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A saying goes : recovery is not linear.
Whether it feels like a rollercoaster, like the longest voyage that you’ve ever undertaken, like the sinuous and foggy road of the old countryside, the labyrinth of thin and squared alleys that serpentine throughout the city, like your oldest memory or your newest cravings. It feels like the best and the worst of the world. Like you’ve been tilted on your very own core axis and will never find a way to make it right again, no matter how much you push, no matter how much you want to get better .
Hob Gadling had been sound asleep when a loud thud echoed in his living room. Years of paranoia and alertness - he had never been really able to shake off the impact the last few wars had on him - rendered him wide awake in the span of a few seconds. Reaching for the firearm he kept in his bedside table, Hob cocked it and slowly made his way out of his bedroom. There, in the middle of his carpet, laid a dark and prone figure. It took a few more steps forward and a few moments for Hob to loosen his grip on his gun, jaw going slack at the sight of his Stranger , loosely clad in what seemed to be a bed sheet, standing in the middle of his living room’s floor.
“What in-”
“Hob?” rasped the figure sounding confused, barely able to lift his head to look at Hob’s face.
The figure starting to tilt forward, Hob let go entirely of his firearm, the sound of it hitting the floor barely registering in Hob’s ears as he lunged to catch him before he collapsed on the hard floor. Hob tried to straighten the being in his arm, ending up cradling him close to his chest. Hob could feel the lightness of his Stranger’s body, almost weightless, and so thin that Hob could feel the angular angles of his bones digging into his own hands and arms that were wrapped around the figure. The shock of seeing him again, and in that particularly diminished state - while his Stranger had always looked proud and regal, he was now reduced to an almost pile of bones held by paper-thin ghostly-white skin - kept Hob from uttering a single word, still processing. It was his Stranger’s pale and cold fingers wrapping around one of his wrists that took Hob out of his own head.
“Hob” muttered his Stranger again, this time sounding a bit less confused.
“Y-yeah” breathed Hob. “Yeah, it’s me” he looked down at the figure in his arms, tears forming in the corner of his eyes at the sight and its implications.
What happened to you? he didn’t ask, instead holding the being just a bit tighter.
The Stranger raised his head to look into Hob’s eyes. Those familiar silver-blue eyes met Hob’s warmer ones, but, this time, something seemed to be distinctly lacking in them. The being opened his mouth, as if to say something, but seemed to choke on his words, unable to get anything out. Frowning at his friend’s apparent distress, Hob pushed one of his hands upwards through the figure’s dark and tousled hair, brushing the wild strands out of his face in what he hoped would be a soothing gesture. His Stranger whimpered at the contact, lowering his head onto Hob’s naked chest - Hob never felt the urge to sleep in anything but pyjama pants, no matter the season or temperature. They stayed silent for a stretching moment of time, Hob still gently carding his hands in his Stranger’s hair - greasier than he thought they would be - and worryingly gazing at the thin form in his arms, purposefully ignoring the wet spot that was currently growing on his chest.
“Hob” whispered his Stranger again, as if struggling with any other words.
“I’m here” Hob whispered back.
“I’m here” he reassured him, holding him a little bit closer.
After a while - Hob had started to feel cramps in his legs and back as he was hunched over and supporting the weight of his friend - Hob started talking again.
“Let’s get you somewhere nice. A bath, too?” he said, securing his grasp on his Stranger and picking him up while slowly standing back up, taking care in not startling his Stranger too much.
The figure huffed gently, but made no words or gestures to stop him, his face still hiding in the middle of Hob’s naked chest.
“It’ll be good. I could draw you a warm bath. You’ll see, they’re much faster to fill than the last time we met, time flies and new technologies are amazing! I’m sure I have some clothes that could fit you too” Hob rambled while taking his Stranger to the small bathroom in his flat.
Setting him down gently on the counter, Hob started drawing a warm bath, while keeping a hand and an eye on his Stranger. In the soft light of the room, he looked even more gaunt, his eyes haunted. His Stranger stayed otherwise silent, holding onto the bed sheet keeping his body covered and observing Hob’s doings. When the bath was ready, Hob took out a plain unscented bar of soap and a soft washcloth from one of the cabinets and set both of them on the bath’s ledge.
“Are you alright to get in? I can help you settle if need be” he softly offered to his Stranger, keeping a respectable distance between them but still being easily available.
The figure observed Hob a slight moment, before reaching for him with one of his hands that was slightly shaking. Hob came closer at the beckoning and helped his friend get down the counter, offering his arm and shoulder as support for the few steps on between the vanity and the bathtub. His Stranger took a deep breath, almost as if bracing himself, before letting the sheet fall down out of his grasp. Hob’s heart clenched at the sight of his Stranger’s nakedness, not because it was arousing or erotic, but because it was such a heartbreaking sight. Just as he had felt while encircling his arms around his friend’s figure, his bones were protuberant, almost too sharp, as if they would break his diaphanous skin. Hob’s heart and mind burned for his Stranger, burned with anger towards the ones who would dare torture and defile his Stranger in the sort of way which made him but a pale copy of his old self, because this couldnt have been by his own doing, of that Hob was certain (and it could explain so so much). He helped his friend settle in the tub, making sure he wouldn’t fall over and that he was comfortable.
“I’ll be back” Hob said as his Stranger seemed to lean into the bath’s warmth, his eyes closing under the pleasant feeling.
Before he could get an answer, Hob dashed towards his own bedroom, quickly putting on a shirt himself and rummaging through his drawers for some clothes that could fit his friend. He settled for some smaller pyjama pants, which were left over by one of his friends on their last movie marathon night, and an old, soft and worn uni long-sleeved shirt from Hob’s own undergraduate days. Hob made a mental note to pass to the general store and grab a few items in his friend's size, before also grabbing his own bathrobe, thinking about keeping his Stranger warm and safe . Even if their last meeting (and not-meeting) had been turbulent, to put it lightly, Hob still couldn't help but feel deeply for the being, the only constant in his long immortal life. He had hoped, dearly and hardly, that they would meet again. Hell, it was almost all he had dreamed about for the most of the past three decades, even building the New Inn (in his Stranger's honor? As a keepsake?) when the White Horse was forced to close down. It had clogged up his every thought all throughout the 1990’s, and even if it had slowly died down in recent years, Hob still couldn’t help but hope . Hope that it would be his Stranger that came through the door, that it was him rounding the alley in his favourite supermarket, that it would be his familiar face that greeted him when he would look up from his work when he was being disturbed. He had hoped, relentlessly, because what was life if not hoping for more? Hoping for a warm face, a warm meal, some comfort, some companionship, for a better future. Hob had always, and would always, hope. But never, never , had he thought that it would be in such dire circumstances.
Coming back to the bathroom, Hob put his bundle on the counter, approaching the tub and its current occupant. His Stranger hadn't moved, eyes closed and still reclined, seemingly enjoying and basking in the warm water. He did look a bit more relaxed, Hob thought, before sitting on the edge of the bath. Deciding to take the lead, as his Stranger appeared to still be much diminished, Hob delicately took the washcloth he had previously set aside and dipped it in the water.
"May I?" He asked, raising the cloth out of the water.
His Stranger opened his eyes, looked at Hob before slowly nodding.
"Thank you" Hob breathed, grateful that his help was accepted.
Slowly, Hob started to pass the cloth on his Stranger's skin, helping him get clean again. The figure in the bath tensed at first, almost flinching in the brusque way of a frightened animal, but he had, after feeling the softness and the gentle care contained in Hob’s hands and gestures, calmed himself, relaxing under Hob's touch. While his Stranger was not downright filthy, an air of uneasiness and a slight layer of grime had still seemed to be coating his skin. Hob knew that sometimes it wasn’t much about washing off the dirt, but more about washing off an unpleasant feeling, washing off the old to feel new again. Thus, he took great care in cleaning and calming his friend.
"Can you duck for me?" Hob asked softly when he got to his Stranger's hair.
His Stranger complied and inclined his head backwards so as to wet it in the water, sliding a bit more in the tub to make so. Tenderly and gently, Hob massaged his friend's scalp, making sure the soap could get properly distributed into his messy hair. Hob could feel his Stranger relax more and more under his hands, leaning into them, almost. As he had done previously, Hob ignored the tear tracks he could see on his Stranger’s face and once he was done, stood back up. Smiling at the soft indignant groan his friend let out at the absence of his hands in his hair, Hob took out a fresh towel out of the cabinet and pulled it out in front of him.
"I'm done and the water’s getting cold. Let's go" he said to his Stranger, offering a hand to pull him out of the tub.
His Stranger took his offered hand once again and Hob quickly wrapped him in the towel he was holding before letting him go, wanting to give him a bit more space so he could better dry himself. Turning towards the clothes he had set out on the vanity, Hob picked up the pants first, handing them out to his Stranger.
“These should fit you well enough. They’re obviously too small for me, my friend left them over some time ago, but you should be able to adjust the size with the cord at the waist if need be” Hob rambled, turning back to pick up the shirt he had also brought.
“And this one’s mine actually. It’s a bit old, I hope you don’t mind” Hob chuckled lightly, presenting it to his friend, who had already put on the pants, towel still perched on his shoulders.
Hob turned back towards the bath, fussing a bit with the settings so as to drain it, before turning back towards the vanity and rummaging through the drawers.
“Aha!” Hob exclaimed, finding the comb he was searching for.
Turning back towards his Stranger, Hob smiled softly at the sight of his friend in his clothes. The shirt that looked a bit over-sized on his smaller frame, the sleeves too long for his arm-length, the pants that were a tad too long, falling on his feet. The sight, albeit endearing, just reminded Hob of the hardship that must have befallen his dear Stranger. His friend currently looked a bit lost, holding the soft bath towel in his hands as if he didn’t know what to do with it, almost fidgeting, and reeking nervousness and embarrassment, for some reason completely unknown to Hob. Gently taking the towel from his friend's hands, he offered his arm for the walk out of the small bathroom and into Hob’s own bedroom. His Stranger put a hand on his arm as support, getting steadier on his feet the more they walked into Hob’s flat. But still, exhaustion seemed to be taking over his Stranger and even the small trek seemed to tire him - it probably also has to do with whatever happened to him , Hob thought to himself while helping his friend move through his home. Helping his friend to sit on his bed, Hob took place beside the figure of his friend, comb and towel still in hand.
“Can I?” he asked, raising the comb so his friend could see it and understand what Hob was asking of him.
Nodding, his stranger presented his side to Hob, moving to settle his legs more fully on the bed. Hob delicately dried off his friend’s hair with the towel, taking care of the leftover moisture that was still clinging to his hair. Once dry enough, Hob started to softly untangle and brush his Stranger’s hair, taking great care in undoing every knot and oddity.
“I hope this doesn’t hurt, I haven’t done this in a while, I’ll tell you. I rather like to keep my hair shorter these days, even if I’m currently growing them out, you see. It’s becoming trendy again to have long hair, but I don't know, old habits die hard, you know?” Hob rambled as he brushed his Stranger’s hair, wanting to fill the silence between them.
His Stranger had always listened to his ramblings and didn’t seem to mind much then, so why would that change now ? Hob was in the middle of rather poorly explaining hair styles when his Stranger interrupted him :
“Hob” his Stranger rasped, voice still a bit .
“Uh- yeah? Everything alright?” Hob asked, as he was still combing through the figure’s hair.
“Thank you” his Stranger moved to look back, catching Hob’s eyes.
They observed each other for a moment, the surprise on Hob’s face at his friend’s comment melting into warmth at the words and the unguarded, honest, gratefulness he could not only feel in his friend’s voice, but could also see in his deep silvery-blue gaze.
“Anything” Hob breathed, smiling softly at his Stranger.
“Dream” his Stranger blurted, looking down towards his lap, a crease in his brow.
“Dream?” Hob asked, confused at the interjection.
“My name. I owe you that, my friend ” his Stranger - Dream! - answered Hob’s query, looking back up sheepishly.
A wide smile bloomed on Hob’s face. After almost six centuries, he had a name, a name!
“Then, anything for you, Dream” Hob smiled and in the space between them, inside the confines of Hob’s bedroom and their shared, new, intimacy, it felt like a solemn vow.
And he meant it. Oh how he meant those few words. He would do anything for him, his Stranger, his Dream . He would be there for his friend, the one he holds most dear in all of his long immortal life, the one he loves . He would be there for as long as he would still be wanted, as long as he would live - he had only that, after all, endless time, endless life. It was only fitting that, while his friend had seen him at his lowest (Hob never liked to think too much back on their 1689 encounter, it only brought him a wave of painful memories), he too, would be there in return, whatever his friend was going through. Hob had enough hope for the both of them : hope that his friend would get better, hope that their relationship would grow for the better, hope that whoever did this to Dream would pay for their ignominy. In the meantime, Hob would finish combing through his friend’s hair and perhaps make him a cup of tea. The night, after all, wasn’t over, and neither was the road to recovery.
to you
who i hold most dear
i yearn and hope
i give to you
my heart, my thoughts
my whole being
for as i am yours
you will perhaps
one day be mine