Work Text:
Dream pressed a hand to his left temple, groaning. There was a throbbing pain above his eye, and the lights in the New Inn hurt. The chatter of people around him grated into his skull.
"You all right, Boss?"
"I am fine," Dream replied, half sliding into the river of dreams by accident. There were so many new dreamers and members of the collective unconscious. He was still unused to it, especially combined with the ruby's destruction giving him more power than he'd had in eons. It was absolutely normal to have a bit of a headache over it. It'd fade.
By the time Hob showed up, it had only gotten worse. The lights made something churn uncomfortably in his gut. The bombardment of the collective unconscious and the daydreams of those around him made it difficult to focus.
"Hey, Morpheus, do you want to go up to my flat? It's a lot quieter up there."
"If you like," Dream answered, hand rising to rub at his head again.
Hob stood, and beckoned; when Dream rose, he stumbled for a second before regaining his balance. The churning in his gut was unignorable at this point. The second they'd gotten up the stairs into Hob's flat and through the door, Morpheus gritted his teeth. "Where is your bathroom?"
"Down the hall to the left – are you okay?"
"Boss?" asked Matthew.
Dream didn't answer, barely making it to the bathroom before being sick into the toilet. There wasn't much to come up, mostly water and bile, but it hurt as his muscles contracted nonetheless. Matthew lit upon the sink. Dream closed his eyes against the light.
"Dream, duck, hey." Hob crouched next to him. "I've never seen you sick before."
"Hi," said Dream wanly. "I am unsure what is happening." He kept his eyes firmly closed, pressing a hand to his eye again.
"Tell me which things feel wrong?"
"It hurts… here." He lifted the hand on his eye briefly. "On this side of my head. The lights hurt. I cannot concentrate very well. I feel… nauseous."
"Just on the one side?"
Dream nodded, and regretted it.
"It sounds like you have a migraine, duck."
"How do I fix it?"
"Dark, quiet, heat and ice packs, lying down, painkillers…" Hob's hand found his shoulder. "Come on, I can get you settled on the couch."
His head felt like it'd been put through a human blender, so he let Hob tug him to the couch, dim the lights, put heat under his neck and a cold cloth on his forehead. Matthew settled onto his chest. "Someone. Explain what a migraine is. And why I managed. To acquire one."
The heat felt nice on his neck.
"Well, technically it's a neurological event, but basically you end up with one side of your head affected and mostly headaches, sensitivity to light, nausea are all common symptoms… Stress, fatigue, dehydration, overexertion, electronic screen use… a lot of things can contribute," Hob explained.
"Well, you've definitely been more stressed lately," Matthew noted.
Dream groaned, and his gut felt queasy again. "There has been…. an increase in the collective unconscious since I was last free. It is still very loud."
"I wonder if you can take human medications," Hob said.
"I have no idea – ow." A particularly strong wave of nausea hit, with some throbbing eye pain.
"I'm going to make you some ginger and mint tea for that nausea," Hob said, worriedly. "I don't think you'd keep pills down, anyhow."
"Matthew. Return to the Dreaming. Inform Lucienne… that I may be in the Waking for some time." Once Matthew had gone, Dream closed his eyes again, miserable and unable to get comfortable on the couch.
Hob helped him sip some of the tea, and then told him very firmly to stay put and rest, turning the lights out all the way.
"I cannot just lie here, Hob. The pain is… distracting."
"I could read you a story," Hob offered.
"That would be acceptable."
Hob read to Dream for a while, but the pain kept Dream from resting. Finally after about ten or fifteen minutes, Hob stood up. "Come on, duck, I want to get you someplace more comfortable."
Dream let Hob half-carry him to a very soft bed, the lights still off. His hands had stopped being properly coordinated, so Hob had to help him slip on insanely soft pajamas. "Would you be all right with me – I don't know, I've heard it helps to ease out the tension in your neck and shoulders – working out the knots and tension there?"
Cocooned in blankets and fleece pajamas in the dark, cold cloth still on his forehead, Dream made a vague noise of assent, pain still sharp above his left eye. He hadn't realized how much his neck and shoulders hurt, too. Hob pressed fingers into Dream's neck and shoulders, expertly working out knots and trigger points, and his thoughts grew heavier, toward a state of sleep-adjacent drifting.
Hob watched as Dream's breathing – did Dream even technically need to breathe? – evened out, less barely audible pained winces. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to have that much inside you at all times. His friend shifted, pushing his head back into Hob's hands in his sleep, like a cat.
Periodically Dream would jerk out of whatever restful state he'd achieved, nauseous and heaving, and after the first two times Hob had gotten a waste bin so Dream wouldn't have to leave the bed, clutching Hob's arm. But gradually, those tapered off, becoming fewer and fewer the more Dream rested and the more muscle knots Hob's hands dealt with.
Luckily it was a weekend; Hob didn't have to call in and cancel class. He rose later in the morning, having caught some sleep himself. He prepared more tea, humming, and draped a fresh cold cloth on Dream's forehead and a heat pack on his friend's neck. Dream was inhumanly still, not bothering to affect breathing, though Hob could see his eyes moving below his eyelids some.
Matthew returned, tapping quietly at the windowsill. Hob let him in.
"How's the Boss?" Matthew asked.
"Sleeping, I think. Or something close to it. Whatever it is he does for rest," Hob said. "I think it's getting better, though. He hasn't woken up feeling sick in quite a while." He gave the raven some sausage and toast on a plate.
Dream blinked, coming back to the Waking slowly. Hob was no longer on the other side of the bed, but the heat compress was still warm against his neck, the cold wet cloth still fairly cold and damp. Like Hob had been coming in and re-doing them. To his relief, he didn't seem to be nauseous anymore, so he risked sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.
His clothes and boots were neatly folded and placed near the foot of the bed. With some effort, Morpheus tugged off the pajama top, pulled his shirt back on, and found his hands still too shaky to navigate the laces of the boots or the buttons on the jeans. He had a feeling that Hob would laugh himself sick at the sight of Dream in his normal t-shirt and coat but with pajama bottoms and no boots, but. Ah well.
As he padded into the kitchen, Hob flicked off the overhead. "Morning, sleeping beauty," he teased.
"Hey, Boss! Wait, are those pajama bottoms?"
"Yes." Dream pre-emptively scowled at the raven. Hob offered him a steaming mug of ginger tea. Dream took a few cautious sips.
"Are you feeling any better?" Hob asked.
"I believe so," Dream answered. "However, I find my hands still somewhat uncoordinated." A partial lie. Some dreamers had had dreams of being hungover from alcohol that felt a bit similar. He frowned. "I don't know how to keep this from happening again."
"Staying hydrated and rested would probably help. Humans have preventative medication options that sometimes help, but I don't know if those would work on you."
Dream scowled even harder.
Hob sighed. "Sorry, duck. When they happen you're going to have to take a break. You're welcome to come here for rest, even if I'm not home."
"I cannot take a break every time I get a headache," he snapped.
The immortal human gave him a look, and let out a long-suffering sigh. "Breaks will find you."
"How do humans cope with this?" Dream muttered, raising the tea mug to his lips again.
"Lucienne says you're not to come back until you are feeling 100% better, by the way." Matthew ruffled his wings.
"Did she, now?" Morpheus narrowed his eyes.
"Yep! And, Boss, if you were at 100%, you wouldn't still be wearing pajama bottoms."
Dream opened his mouth, furious, but his hand took that moment to almost lose its grip on the tea mug. Only Hob's quick reflexes saved it. He cursed.
"Yeah, you're not going anywhere anytime soon," Matthew said.
"Except maybe to bed," Hob added.
"You're going to give me another one at this rate," Morpheus complained.
"No, you're just still in postdrome," Hob said. The immortal put his hands on Dream's shoulders, steering him back toward the living room.
"I am not going back to bed." He ground his heels into the floor, trying to wrench his arm away, and only succeeded in utterly losing his balance.
Hob steadied him. "Fine. Then you're going on the couch. And then you're going to rehydrate."
"What?" Dream said, blankly even as Hob maneuvered him onto the couch. "Rehydrate? Why?"
"You just spent almost the whole night unable to take in liquids."
He looked away from Hob, embarrassed. Morpheus had never wanted Hob – or anyone – to see him doing something as sick or vulnerable as retching into toilets.
"The sooner you're feeling all the way better, the sooner you can go back," the human wheedled gently.
Technically, Dream could just leave, even if Lucienne gave disapproving looks and lectures. But he was very tired, and he'd never quite been sick like this before. Dream flopped down like a cat horizontally on the couch. Like it was the biggest favor he could possibly bestow on Hob.
Hob pulled a blanket over Dream, and returned in short order with toast, tea and water. "You'll stay for a while?" he asked, settling in nearby.
Dream yawned, poking himself with accidental cat canines, and dropped his head against Hob's shoulder. He was probably a few minutes from turning into a cat at this rate. "I will stay," he affirmed.
It was possibly a miracle that Hob's resulting grin, brighter than the sunlight, didn't give Dream a new migraine.