It isn't often these days that Zagreus submits to sleep. It was never a need he felt particularly acutely, and he tended to balk at giving up so much control unless absolutely necessary, or absolutely despairingly bored. Being physically defenseless and at the mercy of one's own mind was for lesser creatures. But even monsters get sick of hitting the same brick wall over and over, and none of his frustrated energy of late has earned him anything but fatigue and a short fuse. There was never any place for him in reality, and now, no reprieve from it either.

His dreams are surprisingly mundane at times, and incomprehensibly alien at others. Currently, he vacillates between struggling to swim through a shimmering web of interconnected minds, and searching for a can opener. Except it isn't a vacillation at all, because somehow, these are the same quest, with the same underlying objective. It's absorbing enough he doesn't even notice being cast in the role of himself in someone else's dream; at least in tone it's indistinguishable from what had gone before. Riffling through the silverware drawer with increasing vexation, in a familiar kitchen, seems like the most natural thing in the world. He's only dimly aware of Ianto's presence, though he's already marked his mind for the next target of his search.