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Chapter Text

Saving Dream from Fawney Rig wasn’t the hard part. Despite Hob’s qualms, once Death had outlined the layout and helped distract the guards, the rest had been quite simple. Woo the young son of the bastard since-passed owner Burgess, convince him to show Hob around the home, spend the night pretending it was too late to return, before sneaking down to save his dear friend and scurry away with his rescue in the dead of night. 

Dear friend. The dearest. Hob liked to remind himself through gritted teeth as Dream, recently rescued and since cleaned up, fed, and provided with enough warm clothing than he knew what to do with, slouched over the couch with his signature pout and grumbled yet again at his misfortunes. 

“It is not rational for me to remain here,” Dream scrounged, glaring through the window from his seat in Hob’s worn burgundy couch, fireplace flickering through his starry eyes. 

Hob sighed, placing the bowl of chicken noodle soup and bread in front of his friend before tossing the nearby blanket atop him, ignoring his protests. His dear friend, he repeated to himself internally, walking back to his own now-cold bowl of food to finally relax and eat after a long day. Long week, really. 

Because in the week since his rescue, Dream had learned, to his dismay, that he was not able to jump right back into action. Yes, he was able to summon nightmares and shadows around himself to a minimal degree – as Hob had the displeasure of discovering during the first of many tantrums – but not without wearing himself down and needing a lie-in after. Or, as in the first case, for Hob to lift his scrawny ass from the floor and settle him into the sofa (in full disregard of mumbled threats, because those starry eyes were stubbornly fighting sleep even then) before Dream fully succumbed to his body’s demands. 

His very human body’s demands. 

At least that’s how Death put it. Upon discovering where her brother was, she crossed off a lot of options before realizing their best bet was, in fact, the cause itself – human intervention. And so, Hob had set off on the joyride of his life. Happily, he insisted to the armful of a teary Dream that first night, after helping his invalid friend/Endless bathe, into some comfortable sleepwear and quickly buried under the warmth of several quilts. Because who wouldn’t happily rescue a friend in need? From drastic circumstances? And if Hob was one thing, it was a good friend. 

A good friend who was nearing the end of his wits now that Dream was gaining his strength back. Apparently, said strength first went not to his limbs for independent movement and such, like perhaps cleaning his own dishes, but in fact to his mouth. With a haughty demeanor looking down at him as though he hadn’t been in bed three nights prior with a thermometer between his lips, red nose and teary eyes so big and wide, following Hob’s every move as though afraid to be left alone again. To be left alone forever.

Heart twisting at the image replaying in his head, Hob turned to his bowl of soup, ignoring the coolness of the broth as he eyed his friend, who so far had taken exactly one bite of soup and half a bite of toast before staring at his food again. God, it was like dealing with a toddler, Hob thought sardonically, before feeling guilt rise back up at the sight of Dream’s right hand, shaking minutely as it picked at the bread and lifted it weakly towards its owner’s mouth. 

Despite several days of non-stop feeding and resting, Dream was nowhere near back to his usual self; still concerningly skinny and hallow-faced, his hair in disarray no matter how often Hob ran a comb through it the first few days (“Who are you, Harry Potter?” “Who?” “Never mind”) and mouth and face set in perpetual frown of deep thinking. Or sulking, as Death put it when she came by to check on him post-rescue. 

“I hope you remembered to thank your friend for his aid,” Death had said, rather sternly to her little brother. Her tone was a stark contrast to the grip in which she’d enveloped Dream, hugging him against herself so tightly that Hob was afraid he would suffocate. Dream alleviated these fears by mumbling into Death’s hair, no doubt something petulant given how Death rolled her eyes before ruffling his hair. A low-energy Dream was a sight to see, Hob thought fondly, as despite his best efforts Dream was unable to shake off the firm embrace of his big sister, eventually giving in, face blushing as he relaxed in her arms.  

Death didn’t leave anytime soon either, assuring Dream in a low, soothing voice that she would find a way to help him recover his powers in full and would check on him every other day. She said nothing as she felt silent tears wet her neck and shoulder, simply went back to gently scratching his head.

That night, Hob had brought them all dinner to the sofa and started talking about anything, everything, whatever helped Death and him chat through aimless topic after topic and kept Dream from voicing his begrudging concern that Death had work to catch up on and needn't stay with him any longer. Both spoke in hushed voices by the crackling fire, as Dream’s tense body slowly relaxed and he was boneless in his sister’s arms, surrounded by peace and security he hadn’t felt in a long while. Death had stroked his hair, cuddling him closer with a wistful look in her eye that had Hob remembering his own sisters, long since gone. A touch softer than when she’d first met Hob, eyes burning with a ferocity that had Hob pity anyone who came between her and her loved ones. Now, she stayed seated long after Dream fell asleep and did not depart, regret in her eyes, until the fire had settled into embers. 

So it wasn’t like Hob hadn’t seen his friend through many a trial and humbling moment. Not that he’d deign to bring those up – he may have been born a peasant but he was no uncouth – but you’d think the king of Dreams would keep such times in mind before ordering Hob around as though he was one of his own subjects. 

“Technically, you are,” Dream had mumbled lazily from his cloud of blankets this morning. Hob had scoffed back, “Right, and I’m also the secret lovechild of the royal family.” To which Dream had blinked at him, oblivious to the concept of humor and clearly tracing Hob’s lineage through his still powerful mind. Hob rolled his eyes upwards. “I jest, my liege. But your sister herself said the other day that the Endless exist for the humans they serve, not vice versa.” He finished with a proud smirk, amused at Dream’s responding scowl at this reminder. Dream had chosen not to answer any further, instead turning his back toward Hob and burying himself into his blanket cocoon until only wild dark hair peeked out from the top. 

The past seven days. Hob sighed, gulping down the last of his soup before heading over to the sink. The past seven days had been a trial in patience. Patience of a saint, really. And Hob would definitely be consulting Death about the possibility of sainthood in return for his heroic rescue and care-taking of her baby brother. Sure, he may have said, “What are friends for?” cheekily the first time she asked about repayment, but he’d been younger then, and more naïve. 

Following the first two days of attending to the basic care and keeping of a wild Endless (Hob had to thank David Attenborough for his internal voice-over), said creature had since built his strength enough to shuffle from room to room, clad in Hob’s too-large jumper and joggers, with a woolen blanket wrapped around him as he peered balefully between the folds every time Hob asked him anything involving do-it-yourself tasks like ‘could you make the bed while I get coffee ready?” or “Could you please throw your leftovers in the dustbin and not in the sink?” 

Lord, but with that ever-present shadow of a perpetually needy blanket fiend scuttling behind him, refusing to leave his side but also glaring should Hob ever ask him to join in for food or a movie – it was like dealing with a moody adolescent 24/7. Which, given Death’s knowing cackle following Hob’s tired admission, was apparently not far from the truth anyway. 

Now. 

“Dream, would you be a dear and finish up your supper?” Hob called out over the noise of the sink as he wiped down his plate. Dream, in response, gave him a dirty look before turning back to the supper mournfully. Hob paused. “I can help. If you’d like. Like before.” Before being spoon-feeding, as Dream had hardly been able to lift a limb after his rescue.

Dream rolled his eyes and unraveled a quaking hand from the folds of his blanket to reach for the spoon. Hob bit his tongue, reminding himself this was a patient, for all intents and purposes, recently recovered from a traumatizing experience Hob wouldn’t wish on anyone. Except, well, the culprits themselves. Thankfully, Death assured him once Hob had removed the sigil and all other protective marks around the manor, that the family and guards had paid well for their poor choices. 

A splattering sound shook Hob from his thoughts as he whirled around to see Dream grimace at the fallen spoon from his weak hold, now lying on the carpet with soup stains around it. Dream looked down his nose at the spoon as though willing it to rise again or burst into flames trying. Fortunately for both the spoon and Hob’s home, nothing followed except a drop in Dream’s shoulders. Moving himself an inch to reach down, Dream winced at the effort before rising back up, a frustrated expression on his face. 

“Hey, it’s alright,” Hob offered, walking over to grab the spoon and wipe away at the soup with a wet tissue. He dropped the offending items into their respective places and returned quickly to sit down next to Dream with another spoon in hand, dipping it into the soup before raising it to Dream’s face. “Good as new.” 

Dream looked at the new spoon with cross eyes of seething rage. Oh no, Hob thought tiredly, here we go. 

“I,” Dream started slowly, gathering energy with the pace of a snail, “do not need your attendance to sustain myself. I will recuperate well on my own, once I am back in the Dreaming.” 

“Yes, well,” Hob chortled, well used to this argument by now. “You won’t make it far ahead when you can barely hold your hand up.” He pushed the spoon to Dream’s lips, eyes wide in encouragement. “Just one bite, please?” 

Dream's eyes narrowed in return. Clearly not the right thing to say, then. “I am not some human youngling in need of its mother,” he growled, the effort losing measure with the spoon against his mouth. “And I do not require more.” The following rumble in Dream’s stomach said otherwise. Hob raised his eyebrow at Dream, who scowled further. 

“This form is flawed, I do not – mph!” He gurgled, eyes squeezed shut as the spoon was slid gently, but firmly, into his mouth. Swallowing deeply, he opened his eyes to glare at Hob, who grinned back unrepentantly.

“There, now that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Hob asked cheerfully, reaching over to dip the spoon again before seeing, from the corner of his eye, the rising darkness simmer up against his walls. Hob sighed internally. Clearly, he took it too far tonight. 

“Now, Dream...” he started, turning back to his grouchy storm cloud, but said cloud had already gone black-eyed and bared teeth, seething under the colorful quilts around his shoulders. 

“You dare?” hissed the cloud, as darker shapes surrounded him and Hob, causing the fire to die away against the settling chill. Hob put the spoon down and raised his hands in apology. 

“Look, I didn’t mean to infantilize you –” he began, broken off by Dream growling and rising in a huff, looking like a grumpy superman with his blanket cape over him, looming over Hob. Hob blinked back slowly, unafraid. “Dream...” 

Dream’s pout settled further in his face, eyes stubbornly wet, hair wilder than before, as he kicked aside the table next to him for room to stomp away to the bedroom. His kick, though still weak, caused the soup and glass of water on top to come tumbling down, leaving the carpet strewn with water, broth, chicken pieces and floating noodles. Dream didn’t turn back or pause in apology, huffing away directly to the bedroom before slamming the door shut. 

Just as quickly, the shadows withered away, and the room was bright again. Hob rubbed his face before walking over to gather his cleaning materials, which had been getting closer and closer to his reach since Dream became his new roommate. 

From the bedroom, he heard a blaring of Hob’s new speaker as it loudly played Dream’s latest favorite song (to be heard nonstop until Hob could cry, as with his other favorite songs), Move by Hozier. 

Hob adored Hozier. He also deeply regretted introducing Dream to his speaker. Deeply.

Chapter Text

A month in, and things hadn’t really improved. If anything, they’d gotten worse.

The first time, Hob was in absolute panic. Waking in the middle of the night to total silence didn’t often leave him unnerved, but just then it did. He cautiously walked over and knocked on the guest bedroom door where Dream was residing. No answer. Frowning, he knocked twice more before giving in to the feeling of twisting uncertainty in his stomach and wrenching the door open. Empty. No Dream. Bed unmade, some of Hob’s things, then borrowed by Dream, still lying around. No note, but also nothing else to indicate his state of mind.

Panic.

Hob didn’t know what to do first. Calming himself, he searched around the flat, which soon revealed the absence of a scowling Eldritch. Reaching his front door, Hob found it unlocked and swore to himself. What would have possessed Dream to step out? Or had someone taken him? He didn’t even have a phone on him!

Panic rising further, Hob momentarily contemplated giving Death a call, before stopping himself. Although Death had given him a signal by which to connect should he need it in his care and keeping of Dream, he couldn’t imagine calling the not-so-grim Reaper to tell them you’d lost their ailing and essentially helpless little brother.

Rubbing sleep out of his eyes, Hob slipped on his boots and jacket, grabbing his keys and wallet in preparation to go who-knows-where, and opened the door, rushing out – he was coming, Dream, he’d save him again –

And promptly tripped on a shapeless form, which went ‘Oof’ before landing flat on his back. Stars danced in front of his eyes before a fuzzy face appeared above him, eyes glinting like starlight. Dream. It was Dream. Hob shook his head, breathing out a sigh of relief. Dream, still hovering above him, frowned.

“What is it you were trying to do?” he asked, puzzled, as though his own presence outside in the middle of the Autumn chill at 4 am was perfectly normal.
Hob groaned quietly before pushing himself up, waving Dream’s proffered hand away to rise up and dust himself off. Turning to Dream, he squinted at him suspiciously.

“Me? I was looking for – what are you doing outside?” Hob waved in the general direction of the street ahead, bewilderment clear in his voice.

Dream tilted his head as though the question meted serious thought, as though the whole situation was in fact quite logical once Hob bothered paying attention.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Dream admitted, eyes turning away to look at the moon. “I thought, perhaps, a change may provide…assistance.”

Hob blinked at him. Then really looked at him. Dream stood there in his sleepwear (Hob’s sleepwear, sagging on Dream) and bedroom slippers without a coat, hat, scarf – nothing, really, to shield him against the biting chill of the night.

Alright, he knew Dream wasn’t used to feeling human, but how was he not blue from the cold by now? Hob shivered, feeling the breeze bite at his exposed ankles. Dream noticed.

“You should return to bed. I will be in shortly,” he said, breathing out mist and turning back to look at the night sky. Hob gaped. And noticed that Dream was, in fact, hiding minute trembles by standing stiffly against the wall. The tip of his nose and ears were pink from the cold. In the moonlight, he looked even frailer than usual, closer to how he’d first appeared when Hob had rescued him.

“You will be in shortly? Is that right?” Hob repeated in disbelief. Shaking his head, he turned to make his way back inside, crossing the door and muttering to himself even as a weary arm reached out to grab a surprised Dream by the elbow and yank him back inside the warmth of the flat.

Pushing Dream away from the front door, Hob made quick work of turning all necessary knobs and bolts to ensure the door was securely locked before shrugging off his jacket and turning to face Dream. Who was glaring back, eyebrows scrunched, mouth ajar at Hob’s casual and frustratingly easy manhandling of his person.

“What –” Dream snarled, before Hob raised a finger to his face. “No. You cannot go outside. Consider it off the list.” Rubbing sleep from his eyes, Hob headed to the kitchen, putting water to boil in the hopes that he’d be able to persuade Dream to guzzle down anything warm. Prevent Hob’s hard work on curing his patient from going down the drain.

Dream turned his head sharply. “List? What list?”

Hob nodded to himself, watching the water boil as he set out the teacups and walked back to Dream. The list. The list he’d made on the spot because it made perfect sense for Dream – for any unruly patient, honestly, that thought it was a good idea to wander off in the middle of the night without warning. Or basic garments for warmth.

“The list,” Hob repeated, grabbing the deep green Sherpa throw on the sofa near him and unfolding it as he continued, “The list of things you can and cannot do as someone who, though not human, is pretty much recovering like one and needs to act the part.” Walking up to Dream, he swiftly wrapped the open throw around his friend, tightly winding it around before pushing Dream over to the sofa, muffled protests ignored.

“Now just. Stay put. I’m making tea.” Hob yawned, stretching his arms as he walked back over to the kettle to pull out a pack of biscuits. Sugar at dawn wasn’t ideal, but neither was being awake, and Hob needed the energy to get through what he anticipated would be another outburst momentarily.

“You –” and there it was. Hob took a bite of the chocolate biscuit, savoring the salty sweetness as Dream struggled to twist around on the sofa from inside his blanket wrap, enraged. “I am not following some foolish list applicable to mortals,” he spat out, looking angrily at Hob, who sat at the kitchen counter with closed eyes and a look of satisfaction as he chewed his biscuit. “And I will certainly not be denied the choice to go where I may and do as I might.” Dream finished with a deep breath, drained from the exertion the speech had cost him.

Hob opened his eyes, peering down at Dream. His friend could look like a model on the worst of days, but when grouchy or upset, he ventured more into angry kitten territory. It didn’t help that his hair was rumpled from sleep and face pink with cold, or that he was wrapped up like a fuzzy cotton ball on the sofa. Hob wanted to coo.

But that wouldn’t help matters. Instead, he turned as the kettle, bless it, began to whistle, and quickly set up a too-early breakfast of tea and biscuits. Placing the tray on the coffee table before Dream, Hob pushed the steaming cup of tea forward. “Drink. It’ll help with the cold.” Ignoring Dream’s steadily-growing pout of frustration, Hob bit into a biscuit and continued. “I understand you are not used to the condition you’re in right now. Hell, even I haven’t a clue. But the fact remains, you are far less likely to return to your normal proud self unless you actually heal. Which,” he gestured to the window, “going outside in the cold will not help with. Without a coat, no less.”

He rolled his eyes at Dream, who glared back stubbornly, eyes watering as they always did when he was upset. “And I would appreciate if you didn’t just wander off into the night without telling me. You don’t know the area, you don’t have a phone or cash on you, and I would certainly not want to continue sleeping not knowing my friend’s whereabouts – or with an unlocked home,” Hob finished with a smile and gesture to the tea. “Drink, please. It’ll help, I promise.”

Dream continued to glower, but reached for his tea and took a sip, shuddering as the warmth seeped through him. Hob nodded to himself, satisfied as he saw Dream drink and tentatively bite into a biscuit. He leaned back against the couch, feeling his eyes shutter with sleep. “I’ll be right here if you need me,” was the last thing he remembered mumbling before sleep won over. In the morning, Hob woke up with Dream asleep beside him, breathing softly, the throw draped across both of them. Dream’s head had fallen onto Hob’s shoulder. Hob smiled.

That, of course, was supposed to be the end of it. Or so he thought.

Dream, much to Hob’s frustration, did not take heed of his word. Just a few nights later, Hob woke to use the loo and, by chance, wandered over to check on Dream.

Seeing the empty bed, he quelled the creeping feeling of fear and looked outside his front window. Dream, with Hob’s jacket (thankfully!) hanging from his skinny shoulders, silhouetted against the moonlight. Hob sighed and put the kettle on, preparing not-so-friendly words to chide his friend with for doing exactly the opposite of what was on The List.

To little avail, for this happened twice more within the next week. By round three, Hob started leaving his door ajar to keep a weather ear on the horizon. By the fourth round, Hob found Dream leaning against the wall, asleep and vulnerable to anyone and the chill of incoming winter. He’d pinched his nose and taken a deep breath, before bending down to gather his friend in his arms and carry him inside. Come morning, Dream had woken under a heavy pile of blankets layered protectively over him as though to shield him from the world. And in front of him, slouched against a chair and snoozing beside his clearly blocked bedroom door, was Hob, arms folded loosely as though he was preparing a lecture before sleep overtook him.

It took an hour of shouting and another hour of Hob pleading before Dream admitted, through gritted teeth, that he went outside to feel – well, something. Despite the noise and chaos that his weakened, near-human form gave him, going outside and seeing the sky so resembling that of the Dreaming, feeling the biting chill of the weather, meant he could feel something again. Something other than numbness.

Hob was silent for a while, looking down at his hands as Dream glared stubbornly at his own. Hob raised his head.

“Would it help if we moved the bed over to the window?” he asked, hope in his voice. Dream blinked, pondered the possibility. “We could leave it open a crack so you can feel the cold without letting it make you ill.”

Dream silently seethed at the undeniable reality of his current form, at its many weaknesses. Too many. “Perhaps,” he responded sullenly. Hob looked at him thoughtfully. “Perhaps,” he repeated, “Or perhaps you could…oh I don’t know…wake me so I could join you? If you are going to step out, I’d like to at least make sure you aren’t alone.” He smiled at Dream tentatively, knowing how proud his friend could be.

Dream said nothing for a moment, before grimacing and nodding, once. Hob grinned. “So you’ll let me know? And meanwhile, we could move the bed? Is that a promise?” He felt much more optimistic at the possibility.

Dream turned to him and nodded slowly again, lost in thought. Hob had clapped his shoulder in appreciation before heading over to push Dream’s bed and crack open the window. “You know,” he continued, moving things around as he felt Dream come up behind him, watching warily, no doubt, “If you need to, I’m here to listen. I – I know I don’t do that much normally, and I’m not in your shoes but – I do know. You know. What it’s like to feel nothing. And lose everything.”

Dream saw the lost look in Hob’s eyes, remembered the haunted and starving Hob from the 17th century, and swallowed. Hob shook himself slightly and grinned at Dream. “I’m no therapist but, you know, I’d like to think it’s a smidge better than risking frostbite.”

Dream blushed and said nothing, moving over to his bed and looked out the window, breathing in the chilly air peeking through the slivered opening. He nodded in silent thanks at Hob and turned to lie down, pulling the quilt over his head in eagerness to end their conversation. Hob understood and, nodding at Dream’s back, crept out and quietly shut the door. To be cautious, he also set a master lock in place on the entry door to prevent any further comings and goings by sleepless patients.

Optimistic by nature, Hob didn’t really think his plan would fail.

Chapter Text

Optimistic by nature, Hob didn’t really think his plan would fail.

It did. Disastrously.

For a mere three nights later, Hob woke up – at that point it was instinct to check on Dream, like an anxious new parent – and felt surprisingly cold. Had the heating turned off? Frowning, he rose up to check the control and – no, all set there for a toasty night. Why was it cold?

Hob switched on his light, shuffling over to wrap himself in a nearby woolen jacket, shivering. He stepped out quietly, looking around for the source of the chill. As he did, he noticed Dream’s door was still shut. Best to check on him right after, Hob decided, and switched on the hallway light. All windows were sealed, the front door was still bolted shut. So what…?

Instinctively, Hob turned around and walked over to Dream’s door, trying to knock at a sensible level without stirring his friend awake. No sound. He tried again, and again, and by round three he opened the door to find the room chilled to the bone, bed empty and in disarray, and window fully open. Oh no.

Hob ran over to the window, sticking his head outside to glance around frantically. No Dream. It wasn’t a big drop down, but in this cold and in his condition…
Hob wrenched the window shut, shivering from the chill and praying the central heating would make a difference soon enough. Marching over to the front door to unlock the bolt, he grabbed his coat and stuffed his feet into thick boots, muttering furiously under his breath. Of all the imbecilic, illogical things –

Wrenching the door open, Hob marched outside, stomping through the fallen and crushed leaves until he was on the pavement, breathing heavily and turning back and forth. No Dream. No Dream and no idea where he’d go, and on a frosty night like this – what kind of caretaker was Hob, really? And why on all nights would he go on the coldest night – oh, Death was going to claim his life for certain –

Crunch. Hob whirled around, seeing a familiar, skinny silhouette come up the path.

“Oh, thank heavens,” he gasped out, crouching down to quell the dread turning inside him. The silhouette grew clearer, and against the street lamps cast a shadow over Hob. A pause in the crunching, no doubt at the sight of what may have looked like a crazy hoodlum wheezing in front of his home.

“Hob…?” The melodic voice questioned in surprise, and Hob had never been so happy – barring the night of the rescue – to hear that voice. So happy and so…so angry. So very angry.

Bordering on furious.

Hob was sure steam was coming out of his ears, because the steps had grown tentative, approaching him cautiously as you would an untamed beast. “Hob, are you…are you alright?” The crunching stopped as Dream’s shadow fell over him, two sneaker-clad feet (where did he even find Hob’s sneakers?) visible to Hob as he continued breathing deeply in his bent position. Looking up blearily, he saw Dream’s pursed mouth, eyebrows tilted and eyes gazing as if to convey worry over his sanity. The chilly air blasted their way, causing Dream’s hair to fly against his pink face. Despite the jacket he’d deigned to put on, Dream was not covered in any other winter-appropriate layering, and from the look of his watering eyes and red nose, he was feeling it too.

Oh, Hob was going to kill him.

“What,” he gritted out, shaking from the cold. “Exactly what are you doing outside?”

Dream frowned, shuffling his feet in a way that could convey guilt were it anyone other than him. No, on him it still looked regal, like he was pondering his next choice of words. There was still too much the pride of a prince born with his commands fulfilled, not used to being told to follow any lists or run about in the cold like some inept child.

“I’ve told you before,” Dream started, ignoring Hob’s glare, “I like to step outside –”

“At the crack of dawn? In the middle of winter?” Hob interrupted, glare attempting to burn a hole through Dream’s haughty expression, to no avail. “Dream, we’ve talked about this. Several times. We agreed you would sleep by the window – or at least call me if you wanted to come outside.”

Dream glared back, offended. “I don’t recall any verbal agreement on my part,” he bit back, expression shifting back to angry kitten mode, wet eyes and pout ready. Swallowed by Hob’s bigger clothes and standing beside Hob’s sturdy frame, he seemed smaller and younger than usual.

“Dream –”

“I never said I would stop coming outside on my own. That was never part of your – your ‘promise,’” Dream spat out, looking every inch like a hissing cat, black hairs standing against the wind. Even his eyes were glowing in the moonlight.

Hob shook his head. “It was on the list. It was the first thing I added to the list.” He rubbed his arms, shivering. “Now come inside before we both catch our death. But we’re not done talking about this.” Arching an eyebrow at his friend, he turned to go inside, expecting Dream to follow.

“To hell with your lists,” Dream hissed from behind him. “I am not subject to your orders. I am through talking with you, and I am not quite finished with my stroll.”

The scrunching of leaves indicated he had turned back around to continue his nightly stroll, frozen limbs and extremities be damned.

Well.

Hob was going to see about that.

Not pausing to think, Hob let impulse win out, twisting around sharply to march through the leaves right back to Dream. The crunching grew louder, and Dream turned his head, the stubborn set of his jaw indicating he was readying himself for another round. Too late, his eyes widened as Hob grabbed his elbow, wrenching Dream around to face him. As Dream stumbled in place, Hob bent down to wrap an arm around his legs and throw the stubborn Eldritch over his shoulder. Dream squawked in a decidedly un-regal manner, arms flailing mid-air at this sudden change in position. While he tried balancing himself, Hob tightened his hold on Dream’s legs and started walking back towards his flat, determination in his footsteps.

“Hob!” Dream hissed, trying to prevent the neighbors from hearing them. “What are you – let go of me!” He squirmed against Hob’s hold. “Put me down this instant! I command you!”

Hob grimaced at Dream’s incessant wriggling and tightened his arm further, crushing Dream’ legs against his chest. “D’you know what, my liege? I don’t think I will.”

He continued marching towards the flat, uncaring who heard or saw this ridiculous scene. Let them see what he had to put up with.

“You dare?” Dream growled, pushing his arms against Hob’s back for leverage, only for Hob to immediately jostle him back into place, slumped over his shoulder.

“Hob, I swear on all the heavens,” Dream threatened, “If you do not cease this nonsense –”

“You’ll what, give me nightmares?” Hob scoffed, too tired to be polite anymore. “Go ahead, try it.” He continued down the path, shifting his wriggling weight back into place every time it tried easing away. Weight that was far too light in Hob’s opinion – certainly heavier than when he first found him, now that Hob had gotten a few good meals in him – but nowhere near enough. A wave of protectiveness surged through him, clearing away his anger for a moment. But that had to wait. First – dealing with this, all this, and then he’ll go back to his scheme of fattening Dream up through delectable cuisine none could deny.

He pushed open the front door and carefully turned inside, making sure to not bump Dream against the wall as he closed the door. Dream waited for a moment, expecting Hob to let him down now that they were inside – but Hob only replaced the bolts before continuing his stride towards Dream’s bedroom.

“Hob,” Dream tried again, struggling to control his temper. “Put me down.”

...

“HOB. This is not amusing. You must let me go. Now.”

Silence, continued footsteps. Was Hob humming?

Fuming at his friend’s gall, and at his own helplessness against this mortification, Dream knocked his fists against Hob’s back. Hob didn’t so much as flinch.

“HOB! ANSWER ME WHEN I SPEAK TO YOU!” Dream roared, voice echoing in the space.

Nothing. Dream was frustrated at the absolute lack of reaction he was getting. He was a king, damn it, and could not let this go unchallenged. As his rage grew, his eyes turned black, and the room grew darker as threatening shadows crawled out from corners, clutching at corners from all sides with scaling hands as they made their way towards Hob.

“Stop it,” Hob chided, unaffected. “None of that nonsense now.”

The absolute gall of this man. Dream renewed his attack on Hob’s person, kicking out and twisting as much as he could until he heard a satisfying grunt of pain when his boot connected with a rib.

Hob came to a halt. The shadows had spread across the walls, inching menacingly around them.

“Hob Gadling,” Dream spat out venomously. “If you continue to pursue this charade at power – OW!”

His eyes widened in shock, black pupils flickering back to blue from the severe smack that had just landed on his behind. Followed by a stinging pain, outmatched only by the echo of the resounding slap.

Frozen in place, too shocked to react, Dream gasped as a second swat landed, then a third, sharp sounds filling the apartment. The shadows across the walls shrank, began retreating with each smack, as if in fear of being next.

“Ah! HOB?!? ” Dream struggled against the tight arm around his legs, pushing himself up only to be jostled back into place and a fourth smack land on his vulnerable behind. “Ow!”

Hob resumed his walking. “Charade at power, is it?” He questioned sternly, landing a fifth blow on Dream’s right thigh that had him jerking in place. “Through talking, are we?”

Another loud smack filled the air as Hob went for the left thigh, leaving Dream hissing and flailing to set himself upright. By now, the shadows had cleared away, returning the apartment to its bright and cheery coziness. Not that that made a difference to Dream just then. He twisted in place, still bewildered by this turn of events. “What are you doing – ach, STOP!”

Hob shook his head, landing a flurry of sharp smacks on the upturned, wiggling bottom that had its recipient squeaking as he reached Dream’s bedroom door. “I don’t think so.” His tone changed to something dangerously low, and Dream shivered despite himself.

“Hob…” Dream said hoarsely, pushing against his friend’s back to gain leverage and growling in frustration at the lack of difference it made. He slumped back in place, arms dangling as he stared dismally at the floor, which seemed so far, far below him. “You cannot –”

“I think,” Hob interrupted, landing a final ringing smack that had Dream yelping as he walked up to the bed, before dropping his squeaking bundle of trouble onto the mattress, “I’ve heard enough out of you about what I can and cannot do in my own home.” He folded his arms, looking down sternly at Dream. Dream gaped and started scrambling backward. Rolling his eyes, Hob took a seat beside him and, grasping Dream’s flailing arm and yanking him over his lap.

Dream let out a cry of surprise, followed by an ‘oomph’ as his stomach collided with Hob’s thighs. Dazed and huffing from the sudden change in position, Dream shook his head, pushing against Hob’s knee to raise himself up and demand Hob explain the irrationality of his actions. And apologize. Profusely.

Sadly, he did not budge. Hob had a heavy arm wrapped tightly around his waist, securing Dream against his stomach. He reached down to yank off Dream’s – Hob’s – sneakers, tossing them to the side. Dream did not know what was happening, but he did not like where this was going. At all.

“Hob, you must release me at once,” Dream stammered, struggling to maintain control of his voice as Hob easily maneuvered him so his legs were trapped between Hob’s own. “I don’t know what has irked you so, but –“

“Oh, don’t you?” asked the voice above him, amused. Dream stared at the carpeted floor, arms holding his torso up as much as possible. “Why don’t you take a guess?”

Hob adjusted himself once more, securing his hold on Dream and ignoring the voice in his head screaming ‘what are you doing??’ Because, what was Hob doing? He didn’t know, really, not beyond the immediate need to teach Dream some long-due lessons in gratitude and respect; not beyond a vague memory of having to do the same to Robyn, so long ago, back when he was younger, smaller, but equally flighty and challenging Hob’s every command. It was instinct, and for Hob, who had been around long enough to develop a wizened appreciation of the world, instinct was everything.

Especially now.

“Let me tell you something, Dream,” he started, placing a firm hand on his struggling captive’s upturned behind. The squirming stopped, and Dream was suddenly deadly still at the quick reminder of what he had just endured, and what he was beginning to fear may follow. Hob wouldn’t.

“Thing is, you may be an Endless and a king of the dream realm. But that does not exclude you from basic courtesy and mannerisms,” Hob continued, as though he hadn’t just manhandled and abused Dream like an illiterate rogue. “It does not mean you may throw a tantrum like – like a bratty toddler until he gets his way.”

Ignoring Dream’s sputter of indignation, he added on sternly, “Especially in another man’s home. Especially,” and here he raised his right hand above his shoulder, feeling Dream tense up at the motion, “After said man has saved your scrawny ass from certain death, taken care of you, given you the very clothes of his back – so to speak – and only asked in return that you do not –” his hand came crashing down on Dream’s behind, causing him to jump, “go” – smack – “outside” – smack – “in the middle of winter, in the dead of night, all alone, and without telling me!”  He landed five resounding smacks on the rounded bottom that had Dream gasping and twisting in his hold.

“To not foolishly risk your health and put all my hard work to waste, all so I have to explain to your big sister why her brother was found frozen solid in some bloody wasteland. Is that too much to ask, my friend?” And here the scathing tone was followed by another loud SWAT in the middle of Dream’s bottom, covering both cheeks and echoing in the quiet, cool room. Dream yelped, trying futilely to pull himself out of Hob’s grasp.

“I’ll be honest, Dream, even toddlers have shown more respect and a capacity to listen to common sense than you,” Hob remarked, tightening his hold against Dream’s struggling legs and letting his hand rise and fall rhythmically against the upturned sit spots, over and over as Dream hissed and tried to bite down his cry of pain. Not only was Dream more sensitive to pain in this weaker form – Hob was a born soldier, trained in the art of lethal take-downs and calculated punishments, be it of foreign targets or stubborn loved ones who clearly hadn’t had enough knocks to the head to grow up.

Food for thought when he next met Death, Hob decided, letting his punishing hand do the talking as the room echoed with sounds of leathery hand striking thinly covered backside, expressing loud displeasure at the incessant midnight outings and refusal to obey.

“H – Hob,” Dream stammered out, finally regaining control of his voice. “S – stop! You have to stop!”

Hob paused, deciding now was good a time as any to rest his hand and let Dream catch his breath. Flexing his sore fingers, he rubbed Dream’s back to ease his rapid breathing. “And why should I stop, Dream?”

Dream, who had been too busy appreciating the pause in this medieval approach to conversation, gaped blankly at the absurd question. Why stop? Because! He was Dream of the Endless; king in his own right, with subjects that feared his wrath; he had seen and endured in millennia what Hob couldn’t imagine bearing in a lifetime! He was the son of Time and Night, lord of the nightmare realm –

“Because I’m not a child!” came out instead. “This. Human approach to discipline unruly children – you think to use on me, and I cannot accept – this disrespect,” he spat out, struggling to maintain control, eyes blurring nonetheless. Damn his easy tears. “I – I cannot allow this.”

“You ‘cannot allow this,’” Hob repeated, amused voice rankling Dream’s wounded pride. “Hm. Well, that’s food for thought while I have you here, trapped and unable to allow or forbid much,  ready to take whatever I give you.” Dream flushed in fury and embarrassment. “As for this being childish discipline…well, perhaps you are correct. Perhaps it is not fitting for one of your station.”

Dream blinked, trying to control his hope for freedom. Had Hob finally seen sense?

Hob hmm-ed to himself as though in serious thought. “Then again. Right now you are hardly acting fit for your station.”

Dream growled, twisting around to respond, when he felt Hob’s hand crack against his backside, pins and needles spiking across the injured appendage. Dream lurched back in surprise, squeaking from the pain as Hob resumed his spanking.

“Right now,” he went on, targeting the sit spots with heavy swats, causing his captive to wail, “You are being punished like a child because – well, frankly, you’ve yet to behave like an adult.” Over Dream’s indignant sputter, Hob landed three smacks landed on his right thigh, yelps interspersed with strikes. “I have been patient with you and your tantrums for far too long, I’m afraid,” add here three more matched the left thigh.

Dream cried out, grabbing at Hob’s ankle for support. “Ah, ow! Hob! STOP!” To his horror, he felt his eyes welling up from the pain burning in his bottom, which Hob was ruthlessly roasting. Dream threw a hand back in desperation, trying to cover himself, but Hob easily smacked the hand away before folding it under his hold on Dream’s back, returning to his task with the methodical precision of a surgeon at work.

Dream’s eyes stung and blurred as he was pinned in place and thoroughly punished. His socked feet jerked in place with each smack, unable to wiggle out from Hob’s muscular thighs. He’d known pain before, of course, but not like this. Not in this weakened corporal form where physical stimulation was a new and different experience, where he was well and truly trapped in place – where someone so dear to him had so callously turned him over their knee to spank like a naughty child. Though what madman would hurt a child like this, holding them down while continually abusing one part of the human anatomy? This…this was not punishment, this was pure torture, Dream decided dismally.

He flinched at the loud cracks that set off a growing flame across his bottom. Despite wiggling left and right, he was unable to escape any of the punishing smacks. It seemed Hob had adopted a circuit now; he was going from top to center, right to left, then downward, striking the under-curves in an upward motion that had Dream bounce in pain before moving on to brutally devastate his thighs – and then go right back up to start afresh. After what felt like eons to Dream, but had really been a few minutes, Hob paused again, taking a deep breath. Over Dream’s stifled whimpers, he sighed, squeezing the hand he’d held captive and rubbing Dream’s back soothingly.

“I understand you’ve been through something – well, terrible,” Hob said in a low voice, hoping it would help Dream calm down. “I understand that all of this is new and frightening, and you’re still adjusting to it all, and it’s absolutely frustrating.” He rubbed Dream’s back some more, feeling his tense friend relax slightly in his hold. “But that doesn’t mean you can run rampant at odd hours and do whatever you want. It does not mean you can be disrespectful and run off whenever you get upset.”

Hob paused at the sound of Dream trying to say something. “What is it, Dream?”

Dream took a shaky breath, trying to regain some semblance of his regal formality. “I may not be at my full strength or possess my powers – yet,” he started, chin trembling. “But I am still Endless. I am still a lord and ruler in my own right. I am greater than your ancestors, your gods – I have taken down mountains –” and here he paused for another shaky breath, wiping away a stray tear. How dare Hob do this to him, reduce him to something malleable for him to break? He felt his anger and pride returning, hands clenching into fists. “Your friendship and your aid do not entitle you to control and – and do this,” he spat out, face flushing. “You must let me go. And I will – I will consider this transgression a temporary lapse in sense, and not deliver necessary and just punishment, only as you have taken care of me, and helped me escape.” Here he wiped his eyes angrily, much to Hob’s amusement.

“Is that right?” Hob responded airily, his hand pausing in its rubbing, to Dream’s silent dismay. “Well, my lord, allow me to say that, grateful as I am at your magnanimity to not deliver this ‘necessary and just punishment,’ I think I’m quite alright taking the risk. I’ll even help you get back to full strength to dispense it. But not,” and here, he tipped Dream over his knee, arm raised and landing with a cracking sound on the upturned sit-spots, causing Dream to cry out in surprised pain, “Until after I’m done dispensing my own brand of ‘necessary and just punishment,’ first.” His heavy hand rose and fell over the sore spots, Dream writhing in his hold.

“Teach you some manners and bring that pride down a peg or two. You need it.” He moved on to Dream’s thighs, causing the smaller man to shriek, tears landing
freely now. “Honestly, you’ve needed it for a long time, well before this. Should’ve done this back in the 16th century, when you rudely cut me off and flounced away with Shakespeare,” he shook his head, ignoring Dream’s sputter of disbelief as he continued striking the heated thighs. “After all the preparations I’d made for you too. Feast for a king, that was.”

“You – you have no right,” Dream stuttered out, voice hitched with tears. “Even if I cannot act now, Death will pay a visit soon, and her fury is unlike any other. She will not be pleased.”

“Oh, won’t she?” Hob scoffed, returning back to address Dream’s sit spots. “I think she’ll be quite pleased to know someone finally knocked you off your pedestal and gave you the spanking you’ve needed. May even ask for tips.”

Dream blushed furiously, mortified at the thought. For all he knew, Death may actually be happy to hear he’d been chastised so thoroughly. She may even tell the others what had taken place. Dream’s stomach clenched. Desire would never let him live it down. He wouldn’t be able to show his face at family dinners for the next millennia or so. And worse – Death may even decide it was an effective way of reigning him in, and suggest his elder brother use it against him. Dismayed and overwhelmed by this possible turn of events, Dream gave in to crying, body twitching with each ringing smack but the fight drained out of him.

“Yeah, thought you wouldn’t like that prospect,” Hob noted, returning to Dream’s rounded behind. Which, bless his hearty meals, had finally gained some pounds beyond scrawny. “You told me you go outside because the chill helps you feel something. Next time you want to feel something extreme? Just say the word Dream, I’ll bring you right back here and deliver it. Call it a preemptive spanking, if you will, to get you back to normal. And if it stops you from doing something stupid, even better.”

Dreams tears grew louder, gave way to sobbing. Hob slowed down his smacking but didn’t fully stop. He was sure Dream would feel this for the next few days. His own hand was throbbing, but he needed Dream to understand. One way or another. He let down another sharp crack against the upturned behind, causing Dream to wail.

“H – Hob,” he stuttered out, voice wet with tears. “S – stop. Please.”

Hob paused. That was a new one. He turned to Dream, but left his hand resting on the twitching backside as a warning. “What’s that, Dream?”

Dream sniffled, drawing breath as tears continued leaking from his eyes. “Please. Please stop. I can’t – I can’t take anymore. It. Hurts too much.”

So much for that Endless endurance, Hob thought. He patted the burning behind, making Dream squirm and tense up in anticipation.

“I’d like to stop,” Hob retorted, causing Dream to turn his head toward him, his tear-stained face scrunched in confusion, dark hair in complete disarray. Adorable, Hob thought impulsively, then banished the thought with a shake of the head. Where did that come from? “You may not believe it, Dream, but I’m not actually enjoying this.” At Dream’s scoff, he rolled his eyes, admitting, “Well, I’m enjoying taking your pride down a notch, but I don’t enjoy making you cry.” Hob rubbed Dream’s back, trying to ease his hitched breathing. “You can make it stop, Dream. Just – think. What can make it stop?”

Dream blinked in bewilderment, as though he didn’t realize he had that power all along. He turned his head back, silent except for the sniffling. Hob waited. This could take a while, but Hob was nothing if not patient.

Mostly.

“I –” Dream started, struggling to string a thought together when his bottom and thighs were on figurative fire. “I...”

“Think about it, Dream,” Hob said gently. “You could have hurt yourself. You did the exact opposite of what I asked. And –” he paused. “You hurt me as well. You disrespected me over and over again. I thought we were friends.”

Dream’s heart sank at Hob’s words. His own potential harm, he didn’t quite agree with Hob – but he wasn’t about to admit that. But…he’d hurt Hob. Hob who had saved him, cared for him when no one else had. Hob who may, soon, tire of him and his proud, unbending nature. Like everyone else.

“We. We are,” he whispered brokenly, causing Hob’s heart to clench. “We are friends…I. I didn’t. I never. I never meant to hurt you. I’m sorry. I’m so. Sorry. Hob. I never meant to hurt you.” Dream let his head hang heavy, tears back with a vengeance. Hob rubbed his back, pulling him closer protectively.

“I appreciate that, Dream. Thank you. I forgive you.” Dream continued weeping, feeling a wave of relief go through him at the words. Hob forgave him. Hob was still his friend. He might – he might stay.

Hob pushed his hand under Dream’s jacket and shirt, hoping the skin-to-skin contact would help, and kept stroking him as he wept. “I do hope, however, that you realize it’s just as important you don’t put yourself in harm’s way, Dream. You matter. To me, to Death, to your subjects. If not for yourself, please just…think about us before you decide to do something so monumentally stupid again.”

His voice had a joking tone at the end, and Dream chuckled in spite of himself, the blush at Hob’s heartfelt words fading away. “I. I am sorry, Hob. It – it was...an error in judgement, and it will not happen again.” Not with the throbbing in his behind keeping him from any form of strolling for the next few days. Perhaps that had been Hob’s plan, all along. “Please, Hob. I. I cannot…” take any more, but his voice had hitched up, cutting him off. “Please,” he whispered.

Hob sighed, leaning back for a moment. The spanking had drained him as well, emotionally as well as physically. And Dream’s voice, subdued as it was, was clear of any traces of pride, just raw honesty pouring out. And while Hob felt Dream had several things he deserved to go over his knee for, he didn’t intend to break Dream’s spirit either.

“Alright,” he said, patting Dream’s back and releasing his arm and legs. At Dream’s hiss, he reached over to rub the shoulder of the previously-captured arm, hoping to alleviate some of the pain of being twisted for a time. He waited, stroking Dream’s back, unsure of what to do next. Dream stayed where he was, gulping deep breaths. Then he hesitantly leveled himself up, Hob supporting his shoulder as he rose, but rather than stand up, Dream sat down on his knees, trying to keep the pressure of his behind and slumping against the bed. He kept his gaze down, avoiding eye contact. His cheeks and nose were red from crying, eyes anime-sized and leaking stubborn tears. His chin trembled as he took shaky breaths, body trembling slightly. In the too-large clothes and with his hair in disarray, curled against the bed, he looked much younger. Young and chastised and. Hurting. Drawing into himself again.

Well. Hob wasn’t heartless, nor was he about to let that happen. Grabbing some cushions off the bed, he dropped them on the floor at his feet and knelt down to sit beside Dream. Tentatively, he reached over to stroke Dream’s head, waiting a beat as Dream stayed put.

Shit. Hob gave in to instinct again, this time hooking a gentle hand around Dream’s skinny arm to tug him close. Ignoring Dream’s sound of surprise, he pulled him in, Dream halfway sprawled on his lap, wrapping his arms around Dream’s skinny torso to hold him closer. Dream’s confused, erratic breathing puffed against Hob’s chest, tears wetting his nightshirt. Hob raised a hand to cradle Dream’s head, arms tight around him to hold him while he tried putting himself back together. Dream was twisted like a pretzel, torso and face on Hob while he tried to keep his behind from resting on the ground.

“You’re okay, Dream,” Hob soothed. “You’ll be alright. It’s all over.” He rubbed Dream's back, continuing his quiet litany of reassurance as the hitched breathing lessened.

After a few minutes, Dream had gone silent. But feeling the tears still leaking, Hob started getting a sneaking suspicion there were some things still left unsaid.

“Hey,” he prodded gently, squeezing Dream. “What’s bothering you?”

At Dream’s silent sniffling, he continued, “We can’t work together if you don’t communicate. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong. Let me help.”

Dream shuddered, clutching Hob, but still managed to shake his head stubbornly. Hob rolled his eyes. Leaning over, he delivered a sharp smack to the vulnerable bottom, causing Dream to jump in surprise.

“…Ow,” he whimpered out, both offended and contrite. He pressed his face into Hob’s chest and started crying again. Hob sighed, rubbing his back. “There’s more to follow unless you start opening up. Come on, Dream. There’s something on your mind. Tell me.”

Dream sniffled, strategically shifting his behind out of Hob’s reach. When he spoke, his voice was muffled in Hob’s shirt. “I don’t know.”

“Dream,” Hob warned. Dream flinched in spite of himself and raised his head to meet Hob’s stern gaze.

“I am not. Lying to you,” he said in a hushed voice. “I…I don’t. Know. What’s wrong.” He let out a mirthless chuckle, eyes still watery. “Everything, I suppose.” At that, he stubbornly pushed his face back into Hob’s chest, hands tightened into fists clutching Hob’s shirt. New tears began trailing down as he tried to bite down a sob.

Hob, who felt his shirt getting damp, sighed deeply. This was the Dream he had first rescued, weak and vulnerable and more prone to tears of frustration or woe over his circumstances. Clinging to Hob, making sure he was nearby, wary eyes following Hob’s every move as if in fear that he would vanish.

Reaching over to the bed, Hob pulled off the top quilt (top, because he had insisted Dream keep a few there just in case. Dream, stifled under the many layers, had muffled out ‘Mother hen’ but made no further protests) and wrapped it around them both. Placing a hand behind Dream’s head and wrapping another around his back, he pulled Dream close, leaning against the cushions.

They lay sprawled on the cushioned floor quietly, the silence occasionally broken by a quiet sniffle from Dream, and soothing words from Hob. Gradually, Hob felt Dream relaxing in his arms, leaning rather than holding onto him like a lifeboat at sea. Encouraged, Hob kept rubbing his back, regaling Dream with stories – of the emergence of television, his first flight in an airplane, the sights and sounds of Kashmir, Bangladesh, Taiwan, Jamaica. Dream stayed where he was, a hand still holding on to the edge of Hob’s nightshirt, listening quietly.

A few minutes later, Hob heard light snoring rumbling against his chest. Looking down, he saw Dream had fallen asleep, his tear-streaked face finally relaxed, head bobbing into Hob’s shoulder. He was completely out of it, a dead weight against Hob, visibly worn down from the many exertions of the night.

Well.

It seemed Hob wasn’t about to move anytime soon.

He leaned back, resting his face against Dream’s feathery hair to breathe in the scent of his shampoo, and closed his eyes.

Chapter Text

Dream had not slept so well in a long time.

Well. Bearing in mind that he had never needed to sleep until he was severely weakened under Burgesses’ hold. Even then, inside the glass prison, sleep rarely came – and if it did, it was in bouts, sporadic and fleeting under the glaring light and too many inquisitive mortal eyes.

Following his rescue, Dream found sleep more easily in the safety of Hob’s home, under Hob’s care. But never peaceful. He did not dream, of course, but he would see flashes of memory, too often marked by the heat of florescent lighting above him and the hard, smothering glass and steel wrapped around him, inching closer, suffocating him and swallowing him whole –

It was partly the reason he had taken to wandering outside. Not just to let the freeze physically cut the numbness off him, but to keep him awake. Awake and far, far away from any closed surroundings.

Right now, though, buried under a thick quilt and in Hob’s arms, exhaustion winning over the night before and sending him tumbling into a deep slumber, Dream felt. Well. A little less numb. And despite Hob’s larger form almost smothering him – arms loosely wrapped around him, head resting on Dream’s own, deep rumbling from his chest vibrating against Dream, one knee raised as though to subconsciously bracket his friend between himself and the bed – Morpheus didn’t feel quite so suffocated just now.

He felt. Safe.

And no compulsion to leave.

Shifting a little, Dream winced at the sharp ache in his behind. Confused, he thought back to the previous night. He’d gone out and…oh no. Dream froze in place, eyes widening as he began recalling the sequence of horrible events – his false assurance to Hob; sitting alone in the bedroom, the strongest impulse to leave. Checking the doors only to realize Hob had, of course, taken precautionary measures to prevent his escape. Going back to pace in his room until the peering moon cast a light over him through the window, and he had an idea. An idea that, in hindsight, was rather foolish, Dream thought ruefully. He shifted uncomfortably in place, trying to find a way to make his current position less painful. Feeling Hob’s hands unconsciously tighten around him, Dream was reminded of the more mortifying (torturous, excruciatingly painful, barbaric really) moments last night. Hob absolutely losing it and carrying him inside like a Neanderthal with their prize; unaffected by his demonic shadows, instead punishing him (him! Lord of the Dreaming!) with those ruthless hands for supposedly ‘disobeying’ some ridiculous list he’d concocted in his head. Dream threatening, commanding, all to no avail as Hob refused to let him go until he’d broken down and apologized. And, well – begged for mercy. Something which both he and Hob could hopefully wipe clean from memory.

Lord, but Hob packed a powerful weapon in those hands. Dream eyed them warily now. He was still sure he was in the right when it came to his safety. For all that he was a tad colder than he’d wanted last night, and was in fact heading back home when Hob had spotted him, and only turned back around out of sheer spite. No, he would have been alright – had Hob not preempted his stroll, he would have been perfectly fine to go back inside and to bed. There was no need for all the shouting and bullying and – and all that followed.

Still, Dream allowed, feeling a twinge of guilt. It had never been his intention to hurt Hob. For that, and (deep down, though he’d never admit it) for all the rage and frustration he’d projected onto Hob over the past month. He deeply regretted his behavior in that regard.

Not enough to think it warranted a sore behind, however. Dream shifted in place again, dismayed at his inability to will away the pain and soreness. Hob had made sure he was going to feel this for weeks.

“Dream?” Hob’s sleepy voice above him broke through his train of thought. “You…alright?” He yawned midway, moving his head off Dream’s to rest it against the bed. His arms, though loosely wrapped around Dream, didn’t bother letting go just yet.

Dream stiffened in place. He had no intention of telling Hob what was wrong. Perhaps Hob had forgotten already, he hoped in silent desperation, wincing at the next wave of pain go through his thighs.

“…yes,” he responded mutely. Feeling his face redden, Dream gently pushed against Hob’s arms. Hob, though still half asleep, tightened his grip subconsciously. “Where are you going?” he mumbled, one eye opening to inspect Dream suspiciously.

Dream paused, realizing Hob thought he was making another escape. Face red, he stubbornly pushed against the grip again. “To the kitchen.” Ironically, at that exact moment his stomach chose to growl.

Hob raised his eyebrows, suddenly fully awake and peering down at Dream. “You hungry?”

Dream, not wanting to admit to any mortal weakness, begrudgingly nodded.

Hob released Dream from his grip, pushing to stand up even as Dream shakily rose to his feet. Stretching his arms, Hob rubbed his neck, looking ruefully at the makeshift bed on the floor. “Probably not the best idea to sleep like that.” He grinned at Dream, who blinked in response.

Uncertain what to do next, Hob bent down to collect the cushions. Seeing Dream step forward, he looked up in surprise as Dream also reached down, gathering the quilt in his arms. Dream silently turned to drop the pile on his bed, not bothering to fold it, before placing two more cushions on top and quickly scuttling out of the room.

Well, Hob mused, folding the quilt up and heading to the loo. Perhaps pigs could fly, and Dream could clean up after himself. Barely, but it was still something.

After freshening up, Hob stepped into the kitchen, a spring in his step. If Dream could pick up after himself and admit to being hungry, it seemed like last night’s events had made a difference. Now on to the next phase.

Grabbing a pan and some eggs, Hob began preparing a hearty breakfast of fried eggs and toast. Spotting Dream from the corner of his eye, Hob waved him over. “Dream, mind getting some fruit out and setting things up? These will be ready in a minute.” He turned back to flipping the eggs, biting down a smile and pretending not to notice the awkward shuffling and the clattering behind him as Dream silently set plates and cutlery on the counter. If he wasn’t still feeling the aftermath of sleeping on the floor in his neck and back, Hob would have believed he was dreaming.

Not that he’d had any Dreams since…well. Shaking his head, Hob gathered the warm toast and seasoned eggs in a plate before walking over to the counter and taking a seat. Dividing up the breakfast between them (and making sure Dream got extra of everything), Hob looked up at Dream, still standing stiffly behind the counter and looking warily at the food.

“Come on, it’s not poisoned,” Hob teased, gulping down a mouthful as if in proof. Smiling cheekily at Dream, he nodded at the chair in front of him before continuing to waffle down his breakfast.

Dream slowly moved forward, picking up the cutlery and quietly slicing up his meal to take a few hesitant bites. He was still standing, Hob noticed, shifting uncomfortably in place.

“Need a cushion for your seat?” Hob asked innocently, nodding toward the sofa. “There’s plenty over there if you do.”

Dream glowered at him. Face flushing, he looked down and poked at the remainder of his food, looking tired and uncomfortable from standing so long. Hob took pity on him.

“You don’t have to eat here, you know,” he said, gulping down the remainder of his food. “If it’s easier, you can finish up on the sofa. Or in bed. Whatever’s…easier.” Less painful to sit on, but saying that wouldn't help. He picked up his empty plate and cup, heading over to the sink to rinse. Once all set, he turned around to see Dream still hadn’t moved or touched his food. Hob sighed.

“Okay, what’s wrong?” he asked, walking over and leaning on the counter. Dream said nothing. “Is the food really that bad?” Hob joked, hoping to ease the tension. “Be honest.”

Dream blinked as if out of his stupor, then shook his head minutely. He looked weary and troubled. And like a light breeze could knock him over, Hob couldn’t help thinking. Letting out a deep breath, he started, “Right, look. You can continue standing here and tiring yourself out. Or you can take a seat. Lie down. Whatever. But,” he nodded firmly at the plate, “All I ask is that you finish up. That’s all.”

Dream finally met his gaze. “I’m not hungry,” he said quietly, trailing the fork around the half-eaten egg.

Hob sighed. Not this again.

“Well,” he said, trying to keep his voice light. “That’s nice, but you still have to eat.” This could get ugly, but he had to start pushing back. More tough love, less good cop, as the Americans put it.

Dream looked up at him, brow furrowed.

Strengthening his resolve, Hob straightened in place and cleared his throat. “You can have a lie-in after, if you like, but you need to finish your breakfast.” Eyeing Dream up and down, he remarked, “You definitely need it. Get your strength back.”

Dream scowled. Before he could say anything, Hob continued, “Consider it part of our list.” He folded his arms firmly, readying himself for the usual barrage of tearful anger. He could do this. If last night proved anything, he could do this.

To Hob’s utter surprise, Dream didn’t say a word. Sure, his hands clenched against the counter and his chin trembled, eyes cast down and breathing deeply as if trying to reign in his temper. Picking up his plate, he turned around and moved toward the sofa, sitting down hesitantly. Hob gaped as Dream, wincing and shifting around in discomfort, stabbed at his eggs before gulping them down slowly. He refused to make eye contact with Hob, eyes focused on the coffee table instead. Gradually, he took a final hesitant bite, before pushing the empty plate away and leaning back against the sofa, exhausted from the effort.

Trying to hide his shock, Hob walked over to lift the plate, nodding in approval. “Thanks, Dream.” He smiled down at his friend, who only looked up sulkily in response. Snorting, Hob walked back to the sink. At some point he’d expect Dream to wash his own dishes, but not when he was so tired out.

Once he’d put everything away, Hob returned with a protein shake in hand. He knew Dream actually enjoyed them, much as he pretended otherwise. Settling it on the coffee table, he took a seat beside Dream. Who suddenly froze in place, eyes shifting from Hob to the shake, back to Hob and, almost fearfully, at Hob’s lap. He squirmed in place before looking away.

Oh. Oh.

Hob scratched his neck. Much as he loved to talk, and for all that he’d told Dream off for being so closed off, Hob wasn’t sure how if he was ready to have this conversation.

Still. It had to happen.

Sighing, he pointed at the shake in front of them. “Brought that for you. Try and have at least half for now, yeah?” Leaning back, he turned towards Dream, who still hadn’t made eye contact.

This was going to be difficult.

“Dream,” Hob began, trying to bite down his discomfort, “What…happened last night. About that. You…alright?” Dream finally turned his head toward Hob, giving him a look of disbelief before looking away, still shifting in place.

“Right,” Hob acknowledged. “Stupid question, that.” Twiddling his thumbs, he distracted himself by reaching over to pick up the shake and drop it in Dream’s lap. “Drink, please.”

Dream said nothing, lower lip slowly jutting out stubbornly even as he reached for the bottle. Tired hands shook as he untwisted the cap and took a sip, pausing (no doubt savoring the taste but trying to hide it, Hob thought) before taking a few greedy gulps in.

Nodding absently, Hob pondered over his next words. “Thing is,” he began carefully, “Things have got to change around here. We need to start…working together. If we want this to work, I mean. It can’t be all me. There has to be give and take.” Seeing Dream’s perplexed expression, Hob clarified, “If we’re trying to get you better, so you can return to the Dreaming and be a stuffy little lord again and all that, we can’t be running around in the dead of night and risk throwing all that away.” We, out of politeness, though both knew Hob hadn’t been the one doing the running. Dream’s ears turned red.

Soldiering on, Hob continued, “You want to get better. I want you to get better. So we have to start changing things. No more shouting and fighting on every little thing.” Twisting his hands, he cleared his throat. “Last night wasn’t how either of us wanted things to go, I’m sure. And I think we can avoid more instances like that in the future if we have some…structure. Some rules and all to keep things in order.”

“Your list,” Dream responded in a flat voice. Hob nodded. At least Dream was listening. “Yeah, the list. And hey, it’s not to control you or bring you under my thumb. It’s just. Necessary. I think. To keep things…moving along.”

They both sat in silence, pondering over Hob’s words. Dream spoke first.

“What…” he trailed off, looking uncertain. Hob waited. “What do you mean by ‘more instances like that in the future?’” His voice was small.

Blinking, Hob turned to look at his friend. Dream was breathing heavily, eyes looking down with a troubled expression on his face, arms crossed as if to contain himself. Right.

“Well,” Hob responded, trying to speak lightly. “I suppose with rules and structure we usually have. Consequences. You know.” He shrugged. “I’m sure your subjects were well-aware in the Dreaming, at least.” Knowing Dream’s infamous pride and short temper, he was sure many a Dream and Nightmare had had their fair share of banishment and unmaking, as Dream had described it, for crossing their lord. “If we want to avoid going down a rabbit hole, there has to be a way to stop it. If your health and safety aren’t a concern, maybe this version of consequence could be a…an alternative deterrent.”

Dream’s eyes widened. Tightening his arms further, he burrowed into the sofa as if already in retreat from said consequence. “Surely,” he started in a hushed voice, “Surely you don’t mean that.” Turning to Hob, he suddenly looked a lot more animated. “Hob. You cannot think it rational to. Do that. Every time I do something that irks you.” Dream shifted in his seat, suddenly feeling the burn all the more. Hob’s suggestion was ridiculous. As if he would willingly consign himself to more torture. He’d already forced himself to scarf down that heavy (delicious) breakfast and disgusting (divine) shake for Hob’s sake. How much more agreeable was he expected to be?

Hob nodded to himself, folding his hands. “Dream. I’m not going to go around. Y'know. Bashing you every time you, I don’t know, drop a teaspoon or disagree with my meal plans. We can talk about it. But we can’t keep running around in circles anymore. If you’re going to be here, if you want to heal, you have to work with me.”

“And working with you entails being flayed within an inch of my life if I don’t comply?” Dream snarled out, eyes bright and burning.

Hob rubbed his face, tired of being patient. “It was hardly a flaying, you drama prince,” he retorted, watching Dream turn red, “And I don’t want to do it any more than you want to receive it. But God’s wounds, if it upsets you so, maybe a good smacking is exactly what you need to stop harming yourself!”

Dream’s mouth dropped open in horror. He tried speaking once, twice, but was lost for words.

Hob nodded at him in satisfaction. “Yeah, I’m well aware of what those little strolls are really about. But we don’t have to go down this route. That’s in your hands, Dream. If you just stick to the list – and it’s a few common-sense rules, honestly – then everything will be alright.”

Relieved he’d said everything he needed to say, Hob patted Dream’s shoulder and rose up, yawning. “I suppose I can still be grateful you chose to do something stupid on a weekend. Get to have a bit of a lie-in before I catch up on checking papers.” He grinned at Dream, who looked like he was praying the earth swallow him whole. Amused, Hob placed a hand on Dream’s head, enjoying the feel of the soft feathery hair, before letting go and walking toward his room.

“Don’t run off while I’m asleep, yeah?” He called behind him as he reached his bed. “Oh and. If you really can’t sit down, there’s some aloe in the shelf above the fridge. Good balm for sunburns and sorry behinds.”

Hob chortled to himself, not needing to turn around to know a red-faced Dream was now pouting from his cocoon within the folds of the sofa.

+++

Chapter Text

The rest of the day passed by pretty smoothly, as did the next two days. Dream had not quite returned to his proud self yet, instead seeming quieter and more uncertain, picking up after himself and silently finishing his meals before washing his dishes. Once, he even washed Hob’s, tentatively putting the glass back as though he didn’t want anyone to hear his efforts. Hob didn’t remark on it, but was pleased with how well things were going.

They had spoken since that day, of course. Hob had reiterated the finer points of his list a few times to make sure the message really sank in, much to Dream’s irritation. But he had also been gentle with Dream, always trying to wheedle him to speak more, cracking jokes to make Dream smile, cooking his favorite meals. Insisting they take a stroll each night, as if to let Dream’s restlessness out beforehand. Almost subconsciously responding every time Dream’ mind retreated to glass and iron and leering faces by leaning against him, putting a hand on his shoulder, knees touching, any kind of physical contact given seamlessly, freely, without demand for reciprocity, and successfully reeling Dream out of the dark and back into the comfort of Hob’s home each time.

Dream’s changed behavior wasn’t random, Hob knew. For someone who had never had to face human repercussions in a painfully human-like form, who’d never had to answer to anyone else before – save, perhaps, his parents and sister – Dream’s world had been tipped over, and the best way to make sense of it was to go along with the one constant in his life, the one who had held him answerable for his poor choices. But Hob was no villain, and he made it a point to try and reassure Dream, however he could without insulting the Endless’ ego, that Dream was not alone, that Hob was not trying to physically threaten him, that he could let loose and let go while with Hob.

That Dream was safe.

Of course, all good times come with the bad. Hob became too optimistic, to sure of himself and of Dream’s agreeable nature.

It came back slowly, in pieces. Dream began lingering on his chores, snapping back, giving snotty looks every time he was asked to do something, his pride returning like a second skin. He started testing Hob, scathing remarks and eye roll ready every time Hob referenced his list or tried having a chat. No matter. Two could play that game. Hob would respond by looking at Dream sternly, eyes narrowed, saying nothing but everything with his body language. And Dream, stubborn as he was, would initially maintain eye contact, glaring unblinkingly for a few seconds before Hob’s expression, and the horrible reminder of unspoken threats, would make him blush and look away.

So it went on for two more days. Hob wasn’t sure what it was about the weekend that got Dream riled up. But along came another Saturday, and he woke up lazily, relishing his time in bed, before deciding he’d make Dream some blueberry pancakes. Yes, he may be spoiling him a bit, Hob couldn’t deny. Still, that was his prerogative, and Hob couldn’t pretend he didn’t enjoy seeing Dream happy. Especially after what he’d been through.

Hob quickly set up the counter with a range of fruit and cinnamon rolls. He may no longer be a knight, but Hob still enjoyed treating himself to life’s delicacies. Satisfied, he walked over to Dream’s door and knocked.

“Dream? Breakfast is ready.” No response. Hob knocked again. “Dream? I’m coming in. Please have some pants on this time.” He waited a few seconds before opening the door and walking in. “You’re going to love what I’ve whipped up for you out there,” he sang, pulling the window curtain open to let some light in. Turning to the bed, he poked at the covered, unmoving bundle. “Dream? Oi, Dream, wake up. It’s rather late, and I prefer my rolls hot from the oven.”

Still no response. Sometimes Dream really could sleep through thunderstorms. Smiling mischievously, Hob grasped the quilt and yanked it down, ready for a hurricane of bleary-eyed hissing and pouting to begin.

Instead, a few cushions fell out. Hob gaped in astonishment at Dream’s makeshift dummy. Clearly, he’d shown Dream far too many movies.

Hob did his usual run-through, checking all windows and doors, nooks and crannies in the faint hope that Dream had possibly fallen asleep in the tub or burrowed himself too deep into the sofa, like he was wont to doing. Still nothing.

Swearing under his breath, Hob quickly pulled on his boots and coat. He’d just finished up and stepped out of the bedroom when he heard the front doorknob jiggle. Stopping in his tracks, Hob gaped as the door creaked open slowly, before being shut and locked quietly. Some scraping of shoes, and then the snow-covered pain-in-Hob’s-arse appeared. He pulled off his coat and shook the snow out of his hair before silently placing the soggy coat and shoes inside the entry closet. With his back turned, Dream was still oblivious to Hob’s presence. Some suspicious sniffling.

And then a sneeze.

Followed by a cough.

“Are you bloody serious?” Hob’s sharp voice rang out, causing Dream to jump in place before he whipped around to see his friend fuming at him. His own face was pink with cold and he shivered in place. Although whether that was in response to the cold or to Hob wasn’t clear.

“Oh,” Dream stammered out, trying to hide his surprise. “Hello, Hob.”

Playing it off as though this was perfectly normal, Dream looked around, brightening when he spotted the breakfast. “Are those blueberry pancakes?” He turned to walk toward the kitchen.

The utter audacity.

“No,” Hob interrupted. “No, no, no, no.” Kicking off his shoes and tossing his coat to the side, he strode to the counter, swiftly gathering up the breakfast and stuffing it into the still-warm oven. Turning to Dream, he pointed an accusing finger. “No blueberry pancakes for you.”

Dream blinked. Eyeing Hob warily, he nodded. “As you wish,” he said quietly. Hob felt a momentary triumph. Only flavored oatmeal for unruly patients, he believed. Flavored, because this wasn’t a Dickens’ novel and Dream was not Oliver Twist. Much as he moped around every time Hob served up veggies and beef.

However, Dream did not wait around for any oatmeal. With a sad expression on his face, he turned and began walking to his room.

Distracted from his anger by this strange response, Hob called out, “Where are you going?”

Dream looked at him, kitten eyes ready. “I presume you do not want me to ruin your breakfast.” He turned and kept walking, mumbling to himself, “Despite your claims that you want me to eat.”

Loud enough for Hob to hear, of course.

“Oi!” he snapped. Hands clenched, Hob marched over to Dream’s bedroom, shutting the door behind them to keep his patient from fleeing. “What was that about?”

Dream looked at him, then turned his attention to the collection of books on the nearby desk. Hob stepped between them, blocking the view. “What are you playing at, mate?” he asked sharply. Dream stayed silent, not making eye contact.

“Dream,” Hob said sharply. “Dream. Look at me.” Reluctant blue eyes met his own. “Explain.”

Dream pursed his lips, eyes bright and face pale from exertion. “What do you mean?” He asked, clearing his throat to hide the hoarseness he’d developed.

Hob shook his head slowly. “No, don’t do that. Don’t pretend you haven’t a clue.” He rubbed his face and pointed at the makeshift Dream in the bed. “That. Going out alone and sneaking inside like some common thief. Don’t –” he warned, stopping an offended Dream from responding. “You were sneaking, alright. I saw you. What in God’s name were you doing outside? And mind, where’d you even get the master key from?”

Dream blushed, eyes not meeting Hob’s. Realizing his seething friend was waiting for a response, he answered, “I. Found it.” He shuffled his feet but kept his head high. “I wanted some fresh air.”

“Oh, did you?” Hob hissed, hands twitching. “And I suppose you didn’t want to bother me by asking me to come along. Even though that’s exactly what we’ve been doing, and exactly what we’ve talked about you doing. Which, my mistake for believing it was helping you.” He jabbed a finger in Dream’s chest, raising his eyebrows at the resulting cough that followed. “And now you’ve done it. You’ve gone and gotten yourself ill from all this idiocy. And ‘fresh air,’ Dream, really? It’s bloody freezing outside.”

Dream winced at Hob’s rising voice, taking an unconscious step back. He cleared his throat, trying to regain some semblance of dignity. “Be that as it may, Hob, it was my decision. I will bear the consequence as it follows. Including its effect on my health.” He sniffled, trying to ignore the wave of consequence running through his body. “And I suppose it is your prerogative to deny me sustenance. I was merely –” he let out a cough, “– reflecting on your claim that you would ‘feed me back to health,’ and the nature of its truth.” He coughed again, followed by a quiet sniffle.

Oh, but he could play sad wet cat very well.

“Is that right?” Hob asked with a tight smile. “Calling me a liar now, are we?”

Dream’s eyes widened as he realized the weight of his words. “I – no, Hob, I did not mean –”

“After I woke up early to make your favorite meal –” he jabbed another finger in Dream’s chest, causing the smaller man to step back, “After I prepared everything to your liking so we could have a nice breakfast, maybe a nice, relaxing weekend – and you think waltzing in here with the flu, disregarding our rules, calling me a liar, stealing from me, and then playing poor little wounded and deprived victim is the answer?” With each accusation, Hob’s voice grew louder, darker, as he hovered angrily over Dream. With each accusation, the latter unconsciously backed up until his legs met the desk behind him.

“I,” Dream started, eyes fluttering, “I did not think –”

“That’s right, Dream. You didn’t think,” Hob cut him off, stepping up to Dream. “But you did get one thing right.”

Dream’s brow furrowed, not sure what he meant. Looking around, he realized Hob had effectively locked him in place. His chin trembled.

Hob smiled threateningly. “You’ll definitely be ‘bearing the consequence’ for this.”

+++

Death hadn’t popped by Hob’s place for a while now. Somehow, work had been heavier than usual over the past few weeks – a war in certain areas leading to too-many trips to collect unfortunate souls – and stepping away had been impossible. Coupled with her search for answers to Dream’s problem, and her hunt for his tools, she hadn’t had a moment to pause.

Now though, with the war halted over a truce, Death was eager to take advantage of the free time to visit her brother. And Hob. And perhaps some of Hob’s mouth-watering pies.

Licking her lips in anticipation, Death stepped up to the front door, holding up a bag of scones in one hand. She believed in shared hospitality, after all.

Waiting a few minutes, Death knocked again but received no response. Curious. Possible they were out, or chose to sleep in. Death debated leaving and coming back at a later time. But the visual of those fresh strawberry pies her brother’s eager face made her hesitate. Hob had told her she was welcome anytime. Shrugging, Death transported herself into Hob’s kitchen. Placing the bag of scones on the counter, she looked around for any sign of life. Odd. No one was in the sitting room, but the counter looked like it had recently been set up for breakfast.

Perhaps Hob had gone to fetch something?

Death’s stream of thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a yelp. A muted thwap, followed by another cry. Leaning in, Death heard a few more follow. Was…that the sound of someone being beaten?

Bewildered, she followed the direction of the sounds and leaned against the door.

Then started, mouth dropping in surprise. It was her brother! Her brother and what sounded like Hob.

It also sounded like Dream was on the receiving end of whatever was happening in there.

At least, that’s what it seemed, given the familiar cries and the smacking interspersed with Hob’s muffled accusations.

Frozen in place, Death wondered what to do next. Should she interrupt them? Stop Hob from this monstrosity? Save her brother?

Logically, yes. But from what she was catching of Hob’s words, it sounded bad. Like Dream-had-done-something-stupid bad.

Wringing her hands and pacing, Death tried to ignore the smacking, wincing at the wail that followed. Every instinct was telling her to rush inside and tear Hob to pieces. Except the strongest one, the one that had her choosing to let Hob live, contacting Hob to save Dream in the first place. The one that reminded her that Hob, for all intents and purposes, was the only mortal – and perhaps, one of the few specimens overall – whom she could trust with Dream. Even now, with what was happening behind closed doors, she couldn’t help but trust him.

Suddenly, the smacking sounds stopped.

“Shit,” Death said to herself, eyes widening in panic. She didn’t want to get caught eavesdropping. Continuing to swear under her breath, one of the universe’s oldest creations frantically vanished into thin air.

+++

The door creaked open as a weary Hob stepped out, running a hand through his hair as he walked over to the kitchen. He was followed slowly by a red-eyed Dream, sniffling and chin trembling. Stubborn tears leaked from his eyes and down his cheeks as he trudged forward, biting his lip in pain and self-pity with each painful step.

By the time he reached the kitchen, Hob had almost finished replacing all the food in the oven. Uncertain what to do, Dream watched as Hob finished setting up the counter, both silent until the latter turned around to look at Dream. Stern eyes softened at the pathetic sight in front of him.

“Well,” Hob began, head nodding at the counter. “No point in wasting all this food, I suppose.” He gave Dream a half smile.

Dream’s wet eyes fluttered in confusion. He shuffled in place. “I thought,” he started in a hushed voice, before pausing hesitantly. “I thought. You said. No pancakes for me.” A blush rose on his cheeks as he looked down, unable to keep eye contact with Hob.

Hob rubbed his neck. Shit, he had said that, hadn’t he? He debated to himself. On the one hand, sticking to the no-pancakes rule would show he meant what he said. And technically, Dream didn’t deserve any treats. Not after what he’d pulled that morning.

But on the other hand…Hob looked at Dream, heart twisting at the sight.

Damn, but Dream really had him wrapped around his little Endless finger.

Hob cleared his throat. “It’s like I said. No point wasting it.” He took a seat. “Not like I can finish all of this myself.” He grinned at Dream, nodding at the seat opposite him. “Come on now. Bet you’re famished.”

Dream hesitated, biting his lip before he took he took a few tentative steps forward. Giving the seat a woeful look, he turned to look longingly at the sofa before turning back to pull out the chair and take a seat. Shifting in place uncomfortably, Dream couldn’t help the pained whimper that escaped him.

Hob watched him carefully, pondering. He could remind Dream that he had no compulsion to sit there. But his gut told him Dream was letting his pride win, refusing to grab a cushion or take to the sofa and instead pretend he was perfectly fine. Rolling his eyes internally, Hob reached over to drop a solid number of pancakes on Dream’s plate. He couldn’t make Dream’s decisions for him. If he was too proud to grant his sore bottom a reprieve, so be it.

Continuing to shift and hiss under his breath, Dream reached over for the syrup, admittedly starving. Especially after that awful morning. Sniffling, he leaned over to take a tissue when his hand nudged against a crumpled paper bag, half hidden among the plates and utensils.

“What’s this?” he asked, pointing at the bag.

Hob turned to look at the item. A confused expression spread across his face. Shaking his head, he responded, “No idea.” He plucked the bag up and put it in front of him, peeking inside. A delicious waft of savory and sweet scones hit his nostrils. “Mm, scones.” He closed his eyes and breathed them in, sighing in contentment. “Fresh scones.” His mouth was watering in anticipation.

“Where did they come from?” Dream’s hoarse voice interrupted his train of emotional longing.

Opening his eyes, Hob hmm-ed. “No idea,” he repeated, twisting the bag around to read the name. “They weren’t here before, though.”

Both blinked at the bag in confusion, lost in thought.

Suddenly, Dream froze. Wide eyes darted around, a look of awareness and horror filling his face. He gulped.

“Dream?” Hob asked, confused. “What is it?”

“It was Death,” Dream answered, sickly voice layered with dread and fear. “My sister brought them over. She was here.”

Hob went still.

Oh no. Oh no.

+++

Chapter Text

Hob whistled to himself as he added a dash of salt and pepper into the hot&sour soup currently simmering on his stove. ‘Dancing Queen’ was playing in the background, the fire was crackling, and the whole flat smelt of divine spices. It had been a long day, a strenuous day, and Hob was prepared to close it out with some comfort food and lounging on the couch, mindless film running in the background.

Stirring the mix, he took a sip and smiled to himself, enjoying the mix of tangy flavors and chicken broth. Perhaps he could finally finish up the latest season of Love Island – he’d never got around to the last few episodes.

“And when you get the chance,” his stereo crackled from the corner. Hob swayed on the spot, holding up the wooden spoon to his mouth.

“You are the dancing queen, young and sweet, only sevent-eeeeeen,” Hob sang into the spoon, bopping his head, hand waving in the air. “Feel the beat from the tambourine, OH YEAHHH –”

“Hello, Hob.”

Hob let out an unmanly, high-pitched scream, jumping several feet in the air. Said screech lasted the entirety of his leap. By the time he landed, old instincts had kicked in and he whirled around with his arm at the ready, wet spoon drawn out, ready to smite anyone who dared try him.

The spoon, for its part, let a sad plop of warm broth drop.

Right on Death’s shoe.

Death and Hob both blinked at the broth dripping down her boot before turning to stare at each other.

After a moment of stunned silence, “Hob,” Death spoke with a sickly sweetness. “Do you mind?”

Hob gaped at her in a daze, before realizing she was indicating with crossed eyes at the spoon held up in front of her nose. Coming back to his senses, Hob quickly lowered the spoon.

“Sorry,” he stammered, still frozen in place. Death tilted her head, amused.

“Don’t worry about it,” she replied, grinning.

A pause. 'Dancing Queen' continued playing cheerfully in the background. Hob’s heart hammered inside his chest.

“Hob,” Death stepped forward, eyes glittering. “You’re still holding the spoon.”

Hob looked down and realized he was, indeed, still holding the spoon in a tight grip, as though ready to strike at any moment. Bits of splattered broth had settled into the floor.

In his defense, though.

“You’ve got a bat,” he retorted. So she did; for Death stood before him in all her Endless, soul-reaping glory, a heavy cricket bat resting threateningly on her shoulders and the dark shadow of wings looming on the wall behind her, illuminated by the crackling fire and almost swallowing the kitchen whole.

Yeah. No chance he was letting go of his one weapon. Not that it would do much against a bat. Though if Death really wanted to take him out for what she’d overheard that morning, he had thought it would be more along the lines of dragging him to the Sunless Lands over beating him to mortality.

Death blinked, head turning to the cricket bat before looking back at him in confusion. Hob shifted but didn’t let go of the wooden spoon. Peering at him, awareness slowly dawned on Death’s face.

“Ohhh, you thought,” she swung the bat off her shoulder, “You thought I’d come here to beat you up?” She leaned on the handle, a bewildered expression on her face. “Why?”

Hob hesitated, unsure if he should admit to knowing she’d come by earlier. Or heard him.

“Well,” he started defensively, fidgeting in place. “Why else would you bring a cricket bat here?”

Death gaped at him, then let out a chuckle. “I was playing with some college kids in the park. They needed another player for their match since theirs got the flu.” She leaned the bat against the wall before turning back to fold her arms at him, eyebrow raised.

“Did you really think you could fight me off with a wooden spoon?” She asked, amused.

Hob blushed, looking sheepishly at the spoon in his hand. He shrugged. “I’ve fought with less.”

He turned back to stir the soup before lowering the heat and placing the spoon beside it.

“So…how have you been?” he asked, all casualness lost in the high pitch of his voice. “Dream will be happy to know you’re here.” Not.

Death nodded absently, looking around. “Where is Dream?”

Hob nodded his head in the direction of Dream’s bedroom. “Sleeping. Caught a bug this morning and. Well.” He shrugged, letting out a weary sigh. “He’s been asleep for a while now. Don’t think he’d mind if you woke him.” He glanced at the soup. “It’s nearly time for dinner anyway. This’ll be ready soon. You’re welcome to stay.”

Death hesitated. “Thanks, Hob. I’d like that.” She suddenly looked uncomfortable. “I did want to. Talk with you first. If that’s alright.” She let out a nervous chuckle. “Good thing I caught you just now, actually. Dream can wait a bit.”

Hob’s insides squirmed as he nodded stiffly. For all his claims to Dream, Hob wasn’t actually sure if Death would approve of how he…handled her little brother. He scratched his neck.

“Yeah, sure,” he squeaked out, waving toward the sofa. “Step into my office.”

Both slowly made their way to the lounge, Death with her hands stuffed into her pockets and Hob twiddling his thumbs. They took a seat. Hob waited. Death said nothing, eyes shifting awkwardly.

“So,” Hob began, clearing his tight throat. “What did you want to speak with me about?” Inwardly, he prayed – Lord forgive him – that some poor sod would do him a solid and cross the figurative threshold so Death could return to her work and they could avoid this whole conversation.

No such luck. Selfish mortals.

“I,” Death started, playing with a loose thread on the sofa arm. “I wanted to chat, actually. About. Well.” She shifted in place, looking decidedly uncomfortable. “I’d been meaning to see Dream for a while now, but work’s kept me busy all this time. I finally got a minute today and thought I’d pop in to say hello.” Death refused to make eye contact with Hob. “I came by this morning and...look. I knocked. I did knock, a few times. But no one answered.” Her tone had turned defensive, in contrast with her guilty expression. “You told me I could come by anytime.”

“I did,” Hob nodded, smiling tightly. “You’re always welcome here.” Just not this morning, right at that moment.

Damn him and his innate hospitality.

“Right,” Death nodded, looking a little relieved. “So I thought, why not just pop inside? Make sure I hadn’t missed you. I even brought scones!”

A beat. Death froze in place. “I brought scones,” she repeated to herself slowly. Her eyes darted to the kitchen counter, then back to Hob. Counter, Hob.

Hob paled but said nothing. Death eyed him suspiciously, noting his lack of surprise at the mention of scones. He must have found them that morning. Or Dream. And if Dream found them, it would only be a matter of time before they realized who could have entered the locked home and dropped off a snack. She thought back to Hob’s odd reaction to her bat. Thinking he had to defend himself from her…

Her eyes widened.

“You knew,” she said, pointing an accusing finger at Hob. “You already knew.”

Hob blanched. “Yeah, well,” he sputtered, before answering defensively, “You showed up without warning. You weren’t supposed to be here! Or – or hear anything!”

Death shook her head in disbelief. “Don’t put this on me, Hob Gadling,” she retorted, eyes narrowed. “I’m not the one under question here. Now what the hell happened this morning?”

Hob’s brow furrowed. “You…you mean you don’t know?” he asked, confused.

Death flushed, looking away uncomfortably. “All I heard was you yelling about Dream hurting himself again and.” She struggled with her next choice of words. “It sounded like you were beating him up.” She folded her arms, glaring down her nose at Hob. “Why were you beating my brother up?”

Hob’s mouth opened wordlessly, hands waving at nothing. “You thought I was beating your brother up?” he asked disbelievingly. “If that’s what you thought, why didn’t you put a stop to it?” Now it was his turn to fold accusing arms back at her and glare. “What kind of big sister are you?”

Death gaped. “Hey, I’m not the one beating him up!”

“I wasn’t beating him!”

“Then what were you doing?”

“I was…hang on, you didn’t answer my question. Why didn’t you try and stop it?”

A pause. Awkward fidgeting and accusative glaring seemed to be a running theme this evening.

“I,” Death started, then paused, looking unsure of herself. “I wasn’t planning on not stopping it. First of all.” She flexed her fingers into a subconscious fist. “But then I heard you. Talking about him doing…something, I don’t know, but something stupid that had gotten him hurt. And Dream wasn’t fighting or arguing back. And. Well.” She played with her fingers. “I suppose…I trust you. With him.” She finally looked up at Hob.

“Ah,” Hob answered in a cracked voice, feeling his face warm up. “Thanks, I suppose.” He let out a nervous chuckle. When Death said nothing, Hob realized she wanted an explanation.

“It wasn’t…I wasn’t ‘beating’ him up, per se,” he admitted, scratching his neck. “It was more like. Teaching.”

“Teaching,” Death repeated.

“Yeah.” Death gave him an exasperated ‘well, go on’ expression. “I was teaching him some…long-needed life lessons after he’d done something incredibly stupid today. And not for the first time, mind you. We’ve talked about it before and I gave him several warnings, so it’s not like it came as a surprise but –”

“Hob,” Death interrupted his rambling. “What happened today?”

She leaned forward, gazing unblinkingly at him. For a moment, Hob could see the likeness between her and Dream.

“Tell me everything.”

Hob sighed in defeat.

+++

Earlier that morning.

“You’ll definitely be ‘bearing the consequence’ for this.”

Dream’s breathing sped imperceptibly, and he pressed himself further into the desk.

“I believe I already have,” he replied shakily, indicating to his sore throat. He looked at Hob with a loud sniffle and too-bright eyes.

Which, in all fairness, were tearing up due to his being so horribly ill, and not at all because he was trying to win over Hob’s sympathy.

Hob eyed him suspiciously. Dream, wary and watchful, let out a sad cough.

Reaching out, Hob pressed the back of his hand against a stunned Dream’s forehead. “No fever,” he confirmed. “That's good." He jerked his head toward the bed. "Come on then."

Playing dumb, Dream tried to distract Hob. “Why are you checking for a fever?”

“Because, much as you may deserve it, I’m not going to come after a fevered patient. That’s just cruel.”

“This – this is cruel too,” Dream stammered. “I still have a – a cough and cold.” He sniffled again for emphasis, directing kitten eyes at his friend.

Hob shook his head. “That was a consequence of your foolish decision to run around in the snow,” he responded. “This will be a consequence for every stupid choice you made today. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He latched onto Dream’s upper arm, tugging him toward the bed.

Dream’s eyes widened in panic. Impulsively, he grabbed onto the desk behind him. Hob turned at the sudden resistance. “Dream,” he said firmly. “Let go of the desk.”

Swallowing, Dream shook his head. “No, Hob. I – I'd rather not.” He squirmed in place but held on to the table stubbornly.

“Dream,” Hob warned. “Last chance. Let go.”

“I will not.” He held his face high, not breaking eye contact. He was a king, he reminded himself. A king of a realm beyond mortal imagination, who had diminished cities, saved a world and all its residents from certain doom, defeated vengeful gods –

“Alright, that’s it.” Hob yanked his arm sharply, breaking Dream’s vice-like grip on the table. Dream stumbled, but Hob’s hold kept him upright. Before he had time to react, Hob had wrapped an arm around his waist, bending him over to tuck Dream firmly under his arm.

Dazed and bewildered, Dream struggled. His friend was a rock and didn’t budge one bit.

“Hob, what – AH!”

To Dream’s horror, he felt a familiar sharp sting of pain. He struggled again, arms flailing to try and cover his behind. Which, Dream realized to his dismay as another resounding swat filled the air, was all too vulnerable and accessible to Hob. He hissed, feet shuffling in place as Hob’s hand landed repeatedly on his backside.

“Argh – Hob, stop –”

“This,” Hob interrupted, landing a flurry of sharp smacks on the bottom wriggling under his arm, “is for refusing to listen when I asked you to let go of the desk. I told you you’d regret it.”

Dream hissed and bit his lip, trying not to show any weakness before his cruel captor. He yelped in surprise as Hob suddenly lifted Dream up off his feet, tilting him in place to strike at the upended sit spots. Dream cried out, kicking his feet in the air. How was Hob this strong?

Hob, however, was huffing as he held his struggling deviant in place. Dream wasn’t heavy by any means, but he wasn’t feather-light anymore either, and the kicking and wriggling didn’t help.

Hob landed three more stern swats in before pausing to take a deep breath. Round one. Oh, Dream was not going to like the sound of that.

Bracing himself, Hob wrapped his other arm around Dream’s waist for a better grip, keeping him elevated off the floor as he carried Dream to the bed.

“Hob!” Dream cried out hoarsely. “Wait!” His legs kicked out in panic, trying to reach the ground.

Hob ignored him, taking a seat on the bed before repositioning Dream over his lap. Dream tried to rise up but was quickly pushed back down. Hob tugged Dream closer to his stomach for a firmer grip. In his struggle, Dream began coughing breathlessly.

Hob paused, still holding him in place but rubbing his back. “Do you need some water before we start?” He nodded at the glass on Dream’s bedside table before pausing to reconsider his choice of words. As if Dream would ever admit to needing anything. "On second thought," Hob reached over for the glass and set it on the floor beside Dream. “Drink up. I’m not asking.”

Dream turned his head to glare at Hob, eyes watery from coughing. “You cannot – ow.” He jumped at the sharp smack to his bottom.

“Drink.”

Fuming, Dream reached for the glass and took a few gulps of water. He would never admit it, but he was silently grateful for the relief it brought his sore throat. Setting down the glass, he sniffled mulishly. “You would have me take care of myself yet also hurt me while I am ailing?”

“No more than you deserve,” Hob responded dryly.

Dream pouted at him, then gasped as Hob’s leathery hand struck his behind. Too soon, another followed.

The hand did not let up, continuing its merciless administrations as its victim remained stubbornly silent. For the next minute, the only sound filling the room was the sharp, repeated smacking of hand on clothing.

At last, Hob paused, flexing his sore hand. He looked at Dream. His friend’s hands were clenched into fists, eyes squeezed shut and lips bitten red to avoid making a sound. He was breathing heavily, slumped against Hob now that he'd gotten a reprieve from the spanking.

Hob reached over to gently squeeze the back of Dream’s neck. “It’s okay if you need to make noise,” he said quietly. “That’s bound to happen at some point. No need to make it harder on yourself.”

Dream twisted his neck to glare at him, starry eyes shining but not tearing up just yet. “You need not pretend to care if I make things easier or harder on myself, Hob Gadling,” he hissed. “As evidently your care does not stop you from causing me undue harm.” He turned back to scowl at the floor.

Hob rolled his eyes in amusement.

“Always the theatrics with you, you know that? I’m starting to see how you inspired Shaxberd.” He laid another firm swat to Dream’s rounded behind before turning his attention to the unattended thighs. Dream kept shifting in place, legs jerking with each swat, quiet hisses and sounds escaping his mouth despite his effort to remain stoic. Hob paid him no mind, holding him down firmly as he continued administering swats to the squirming thighs.

“Ah – Hob, Hob, that’s enough,” Dream panted out, flinching with each smack. “I understand your point and I – I apologize.” From what he’d understood last time, an apology had been enough to make Hob cease his torment.

Hob did pause, but he did not loosen his hold. “Apologize for what?” he asked sweetly.

Dream blinked. He hadn't expected having list his alleged crimes. “I…apologize for upsetting you,” he responded stiffly.

Hob chuckled. “Thanks, Dream. That’s so magnanimous of your lordship. One such as I can only hope for your benevolence.”

Dream couldn’t help but feel Hob was being sarcastic.

A beat of silence. “Oh, are you done apologizing?” Hob asked, voice suspiciously guileless.

Again, Dream did not expect this. Lying there upended on Hob’s lap with his behind and thighs burning up, it was hard to think of much else amid such indignity.

“…No?” Was that the right answer?

“Is that supposed to be a question?”

“I…apologize…” Dream struggled with himself, frustrated at having to stoop so low to obtain his freedom. “…for….”

Another beat.

“For?” Hob prompted with patronizing sweetness, like a teacher patiently educating a child.

That was more than Dream could bear. He growled, kicking a foot against the floor.

“This is stupid, Hob,” he ground out, hands clenched. He shook his head. “I will not indulge your every whim if it means having to debase myself. You have no command over an Endless – argh, STOP IT!” as a harsh swat landed against his right thigh. “Enough of this! I already apologized!” Another landed on his left thigh, setting off a deep ache in his leg. Dream pushed against Hob’s hold, whining under his breath as Hob targeted the same tender spot over and over.

“Hob! I said I apologize!”

“Mmmhm,” Hob responded absently, continuing his torment of setting Dream’s skin ablaze. “You don’t even know what you’re apologizing for though, do you? Seems like I haven’t gotten through to you yet.”

He shifted his knee down, tilting Dream in the process. Realizing what Hob intended, Dream frantically started kicking in place. “Hob, no!”

A sharp smack landed where his bottom and thighs met, causing Dream to cry out. Another landed, then a third, as Hob now focused on meting out punishment on his sit spots.

Hob tried to ignore his cries as he continued smiting Dream’s sorry behind. He couldn't have Dream endangering himself again like this, he just couldn't.

“You appear to have forgotten why we’re here, Dream,” he started. “Let me help you remember. You deliberately lied,” smack “stole,” smack “snuck out,” smack “broke our rules – again” SMACK “And tried to play me into feeling sorry for you so you could get away with it,” a smattering of spanks landed against the heated sit spots. Dream yelped out with each accusation, grabbing onto the fabric of Hob’s pants tightly. A tear drop ran across his nose. He sniffled as he felt more trailing down his face, feeling thoroughly sorry for himself.

“For someone who holds the entire collective unconscious of the universe, you have a piss-poor memory when it comes to protecting your own backside,” Hob lectured, landing heavy swat after swat in the same place.

Dream jumped in place as a particularly sharp one followed, crying out in pain. He shook his head in anger and disbelief. “You – you are worse than Roderick Burgess,” he accused in a biting tone. “Even he did not resort to physical abuse to get what he wanted.” He sniffled, wiping his face with his sleeve.

Hob froze, smarting hand hovering over Dream. “Are you bloody serious?” he asked darkly. Dream shivered in spite of himself but gave no response. He did not mean what he said, but there was a rush of pleasure in knowing he’d touched a sore spot with Hob.

“Unbelievable,” Hob said, leaning against Dream to rub his face tiredly. “Bloody unbelievable, you are.” Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath to calm himself.

He knew the spanking would work – it had worked wonders on Dream last time – but perhaps it wasn’t enough to maintain the same pattern. Seeing as how one bratty pain-in-Hob’s-arse was still comfortable enough to goad him despite his position.

Fine. So be it. Two could play this game.

Wrapping his hands around Dream’s waist, he tugged him forward, trapping the surprised Endless’ legs between his own. Ignoring the vocal protests, Hob reached over and hooked his fingers into the waistband of Dream’s joggers.

Dream went still. “Hob –” he choked out, eyes wide with disbelief.

But with a swift tug, Hob had yanked down his pants to the middle of Dream’s thighs. Placing a hand on Dream’s boxer briefs, Hob noted the glowing red color across Dream’s squirming thighs. Likely his bottom was about the same shade.

“Hob!” Dream cried out hoarsely. “What are you doing? Stop this at once!” He reached a hand back to try and pull his joggers back up, using the other to push at Hob’s chest and get away.

Hob quickly intercepted both hands, grasping skinny wrists between one hand to hold them against Dream’s back.

“No!”

“You just keep making this worse for yourself,” Hob responded, shaking his head as he landed a sharp spank on the vulnerable behind. Dream gasped in surprise and pain. This was so much worse without the protection of his pants.

“Comparing me to your captor now? The one who denied you every basic necessity and kept you locked up for decades?” A rapid smattering followed, covering every inch of his bottom. “You really thought to compare us both?” Ruthless blows landed on his sit spots.

Unable to break either arms or legs free from Hob’s clutches, Dream was completely trapped and at Hob’s mercy. He writhed and cried out in pain, tears pouring relentlessly across his face.

“I know you’re too proud for your own good, Dream, but I’ve never thought of you as stupid,” Hob started. “Today you managed to prove me wrong.” He struck Dream’s exposed thighs sharply, watching color bloom under his hand with each strike. Dream wailed, feet kicking the floor as he tried to pull his arms free from Hob’s grip.

“Going out of your way to hurt both me and yourself, running around in the snow until you got yourself sick again, all our work to fix you up gone to waste –”

He continued painting Dream’s thighs and bottom red. “If the one lesson wasn’t enough for you, we can make this a morning routine until it really sinks in.” He walloped Dream’s sit spots for emphasis.

Dream shook his head frantically, breathing hitched and face wet with tears. “Hob, noooo!” he cried out, near childish in his panic. “No! I don’t want that!” He twisted in place, howling as Hob walloped his roasted backside.

“As opposed to wanting all this?” Hob asked sardonically, tightening his hold as Dream fought wildly to free himself. “Though I suppose you have been asking for it for a long time now.”

“I haven’t!” Dream responded shrilly, shaking from crying. “I haven’t been – you – ow!” another wail as a scorching hand landed on his sensitive, burning thigh. He kicked out in pain, legs struggling to free themselves from tangled joggers and Hob’s clamped hold.

“Your behavior says otherwise,” Hob scolded, continuing to scorch the angry red thighs. “Until you plan on actually listening and respecting others, don’t expect the same in return.” He spanked the middle of Dream’s behind, making Dream bounce in pain. “Until you stop being an absolute brat, you’ll keep getting more of this,” sharp strikes targeted his sit spots, “And believe me, next time it’ll be worse. Keep this up and you’re getting it on the bare.” He tugged at the waistband of Dream’s shorts for emphasis, causing Dream to gasp and shake his head rapidly, face red from crying.

Hardening his heart against the teary face, Hob continued his administrations. He did, however, let go of Dream’s wrists, not wanting to prolong that discomfort. Dream’s hands shot forward, balancing himself against the ground and flinching with each spank.

“Put yourself in danger again, and I may use more than just my hand.” Hob warned, emphasizing his point with a mighty smack to the sore, reddened skin.

Dream whimpered, then broke down into sobs, slumping against Hob and burying his face into folded arms. Hob slowed down his spanking to a minimal. He had no intention of bruising Dream. Despite the respite, Dream continued to sob and mumbled something incoherently into his arms.

Hob paused his actions then, loosening his hold on Dream's legs before turning to rub Dream’s back soothingly. “Dream? You have something to say?” he asked softly. Dream sniffled and spoke again, but his words came out muffled against his sleeves.

“Come again?” Hob continued stroking his back gently.

Dream finally raised his head, taking in a deep, hitched breath. Gulping in air, wet eyelashes fluttering, he whispered, “I’m sorry.” He rubbed his face against his sleeve. “I’m sorry, Hob,” he repeated in a crushed, watery voice. His hair was messier than ever, eyes huge and blurry with tears, lower lip trembling.

Hob’s heart clenched at the sight.

Dream let out a hoarse cough, which he tried muffling in his arms. His sleeves were damp with tears.

Damn it. Damn it all.

Dream gasped as he was pulled off the floor and into Hob’s arms. Hob gathered him close, tucking Dream’s face into his shoulder and arms wrapped around his upper body. Hearing Dream hiss in pain, he shifted his knees apart so the injured appendage could settle between his legs and avoid contact with anything. Tightening his hold, Hob rubbed Dream’s back, pressing his head against Dream’s own and whispering soothing words into his ear. Dream buried his face into Hob’s neck, trying to reign in his tears.

For the next few minutes, the only sound in the room was of a clock ticking, sniffling, hitched breathing and hushed words of comfort. Slowly, the breathing eased up, Dream relaxing in Hob’s arms. His tears, as usual, had a will of their own, and continued leaking. Stroking his friend’s fluffy head of hair, Hob reached down for the abandoned glass of water and held it up near Dream’s face.

“Alright, Dream. It's all over, you’re okay now. Listen, I need you to drink this. Can you do that?” He nudged his shoulder against Dream’s buried face. With some more persuasion, Hob was able to pull Dream out of his hiding place and tip the glass against his lips.

Dream huffed, rolling wet eyes as he extended a stubborn hand to hold the glass and drink himself. Hob bit back a smile at this adorable attempt at independence.

Finishing the water, Dream handed it over before burying his face back into Hob’s neck, hands clutching his shirt. Hob had a feeling that was Dream’s way of wrapping his arms around Hob to seek comfort, without actually having to lower his pride and actually do it.

No complaints from Hob on that front. He had found, over the past few weeks, that he had a soft spot for cuddly Dream. Rare enough as it was, and despite his skinny frame, Dream was actually a good hugger. Surprisingly soft. Hob pulled him in close, sending a prayer of thanks to the high heavens and all the guardian angels that were keeping his idiot friend from getting nicked outside by avenging otherworldly lords or denizens of Hell, as Death had put it. Apparently Dream had a huge target on his back. Mainly because of his less-than-cuddly nature.

So, this? This was nice. Hob would happily indulge this side of Dream. One where he was actually able to shake off the sad wet cat demeanor and come inside from the rain.

Feeling Dream shift in his arms, Hob loosened his hold slightly and looked at his friend. Dream’s face was still a mess, tears still rolling and pout noticeably present. But his breathing was steady, and he was looking more relaxed in Hob’s arms, head still resting tiredly against Hob’s shoulder.

“I…” Dream started in a hushed voice, pausing hesitantly. “I. apologize for my actions, Hob. I did not mean to make you worry. Again.” The last word was a guilty whisper. Dream ducked his head to avoid eye contact.

Smiling sadly, Hob squeezed Dream’s arm in reassurance. He had also found, in the past several weeks, that he did not have the capacity to be angry at Dream for too long. Bugger it all, Hob was a sap and he knew it.

“Do you mind telling me something?” he asked quietly. “If you hate the consequences so much…why do you keep going outside? On your own?”

Dream blushed but gave no response. His wet eyes suddenly looked troubled, despairing, lost in space and time.

“It’s not just the stars and the Dreaming, is it?” Hob continued slowly. “Dream. What is it that you’re looking for?”

What is it that you’re looking for? echoed repeatedly in Dream’s head, awakening a crawling hunger in his stomach, battering his figurative heart. He closed his eyes, tears rolling down his face, and pressed against Hob.

“I don’t know,” he whispered. “After…Fawney Rig. I find myself unable to remain in enclosed spaces too long. And...”

On your own?

“I don’t try to go on my own. That just. Happens.” Dream let out a mirthless chuckle. “It’s stupid, I know. But I suppose it helps. In a way. All of it. The sights and sounds, the sky, the cold. To remember and relearn them. The way they feel, all over again. It’s a. A good…reminder.”

“Reminder of what?” Hob asked gently.

“Of reasons to stay.” Dream’s chin trembled. He ducked his head, body unconsciously curling into itself to hide away. Stay, uttered with the weight of a heavy confession that went well beyond the desire for a solid presence in Hob’s home.

Hob hugged Dream tightly. A fierce wave of protectiveness pounded in his heart. To ward off all evil, whenever he could, however he could, from this crushed, hurting creature in his arms. To give him a reason - any reason - to stay.

For Dream's sake, he would try.

It took a while to move past Dream’s admission, but Hob figured a good story of his own antics and the comedic results that followed would help alleviate matters. Slowly, Dream found himself relaxing again, mind drawn out from itself to focus on the rope Hob kept throwing at him to hold onto, to climb back out, or keep from falling in too deep.

It took Dream’s grumbling stomach and mortifying realization that he was essentially sitting boxer-clad in Hob’s lap, for him to leap out of a surprised Hob’s arms and on his own two feet. He quickly reached down to tug his pants back up. Face flushing, Dream looked around the room, not able to look Hob in the eye. He shifted in place, wincing from the throbbing burn across his behind and thighs, and wondered what to do about his hunger when Hob had already denied him breakfast.

Hob, equally hungry, rose up as well. Straightening his clothes, he glanced at Dream, who continued looking anywhere but at him.

Biting back a smile, Hob went before Dream and placed worn hands on narrow shoulders. Dream looked up at him with a guarded expression.

“Hey. It’s alright. You’re forgiven, yeah? Just don’t do all…that. Again. You know.” He looked Dream firmly in the eyes. Near the end of the spanking, Dream had been too upset (hysterical, really) for Hob to force him to outline the crimes he was apologetic for.

But that didn’t mean Hob couldn’t remind him now that he was calmer.

“Lying, stealing, ignoring our rules, and trying to play me to get what you want.” He squeezed Dream’s shoulders sternly. Dream looked back at him, eyes full of contrition and guilt.

Finally, he nodded silently, debating whether to tell Hob the actual truth about the entryway key.

Hob clapped his shoulders. “Right. Time for breakfast, then.” He walked over and opened the bedroom door, turning back with a look of encouragement.

Dream was surprised. Hadn’t Hob denied him breakfast? But then again, who was he to turn it down when offered?

Biting his tongue to hold off on asking stupid questions, Dream trailed behind Hob into the kitchen, feeling new tears emerge as sore skin brushed against the back of his joggers.

Maybe Hob would let him have one pancake.

+++

Present time.

Death stared at Hob. Hob twiddled his thumbs. The floor was remarkably well-designed, he noted, now that he had been examining it for the past millennia. Anything to avoid Death’s…death glare. Is that where the phrase originated from?

Hob’s erratic train of thought was interrupted by Death groaning and burying her face in her hands. Shaking her head slowly, Death looked back up with an unfathomable expression.

Hob really wished he’d kept his spoon nearby.

“I knew it,” Death muttered in resignation.

Hob blinked.

“I didn’t interrupt earlier because," Death shifted in her seat awkwardly. "From what it sounded like…I had a feeling. But I didn’t want to make any guesses…”

“So instead, you scurried off, only to come back and scare the living daylights out of me?”

Death grinned. “I had to be 100% sure you didn’t actually beat him up. Also, it seemed funnier at the time."

These Endless siblings were going to be the death of Hob.

+++

Chapter Text

When Dream woke up, it was not to the joyful chirrups of birds warbling, nor to Hob’s cheerful but off-key singing.

No, it was more like a strange mix of metal scraping, clinking and happy chewing.

Confused, Dream opened bleary eyes to take a look. Cocooned as he was under the comfort of the heavy-weighted blanket, he had no desire to move beyond that. As he peered through the darkness, Dream sensed a presence close by.

Too close.

Like, sitting-right-next-to him-and-causing-his-bed-to-dip-down close.

He eyed the formidable shape with distaste as it slouched against his pillow, continuing to make those strange noises.

With the window behind them casting some light into the room, he could make out a silhouette of curling hair. The silhouette was moving, repeating the clinking noise and humming to themselves.

Dream raised his head off the pillow. “…Hob?”

His voice was hoarse, throat sore from the sickness that a bit of sleep did not relieve.

The silhouette turned in his direction, and he could make out a bright grin of shining teeth in the dark.

“About time.”

The bed dipped again as the figure moved. A flicking sound, and the room was filled with the hazy, dim lighting of his bedside lamp. Dream squinted his eyes against the sudden brightness, pressing his face into the pillow. His head hurt.

“Hey, bedhead.” A hand gently poked his temple, paused, then quickly ruffled his hair.

Scowling, Dream yanked his head up and away from the offending hand, quickly running his fingers through his hair to settle it into place. Once he was done, he turned back to glare at the perpetrator.

Death grinned shamelessly. “Finished preening?”

Dream glowered back, still trying to process what was going on.

Death was lounging on the other side of his bed, sitting atop the covers with a bowl and fork in her hands. She dipped the fork back in and raised a piece of, from the look and scent of it, Hob’s strawberry pie. Death chewed happily, sighing with closed eyes in contentment.

“Hob really does make the best pies,” she mumbled with her mouth full. “So crumbly and warm.”

Frowning, Dream pushed himself up to lean against his pillow, wincing as the reminder of that morning’s events reverberated achingly through the seat of his pajamas. He shifted into a more comfortable position.

“My sister. What are you doing?”

Death opened her eyes, raising an eyebrow at him. “Um. Eating pie? Thought that was obvious.” She wolfed down another bite.

“No, I – what are you doing here? Right now?” In his room, on his bed, while he was asleep, eating pie in the dark.

The whole situation confused his foggy brain.

“What, can’t a sister come visit her ailing brother now?” Death waggled her eyebrows at him. “Heard you got yourself sick, by the way. Idiot.” She flicked his head.

“Ow,” Dream muttered, leaning away from flicking range.

“Hob made you some soup earlier. It’s still on the stove if you want me to heat it up for you. You missed dinner though. We didn’t have the heart to wake you. You looked too cozy.” She smirked at him.

Dream wrinkled his nose at the visual of Hob and Death checking in on him. He nodded absently, leaning against the pillows. “In a moment, thank you.”

Hearing more clinking, Dream turned to eye Death’s dessert. It did look rather good. And he secretly loved Hob’s pies. His mouth watered as he continued staring at Death’s plate.

“Uh-uh. Don’t even think about it, Dream.”

Distracted, Dream looked at his sister. “What?”

Death gave him the stink-eye. “You always do this. Every time I get something to eat, you want it too. Even if you said no earlier. It’s been like that since you were a kid.” She pulled her plate close to her chest possessively. “This one’s mine, though.”

Dream pouted. Death stuck her tongue out at him and continued eating.

Watching the delectable dessert be scarfed down so unappreciatively, Dream couldn’t help himself. He sighed, leaning back against the pillows and fidgeting with the blanket morosely. Feeling Death’s eyes on him, he sniffled.

“Ugh,” Death groaned beside him. “You’re the worst. Fine. Here.” She held her plate out.

Dream eagerly grabbed it, inhaling the scent of warm sweetness before taking a bite. Chewing, he smiled at Death. “Thank you.”

“The. Worst.” Death folded her arms, glaring at him.

Dream continued eating contentedly, biting down the occasional cough that followed a crumbly bite. Not that Death didn’t make it a point to inform him each time that he, an ill Endless, should not be consuming anything that would make his situation worse.

Dream paid her no heed. Hob really did make the best pies.

When one bite remained, Dream felt gracious, if not rather full, and held the plate back toward Death. She looked at the sad, remaining bite and narrowed her eyes at him. “Really?”

“I am sharing, my sister. As you always insist I should,” Dream responded, innocent and wide-eyed.

She snatched the plate back and greedily inhaled the final piece. Setting the plate aside, she slouched against the pillow, hand on her stomach. “That was amazing. Pity I only got the crumbs, of course.” She eyed Dream.

“Was this not your third slice, my sister?” Dream asked with a straight face.

She narrowed her eyes. “Second,” she grumbled. “Hob packed some for me to take home for later.” She grinned as Dream rolled his eyes.

A moment later, her face lit up. “Speaking of Hob.” She reached for Dream’s glass of water and held it out in front of him. “He asked that I remind you to keep hydrating yourself, and to finish at least two of the five bottles of water he’s left in here.” She bit her lip to hide a smile, nodding at the desk ahead lined up with water bottles. Hob was too funny.

Dream did not agree. Frowning at the bottles, he sighed deeply, before taking the glass from Death and slowly guzzling it down. Placing it on the table beside him, he muttered, “He. Cares too much.”

A beat.

“Is that a bad thing?” Death asked lightly. Dream shifted in place, feeling the painful aftereffects of Hob’s ‘care,’ and wrinkled his nose. He said nothing, already weary from his many ailments.

“It’s not a crime to care for someone, you know,” Death said. “Nor a crime to have someone take care of you.” She gave Dream a meaningful look.

Disgruntled, he tried to change the topic.

“You met Hob, then?”

“I did,” Death nodded cryptically. Dream eyed her with suspicion. She seemed uncomfortable, looking everywhere but at him.

“Did something happen?”

+++

Earlier.

Following Hob’s confession, minus the finer details he didn’t think Dream would appreciate him sharing, Death and he had sat in awkward silence for a few seconds.

A few, infernally long, seconds.

Unsure what to do, Hob had risen up, uncertainly shuffling over to his kitchen to check on the soup. Satisfied with the taste, he prepared two bowls and brought them over. Setting his down, he tentatively slid Death’s bowl her way, as if in offering of appeasement. “Enjoy.”

Death looked up, distracted, and picked up the bowl, inhaling before dipping her spoon in.

Both ate quietly, making occasional sounds of appreciation and acknowledgment, teetering around the elephant in the room.

Finally, Hob couldn’t help himself. He’d always had too much to say.

“Look,” he began uncomfortably. “I just want to make it clear. I didn’t do it to – to harm him or, or humiliate him, or anything like that.”

Death’s expression was unreadable. She absently played with her spoon, half-empty bowl in her lap. “Why did you do it?” She sounded more curious than angry.

Hob rubbed his face. Dream was going to hate him for this.

“Honestly, I don’t know,” he admitted. “He was just…driving me up the wall and refusing to eat or sleep and always putting up a fight, making himself weaker, and the number of times I had to drag his sorry arse from outside at godforsaken what’s-o-clock, frozen to the bone but refusing to stop – and I told him, I told him so many times it couldn’t keep happening, but apparently he just can’t seem to bloody listen or follow our rules, which you’d think odd for someone who always had a stick up his –”

“Hob,” Death interrupted in a hushed voice. “You smacked my little brother for…misbehaving?”

Hob blanched. Eyes shifting, he muttered, “When you put it like that…”

Death let out a peal of laughter. Clutching her stomach and rolling on the couch, she cackled for the next few minutes, Hob gaping on in utter bewilderment.

Once Death had calmed down, she leaned against the sofa to catch her breath.

“Oh, I haven’t had a laugh like that in ages,” she chuckled, wiping her eyes and looking at Hob with suppressed mirth.

Hob, who had not moved a muscle since her outburst.

Death snorted, unable to control her giggles. “Hob, it’s alright. I’m not about to wipe you off the face of the earth. Not yet, anyway.” Her eyes glittered with amusement.

Hob let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Glad to hear it,” he replied shakily. He eyed Death. “You alright? Just…not exactly the reaction I was expecting, that.”

Death smirked. “No, it’s not, is it? I’m probably horrible for that. Though it is pretty funny.” She snickered behind her hand. “Oh, poor Dream. How’s he taken it? Not too well, I suppose.”

Hob reflected. “Well. He did threaten to tell on me. To…you.”

Death cracked up.

By that point, Hob couldn’t help but chuckle himself. The whole situation was ridiculous, really. And Death’s laughter was infectious.

Though it was a wonder Dream hadn’t woken from it.

Death wiped her eyes again. “Oh, of course he did,” she said teasingly. “And I suppose that’s what finally made you stop?”

Hob let out a nervous laugh. “Ah. Well. Funny story, there.” He tugged at his collar. “I may have…in my own hubris, foolishness really…told him to buck up because you’d just agree with me and say he deserved it.”

Death blinked.

“And…maybe suggested that you’d even ask for tips.”

Death really hadn’t laughed that much in a long time.

“Bet he didn’t like that,” she noted, now fully collapsed against the couch, weak from laughing.

Hob’s expression was response enough.

“Oh Hob,” Death giggled. “I’m so sorry for putting you through that. Honestly, I should’ve warned you. He gets a bit…testy. When he’s not his best.”

Hob rolled his eyes. “You don’t say.”

Death chuckled. “Well. For what it’s worth, I am sorry.” She tapped the table, thinking to herself. “Tell me the truth, Hob,” she said slowly. “If it is too much, I can take him with me. You don’t…you’ve done enough. More than enough, really. And I don’t think I’ve thanked you enough for it, but – thank you. So much.” Her voice was gentle now.

Hob looked up, shrugging sheepishly in response. “S’alright. Couldn’t bloody well leave him over there, now, could I?”

Death nodded slowly. “Sure. Still. Thank you. And. If it is too much...I can take him. Just say the word.”

She waited, not moving her gaze from Hob’s. Hob looked back but was lost in thought.

Give Dream back to Death? Like exchanging a parcel. A very noisy, snobby, needy parcel at that.

He’d finally get a good night’s sleep.

Maybe be able to watch a game or two in peace.

Have his home to himself again.

No Dream. His freedom right in his hands. Another gift from Death.

Hob hesitated, remembering Dream’s teary face. Hands clinging to Hob. Fitting, so perfectly, so ridiculously, into his home, his life, his arms. The warm weight of him, leaning against Hob’s side.

His heart clenched at the idea of goodbye.

Life was never dull for Hob, but it had been a while since he’d had company this long. And. It had been a nice change. A familiar face amid an endless sea of changing faces, newly born and dying with each era.

He remembered Dream’s face when he’d broken into the basement, so weak and starved and deprived of any light or touch or kindness for too long. A quivering pale hand pressing against the glass, the other shakily trying to raise him up before collapsing, face pressed against the base of the glass prison. All that but those starry eyes, eyes full of tears and disbelief and infinite, eyes that had not changed one bit, that followed his every move and never looked away from Hob. And hadn’t, not really, not since then.

His own shaking hand reaching out to press against the glass, meeting Dream’s.

Hob shook his head vehemently. “No. No, I’ll keep him.” Seeing Death’s knowing look, he backtracked. “I mean – he can stay. He’s recovering here, and you’ve a busy schedule on your hands. But – thanks, for the offer I guess.” He scratched his neck, refusing to meet Death’s gaze.

She nodded, eyes full of unspoken understanding. “Alright. Thank you, Hob.”

They both looked away for a moment.

 “You do owe me a sainthood, though,” Hob muttered, sipping his soup. “Least you could do.”

Death cracked up.

+++

Now.

Death turned to gaze at her brother, who was watching her with a guarded expression.

Biting back a smile, she raised a stern eyebrow at him. “I heard someone’s been exceptionally naughty during his stay here.”

Dream froze in place. “W – what?” he choked out.

Oh, Death did enjoy this.

She folded her arms and glared at him. “Did you really go gallivanting outside in the snow at the crack of dawn? Multiple times? In your condition?”

Dream’s mouth hung open. “I – I did not go gallivanting –” he stammered out, face bright red.

“And that’s not all,” Death interrupted, thoroughly enjoying herself. Raising a hand, she starting listing on her fingers: “Knocking things over, never cleaning up after yourself, being snotty and rude to the man who saved you from that awful place, dragging your shadows out every time you’re upset, throwing tantrums –”

“I am not throwing –” Dream protested furiously, rising up and shaking his head.

“— hush, I’m talking –” she pushed him back down easily with one hand. Dream glared from between the fluffy pillows and duvet, brow furrowed and mouth open in outrage. “You’ve basically been abusing the kindness of a man who has given up all his time and energy to take care of you and gotten nothing but trouble for it.”

By this point, Death had gotten quite heated, her irritation at Dream’s behavior exceeding her amusement.

At her raised voice, Dream pushed himself further into the bed and under the duvet, eyes wide.

Death shook her head at him in disbelief. “Honestly, Dream, who raised you?”

Dream blinked. “…you did?”

“Oh, shut up,” Death jostled him in annoyance. He wasn’t far from the truth, but still.

The sudden movement sent a heated flare across Dream’s behind. He hissed at the sudden pain, shifting in place.

Then remembered he wasn’t alone. His eyes widened.

Heart thudding, Dream turned slowly to look at Death.

Strangely, Death did not look surprised or confused by his reaction. Instead, her expression was sympathetic, even a little guilty.

“Sorry,” she whispered, gently squeezing his shoulder in comfort.

It took Dream a moment longer than he liked to remember. But then it came rushing back – visions of a takeout paper bag, of scones, of Hob and Dream staring at each other in horror.

Oh no.

Dream felt his face flame up, right up to his ears. Lost in terrible realization, he subconsciously slid further under the weighted comfort of his duvet.

“Dream?” Death’s voice only registered to a vague, peripheral part of him as he continued sliding down far, far away from the world.

“Dream.” A finger poked his side through the heavy covers. “Dreeeam.” She poked the top of his head, the only part of Dream peeking out from inside his quilted asylum. Another poke, this time more impatient.

“I am tired, my sister,” he croaked out, hoping he sounded sufficiently fatigued. “I thank you for coming by to see me, but I must rest now. My apologies.” He pulled the duvet to cover the rest of his head.

“No, you’re not,” she accused. “Dream, come out of there and stop acting like a child.”

Dream scowled from his hiding place. He was quite tired of being compared to a creature without the several millennia of experience and history that made Dream the capable lord and ruler he was today.

(Not quite today).

Death tugged sharply at his blanket, disrupting his chain of thoughts. She eyed her sickly brother, red-faced with mortification, preened hair once again all over the place. Sighing, she reached out with a gentle hand to smooth it down.

“Dream –”

“I don’t want to discuss it,” he broke in stiffly.

Death snorted. “Well, tough. We’re discussing it.”

Dream moaned, sniffling loudly as he tried tugging the duvet out of her grip and failing miserably. “I am ill,” he muttered stubbornly, mouth set in a pout. “I must rest to recover.”

Death gave him her signature Big Sister look – one of three she’d often direct at her siblings, in this case an ‘aww’ expression, head tilted and mouth smiling indulgently at their actions. The expression that that had many a proud sibling huff petulantly in response, knowing they’d already lost the argument.

Dream was many things: proud, haughty, capable. In front of his elder siblings, however, it was hard to maintain that proud nature.

He huffed petulantly in response.

Death rolled her eyes, eternally patient, and stroked his head. “Dream,” she started gently. “I know you know I came by this morning.”

Dream froze under her hand.

“And…” she trailed off, unsure how to continue. “I’m…sorry I just popped in without warning like that. Just then.”

Dream was now 100% ready to grab his sister’s hand and be embraced by the Sunless Lands.

Death eyed him. “For what it’s worth, I was only there for a minute or two,” she joked, trying to lighten the mood. “Didn’t hear the whole thing.”

It didn’t help.

She sighed. “Look, I –”

“Did Hob,” Dream started in a hushed voice. “Did Hob tell you…everything?” He looked aghast.

Death shook her head. “I don’t think so,” she said kindly. “He kept it quite brief, honestly. He wasn’t trying to gossip behind your back or humiliate you. If anything, I kind of. Made him tell me.”

Dream peered up from under her palm on his forehead. “Why?”

Death shrugged. “Had to make sure he wasn’t beating you up or anything.” She smirked at Dream. “Brought a cricket bat. Scared the life out of him.”

Dream blinked. That was actually quite funny. He gave a small smile.

“Did you…” he said tentatively. “What did you do? I presume he is still alive out there?”

She snickered. “Yes, yes, your boyfriend is perfectly alright. I didn’t lay a hand on him.”

Dream’s brow furrowed. “Hob is not –”

“Yes, Dream, I’m only joking. It’s a joke. You may come to appreciate them one day. Or at least, understand them.” She poked the tip of his nose.

Dream jerked away, wrinkling his nose. “I understand them perfectly well,” he huffed out.

“Right.”

Dream was silent for a moment. “My sister,” he said in a low voice. “When you found out…what happened,” he squirmed, refusing to elaborate, “What did you do?”

Death looked at him thoughtfully, reflecting on the conversation before her face broke out in a huge grin. “Oh, we had a good laugh, Hob and I,” she teased, amused as Dream’s face flushed yet again. “Never thought in all these millennia that someone would be able to make you listen to sense – until now. Hob is a marvel.”

Dream sputtered. “What – were you not outraged? By his cruelty, his – his audacity?”

Death laughed. “Actually,” she said, trying to keep a straight face, “I asked him for tips.”

Spending the night eating pie in the dark, cramped in the corner of the bed while waiting for her brother to wake up, hadn’t been ideal for Death.

But Dream’s expression just then made it all worth it.

Settling back down from her cackling, Death poked at the yet-again hidden bundle under the duvet. “Oh Dream, come out. I’m only joking.” She bit her lip, unable to help herself. “I was asking for Destiny’s sake.”

The bundled duvet growled.

Laughing, Death leaned over and squeezed the bundle in a tight hug. “Don’t worry, little brother,” she consoled, chuckling. “I won’t tell anyone. I promise. Now will you please come out?”

The bundle remained silent.

“…please?”

…

“Dream.” Her voice took a stern tone.

The bundle shifted uncomfortably, but made no further move.

Death sighed. “Fine,” raising her hands. “I’ll just get Hob to make you, then.” She grinned widely as the duvet was flung back, Dream’s head poking out in alarm.

“No, wait –”

Death chortled, reaching down to hug her storm-cloud sibling again. “Too easy,” she teased. He huffed in return, trapped between her arms and the heavy covers.

“I presume this threat will now be used against me for the next century?” Dream asked petulantly, voice muffled against Death’s shoulder.

Death kissed his head. “Oh, absolutely.”

+++

Chapter Text

Hob bid Death goodnight, watching in bewilderment as she carried a plate of pie into the dark bedroom, smirking to herself. Waving at him, Death gently shut the door. Was she planning to eat in the dark?

Scratching his head, Hob wandered over to close up shop for the night, doing his nightly rounds to ensure all necessary locks and bolts were in place so nary an Endless may run amok at the crack of dawn yet again.

It’s when he reached the entryway that Hob remembered Dream had stolen (‘Borrowed,’ Dream argued in Hob’s head – clearly, they’d been spending too much time together) earlier that day. Taking a guess, he opened the nearby closet to dig through Dream’s coat pockets until, a-ha! There it was.

Endless git – 0, immortal soldier – 12.

Feeling triumphant, Hob locked the front door before heading over to his room. Reaching his bed, he lifted the corner of his mattress up to place the key where he’d kept it safely hidden from grabby hands. Until this morning, of course.

Leaning down to hide the key, Hob gaped at what he found.

There, lying just as he’d left it, was the master key.

Brow furrowed, Hob picked it up and held it against the second key, scrutinizing both. He knew his other copy was in his office, far from prying hands, and he’d never taken it out after locking it in his drawer.

These two were practically the same – identical in shape, size, and color. But there was one small difference: the key under his mattress bore scratches of wear and tear, while the other key gleamed, bright as new. The first was definitely Hob’s.

So where…?

Hob eyed the second key with suspicion.

He was having a long chat with Dream the next morning, that was certain.

+++

Death hadn’t planned to stay overnight. She’d had her fill of pie, checked on Dream, threatened Hob, and indulged her birthright as Eldest Sister™ of teasing and annoying her younger sibling while he could do nothing but sulk.

A very good time overall.

And she’d had every intention of bidding Dream adieu. Except.

Last night

“Tell me something, Dream,” Death asked carefully the other night, her cool palm easing the rising heat across Dream’s forehead. “In all honesty. Are you doing alright over here? With Hob?”

Dream didn’t respond.

“Because,” she continued, “If it is too much – or if it’s not working out – I can get you out of here. No point in staying put where you’re miserable.”

Dream stayed silent for a few seconds, deep in thought.

“Leave…Hob?”

His raspy voice wavered, expression uncertain and troubled. As though this option had not crossed his mind before.

Death nodded. “If it’s not working out, I mean. Don’t want you to suffer needlessly.” She smirked at her own theatrics. Ah, the Dream effect.

Dream frowned. “Where would I go?” he asked in a hushed voice.

“With me. To my realm, if you like. Or I can drop you off elsewhere, if you prefer.” Her lips twitched. “Maybe Desire has a spare room.”

Dream’s burning glare did nothing to stop her smirking.

Mulling over his options, Dream shook his head. “I would not burden you with my troubles.”

Death rolled her eyes and smacked the side of Dream’s head.

“Argh –” big eyes full of betrayal.

“There you go again, playing the tragic martyr,” Death accused, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “How many times, Dream? How many times do we have to go over this? You’re not alone. You don’t have to do everything, or go through anything, by yourself. Just. Bloody call me. Idiot.” She flicked Dream in irritation.

Dream swallowed, struggling between contrition, stubbornness, and denial, before he settled on slumping against his pillows in resignation.

“Well? What do you think? Shall I start packing your things?”

Dream said nothing. He toyed with the corner of the duvet, deep in thought.

Leaving Hob. Going to his sister’s realm. He’d been there before – an odd setup for a realm, Dream always felt, as close to a human’s flat as could be, but it was comfortable.

And he’d be free from the trials and tribulations of pleasing Hob and bowing to his every whim.

Free to roam within the confines of Death’s realm, perhaps even access his other siblings – insofar as he actually wanted to, which was not much at all – despite being closed off from his own. Free to make his own choices, decide his own actions without having to answer to the merciless hands of a power-hungry overlord, without suffering the terrible, awful, excruciatingly painful, and undoubtedly medieval pains of Hob’s ministrations.

Dream shifted uncomfortably, the seat of his pants still sore and aching in his fevered body.

Leave Hob. Leave the comforting heaviness of Hob’s endless supply of blankets, leave the cozy living room with its crackling fireplace, the delicious waft of Hob’s baking, or the dried charcoal smudges on the wooden floor, a result of Hob’s failed attempts to prove his artistic skills?

The familiarity of an easy smile, cheerfully wrinkled eyes, the scent of sandalwood and Hob’s beloved shea butter. A steady hand, a steady heartbeat, always tempering Dream’s own erratic beating as they’d lean against each other, drowsy with sleep and stuffed with food.

The reality of him, so calm and secure so that even in Dream’s attempts to escape Hob’s hold, he always knew he was safe from harm? Had known, deep down, that even as he hated Hob’s unusual methods, he could never hate Hob. His was the first face to greet Dream every morning, the last before he closed his eyes.

It was a solace, a reprieve in a storm. A home in a state of statelessness.

Hob’s eyes, bright with fury and fierce protectiveness, gleaming against the saturated lighting surrounding iron and glass and naked reflections. Knuckles bloodied from knocking out the guard he couldn’t chloroform, breathing deeply, before turning to look at Dream’s trapped form.

His expression of harrowed disbelief, as though he’d hoped it wasn’t true, that he would not in fact find his Stranger here.

Of pain, eyes tearing, hands reaching. Another centennial meeting, this time through glass and grief, and over a century of ready forgiveness.

A stubborn foot scraping against painted runes, stolen gun glinting against the saturated light as it was lifted toward the glass with shaking hands.

The warmth of him, crushing Dream in his arms like he’d never let go.

“No.”

It escaped his mouth before he realized it. But as he said it, it felt right.

Shaking his head, Dream quietly repeated, “No. I think not.” He turned to look at Death.

“I thank you, my sister, for your kindness. But I would remain here. I have come to know this…home, and it is familiar to me now.”

Death gave him an unfathomable look in return, eyes weighted with knowing.

Dream couldn’t help but blush. Looking away, he sought a lighter approach. “Besides. Hob is rather hopelessly naïve. He would need aid against those who…partake in his services selfishly, with no limit to their greed.” He shifted, recalling the many students and guests at the Inn, always appealing to Hob’s kindness for their benefit. “It is a miracle he has managed to stay alive thus far.”

Death laughed at Dream’s flat tone. “If you say so, little brother.”

The following conversations, though aimless, were an attempt to retain that momentary light in Dream’s eyes. She hadn’t seen it in a long time.

Now.

This morning, Death stretched out in an arching cat pose, copying the gestures she’d seen humans make and change over the centuries, now often displayed on colorful mats in public gardens. Her attempts were interrupted by a quiet knock on the door.

“Come in,” she sang cheerfully. Dream rumbled from under the duvet, forever grumpy even in the deep throes of slumber.

Hob opened the door to peek inside, glancing at Dream’s sleeping form before turning to spot Death. She waved from her upside-down position, now in downward dog.

“Um.” Hob blinked. “Morning.” He scratched his neck. “I didn’t know the Endless did yoga. Do you also get stiff if you don’t move for a while? Murder on my back, that. But that’s what happens when you’re always hunching over a desk to check papers, I suppose.” He let out a nervous laugh, realizing he was rambling. Get a grip, Hob.

Death grinned. “I enjoy it.” With unnatural ease, she tilted to balance her entire body weight on one hand, legs pointing gracefully at the ceiling.

He shook his head in disbelief. Hob was nowhere near that agile. Good reminder to work out, though. Get some protein in as well.

“I’m making breakfast if you’d like some,” he offered.

Death’s face brightened. “If it’s not too much trouble,” she responded, shifting to her other hand seamlessly.

Trying to stop himself from gawking, Hob turned to Dream. “Mind waking him as well? He hasn’t eaten since yesterday evening.”

“Sure!” Now she was balancing on a finger.

Okay. Hob needed some tea before he processed any more of this.

+++

Hob had taken but a few sips of the steaming cup when Dream stumbled out of his room, hair bedraggled, eyes squinting, quilt wrapped around him like a cloak. His face was rather clammy, and he was shivering. Nodding sleepily at Hob, he trudged over to the sofa, carefully taking a seat before burrowing himself into a nest of cushions and quilts.

“Morning,” Hob remarked, eyeing Dream in his new habitat. The Endless hmm-ed in response, curling into the warmth of his nest, teeth quietly chattering.

“Still sick, I presume?” Hob commented, biting back the desire to say ‘I told you so.’

He did tell him so.

Dream sniffled in response. “No,” he retorted in a congested voice. Hearing himself speak, he blushed and gave Hob a grumpy look. “Perhaps.”

“Color me shocked,” Hob joked, turning to lift the tray he’d already prepared for his patient’s, stocked with various medicines, hot tea, water, a glass of vitamin C, tissues, bananas, boiled eggs, and toast. Making his way over, he placed the tray down on the coffee table and turned just in time to see Dream’s look of absolute dismay.

“Is all that. For me?” he rasped out, nose wrinkling. Hob chuckled.

“Yes, Dream, it’s all for you. I like to think of it as a healing tray. In that you won’t heal without any of this.” He held out the plate of eggs and toast with a meaningful nod of the head.

And wouldn’t you know it, Dream’s perpetual pout made its routine appearance – bit earlier than usual – as he eyed the food critically. “I do not think I will be able to ingest this,” he rumbled.

Hob shook his head. “You haven’t even tried it yet. Trust me, it’ll do you good. Get some energy in you. Warm you up. It’s a common meal for easing the woes of many a human. May even work on you.” He winked at Dream, whose pout only deepened in return. But despite the stubborn look in his eye, Dream hesitantly accepted the plate, giving it another miffed look before taking a slow bite of toast. He closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of warm bread.

Hob waited.

In seconds, the first toast had been inhaled by its former nemesis. Dream was already reaching for the second, a hungry glint in his eye.

Hob rolled his eyes fondly. Every time. It was every time that Dream had to put up a fight about something before discovering he actually enjoyed it.

“Stubborn git,” Hob muttered to himself, wandering back to the kitchen to continue preparing breakfast. “Make sure to drink something as well. We’re all about hydration in this century.” Chuckling at Dream’s dirty expression, he started on Death’s plate next. But…

“Dream?” Hob asked. “Where’s your sister?”

Dream nodded toward his bedroom, not pausing his scarfing down of eggs and toast. “She said she would join us after concluding her...morning rituals.” The last words were said in a disgruntled tone, as though Dream had not yet come to terms with Death’s side hobbies and human interests.

Hob nodded absently, watching the eggs boil. He figured Death and he could also eat similar to Dream so he wouldn’t feel left out. While waiting, he shifted in place, whistling and tucking his hands into his pockets. A sharp item nudged against his hand.

Oh. Right.

Maybe it was a good thing Death was still in the bedroom. Hob slowly walked back to Dream, taking a seat opposite him.

“Dream,” he started pleasantly, wanting to give him the benefit of the doubt, “Last night, when I was locking up, I remembered you…had…the entry key on you.” Stolen, swindled, possibly made a copy, but that was all semantics.

Dream paused from devouring his plate. Keeping his head down, he nodded in acknowledgement, eyes firmly trained on his breakfast, chewing slowly. Seemingly fine, but the creeping blush and minute squirming said otherwise.

Hob took the key out of his pocket, lifting it up to gaze at it in interest. “I didn’t want to wake you, so I went ahead and got it from your coat. Locked up, went to return it where I normally kept it. Where you found it from.” He paused, arching an eyebrow at Dream. “Where would that be, Dream?”

Dream choked on a piece of toast. Coughing, he took a gulp of water. A long, drawn out, gulp.

Hob was patient, as always.

“You alright there, Dream?” he asked, smiling pleasantly.

Dream sniffled. “Hm?” He nodded, coughing louder for emphasis. “As well as can be,” he rasped out pathetically.

 Hob placed a hand on his knee. “Dream.” His friend slowly met his gaze. “Where did you find the key?”

Dream blinked. “I…in your bedroom.”

“Where in my bedroom?”

Groaning internally, Dream scrambled for an answer. “I. I no longer recall. I believe this sickness has taken a toll on my memory.”

Hob hmm-ed thoughtfully. “Interesting. Well. It should surprise you to know that when I went to replace the key, what should I find but – lo and behold – my master key.” He pulled the second key from his pocket and held it up against the first, watching Dream’s eyes widen minutely. “Now, interesting to see that I have not one but two keys, even though I distinctly remember leaving my spare in my office.” Hob waggled the scratched-up key. “This one is almost identical to the one I found in your pocket, except that one,” now waving the other, “looks practically new. Which can’t be the case, because mine has been around long enough to show some damage. Drop it too much, that’s for certain.”

He turned to Dream, who now looked sick to his stomach. “So, I suppose my question here is: Where did this other key come from? You haven’t been out and about near any hardware stores. Not that I know of, anyway.” He placed both keys on the table and raised an eyebrow at his friend.

Dream attempted to maintain a poker face of absolute innocence. Which was much harder now that Hob was used to him and his ways, and could read him like an open book.

Hob gave him an exasperated look in return.

Dream swallowed, feeling the strain on his sore throat reverberate through his head. “I...” He picked at the remainder of his breakfast. “I –”

“What’s going on?”

Both men turned to see Death, who had just entered the kitchen and was staring at their face-down in confusion.

Neither said a word, glancing at each other before looking back at her.

“Did I miss something?” She folded her arms. She eyed both men in suspicion. Hob was leaning towards Dream with a look of strained frustration; meanwhile Dream was leaning back, looking cautious.

“Hm.” Death narrowed her eyes at Hob, who shifted uncomfortably, before turning to her brother. “Little brother, indulge me for a moment. I’m going to take a guess and assume this has to do with something you’ve done. That about right, Dream?” At her scathing tone, Dream’s guarded expression morphed into something more uneasy.

Death sighed, rubbing her forehead. “Hob, I would appreciate if one of you started talking. And I’m sure you’d welcome the support to deal with whatever he’s done.” Ignoring Dream’s affronted sputter, she went and sat adjacent to both men, eyes on Hob.

Hob twisted his hands, suddenly nervous. His eyes shifted to Dream, the keys on the table, Death, back to Dream. It was clear he didn’t want to rat out his friend.

Death reached over to grasp his hand, smiling gently at him. “Hob,” she said kindly. “I know you don’t want to get him in trouble. Maybe this is something between you two. If that’s the case, I’ll stop asking. Just say the word. But if this is something…like the last few times,” and here she shot Dream a dirty look, “then perhaps it would be better to get it out with now. Before it turns into something worse.” Before it’s just you again, before Dream goes too far and really gets hurt. Or hurts you.

Hob squirmed in place, shooting Dream an apologetic look before turning to Death.

“It’s not – not like the last time,” he started, unsure of himself. “I’m not sure what it even is, really. But…” With a deep sigh, Hob quickly relayed the story to Death, trying to implicate Dream as little as possible.

Death didn’t buy it for a second. She twisted to glare at Dream, like an interrogator around two suspects. “Dream?” she asked, arms folded. “Mind clearing the air?”

Dream said nothing, looking at both of them impassively. His eyes told another story, revealing a myriad of fleeting emotions: guilt, frustration, resentment, helplessness, despair, fear.

“Dream?” Hob’s gentle voice broke through his racing mind. Meeting his gaze, Dream saw no anger, no hate, nothing but concern in his friend’s expression.

Stomach twisting, Dream lifted the key Hob had found in his coat. Eyeing it seriously for a moment, he sighed and held it out to Death. Death took it, a confused look on her face, and examined it closely. Her eyes widened.

“Is this –?” her voice was hushed. Dream remained silent, his eyes looking at her pleadingly. Death stared at him, eyes big and bright.

“What? What is it?” Hob interrupted their silent conversation. The siblings glanced at him before turning back to each other, continuing their wordless exchange. It seemed like Dream was hesitant to say more, but Death was pushing him to share. And winning.

Dream sighed in defeat, plucking the key from his sister’s hand to hold it up before Hob.

“This key,” he murmured, “Was not the result of theft or human imitation, Hob Gadling.” He gazed at Hob. “I apologize for giving you that notion. Truly. But…” he trailed off, glancing at Death uncertainly.

She nodded encouragingly in return. Dream opened his mouth. “But –”

“Hang on,” Hob interrupted, holding a hand up to an affronted Dream. “Human imitation, you said?” He leaned over to take the key from Dream’s grasp and eyed it carefully. “You mean to say this is a gift from one of your otherworldly friends, is that it?”

Dream hesitated. “Well, no,” he admitted. “This was no gift. Or exchange among otherworldly friends, as you put it.” He smiled slightly, pausing a moment before turning to look at Hob with shining eyes.

“Hob. My friend. Your care and support during this time have. Have much eased my pain and aided in rebuilding my strength. I do not know how soon I will be back to myself fully. But I have, of late, been experiencing…small bouts of my power. Returning to me.”

He paused, taking a sip of water to ease his congestion, using the time to gather his bearings. “It has been. Difficult. Erratic. Creating mere wisps of air and sound, hardly taking form. But I have been trying. And recently I found myself able to turn those creations into something more tangible. A pin, a button. Nothing spectacular. This,” and here he indicated to the key, “was the result of a monumental effort to reproduce your copy, which until now I had only seen from a distance and could not entirely gauge its color and form.”

He let out a humorless laugh. “But I suppose in a moment of desperation, I was able to turn those visuals into a form, and that form into a key.” A bitter smile rose on his face. “For want of light and peace of mind, even the weakest among us are capable of wonders to attain them.”

His monologue concluded, Dream fell back into the sofa, absolutely exhausted. He glanced warily at Hob. His friend’s expression was unreadable. Biting his lip, Dream turned to his sister with trepidation. She smiled reassuringly at him, though her eyes kept a careful watch on Hob.

Hob fiddled with the key between his hands. He muttered to himself, tapping his fingers, before reaching over for his own key, holding both up to inspect them again.

Dream tried to keep his expression smooth, but his insides were twisting with anticipation. He had never been good with patience.

“Hm,” Hob finally murmured, breaking through the tension. Despite feeling two sets of eyes on him, Hob continued focusing on the keys before him.

“Hmm.” He held Dream’s copy up and squinted at his friend. “Not gonna lie, Dream, this is some shoddy workmanship. You missed all the little dents and scratches. I’d give it a B, maybe a B minus.”

Death snorted.

Hob smirked at Dream’s relieved expression, placing the keys on the table. Tapping the table thoughtfully, he figured he’d start with the simple questions.

“When did this begin?”

Dream’s expression turned wary again, eyes fluttering as he pondered over his response. “I…I’m not quite certain. I would feel it in sporadic bursts. In my sleep. Upon waking. This stirring familiarity coursing through me. Faint but. Returning. In some ways. Making itself known at will.”

He waved absently at the key. “I did not know how long it would last. So, I said nothing. I did not…” he swallowed, looking at Death, “I did not want to give unnecessary cause for hope.”

Death tilted her head at him, expression somber, but said nothing.

Dream continued. “As I grow stronger, I find I am returning to myself. As I once was, before it was all taken from me.” He clenched his fist, eyes shining. “And for that – for all that, I have you to thank, Hob Gadling.” Dream looked at Hob. His expression was gentle, eyes shining with gratitude. His eyes fluttered again, lashes brushing against the growing blush on his face.

Hob’s breath caught in his throat.

Of all the possibilities he had concocted in his head, this wasn’t one of them. He did not know what to say. He met Dream’s gaze with his own, feeling butterflies in his stomach.

Dream’s direct gaze upon him was nothing new. He had been its welcome target for centuries.

But this was different. This was not his look of surprise at Hob’s lust for life in 1689, nor his more…alluring…expression after Hob came to his defense a century after. No, this was something far, far greater than Hob’s heart could hold. It was the look in his eyes, no longer glaring or sorrowful; instead, so open and aching with wonder and appreciation for him, for Hob, that –

Well.

Hob broke contact first, blinking rapidly. “Uh –” he started, pausing to clear his throat and scratch his head. “I’m – I’m glad, Dream,” he said, smiling weakly. “It’s what we’ve been trying for. Nice to know we’re seeing results.” He laughed lamely, fiddling with his hands. Suddenly, he could look anywhere but at Dream. Dream, whose gaze had not faltered in its laser focus on him.

Hob was grateful when Death intervened. “I’m glad to hear it too, little brother. It’s not what I expected, but it’s wonderful news.” She paused, her expression curious. “What I don’t understand is why you felt the need to continue keeping it a secret once you began seeing results.”

Dream’s blush grew, but he said nothing.

 “I mean,” Death continued. “You mentioned making pennies and now you’ve got this key – it doesn’t sound like it’s as hard to grasp as it may have been before. If you’re able to make an escape route out of it, of all things.”

Hob blinked. Of course. He’d forgotten all about that. He made a mental note to accuse Dream of beguiling him with pretty gazes to get out of trouble later.

“Yeah,” he leaned toward Dream. “Why still keep it a secret?”

Dream’s starry eyes shifted, mouth pursing in thought. He was clearly struggling with himself, deciding whether or not to tell the truth.

Finally, he sighed, looking down. In a low voice, he chose to confess.

“I am not. Quite ready to leave. Just yet.” He looked up at Hob cautiously, as though afraid he would be kicked out the next moment.

Dream’s breathing was shallow, his face pale and clammy, sickness underlying his every movement.

But he was looking up at Hob with piercing eyes, looking at him through fluttering eyelashes and – well.

Hob was fucked.

+++

Chapter Text

In the days since that conversation, Dream felt a change in the air.

And at home.

In the days since he confessed, Hob had begun acting different.

It started with the bedroom.

Dream’s room was like any other guest room, as far as he knew – a simple setup of standard bed, side tables, books, writing desk, generic pictures. A faded ash-grey coat covering the walls.

But since that day, he noticed a few changes. On the first day, he found a few new books discreetly mixed with Hob’s original collection. Except these were a mix of self-help, fantasy fiction, and comedy.

When he broached the subject with Hob, the man simply shrugged with a careless, “I like reading, I just didn’t have space for them in my bedroom. Feel free to give them a look, if you want. Good way to pass the time while you’re still too sick to go anywhere.” The last bit said rather emphatically.

Dream had seen Hob’s room. Chaotic though it was, he did have adequate space for more books. Nevertheless, Dream took up Hob’s offer, and spent the next few days resting, too feverish and tired (and frankly, too sore) to do anything other than stay in bed perusing Hob’s new gifts.

Over the next few days, Dream felt restless in his room and began venturing out to the lounge. Here, he’d find Hob scrolling on his laptop through pages and pages of online stores and what he described as ‘mood boards.’ In all the time Dream had been with Hob, the only things he’d seen the man use his laptop for was to read through emails, peruse course material, and on occasion, watch funny cat videos, chortling as he’d shove the laptop in Dream’s face each time.

They were, in fact, quite amusing.

But now, every night after dinner, Hob would crash on his couch next to Dream, tired from a long workday, only to reach for his laptop and start glancing through online furniture and clothing stores.

“Have you not exposed yourself to this artificial lighting enough, Hob?” Dream once asked, turning away from one of Hob’s sci-fi novels to watch as Hob rubbed his eyes every few minutes. “Surely you could take a break and find something else to do.”

Hob snorted in return, eyeing Dream in amusement. “Yeah? Like, oh I don’t know, cleaning the dishes from today’s meal?” His waggled an eyebrow. “So someone else wouldn’t have to? Again?”

Dream blinked and turned back to his book with renewed interest, blush creeping over his face.

Once enough time had passed for Hob to forget about demeaning household labor, Dream glanced back at Hob and his screen. Hob was frowning as he perused an assortment of menswear.

“What are you doing?” Dream asked, feigning indifference even as he leaned toward the laptop.

“Trying to improve our winter wardrobe,” Hob responded, eyes fixed on the screen. “What with the holiday festivities coming up. Best be prepared.”

Dream paused. “Our wardrobe?” he asked uncertainly. Sure, Hob had been gracious enough to lend Dream several of his clothes, including those that didn’t fit anymore but were kept for sentimental reasons. Still, he never thought of it as any more than borrowing his friend’s clothing until he recovered.

Hob nodded. “Can’t have you wearing clothes that hang off you. Or from the 70s. Wouldn’t feel too great standing next to you in Armani. Say, what do you think of this one?”

“Armani?” Dream wrinkled his nose. “I have no desire to dress like these…other friends of yours.”

Hob’s resounding laugh echoed through the flat. “Christ, sometimes I forget how much I need to fill you in about this world,” he chuckled. “It’s a fashion brand. Pretty decent one. Could get you a nice suit for the holidays. Maybe some cashmere sweaters. Underwear that wasn’t half-off at Marks & Spencer.”

Dream was not sure about any of this. “Why do I need new clothes?” he asked, hands fiddling with his book uncomfortably. “I do not go outside. Or cannot, as you say.” Hob rolled his eyes. “I have no need for clothing that I may create myself once I am recovered.”

 Hob bit his lip. “Yeah,” he said gently, fingers drumming the laptop. “Thing is, Dream, we don’t know how soon that’ll be. Sure, you’re getting better. But why traipse around in my sagging hand-me-downs in the meantime?”

Because. He liked Hob’s clothes. They were soft, worn. And they reminded him of Hob.

“Did you…want them back?” Dream asked self-consciously.

Hob blinked. “No, of course not! That’s not what I meant. Dream, you can keep the ones you’ve got. Lord knows I’ll probably never fit into most of them again. But why not enjoy having something new? Consider it an early holiday gift.”

Dream thought about it. “Hob, you have already given me more than enough.”

Hob waved his hand. “Never you mind. I like giving. I’m a giver. Let me give.” He poked Dream’s side. “Now,” dragging the laptop closer between them, “Let’s talk pants – jeans or slacks?”

It didn’t end with clothing, either. In a span of days, the guest bedroom had evolved from simple and standard to something suspiciously more to Dream’s taste. Stylish dark new clothes filled the closet, new sneakers and dress shoes lined the floor. The book collection was slowly becoming more specific in its self-help categories, from the simple Find Yourself Again and You are Not Alone to the snippier Welcome to Adulthood: How to Do Your Own Laundry and a Hundred Other How-tos for the 21^st Century; Your Friend was Right! Admitting Defeat is the First Step to Growth and Socializing for Dummies.

Dream was not amused. But he may have perused through Socializing for Dummies for a bit of light reading before bed.

At one point, Hob insisted they stay up to watch a movie late into the night, wrapped in quilts. He had taken to finding new excuses to maintain a physical closeness to his friend, whether it was teaching him how to fill the dishwasher, use the computer, or lightly leaning against him on the couch every night following a hearty meal. Dream did not find it in himself to complain. He wouldn’t admit it, but he basked in the warmth emanating from Hob each time he got closer to Dream, wrapping an arm around his shoulder or occasionally resting a lazy hand on the back of his neck.

At one point, Dream was sleepy beyond measure. Although he had by then overcome his fever, he still felt the occasional bouts of fatigue course through him, and fell asleep within five minutes.

When he woke the next morning, he found newspaper lining his bedroom floor, a strong smell of paint, and a sheepish Hob standing in the center with a paintbrush, covered head to toe in light yellow smudges.

The room soon became brighter, cozier, with comfortable furnishings and dark wood tables replacing the creaking old ones. Hob replaced his stereo with a Google Home, teaching Dream how to communicate with the AI bot, and switched up the generic pictures with a mix of photos of Dream and Hob in various ridiculous situations that Hob had deemed necessary to photograph ‘for the memories’; as well as Polaroids from Death of herself making ridiculous expressions next to a rumpled and sleeping Dream. Hob also added flowers, two potted plants, and paintings of landscape, of inky night sky and calm sea below, of different cities in their rich colors and histories.

Somehow, without asking, Hob had transformed the room into one that was nothing at all like Dream, and was everything he didn’t realize he needed.

Dream nodded and smiled at Hob, saying nothing until he saw the final transformation, when his shining eyes and a murmured, “thank you” were enough to convey overwhelming gratitude.

Slowly, Hob had tailored Dream into the fabric of his life and home, helping him rediscover certain familiarities even as he introduced him to new interests. Each time, it seemed he would become increasingly passionate about reminding Dream he had somewhere to stay.

Rebuilding yourself was difficult, tenuous, unpredictable and often volatile; Hob eased the way.

And so it was that Dream settled comfortably into his new life at Hob’s, more at ease in better-fitting clothing and things he had a claim to, that he could call his own and valued deeply.

“Y’know what, Dream? I’d kill for some chocolate cake right now. Honest to God, I’m salivating just imagining it. Think you could whip something out of thin air?” Hopeful eyes glanced his way.

“Hob, we just partook in a three-course meal. Surely, you are not already craving more.”

“Hey, we don’t body-shame in this household.”

“I am not –”

“What I choose to put into my body and when are my business.”

“How is that –”

“I’m curvy, and I like it!”

“Hob –”

“But seeing as how I’m feeling gracious, I’ll let this one slide. If you give me cake.” An elbow nudged his side. “C’mon, hop to it.”

Dream side-eyed Hob. The man had an expression of utmost innocuousness.

“As you wish.”

He raised his hands, concentrating on crafting the right movement with the visual of a slice of chocolate cake in mind. It took a few tries, initial puffs of airs slowly taking shape into a blurry brown silhouette. But by the seventh try, he had successfully manifested the desired slice.

Handing it over to a gleeful Hob, Dream leaned back, breathing heavily from the effort.

“Incredible,” Hob marveled, turning the slice in his hand. “Just incredible.” He turned to Dream with a proud smile. “Knew you had it in you.”

Dream tilted his head toward Hob tiredly. A knowing half-smile crept across his face.

“Are you not going to eat it?” He indicated at the cake with his head.

Hob’s smile became pinched. “Of – of course,” he laughed nervously. Eyeing the cake with trepidation, Hob brought it close and took a tiny bite, well aware of Dream’s eyes on him. Chewing the heavy slice, Hob swallowed two more bites before he had to set it down, clutching his full stomach with a groan.

He turned to Dream, smiling weakly. “Looks like I was fuller than I thought.”

Dream smirked imperiously. “Hob. If you wanted me to practice my powers in front of you, you could have just asked.”

“That’s not what – oh, fine, you caught me.” Hob tugged his ear self-consciously. “I just. I want you to feel. Y’know. Like you don’t have to hide it anymore. Especially around me.” He waved a careless hand around the room, keeping his tone indifferent. “Practice away. The lounge is your stage. I’ll be your attentive audience. Just tell me when to cheer and when I can throw tomatoes.”

Looking back at his friend, Hob saw Dream’s expression had become softer, his eyes looking at Hob with a gentle fondness that made his heart soar.

+++

It was around two weeks since Death had last dropped by that Hob was convinced Dream had sufficiently recovered enough to go outside for some fresh air.

“Not alone, mind you,” he jokingly wagged a finger at Dream. “Just let me slip on my boots. I could use the stretch.”

Dream huffed but said nothing, hiding his amusement at Hob’s endless supply of excuses to accompany Dream wherever he went.

The neighborhood had been tastefully decorated with fairy lights, red bows and wreaths, blue and silver ribbons, little silver cut-outs of stars and crescents glinting from the doors and windows. Nearby, a little holiday marketplace had been set up, and you could hear melodies playing, people chittering and children chasing each other, the overpowering scent of spices, fresh baklava, and hot chocolate in the air. Hob loved his current place of residence for many reasons; among them was the creative ways in which they tried to turn any holiday into a chance to celebrate its diaspora of residents and their backgrounds.

It was nearly 8 pm, but the pathway was lit by the twinkling lights, glow of the moon against the snow, and street lights fogging up from the cold, guiding them towards the cheery winter market at the end of the lane.

Now that was an experience. Hob stopped at nearly every stand, eyes lighting up at each new delicacy or item of clothing before him. It took a lot of pulling and insisting that Hob didn’t need a fifth set of fuzzy socks for Dream to wrench him and his many shopping bags away from the market approximately an hour later.

“Whew,” Hob breathed out, face flushed with exhilaration. “That was fun.”

“I see now why you need a third storage unit,” Dream said dryly. “You are a hoarder, Hob Gadling.” He paused, thinking to himself. “Like a squirrel.” And it fit, honestly; when he wasn’t stockpiling on unnecessities, Hob was scurrying off to the kitchen, his work, his laptop, always squirreling away to try something new. He had an endless supply of energy.

Hob let out a mock gasp, hand dramatically clutching his chest. Dream rolled his eyes fondly.

They continued trudging back to the flat, jokingly bickering back and forth, when it began to snow. Gentle flakes scattered across the pathway, glinting against the moonlight and the dim light of the frosted streetlamps. It was when a few flakes caught in Dream’s hair that Hob noticed and paused mid-banter to chuckle.

“And as for – Hob, are you laughing at me?” Dream huffed.

“No, it’s just…the snowflakes. You look as though you’ve got dandruff all over.” Hob bit down a grin as Dream’s eyes widened, hand reaching up to quickly dust off the flakes. If there was one thing he’d learned about Dream in all these months, it was his pride in his image.

For all that he walked around with a bird’s nest on his head.

Snorting, Hob reached up to push away Dream’s hand. “Stop, you’re missing most of them.” He leaned closer and began brushing them off. Dream squinted as the offensive snowflakes fell around him, but reluctantly lowered his hand to allow Hob to finish the task.

As Hob circled him, gently dusting off his hair and shoulders, Dream couldn’t help but luxuriate in this new sensation. The sensation of contentment. Of trust, knowing the person on the other side would not hurt him the moment he turned his back.

And, well. Of literal sensation, really. Far from the faint memory of strange mortal hands moving him around while he lay (mostly) unconscious, far from the cold touch of glass and iron, or the occasional warm hugs from his sister (or, Dream recalled with a clenched heart, Jessamy’s feathery form perched on his shoulder). No, this was so much more. Hob had invoked long-smothered sensations of touch, brought them out with caution, gentleness, and patience, bringing back to life those parts of him he had thought long dead. A reminder, a memory awoken of a sensation so lovingly constant that Dream no longer flinched at the touch of a hand. It was this buried sensation that had reemerged and was familiar to him now.

Dream’s focus returned when he felt Hob’s hand on his neck.

“Dream, hey. You alright? Looked a bit lost for a second there.” Hob’s warm eyes watched him with concern, brow furrowed under the thick woolen layer of his knit cap. Blinking in surprise, Dream smiled softly, letting the gentle grasp on his neck tether him to the present.

“I am alright, my friend.” He nodded up at Hob’s cap. “That would have been convenient at this time.” He brushed more flakes off his head self-consciously, glancing around for nearby shelter.

Hob had a mischievous glint in his eye. “Well,” he drawled, unable to hide his smirk. “It just so happens that when your stuffy lordship was off sulking into his hot chocolate, I may have bought a few things for you as well.” Reaching into his heavy shopping, Hob dug around, tongue sticking out to the side comedically as he tried to identify the right parcel. “Ah, got it!”

He pulled out a large, bright red cap with a white pom-pom on its other end, grinning widely.

Dream gave the bright cap a baneful look. “I am not wearing that,” he said flatly, grimacing at the sight.

Hob scoffed. “Nonsense, it’s either that or looking like you’ve got dandruff all over. And you just got better from your cold.” In the second it took Dream to process this, Hob had reached over, brushing away remnants of snow from his friend’s hair before placing the cap on his head.

“Hob –” Dream protested, eyes now covered by the large cap. Hob held the cap in place as Dream gently tugged at it, chuckling at the sight.

“My mistake, my liege, got the extra-large thinking it would be the best fit for your big head.” He tapped Dream’s temple, snickering. He didn’t need to see Dream’s eyes to know they were rolling upwards at his jest.

“Hob,” Dream repeated, failing to sound stern as he smothered a laugh. He tugged again.

“And they said I couldn’t shield you from the world,” Hob crowed, unruffled by Dream’s efforts. “I knew I’d find a way.”

Dream paused, hands lowering slowly as he registered those words. It seemed Hob had the same response; he stopped laughing, hands still holding the hat in place for a silent moment. Then he gently tugged it up, off Dream’s eyes and resting on his head. He kept his hands in place, gazing as Dream rapidly blinked bright blue eyes to clear his vision before looking back at him.

“There you are,” Hob said softly, smiling. His deep brown eyes glinted fondly at Dream, steady in their gaze.

Dream blushed, cheeks warming under Hob’s hands. His shaking breath released a puff of mist, eyes fluttering against the icy breeze.

Centered as they were, amid the falling snow and glowing streetlamps and blinking fairy lights, nothing could be heard but the sound of their own breathing and the thudding of frantic heartbeats.

For a moment, Dream’s turbulent mind let go of its shakes and measures, settling into a calm heady rest between Hob’s gloved hands. In the hazy unknown of blinking lights and falling snow, those hands were the only thing keeping him rooted in place, a steady point in the world. He closed his eyes, willing himself to hold on.

Feeling Dream shiver minutely in his hold, Hob rubbed his thumbs gently across Dream’s temples and cheeks, trying to stir back some warmth in him. Enjoying the feel of feathery hair and pliant softness, so long in the waiting. Hob also closed his eyes, relishing the sensation, the fresh air and the perpetual scent of rain and jasmine that followed Dream.

Dream didn’t say a word, letting the fingers direct his head, his neck, to their choosing. He shuddered at the comfort it brought him and leaned into the touch, forehead just touching Hob’s own. He inhaled the leathery scent of Hob’s gloves. In that moment, surrounded as they were by light and snow and brick and mortar, he only knew Hob; Hob was all of time and space encompassed in two familiar hands, holding him still and steady. Holding on.

The sound of a giggling child broke their trance. Both blinked their eyes open and stepped back, suddenly aware of their surroundings. A chattering family passed by, paying no attention to the two men.

Still, they blushed, Hob’s hands now barely touching Dream’s face. Dream reached up and gently grasped Hob’s wrists, bringing his hands down.

“Thank you,” he murmured, still clutching the wrists and breathing deeply. Hob shuffled, not pulling away.

“For. For the hat,” he finished hastily. Biting his lip, face flushed, Dream reluctantly let go of Hob’s wrists.

Hob smiled softly. “Of course, my dear stranger,” he responded tenderly. Stepping back once more, he tugged his ear awkwardly before lifting his shopping bags, hesitant on how to proceed. Thankfully, he had a wealth of experience in turning awkward silences around using good humour and a quick wit.

Lifting two of his eight bags, he held them up before Dream. “Mind returning the favor with a helping hand?” he said, eyebrows waggling. Dream crinkled his nose but took the bags, grimacing at the weight. Hob laughed; he was well-aware of Dream’s outlook on chores and manual labor. Turning around, he continued their trek home.

Dream followed silently, pausing every while later to nudge the too-large cap back into place as it drooped over his eyes. Hob snickered at the sight.

"I am glad to see that my misfortune pleases you so,” Dream muttered, one eye peeking out to glare at Hob as the other half of his face was covered by the tilting hat. His mouth was twisted back into a subconscious pout, cheeks flushed from the cold.

Hob chuckled, shifting his bags into one hand as he reached over with the other to tug the cap back up. Looking up and down, he made a decision and also adjusted Dream’s scarf, wrapping it enough so that the lower half of Dream’s face was now covered. “There, just guaranteed myself a nice, quiet walk back home.”

Dream frowned. All Hob could see between the too-large cap and heavy scarf were a furrowed brow and indignant glowing eyes.

He couldn’t help himself. “You look adorable.” And mockingly pinched Dream’s scarf-covered cheek.

If Dream’s ears could smoke right then, they would. For now, he settled for glaring further, eyes narrowed, albeit silently grateful the added items covered up his flushing face and ears.

Instead, he turned his back to Hob and made his way toward the flat, head held high.

Laughing, Hob caught up with him, wrapping an arm full of shopping bags around Dream’s shoulders and jostling him playfully. “C’mon, Dream, I’ll make you another hot chocolate to make it up to you.”

“That would be a start,” Dream mumbled stiffly through the scarf. Hob chuckled, shaking his head. As they reached the front door, he gave Dream a once-over, grinning proudly at the slumping hat.

“Y’know Dream, I think you could pull off bright colours if you gave them a chance.” Dream shot him a sour look. Raising his hands in apology, Hob continued, “Yes, yes alright, you are the darkness, the lord of terror, the vengeance.” Unlocking the door, he added a thoughtful, “I suppose I could’ve given you the black cap I got you. About your size too, that one.”

Smirking at Dream’s wide-eyed glare, he let them in before locking the door behind them, enjoying the familiar warmth of his home. “Honestly, I just wanted to see how long you’d keep the Santa hat on. But it works for you! Maybe we can get you a part-time job at the mall as Father Christmas.”

Dream dropped the bags and tugged his scarf off, face scowling at the teasing. He opened his mouth, ready to tell Hob precisely where he could stick his Santa hat.

The hat promptly fell back over his eyes.

+++

+++

The next day.

Hob was not in the flat that morning. But unlike Dream, he’d left a note, talking about a need to go to the New Inn earlier for a quick run-through of their inventory.

He also asked Dream to join him for breakfast.

Dream quickly dressed in his black joggers, Hob’s oversized grey hoodie that Dream had yet to return, before adding on the necessary outer layers for the cold outside. Spotting his black cap on the counter, Dream plucked it on, grateful the red one had been stuffed away far from Hob’s prying hands.

Huffing in the cold morning air, Dream strolled over to the New Inn, which was only a five-minute walk away from Hob’s current place of residence. Hob had confessed earlier to having bought several flats in the area so that he could keep returning to ensure this inn was properly maintained.

It had touched Dream, to discover that Hob had gone to such lengths for their centennial reunions. Not just in building the New Inn, but also his initial long-term legal battle to win ownership of the White Horse tavern.

For him.

When asked about it, of course, Hob had shrugged. “Was I not supposed to?” he’d asked casually, pointedly ignoring his flaming cheeks.

Dream was not the best with household chores. To say the least. But with the New Inn, he felt an innate responsibility to ensure its success. Since Hob had first brought him there, Dream would often accompany his friend for check-ins, helping replace the lightbulbs, sort through inventory, provide valuable insight (“You mean unsolicited criticism?”) and, when he was too tired to work, good company (“Quit glaring at the customers Dream, you’re scaring them off.” “Good. I already announced last call.” “You – but its 3 pm!” “Is that so? They have already overstayed their welcome by a half hour. I shall escort them out while you close up.” “Dream, no –”).

The bell rang as Dream pushed open the door to the inn. Shedding off his coat, Dream ambled to the storage room, where Hob was overlooking the stock of dry food. Looking up, he grinned at Dream. “Hello. I see my offer of breakfast was too tempting to pass.”

“It would be remiss of me to not offer you the superiority of my palate for the occasional taste test,” Dream responded absently, wandering over to the kitchen. Ah, yes. Hob was a great cook and baker in his own right, but his chef was an absolute marvel. And yesterday, he had baked a fresh batch of cheese Danish pastries.

Mouth watering at the sight, Dream carried over a tray of plates, cutlery, and pastries to the table. Settling down at their usual booth, he called out, “Hob. If you do not join me in the next minute, I cannot promise there will be any food left.” His stomach rumbled in agreement.

Hob poked his head out suspiciously. “Cheeky,” he muttered, dropping his paperwork to the side and sauntering over to join Dream.

A few stolen Danishes and much bickering later, Dream went to the kitchen to refill Hob’s orange juice as an attempt at appeasement. It’s when he was pouring that he heard the sound of the bell chime, muffled words, and Hob’s confused response.

Walking back to the booth, Dream set down the glass next to Hob before turning with a smile (“Stop gritting your teeth Dream, I asked you to smile at the customers”) toward the visitor.

His eyes widened.

There, by the open doorway, stood his elder brother. Taller than the average person, with his book chained to his wrist and cloak billowing from the morning breeze, Destiny filled the room with his foreboding nature and sightless gaze.

“Brother?”

Destiny bent his head in acknowledgement. “Dream.”

+++

Chapter Text

Watching Dream saunter over to the kitchen (watching, not ogling, he reminded himself), Hob relaxed back into his seat, picking at the crumbs of the remaining Danish in his plate.

The day had started out well. He’d woken that morning wanting to run inventory, but seeing the picturesque view out his window, decided to invite Dream along. Scrawling a note out, he had whistled on his way to the New Inn, relishing the cool breeze against his face.

He’d set out the pastries and other items on the counter, keeping everything in clear sight lest Dream try and ‘help’ again (Hob ruefully remembered the time Dream offered to make coffee when they’d run out and Hob was occupied. The pot exploded).

Inventory didn’t take much time, and Dream came in right when he was wrapping up, face glowing from the morning walk and blue eyes striking against his hoodie (Hob’s hoodie, which he thoroughly enjoyed seeing Dream take full possession over, like a greedy cat). And if that wasn’t enough reason – well, who was Hob to deny Dream the rare chance to serve him breakfast?

Not that they would ever enjoy a quiet one. No, Dream had to go and steal three of his pastries one after the other, each time he distracted Hob with a new topic. Taking full advantage of his limited attention span and all that.

Still, he liked to think he’d won that round after Dream conceded to bring him juice in reconciliation. Hob was busy daydreaming about plans for the rest of the day when the bell chimed as another person walked in.

Now, it was too early for guests, and Hob had a ‘closed’ sign on the front door. And he and Dream were having a good time.

Suffice to say he was less than enthused at this interruption and about to tell the customer so when he realized this was no ordinary person. For one, he was dressed in a hooded cloak. For another, he had a book chain to his arm.

Oh, and he was about eight feet tall.

Craning his neck, Hob also realized this visitor was blind. Although it was hard to tell by his movements, which were slow but assured in the new space.

And by the way the man turned his head to look right at him.

“Robert John Gadling,” he rumbled. It was not a question.

Hob blinked. He hadn’t used that name in a while.

“Er – have we met?”

The man said nothing, but turned his head towards the kitchen door.

A moment later, Dream came out.

“Brother?”

“Dream.”

Hob could’ve sworn he was dreaming. His neck twisted between both men, trying to find – well, something. Similarities? Nostalgia? Fondness? Mutual hate?

“I greet you, brother. I presume you are well-informed of my circumstances.” Dream nodded once at the hefty book in his brother’s arms.

The other man returned the nod. Another moment of silence. Glancing at them both, Hob realized that he may have found the source of Dream’s eccentricities. Both men stood ramrod tall, expressionless and emotionless.

Based on Dream and Death’s description of their siblings, Hob could hazard a guess as to which this one was.

“Destiny, am I right?” Both men turned to Hob, Dream with eyebrows raised in surprise and the other’s sightless eyes boring into him.

Feeling a cool breeze drift in from the open doorway, he jerked his head at the door. “Oi mate, you’re welcome to come inside but – mind closing the door? It’s bloody freezing.”

Dream’s eyes widened, and his eyes shifted nervously between his brother and Hob. Destiny was not immune to mockery or disrespect, but it was usually outside of his purview, or once every few eons. Dream debated stepping between the two lest Destiny decide to start practicing how to smite humans.

Destiny’s face was expressionless, but with a wave of his hand the door behind him promptly shut itself. He slowly walked a few steps closer, coming to stand in front of both men before he opened his book and began perusing the contents.

“Er, Dream?” Hob whispered, leaning in. “He’s not going to start prophesying my future, is he?”

“Not today,” Destiny rumbled, still perusing.

Hob gaped. “Wait, is that a fact or a prediction? Does the book tell you what you’ll do next too? What’s that like?”

Dream placed a cool hand on Hob’s shoulder to pause his rambling. “Brother,” he began nervously. “To what do I owe this. Visitation?”

Destiny stopped browsing the book’s contents and looked at Dream, then Hob, then Dream again.

Dream tried not to squirm. For all that Destiny said otherwise, his sudden appearances were not normally for positive reasons.

“Now that you have returned, I am here to summon you for a convening in my realm,” Destiny said. “The Endless must meet once again. As host, I thought it better to present the invitation to you in person, given our access to the Dreaming is currently incapacitated.”

Hob winced. Big brother was about as good at communication as Dream, then.

Where Dream’s voice reminded Hob of comfort and sleep, Destiny’s evoked a sense of order, of control. The words he spoke were based on actions predestined and beyond his capacity to deny. He was subject to them just as much as anyone else, but as their conveyor, his was the voice of fate and the order of things, not meant to be dismissed or denied.

Although, Hob figured, it probably didn’t hurt that he was as tall as a lamp post and the eldest to cap. Hard not to develop a sense of self-assurance with all that working in your favor.

“What kind of convening?” Hob asked before he could stop himself. He always did have a problem with authority, presupposed or not. “For the Endless, like – are you lot having a family reunion, then?”

Destiny turned to Hob. “Your human is quite bold, brother,” he said sternly to Dream, still peering at Hob through cloudy eyes. “Prior to his attendance, I expect he will be reminded of the appropriate conduct required among the Endless.”

Hob snorted, causing Dream to quickly interrupt. “Is Hob to join us, then?”

“So it is written.”

“Do I get a say in the matter?” Hob interrupted, raising a polite hand.

“We shall convene in a few days’ time. On the day, I shall provide the necessary portal to facilitate your journey to my realm.” Destiny turned to go. “Until then, brother.”

“Wait,” Hob announced in bewilderment. Destiny paused in his steps, turning his neck an inch to indicate he was listening. “Are you – are you just going to leave it at that? A family convening? What, no theme? It’s right around Christmas – is this a Christmas party? Or a delayed celebration of the Festival of Lights? Thought you lot were agnostic. Do we bring gifts? Would it be offensive if I got you a Magic 8 ball?” His eyes lit up. “Does it bother you that you can predict everyone’s gifts before opening them or –”

“Enough,” Destiny’s voice was low, but it resonated through the inn. Hob shivered in spite of himself, and Dream covertly placed himself in front of his friend.

“Thank you, brother,” he spoke rather quickly. “We shall meet again upon your summons.”

Destiny gave him a curt nod, then vanished on the spot.

Hob gaped. Sure, he’d seen Death pop in and out like that a few times, but –

“If he can do that, why’d he use the front door?” Hob asked, waving a hand in that direction. “Let all the bloody cold in for no reason.”

Dream’s lips thinned. He said nothing, returning to his seat and looking into the distance with a troubled expression on his face.

“Oi, Dream.” Hob snapped his fingers in his face. “Mind explaining what all that was about? We’re going to be summoned? In ‘a few days?’ What does that mean, he’ll just pop in while I’m in the shower and swirl me away covered in suds?”

Dream’s lips twitched. “No, Hob. Destiny cannot choose the time and date any more than I can. It is up to the book and the Fates to determine. But it has never been set at a movement of inconvenience. So far. For now, it appears he has merely been foretold of a convening.”

“Right.” Hob was stumped. “About that. ‘Convening.’ It’s family, not a court hearing.” Dream quirked an eyebrow as if to say, what’s the difference? “And what did he mean by proper conduct? I’ll have you know I’m a perfect gentleman. I was a knight once, you know. Hosted the queen herself.”

“Yes, Hob, so you’ve informed me,” answered Dream dryly. “Several times.”

“Oh, har-har,” Hob retorted, grabbing a fork to resume eating the remainder of his breakfast. “And I suppose you’re going to teach me how to conduct myself? You? Does he even know what kind of mischief you’ve gotten up to here?” He wagged the fork at Dream, who blushed. “Would make for a lively dinner conversation.” He quirked his eyebrows.

Dream’s eyes narrowed. “Careful, Hob. I would not recommend picking sides among the Endless. We are not known for mercy toward our enemies.”

“The way you both carry on, I’m sure you’re already in fistfights with unborn children.”

“We do not resort to physical –”

“Never mind that. Now tell me.” Hob grinned slyly at an apprehensive Dream. “Would Destiny like a crystal ball? Tarot cards? Ooh, I could give him my old copy of Cosmo and see if his answers match with mine in their ‘Are you ready for love?’ questionnaire.”

“If this is how you will behave at the meeting, you may not live long enough to find out.”

+++

Chapter Text

The Preparation.

“I still think we should take gifts,” said Hob, fiddling with his tie for the fifth time that day.

“You refer to the various objects you chose to mock our functions?” Dream responded in a bemused voice, lounging in a comfortable shirt and joggers on the couch with a cup of tea. “And how often do you intend to dress in preparation for Destiny’s invitation?”

“A) As often as I need to so I don’t accidentally get summoned in my knickers,” Hob retorted, face twisted in concentration as he sorted his hair. “And B) The gifts weren’t mocking you, just…a bit of a laugh, that’s all.” He quirked a rakish grin in Dream’s direction. The latter rolled his eyes.

“Indeed,” Dream said. “But I am not so sure my siblings would have quite the same patience and understanding of your wit as I do. It would have backfired dreadfully.” He sipped the warm brew in his hands, eyes closed in pleasure.

A shout of laughter broke his trance.

“Patience and understanding? Wit? You?” Hob guffawed. “Ah Dream, you kill me sometimes.”

Dream frowned in affront. “I have never laid a hand –”

“Just a saying. Anyway,” Hob quickly sought to change the topic, “Are you certain I shouldn’t bring anything? Feels awfully rude not to.”

Dream nodded wearily. “Destiny would be displeased. He would conceive it as an implication of poor hosting.”

Hob raised an eyebrow. “Even if it’s for the others?”

“Even so.” Dream quirked an eyebrow in Hob’s direction. “Is this all over a crystal ball?”

“No,” Hob huffed. “I just thought it would be a good opportunity to poke fun at the twins.” He grinned cheekily at Dream. “I was this close to purchasing a book on the Geneva War Convention for them. Covers human rights. It’d be educational.”

Dream’s lip twitched, but he said nothing more, watching as Hob slipped on a pair of gleaming loafers (“No such thing as too much polish, Dream”) before coming to sit beside him.

Lifting his now cool cup of tea, Hob took a sip and grimaced. “Ah, that’s no good.”

He set it back down, crestfallen.

“I did warn you,” Dream noted imperiously. Hob turned sad eyes at him.

“Suppose I’ll have to do without, then.”

Dream gave him a look. He knew well enough what Hob was doing.

This was not his purpose.

He should not indulge such whims.

Hob’s shoulders drooped.

Against his better judgement, Dream waved a hand at the cool tea. A second later, the cup began steaming.

Hob was delighted. “Cheers, mate.” He brought the cup back to his lips, sighing as the hot liquid helped calm his frayed nerves. He eyed the clock. Not yet evening, but the cold winter was already darkening the sky. He rubbed his hands. Dream watched him thoughtfully.

“Suppose we are not summoned today,” he began, placing a hand over Hob’s to calm his fidgeting, “Do you intend to continue sleeping in a suit every night until we are?”

Hob gave him a dirty look, anxiety forgotten in the warmth of Dream’s hand.

And his revelatory wit, of all things. “Not all of us can magic our way into the right outfit, Dream lord. And I for one won’t be caught off-guard and give your family any incentive to make fun of me.”

Dream patted his hand. “That is rather unlikely, given their derogation will undoubtedly focus on my misfortunes.” Although said in a casual tone, Hob could hear the underlying hurt in his voice.

Hob nudged his shoulder. “First time anyone’s called my hospitality a misfortune. But I suppose kings are used to being waited on hand and foot.”

Dream cracked a smile. “You have never been a misfortune, Hob Gadling.” He did not look at Hob, but his ears and neck were pink.

Hob was sure his face was as pink.

“Ah, well,” he said, rubbing his neck shyly, “If they do turn on you, least you won’t be going in alone. I’ll show them.”

Waving his fists comedically, Hob chuckled, rising up to carry their empty cups back to the kitchen. “Fought in the world wars, I did.” While walking, he looked back and winked at Dream. “They called me Renegade Rob in the trenches. Every time they thought I was a goner, I’d come right back. Not easy to play dead with bombs dropping around you, y’know, but not everyone has these nerves of steel – HOLY FUCK!”

Porcelain shattered across the floor as Hob clutched his chest in terror.

Dream was by his side in an instant, waving away the broken pieces and placing a hand on Hob’s heaving shoulder.

There, looming before them, was a vast, glowing portal that had not been there a second prior. Although its contents were blurry, Dream could make out the beginning of a pathway. Destiny’s labyrinth.

“It’s time,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady against his fluttering nerves. Taking hold of Hob’s wrist, Dream nodded reassuringly and stepped into his brother’s realm.

+

The Arrival.

Hob wasn’t sure what to expect.

Nausea? Dizziness?

He supposed he should be grateful for neither as he casually strolled into a whole other realm. Well outside his planet, maybe even universe. Bad enough his palms were sweaty (knees weak, arms are heavy – no, shut it, Hob) as he gaped at the expansive maze before him, shifting every few seconds of its own accord. The maze was a motley collection of colorful trees and bushes.

Dream turned to him. “Are you alright?”

He’s nervous, but on the surface he looks calm and ready to drop bombs – okay, enough motivational internal rapping.

He smiled weakly, glancing at Dream. “Yep.”

Then glanced again.

His mouth dropped at the sight of Dream’s new ensemble. Gone were the comfortable joggers and woolen socks. He now sported a form fitting, sleek black outfit, looking simultaneously like a prince with bedhead or a sexily rumpled model.

Hob’s pulse quickened. Shit.

He quickly closed his mouth as Dream gave him a side-eye. His eyes were lightly lined with kohl, accentuating his thick lashes.

“Lucky your powers are improving, yeah?” Hob said, trying to sound casual. “Would’ve been miffed if you were brought here in your PJs.”

Dream rolled his eyes and began walking through the labyrinth, assured Hob would follow.

As they made their way through the maze, Hob noticed the leaves change colors, taking on a brownish-red hue as the distant sunlight grew dimmer. Dream did not turn around, but would instinctively slow down or pause each time Hob found something new and fascinating to gawk at.

“Dream – are the trees whispering? Or is that just me?”

“They are no different than other species, Hob. Although they do have a higher penchant for gossip. In this case, about you.”

“Goss – wait, what?”

Dream paused in his steps, looking ahead. “We have arrived.”

Hob threw a suspicious look at the chattering trees before turning ahead. Yet again, his mouth dropping open as he took in the vast kingdom before him. In many ways, it resembled what he’d imagine ancient Greek to look like. Wide columns and all that. Enormous statues on one side.

Enormous, familiar statues.

“Dream, is that supposed to be you?” he pointed. “And is that Death? Why does your brother keep a statue of you both? Are the others your siblings? Hey – did your statue just roll his eyes at me?”

Dream’s lips twitched. “They are sentient beings of a sort, reflections of our respective conditions. They have been here for as long as I can remember.” He smirked. “My sister is of the opinion that they are a guide for him. To force him to acknowledge the nature of emotions otherwise absent in his book.”

“Yeah, I can see why he’d need that. Why is that one leering at me?”

“Brother. Robert Gadling.”

Destiny stood at the front of the entrance, tall and imposing as ever.

Dream nodded once. “Well met, brother. I thank you for your facilitation to bring us here.”

Destiny said nothing, bowing his head once before turning to Hob.

Hob’s heart thudded. It was much easier to take the mickey out of this looming figure in the safe haven of his own inn. Here, Destiny had the upper hand.

Still. He would try.

Raising a hand up at Destiny, he cracked a welcoming smile. “We meet again! Appreciate the invite. Nice place you’ve got here. Also, Hob’s fine.”

Destiny raised his chin.

“Er – I mean instead of Robert, you know. Since you called me Robert Gadling.” Hob laughed nervously. “Haven’t heard that one outside of the uni. Or on tax forms. Bloody nuisance those are, I tell you –”

Destiny raised a hand. Hob shut up.

“You are welcome here, Hob Gadling,” Destiny rumbled, looking down his nose at them both. He turned and began walking back inside.

“Uh,” Hob turned to Dream helplessly. “I can’t tell if he meant that.”

Dream hadn’t lost his tense expression, but at Hob’s words his mouth quirked as if to laugh. “Yes,” he murmured. “That is his way.”

He began walking up the stairs, Hob following right behind, eyes wandering across the sandy floors, sky-high walls, and occasional piece of furnishing in the otherwise sparse building.

Despite the minimalist setup, there was a symmetry to it all; an order in the direction, color, and style of the space, as though reflective of their owner’s nature. While Dream’s kingdom was an endless expanse of possibilities, good and bad, Destiny’s revealed nothing and everything all at once. Each space was intentional and predetermined in its path, with no indication of a happy or tragic ending.

Seeing his brother’s realm once again, Dream was bitterly reminded of his own. Still closed off, out of reach. Grimacing, he strolled faster, eager to get the convening over with as soon as possible and return to the safety of Hob’s home.

+

The Introductions.

They entered a dining hall, where Hob was greeted to a surprising sight.

While the rest of the castle had been lacking in décor, this room was quite the opposite. The wide table in the center was covered with an array of colorful meals. Candles of varying sizes were artfully nested between the dishes. High above, atop a massive fireplace, he spotted Death fidgeting with a bow, tying the knot into place to match the row of bows and wreaths. In the far corner, he saw a girl, probably between 15 – 17 years of age, raise a hand and release a stream of bubbles across the hall.

“Tsk. Not over the food, Delirium.”

These words came from the figure sitting cross-legged, flashy boots on the table, dressed chest-to-knee in form-fitting red leather, which on anyone else would have appeared tacky, but on them looked alluring and sexual. As Hob drew closer, the figure turned their head gracefully, golden eyes brightening as they spotted him. They looked at Hob up and down shamelessly before licking their lips.

“My, my, sweet Dream. This is a surprise. I didn’t know we were bringing gifts.” Their eyes glittered, a feral grin directed at Hob. Unlike the others, their accent was more American than English. Though it was hard to tell, given they basically purred out every word.

Dream stopped in his tracks, his lips tight. “We were not.”

They brought their feet down and leaned forward on the table, blinking bright innocent eyes at Dream. “We weren’t?” They tilted their head, eyes turning to Hob. “Then why do I feel my powers burning so deliciously? Right here, all of a sudden?” Catty eyes flickered between the two men. “Unless this is not meant for me, in which case –”

“Hob Gadling is here as my guest,” a foreboding voice rumbled from behind them. “And I would not have you drive them away just yet, Desire.” With a stern glare, Destiny made his way to the head of the table and took a seat. Desire scowled, turning away to tilt a glass of wine to their painted lips.

“Hey Dream!” a happy voice called, and they turned to see Death jump down from high above with all the grace of a ballerina. Her ankh necklace was a fixture against her otherwise changed attire, now something more formal yet ethereal, still Death to the core, a chic grey/black dress that fluttered every now and then.

“Hob! I didn’t know you were coming.” She walked straight up and tugged both men into her arms, hugging them tightly.

“Hello Death,” Hob patted her back, struggling to breathe. Death, bless her, may have forgotten he could not withstand her strength like her siblings could. “Destiny invited me. Glad to see you here, honestly. Apart from Dream and – well, a strange encounter with Destiny – I don’t really know anyone else here.”

Death released them both. “Well, no matter. Let me introduce you! Here, take a seat –”

“That is not his to claim.” A low, dull voice spoke up. Beside the chair sat a woman with straggly, unwashed brown hair falling over their face, dressed in a plain grey sweater, beige pants, and crocs. She was looking at Hob as though he had infiltrated something precious.

Death sighed. “Despair –”

“– that is Destruction’s seat,” Despair responded in a flat, sorrowful voice. “His absence today does not mean we may forget him or dishonor his memory.” She gave Hob a look of distaste.

Death glanced at Destiny. It looked as though they were having a silent conversation. One Dream seemed to be monitoring alertly, if his stance of folded arms and ready glare were anything to go by.

Finally, Destiny turned his head in the direction of a doorway. A figure of unknown species appeared promptly, carrying a chair and placing it between Destiny and Dream’s seats.

“Perfect,” Death said with a beaming smile. Looking behind her, she continued, “And this is Delirium, our youngest sister.”

Hob spotted the young girl tentatively walking up to them. Unlike most of her siblings, who were either very stylish or very drab, Delirium stood out, with two-toned eyes, hair that seemed to shift between orange and blonde, fishnet stockings under a multicolored skirt, offset by a fishnet top and green army jacket. The pocket of which had frog-shaped bubbles popping out and hopping away to freedom.

“Delirium, this is Hob Gadling. Dream’s…friend,” Death said shiftily, waving Delirium over.

The girl joined them, waving a skinny hand at Hob, her nails bitten and paint chipping. “Hello, Hob,” she said, her voice carrying like a melody. “Did you save my brother?”

Hob blinked. “Er. Hello to you too. I – well, suppose I did.” He smiled back awkwardly, unsure of what to make of this character. She seemed sweet, though rather absent.

Delirium shook her head vaguely. “Not yet. Not yet.”

She edged over to Dream, who looked at her with the same formality as he did the rest of his siblings, save Death. “I sent new ideas in air balloons, but the balloons deflated and the air went right out, like whoosh. The paint had dried up by then.” She blinked earnestly at Dream, as if trying to press upon him the importance of this message.

Hob figured the siblings may understand her better than he, a stranger, but from Dream and Death’s expressions, it appeared the family was just as flummoxed by her as he was. Dream nodded formally at her. “Delirium. It has been some time.”

“Time,” Delirium repeated quietly. “I lost some time once. I left it when I went home.” She tilted her head, eyeing the ceiling, before humming to herself and dancing away to sit beside Desire.

Hob scratched his neck, unsure what to do next. Death, who by then had joined the others, noticed. “Dream, make our guest feel welcome,” she lightly reprimanded. “Show him to his seat.”

Dream blinked, as if breaking out of a reverie, and nudged Hob over to the seat beside Destiny before sitting down himself.

There was an awkward silence as everyone glanced at each other.

“It has been 300 years,” Destiny’s voice broke through. Everyone turned in unison to look at him. “Three hundred years since we last met. It was upon our last meeting that Destruction announced his decision to abandon his position and function. None have heard from him since.”

The finality of his words impressed upon Hob the exactitude with which Destiny operated; never asking, only informing, no secrets possible between anyone if the Book chose to tell him.

Three hundred years. Hob swallowed. He’d heard Destruction’s name in passing, knew him as ‘the Prodigal’ that left the family ‘a while ago.’ Three hundred…why, Hob was in his youth back then, a fresh, naïve and ambitious 400-year-old in his prime. Operating on long-regretted ideas for profit. Mouth twisted, he turned back to listen to the conversation. Despair was conveying grief at her brother’s departure and Death was trying to console her.

“We couldn’t have stopped him,” Death said gently. “He made his choice. At the very least, we should respect his wishes.”

Despair turned ugly eyes towards her brothers. “He was manipulated into believing a false truth. And now the cruelties of a few are hurting the rest of us.”

From the corner of his eye, Hob saw Dream flinch, mouth tightening almost imperceptibly. He kept his gaze on the food before him, saying nothing.

“Despair, please,” Death pleaded. “Not today.”

“My twin speaks only what we know to be true, eldest sister,” Desire drawled out. They turned glittering eyes and a sly smile in Dream’s direction. “If our older brother had not driven Destruction away –”

Hang on. What?

“If I had not?” Dream’s hissing voice cut in. “How remarkable that you and Despair seem to forget the roles you played.” His hands twitched. “As it is, our sister is correct. Our brother chose to abandon his function and his responsibilities –”

“Oh, that’s rich.” Desire retorted. “And what do you suppose living in mortal squalor while your own realm rots is supposed to be? An act of kindness? Though given your temperament, I’m sure your subjects are happier –”

“I did not choose to be imprisoned for over a century –”

“Funny, I don’t remember you calling for help, either.”

“Yes,” Dream was shaking slightly, eyes tearing up as always when he was enraged. “Yes, I learned well enough last time what you would describe as ‘help.’”

Desire scoffed. “Oh please, as if I wasn’t the only one to answer your call.”

“To amuse yourself. Little good it did me.”

“And who’s fault is that, hmm?” Desire’s fingers drummed against the table, voice like a viper ready to strike. “Whose fault was it that Alianora’s story ended as it did? Or Calliope’s? My dear brother, perhaps you should stop pointing fingers and start seeing the patterns here. And where they all lead to.” They directed a wolfish grin at Dream.

The other siblings were silent, eyes shifting between the two rivals as if they were watching a tennis match. Destiny had not moved since he last spoke, face hooded and unreadable.

Dream was frozen in place. His eyes were wet, turning black around the edges. He looked haunted.

Hob had seen that look on Dream before. As though he was struggling to breathe and wasn’t sure he wanted to keep trying.

He had no idea what Desire was talking about, who Calliope or the other were, but he knew he could not be a spectator here.

“Dream,” he murmured, hoping to distract his friend from imploding. “Dream, look at me.”

Dream turned burning eyes in Hob’s direction. Hob met his gaze, silently communicating. Let it go. Don’t let them get to you. Don’t let them win.

For a second, Dream’s glare flickered, black bleeding away to blue irises.

“Oh, how precious,” Desire crooned. “The mortal has trained our brother to heel.”

Dream’s eyes flared back to inky black, head jerking in their direction. He looked feral.

Desire stared right back, unblinking. Daring him.

Fortunately, they didn’t call Hob the master of distraction for nothing.

“Say, Desire,” he spoke up loudly. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you. Now that I’m getting caught up on all this…Endless business. And your functions. Were you the one who drove Henry the VIII to court and marry six different women?”

Distracted, Desire turned to look at him, a thoughtful expression on their face. “I may have,” they purred, smiling seductively.

Hob rolled his eyes internally. Of course, this one couldn’t give a direct response either.

“Well,” he continued, hoping to ease the tension fast (Dream’s tremors were not exactly subtle), “Does that mean you were also responsible for their deaths at his hands? And the changing of the political guard? An act of desire of another nature?”

“Hmm, so many questions, Professor Gadling.” Desire crooned. “But I’m glad you have a better understanding of my function than my brother. He likes to think dreams are more powerful than desire and despair. But are dreams not shaped by our passions, our emotions?”

“Ah,” Hob hesitated, glancing at Dream. His tremors had lessened, but he still looked furious. And here his opportunity to change the topic had taken a swift U-turn. “Well, I suppose there’s an overlap in everything, so –”

“My sibling,” Dream interrupted in a dangerous tone, eyes bleeding black, “Do you think yourself strong enough to stand against me? Against Death, or Destiny?”

The table went silent. All the siblings glanced at each other uncomfortably. Lines were being drawn; sides chosen. In that moment, Hob could see the fractures between them, eons of pain and hurt and mistrust and betrayal in the making.

Like every stereotypical nuclear family, really.

Desire’s expression was a mix of fury and fear. “You would have our elder siblings fight your battles for me, brother? Too weak to do it yourself? You may as well call on Night if you’re seeking favors; we all know she would never deny them to her precious boy –”

“Enough.”

Destiny’s voice reverberated through the room, a weighted pressure that literally pushed them all back into their seats.

“I have called conclave. A re-balance to order is anticipated.” He turned a sightless glare at Desire, then Dream. Both squirmed uncomfortably. “Whether it shall happen or not is yet to be seen. I would have it that no one act preemptively over petty childhood squabbles.”

Ah, Hob mused. He could see now why Dream and Desire clashed so much.

Not just because of what Destiny said. No, it was their reaction to his words, identical to a T: flashing eyes, tightened jaw, shoulders squared back, nostrils flaring as they turned to look at each other before turning back to nod once at Destiny. Demurely. Before turning vicious scowls right back at each other.

Like two peas in a pod, these two.

“Well,” Death broke the awkward silence. Standing up with a smile, she reached for the soup ladle. “Let’s not sit around and let the food turn cold. Bon appetit!”

+

The First Course.

Over the next hour or so, Hob had become well accustomed to the nature and relationships of these Endless beings. Beings of such great, incredible power over countless species until the end of time and creation.

Beings who, when put in a room together, squabbled with the passion and petulance that only a family reunion could induce.

“Too much salt in this dish, dear eldest brother.”

“Fill your plate up, Dream, you’re too skinny.”

“My twin, did you not inspire the ambrosia that brought mortals to their knees? You should have brought some with you today.”

“What do we call a hat that’s not really a hat but all the cows stitched together by their hides? When they moo, are they singing or mourning?”

“I know they sound like foghorns when they’re ploughing each other.”

“Really, Desire?”

“My dear sister, are we meant to veil our natures in the presence of a mortal? Though I suppose Dream would prefer we remain as prudish and uptight as he. How long has it been, Dre —”

“Why are there rats on the table?”

“My rats are not your enemy, mortal. Refrain your base instincts to commit bloodshed over that which offends you.”

“I didn’t mean –”

“In the last world, you could lift a blade of grass and stitch it together with the rest, and wear it like a robe. And all the snails and ladybugs and ants and spiders would curtsy and become your subjects. Would you like that, Hob?”

“Me? Uh, well –”

“My brother didn’t. He kept telling me to stop it.” Leaning in to whisper, “Don’t tell him, but he’s a bit scary.”

“I,” a glance at Dream, who could hear perfectly well, “I won’t. Promise.”

“I used to tie words together into little knots, Hob. Do you know what happens when you know lots and lots? The words tangled up and made a right mess.”

Hob was stumped, but he was also persistent. “Well, do you remember the first word and the last? Maybe we could connect the dots, trace them back, and untangle them that way.”

“Oh, wonderful, he’s encouraging her.”

“Hush, Desire.”

“He was not always so cheerful. In the late 1800s, he spent a lot of time in my realm. Curious as to why, are we not, my twin?”

“We are, my darling Despair. As I recall, it followed a fit of heightened passion, and you felt the heartache.”

Hob’s face flushed bright red at those words. Hot under his collar, he darted a quick glance at Dream, hoping he hadn’t – but of course, his emotionally stunted friend had suddenly become capable of deeper comprehension. Dream’s hands were curled into fists, a contrast to his blanched face. He looked sick.

“Dream?” he said quietly, over the sounds of Death telling the twins off. “Are you alright?”

Head bowed, Dream turned devastated wet eyes in his direction, conveying everything and nothing all at once.

Hob was tempted to reach for his hand, to tell him it wasn’t his fault – that Hob had forgiven him then, that it was so long ago –

“Everything is too grey,” Delirium loudly cut in. “Do you think the rainbow will come if I call it?” She waited for an answer. When none came, she turned multicolored eyes at the nearby fire, and raised her hands.

“Oh no – Delirium, wait –”

A burst of colors exploded across the room. From Delirium’s hands emerged a flood of ribbons, flowers, glitter, confetti, candy, scattering across the large hall. It was like the world’s greatest pinata had split open.

Hob gaped. The room, food, and its guests were all buried in an array of sparkling colors. Death’s hair was covered in confetti and candy; Desire was wrapped in ribbons; Despair was sneezing up glitter. Turning his head, Hob felt a few pieces of candy fall out. He looked at Dream and Destiny. Both were a sight. Destiny’s hood and shoulders were glowing pink, while the rest of him was strewn in rose petals that clung stubbornly to the fabric of his cloak.

Dream’s nest of hair looked like it had sprouted flowers; his sleek black outfit was now glittering blue and green. Some glitter had fallen on his face – but of course, Mr. Perfect came out looking airbrushed with highlighter. A ribbon drooped comedically over his face as he turned to Hob.

Both stared at each other.

Hob cracked up. Everyone jumped at the loud sound, staring in amazement as he guffawed at the ridiculous sight. If someone had told him back in the 14^th century that, one day, he would be seated among gods and attacked by iridescent colors, he would have accused them of witchcraft.

Simpler times.

With tears of mirth streaming down his face, Hob choked out, “You all look,” pausing to giggle, “Like you were dunked in a tub of bath bombs at a five-year-old’s birthday party.” He continued laughing, candies and glitter shaking off his shoulders.

By now, his enthusiasm had become infectious to some; Death chortled as she dusted off her hair and reached for a piece of candy. “Ooh, caramel!” She slipped it into her mouth, chewing happily.

Dream’s look of utter disbelief had shifted to something softer; he smiled wryly as Hob roared with laughter, not yet bothered to remove the flowers and glitter with a flick of his wrist.

Delirium looked ecstatic at the response. She was layered head to toe in candies, streaming ribbons, glitter, confetti. Grinning, she raised her arms once more to deliver another flood of colors.

“Delirium.” Destiny’s voice echoed. She paused. Hob stopped laughing.

Ignoring the rose petals clinging for dear life to his cloak, Destiny rose up to deliver a severe stare. Delirium’s smile had vanished; she now looked uncertain, timid.

“Remove this from my hall. Now. There will be no misuse of power here.”

Delirium hesitated once, glancing at everyone’s expressions. When no one refuted, she sighed and closed her eyes. In a blink, the streaming colors were gone, and everything was back to normal. Delirium sat down dejectedly, tracing circles on the table.

“Well, that was fun, wasn’t it?” Death’s too-cheery voice rang out. She waved an empty wrapper at Delirium. “Just glad I got to snag some more sweets before you got rid of them.”

“It was an unnecessary use of her function. She must learn to control her instincts,” Dream said quietly. He did not meet Hob’s gaze. After hearing his brother’s words, he’d turned pale, reminded of the need for duty and order. To prevent baser desires from leading to damage beyond his control.

His breath caught in his throat.

Desire sneered at him. “Oh, look at that, the life of the party has another sermon to deliver.”

Dream’s eyes flashed, chin trembling. “We have a responsibility to –”

“Yes, I’ve heard it all before. I’m surprised though, big brother. You’d think some time in a fishbowl would have humbled you. Yet here you are, proud as ever. What a waste.”

“I thought the colors were lovely –” Hob tried interjecting, but Dream didn’t notice.

“A waste? You would call my imprisonment for over a century a waste because it did not humble me. Is that right, my sibling?” Dream stood up, eyes flashing. “To say nothing of the damage it did to the dreamers –”

“Oh pft, always the book-thumping martyr, aren’t you? Besides, it’s not like I locked you in there.” Said with wide innocent eyes and a twisted smile. “No matter how much you may deserve it.”

+

The Second Course.

As the servers went around filling their plates with new delicacies, Hob found, for the first time, that he was too distracted to eat.

He could feel the knife in Dream’s back almost viscerally. He was pretty sure his own ears were smoking.

Ignoring his own advice to Dream, Hob spoke up.

“Know what? Dream was right about you. You’re a right old bitch.”

Desire’s fiery gaze could have melted icebergs. Fortunately, Hob had enough experience dealing with Dream to be affected.

“I was willing to give you a chance, hear your side of the story and all that. But you just can’t stop poking the bear, can you? Saying utter tripe –”

“Did you,” Desire’s voice cut through the atmosphere. “Dare. To call me. Old?”

Hob blinked.

Before he knew it, Desire had leaped up and grabbed a handful of mashed potato. Raising their arm, they lobbed the food in Hob's direction with the force of a professional cricketer.

He tried ducking, but stood no chance against an Endless. The potato splattered over his face. It didn’t hurt like he expected, but Hob was still too shocked to respond. He felt a bit of potato slide off his chin into his lap. Wiping his eyes, he saw Desire breathing heavily, eyes shooting flames in his direction.

“Desire –”

Splat!

Desire blinked wide glowing eyes, which were all that was visible on their cream-covered face. Hob licked his fingers.

“I’ve always wanted to pie someone.”

“You –”

“If it helps, it makes you look less decrepit.”

God help him, he had no off-switch.

The next throw was warded off by Dream, the pizza redirected to hit the wall instead of Hob. Dream was now standing as well, glaring down their nose at Desire, blocking Hob with an arm.

“Do not –”

A handful of rice struck Dream’s face from the side. Turning in surprise, he saw Despair rising slowly from their seat, more rice clenched in a ready fist.

“You will not meddle in their affairs, dear brother,” she spoke, waving the rice tauntingly. “You may try, though.”

Dream’s eyes narrowed.

The table descended into chaos.

Food was flung in either direction, with the occasional utensil tossed in for good measure. The hall was an absolute mess, and its guests were not much better off. Hob had the distinct pleasure of tossing a sugar roll at Despair and watching it smack her nose, coating her face with white powder. Grabbing a silver tray, he prepared to ward off Despair’s resulting attack, eyes wide as she launched a rotisserie chicken into the air.

“Enough.”

In a split second, the peas in Hob’s raised fist disappeared. As did the food all around them, walls wiped clean and spotless.

In fact, there was no food to be seen. The table was completely bare.

“Oh, Destiny, not again.” Death groaned, shaking her head. “At least let Delirium and I enjoy dessert.”

Hob glanced around. Oddly enough, the guilty parties were still layered in fruitcake, minced meat, and pie crust.

He raised a hand. “Uh, could we –”

“We will now be served the final course. You will not remove your shameful handiwork until it has concluded.” Destiny gazed hard and meaningfully at his food-covered younger siblings, who looked shamefaced. “Let that be a lesson to you all.”

Hob was sure he felt leftover cake squelch under him as he took a seat. He wasn’t keen on spending the next 30 minutes covered in food, but if had to – well, waste not, want not. He swiped at his chin and licked off a blob of whipped cream, grinning at Dream.

“Delicious.”

+

The Third Course.

By now, even the food was sober. A mix of coffee, tea and biscuits.

Nothing to frown upon, but a bit of a letdown after such fine dining.

It didn’t help that Death kept giving the dessert-covered attendees a dirty look as she woefully made do with nibbling chocolate biscuits.

The rest of them ate quietly, speaking only to voice the occasional praise for their meal.

It was only after they’d wrapped up the final course that Destiny cleared them of dripping food particles.

Happy to feel clean and refreshed, Hob leaned back into his chair. “Well, that was quite something, Destiny. I won’t say I expected it, but good on you. Cheers, mate.”

From the corner of his eye, he could see Dream minutely shaking his head, eyes focused on the table.

Everyone else was now listening in, a mix of restless and concerned expressions across their faces.

Destiny turned forebodingly toward Hob.

“I believe I have already conveyed my expectations for engagement in my realm, Robert Gadling.”

Hob’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Sorry, did I miss something?”

“Your apology is noted.”

Desire’s eyes gleamed as they watched both men like a hawk. Dream had gone still, while Death looked like she was deciding whether to jump in and mediate.

“No, I wasn’t –”

“As is your gratitude. But” and here Destiny bore cloudy eyes at Hob, “We, the Endless, do not engage as or with reprobates. It would be unwise to carry on so, and more prudent to improve.”

Hob blanched. “Pardon?”

Desire snickered. “Oh, this is enjoyable. Careful, Dream, our older brother may just take your pet project back to the shelter if he doesn’t learn to behave.”

Dream’s eyes burned furiously, flicking to Destiny before turning to the easier target. “You dare speak of our guest so crudely, Desire? If we are to compare mannerisms, our brother would be best served in simply returning you.”

“Someone’s sensitive,” Desire sneered. “Could never take a joke, could you, Dream? I’m surprised you have managed to stay so long with Hob Gadling, given his raunchy nature. But I suppose right now you are too powerless to hurt even a mere fly.”

Death intervened. “Both of you –”

Dream’s starry eyes glittered black and blue. “You say I am powerless?” he said in a hushed voice. “When even at my lowest I fail to see you as a threat, my sibling. I would not challenge those I stand no chance of defeating.”

Desire cackled. “Is that your ego speaking over your common sense? Tell me, Hob,” They turned to look his way. “How do you put up with him? Has he destroyed your home yet with another one of his tantrums? Refused to grant you sleep because you disagreed with him?”

Hob blinked. “Er –”

“You are under no obligation to engage, Hob,” Dream cut in, casting an imperious eye at Desire. “You may risk lowering your intelligence in the process.”

“Both of you, stop – Destiny, say something –”

Destiny, to Hob’s surprise, remained silent, eyes focused on the contents of his book.

“Pathetic as always, big brother. But then what else could I expect from someone who would sentence their so-called beloved to the depths of Hell for 10,000 years over wounded pride?”

Hob jerked his head, a bewildered expression on his face. “Dream?”

Dream did not respond, staring daggers at Desire.

Seeing Dream’s ashy expression and Hob’s confusion, Desire let out a fake gasp. “Did I say too much? But surely in all these centuries you must have told Hob about Nada? About how she suffers the thorns and cuts of demonic cruelty over and over because the Dream Lord could not stand to be defied.”

Dream was a statue in his seat, carved in marble and fury.

“We shouldn’t, we shouldn’t – it’s too loud –”

“But really,” Desire crooned, cutting Delirium off. “I am doing you a favor, Hob. He should have told you. You don’t want to end up like the others.”

Others?

Hob’s confusion was interrupted by the screech of a chair. Dream stood forebodingly beside him. His eyes were whirlpools of black abyss, hands clenched so tightly they could break glass. In a low voice, he growled, “Desire. Do not tempt me to incite the fury of the Fates.”

Screech. Desire also rose up, sharp nails digging into the table as they leaned forward. “Is that a threat, brother?” they spat out. “With your pitiful excuse for powers? Darling, don’t you make me laugh.” They let out a humorless chuckle, eyes flashing.

Hob gaped at the scene. The other siblings were mute. Death was facepalming and muttering to herself. She looked like she was tempted to ask the Fates to take her instead. Delirium was curling tightly into her seat, eyes shifting repeatedly between the two hotheads. Despair was looking down her nose at Dream. Destiny, of all inexplicable things, was buried in the folds of his book.

Unbelievable.

Hob noticed a movement from the corner of his eye. Ah, shit.

The temperature seemed to drop around them. Dream’s eyes danced with explosive galaxies, fueling the power in his arms, his hands, the shadows emerging from his fingers to crawl across the walls, casting a darkness in the hall. They were crawling, hungry, looming, and monstrous, toward Desire.

No. This was going too far – and was definitely too much for Dream in his current state. Trying to remain calm, Hob tugged at his friend’s sleeve sharply. “Dream, hey Dream –”

“You asked, my sibling.” Dream raised a delicate hand, fingers dancing in the air. Desire shifted nervously, eyes darting around as the demonic shadows edged toward them. One hand arched down to grasp their head and pull it back. Desire gasped, struggling in their seat. The other shadows crawled over them, hands on their skull, as if trying to merge with the Endless. Desire writhed, eyes wide in fear and horror, eyes glazed to see only the nightmares Dream revealed to them.

Dream was trembling as he contorted the shadows to his bidding. “You think I do not know your dreams, my sibling? What terrorizes you?” he spoke softly, twisting a hand. Desire shrieked, leaning against the table. Hob glanced between them frantically, tugging at Dream’s sleeve.

“Dream, stop it! You’re hurting yourself. Stop, please.”

At the next tug, Dream lost focus for a second, eyes flickering to Hob.

That was all the time Desire needed.

Harnessing their own power with a cry of rage, they unleashed their full fury at Dream. It reverberated across the table, making everyone flinch.

Dream’s hands shook but remained in place. Even so, he began to lean into the table for support, shuddering against the might of Desire’s powers against his own, reduced as they were. His eyes had gone hazy, shifting from bleeding dark to a glazed hue of midnight blue. He let out quick, rapid breaths, fighting the rising intoxication.

It wasn’t just Dream, though. Hob could feel it too. The room was drowning in a mix of dark shadows and the near-tangible feelings of savage hunger – hunger for food, for blood, for love and wealth beyond measure –

“Desires, my dear Dream,” Desire hissed out, struggling against the nightmares surrounding them. “When desires reign free, they can redefine and destroy dreams in mere seconds. You are nothing without them.”

With some effort, they tilted their head forward to gaze deeply into Dream’s eyes.

The latter gasped, hands clutching the table’s sides as he was momentarily overpowered. His limbs were shaking mercilessly. Hob tried to reach out, to rise up, desperate to help, but he found himself lost in the hazy mist of want and fear. He couldn’t move a muscle. Couldn’t see anything past the two figures before him, and the simmering need inside him.

“You can’t deny them forever, big brother,” Desire taunted, jerking against the dark visions dancing before their eyes.

Dream grimaced against the flood of emotions that coursed through him, taking over his sight, his skin, his corporeal form.

“Not all of us are as weak as you, my sibling,” he hissed back, jaw clenched. “Is this really the best you can do?”

Desire growled, realizing they were at a stalemate. Their eyes flickered over to Hob and his futile attempt to help Dream. They smiled.

As if on command, Hob felt himself rising up. Distantly, he could hear voices, sounding like threats and pleas, but he could not make them out. The air shifted around him, turning into something thick and sultry, a haze of incense and perfume reminiscent of London’s older brothels. He was caught in a wave of longing, a crushing need to possess, to feast –

He turned his head, spotting Dream. Another wave of emotion rode through him, roaring in his ears.

But this time, it was good. It was bright and beautiful and whole, stretching seductive fingers in his direction. Hob followed blindly, stepping toward Dream. The latter did the same.

Both drew close, heated breaths caressing their faces. Dream was clearly struggling, his eyes fighting a raging battle between want and control. It hurt Hob to see it; he wanted it to go away; he wanted Dream to let go. He wanted nothing but to be back at home, cradling Dream in his arms, breathing in his ever-changing scent and relishing the touch.

Dream’s hands, desperately grasping his chair, wrenched away almost against his will. Dream let out a cry of pain even as a hand reached for Hob’s face, eyes tormented and craving. He let out a strangled sound, as if trying to hold back a sob.

Hob needed to reach him. Before he would collapse under the weight of all he carried and refused to let go. He needed to curl a hand into that feathery hair, press his lips against the softness of his Stranger’s own. Dream’s fingers touched his cheek lightly, sending a thrill of electricity through Hob.

There was no one around but them, nothing to stop this – why should they stop this? Hob couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember his own name. Nothing made sense in that moment but the urge to take Dream, to feast on his beauty forever, a longing buried too long –

“ENOUGH.”

Like a clap of thunder, Death’s voice, mutated to something terrifying and furious, shattered the spell. Hob let out a ragged gasp, blinking rapidly to clear his vision. He sank into his chair, breathing heavily, and ran a hand through sweaty hair. Swallowing, he dared to look at Dream.

The latter looked devastated. He, too, had collapsed into his seat, breathing as though he’d just run a marathon. His upper body was practically draped over the table. Dream’s eyes were back to their normal blue, but blurry with tears. He did not yet look at Hob. Nor could he, it appeared – his limbs were shaking from exhaustion and he could barely lift his head up.

Desire was not faring much better. While they were not too affected from using their powers, it was clear Dream’s nightmares had affected them. They looked gaunt, face white and lips thin.

Somehow, in all this, Death appeared the worst of them all. She was outraged, her fury revealing hints of her power in her face, shifting from a skull to a corpse to her own. Shooting icy glares around the table, she looked ready to knock everyone’s heads off. With her younger siblings still gathering their bearings, that meant Destiny would go first. She turned to him.

“My brother,” she began, voice controlled to reign in her temper. “I don’t understand you. You chastise Delirium over a bit of fun and declare no misuse of powers. How do you explain this? Does it mean nothing to you? Your idiot siblings attacking each other in your realm, and you have nothing to say?”

Destiny was expressionless, lifting blind eyes from his book to meet Death’s own. “I cannot interfere with fate, my sister. What is preordained will be, and my will has no ordinance therein.”

Death threw desperate arms in the air. “Are you serious? This was preordained? Is this why you called a convening? Of all the…” she drew a deep breath in, reigning in her anger. Turning away from Destiny, she glanced at Delirium and Despair. “You lot alright?”

Despair nodded glumly. “My twin would never seek to harm me.” She turned a dirty look at Dream, who had buried his face into folded arms on the table. “My brother I cannot speak for, but it appears he was overpowered.” She gave a smug smile.

Collapsed with fatigue as he was, Dream still let out a muffled growl.

Despair snorted.

Shaking her head in exasperation, Death turned to her youngest sister. “Delirium?”

Delirium looked up. The fight had clearly shaken her up. She was hugging herself tightly, eyes shifting between Dream and Desire.

“Delirium?”

“Yes, eldest sister.” She nodded in response, eyes glazing over. “Do you know the word for when something is broken but it looks not-broken but it is broken and the glue isn’t holding it up right?”

“Er. Humpty Dumpty?”

“Is he here?”

“Um. No…” Death turned to Hob with concern. “Hob, are you alright? I’m so sorry about all this. I can’t –” she waved a furious hand at Desire and Dream.

Desire was leaning against their chair, eyes closed, but twitched at Death’s words. Dream made no response, face buried and arms shivering.

Hob turned to Death, dazed and bewildered. “Hm? Oh, yeah. Right as rain, thanks.” He shook his head to clear his thoughts. “But I’d rather not relive that, if I’m being honest with you.”

Rubbing his face, he stood up, stretching his limbs to regain feeling. Looking at Dream, he came to a decision.

“Right.” Nodding to himself, he turned to Destiny seated beside him and raised a reluctant hand. “Thanks for the dinner and invite. Really. But I think it’s about time we left. Is the creepy door – er, the portal – right where we left it?”

Destiny didn’t take his hand, but nodded once in acknowledgement. His sightless eyes shifted between his collapsed siblings, observing quietly.

Hob turned to Dream, a tentative hand squeezing the Endless’ shoulder. “Dream? I think it’s time we head back, yeah? Early start tomorrow and all that.”

Dream said nothing, but he didn’t argue either, so Hob took that as a yes. Uncertainly, he walked over to Delirium, hoping the girl would not be more frightened than she already was.

“Good to meet you, Delirium. Hope Dream didn’t. Er. Scare you too bad.” He scratched his neck, wondering when it had happened that he felt the need to apologize for Dream’s actions, even to his own siblings. “Happy to apologize with dinner at the New Inn. It’s – well, Death knows where it is.”

He nodded at Death, who smiled back at him. “You’re also welcome, of course. Make up for the dessert you missed.”

Death chuckled. “Thanks Hob,” she answered fondly.

Hob nodded, turning back to Delirium. “Know what?” he said, loud and clear. “I liked your colors. Thought they were fantastic.”

Delirium blinked at him. For a second, Hob thought her multicolored eyes flashed a singular, clear hazel – but then it was gone. “Thank you, Hob Gadling.”

“Just Hob’s fine, really.”

“Just Hob.” She parroted back, smiling. Her eyes flickered to Dream.

Right. Make haste, Hob. He nodded curtly at Despair, walked past Desire without a word, and returned to Dream’s side. Shaking his shoulder, he bent down. “Dream?” he asked in a low voice. “You alright?”

Dream shuddered, nodded, lifting a weary head as though it took all his strength. As he rose to shaky feet, Hob resisted the urge to hold him up, knowing Dream would hate displaying any sign of weakness before his siblings.

Desire gazed at Dream, expression unfathomable. Dream stiffly turned to Destiny. “I thank you for your invitation and your hospitality, brother.” His voice was hoarse and slow, eyes fluttering to remain focused. “We shall take our leave now.”

Nodding at Delirium and Death, he turned to walk out with Hob.

“What a waste.” Despair’s voice rose. “To have your ego outweigh your abilities.”

“Despair,” Death hissed.

Dream stopped in his tracks. Beside him, Hob muttered, “Ignore her, Dream, she’s just trying to get a rise out of you. Come on, let’s go.”

A low chuckle echoed in the hall. “Indeed, my twin,” the amused voice crooned. “One would think to learn their place under such circumstances.”

Hob’s eye twitched. At this point, it was getting harder for him to control his own temper, much less Dream's.

Dream turned his neck slowly, making eye contact with his sibling. “What did you say?” he asked in a low voice.

“Dream, stop – you'll harm yourself –”

Desire scoffed. “Think on it, brother. Your kingdom is likely in ruins, your powers all but gone. You can barely hold yourself together, yet you continue to behave as though you are superior to the rest of us.” They tilted their head. “Perhaps if you were as capable as you believe yourself to be, the dreamers would not have come to harm, and you would not have faced the shame of being ensnared by,” they chuckled, “a mortal. How pathetic.”

“Desire. Stop it.” Death’s voice cut in sharply.

Blushing, Desire looked away, lips pursed.

Dream’s eyes had gone blank, expression steely. Hob knew that look. He grasped Dream’s arm, squeezing tightly in warning.

“Dream,” he tried to say firmly. “That’s enough. You need rest. Come on, it’s not worth it –”

Dream shot a split-second look of petulant stubbornness at Hob. Yes it was.

He whirled around sharply, cutting the air with a raised hand in Desire’s direction. The action sliced through Desire’s sleeves, making them jerk their head as though they'd been slapped. A shaky hand rose up to touch their face. Looking up with a shocked expression, they raised a wet hand, trailing with blood from the deep gash across their cheek.

“Dream,” Death cried out, instantly standing between the two to prevent further chaos.

But Dream didn’t hear her, nor did he register Hob’s gasp and Despair’s outraged snarl.

Hands twitching, face bloodless, he shook in place. His knees buckled, and Dream crumpled to the floor.

+++

Chapter Text

Destiny shuffled along the edge of the cliff.

The sky had turned a brilliant hue of pink and gold, sunburned streaks interspersed between, below which lay a scattered range of bronze and grey mountains.

It painted quite a picture, but Destiny noticed none of it, brow buried into the depths of his book.

While it was not uncommon for the future to be uncertain, of late it had been occurring at a greater frequency.

As to its cause, he was not certain. But it did make him uneasy.

Eventually, he tilted his head up, looking to the infinite skies above.

Waiting.

Watching.

+++

Earlier.

“Dream!” Hob cried out. Lunging down, he turned Dream over, trembling hands grasping his face, feeling his neck in the irrational hope of finding pulse or breath from the Endless who required neither. Dream was completely out of it.

Turning desperately to the others, Hob saw Death rushing over to him. Delirium was standing on top of her chair to witness the scene, hands over her face and eyes wide. Despair was at her twin’s side, wiping the blood off their face and trying to stem the flow. She glanced once at Dream, her expression a mix of fury and fear, before turning back to hold Desire’s face still.

Desire had gone white, though if this was because of blood loss or horror, Hob wasn’t sure.

Destiny had risen as well, walking up to them until he was standing a foot away. His hood covered his face, masking any reaction.

Death crouched down in front of Dream, her hands shaking his shoulder. “Dream?” she called, tapping his face. “Hey, little brother? This is stupid. You look stupid. Please don’t be stupid.”

Her voice was light, but her eyes looked frantic. She glanced at Destiny, then Hob.

“I – I need to get him back,” Hob said decisively. He had the sudden urge to go home. To the safe confines of everything before this day, when Dream wasn’t collapsed like a rag-doll in his arms; where there was healing. “I have to get him home.” He glanced up at Death, then Destiny. “Please.”

Destiny stepped forward. “As host, I will accompany you in your travels.” Turning to his siblings, he bowed his head once before turning back. “If you please.”

Hesitant, Hob gave Death a helpless look before pulling Dream’s unconscious body close. With her help, he was able to stumble up with his friend in his arms.

He nodded at Destiny. “We’re ready.”

Death stroked Dream’s hair, eyes full of worry. Noticing Hob’s white expression, she squeezed his arm reassuringly. “He’ll be alright, Hob,” she said in a gentle voice. “He’s got you.”

Hob looked at Death in surprise. Her mouth quirked, before she looked at Destiny.

“We shall await you, brother,” she said. Glancing at Dream, then Desire, she added shakily, “We have much to discuss.”

Destiny nodded once in agreement. He wrapped his hand around Hob’s arm. Hob blinked.

The next thing he knew, he was home, standing in the middle of his living room. Destiny released his arm.  Hob rushed Dream over to his own room, which was nearest to them.

In the transition between spaces, Dream’s clothes had shifted back to his joggers and T-shirt. Hob lowered his friend gently on the bed and drew the quilt over him.

“He will recover.” Destiny’s voice rumbled from the doorway. He ambled over to Hob’s side, peering at his unconscious brother. “He is resting for now.”

Hob nodded jerkily, trying to quell his panic.

Destiny turned to leave.

“W-wait,” Hob whispered. The other paused. “What. What’s going to happen? To Dream?” He turned his neck to look at Destiny, eyes filled with despair. “He’s told me about. About the Fates. And. And what happens if the Endless spill family blood.”

His heart was thudding so loudly, it deafened him. He would not have registered Destiny’s words, had there been any.

Destiny turned back, peering at him and Dream. Hob scrutinized him, hoping for an answer, but finding none. Expecting none.

Instead, Destiny extended a hand, reaching over to gently fondle his brother’s hair.

“I must return,” he murmured to Dream. Hob may have imagined it, but he sounded almost regretful.

Before Hob could say another word, the oldest Endless was gone.

Hob settled down on the bed next to Dream. He again checked his forehead, his pulse – knowing it was futile, but he had to do something. Had to feel useful in some way. A tender hand rested against Dream’s own, trying in vain to warm the cool fingers.

Dream did not move.

“Please,” Hob’s whispered shakily. “I beg you.”

He did not know whom he was speaking to.

“Please.”

+++

Destiny heard the sound of footsteps.

Only one of them would bother with such human inclinations.

“Sister,” he murmured, continuing to look ahead.

Death joined his side, saying nothing. Her lips were thin, face pale with worry. She folded her arms.

“What,” she began, voice wavering. “When…?” She found herself struggling to speak.

Destiny glanced in her direction.

His younger sister, born long after him. His only companion for a long time, until their parents deemed them fit to venture beyond Night’s realm. Although he had known her in her infancy, his powers manifesting and awaiting her birth well before Night ever introduced them, he could not help but feel as though he got a second chance to grow when she arrived.

In simpler times, they would lie back and count the stars. Are they of our mother, too? A young Death had asked. Are they our brothers and sisters?

Destiny had murmured a vague response, for it was not within his power to reveal the future his book foretold. Of other realms, other sentient beings to call their own.

Of a sort.

Death would tease that his dutiful nature was a result of having little else to do for so long, his silence and tendency to withdraw a consequence of total isolation. She began to fill the silence with cheerful chattering, asking endless questions about his function, what to expect of hers, when would it arrive, what if she didn’t take to it as he did his, did his book tell him what it would be?

Night and Time gradually grew to squabbling, then flirting, taunting the purposeful demise and reinvention of their kin to see what else they could create. Dawn was but a shadow at his mother’s side.

So, it was on Destiny to teach his sister the ways of leading a kingdom. Of being ruler to one’s own realm, manifesting subjects, driving forth reality for species present and not yet created.

He could teach. He could guide. As much as his book held him back, he had some lessons from his parents to pass along, learnt in better times.

For all that he’d been the one more informed, it was Death who rose up to the task.

It was Death who took to the others with a grace beyond her years. Still too young, still learning and growing, still wont to disregard Destiny’s solemn advice about duty above all else. Because duty was one thing but what about them? Who was with them while she was reaping soul after soul?

Seeing her now, looking ahead defeatedly with slumped shoulders, Destiny could not help but feel a twinge of guilt. As absent as their parents had been, they both had stepped in to ensure the balance and order of the universe. Or so Destiny told himself, sternly iterating the same rules and expectations of duty to a solemn dark-haired infant, who gazed at him with starry eyes so like their mother’s. Death had drawn the baby close to her chest possessively. You can’t be serious, brother, she had responded. Contrary to her words, Dream’s eyes remained on Destiny, serious and deep, as if he understood everything. Absorbed everything until it weighed into his bones.

We owe it to our functions to prepare them for what lies ahead, he would tell Death.

We owe it to our siblings to give them what our parents will not, she would retort, stubbornly squeezing their cheerful red-haired brother to her side. Wise despite her youth, loving despite its scarcity in their lives.

He did his part, he told himself. He provided guidance, a stern hand when needed, ensuring his younger siblings knew the rules needed to reign and prevent chaos.

He was also distant, too caught up in his own realm and weighed down by his rules.

Seeing her now, still so stubbornly loving and kind, Destiny couldn’t help but feel he could have done more.

He placed a hand on her shoulder. “It has not yet been foretold.”

Death let out a humorless chuckle, her breath hitched.

Destiny’s brow furrowed. His sister was always free and giving with her love. Her tears, however, were a rare sight.

“…my sister –”

“Even if – even if this works,” she interrupted, not looking at him. “It’s not enough, is it?”

He did not know how to respond.

She shook her head, eyes wet. “My elder brother, do you really think Dream would be so thoughtless as to – to react that way over Desire’s taunts? I mean,” she let out a wet chuckle. “Granted, they’re both absolute idiots and I have every intention of knocking their heads together until they see sense. But this?” she inhaled shakily. “There’s more to it.”

She flicked dark eyes at him. “And you know it as well as I, brother.” Now, he could not meet her gaze.

She pointed at the lumbering stone figures of his siblings. “Will you deny it? With physical proof at your doorstep?” Her hand dropped. “I understand that your function defines you. But this? How could you bring them here, knowing this would happen?” Even in her chiding, Death had a heartbroken look in her eyes.

Destiny sighed. It was moments like these that he could feel the burden of his responsibilities weigh upon his shoulders. That he could see how much their pasts had afflicted them with an affection they could not dismiss.

And he could never dismiss hers. His only companion after centuries of silence.

“I,” he started, then paused. The air had turned cool without his consent.

He turned around.

“Hecate.” He nodded respectfully at the three women before him. “I greet you.”

+++

It was dark outside.

Inside, the flat lacked its usual cheeriness. The living room and kitchen were dimly lit, but absent of their residents they appeared sinister, the low beam enlarging the silhouettes of nearby furnishings so they loomed threateningly across the walls.

Hob was slumped by Dream’s bedside, dosing, with one hand clutching a damp towel over Dream’s forehead, when they arrived.

+++

Chapter Text

“There must be a way,” Death was fretting when Destiny reemerged in his realm. “Perhaps if Desire were to speak on his behalf –”

“That is their decision to make,” Despair cut in. “He did go too far.”

Desire was still clutching a napkin to their face, more from being dazed than over any continued bleeding. They did not say a word, expression unreadable.

“He went too far?” Death snapped, making the twins flinch. “Was it not enough that you continued pushing him until you no longer could?” Her cold gaze stopped them from retorting with any defense. However justified they felt earlier, the circumstances had since changed.

Destiny walked up to the table. Ignoring the others, he nodded at Desire, who understood and lowered their hand to reveal a deep cut across their cheekbone down to their jaw. Thankfully, it was healing well; its color had since tempered from frightening red to a dull maroon.

Destiny took in the cut, Desire’s expression, and glanced around the table at his siblings. His book had foretold of a need for reorder, and the initial chaos that would ensue; it had not forewarned of bloodshed. He had thought, perhaps in vain, that under his realm there could be a modicum of control over the events.

In hopes, in vain, he had forgotten his own nature.

“Our brother is sheltering in Hob Gadling’s residence, as before,” he rumbled, voice clear and authoritative enough to bring the others to silence. They watched him with anticipated expressions. “He is. In no immediate danger from his actions. Hob will ensure he is well-rested to recover.”

“Well, so long as our brother is alright,” Despair muttered snidely. Destiny turned his gaze upon her. She indicated at Desire. “What about them? What of their suffering?”

To everyone’s surprise, Delirium let out a “Ha!” Realizing everyone was watching her, Delirium’s face turned red. She covered her mouth and looked away.

Destiny turned his attention to the others. “Desire is healing, and will also recover from this ordeal,” he stated the obvious. “What follows after is. To be seen.”

For the first time, Desire spoke up. “To be seen?” Their voice was strained and high-pitched. “My dear eldest brother, is it not written? Who among us could defy the Fates and succeed?”

To this, Destiny had no answer.

+++

“I don’t understand why you did it.”

Clutching the skinny limp hand in his own, hoping to feed some of his warmth into the unconscious man before him, Hob felt lost.

He had endured years of fighting, of working to build a new life from the ground up, losing, renewing, enduring the deaths of fallen comrades and fellow merchants, incendiary thieves and university colleagues.

Soldier on, they’d say. Soldier on.

And he would put himself back together again.

It astounded him to realize that in none of those instances had he felt.

As he did just then.

Hurt. Helpless. Like a lost child blinded by its own tears, desperate for a familiar face.

Betrayed –

No, no. He did not want to think it. Hob had known; he’d known since he had rescued Dream, that a new wardrobe and a hearty meal were not going to be enough to put him back together.

He supposed it was a privilege, all things considered. To, even in the depths of grief and despair, be so irreverently devoted to life and living.

To see it through to the end, whenever that may be.

Hob was not unfamiliar with loss. He’d endured it time and time again.

But he thought.

He thought he could save this.

That all this would be enough.

“S’pose that’s what I get for my hubris, right?” he cracked a weak smile at his unconscious friend. “Flew too close to the sun, and all that, thinking I could reach it.”

A tear slipped. He rubbed the hand in his again, not sure whom he was consoling. Dream, for his part, looked like the epitome of a childhood fairy-tale; skin white as snow, lips red as rose and all that claptrap.

Did that make him one of the seven dwarves?

“Destiny said you just need rest,” he said, hope burning in his eyes. “If that’s what you need, I’ll make sure you get it. But –” Why did you do it?

“And what happens to good old Hob when you go?” he continued, lightly shaking Dream’s hand in reprimand. “What am I supposed to do?”

Fierce, burning grief was tearing through his heart, bleeding into his shaking bones.

Slumping down, he whispered. “I don’t know how to help you, Dream. I don’t –”

A sob broke through his chest.

+++

Death stepped forward, nodding in deference, blazing eyes betraying her true emotions.

“Well, isn’t this a fine welcome,” the Crone spoke, eyes shifting between the two Endless’ before her.

“Indeed, it is, sister-self,” the Mother continued, smiling gently at them. “It’s rare to see you two together, loves. How sweet.”

“Usually Destiny’s the only one who pays house calls,” the Maiden said suavely, glittering eyes looking him over.

Death forced a smile on her face. “You are always welcome, Hecate. Perhaps not under these circumstances, though. Surely you understand.”

Destiny stepped forward before she could continue. Placing a hand on her shoulder, he gently drew forward. If he happened to be blocking the Hecate’s direct view of his younger sister, then so be it.

“Hecate, it is good to see you again,” he bowed his head once more. “I am grateful for your attendance.”

“Well, who are we to deny our favorite Endless?” the Maiden crooned. “Particularly one whose function lies so close to our own.”

“Teleute, dear, you are quite pale,” the Mother noted. “Are you getting enough rest?”

“All right, we don’t have all day,” the Crone barked, glaring at Destiny. “Get on with it.”

“After all, we have business to attend to,” added the Maiden, her eyes glinting.

Death felt her conceptualized stomach twist.

“It is about that,” she spoke, not wanting to circle around the topic. “About the rule for the Endless.”

The air was blowing gently, causing the Three-in-One’s robes to flutter creepily.

“Yes, love,” the Mother murmured. “It seems your family is in a spot of trouble. Foolish children, they never did get along much, did they? Still misbehaving at dinner, even now.” She shook her head in disappointment.

“Pity,” the Maiden added thoughtfully. “I rather enjoy looking at them.” She winked at Destiny.

“About the rule,” Death quickly interrupted, hoping to remain on subject. “If the one who is hurt – if they could pardon the other – if the conflict is resolved –”

“The rules do not make allowances over emotional choices,” the Crone cut in. “No mercy from one would change the outcome for the other.”

“But if the intent was not to cause permanent harm –” Death threw in desperately.

“If family blood is spilled, the intent does not matter,” the Crone responded. “This cannot be undone, no matter how much you may negotiate or beg.”

Death opened her mouth, ready with a biting retort, but swallowed it down. She tried to say something, but her breath had caught in her throat.

“My dear, was that all the case you had?” the Mother said condescendingly. “Is there nothing more to say?”

“If there’s nothing more to say, then we’re leaving,” the Crone spit out.

Death glanced desperately at Destiny. He stepped forward again.

“Hecate,” he began. “By our very functions we are connected like none other. We have seen worlds rise and fall, anticipated beginnings and endings. By our very function, we are bound together – have been, and shall be, until the end of days.”

He paused, letting his words soak in.

“It is through our shared function that I have understood how the rules work. And there is always a way. I cannot see what lies ahead. That is enough to tell me there is a way.” He took a deep breath. “I would have it that you share it with me, in respect of our functions. And if not – if I may offer a boon in its stead.”

The Maiden’s eyes glittered. “What boon?”

Destiny looked at his book, his chain. He could not determine his function. But he could alter it.

“That we may share these pages,” he said, for once struggling to speak. “That you may know, as I do, what lies ahead, that you may change” he stuttered momentarily. “That you may change its words when we stand with two roads ahead, and choose the direction we must take.”

Beside him, Death was frozen in shock. What Destiny was implying –

“You would bind yourself with another chain?” the Crone asked curiously. “Lose part of your essence so we may chart the course at our whims?”

Destiny’s lips thinned. “Yes.”

“If we cannot tell you of another way?”

“…Yes.”

The Maiden cocked her head, considering. “We have worked together a long time, you and I.” She smiled demurely at him. “I wouldn’t want to change that.”

“Nor I, Hecate. If there be another way –”

“Though the thought of rewriting those pages is appealing.”

Destiny remained silent.

The sisters were shifting in place, in conference with one another in a manner neither Endless could comprehend.

Death held her breath.

Finally, the Crone turned to them.

“To spill family blood is a death sentence for the Endless,” she said, peering balefully at them both. “It is known, and cannot be changed.”

Death’s heart clenched.

“However.”

She looked up, eyes fluttering, fists clenched.

“There are underlying…conditions.” The Maiden said slowly, hoping to tease them out.

“W-what conditions?” Death asked, breath caught.

The Maiden tapped her face in consideration. “I suppose one would be that it involves an Endless.”

Death and Destiny gaped at them.

“Don’t stare, dears,” the Mother chided. The siblings blinked simultaneously, not sure what to make of this.

“And another would be that it involves a proper grasp of one’s senses,” the Maiden continued, ignoring the siblings’ bewildered expressions. “If mentally and physically impaired against your will, an Endless will not be considered at full power, nor their actions carry the weight it would otherwise.”

“I…I don’t understand,” Death said in a hushed voice. “About not involving an Endless –”

“Morpheus is not fully Endless right now,” the Crone stated. “What was done to him beneath the soil tampered that connection. He cannot access his realm, and he is severed from the sense that would drive his actions at the capacity and magnitude of an Endless.”

Death had been among humans too long. “Y-you mean he can plead guilty to temporary insanity?”

The Crone smirked. “Temporary is not guaranteed.”

Destiny finally spoke. “Our brother – he will recover, this I know –”

“You know of recovery, dear boy,” the Mother said sympathetically. “But to what extent?”

Both siblings remained silent, trying to absorb the news.

“So Dream will not be held responsible for spilling family blood,” Death stated, wanting confirmation to make sure she wasn’t herself going mad.

Delirium wouldn’t.

The Maiden nodded once. “Not in this instance, no,” she remarked, eyeing Destiny. “Of course, we would still be open to having you chained to our command, if that’s still on the table.” She smiled slyly.

If Death were not so caught up between shock and relief, she would have vomited right then and there.

Destiny cleared his throat. “It is not, but I thank you for your revelations, Hecate. You are always welcome in my realm.”

The Three-in-One nodded in acknowledgement. As they prepared to depart, the Crone turned to the Endless.

“Intent may not determine the nature of his fate. And he is not entirely himself,” she began, raising a crooked finger at them both. “But know this. His intent was quite set on spilling family blood.” She gave them a crooked smile.

She turned, chortling, and the Three-in-One vanished.

Death and Destiny stared at the empty space. They turned to stare at each other. Death’s eyes were wet and furious.

“I’m going to kill him,” she declared.

+++

Hob was sleeping, drooling into his arm beside Dream, when they arrived.

“Hob.” A gentle hand shook his arm. “Earth to Hob.”

He grunted, blinking tired eyes open and staring at Dream in a daze before turning his head to the visitors.

“Death – Destiny – what hap – are they coming?” In his exhaustion, he looked around at the ceiling, fists instinctively clenched and held out, as if ready to sock an all-powerful goddess in the chin.

Death bit her lip, trying to hide her smile. “It’s alright, Hob.” He lowered his hands, confused and wary. “Everything is going to be fine.”

“What do you mean?” Hob asked, brow furrowed. His gaze kept shooting back to Dream, hand resting on the other’s as if to make sure he didn’t vanish the moment he was out of Hob’s line of sight.

Destiny spoke up. “We have conferred with the Hecate as to the conditions of their rule. Dream is not entirely Endless right now.”

Hob was more confused than ever.

“Oh, brother, how would he know what you mean? Hob –” And Death went on to relay how everything had gone down, what seemed like just moments ago.

When she finished, Hob’s face was pale, hand subconsciously clenching his hammering chest.

“So,” he whispered, hand trailing over to hold Dream’s. “So, he’ll be alright? Are you certain?”

Death nodded. “From the hands of the Hecate, yes, he’s safe.” Her glare at Dream’s unconscious form meant those words did not bode well for him regarding his safety otherwise.

Hob took a deep, shuddering breath.

“Oh, my lord,” he whispered out shakily. His eyes were wet again – with relief, with pain, he did not know anymore. He felt younger than he had in ages. “Oh God.” He rubbed his face, tears running freely.

“Oh, Hob,” and he was buried in a mass of curly hair and warm softness.

When controlling her strength, Death did give the best hugs.

It took a while, but she was finally able to get a blubbering Hob to calm down, reassuring him over and over that the Three-in-One would not be breaking down his door anytime soon, Dream willing, and even if they did, his karate skills would only get him so far.

“I also learned Krav Maga for a while,” he added hopefully, relaxation loosening his tongue to its usual form. “Just saying, they should expect a fight, if it came to it.”

Death squeezed Hob’s shoulder, chuckling. “Thanks, Hob. I’ll make sure they’re given due warning.” Reaching to give him another quick hug, she leaned over to Dream, squeezing his unconscious body in her arms tightly, trying to forget about alternate realities where they may not have been so lucky.

There was work to do. She knew it, and Hob knew it. But for tonight, they could breathe.

“I’ll see you soon, little brother,” she whispered, kissing his temple and running a hand through his wild hair. Dream frowned, as if to tell her off, before his face relaxed again.

Death rose up, hugging Destiny and patting Hob’s head as she left. “Bye, Hob!”

She was gone.

Hob realized Destiny was still there.

“Er,” he said. Now that the dust had settled, he was reminded of how awkward the oldest Endless could be. “Can I get you a spot of tea, or something?”

Destiny said nothing, gazing at his brother, expression unfathomable. He reached down to press a hand against Dream’s head. After a moment, he shook it gently as if in reprimand and let go. Rising up, he turned to Hob.

“I will take my leave now, Hob Gadling.” He said. “I will meet him once he is recovered.”

Hob blinked, not sure what to say. “Uh, sure. I’ll let him know.” He rose up, not sure if he should walk with Destiny to the door or wait for him to vanish like before.

Destiny nodded once, gaze turning back to Dream thoughtfully. Hob waited.

“He will recover.” Said firmly, though it sounded more wistful. Nodding at Dream, he took a step back. “I must return.”

He paused, looking at Hob, who tried not to be unnerved by the sightless gaze. “Your actions. Are justified. However much it may pain you both.”

Hob blinked. “What actions?”

Destiny said nothing, walking out into the living room. Hob followed, confused. “What are you talking about?”

Turning back to him, Destiny responded, “I cannot change your response. But I find. No reason to.”

Nodding once at Hob, he quirked his mouth. “Would that you could also address Desire’s.”

Somehow, he looked even more tired than before.

Hob was befuddled. “I – I don’t –”

Destiny was gone.

Shaking his head in bewilderment, Hob walked back to his room, sitting beside Dream to feel his forehead. Dream’s face twitched the slightest bit, but other than that he showed no response.

Hob sighed. Time to stock up on soup again.

Thinking back on Destiny’s words and the events of the day, Hob couldn’t help but feel the gnawing anger growing inside him.

He’d told Dream, over and over, to stop.

And yes, Desire was a right prick, but Dream didn’t make matters any better. Absolute riot, the pair of them. No wonder Destiny and Death looked tired.

Eyeing Dream, Hob rubbed his face in frustration. He really didn’t look forward to their next conversation.

 +++

Chapter Text

Birds chirped near the window, hearkening the dawn of a new day.

The sky was clear, and a beam of sunlight drifted past the curtains and spread across the two men lying in bed together. It was by all accounts a lovely day outside.

Both, of course, were completely oblivious to this.

It was a whole 36 hours later that Dream opened his eyes.

His head was muddled, vision blurry, body pounding and weak. He tried to raise himself up but was unable to. He closed his eyes, trying to recollect his last memories. Trying to identify where he was.

He squinted against the beaming sunlight, turning his head to see a man, snoring loudly and freely, beside him.

“Hob.” His voice was thin, cracked, a whisper despite him using all his strength to speak up. “H…Hob.”

No response.

Impatient, Dream stretched a shaking hand over and poked Hob’s side.

With a jerk, Hob was awake, body propped up and eyes scanning around for the culprit until he spotted Dream’s pale hand beside him. He looked up.

“Dream!” His face lit up, brighter than the morning light. “You’re awake!”

Before Dream could react, Hob had leaned over and gathered him into a bone-crushing hug.

“Thank the Lord,” Hob’s muffled voice emerged from where he had buried his face in Dream’s neck. “And all the high heavens.”

Dream was firmly ensconced in Hob’s arms and couldn’t move if he tried.

But feeling the familiar warmth and comforting scent of coffee and bread around him, Dream had no immediate desire to try.

He closed his eyes, resting his too-heavy head on Hob’s shoulder. His friend was the only thing keeping him upright, really.

“Thank God,” Hob kept mumbling, another hand gently grasping the back of Dream’s neck, thumb rubbing against it reassuringly. His voice sounded hoarse, as though he’d been crying for a good while earlier.

With what little strength he had, Dream wrapped his arms around Hob. Hob let out a cracked sound of relief.

He was shaking, crying silently into Dream’s shoulder. It was as if their roles had momentarily reversed.

Dream held on.

+

“So?”

The siblings had reconvened at Destiny’s realm, waiting in anticipation as the elder two met the Fates beyond. They sat together in the dining hall, barely speaking but finding comfort in each other’s presence. Delirium’s frog bubbles ribbited and hopped around her.

The question had come from Desire, who was watching Death and Destiny trudge inside the dining hall with intense curiosity.

Both sat down, looking as if they had aged a century in the time they had been gone. Death rubbed her face tiredly, while Destiny leaned back against his chair, for once ignoring his book placed absently on the dining table.

The younger three looked at each other uncertainly.

“My sister, what did the Fates tell you?” Desire asked, eyes shifting alertly between the older two. “Am I to present my case before them to grant our idiot brother mercy?”

Despite their ribbing, their eyes bespoke underlying concern.

Death sighed, exchanging a meaningful glance with Destiny before turning to the others.

“The Fates answered Destiny’s call,” she started slowly. “We spoke for some time, and – well. Long story short, Dream isn’t fully Endless and won’t be torn apart for his actions.”

The younger three gaped. After a moment, Despair leaned forward, running her hook sharply against her jaw.

“Explain.”

+

Recovery wasn’t swift. In fact, it was painfully slow, as Dream had dismally discovered in the time since he’d been captured by Burgess. All time stood still, trudging ahead with the speed of a wounded soldier crawling to his deathbed –

“It’s only been five hours,” Hob responded dryly.

Dream scowled. Propped as he was against the pillows in Hob’s bed, too weak to move anywhere or avoid Hob endlessly plying him with soup and toast, he had little else to do since regaining consciousness beyond watching the clock tick away and wither away from boredom.

“You were asleep for three of those hours.”

Dream really needed to stop voicing his complaints aloud to Hob.

“At least we agree on something. Now, open up.” He wagged a spoonful of broth in Dream’s face.

Glaring as much as he was able, Dream complied, well-aware that he was in no position to fight back.

Since he’d woken, Hob had filled him in on the events that had passed since the dinner when he lost consciousness. Or so he said. His eyes would shift around, and he’d make himself busy with tidying or fussing over Dream instead of saying anything beyond “You collapsed, Destiny and I brought you back, you’ve been asleep for nearly two days and now you’re alright.”

Dream, for his part, was too tired and weak to do more than nod, eyes shuttering with sleep.

He couldn’t quite recall what happened at the dinner either. Vague memories floated in his head of food flying, rice in his hair, general bickering, an explosion of colors.

He couldn’t remember. For now, he preferred it that way.

+

By the next day, Dream was feeling noticeably better.

“Sure, sure, but that doesn’t mean you’re moving from here. Not until you can stand up, at least.”

Dream rolled his eyes.

As Hob pattered around the room, Dream watched absently, trying to collect his thoughts.

He was remembering. Fleeting moments, but they were returning.

“Hob,” he began quietly. “Is Desire. Alright?”

Hob paused. “What?”

“I…” Dream tried to gather his strength. “I am. Starting to remember.” He swallowed. “Did I cause Desire to bleed?”

Hob wavered. “Uh. Well –”

“I lashed out at them when we were leaving,” Dream murmured, trying to process his own words. “I spilt family blood.” His gaze looked daunted.

“Look, Dream –”

“What,” Dream breathed heavily, looking frail and exhausted. “What happened after, Hob?” His eyes fluttered, fighting sleep.

Hob sighed.

This could take a while.

+

The Endless siblings were silent, still trying to digest the news of Dream’s current state.

“So,” Despair began in a low voice, “Dream is not Endless. What is he, then? What will he remain?”

Death and Destiny looked at each other. They hadn’t quite gone over the semantics with the Fates.

“We’re not sure,” Death admitted. “They didn’t say it was permanent, more like…”

“It has been foretold that he will recover,” Destiny assured them, looking at the tense expressions around him.

“Recover?” Delirium asked, head tilted thoughtfully. “Lots to recover, too many words to catch and creations to find. The gates are rusty.”

The others exchanged a mutual glance of consternation. Delirium didn’t always make sense, but sometimes they could gather her underlying meaning.

“Yes, well,” Desire huffed, “Who knows how long that will take.”

They all were lost in thought.

“We don’t know that,” Death murmured. “But we could help speed it up.”

The others glanced at her, perplexed.

“Dream’s tools were stolen by Burgess,” Death shared. “Those were then stolen by another. I’ve been looking for them since we got Dream out but…” she looked helpless. “I’d have asked you lot for help but I didn’t expect anyone to come through,” she said bitterly.

Her siblings fidgeted, looking vaguely ashamed.

“I think my face speaks for itself as to why I wouldn’t have helped,” Desire responded defensively. Despair grunted in agreement.

Death directed a steely glare in their direction. “You know what I think? I think since you’re the one who riled him up until he got this way, it’s on you to help find the tools.”

A beat.

Desire gaped. “I beg your pardon, my sister?”

“You heard me,” Death retorted, folding her arms and glaring around the table. “In fact, all of you need to come through and lend a hand. I know for a fact that some of you,” and here she glanced meaningfully between Despair, Desire, and Destiny, “Would be able to find them without any effort on your part.”

“Be reasonable, my sister,” Despair said in a hushed voice. “We are not meant to interfere in each other’s affairs, not unless requested. And our brother has made no such request.”

Death's eyes glinted. “Oh, he will.”

Everyone looked at each other, a feeling of foreboding filling the room.

+

Why did you do it? Hob wanted to ask.

Why did you want to die?

Underneath it all, he knew. He knew that people who were dark by nature were not living a fairy-tale life, that someone as old and powerful and sensitive as Dream would feel the slings and arrows of his outrageous misfortune over and over. His silence was telling enough, not always a sense of calm but a lingering echo of grief in the air.

Grief. What was he grieving? His past? Lost loves? His sorry excuse of a family? Being caged? Hob did not know. Perhaps all of the above.

“Everything, I suppose,” he had tearfully admitted that night, after Hob first punished him. So suppose it was everything. How was Hob to counter everything?

Feeling overwhelmed, he clutched his head in his hands, leaning against the counter.

“Hello Hob.”

Hob didn’t open his eyes. “Hello, Death. Been expecting you.”

He heard a snort, and shuffling as Death made her way over to him. “Hob?” she asked gently. She pulled his hands away from his face and eyed him warily, as though afraid to hear any more bad news.

“Is everything alright?”

“Fine, fine,” Hob said shakily, running a hand through his hair. At Death’s skeptical expression, he admitted, “No. No, it’s not.”

Death sighed, nodding as she leaned against the counter, folding her arms. “I think I know what you mean.”

They both looked at each other, deeply troubled.

“I…” Hob began, voice wavering. “I don’t know how to help him.” His shoulders slumped.

Death tilted her head, gazing at him. Hob lowered his eyes. A hand came to rest on his own.

“Hob,” she said gently, waiting until he looked up. “You have been helping him. So much more than providing food and shelter. He hasn’t –” she paused, her eyes full of pain. “He hasn’t looked like that in ages.”

Hob gave a puzzled look.

“Happy.”

Hob’s eyes widened in surprise, expression softening. His chin trembled.

“Yeah, well. Not happy enough, looks like,” he said bitterly. He knew that wasn’t fair, and by Death’s glance, knew she knew it too, but he couldn’t help himself.

She sighed, looking down. That conversation was between him and Dream.

“We got lucky this time,” she acknowledged. “I want to make sure there isn’t a next time.” Her knuckles were turning white from gripping her arms. “I believe one way to do that is to help him recover his powers. And for that he needs his tools. I’ve asked – well, forced, really – my siblings to help with recovering them.”

Hob raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You’re telling me they will actually help? Not try to, I don’t know, sabotage the mission?”

Death smiled grimly at him. “They would not dare.”

She looked feral. Hob shuddered.

“We do have one problem, though. Dream needs to – he needs to agree to let us help. To help find his tools. And I suppose in the long-run, to let us help at all. But for now, it’s about the tools.” Death eyed the direction of Dream’s bedroom door.

“Uh,” Hob tugged his ear. “He’s not there, actually. When we got here, I took him to mine, since it was closer.” He tried not to blush as Death’s eyes fell on him, silently observing.

“Right,” she murmured, sounding amused. “Well. How’s he doing now? Can I speak with him or is sleeping beauty still knocked out?”

Hob chuckled. “He’s probably sleeping right now, but he did wake up a few days ago. Still very weak, so he’s stuck in bed while I stuff him with food. He complains about it but I’m pretty sure he’s enjoying the return of the royal treatment.”

Death snickered. “Probably.” She rose, walking towards Hob’s room. “I’ll just be a minute.” She knocked on the door, murmuring, “Dream?” before walking inside and shutting it behind her.

Hob could not hear much at all. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to eavesdrop either. Perhaps Death could fill him in later. It was a few minutes after that Death walked out, looking more tired than before.

“He’ll do it,” she said wearily. She looked troubled.

“What is it?” Hob asked cautiously.

Death looked at him. “Oh, nothing really. I was just – it took a bit of arguing to get him to agree. And that’s when he can hardly lift a finger. And we haven’t even got to the conversation about the dinner. I don’t…” she looked helpless for a moment.

Hob felt her pain. Glancing at his room, he couldn’t help the wave of irritation wash over him. This was far too big to handle alone, but they both weren’t alone. And she deserved to be reminded as well.

“It’ll be alright,” he said decisively, as if trying to manifest the words into reality. “He’ll be alright. I’ll make sure of it.” He nodded to himself. He would make it happen.

Death gave him a small smile of gratitude, eyes shining. “Thank you, Hob.” She looked more convinced, her posture straightening. “We’ll make sure of it. Whether he likes it or not.”

“Oh, he won’t.”

Both chortled.

+

Truth be told, Hob wasn’t as clear-headed as he may have appeared to Death.

Really, he was still feeling a bit. Frustrated.

About the persistence with which Dream continued to self-sabotage while refusing to get the help he needed.

And. A smaller part of him couldn’t help but remember what Desire said. Nada. Alianora. Calliope. Something about banishing someone to the depths of hell for ten thousand years over a petty dispute.

He was not angry about being kept in the dark. Dream was under no obligation to tell him about his past lovers. He had his right to privacy, just like anyone else.

But…he couldn’t help but feel shaken at the idea of Dream outright banishing someone to endless torture. Or leaving a trail of heartbreak. Well, no. That, he was a little familiar with. He ruefully remembered their conversation in 1889, with a tearful Dream storming out and leaving Hob full of regrets. He felt awful after that conversation. He’d been trying to be more honest with Dream, only for his own idiocy to end up hurting his Stranger instead.

Hob tried to quell mixed feelings of guilt and anger. This would be a conversation for another day. His first priority was to keep Dream alive and safe.

Entering Dream’s room, he found the other man struggling to rise out of bed.

“Dream,” Hob said reproachfully, watching his friend push himself up, take a few deep breaths, then on weak arms collapse back down on the bed. He moved quickly to Dream’s side and pushed him down gently. “We talked about this. If you want to move around, call me. Did you need something?”

Dream was pale and trembling from exertion, but his expression took on a familiar stubborn look. He breathed heavily before meeting Hob’s eyes.

“I do not, thank you,” he murmured, looking shifty.

“Then where are you going?” Hob asked.

Dream’s jaw tightened. “I must speak with my sister. I must return to Destiny’s realm. And,” he paused, catching his breath, “and make things right.”

Hob blinked. “Well, if that’s the case I can just call them here. No need to go all that way.”

Dream shook his head slowly. “I must speak with them – on the Fates – my tools – they are my responsibility –”

“Dream,” Hob said sharply, knowing where this was going. “Stop. You are one stubborn git, you know that?” At Dream’s offended expression, he continued. “I know this isn’t the first time someone’s saying this to you, but - you need to let others in. Your siblings want to help you. Let them. What’s the harm?”

Dream directed a piercing glare at Hob, pushing himself up on weak arms once more. “We do not interfere in each other’s affairs. I will not let this condition –” he bit his lip, looking frustrated, “I will not let them shoulder my burdens. Especially not. Desire.” He spat out the last word.

Hob rubbed his face. “Dream,” he said tiredly, sitting down on the corner of the bed beside his friend. “You realize a lot of this mess has to do with you refusing to listen to sense or ask for help?” He reached over to squeeze his friend’s knee comfortingly. “You have to stop letting your pride make your decisions for you.”

Dream flushed but continued glaring at him. “Be that as it may,” he started, looking pale from fatigue and weakness, “I will not let my siblings armor themselves with my weakness, nor turn their aid as a reason to hold me in contempt.” He pushed the blanket back tiredly, preparing to get up again. “I must seek out my tools. And speak with the Fates.”

Hob’s patience had worn thin. “Dream,” he said shortly, “You aren’t going anywhere, not in this condition. Forget Desire or the Fates, a gust of wind could knock you over right now.”

Dream’s pout was noticeable as he prepared to disagree.

“No – no, don’t bother. You want to talk to your siblings? Fine, they can come here. Neutral territory. I’ll call for them myself. But not right this minute. And trust that Death will agree when I say that you’re nowhere near capable of wandering off to seek out your – your tools or whatever else you’re doing. Not like this. Now,” he rose, pushing at Dream again. “Rest.”

Dream growled, pushing back at Hob. “You do not realize what you are interfering with –”

“At this point I don’t really care – and making sure you stay alive isn’t interfering –”

“Hob Gadling, move out of my way –” Dream was all hands and elbows, finding ways to slip out of Hob’s hold at every angle. “You are overstepping –”

“For fuck’s sake – Dream, no.” Hob found himself wrestling Dream down to the bed. The latter struggled, growling under his breath as he tried kicking off the blanket weighing his legs down. Hob was leaning his torso over Dream’s contorted form, the latter’s face pressing into the pillow as he slid another arm from Hob’s grip like a slippery eel, pushing at the other.

“Let me go –”

“Nope. In fact, I’m sitting on you.” He wasn’t sure what compelled him to do that, just a vague memory of him and his comrades using it to get information out of each other. Or prevent many a drunken mistake. Hob pushed Dream down once more and all but sat on Dream’s back, one leg folded on top to hold him down while the other balanced on the floor, wedging Dream’s right arm against the mattress. Making sure to elevate himself enough so his entire body weight did not rest on his skinny friend, Hob folded his arms in satisfaction. “There, now try escaping.”

Dream gaped at him. “Have you gone mad, Hob? Get,” he struggled, trying to wiggle out and causing Hob to shake in place, “OFF me.”

“Not until you agree to listen and abandon this idiotic idea –”

“Hob,” Dream growled, yanking at the bed sheet to pull himself out. He elbowed Hob’s side in irritation.

“Enough of this, Hob – you do not realize what is at stake –”

At this, Hob’s last strand of patience broke. He lifted his folded leg to place it on Dream’s other side, making sure to trap his other arm against his torso. Holding Dream down with his body weight and a hand firmly planted against his hip, Hob raised his other arm and delivered a stinging swat to the backside before him.

Dream jolted in place, letting out a surprised gasp. Not pausing, Hob delivered another, a third, unleashing a flurry of furious smacks onto the wriggling behind.

“Ah, ow – Hob, no –” His friend struggled with renewed vigor to escape his hold. Trying to keep himself steady, Hob continued landing targeted strikes with absolute precision. Dream kicked his legs in frustration, trying to lever himself up, but the weighted blanket was doing a solid job at preventing his escape.

“Oh no, Dream,” Hob said sharply, raising his leathery hand high before landing on the rounded behind. “You’re not going anywhere. You’re not getting out of this.” He struck at the tangled thighs, causing Dream to jerk in place.

“Ah – stop –”

“Talking about I don’t know what’s at stake? Well, let me tell you something,” Hob focused on striking the prone sit-spots, making the smaller man yelp and try to yank his arms free to no avail. “You trying to crawl your way to Destiny’s realm puts your health at stake. You putting yourself in danger because it hurts your pride, puts your life at stake. And now, you risking your health and being an idiot once again puts your arse at stake.” With that, he moved his hand from Dream’s back, reaching forward and tugging his joggers down.

“Hob!” Dream choked out. As Hob renewed his attack on the boxer brief-clad behind, Dream kicked his feet against the bed to gain leverage, hands yanking futilely against Hob’s legs to free themselves and pull his pants back up. “Hob – ah, stop – argh, stop this at once!” He sounded furious, but Hob could hear the underlying tears in his voice.

Ignoring him, Hob landed blow after blow, making sure to strike the pale thighs until they turned a blushing pink. Dream yelped, swore, cried out.

“Hob,” Dream cried out in pain as the sizzling hand set a fire on his thighs. “This is no way to have a proper conversation –”

“No conversation,” Hob responded easily, landing a solid strike to the twitching legs. “This is entirely one-sided. You’ve shown me you aren’t ready for normal conversation.” Remembering the absolute fear that had fogged his past few days, he increased the strength of his swats.

Dream wailed into the pillow, tears running free. He was admittedly exhausted, drained, infuriated by his siblings’ audacity to treat him like a helpless patient – and now, here was Hob, the one person he thought would support him, crushing him like a barbarian while delivering ruthless blows.

It wasn’t fair, really.

“Hob,” he tried again, voice wet and stuttering. “You’re hurting me –”

“That’s the plan,” Hob interrupted, trying to quell his own feelings of guilt. He didn’t want to hurt Dream. But damn it, his imbecilic behavior really called for some response. He focused his attention on one cheek, then the other, causing Dream to writhe and wail.

“Hob,” Dream cried out. “I’m sorry –”

“No, you’re not.” Heavy blows landed mercilessly on his bottom. “But you will be.”

He wasn’t wrong, but the quick read Hob had on him was making Dream resentful. “This is barbaric – I am already unwell and – ow, Hob, stop –”

“Ah, so now he’s accepted that he’s unwell,” Hob chastised, striking his thighs. “Let’s make sure you remember.”

And to Dream’s horror, Hob yanked his boxer briefs down, pushing them mid-thigh to meet the tangled blankets. For a second, he felt the cool air settle around him, before a searing burst of heat and pain exploded over exposed skin. He jumped in place, crying out. Oh, this was entirely much worse than anything he’d endured. Hob landed another strike on the bruising behind, one hand holding Dream’s hips in place as the other continued to smite the bare bottom, smacks filling the air.

“HOB, NO – ow!” Dream let out a shriek at the severe burn settling into his backside. He choked on his tears, still wriggling futilely to escape. “Stop!”

“I warned you, Dream,” Hob said formidably, his fury drowning out the echoing sounds of wailing and hand striking skin. “I warned you last time that this would happen. Lord knows it’s still not enough to get through your thick skull.” He shook his head in frustration, releasing a flurry of spanks across the reddened sit spots. Dream howled in pain, his eyes blurry with flowing tears.

“I told you over and over at the dinner to stop what you were doing – to stop before you hurt yourself, but did you listen?” Hob scolded, smattering the behind with sharp smacks. “No, his lordship can’t listen to anyone but himself, even if it bloody kills him.” He walloped the burning thighs. “No reasoning with you, is there?” He smacked the thighs again.

“OW – Hob, please, I’m sorry –”

“You can apologize all you want, Dream, but guess what? You’ve just signed yourself up for a week’s worth of this,” Hob informed him, continuing to land strikes on the formerly pale bottom, now a furious red.

Dream shook his head rapidly in denial, gasping for breath. “No!” he pleaded with a crushed voice. “Hob, no!” His pleading was ignored as the next swat tore a sob through him.

“Oh yes,” Hob said dangerously. “You intend to run around and risk your bloody neck? Risk –” his voice caught in his throat, heart hammering. “Risk everything we’ve built here?” Eyes prickling at the thought, Hob shook his head furiously, striking Dream’s right thigh. “Think again.” He went for the left. “We’ve got a lot to talk about as it is. Forget going anywhere, you won’t be able to sit down for a week.” He struck the sit spots once more, making Dream sob.

“And I fully intend to make sure you don’t risk yourself like that again. If I have to spank you every day until you understand, so be it.” He unleashed a volley of smacks across the bottom and thighs, making sure to drive his point home. “You’re not going anywhere. You’re staying here and getting better. And you’re not going to risk your life, understand?” He didn’t wait for a response, landing another sharp smack that had Dream whimper and jerk in place. “You will ask for help and you will let go of your stupid pride, you absolutely immature, stubborn idiot.”

He could ask Dream what he was in trouble for, but for now it was better to emphasize them with his hand instead. Landing the last few swats in, Hob finally stopped spanking and leaned his sore hand against the cool bed sheet for a reprieve. Taking in a few deep breaths, he turned his head toward Dream.

The other man had pushed his face into the damp pillow, trying to muffle down sobs and whimpers of pain. His body had finally let go, no longer fighting, and as Hob teetered himself off his friend, the latter seemed resigned to his fate, not moving up, hands twitching and clenching the bed sheet. Hob couldn’t help but wince at his handiwork. Dream’s bottom and thighs were a furious red, a stark contrast to the rest of his pale form. Tentatively, he reached over to gently fix his clothing into place, trying not to notice the flinching and choking sobs his actions caused. Sitting beside Dream again, he put a warm hand on the heaving back, gently stroking it to calm his friend down.

Dream’s crying did not lessen, but he seemed to be coming back to himself; twitching hands slowly came up, arms trembling from being held in place so long. He clutched the pillow, burying further sobs. He was shaking in place. As Hob rested a hand on his head, he jerked away, drawing further into himself and continuing weeping.

Hob sighed deeply. “Oh Dream,” he murmured, continuing to rub his friend’s back. “Why did you have to go and get in so much trouble.” Dream let out a hitched cry in response, head shaking weakly as though still trying to argue back.

Hob bit back a smile at his unwavering spirit and stubbornness. He rose up, stretching his back, before walking over to his side of the bed and settling in. Mind made up, he sidled up to Dream and gently tugged at him until the latter, exhausted as he was, was easily dragged up until his face pressed against Hob’s stomach. Hob reached down to pull the blanket over them both, before placing a soothing hand on the back of his head and another on his back. In spite of himself, Dream seemed to crave the physical connection; his arms reached up and wrapped around Hob’s middle tightly, and he pressed his face further into Hob’s stomach, still crying.

Hob gently shushed and soothed him, trying to quell the hysteria. He held Dream tightly, rubbing his back and assuring him it was over, and Hob had him, and to just breathe.

It felt like an eon passed before Dream’s cries settled down to hitched, tearful breaths. He continued clutching Hob, face buried in place in his belly.

Hob rubbed his head, hugging him close. “You alright, Dream?” he asked in a low voice.

Dream didn’t answer, but gripped Hob tighter, breathing quick and wet. Hob held him close, ready to wait out this storm.

Eventually, he heard Dream mumble something into his shirt. “Pardon?” he asked, absently running his hand through that wild nest of a hairstyle.

Dream raised his head, face flushed and eyes fluttering and bright. His chin trembled. “That,” he said hoarsely, “was awful.” He sniffled, looking for all the world like a woebegone orphan from the Victorian era. Unconscious pout in place. He didn’t look at Hob, but rested his face against him, trying to stifle hitched tears.

Hob sighed. “I know,” he agreed, rubbing his back comfortingly.

Dream's eyes kept leaking, but his breathing was steady, body draped across Hob’s and too tired to move. Hob placed a hand on Dream’s face, thumb wiping away stray tears. The gesture seemed to comfort his friend, who subconsciously turned his face further into the hand.

There they rested for a while, both listening to the steady ticking of the nearby clock.

Dream sniffled. “Hob.” It came out more like a question.

“Hm?” Hob asked absently, enjoying the feel of Dream’s very much alive and conscious form over him.

“I,” Dream sniffled again. “I told you I was sorry. Several times.” He sounded accusatory. He shot a glare at Hob, though it lost its effect when framed by tearful eyes and a trembling pout.

“You did,” Hob agreed.

Dream waited a beat before realizing Hob was finished. “I –” hitched breath, brow furrowed in confusion, “I thought you wanted –”

Hob chuckled. “Oh Dream,” he said, caressing the man’s head. “You know you have to mean it for me to accept it.”

How had he survived this long, honestly.

Dream was silent as he pondered over this. He scowled, pressing his face into Hob’s torso once more. “I did mean it,” he muttered petulantly, so low Hob had to strain his ears to hear him.

“Mhmm,” Hob responded sardonically. “Sure, you did.” He closed his eyes, resting against the bed. Lord, but he was tired. Close to falling asleep.

But he could practically hear the wheels in Dream’s head turning. “Dream, you need rest. Alright? So just. Close your eyes. Go to sleep.” Yawning, he curled further into the blanket, tugging Dream closer in the process so they were practically snuggling.

The silence lasted long enough that he thought Dream had fallen asleep.

No such luck.

“Hob?” a tentative voice murmured sleepily against him.

“Hm?” Hob mumbled, eyes closed and half asleep.

“You weren’t,” he paused, squirming against Hob’s side. “You don’t actually mean to. Do that again. Tomorrow.” Not a statement, not a question. He left it hanging in the air, waiting for Hob’s response. Subconsciously curling in closer, as if from safety against the same perpetrator.

 “Mm,” Hob mumbled, adjusting so he was fully horizontal in bed and tugging Dream to his chest. He wrapped a protective arm around the man. “Go to sleep, Dream.”

“Hob, I –” voice drowsy yet stubborn.

“We can always go for round two, if you like.”

...

“Yeah, didn’t think so. Good night, Dream.”

He tried not to laugh at the sulking emanating from his arms.

+++

Chapter Text

Hob wasn’t sure how to broach the subject of Nada.

Or Calliope.

Or all the other names Desire had listed. Pasts they had hinted.

Was it any of his business?

Not really, Hob thought wryly. But it wasn’t like they could skip past it either.

So perhaps his best bet was to…continue slogging down this path he’d impetuously created for himself. And see where it led them.

For both their sakes, he truly hoped it wouldn’t be to their doom.

The kettle started whistling, distracting him from his thoughts. Shaking his head, Hob reached for the teabags, preparing a hearty breakfast-in-bed as a sort-of-apology-but-also-not for his bed-mate because. Well. He shouldn’t feel guilty.

He shouldn’t. Dream deserved every smack and lecture and then some.

But. His heart clenched at the reminder of the trembles wracking the thin form in his arms, the choking tears against his damp shirt.

Whether Dream deserved it or not, Hob had been the one to make him react that way, sobbing in pain and hurt from Hob’s response.

Because if there’s one thing Hob knew, it was that Dream – stubborn, over-dramatic, woe-is-me kitten-eyed fiend that he was – would look past the logic of it all, the part where he may have crossed too many lines and brought this on himself. Not when the crushing voice inside him was saying, here’s someone else who hurt you.

That’s what happened with beings like Dream, human or not. So overwhelmed by their own inner demons that every action was seen as a slight, a sign of yet another battering from a loved one. He’d seen it in Dream’s face at the dinner, seen it in his expression when he’d spoken of the lack of help offered him by his siblings while imprisoned. The teary-eyed hurt behind it all, a lingering primary response otherwise covered up by resignation and rage.

It broke Hob’s heart.

So maybe he was spoiling Dream a little. That was his prerogative. And damn it, Hob would make the best of it. Before round two.

God’s wounds, why did he have to promise round two.

But that innate part of him knew to look beyond his anger and Dream’s tears, to recognize what his friend really needed. Even if both would hate every second of it; even if Dream would shoot tragic looks his way.

No, he would go through with his promise. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t spoil him to bits after.

“Morning, Dream!” Hob sang, carrying in the heavy tray. The muffled sounds from under the covers told him his friend was not yet fully awake. Placing the tray in the center of the bed, Hob reached out and poked the figure, who responded with a sleepy growl.

“Oh, so cranky we are this morning,” Hob cooed, shuffling under the covers for warmth. “And to think I made all this food for nothing. More for me, I suppose.”

The blanket drew down an inch and a single bleary eye flashed at him from underneath rowdy bed hair. Hob smiled innocently, biting into a cheesy omelet.

“Mmm, so good,” he crooned, closing his eyes. Smirking at Dream, he cut out another piece. “Run out of eggs today, so we won’t have more for this morning.”

He waggled the fork.

Before he could take another bite, a hand swiped at him. Blinking, Hob realized his fork was gone, now in the retreating hand of Dream and being consumed ravenously under the covers. Hob shook his head.

“You’re like that troll under the bridge,” he commented, reaching for another fork. Beside him, Dream rose up, shifting around until he was sitting against the pillows grouchily. Without a word, he reached out to take the plate of omelets from Hob’s tray and plopped it on his own lap. As Hob gaped at his actions, Dream twirled Hob's fork before stabbing the eggs to take lightning-fast bites.

“Uh,” Hob spoke, sounding amused. “You might want to consider inhaling. Maybe even sharing.”

In response, Dream gave him a side-eye before reaching for Hob’s glass of orange juice. Hob’s, because it was clearly closer to him than the other one meant for Dream. He gulped the juice down entirely, making a satisfied sound and replacing it on the tray.

And then eagerly reached for the other glass.

“Oi!” Hob swatted the hand back. “That one’s mine now. You can go refill your own.” Although he didn’t really want to, Hob stubbornly picked up his glass and took a long gulp, not taking his eyes off Dream.

Dream looked unaffected. Turning back to the plate, he snatched up the last few bites hungrily. Once the plate was empty, he placed it on the tray and leaned back against the pillows, looking quite pleased with himself.

Hob rolled his eyes. “I suppose I’ll have to make do with the fruit.” He let out a sad sigh.

From the corner of his eye, he saw the sneaky hand creeping back, reaching for a grape.

“Really?” he asked dryly, watching the hand shamelessly pull at a few grapes to plop them into the thief’s mouth. Dream purred with contentment, eyes closed and a slight smile on his face.

Sighing, Hob bit into an apple, watching the greedy fingers keep coming back for more.

It's fine. He wasn’t that hungry anyway.

Besides, there was something highly amusing about indulging the grabby hands of his otherwise poised and reserved friend.

Both continued eating in silence, enjoying the peace and sound of birds chirping outside the window. Hob finished up with a satisfied sigh and lifted his glass of juice to his mouth.

Beside him, Dream shifted, eyes trained on the glass.

Rolling his eyes fondly, Hob poked Dream’s side. “Nope. Get your own, you spoilt prince.”

Dream scowled, then looked away. Hob could practically hear his mind plotting. A second later, Dream let out an injured sigh before squirming in the bed, suddenly appearing highly uncomfortable. He let out a low moan of pain, shifted again, hissed. When Hob didn’t respond, he sniffled.

“Oh, come off it, Dream, you don’t even have a cold,” Hob retorted, eyebrow raised at his woebegone friend. Dream continued playing the martyr, curling under his covers with a wince.

Hob shook his head. “You forgot to pout this time.”

Dream’s tragic expression switched to a scowl as he turned sharply toward Hob, who grinned before reaching over to further mess his friend’s bedhead.

“Stop,” the latter grouched, moving himself away from Hob’s reach. Snorting, Hob shuffled out of bed with the tray and carried it out of the room.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” he called out, walking to the kitchen.

Upon returning, he found Dream looking sad and pathetic, huddled under the covers. Which, in the time Hob had been away – which was all of thirty seconds, mind you – had resulted in his friend snagging the whole duvet for himself. Hob folded his arms, eyeing his sparse corner.

“You’re like a magpie,” he muttered. Sitting back down, he tugged some of the duvet back, smirking at Dream’s futile attempts to keep his tight hold. Triumphant, he looked at Dream and laughed at his expression.

“And there’s the pout. Bit behind schedule this time.”

Brow furrowed, Dream shot glowing eyes at Hob. He appeared lost in thought.

A moment later, he spoke.

“You hit me.”

His voice was hushed, disbelieving. Hob paused in place. “What?”

“You. Hit me.” Again the disbelief, this time lined with accusatory. The pout deepened and Dream's eyes shone brightly, full of hurt.

Hob blinked, not sure how to respond. He nodded slowly, trying to process Dream’s behavior. “I suppose I did.”

“Why -" Dream paused, biting his lip. "Why...do you keep hurting me?” The voice was sorrowful, near childish in its question.

“Why do I –” Hob closed his eyes, feeling the surge of guilt coursing through him. He shook his head in bewilderment. “Where’s this coming from, Dream?”

When his friend didn’t respond, he continued. “You know why it happened. In fact, we’ve gone over why a few times. I’m quite sure I warned you it would.” His voice took a stern note.

No guilt-tripping would work on him. Nope. “Not my fault you refuse to learn after the first time.”

Dream blinked teary eyes at him before lowering them down, clearly still upset.

Hob eyed him carefully. While his previous actions had been nothing but mischief, this time he could sense the honesty in Dream’s words.

Dream's chin trembled a moment, then stilled as he seemed to process Hob’s response. His gaze shifted from hurt and disbelief to tragic resignation. He gripped the blanket tightly and let out a quiet sniffle, this time a real one.

Hob’s guilt was ravaging, limitless in mass and volume. There it was again, that daunted expression that set off alarm bells in his head.

“Hey,” he said quietly. Leaning closer, Hob rubbed Dream’s arm reassuringly.

“You know me, Dream. You know I’d never do anything to you out of – of cruelty or malice. I didn’t enjoy doing it at all. I didn’t want to.”

Dream’s eyelashes fluttered. “Then why?” he asked in a hushed voice.

“You know why.”

“No, I mean,” Dream moved a little so he could make eye contact with Hob. “Why that? Every single time.” He spat out that like it was a dirty word. “We could have spoken – you could have just talked to me or – or yelled if you have to, I suppose –”

Hob sighed, rubbing his face. “Talking hasn’t worked though, has it?” he retorted firmly.

Dream dropped his gaze, still looking mulish. “Look, I didn’t set out with a plan or anything. It kind of just. Felt necessary. In the moment.” Hob rubbed his neck. “Each time.”

Dream scowled. “You mean to say you were unable to control your own actions?” Now, he sounded more angry than hurt. “Even though that’s precisely what you harmed me for multiple times. I expected better of you, Hob.” The voice was cool, condescending.

“Now, hang on –” Hob shook his head in bewilderment. He pointed a finger at Dream. “Don’t you go turning this around on me. I’m not the one who put himself in needless danger like an idiot, over and over again.” He raised an eyebrow at Dream. “Also, I didn’t ‘harm’ you. I spanked you.”

Dream blushed, looking away in embarrassment. “I see no difference,” he muttered.

“Oh, there’s a difference,” Hob said darkly, arms folded.

Dream squirmed in discomfort. “Be that as it may,” he retorted stubbornly. “I do not agree to it. I find it degrading and barbaric. I cannot continue remaining here if I am to expect – expect more.” He paled, reminded of Hob’s threat the other night.

Hob’s expression was pinched.

“Is that right?” he said stiffly. “Well, my liege, you are perfectly welcome to take leave of my humble abode.”

Dream stared.

“You would. Remove me from your home. Over not abusing me?” his voice was strangled.

Hob rolled his eyes at the theatrical choice of words.

“As I’ve said countless times, Dream, either you stop trying to get yourself hurt or killed, or you can ‘expect more.’ Frankly, I’ve run out of options on how else to make you listen.” He rubbed his face. “You’re free to leave if you expect no consequences for your actions. Especially after what you pulled at the dinner party.” His voice went dark. “We’ll be addressing that again later today.”

Dream blanched. He looked down and fiddled with a loose blanket thread, blinking away tears.

After a moment, he spoke, still looking down.

“I did not think you would be so cruel,” Dream whispered in a crushed voice.

Hob sighed deeply, eyes softening at the shrunken figure. He resisted the urge to scoop Dream up into his arms. Instead, he pivoted in place until he was sitting cross-legged opposite Dream, right knee touching the other’s outstretched leg.

“Dream, look at me.”

Dream did not raise his head. His fingers continued twisting the thread, shaking slightly. Hob put a warm hand on top to still the movement.

“Dream,” he said gently. “I don’t think...you understand how terrifying the past few days have been for me. For all of us. How –" he swallowed, recalling the torture of not knowing, not wanting to hope too much. "How we were preparing to lose you. To bury you. And to mourn you, because we didn't expect to find another way.”

His own voice was hushed now, shaking, eyes tearing up at the memory. “It’s a miracle it worked out. I didn’t think –” he wiped away a trailing tear. “If I could give myself instead –.”

Hob took a deep breath to steady himself.

“When..." He wiped away another tear. "When I brought you here, I didn’t think it would lead to this.”

Dream cringed, and Hob shook his head, squeezing the hand in his. “To us, I mean. To – care. So deeply, after so long.” Tears were now falling freely over his face. He sniffled. “Stubborn pain in the arse though you are,” he chuckled wetly. “I can’t lose you, Dream. I can’t –”

He felt a cool hand touch his face and looked up. Dream was leaning forward, studying him, his expression softer than Hob had ever seen. His eyes were like starlight, galaxies erupting with the infinite mass of inhuman emotions.

Hob, for lack of response, reached up to grip the wrist, holding on tightly. He sniffled again, shook his head, and released a shaky laugh. “Sorry, I –”

“Hob,” Dream’s voice was hushed.

In the silence, Hob heard his breath shudder. He felt light fingers wrap gently around his face and neck, swiping a rolling tear away. Tugging him forward slowly, hesitantly, as though uncertain if Hob would allow it.

Hob did.

He drew close, feeling Dream’s breath against his face. His own heart thrummed wildly in his chest.

Both paused for a moment, glancing at each other like scared schoolchildren. Moving glacially for what they truly wanted, as though terrified that this, too, could be taken away.

At last, Dream’s jaw set, his eyes meeting Hob's steadily.

At last, at long last, Dream kissed him.

+++

Chapter Text

They never got around to that promised punishment later that day. Hob had every intention of keeping his word and showing Dream he was firm on his stance but – well.

Once that kiss happened, one thing led to another and, really, who was he to ruin a fantastic turn of events?

Besides. Once their clothes were off, it didn’t seem fair to abuse certain parts of his Stranger’s anatomy any more than necessary.

Not that Dream didn’t fuss the entire time.

Smirking at the memory, Hob drew closer to Dream, who was already wrapped around him like an octopus. Dream tugged him even closer, stubborn and demanding even in slumber. His hair was now covering half of Hob’s face.

Manfully trying to not inhale a mouthful of Endless hair, Hob chuckled at Dream’s unconscious manhandling.

It had been a long time coming. A very long time.

Squeezing the cool body around him, Hob pressed his lips to the raven hair.

+

“The Endless do not require human victuals as bathing and washing,” Dream stated, arms folded and brow furrowed in skepticism as he watched Hob pour another round of liquid into the full tub. “We need only will it for it to be so.” He eyed the tub warily, now overflowing with bubbles.

“Indulge me, then,” Hob responded, unruffled. “I’ll feel better knowing you’re 100% spotless by my mundane human standards.”

“You weren’t complaining before,” Dream countered.

“Yeah, well, who am I to deny myself the pleasure of a post-coital Endless cuddle?”

Dream blushed and looked away, tugging Hob’s loose button-down tightly around himself.

Smirking, Hob reached over to turn off the tap, feeling pleased at the end result. The bathroom was warm, but not sweltering, with low music playing in the background. He’d already showered earlier, but…the temptation to join Dream in those frothy bubbles was strong. But he didn’t want to ask for too much just yet.  

Not with Mr. Prude all scrunched up in the corner.

“There, all set.” Satisfied, Hob rose up and turned to Dream. “Guess I’ll take my leave, then.”

Dream’s mouth twitched unhappily, but he nodded once, pulling away from the wall to reluctantly walk over. His mouth was pursed, eyes studying the water as though determining its trustworthiness.

“Are you pouting at the water?” Hob shook his head fondly. “Like a cat, you are. Just get in. You’ll feel wonderful, I promise.” Because really, the main reason he’d suggested it in the first place was to help his friend relax and learn to enjoy the little things. And what better self-care than a bubble bath?

Dream scowled at him. Hob waggled his eyebrows as if daring him.

With a set face, Dream tugged off Hob’s shirt, his lithe body stretching gracefully as he carefully folded it and set it aside. He was wearing dark boxer-briefs, which he did not bother taking off, tentatively dipping a foot in to test the temperature before sliding the rest of the way in. Bubbles frothed around the sides of the tub, glinting against the bathroom lighting to create an iridescent effect. Hob tilted his head in amusement as he watched Dream settle in warily, leaning on the soft backrest Hob had set in place. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

“Well?” Hob said hopefully, feeling like a child showing off his newest toy.

Dream took another breath in, settled in more comfortably.

“It. Will suffice,” he replied formally, eyes still closed.

Hob snorted. That was Dream-speak for, ‘Thank you Hob, I am eternally grateful and forever in your debt for the luxuries you bestow upon me so generously.’

Or at least, Hob liked to think so.

“You sure you want to keep your boxers on?” he asked conversationally, moving around the bathroom to make sure he’d left everything – towels, spare bath brush, the lot – “Make sure you don’t fall asleep in there,” he said, chortling to himself. “I’d rather not test your lung capacity.” He started to head out, turned to look again.

Oh, what a sight it was. The King of Nightmares, dark and broody, now covered head to toe in bubbles. Only his pale, frowning face stuck out, surrounding soapy bubbles bobbing in his hair.

With a mischievous look, Hob quietly slipped out his cell phone from his pocket, switching to camera mode and snapping a photo of the scene.

Dream’s eyes opened at the clicking sound. Steely eyes glared at Hob.

Hob stuck his tongue out.

Dream’s wet boxers smacked him straight in the face.

+

With a newly-scrubbed face and a spring in his step, Hob whistled over to his sitting room, sinking into the worn armchair with a grateful sigh.

Truth be told, he’d also suggested a bath so he could get a moment alone, away from prying eyes and suspicious expressions. He needed to think.

About that morning, and all it had entailed.

Not that he was regretting it. Not at all. He’d held back long enough.

They both had. Admittedly more due to their own blindness than anything else.

Still, Hob thought defensively. It wasn’t exactly easy to determine your feelings for a man you only met once every hundred years.

Still. Hob had relished the warmth of him, the softness a contrast to the wiry form, the gentility of those hands, careful not to ask for too much, to take more than it deserved.

But how it deserved, Hob thought, heart twisting at the memory of those uncertain glances when Dream thought he wasn’t looking, as though waiting for Hob to put a stop to it.

Hob snorted. Right. Well. If they wanted to continue down this path, Dream would learn soon enough that Hob had no compulsion to put a stop to any such indulgences. A true hedonist, he was, and proud of it.

If they wanted to continue. If this was not a one-time event. They hadn’t talked about it, but neither had Dream drawn away from him. Hob liked to think that was a positive sign.

He glanced toward the bathroom door. It had been some time since he’d left Dream in there. The water may as well be cold by now. And an alone Dream was wont to brooding, overthinking, being swallowed by his own demons. He wondered if he was being overprotective. Maybe.

With caution, Hob rose up and strode over to the bathroom door. He knocked once.

“Dream?” he asked tentatively. He got no response. He knocked again. “Dream,” he said, louder this time. Again, no response. Frowning, he said loudly, “Dream, I’m coming in,” and wrenched the door open.

He saw the mass of bubbles still bobbing on the water, but couldn’t spot a head of dark hair among them. Confused, he looked around, before striding over to the Dream-less bathtub. Impulsively, he peeked at the water.

Dream was lying at the bottom of the tub, eyes closed, hair flowing, body still and pale as death.

“Dream!” Hob cried out, reaching down and yanking the man up by the arms. “Oh my God, Dream –”

Dream’s face scrunched up, eyes blinking open against the trailing water from his hair, which was now plastered against his face. He took a gulping breath, then coughed, sputtering out swallowed bathwater.

“Thank the lord,” Hob grasped Dream’s face with one hand, pushing away the wet strands from his eyes. “Dream, are you alright?”

Breathing deeply, Dream squinted at Hob, looking utterly confused.

“Why would I not be?” He glanced around, trying to gather his bearings and understand what had just happened. “Why…” he looked at Hob, brow furrowed. “Why are you here? Why did you pull me out of the water?”

“Why –” Hob was lost for words. He waved a hand at the surroundings, as though stating the obvious. “Why would I pull you out? Dream, were you in there on purpose? What if you drowned?” he tried not to sound angry, but couldn’t help himself.

Dream drew into himself defensively. “I cannot drown,” he answered loftily, tugging himself out of Hob’s hold. He leaned back against the tub, looking distracted. “As we just determined.”

“Right, right, just scare me half to death – wait, what do you mean ‘we just determined?’”

Dream’s eyes darted away, suddenly fascinated by the shampoo bottle beside him.

“Dream.” Hob eyed his friend suspiciously. “Don’t tell me you were stupid enough to try and test your Endless abilities just now. Tell me you weren’t stupid enough to practice not-drowning. For several minutes.”

Dream blinked wet eyelashes at him.

“How else am I to know?” he asked, a touch defensive.

“How else…” Hob trailed off, gaping at Dream in shock. “How else? How about not trying it at all! You’re not exactly 100% yet –”

“Hob,” Dream’s voice was low, irritated. He rolled his eyes at Hob. “I am no fool. I have cause for my decisions, and I need not parse each of them out for your approval before acting upon them.” He was back to sullen Dream, unimpressed at such human tendencies as fearing a friend had drowned.

“Yes, well, your damned decision-making is what gets you into trouble in the first place,” Hob snarked. Dream scowled. Next thing Hob knew, he was drenched in cool water, and what had missed him splattered around the bathroom floor, soaking into the bath mat. Sputtering, Hob pushed wet hair away from his face and glared at the mutinous Dream. He took a deep breath. “See, normally I’d find that funny but –” another wave hit him in the face, clearly a use of Endless powers given the way it caused the nearby shampoo and wash bottles to be pushed away and splatter around them.

“Alright, enough Dream.” Hob stood up, wiping his face and glaring down. “You’ve made your point. Messed up the loo in the process. Expect you to clean this up once you’re dressed, obviously.” He waved an irritated hand for Dream to get up. Reaching over for the thick towel, he held it up towards his friend. “Come on, its all cold now anyway.”

“No.” Hob arched an eyebrow in surprise. Dream stared stubbornly back, arms folded, somehow looking ethereal with glowing wet skin and dark, wet hair artfully set.

“No?”

“No.”

“Fine. Stay in the cold water. What do I care.” Hob shrugged indifferently, trying to reign in his temper. Both men looked at each other challengingly.

It was after a long three minutes of stubborn face-off that Dream shivered despite himself.

Hob held out the towel triumphantly.

Scowling, face flushed, Dream grabbed it and defeatedly rose up. After a few spiteful dabs, he wrapped the towel around his waist, face mutinous and refusing to meet Hob’s eyes. Hob rolled his eyes internally. Always the theatrics with this one. He leaned over to hold Dream’s arm and help him out of the tub.

Dream yanked himself away as if burned. “Let go of me,” he snapped. Hob raised an eyebrow.

“Pardon?”

“I am no invalid for you to totter behind,” Dream snapped back, clutching the towel and distractedly stepping out. Except he didn’t. in his distraction, he stepped onto the wet floor instead of the bath mat, and skidded a moment, grabbing frantically at the wet wall to no avail as his grip was slippery there too, and he found himself preparing for a faceplant against the linoleum floor. Except that his friend caught him just in time, steadying him in place as he gathered his bearings.

Feeling humiliated, Dream couldn’t help himself. He pushed against Hob, Hob who was technically the only thing holding him in place against the wet floor, and snarled. “I said to let go of me, you overzealous –”

He let out a squeak of surprise as Hob, in fact, did let go. Momentarily, and as Dream tottered in place, Hob moved around him to take a seat on the tiled space enclosing the tub, where previously his array of shampoo bottles had stood, and yanked his friend across his lap.

“Wha –” Dream had a second of peace to stare at the wet tiled floor before he jumped in surprised pain. “Hob, no!” In dismay, he tried to lever himself up but was instantly pressed down against Hob’s soaked trousers. “Please!”

A muted thwap filled the air as if to silence him. While the towel was decent protection, Dream still felt the ache of last night’s punishment reemerge across his behind and thighs. He felt Hob reaching behind for something and tried to scramble for purchase, to little effect. Hob’s grip was like stone against him.

Suddenly, something bitingly sharp struck his behind. Dream yelped, more in surprise than pain, bewildered by this change. Peering back, his eyes widened in horror as he saw the wooden bath brush in Hob’s hand launch its way down.

Thwap.

“Ah!” Dream let out a strangled cry, indicating shock and extreme offense at Hob’s choice of weapon. How dare he –

Thwap. Thwap. Thwap.

Dream writhed against Hob’s hold as the brush struck its target successfully.

“This is why it’s impossible to leave you alone,” Hob growled, tugging Dream back into place and landing another sharp smack against his thigh, making him cry out. “You go too far inside your head and go back to making idiot decisions again.” He shook his head in frustration.

“No!” Dream shook his head at the accusation, cringing at the next strike. “Stop!”

“Oh, I’ll stop,” Hob assured him, and then to Dream’s horror, he felt a tug and his towel was unraveled, the air chilly against bare skin, leaving his behind completely at Hob’s mercy. “After I’ve delivered your promised spanking, of course.”

Dream had little time to respond before the brush slammed against bare, damp skin.

It was a thousand paper cuts at once; it was a hand held up to a flame too long; it was pure, horrific torture.

Dream wouldn’t stand for it.

“HOB!” he shrieked, grabbing at Hob’s leg and trying to pull himself away frantically. “Enough of this!”

This was no way to treat someone who had partook in what they did that morning. Surely Hob must realize that.

“You would think,” Hob said sharply, striking once again and making Dream yelp, “that after last night you’d maybe put more effort into avoiding landing into this position so fast.” He smacked the brush down again.

Letting out a strangled cry, Dream felt himself getting heated at the unjust accusation. “Did you not already intend to do this in the first place?” he snapped back. “As part of your ‘promise,’ which I never agreed to – ah!”

“The point,” Hob said hastily, realizing the truth in Dream’s words. “Is that you didn’t make it any better by being so crabby and rude just now.” He slammed the brush down, cutting off Dream’s defense as his wiggling prisoner released a pained yelp instead. “Perhaps don’t anger the executioner next time.” Smack.

“This feels. Like an execution,” Dream said with gritted teeth, trying to control his roiling emotions. How could this be the same man who treated him so gently, so lovingly, that morning, making sure to not overstep his bounds, watchful for any sign of discomfort from Dream’s part. “I thought – this morning –” his voice shook, blinking back tears, releasing another wretched cry as the brush slammed against his thighs.

“You thought I’d grant you a reprieve, that it?” Hob slammed the brush again. “Well, try again.” Smack.

“I thought – you cared –”

“Oh I care.” Smack. “I care so much it breaks my heart to think of the alternate ending to all this.” Pausing, letting Dream catch his breath, he clutched the wiggling form over his lap protectively. “I care enough to make sure you stop making stupid choices to hurt yourself.” Smack. “If you want to talk, I’m here to listen. If you want to hide, to stay, my home is yours.” Smack. “But what I will not stand is seeing my friend – my – seeing you hang yourself while I do nothing about it.” His voice shook, but his grip on Dream and the brush tightened. “Not if I can stop it.”

“And you think thrashing someone is the way to save them?” Dream snarled, hissing as the brush left its mark against his skin repeatedly. “I would think by the 21^st century you would have adapted to less medieval ways, Hob.”

Hob released an irritated smack against his sit spots, making him howl. Throwing a desperate hand back, Dream let out a choked ‘ah!’ of surprise when he felt the brush land, not painfully, but sternly wrap against his palm to move. Clenching his hand in self-pity, Dream sniffled, tears running freely.

“I’ve lived a long life, Dream.” Hob responded, launching the brush down again. “And what I’ve learned is there are a number of ways to get through to an idiot friend, and if you find something that works, you stick with it.” Smack. “So, buckle up.” He gripped Dream tightly, tilting him forward.

Heaving in gulping breaths, Dream cried out when the brush landed again, again, again, resetting the ache in already sore skin. It felt as though time had stopped, stopped specifically so Dream may endure the never-ending punishment on Hob’s knees, where all he knew was pain, guilt, frustration, more pain.

At the next smack, he let out a wail, face wet with tears. His body collapsed against Hob’s, exhausted from fighting to free itself. His whole behind was on fire. He was sure of it. Hob was clearly looking to render him disabled, at this point.

“Ah – Hob, please, enough –” Dream whimpered, hand reaching to grasp the bare sliver of Hob’s ankle, soft, pleading. “I am sorry, truly, I shouldn’t have spoken or acted as I did and – ah, ow – I’m so sorry, Hob, please.” The strikes at this point had dwindled into taps, and he could feel Hob’s own weariness struggling with a stubborn will to ensure he got his message through. Jerking helplessly against the pain, Dream tried to speak but his voice was hoarse from crying. “Please stop, Hob,” he whispered instead, burying his face into the side of Hob’s leg that he could reach, desperate for comfort.

At this, the brush let up, and with a loud clatter made its conclusion known. Both he and Hob breathed heavily, Dream’s choking sobs echoing in the washroom. He felt a warm hand on his neck, rub his back, between his shoulders as he let loose his anguish. He felt a hand, warm and gentle, now also provide the severely punished anatomy with some reprieve, rubbing away the sting it had caused.

Blinded with tears, Dream did not realize when his towel was reset, when he was pulled up and into Hob’s arms, not until a few minutes later, when he heard Hob whispering soothing words in his ear, warm arms around him, his own clutching Hob so tightly it must have hurt the man, who said nothing of it.

“I’m sorry, Hob,” he whispered again, realizing he must sound like a broken tune on repeat at this point. Why should Hob believe him, when he had no reason to? When Dream never gave him a reason, only cause for pain?

Suddenly fearful, Dream clutched Hob tighter, buried his face in the man’s neck.

And if Hob continued cuddling him for several minutes after, he did not complain. And if Hob, realizing Dream was going nowhere, instead lifted him bridal style to take back to bed, he did not complain.

It was when Hob lay him down, encouraged him to let go just a tad so Hob could bring Dream’s clothes, when he was resettled and back in bed under the covers and again pressed against the man, that Dream chose to voice his complaint.

“That was terrible.” Mumbled into the other man’s shirt.

Hob smiled lightly, rubbing a hand against his back. He said nothing, but pressed a hand behind Dream’s head, drew him close and kissed the top of his damp hair. He pressed it against himself, grateful as always for the relief of knowing Dream was still there.

Still alive.

A minute later.

“I did not think you would do it,” Dream tentatively admitted, eyes averting their gaze.

Hob pressed another kiss to the man’s temple. “I keep my promises.” No need to share with Dream that he was originally open to giving him a night off. Let him think Hob was actually more stern than sap.

Dream was, of course, pouting into Hob’s shirt. Waiting, naturally, for more sympathy for his injured form and ego. Hob did not say anything else.

“I may never sit again,” Dream announced dramatically.

Hob let out a burst of laughter, tired mirth winning out against any residual frustration.

Pulling Dream in for a kiss, he held him close.

“Then let me carry you, my liege.”

+++

Chapter Text

Dream gazed in dismay at the chaos before him.

It was not that he chose to be remiss in his duties. Not at all.

Some might even say he was overextending himself.

Overexerting, well beyond his function.

And was it not his own friends, his own family, that had urged him to rest?

Was it not –

“Quit staring and start cleaning,” a voice called from behind him.

Scowling, Dream turned away from the bathroom to glare at Hob, who was watching him, arms folded, highly amused but clearly trying to hide it, if biting the inside of his cheek was any indication.

“Come on, Dream,” Hob said, voice wavering between stern and entertained. “You made the mess; you clean it up. That was the deal.”

Dream’s brow furrowed as he leaned the mop against the door. “I never agreed to any such deal.”

“Well, ta,” Hob snorted. “That’s part of the price that comes with living here.”

Dream felt this was rather unreasonable.

“It is not within my function –” he began.

“Your function is to clean the bloody mess that you made in the first place, you spoilt princeling,” Hob interrupted. “Now are you going to start – or do I need to impress my point more clearly?” He raised a meaningful eyebrow.

Cruel and unnecessary. He had hardly been able to move that morning as it was, such was the devastation wrought upon his physical form. Not that Hob cared.

But Dream did not pout.

No. Instead, he returned the look with a cool, withering expression – a proud, regal expression fit for a king, a ruler of the unconscious –

“You can sulk as you work. Chop, chop.”

Dream pouted.

Grabbing the mop with less-than-regal fervor, he slouched inside, glaring banefully at the scattered bottles on the floor. Hissing as he bent over, he picked up two of the fallen products and returned them, wincing, to their rightful place.

“I still don’t see why the floor needs mopping,” Dream groused, picking up the next. “It has gone dry since last night. If anything, it looks cleaner. I think I may have done you a favor.”

“Of course, because your intentions were clearly well-meaning. Dream, it’s old bathwater. Call me particular, but I’d rather not walk all over that.”

“…particular.”

“Oh, ha ha. Get this sorted. I’m making us lunch.” With that, footsteps retreated to the kitchen.

Glancing back, Dream assured himself he was alone before eyeing the remaining mess. In his temper he’d even managed to knock down the dustbin, the contents of which now littered one corner.

Pursing his lips, Dream thought to himself. He had an idea.

+

Hob wandered in ten minutes later to a surprising sight.

The bathroom was now spotless. Even cleaner than before, as Dream had put it – except now it was true. The floor was gleaming, the various bottles and products nestled artfully around them, even the mirror was sparkling. Beside the bathtub lay fresh towels, two folded snugly with a third on top of them, shaped like a swan.

Dream was leaning against the mop, grip tight, huffing heavily but trying to hide it.

Hob arched an eyebrow. Dream bit his lip, quelling the breathing with a tight smile directed at him.

“Dream. Tell me you didn’t use your powers to get the job done faster.”

Dream’s smile faded.

“Of course, you did.” Hob rubbed his eyes tiredly. “Dream, you weren’t supposed to –”

“You never said I could not use my powers.”

Damn it. He had him there.

Hob squinted at Dream, who returned the gaze with an expression of complete innocence. Hob shook his head.

“And whose dreams are you now able to access to be able to pull that off?” he jerked a thumb at the swan towel.

Dream blinked, knowing he’d been caught. “Yours.” He shuffled uncomfortably.

Damn his own love for creative and unnecessary luxury.

+

“I suppose if we are to find his tools, we can’t really ask the Fates for help,” muttered Despair, trailing her face with her bloody hook. “Not after what happened.”

Desire groaned. “I suppose not. As our siblings would say, it would be ‘in bad taste.’

They both sniggered.

They had all agreed to do their collective searching and reconvene in Death’s home to share their progress. Desire and Despair, however, had gotten distracted by the family photos plastered on Death’s wall. In one before them, the siblings had been wrangled to sit down for the rare portrait of them all. Portrait, as Destruction had departed well before the invention of cameras.

In fact, a few aged portraits hung around amid the photos from different eras, eras where Death would pop in to each of their lives, sometimes with another in tow, and sneakily (or so she thought) snapped a few photos when they weren’t looking. The portraits were another affair, and rare in how they required each of them to sit for a few minutes while the dream painter Dream had reluctantly created would quickly do their work.

But the family portrait – absent of parents, of course – was the best preserved, gleaming glass and oak frame trapping it in time and place. Their attires were different then, though still very much themselves – Destiny, as always, in his aged cloak and chains; Death in varying shades of dark across her dress, bodice, and hat, a stark rebellion against the popular pastel trends of the time; Dream, stuffy but prudishly stylish as always, with a white linen shirt, dark waistcoat, satin knee breeches, his hair long and tied in a bow – probably the last time he ever brushed it, Desire thought disparagingly.

Destruction was similarly dressed, though his pale blue attire already appeared worn from the wear and tear the owner’s work exposed them to; Desire had opted for a stylish women’s bonnet and pastel gown – corset tightly cinched, of course, and sultry expression always portrait-ready – and Despair wore what looked like a peasant woman’s dress, brown and practical; she looked like she was trying to hide behind Desire. Delirium, appearing as a child beside them, had blonde locks here tied loosely with colorful bows and a purple bonnet and dress to match, looking as uneasy but jumpy as any human child of that age.

Desire looked inquisitively at the two middle siblings beside them. Destruction, normally jolly and friendly, had only a tired smile to give, hand loosely hanging on Dream’s shoulder, as though already slipping away. Dream’s face was unfathomable, his posture forever proper to the point of painful, shoulders tight and drawn back, like he was pulling away from Destruction’s grasp when this was painted.

Perhaps they were reading too much into this. Perhaps it was just a normal portrait, and Destruction was tired from trying to tug Dream into the photo, the posh git stiff in his efforts to keep to himself.

As always.

“Any luck yet?”

The twins turned to face their sister, who was watching them curiously, arms folded.

“No,” Desire grinned widely. “But I won’t say no to a glass of gin and tonic.”

Death rolled her eyes and walked away, back to the others gathered at her smaller, cramped dining table.

“My dear sister,” Desire crooned, sauntering in with Despair behind them. “How charming your…home, is. A true testament to your love of humans.” They eyed the small table with distaste.

Death smiled back sweetly. “Thanks, Desire. I do my best to remind myself of my function without resorting to narcissism.”

Desire smirked, taking a seat. “But narcissism is the very nectar of my being.” Despair sat beside them, twisting their hook between their fingers.

“Let us begin,” Destiny rumbled. He began rising from his seat ominously, then paused, turning sightless eyes toward Death. “Ah. I presumed –”

“You’re more than welcome to play host, dear brother,” Death responded carelessly, resting against her seat. “You do love it so.” Her lips twitched.

Destiny’s mouth pursed, but he turned back to the others. “Now. I believe we were to detail our efforts and the fruit they bore.”

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a leather pouch and dropped it on the table.

“Delirium was able to recover the sand,” he said. Delirium flushed, biting her nail nervously.

Despair looked at them both. “Then why is she not the one in possession of our brother’s toys?”

Delirium’s eyes widened when they all turned to her. Looking around, she began awkwardly, “Well – it was – it makes you fuzzy – the warthogs turn into rabbits and I see our pa –”

She stopped.

“Dream’s pouch of sand is powerful,” Destiny rumbled. “It is a part of his essence. It’s possession turned its mortal owner mad, and dead.” The others stared. “Delirium did not enjoy its effects either.”

Delirium flushed again. The others eyed the bag.

“So why do you keep it?” Despair asked.

Destiny turned to them. “I am formed of matter before Dream’s time; it holds steadfast against any effects the sand may have on the rest of you," he revealed proudly.

“But for how long, brother?” Desire asked, a sly tilt to their head. “How long until it warps your mind and entraps you in an endless series of alternate endings, well beyond your scripture?”

A tense pause filled the room.

“It will not,” Destiny answered, warning in his voice.

Desire leaned back into their seat, scowling.

Destiny turned to the others. “As for the rest.” He paused.

The siblings eyed each other. Were they supposed to speak?

After a moment, Death began. “Well, I found –”

“You were unsuccessful in your attempts at recovery of the ruby. I continue to seek what my script foretells. Desire and Despair have located the helm but fear the wrath of Lucifer Morningstar, who’s Duke has it in his possession. They will not proceed willingly until we are set to join them.”

Everyone gaped at Destiny, who looked pompous and thoroughly pleased with himself.

“Are you sure you don’t want to have this entire conversation by yourself, then, Destiny?” Death said dryly. “Seeing as you already know what we’ve found out and where.”

Destiny frowned. “That would be irrational behavior befitting a madman, my sister. Besides, you are the one who demanded we work in unison.”

“I was only jok – never mind.” Death turned to the twins. “So, it sounds like we’re taking a trip to hell.”

Their eyes widened.

“Tell me what you know.”

+

“Look, Dream, ultimately it’s going to happen whether you like it or not, so I don’t know why you keep trying to fight me.”

Dream scowled, drawing himself in on Hob’s bed. He had yet to go back to his own room.

But Hob had no complaints.

No complaints except right now, where yet again, he was faced with a sulking thunderstorm of an Eldritch.

“I don’t agree to it.”

Hob sighed, rubbing his face. He didn’t want to do it either.

“Then tell me how else I’m supposed to knock some common sense into you?”

Dream glowered. “You are not.”

“Well, apologies my liege. But that’s part of the package of having someone care for you.”

“Friends don’t do this to each other,” Dream pointed out.

Hob raised an eyebrow. “Depends on who you ask, honestly.” He smirked, remembering the debauchery of the 1920s and ‘60s.

“Besides,” he added, keeping his voice casual. “We’re not just friends anymore, are we?”

Dream blinked. Hob held his breath, waiting.

“No.”

Hob exhaled, feeling his nerves settle. “No, we’re not,” he agreed, feeling more confident than before. “And when the people we care about –”

“I am no human.”         

Hob rolled his eyes. “When the emotionally-stunted Endless we care about –” at this, Dream scowled, “put themselves in danger, and when talking and pleading haven’t worked – well. You put it together.” He sighed. They had gone over this repeatedly.

Whatever he needed.

Hob trudged along. “I gave you the option before. I’m telling you again. You are free to leave. I won’t stop you. Only –” he bit his lip. Only, he wouldn’t want it; not at all.

Dream glared. “You hardly give me choice if my only option is to suffer your torment, or leave despite my condition.” Or leave you.

Hob snorted. “Very convenient, these moments you remember your condition.” Dream flushed.

“Dream,” Hob hesitated. “Dream, I don’t want you to leave. I would rather you stay.” Forever.

Dream eyed him. “Then why are you forcing me to go?”

“No one’s forcing you.”

“At risk of assault –”

“Saints help me,” Hob rubbed his face. “You do realize you could just stop constantly risking your neck?” He took a seat next to Dream, keeping his voice gentle. “Dream…I know you’re not doing it to bother me. I know you’re looking for - for a way out.”

Dream stiffened, looking pale.

Hob soldiered on. “I know, and I want to help you. Because I – I can’t lose you. Call me selfish, but I can’t.”

After a moment, Dream spoke softly.

“You do help me.”

Hob’s heart fluttered.

“I am here because you do help me. Help me forget. Help me remember.”

“I’m. I’m glad, Dream.” Hob rubbed his glistening eyes. “I am but – its not enough, is it? If you keep going out, keep doing these things –”

“I do not always mean to. ‘Risk my neck,’ as you say.” Dream blushed at his admission. “At times it was quite the opposite. I could…feel, the warmth of your home, the warmth of you, and it eased me. I was looking for reasons to stay.”

Now it was Hob’s turn to blush.

“So why not just tell me? Why go out of your way when you know the consequences?”

Dream flushed, turning away.

Hob studied him. “Know what I think?” he asked. “I think you want the consequences.”

Dream shot him an icy glare. “You presume too much –”

“Or you need them, I suppose. And you know you need them. And perhaps that’s also why you don’t leave.”

“Hob, in what reality would I ever crave such pain?” Dream bit out.

“You stay here because it helps you. And because it means you don’t have to go back to your duties, your function, just yet.”

Dream blinked.

“You like it here, like that you don’t have to be in charge or constantly answer to thousands of dreamers and subjects. You get to relax and let someone else take charge.”

Hob wasn’t wrong, to be fair.

But Dream hadn’t thought of it himself, and that annoyed him.

“That is wholly untrue –”

“And that’s why you need it. It makes you answerable to someone, not the other way around.” Hob waved away Dream’s interruption. “You hate it, I believe you, and I hate it too. But deep down, Dream, I think you realize you need it. It keeps you from yourself and your self-destructive instincts.”

“And, Lord help me, it works on you. It does, don’t make that face. You know it does.”

Dream glared broodily at the blanket in front of him.

He didn’t argue back. But he would also never, ever, admit to Hob what he was slowly realizing himself.

In truth, he could choose to leave. And yes, a part of him stayed because he wanted to be with Hob. Another part of him needed it. The warmth and love given so freely; and the opportunity to let go, to have someone else to answer to, someone who offered a reprieve from himself and his darker desires.

Hob squeezed his neck. “Hope I didn’t overwhelm you with my wisdom.”

Dream rolled his eyes at him.

Hob smirked, then patted Dream’s knee. “Alright, let’s get this over with.”

Dream paled. “What?”

Hob squeezed his hand. “It’ll be easier for both of us if we could just get it out of the way.”

Dream drew back. “I’d rather you not do it at all.” The fire across his seat from yesterday’s troubles had yet to die down. “That will be ‘easier’ for the both of us.”

“Yes, but for how long? How long until you decide to give in to your impulses and – I don’t know, decide to jump off the roof?” Hob asked, then added hastily, “Don’t get any ideas.” Trying to appear confident, he said in a firm voice, “Dream.”

The other man twitched but he remained in place, eyes glowing as they watched his next move.

Hob looked him up and down. Dream wasn’t complying, but he wasn’t running away, either. He just couldn’t let go of his pride.

Slowly, Hob grasped Dream’s arm, not wanting to scare him. Dream’s eyes widened. He tugged loosely, trying to pull away, but not really fighting back.

Holding firm, Hob drew the other man over his knees before wrapping an arm across his back.

Dream squirmed, not wanting to give in too easily. He wriggled and pushed the ground with his feet, trying to rise up.

“Enough of that,” Hob said firmly, landing a sharp smack on the upturned behind. Dream jolted in place.

“W – wait,” he started desperately, feeling the old burn return. Hob ignored him, landed a second, third, continuing despite Dream’s squirming attempts to pull away.

Panting, Dream pushed against Hob. “Hob, I don’t –”

“That’s nice,” Hob interrupted, continuing to land strikes evenly across the bottom and thighs. “Consider this a warning that if you do push again, I’m going to take your hands behind your back.” He walloped the other man’s sit spots.

Dream jerked in place, eyes glistening as he pulled his hands back. While Hob hadn’t pulled off his pants or used a horrific object against him, he could still feel the burn quickly settling in, and each smack felt like pins and needles against an old ache.

“Ah,” Dream couldn’t stop himself. “Hob, you’ve – ah! – made your point.” He wriggled in place, trying to escape. “Very clearly, I promise you.” Another sharp smack fell against his sit spots.

“Ah – Hob!”

“Dream.” The man now targeted his thighs.

Dream turned away, tears rolling down his face, pouting at the unfairness of it all.

Hob paused to take a breath, still holding Dream tightly but giving him a break.

“You know why we’re here, Dream?” he rubbed the other’s heaving back.

Despite his position, Dream scoffed. “To indulge your depravity.”

Hob rolled his eyes and dropped a sharp smack on the sit spots, causing the other to flinch.

“Try again.”

Dream gritted his teeth. He would not.

A biting strike followed, making him cry out.

“Dream.”

Dream sniffled, trying to ignore the searing pain. “I hurt you. I – I risked myself.”

“You did,” Hob agreed, his hand repeatedly walloping the backside and thighs, indifferent to the throbbing pain it caused. “You basically had the Furies come down on you. The Furies, Dream. What were you thinking?” He shook his head, both at Dream and himself. “Never mind that, you weren’t thinking at all. “

Dream made an offended sound.

“Yeah, sure you were,” Hob responded, striking the heated behind sharply. “Point is, do it again and you’ll be here for a month.”

Like he’d ever actually go that far.

Dream shuddered, shaking his head in preemptive refusal of Hob’s kind offer.

Hob bit back a smile. Forever fighting, this one. He tilted him forward, ready to bring the punishment to an end. Ignoring Dream’s protests, he spanked the vulnerable sit spots rapidly. Dream wailed, legs kicking instinctively.

“Hob, it won’t happen again – ah, ow – Hob, stop.”

Miraculously, Hob stopped.

Dream sagged in relief. His heaving breaths eased as Hob stroked his back. Wiping his face with the back of his hand, Dream tried to rise up.

“There we go,” Hob helped him stand, holding him steady as his legs wobbled. Dream was looking down, still catching his breath.

“Oh, Dream,” Hob wrapped him into a hug. He was trembling, dizzy from his shift in position. His backside throbbed awfully, but in the back of his mind Dream realized Hob had gone easier on him this time.

Much easier.

Not that Dream would admit to it, of course. He shuffled in place, trying to lessen the burn.

“That was cruel,” he muttered into Hob’s shoulder. “You should have been a gaoler in the 1500s.”

Hob chuckled. “Nah, I’d rather reserve that just for you.” Tentatively, he drew Dream back.

The man’s hair was mussed, face tear-streaked and unconsciously pouting. But his breathing was steady, tears now gone. Hob smirked. “Call it the Dream special.”

Dream flushed. “No, thank you.”

Hob laughed. He tugged Dream back into a hug. “You took that pretty well,” he noted. “I didn’t get bruised up as much from your kicking and shoving.”

Dream’s pout deepened. “I do not believe in physical abuse,” he declared passionately.

Hob rolled his eyes. “Sure, you don’t. That’s why I’ve got a blue shin and bloody scratches all down my legs.” He pulled away, wrapping an arm around Dream’s shoulder and drawing him out the bedroom and towards the kitchen. “But I’m starting to think you’ve come to terms with your punishment.”

Dream stiffened. “What do you mean?”

Hob shrugged. “Just that you could have tried to run earlier, but you didn’t. Or fight as much. I think you’ve accepted that it helps you.”

Dream rolled his eyes. “I think you thrive off my misery.”

“Maybe,” Hob retorted. He jostled the other man, relieved the hard part of the day was over. “Anything you want to do? Eat? Watch?”

Dream shrugged, leaning against him. “Anything will suffice.”

Hob chucked, thinking through his favorite movies. His face brightened.

“Hey, did I ever introduce you to Star Wars?”

Seeing the manic gleam in Hob’s eyes, Dream paused.

“I don’t know if you should.”

“Oh, come on. We’ll start with the sequels, then the prequels, and then…”

+++

Chapter Text

Hob slurped the last of his coke, making a satisfied sound. He leaned against the other man on the couch.

“When you said you were thinking of fine cuisine, I did not think you meant this.”

Dream gestured at the various McDonald’s wrappings strewn across the coffee table.

Hob smirked. “‘You never said I could not use my powers,’” he quoted mockingly, shaking his drink at Dream. “Well, these are my special powers. Ordering ready-made, deliverable fast food.”

“Hob.”

“Why should you be the only one who gets to skip work?” Dream pursed his lips. “Besides I thought you should try it once. How do you like it?” Hob nodded at the nugget in Dream’s hands.

“It. Will suffice,” Dream responded stiffly. He tentatively dunked the nugget into an open container of ketchup and took a wary bite.

His eyes widened.

Before Hob could blink, he had guzzled down five more, emptying the container in under a minute. He rested against the couch, looking very much like the cat that ate the canary.

With sauce on the side of his mouth.

Hob couldn’t help himself. He leaned over and licked the sauce away before dropping a hungry kiss on the surprised Eldritch.

Dream’s lips tasted like salty, tangy softness.

A hand pressed against his face, gently pushing him away.

“Hob.”

Confused, Hob opened his eyes. Dream was watching him with a regretful, guarded expression on his face.

“What is it?” Hob asked.

“We…” Dream paused. “I believe there are some matters to be discussed before we…proceed further.”

Hob arched an eyebrow. “I’m listening.”

Dream gazed at him searchingly, as though trying to determine Hob’s mood. Hob gave him a reassuring smile in turn, hoping Dream couldn’t hear his heart thumping against his chest.

“I.” Dream bit his lip. “I do not want a…fourth round.”

Hob tilted his head. “Sorry?”

“I don’t –” Dream paused, now pink in the face. “I do not want to go through. It. Again. Today. Or any other day,” he added hurriedly.

Hob nodded slowly, a million thoughts rushing through his head. Why bring this up again, after yesterday’s discussion? Knowing Hob’s answer? And why now, at this moment?

He studied Dream, who made eye contact for a moment before faltering and turning away. He was shifting minutely in his seat, trying to find a comfortable position.

“…right,” Hob acknowledged, wondering what to say next.

Dream brightened with relief. “So, you concede then? I am glad of it, Hob.” He looked decidedly pleased with the easy win.

Or so he thought.

“Well,” Hob started in an amused tone, “No, Dream, that’s not the case.”

“…I don’t understand.”

“Dream, I didn’t say I agree with you. I was just…letting you know I’d heard you.”

His friend’s brow furrowed. “I…you still wish to cause me physical pain and injury?”

Hob rolled his eyes. “Really? We’ve been over your choice of words a few times now.”

Studying Dream’s woeful expression, Hob sighed and rose to sit across from Dream on the coffee table. Taking a cool hand between his own, he gently rubbed warmth into it, giving himself a moment and letting Dream know he could relax.

Dream still looked guarded and – there was no other word for it – betrayed.

One step forward, three steps back.

Hob took a deep breath. “Dream, I know you’re not a fan of our…approach. To your actions.”

The other man scoffed at the use of ‘our.’

Ignoring this, Hob continued, “But like I said yesterday, we do this so you don’t harm yourself. Something which you have yet to deny, probably because you know it’s true.”

Dream scowled.

“Look – you need someone to keep watch while you sleep? I’ll do it. You want to test whether or not we care? I’ll prove it. But I refuse to stand by and while you rush watch you risk your neck over some stupid impulsive decision or over hurt pride –”

“It is not –”

“It is and you know it. That fight with Desire? Dream,” Hob moved close, grasped Dream’s hands to get the other to look at him. He squeezed the hands gently, voice soft. “Dream, I know you’re struggling. I know, and I – I don’t know what exactly caused it, if it was the – if it was Roderick and whatever they did or –” his voice shook a little.

They had never really discussed what exactly went down when Dream was imprisoned. At least, not theorized what may have triggered his shift to not-100% Endless.

In the pause that followed, Dream’s eyes had turned away, several millennia of untold pain and grief etched across his face. He suddenly looked older, as ageless as his outer form failed to convey.

Older, and very, very tired.

“Dream,” Hob bit his lip. This conversation wasn’t going the way he’d intended. But may as well bite the bullet. He placed a hand on the side of Dream’s face, who did not move away.

No eye contact, though. No, he was going through the motions of burying whatever memory Hob had caused to waken, eyes wet and struggling to contain their tears.

One step at a time, Hob reminded himself. And sometimes, that meant repeating the motions of reassurance and support, over and over until it stuck.

Grasping his hand tightly, Hob soldiered on. “And – you know I’m here, to listen or – or to help you forget, whatever I can. But Dream, you don’t have to go it alone –”

A tear escaped and trailed down the pale cheek, onto Hob’s hand.

Hob gave into impulse and pulled a trembling Dream into his arms.

+

It took a few minutes to gather himself, but finally, Dream withdrew from Hob’s arms and rested against the couch .

Hob said nothing. He simply waited.

It was Dream’s decision whether to open up or not.

Biting his lip, the Endless wondered where to begin.

“I have,” he began in a hushed voice. He cleared his throat. “I have. Tried. To recover what is mine.”

A momentary pause. “But. Whatever curse Roderick cast on me that brought me into his hold. It took more than just my freedom. I felt…every day. The weakness. The binding spell drawing from me even as I lay there. It was not just to capture, but to consume.”

Hob shuddered.

Every day. Every day for well over a hundred years.

“When you found me, I was a shell of my former self. I had.” Dream flushed. “I no longer sought to be free. I did not believe it would happen.”

Hob remembered the gaunt figure that had lain crumpled inside the cage before him, slumping after rising but still, a look of fear in those starry eyes that it was all a lie; a shaking hand reaching out to touch the glass as if to assure itself this was real.

It broke his heart.

Sure, Hob had undergone some awful experiences himself – truly terrible. But not while cast deep underground, deprived of any dignity, every waking second. Not knowing light or air until they stepped out, at which point Dream had hissed at the touch of a breeze, limbs stiff and near skeletal and unable to cover his exposed face (for Hob had draped him in stolen clothing from the nearby captors, granting what little dignity he could under the circumstances). In a final attempt to protect himself before succumbing to unconsciousness, Dream had turned and buried his face in Hob’s neck.

“It has not been the same as before. Even now, as I return to myself again, it is as though I still lost something. And I. I do not know what there is to go back to. Or why.”

Dream stopped speaking. He had no intention of speaking so freely, so honestly. But with Hob, it was easier.

Everything was easier.

He looked up at the other man.

Hob’s eyes were wet.

Brow furrowed, Dream reached out and touched a falling tear.

“Hob.”

The man looked his way with glassy eyes.

Dream was not the comforter in the family. No one was, really, except their older sister (and on occasion, Destruction before his flight). And Hob rarely cried. The man was always emotionally open, yes, but most of the time his tears were attributed to tragic films, mirth at Dream’s confusion with the human world, and onions.

This was different.

Unsure what to do, Dream reached for the table, and lifted the item before Hob’s face.

“Would you. Like a nugget?”

Hob chortled in spite of himself. Wiping his eyes, he smiled at Dream’s awkward attempt at comfort. “C’mere, you.” He tugged Dream back into his arms.

“Never thought I’d be crying over McDonald’s,” Hob mumbled into Dream’s shoulder. ‘Guess there’s a first time for everything.”

A beat.

“I presume this means you do not want the nugget?”

Hob snorted.

“Only as I would not have you be in discomfort. I shall finish the remains to assist you.” With that, Hob felt Dream’s arm shift and sounds of satisfactory chewing of the last nugget.

Hob chuckled. “That’s alright Dream, don’t want you to get sick. I’ll finish my share.” He rubbed his wet eyes, feeling lighter. And heard suspicious rustling behind him.

“Dream, you’d better not be stealing my chips.”

The following munching was enough response.

Hob sighed, rubbing Dream’s back. He could have it, have it all. Whatever he wanted.

But Hob had to take a stand. For his pride.

“Fine, Dream. Eat my chips. But no chocolate sundae for you.”

Dream paused mid-crunch.

“We have chocolate sundae?”

+

Whatever he wanted, Hob reminded himself, watching Dream inhale the rest of their sundae. Theirs. That they had agreed to share.

He should know better by now.

He leaned against the kitchen counter, where Dream had headed directly for the freezer while Hob carried their used plates and McDonald’s wrappings over.

Hob had enjoyed one or two bites before Dream had taken the sundae back. The sundae which he was now graciously extending to Hob. Hob peered inside the container.

“There’s only a bite left. And you finished all the chocolate!”

Dream eyes glittered. “Does that mean you don’t want it?”

“No,” Hob snatched the container and spoon. “I want it.” He bit into the ice cream, scrunching his eyes as he felt brain-freeze take over.

Dream snickered.

Hob glared back, setting the empty container aside. “Bet you think I’d have been better off letting you have it.”

 Dream’s mouth twitched. His eyes looked hungry as he looked at Hob slowly, up and down.

“What?”

Dream moved close, slick as a panther. Hob felt his face heat up.

His Stranger raised a cool hand to Hob’s face. He leaned in, his breathing steady, actions self-assured.

Hob couldn’t move if he wanted to.

Dream licked away the lingering cream on the side of Hob’s mouth.

“I still can,” he murmured, pressing his lips against Hob’s.

+

“Are you sure about this?” Desire asked, eyeing their companion.

“Well, if it isn’t the old tart back with us,” the companion retorted, hefting up their skirt. “Thought we were ‘mortal scum’ for the likes of you?”

“You still are, precious.”

“Hmph. Always hoity-toity, this one. Are you sure we can’t leave ‘em behind, Lady Death?”

“Careful, mortal. I wouldn’t want to drive another husband away.”

“Ah, good riddance with that one. He was stealin’ me nan’s jewels, anyway.”

“Yes. I did love that amethyst ring. The ruby was a little tacky though. Reminded me of Dream.”

“It was you who took ’em! You hexed 'im to do your bidding!”

“Please, I don’t hex –”

“Alright, enough.” Death glared at both the figures before her. “Desire, will you stop badgering our only available source to the underworld?”

“How is she our only available source? She’s mad!”

“Aye, that I am,” Mad Hettie retorted, huffing proudly. “But the old goat owes me a favor after I saved him from his reaps.”

“His…?”

“They turned on him halfway across the river. I was by the Styx for our annual chess match. Them souls attacked the goat the moment he turned his back on ‘em. Lucky I had my cane with me.” She tapped the ground with her walking stick proudly.

“…I don’t know where to start. Annual che –”

“They play chess annually, she saved the Reaper from malignant souls, he’ll return the favor by carrying us across. Come on, Desire, we’re wasting time. Lead on, Hettie.”

“A pleasure, Lady Death, always a pleasure for you and Lord Morpheus. Now,” she rapped her cane against the ivy-covered boulder on the side of the cliff.

Beside them, thunderous waves roared across the ocean in the dead of night. After a moment, the boulder split apart, moss and ivy falling in the jagged opening that would lead them to the underworld.

“Hang on – how do you get here anyway? There’s no way down. And you’re old. Decrepit, really.”

“I’ve got my ways, I ‘ave. Still younger than you. Look it, too. Right, in you go.”

“You dare –”

“Desire, please –”

+

Day four.

Hob took a deep breath as the scalding hot water cascaded over him, washing away the lingering soap and fragrant oils off his form.

Many lifetimes had passed – many wild, luxurious, fit-for-a-king nights wining and dining with the era’s finest families or merchants’ daughters before tumbling into scented silken sheets.

But he could still appreciate the beauty of a hearty meal. A fully belly. A place to rest his head. A place to call his own. And of course, hot showers.

He loved them.

It helped clear his head, for one. And he had a lot to think through just then.

The two men had enjoyed themselves thoroughly the previous day – Dream occasionally noting that they’d have a grander time still if he wasn’t so sore from Hob’s cruel ministrations – before Hob remembered he had a job and leaped to his feet, rushing to prepare endless notes for the week ahead.

Mondays were the worst.

That Monday, though, had slinked by calmly. For one thing, he had early morning sessions on Mondays that he could wrap up well before Dream arose. For another, it was raining outside. The pattering raindrops against the windows were occasionally interrupted by the sound of rumbling thunder.

This called for a day in.

“We’ve been inside for two days and nights, Hob,” Dream groused, sleepy eyes squinting at him from under his hair. His head rested on the counter on folded arms, glowing eyes watching as Hob rummaged around for teabags. “Surely a little rain is not a deterrent.”

A loud clap of thunder responded on Hob’s behalf. The rain began pelting the windows. Hob quirked an eyebrow at his friend, who was now glaring at the sky in betrayal.

“Yeah, I think I’ll pass, Dream,” he drawled, setting the kettle to boil. Looking around, he brightened. “This calls for the fireplace.” He strolled over to add new logs in.

“You surprise me, Hob,” Dream said casually from behind him. “For a former knight and soldier, I did not think you would perceive rainfall as a threat.”

Hob stood up in front of the flickering fireplace, turning to fold his arms at Dream. “I know what you’re doing,” he accused, squinting suspiciously at his friend. “It’s not going to work.”

Dream blinked, his expression angelic.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re the pinnacle of innocence. Newborn babes have nothing on you.”

Dream smiled sweetly.

Hob groaned. “Alright, fine. We can step out for a moment.”

Dream’s eyes sparkled. He rose up and crossed the hallway to the entry door, pulling on Hob’s new rain boots. Hob watched in bemusement.

“And I suppose I should make do with my old pair?” he asked dryly. Dream smirked at him, then opened the door and stepped out. Jogging over to slip his old galoshes on, Hob grabbed an umbrella and joined Dream.

Dream, who was already half-drenched and looking with wonder at the sky above.

Shaking his head, Hob opened his umbrella and went over to him. Dream’s hair was plastered around his face, his eyes squinting as he looked at Hob with a smile. He glanced at the umbrella, then Hob. Umbrella, then Hob.

A sudden gust of wind knocked the umbrella out of his hands. Hob scrambled toward it, but it had blown away, away, landing in front of his flat. By then, Hob was already soaked. He gazed mournfully at his now-useless umbrella, rain cutting into his view.

A stifled snicker behind him.

Hob turned around and looked at the doe-eyed Endless with suspicion. “Dream. Did you just knock my umbrella away?”

Dream’s mouth twitched. Hob glared.

Unaffected, Dream reached over to grasp his hand, pulling him close.

“Hob,” he murmured, rain falling around them. “You behave too old for someone so young.”

“Someone so – I’ve got a good nine centuries under my belt!”

“Mm.” Dream looked up, relishing the taste of air that wasn’t stifled by walls and suspicious glances. It reminded him of the Dreaming beyond his gates; the open sea and cool breeze were always a welcome reprieve from the legal rigors of the day.

He didn’t want to admit it, but the memory brought a deep pang to his chest.

“Dream.” The voice interrupted his thoughts. “Dream, it’s getting worse.” Hob was peering through a wet mop of hair at the darkening sky. Lightning flashed in the distance.

Sighing internally, Dream nodded once at Hob. The man took his hand and gave him a searching look. There was something wistful in that face; something that he hadn’t in – well, ever.

He raised the pale hand to his lips and pressed a deep kiss on top. Dream looked surprised. Smiling softly at him, Hob rubbed the hand between his own in comfort. “Come on.”

+

As they trudged back to the flat, Hob reached down for his umbrella, now blown out and tangled. He sighed and looked at Dream.

The Endless’ mouth twisted, trying to bite down a laugh. Hob narrowed his eyes before setting the umbrella straight. Upon entry they pulled off their boots, wet clothes squelching with each step ahead.

Hob shook his head. “Now I have to bathe again," he said mournfully, turning to look at Dream in presumably shared woe.

Dream was leaning on the counter, sipping hot tea. And completely dry.

“Hey!”

Dream glanced up. “Yes?”

Hob gaped. “What about me?” He gestured to his drenched form, still dripping over the floor.

Dream returned the gaze with a somber expression. “I have only enough strength to aid myself and reheat this tea, unfortunately.”

Hob narrowed his eyes. “Is that so?”

Dream smiled angelically. “Well, no. Perhaps not. But will you not still presume yourself filthy and bathe anyway?”

Hob looked miffed that Dream had guessed correctly. He would absolutely need to clean himself of rainwater. Plus, he'd love a warm shower after the cold outside.

Squinting at Dream, Hob turned around, taking sloshing steps towards the loo and leaving a trail of water behind him.

“And I expect all this to be dry when I’m back!” he called over the other man’s snickering.

+

Clean and refreshed in his new, very-dry clothes, Hob returned to the kitchen with a look of satisfaction. He was eager for some tea, maybe some biscuits –

A strew of empty wrappers lay atop the counter. Dream, it appeared, was chewing the last chocolate digestive.

“Dream!”

Wide eyes looked up at him. He swallowed the last of his bites before pushing the wrappers aside to the corner and smiling.

Hob was frowning, arms folded and an expression of disbelief on his face.

“Tell me you didn’t eat them all.”

Dream lolled his head thoughtfully, conveniently avoiding eye contact. Behind his back, he quickly weaved into the air.

“I. I did. But – one moment, please – aha.” With a look of pleasure, Dream pulled the newly crafted package of biscuits from behind his back and extended the gift toward Hob. Hob sniffed and took a step closer.

“These are sugar-free.”

Damn it. Dream tried to maintain a poker face. “Yes,” he started gravely. “I…I believe we should have a talk about your indulgence of sweets and cakes.”

“Oh, should we?”

Dream tried to will the box to convert to sugar-crammed, aligned with Hob’s ambition of a diabetic future, but it was hard with the other man shooting daggers at him.

“Well.” Looking around anywhere but at the other man, Dream brightened as an idea came to mind.

“We never finished watching your serial, did we? Perhaps we could. Put those on. And you can tell me all about the battles of the galaxies.”

“Star Wars.”

“…yes.”

“Sure. We can.” Hob smiled, placing the digestives on the counter next to Dream. He walked over and turned the TV on, flicking through networks until he got to their last watched. “Before that, though,” he added casually. “I’d like to get this out of the way.”

Dream was eyeing the new pack of digestives. “What?” he asked absently.

Footsteps behind him. Perhaps Hob wouldn’t mind one more –

He felt a hand push against his back, knocking his balance so he was kneeling over the counter. Steadying himself by gripping the counter edge, Dream felt Hob’s body press against his side and jerked his neck around in bewilderment. Oh no.

“Hob, no,” he complained, turning back and clutching the counter tightly. Hob’s forearm had him pinned in place. His toes were just grazing the floor.

Thwap.

Dream hissed.

Thwap.

“Oh, yes,” Hob answered acerbically, laying down swat after swat in rapid pace.

Dream huffed. “This is no way to watch Star Wars,” he grumbled over the smacking sounds.

His gaoler snorted. “Suddenly he’s such a fan. I thought it was ‘battles of the galaxies.’” He began anew, striking evenly across the squirming behind and thighs.

Dream bit his lip, trying not to show any weakness, but it was difficult with the aching burn of prior spankings reemerging across his skin. He knew he’d been pushing Hob earlier; it was just difficult to stop when it involved chocolate. He started hissing as the burn set in.

“This is for knocking my umbrella away,” Thwap, “And this is for only drying yourself after taking me out there,” smack, “And this is for finishing the biscuits.” SMACK.

“I replaced those!” Dream protested.

“With sugar-free ones! Sugar-free!” THWAP.

“Ah,” Dream hissed, twisting in place. Hob pushed his arm down to hold him still.

“Next time, try thinking of others before yourself and your indulgences, hm?” A final whack to the center of his bottom, and he was let go.

Dream blinked in confusion. That was…fast. Not to mention light. In all honesty, it had lasted little more than a minute.

Dream was suspicious.

Hob tapped his back. “Alright, you can come up now.” He took Dream’s bicep and tugged; the sensation brought Dream back to reality and push himself off the counter to his feet.

Hob placed a hand on his shoulder to steady him. Squeezing it, he gazed searchingly at Dream. The man appeared alright, not yet sniffling or wet-eyed as he was prone to be at the slightest provocation. He just looked baffled.

“All done for today,” Hob reassured, watching the other’s expression. “Consider this a lesson in caring and sharing,” he sternly added.

Despite his confusion, Dream wrinkled his nose.

Hob chuckled, grabbing the pack of biscuits beside him and turning to walk over to the couch.

“If you’re good,” he called back. ‘You can have one.” He shook the packet significantly.

Still bewildered by the sudden and brief chastisement, Dream sought to gather his bearings. He gazed at the screen, which was now depicting a scrolling series of words in yellow.

Discreetly, he rubbed his behind to sooth away the burn. Catching Hob’s eye, Dream blushed at getting caught.

He cleared his throat, ignoring Hob’s smirk, and with his head held high, stepped over to join him.

+++

Chapter Text

Destiny rotated the bag of sand in his hands curiously. Such a small thing to hold so much power. And to take it, deprive its creator of it, from a mere disappearing act. 

Bless the heavens that Dream did not have a knack for forgetfulness. 

He waited patiently for his siblings to return, the words inscribed in the pages of his book taking on a new form every while later. His hands twitched, anxious to read on the changes since he’d last reviewed them. 

His family’s fate. 

His brother’s life. 

His younger siblings all traversing down to the very dredges of hell, and the words shifting, back and forth, unable to ascertain the outcome of this endeavor. Or the Morningstar’s moods. 

He clenched the bag of sand tightly in his fist, fighting a tremor. 

For was it not his duty to ensure the fates of others were carried out exactly as prescribed? 

And he had done it, done it well, for – well, a long time. 

But his sister’s expression appeared before his eyes, the look of fear intermingling with betrayal the day they met the Three-in-One. The terror in Delirium’s eyes – another one gone, another lost too soon . 

The deathly chill of his brother’s hand, limp and frail in his own. 

It could not be as it was. 

No more. 

Destiny’s eyes roved toward his book. 

+ 

“I reckon it’ll be a match,” Mad Hettie said confidently, hobbling along the rocky barrenness of the Underworld with surprising speed. 

“What do you mean?” Death asked warily. 

“The Lightbringer won’t just give the Dream Lord’s possessions away. Not something of that value. No, mark me, it’ll be a bargain at the least and a battle at best.” 

“At best?” Despair repeated. 

“Well,” Mad Hettie said thoughtfully. “I suppose for the rest of us a battle’s the worst thing could happen. But with the lot of you here, they’ll probably be willing to settle on a game instead.” 

“How do you suppose?” Despair murmured, trudging along in the shadows of the jagged path. 

“They’re funny like that. Like their little games. Not much entertainment down here, I reckon, once you’ve spent an age on torture and punishment already.” 

“What kind of game?” Desire interrupted. “Have you played it before?” 

Mad Hettie smirked underneath her flowery hat. “I dabble now and then. Best to keep your wits sharpened.” 

“And you’ve defeated the Morningstar? Lucifer Morningstar?” Desire asked in disbelief. 

“Wouldn’t be here cudgeling demons to do our bidding otherwise now, would I?” Mad Hettie retorted, prodding the back of their disgruntled guide. “Lucky for you havin’ a champion on your side, eh?” She turned to the demon ahead of them, whose eyes burned with fury as he mumbled threats under his breath. She tapped her cane on top of the demon’s head.  

“Less of the cheek, you. You were past due on favors once you ran out of friends to help you.” 

“Not...cudgeled...” he muttered through gritted teeth, hands fisted but continuing to move forward. 

“Aye, not yet, and best keep it that way.” 

+ 

Day Five. 

“You have thoroughly wounded me,” Dream complained, refusing to move from Hob’s side. “I do not think I will be able to move anytime soon.” 

Hob snorted, caressing the other man’s hair. “You’ll live.” He tapped Dream’s back. “Up. We don’t dawdle and wait to be served in this house.” 

Dream eyed him, face still pressed into the pillow. “But you do it so well,” he answered sweetly. 

Hob lightly smacked the wounded prince’s behind. Dream jerked in surprise, glaring at Hob’s unwarranted abuse. 

“Do it so well,” Hob muttered, shaking his head. “I’ll give you well...” he rose and extended a hand. “Get up, come on now, Dream.” 

Rolling his eyes, Dream reluctantly clasped the warm hand and dragged himself out of bed. 

+ 

The previous day.  

“Just a few steps further,” said Mad Hettie, breathing heavily, sweat pouring over her face. She turned grimly to the sound of a scoff, eyeing Desire dressed to the nines and completely unaffected by the surrounding fire and brimstone. 

“Are you alright there, Hettie?” they purred, grinning as they sauntered across in six-inch stilettos. Stilettos that had not been there earlier. “You don’t look so good.” 

Hettie muttered under her breath, wiping her brow and trudging ahead with her cane, pretending not to hear a thing. 

Desire let out a silvery laugh, cruelly teasing. Beside them, Despair looked radiant. Well, perhaps radiant wasn’t the word for it. But surrounded as she was among the throngs of suffering tenants of Hell, their own pain and misery quite visceral, it was hard not to feel powerful. This was not her first time here, but certainly it had been a while, and feeling the thrumming rush of misery in her figurative veins was sending her into ecstasy. 

Behind the two, Death kept a wary eye out for any surprises, ready to act where necessary. The Morningstar was not the kind to attack without warning, but who really knew what went across their mind? None of them certainly had, when Samael first rebelled, so long ago. 

Seeing Desire continue taunting their guide, she reached over and pinched their arm. Hard. 

“Ah!” Desire turned to her with a face of betrayal. She levied a stern glare at them. 

“Stop taunting Hettie,” she warned softly. “I mean it.” 

Desire rubbed their arm, looking decidedly put-off. “You’re no fun.” 

“Keep moving.” 

+ 

“I was thinking,” Hob started casually, pouring Dream a glass of juice. “That perhaps it might be time you connect with your siblings.” 

Dream lowered his fork, directing the iciest of glares his way. 

“You weren’t able to leave them on the best of terms –” 

“Because Desire tried to harm you,” said Dream hotly, eyes tearing with rage in seconds. “And me. They left me no choice.” 

“Well, that’s debatable,” Hob responded tactfully, walking behind the other to rub his hunched shoulders. “Besides, we did say we would speak with them. At some point. Why not now?” 

Dream scowled at his breakfast. “Why now?” 

Hob added gentle pressure to the shoulders and back, seeing the hunch slowly melt away and become more relaxed under the reassuring hands. 

Because you can’t hide from them forever.  

Because it bothers you how things ended last time.  

Because you need them and they need you, and I’ll be damned if I don’t do a thing about it.  

“They might know something about your tools.” 

Dream said nothing, but after a long minute, reconvened eating his waffle. 

Hob smiled. 

+ 

“My, my, what a procession,” Lucifer said with a slight smile on their face. “Lady Death; Desire; Despair. We trust your family is well?” They bowed their head respectfully at each in turn. 

Death stepped forward before her siblings could say anything. “They are, thank you, Morningstar.” She smiled. “And thank you for granting us entry into your kingdom.” 

“But of course,” Lucifer murmured, eyeing each figure before them. “It is an honor to host the Endless in our domain. We only wish you had given us prior notice to may make necessary preparations for hosting.” 

Death shook her head, ready to continue the platitudes, until Lucifer interrupted her. 

“And what a pleasure to see you’re here again, Hettie,” they purred, eyes flashing at the stout woman. “We presume she is a gift for us? A token of trust and alliance between our families?” 

Mad Hettie cackled. “You couldn’t handle me,” she spat out, matching the fiery gaze with her own. 

Lucifer said nothing, but their mouth was pinched in fury. For too long they had tried to drag the old dame to the depths of hell, but miraculously she had thwarted them over and over again. 

“We are here for our brother’s helm,” Desire broke in, filing their nails and looking bored by the proceedings. “We heard one of your demons has it. We would like it back.” 

Lucifer turned a penetrating eye their way. “Is that so?” they said softly. Stepping forward slowly, they hovered over Desire, who stopped filing their nails and looked up warily.  

“And here I thought you and the Dream Lord were at odds with each other. Always drawing the other’s ire. Has so much changed since we last met?” 

Desire gritted their teeth. Despair clasped their hand and turned large, unwavering eyes to Lucifer. “Our family matters are none of your concern. The helm, if you please.”  

Desire and Death darted surprised glances her way. It was rare to hear Despair speak outside of the family, much less challenge the Morningstar. But Despair was brimming with power, and ready to unleash all forms of sorrow over the denizens of hell if their twin was being threatened. 

Lucifer sighed like an exasperated parent. “We cannot just give you this helm. You must tell us which demon has possession of it and –” 

“It’s the old tart you got, Duke Choronzon,” Hettie interrupted confidently. Everyone turned to her in astonishment. She shrugged. “I asked around.” 

“Choronzon,” Death repeated, looking firmly at Lucifer. Lucifer gave a genial smile, waving a hand in the direction of her guards. In minutes, they had brought the green-skinned duke before them, clutching Dream’s helm possessively. 

“Choronzon, the Endless family are here for their brother’s helm,” Lucifer informed politely. Choronzon’s head jerked in their direction. He clutched the helm tighter. “No. I got it from another. It was a fair trade, sire.” 

“We see.” Lucifer turned to look at the Endless, who looked mutinous and unlikely to budge. “So how might we resolve this problem?” 

A moment of silence. 

“I’ll play ya for it,” cracked Mad Hettie, tottering over with her cane, eyes glinting beneath her hat. 

Choronzon eyed the frail old woman, barely reaching his shoulder. He smiled. 

+ 

Day Five.  

Hob twisted and turned the miniature ankh that Death had given him ‘for emergencies.’ Although she probably meant an actual emergency, not a family meeting. But Hob was short on options. Dream, agreeable though he may seem, would never set pride aside and make the call himself. 

Tapping the counter nervously, Hob eyed the bedroom door, behind which Dream had taken shelter to avoid further conversation. 

Biting his lip, eyes shifting between the door and the ankh, Hob closed his eyes and clutched the necklace like a rosary, muttering under his breath. 

“Hob? Is everything alright?” 

+ 

Day Five.  

“Never thought I’d see the day,” Mad Hettie crowed, clambering across the rocky cliff-side with renewed vigor. With each step, her swinging pockets clinked, pounds of silver coin making their triumphant presence known. 

Behind her, looking decidedly less jubilant, were Desire and Despair, covered in soot and with their hair singed. Lucifer’s realm did not grant a reprieve of redress to anyone who challenged her. And Hettie had never mentioned that Choronzon’s evocation of ‘supernova’ would be a physical experience for the rest of them. Glaring balefully at the old woman’s back, Desire clenched their fists and kept their head high, trying to ignore the other’s taunts at their for-once disastrous attire. 

“I’da thought you’d move when he said it, but this is much better,” Hettie chuckled, briskly crossing over the cliff-side to the empty paved road ahead. 

Desire growled. Behind them, Death cleared her throat meaningfully. She was less sooty, having known the rules of the game and stepping outside the firing line in time. One arm was looped tightly around the helm, also dusted in soot but otherwise no worse for wear. 

“And you see old Morningstar when ‘er duke lost? He’s a goner, that’s for certain,” Hettie continued her cheerful chatter. It felt good to win back not just her lord Morpheus’s belongings, but also hedge her bets with other demons and clear the table with silver following her merciless take-down of Choronzon. Someone should have told him she was no novice to bargains in the underworld. 

“My elder sister,” Desire muttered through gritted teeth. “We have been patient long enough. We know our way back.” 

“Yes,” Death murmured in response, waiting. 

Hissing, Desire threw a hand toward the humming cantankerous woman ahead of her. “So why is she still here? Why haven’t we sold her to Lucifer? We’d gain more by leaving her than by reclaiming Dream’s helm.” 

Death glared back, saying nothing. After a moment of defiance, Desire dropped their eyes, turning back resentfully to catch up with their twin. 

Rubbing the soot away from the helm with a thumb, Death glanced at her reflection in the beady eyes of the helmet. She looked tired, but determined. They had two of Dream’s tools. Next they would join Destiny to unite the available tools and make plans for obtaining the third. 

That was the plan, at least. 

+ 

“Dream, love? Can you come here for a moment?” 

Hob’s strained casual tone was odd, but Dream let curiosity lead him out the bedroom door. 

“Is everything alright?” he asked, fiddling with his sleeve and walking distractedly toward the kitchen. 

“Hey, Dream.” 

His eyes widened. 

Three of his siblings sat before him, layered in ash and soot. Hob stood behind them, arms folded, expression nervous but watchful. 

“...what.” 

Not his most articulate moment. 

Desire rolled their eyes all the way up to their singed eyebrows. A moment later, all three siblings were back to their normal appearance. 

“What has happened?” 

Dream had a sneaky suspicion he already knew. He turned to scowl at Hob. Hob raised his hands in apology. “Dream, I didn’t know how else to get you in the same room –” 

Eyeing the twins with mutual distaste, Dream got ready to turn on his heel. “I am taking my leave, Robert –” 

“Dream,” his sister’s voice rose sharply. He stopped instinctively but did not turn around. 

“We found your helm.” 

+ 

“Again, my sincere apologies,” Hob threw in a fifth time, as the trio finished relaying the story of their journey to hell. 

Death shook her head ruefully. “It’s alright, Hob, you didn’t know where we were when you summoned us.” 

“Still, I –” he said haltingly. 

“Yes, you’d think nine centuries on this earth would have taught you some common sense,” Desire murmured with a feral smile. “Though I see now why you and Dream get along so well.” They winked at Dream. “Brother. You’ve never looked better.” 

This alluded to the loose grey joggers and white T-shirt, the bird’s nest of a hairstyle and the bare feet so unlike the Dream they’d known and hated that it was too tempting not to mention. 

Dream’s eyes narrowed as he rose to counter the insult, but a glance at Hob made him subside, lean back against his chair as he eyed his helm with wonder. 

A swift breeze beside them. 

“We’re back,” Death announced, tugging Destiny to the table. His chains clanked across the floor as he took a seat, giving Dream an appraising look. 

“My brother. You look much improved.” 

Dream’s mouth twitched at Despair’s derisive snort. He did not rise to the challenge. “Thank you, brother. I was informed you have my sand in your possession.” 

So much for small talk. Hob rubbed his face. 

Nodding once, Destiny reached into his pocket and removed the leather pouch, dropping it on the table. Dream eyed the bag cautiously, then leaned over to lift it, turning it in his hands. 

“Curious,” he murmured to the pouch. “The stories you may hold.” His eyes were bright as he momentarily held the pouch close to his chest, like a parent to a sickly child. On his lap, the helm was wrapped possessively in his left arm. 

Hob eyed Dream. “Is it, ah, is it – do you feel anything, Dream?” 

Dream blinked at him as though he’d forgotten Hob was there. He said nothing, fidgeting with the tools in his hands. 

“It may take some time to hold them as you did before,” Death said gently, eyeing his frustration. “Be patient.” 

Dream gave her an exasperated look. Beside them, Desire coughed. 

“Beg pardon, my siblings. I thought this would be more interesting. But it appears our brother can’t even make his own tools work. How low you’ve fallen.” They sneered at Dream. 

Dream jerked up to glare at Desire, arms shaking with rage. “You think,” he hissed, not yet realizing the thrumming sensation he felt beneath his fingers. “You may use this to your advantage. But that would imply your opinion has value.” Contrary to his attempted indifference, his eyes were wet and fiery, face glowing with a newfound strength. In fact, Hob noticed, Dream seemed to have gained a whole new shade of pale, this one closer to his own than he’d shown thus far. He was rising, fists clenched around his tools, looming over Desire. Hob could feel the energy drawing from him, an electric power tugging at his sides toward the Endless. 

Desire registered Dream’s wrathful tone with a yawn. “So sensitive, sweet Dream. But I suppose you are the function for incapacitated hopes and fears. A mere vessel for...how else do we put it? Oh yes, for the world’s desires and despairs.” They grinned mercilessly at Dream. 

“Desire, Dream, stop –” Death started, but was cut off by Dream’s growl. 

“You dare –” 

“In fact,” Desire continued smugly, unaffected. “I’d say Hob’s desire for life makes him much more answerable to me than you, don’t you think? He falls under my subjection so perfectly.” They eyed Hob hungrily, smirking. 

“ENOUGH,” Dream thundered, and with a step forward he emitted a blast of power that pushed Desire in their chair against the wall, held in place. Dream was seething, hands shaking, but not just with anger, Hob realized. 

“Dream,” he said in a hushed voice. “Dream, the tools...” 

Dream glanced at him in momentary confusion, then looked at his tools. His eyes widened. He was emitting a stronger energy and power than he had five minutes ago; his face appeared to glow and shift in form. Dream eyed his hands, his tools, then turned back to Hob in shock. 

“You’re welcome,” Desire rasped from the invisible hold pressing them against the wall.

Dream turned a furrowed expression their way. The hold let loose, and Desire rose up, straightening their clothes. Huffing away from Dream, they strolled over to place a hand on Despair’s shoulder. Catching their older siblings gaping, they scoffed. “Your hand-holding wasn’t going to make a difference. I know him," they said, smirking a Dream. "I know him,” they repeated smugly. “Always so easy to rile up, Dream. You make it so fun.” 

With a wave and a blow-kiss, Desire and Despair were gone. 

Looking shaky, Dream glanced toward his siblings, then Hob, neither of whom knew what to say. Eager to hide his flushing face, Dream lifted the helm and placed it over his head. 

The wave of power reverberating through him was invigorating, overwhelming, exciting. 

If only it didn't take Desire’s taunts to trigger them awake. 

Rubbing his pouch absently, Dream concentrated. Nothing. Clutching the pouch, he envisioned the Dreaming more forcefully. Take me there , he tried to will his tools. Take me to the Dreaming . 

He felt the air zap with energy, drawing him towards his realm. He raised his fingers, almost feeling the rush of Dreaming sand flying through his fingers. He was close – 

A gasp of pain, a white bolting light across his mind, threads of something in formation splitting up – 

He slumped to the floor. 

“Dream?” he felt warm hands wrap around his arms, tugging him up gently and placing him into a chair. The hands stayed on his shoulders to keep him upright. Another warm pair of hands rubbed his right palm. “Dream, are you alright?” 

He nodded shakily, glancing at the three figures around him. Death’s eyes large and concerned, her hands rubbing warmth into his. Hob’s own firm hold on his shoulders, keeping him steady. And Destiny’s eyes, ever-observing, forever unfathomable as he scrutinized his brother. 

“My, my apologies,” Dream stammered, unconsciously tightening his grip on Death’s fingers. “It appears I am yet unable to access the Dreaming.” He released a sigh of exasperation. “I thought it might...” 

“You are stronger now, brother, but you still lack your ruby,” Destiny rumbled from his place opposite Dream. 

Dream nodded to himself. “Yes. My ruby. I presume it was not found.” His mind was racing, rifling through countless sensors to track down his possession. 

Death shook her head. “Not yet,” she started patiently. “But we’ll get there –” 

Dream rose to his feet. “I know where it is.” He looked animated and restless. 

Death rose as well. “Where?” she demanded. 

Dream glanced at her, his silence visceral even with his face hidden. “My sister.” He glanced at Destiny. “My brother. You have done enough. I thank you for your aid. But this I must seek out alone.” 

“What?” Hob squawked, grasping Dream’s arm. “Why?” 

Dream gently tugged his arm from the other man’s hold. “It is a challenge, presented by an amateur who will not relinquish it to anyone other than myself.” 

Well, that made perfect sense. Hob shook his head. “No. Absolutely not. No.” 

Dream’s head tilted, watching Hob in silent compassion. He reached over and squeezed the man’s limp hand. I’m sorry.  

“He’s right,” Death rejoined, glancing at Destiny for support. “You’re not strong enough to face it alone. We'll come with you –” 

She turned around. 

He was gone.

Hob had turned white, his hand still curled around the figment of Dream’s own. 

“Bloody -” Death swore, striding away in frustration, fists clenched. Destiny remained seated, watching her and Hob impassively. She met his eyes. 

“I’m going to murder him.” 

+++

Chapter Text

The clear blue sky was a strange thing to witness at this time. It was as discomfiting as it was reassuring, alongside the cheerful chatter of people nearby and the flocking of pigeons.  

How absolutely ordinary everything could be. 

Fidgeting with the bread in his hands, he flicked pieces before him, sullen expression unchanged as the pigeons enthusiastically surrounded him, nipping at the ground before his feet. 

It was...strange. Like wearing an ill-fitting suit. But the suit had molded against him, fused itself into his form, reincarnating lost power that knocked him breathless when it first filled him. 

It should have felt familiar. It should have felt right . 

He knew without looking that she had found him. 

Found him, would find him, again and again despite his efforts to hide away, to close himself from the world. 

+ 

Earlier. 

“What is it you think you’re doing?” 

The deranged figure before him smiled pleasantly, as though they weren’t standing among collapsed bodies of dead and bleeding mortals, victims to this man’s insanity. 

In truth, he was also a victim. They all were. The ruby was powerful. He could not let it remain. 

But the man had manipulated it to do his bidding, meaning Dream could not simply take it. 

And he was outside the Dreaming, outside of his greatest source of power – 

It hurt. He was startled by how much it hurt. Against his will he fell to his knees, feeling the power of the ruby directed at him, his power, now crushing him with a deafening roar. 

But the man was foolish, blinded by the ruby’s clutches and his own hubris, and took a step too far. 

The reverberating wave that swept through Dream was bright, beautiful, terrifying –  

He was becoming himself again. 

Newly dripping with powers encased in a ruby for far too long, he’d forgotten how it felt. 

It was as he was retaking form, harnessing all that was himself back to himself – for a moment vulnerable and helpless to the outside world – that the man stepped forward, fire raging in his eyes. Hovering over Dream’s knelt form, intent on his mission. 

It was at that moment that he made a choking sound, causing Dream to peer upwards with the little strength he had. John Dee’s eyes were bloodshot, flickering everywhere madly. The choking continued, for he had taken his free hand to wrap itself around his own throat and tighten mercilessly. He stepped back and forth, shaking and sputtering as he struggled to let go of his throat even as the hand continued to tighten mercilessly. He was mumbling, his eyes now distant, talking to himself and looking around him in fear. 

The next moment, whatever had him bound let go of the ruby, raising the other hand to his purpling neck. 

The falling of the ruby was the last thing Dream needed. One crack and the surrounding area would blind any mortal as it fused itself to Dream, stolen power returned to its owner. 

He blinked. He was clutching the tiled floor beneath him, body trembling from its sudden re-invigoration. 

John Dee’s actions had destroyed the ruby, and in doing so, returned to Dream all he had lost. 

Hob would laugh at the irony. 

Raising his head, he found John Dee lying before him, eyes blown wide, skin waxing and purple from strangulation. He made a guttural sound, hands still tightly wrapped around his throat, and blood oozed out of his mouth. 

Dream pushed himself up, legs shaking as his form continued to regain strength, and stood over the body. The man did not move. 

Dream didn’t understand. He had not caused this. So what –? 

The shadow of a giggle filled his ear. A familiar young voice spoke into the air. 

“That was fun, wasn’t it?”

+ 

Now. 

Death took a seat beside him, leaning slowly against the bench as though trying not to frighten a wild animal. Dream didn’t make eye contact, continuing to flick bread at the pigeons near him. 

“What are you doing?” she asked rather casually. 

“Feeding the pigeons,” he mumbled back, failing to match her casual tone.  

It was strangely comforting to have her there, for all that he was lost deep in thought. He absently listened to her talk about a movie, laugh at her own joke, turned back to him. 

“Okay.” She was serious now. “What’s wrong?” 

“What do you mean?” he asked flatly. 

“You know what I mean.” And her tone was still kind, her presence still reassuringly safe – 

He began speaking. Admittedly he was choppy in the beginning. But it seemed Hob constantly pushing him to use his words had taken effect. Voice soft, eyes lost, he relayed his struggle to his sister. The struggle to feel himself again, to feel more powerful than ever before, and still feel like he was playing the imposter. What may have driven him as a Lord before was hazy, unclear. Not to mention the indignity of needing saving from a mortal yet again. What did this mean for him? For his purpose? 

Death eyed his lost expression. She knew he had regained his powers, knew of his ruby and of John Dee as she went to collect the souls of the victims from that stuffy diner. And she knew him. And this, all that he was saying, wasn’t new. 

He’d held on to these conflicting thoughts for some time now. 

Her heart clenched and she put a hand on his knee. “You could have called me, you know.” Before this, before he hurt himself over and over, before he gave in to his pride and held over a century’s worth of silence over asking for help. 

“I didn’t want to worry you.” 

Death didn’t mean to go ballistic. She had been calming herself down all day as she sought her vanished brother out, taken a ten-minute break in her search for some meditative yoga, reminded herself to be kind, be gentle. 

But she’d had it. 

Enough to rise and snatch the bread from her brother’s hands, enough to start pacing back and forth, baguette waving in her raised arms, comfortable in the knowledge that the mortals surrounding them would only see what she wanted them to see, hear what she wanted them to hear. 

So, she yelled, freely and without pause. Calling him an idiot, comparing him to Desire – his eyes flashed at that – and calling him out for letting his ego win against common sense, every time. 

Dream sat still, eyes wide, startled by the raging, seething ancient figure pacing in front of him. At times she would stop, turn to him directly and wave the baguette accusingly at him. 

He had been adrift the whole day, unable to make sense of much. Her practical nature and furious voice snapped him out of it. Suddenly he was no longer concerned about his function and purpose. 

“And what was THAT?” she turned to him fiercely. He tried not to flinch. “What crawled up your arse and convinced you it was a good idea to seek the ruby yourself? And to leave us all like that?” 

Dream’s mouth had opened several times, preparing to retort and defend himself, only his sister’s burning glare of ‘don’t you dare’ kept him silent. But now she wanted an answer. 

He tried to find the right words. It was difficult. It had made sense at the time, made sense to keep Hob safe and away from harm, to do this without needing to beg his family for aid –  

He must have voiced some iteration of that logic because Death was now launching herself at him, striking him with the crackled baguette, and as he raised his hands to defend himself, she threw a final hit on the top of his head. The bread broke in half and fell beside Dream, crumbs littering his hair and shoulders. 

Clutching the remaining half, breathing deeply, Death eyed him, leaning away from her but not saying a word, arms raised but otherwise not defending himself and his pride as he was wont to. 

Tossing the half-baguette to her side, she brushed away the crumbs on her clothes. “Do you have anything to say?” 

Lowering his arms gingerly, Dream looked up at her, expression conflicted and face flush from being attacked by a baguette in front of others. Although given their lack of reaction, it seemed Death had shielded their vision before beginning her tirade. 

The crumbs rolled over his clothes, but he dared not brush them away just yet. He opened his mouth, hesitant, but losing nerve under her murderous glare. 

“I did not intend to hurt you, my sister. I only sought to take back what was mine. What had been stolen from me.” His eyes flashed. “I could not let John roam free.” 

“Why didn’t you call me?” 

“I had to retrieve my ruby. I am trying to return to my kingdom –” 

“Why didn’t you call me?” 

“You have all done enough. You risked far too much by challenging the Morningstar. I thank you for your efforts at retrieving my helm –” 

“Why. Didn’t. You. Call. Me?” 

He squirmed for a moment, unable to look her in the eyes. Voice soft, honest, he spoke. “It’s my responsibility. My failure. My duty.” 

Death glared at the ducked head before her, knowing full well this argument could go on forever. Sighing deeply, she ran her hands through her curls, feeling a familiar pull around her, like a child requesting attention. 

She had a job to do. 

But she couldn’t just leave him. Not like...that. And they hadn’t even begun to cover his little existential crisis; she’d been too busy raging about his recent idiocy. 

“Look,” she started. “I can’t stay here. I’ve got to head back.” Seeing his expression become – if possible – even more forlorn, she bit back a smile. “You can come with me if you want,” she playfully nudged his shoe. “Or you can stay here and sulk.” 

A woeful sigh. “I’ll come with you, I suppose.” 

She snorted. “Don’t do me any favors.” 

+ 

Hob was perfectly fine. 

Perfectly, absolutely, fine. 

He may have been staring blankly at the TV screen before him for a good three hours. He may have been tapping his fingers and eyeing the door every five minutes, waiting for an Endless or two to wander in with good news. Any news. 

Dream’s sudden departure had done him no favors. All of Hob’s abated fears and anger for the man were festering in the pit of his stomach. 

Admittedly, he didn’t help himself any after dousing five cups of sugar-filled tea. It was meant to calm him. 

He drummed his foot against the floor. He was calm. He was calm. He was a gentle leaf, floating in the wind. He was a mellow sloth, letting the world move around him with ease. He was a butterfly, ready to withstand and flourish from any change life threw at him. He was –  

“Hello, Hob.” 

Hob screamed, blindly tossing a saucer in the direction of the intruder. 

Dream sidestepped and grabbed the saucer mid-air with the ease of a professional athlete. With a suspiciously straight face, he walked over and placed the saucer on the table. 

“I see you’ve remained busy in my absence,” Dream noted, eyeing the many empty teacups before him. 

Hob blinked hard, trying to convince himself this was real. And that Dream didn’t have the audacity to be snippy after what he’d just pulled. 

Greying an immortal man’s hair was not right. 

He opened his mouth. “Dream,” he started. 

“Ah, you made it back,” a satisfied voice came from behind him. “Good.” 

Dream looked decidedly put-off by this. “I said I would,” he groused, dropping himself into the sofa mutinously. 

Death walked over to stand near Hob and folded her arms. “Forgive me for making sure you didn’t flee to another corner of the earth to brood.” 

Hob looked confused. 

“I found him in a park, sitting by himself on a bench,” she explained. “Being an idiot.” 

Dream looked sulky. “I was just feeding the birds.” 

“Yes, well, mind letting us know before flocking off again.” Death turned to Hob. “You know how to reach me.” 

She was gone. 

Hob rubbed his face. He’d wanted this. He’d asked for this. 

Looking up and down at Dream, Hob couldn’t see any visible scars or injuries. Beside his injured ego, that is. In fact, he looked better than he had in months. His face had somewhat lost its pallor, and he seemed...stronger. More capable. Less human. 

So perhaps he’d gotten his ruby, then. Perhaps he was back to himself again. That was good. 

But seeing the familiar figure returning home so casually, as though nothing at all had transpired that morning, Hob’s eye twitched. Now that his relief had passed, he could feel his temper brewing. 

Of all the bloody, selfish, thoughtless --  

No, stay calm, Hob. First check on him. Then kill him.  

“You alright?” he asked shortly. “Not hurt or anything, are you?” 

At that, Dream raised his head, his expression now tentative and uncertain. “No,” he shook his head, eyes warily watching Hob. 

“Had anything to eat?” Turning on his heel, Hob stalked over to the fridge, began pulling out bits and bobs of whatever he could lay his hand on. Placing them with more force than necessary on the counter. 

From the sofa, Dream winced, watching the seething anger he could feel emanating from Hob now being taken out on the roughly cut sandwich he was putting together for Dream. 

Watching the kitchen being taken apart in dismay, Dream rose up, walked hesitantly over to the counter. “Hob,” he said softly. Hob did not look up. He continued snatching and slicing, bits of turkey slices flying off the counter. 

Dream hesitated, sure he really didn’t want to do this, but seeing Hob in distress was more than he could bear. He reached out to place a cool hand on Hob’s arm, gently squeezing. “Hob.” 

“What?” Hob snarled, causing Dream to flinch. “Is it too much mayonnaise? Not enough turkey? Not the right greens? Was the bread supposed to be heated first?” He slammed the butter knife against the sandwich, adding another layer of mayonnaise. “How can I please his lordship now?” 

Dream blinked. Slowly, eyes shifting between Hob and the sandwich, he responded, “...perhaps less mayonnaise.” 

Hob growled. Dream realized he may have chosen the wrong words. 

“I --“ 

“Perhaps less mayonnaise?” Hob repeated, hands squeezing and leaving a crumpled sandwich in their wake. “Perhaps. LESS. MAYONNAISE?” 

Dream squirmed. “Perhaps not?” 

Hob glared at him unblinkingly, long enough that Dream found himself blushing and lowering his eyes. 

“Perhaps not,” Hob repeated to himself. Snatching a plate from the shelf, he picked up the crumpled meal and shoved the plate towards Dream. “Perhaps,” he hissed. “Perhaps his lordship could take a seat and appreciate what he’s given. Perhaps,” he continued loudly, now wagging the butter knife at Dream. “He could THINK before he acts and not scare the living SHIT out of his loved ones. Perhaps he could think of others before himself. Perhaps. What do you think, Dream?” 

Dream gaped. 

Hob waved the knife toward the sandwich. “Sit. Eat.”  

Dream sat. Under Hob’s burning gaze, he picked up the sandwich and took a small bite. Then another. 

Swearing under his breath, Hob turned and began returning pots and jars back into their rightful places, slamming shelves and cabinet doors shut as he went. 

Dream watched him stalking around with wide eyes, hands fidgeting with the sandwich. “Hob...” he began. 

“I believe I told you to eat.” 

Stomach twisting, face red with guilt, Dream shut up and settled down to eat. 

+ 

Seeing Hob stalking around, waving his arms in the air, Dream was beginning to wonder if he’d stood a better chance defying Death. Death and her stupid order to go right back home if he knew what was good for him. 

Hunger sated, Dream was back on the sofa, on curt orders from the man now pacing before him, language switching from English to Latin and back. 

“Was it not enough that you had your other tools? What on earth cudgeled your common sense enough to believe confronting a madman holding your ruby – all ALONE – was a good idea?” Hob kept ranting. 

At one point, the question stopped being rhetorical, and he swung toward Dream, eyes blazing. “Well?” 

Dream blinked, realizing he was expected to respond. “I could not let John continue to possess something of great power as the ruby. It had driven him mad. And it was my duty –” 

“You said you’d work with others –” 

“It was my responsibility; they had done enough –” 

“I know they beg to differ, your lordship –” 

“It was not ideal, but I assure you I was as safe as could be –” 

“With a madman? Holding your ruby? Piss off, Dream.” 

Dream bit his lip. He knew he should apologize. He knew. But he could not bring himself to do it. “Hob, I had to retrieve it,” he said quietly. “I had to. Do you not understand?” He tilted pleading eyes at the man. “I had no choice.” 

Hob’s face was all kinds of red. Hands twitching, he looked ready to wring the other man’s neck. Eventually, he took a deep breath, nodding his registration of Dream’s words.  

With a sharp twist of his ankle, Hob headed back to the kitchen, digging through drawers of cutlery before he found what he needed. He walked back to Dream, somehow more menacing with the flat wooden spatula in his left hand. 

Dream gaped at him, wondering if Hob had finally gone mad. 

“Right,” Hob said, now fiddling with his sleeves and rolling them up. “Pants down.” 

Dream must have misheard. 

“Sorry?” he asked politely, edging away from the foreboding man. 

Hob snorted. “Not yet you’re not. Pants down, come on.” He stood before Dream, arms folded and expression unfathomable. 

Dream had a terrible feeling where this was going. Burying himself deeper into the sofa, he debated his options. He was back to power, now, after all. There was no reason he should not fight back, should meekly give in to Hob’s insanity. He could. 

He could. 

If only guilt and a ridiculous feeling of fear were not keeping him in place. 

“Last chance, Dream.” 

Unable to help himself, Dream pouted, eyes wide and tearing up. “There is no need for –” 

Hob reached over to grab his wrist. With a squeak, Dream instinctively ducked away, sliding past to make a run for it. 

He’d made it about three scrambling steps before he felt a strong arm wrap around his waist, tugging him back. Dream fought the hold. To his despair, the arm did not relent; instead, it tightened its hold and lifted him up bodily off the floor, with a clean sweep returning to the sofa. 

“No, Hob –” Dream said desperately, very soon finding himself in a horribly familiar position over Hob’s lap. He tried to lever himself but was quickly pushed face-down onto the sofa. With a well-practiced hand, Hob’s fingers undid his button and zip, yanking the dark jeans down. 

“Stop,” Dream pleaded, latching onto the sofa to try and pull himself out of Hob’s grip. The man effortlessly tugged him back into place, one arm holding him down while the other tugged at his boxer briefs. 

“No, don’t –” Dream extended a hand back when a stinging swat made him jump in place. Then another, and another; Hob’s hand was relentless, unforgiving in its intensity, each smack to his bare bottom sounding like the crack of a gunshot echoing in the room. 

Dream gasped and jerked in place, horrified by the intensity. He wasn’t going to survive this; he was sure of it. 

“Hob, please listen to me – ah!” 

His pleas fell to deaf ears; the hand kept landing, again and again, quickly turning the upturned behind pink. Hob was switching between cheeks, making sure to cover every inch to emphasize his point.  

Flinching at the sting and the loud, echoing of the swats, Dream was ready for this to end already. 

“Hob,” he began, wriggling in place. “I had no choice –” 

At that, Hob stopped. Heated hand still resting on the sizzling behind, he tapped sharply, causing the other man to squirm.  

“No choice, is that it?” he asked grimly. To Dream’s horror, he was shoved further into the sofa, and he felt his legs being trapped tightly between Hob’s own. Worse, he felt the stern tap of the wooden spatula against his bottom, a warm-up of what was to come. 

“Let’s talk about your choices.” Smack.

Dream jerked from the pain, sharp and resonating across his already sore behind. Ow. He opened his mouth to protest, but squeaked instead as the next swat landed on his left cheek. 

“As I see it, you had several choices available, Dream of the Endless.” Swat.

“But correct me if I’m wrong.” Swat. 

“Did you not have the choice to ask for help?” A sharp smack made him whimper. “Dream.” 

Eyes watering, he hissed, “I did, but –” 

“You did. You did, but yet again, you chose not to.” At that, Hob landed five stinging smacks with the spatula across his behind, making him hiss in pain. 

“Did you not have the choice to stay here so we could at least think up a plan before you went rushing headlong into danger?” Another swat landed, demanding an answer. 

Dream flushed, frustration mingling with guilt. He did not like to be held accountable for his decisions. Through gritted teeth, he said, “Perhaps, but –” 

“No ‘perhaps.’” Another five sharp swats imprinted on his backside, making him yelp. “You did. You chose not to.”  

“Hob –” 

“Did you not have the choice to at the bloody least tell us what you were thinking before you did it?” A biting smack struck his under-curve, making Dream cry out. “Answer the question.” 

Face red, Dream trembled with anger. Now that his initial fear had passed, he was reminded of the power flowing through him, that could easily set him free and far away from Hob‘s clutches. Power that could wipe away the entire home in a second. 

How dare Hob expect him to submit to this cruelty? To answer and atone for his decisions like a naughty schoolboy, not a being as timeless and omniscient as himself? 

“Dream.” Another sharp swat struck his thigh. Dream’s yelp sounded more offended than pained. Shaking his head, Dream gripped a cushion to rein in his temper. 

“Hob,” he growled. “You are going too far. I have my tools back. You have no notion of how easily I could release myself and – and avenge this torture.” 

To his dismay, Hob snorted. “Is that a threat, your Highness?” His grip around Dream remained. “Do your worst, then. You’re not getting out of your spanking while I still have a say.”  

And with that, he unleashed a volley of smacks with his hand to the sensitive under-curve, noting that while Dream was swearing, tugging, crying out, he had not in fact made true on his threat. If anything, his cries sounded less angry now. Frustrated at Hob’s refusal to listen to him in this position, well-aware he would not do anything to truly harm Hob, Dream debated his options as he twisted and writhed in place. He would not harm Hob. And – Morningstar damn his soul – he didn’t want to leave, either. 

But he still had some power. 

Hob’s hand next landed on denim. Surprised, he saw that Dream had re-clothed himself without moving. Unbelievable . He tugged the clothing down again and raised his hand, only for it to manifest back into place around Dream. “Dream, stop it,” he snapped. Dream shook his head stubbornly. 

Biting his tongue, Hob took a deep breath. He again unfastened the clothing and tugged it down, hand clutching the waistband in place around Dream’s knees. 

“Dream of the Endless,” he said sweetly, leaning over to Dream’s ear. “Do that again, and I’ll double what you’ve got coming.” 

He heard a muffled gasp. Dream pondered for a moment, then, breath hitched, went limp on the other man’s lap. 

“Good boy,” Hob said instinctively, letting go of the clothing to continue with his task.  

Dream’s yelps were plaintive and riddled with guilt, clearly sorry for himself and his position, and his face was wet with tears. 

“Ah, ow – Hob, please, I’m sorry –” 

Dropping a final ringing swat to the burning under-curve, Hob was not mollified. 

“Let’s try again, then, shall we?” He let Dream have a moment’s reprieve before reaching for the spatula. Tapping it against the red behind, Hob repeated, “Did you have the choice to tell us what you were thinking before you acted?” 

Dream sniffled. “I’m sorry –” 

Hob smacked his thigh, making the other man whimper. “Dream.” 

Eyes streaming, feeling awfully sorry for himself, Dream pouted. He really did not like being held accountable for his actions. 

“I did,” he admitted in a hushed voice. 

“You did.” Five snapping swats targeted his under-curve and thighs. Dream wailed, having the horrible realization that Hob intended to punish him for each decision not taken. He clutched the cushion in his hands closer, wrapping his arms around it and crying into the sofa. 

Hob sighed, rubbing his back. The softie in him was ready to give in to those tears, to make peace and wrap the shrunken, sorry figure into his arms and feed him biscuits. 

Not yet. 

Reminding himself of the danger Dream had put himself through – yet again – Hob tuned out the sobs and focused on the task at hand. 

“Did you have a choice between risking your neck, your health – your backside at that – and listening to me?” 

Dream let out a muffled sob. Squeezing the torso gently, Hob said gently, “Come on, Dream.” 

Sniffling, face buried in the cushion, the man stuttered out, “I did.” 

“Glad you’re aware of it,” Hob responded dryly, landing five more swats across the scalding bottom. Dream shrieked into the cushion, unable to stop wriggling to avoid the biting sting of the utensil. 

“And I’m willing to bet my life this John Dee didn’t give up easily? That you didn’t skip away unscathed?” 

Dream’s guilty silence was deafening. Shaking his head, Hob began spanking the upturned rump sharply across the curve, seeing the skin turn momentarily white from the smack of the spatula before turning an angry red. Dream wailed and writhed. 

“Of all the stupid, thoughtless –” 

“This is worse , Hob,” Dream sobbed pitifully. “This is so much worse than what I faced with John.” 

“Good,” Hob said mercilessly. Putting the spatula away, he cupped the heated behind with his palm. “Maybe this’ll finally get through your thick skull.” He swatted the under-curve with less force than before, but kept his hand on the injured spot, trapping the heat. 

“Ah, ow, Hob, don’t!” Dream tried futilely to escape the evil hand, this flesh-and-bone instrument of absolute destruction. Hob struck twice more before pausing, leaving his hand in place again. Dream sobbed from the burn, choking on his tears. “Stop, please! Argh – I’m sorry!” 

“For what?” Hob asked firmly, not letting go but pausing his spanking. 

Dream heaved a breath or two, body trembling with sobs. “Please,” he moaned, desperate for it to end. 

A sharp tap. “For what?” 

Gulping back a new wave of tears, chin trembling, Dream answered a muffled response into the cushion. “I risked myself, I said nothing of it to you, I refused help – again,” a hitched sob interrupted the admission. “I didn’t think, I left without warning. Again.” He sniffled, guilt mingling with the shame of having to confess his misdeeds. 

“So you did have a choice then?” Hob asked, striking the under-curve over Dream’s cries. 

“I did,” came the tearful confession. 

“You did, in fact, have several options over the one you made?” He spanked the middle of the burning backside. 

“Ah, ow, I did, yes, I’m sorry –” 

Hob prepared to finish up. With a steady breath, he let loose the last smattering of spanks across the twitching behind. Dream howled into the pillow. 

“Will this happen again?” 

“No!” 

“Will you talk to me before making stupid decisions next time?” 

A blubbered “yes.” Dream had no intention of making stupid decisions again. Just then, he had no desire to take any decision ever again.  

“Will you ask us for help?” Hob walloped his right thigh. 

“Yes!” 

“Will you stop bloody running off and risking your life?” 

“Yes, I will, I promise,” Dream sobbed, words garbled by choking tears. 

“Good.” With a final resounding spank, Hob let go of Dream’s waist and released his legs. 

Dream slumped over Hob’s lap, clearly too upset to move, worn out by the day’s events. His bottom looked well roasted, and his thighs weren’t much better. 

Hob rubbed the man’s back, soothed the angry skin, saying nothing. Eventually, the crying died down, and energy depleted, Dream remained collapsed over Hob, sniffling and eyes leaking. Hob extended a hand to stroke the wild hair. “Don’t ever do that to me again,” he said quietly.  

Dream nodded weakly, unable to form words just then. 

After a few minutes of rubbing and soothing, Dream heard Hob ask gently, “Do you want me to bring you something more comfortable to wear?” 

Face flushing as he realized he was still bare from the waist down, he shook his head quickly. He didn’t want to move, nor for Hob to go anywhere. A moment and a thought later, he was still there, now fully clothed in Hob’s borrowed, familiar sleepwear. 

Slowly, gently, Hob raised Dream up enough to shift himself over towards the man’s head, letting him bury it in his lap. He stroked the dark hair, rubbed the trembling back comfortingly. Gradually, Dream became calm, and lay still under Hob’s stroking hands, soaking in the comfort they provided. 

Hob glanced at him and bit back a smile. Wet-faced and pouting, Dream looked ever the tragic self-pitying Hamlet.   

“Do you want to go to the bedroom?” Hob asked kindly. Shuddering, Dream shook his head, burying his face into the lap and wrapping an arm around Hob’s leg to keep him there. 

Chuckling, Hob said thoughtfully, “Alright then. I suppose we can stay here tonight.” 

Dream sniffled in agreement. 

“Though it’d be nice to change out of these clothes,” Hob added, tugging at his neckline. 

Dream looked unmoved. 

“No? Can’t leave, can I?” He ran his hands through the other man’s hair. “As you wish.” 

Hob settled back, prepared for an uncomfortable night on the sofa. 

Something soft rested against his head. Blinking his eyes open, he looked around. The lights had been switched off, the pale moonlight streaming in their only source of visibility.  

Dream was now wrapped in a heavy quilt, a pillow conveniently under his head on Hob’s lap. 

Hob, for his part, was granted a blanket underneath Dream, a pillow against his head, preventing his neck from creaking, and he was now in his normal sleepwear. 

“Huh,” he said, still rustling the dark hair. 

“Thinking of others,” Dream mumbled Hob’s earlier reprimand. “I am not always so selfish.”  

Unselfish as he was, Dream graciously let Hob wriggle into a comfortable position before wrapping a tight arm around the torso and yanking Hob into a better position. Satisfied, he buried his face in the man’s shirt and let exhaustion win, closing his eyes to sleep. 

+++ 

Chapter Text

It had not started out this way. 

There had been no bad blood between them. Not until their mother interfered. 

They were hers, after all. Hers, before they were their own beings.

First came Destiny, during the golden hue of her marriage with time. Marriage in the metaphorical sense here; no paperwork or wedding bands are needed for creatures such as themselves to bind each other in promises. So yes, first there was Destiny, a product of promise, of expectation. And in the eons of his youth, they were happy.  

But things changed, and they with it. Grief, mourning for what they once had, led to the advent of Death, the personification of the end of what they cherished. She was largely left on her own, or in Destiny’s care, only ever remembered when it came to the matter of duty, of responsibility. For if this was the end, was it not their daughter’s burden to carry their pain with her?  

But he sent her a flower, and she responded in kind, and the figure of Time reignited faint hope within her, the sense of possibility. And fear; the sense of dread. Of what could be; of what could happen again. It was in their turmoil that they reconnected, in their divorce from expectation and reality that Dream was born.  

“Not Nightmare?” Time had rumbled, on the rare occasion he acknowledged his offspring.  

Night had smiled graciously. Smiled in spite of the sting of his words, the implication that this daemon stemmed from her. Not him. And so he continued to refer to him as Nightmare, on the occasions he wanted to taunt his wife. Or his child.  

And maybe that’s what caused her to go against him, to fight fiercely for some semblance of hope, for the possibility they may still dream.  

Besides, she enjoyed the fun the alliteration provided.  

And so, they coexisted in disharmony, disunion, an unpredictable back-and-forth that drove her children to often find solace far, far away from them.  

But it worked. Their bickering, their fits of passion and outrage, all tied together when the first creature was able to dream, and with that dream came a consciousness and awareness that had not existed before. Beyond what was written, beyond the end, they were now able to think, to act, and so they did; as new creations appeared, so did new civilizations. And as with new civilizations, as with dreams, there were nightmares.  

It only made sense that in their disharmony, in those moments of raw, sadistic desire to hurt each other, Time and Night created Destruction. And that with nightmares, there was conflict, wars that led to the burning of ancient civilizations. For this, just then, the creatures had no attribution.  

And as Death carried these civilizations to the Sunless Lands, Dream inspired new ones, spurring the choices that inadvertently fulfilled the fates that Destiny’s book predetermined for them. And Destruction continued the cycle.  

 A copy of his father, larger than his siblings, Destruction evoked something in Time – fueled a burning passion drawn from reflection of himself on another, a legacy he couldn’t identify in the others. A desperation to leave a mark.  

The twins came soon after, corporeal divides of Time’s unpredictable nature, of the volatility of his relationship with Lady Night. And the creatures now had the selfsame passions as him, modeled by Desire and Despair, which would hereafter feature in their natures and in every decision made, every right or wrong committed.  

Desire and Despair would argue that their joint birth marked the true advent of civilization; that before them, no emotion had shaped and defined the actions that led to the making and remaking of worlds and new species. This declaration did not appear out of thin air; no, it stemmed from the resentment that Night fueled whenever she engaged with her children. For her, it was her darling Dream, her Night-mare, who bore her eyes, who brought about the real ‘beginning’ as he made every creature conscious of its own existence. That dreams were needed to inspire the passions that were her twins.  

It didn’t help matters that following the arrival of her third, the fourth, fifth, and sixth came rapidly after, leaving little time in between each other to grow and come into their own, the way Destiny and, to an extent, Death, had done. No, these new ones were truncated for the mutual collision of action and reaction they inspired.  

Destiny’s book grew more expansive, the words appearing and filling new pages rapidly, and Death’s job to ferry soul after soul became busier than ever as her younger siblings instigated the rise and fall of populations. For although they were new to the world, just like their brother and sister, they took to their functions instinctively.  

Not that this meant it was smooth-sailing and orderly since day one. Not at all. Much of the awe-inspiring stories of 100-year battles, of ravaged planets, of en masse cruelty and savagery that would be unthinkable in today’s world, were a direct consequence of the Endless siblings still taking to their powers, trying to make sense of them at the same time as they did to eating and blinking.  

To some degree, Death had been lucky to have been left under her brother’s care so often; she was able to make sense of things outside of parental influence, and often in stark contrast to her uptight sibling.  

For a time after the twins, they were happy. Time and Night were want to smile and show tender affection to each other, and it was in these happier times that the younger siblings grew together, their mother’s favoritism and father’s barbed words failing to truly break the strong bonds they would form together. Desire and Despair had always been close, but for a time they could also say this for their brothers: Dream and Desire often hiding in corners, thinking up creations; Despair and Destruction, bringing old ones to a close for their elder sister to ferry away.  

Desire’s social, excitable nature was a contrast to Dream’s soft-spoken, sensitive character, and so they balanced each other out, each providing new perspective where the other was blind. Despair, often wont to sorrow, found in her fiery brother a comforting warmth, radiating liveliness she did not possess. In turn, his restless energy was one only she could assuage.  

And while Night and Time were not wonderful parents by any means, they were for a time happy together, and that happiness helped the other four believe in goodness, in love. Civilizations by no means lost their violent natures, but they evolved, etching letters and paintings on walls that also bespoke promise and possibility. And storytelling.  

That was Dream’s job, at least according to Death, who would patiently answer her siblings queries about their functions whenever they would voice their curiosity aloud. She would also encourage Dream to use this function to keep himself and the others busy, on days when Destiny’s chains felt heavier and Death’s wings ached from too many trips to the Sunless Lands.  

Sometimes, Night would interrupt them mid-storytelling, sidle over to her children, draw them close in those sporadic moments she felt more loving. On these occasions she would be charmed by the stories she’d hear emerging so thoughtfully from her quiet, sensitive son. “Sweet Dream,” she took to calling him, for nothing about this part-nightmare was sullied just then, and his soft voice and softer nature made him all the more amenable to her.  

Of course, she was the one to induce the sullying in the first place. Drawing herself by her children, smiling indulgently at their conversations, she would wave a hand to her sister, Dusk, to bring them food and drink, absently listening to the curt tones of her eldest son likely telling off one of the others. Turning back to them, she saw the younger ones looking confused and a tad dejected. Death looked uncomfortable, Destiny unfathomable. It was when Death patiently started to explain that each of their functions were equally valuable as the others, that Night let out a tinkering laugh, forcing the others to swivel their heads toward her.  

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” she crooned, fingers intertwining around the stem of her wineglass. “You all have your functions, my darlings, but some are more equal than others.”  

“How do you mean?” a young Death asked, tilting her head.  

“Well,” Night murmured, running a finger against Desire’s face. “While some of you may be creating new worlds, not all of you have the same capacity.” She tapped her nails against her glass. “It’s not like there was anything of value until Destiny appeared.” Here, she smiled sickly-sweet at her eldest. “Or anything of consciousness until Dream did.” Here, she tugged the silent boy close to herself, amused at the light resentment arising in the younger ones’ eyes.  

“My sweet Dream,” she crooned, pushing aside his wild hair. “There would be none of this –” here, she waved a careless hand at the surrounding universe, “without you.” Dream remained silent, pliant in her hold, but she could the tug of glowing pride in him. This , she thought possessively. This was one I may yet keep .  

“What about us?” Desire interrupted her thoughts.  

“Hm?” Night answered absently, taking a sip.  

“What about Desire and Despair? Don’t our functions give cause to those dreams? Bring them to fruition?” they asked stubbornly.  

Night snorted into her glass. “Darling Desire, your functions only exist because dreams exist. Dream’s arrival was cataclysmic to the rest of you, so soon at that. Before that – well. Destiny and Death did their part.” She gave them a quick nod. “But suppose of a world where these creatures go without dreaming. Where you go without dreaming?”  

“Dreams would be empty of feeling if it weren’t for us,” Despair intoned from her corner. Night sniffed. “Yes, well, I don’t suppose anyone sits in excited anticipation for despair .”  

The children stilled. Dream, still clutched tightly to her side, shuffled uncomfortably.  

Amused by their grim expressions, feeling the heady effect of her wine, Night reached over and pinched Despair’s cheek. “But I suppose you do all have your purpose,” she indulged in a simpering voice. “Where would the world be without you all?” Smiling proudly, albeit drunkenly, over the heads of her offspring, she felt a sudden wave of jealousy at the thought of anyone but her having a claim to them. They were hers. Her victory, her fight, her proof against Time’s perpetual crimes of erratic, sublime indifference.  

Stroking the young heads around her, satisfied with her maternal duties for the time, Night arose and gathered her sequined form around her, shifting and glowing as she reached for the sky.  

+  

Yet despite their parents’ sowing the seeds of resentment among them, these did not take off until much later. Sure, Dream developed a certain haughtiness and pride in his role, but with Time so rarely present or engaged, it was Destiny that he subconsciously fashioned himself against. His brother’s silent, indefatigable will and resolute dedication to his function, his clipped words of reprimand anytime the others failed at theirs, clung to a much younger Dream, made him conscious of his duty, his purpose, and only with the others, particularly Desire, nearby, did he loosen the noose he was forming around his neck.  

But time did go on, and amid the happier days brought along their youngest sibling, named Delight for the joy she brought them, the joyous environment to which she arrived. The others were granted their own realms, and would follow suit as their eldest siblings to build and create what they could. But they were still new to it, and on occasion would find themselves making their way back to each other again. A young Delight would be found running amok, her parents too focused on each other to notice her, but on the occasions where they shared a family dinner, old childish tensions would stir back up.  

“Your elder brother has inspired so many,” Night would croon, looking pointedly at the others with a glint in her eye. It had been too peaceful, and she was bored.  

The others glanced around for a moment, confused, clearly thinking of Destiny and what on earth he’d managed to inspire. Night curled a sharp hand around her other son’s pale neck. “Your brother,” she said clearly. “Your elder.” Dream’s face was pink, eyes shifting, and the others were gaping back at him. Growing up together so close in age, that hierarchy had never come into play, not to any of them save the oldest two, who seemed to command respect without trying.  

Desire snickered. “Oh yes. How could we forget your many accomplishments, big brother. ” The last two words, said teasingly, in mockery, but their mother paid no attention.  

“It must be strenuous work for you, sweet Dream,” their mother continued. “Wouldn’t you rather be back here with me? It can be so lonely without you children.”  

“Does Delight not keep you busy, Mother?” asked Destruction with a straight face.  

“Hm?” It took Night a moment to remember her youngest. “Oh, yes. I suppose she is here. She's always here.” She sounded irritated by the fact. “But wouldn’t you like to be back home as well, darling?” her grip on Dream’s neck tightened momentarily.  

Dream flushed, avoiding eye contact. “I thank you for your kindness, Mother,” he mumbled softly, well-aware of his siblings’ feral grins directed at him. “But I have duties now. I am ruler of my realm. I must fulfill my responsibilities –”  

“Yes, yes, your function and your responsibilities,” Night interrupted in a bored tone. “Not once do you mention me. Always a selfish one, you were.” And here, she rose up to leave the room, her hand on his neck pinched into pale skin. Her expression was neutral, and the sharpness of her nails had Dream wincing and left visible marks in their wake.  

The silence that followed was a small blessing, he knew, eyes on his plate and face already heating up from the inevitable teasing to come.  

3, 2, 1...  

“Why, sweet Dream ,” Desire started, eyes bright. “You never told us you had become so...inspiring, to so many.” The others chortled. “One would think our big brother would teach us the wisdom of his ways.”  

The siblings’ laughter rang around the table. They were not immune from the occasional scrap and crack at each other, and Dream would often find himself at its end whenever their mother showed him favor, which was often.  

He responded with a smug smile. “ Darling Desire ,” he mimicked their mother. “You never asked.”  

The others cackled, and their normal chattering resumed, plates and utensils scraping together, feet dangling and kicking under the table. If Desire’s kick had a bit more bite to it, if their eyes had glinted with a bitter malice they hadn’t seen before, and if Dream’s eyes had not frosted up, shoulders stiffening from his bruised ego, it didn’t pass the others’ attention. It was not acknowledged at all.  

+  

Despite the time and space that grew between them, Destiny would resume the family dinners, now hosting them in his realm as their parents grew bitter and distant toward each other. This proved much harder in the early years. His siblings, at the time still residing in their mother’s domain, were growing into their own, and clearly affected by the tensions in the household, as it showed in their expressions, more somber and morose with every dinner.  

Death was going through a phase of her own; her clothes wildly inappropriate, at least by Destiny’s standards, for a family dinner; her personality darker as civilizations grew and different cultures began to give them different names, and hers was the most feared of all.  

Destiny was not the most engaging; he felt his duty was done once he’d wrangled everyone to dine together. The evenings themselves would be carried out with various chatter from different voices around the massive dining table; initially more childish, with Death’s patient tone interspersed between; then older, more barbed, and Death’s voice had thinned out among them.  

“Did you know, eldest brother?” Desire grinned at Destiny, eyes glinting mischievously. “That our sweet Dream may be in love?”  

Destiny grunted. Dream looked back at Desire, amused. “Your efforts to toy with my life do not have the effect you think, darling Desire.”  

“So you say,” Desire shot back, grinning widely. “But when will we get to meet this mysterious figure? Who has so quickly vanquished the heart of my dearest brother?”  

Dream shook his head with a dramatic, long-suffering sigh. “Soon, my relentless sibling,” he responded. “Soon.”  

Destruction, who had brought Delight with him, winced as his elbow knocked over a glass vase, shattering it to pieces. He kept a tight hold on the youngest, babbling sibling, reaching out with another hand to clean up. Another shattering sound. “Ahh. I apologize, my brother,” he began, looking around wildly for a broom. “It was an –”  

“Accident, yes I know,” Destiny’s weary voice was followed by a flick of his hand, and the next second the broken glass had disappeared. “Destruction, sit down. Eat. All of you.” His voice brooked no argument, and Destruction sat meekly, distracting himself with the youngest in his lap. The others had also gone silent, eyes averted and eating dutifully.  

Their powers had been banned from use in Destiny’s realm after the previous instances when he’d broken up a fight or two between the riotous family members, often resulting in tears and hurt expressions after he’d reprimanded them the way their parents never bothered to; for he would not allow his family to run wild and tarnish the Endless family name. Sometimes it was to intervene between Desire and Despair; sometimes Destruction and Dream. The most common was, surprisingly, between the two siblings closest to each other, as they knew what would set the other off and used it with finesse during heated arguments. Oftentimes, these would result in forcing the siblings to sit on either side of Destiny or Death, unable to land another word or kick without a heavy glare causing them to rethink their actions. Or in separate rooms, denied the sustenance of heavenly desserts until they had apologized to each other.  

Quick to anger, stubborn to a fault, Desire and Dream were equally fast to win back each other’s favor, and their cheerful chatter would usually resume around the dinner table. For which the oldest two were glad; no one wanted Destiny to be good on his occasional threat of a sound thrashing.  

Not that they’d gone without. There was a time when there was no shortage of repercussions following a round of tantrums, fits of rage, physical altercations, even abuse of power. When left alone long enough, the Endless siblings had a tendency to forget they were meant to behave as the rulers of their respective realms, with a might and power that defied gods. No; together, they would immediately switch to, as Destiny put it, “ridiculous anthromorphs akin to primates, of inferior species and lesser intellect.” Or, when he was really put out, “dysfunctional infants who made Delight look grown-up.”  

Sometimes, dinner would be an awkward affair, with sniffling, squirming figures finishing up under the wrathful gaze of the blind, cloaked man looming over them at the head of the table.  

He never set out to play this role. In reality, Destiny had had little idea of what to do during the first few meltdowns. His parents had basically left him to raise himself, largely in a void where he was the only one around. With Death, he took to slowly showing her the ropes after her countless questions and unceasing curiosity won over his hermit-like ways. Their parents’ idea of growth, education, discipline, responsibility – all of it had been so erratic, so petty and vengeful and intent on getting the other’s attention – that he honestly hadn’t a clue how he was supposed to navigate these new beings in his life.  

Death made it easier, immediately taking to the siblings with a loving kindness that had always won him over. She was empathic, observant, and knew her family well enough to know when they needed comfort and when they needed a sharp word. He clumsily began following her approach, although mostly leaving the comfort bit to her. When he could.  

“This shall be the last I witness of any more of this nonsense,” he’d reprimanded a young Destruction and Despair, who were as adept at hurting each other as they were for their functions. Both had sobbed out the last of their apologies to each other, and against Destiny’s will had then wrapped themselves into the folds of his cloak, stubbornly demanding the same comfort their eldest sister gave them. The threat of a sound thrashing hadn’t always worked, and in this case, he’d had to make good on his word, forcing both to leave the stunned dinner table and into the next room, from which the following sounds left the other siblings wincing in sympathy.  

It also meant Destiny would return to a table of perfect angels.  

Sometimes, Destiny would be faced with the temperamental aftermath of their parents’ engagement with their offspring. Sometimes, the family would appear sullen, tired, and snap at each other accusingly with spiteful words familiar to Time and Night.  

Internally, he couldn’t help but sympathize, aware they were too young to truly understand how their parents were maneuvering them like mindless puppets for their own benefit.  

But that was no excuse for attacking each other with nightmares and talon-like fingernails. So he told the two hotheads over his knees, too tired to address one at a time, back when they were small enough to fit and young enough to warrant such a response. Dream and Desire may be lords in their own right, he’d sternly reprimand, but they were also answerable to him and old enough to know better.  

Scratched up, hair bedraggled, both would be fighting, pushing and snapping at each other even upturned on his lap, but under the sharp swats and scolding, would quickly descend to protests, negotiations – even, to his amusement, to bribery on occasion. He’d assure the sobbing, red-bottomed children he was quite content with his love life, thank you, and no, he had no need for dreams of heaven’s abode, having been there and lived that life in his younger days.  

“Maybe if he had a love life, he would spend less time focusing on us,” Desire had muttered bitterly into Dream’s ear, both trying to discreetly rub their behinds. After taking their share of punishment, the chastised siblings would have to make the uncomfortable, gradual walk back to the rest of the family.  

Unable to help himself, a teary-eyed Dream had snorted in laughter. As children, he could always count on Desire to ease the tension following a thorough spanking. Even when they’d been the cause of each other’s doom.  

“What’s that, Desire?” Destiny had asked pleasantly from behind.  

“Nothing,” a flushing Desire had responded, hurrying forward to escape his punishing hand.  

Dream, meanwhile, had debated whether he could use his brutal (awful, terrible, abominable ) suffering to convince a sympathetic Death to give him her share of dessert.  

Even if it meant enduring her long-drawn hugs. Which Dream didn’t like.  

At all.  

And definitely did not cling to, well after Death had stopped squeezing her siblings in her arms.  

In spite of himself, Dream had hurried behind Desire, leaving an exasperated Destiny to follow.  

+  

He’d been younger then. They’d all been much younger, the reprobates then still living with their mother and father, adjusting to Death’s recent departure to her own realm.  

Back then, Destiny thought, it had been easier, in some ways, to wrangle his family in whenever they crossed certain lines. It was easy enough to get each to forgive the other and move on.  

Now, though, it wasn’t quite so simple. Eons of bad blood and the passing of time meant it was impossible to make peace among the siblings as easily as before. The underlying resentments, jealousies weaponized by their possessive mother, the indifference of their father, had left too many wounds to heal. And with them all grown up and responsible to their realms, with Destruction gone, things weren’t going to resolve themselves in a single family dinner.  

Still, Destiny tried. Insisted that despite the barbed words and malice, they all join him for dinner as they had always done, perhaps find ways to make peace during those rare moments of reunion.  

It hadn’t been enough. He could see that now. See it in how deep the wounds ran across the family, how much there was to repair. How much he needed to step in, no longer take a backseat to his family’s ruin before it was beyond salvation.  

He owed them that much. They had given him what their parents could not.  

Remembering his conversation with Hob, Destiny couldn’t help but smirk. His siblings may be too old for him to wrangle like he used to. He was glad, for Dream’s sake at least, that there was someone else to take the reins.  

Now if he could find someone for Desire...  

Because, really, after that dinner, he was THIS close to taking a leaf out of Hob’s book.  

This close.  

+++  

Chapter Text

“Don’t strain yourself so much,” Hob protested. “You’ll get there one day.” 

Dream ignored him, eyes aflame as he tried to will his corporeal form to the Dreaming. 

His hands would turn hazy, ephemeral blur to the world around them, and he would feel the strength of that pull grow stronger and stronger – he could feel the sea breeze in his fingers –  

“Dream!” 

The spell broke. And just as suddenly, he was tired again, human muscle and bone more visceral in their weight as he continued to live outside of the Dreaming. Chest heaving, face mulish, he turned to glare at the source of his interruption. 

“What?” he snarled, body trembling from exhaustion. A moment later, he sighed, shaking his head in apology at Hob to show he didn’t mean to sound so hostile. 

Hob placed a soft hand on his shoulder. “Dream, you’ve been at it for hours. You need to rest. The Dreaming isn’t going anywhere overnight.” 

Dream didn’t look any happier. 

“I believe,” he began slowly, voice deep and hushed, “I am quite close –” 

“Yeah, I know, but –” 

“ No, Hob.” He was glaring now, blurry eyes blinking rapidly. “I could feel it, it was part of me – I was there. Until you spoke.” 

Rationally, Dream knew it was foolish to blame Hob, who meant well. The rising hurt and anger were surprising even to him. But the sensation of his kingdom at his fingertips, over a century apart, still breathing and so alive , then ripped away... 

Ignoring Hob’s crestfallen expression, Dream turned on his heel and walked out of the room, wiping his eyes along the way. 

They had been trying for days now, Hob encouraging and Dream struggling to break that ephemeral barrier between himself and the Dreaming. To have all his tools and still be denied access to his home left him feeling stateless. Exiled. 

Deep in thought, he lay down on his bed, door shut against Hob for privacy. Hob wasn’t new to him storming off, but it still felt cruel. Perhaps he could make amends. 

He felt a hand on his shoulder. 

Twisting his neck, Dream gaped at the sight of Destiny looming before him. 

“Brother,” Destiny intoned deeply.  

The next second, both were gone. 

+ 

“I am afraid I do not understand you, brother,” Dream said, sitting stiffly in his brother’s – Hob would call it ‘sitting room’ – and glancing distastefully across at Desire, also seated and appearing as uncertain of the reason for this reunion as he. 

Destiny stood above them both, eyes unseeing and yet still managing to be expressive. 

“It will be better for us to speak here,” he intoned, pacing slowly around the room with one arm wrapped around his open book and robe trailing behind. “This demands our attendance.” 

Silence. 

“Um,” said Desire. Caught Dream’s eye, the way they used to as children every time Destiny would provide vague information and expect them to understand. It was quick, and both caught themselves shifting away just as fast. Desire’s leather boots scraped against the sofa. 

“Brother,” Dream started. 

“I must speak with both of you,” Destiny rumbled. Desire quirked an eyebrow that said, no shit, Sherlock . 

“I must speak with you,” he continued slowly. “As I have with our sisters. Of yesterday. Of today. And of tomorrow.” 

Desire raised their eyes to the heavens. “Brother, you already explained your function to us. Long ago, I know, but perhaps you’re forgetting in your old –” 

“This has no relation to my function,” Destiny growled, effectively silencing their sibling. “This has to do with my actions. Our actions. Your behaviors,” he added, glaring at both. “And to reach agreement.” 

Dream and Desire gaped at him. 

Destiny sighed. “I have been...remiss in my duties.” They frowned in confusion; Destiny, remiss? That was equivalent to Despair expressing joy. 

“I have been remiss. In my duty as an Endless. As the elder. As your brother. I kept my distance; I refrained from interference where interference was due. Had I foreseen the consequences...” Destiny’s arm tightened against his book, chains clanging. “But no more. I will stand by no longer.” 

“...okaayyy,” Desire answered. “This could have been an email.” They began to rise; Destiny’s bark of “sit” had them returning to their seat rapidly. 

“We will not leave the premises. We will not leave until we have addressed this – outrage between you two. This enmity. It cannot stand.”  

Both Dream and Desire opened their mouths, shocked and ready to argue. Destiny raised a hand.  

“No. This must be resolved.” 

“You expect to fix eons of individual acts of tyranny and betrayal in one sitting?” Dream demanded. Desire rolled their eyes at his choice of words. 

“Not all of it, no. But the heart of it,” Destiny said, rather gently. “It is my duty to undermine chaos for order. Before it’s too late.” 

“So this is for your function?” Desire asked spitefully. Destiny pondered on his response. 

“Yes. And no. I am to keep order where I may. But I am also to allow chaos where it is inevitable. Here, it is...not yet inevitable.” 

His voice, usually deep and rumbling, sounded oddly compassionate. 

“You mean this?” Desire asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Yes.” 

“You want to fix this? Have us hug it out? Kiss and make up?” 

“It would serve you better to keep your hands off me, Desire –” 

“Dream,” Destiny growled, and Dream shut up. “I do not expect your idea of a response, Desire. But what happened before – it cannot happen again.” His voice cracked at the end. 

Both siblings stared at him, then each other. He was quite serious. They just didn’t want to go along with it. 

“He stole my drink,” Desire said mockingly. 

“That is a blatant lie –” came Dream’s fierce response. 

“Again.” Destiny stated firmly. Again, and again, until they got this right.  

It took some time, but after recounting the many individual slights made over the centuries, they started getting somewhere. 

“You loved being under the spotlight,” Desire spat, hands now clenched. “Time help us if anyone else tried taking it from you – not that father would, obviously –” 

“I did not ask for it.” 

“You didn’t refuse it.” 

“What did you expect, that I spurn our mother?” Dream said heatedly. “That would end well.” 

“Oh sure, you accepted her praise out of fear –” 

“I cannot shape her decisions,” Dream cut in. “And what of you? Why did you say nothing of it?” 

“I was a child, Dream.” 

“So was I.” 

Both stared venomously at the other. 

“And if that wasn’t enough, you became this dramatic little bitch –” 

“Desire.” 

“– who moped around all the time about everything. You used to be fun, you used to have a life. What happened to you?” 

Dream had paused to reign in his temper. At the question, his eyes unwillingly filled with tears. 

“You, Desire,” he said quietly. “You broke my trust. You destroyed my love with Killala. You broke my heart.” 

Desire looked conflicted, less certain. “It was just a joke, Dream!” 

“A joke to hurt me. Abuse my trust in you. And not for the last time.” 

By now, both were standing, fists clenched, mirror images of each other as they evaluated the other. Dream’s eyes were red, Desire’s body was shaking. 

“It was not I who made the first move, Desire,” said Dream quietly. “Nor was I the last.” 

“You certainly didn’t stop your nightmares from crawling into me.” 

“And you tried to interfere with Hob,” Dream continued, now shaking with anger. “I will not recant my judgement of you after that.” 

“Again, it was just a joke. Something you’d know if you weren’t such a pissant –” 

“Desire.” 

“You tried to unmake me –” 

“Oh, get over it already!” Desire snapped. “I don’t need to take orders from you or bow to your eternal wisdom and greatness just because Night expected it. You think you’re so much better than all of us, don’t you, big brother?” 

Dream gave a steely gaze. “Not all. Just you.” His mouth twitched. 

Desire growled, moving forward to launch themselves at Dream and scratch his eyes out, when Destiny stood up. 

“I’ve heard enough.” Destiny paused for a moment to collect himself, comforted by the warmth of the living book in his arms. “This is far, far more ridiculous than I thought.” 

Dream and Desire both shot him an identical look of offense. 

“To think this – this disruption to order, this descent into chaos, stemming from mere misunderstandings and childhood jealousies – now tarnishing the Endless family name –” 

“That’s not –” 

“Silence.” They obeyed, rather quickly. An old, familiar memory. 

One which gave Destiny an idea. 

“Lean over that desk.” 

Both gaped. “What?” 

"Lean. Over that desk.” 

Both stared, turning their heads to see an actual desk a few feet away. An object that resembled a flat bat lay on top. 

“Um,” Desire started. “Is that what I think it is?” 

“Brother,” Dream turned back to him, voice hushed. “You cannot mean to –” 

“We’re not children , and the only time I say yes to that is when I’m tied down and wearing a lot less –” 

“I will not repeat myself.” 

“You –”  

“I can always do this the traditional way.” 

Faces blanching at the memory, Dream and Desire shut up and moved to the desk. Eyeing the bat with distaste, Dream leaned over heavily, with a weary familiarity with the position. Desire had begun nervously chattering. 

“It’s not that I’m against it, I love a good spanking. It's just that usually the other guy is wearing a thong and holding a whip and – well, not related to me –” 

“Desire.”  

They scrambled into place beside Dream, clutching the front of the desk. Hearing Destiny move behind them, Desire growled at Dream under their breath, “Wonderful job, as always, Dream. Just what I wanted before my weekly orgy.” 

“I am not the one who brought us here,” Dream hissed back. “Your petty schemes and plans did. As always. ” 

Desire opened their mouth to bite back, but gasped instead as the bat struck their thigh, the sound reverberating in the open room. Next to them, there was another sharp crack, and Dream’s grip on the desk tightened. 

“Enough. You do not need to convince me further how necessary this is.” Thwap. “How much time has passed, and yet –” thwap, “How little has changed after all. Still trying to get the last word in –” thwap “when you should have enough sense” – thwap – “to remain silent.” Thwap.  

By now, both were breathing heavily; Destiny dealt a hard hand in more ways than one. He continued his ministrations, cracking down on each vulnerable behind with every bit of frustration felt in each strike. 

“I do not care,” thwap, “for your words,” thwap, “for your actions,” thwap, “or for their consequences, intentional or not.” Thwap. “You will bring an end to this enmity once and for all.” Thwap. “Apologize.” Thwap. “Say what you must.” Thwap. “And let go of old wounds, else they will not heal.” Thwap. 

“Who says we want to heal them?” Desire muttered through gritted teeth. Unfortunately, Destiny heard them. They yelped in surprise and pain as Destiny placed his entire focus on them, ignoring Dream who was stubbornly silent except for his quiet cries of pain. 

“Desire,” thwap. “I have been meaning to speak with you.” Thwap. Desire hissed.  

“About your most recent attempt to harm another Endless.” Destiny landed a series of swats that had Desire crying out and Dream wincing. “Please explain,” thwap, “what you were thinking when you decided to involve the Fates in our affairs?” THWAP. “When you thought you had just cause for imprisonment? For an unmaking, threatening an entire kingdom?” 

“You never tried saving him,” Desire spat out, angry tears rolling down their cheeks. “You knew where he was.” 

Destiny paused. In that moment, Dream was still as a statue, not making eye contact with either of them. 

“The Endless do not interfere in each other’s affairs,” Destiny repeated the adage quietly. “That was my mistake. My failure. One I intend to see resolved.” 

“By beating it into us?” Desire hissed venomously.  

Destiny shrugged internally. “One way or another.” Thwap. 

It was some time before he let them up, before he let them wash their faces before returning morosely to him. Destiny wrapped his hands over Dream’s shoulders, feeling relief at the energy coursing through his weakened brother. Looking him up and down, satisfied that he was as alive as could be, Destiny grasped the back of his neck and gently squeezed, an old familiar gesture that had Dream shudder in response. 

“It is good to see you alive.” Dream looked up, surprise across his reddened eyes. Destiny gave him an indiscernible look, as though he was seeing him for the first time. 

“This cannot continue,” he said firmly. Dream looked as though he wanted to point fingers at Desire, but the sting in his behind was still fierce, and he instead nodded his assent. 

Destiny nodded in response. “I must speak further with Desire.” Beside him, Desire looked up in alarm. “We will meet again soon.” With another squeeze, he let go of Dream’s neck and stepped back. 

Dream blinked. He was back in his room. In Hob’s flat. It seemed as if he’d only been gone a few minutes. The seat of his pants, however, was a stark reality check. 

Dream stood in place, trying to comprehend what had just happened. Destiny, aloof, often indifferent, now forcing amends and making physical contact was...strange. And a far cry from the Destiny he had long known growing up. 

Not entirely, though, that much was clear. Rubbing gently, Dream felt a wave of relief go through him. His head felt clear, at ease. A catharsis he could not quite place. Perhaps it was Destiny’s words. It is good to see you alive. 

Or perhaps it was the painful, rather unnecessary administration to his corporeal form, Dream thought wryly. He could give Hob a run for his money. 

Closing his eyes and breathing deeply, Dream felt more at peace than he had in days. The pulsing call to home was still strong, but no longer muddled. 

With his eyes closed, Dream followed the pulse. 

He did not see it, did not feel it. But he heard it. 

The sound of crashing waves. 

+++ 

Chapter Text

My lord?  

Dream couldn’t move. 

The naked breeze was cool against his skin, swirling grains of sand away from his shuttered eyes. His limbs felt heavy, as though he’d been pulled by an invisible force into the abyss. 

My lord.  

A sound was echoing, faint and garbled, somewhere near him. Or thousands of feet away. Dream couldn’t tell which. He was momentarily distracted from trying to lift his arms up. 

He couldn’t do it. 

He could barely lift his head. 

Hob had described the feeling as ‘having your breath knocked from your body.’ Well, that was accurate enough. He did not need to breathe, but the part of him that had stayed in the Waking World so long took an impulsive gulp of air.  

It itched his throat. 

Trying to shift his head around, Dream realized he was lying on his side before the sea of the Dreaming, just outside his palace, albeit still a part of his kingdom. 

And he still couldn’t move. 

Well, that was rather humiliating. He twitched his fingers in place, trying to ‘bring them back to life,’ as Hob had shown him after a particularly cold day outside. 

Lying there in his solitude, Dream felt as though it had been hours since he arrived.  

The crash of the sea waves intermingled with the salty breeze. Dream thought he was imagining it, but, glued to the sand as he was, he could feel a thrumming beat move the ground. Growing louder, faster – 

“My lord!”  

Soft hands clasped his arms, turning him onto his back. Dream was grateful. His side was beginning to hurt from being in one position so long.  

Dark, gentle eyes were looking him up and down. The figure was holding onto his shoulders, saying something. He tried to pay attention and identify them. 

Sharp elf ears, spectacles, a familiarity as old as the earth... 

“Ah,” he managed to whisper, lifting a weak hand for her to clasp. “Lucienne.” 

“You’re home, my lord,” she whispered back, tears in her eyes. 

“I am,” he responded, warmed by the sight of her. He tried to rise up, and immediately, Lucienne supported his arms, carefully helping him get on his feet. She didn’t let go at first, her eyes anxious and watching his every move. Dream leaned on her for a moment, willing strength back into his legs, and took a step forward, shaky but alright. The weakness and winded feeling were still there, but dissipating.  

He was making sense of his surroundings again. Enveloped by sea and sand, there in the distance lay his palace, vast and impenetrable.  

He was back.  

He had returned. 

Dream took a step forward. Lucienne tighten her hold around his arm protectively for a moment before letting go. She continued to hover by him as they made their way toward the castle gates. 

Powerful, looming high above them, these gates were a masterful work, wrenched from the horns of an enemy god Dream defeated long ago. His fingers lingered on them a moment.  

“My lord.” Lucienne sounded cautious. He turned to look at her. 

She hesitated. “Forgive me, sir, but...the realm, the palace. They are not as you left them.” She appeared almost sorrowful. 

A feeling of foreboding filling him, Dream raised his hand back to the gates and gently pushed. 

They were stubborn, as though they did not want him to see beyond. But he pushed anyway. 

A part of Dream wished he hadn’t. That he had turned around, gone back to the Waking World and to Hob. 

Perhaps he shouldn’t have come at all. 

A wretched wasteland lay before him. 

Grief, sharp as a knife, struck his heart. What had once been full of life and color was now grey and decaying, a vast broken world. The cracked bridge, damaged paths and buildings... 

A slow movement above. Dream’s eyes widened as he saw the top of his palace split away and roll down, crumbling into dust as it went. Tears filled his eyes at the sight of his once beloved home, now fallen apart and destroyed in his absence. 

He had not felt grief like this in over a hundred years, not since he had first been wrenched away from his kingdom. 

“What happened here?” he asked, voice caught in his throat. “Who did this?” 

At Lucienne’s response, hurt and fury filled him, drowning out the sound of the breeze and the sea, overtaking his senses, overwhelming everything. 

+ 

Hob didn’t intend to develop a regular correspondence with Dream’s family. It just naturally happened. 

“Have you seen Dream?” he demanded, holding Death’s sigil near his ear and mouth. 

“Hob, it’s not a telephone,” an amused voice answered from behind.  

He turned around, blushing. “Well. How would I know?” He set the sigil on his kitchen counter and looked at her standing before him, arms folded.

She raised an eyebrow. “You rang?”  

“I did,” Hob responded stiffly. “Have you seen Dream?” 

Death looked around her, surveying the area before turning a keen eye back on him. “I take it he isn’t here.” 

“You take it correctly.” 

“Where was he last?” 

“In his room.” 

“And he hasn’t –” 

“No, he hasn’t gone out the window.” Hob rubbed his face. He was tired, and feeling more frantic about finding Dream than in sitting and explaining himself to his sister. “We...we’d had a fight earlier.” 

She waited. 

“About...about his powers. We’ve been trying to help him get them back properly. Practicing, y’know. But I don’t know, I might have pushed him a bit too hard...” 

“And you think he went to his room and evaporated?” she asked dryly. Hob shook his head. “He hadn’t reached that point yet, so no. I don’t. At least, I don’t think so,” he added, second-guessing himself. Maybe Dream was keeping secrets. That hurt. 

Eyeing him up and down, Death nodded. “Alright. If he didn’t leave himself, you reckon he was taken?” 

Hob’s heart fluttered. 

“Gods wounds, I hope not,” he swore under his breath. “I thought he was safe now?” 

Death shrugged. “Dream doesn’t...make friends easily,” she answered evasively.  

"Oh God."

Raising a finger to quell his fears, Death considered the circumstances. This didn’t feel malicious. But she knew well the consequences of a missing sibling. 

She may require some assistance. 

+ 

Destiny hmm-ed to himself, sightless eyes wandering over the pages of his book. Death waited patiently, fiddling with Destiny’s odd trinkets in the room. He had a strange notion of decor.

That table in the corner had certainly not been here before, with the strange paddle atop it. 

Grimacing, she turned away, having no wish to know the more sordid details of her brother’s private life. 

“Hm. It appears our brother is not on this mortal plane.” Destiny shut his book, satisfied. 

Death waited.  

Destiny waited. 

Ugh, he’d always done this. “So, where is he, dear brother?” she asked sweetly. 

“In the Dreaming,” he responded promptly. 

Death’s mouth opened. “The...the Dreaming?” 

“Is it so difficult to believe the Lord of the Dreaming would be in the Dreaming?” 

Oh, she’d forgotten how sassy Destiny could be when he wanted. 

“Considering he could barely cross rooms without needing his physical form, yes, yes it is,” she responded tersely. He’d be concerned too if he hadn’t just learned about everything from his book. 

Destiny nodded sagely. “That is true.” Smug wanker. “However. It appears he has since found a way back.” 

Death bit her lip. “Hob said they’d been making progress but...” 

“It is safe to presume he succeeded.” 

“Oh, is it? Is it safe?” she snapped, annoyed at his lofty tone. Turning away, she yanked her jacket back on. “I’m going to get him. And then, I’m going to kill him. Running off –” 

“You cannot bar an Endless from their own realm, my sister,” Destiny’s voice answered from behind. Death groaned under her breath. “However you may feel, Dream has broken no law in going back.” 

“Without saying a word?” 

“He will return.” 

“He’d better.” 

“That is his will.” 

Breathing heavily, her anger dissipating, Death rubbed her face and returned to sink into a nearby seat. Destiny remained where he was seated opposite her, watching. 

“Would you like a sherry?” he asked politely. 

“Yes, please.” 

Destiny flicked a wrist, and a glass of sherry appeared in her hand. She took it down in one go. 

“Do you not have to return to your duties, my sister?” Destiny asked, poker-faced. 

“In a moment,” she muttered, watching the glass refill before taking another swig. “They’re dead. Not like they’re going anywhere.” 

+ 

Hob was just about ready to call the police when Dream reappeared. 

“Dream!” Hob jumped up and ran to hug him. “Are you alright? Where have you been? I’d asked Death but she hasn’t gotten back to me yet, I was getting worried.” 

He pulled away, hands clutching the other’s shoulders as anger took over. Now he knew Dream was alive, Hob was ready to deliver the ear-scouring of a lifetime. 

Only, he couldn’t.  

Dream looked devastated. His body was slumping a little, as though it had taken all his strength to return. His eyes were looking past Hob at something beyond, and his expression was haunted. 

“Dream?” Hob asked gently. He placed a hand on the other’s cheek. “Dream, what’s happened? What’s wrong?” 

Dream looked like he was having an internal debate, eyes flickering around and looking at nothing. Taking a cool hand in his own, Hob tugged at Dream to bring him over to the sofa and get him to sit down. 

The hand stopped him, pulling back. Dream had tears in his eyes, his chin was trembling – in fact, all of him looked as though he’d been through quite an ordeal.  

Hob felt fear prickle his skin. “Dream. What happened?” 

Dream shook his head slightly. He seemed to have come to a decision, based on the sorrow etching over his face. 

“Hob,” he said in hushed tones. “Hob. I wish to thank you for everything –” 

What? 

“— my debt to you is as eternal, as eternal as you, my – my friend –” 

“Hang on.” Hob interrupted. “Time out. What are you going on about?” 

Dream shot him a pained glance. 

“Dream,” Hob, shaking his head and laughing nervously. “Where were you?” 

Dream’s wet lashes fluttered. “The Dreaming.” 

What?  

“What?” Hob repeated aloud, thinking he misheard. Surely not. Just this morning Dream hadn’t been able to apparate past the other end of the flat. 

“Hob.” Dream took the man’s hands into his own. Relishing their warmth, the blood throbbing with comforting normalcy under soft skin. 

“Hob. I went back. I was able to go back. To my kingdom, my home. And it –” his eyes teared up again. “It lay in ruins.” 

A beat.

“Oh, Dream,” Hob said softly. “How, who –?” 

Dream shook his head. “I have been away too long. I abandoned my kingdom, my subjects, let it all wither away while I frolicked in the Waking World like a half-wit mortal –” 

Hob snorted. “We only frolicked the one time.” 

Dream cracked a pained smile.

“I forsook everything within my realm, neglected my duties. To my subjects, to you, to the dreamers.” His voice shook. “Hob, I must leave you.” 

Hob stilled.  

“I must return.” 

His heart clenched. 

“No, no,” he stammered out. “Absolutely not. You’re not ready – we still have so much to work on –” 

Now it was Dream’s turn to lay a gentle hand on Hob’s face. “Hob,” he said quietly. “I must.” 

Scrambling for options, Hob grabbed at the nearest one. “I’ll call Death,” he said desperately. “I will. She wouldn’t want you to go.” 

Dream cracked a smile at the earnest effort. “The Endless cannot forbid one another from entering their own realms. Try though Desire might.” 

Hob shook his head. “Dream,” he said, his voice cracking, heart thudding.

Dream couldn’t leave.

Sure, they had been working towards a future like this. One where Dream, fully healed, could be Lord of the Dreaming again. But as with most things, Hob’s optimistic mind had let him imagine this reality to be far away. He wasn’t ready for Dream to go just yet. 

Not yet. 

“You’ll. You’ll visit, then, yeah?” Hob asked, smiling weakly. His hands were now tight around Dream’s shirt sleeves. “Pop in whenever you can?” 

Dream looked at him with an unfathomable expression. 

“Twice a week for tea, surely?” 

Dream looked away, eyes wet again. “Hob,” his hushed voice shook slightly. “The Dreaming has suffered much damage and destruction. It will take...time. To repair it. To regain the strength to repair it.” 

“Exactly, so you need –” 

“I cannot abandon my subjects, Hob,” said Dream. “Not again. There is...too much work to be done. I must return to the Dreaming.”  

Hob rubbed his face. “So... what then? You abandon me instead and I just go back to my normal life?” He couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice. 

Dream looked wounded. “Hob, you knew this day would come, you knew I could not stay here forever –” 

“I didn’t know it meant we’d never see each other again!” 

“You knew I could not stay here forever –” 

“I’m not bloody asking for forever, though, am I?” Hob snapped. “But after everything, I should bloody well be able to ask for more than just once every hundred years.” 

Dream swallowed, eyes fluttering as he took in Hob’s words. “Hob,” he said in a hushed voice. “It is not safe for you to know me. For us to be...as we are. I cannot stand by and watch while my troubles threaten you and everything you’ve created. Hob,” his voice trembled. He shook his head. “We cannot be. I can only hope that you will understand my position –” 

“Your position?” Hob bit back. “What about my position? Don’t I have the right to ask for more? Don’t I get a say in all this?” His voice felt raw. “I deserve better than you just walking out, Dream. You owe me that much.” 

Dream flushed, looking away. “I do not wish to bring you harm –” 

“Yeah, yeah, so you say. You think I've enjoyed seeing you get hurt?” Hob’s eyes were blazing. “You think it’s easy for me to watch you go off – again and again and again – without warning and not know where you are or what’s happened to you –” 

“I am Endless,” Dream said softly. “I cannot be harmed so easily.” 

“Tell that to the skeleton I found in Burgess’ basement.” 

Dream flinched.

Frustrated, head shaking Hob turned and walked over to the kitchen, banging cupboard doors to collect everything before slamming a kettle on the stove to boil. 

Dream followed him to the kitchen, but stood away, watching from afar. Too far. 

Jealousy and resentment stirred through Hob. It was a familiar vision, watching his stranger walk away, and it had hurt more each time. 

“I’ll catch you in the 22nd century then, shall I?” He went on, voice growing louder. “Hey mate, how’s it been, ahh, nothing much from me, just keeping house and watering the plants after you left again –” 

Dream winced. 

“Oh, sorry, did I touch a nerve? Is it better if I forget any of this ever happened? That it was all ‘just a dream?’” 

Dream tilted his head. “Is that. What you would prefer?” he asked quietly. 

“What?” Hob huffed. “Now you care what I prefer?” 

Dream looked away, flushed. Both were matching stances, hands clenched, eyes reddened. Neither said a word. 

After a moment, Dream spoke. “Perhaps,” he said in a hushed voice. “Perhaps it must be.” 

“What’s that?” 

Dream seemed to be having an internal battle. Eyes squeezed shut, he said nothing, expression conflicted for a moment before he came to a decision.

He took a step forward, taking Hob’s hands in his own. 

“Hob,” Dream’s voice trembled. “The Dreaming is indebted to you. The dreamers are –” 

“Fuck the dreamers,” Hob interrupted hoarsely. “I did it for you.” 

The Endless looked at him with heartbreaking tenderness. He was glowing, dark hair a stark contrast against pale skin and piercing inhuman eyes. Unholy beauty. Even in tears, he was beautiful. 

Dream took a deep breath to steady himself. “My dear Hob. You have given me so much. You have brought me so much joy.” He raised Hob’s right hand to his lips and kissed it gently. “So much love.” Now he kissed the left. “You have seen the worst parts of me and loved them still.” Leaning over, he kissed the tears trailing across Hob’s gaunt face. “You reclaimed for me my dignity, my life, when I could not.” Now, he kissed the man’s brow. “I will not forget this. I cannot stay, but this I can do.” Pressing his face against Hob’s sweater, he breathed in the familiar scent one last time. “I will carry you with me, Hob Gadling. I will keep them for you.” 

Hob’s brow furrowed in bewilderment. “What?” 

Dream tilted his head up and kissed him. 

Hob opened his eyes.  

He was standing alone in his flat. Beside him, the kettle was whistling, threatening to boil over. Hob shook his head to clear his mind. Why was he standing there? Had he gotten up to fetch something? 

The kettle trilled impatiently. 

“Alright, alright,” Hob responded good-naturedly. “Keep your hair on.” Grabbing a mitten, he turned the stove off and lifted the kettle to prepare his evening tea. 

It was later, when he was stretched out across the sofa, breathing in the comforting waft of Earl Grey and enjoying his tin of chocolate biscuits, that he felt it. An odd sort of empty numbness. Like something was missing. He looked around, feeling a strange, twisted affection at the empty seat beside him. 

Maybe his friends were right. He really did need to get out more. 

Hob rose up, collecting his tea and dish and clearing everything away, ready for bed.  

Only he couldn’t.  

He couldn’t do it. There was that awful feeling again. There was something wrong with the sight of the empty bed.

Lost and desolate, Hob wandered back to the sitting room and lay on the sofa. He set the television on, hoping some white noise would help. Lying down, he tugged the Sherpa blanket over himself, and burrowed deep into the sofa. 

The blanket smelled of lavender, of rain, of sea salt. 

Tears pricked his eyes. Lying there alone was nothing new. 

Without knowing why, Hob let out a mournful sob. 

+++