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Hob shrieks as a figure materialises in his living room, already jumping to his feet in a defensive fighting stance.
"...Dream?"
Dream of the Endless blinks at Hob, swaying. He is covered in blood and bruising mottles the visible part of his collarbone. "I apologise, I did not mean to… mean to…" Dream's knees tremble, voice trailing off. He blinks.
Hob lunges for Dream seconds before his knees buckle, eyes close, and he pitches over. His normally graceful friend's collapse is nothing so elegant as his usual movements: knees folding up and the rest of his body following like a yanked marionette. Hob manages to catch him before his head collides with the coffee table. It doesn't feel real, and he half-expects Dream to step forward and shoo off the nightmare that has taken his form.
He carries Dream to his bed and lays him atop it. "Dream?" he asks, a bit tremulously, feeling around his friend's neck. There's a pulse, relatively strong and steady.
"The blood mostly isn't his," a voice from behind him in the flat says.
Hob jumps. "Jesus Christ, Matthew!"
"Wrong biblical figure," says Matthew, fluttering to the sofa.
Hob arches a brow. "Elaborate, if you would?"
"Hob?" Dream says, blinking in confusion; Hob turns his gaze back at once. "Why… what happened?"
"You don't remember?" Matthew asks, sounding worried, cawing immediately after.
"I think I need to figure out if you're actually hurt anywhere," Hob says gently. Dream raises his head, only to groan and reach up toward it.
"There was a battle with Hell," Matthew informs them. "Boss came here, after."
"That does not make me less concerned," Hob says, using a combination of dry and damp to clean off Dream's head, concerned about a head injury. The way Dream makes little pained noises when Hob jostles it a bit adds fuel to the theory. Eventually he's got it clean enough that he can tell what injuries are Dream's – there's a shallow laceration on the back of his head, surrounded by a raised knot. It's still bleeding.
Dream flinches when he touches it, trying to move his head away.
"How the fuck do you get concussed?" he asks Dream. "Do you know how this happens?" he adds, at Matthew.
"I don't know," Matthew says, hopping from foot to foot.
"Can you go … ask Lucienne? Wait, you won the battle, right?"
"We won," Matthew says. "Yeah, consulting Loosh sounds like a good plan." He cants his head at Dream, like he's expecting him to object, but Dream seems preoccupied with his new status as a concussed patient. He flies out the window Hob opens for him a minute later.
"Well," Hob says. "I don't know how it happened or was possible, then, but I'll do what I would do for anyone with a concussion."
Dream blinks at him, and asks, "What happened?" Tries to sit up, and outright whimpers.
"Shh. Lie down, Dream." Hob carefully places his palm onto Dream's shoulder, pushing down. "It's Hob Gadling, you're in my flat, you got hurt. Let me take care of you." He cleans out the wound even more, with antiseptic, and superglues it closed after delicately trimming the hair away in that location.
Dream stiffens in clear anxiety as Hob starts peeling and unlacing the armour off him. "I'm gonna get you into something more comfortable, that's all," Hob soothes. "And make sure there's nothing else going on, okay?"
His friend hums out a weak assent, and Hob finally gets all the armour off, stacking it in the tiles of his bathroom to clean up later. The only other injuries are some constellated bruises on his shoulders and back, and a slowly healing gash and burn on his forearm. Hob cleans that up, too, and makes sure there's no swelling on the bruises. He replaces the armour with an oversized sweatshirt, drawstring sweatpants, and very fluffy socks. Dream's eyes keep drifting closed, only to open again and watch Hob.
"You hanging in there?" Hob asks.
"Tired," Dream mumbles. "That is. Most. Perplexing."
"You can go to sleep, duck," Hob says gently. "Fatigue is common with head injuries."
He pulls a blanket over Dream as the other's breathing evens out.
Dream wakes in abject confusion. Waking is an uncommon occurrence in general for him, and pounding pain in his head even less common. His surroundings are unfamiliar and more importantly not the Dreaming. He lurches upright, and can't bite back the sharp noise of pain through clenched teeth. His vision frays around the edges with black spots, and the room tilts horribly.
"Dream, lay back down," says a voice gently, a hand pushing him slowly back into a pillow.
"Hob?" he asks, more confused than ever. "Why am I in your flat?" There's sense memory of something else, something full of burning flame and smoke and scorched grass, burnt hair. Of falling and someone catching him. Apart from that, the last thing he remembers clearly is being in the Dreaming, talking to Lucienne about some project or another, the growing unrest of Lucifer Morningstar and the legions of Hell.
He struggles against Hob's hand. "The – the Dre-"
"The Dreaming is safe, but you got invaded by Hell," Hob says. "And somehow you have a very human concussion."
Only part of that makes sense, but he's consumed by a different sensation a moment later: a twisting in his gut, and he hates it. Dream clamps one hand over his mouth and another over his stomach by instinct. He dry heaves with nothing coming up, miserable. Each motion jolts his head, which feels like someone is beating it like a snare drum. The sensation is painful and awful and mortifying that Hob witnesses it.
"Easy there," Hob murmurs. "I don't think you can die from this, but let me see your eyes."
Dream opens his eyes to glare at Hob, wincing at the lights. "I do not see why I need to –"
Hob finally rolls his eyes a little. "I'm checking for symptoms of a more severe head injury. You came here for that, I assume. For me to watch over you."
Dream subsides, shutting his eyes again. "The light…"
Mercifully, the light dims.
****
"Lucienne says some of the damage to the palace is manifesting in your corporeal form," Matthew reports to Dream. "And that recuperating here would be best. It's why you came here, I think? The palace took several direct hits."
"I see," Dream says, and Matthew preens at his hair.
"Merv is directing the repairs, so you should be feeling fine soon, I think," Matthew says.
****
Having a concussed Dream of the Endless in Hob's flat is… difficult. Dream already isn't terribly familiar with modern appliances unless he really bothers to dig out the info, and concussed, he's an absolute disaster with them. Said Endless being one of the most stubborn beings in existence doesn't help. Hob worries that if he leaves the flat to go to the shops Dream's going to overdo it and injure himself, and definitely more than a little concerned he'll accidentally burn the flat down. So Hob takes a week off teaching with the possibility of more for a "family emergency."
Trying to keep him in bed resting is impossible, though given what Hob understands, repairing the Dreaming is more the key to his recovery. One morning as Hob makes toast with marmalade and tea, he hears the shuffling of feet; Dream with a concussion makes noise, rather than manifesting silently. Dream wanders into the kitchen, blinking at the lights. Hob's jumper dangles off his skinny shoulders and wrists, and he stares at Hob without saying anything, like a cat waiting politely for cuddles.
"Hullo, dove," Hob says. "Do you need something?"
Dream frowns and screws his eyes shut at the lights. "The lights hurt. My head hurts. It is not supposed… to hurt like this. It is. Aberrant. Among the pains I have encountered." He opens his eyes, then shuts them again with a hiss. He tries to step toward Hob but his balance is off, and his eyes are shut, so he can't see where he is going, either. Normally Dream doesn't need eyes to see – something that both delights and perplexes Hob – but right now, he probably does.
Hob finds himself moving before he's consciously aware of it, and catches Dream when he wobbles. His friend mashes his face into Hob's shirt, scenting him like a cat, and lets out a little pleased hum at whatever he smells. Here's the other thing. Dream, concussed, seeks Hob's warmth, curls into him affectionately. Hob had never pegged Dream for this much tactility, and the way he gorges himself upon it now is both adorable and a little heartbreaking.
"Do you think you're not going to be able to have this when you're recovered?" Hob finally asks, a few days later. Dream's head rests on his shoulder, chest to chest with Hob, feet curled and poking at Hob's knees.
Dream starts, body going rigid like he's about to flee, like some horrible secret has been discovered. "You… I… what?"
"I like it when you're cuddly," Hob says. "Everybody needs a good cuddle now and then. You don't have to be hurt or anything, even. I just didn't realise you would want it." He pets up and down Dream's back, kneading his fingers into the other's neck. Dream gasps, and burrows into Hob, like he could claw through Hob's chest.
"You… have no idea," Dream says slowly. "How much… I will want."
He says the word want like it was a curse bespelling certain doom. Like it was a heinous sin. Tainted.
"Right now… it is. I cannot… manifest claws, or teeth, or some other manner of beastly feature. I have. Wanted. To dig claws into you and. Not let go. It. I. Do not know why. It is. A hunger."
"I cannot die, dove," Hob says. "And you have no idea how much I want, Dream. How much I don't want to let you go." He kisses Dream's dark hair, increasing the strength of his back rubbing, until Dream's body goes lax and loose under his hands. "I think we can figure that out."
"Truly?" Dream sounds half asleep, drunk on the contact.
"Truly," Hob confirms.
****
Two weeks later and no longer concussed, Dream materialises in his flat, and drapes himself over Hob unceremoniously. Today he's a many-limbed creature with claws and teeth. Then he flips them over so Hob is lying with his full weight on Dream. Dream purrs, a vibration that shakes Hob's body, claws pricking through Hob's shirt and digging in loosely. A silky tail, unlike fur or feather or anything Hob's ever felt, wraps around one of Hob's legs. Dream's eyes flutter shut.
Hello, Hob, Dream's voice echoes inside his head.
"Hullo, love," Hob says, and kisses Dream's forehead.
The purring increases.