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Death and Sleep were twins.
A simple statement, obvious to everyone with a modicum of knowledge of the chthonic deities, yet most still failed to grasp what it meant for the two primal deities such as them to be connected so.
For Hypnos and Thanatos, fragmented as their relationship had become in the last few centuries, had been borne from binary stars, plucked out of the shimmering folds of Mother Nyx’s veil alongside each other. In Night’s gentle hold they’d began taking shape ever-so-slowly, the plasma and stardust making up their bodies intermixing, shifting back and forth in waves, reaching, only to withdraw again in an almost playful manner.
Thus, they had formed, separate but connected evermore. Each one holding onto a portion of the other’s essence in their very beings, right in the centre, where mortals kept their extremely squishy inner bits.
And even as they’d taken shape and given their responsibilities, Sleep and Death had remained inseparable for a while yet, hand-in-hand. For deep slumber was oft the predecessor of peaceful departure.
They’d grown apart eventually, time running steadily on and the number of mortals increasing exponentially and demanding their attention. Ever hardworking Thanatos had ended up with no time to spare for a break, rushing to every corner of Gaia so he could put the souls calling for him to rest. Hypnos himself, ever lethargic, had ended up unable to stay present in the waking world for longer than the time it took for a candle to burn out – incessantly drawn in by the call of a thousand slumbers.
And still each had a portion of the other’s domain – Thanatos gently lulling the souls into a doze as he collected them and Hypnos ferrying the souls of those departed in their sleep to the shores of the Lethe where Charon could pick them up, in a small effort to lessen his brother’s burden.
When Thanatos had been captured and bound by that accursed king of Ephyra, Hypnos had known – the little fragment of death inside his chest shrinking in on itself, as if afraid, and growing even colder to the touch than usual. Similarly, Thanatos had felt him being struck at by Zeus after the Lord of the Skies had woken from his unplanned nap at Hera’s behest.
All that is to say, Hypnos had immediately known when Time had struck, despite not being present at the scene.
Well, he hadn’t necessarily known that the Titan of Time had crawled out of the deepest reaches of Tartarus to take revenge on his eldest son and everyone he held dear, since the very idea of anything like that happening was ridiculous. Or had seemed that way.
Hypnos had been on one of his rare mandated breaks from his job at the House, spending it, as usual in his secluded chambers by the Lethe, laid out on a large spread of pillows and taking the time to properly look after his domain for once. Funnily enough, Sleep Incarnate didn’t actually get to partake in the blessed rest he bestowed often, seeing as he had even more work to do once asleep. At least being in his own domain typically let him take on a more comfortable form, with large wings to carry his weight and looser bounds.
He’d only had time to soothe the night-terrors of a young girl in Argos and bestow a restful night to some folks in Gortys, before an ache quite unlike anything he’d felt in his existence had torn through the middle of his chest. It’d almost ripped him right out of his realm by force, the sensation so violent it had shaken the very fabric of the realm, dreams flickering out in troves with the quake.
Hypnos had plunged downwards like a rock in the sea, wings seizing, unable to hold him up. His mind had been scrambled, nerves alight, unable to focus past the frozen crevasse in the place where the thread connecting him to his Brother lay.
The God of Sleep had let himself continue to fall, the Realm still crumbling and shaking around him unnoticed, all his efforts focused on desperately searching the hollowness for any trace of Thanatos.
There… there had to be one.
Death couldn’t just die. The notion itself was laughable.
Yet it had seemed as if his brother had all but disappeared in an instant.
In a final effort he’d ripped into the cavity with trembling fingers, ichor running down his chest and forearms, staining under his fingernails and painting his chiton golden.
He’d paused, choking out a relieved giggle when he’d found it.
‘Than…!’
It had been nothing more than a flicker of the familiar mass of Death, and yet… its presence had been nothing less than a lifeline for Sleep Incarnate. He’d pulled the sliver close, letting it tether him briefly.
He’d felt out the thread of it gently, trying to get it to point him in the direction of his twin.
The connection had still felt unwieldy, as if something was blocking him off, twisting the stings of his power against him. He’d pushed back, steadying his hold as much as possible.
Hypnos had tapped in on the familiar feel of his brother, barely hesitating before he’d started to draw Thanatos into his realm. The action familiar, despite him not having done so for eons, with his brother outright refusing to sleep most day or nights. He’d readily risk of Than being mad at him again, if only it meant being able to make sure the other would be fine.
Putting other Gods to sleep was always tricky work, something that Sleep Incarnate usually avoided if he could help it, doubly so if the God in question was unwilling to succumb. Still, the same force had kept on putting up resistance, making the task nigh impossible. It had felt like trying to pull a sack of obols against the direction of the stream of the Phlegethon.
If Hypnos hadn’t been a God in his place of power, he’d have likely pulled several muscles or sprained a ligament by the time he’d managed to fish out Thanatos.
The moment his brother had arrived in his domain, the cavern in his being remaining still and empty, he’d known something had been irrevocably wrong.
Because Thanatos hadn’t been moving.
The body of Death Incarnate had materialised in Dream, only to remain limp like the shells of mortals left behind the swing of his scythe. Sleep had rushed ahead, barely able to catch the still weight of his sibling.
He’d cradled the slim body of his twin close, bringing trembling fingers to caress the other’s cheek. His eyes had been open, staring dead ahead, blown wide in something that could be surprise or fear, a hint of defiance shining in irises identical to his own.
He’d called out his brother’s name, trying anything he could think of save injuring him grievously to bring him back to his senses, all to no effect.
At last, misty tears running down his cheeks, only to dissolve in the air around them, he’d laid Thanatos down on a mimicry of his own bed back home and closed the other’s eyelids tenderly, putting him down in a deep sleep with a gust of power on his breath.
It had felt like a mockery of their youth. Especially once the nightmare he’d apparently thrown his sibling in washed over him, vile and vicious.
Hypnos had tucked his sibling against himself, holding Than so tightly his brother would have complained, had he been awake, before covering them both in his many blankets, letting a part of his consciousness split and enter the nightmare to change it from within.
And Sleep Incarnate had finally seen the full story of what had happened in the House of Hades, through his brother’s nightmare.
His mother, his twin, his best friend, Megaera, Dusa, Achilles, Queen Persephone as well – all rendered to nothing more than statues to decorate the Titan’s garden. All his closest friends – his family, frozen still, but not rid of awareness.
And he’d been sleeping.
Being utterly useless.
He’d curled in on himself, descending into miserable sobbing. Sleep had buried his face into his sibling’s shoulder to muffle his cries, despite the fact that no one would be able to hear them either way. Immediately he’d felt utterly wretched for indulging in such undeserved comfort.
And yet he’d cried. Unable to stop himself.
He had no way of telling just how long he’d spent in a miserable lump before getting to work. It didn’t matter much.
Time had little meaning in his realm.
It had little meaning outside of it either now.
After he’d finished with his self-pity, he’d gradually brought in all the House residents paused by Chronos into Dream, having to fight for control against the Titan each time, every single one sapping more of his power. It took too long to reach them without the connection he had with Than. Nevertheless… it was the only thing he could do to bring them the smallest measure of comfort.
He was only vaguely aware of his physical form, enough to know it had been moved, yet he couldn’t find it in himself to care.
Someone spoke to him occasionally.
Familiar voices.
He thought he caught a flash of Thanatos’s long locks one time. But that was impossible, since his brother was still firmly in his realm, asleep and unreactive.
Time had no meaning in the Realm of Sleep. He had no reach there.
So Hypnos slept.