A/N: I am still taking a break for a while. But I wanted to give you guys something to show my appreciation for the support you guys give me. Also this Interlude isn't canon but can be if y'all want it to be
The Dreaming was quiet that night.
A rare calm rested over the shifting realm — the skies inked deep violet, the stars suspended like chandeliers above a sea of mist. Within Dream's castle, vast halls of glass and marble breathed with subtle motion, as if the walls themselves were asleep and dreaming. Candles flickered to the rhythm of unseen heartbeats.
At the heart of it all sat Dream and Death.
He had conjured a sitting room from memory — high windows, velvet chairs, and a hearth that burned with silver fire. It was an oddly domestic scene for two beings who had watched galaxies bloom and die. Death had kicked off her boots and sat cross-legged on the chair, hair glowing faintly in the dreamlight.
Dream watched her with quiet fondness. She always seemed so alive here, more vibrant than any mortal dream could imagine.
"So," Death said, leaning forward. "You dragged me out of work for a 'surprise,' and all I get is a chair and a fire. What's the surprise, Dream?"
He considered this gravely. "You enjoy laughter."
"Guilty," she said. "Why?"
"I've decided to indulge you."
Her eyebrow arched. "That sounds dangerous."
"It might be," Dream said, tone perfectly solemn. "I have… questions."
"Oh, no," Death said immediately, covering her face. "You've been reading the internet again."
"I do not 'read the internet.' I observe mortal dreams about it."
"Even worse," she said, groaning. "Alright, fine. Ask your first ridiculous question."
Dream leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers with mock seriousness. "Do you think helicopters should have ejection seats?"
Death blinked. "I—what?"
"It seems like a reasonable safety measure."
She tried, and failed, to hold a straight face. "Dream, if you eject from a helicopter, you fly up into spinning blades."
"I am aware," he said, deadpan. "That's why I wanted your opinion."
Death snorted, laughter bubbling up uncontrollably. "You're doing this on purpose."
"Perhaps," he said, pretending to study the fire. "Did it work?"
"It's working," she said through her laughter. "You're ridiculous."
He hid a small smile behind his hand. "Excellent."
Death wiped a tear from her eye. "Alright, philosopher, what's next?"
Dream's expression remained perfectly serious. "If someone with one arm speaks in sign language, is that a speech impediment… or an accent?"
Death let out a long wheeze. "Oh my god."
"Technically, your domain," Dream murmured.
"Dream!" she said, laughing so hard she almost fell off her chair. "Stop!"
He did not. "I have others."
"No—no, please—"
"Do ghosts dream?"
"Only of throttling you!"
"Ah," Dream said mildly. "Then I have succeeded."
Death flopped back in her chair, breathless with laughter. The firelight danced across her face, softening the sharp lines of eternity into something almost human. Dream watched her, his smile lingering longer this time.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked once she caught her breath.
He tilted his head, considering. "Because you laugh as though you invented joy."
She blinked, the compliment landing somewhere unexpected. "That's… dangerously close to sweet, you know."
"I am capable of sweetness," Dream said, mock-offended.
"Yeah, but usually it comes wrapped in tragedy."
He smirked faintly. "This time, merely humor."
Death leaned her chin in her hand, studying him with that familiar affection. "You're getting better at this, you know. The whole… being funny thing."
"I practice," Dream said softly. "Only for you."
For a heartbeat, silence stretched between them — the kind that feels warm, not empty.
Death smiled, small and genuine. "You're lucky I like you, starlight."
"I am aware," Dream murmured again.
Outside the windows, the Dreaming shifted. Entire constellations rearranged themselves into laughter — galaxies curling into spirals that looked almost like smiles.
And in that castle of impossible light, Death's laughter echoed one last time, bright and alive, filling the quiet halls of the infinite.
Dream only sat there, watching her, eyes full of something gentle and ancient — the kind of emotion that even eternity doesn't have words for.