Work Text:
The second Sunday enters his room, he bolts his door shut behind him, dropping to his knees on the floor.
It's too much - everything is too much.
Do you sincerely repent, and vow to change your ways?
Have you examined your soul, and confessed all your sins?
Are you willing to accept the process of atonement?
As long as you are sincere, absolution will be granted.
Empty promises. All of them.
His is no exception. Giving the people false hope, the same empty promises, day after day - Xipe above, he is no different from the rest of them. Is there any point in all this? As he has blasphemously done many times, he doubts if THEY are even listening. Perhaps even the most horrifying of happenings wouldn't be enough for THEM to bat an eyelid. What, really, is one person among the trillions in the universe? There are people like him who pray and pray and pray - uselessly, perhaps - with no end in sight, no hint of their prayers being granted. The thought fills him with fear, and he feels his hands shake slightly. He cannot break down like this. If Gopher Wood - if anybody saw, and deemed him unfit to lead -
Sunday smooths out his sleeves, then does the same to his coat, trying to focus on the pristine white of his gloves.
What makes you think you can sit here, all high and mighty, looking down on everyone else?
Sunday inhales sharply, one hand finding his head, fisting into his hair, while the other clamps around his mouth to muffle any noises. Try as he might, he cannot find any fault in those words. What gives him the right? Was it just... luck, perhaps, that he and Robin were adopted by Gopher Wood, and not - like those children today -
No. Stop - he thinks, trying to stop that train of thought before he can spiral further, feeling sick to his stomach. The very thought of Robin going through anything like that is too much to bear. He's aware his breathing is way out of control, and he kneels, resting his forehead on the floor, hands tightening, almost pulling at his hair.
Robin is safe, he reminds himself. He'd seen one of her interviews just the other day. She looked as cheerful as ever, her voice managing to soothe his turbulent mind, as it always has. It is for this reason he seeks to avoid her - he cannot waver when he's this close to achieving their shared dream. Robin is - but how can he be sure? She's too far away, in a galaxy he does not know the name of, and he is stuck on Penacony, useless as ever and unable to protect her. If something happened to her, would he even know? The last time, he had to rely on Gopher Wood to break the news. His sister, caught in a warzone. The Aeon she worshipped so fervently did not even glance in her direction when she was bleeding out.
The thought makes his breath hitch again. Robin - bleeding out. Robin, unconscious, bandages around her neck -
Sunday's breath catches on a sob, and he freezes. In the midst of his outburst, he'd forgotten to mind his volume. One of the Dreammaster's ravens is usually perched right outside his door. He should have been more careful, but the damage is done. Already, he can hear the distinct sound of feathers that indicates the Gopher Wood's arrival. He freezes, his brain going into overdrive, and it feels like his heart has stopped beating altogether.
The next second, there's a knock on the door. "Sunday? Are you all right?"
He steels himself, willing his voice not to tremble. "I'm alright, Mr. Gopher Wood. Please, there's no need to worry."
There is a pause, and Sunday hopes the man takes him at his word, but he has never been that lucky. "Sunday. Let me in, please?"
There's no choice, although it appears so on the surface. He gets up silently, taking a second to ensure his appearance is in order, before opening the door to his concerned mentor.
"I know you too well to tell when something is wrong," Gopher Wood frowns, concerned not in concern, looking him over. He takes a step further, entering his room, and Sunday instinctively takes one back. Gopher Wood's frown deepens at that, and Sunday stills. He schools his expression, trying not to appear so afraid. What is there to fear, after all? The Dreammaster and the Head of the Oak Family are equals.
"There's no reason to lie to someone whose only concern is your well-being," The dark-haired man continues, as if nothing has happened. "Tell me what bothers you, my child."
Sunday tries not to swallow, as the man gives him a piercing look that can see through even his strongest facade. He cannot trust Gopher Wood. He knows this. Gopher Wood cares does not care about him. He knows this. Yet, for once, he cannot think of a single believable lie, and he feels cold dread wash over him as the man's gaze hardens, tired of waiting. "...My... duties, as Bronze Melodia, have been weighing on my mind," he settles for the truth, rather lamely.
The man before him frowns further, and the disappointment radiating from him almost physically pierces his chest. "You've been a Bronze Melodia for a few years now. You should be used to this, Sunday."
Is it possible to get used to human suffering? A voice in his head says, and his breath almost catches again. He knows better than to let it show, bowing his head. "I... apologize, Mr. Gopher Wood. It was just a momentary weakness."
"Momentary weakness? You are the head of the Oak Family-" He snaps harshly, and Sunday feels like he's a child again, fear filling his lungs over something as simple as a broken vase, Robin preparing to defend herself behind him, but as the eldest, it is his burden to bear. He forces himself to remember this time. This is the true face of the Dreammaster. To be deceived any longer is foolishness.
He wishes his fears were as simple as broken vases again.
"...Forgive me," Gopher Wood sighed, his stern expression falling to almost practiced weariness, adjusting his steel-rimmed glasses. "You know how it is - the work of Dreammaster is extremely stressful. I did not mean to take it out on you." Even now, a part of Sunday still believes him, that this really is misdirected stress, even when he can see the subtle frown on his face, reeking of judgment as if Sunday was just a stubborn stain on the wall, a problem to be fixed, someone destined to be great but fizzled out somewhere along the way. After all Gopher Wood has done for him - as he is constantly reminded - why does he do nothing but let him down? He almost wants to be back to when he was alone with his thoughts.
Perhaps Gopher Wood is the only person who can truly see through him, something even Robin cannot, to his relief. Only the Dreammaster knows what a truly weak person he really is, he thinks, preparing for the lecture he knows is coming. On the first day, grant Truth. He recites in his head, his fingers counting to seven behind his back with every sentence in a vain attempt to center his mind, to prevent any other emotions from leaking out. It's hilarious, really - despite all the manipulation and scheming he does daily as head of the Oak Family, he always feels so small in front of his adoptive father, reduced to an open book for his perusal. On the second day, grant the Calendar. Remember to keep a detached mind.
"Even so, emotions have no place in the future you wish to build," Gopher Wood continued with a hint of sternness. "It reflects immaturity and innocence - none of which you should still have if you wish to embark on your path. Do not expect me to coddle you - you are not a child, Sunday." On the third day, grant Words. A hand falls on his shoulder, meant to be reassuring, perhaps, but it is anything but. There's a sudden itch beneath his skin, making him want to throw up, or better yet, to...
On the third day, grant Words.
On the fourth day, grant Values.
On the fifth day, grant Rules.
On the sixth day, grant Meaning.
On the-
The hand falls away, and he nearly exhales in relief. Gopher Wood ignores him, wandering into his space, running a finger along the edge of the desk, inspecting it for dust. There is none, of course. Sunday had cleaned it just this afternoon. On the first day, grant Truth. "As for being the Bronze Melodia... think of it akin to reassuring a child. We tell them that tomorrow will be better, sending them off with the blessings of the Harmony, to give them precious hope." On the second day, grant the Calendar. "Thus, they exist in the illusion that tomorrow will indeed be a better day, leaving us to bear the burden of truth." On the third- "The strong protect the weak - that is the foundation of paradise."
The strong will protect the weak. Yes. That is logical. That is the foundation of paradise.
Just like that, his previous doubts about the man before him vanish. Perhaps it is true that reviving Ena the Order is the Dreammaster's true intention, but isn't that what Sunday wants as well? They are two men working towards a shared goal. The man who raised him would be heartbroken if he knew he had his doubts, and Sunday owes him too much for that. Does it truly matter if he had no choice in the matter? What regrets should he have? Gopher Wood had given him a happy childhood with Robin, made him his successor and Head of the Oak Family, and now he was going to sacrifice everything to help Sunday create Paradise. Would any other father do the same? He almost shudders at the thought of living a different life than the one he has now. He should take the advice he often gives others, and learn to be more grateful.
Still, there's a greedy, despicable part of him that feels betrayed.
Gopher Wood still lingers, silently appraising him, trying to pick him apart in his mind. Sizing him up, trying to see if Sunday was worth all the time and effort he invested in him. Wondering if the returns will be favorable. Instinctively, he straightens up a bit more.
"You look tired, Sunday," The man finally says in an almost soothing voice. "Turn in early tonight. Tomorrow is another busy day." With that, he turns to leave, before turning back around at the last moment, making him almost tense again. "And leave the door open. Staying too long in an empty room will only ruin your health." Finally, he leaves, though the raven still remains outside the door.
Sunday lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding, staring at the open door long after. The Charmony Festival looms in the distance, and preparations have already begun. As for his own preparations... the inevitable day cannot come sooner, he thinks, feeling drained and numb and lightheaded, after everything.
Somehow, he can't shake the feeling that the universe is playing a cruel trick on him.