing a stuffed bear from her bed. “Okay, ready.”

It will be easier on Caroline to be held on the journey to the Dreaming, so Morpheus stoops down and easily picks the little girl up. She clings to him comfortably, used to this position since she first ‘conned’ him (your words) into doing so on Halloween night. He reaches into his pocket for his sand, and then they are away.

Caroline claps when they land in the Library of the Dreaming, enjoying traveling by sand much more than you do. “That was fun,” she says, eyes sparkling and grin stretching across her face.

“I am glad you thought so.” A flutter from the shelves above catches his eye, and his raven flies from his perch to land on the floor before him. 

“Wow, fast trip—” Matthew cuts himself off with an excited caw when he sees who Morpheus is holding. “Hey kiddo, how’s it hanging?”

Caroline reaches for Matthew until Morpheus sets her down on the ground so that she can crouch in front of the Dreamlord’s emissary and pet his head. “Good. How are you, Matty?” she asks politely.

If Matthew could smile, he would be beaming. “I’m great! Even better now that you’re here.”

Lucienne rounds a corner, having also sensed her lord’s return. “Lady Caroline!” Lucienne cannot help smiling. Though she had been wary when Morpheus began courting you (prior experience with, well, all of his former relationships), she always had a soft spot for the realm’s smallest dreamers. It certainly helps that you have managed to endear yourself to her as well. “How lovely to see you once more.”

Caroline giggles—you told Morpheus after your last visit that she was smitten with the title Lucienne insisted on calling her by, feeling ‘like a princess from one of her books’—and darts over to wrap her arms around Lucienne in a hug. “Hi, Lu.”

Lucienne’s eyes grow soft, both at the hug and the nickname (Caroline found it easier to amend her name rather than struggle through the three syllables), and she smoothes a hand over Caroline’s head before patting her back. “Where is—”

Morpheus looks at Lucienne to convey that he will tell her the story at a later time, a look that his trusted Librarian easily picks up on.

“No matter. Are you to spend the evening with us, then?” He can already see that Lucienne’s planning to steal the little girl away and show her more of the Library that had held her attention for at least an hour on her first visit. While he is sure that both would love that plan, he must first see to Caroline’s needs.

“Caroline requires dinner first, which I am hoping Taramis will be up for procuring.”

At the mention of her name, the Dreaming’s chef appears.

“You say that as though it is not my purpose,” she says dryly before smiling and holding her hand out. “Come along, little miss. Do you like cooking?”

Caroline eagerly takes her hand. “Uh huh! I help in the kitchen at home a lot!”

“Perfect, I’m in need of a good sous chef.” The great doors at the other end of the room open for the pair as they head to the kitchens, leaving Morpheus alone with two of his most trusted advisors.

Lucienne turns her gaze on him almost immediately, and Morpheus begins to fill her in. About your sister’s accident, about your worry and desperation, about how Caroline is now his charge for the time being. All the while she watches him, that imperceptible look of hers that says she has a lot of thoughts, but she will decide which she shares with him.

“Goodness, I do hope everything turns out alright,” she says. 

“I believe it will. It did not sound as serious as it could have been,” he responds, as though he has any idea of the injuries that human car accidents inflict on their victims. 

A beat. “So…you are watching Caroline?” Lucienne asks delicately.

Morpheus’s brow furrows. Had he not already said that? “I am.”

“And you are…alright with that?”

Suddenly, he understands what she is asking. Lucienne has been his Librarian for thousands upon thousands of years, the first (and, hopefully, only) to oversee the Library of the Dreaming. She has seen Morpheus at his best, as well as at his very worst. Has seen how much Morpheus loved his son, the mistakes made, and the remorse that he still carries, the way that losing Orpheus completely and utterly wrecked him. He once thought himself incapable of being around a child once more, for surely he must ruin the life of everyone he cares for.

And yet. Getting to love you, and by extension, Caroline, has started to heal parts of him he didn’t believe could ever be mended. With every smile your four-year-old gives him, every time she insists on holding his hand, or wanting to hear a story, bitter heartache is slowly replaced by growing affection.

“I am,” he affirms, softer than before.

Lucienne smiles at him, and, after a moment’s deliberation, touches his arm. “That makes me very happy to hear, my Lord.”

“I still have work to do, even while Caroline is here,” he insists quickly, both to Lucienne and himself. “Faerie requires a response to their petition, one that…will require some thought, to make sure it does not offend Titania or Oberon.” 

Titania and Oberon (mostly Titania, he knew) were eager to rid Faerie of the tithe that they were required to pay to Hell, and hoped yet again that the Dreaming might assist them in negotiations. This is the fifth time in as many centuries that the request has been made, and his answer would remain the same: no.

Lucienne knows exactly why the subject has been changed, but has the tact not to say anything and simply step back. “Quite the task. I will leave you to it.”

Where Morpheus would normally conduct such work in his private study, he makes sure it is already waiting for him at his seat in the dining room. Through the door leading into the kitchen, he can hear Caroline’s squeals of laughter as she helps Taramis cook whatever it is she has decided on for dinner. He has half a mind to join them, but he truly must finish this correspondence before long, lest his silence be seen as an unfavorable answer in and of itself. Instead, he settles himself in his usual seat at the end of the table and makes a quill, ink (he prefers the way that it writes better than that of a modern pen), and multiple sheets of paper appear at his place.

Taramis eventually appears from the kitchen holding a tray, Caroline trailing behind her. She prepares her charge’s spot at the other end of the table, setting down a plate and utensils, before pulling the chair out and helping her in. 

“There you are, my dear,” Taramis says warmly, the latest to fall victim to Caroline’s charms.

“Thank you!” You’ll be proud to know how well she minds her manners when not in your presence, and he makes a note to tell you of this when he sees you.

“Will you eat anything, my Lord?” Taramis asks before leaving.

“Not tonight, thank you,” he says without looking up from the work in front of him. He hears her take her leave, and then it is just he and Caroline.

Instead of beginning to eat, Morpheus feels Caroline peering at him from across the long table, and looks up from his writing only to see that she and her meal have disappeared from her seat. After a moment, she comes around the table, carrying her plate and utensils in his direction.

“What are you doing?” he asks curiously.

“I wanna sit next to you!” she says, standing on her tiptoes to nudge the plate onto the corner beside him. 

He’s thoroughly amused at both her actions and her request, but indulges her nonetheless. When she turns, presumably to fetch the chair, she finds the chair already sliding in her direction and laughs at the sight. She climbs up into the chair, which then pushes her closer to the table. Instead of eating, as he expected, she watches him with a grin, pleased beyond measure to be next to him. 

“Eat your meal,” he gently urges, waiting until she grabs her fork and prepares her first bite—spaghetti, he notes—before turning back to the pages in front of him.

Morpheus makes it as far as “To the right and honorable Lord Oberon of Dom-Daniel and Lady Titania” before becoming stumped, and spends the ensuing minutes trying to figure out what he might say that won’t cause Faerie to overreact and shut their realm off from foreign kingdoms for another couple of centuries, as they are so fond of doing. It’s more challenging than he previously thought, and he quickly loses himself in wordsmithing.

“Done,” Caroline says after a while, pulling him out of his thoughts.

He curbs a smile at the spaghetti sauce ringing her lips, procuring a napkin and cleaning her face before he realizes he’s even done so.

“What would you like to do next?” Morpheus asks, assuming that Caroline will want to go and explore the Library more, and already halfway to summoning Lucienne, 

Instead, she surprises him by asking, “Can I stay here and color?”

“Of course.” 

With a wave of his hand, her plate is gone and replaced by the coloring book and markers you had packed for Caroline. The two work side by side, Morpheus trying to remain polite yet firm as he works his way through the letter, while Caroline does her best to translate the vision in her head to paper. The room remains comfortably silent, save for the popping of embers in the fireplace and the humming of a song from Caroline. 

“How do I spell my name?” she asks finally.

He tries to peek at what she’s working on, but she pulls the coloring book away from him and puts her arms over the page, apparently hiding a surprise. Carefully, he dictates each letter to her, watching her hand move across the paper.

“Okay, your name now,” she prompts.

That piques his curiosity, but he dutifully spells ‘Dream,’ the name she knows him as. Caroline nods, tongue poking out of her mouth just slightly as she focuses on writing. When she’s finished, she attempts to tear the page from the book. It’s a valiant effort, but when she realizes that she’s not going to be able to accomplish her goal, she looks up at Morpheus once more.

“Can you tear the page, please?” she asks. He pulls the book closer, only for her to squeal, “Don’t look at it!” right as he’s about to do so. Instead, he carefully looks at the table as he tears the paper along the perforation in the book before handing it to her.

Caroline, in return, slides it right back to him. 

“Here, it’s for you!”

“TO DREAM FROM CAROLINE,” the top of the sheet reads in childish script, Caroline having enough experience writing the words ‘to’ and ‘from’ not to need Morpheus’s assistance in spelling them. It’s an outline of a cat, now colored black and with blue eyes, sitting on a stack of orange, purple, and yellow books. The bookshop background is also decorated in various hues and shades, the young artist doing her best not to color outside of the lines.

Morpheus has seen every work of art as it was first dreamed of. He watched as Michelangelo toiled over how best to decorate the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, studied as Da Vinci began his earliest sketches, and walked the Impressionist landscape of France as Van Gogh transformed his view into a masterpiece. Yet somehow, this child’s scribble evokes the same feelings in him.

“Thank you very much,” he says earnestly. “I shall display it with honor.”

Caroline smiles before looking back down at the table and picking up another marker, praise making her shy. “How do I spell Lu’s name? I wanna color a picture for her too.”

As it turns out, the evening routine isn’t all that different when you’re not present. He has seen you in this exact position a number of times now, helping and encouraging as Caroline plays, creates, and explores. It is all too easy to assume that position, all too easy to take up the mantle of father once more to ensure that her needs are being met and that she is happy and entertained. She begins to yawn and rub her eyes shortly after finishing Lucienne’s drawing and starting on one for Matthew (she cared not that the bird had nowhere to keep such a gift, insisting that either Morpheus or Lucienne could keep it safe for him), and Morpheus procures a watch to see that it is a little before what would be eight in the evening at your home. That explains the fatigue, then.

“Shall we get ready for bed?” Morpheus asks, content to leave the letter with only a suitable conclusion left to be written.

Caroline shakes her head. “‘M not tired.”

“Your yawning says otherwise.”

Her mouth, which had been open in the middle of yet another yawn, snaps shut. When her eyes narrow in a glare, she looks just like you, and Morpheus has to stifle a laugh.

“Let us at least go and get your nightclothes on so that you may be comfortable,” he suggests. When her expression remains unchanged, he tries again. “You may rest in my bed.” 

After a moment of contemplation, she nods, much more amenable to this new plan. Morpheus stands from his own chair and helps Caroline out of hers before using his power to clean the table and send items back to their rightful places. Because the Dreaming bends to his whim, at this moment, his private chambers are through the doors that the kitchens were through a short while ago. Were she not tired, Morpheus believes that Caroline would be pleasantly bewildered at the layout of the palace changing. At present, she simply trudges along to where her bag sits on a small table and begins searching through it for her pajamas and toothbrush. 

“Do you need help?” Morpheus asks as he opens the door to the washroom that only exists when you, and now Caroline, are in his chambers.

Caroline shakes her head. “Uh-uh, I got it.”

Even with her reassurance, Morpheus stands sentry outside the door, just in case her mind changes. When she’s finished, she races for the large bed with onyx sheets and blanket, the main reason she agreed to get ready to sleep in the first place, and clambers up with surprising agility for one so small and tired. 

“Will you tell me a story?” Caroline asks, already snuggling under the covers in the very middle of the bed. 

A flash of deja vu hits him, and for a moment, Caroline is replaced by a little boy with curly hair and warm brown eyes, sitting comfortably in the same spot and asking him the same question. Just as quickly as Morpheus sees the ghost of his son, he’s gone once more, leaving only regrets and wishes behind.

“Yes.” The words nearly catch in his throat, and he has to uncharacteristically clear his throat before repeating himself. “Yes. Anything in particular, or shall I pick?”

After insisting that Morpheus sit on the bed with her and choosing to use him as a pillow, Caroline opts for the latter, Morpheus utilizing his ‘Prince of Stories’ title to tell her a tale of a princess in a castle made of dreams. She falls asleep quickly, as expected, but he cannot find it in himself to move her off of him so that he may have a productive evening. Be it nostalgia for a time long gone or his sense of duty that comes with you having trusted him with the person most precious to you, he foregoes finishing the letter to Faerie and allows Caroline to sleep soundly against him.

When Morpheus finally hears you call for him once more, he chooses to bring you to the Dreaming rather than wake Caroline and take her back to the Waking. You scowl when the cloud of sand disappears, vertigo overtaking you for a few moments, but your expression quickly changes when you see what’s in front of you.

“Well, hi,” you greet quietly, kissing Morpheus before reaching over him so that you can kiss Caroline’s forehead. “You two are a sight for sore eyes.”

Morpheus takes your hand and gently pulls you down next to him on the bed, noting your heavy sigh when you do so. “How is your sister?”

“The other driver t-boned her—hit her on her own driver’s side,” you translate, “so she has a lot of bruising, a concussion, and her arm is broken. She’s getting surgery on it in the morning, and then she’ll stay with me and Caroline for a few days while she adjusts to having a cast. But she’s alive, and mostly okay, which is what matters.”

“I am glad to hear it.” Your weary voice and the dried tear tracks on your face do not go unnoticed, even as you smile at him.

“How did your night go? Did she give you too much trouble?” you ask.

“None at all. We had a very enjoyable evening.” 

He raises his free hand, the one not being laid on by Caroline, and produces her artwork from thin air to hand to you. Your smile widens as you look over each one, carefully addressed to Morpheus, Lucienne, and Matthew.

“It was only a matter of time before you three got a Caroline original. You going to frame yours?”

Your tone conveys that you’re only teasing, but Morpheus is completely serious when he replies, “Yes.”

It seems like an easy conclusion to him, but your eyes still grow soft at his statement. “Thank you again,” you say. “I know you’re incredibly busy, so for you to drop everything to watch my daughter—”

“Your thanks are appreciated, but not necessary. Caroline is easy to care for, easy to entertain. I…enjoy…being in her, and your, presence,” he confesses.

“She thinks the world of you. We both do.” You open your mouth as though to say something else, but close it again upon further consideration. Finally, you settle on, “I should get Caroline back home. Tegan’s going to be at our place in the morning to babysit so that I can go back to the hospital, and I’m sure you have missed work to make up.”

While it’s true that he does, he’s also not willing to give up this moment of domesticity quite yet. “Stay,” he pleads. “The Waking will be there in the morning, and you both need rest.”

In a normal scenario, you would likely put up a bit of an argument. After the evening you’ve just had, though, you simply smile and ask, “You sure?”

“Yes,” he assures you.

That single word is all that it takes for you to relax onto Morpheus’s other side and begin going through the events of the evening. For the first time in a long time, Morpheus begins to feel as though he’s part of something he has forever longed for once more; he feels as though he’s part of a family.

[7-wonders]

Stars in his eyes

[7-wonders]

Can we all agree Taramis did not abandon the Dreaming during Dream's imprisonment? She was out leading the posse to find him, while Lucienne held the fort at home. She NEVER stopped searching. 

Self indulgent headcanon 1: She'd actually tracked him down and had managed to get herself onto Alex Burgess’s kitchen staff by 2022. Was planning to deal with the occupants of Fawney Rig in a manner that would make Hannibal Lecter blush, and then free him. But by some coincidence he managed to escape himself before she could. Cue proud parental preening, followed by hunting down and dealing out justice to any remaining staff members she deemed guilty, before returning to his side. 

Self indulgent headcanon 2: She spent many years working in The White Horse or New Inn, as it and Hob Gadling were one of the only Waking World connections to Dream she knew about. It proved fruitless, but Hob managed to gain her approval to court her boy, while being completely oblivious the entire time. To this day, he never knew the trauma he escaped, not having to experience an infamous Taramis shovel talk. Demons still speak of them in hushed tones. 

[7-wonders]

"Uhm actually [character] would never do that!☝️🤓"

my tongue has been in his mouth I know him better than the author does.

[7-wonders]

sleep and delirium, who were once dream and delight

[7-wonders]

​he is just the prettiest thing to ever walk this planet

[7-wonders]

Adventures in Babysitting

Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x GN!Reader

Summary: When an emergency leaves you strapped for a babysitter, there's only one option remaining for you: your eons-old, all-powerful boyfriend, who hasn't watched a child on his own for thousands of years. Maybe you should just stay home.

Word count: 4.6k

A note from the author: For plot purposes, you have a sister in this fic. My apologies if that's not the case in real life. I love writing not-the-step-dad-but-the-dad-who-stepped-up!Morpheus, and I'm so glad you guys love reading it. This is written in a pre-season 2 bubble at the moment, hence why Morpheus isn't as brooding and sad as we're currently seeing on our screens. Anyways, I hope you enjoy!

(This is an AU where you're a single parent to a four-year-old daughter and begin dating Morpheus, who can't not eventually become a father figure)

As a parent, you feel that there are few things worse than trying to find a babysitter at the last minute. Not only is it near-impossible to track down somebody who doesn’t have plans, but it also makes you feel like a terrible person who procrastinates—in this case, at least, you know that you’re not.

“I’m really sorry,” your teenage neighbor apologizes on the other end of the line, already halfway to her high school’s Friday night football game.

The smile that’s been plastered on your face to keep your panic from leaching into your voice falters. “No worries, Marissa, enjoy your night.” You hang up the phone and immediately let out a groan. “Fuck!”

There goes your last option. This is the first time you’ve ever tried to find a babysitter on the night of, and it’s a good exercise in always remembering to be prepared. But this isn’t for some last-minute date or night out with friends—no, your sister called you half an hour ago, fresh out of a car accident. The details she provided were haphazard at best, you assume due to the shock, but you know for certain that she’s on her way to the hospital and wants you by her side. While you’re never going to turn your sister down, especially in a crisis, you also can’t take a small child into that sort of environment. Hence, trying to find a babysitter who can be at your home within the hour.

Your mind races as you try to figure out what to do next. Daycare’s closed since it’s after five, and your normal babysitter rotation of Marissa, Tegan, Maggie, and (obviously) your sister are all unavailable. You can think of nobody else you know that you would trust with your own child for a few—

Wait. There is somebody whom you trust, somebody whom Caroline is already very comfortable with. Is he even going to feel capable of watching a child in the 21st century, though? It’s going to be a little embarrassing to ask, but you’re desperate at this point. Finding a small notepad and a pink Crayola marker (perks of having a kid), you scribble down one of your favorite names in the world, as instructed.

“Morpheus?” you call. “If you have time, I’d appreciate you swinging by for a bit.”

It takes him a whole thirty seconds to show up, eyes wide and almost frightened as he looks you up and down. “Beloved.”

“Hi. I’m alright, and so is Caroline,” you assure. “My, uh, my sister got into a car accident.”

“Is she injured?” he asks.

“She’s alright enough to have been able to call me from the back of the ambulance, but they’re taking her to the hospital, and I need to meet her there. Of course, it’s a Friday evening, which means that daycare is closed and all of our regular babysitters have plans and—” you cut yourself off with a deep breath in an attempt to stop spiraling. “What I’m trying to do is ask if you would watch Caroline?”

“Yes.”

You don’t hear him and continue pleading your case. “Just for a couple of hours! I wouldn’t be asking you if I had any other option.”

Morpheus takes your hands right as you realize he’s already said yes. “I would be happy to watch Caroline so that you may attend to your sister.”

“Really?” You know that you sound surprised, and it’s for good reason; Morpheus has told you enough about what happened to his son, the mistakes that he feels he made during his parenting journey, that you thought he might be too scarred from that to feel capable of keeping another child in his sole care. 

He nods. “I simply ask that I might take her to the Dreaming?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” You expected this amendment, expected that Morpheus would need to be in his realm to be comfortable watching your daughter, somebody not of his flesh and blood but whom he loves all the same, for the first time. “Let me put a bag together for her quickly.”

Morpheus follows you around your living room like a shadow as you begin to throw items that you think Caroline will need into a small purple duffel bag. Fruit snacks, a coloring book, a box of markers, a couple of her dolls—all go into the bag. All the while, you’re nervously chattering about the specifics that you would normally tell a babysitter.

“She hasn’t had dinner yet, but I can feed her before I leave—”

“Taramis would love the opportunity to cook for somebody,” Morpheus interrupts.

You nod, mind already on the next point. “Her bedtime is typically eight, but sometimes I let her stay up until eight thirty on the weekends. I’ll try to be back before she needs to go to bed so that I can—”

“I am the King of Dreams, my love. If anything, putting children to sleep is my specialty,” he assures. “You have nothing to worry about; we will be fine.”

“I know!” And you do. Trusting Morpheus is easy, especially when you know how much Caroline cares for him, and vice versa. You also know that you’re being a lot little overbearing, but you’re going to blame that on the stress of not knowing your sister’s current condition. “I’m going to let Caroline know that I’m leaving and what the plan is.”

You knock on her coloring sheet-adorned bedroom door before entering, forever an advocate for giving your daughter some privacy. Caroline’s lying on her stomach on the floor, finger tracing the illustrations on one of her board books. When she looks up, she grins. “Dream!”

Forcing a smile on your face, you go to your knees next to her. “I have to go somewhere for a bit, so you’re going to hang out with Dream!”

She looks up at you curiously, your empathetic girl always managing to read your emotions. “Are you okay?”

“Yep,” you assure her; not a lie, because you physically are okay. “Give me a hug before I leave?”

Caroline leaps into your outstretched arms and squeezes as hard as a four-year-old can. The hug is a balm for your heart, and you squeeze her back.

“Oh, that’s a good hug!” you commend, kissing her on the cheek. “I love you so much, sweetheart. I’ll be back soon, alright?”

She kisses you on your own cheek before letting go. “Love you more!”

The typical ‘love you’ routine makes you smile despite the circumstances. “Love you most.”

After packing Caroline a pair of pajamas and her toothbrush and toothpaste, you zip up the duffel bag and place it on her bed. With that finished, there’s only one thing left to do. You take Morpheus’s hand and lead him just outside Caroline’s door to avoid any eavesdropping.

“Seriously, thank you so much,” you say to Morpheus.

“It is no trouble. Go tend to your sister.”

You kiss him once, twice, and then you’re gone.

•••

Dream of the Endless watches the door close behind you, his mortal lover, and becomes uncomfortably aware of the fact that he has just agreed to watch over a child for the first time in thousands of years. He does not regret saying yes to you; Caroline has become dear to him throughout the course of your relationship, and she is an easygoing child. But to be overseeing a child’s welfare once more brings to the surface feelings that he had long since buried, parental instincts that he thought lost to him. The Waking has too many variables that he can’t control if he is to be in charge of Caroline’s care. Best to spend the evening in his realm, so as to be sure that nothing can go wrong.

Morpheus steps back into Caroline’s bedroom, the small child looking up at him with your eyes. “Would you like to accompany me to the Dreaming this evening?” he asks. 

Caroline gasps, delight coloring her face. It was only three short weeks ago that you and he brought her to the Dreaming proper for the first time, and she was enthralled by all of the wonders surrounding her. According to you, she’s talked about it almost nonstop since then, prompting a conversation with her about how she couldn’t share this with any of her friends or peers at preschool.

“Yes!” she cheers. “Yes, yes, yes!”

He cannot help the way his lips twitch at her excitement. “We shall depart, then, if you have everything you need?” 

Morpheus takes hold of the bag that you packed while Caroline looks around her bedroom one last time before choosing a stuffed bear from her bed. “Okay, ready.”

It will be easier on Caroline to be held on the journey to the Dreaming, so Morpheus stoops down and easily picks the little girl up. She clings to him comfortably, used to this position since she first ‘conned’ him (your words) into doing so on Halloween night. He reaches into his pocket for his sand, and then they are away.

Caroline claps when they land in the Library of the Dreaming, enjoying traveling by sand much more than you do. “That was fun,” she says, eyes sparkling and grin stretching across her face.

“I am glad you thought so.” A flutter from the shelves above catches his eye, and his raven flies from his perch to land on the floor before him. 

“Wow, fast trip—” Matthew cuts himself off with an excited caw when he sees who Morpheus is holding. “Hey kiddo, how’s it hanging?”

Caroline reaches for Matthew until Morpheus sets her down on the ground so that she can crouch in front of the Dreamlord’s emissary and pet his head. “Good. How are you, Matty?” she asks politely.

If Matthew could smile, he would be beaming. “I’m great! Even better now that you’re here.”

Lucienne rounds a corner, having also sensed her lord’s return. “Lady Caroline!” Lucienne cannot help smiling. Though she had been wary when Morpheus began courting you (prior experience with, well, all of his former relationships), she always had a soft spot for the realm’s smallest dreamers. It certainly helps that you have managed to endear yourself to her as well. “How lovely to see you once more.”

Caroline giggles—you told Morpheus after your last visit that she was smitten with the title Lucienne insisted on calling her by, feeling ‘like a princess from one of her books’—and darts over to wrap her arms around Lucienne in a hug. “Hi, Lu.”

Lucienne’s eyes grow soft, both at the hug and the nickname (Caroline found it easier to amend her name rather than struggle through the three syllables), and she smoothes a hand over Caroline’s head before patting her back. “Where is—”

Morpheus looks at Lucienne to convey that he will tell her the story at a later time, a look that his trusted Librarian easily picks up on.

“No matter. Are you to spend the evening with us, then?” He can already see that Lucienne’s planning to steal the little girl away and show her more of the Library that had held her attention for at least an hour on her first visit. While he is sure that both would love that plan, he must first see to Caroline’s needs.

“Caroline requires dinner first, which I am hoping Taramis will be up for procuring.”

At the mention of her name, the Dreaming’s chef appears.

“You say that as though it is not my purpose,” she says dryly before smiling and holding her hand out. “Come along, little miss. Do you like cooking?”

Caroline eagerly takes her hand. “Uh huh! I help in the kitchen at home a lot!”

“Perfect, I’m in need of a good sous chef.” The great doors at the other end of the room open for the pair as they head to the kitchens, leaving Morpheus alone with two of his most trusted advisors.

Lucienne turns her gaze on him almost immediately, and Morpheus begins to fill her in. About your sister’s accident, about your worry and desperation, about how Caroline is now his charge for the time being. All the while she watches him, that imperceptible look of hers that says she has a lot of thoughts, but she will decide which she shares with him.

“Goodness, I do hope everything turns out alright,” she says. 

“I believe it will. It did not sound as serious as it could have been,” he responds, as though he has any idea of the injuries that human car accidents inflict on their victims. 

A beat. “So…you are watching Caroline?” Lucienne asks delicately.

Morpheus’s brow furrows. Had he not already said that? “I am.”

“And you are…alright with that?”

Suddenly, he understands what she is asking. Lucienne has been his Librarian for thousands upon thousands of years, the first (and, hopefully, only) to oversee the Library of the Dreaming. She has seen Morpheus at his best, as well as at his very worst. Has seen how much Morpheus loved his son, the mistakes made, and the remorse that he still carries, the way that losing Orpheus completely and utterly wrecked him. He once thought himself incapable of being around a child once more, for surely he must ruin the life of everyone he cares for.

And yet. Getting to love you, and by extension, Caroline, has started to heal parts of him he didn’t believe could ever be mended. With every smile your four-year-old gives him, every time she insists on holding his hand, or wanting to hear a story, bitter heartache is slowly replaced by growing affection.

“I am,” he affirms, softer than before.

Lucienne smiles at him, and, after a moment’s deliberation, touches his arm. “That makes me very happy to hear, my Lord.”

“I still have work to do, even while Caroline is here,” he insists quickly, both to Lucienne and himself. “Faerie requires a response to their petition, one that…will require some thought, to make sure it does not offend Titania or Oberon.” 

Titania and Oberon (mostly Titania, he knew) were eager to rid Faerie of the tithe that they were required to pay to Hell, and hoped yet again that the Dreaming might assist them in negotiations. This is the fifth time in as many centuries that the request has been made, and his answer would remain the same: no.

Lucienne knows exactly why the subject has been changed, but has the tact not to say anything and simply step back. “Quite the task. I will leave you to it.”

Where Morpheus would normally conduct such work in his private study, he makes sure it is already waiting for him at his seat in the dining room. Through the door leading into the kitchen, he can hear Caroline’s squeals of laughter as she helps Taramis cook whatever it is she has decided on for dinner. He has half a mind to join them, but he truly must finish this correspondence before long, lest his silence be seen as an unfavorable answer in and of itself. Instead, he settles himself in his usual seat at the end of the table and makes a quill, ink (he prefers the way that it writes better than that of a modern pen), and multiple sheets of paper appear at his place.

Taramis eventually appears from the kitchen holding a tray, Caroline trailing behind her. She prepares her charge’s spot at the other end of the table, setting down a plate and utensils, before pulling the chair out and helping her in. 

“There you are, my dear,” Taramis says warmly, the latest to fall victim to Caroline’s charms.

“Thank you!” You’ll be proud to know how well she minds her manners when not in your presence, and he makes a note to tell you of this when he sees you.

“Will you eat anything, my Lord?” Taramis asks before leaving.

“Not tonight, thank you,” he says without looking up from the work in front of him. He hears her take her leave, and then it is just he and Caroline.

Instead of beginning to eat, Morpheus feels Caroline peering at him from across the long table, and looks up from his writing only to see that she and her meal have disappeared from her seat. After a moment, she comes around the table, carrying her plate and utensils in his direction.

“What are you doing?” he asks curiously.

“I wanna sit next to you!” she says, standing on her tiptoes to nudge the plate onto the corner beside him. 

He’s thoroughly amused at both her actions and her request, but indulges her nonetheless. When she turns, presumably to fetch the chair, she finds the chair already sliding in her direction and laughs at the sight. She climbs up into the chair, which then pushes her closer to the table. Instead of eating, as he expected, she watches him with a grin, pleased beyond measure to be next to him. 

“Eat your meal,” he gently urges, waiting until she grabs her fork and prepares her first bite—spaghetti, he notes—before turning back to the pages in front of him.

Morpheus makes it as far as “To the right and honorable Lord Oberon of Dom-Daniel and Lady Titania” before becoming stumped, and spends the ensuing minutes trying to figure out what he might say that won’t cause Faerie to overreact and shut their realm off from foreign kingdoms for another couple of centuries, as they are so fond of doing. It’s more challenging than he previously thought, and he quickly loses himself in wordsmithing.

“Done,” Caroline says after a while, pulling him out of his thoughts.

He curbs a smile at the spaghetti sauce ringing her lips, procuring a napkin and cleaning her face before he realizes he’s even done so.

“What would you like to do next?” Morpheus asks, assuming that Caroline will want to go and explore the Library more, and already halfway to summoning Lucienne, 

Instead, she surprises him by asking, “Can I stay here and color?”

“Of course.” 

With a wave of his hand, her plate is gone and replaced by the coloring book and markers you had packed for Caroline. The two work side by side, Morpheus trying to remain polite yet firm as he works his way through the letter, while Caroline does her best to translate the vision in her head to paper. The room remains comfortably silent, save for the popping of embers in the fireplace and the humming of a song from Caroline. 

“How do I spell my name?” she asks finally.

He tries to peek at what she’s working on, but she pulls the coloring book away from him and puts her arms over the page, apparently hiding a surprise. Carefully, he dictates each letter to her, watching her hand move across the paper.

“Okay, your name now,” she prompts.

That piques his curiosity, but he dutifully spells ‘Dream,’ the name she knows him as. Caroline nods, tongue poking out of her mouth just slightly as she focuses on writing. When she’s finished, she attempts to tear the page from the book. It’s a valiant effort, but when she realizes that she’s not going to be able to accomplish her goal, she looks up at Morpheus once more.

“Can you tear the page, please?” she asks. He pulls the book closer, only for her to squeal, “Don’t look at it!” right as he’s about to do so. Instead, he carefully looks at the table as he tears the paper along the perforation in the book before handing it to her.

Caroline, in return, slides it right back to him. 

“Here, it’s for you!”

“TO DREAM FROM CAROLINE,” the top of the sheet reads in childish script, Caroline having enough experience writing the words ‘to’ and ‘from’ not to need Morpheus’s assistance in spelling them. It’s an outline of a cat, now colored black and with blue eyes, sitting on a stack of orange, purple, and yellow books. The bookshop background is also decorated in various hues and shades, the young artist doing her best not to color outside of the lines.

Morpheus has seen every work of art as it was first dreamed of. He watched as Michelangelo toiled over how best to decorate the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, studied as Da Vinci began his earliest sketches, and walked the Impressionist landscape of France as Van Gogh transformed his view into a masterpiece. Yet somehow, this child’s scribble evokes the same feelings in him.

“Thank you very much,” he says earnestly. “I shall display it with honor.”

Caroline smiles before looking back down at the table and picking up another marker, praise making her shy. “How do I spell Lu’s name? I wanna color a picture for her too.”

As it turns out, the evening routine isn’t all that different when you’re not present. He has seen you in this exact position a number of times now, helping and encouraging as Caroline plays, creates, and explores. It is all too easy to assume that position, all too easy to take up the mantle of father once more to ensure that her needs are being met and that she is happy and entertained. She begins to yawn and rub her eyes shortly after finishing Lucienne’s drawing and starting on one for Matthew (she cared not that the bird had nowhere to keep such a gift, insisting that either Morpheus or Lucienne could keep it safe for him), and Morpheus procures a watch to see that it is a little before what would be eight in the evening at your home. That explains the fatigue, then.

“Shall we get ready for bed?” Morpheus asks, content to leave the letter with only a suitable conclusion left to be written.

Caroline shakes her head. “‘M not tired.”

“Your yawning says otherwise.”

Her mouth, which had been open in the middle of yet another yawn, snaps shut. When her eyes narrow in a glare, she looks just like you, and Morpheus has to stifle a laugh.

“Let us at least go and get your nightclothes on so that you may be comfortable,” he suggests. When her expression remains unchanged, he tries again. “You may rest in my bed.” 

After a moment of contemplation, she nods, much more amenable to this new plan. Morpheus stands from his own chair and helps Caroline out of hers before using his power to clean the table and send items back to their rightful places. Because the Dreaming bends to his whim, at this moment, his private chambers are through the doors that the kitchens were through a short while ago. Were she not tired, Morpheus believes that Caroline would be pleasantly bewildered at the layout of the palace changing. At present, she simply trudges along to where her bag sits on a small table and begins searching through it for her pajamas and toothbrush. 

“Do you need help?” Morpheus asks as he opens the door to the washroom that only exists when you, and now Caroline, are in his chambers.

Caroline shakes her head. “Uh-uh, I got it.”

Even with her reassurance, Morpheus stands sentry outside the door, just in case her mind changes. When she’s finished, she races for the large bed with onyx sheets and blanket, the main reason she agreed to get ready to sleep in the first place, and clambers up with surprising agility for one so small and tired. 

“Will you tell me a story?” Caroline asks, already snuggling under the covers in the very middle of the bed. 

A flash of deja vu hits him, and for a moment, Caroline is replaced by a little boy with curly hair and warm brown eyes, sitting comfortably in the same spot and asking him the same question. Just as quickly as Morpheus sees the ghost of his son, he’s gone once more, leaving only regrets and wishes behind.

“Yes.” The words nearly catch in his throat, and he has to uncharacteristically clear his throat before repeating himself. “Yes. Anything in particular, or shall I pick?”

After insisting that Morpheus sit on the bed with her and choosing to use him as a pillow, Caroline opts for the latter, Morpheus utilizing his ‘Prince of Stories’ title to tell her a tale of a princess in a castle made of dreams. She falls asleep quickly, as expected, but he cannot find it in himself to move her off of him so that he may have a productive evening. Be it nostalgia for a time long gone or his sense of duty that comes with you having trusted him with the person most precious to you, he foregoes finishing the letter to Faerie and allows Caroline to sleep soundly against him.

When Morpheus finally hears you call for him once more, he chooses to bring you to the Dreaming rather than wake Caroline and take her back to the Waking. You scowl when the cloud of sand disappears, vertigo overtaking you for a few moments, but your expression quickly changes when you see what’s in front of you.

“Well, hi,” you greet quietly, kissing Morpheus before reaching over him so that you can kiss Caroline’s forehead. “You two are a sight for sore eyes.”

Morpheus takes your hand and gently pulls you down next to him on the bed, noting your heavy sigh when you do so. “How is your sister?”

“The other driver t-boned her—hit her on her own driver’s side,” you translate, “so she has a lot of bruising, a concussion, and her arm is broken. She’s getting surgery on it in the morning, and then she’ll stay with me and Caroline for a few days while she adjusts to having a cast. But she’s alive, and mostly okay, which is what matters.”

“I am glad to hear it.” Your weary voice and the dried tear tracks on your face do not go unnoticed, even as you smile at him.

“How did your night go? Did she give you too much trouble?” you ask.

“None at all. We had a very enjoyable evening.” 

He raises his free hand, the one not being laid on by Caroline, and produces her artwork from thin air to hand to you. Your smile widens as you look over each one, carefully addressed to Morpheus, Lucienne, and Matthew.

“It was only a matter of time before you three got a Caroline original. You going to frame yours?”

Your tone conveys that you’re only teasing, but Morpheus is completely serious when he replies, “Yes.”

It seems like an easy conclusion to him, but your eyes still grow soft at his statement. “Thank you again,” you say. “I know you’re incredibly busy, so for you to drop everything to watch my daughter—”

“Your thanks are appreciated, but not necessary. Caroline is easy to care for, easy to entertain. I…enjoy…being in her, and your, presence,” he confesses.

“She thinks the world of you. We both do.” You open your mouth as though to say something else, but close it again upon further consideration. Finally, you settle on, “I should get Caroline back home. Tegan’s going to be at our place in the morning to babysit so that I can go back to the hospital, and I’m sure you have missed work to make up.”

While it’s true that he does, he’s also not willing to give up this moment of domesticity quite yet. “Stay,” he pleads. “The Waking will be there in the morning, and you both need rest.”

In a normal scenario, you would likely put up a bit of an argument. After the evening you’ve just had, though, you simply smile and ask, “You sure?”

“Yes,” he assures you.

That single word is all that it takes for you to relax onto Morpheus’s other side and begin going through the events of the evening. For the first time in a long time, Morpheus begins to feel as though he’s part of something he has forever longed for once more; he feels as though he’s part of a family.

[7-wonders]

Thank you!! 🥰🥰🥰

Workplace Injuries (and other hazards of working with Johanna Constantine)

Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x gender-neutral!reader

Summary: When you're concussed by a demon while on a job with Johanna Constantine, Morpheus takes it upon himself to care for you. The only problem? Concussion protocol dictates that the King of Dreams can't let you fall asleep right away.

Word count: 3.5k

A note from the author: I know that concussion protocols have been updated in the past few years and that best practice isn't to keep people awake for a certain time anymore, but the plot was just too fun to not write. Please forgive me for the inaccuracy!

(There's technically a work related to this that goes into a bit more of reader and Jo's dynamic but the reader in that is explicitly female, so it's really not required reading but it's here if you want it!)

It feels so good to be inspired to write for Morpheus once more, and to have the dramatic fics as well as the funny/goofy ones. I sincerely hope you enjoy; likes, comments, reblogs, and asks make me smile and are much appreciated!

“Right, here we go, easy does it.” Johanna Constantine shuts the car door behind you and slings one of your arms over her shoulders.

“Please slow down, Jo,” you beg as she starts to drag you along. “I’m going to throw up again.”

“We’re moving at a snail’s pace, babe. I physically can’t go any slower!”

Relying on people does not come easily to you. It’s hard to relinquish control, to admit that you need somebody to help you. Unfortunately, there’s no denying that today, you need help. You just wish it wasn’t so embarrassing as needing somebody to help you walk from the car to your front door.

While it certainly wasn’t a career path you had ever envisioned for yourself, you like to think that you’ve gotten pretty good at the whole “part-time occultist assistant” thing lately! After having first been put into contact with one Johanna Constantine due to her needing someone with your abilities as a medium, you found out that you worked very well together. So well, in fact, that she had started calling you every time she ran across trouble summoning or speaking to spirits (which was frequently, since she was not gifted in that particular area). Not that you minded. No, the work was honestly fun, and you enjoyed Jo’s presence—she joked now that you had forced her to be your friend against her will; a claim that you wouldn’t deny.

Today, you were meeting in an abandoned pub that was at least 600 years old, if not older (you had your reservations about doing this kind of stuff during the day, but it was kind of astounding how little people paid attention to their surroundings and to the things they didn’t believe to be real). There was a grassroots campaign to restore the pub and reopen it, but something kept thwarting even the most basic start of restoration efforts. The man leading the crusade contacted Jo to try to figure out what was haunting the pub, and to remove it if possible. Since it was unknown what entity it was, she brought you along in case it was the spirit of some long-dead patron who hadn’t figured out how to move on to whatever their afterlife was supposed to be.

It was decidedly not a spirit, as you found out when it broke the containment circle, morphed into some nasty horror of a demon, and threw you into a pile of crates like you were a ragdoll. 

Being that Johanna’s an accomplished occultist, there are a few healing spells and charms that can be used to patch up bruises and minor injuries. She absolutely will not fuck around with anything bigger than that, though, trusting doctors, medicine, and science over any of the magic that she possesses. So when you came to (you had been out for five minutes, apparently), she decided it was straight to A&E for you.

You attempted to plead your case almost immediately after Jo had made up her mind. Hospitals are not your favorite place in the world—you might even say it’s one of your least favorite—and you would love to stay out of them at all costs. Plus, it was just a bump on the head. Everyone deals with those!

“I’m fine!” you insisted as Johanna hauled your limp body out of the pub with strength reminiscent of those mothers who were able to lift cars off of their babies.

“It’s nothing to worry about!” you assured her when the harsh light of day made your head throb in an agony that had you dizzy and falling to your knees.

“Seriously, I just need to sleep it off,” you claimed after ordering resident getaway driver Chas to pull over and barely leaning far enough out of the car before throwing up from too much happening at once.

Okay, so perhaps the trip was warranted.

Two hours of waiting and tests and one concussion diagnosis later, you were set free from the dreaded hospital and finally on your way home (with Chas taking turns much slower this time, thankfully). Just getting from point A to point B, though, was proving to be an odyssey. You’re still little more than dead weight, leaning heavily on Jo to keep you upright while you stumble through the insurmountable task of putting one foot in front of the other. It’s extremely slow-going, and you’re really glad the only witness to this is Chas, for whom this is a completely normal day.

When you finally make it to the front door, Johanna starts feeling her coat with her free hand. “Keys, where did I put your keys?”

“Saw you slip them into your inside jacket pocket,” you mumble, forcing yourself to breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth in an attempt to ward off nausea.

Reaching into said pocket, she grins at you upon seeing that you’re correct. “Ah, look at you! No memory loss or anything. You’re golden.”

“I don’t feel golden.”

Indeed, you’re pretty sure you don’t look golden either. You’re wearing a massive pair of sunglasses that Jo had hidden in her purse (you can only guess what type of undercover work she’s done wearing these) to keep out any of the brutal sun. There are probably still wood chips on your clothes from being thrown into crates, and, if it weren’t for being held up, you’re almost certain you’d be sideways on the ground.

Some people compare having a concussion to being drunk. At this point, you think you’d rather take feeling shitty after too many drinks over the hit that’s sent your body haywire.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get you into bed, and in a couple of days you’ll be back to normal.” She pauses. “Well, your particular brand of normal.”

Johanna unlocks your front door and ushers you inside—

—right into the arms of Morpheus, who has, it seems, been waiting in your entryway for who knows how long. You stumble into his chest, and his grip around you tightens possessively as Johanna curses under her breath.

“What happened?” He’s absolutely furious, but your brain is still too foggy to clock things that aren’t obvious. Instead, you take off the sunglasses to stare at him in disbelief before turning to Johanna.

“How did you call him?” you ask. “He doesn’t have a phone.”

Morpheus looks visibly confused and on the verge of having a conniption. The air is charged with tension, and there’s only one person in the room level enough to diffuse it. To you, Jo says, “Don’t need a phone when you know how to summon his magic raven.” 

She then turns to Morpheus with an explanation. “You, Dreamlord, are looking at a concussion, courtesy of a very sneaky, very annoying demon who has already been banished back to Hell.”

“You should see the other guy,” you joke.

Jo rolls her eyes. “Happy to see your sense of humor’s still intact.”

“A…concussion,” Morpheus says slowly, as though testing the word out. It makes sense that he’s unfamiliar with this, both because he doesn’t ever deal with normal, human injuries and because he was trapped in a giant glass ball before brain injuries were really understood and studied.

“Aye,” Johanna confirms. “A hard bump on the head that jolts your brain a wee bit.”

Morpheus goes silent instead of beginning an expected volley of questioning, his form going slightly fuzzy and transparent around the edges as he stares ahead.

“Why am I watching him dissociate right now?” Johanna stage-whispers. “It’s creepy as hell.”

You’ve seen this before, and thus share none of her discomfort. “He’s back in the Dreaming, using the collective human unconsciousness to figure out what a concussion is. Give him a second.”

As expected, it only takes him a couple more moments to come back to himself in the Waking, eyes that were once filled with rage now concerned as he holds you at arms’ length as though to study you.

“You suffered a traumatic brain injury?” he asks.

“A mild traumatic brain injury, thank you very much,” you point out. Though you had stopped seeing double shortly after leaving the hospital, the minor physical exertion has brought that symptom back in force. Morpheus doubles in front of you, and you blink furiously in the hopes that he goes back to being one person-shaped being.

“Debatable,” Johanna murmurs, having had a front-row seat to see that it was definitely verging closer to moderate than it was mild.

“That does not make me feel better in the slightest,” Morpheus says.

The painkillers that the nurse gave you at the hospital (over-the-counter meds, just administered by a professional instead of your own hand) are quickly beginning to wear off and make the full brunt of your injury known. Through gritted teeth, you say, “While I’d love to stand in my living room and chat all day, it feels like somebody is hammering my skull from the inside out, and I’d like to go lie down.” 

Indeed, you can barely keep your eyes open right now, the pain so intense that you have to work to remember a language that normally comes so naturally to you. The ground under you has also started to betray you once more, swaying dangerously as though you’re on a boat. Your grip tightens on Morpheus’s coat and his bicep, actions that do not go unnoticed by the Endless.

Jo makes a small noise of sympathy. “Of course, love, let’s get you to—” 

Morpheus stops her. “Thank you for your help, but I will assume care now.”

“Will you now? Since you’re so experienced at caring for mortal injuries.” She sounds entirely unimpressed and instead asks you, “You remember what the doctor said?”

You shake your head before grimacing at the sharp reminder of why moving your head at all is not a good idea currently. “Was too busy trying to think something beyond ‘ow,’ so I left the listening to you.”

“Smart. You need to stay awake for the first eight hours after your concussion to make sure you don’t get a brain bleed or anything else that can make you slip into a coma. Right now, you have about,” Johanna checks her watch, “four hours before you can sleep. After that? Rest, rest, and more rest. Don’t look at your electronics, don’t do any reading, nothing that requires too much brain power. Here’s the list that A&E gave us. Doc wrote down a pain med schedule, too.” 

She hands Morpheus the paper she’s been holding, and he takes it as though it’s a foreign object.

“Look at me,” she commands, probably the only person on Earth who could speak to a being such as Morpheus like this without any noticeable fear. “I am mainly talking to you here, because this one is concussed and therefore unable to follow care directions. You need to follow these to the letter, do you hear me?”

Morpheus glowers, and you can hear the lights beginning to flicker as his anger surges the electricity. “Yes, Johanna Constantine, contrary to your belief, I am more than able to provide aid.”

She stops, realizing that she’s come off a little too harshly. “I’m sorry, okay? It’s just…it’s my fault. I’m the one who thought I was dealing with a spirit, and if I had just done some more research, I—”

“You know better than almost anyone that demons are crafty and cunning. No matter how much and how often you train, you are still mortal,” Morpheus reminds her. “It would be impossible for you to see through the tricks of every single demon. So no, it is not your fault.”

Johanna looks…oddly touched at Morpheus’s assurance. “Not what I was expecting from you, but I appreciate it all the same.”

“That was really nice of you, Morpheus.” You smile at him even though the action causes you pain. “Now, can somebody please help me to my bedroom? I’m not sure I could find it in my current condition.”

Morpheus is flustered by your and Johanna’s reactions to his unexpected kindness and quickly puts one of your arms around him in the hopes that everybody will forget and move past it. Johanna takes your other side, and together the two get you to your bedroom without you passing out or throwing up.

“Sorry, it’s kind of messy in here,” you apologize as you’re settled onto your bed, Jo arranging the pillows until she deems you comfortable. Morpheus seems poised to just stand by your bed and watch you, so you pull on him until he gets the message and sits next to you.

She laughs. “Pssh, you’ve seen my place. You look like a neat freak compared to me.” 

Jo searches in the pockets of her coat again until she finds the bottle of painkillers the hospital had given her, sets them down on your nightstand, and then disappears into the hallway. When she reappears, she holds yet another bottle of painkillers and a glass of water, presumably procured from your kitchen.

“Here, the drugs you have are different from the ones A&E gave you, so you can have a dose now.” Jo shakes out two of the pills into your waiting hand and hands you the water so that you can take them. 

“Thank you for all your help,” you say to her, settling into Morpheus’s hold now that he’s magicked his coat and boots away so that he can fully lie with you.

“Eh, what are friends for?” She turns her eyes to Morpheus. “Do you know how to use a phone?”

“Enough to get by.” The way he says it, though, makes it sound like he’s simply seen a phone a couple of times and thus thinks that he would be able to figure out if needed.

Still, Johanna is appeased with that answer. “Good. Text me if you need my help with anything.”

“We shall manage.”

She smiles at you and waves. “Ta, darling. Get to feeling better.”

Then she’s gone, leaving you in Morpheus’s care. While you’re happy to close your eyes finally in blissful silence, your beloved quickly realizes that he has no clue what caring for somebody with a concussion is like.

“Have the…drugs had any effect on you yet?” he asks, using the term that Jo gave them.

You hum. “Not yet, but I only just took them. Give it a few minutes, and then my headache should hopefully go from ‘agonizing’ to just plain ‘painful.’”

“Did you—”

“Sweetheart,” you cut him off, “I love you so much, but I need you to be quiet right now. Agonizing headache, remember?”

“Ah.” Peeling your eyes open is worth it when you see his embarrassed flush. “My apologies, dearest.”

Finally, quiet. Sometimes (often), when you find yourself trying to rest, it’s nearly impossible to shut your brain off. Especially since you started solving supernatural cases with a renowned occultist and dating a billions-of-years-old anthropomorphic personification, you’ve had a lot on your mind. Now that it hurts too much to even think, you find that, for once, there are no pressing questions or problems on your mind to keep you from resting. Huh, maybe you should get concussed more often.

As the adrenaline of the afternoon begins to wear off, you feel fatigued down to your bones. Not only did you get blindsided by a demon, but you also had to swallow your fear and sit in a hospital for hours. Even without the injury, that would constitute a very busy day. But in your current predicament, and resting in the arms of your love, it’s easy simply to let yourself drift off.

Above you, Morpheus straightens in alarm as he feels you begin to slip into unconsciousness. Johanna said that you were not to sleep, but does he really go against his function and keep someone from reaching his realm? He would never forgive himself if something terrible were to happen to you as a result of his inaction, though, so he begrudgingly shakes your shoulder and uses a touch of his power to turn you away from the Dreaming.

“Mmm,” you grumble, eyes landing on Morpheus and glaring at him. “Why do you hate me?”

“You must not fall asleep, beloved, not for a few hours.”

“But, like, what are the odds of something actually happening to me if I sleep before I’m supposed to?”

“Whatever they are, they are odds that I am not willing to take. I would not be able to live with myself if something were to happen to you.”

It’s sweet, of course, that he’s so worried about you. But right now, the only thing keeping you from snapping at him and demanding he leave so you can sleep is the fact. “Ugh, fine, I won’t sleep. I’m never letting a demon throw me into a wall again.”

“Which demon did this to you?”

“I don’t know, I wasn’t conscious when Jo banished it back to Hell.” You don’t need to look at him to know that there surely must be storm clouds gathering in the Dreaming, so you decide to keep talking in the hopes that it calms him. “We were called in on a job for an old pub that hasn’t been able to be restored due to repeated instances of paranormal activity. After doing some research, I truly thought that it was a spirit. So did Jo.”

“As I said earlier, demons can fool even the most experienced of occultists. The line of work that you have found yourself in can be dangerous, though you are lucky to have not experienced such danger until now.”

“I know it’s dangerous. But knowing that there are spirits out there who are lost, spirits that can cross over if I can just find them? I’m happy to risk getting injured.”

“You do what you can to help those my sister cannot. I find that quite admirable.” Smiling slightly at Morpheus doesn’t hurt like it did earlier, and he picks up on it easily. “Are you feeling less pain?”

“Yes, the meds finally kicked in. Still hurts, but I can handle having a small conversation. Now, I just have to wait until I can finally sleep.” 

“Shall I read to you to keep you awake?” Morpheus asks, hand already in the air as he prepares to summon a book from the Dreaming.

“No. Your voice is very soothing, so I would definitely fall asleep.”

After thinking for a moment of what might help you stay awake while also being enough of a non-activity that you’re not at risk of aggravating your concussion more, you voice-activate your phone and ask it to turn on your newest podcast obsession. Morpheus startles upon hearing your phone answer back to you before starting to play, and you snicker under your breath. Oh, the joys of dating a being so woefully behind on learning about modern technology. 

Even with the podcast being a topic you’re interested in, you still find yourself dozing off multiple times, Morpheus waking you when you get too close to his realm every time. When you’re not injured, you’ll have to thank him for doing what must feel entirely wrong and keeping you from dreaming. Just when you’re starting to wonder if you need to break the electronics ban and check the clock on your phone, it begins vibrating and playing an alarm. Johanna, bless her, must have set an alarm on your phone without you knowing.

“Can you turn that off, please?” you ask Morpheus, who studies your phone screen intently before hesitantly hitting the ‘stop’ button. “Thank you.”

“What does that mean?” he asks.

“That I can finally go to sleep.” You’re so tired at this point that you doubt you’ll need Morpheus’s help finding sleep, though you wouldn’t be surprised if he still tries. “Am I still going to have a concussion in the Dreaming?” you wonder.

Morpheus thinks for a moment. “I must confess that I am not sure. You are one of the only mortals who has ever visited the Dreaming proper, and probably the only one who has spent a significant amount of time there. Even if you are, I shall ensure that you are as comfortable as possible.”

“Y’know, you’re a pretty good nurse,” you whisper, leaning back against him and already feeling consciousness slip from you.

“That is a relief, considering I do not know what I am doing,” he admits.

A puff of air leaves you, the most laugh-like sound you can manage at present. “You know enough to have made sure I wouldn’t die in my sleep, so thank you.”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Today is not the day that my sister takes your hand, nor is that any day soon. Rest now, and I shall see you soon.”

You think that you manage to mutter something that sounds close to ‘I love you’ before you pass out, but the only person who knows for certain is Morpheus. 

(Morpheus, who remains frustratingly tight-lipped when it turns out that you don’t still have a concussion in the Dreaming and thus immediately try to figure out if anything you said or did would be considered embarrassing by your non-addled self.)

[7-wonders]

Drunk and reading fanfic in a bar this is what life is all about

[7-wonders]

New fic will likely be out tomorrow as I’m hoping to finish editing the photos from the wedding I shot last month!

Truly have not felt so inspired in a long time—there’s a potential y’all will get a THIRD Morpheus fic from ya girl this week!!!

[7-wonders]

Truly have not felt so inspired in a long time—there’s a potential y’all will get a THIRD Morpheus fic from ya girl this week!!!

[7-wonders]

to this day the funniest panel of the Sandman comics

[7-wonders]

I need to chill tf out my saved folder on tiktok is quickly becoming nothing but Sandman 😅

[7-wonders]

[7-wonders]

New look at THE SANDMAN Season 2 via SFX Magazine

[7-wonders]

"i can fix him" ok well i will try to make him realize how loved and cherished he is outside of the narrative he created for himself

[7-wonders]

HOW IS HE EVEN HOTTER WHEN HE'S POUTINGGGGG

ARGHHHHH