#hippykattrs

All ghosts have them upon creation. Something intrinsic to them, but not necessarily unique. Many found kindred spirits as they traversed the infinite realms, often settling their haunts with one another. Their aims and dreams aligning little by little until they built a place they could all enjoy.

It's why the lone ghosts keep to their lairs and have only doors to show for it and why like minded ghosts congregated in kingdoms, tribes, and acropolises. Most ghosts needed to rely on one another, consolidating their domains to collectively impose their will upon the realms. Because the domain of a knight, of a ruler, of a tailor, a jailer, a chef - they were only so large.

Ancients do not need that crutch.

Nocturn doesn't need subordinates or lackeys to thrive. Dreams are never ending with so many mortals out there, all of them needing sleep to survive. Truly, Nocturn could survive off of his own dreams if necessary, but it likely never will.

He does like to indulge himself with them though.

Which makes it all the more frustrating when the denial of a dream keeps him awake. Oh, he could ignore it. He has for the last few weeks, but the irritation is constant like it's stuck between his teeth. Not one to exert his influence directly unless making a point or performing perfunctory greetings, he hoped it would resolve itself.

It hasn't.

Restless and irritable, Nocturn slips into a living realm and makes his way across the starlit sky to the one keeping him up. He flies far enough that the sky starts to hide him less and finds the Phantom watching the sun set along the coast, looking even more exhausted than Nocturn feels.

"You should be dreaming," Nocturn ignores the startled turn and tense posture as he drapes himself over most of the rest of the roof. There's no need to tower over little Phantom when he isn't testing them. "Why do you resist?"

"Looking for a rematch?" The defensive question is unnecessary so Nocturn ignores it.

"You once dreamt so often and so clearly, but now they are muddled or denied entirely." Peering closer he only halts when the Phantom looks ready to run. That wouldn't help either of them. "Why?"

Green eyes squint suspiciously. Nocturn's edges flow like fog, curling back in on himself as the sun sinks lower. He can wait, though he hopes not for long as he really would prefer to be dreaming.

"Nightmares," Phantom finally admits, not quite turning away as the reds and oranges of the sunset make way for the dark, star studded night sky. As if that is any true answer.

Nocturn chuffs, because yes, he knows of the Phantom's nightmares, but they do not bother him. Sleep is sleep and the dreams that take place during the slumbering hours are rarely the dreamers choice. Both good and bad, stressful and relaxing, all nourish Nocturn equally.

"No, not those kinds of dreams, though you deny yourself those often as well." The dark expanse of his self spreads thinner as Nocturn dips his mask below Phantom's eye level. He lets the bright spots of the dreamers empowering him glow bright in a mirror of the sky above before standing tall and admiring the pinpricks of light he's imitating. "Your dreams of space, where have they gone?"

Nocturn remembers them. Faintly in the time before, when Phantom was just Danny, then bigger, bolder, brighter after he became Phantom. But much like a star going supernova, the dream guttered and died just a few weeks later. The black hole left in their place felt even worse up close, the despair of it only growing with time.

Phantom must feel it too as his shoulders hunch inwards and his chin dips down.

"I - You know why." He almost glances at Nocturn, but his eyes are drawn upwards before he can manage it, frown turning despondent. "I tried to fly up there, you know. Just after I got the hang of it. I couldn't even escape lower earth orbit."

Nocturn knows the term from dreams, just as he knows of distance and time and the mechanics behind both. Most of what he knows is from one dream or another, but some things he's learned from experience. As an Ancient, growth is one of them. Because while roles are stagnant, concepts are ever growing.

Once, when Nocturn was very young, the only dreams he could see, experience, and use were his. Just as he knows that at one point, the only time Clockwork could interact with or see were times he'd existed.

Neither of these are the case now. Not by a long shot.

"Where are we?" The question has Phantom blinking and giving him a strange look, but Nocturn's bed is calling and he only has so much patience. "I followed you Phantom, you should know the answer. Where are we?"

"The west coast." A gloved hand waves at the pacific ocean carelessly. "I don't know where, it's not like there's a town here. Washington or Oregon probably?"

Hm, knowledge without understanding. Perhaps more pointed facts will speed this along?

"We are currently over eighteen hundred miles from your home." When that gets him two uncomprehending blinks, Nocturn continues. "Medium earth orbit starts at two thousand kilometers."

A frown, then Phantom starts muttering numbers to himself. He reaches an answer then counts again as hope flares.

"That's - that's less." Counting off on his fingers as he does the math again and gets the same answer, Phantom's hands ball into fists again as he looks up at Nocturn. His stance isn't defensive, but victorious. "We're farther from home now than medium earth orbit is from sea level."

There. Nocturn readies himself to go home, more than ready for some sweet dreams only to feel the grating irritant that kept him up in the first place catch again. Sighing he looks at Phantom and finds him frowning at the sky.

"Is it just an altitude problem then? Or maybe gravitational?"

"No," Nocturn answers, because he's so close to a good night sleep he can almost feel his pillow. It's making him curt. He might care about that later. Maybe. "You're growing. You may find new limits, but be patient and you'll overcome them."

That gets him a surprised look that melts into a confused smile. "Thanks. You know, you're not so bad when you're not trying to take over the world."

"I know." Nocturn scoffs because that was a flimsy reason he used to come greet the newest Ancient as was only polite. He may have been a bit over-dramatic, but an artificial influx of dreams always makes him behave strangely. Something to remember for when the next one appeared.

Gathering himself, he takes to the night sky once again, more than ready to sleep in his lair once more. Phantom follows him up, but pauses as Nocturn starts heading east.

"Goodnight!" He calls before setting his eyes on the stars and continuing upwards, smile wide as he dares to dream of space once again.

Nocturn leaves him to it. He has his own domain to enjoy.

-------------------

As might be obvious, a slight difference from canon in that Danny doesn't think he can fly to space because he tried shortly after he realized he could fly and didn't get very far. Put some fun little headcanons here that I've been thinking about for a while. Great to explore even when it's not a perfect dovetail to the show!

Technically, this is a prompt fill for 2024's phic phight that I couldn't quite pin down and then (clearly) ran out of time to write. So @hippykattrs I'm not sure if you even remember prompting this, but thanks for the great idea, it has plagued me for years lol

Thanks to those who voted! I'll edit and get this over to AO3 in the next few days :)

 “Yeah?” Ciel answers, his face half buried in his pillow.  His voice has the slow drawl of the recently woken.

“Oh—!” Astre exclaims softly.  He hadn’t meant to wake Ciel, and immediately he backtracks, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.  Go back to sleep.”

“No,” his brother says, his voice still thick, “I’m awake.  What’s wrong?  Are you feeling bad?”

Unseen, the younger twin’s face pinches at the question, and he picks at the prickly end of a feather escaping his duvet.

“I’m fine,” he insists, “I just can’t get to sleep.”

“Oh,” says Ciel, a smile obvious in his voice, “because you’re excited for tomorrow, right?” 

“Maybe,” Astre admits, although he feels closer to nervous than excited.  Reluctance draws out the word, and he is met by soft laughter.

“You are!” the older twin exclaims in a whisper, and Astre hides a frown against the hem of his quilt.  There is another rustle as Ciel tumbles out of his bed, scampering across the room to climb into his brother’s.  He lands with a bounce, and the sheets are tugged out of Astre’s grip by his scrabbling knees. 

Ciel leans over his brother, and Astre can see his grin illuminated by a streak of moonlight that slips in though a crack in the curtains.

“It’s okay,” Ciel says, “I’m excited too.”

Astre’s reluctance melts in the face of his brother’s obvious glee, and he softens as he smiles almost involuntarily back.  The boys grin at each other in the dark for a moment, before Astre says,

“But what do you think we’ll do in London?  We’re staying for a whole week; do you think we’ll get to see Aunt Ann?”

“Probably,” Ciel nods, “Mother will want to take her shopping, but Father will have meetings to go to.  I just hope we get to go to a party.  We’re probably tall enough to dance with Mother, now.  Wouldn’t that be fun?”

“Oh,” Astre says with a pout, “dancing, really?  You know I don’t really like to…”

“Pfft!” Ciel scoffs, “It’ll be fun, you’ll see.  Everyone likes parties.  You get to dress up and be important.”

Astre sighs.

“If you say so….  But that can’t be all we’ll do for a week.”

“Hmm, you’re right,” says Ciel, and he scrunches up his brow for a moment before saying, “Maybe Father will take us with him on a job for the Queen.  That’d be exciting!”

“That would be dangerous,” Astre hedges, “Father wouldn’t….”

“It’d be an adventure!” Ciel declares, bouncing slightly on the bed, “We’d be like the Rowdy Count from the stories, and go after villains so terrible that even Scotland Yard can’t catch them.  Father will track down a criminal and corner him, but, boom, another villain comes out of hiding behind him!  That’s where we come in—and I’ll pull out a sword, and fight him off so that father can catch the other one.  And the villains are pirates, so the fight goes on, and clash, clash!” Ciel straightens up, and gestures with his arms, “I disarm him, and you pick up his sword, and faced by both of us, and father having caught his first mate, the pirate captain gives in!”  

Ciel falls backwards onto the bed with a thump, arms spread, and Astre looks cross-eyed at his brother’s curled fingers that land in front of his nose.  The younger twin levers himself up on one elbow and peers down at his brother.

“You’re not that good at fencing,” he says, and Ciel giggles.

“No,” he agrees, yawning slightly, “and Father wouldn’t need us, either.  He’s the best.”

“As good as Aunt Frances?” Astre asks, raising an eyebrow, and Ciel makes a face. 

Astre laughs.   

“Well, what do you think will happen?” asks Ciel, and Astre hesitates.  Here, in the dark, in stories, the twins could do anything.  Here, Astre could be….

“What if it’s not so straight forward?” he whispers, “What if…we don’t even get to London, because…our carriage is robbed!”

“Oooohh,” Ciel says, and rolls over on his side to face his brother, his cheek resting on a bent arm, “go on.”

“So, so the carriage is robbed, but we can’t let the robbers know who we are, because our family is important.  So we say—we say that father is a lawyer coming back from meeting with someone, and we and mother are sharing the carriage so she doesn’t have to travel alone to London to visit her sister.  So the carriage is stolen, and we all have to pretend not to be noble, and we have to walk.  All the way to the next town.  And no one knows us there, and we were robbed, so we can’t hire anyone to take us home or to the city.  But there’s an old man who has a carriage, and he says that anyone who can beat him in a game of chess can win it.  And Mother tries, and Father tries, and they can’t beat him.  So it’s just down to you and me.  And the old man is old, and has lots of experience playing chess, since he’s too old to walk much.  And I have a lot of experience playing chess, because I can’t go out, and I play him next and beat him!  And we take the carriage to London,” Astre finishes, biting his lip.  Ciel is looking up at him though the fingers of one outstretched hand, and as Astre trails off, he smiles.

“You would win,” he says, “you’re really good at chess.  But father can defeat you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Astre mumbles, “I know.”

Ciel yawns again and rubs at one eye with an open palm.

“Go to sleep,” says Astre, and Ciel grins up at him.

“Okay,” he chirps, and tugs some of Astre’s blankets over his shoulder.  Astre’s eyes narrow in the dark.

“In your own bed,” he whines, prodding at his brother, who giggles.

“Nope,” Ciel declares, “I like this one better.  Your quilt is softer.”

“Cieeeel,” Astre moans, and pokes at his brother’s cheek where it peeks out from under the duvet.  Ciel giggles again and reaches back, prodding Astre in the stomach, and soon the twins are shoving lightly at each other and laughing.  Somewhere along the line, the quilt ends up being kicked onto the floor, and this is how Tanaka finds them: flushed, bright-eyed, and overcome with giggles as they bounce over the bed.

The butler’s candle cuts a swath of yellow over the room as he opens the door, and the boys freeze.

“You two…” Tanaka says, stepping into the room and placing the candle holder down on their bedside dresser, “You should be asleep at this hour.  Your mother wants to leave early in the morning.”

“Aw, but Gramps….” Ciel wheedles, only for Tanaka to cut him off with a tut.

“Into your own bed, young master,” the butler instructs, and Ciel gives in, grumbling.  With a sigh, Tanaka bends to scoop the quilt off of the floor and smoothes it over the bed, tucking Astre in as he reaches the boy. 

“Thank you Gramps,” Astre says softly as Tanaka pulls the quilt up to his chin.  Tanaka gives a slight smile in return, before pulling away and heading towards the door.

“Get some rest, young masters,” the butler says, his candle stick held at chest height as he pauses to look at the twins; both boys are dwarfed by the thick blankets, only their dark heads of hair visible where they’re nestled into their pillows.  He makes to leave the room, but Ciel calls after him.

“But Astre can’t fall asleep!” he says in a piping voice, and Tanaka turns back.

“Then I suppose I’ll just have to do something about that,” he says, looking at Astre, whose eyes are already half shut, and Ciel, whose wide eyes peep out from the edge of his quilt. 

Smiling, Tanaka sinks down onto one of the divans at the end of each bed, and closes his eyes. 

“Let’s see,” he says, his voice soft and raspy, “a song to help the young master sleep… Ah.”  And he sings:

“Little boy blue,

“Come blow your horn,

“The sheep’s in the meadow,

“The cow’s in the corn;

“Where is the boy,

“Who looks after the sheep?

“He’s under the haystack,

“Fast asleep.

“Will you wake him?

“No, not I;

“For if I do,

“He’s sure to cry.”