Chapter Text
The breaking of the circle hits Dream like a bolt of electricity. Like a thousand bolts of electricity, submerged in ice water.
He thought he knew what to expect. While he doesn't remember much of his capture, lost in the haze of sudden powerlessness, he does remember the absence that the circle brought. Something rarely felt in his life, as it was not something he was ever designed to feel. His purpose is to filter and direct the collective unconscious - the minds of every living being inside his own, all at once, never ending. He may not be always conscious of the noise, but without it he would not be Dream.
Until it was gone. All of it, agonizingly quiet. The circle keeping his mind trapped inside his physical form, unable to reach out, to touch anything or anyone else. Those first few weeks had been some of the most disorienting of his life, trying to understand even what people looked like when all you had to go on was a refraction of light, no thoughts, no being. Guards he sometimes found himself not noticing, at first, because they simply blended into the background like any other object.
Getting it all back should have been a return to normal. Should have felt good, he should have been himself again. But this is wrong, this is- was the world always this loud? Buzzing like a million insects, more than a million, a stream of tangled consciousness that refuses to sort itself out or fade into the background, unpredictable and wild.
Had he truly grown so used to the silence?
The room hasn't changed, he's pretty sure it hasn't, but it seems brighter, more detailed, like he was seeing it in only two dimensions and suddenly he's found the third. Even things like hunger and pain had started to fade away, and now return stronger than ever. Voices ring out that sound like they're coming from within the room, but no one's lips are moving. He can't even really track what any of them are saying, just the emotion in them, wishes and hopes and fears and fantasies.
But now is not the time to be distracted by it all. He pushes aside as much as he can, focuses instead on the anger, the only emotion of his own still burning bright enough to rival the noise. This isn't just something that happened to him, this was done to him, and to everything he protects. The need for vengeance is something to cling to, something that can keep him focused, pushing him forward with singular purpose when his mind wants to spiral into pieces.
No matter the circumstances, he will adapt, and recover. And now he has the power to make sure those who kept him captive never will.
Nothing will get in his way.
Until she does.
For a moment, he doesn't even realise who it was that spoke - and once his mind finally connects the voice with the woman in front of him, it makes even less sense.
Of all people to speak against him, surely she would understand? Has she not felt the same pain, witnessed the devastation? Can she not see that it doesn't matter what these humans say, or feel, or what they do now, it's what they've done that can never be erased.
But then, she hasn't been here. Didn't have to watch, helpless, as a handful of mortals destroyed everything that ever mattered.
The Dreaming, in ruins. His duties long abandoned, and no doubt nightmares like The Corinthian running rampant in his absence.
She didn't see Jessamy. Her blood dripping down the cage in front of him until Burgess' servants could be bothered to clean it away.
All of Dream's rage and frustration at their ignorance, their cruelty, finally free after so long - and Calliope wants him to tame it?
No. It is not her place to decide the nature of his revenge, and the time in which he may have heeded her words has long since passed. After the devastation Alexander Burgess has wrought on both worlds, no amount of mercy at the end will spare him. This is justice, far too long withheld.
The Dreaming calls him home like a breath of fresh air. The disjointed noise of the waking world seems to melt away, leaving only the relief that comes with inhabiting a world made of the same substance he himself is.
He is not truly home, not yet, merely a dream within the mind of a single mortal, but it is far better than what he had before. And this realm he can shape to his own will.
Finding Alexander Burgess is trivial. Even as hidden in his own head as he is, this is Dream's domain.
And instead of the old man he'd been faced with in the waking world, in his dreams, Alex is a child.
This comes as little surprise. The role of the Dreaming is to strip away pretenses, reveal the heart of someone so they may face themselves. And Dream had known, even back then, that as soon as Alex turned away from him, as soon as he chose the ghost of his father over his own life, he would never grow beyond that.
It earns him no sympathy. Just a dream that never ends. A fragment of what he took from everyone else by keeping Dream away from his duties so long.
It's the after that's the surprise. As soon as he feels the nightmare take hold, a dizziness overcomes him, like gravity has suddenly shifted - except gravity shouldn't even be a concern, not here.
He has not… this is something he has not felt since before his capture, and has rarely felt at all. A sign that something is very seriously wrong.
Had he not healed, in his hundred years of waiting? Is this still the consequences of his last mistake, or had his prison caused more damage to him than he thought?
His vision swims, and he feels the nightmare bend and twist, groaning like metal beams under too much pressure. What might happen if it snaps, he doesn't know, but it doesn't feel wise to stay and find out. No matter what is wrong with Dream, Alex Burgess will not, cannot go unpunished.
He tumbles out of that dream before it breaks entirely, and into another. He's not even sure whose dream this is, which should worry him, but he doesn't care, not when there's a dark corner he can collapse into to hide until this passes.
With his back pressed up against the wall, he rests his head on his knees, hoping the sensation fades soon. It's too much, all of this has been too much, both for his body and his mind. He'd had no idea last time he left the Dreaming just how long it would be, how much he would go through before he came home again. And now it feels like it's all hitting him at once - Calliope, Delirium, both Burgesses, his son, his parents, Jessamy, runaway nightmares and mad stars, a hundred years of solitude and yet never a moment that was his own.
It's a relief to be unseen for the first time in so long, like some unnoticed pain finally lifted.
And with it, his thoughts become hazy, his mind wandering, directionless.
He can rest here, away from all that troubles him.
Surely he can allow himself one indulgence?
Just for a moment.
It won't be long.
He'll return to his duties.
He's so close to home.
He's missed it so much.
…But even now, home may be out of his reach.
It's that thought that snaps him back to himself. How long he let himself drift, he doesn't know, but he can't rest now, not with the urgency of that all too vital question still unanswered. If it's damaged, if it's gone... What then? What can he possibly do to fix it, if he can't even sustain one nightmare without collapsing?
He has never been this powerless before. The two halves of it individually, yes - he has had his realm taken from him, but back then he retained the physical strength to retake it. And he has been this bone deep exhausted before, but he always had home to return to, to rest until he healed.
Now he has neither. One cannot fill a well from an empty pitcher. If he regained his tools, perhaps his ruby has regenerated enough to restore a part of his power. But even the thought of searching for those, in this state, feels impossible to fathom. He has nothing left. And even the great depths of his imagination do not see a way to gain something from nothing.
Still, one way or another, he has to try. It would be so easy to stay here and ignore all his problems forever, to give in to how tired his mind is. But those are childish desires, and he knows they cannot be. The Dreaming has been without its ruler for far too long, and no matter how he feels, he has a duty to uphold.
And… perhaps a responsibility to Calliope, as well. A part of him wants to reject the thought, to hold on to the anger and the injustice, how dare she presume to know him after all this time? He's not the one who broke what they had.
But he's too exhausted for even the anger to keep burning that bright anymore. And detached from the rage and the indignation… he can't deny that he knows that impulse. Knows it far too well. It runs in his blood as it does Calliope's as it did Orpheus'. It's what made Orpheus storm out of Dream's palace, the last time he saw him alive. What made Calliope turn her back on their relationship, vowing to never speak with him again. And what made Dream himself keep Calliope as far from him as possible, so he could never again be reminded of her.
They all made a choice to walk away. Only she came back. And despite their disagreements, she risked a great deal to help him.
She deserves better than him leaving without a word, not after how they ended things the first time. He doesn't know what they are to each other anymore, or where things could possibly go from here, but he told Delirium they would talk. He can at least repay her by giving her that chance.
And within the privacy of his own thoughts, he cannot deny that the thought of company is comforting. Though he accepts that oftentimes he must, he has no desire to face this momentous task alone.
With effort, he pulls himself to his feet. It's a harder task than he wants to admit, and he feels even worse while standing, like the smallest force could knock him down again.
Nevertheless, he can stand, so that has to be enough. The Dreaming needs its king once more, and he cannot afford to tarry longer. He will be what is required of him, because he needs to know if he can.
Neither the Dreaming nor his sanity will endure much longer if he can't.