Work Text:
“Dream.”
He looked up from the aged book in his hands to his brother. Nightmare was standing in the fragmented moonlight. Above his pale head and rusted circlet, the leaves were fuzzy and saturated, though undetailed. Dream looked down from the tree and at Nightmare’s face. For every night they met in their sleep, the purple rings beneath his eyes seemed to grow darker. “Yes?”
“Do you think we’ll ever go back to normal?”
Dream’s mouth twisted, and his worn fingers held the next page of his book in a slack grip. It takes him a moment to answer, staring down at the words that have been the same blurry, dark gray, inky lines since page one.
Normal.
Miles away from their tree, a village burns. The scent of their houses and dust falling to fire reaches his memory in a sickening concoction that he ignores with practice.
Dream smiles up at his brother, realizing that his train of thought had lead him far, far astray. Nightmare is so very pale under the moonlight, he thinks to himself. "We are normal, Nightmare. This is our normal."
The other reflected his expression, though wane and frail, and collapsed to his knees beside him.
Yes, Dream thought. This was exactly how they should be.
Normal. As normal as they could ever be, side by side, and underneath that beloved tree.