Archive of Our Own

Hob is more than a bit bewildered when it seems as though he blinks and is transported from his desk to a park on a spring day. He swears that only a moment ago he was marking essays on the Battle of Agincourt. Now, though, he’s standing in lush green grass well past his ankles in what looks like it might be Regent’s Park, but looks a little bit like Hyde Park, and also St James'. 

He finds himself wondering why the grass seems so tall when he can still see everything beyond it just fine. His question is answered for him when he tries to step forward on two legs and realises he somehow has four. He stumbles, bewildered, and sits down. He looks to his feet - or, rather, paws. Four of them, white and fluffy and speckled with black. A quick shake of his head confirms he has floppy ears. 

'This is alright, actually,' he thinks to himself. 'I've often wondered what it's like to be a dog.' 

'And now you know.' 

His head snaps up at the familiar voice, heard all the clearer through his new ears. Dream is striding towards him through the grass - which is a lot shorter compared to him. His coat billows a little in the slight breeze ruffling Hob's fur.

'Hello, my friend,' Hob says cheerfully. 'This is a strange dream, isn't it?' 

'A pleasant one, I hope.' He looks - not exactly worried, but like he's waiting for approval. Of course - dreams are his area, after all. He wants to know that he's crafted a good one. 

'Oh, yes.' His mouth isn't opening to speak - thinking the words seems to be the same as speaking them. Dream hears them, anyway. 'I've always wondered what this would be like. Well, an animal in general, anyway. Something with four legs.'

'But a dog in particular?'

‘I don’t know.’ If Hob could shrug, he would. ‘I like dogs. Maybe I was subconsciously wondering what it’d be like to be one. I’ve had loads, over the years, often thought about what the world must be like from where they’re looking at it. Especially in the fifties. Girl lived near me who owned nine dalmatians. She was nice, actually – took them all a walk twice a day, I bumped into them a lot when I had a spaniel. We’d go to the chippy on Regent’s Park road and give the scraps to the dogs. I liked that spaniel, actually. Kept me on my toes with all the exercise. The breeder said his name was Charles, but I just called him Charlie. You know, I often wonder what happened to that girl after I moved away. Dorothy, her name was. Loved to write.'

He's well aware he's rambling, now, and there's still that little voice in his head that says he has to be interesting enough for Dream, has to keep him from growing bored with him. Dream, though, just looks softly amused as he looks down at Hob. Speaking of which...

'You couldn't bend down a smidge, could you? I'm going to get neck strain.'

Dream's eyes widen a little. 'Of course. My apologies.' He crouches down until he's only a little way above Hob's eye level. It's a process, watching him fold that much leg. There's a swishing in the grass behind Hob, and he realises, with a jolt of embarrassment, that his tail is wagging relentlessly.

He shuffles. 'Ah...sorry about that.'

Dream gives him one of his rare smiles. Or - not so rare, it seems, nowadays. 'No bother. You can't help it, in that form.'

'I suppose so. Speaking of this form, do you know what kind of dog I am? Don't exactly have a mirror.' 

Dream looks at him consideringly. 'I'd say you're a black and white cocker spaniel.' He reaches down and smooths a cool hand over the fur on Hob's head, bot seeming to realise what he's doing until he stops abruptly, looking abashed. Hob doesn't move from under his hand, unashamed. 

'Surprised you know your dogs.'

'An impressive amount of humans dream of Crufts.'

Hob huffs a laugh at that. 'Fair enough. Have they told you how dogs walk, as well? I'm having trouble getting the hang of it like this.' 

'I can show you. Just let me slip into something more comfortable.' Before Hob can ask what he means, he blinks and Dream is a sleek black cat in front of him. He's a little shorter than Hob now, and his eyes glint golden. 'Just try your best not to succumb to the urge to chase me up a tree.' 

'I'll try my very best,' Hob says seriously. 

'You might wish to try standing up again, to start.' He obliges, pulling himself up on unsteady limbs. 'Now watch how I walk.' 

I've already been doing that for years, duck, Hob thinks wistfully, but he dutifully watches. Dream's stride is a little different from a dog's, obviously, but maneuvering four legs seems to work the same, and after a few attempts at copying him Hob gets the hang of it. Once he has, they both look out at the expanse of the park. 

'Shall we, Hob Gadling?' 

He gets the impression that if he were human Dream would be holding out an arm for Hob to link with his own. He also realises that, since he doesn't call Hob by his full name in most circumstances anymore, Dream is teasing. 

'I suppose we shall, my lord.' He can't grin, but he hopes it's conveyed. They pad through the grass, Hob still wobbling on his legs every so often and Dream waiting patiently for him. 'Are you...do you often like to be a cat? You seem pretty used to it.'

'That implies that being one is a conscious choice - it is not, not quite.'

'But you chose to turn into one?'

'I chose to let you see me as one. I am one and I'm not, at once. I'm what people expect me to be, or what they want me to be.'

'Maybe that's why you can control it more here. I want you to be whatever you want to be.'

A soft look passes across Dream's face again. 'Thank you. To answer, I do like it. Things feel...smoother, as a cat. Uncomplicated. Human bodies can be ungainly at times, and I tire of it. No offence meant.'

'None taken - I think. I feel pretty ungainly myself sometimes. Not that being a dog is much more graceful.' He has another thought. 'When you said you're a cat when someone expects you to be...'

'Yes?' Dream replies, doting.

'Does that mean you can see the dreams of...cats and stuff?'

'Not of stuff, no,' he says wryly. Cocky little shit. 'Dreams are my domain. I am familiar with the dreams of any creature who can access the Dreaming.' 

'So like...prawns, too?'

Even in cat form, the look Dream gives him is nothing short of flat. 

'Okay, okay, I get it. That's...pretty cool, actually. At the risk of inflating your ego.' 

'Now that wouldn't do.' It's not fair that Dream can purr in both cat and human form, it really isn't. Luckily, Hob is distracted by an ice cream on the ground, dropped by one of the kids walking through the park. It's hard to make out anyone's face here - they all look like those people caught on Google Streetview, blurred out beyond recognition.

The ice cream tastes better than any he's ever had, and he says as much. 

'That's hard to imagine when all your other ice creams have not, presumably, been eaten off the ground,' Dream says disdainfully. 'I hope, anyway.' 

'Oi, shove off. Maybe it's a dog thing - floor food tastes great when it's your only option. You try it.'

'I think not.'

'No, go on!'

Another advantage of this form is the ability to flash puppy-dog eyes. They're strong enough to make Dream sigh and, tentatively, try the ice cream. His slit pupils dilate a little, but he tries to pretend it wasn't as good as it clearly was.

'There's - uhh - there's ice cream in your whiskers, I think.' 

Dream sighs. 'So there is.' He sets to methodically cleaning his face with one paw. He rather suits being a cat, Hob thinks. It'd make more grammatical sense to say that being a cat suits him  - but things must insist on revolving around Dream, it seems.

Although he hasn't said it aloud it's almost like Dream hears him. 'You take rather well to being a dog, don't you?'

Hob eyes him suspiciously. 'If I say yes, are you going to turn me into one until I say I'm tired of it?' 

Dream almost laughs. 'Not this time.'

'That gets me thinking - can Death turn into a cat? Or like, if a rat dies, is she the Death of rats?' 

'I have not asked her. Perhaps she might, if it would comfort the creature more than her human form. Most creatures want familiarity, that's all. Whether that comes in the form of their own species or another depends on them.'

Hob can imagine that. Maybe some, still young, want their mothers, and that is how Death appears to them - a maternal cat or dog or other animal. Maybe some would be more comforted by a human, like their masters, and so she can be that for them too. 'That makes sense.' 

Dream looks to be deep in thought about something, for a moment, so Hob nudges him before he can get too broody. 'Come on. I have a feeling there's a duck pond around here somewhere, and I kind of want to see if I get the instinct to chase them.'

When Hob wakes up, the park is gone and he is no longer in his desk chair. He's lying in bed, propped against the pillows, entirely human without paws or a tail. He's not sure if the floppy ears have remained, for a second, then realises that's just his hair. It feels a bit jarring, actually, to be lying on his back on the mattress instead of in the grass. 

A dream, then - of course. 

The only thing that would indicate part of it was real is the sleek black cat curled up on his lap. He brings a hand up and tentatively strokes along the curve of its spine, warming the cool fur, and nearly jumps when a soft purr begins to rumble from its chest, reverberating through him like a car engine or the bass at a concert. He keeps petting, beginning to nod off again himself. 

'Thanks for the walk,' he murmurs.

The next time they meet, Dream slides a book onto the table. 'It's from Lucienne, but I asked her about it.' 

Hob picks it up, examines the title and cover, and smiles. 'You know, that girl I knew always did say her friends called her Dodie.'