Work Text:
Hob isn’t entirely sure what’s going on, but he doesn't hate it. This huge giant of a man picked him off the battlefield while he was still recovering from his latest death, and well. He’s not exactly a prisoner. It’s just whenever he tries to leave, the guy grabs his elbow and looks at him so forlornly. So he stays. Apparently he likes having his ear talked off, like another immortal Hob met once. Because oh yeah. This one’s an immortal too. Not nearly as mysterious as the other one, even though he doesn’t talk, not even as much as Hob’s Stranger, the one who promised to meet him in a hundred years and then disappeared. But he has normal expressions and body language, and for some reason he just wants Hob around (like, to the extent that Hob has gotten used to being watched while he performs bodily functions and cuddled while he sleeps. Like a teddy bear or something). He’s clearly not human though, because he takes Hob from War to Disaster, and he doesn’t die any more than Hob does. Even though they should have. Frequently. That one time… Hob shudders. Maybe he just needed an indestructible playmate?
Because that’s the thing. He doesn’t talk. He’s got this great, extremely sardonic eyebrow lift he uses occasionally, which reminds Hob oddly strongly of his Stranger, and plenty of other gestures and expressions (big ones, not tiny like the Stranger’s). But whenever he opens his mouth to talk, he pauses, then gives a sad sigh, hanging his head. Hob’s pretty sure it’s not physical nor permanent. It could be a curse, he guesses. But based on the cloud of depression informing every expression and movement, Hob thinks it’s just that. Guy’s too depressed to get the words out. Well, that’s okay. Hob has plenty of words for both of them. Maybe he’ll even eventually be able to cheer him up enough so he finds his words back. Hob decides his goal is to someday hear him laugh. Guy this big, he probably has an awesome laugh. Hob can’t help getting a bit attached. Despite the violence of their circumstances and the clear depression, the guy is starting to feel like a big teddy bear to him. It goes both ways, apparently.
He’s strange, though. Hob wonders if in fact he may be of a type or kind to know what or who his Stranger is. So one day, he takes a stub of burnt wood from the fire and uses the blackened end to draw on the wide flat stone they were sitting on. It’s a very crude likeness—he’s not much of an artist. But the big guy gives a huff that might almost be a small laugh, if it had about 30% less sadness in it. He takes the stick from Hob and adds a few strokes to the drawing. Two things quickly become clear—he does know Hob’s Stranger, and he’s no better at art than Hob is. And then the stick breaks in his hand and Hob watches the clouds cover his countenance once again. Hob shakes his head. Not a problem. He takes the crumbles of ash and rubs them in his fingers, then uses his fingers to attempt to refine the drawing. It’s still not great, but his friend (can he call him that? Friend? It seems like it to Hob, anyway. Better than kidnapper for sure. Anyway, his friend) gets the idea and starts to draw with his finger tips. Still not a great artist, but boy does he know well that smug expression the Stranger wore.
“You know him?” Hob asks, hoping for a nod.
“My brother.” His voice is deep like, apparently, his brother’s, which seems less odd on a person of his size, and it’s very rough, Hob thinks mostly from disuse though some may be wear from the wordless battle cries he had continued to use and who knows? It may just be like that.
“You have a brother? He has a brother???” Hob is bowled over by gaining so much information in two short words, but he doesn’t want to overwhelm his friend (he’s just going to go with that) with too many questions at once. He watches in awe as the big guy starts drawing another figure, and another, until there are seven in all, crowded onto that big stone. Hob’s pretty sure he recognizes one of the sisters, though many of the others look strangely familiar—like someone you grew up with but haven’t seen since you were both kids.
“My family.”
Hob looks at him, astonished, but clearly this isn’t a door he’s cracked open but a floodgate he’s released, because now the guy is telling him all about his siblings, complete with funny anecdotes.
“But what are you?” Hob asks, when he finally comes to the end of his fond stories. Who knew that a little bit of drawing would get his friend to open up so much?
“Oh, me? I’m Destruction of the Endless.” That was odd. Hob had asked what—fae, wizard, demon, maybe?— and Destruction (!) had answered with his name.
“Nice to meet you, Destruction. But what kind of creature are you and your siblings?” Hob tries again.
Destruction guffaws. It is not a wholly happy laugh yet, kind of sardonic, maybe, but it is a lot closer than anything he’s heard yet, and Hob is counting it as progress.
“Ah but my Hobling, it is a what as well as a who. We are our functions. You, you are a treasure, because no matter how much I am myself, I cannot destroy you.” And with that he envelops Hob in one of his great bear hugs. They were great, Hob had never been held by anyone who put so much attention and presence and physical strength into a hug. And occasionally they were also awful, when they continued until his bones cracked or his organs bruised. Today, one of Destruction’s arms is around his head and the next thing he knows:
“Really, Brother, again?” Hob looks over and sees a beautiful dark Angel with large spreading wings. Oh, he knows her. He’s seen the Angel of Death before, he just never seems to remember after he finishes recovering. A normal big guy hug then. But also. He glances at the stone with the family portrait.
“Wait, Death? Are you one of his siblings too?”
She looks at him fondly. “Yes, Hob, I am. We seem to have a family fascination with you, it appears.”
He squirms in Destruction’s loosening hold and is put down on his feet again. He pats Destruction’s arm to show there are no hard feelings and faces Death more fully.
“And what was it with your brother? Why did he persuade you to leave me here instead of taking me?”
Death laughs. “Oh, Dream! He couldn’t understand why someone would want to refuse my gift. Thought it would drive you insane! I’m hoping you’ll prove him wrong, show him what life is worth living for.”
“Oh, well, that’s okay, then! I can do that!” Hob is relieved. Apparently his “deal with a devil“ isn’t going to cost him anymore than his already clear intention to enjoy life to the fullest.
“Oh. Um. I might be messing with that.” Hob sees the chagrin on Destruction’s face and rushes to comfort him.
“No, I love travelling with you, love. And look how much progress you’ve made today!”
Death laughs. “He’s got you there, Brother!” Then she folds her wings and comes over to hug her little brother. “Take care of yourself. You can sort this out. It will be okay.”
“I’m grateful for your faith in me, Sister.” He hugs her back, very gently. Then, with a wave to them both, she disappears again.
Hob looks at his friend. “So. Destruction. What next?”
“I have a lot to think about. But if you don’t mind my company, maybe we can continue together until I figure out what’s next?”
“Sounds fantastic to me. Maybe dinner’s next though?” Hob kneels to check the food baking in the coals, trying not to leap out of his skin in Wonder at what his life has become.
It took a couple years, during which Hob and Destruction became very close (I’ll leave how close up to your imagination), for Destruction to decide that he was going to leave his function and become a travelling artist. Much as he would miss him, he asked Hob to stay behind because he didn’t want to interfere with his brother and sister’s Experiment too much. (Hob wasn’t sure how he felt about being an Experiment, but after all, that was what had gotten him into all of this, so he couldn’t resent it too much.) Hob found that he didn’t enjoy the violence as much without Destruction around, and went looking for a softer career. Eventually he struck upon the printing trade as an interesting new avenue to pursue, and from there, you know the rest of the story.