Work Text:
“Corinthian.”
“Hm?”
“Thank you for the suggestion. I was - I am - exhausted.”
A startling admission, coming from Dream, and for a moment as the nightmare does nothing as he silently processes his words, continuing only to walk by Dream’s side. The ground they cross is frozen and hard, deceptively blanketed by a layer of loose, hollow snow that does little to cushion their steps, but much to hide the gnarled roots of old trees reaching up to trip them.
The Corinthian turns to Dream. “Can I do anything, my lord?” he asks, feeling low.
“No,” comes the reply, and the shoulders of the Dreaming’s strongest lieutenant sag. For a moment he pauses, as the Dream Lord walks ahead. The Endless allows his footsteps to crunch, a muffled crackling sound in the quiet of the forest they’re in. The sweep of his jacket behind him slightly smoothes his trail over, and that’s when the Corinthian sees it. A little more of humanity, in the Dream Lord’s steps. A little less lethal, ethereal grace.
Clumsy, by the Dream Lord’s standards. The exhaustion is plain.
They’re in a beautiful place, for all that it looks and feels hostile. Ancient red cypresses populate the forest, each massive in circumference but slender in proportion, towering solemnly to the belly of the sky. Most of them are many times older than the Corinthian himself, in one of the few places in the Waking World yet untouched by humanity and Destruction’s Abandonment. The air is pure, the snow yet clean, and it’s implacably cool here, even in the summer. The Corinthian had been struck when he’d first come, during his century in the Waking, by how much this place and its harsh, inhospitable beauty had reminded him of home. Not like the Dreaming, precisely - not the place -
He jerks in place, focusing. He hadn’t brought Dream here only to let him, abruptly displaced from his palace with its war maps and battle plans and the impending army of Hell, see nothing to do and nobody to issue orders to, and in place of that just start marching grimly and resolutely forward, with no goal in mind and no destination beyond the next footstep.
“Wait,” the Corinthian calls, from far back. “Wait -”
He catches up to the Dream Lord from behind, and before Dream knows anything, he’s floating gently into the air, a solid arm beneath him. There’s a weird moment when his legs are rearranged in midair; and then, solid shoulders settle themselves beneath his thighs.
“It’s alright,” the Corinthian says. Dream is already beginning to protest. “It’s alright - I brought you here. I just - I wanted you to - it’s alright. It’s alright.”
He begins to walk, slowly but surely over the snow, careful not to jostle his rider.
“It’s alright. It’s alright. I’ve got you.”
“Corinthian - ”
“Hush, my lord. Sit back and relax. Let me do it. Just let me know if anything’s not comfortable. We’re going to go up. It’s a beautiful place; you’ll see. There’s nobody here but us. I’ll show you. You’ll like it - you’ll feel less - ”
The Corinthian cuts himself off, holds on to Dream’s calves pressed against his chest, and focuses on walking. Dream’s fallen silent, and he reminds himself that he has to be careful, even now, to not make it seem too much like he’s -
helping.
The Endless upon his shoulders is heavy and warm.
Above him, Dream blinks, the nightmare beneath him settling into a steady pace. Carefully, steadily, the Corinthian picks his way through the snow, ensuring every step is firm before he places his weight; and Dream can feel it, the care taken, the attention and diligence and dedication in ensuring he’s not unduly bumped. They rock a little, at first, as the Corinthian gets used to finding his balance, but then they stabilize. At this height, as the world sways away beneath him, the lowest-hanging branches of old trees feather gently against his face, his cheek, his hair. Snow begins to fall.
There’s nothing for him to do, now. Not even a path upon which he can set his feet to mindlessly and relentlessly walk; to match and undo, a little, the unstoppable pacing of his mind. It’s so quiet up here. Even the Corinthian, understanding a little more than Dream had thought, takes care to keep his footsteps soft. Dream tilts his head back and looks up, taking in the scene of a grey-white sky, score upon score of narrow tree tops piercing the circle of his vision. Snowflakes descend, whirling against an unmoving backdrop, removed from the world, and so utterly, utterly tranquil.
It's a place that doesn’t transform with the Dream Lord’s whims. A place uncaring of the turbulence of the Dream Lord’s mind, that, for once, fails to reflect his worries and burdens back upon himself. It must be peaceful, for a change.
It’s as if the Corinthian knows what Dream is doing. He pauses, so Dream can lean back and watch the snow. He himself removes his glasses and looks up, getting an eyeful of Dream’s chest, the underside of his ivory neck and jaw. Dream’s belly swells out against the Corinthian’s head - he’s taking a deep breath. The Corinthian opens his mouths, wondering if he’ll catch snowflakes on his tongue, or tears.
Nothing. Dream’s leaning even further back, like a child seeing how far he can go before he falls, digging his feet into the Corinthian’s ribs for balance, and the Corinthian urges them more tightly against him, welcoming the ache. Farther and farther Dream leans, the silent moment stretching and extending, the Corinthian sensing rather than feeling his long, endless inhale; and finally, his breath releases, a soft, susurrus whoosh onto the world.
When Dream’s done, he re-sits himself and looks forward again, ready to proceed. The Corinthian registers the shift in his posture, but he decides to wait.
Soon enough, Dream guesses and taps the Corinthian’s shoulder, and the nightmare starts walking again.
They continue to trek in silence. The slope is steeper now, signaling the start of a more strenuous climb. The Corinthian is going a little more slowly beneath Dream’s weight, and all of a sudden, Dream taps his shoulder again. Startled, the nightmare stops.
A few minutes later, there’s another tap, and, somewhat uncertain, he moves again.
A system begins to develop. It’s very rudimentary - no words, just gestures. If he’s walking, Dream taps him to make him stop. If he’s stopped, to make him start. Presently the Corinthian realises - Dream’s making him rest. And the thought makes him hot, for reasons unclear to himself. And soon the Corinthian starts to wonder, with an odd, muted sort of heat - they won't stay at just start and stop, will they? When will they go on to left, right, faster, and slower?
He puts his head down and continues to walk, but it doesn’t take long.
They come to a snow drift before them, the way forward on either side. To the left, a short but steep slope; to the right, a gentler, longer way. The Corinthian pauses, considering, and is about to decide upon the path to the right before Dream pushes his head to the left. His heart skips a beat.
He rallies himself, then turns to the left, reminding himself of who his rider is - but it’s more treacherous than he’d estimated, and it’s one step forward, two steps back, and all at once he plunges into a large bank of snow and almost falls.
It’s not worth the challenge, he decides upon recovering, when he’s shaken the snow off. But when he turns to the right, when there’s a warning tug on his hair, and then a clear, demanding shove to the left. Twin reactions arise in him - a startled, indignant squawk, and something like a whine -
He lets neither out, but it takes great control. Moreover, he’s not entirely able not prevent himself from showing anything. Dream clearly wants him to take the rough, difficult climb, and the manner in which he’s asked for it makes the Corinthian drop his head, and pants in a way that’s not merely from exertion.
He struggles his way to the top, and heaves a sigh of relief when the ground’s level again.
But just as he thinks it’s going to be easier, it doesn’t. He stands panting, trying to re-center himself, and the top of his head gets stroked, and all of a sudden he realises he knows a few more words now. Not just start and stop and left and right, but also no, and what feels like good.
He sways, thinking that it won’t be very long at all, before he knows what bad is.
And it’s not even the pushiness that’s getting to him, but the fact that they’re not speaking. As if he doesn’t need the words - as if he wouldn’t understand them anyway. Like he’s just a -
He doesn’t want to go there.
But it’s hard not to, when Dream taps his shoulder and gets him moving again, earlier than he’d have liked. It’s like he’s not even in control of when he moves, and the thought brings him a flush of heat. A small part of himself snorts in indignation - they should switch, the Endless will see who needs the rest then - but the rest of him is feeling a little, or a lot, more complicated.
Inattentive now, he staggers and almost falls, and then he actually does, going heavily to one knee as the patch of area he’d stepped on turns out to be - a small burrow? - and gives way beneath their weight. The resultant lurch forward almost sends Dream pitching head first off his shoulders.
Right on cue it comes, even as he’s struggling to stand again, a sharp blow on the back of his head that makes his eyes water and his limbs scramble to regain their footing. Bad. He’s upright again as fast as he can, Dream digging his heels into his sides for balance, giving him a second smack just to make him remember.
He almost whines, but he’d also roll his eyes, if he had them - because isn’t Dream just being ridiculous? So withdrawn at first, so reduced and disoriented by the weight of his work not so very long ago, and now back to his old self, full of pushiness and insistence and demands. Show an ounce of submission and he would take a pound - really, the Corinthian should know by now.
But he’s a mess now, shaking minutely under the Dream Lord. Intrusive thoughts make him miss every other step and pant hard for no reason, other than the way that ruthless bad makes him feel. Dream’s getting bemused above him, as he starts to see the shape of his creation’s musings.
When they come beneath the boughs of a massive tree, he receives a new signal, firm pressure pushing straight down on the top of his head. The Corinthian thinks about it, and then he stops and goes to one knee. Dream gets off.
“What’s wrong?”
“N - nothing.”
“Clearly not.”
The Corinthian looks at him, still kneeling. His voice is hoarse with the lack of use.
“I - I meant - I wanted -”
“You wanted what?”
The Corinthian looks carefully at him. There’s a soft smile beneath Dream’s glare, like he hasn't quite decided which way to go from here. Habit's driving him on in one direction, and weariness is holding him back.
Well. The Corinthian should be so flattered.
But he's not here for that.
He glances down briefly at himself and smiles, before he continues. “It’s not important. We can just do whatever you want.”
Dream looks, for a moment, perilously insulted. But at length he sighs and looks around.
“Well, I think we’ve come enough of the way today.”
“Mm. I think so too.” The Corinthian inches a little closer on his knees. “Do you have to go back to the Dreaming?”
“Honestly, I don’t. Lucienne has read every book there is to read on war strategy. She has things more than under control, for right now at least.”
Another rare, startling admission. An excited frisson goes through the Corinthian at how unguarded Dream’s being, and he creeps closer in the snow while Dream looks a little ponderously ahead, and then, when he’s near enough, grabs Dream by the back of his knees and stands.
“Corinthian - Corinthian - ! ”
The Corinthian laughs out loud, rambunctious and impudent in the quietness, because Dream’s flailing in an undignified way, and he’s too high up to reach the Corinthian’s head, let alone push it or tug on it or hit it - he can’t even reach the Corinthian’s arms clasped around the his own knees and bobs helplessly above the ground, carried around roughly until he, too, is laughing. At last the Corinthian, tired out from this last effort, collapses with deliberate aim upon the largest snow bank he can find, burying them both in an enormous pile of cold, wet snow.
“Alright,” the Corinthian announces, not too different from a thick-coated dog finding contentment in a burrow of snow. “We’ll sleep here tonight. Like this.”
Dream sits up, shaking the snow from his hair with remarkable fastidiousness. “I think not.” It’s comical that two so different are side by side, even more so when the Corinthian sits up and captures Dream’s ankle quickly, making him stumble.
“We should do something else,” he breathes, when he’s tugged Dream back into the snow and pinned him down onto his back. Dream raises an arch brow, the implications of the Corinthian’s increasingly leering grin not lost upon him.
“Like what?”
“Like - hm - this.” Despite the increasingly vicious look about him, the Corinthian leans down and presses his lips to Dream’s, long enough and sweetly, before pulling away with tenderness. Dream has to chuckle.
“Trying to go gently, little one?”
The Corinthian huffs. “I can go any way you wish, my lord. But it just felt like - you know. The right energy to match where you are now.”
“Any way I wish,” Dream repeats, softening, as the Corinthian nods in agreement. “Then, Corinthian, perhaps we shall wait till tomorrow to try something different. For now, I wish merely to - to do nothing, in this place.”
“Doing nothing?” the Corinthian echoes, surprised. Dream?
“Yes, my dear.”
The Corinthian blinks, and refocuses on another issue of importance.
“Doing nothing, with me?”
“Yes, little one. Doing nothing, with you.”
It’s a little odd, for Dream, but in the end the Corinthian beams. If he says so, and as long as they get to spend some time together. He inches himself a little lower and lays on top of Dream, head upon his chest, listening to the song of the universe in every cosmic heartbeat.
“You wish merely to lay here, and think of nothing, and not bother about anything?”
“Yes.”
"I see. You're basically trying to not give a fuck."
"...If you must put it that way."
“What about the entire collective unconsciousness of all humanity in every universe and the next -”
Dream groans, and the Corinthian, knowing he would, bursts out laughing again.