Chapter Text
“Next, please,” Sunday, appointed Bronze Melodia of the Oak Family, calls out with a gentle voice from inside the confession booth. He presumes the next will be the last; his back aches from having remained seated for so long, and his mind is aching to return to reality for a proper rest.
“Hey there.” A familiar rough voice jolts Sunday from his relatively peaceful state.
He wears the title of Bronze Melodia with pride and flawlessly executes his job, taking an interest in the myriad of different people who come here every time to confess or share their troubles.
Yes, that’s right. Some people out their troubles in a way that makes it seem like a confession, or confess, at the end of it, they’re just there for a listening ear.
Sunday forgives all. He likes to observe, to listen, to the many who crave his forgiveness. He knows all the right words to say, practically reading a script from the back of his hands. He finds joy in learning about other people and their innermost emotions, using some of them to steel his resolve.
Now, however, might be the one time in this line of work that he’s sat up straight and has to stop himself from actively trying to glare at the man on the other side.
They haven’t had many interactions, but he knows that voice well: Gallagher of the Bloodhound Family, and a traitor to Penacony.
Former, he reminds himself. The Dreammaster had assured him that The Watchmaker is long out of the picture, and that those traitors left in his wake are nothing the Family cannot handle.
Sunday inhales sharply. “Mr. Gallagher,” he says, trying to keep his voice even. “What a surprise to find you here.”
“Huh? I thought this was the part where you asked me to confess, and forgive me, all that,” a bemused Gallagher says.
“I–” Sunday gives pause. Gallagher is right. That is Sunday’s duty. Regardless of personal feelings, of his disdain for this traitor, he cannot let it get in the way of his work. He grits his teeth and taps his fingers together, falling into a familiar rhythm. He presses against his own fingertips, finding comfort in the pattern. He sighs. “You are right. Very well.”
“Isn’t there another one of you? I’d like to request someone who isn’t you,” Gallagher complains.
“No. I am the appointed Bronze Melodia of the Oak Family. It is my duty to listen and absolve.” Sunday clasps his hands now. The he loosens his fingers, tightens them, rinse and repeat.
His anxiety isn’t lessening.
There’s a long pause. For a moment, he hopes Gallagher has left.
“Alright. Lemme see you handle this one, then.”
He has not.
Sunday opens his eyes again. When had he closed them in the first place?
“So.” Gallagher’s voice is closer. His breathing invades on Sunday’s personal space, contaminating his side of the booth.
Sunday shakes.
He grabs his wrist.
“I don’t care if there’s a ceremony or some bullshit we gotta get through.” When Sunday doesn’t reply, Gallagher continues. “So, the other day, I found this pet. Pretty intimidating fella. Thought I’d take it off the streets, though.”
“I see. That is a charitable action.” Why is Gallagher confessing about something like this? Is he here just to taunt Sunday?
No matter. Sunday does not have a say in the matter. He will listen and absolve, just as always.
He’s honored to be in this position, he reminds himself. It is an honor the Dreammaster has bestowed onto him personally.
He should not doubt any who come here. He should do as he is told.
“Yeah. I’m an upstanding citizen.” Gallagher’s voice is thick with sarcasm. “Anyway, it got loose. Causing a bit of a stir. Still is, I reckon.”
Sunday nearly stands to attention. “What?”
“Shush. You’re supposed to listen, aren’t you?” Gallagher clicks his tongue. “It might’ve gotten loose in Dream’s Edge. Kinda lost track of it.”
Sunday inhales sharply. “Do you… regret your actions?”
“Is that really the question you gotta be asking now?” Gallagher replies.
What? The words hang on Sunday’s lips. He swallows them down. “Do you regret your actions? Are you aware of the consequences?”
“Well, yeah. But we’re losing time here, Sunday.”
We?
He hears Gallagher stand up. In a matter of seconds, he’s on Sunday’s side of the booth, knocking against the wood. “With your fancy tricks, we should be able to get it under control.”
Sunday shoots him a glare. “Security is the job of the Bloodhound Family, Mr. Gallagher. Must I remind you that you are a part of them?”
Gallagher rolls his eyes. “Yeah, like a dog with his teeth filed down and claws clipped can really do anything. Look, I’m askin’ you here. You’re part of this now.”
“You utter–!” Sunday lowers his head into his hands.
This isn’t good.
If Gallagher is implying what he thinks he is…
“We must leave immediately.”
“Music to my ears. Remember, you’re my accomplice, now.” Gallagher holds out his hand. Sunday swats him away.
“You let loose a Memory Zone Meme in the Family’s Dreamscape. I cannot overlook this. After we get it under control, you will be dealt with accordingly.”
Yes. Yes, he’s doing this to help. He would be praised for this. He is doing his duty to keep the Dreamscape safe. He cannot bear to see any innocents who take refuge in this beautiful dream to get hurt.
It is his duty to protect them.
Gallagher shrugs at Sunday’s threat. “Right. Off we go, then.” He doesn’t even sound the tiniest bit apologetic.
Sunday bristles. Breathe in, out. Match it to the rhythm of your heartbeat.
Everything will turn out fine. The situation will be dealt with, and Gallagher apprehended.
As it should be.
Sunday and Gallagher set out to Dream’s Edge, a soon-to-be prosperous Moment still under construction. Despite Gallagher’s occasional jabs at Sunday, Sunday remains quiet, internally reciting his goals for this mission and that Gallagher will be gone after this to keep his sanity intact. He falls into old, familiar rituals to soothe his nerves, but with that… that mutt by his side, he cannot let his guard down for even a second.
After all, this could very well be an elaborate ruse set by Gallagher to undermine Sunday’s authority, or have him removed from The Family as a whole.
Sunday grits his teeth. The sound is audible even to Gallagher, who raises a brow at him and then scoffs. When Gallagher tries to light a cigarette, Sunday immediately slaps it out of his hands.
“We are on a mission. We have a duty to protect The Family’s Dreamweavers and guests alike. I will not let any innocents fall into despair because you showed your true colors once again.”
Gallagher rolls his eyes. “Believe it or not, and I’m sure you don’t, but this wasn’t intentional. Look, I really tried to tame the thing, alright? Take it in, and all.”
“Save your excuses for the Dreammaster,” Sunday snaps back.
Gallagher mutters something unsavory under his breath and navigates them to where he claims he last saw the damned creature.
There’s nothing in sight.
Sunday glares at Gallagher. “You brought us here for nothing,” he concludes immediately. “A lie, then? To waste my time? To drag me away from the mansion and keep me in the Dreamscape so your lot could–”
Gallagher holds up his hands. “Woah, woah. Easy! Sheesh, aren’t you supposed to be forgiving and kind, huh?”
“To those who are deserving of it. Any who turned their backs to The Family, returned or not, are undeserving of my patience.”
“Tsk. You really are an impossible lot. People have their reasons, Sunday, believe it or not. Despite that, you’re still ready to condemn me to my doom for this minor mishap, ain’t ya?”
Sunday frowns. Reasons? What reason could be important enough to abandon The Harmony, The Family’s paradise? The Dreammaster has told him there are none.
Sunday believes him. There’s no reason for the man who took him and Robin in to lie to him. Not when he nurtured them since childhood.
Gallagher is just trying to throw him off course.
“If we don’t find this… problem of yours soon, Mr. Gallagher, I’ll gladly escort you to The Family’s domain for questioning. Or perhaps, I shall undertake it myself,” he offers. It’s a kindness Gallagher doesn’t deserve. Sunday… Gopher Wood had told him he’s far too lenient on outsiders. On traitors. On those who deserve to be banished.
He isn’t punished for it. No, rather, Gopher Wood said that it’s one of the things Sunday possesses that he thinks is valuable.
Sunday agrees. All deserve an equal chance.
Yet, when he looks at Gallagher, a traitor to the ever-loving Family, his thoughts… stray. Sunday was taught there is but one way to look at things; there is The Family’s perspective, chasing a harmonious ideal, and then there is that of the traitors who seek to destroy that and bring imbalance to the people.
Gallagher is branded as one of these traitors and repurposed into the Bloodhound Family.
That people-loving aspect of Sunday’s is far too curious to learn more about the Bloodhound than he ought to be.
He’s so wrapped up in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice the huge shadow above him.
He only catches sight of Gallagher’s widened eyes, and catches the last words he says.
“...Shit, move! Sunday, get outta—”
Sunday’s world comes to an abrupt halt.
He looks down.
A huge blade is pierced through his chest. His body oozes blue fluid.
And yet, he hardly feels it.
No, all he feels is an explosion in his mind. His memories, his everything is trying to tear through his scalp, causing an uproar so severe that his world slowly turns black despite his desperate efforts to cling to the present.
He catches one final glimpse at Gallagher’s panicked expression before he succumbs to the darkness.