The Sandman: Epiphany

 Gills

A/N: I don't own any of the Sandman characters- they are the product of the genius of Neil Gaiman. I do, however, own Epiphany Smith- use with permission only. The opinions expressed herein are partially my own and partially a mild stretching of other people's opinions. (Another note- for those of you even less familiar with Christian holidays than I am, January 6th is the feast of Epiphany.) The soundtrack for this fic is 'Hey Frickin' Nonny' by Tom Smith.

 ***

 Epiphany Smith hated Christmas. He hated his name more than anything else, but he also hated Christmas.

He didn't change his name, because his mother had given it to him, and he loved his mother. But every Christmas he'd shut himself up inside his flat, avoid the stores at all costs, and try to be as cheerless as he could, despite his friends' attempts to get him into the holiday spirit. After a while, most of them stopped trying, but every year there'd be a new one, and the games would start anew.

 "We're throwing an office party- wanna come?"

 "No, thanks. I'm busy."

 "Come on! It's a Christmas party, it's about the coolest thing in the world! There'll be eggnog."

 "I'm alergic." And so on, for weeks on end. As a result of this particular hatred, he didn't like Thanksgiving and New Year's Day either. He considered Thanksgiving the last peaceful day before Chirstmad hysteria set in, and by New Year's, he was so very sick of the whole thing and just wanted it to be over already. He hadn't had a truly happy birthday (January 6th, obviously), in years. One of his greatest dreams was wintering in a country in which Christmas was not celebrated. But for now, he just grit his teeth and thanked God for the ten months in the year in which Christmas was but a distant cloud on his horizon.

 And now it was November 30th, two days after Thanksgiving, and already his neighbors were hanging up decorations and lights. Swallowing back nausea, Epiphany locked his door, glared at the wreathes in the hall, and drove to work. He was an investment advisor at a large bank in the city, and thankfully, they had to wait until the weekend to decorate, so he had two more days of blessed drabness to comfort him. They never asked whether he wanted decorations in his cubicle or not, and when he'd tried to remove them the first year, he'd been called up to the manager and lectured about 'unity' and 'the spirit of Christmas'. He'd kept quiet after that, if only to avoid further lectures.

 Now, Epiphany wasn't really an unpleasant person, a hater of his fellow people, or a cold-hearted grouch. He was a self-styled individual, though, who simply hated the hustle and bustle and the rush to commercialise what he felt should be a private, small-scale celebration. He was usually a very nice guy, and enjoyed most other holidays, but in the time surrounding Christmas, his most unkind, sarcastic and antisocial side was awakened.

 "Hey Pip," A co-worker, Millie White. A nice enough young woman, with whom he'd had a few dates when she'd first started working for the bank, but nothing more serious. "How was Thanksgiving?"

 "Fine, I guess." His family was on the other side of the country, and he'd had no time off to go visit them. The weather had been too foul to go anywhere, really, so he'd watched sports and eaten a turkey he'd roasted himself, with all the extras. He'll be eating that turkey for a week, or until he got sick of it. "Yours?"

 "Wonderful!" She gushed. "My brothers and sister came, and we watched the parade, and had a huge lunch, and hey, look what my niece gave me." She unrolled a square piece of cardboard, and Epiphany stifled a groan. It was a hand-drawn and cut advent calendar, starting at December 1st. Millie hung taped it up to the wall of her cubicle. "Isn't it adorable?"

 'Very ... Artistic." Pip tried not to show his distaste too overtly. "But again, I just don't see why you need it when you already have an appointment calendar."

 "It's a countdown to Christmas, silly, you know that. I can't wait. Christmas has always been my favorite time of year." Millie smiled, and Pip suddenly remembered why he'd stopped going out with her. He said nothing; simply pursed his lips and buried himself in work until it was time to go home.

 It seemed that Christmas would haunt him yet again, as the signs and preparations followed him home. There were commercials on the radio in the car, and on his TV at home. There was junk-mail of catering services, stocking-fillers and shows. He knew that it would get worse- first it would snow, then there would be carollers, then a faint scent of nutmeg, cloves and cinnamon constantly in the air, choking him.

Then the holiday itself, which would probably be lonely, cold, and disappointing to all the children who didn't get exactly what they wanted. Then New Year's, with the mad fight to get a date, have someone with you, prove to the world that you're not a complete loser, all for a single, unimportant second.

 And by the time his birthday rolled around, nobody would be in the mood to celebrate. Epiphany hadn't had even a simple coffee-and-cake birthday in years, simply because, after the first few times only three people had shown up, he'd given up on it. And darn it, he wanted to celebrate. These gloomy thoughts followed him all that day, until he got home, turned off the TV in disgust, ate turkey leftovers, and went to bed.

 And there, he dreamed.

 Even the Dream-realm was decorated, and Pip cursed his bad luck. He wondered around the haze of dream, for once certain that he was dreaming, and got more and more bitter with each passing moment. If a man couldn't escape even in his dreams, where could he? Suddenly he was confronted by a tall man in dark clothing, who looked about as disgusted as he was, but fit into the surrounding much better. No, he amended after a moment- not a man. It wasn't human, clearly, even though it looked human. There was something else there, deeper and older and awe-inspiring. It spoke.

 "You shouldn't be here." The voice was resonant and vibrated deep into his soul. Somehow, he found himself answering boldly.

 "Tell me about it! Is this some kind of a nightmare?" Pip looked at the .... Pumpkin? Who was, apparently, hanging miseltoe over the door. The man- he decided to call him a man after all, having no better term- considered his question.

 "It could be. Why?"

 "Because these are the things I hate most in the world, and I'm surrounded by them. That's what a nightmare's like, isn't it?"

 "Usually." The man nodded slowly. "But don't you enjoy these ... 'holidays'? Most mortals do."

 "I'm not most, I guess. They're a waste of time and money, if you ask me." Finally, Pip could, maybe, say what he really thought. And the other man seemed to agree with him!

 "I have never understood them. You'd be amazed how many of your kind fear this season. The things they do ... You are intriguing creatures, mortal." The man looked up and frowned. "Let's go someplace quieter. You interest me." And suddenly there were someplace else. Golden sands stretched as far as the eye could see, but it wasn't hot, exactly. Warm, and the air smelled fresh. There wasn't a single sugarplum anywhere. Pip tried to panic, but found that he couldn't, and didn't need to- after all, he was dreaming.

 "Where are we?"

 "In a part of my realm that is unaffected by the turning tides of mortal time, and the passing of your months." The man replied. Pip's eyes widened.

 "Your realm?" This was someone very, very important then. A creature from childhood stories and legends, almost forgotten in adulthood. Pip felt awed as well as honored by the attention. He'd had many dreams, and never met this one. Surprisingly, the Dream-Lord smiled.

 "Indeed, although at times there are places even I don't feel comfortable in. Still, The Dreaming changes according to the dreams of mortals, and the holy-days theme has always been stronger at certain times than at others. But you- you are not of those who dream of the holidays."

 "Not unless it's a nightmare, or a dream where nobody does anything special for them, and everybody's happier for it." Pip answered with conviction. "I hate Christmas."

 "Why?"

 "Because it's become a dumb excuse for people to shop insanely and do silly things in the name of the Holiday spirit. If they wanted a month to do that, they should've kept it apart from other holidays." Pip was happy to vent his anger. Most people stopped him after about three words.

 "Are you a religious person, then, who wants to keep that which is sacred from daily life?" The Dream-Lord asked gravely, though there was a hint of tolerant amusement in his eyes.

 "No, not really. It's just…It's become a giant trap for poor idiots who think that need to have things for the holiday to be happy." Pip shook his head sadly. Into the silence that followed broke another voice, almost painfully beautiful but also dangerous, tempting.

 "But they do, little mortal. They always need things, want things, to make them happy." This new apparition was as exquisite a being as Pip had ever imagined. It was everything beautiful and pleasant and ... desirable. Pip wanted to stare at it forever, but Dream frowned.

 "You interrupt us, sibling? Why do you not call me properly, if you wish to visit?"

 The creature smirked. "You care too much about what is proper, brother. So does he, for that matter. I listened in on you, and it sounded interesting, so I popped by."

 "I should banish you right here and now." Dream scowled, then shook his head in defeat. "Epiphany Smith, meet Desire, my sibling."

 "A pleasure," He/She/It said, smiling just the kind of smile that made Pip immediately want to be his/hers/its for however long they pleased, "I'm sure."

 "Hands off." Dream said quietly. "He's under the influence of my realm, and it seems," He added just a little maliciously, "not all that interested in yours."

 "But he will be, eventually." Desire replied, still with that entrancing smile. "So, Epiphany Smith, you desire nothing?"

 "Just a little peace and quiet." Pip said with difficulty, "And maybe I'd like someone to remember my birthday every so often."

 "Liar." Desire's eyes flashed red, "You want so many things. Things that make you feel ashamed of yourself, things that you know you may never have. You are absolutely seething with desires." Her smile this time was poison, "I like that in a mortal."

 "You're wrong." Pip swallowed. "I may want things, but never like those people, never at this time of the year. My greatest desire," He stressed the word, "is for Christmas to pass unnoticed, just this once."

 "Well, I'm not sure I can help you there ..." Desire's smile never wavered. "And you know what happens when something you desire doesn't happen ..." She faded out and Pip suddenly felt less alive, heavier. Dream closed his eyes and sighed.

 "I should have known. Greetings, sister." With a heavy rumble and the smell of sweat and dust, a lumbering, grossly obese figure appeared. Without meaning to, Pip breathed her name as the feeling engulfed him.

 "Despair ..."

 "You know her?" Dream turned sharply. Pip nodded weakly. Despair blinked at him.

 "Epiphany? We meet again. Must be December." She sighed. Pip nodded.

 "Despair and I ... We've known each other for a long time." He said, not taking his eyes off her.

 "Oh yes. He was very young when I first saw him, and already so tired. And he's as accurate as clockwork. Every year, come the mortal month of December, he stars in my mirrors." Despair agreed with something as close to fondness as she could reach. "Although, of course, he's never alone there."

 "You seem ... Different, sister." Dream pointed out, surprised by his sister's talkative turn.

 "This time is always richer for me. Busier. So many people with broken dreams, unrealized wishes. Despair is very powerful now."

 "Well, you've made your point. You may leave." It can't be said that Dream banished his sister, exactly, but he certainly encouraged her to leave. Pip looked at him, puzzled.

 "You weren't angry with her, but you sent her away." He said, not as a question, but expecting an explanation.

 "Where Desire is thwarted, Despair often shows up." Dream shrugged. "It does not mean she should stay, since neither one of them was invited. I don't think you should remember much of this dream, mortal."

 "Up to you." Pip had already decided to go with the flow of the dream, and try to chalk it all up to alcohol in the morning, despite the fact that he hadn't even had a beer. The stood silently for a while, the wind blowing through Dream's longish hair and making Pip's blue scarf, which he's only just noticed he was wearing, flap to and fro. The scarf was .... an oddity. In his waking life, he'd had it for years- ironically, it had been a Christmas present from a former girlfriend. Said girlfriend had gotten very drunk during a New Year's party, and had had sex with another man, 'by mistake'. That was one of the many reasons Pip didn't want to dwell on Christmas memories. "People do weird, weird things during the holiday season. They jump into cars and visit people they hate. They make the oddest friends. They have random sex and shop randomly." He rambled, disturbed by the scarf and the memories it stirred up. "It's like they're in a sort of ..."

 "Delirium?" Dream suggested, but he wasn't talking to Pip. Rather, he was addressing another newcomer, this one even less easy to focus on than the other two. Although she had the presence that identified her to Pip as a member of Dream's 'family' (Because, Pip thought, they couldn't possibly really be siblings), but she was indistinct, swirling and dancing and giggling around them. He was about to speak when Dream beat him to the question. "What are you doing here?"

 "He called me so I came. I brought balloons, want one?" The youngest member of the Endless asked absently, sending huge red balloons flying. "I would've brought friends, but they didn't want to come. I have so many friends now, and none of them like you." She squealed happily. "I thought maybe if I changed you into purple butterflies they'd like you, but you'll never change, so I changed myself ..." With that, she disappeared, replaced for a moment by a cloud of purple butterflies that faded like morning mists.

 "Delirium." Dream summed it up in a word. "My youngest sister."

 "I called her? And what does she mean that she has many friends now?" Pip asked. This was getting too strange to be credited, even as a dream.

 "You said it yourself." Dream replied. "Too many people lose themselves in the parties and colors, in the snow and wine and the endless need to be cheerful." He said the last bit distastefully, and Pip wholeheartedly agreed. The need to appear, at least, cheerful and loving and charitable over the holidays irritated him. "They end up in Delirium's realm."

 "Do they ever leave?" Pip asked, strangely nauseated by the idea of spending eternity in the haze of Christmas insanity.

 "Some do. Some only get a reprieve between holidays. Some end up-" Dream raised his eyes, the sighed. "I know you're here, sister, you might as well show yourself."

 "It's not his time yet." A disembodied voice replied cheerfully, "I don't want to scare him."

 "He's dreaming, sister. Come out - he won't mind, and I do hate being watch like that." Dream said, ignoring Pip's snort. The human didn't enjoy being discussed as if he wasn't there, but wasn't about to argue with these particular beings.

 "Very well." And she appeared, dressed in black and carrying an umbrella as always, but also wearing a small, red, Santa Claus hat. "Hello, Pip."

 He knew immediately who she was, and his blood froze. "You. But, it's ...."

 "Not your time yet, don't worry. I'm simply visiting my brother, you know, for Christmas." Death said, attempting to put her arm around Dream's waist. Identical eye-rolls were the only response she got. "It seems you've finally found someone who agrees with you, little bro, good for you. So," She turned to Pip, who was still a little pale, "You don't like Christmas?"

 "Hate it." Pip nodded.

 "Okay." Death nodded as well. "Good for you."

 Pip was stumped. "Do you hate Christmas?"

 "Nope." Death grinned, "I love it. All that good will. And gingerbread."

 "But aren't you, like, busier around now? I mean, I know of at least three people who killed themselves on-" She stopped him with a wave.

 "No more and no less than at other times." She smiled gently, "And there are so many people who are happier this time of year- at least as many people as are unhappy."

 "And you're not going to lecture me on the importance of the holiday spirit and joining my fellow men and celebrating and shopping?" Pip asked, surprised.

 "What's the point? You know it, you've made your decision. I can't influence anything about you until the end, you know."

 "Can we not talk about that?" Pip asked, "It gives me the creeps."

 "Sure." Death turned to her brother, "And how have you been doing, oh brooding one? Hanging up a stocking this year?"

 "On second thought, I liked you better when you were only half-here." Dream grumbled, "Why is it that you can lecture me but not him?"

 "You're not a mortal, brother dear. Besides, you're family- I can lecture you about anything."

 "I think," Pip said carefully, "That I should go away now and leave you two to your, um, familial discussion." He backed away slightly.

 "If you wish." Dream agreed, "Awaken then, Epiphany Smith, and remember nothing but a very pleasant dream, for you may have seen too much this night. You may return however- you will always have a safe haven in this corner of the dreaming."

 "But remember," Death's voice was fading, "You are still alive, and it'll be January in no time. I'll be seeing you ..."

 ***

 Epiphany Smith woke up on December 1st, and remembered his dream. He smiled, then called his mother.

 In Destiny's garden, a quill scratched an unending pattern on unending parchment.
 

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