Chapter Text
Dream.
His name is Dream, and Hob is delighted, because he finally has a name, after more than 600 years! His Stranger isn’t a stranger anymore, he’s a friend, and Hob knows his name. And even their meeting was different than usual - there was something softer and more approachable in his friend, as if he mellowed down a bit, or at least….felt more comfortable.
Hob’s heart is singing even weeks after that, because Dream keeps dropping by, unannounced, to Hob’s great delight.
“My friend!” he calls out the first time it happens, surprised by pleased.
Dream wants to see him, he came out of his own volition - and Hob doesn’t even know how Dream found him, but he long ago realised his friend isn’t even remotely human, and he doesn’t want to ask. Not yet, anyway.
“Hello, Hob Gadling,” Dream says, a minuscule smile dancing in his eyes.
Hob melts a tiny bit. “What brings you to my humble abode?” he asks, for they’re on the balcony of his cottage, one that he ‘inherited’ from his ‘father’ 15 years prior.
Dream is standing by the railing, hands in his pockets, looking out of place as always in his long black coat, pale and otherworldly. Beautiful.
“I have been made aware that it is customary of friends to see each other more often than once every 100 years,” Dream drawls, almost teasing, but honest - Hob may not know much of his friend, but he likes to think he does know him, just a tiny bit.
“It sure is, Dream,” he agrees. “Wine?”
“Please,” Dream nods, and then they’re talking, as always.
Or almost as always, since Hob already shared his experiences of the last 133 years, and this time Dream is a bit more involved in the actual conversation. Not much, by normal standards, but almost chatty by his friend’s.
That realisation makes Hob smile.
It's only when the light starts to set that Dream stands up, almost reluctant really, and Hob feels a pang of disappointment before his friend says anything.
“I’m afraid I have to leave now, I cannot ignore my duty for too long at a time,” Dream says, slow and almost regretful.
“Will I see you again?” Hob asks before he can stop himself, a tinge of desperation colouring his words. “Sooner than in 100 years?”
Dream’s eyes are hiding galaxies and stars, all the dreams of the world, and Hob is breathless when they focus on him. There’s a tiny, relaxed smile on his friend’s lips, and Hob really wants to taste it, find out what Dream feels like under his lips, under his hands-
“Yes,” Dream interrupts his thoughts. “I shall visit as soon as I’m able.”
“Until next time then,” Hob agrees.
He looks away only for split second, distracted by the sound of a bird’s caw, but when he looks back at his balcony, Dream is gone. It's not the first time his friend has disappeared like that, but it’s the first time Hob sees it so clearly - and here is yet another piece of evidence that Dream is so much more than just an immortal human, so much more than some kind of magic user.
The thought should scare him, but it only excites Hob - he wants to know everything there is to know about Dream, or as much as his friend will share, and every piece he gets is cherished.
True to his word, Dream drops by from time to time, sometimes content and happy, sometimes broody and stressed. Hob doesn’t ask, but he gets answers anyway.
“I have had a…difficult realisation about my sibling,” Dream says, eyes trained on the dark window, one stormy night. “It was not pleasant.”
Hob hums. “I can imagine,” he agrees. “Are you…okay now?”
Dream turns to pin Hob down with those gorgeous eyes, both sad and angry at the same time, and Hob’s heart breaks for him, for the tension in his shoulders, the grief in his gaze.”
“The reason why I have been…gone during our last supposed meeting was that I was, you could say, contained, against my choice,” his friend explains, something hard in his voice.
“Contained,” Hob echoes.
“Captured.”
The words hang in the silence between them, slowly pressing against Hob’s lungs.
“You’ve been captured,” he repeats. “For…”
“100 years,” Dream says, almost deadpan. “More or less.”
Hob swallows down the tears that want to spring to his eyes. He’s no stranger to captivity, but 100 years is a lot, even to him. More than most people got to live, Dream has been held captive, and Hob didn’t have a clue.
“If I knew-”
“You could have gotten hurt,” Dream interrupts once again, though his tone is kind. “And I would not wish that for you.”
There are so many things he could say now, but in the end, they both know they can’t change the past. Hob takes a risk and lays his hand over Dream’s, the other’s skin cool and soft. His friend tenses, but Hob doesn’t pull away until he relaxes, almost leaning into his touch.
When he glances at the other man, Dream’s gaze is trained on the window again, but his shoulders are looser again, as if some weight has been taken from them. If this is what Hob can do for him, it’s more than enough.
Instead of continuing the conversation, Hob relaxes and starts talking about the new movie he watched, babbling about it in the same way he does about his experiences, and when he looks at Dream again, there’s a small smile on his lips.
It’s enough.
And even though Hob doesn’t feel like he helped much, Dream starts to open up, bit by bit. It’s never a lot, because his friend is a private man, but Hob doesn't need much, at least not all at once. They keep meeting, sometimes once a month, sometimes almost every day, depending on how busy both of them (mostly Dream) are, and it’s exactly (or almost exactly) what Hob dreamed about for decades at this point.
He truly has Dream’s friendship, and even more than that, he has his time, even though Hob knows his friend is an important person, in the grand scheme of things.
“Technically, I am Dream of the Endless,” his friend says one later Sunday morning, over breakfast.
“And Endless is a place, or…?”
“We are Endless,” Dream explains (or well, tries to). “Me and my siblings. You could consider it who we are, different from each other as we are.”
“You’re deities?” Hob asks, honestly curious - it wouldn’t surprise him in the slightest.
“From a certain point of view,” Dream agrees. “We are more than almost any god, excluding the Allmighty. But, I suppose, it does not make much difference to humans.”
Hob isn’t sure what to say to that, but it’s still…a lot. He may not understand what exactly this means, but it’s a huge personal detail about Dream, about who and what he is, even if it’s a bit beyond Hob’s comprehension for now. But it’s fine - a bit like finding small grains of sand leading towards a big pile. It may take time, but Hob has that in excess.
All in all, he does feel a bit stupid for not connecting Dream of the Endless to well, dreams, his dreams specifically. They’re not always kind to him, but neither are they needlessly cruel, and although it wasn’t easy to sleep in the last 100 years, Hob still didn’t connect it to Dream’s captivity.
Until he falls asleep thinking about his friend and finds himself in a huge room, ethereal and magical and beyond reality.
"Hob?” comes Dream’s voice, but more somehow, overwhelming and alluring, sending a shiver down his spine. ”What are you doing here?”
Hob raises an eyebrow. His imagination never quite managed to create something so grand and awe-inspiring, and the room he’s in is beyond anything Hob ever thought or dreamed about…
“I mean, it’s not exactly a surprise that I dream about you, is it?” he asks instead of answering, slowly walking towards well, Dream.
His friend looks different than he usually does, somehow taller and more solid, his pale skin almost glowing, and his eyes are dark universe with shining galaxies in them. Dream’s sitting on a throne, illuminated from behind by giant stained-glass windows.
Royal. Powerful. So fucking gorgeous Hob wants to slide to his knees and just look at him, let his eyes drink in the view.
Dream smiles lightly and stands up, and the inside of his standard black coat has galaxies on it, shimmering and moving, like the clearest night sky filled with nebulas. Hob knows it’s a dream, but he never thought of Dream like that, never imagined him in such a setting, and-
“This is not your imagination, Hob Gadling,” Dream says, lightly amused, if a bit curious. ”So I ask again, my friend, what are you doing in my castle?”
“You have a castle?”
”Well, I am a King,” Dream says, still coming closer. ”You are in my realm now, the Dreaming. You found my castle. And me.”
Hob stands there for a second, trying to process everything, and then some pieces start forming a finished puzzle, and he buries his face in his hands with an embarrassed groan. Dream of the Endless, the King of his realm…
“You command dreams?” he asks, a bit muffled because of his hands.
“And nightmares, amongst other things,” Dream agrees. “Come, Hob, it is a surprise that you found yourself here, but we can take advantage of the situation. Let me show you my realm.”
Hob’s heartbeat picks up and he has to hide his blush, as Dream reaches out with a hand - a move that he's clearly copying from someone, a bit stiff and awkward, but endearing all the same. He never thought he’d consider some god-like king of dreams endearing, but Dream surprises him at every turn.
He lays his hand in Dream’s, and the world turns to sand around them.