Chapter Text
Hypnos did not sleep.
He had done, before. Sleep had always had two sides for him. On one side, sleep was just a clumsy name given to the state he alone entered when he wove dreams and sculpted nightmares, when he coaxed tired eyes to close and hidden thoughts to surface, when he played with memories and fantasies to create something new and fleeting. The other times, sleep was something he indulged in. He had never been very good at resisting things, and he enjoyed losing himself in the dreams of mortals, so vivid and sharp and brief, lighting up that vast, gaping hunger for just a second.
Not that he was ever truly sated, or ever truly lost - his control over dreams was so innate that even the smallest hint of his own emotion could alter the fantasy he was in. So he kept himself empty and passive while he indulged, and then slipped into that other sleep to pick apart and recraft his own designs into something even more delicious. Control over his domain was never something he’d consciously thought about (being sleep incarnate sort of meant this thing came naturally to him).
Mortals slept on their own and had dreams and nightmares organically - it was his job to keep a balance, to push and pull as the tide did. Dreams to inspire action, fear, desire, devotion. Nightmares to spur the same. Sleep to provide a balm to the world’s hardships or to push one to breaking point. Other deities often asked his influence - dream messages were common and easy enough, and nightmares often got the point across clearly. Sleep could be what tipped an army to victory or defeat, could be the lifeline that saved a kingdom or a mortal’s fragile life.
He controlled the distribution, encouraged sleep to bloom or ebb as it was needed. Left unattended, mortals would often sleep dreamless and wake feeling empty, with no urge for devotion or destruction. Dreams kept mortals pushing forward, which in turn kept the gods sated.
But that had been before.
Before the Underworld had shook with terror, pillars crumbling to their dusty ends or particle origins, shades torn apart by their many past selves overlapping to the point of bursting the very fabric of their being. Before Hades’ booming voice ran out, orders to gather weapons and save shades, Zagreus already gone towards the writhing mass of power descending on them, the sound of Furies’ wings unfurling in the caverns above him, his own voice ringing shrilly as he tried to organise the fleeing spirits, Lady Persephone’s hand briefly on his shoulder, her gaze warm as she asked him to go with the refugees, the burning ozone scent of godly power being used and broken filling the Underworld.
He saw Zagerus go flying, hitting a wall with a sickening thud, and he did not get up. Lady Persephone shouting, screaming as she ran towards her son, Lord Hades, crumbling as he tried to hold back the sheer tide of Titanic power. Tisiphone howling as she stood, broken and bloodied and protective over the unmoving forms of her sisters. Nyx, shining with inky darkness as she gathered the last of her power and shielded the fleeing denizens, the guard carrying Melinoë to safety. Hypnos, helpless to watch as Chronos cut his mother down with ease . Thanatos, bloodshot and terrified, turning to Hypnos and telling him, ordering him to go, to turn his back and run into that inky veil of night before it vanished for good.
Hypnos had been unable to speak, staring at his brother, knowing so deep in his bones that Thanatos would die if Hypnos ran now. That fear pinned him in place more than hearing Chronos turn his attention to them. Thanatos’s face hardened into a fragile mask Hypnos knew so well, before his brother shoved him with all his remaining strength backwards and into the dying reaches of the night. Hypnos screamed and tried to fight his way back, he couldn’t just leave, couldn’t leave them to die, he was a useless god but not that useless , he could help, he could, he could -
The rest was a blur.
Hecate, through some promise to Nyx, had saved what the night had managed to touch before she died. Including the young princess, who was almost always cradled in one of the witch-god’s arms or tucked into a sling on her back. The Crossroads was warded and guarded with strict patrols.
Other survivors drifted in. Hypnos did what he could to soothe the dreams of anyone who dared to sleep, but his attempts were pitiful and it was all he could do to make the dreamer forget their nightmare when they woke instead of actually replace it with a sweeter dream. Nemesis had pulled herself out of the rubble; Odysseus had sauntered into camp with remarks on how to improve things already spilling forth; Charon had shored up his splintered boat with Hermes smiling weakly with bloodied teeth; Skelly had emerged looking haggard and as guilty as Hypnos felt.
Hypnos did what he did before - he helped with administration, organisation, sneaking what little treats he could into relief supplies. He poured himself into his job - both the paperwork and scrubbing the nightmares of any waking mind.
A few brave scouts went to check for more survivors, but never came back. Charon insisted on sailing his boat - souls still needed ferrying, even if it was only to the Crossroads - and Hypnos knew his sibling was pushing themselves to venture deeper into the Underworld to look for any sign of their family. Hermes occasionally reappeared with Charon, looking grimmer than Hypnos liked, and only had a few moments to say that Olympus was too occupied with Chronos’ forced on the surface to lend any aid before he was rushing off again. Hypnos couldn’t spare much thought for the Olympians - the Underworld had always been separate, and he had to focus on the new souls shoring up at the Crossroads day upon day,
The dreams of the survivors clawed at the corners of his mind constantly. Nightmares bled into the denizen’s waking moments, ash falling onto the parchment in his hands, shades trembling as they dreamt of being ripped apart even as their ghostly hands dug into the Crossroad’s earth. Hypnos dozed, but it was futile. Nothing he could do seemed to help.
Hecate was constantly helping. Her magic, her wards, her guiding light, her unwavering presence. Even when she asked the other deities to babysit the princess, it felt like a gift instead of a burden.
So Hypnos pushed himself harder. Even with Melinoë babbling away in his lap, stealing his quill or dozing in the plush swathes of his cloak, he worked.
Odysseus strolled past him with armfuls of reports - the mortal worked himself tirelessly, gathering information and theorising with Hecate deep into the night. Hypnos occasionally looked them over, but found them pretty incomprehensible - much to Odysseus’ entertainment. Hypnos wanted to argue that it was purely because of Odysseus’ terrible handwriting, but laughter was rare in the Crossroads, and even if it was at Hypnos’ expense, it was good to hear it ringing so clear. Shades often bothered him with menial tasks that he dutifully added to his ever-growing list. When they asked him to ward off nightmares, he offered them a tight and over-bright smile and said he would try harder tonight.
“Perhaps you, too, need some rest,” Lady Hecate said to him one night.
Hypnos blinked at her. He was sleep. He was eternally resting. Besides, it wasn’t right of him to feed on whatever fleeting happiness he could craft for those at the Crossroads. There was none to spare.
His gaze drifted to Melinoë. The princess was asleep in his arms, dozing peacefully. He always made sure to keep the princess’ dreams empty, if he couldn’t scrape together something sweet.
Nemesis had looked over then. She reminded him of Thanatos, sometimes. Grounded where Hypnos was fanciful. But where Thanatos lost himself easily to philosophies and work, Nemesis burned with a fire rare in the House of Night. It was partly why she was often away, Hypnos guessed.
“Hecate is right,” she said, voice impassive and logical. Hypnos cringed away from the familiarity of it. But Nemesis was not Thanatos - especially since she walked up to him instead of away, placed a hand firmly on his shoulder and said, “Rest, little brother. I will keep watch for you.”
Hypnos pulled a face. Nemesis could not watch over his domain - it was not like Death, it was not a duty shared among many gods. Sleep’s abundance depended on Hypnos alone. The lack of dream, the run of the nightmare, was his failure.
Nemesis’ nails dug into his shoulder, and Hypnos held his hands up, giving her a placating smile. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll take a nap.”
So Hypnos dutifully headed to the quietest, darkest corner of the Crossroads - the tent Hecate had set up for the toddler princess. Nemesis followed him. Hypnos gently deposited Melinoë in her cot, even though the princess’ eyes opened as soon as he let go of her. She looked up at him, mis-matched eyes boring into him inquisitively.
“I’ll be right back, Your Highness,” said Hypnos with a smile. “I gotta come up with some new dreams for you and the others.”
Melinoë cooed, reaching up in an attempt to grab him once before settling back down. Hypnos’ heart twisted.
“Hypnos,” said Nemesis sternly, and he straightened. He managed another bashful smile.
“Sorry. She’s just too cute. I wanna make sure she’s okay. Or…as okay as she can be, with…”
“ Sleep ,” said Nemesis, reaching out and squeezing his shoulder. “She will be okay. We all will. After all,” she added with a wry, smug smile, “I am keeping watch.”
Hypnos chuckled at that. His sister’s self-assuredness was always soothing.
He went to the other side of the tent, where the glow of the princess’ moon-shaped night-light was dimmer and the darkness clung to the air. He tucked himself into his cloak, burying his face in the soft fur and dream-tinged smoke.
“Wake me up if there’s anything,” he said, feeling a yawn already climbing up his throat. He managed to keep his eyes open long enough to see Nemesis nod, before he was slowly sinking into the reaches of his domain.
It was almost like nothing had ever happened. He could hear the lull of the Styx, the push and pull of people as they woke and slept. The tide lapped at his mind, his body, slowly ebbing at the ashes gathered there. He could hear, faintly, the pleasant murmur of familiar chatter. A chuckle, rising into a laugh. Shrieks of delight as Zagreus played with Melinoë. Tears of joy as the king and queen were reunited. The tide rising at his feet, the ambrosia-strong sweetness of dreams, true dreams , pleasant and unreal, filled his head.
“ -damn it, Hypnos, wake up !”
Hypnos’ eyes flew open, his world reeling. There was so much noise - too much - and for one fragile moment he thought he’d slept through another war and Lord Hades was on his case for being lazy with shade processing.
Then he felt the pain - clear and sharp and grounding in his chest. Hypnos glanced down and saw Nemesis’ dagger protruding from his ribs, dripping sluggish black ichor. Hypnos coughed, tasting acrid smoke in his mouth. Nemesis was staring at him, eyes wide in - concern? Panic? Fear? He felt fine, so she had nothing to worry about.
And then he heard the screaming. Hypnos froze. It was a sound he knew well, knew the taste of it like a burning syrup on his tongue. The raw, blind panic of a nightmare. The sobs of someone clawing their way to the waking world. But not just someone.
Everyone .
The Crossroads drowned in it - the crying, the wailing, the shuddering breaths as survivors tried to reconcile what they dreamt and what they woke to, tried to pry the claws of sleep - the claws of him - from their minds.
Hypnos clutched at the dagger in his chest, his knuckle white as Nemesis wrapped her hands over his.
“I-I…I…” he stuttered, feeling smoke leak from his mouth.
“I know,” said Nemesis, voice steady. “But everyone is awake now.”
Dimly, Hypnos knew she was right. He could hear the camp quietening. People soothing each other, shushing the last of the sobs, brushing tears away.
A small sniffle made Hypnos whip his head around, his heart twisting around the knife.
Melinoë was held tight against Hecate, tears staining her face and sending wisps of smoke into the air. Her tiny body occasionally trembled, Hecate’s broad hands shielding her. Hypnos could hardly breathe. In fact, he was pretty sure it was only Nemesis' dagger that was keeping him from falling apart, the surety of that steel pinning him into place.
“I-I’m sorry,” Hypnos managed, voice wretched.
Hecate met his gaze. “You did not know,” she said, calmer than he expected. “None of us did. Perhaps…perhaps if I had pushed you to rest sooner, it would not have happened. But nothing is certain.”
Hypnos felt his eyes burn. “It shouldn’t have happened,” he said. “I-I didn’t feel the nightmares. I didn’t see them at all. I didn’t control them . Or maybe - maybe I did, but I thought they were dreams, I don’t know,” he said, breaking from Nemesis’ grip and dragging an ichor-stained hand through his hair.
A small cry made him flinch. Melinoë was staring at him, new tears burning in her mis-matched eyes. She was scared of him . Never had any of his siblings made him feel scared, not even in their darkest moments when he angled himself to bear the brunt of their emotion, to absorb it and let it rest. But he had just lost all control. And now Melinoë was staring at him, panicked and beginning to sob.
Hypnos curled in on himself, the knife cutting into him. Melinoë cried again, reaching out towards him.
“Shhh, little one,” said Hecate gently. “Hypnos is well. Nemesis’ blade does not hurt those who are not guilty.”
Hypnos blinked. He had thought Melinoë was scared of him . He glanced down and winced. He did, for all intents and purposes, look like a crime scene. And the last time a god had bled in front of Melinoë was -
“I got it,” said Hypnos quickly, eager to stop the little princess’ tears, and tried to pull the dagger free. Except it didn’t budge.
Ichor welled up, and Melinoë began to cry again.
“Nemesis,” said Hecate warningly, and Nemesis moved forward to put her hands back on the dagger.
“This one will hurt,” she said, and Hypnos frowned - if the stab itself hadn’t hurt why would the removal -
Pain burned through him, his body cut in two by it. Hypnos bit down hard on his teeth to avoid making a sound. Nemesis murmured something - soothing was rare for her, but it just made everything hurt more .
But then the knife was free, and Hypnos was exhaling a shaky curl of smoke as Nemesis cleaned her brother’s blood from her dagger. Melinoë had stopped crying, but looked like she would start again at any moment.
Hypnos waved a hand over himself, the ichor vanishing. The wound on his chest closed up, leaving a thin scar that most wouldn’t probably notice. It did not feel like enough of a punishment for the colossal failure Hypnos had just borne.
Still, he turned to give Melinoë as strong a smile as he could. “See? All better now, Your Highness.”
Melinoë writhed in Hecate’s grip, making grabby hands at Hypnos. Hecate stepped closer, but Hypnos recoiled again.
“I, uh, I-I don’t think that’s a good idea, Lady Hecate,” he said. Hecate gazed back at him, unfazed and unimpressed.
“Melinoë seeks more proof,” she said matter-of-factly.
Before waiting for an answer, Hecate swiftly set Melinoë down in Hypnos’ lap. The little princess wasted no time in peering at Hypnos’ cloak, prodding at the spaces once coated in ichor. She looked up and babbled something seriously at Hypnos, who smiled reassuringly at her.
“I’m sorry I scared ya,” he said, keeping his words light despite the guilt in the pit of his stomach. “Won’t happen again. I promise. Now, I’m gonna give you back to Lady Hecate, okay? Your big brother’s got some stuff to take care of.”
Thankfully, Hecate did take Melinoë back, though the child pouted a little at the movement. Hecate busied herself, leaving Nemesis to regard Hypnos warily. Hypnos stood up, forcing himself to stand a little straighter.
“Guess I better go and see the damage, huh?” he said, even though he wanted nothing more than to flee the Crossroads entirely and hide somewhere no-one would ever find him again. Maybe if it was Thanatos here, instead of Nemesis, he would try and get him to see the damage first, give Hypnos time to brace himself. But Thanatos wasn’t here, and Nemesis gave no leeway.
“It is only fair,” said his sister, not unkindly.
Hypnos nodded. Nemesis hovered by his side, half encouragement and half pressure, as Hypnos stepped out of the tent. He felt the survivor’s eyes on him instantly. Hypnos curled in on himself. He felt sick. His hand moved to his chest, searching for a dagger that wasn’t there. Hypnos forced himself to speak.
“I…I’m sorry,” he said. His voice was quiet and pitiful.
He wasn’t Lord Hades or Lady Persephone - he could not make speeches. He was not Achillies - his wretched state did not come from heroics, his quiet was not born from strength.
“I….”
I don’t know what happened. I don’t know how to help. I don’t know why I am here and the others are not.
Hypnos swallowed hard. “It won’t happen again,” he promised, his voice stronger and more vehement than he’d ever heard it.
Though he was sure only those close to him actually heard, he thought he felt some of the tension in the whole camp ease. The eyes moved away from him, back to comforting their own. Hypnos exhaled shakily, then turned to his sister.
“Nemesis,” he began, but she cut him off with a nod.
“I will make sure it does not happen again,” she said.
Relief went through him at her words. Hypnos nodded, and closed his eyes as Nemesis put her hand on his shoulder, focusing on the familiar touch. If Nemesis said she would do something, it would be done. Even if she had to stab him again. It wasn’t like Cthonics could actually kill each other - Nyx had made sure of that when she created them, much like the Olympians’ own safeguard. So Hypnos pushed the memory of that dream as far away as he could, and forced himself to focus on the task at hand.