Work Text:
Hob was in the middle of mediating (or attempting to, as Dream would likely tell him) an argument between two Nightmares and several humans under their charge when he felt it.
The discordant musical note rang across the Dreaming, harsh and grating to his ears and to the power that was him, now. After it, Hob was up and out of his throne before he'd given himself the conscious order to move. Both Nightmares were staring at him now, in surprise, and more than a little fear. Hob glanced at both of them, but it was clear that they couldn't hear it.
The music was getting louder and louder now. Approaching fear, approaching hope, and so much more. Hob stepped past the two Nightmares, and between one breath and another, it was Hope looking at them. "We shall deal with this later," he promised. "I have an urgent matter to deal with." The discordant music was getting louder and louder. He dismissed the Nightmares and turned to step into Dream's castle with a thought, nearly stumbling into the Throne Room.
Dream wasn't back yet, Dream wouldn't be back for at least another week, with the fae, who had demanded that a delegation come to the Dreaming rather than the insistence of the other way around, all because...
The war horn was loud.
It sent chills down his spine, precisely as it was meant to, and Hob was grateful that he was in Dream's castle for the reason that when Lucienne turned the corner to enter the throne room, he was standing there, righteous fury and anger swirling around him. They dared to attack when Dream was away, they dared to attack when he might allow himself to step away from a life of endless duty with no reprieve?
"My lord-"
"Summon him," Hope said, his eyes burning gold. "Summon him here at once, I know he is beyond reach, but not all reach. Summon him here and shut the gates behind me."
Lucienne took a step back, her eyes widening. "Sir?"
Hope gave her a wry smile and stalked for the doors. "Close the gates, Lucienne, and that is an order, as Prince Consort." He gave her a nod and in an instant, was across the Dreaming, was standing on the shores, staring out at the ocean, the bridge between words. The edge, the area Between, was filling with more and more demons by the second, war horns blowing an echoing repeat across the sands.
Hope watched, staring, as demons began to flood into the shores, the Between, until there was an army of considerable size standing in front of him. Hope clenched his hands into fists and ordered himself to remember Desire's lessons, to remember Dream's. There was very little that could kill Hope, and certainly, none of these here, possessed any of it, which would be a point in his favor for what they could, perhaps, manage.
"So what's the plan?"
Hope looked down at Matthew and resisted the urge to sigh. Of course, he would have made his way here. "You should be summoning Dream back."
"Lucienne went herself. Said something about me lacking the social tact and getting stabbed with a spear." Matthew fluttered his wings in the mimic of a shrug. "I want to know what the hell you're doing."
Hope lifted his eyes back to the approaching army, and he could feel the hope bleeding off of them all, the closer they got. Hope that they would be victorious, hope that they would defeat their enemies, hope that they would get what they had been promised by the Morningstar. So much hope that he wanted to choke it out of them, each and every last one of them.
"I don't know yet," Hope answered, staring out at the army. "I haven't been training long."
"Right," Matthew said with a caw. "So what the hell do you plan to do other than get mowed down?"
Hope's lips twisted and with a thought, they were glad in shining gold armor, a claymore in their hands. "I know how to fight."
"You and I both know that a single man can't fight an army," Matthew said. "But yeah, I get why you don't want to give them any hope or anything, that'd be bad." He paused and jumped in the sand. "But why don't you do the opposite, huh?"
Hope tilted his head and looked down at the raven. "The opposite?"
"Yeah!" Matthew hopped and then flew up to Hob's shoulder, settling there. "Dream did that when we were at the creepy serial killer convention. He took away their daydreams, so they couldn't think they were the good guys anymore. All of them freaked out and ran away when he did."
Hope... considered that, and looked out at the approaching army. "He... took away their Dreams."
"Daydreams," Matthew corrected. "But yeah, that's the basic gist of it all. Why? Did that give you some sort of brain wave?"
Hope looked back to the gates and sheathed his sword, striding towards the now-closed entrance to the Dreaming. "It may just have," he agreed, breathing in deep, reaching for much more of his power, his magic, letting it swirl around him, dancing music flaring bright in every possible shade of colors as he stared at the door. It was easy to breathe out the truth, again and again. He could do this, he could. All he had to do was Hope, and that was the easiest thing.
"I hope the gate doors hold." A single gong sounded behind him, making his body shake. "I hope that the Dreaming stays sealed." Another gong, his one loud enough to have his teeth shaking in his skull, but the music resonated loud, exactly as it should. "I hope that Dream returns in time to protect you all and has the strength to do so." One final gong, and the hell armies were almost upon them. He didn't have time. "I hope that I can hold them off for you."
Hope turned away from the gate, away from the blessing that had slipped from his lips, the last gift that he might be able to give the Dreaming as he stared down the army. He would do everything to protect the Dreaming, it was Dream, it was home, and it was his. Facing the approaching demons, all of them, he smiled and let the music settle into his skin, vibrating on top of him in fury, a clamoring discord rising in volume every second they drew closer and closer.
Now, it was time to see if Matthew was right about what he could do. Hope held up his hand and focused on the first few demons that he could see coming directly into his line of sight, their vicious wings spread, passionate cries escaping from them as they charged. He would rob them of their Hope, and in return, they would know true fear.
The Hope that they had wrapped around their souls, blackened as it was, burned, but even still, it was not hard to steal. It was almost easy. Hope remembered the lesson with Desire, the pain of giving Hope where they had been none. This was much more dangerous. To steal it away, to remove it as though it had never been present, to flood himself with the burning fire. Hope’s scream was a mirror of the demon’s and he did not stop taking.
Each bit of Hope burned from that demon, and the next. Any that dared to come close, dared to approach the gates of the Dreaming, Hope robbed every speck of hope from them, gone in an instant. It left them stunned, fearful, and watching him with astonished eyes. The power was singing over his skin now, noisy and powerful, a flame that was burning him, swallowing him whole, but he would not stop. He could not stop.
More were coming, and Hope watched them, his ears ringing. There was so much more to take, they had been promised, and so they hoped, they hoped with all they were. It was all they had, and he was taking it from them. Hope clenched his teeth against the tears that began to streak down his cheeks as the armies approached and he tore the hope away from them, his essence, his being beginning to buckle under the weight. There was too much, there were too many, but he could not stop, he would not stop, he had to protect Dream, he had to protect the Dreaming. He could not let them have the hope that it would fall.
There was a scream, and Hope was distantly aware that it was him, his hands held up as he faced the ocean, the tidal wave of hope pouring off the demons that he was attempting to remove, to absorb, to take from them. He would steal it away, he would leave them with nothing, and when they retreated, when they returned, then he could change, he could give it back. Or perhaps not, and the thought burned, keeping what he had taken until there was nothing at all left for him. After all, he was Hope, and it was because of him that they had tried to attack his home.
"Well, well, if it isn't the would-be Endless."
Hope lifted his eyes to the sight of Lucifer, striding through the demons to step in front of them, their feet barely brushing the edge of the ocean, nearly standing on the thin beach that separated the Dreaming from the edge of all other worlds. The gates behind him were shut, they were closed, and they would hold. He hoped as much, and no matter what happened to him, he could not die, would not die, and that meant holding his position here for long enough.
"Lightbrighter," Hope said, inclining his head. "I had thought you above being a coward." In an instant, their expression went from pleasantly amused to thunderous, and Hope pressed the momentary advantage of control. "Attacking when the King is gone, perhaps even responsible for the demand of his presence from the Fae? Did you not think I would guard the realm in his absence? Or were you expecting open doors for you to storm?"
"I promised that one day he would be crushed. This is that day," Lucifer said, their voice settling back into calm. "There are slights that must be punished, actions that must receive recompense." They paused, their eyes on the supposed Endless in front of them, their power barely that of a newborn babe. "Surely even you, young as you are, understand that."
Hope's lips twisted and they stared at the Morningstar. "I understand that he embarrassed you in front of your armies here." He gestured to the assembled, none of whom had stepped closer. They had been robbed of hope and now only held fear. Hope tilted his head and smirked, his eyes innocent. "I understand that he defeated you with me, as truth would have it."
Hope stepped closer, music swirling around him in a threatening twirl, growing louder by the second, a roar growing in the power hiding within him, the power sunk deep into the heart of the Dreaming. "After all, Lucifer Morningstar, what kills Hope?"
Lucifer's lips twitched into a frown and they tilted their head, observing the being in front of them. "I have since learned, that not everything must die. However, it can be destroyed, it can be beaten down, and it can be overcome." They took a step forward until they were staring down at Hope.
"You may rob my armies of Hope, but this does not stop them from obeying orders." They paused. "This does not stop them from storming the gates of the Dreaming. This does not stop them from overpowering you, weak as you are. All your little... trick, has done? Is show me that you have no other cards up your sleeve. You are no true Endless. You are playing at this, a fun little game for them to entertain until the end."
Lucifer's words were a siren call, syrupy sweet in their bitterness and certainty in what would happen and how it would happen. Hope stared at them, at the triumph hidden in their eyes that they would prevail and that they would come out on top, and closed his eyes for a brief moment.
Perhaps to hope was foolish.
Hope started to smile. Hoping was one of the most foolish things he had ever done. Hoping had turned him immortal, hoping had saved him in Hell. Hoping had saved him again and again and brought him to where he was. That would not change now, nor would it ever. If he remembered that, and held onto the hope that Dream was coming, that he would come, that was all that mattered. What else would he need?
Hope grinned and opened their eyes again, laughing up at the Morningstar who stared at them in confusion. Reaching up, he tapped Lucifer on the nose with his fingertip. "The fun thing about games? You have to know you're playing in order to win."
With that word, Hope let himself disappear. He felt into the ethereal form that Desire had only recently begun to teach him to wear, where he was nothing more than wisps of feeling between beings. But like this, the mental block he struggled with, that he was a vessel for power, there was no such existence. He was simply a cloud of what he was, and how big he grew did not matter.
Darting between the armies of hell, away from the shocked Morningstar, Hope began to steal more than just the hope of success in the battle. Hope and Dreams, they were always together, and while he could not steal them forever, he could hide them, he could allow Despair to sink her hook in while he robbed them of Hope. He could create the breeding ground for her to do the most difficult work for him.
The loud snarl from Lucifer brought his attention back to them, and though Lucifer could not see him, they could feel him, they could feel his influence and what he was doing, but they had no way to stop him, not like this. All Hope had to do was buy time, all he had to do was make sure that Dream would have what he needed, that the gates would stay sealed like he hoped, that the Dreams inside would be safe like he hoped, and that at the end of this, he would continue to be.
Lucifer's scream of rage split the sky, and Hope felt the foundations of the gates begin to quake, uncertainty vibrating in the earthquake brewing beneath the ground as he felt the full weight of the power of the Morningstar, one of the most powerful creations in the entirety of creation. They were stalking forward now, intent, fury gathering in their eyes, heading for the gates.
Moving fast, faster than they could ever hope to, Hope rematerialized in front of the Gate of Horn and stood there, staring at Lucifer as he stepped back until he was nearly one with the wall. The ground beneath them was falling apart, into crevices created under the weight of the sheer power of the Morningstar. The Dreaming was shaking, there was breathless fear and worry, but beneath all of it, an underlying hope that he fed off of. Hope that he would protect them. Hope that he would keep them safe. Hope that he would be able to hold the Morningstar off for long enough, just long enough.
Hope breathed as the first slash of the flaming sword hit the Gate and rebounded. He closed his eyes and breathed, slowly, the weight of his power sinking into the gate. He hoped the gate would hold.
He hoped.
Another slash, another.
He could not save the carvings, Dream's beautiful creations, but the door he could.
He hoped the door would hold.
Another scream, and this time the fire was lit the blazing light of once-heavenly power and it was ice through his being, burning so hot that it threatened to tear him apart.
But Hope was not a person, hope was an idea, hope was deeper than that, bigger than that, more than that, and it would not fall, not even to this pain.
Hope held the gate.
The gate would hold.
Hope held it while the armies crashed against it again and again, and the Dreaming quaked inside.
The music grew softer and softer, even as Hope held the gate.
How long had it been? Hope didn't know, but the armies were heavy, and he was tired, he was exhausted, but he would not stop hoping, he could not. His hope had survived everything, even becoming Endless, and it would not die down. He hoped, oh he hoped that Dream would arrive soon because the music was growing quieter and quieter, harder to reach, harder to hear.
He hoped, he breathed, and he screamed, with another slash.
The gates moved a fraction.
There was a swell of noise, of screams, of Hope, and Hope didn't have enough time to grab onto it, to steal it away before its lethal power, certain in the atrocious actions it was taking, slammed into him. He took it in, because it was him, but he was also the gate, and he was far more one than he was the other. He screamed, again.
Hope held the gate.
The gate trembled, the carved ivory beginning to buckle under the weight and pressure of the power being brought to bear, the Morningstar versus the unkillable Endless, the Endless who, being wielded by another, had once defeated Lucifer in a battle much like this one.
The gate would hold, he would make sure it held.
Hope couldn't hear the music anymore, all he could hear was the armies of Hell, the violent rush of noisy power, and the drumbeat, the war brought to the gates of his home. It was pain, and it beat in his breast, over and over again. Hope that they would triumph, hope for his defeat, he felt all of it, all of it poisoning and reaching so deep into him he didn't know where his own started and theirs began. He was all of it, and all at once the gates began to slide open.
Hope held the gate.
But they had hope too, and he was them, just as much as he was other hope, hopes for protection, hope for...
Had it been a Dream then, to imagine that he could keep this place safe? That he could protect the Dreaming the way Dream once had? Should he have gone to Dream, or summoned him for help? Had his foolish hope been the downfall of them all?
The gate was being pushed open and Hope struggled.
He couldn't hear the music, he couldn't hear the Dreaming, they were scared, they were losing hope, and he couldn't, he couldn't-
"That. Is. Enough."
The music flooded back in in an instant, joyous relief, all of it centered on Dream, standing beside him, power flooding into him from the Dreaming, from the Dreamers, all of it enough to hold the armies of Hell.
Lucifer might be one of the strongest creatures in creation, but standing against two of the Endless, two of them who were made to be together, by design and by choice, was not something even they could manage.
A discordant note rang out, and Hope, with Dream now holding the gates, stormed forward. In his hand, a weapon he had not had reason to wield, not yet, but now it was there. Musical notes danced around the staff as Hope advanced, the staff landing against the flaming hellsword, again and again, driving the Morningstar back. Hope flooded into him, bright and wild, all of it from Dream and the Dreaming, all of it now in him, and in the same token, for every step back, he robbed the hope from those who had been advancing.
"You will find no hope for you here, Lightbringer," Hope snarled, spinning into another attack. To be Endless meant to know more than a single human mind could hold or experience, even with endless time, and it was that experience that Hope used to drive forward, to drive the Morningstar back to the shores, into the water, even as they quivered with rage, their wings beating as they tried to fight against the onslaught.
With every step back, they lost hope, and Hope snarled, triumphant, as he took it from Lucifer, a cup from which to sip again and again until it was drained dry. One last flurry of blows left Lucier standing at the edges of the Dreaming, their hope, for now, gone and taken. The music surrounding him was loud, deafening, a riot of every song he had ever heard and would ever be heard all at once, all of it was his magic, tearing at them, forcing them back, driving them away.
His Hope had arrived, and with him, he would always dream of more, of better, and of life.
"Go back to hell," Hope snarled, his hands on his staff. It flickered to the image of a sword, a promise of more, of violence if the order was not followed. "Go back to hell, Lightbringer, and remember what happens to those who attempt to wage war on the Dreaming."
Lucifer stepped forward, challenging because that was what they did, that was what they always did, and Hope stepped up and into the swing of their blade, shoving his hand into their chest, into the heart of their being, into what made them them in a way that none but the creator had ever seen. Inside was the fragile heart of a child wishing to be heard by a parent and Hope stared at Lucifer, at the fear gathering in their eyes. Lucifer was a child who had been denied their parent's love and had tried again and again for it, had hoped for it, desperately, had hoped for attention.
Lucifer was a creature built on hopes, losing them, and finding them again. Hope stared at them, at the way they trembled around the hand pressed into their chest, and felt the armies fade around them. Still, he stared at Lucifer, at everything he could feel from them, everything that they burned with, everything that they could not say they were. This was why they had been defeated by hope because at the very core of what they were, they embodied Hope.
"I could take it from you," Hope whispered, his eyes flashing brilliant gold. "This piece of you, I could take it, and you would never get it back. It would destroy you in a way that truly nothing else could and it would leave you broken."
Lucifer's form flickered and still Hope held on, ignoring the frantic beat of their wings, the weight of the power they were trying to bring to bear. But they did not deny it, they did not deny what could be done to them, because it was the truth, and they were afraid.
"Perhaps I should," Hope continued, staring at Lucifer, into their eyes, the growing fear there. "Maybe it would be the best for so many that you do not keep this, that drives you in such a way. Maybe it is meant to destroy you, and you will chase it until it does." The music around him faded to melancholic, to sad, because once Lucifer had been the brightest star in the sky.
"If you're going to do it, then hurry up," Lucifer snarled.
Hope didn't have to imagine the tears he could hear in the voice. Instead, he smiled and pressed his hand still deeper, reaching for the smallest threads of hope that remained at the core of Lucifer. "I think..." he started. Hope breathed out slowly and plucked one of the strings, feeling Lucifer jolt around him. And again, and again. Lucifer was screaming, shouting, thrashing against him, but Hope held steady and played the music hidden deep in the darkest and most hidden parts of their soul.
"Instead," Hope breathed, soft and quiet. "I think I will give you a gift. For that is what you need, Lucifer." He stepped in closer and closed his eyes even as Lucifer raged. In the musical core of Lucifer's very being, Hope added a few notes. A hint of curiosity. Another hint still of childlike joy - from when they had been first created. And finally, a sense of justice, long since buried and hidden under avarice.
"There," Hope whispered, pulling his hand away. Lucifer was staring at him, twisted confusion on their face, and he watched, seconds longer, before Lucifer turned and headed out past the borders of the Dreaming, crossing back into Hell. Hope could feel now, the confusion roiling deep in Lucifer, but perhaps... perhaps it would change the path for them.
"Hope."
Hope turned, his chest filling with joy as he turned to face Dream. He grinned at the sight of his other half, the shadows and full power of his Nightmare form brought to bear for the enemy they had had at the gates. He stepped closer, reaching up to wrap a hand around Nightmare's neck, pulling him down for a kiss. "Thank you for coming to my rescue, love."
"Why did you not call for me?" Dream asked, frowning down at Hope, who was slowly settling back into Hob, now that the threat was over. "I would have come instantly."
Hob huffed and rubbed the back of his head. "Because I don't... know how to do that? I mean, I figured there was a way, but I also didn't know if you were in the middle of a diplomatic meeting or something with the fae, and you were already pissed enough about having to be there and-"
Dream pressed a finger to Hob's lips to stem the flow of words and let the rest of Nightmare fade off of his shoulders until he was standing in front of Hob, their foreheads pressed together. "I see." He had never needed to explain this to another, he and his siblings had always been... born knowing how to reach each other and brush against each other when it was required in such moments.
"Like this," Dream coaxed, reaching out with every part of him to brush against the parts that were tangled, inexorably, with Hope. He plucked at the faint strings. "I am thinking of you. This is a gentle touch, a reminder of love, of closeness." He spared a moment for the last time he had reached out to gift such a touch to his siblings and resolved to do better, now that he was teaching Hope how to do this.
"Right," Hob said, his voice hoarse as something in him, the part of him that was Hope, lit up, music dancing in his ears and his mind, and with it, a wave of love, and want from Dream. A touch of reassurance, a shared smile across the room. He grinned, leaning into the touch. "And the other?"
Dream hummed and thought about how to word it. "You need to imagine that each of us has our pathways and attachments to each other. However you envision them, the connection exists and always persists. It's how Despair knew to come here to help you, she could feel you."
Hob nodded and swallowed, imagining silver threads connecting him to each of the Endless. One, far fainter than the others, a connection not fully established, but the potential, the Hope for one, still there. The brightest and the strongest though was tied to Dream, and he reached out, pressing his fingers to it. "Like that?"
Dream hummed, a low noise of pleasure. "Yes, like that. Now, you need to use it. If you were to call me, what would you do?"
Hob frowned and kept his hand carefully on the thread between them. "Pull?" He offered, but that didn't seem right. To pull would bring Dream closer, and that could be good, but it wasn't a cry for help. So how did he...
"No," Dream said, shaking his head. "Watch. Feel." He reached out to the connection he had forged with Hope, the blinding golden power of the line between them that flared every time he so much as imagined it. Wrapping his power around it, he pressed into it, flooding it with his fear, his concern, and his worry from what had just happened.
"Woah, holy shit!" Hob stumbled, blinking hard against what felt like a five alarm fire running through him, glad when Dream caught him and didn't let him fall into the sand. "What, how the hell did you make it feel like that?"
Dream gave Hope a rueful smile. "You would have felt it earlier, but you were busy holding the gate, so you didn't feel my Call. That's when I panicked, because even if you didn't know what it was, you would have felt that. You were almost too far for me to reach."
Hob let out a shaky breath and reached back out to the thread between them. He focused on it and instead of flooding Dream with the fear and need that he had required earlier, he smiled. Instead, he sent relief, joy, love, and music into it, tightening his hand around the rope until it was nearly vibrating with the power that he was pushing into it. He wanted Dream to feel everything, everything that he felt.
Dream gasped, his head falling back, even as he tightened his arms around Hob, holding him close. "That is... precisely what you should do," he managed, shivering, digging his fingers into the armor Hope was wearing.
"Got it," Hob said, carefully pulling his hand back until he was once more settled into himself and leaning against Dream's chest. The exhaustion of what he'd done was catching up with him, and the need to be in his castle, or Dream's, was starting to gnaw at him. He needed to recover, but. He looked to the Gate of Horn and sighed.
"What is wrong?" Dream asked, frowning down at him. "You are tired, but you are all right."
Hob nodded and looked to the gate until Dream followed his eyes. "I wish I'd studied them properly before the attack happened. I kept meaning to, kept meaning to see all the intricate carvings that you had done, but." He glanced at Dream and smiled. "Someone likes distracting me."
Dream hummed and reached up to stroke his fingers along the scarred and nearly destroyed gate. With a ripple of power, and a faint pull forward, the Gate carefully rebuilt itself, piece by piece, until it was standing once again in all its glory between the edges of the realm and the Dreaming. "There."
Hob's eyes widened and he reached out to stroke his finger along a carving, admiring it. "I will come back and admire it properly," he promised, leaning against Dream just a little heavier. "But after earlier, after everything..."
"You need time to recover. I understand. I was much the same after I was released," Dream said, taking Hob's hand to bring him once again into the Dreaming, into his bedroom, into his bed. "I fear you will once again be beset by admirers after you defended the Dreaming so ardently. Standing alone against the Morningstar?"
Hob chuckled and reached out to tug Dream into bed with him. He knew that Dream would not be able to stay long, but for a few precious minutes, it would be enough. "Yeah, well. The only admirer I want is you, dove."
Dream hummed, pleased.
Hob scoffed and wrapped an arm around Dream, holding onto him tight. "Stay for a little while until you return to work?" Like this, the edges that had been scraped raw no longer felt as painful, no longer felt like they were open and bleeding wounds.
"Lucienne will care for things," Dream said, his voice soft and confident as he reached up to stroke his fingers through Hob's hair. "I must care for my other half. That is my most important duty at present."
Hob smiled, his eyes fluttering shut. "You say the sweetest things, dove."
Dream pressed a kiss to the top of Hob's head. "And you, every day, bring me to my knees at the depth of your feelings, and your willingness to live them in word and action. I am not worthy of such care, my Hope."
"Too damn bad," Hob grumbled, nuzzling into Dream, holding onto him tighter. "Because you're my Dream, and I'm never letting you go, not ever."
"As you wish," he said, just to feel Hob smile against him, clearly pleased with the reference. Dream held onto Hob tighter as he, at last, started to doze, the wounds his power had accrued fading under the forced rest. He lifted his eyes to the window out across the Dreaming, stretching his awareness further and further, but it seemed that Hell and its armies had well and truly retreated for now.
Just as well. One of the monarchs of the Dreaming needed time to recover.