Sam ; she/her sideblog for The Sandman because I watched The Netflix like the rest of you and now I've sold my soul II main: @wanderingcas II II ao3: quiettewandering II
“I heard a rumor,” Mona purrs, elbows bracketing the steaming tea mug in front of her, delicate chin propped on her knuckles. “About a certain Roderick Burgess.”
"Oh?" Hob picks up his cup of Earl Grey from the counter, taking a sip. “What might that be?”
“Apparently, he’s captured Death,” she replies as Hob chokes on his tea.
Or: another "Hob saves Dream from the fishbowl" story. With a bit of a twist.
tags: hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, general Gadling shenanigans
When I think about retired!Dream (…as I…uh…do…a bit) I always think about that clip I’ve seen around of the astronaut being interviewed after a turn on the space station, and how he keeps dropping things and then looking for them in, like, the fucking air because he keeps forgetting that gravity is a thing
How much of that sort of thing does poor Dream have to deal with once he’s grounded permanently in humanity? What kind of bizarre small and maybe not-so-small ‘muscle memory’ snafus does Hob have to help him navigate around on a daily basis? I imagine there’s this expression Hob gets used to seeing on Dream’s face, kind of a blank look that means he just tried to warp reality in some casual way he was used to and it didn’t work, and they have to wait for him to snap out of it so he can figure out what the hell it was he’d been trying to do
I want Dream to try to "This Dream is Over" Hob and failing completely while Hob has fallen on the floor laughing wheezing crying
Alternatively he tries to turn into Meowpheus (I know that's not how this works, let me have this) and he doesn't realize that it hasn't happened and Hob catches him with one leg up the air like
Now I'm thinking about Dream carrying around pocket sand to try to retain some sense of normalcy in retirement, and Hob telling him for like the fifth time that he can't just hurl sand at people when he wants to leave a social situation
why even write? why not just slam your head against the keyboard and let all the ideas sprint out of your ears like little gremlins and let THEM get themselves in order on the page for once?
hi!!! 1st of all, I'm sorry for taking so long to finish this! When I thought my computer was broken for good it really drained me of any will to write, then New Years happened and I was drained of any energy at all. I'm getting back to all my fics slowly though, and this is the first one i've finished, so here you go!! part two :)
read part one here! you can also read the whole fic on ao3 ✨
One of Their Own (pt. 2)
Dream stood outside the New Inn, hands tucked safely inside the pockets of his coat jacket. He watched as groups of young adults arrived, greeting each other cheerfully. The hair colours and outfits reminded him of his sister, Delirium, but they all seemed to be more in line with her previous self; delighted to be there, happy to meet their friends. A flag danced in the light summer breeze on a pole next to the window, the stripes of colours brightening up the already lively scene. A rainbow, Hob had told him the day before, was the most recognizable symbol of the queer community. It now was accompanied by stripes of light pink and blue, white, black and brown. Dream enjoyed good symbolism, and he could feel the meaning of those colours to all who were present from their daydreams alone.
He, however, still felt like an outsider. Like he wasn't really meant to be there, save for Hob's generous invite. Dream was not defined by the same standards humanity aligned itself with; in fact, he wasn't defined by anything at all. He was not an individual, but the safe arms in which those dreamers rested every night, the common thread in their hopes, in their restful slumber. It would be silly to think that he'd need to identify as one thing or another, really. He was there for Hob. Because Hob invited him. Because he wanted to know more about the everyday life of his dearest friend. Because he wanted to hear him talk, see him inspire others with his tales, wanted to hear the sound of his voice, the gentle way in which he made people feel welcome, cared for, loved, he wanted–
Dream thought it best to wait it out, at least until most people had already arrived, until he had an idea of just how many young, hopeful minds would be in the vicinity. After escaping the Burgess Manor, Dream was faced with a considerable raise in the amount of dreamers under his care. He would not admit it to anyone but himself, but at times, it became too much even for him to bear. The idea of willingly walking into a space with so many people was daunting, to say the least. So he waited, watched as the New Inn became packed with dreamers, feeling his palms dampen inside the pockets of his coat.
Taking the first step towards the door was difficult. Pushing it open was even harder. Dream stepped in, careful not to bump into anyone or to even get too close. The sound of the little bell that was supposed to announce his arrival had no effect, as it was overtaken by the sound of chatter inside the Inn. It was better that way, Dream thought. Not having Hob rush to greet him. That way he could take a moment to adjust to his surroundings, maybe even blend in, become invisible. In hindsight, his usual choice of attire did anything but blend in there. He was a dark little cloud in a sky full of bright colours, like a multi-coloured sunset on a tropical beach. And of course, every sunset had its monarch, shining brightly, commanding the attention. That, of course, was Hob.
"Hello there, kids! Glad to see most of you could make it!" The cheerful, gentle register of Hob's voice filled the room, filtered by the small but potent speaker he'd rented just for the occasion. Dream could hear his voice clearly, and it helped him tune out everything else that wasn't his beloved friend. "This is the first of hopefully many meetings of our beloved Queer Clubs here at my beloved New Inn. I want you all to know this is a safe space for you all no matter what part of the gender and sexuality spectrums you fall on. The only things I won't accept here are discrimination of any kind, and anyone that thinks Lawrence Cheney shouldn't have won season 2 of Drag Race UK. Are we clear on that one?"
Laughter filled the room, and Dream couldn't help but allow his lips a small smile. Hob truly was a marvel. How anyone could shine so brightly was beyond even the dream lord's knowledge, but he was glad to be able to bask in that glow from time to time. He wished he could do it more often.
Hob was saying other things, Dream thought. Instructions on seating arrangements, subjects to be discussed, discounts on food and drinks. All Dream could do was watch as Hob did more than just make everyone feel welcome, but inspired them with hope and joy, a gentle breeze of acceptance, the embrace of a parent, the empathy of an equal. There was much to work with here, much to inspire new dreams. Dreams of comfort and love, of community and pride.
"Dream? You in there, love?"
Hob's voice broke the spell he himself had cast over Dream, who could now see his friend's palm waving in front of his eyes. He'd become lost in thought, it seemed. Dream's nose scrunched up at the interruption, looking at Hob with his usual look of curiosity. There was still much he needed to catch up on when it came to non verbal communication. "Aye. I'm here. Have I not fully manifested my presence?"
Hob chuckled, and his eyes wrinkled at the corners. "Oh, yes. Physically, at least." Dream's brows furrowed in worry, and he was glad Hob was quick enough to notice when something had gone over his head. "Just a joke– hey, I'm glad you could make it. The kids will love meeting you."
"Meeting me? There are far too many people here for you to make introductions. Besides, I know them all, and they all know me. They just do not remember it during waking hours."
This felt like a plausible enough explanation to keep Hob from actually introducing him to everyone in attendance. But Hob was far too optimistic to be dissuaded so easily. "I'm not talking about introducing them to Morpheus. I'd like them to meet my friend, Dream."
"I do not see the difference." He shouldn't say why he couldn't bear the idea of being introduced to so many people. Shouldn't burden Hob with his problems, that wouldn't exist had he just not been captured in the first place. Dream had been good at hiding his discomfort so far, and he'd continue to do so.
…well, maybe he was not so good at it. Not when Hob's eyes so clearly conveyed the worry that had just settled in his heart. It was difficult to deny Hob the truth when his warm, calloused hands took Dream's into his own so carefully, squeezing gently, as if saying you can trust me. I've got you. "It's okay if you'd rather not. I know it can be overwhelming sometimes."
"...thank you." Dream replied with a murmur. Hob gifted him with a smile. It seemed a lot could be said with just the eyes.
–––
Even if Dream didn't intend on actually joining in on the conversations being held, he was glad to follow Hob along and listen to the discussions. It was amazing seeing just how bright the kids really were: they spoke of justice and equality, of inclusivity, of respect and love, of family and religion and sex and responsibility. It was a wider range of topics than he'd expected, an awareness of self he didn't think humans would ever possess, and now, he was glad to be proven wrong. He listened to their shared experiences, to the kindness in their eyes as they lifted each other up, the melody of their laughter and the bravery in their voices as they spoke of injustices they'd lived. It was fascinating, really.
What Dream was truly surprised to find was that people had, after all, an understanding of self that went beyond just physical. Hob brought him closer to a group of kids who were in a long discussion on gender identity. Some of them felt comfortable with the gender they'd been "assigned with at birth", others did not feel any affinity for it. Some of them had changed their bodies to fit with how they felt on the inside, and Dream couldn't help but feel enormous empathy for them, for the way they had to fight to exist in a body that didn't feel like a trap. It was something Dream always took for granted, until he himself felt the horror of having no agency over himself. The pain they went through to guarantee they'd have the right to live authentically. Dream's body had never been limited to an exclusive physical manifestation; he was as he felt like. Fluid, as one of the bright colour haired people had pointed out while explaining their own experience. They reminded Dream of his own sibling, Desire. Someone else brought up how they didn't particularly feel like they had a gender, and that the language surrounding it didn't particularly bother them. Agender, the girl said proudly. Dream wondered if there was any right or wrong way to declare oneself fluid or agender. Then he realised the tightness in his chest when the thought occurred to him.
"Are you alright?" Once again, Hob's voice brought him back to the Waking. Dream could now feel Hob's hand on his own again, but he wasn't sure what exactly had warranted it.
"Your hands were shaking."
Once again, Dream's physical form betrayed him. It was also clear how the conversation surrounding them had gone quiet, and more eyes than he would have liked had landed on their linked hands. He didn't like being watched. Like that.
"Oh, Mr. G, is this your boyfriend?" one of them asked, teasingly. "Would have never guessed you had a thing for goths!"
"Marissa, stop!" someone else said, poking the girl on the shoulder apprehensively. The next thing they said was soft as a whisper. "They are clearly not feeling well."
They.
Dream had never considered himself as they. But this person, whoever they were, preferred "not to assume" his gender. And the empathy displayed for his discomfort was something he wasn't expecting either. Hob seemed to be about to say something, but Dream was quicker.
"There is no need to worry for my well-being, but I thank you for your kindness." Dream allowed himself to smile once again. These children were going places, he knew it. "You may address me as he, if necessary. I would not oppose her or them either." It felt liberating to say it, and Dream didn't really know why. He did know, however, that he suddenly felt brave. "I am not Professor Gadlen's boyfriend, but I am honoured to call him my dearest, most cherished friend."
Dream looked at Hob, who seemed to be awestruck by his words. It was amusing to see him like that, and it lit something else inside him. This meeting was making Dream experience a range of feelings he'd forgotten about. He showed Hob a smile, and Hob smiled back at him, warm and gentle as ever. Their hands were still linked together. Dream had no intention of letting go. "Ah, yes. This little prick here is indeed my dearest, oldest friend. I did want them to meet you guys. I'm glad I was right about it."
When Hob said it, it made Dream's heart sing.
"...so you're fuckbuddies?"
"Marissa!"
–––
After a few hours and many, many rounds of different conversations, Hob gathered the group once again, thanking them for coming and congratulating everyone on the success of their first meeting. Dream couldn't help but notice how Hob seemed unable to stop smiling. He could feel the pride and relief radiating off of his tanned skin and kind eyes. Dream wished he could have it all directed at himself, that gentleness.
Hob's boyfriend. Now that would be something.
Dream sat on the booth table behind the bar where he and Hob usually held their meetings and waited for everyone to leave. He wanted some time alone with Hob, even if just to hear what his beloved friend had to say about what he thought of the meeting, just to hear Hob's voice, the only music suited for Dream's ears.
He also had so many new feelings inside himself to explore. Those he could tend to later.
"Hey there, handsome stranger." Hob said as he sat across from Dream on the table, taking Dream's hand in his as if it was just the way they always did things. Maybe it could be. It wouldn't hurt (too much) to hope, would it? "Come here often?"
"Only when I'm in search of an epiphany." Dream couldn't bother to hide the fondness in his own voice, nor the relief he felt to have Hob's hand cradling his own again. "I am impressed, Professor Gadlen. You have gathered a group of exceptionally bright minds. It gives me hope for a better future for humanity."
"Wow Dream, that is… that is really high praise, especially coming from you." Hob seemed flushed, and Dream wondered what else he could do to cause that reaction, to see Hob shy and pretty like that again and again. "I learned a long time ago that I have to build the future I want to live in. But in all honesty… I'm more interested in the present right now."
"Oh, is that so?" Hob's optimism was infectious, it seemed. Dream too could only focus on the present moment. "I am glad to be able to share it with you."
There was a short silence shared between them after that. It was as if neither of them were ready to say whatever it was they clearly needed. Dream tried to take comfort in the feeling of Hob's hand in his, rubbing the back of Hob's hand with his thumb.
His mistake was looking up to meet Hob's eyes.
"There is much I have learned today." Dream decided he'd be the one to break the silence. He'd be the one to take the leap, because he knew Hob had made sure he'd make a safe landing. He knew that no matter what happened, no matter how much he could get hurt, he was safe. He could trust Hob with his heart, even if there was a chance that he would break it. "I often make the mistake of thinking there is nothing more to my existence than what I have already discovered. I contain all conscious minds throughout the universe, their lives, hopes and dreams. Yet, I forget that the tales of others cannot substitute one's own experience, only enlighten it."
Hob listened to Dream's words attentively. He looked anxious, but would not interrupt. Dream knew he wouldn't. He knew how much Hob cherished the moments where Dream felt ready to share something new. "Today, you have once more shown me there is much I have to learn. For that, I am grateful, Hob Gadling."
How could Dream not fall in love with someone that treated him like he was the moon? How could the moon not love the sun?
"I'm grateful for you too, you know. The kids loved you. I'm sure I'll be getting asked about you for the rest of the semester. Maybe even longer." Hob's eyes were so fond it made Dream want to cry.
"And how would you like to answer their inquiries?"
"What do you mean?"
"Would you like to tell them of your dearest, oldest friend…" Dream leaned in, bringing Hob's hand to his own cheek. He pressed a soft kiss to Hob's palm, and watched as Hob's eyes followed his every move. There was no turning back from this. "...or would you prefer to tell them about your lover, Hob?"
For a moment, time stopped. Their eyes met, and before Dream could get anxious or regret his words, Hob was already standing and leaning over the table, locking their lips together.
Dream thought he'd heard the sound of people cheering outside one of the windows of the New Inn. Hob would certainly be getting many questions from his students come next monday.
i don't know how it happened, but i do love making Matthew and Hob's relationship just a touch antagonistic. something about two people that are forced to be friends by proxy of the shared mutual that they get along with fantastically might not get along so well alone together, Hob and Matthew are maybe just a bit too similar to REALLY get along, etc
there are multiple fics in which Hob gets stood up in 1989 and realises something is wrong so goes looking for his friend. so imagine a ‘Dream never gets captured’ au in which he’s just being petty and doesn’t show up to the 1989 meeting only for Hob to think something bad happened so he goes on a quest to save his stranger
an excerpt from my new Dream/Hob canon-compliant au 👀
In 1916, the world changed in the fell swoop of two consequences:
the Sleeping Sickness,
and the Nightmares.
The Sleeping Sickness came first. One morning, many woke: and then the next, many did not. They either fell into comas that spanned decades, or rose to the sun listless and not remembering their own names.
But the Nightmares—those came after. At first they stayed hidden, slinking from the shadows of the coma patients, riding on the wisps of fear and stray fright that made home in the dark nights. But over time, with no one to control them, the worst of them became bolder.
Hungrier.
They ventured into the world of the waking, gnashing their teeth and breaking bone. Fueled by their purpose, to terrorize, they did just that: attack and strike and bite until they couldn’t be ignored anymore. Until people began boarding up their houses at night, not daring to go out. Until a coalition of humans, however futile, formed and began to fight back.
With every taste of horror and blood, the Nightmares grew more greedy.
Without their master to control them, their jaws grew wider, their claws sharper.
And those who had not succumbed to sleep soon succumbed to nightmares, instead.
if you've been following what's past is prologue updates, i promise i'm working very hard on the next chapter. i've just hit a major writing burnout and imposter syndrome all at once!! it's an amazing cocktail of self doubt and exhaustion! the fic isn't abandoned; i'm just silly<3
SUMMARY: It’s been 10 days since Dream of The Endless was rescued from Fawney Rig by one Hob Gadling, who takes it upon himself to see to Dream’s recovery. While with Hob, Dream is provided with something he’d been missing even before his imprisonment: to be cared for.
read ch. 03: healing waters (2,9k+ words) here or on AO3
AUTHOR'S NOTE: The way I fully spoiled the name of this chapter on my previous May Dream post (because it was supposed to be chapter two's name before I decided to divide it in two)... Well, here's the much awaited bath! And... something else at the end. :)
Out of the many things Dream had been deprived of during his imprisonment, the ones that hurt the most were those he never admitted to himself were essential to his well being. He'd given up on the concept of caring for his own needs the day he buried his son. Living in the Dreaming, quite literally inside his own head, he was able to shun out anything that didn't serve his self inflicted penitence. Still, it was a prison of his own fashioning. Being bound to the Waking, stripped of his power and divinity, he was brought lower than Orpheus had descended. And still, he was alive and his child was long gone. And now, alive still, Dream was faced to confront the very thing he'd denied his own son: the gentleness of never ending support and devotion.
Dream had noticed how careful Hob was whenever it was necessary to touch him. Since being brought to Hob's flat, Dream had greeted him with varying levels of consciousness, veering from completely present and grounded to uncalled for rudeness and violence, falling into melancholia, apathy and, finally, guilt for all he was subjecting his greatest (and only, for all he knew) friend. Hob was patient, more than any saint Dream had ever known, and knew exactly how to calm him down, to stoke the quickly spreading fire of despair that lit up with no warning. Dream vaguely remembered an attempt at a bath a couple of days prior, that was met with an outburst of rage turned into a panic attack. He could see why Hob would wait to try again, and even if it didn't seem like it, Dream was feeling better.
"I'm gonna help you up now, duck." It was nice to be told when a touch was coming. It was also nice to notice Hob didn't ask for permission, that he felt confident enough in Dream's capacity to understand there was no threat in his actions. The endearment in his voice was enough to communicate his intentions, and Dream knew he could rely on Hob's honesty. It was also nice to feel relied upon. Dream nodded in acknowledgement, and watched as Hob moved towards him, leaning down.
Hob's arm slipped underneath Dream's with gentle precision, curling around his back and letting his hand find refuge on a frail ribcage, protected by the soft fabric of one of his many worn out cotton t-shirts turned pyjamas. Hob's skin felt warm, even if not in direct contact with Dream's own, but in his current state Dream couldn't help but feel every physical sensation there was, to have every nerve on his body fire up when he was touched. Touched by Hob. Hob who had claimed him, even if unknowingly. Dream's eyes were trained on him, watching the way the muscles on Hob's face expressed all the efforts his body made, how his eyes crinkled at the corners and his cheeks squished his lower eyelids as he helped Dream up to his feet. He was completely caught up in the spell of Hob's humanity, so much that it took him a moment to realise he was being spoken to.
"...walk to the bathroom?"
"Hm?" Dream's eyes blinked a few times, suddenly grounded back in the Waking.
"Do you think you can walk to the bathroom?" Of course Hob would repeat himself without a hint of judgement in his tone. Of course he was better than Dream in every aspect. Of course.
Dream allowed himself a sly smile, just a gentle curve of his lips, allowing his eyes to find Hob's and stay there. "I would not forfeit my couch privileges so easily, Hob. I understand those are at stake at present."
"Ah, yes. Yes, of course." Hob chuckled, looking up at the ceiling for a moment. Dream didn't quite understand why humans sometimes looked up when amused by something. Did they believe to be in communion with some higher being, sharing their amusement with said deity? Was it just how their nerves told their bodies to react? So much to ponder in a split second. "Well, ready when you are."
Dream took a moment to assess the situation. He could feel the weakness of his legs, still not entirely used to being stretched fully, nor carrying the full weight of him. He wasn't sure he'd ever needed to rely on the muscles, bones and tendons of his physical form before; even when he visited the Waking, his presence was as ephemeral as his existence. Only now, that his powers were cut off from him did he realise how much he'd neglected himself. His eyes darted back and forth between Hob and the bathroom door, afraid of failing on the first step. He'd been made to fear many things during his imprisonment, and Hob's pity was among the top of his list.
Still, Hob had already done so much. And Dream had never given anything back to him. His friend. His companion. His Hob. So a step he'd take, literally and figuratively (because in the Waking those were different things, unfortunately). He hoped Hob would be able to read the meaning of it. Of what it meant for Dream to try. And so, he took the first step.
˜˜˜
Dream's legs only trembled for the beginning of his small walk to the bathroom, which Hob had told him was a very good thing. His muscles had not gone into complete atrophy, which was a testament to his divine nature, and it meant the fatigue would start wearing off the more Dream attempted these short walks. Hob always seemed to be filled with hope, and it was fitting, really. Hope fit Hob so damn nicely, like the suit he'd worn to the White Horse in 1889. This time, Dream would allow himself to see Hob wear it.
Hob helped Dream sit down on the toilet, then leaning down to check the temperature of the bath water. It was warm enough to fog up the mirror, which Dream was thankful for; he wasn't willing to see his own reflection quite yet. Not ready to face the damage, or maybe be greeted by the same old sorry face he'd lived in for the past couple millenia. Maybe it was worse. So much worse, and it would mean he'd been defeated by Burgess, somehow. Brought lower than grief ever could. Made little, insignificant. Made human–
A warm hand squeezed a bony, cold one.
"Dream, come back to me."
To you, always.
"Would you like help getting undressed?"
A thousand bells seemed to ring inside Dream's head all at once. His brows furrowed, lips parted in a stutter of words he wasn't quite ready to let out. He seemed confused, at first, but it was really the speechlessness the question had left him in.
"It's alright, I can wait outside–"
"No." It was all Dream managed, but it was a beginning. All stories must begin before they have the chance to end.
"...no to waiting outside or to getting undressed?" Hob's questioning seemed genuine, even more with the gentle smile it was accompanied by. His hand had not left Dream's either, and it made it easier for Dream to find his footing in the situation. Remember he wasn't alone, and that he didn't need to be. Not now.
"I do not wish to be undressed. I can bathe as I am now." He was calling the shots, Hob had said. He mustn't do anything he wasn't comfortable with. He'd set the pace.
Hob was silent for a bit, the cogs turning inside his brain almost audible. "...I'm gonna apologise for even asking this, but I just want to understand. Feel free to tell me to bugger off. Do you not want to be naked, or do you not want to be seen naked?"
It was a valid question, Dream thought. But it was one that required a bigger understanding of his own anxiety than Dream knew to look for, and it made him flustered to not know how to answer. This was way beyond the depths of his knowledge. He knew all, but all meant nothing when presented with a question filled with so much respect and care.
"It's okay, Dream." Hob squeezed Dream's hand once more, letting his thumb rub circles on the back of Dream's hand. It was soothing, and Dream allowed himself to let his eyes close, taking in a deep breath. "I get it. It's hard to tell these things apart sometimes. And I respect it. You deserve your privacy. I'm just… trying to figure out a way to help you without hurting you more, you know?"
Ah, the kindness of his words. The way they enveloped themselves around Dream's shoulders, caressed his cheek and kissed his forehead. He could almost see bluebirds taking flight around them, and feared that maybe Delirium was eavesdropping on their conversation. Or perhaps this was what daydreaming felt for those who experienced it firsthand.
"...I have to qualm with being seen by you." Dream couldn't look at Hob while saying that, but he mustered all the strength he found within himself to do so for the rest of what he had to say. "I am not ready to… see."
"Hm." Hob took a moment in silence to ponder. Dream watched him attentively, trying to read what he was thinking from the way the wrinkles on his forehead shifted as he seemed to settle on something. The vapour rising from the bathtub must be really warm too, because Hob seemed flushed too. "Do you trust me?"
He nodded, no hesitation whatsoever. This he was sure of. Hob took another short pause before continuing, seeming a little more confident now. "...then you look at me, and I'll look at you. Your face, I mean. I'll only see what you're comfortable with, and you'll have to look at my ugly mug. Unfortunately you get the low end of the deal this time."
Dream tilted his head slightly, brows furrowed. "You are nothing short of beautiful, Hob." It made no sense to him for Hob to not see what he saw. Maybe this exercise would prove mutually beneficial; to see the other, to let the other see through the mirror of friendly eyes.
Hob let out a laugh that sounded a bit like a snort, shaking his head and looking away for a moment. "Flatterer. A week and a half on the left side of the couch for that one." Dream thought of protesting, for he was only stating the truth. Hob was quicker, turning back to look at him, eyes locking with Dream's searching ones.
Out of the many things Dream had been deprived of prior to his imprisonment, the intimacy of touch had been one of the ones that hurt him the most. He'd forgotten to miss it, like he'd forgotten to miss his siblings or the sunshine in the summer. How he'd forgotten to miss music, laughter, the gentle aroma of flower fields in spring. Touch. Hob's fingers curled around the hem of the t-shirt he was wearing, the back of his fingers grazing his skin gently as he pulled the shirt over Dream's head. How Hob's eyes did not wander down, even though it wouldn't be a problem if they did. Then, the ghost of Hob's warmth, as his hands travelled down to the waistband of the sweatpants hanging loosely around Dream's hips. How he pulled them down ever so gently, waiting for Dream to lift his hips up, then pulling each leg off, always careful not to go too fast, too rough. And there they were, those brown eyes. Locked onto Dream's.
Silence fell between them for what felt like 100 years.
"...you wanna do the boxers?" Unlike Dream, Hob did not look away when he asked a question. He pushed through, always, and his willingness to help was admirable.
Much like Dream didn't want to walk to the kitchen earlier to not deprive himself of Hob's touch, here too he'd hide his motives. He shook his head, and held Hob's gaze as he'd once done Calliope's. He wished Hob would hold him like a lover, but he'd settle for being undressed by a friend if it was all Destiny would have in store for him.
"...alright. Um. Lift 'em up."
Now, the warmth was no longer a ghost, and it travelled down his legs for a bit, just enough for Hob to be able to pull his boxer shorts off. Now, Dream was fully undressed, but he didn't feel any more exposed than Hob did. It was a wonder, how Hob never made him feel beneath him, how he was always able to meet Dream wherever he was.
Hob kept their eyes locked as he helped Dream up once more, and finally into the tub. The water felt warmer than Dream had expected, but it was not so much that it would overwhelm him completely. He sat down, and the water compelled him to stretch out his limbs, allowing himself to take up space. It felt strange, being engulfed by water once more, allowing his muscles to relax under the healing properties of the very source of life. He felt Anuket's embrace, Amphitrite's welcoming gaze and Anahita's gentle touch. He could hear Damona call for assistance, only to be met by Mariamman's kindness and readiness, Iara's gentle song and Oshun's motherly love. Had he known so many of them would come to his aid, maybe Dream would have asked sooner. Still, none were sweeter than Hob's smile, which meant he'd found help exactly where he needed it.
"Wanna lean your head back? I can fold a towel for you, then you won't have to lean against the hard tub."
It was a tempting offer, and Dream couldn't help but to notice the softness in Hob's voice, almost as if he feared he'd disturb somehow. Maybe he'd noticed how Dream seemed to have really relaxed for once, and was attempting to not break him out of the spell the goddesses had put him under. Dream nodded, and Hob reached for the closest towel, rolling it to give volume, placing it behind Dream's head. When he leaned back, his eyes fell closed almost instantly.
"Need help washing?" Hob asked, voice still soft and low. Dream was glad the water was warm and would be able to disguise the gentle blush on his cheeks. He nodded, eyes still closed. When the bath sponge touched his skin, Dream didn't even flinch.
There were many forces at work at that moment. That of friendly gods, welcoming Dream back into freedom. That of friendly man, filled with respect and kindness. That of yearning heart, so primal yet unwilling to grow out of its hunger. Dream almost felt like a child, being handled by hands more skilled than his own, allowed to not be in full control. When Hob asked him to sit up so that he could wash Dream's hair, he complied gladly, letting out a satisfied groan when Hob's hands massaged his scalp. Hob, once again, was right; the nourishment he believed his physical form didn't require was more than welcome, and it was able to reach Dream's essence. The bath wasn't only for his skin, as was the healing not limited to flesh wounds. Hob poured water over Dream's head and bubbles of shampoo travelled down the bones of his spine. Dream yawned, and it felt glorious. He felt the care he so diligently placed over his dreamers now gifted back to him.
All that came after felt like a sleepy blur. He remembered being warped in a towel and being carried back to the bedroom. The gentleness of Hob's touch as he dressed him, the soft scratch of a hairbrush detangling his feathery hair. Hob nudged him gently to ask if he wanted to sleep, and Dream was more sleep than man now, nodding as he made himself comfortable on Hob's bed.
There was something he did remember quite vividly.
"...stay, Hob."
"It's alright, really. I'm gonna miss my side of the couch, might as well sleep there tonight."
"...I do not wish to be left alone." Dream reached for Hob's hand, squeezing it with a little more strength than he had the days prior. It made Hob smile, bright as the sun, and Dream was ready to bask in it. Willing, even. "...please." It was the magic word between humans.
"Alright, you win."
There was no resignation in Hob's voice. There was just the gentle song of his heart, and when he laid beside Dream, it felt like being home again, wherever home was. Dream didn't let go of Hob's hand, nor did he allow for there to be too much distance between them. He thought he could feel the smile on Hob's lips even with his eyes closed. He hoped to carry it to the Dreaming with him, even if he only visited for a few hours every night.
˜˜˜
Hob's phone buzzed a few times on the bedside table, noisy enough to wake him up. He reached for the cellphone with his free hand, lowering the screen brightness the moment it attacked his eyes. It was 4am.
You've had him for almost two weeks.
Is he ready to talk?
(3:51am)
It took his eyes a moment to adjust and to be able to read the texts and comprehend them. It made his chest tighten, eyes darting between the screen and Dream's sleeping face.
He's in no shape to help.
Won't be for a while.
Can't expose him to this shit now.
(4:02am)
This shit is his fault too.
(4:03am)
It's not and you know it.
We can talk in the morning.
I'm turning my phone off.
(4:04am)
Fine.
But I can't wait much longer.
(4:04am)
Hob sighed and turned his phone off. This was a problem for another day. Hopefully one he could delay indefinitely.
an excerpt from my new Dream/Hob canon-compliant au 👀
In 1916, the world changed in the fell swoop of two consequences:
the Sleeping Sickness,
and the Nightmares.
The Sleeping Sickness came first. One morning, many woke: and then the next, many did not. They either fell into comas that spanned decades, or rose to the sun listless and not remembering their own names.
But the Nightmares—those came after. At first they stayed hidden, slinking from the shadows of the coma patients, riding on the wisps of fear and stray fright that made home in the dark nights. But over time, with no one to control them, the worst of them became bolder.
Hungrier.
They ventured into the world of the waking, gnashing their teeth and breaking bone. Fueled by their purpose, to terrorize, they did just that: attack and strike and bite until they couldn’t be ignored anymore. Until people began boarding up their houses at night, not daring to go out. Until a coalition of humans, however futile, formed and began to fight back.
With every taste of horror and blood, the Nightmares grew more greedy.
Without their master to control them, their jaws grew wider, their claws sharper.
And those who had not succumbed to sleep soon succumbed to nightmares, instead.
