Work Text:
When he sees him again for the first time in over a century it feels like being punched in the chest. And not in the metaphorical sense, no, seeing his stranger again after years of thinking he was lost feels like being struck directly in the sternum.
He has to stop himself from physically crying out at the sight of him. With joy or horror he isn't sure. He can't quite comprehend anything right now.
The stranger stands in front of him, inside the New Inn, eyes cast downwards, half-lidded, that knowing, sarcastic, infuriating smirk drawing up the corners of his mouth.
He looks as though no time has passed, but there is something different about his demeanour, something lighter.
Hob can't help the smile that forms on his face, he can feel it, so wide that the skin pulls on his cheeks.
"You're late,” he manages, trying hard not to make a fool of himself, which he would if he were to act as he feels the urge to (which is to throw himself around the other man and beg to know where the hell he's been).
In return the other man chuckles gently, a small exhale through his nose. He is looking down at Hob with a fondness he never has before. It feels like they could almost be-
"It seems I owe you an apology. I've always heard it impolite to keep one's friends waiting,” the stranger interrupts his thoughts. His words stealing all of the breath from Hob's lungs.
Friends.
They're friends.
The stranger pulls out the chair in front of him then, sitting so delicately and regally that Hob has to contain a chuckle. He'd hosted royalty before, but the stranger is something else all together.
He has a million questions, perhaps even a million and one. But the stranger smirks at him in such a way that it renders his mouth completely useless.
"My sudden reappearance shocks you,” his stranger offers, smiling at Hob's gobsmacked expression.
"Shocks,” Hob chokes, it comes out louder than he expects.
"My friend you could knock me over with a feather right now,” he laughs, and takes pleasure as the stranger does the same.
"I want to assure you that there was a good reason for my absence. I would like to tell you the tale of it- if you'd allow me,” the other man speaks then, casting his eyes downward. He almost looks afraid. Hob thinks he must have imagined it.
"Of course I..." he steadies himself so the words don't come out too quickly.
"I would love to know where you've been. Though I imagine it might not be a story you wish to share with the other patrons of this tavern."
The stranger nods, a warm smile returning to his lips.
He stands, his coat flicking elegantly as he goes. He moves more like a shadow than any man Hob's ever known.
"Shall we meet again later this evening, perhaps when the patronage has died down?" he asks, looking again as if he fears the answer.
"Midnight then? I can get us in after closing- pretty close with the owner,” Hob offers, before laughing knowingly at his own joke.
The stranger's blue eyes are cast down on his again, curious and amused.
"You own this establishment?" he questions teasingly.
Hob nods.
"Do you like it?" He is suddenly aware of the beating of his own heart.
The stranger seems to consider his question for a moment, his eyes growing glassy in a way that surprises Hob.
"It is different,” he says, hand on the back of the chair where he had been sitting.
"But then I guess we all are."
***
Dream doesn't really expect Hob to be waiting for him at the New Inn at midnight. It sounds too much like something from a novel, or a dream. He expects that Hob's kindness was some cruel trick- some way to get back at Dream for his slight against him.
When he walks down the footpath toward the tavern and sees Hob waiting for him- warm breath casting smoke into the air- he can barely withstand the tightening in his chest. It feels as though someone has taken a hold of his heart and is twisting it mercilessly. He persists.
"Good evening.” He approaches the man, attempting to sound casual. In all actuality, he feels like a schoolchild vying for the affectionate of their favourite teacher. He wants nothing more than to impress Hob after his extended absence.
Hob's face softens markedly when he eyes Dream.
"Evening, stranger. Wasn't sure you'd make it,” he jokes, turning the key in the lock and holding the door open for the smaller man to enter.
Dream can barely contain himself when he enters. In the dimness and the candlelight, the New Inn resembles the White Horse miraculously. He figures it is no accident.
Before he can stop himself, he turns to Hob with misty eyes.
"I can assure you I will never willingly miss another of our appointments,” he tells Hob with an earnestness that shocks both of them.
Hob's face draws together worriedly.
"I was joking- my friend. I need you to know that I wasn't angry when you stood me up. Just worried,” he reassures him.
Dream laughs, a little embarrassed. Rare heat reddening his Endless cheeks.
"How bout a drink? Seems like we could both use one?" Hob asks, mercifully breaking the silence between them.
Dream nods, letting Hob lead him to the bar and taking an undignified seat on a barstool as the other man pours them a drink.
It's whiskey, a generous serving and Dream downs it in one quick motion, willing the liquor to fill his veins with courage. Hob is too impressed to be concerned.
"I was imprisoned,” Dream says after a moment.
Hob seemingly chokes on his liquor.
"You what?" he asks, his voice strained.
"In 1916 a man named Roderick Burgess summoned me while attempting to summon my sister. He kept me in a cage and demanded I bring his son back from the dead. This is a power I do not possess nor would I grant to a hapless mortal. So I remained there until recently,” Dream explains, as if saying the words quickly will make them ache less.
Hob looks like he's been slapped.
"Wait..." He shakes his head, his hands gripping the counter in a way that is draining them of colour.
"1916? You're telling me you were in prison for over a century?" his voice is strangled, his eyes wet.
"I've upset you?" Dream notes, telling more than asking.
Hob looks up at him incredulously.
"Jesus man- of course you've upset me. You're telling me that someone kept you against your will for a hundred fucking years and no one noticed? No one helped you? Oh god- I could have helped you- looked for you- had I not been so damned selfish and scorned when you missed our meeting I..." Hob rambles, seemingly spiralling.
Dream is up from his seat in seconds, and behind the bar with Hob.
He places gentle hands on the other man's shoulders before he can think better of it.
"Hob, please,” he tries to sound gentle. It has never been his strong suit.
"You were not to know,” he reassures him, heart twisting further as he sees tears forming in the brown eyes of his companion.
"I'm so sorry..." Hob begins, but trails off when he realises he still doesn't know how to address Dream. He picks up his glass, throwing it across the room, shattering it spectacularly on the far wall.
"Damnit!" Hob curses himself.
"Dream,” the raven haired man admits then, attempting to get closer to his angered friend.
Hob turns on him with damp, hopeless eyes.
"What?" he laments.
"My name,” Dream manages, voice small. He's never seen Hob be anything but joyful. The idea that he has this effect on the other man frightens him.
"My name is Dream,” he says then, voice stronger.
Hob's agony turns to understanding, his eyes soften, his fists unclench. His entire form seemingly relaxes in the knowing of his friend's name.
He laughs, a wet, self-piteous laugh.
"Well Dream," he tests the name on his tongue, a smile pulling at his cheeks.
"I'm gunna need another drink."
***
"An Endless?" Hob asks for what feels like the hundredth time. Dream has made multiple attempts to explain what he is and what exactly he does- but it sounds to Hob like gibberish.
"An Endless. An anthropomorphic manifestation of the human experience- of dreaming- in my case,” Dream explains, he's been very patient with Hob. More understanding than he had expected the being to be.
Hob finishes his drink, filling it almost to the top again with whiskey. He's drunker than this conversation probably calls for.
"That is..." he ponders for a moment.
"Insane,” he laughs.
"I'm very aware that my existence is a difficult concept for most humans to grasp. It is why I tend to stay away from them,” the other man replies, he almost sounds self-conscious. Hob wonders if a being of that power can even feel self-conscious.
"But not me?" Hob questions before he has the sense to shut his mouth.
"No," his stranger- Dream- smiles that small amused half-smile that Hob adores.
"No, not you. I wouldn't have stayed away from you if it were up to me,” he corrects, smile dropping heartbreakingly. He has had his fair share to drink too, Hob can tell by the flush in his cheeks and the truth that pours from his lips.
"Was it terrible?" Hob asks, eyes finding Dream's. There is a pain there that is enough to take Hob's breath away. He can only imagine- the torment of all those years alone- of no one caring enough to come looking. He places a kind hand on the table between them, gasping wetly as Dream takes it.
"It was the worst thing I've endured in my existence, since the loss of my son,” he admits, running a long, pale thumb across Hob's tanned fingers.
Hob is quiet for a moment. Lot to digest there. He's hurting- he had a son. Hob is beginning to think that Dream is more human than he gives himself credit for.
"There is nothing quite as painful as loneliness. It's a deep, dark, clawing thing. It wasn't so bad in the first few years- I'm not ruled by time as mortals are. I was happy to stew in rage. But after a while rage fades- it fades to the most profound sadness and longing. God I longed for..." he stops himself, wiping tears abashedly from his face.
Hob is compelled to share a secret- something to make Dream feel less ashamed.
"I spent a lifetime missing you,” he admits, letting the words hang for a minute in the open air. He isn't even sure he's said them until Dream's hands find his again, tightening around them.
"I know what it is like to feel alone, Dream. And I'm so sorry that you had to feel that way. If I ever came across that Burgess prick I'd make him pay for what he did to you. God's wrath would seem like childsplay,” he spits, the idea of anyone hurting his friend filling him with untenable rage.
His anger is subsequently extinguished when he notices Dream crying.
"Have I spoken out of turn?" he asks quickly, concernedly.
Dream doesn't speak, merely places his head in his hands, turning his body away from Hob in shame.
Hob is around the table quickly, kneeling on the floor in front of the Endless, pulling soft, lithe hands away from his face.
"Hey," he croons, voice gentle.
"Hey, it's okay. We're okay,” he tries to be reassuring, reaching up to wipe a tear from the other man's cheek.
"I apologise,” Dream says, quickly.
"I've had too much to drink. Our meetings are usually occasion for celebration and I've turned it into a session of mourning,” he languishes.
Hob tuts sympathetically.
"You can talk to me, Dream,” he addresses the Endless with a kindness the other man rarely receives.
Dream looks at him with careful consideration, eyes welling with tears once more.
"I'm sorry that I abandoned you when we last met,” he cries.
"It is one of the greatest mistakes of my long life. I can't help but think if we hadn't fought that you might have noticed I was missing from our meeting in 1989- that you might have come for me- that my imprisonment may have been cut short by some miracle- I longed for it... longed for you to save me." He's sobbing now.
Hob stands, pulling the other man to him tenderly.
"Shh, it's alright,” he soothes, only in standing does he realise just how much the liquor has gone to his head.
To Hob's surprise Dream clings to him, accepting his comfort and affection in a way he hadn't thought the Endless was capable of.
"I think we should probably call it a night,” Hob says gently then, pulling away to look at Dream. The other man's face falls further- if that is possible.
He sniffs.
"I understand,” he says, face hardening.
"I've made you uncomfortable- I shall depart."
Hob catches his arm.
"No, nothing like that. I think we've had a bit too much to drink. Happy to continue your story tomorrow mornin' and happy to put you up for the night if you need,” he explains hurriedly.
Dream looks at him, eyebrows drawing together with sorrow and longing and Hob almost feels as though he should look away. It feels like too private of a moment. Too much being shared between them. He feels as though he is looking directly into the Endless' soul.
"You'd allow me sanctuary after I've wronged you so?"
Hob can't help but chuckle. Who talks like that anymore?
"You're always welcome here, my friend. Got a loft upstairs,” he gestures with his head to the second floor.
Hob could just about drop dead when he feels Dream's hand slip into his.
"Lead the way," he instructs softly.
***
Hob's loft is modest and cozy, decorated with antiques that would go for thousands in the right auction.
Everything is very warm, brass tones and earthly greens, drapes made of heavy fabrics, carpets soft like animal hide. It's a beautiful place- Dream isn't sure he could concoct anything as beautiful.
It is dark in the apartment, but Hob navigates it expertly, landing them right in the centre of his room, at the foot of his bed.
He flicks on a lamp, causing warm orange light to flood the space.
"My abode,” he laughs awkwardly.
"It's wonderful,” Dream replies truthfully, moving forward to run his hand over Hob's emerald bed spread. The whole place smells of cedar wood and whiskey and cigarette smoke. Entering this place is like walking directly into Hob Gadling's mind. Dream feels strangely at home.
"There's only the one bed- but I'm happy to take the couch. Give me a second to sort you out a pair of pyjamas..." Hob begins, but before he can finish Dream has materialised himself a pair of black, silky pyjamas.
Hob laughs.
"And what's wrong with the colour yellow?" he teases.
Dream allows himself a smile, moving over to Hob's bed and pulling back the sheets.
"I'm supposed to be fearsome. How would I achieve that in a colour such as yellow?" he says it as though it's a dirty word. He slips under the sheets then, unabashedly making himself at home.
"Your bed is lovely,” he offers, running a hand distractedly across the fabric.
Hob chuckles again, sitting heavily on the bedside. He won't admit that the room spins a little as he does so.
"Thanks. Didn't think the Dream Lord would have much need for sleep though,” he queries, watching tenderly as the Endless' eyelids grow heavy.
"I don't normally have occasion to rest- but I've had a somewhat draining few weeks and thus will allow myself to indulge." He yawns, rubbing his eyes adorably and Hob has to force himself to look away.
"Well- uh- indulge away- I'll take the couch,” he agrees, moving to leave the bed.
Dream's hand is on Hob's arm then, catching him off guard.
"That's preposterous. You'll stay with me,” he instructs, rolling himself onto his side under Hob's sheets.
Before Hob can talk himself out of it, he removes his outer clothes. Remaining in only his boxers, he slides into the bed next to Dream, allowing a respectable distance between them.
He has to stop himself from crying out aloud as Dream inches closer to him, pressing himself into the crook of Hob's body. He's so cold. Hob yearns to move closer and so he does. He isn't sure if it's the liquor or this new Dream, but he aches for his stranger in a way he thought he'd gotten over.
"I have a request. Though I am aware you've done much for me already,” Dream's voice is so quiet Hob has to strain to hear it.
"Anything," Hob concedes, hoping Dream can't feel his heart slamming against his ribcage.
"Hold me?"
Being torn in half would be less painful then the vulnerability in Dream's voice. Hob's heart is surely set to escape from his chest. It seems like Dream needs him and Hob is desperate to fulfil that need. Without another word he takes the man into his arms, wrapping them around him protectively and sighing in contentment as he settles there.
He allows himself to relax minutely, the feeling of silky pyjamas and porcelain skin against him. There is so much he wants to say but he can tell that Dream is revelling in the silence, in the comfort of just being with Hob.
"Goodnight, Dream Lord,” he manages to almost sound normal. Dream doesn't even seem phased by their set-up. He seems as though he feels at home in Hob's arms.
When Dream speaks again, Hob can hear the smile on his face.
"Goodnight, Hob Gadling."
***
Hob sleeps. He sleeps for longer than usual and without the pesky nightmares that have a tendency to wake him at all hours.
When he does wake the sun has fully risen, peaking through a crack in his thick curtains. The line of light casts across Dream's face, making his skin impossibly light and his hair impossibly dark. Hob can't quite believe he is still there. He had assumed that last night had been some strange dream or that his centuries old psyche had finally snapped.
Before he can question the existence of the being beside him any longer, Dream’s eyes open, regarding Hob lazily. They're so close that he can see Dream’s pupils dilate to cover his sea blue irises.
"Good morning, Hob Gadling,” he smiles, voice low and husky from sleep.
"Good morning, Dream,” Hob laughs, of everything that happened last night, having the knowledge of his friend's name might be the most satisfying.
"Did you have a good rest?" he asks, aching to reach out and stroke the other man's inky black hair. He resists.
"Miraculously, I did. I think it might have something to do with these sheets,” Dream teases, running a hand along the quilt once more.
"I think I should like to sleep within them more often. If it is agreeable?" he asks, short circuiting Hob's brain as he tries to fully comprehend the Endless' offer.
"I- you? What?" he titters, sitting up so he can fully comprehend their situation. He is now aware that he is shirtless and that Dream doesn't seem to mind.
Dream sits up too, face drawing together in confusion.
"Have I misread the situation?" he asks blatantly, his hands finding Hob's in the sheets.
"I was under the impression that this sort of affection is reserved for romantic conquests,” he explains, cocking his head to the side to further articulate his confusion. He looks so adorable that Hob can barely stand it.
"Uh," Hob begins, but words have seemingly abandoned him. Coherent thought is similarly illusive.
"Oh,” Dream withdraws, his face hardening.
"Clearly, I've offended you. I was unaware that you still held onto some of the archaic views of the past. I shall take my leave,” he resigns, pulling away the covers and standing in an attempt to depart.
Hob's brain does the only thing it can think of in the moment to defuse the situation. He grabs Dream by the arm, pulling him back into the bed and across his lap, reaching downwards to press his lips to the other man's desperately.
The kiss is long and tender, so many unspoken words- apologies and admissions- they all melt between their lips.
To Hob's surprise Dream kisses him back, and seemingly has no intention to stop, even when Hob pulls away.
"I'm not offended,” he laughs breathily, heart racing.
"You're right that my actions were those of a man enamoured. I just presumed you'd never feel the same. You just shocked me is all,” he explains, running a tender hand across Dream's jawline. The other man looking up at him with enough fondness to make a grown man weep.
"I shocked you?" he asks, a pleased smirk on his soft lips.
"Surprised," Hob covers quickly. "A good surprise,” he clarifies.
Dream laughs, breathy and low. Hob wonders how on earth a being like him could fall for a mortal man, much less him.
"Do you think you'll recover?" he teases and Hob can't take it anymore. He pulls the man into another feverish kiss.
"I think I'll recover,” he reassures Dream, his voice barely a whisper. He pulls him closer, running a hand down his back.
"But it'll take a lot more of this."
***