#sandman fan ficion

[just-some-random-blogger]

Magic Means Deception

Dream of the Endless x Magician!Reader

Summary: You were born from a long line of powerful sorcerers whose very lineage is sworn to serve the higher beings. Present day though, after all the witch hunts, there's not much left of your family's prestige, which is why you worked as a magician for kids' birthday parties-- that is, when you're not doing mystic errands that leave you better off dead.

Word Count: 2k+

Warnings: multiple mentions of physical injuries and blood, gender neutral!reader, one curse word, bullying Matthew kinda, angst, hurt, typos, etc.

It was nothing short of a miracle that I managed to get to the venue on time. There is no way in seven hells I'm paying for a late fee, not after going through all seven hells for The Fates literally moments ago.

"Lord Almighty, why the hell do you look like that?" the woman whose daughter was having a birthday walked over to me, having received my text of arrival.

Although it was a horrible idea, I let go of my side to raise my hand in a pose and to give her a lopsided smile, "it's a costume, babe. My last party was... hell themed. The kid was really, really goth."

The look of concern that was etched on her face immediately evaporated, and the sight of my tattered clothes and blood oozing side was something suddenly impressive, "how did you do the blood?"

"Ohh, you know," I place my hand back, holding in my whine, "a magician never reveals their secrets."

"Well, I mean I could guess, it's probably a jug--" she steps forward, hand darting to my wound. I dart back quicker, raising my other hand, "ooh, trust me, you don't want to get this on your hands. It's a nightmare to get off," I give her a rather desperate look, "where can I change?"

"Oh," she shakes her head, "right. If the kids see you they'd break down and cry. Yeah, there's a storage room over-" I don't wait for her to finish as I immediately head to the direction she pointed her finger, not forgetting to say a quick thank you.

I grip my satchel and step into the storage room, half regretting turning the lights on. The storage room was about, not only as big as my apartment, but just as filthy, which says a lot about the owners of this establishment.

Then again, I drop my bag and sit on a box, catching my breath, it also says a lot about me.

I rip my shirt off without raising my right arm for that was the side of my stab. I then pull out a vial from my bag and down its contents, muttering an incantation under my breath for the pain. It takes a moment, one too long for my taste, but it worked nevertheless.

Once I could move without feeling like I was getting stabbed all over again, I began to stich my wound up.

Suddenly, I hear a squawk and then a raven flies to the shelf beside me.

"Good goly, why aren't you at a hospital?" Matthew croaks just a bit over head. I ignore him, too focused on my task at hand, too much anticipating the voice of his master. It never comes, he never speaks, only Matthew does, "I'm guessing your task was successful?"

My face pinches sourly as I sardonically answer, "funny this looks like success to you."

"Come on, I didn't mean--"

"But then again, you're right," I turn to the bird, "if I were unsuccessful, I would have ended up dead."

Those words glaze the room with cold silence for a long while. It was preferred, as I was trying to sew my bleeding side shut.

For a moment, my thoughts gnaw at me, and so I sneak a look to the side of the room. I nearly scoff but keep it in, feigning ignorance at what I saw. It seems he had been staring at me the whole time since he was, in fact, here.

Good. Let him. It was his fault anyway.

By the time I was almost done with my stitches, the numbing spell began to wear off.

"I still think you should go to the hospital," Matthew croaks as I finish off the last stitch on my wound. I forfeit a response, not wanting to do the, 'hospitals can't treat my wounds' spiel and instead begin to wrap my torso with gauze.

The bird squawks as I let out a pained grunt in my failing attempts to put the bandage on as each second the pain begins to intensify.

Matthew shifts on the shelf and stutters as I proceed with my actions, asking me cautiously, "should you be doing that?"

I raise my brow, not liking the idea of anyone else doing this for me at all, "got any brighter ideas, crow?"

"Hey! Not funny."

I roll my eyes.

"Boss, can you-"

"No." I reply quickly, forcing down the pain of my stitches that tore ever so slightly with every move I made, "heavens be damned if I ask help from-"

"Do not be stubborn," I hear his voice before I see him. In fact, I see his hand taking the gauze in my hand before I see his stupid face.

"Stubborn?" I seethe, as Dream of the Endless sinks down before me, moving too close against me as he quickly begins to trace the cloth around my lower ribcage, "you've been staring at me, offering no help whatsoever the moment you got here and I'm stubborn?"

I don't know why I'm letting him do this, why I allowed him to take the gauze from me. I dont know why I don't just Spartan kick his head off-- well maybe I do, cause if I kick him, I'm basically kicking all my stitches off.

What's possibly worse was he and I felt vastly different in this moment.

He looks at me as his deep voice calmly responds with, "I did not think you wanted my help."

Before I could even think, I move to punch his jaw. But before I could even move, he catches my wrist in his hand and warns, "do not be so foolish to waste your hard work over your anger towards me."

My eye twitches at that. How dare he read my thoughts? I don't know what angers me more, the notion he did that figuratively or literally.

Dream averts his gaze back to my wound, fingers brushing against me in the gentlest possible way, and yet it hurts more than my laceration.

I scoff, feeling tears prick in the corner of my eyes over the sight of his unruly hair, his eyelashes, his lips, his audacity... his nonchalance.

If I could breathe fire, my next words would have burned him, "why are you even here if you don't fucking care about me anyway?"

Right, Matthew thinks, before deciding the best thing for him to do is fly off to the next dimension. His next best option was anywhere immediately out of here.

As the bird flutters off, Dream's expression grows grim, his blue eyes contorting into one that could have been read as hurt, "you dare insult me with such petty lies?"

"and you dare insult me with indifference!" I whine, feeling my entire body tense as my tears begin to rush down my cheek.

Dream presses his hand on my side, "calm yourself."

I rip his hand off me and shove him off, causing him to topple back and nearly lose his balance, but alas that is impossible for a being such as him. And as I rise to stare him down, he rises too, looking down upon me. I feel no intimidation in my state however, especially not when his eyes where practically screaming apologies at me.

"Don't tell me to calm down when I've just nearly joined your sister, Death, without a booking!"

He never apologizes though. I think I never will behold it in my lifetime.

"You are bleeding," he states, hand going back to my side, the other pressing against my back. My heartrate began to rise again, but not because my body was flush against his, but because he was willing his eternal composure onto me. I will not have it. I refuse.

"Allow me to finish tending to your wound," before I could begin to resist him, he quickly adds, "please."

Hearing those words breaks something in me. I heave, beginning to only now realize how exhausted I really am. I push his arms off him with my left arm and sit back down on the box I made a chair of, "be quick about it. I have to go out there in 15 minutes."

"You will not attend to entertaining children in this state," his deep voiced demand echoes.

Yet, I feel my eyes go drowsy, "I will if I want to make rent. The Fates' gratitude over my service is unfortunately worthless to my landlord."

I hadn't realized I even closed my eyes up until I ripped them open after feeling my side sting at Dream's actions to finish up binding my wound. With wide blue eyes, he speaks, "I did not mean to. I apologize."

I scoff, thinking he probably heard my thoughts about his lack of contrition.

And it was unintentional, I knew he wouldn't be petty enough to hurt me, he and I are not the same, and yet I burst out with, "why not kill me now, while you're at it," I sigh, crossing one arm over my chest. I prop my elbow on my hand and rest my head on my fingers.

I'm incredibly exhausted, so much so I feel my emotions spilling.

Dream watches as tears fall from my eyes. He brings his hands to my face, "I would not have allowed my sister to take what is mine."

My eyes flutter open as I feel his thumb brush my tears away.

I take in his sorry expression. I take in the stars in his eyes and the slope of his nose, and I feel abhorred by his beauty, "I belong to no one, Dream."

His brows knit together, only but a fraction, as if it was something he had no control over, "must you lie even to yourself?"

I finally rip my sights off him and grab my shirt from the floor where I threw it, "a magician's life is built on deception." I release a pained groan as I stand up with my clothing in hand, forcing myself to put it on through the pain.

"After all," I stand, "what am I if I cannot do an illusion spell properly?"

Once these words leave my lips, I begin to do a recite a deception enchantment by heart, one that made the spellcaster look like how they wanted to appear no matter how contrary they actually were. So it would be, to untrained, mortal eyes, my hair was fixed, my shirt was clean and tucked, and my face was radiating jovial confidence.

I pull out a mirror out of thin air and look at my reflection, adjusting a few details of my appearance as I saw fit.

Dream moves close enough that his own reflection was seen on the mirror. I ignore him, and yet my whole being shifted around him as he whispered, "your illusions do not work on me."

I knew. I know. It would take a great and powerful magic to deceive the likes of him, and even then, he could comb through it like sand.

I look down on myself, beholding the ragged state of my clothing and the blood on my body, then turn to Dream's face, "it does not matter." I strike my arm to my side, causing the floating mirror to go up in smoke, "this does not concern you."

His brows tighten again. He was not given an opportunity to respond.

I push past him and walk out.

The moment I lock eyes with the host, I am introduced. All the attention is suddenly turned to me and my heart begins to race. I give a soft smile.

I conjure up a top hat, making the kids go wild, "are you all ready to be amazed?"

The high pitched squeals are enough to make me forget about my pain for the time being.