Archive of Our Own ^beta

Hob was laughing, his head falling back, a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead from the warmth of the evening, and Dream could feel the joy coming off of him in waves.  Despite pulling him away from work that he had (according to him) needed to finish this evening, Hob had rejoiced in his presence and immediately launched into the stories of his latest trials and tribulations of working as a professor at a nearby university.  

Dream devoured the sight of him, his elbow on the table as he leaned forward in a gesture of clear interest.  Their feet were tangled and pressed together, the result of frequent shifting for comfort, and he would not risk any movement that would make Hob untangle them.  He wanted to bury his nose in Hob's hair and inhale the scent of him, soak in the warmth that poured off his body, and allow himself to once more be wrapped in arms that were so willing to offer comfort.  

But he could not.  

He had already imposed so much, with his third visit this week to draw comfort from Hob's presence.  His friend was ignoring his work obligations, and Lucienne had given him a look over the edge of her glasses when he had stepped away from the throne room and into the Waking with naught but a word.  To take more would be impossibly impolite, but Hob, kindness that he was, would never see it in such a way.  Would give, and give, and give, until Dream had drained him dry of all kindness and niceties and all that would remain was-

"Dream?"

Dream blinked twice and refocused on the human in front of him, offering a small smile in apology as he took a sip of his wine.  Even Hob's concern was warm, and Dream felt it drape around his shoulders, a blanket and bastion to keep him safe.  He cleared his throat and lowered his glass.  "Apologies, I am listening."  

Hob gave him a smile.  "I was boring your ear off with department talk again, I promise I'll shut up about it.  Why don't you take a turn and tell me what's going on with you!  Is everything all right?  I know you were in the middle of a massive clean up?"  

Dream hesitated and lowered his eyes to the table.  The cleanup of the Dreaming.  Where he should be, what he should be dedicated to fixing, to doing, rather than coming here.  Rather than soaking in the warmth of Hob's presence for as long as he would allow it, melting into it so the pressures of returning did not feel quite as heavy as they were.  

"It is going well, albeit slowly," Dream admitted, his voice soft.  "There is much that needs repair and I..." He should be there, repairing, fixing, restoring the Dreaming to the glory that it had once been.  Creating and crafting new Dreams and Nightmares, repairing that which had been broken for so long.  Learning what had changed, what was no longer able to be fixed and not here.  Sitting in the Waking, across from the human who exuded warmth with every smile and kind gesture.  "I am tired."  

The words felt agonizing in their truth and Dream closed his eyes, breathing in deep of the too warm, too humid air.  He was tired.  There were so many demands, and so many needs, and while it was his function, his purpose, his reason for being, was he not allowed to be exhausted?  Was he not allowed rest?  

No.  He had never needed rest.  He was Endless.  They did not need rest.  He was his function, and he had to perform it, and perform it well, for all manner of creatures Dreamed, and he was responsible for them, and their presence in the Dreaming.  

Hob made a sympathetic noise in the back of his throat.  "You look a bit tired," he agreed.  "Been burning the candle at both ends?"

Dream blinked at him, pulling the answers he needed for such a comment from the Dreaming, and yet, the truthfulness of it burned.  He came here, he sought out Hob Gadling, to find the succor, to find the rest that he needed, but even then, it was barely enough, and leaving found him even more tired and already longing to return.  It meant memories of cold glass every time he closed his eyes, and Nightmares that bent to the shape of the cage before he could consciously control himself otherwise.  

"That is, perhaps, an apt descriptor," Dream allowed, picking up his wine glass once more to sip at it.  It was the vintage he had picked, at Hob's demand, of the choices presented to him, and now it was served to him up every trip to the New Inn.  It reminded him of Hob Gadling's smile when he had made the choice, to celebrate.  Hob had been so pleased that he had selected a wine to appear on the menu.  His presence had never been a burden, despite his ever-increasing visits that were still not enough to truly quell the desire to return as soon as he left.  It would become disruptive to his work, before long, he needed to find a way to cease.  

"Well, forgive me if I overstep, my friend," Hob said, offering him a smile.  "But, maybe you should, ah. Rest?  If you need to forgo visits for a little while, I promise I'll survive!"

Dream sat back in his chair abruptly, dread settling into the pit of his stomach.  Hob wished him to forgo visits, so he would be able to find his rest.  He had been imposing, but Hob had been too kind to inform him as such, and now was trying to be gentle in delivering the information.  Dream closed his eyes and picked up the wine glass, taking a final sip of it.  He had become too attached, of course.  He should have known better, that even Hob's company and hospitality would have limits.  

"I will take my leave," Dream said, standing up slowly, forcing himself into the position.  The same exhaustion that had been sweeping over him in waves that only abated in Hob's presence returned almost instantly, and he nearly buckled under their weight.  He took a breath and offered a small smile to Hob Gadling, to assuage the worried expression on his face.  "And I will try to rest soon," he added, offering what little reassurance he could.  

Endless did not get tired, he did not need to rest.  He needed to finish repairing the Dreaming, to bring it back to everything to the way it should be.  Then, only then, he could rest.  He would be done with his labors, and he...

"Take care, Dream," Hob said, standing as well.  "Take care of yourself, okay?"  

The warmth in those words, the quiet entreaty in them, kept Dream suffused with warmth as he stepped back into the Dreaming and into the repairs that still remained.  This was his purpose.  His work.  Repeated visits to Hob Gadling would not fix his kingdom and heal his people, and he would be wise not to become attached, again.  Hob was his friend, by his own admission, and to lose his friendship was not something Dream would risk, ever, no matter how his heart cried out for the comfort that Hob offered so easily.  

He knew better.  

He had learned better.  

The growing ache in his chest, the worried glances of Lucienne, and the insistent badgering of Matthew meant nothing.  There was work to be done, and he was the only one who could do it.  Once it was complete he would, there would be time for rest.  

The creeping cold settling into him the longer he was away from Hob Gadling didn't matter, it was all he could feel after his capture.  Hob Gadling's warmth, remembering it, was sometimes enough to hold the cold at bay, but it had sunk into his very being, this cold, and he would never escape it.  It was a part of him, now. 

Piece by piece, Dream forced himself to focus on the Dreaming that needed repairs.  First, the outer boundaries, re-establishing the borders.  The Dreaming must be safe from those who would hurt her.  He did not notice Lucienne wearing thicker coats, and the scarf that grew around Mervyn's neck.  Nor did he notice the marble floor that slowly turned to ice, or the snow that began to fall around the castle.  There were repairs to be done, and he would do them.  

Dream lost himself to the repairs.  To remaking dozens of Nightmares and Dreams, the muted, soft joy of their creation barely enough to warm his face to smile.  He did not need to breathe, so he did not see the way breath inside the castle curled with smoke on every exhale.  He did not see Lucienne begin to wear a fur coat, wrapped tightly around her as she delivered book after book to him.  Nor did he see the frost creeping up the edges of the stained glass windows, covering it, piece by piece.  

At least the cold was gone now, the remembrance of warmth a far away and impossible thing.  Absently, Dream thought of Hob Gadling, but he had imposed, he had sought his presence too often, had been too much for him, once more.  It would be better to distance himself, for there was more work to do, even now that the repairs were finished.  There was always work to do.  The echo of a voice asking him to take care of himself was long gone, and so was the accompanying warmth.  

Dream did not notice the ice that dripped from his every step as he crossed the Dreaming, or the coldsnap that hit Fiddler's Green before the snow began.  It covered everything in sparkling white.  It was beautiful, and brittle, just like he was.  But it wasn't cold.  It wasn't cold anymore, for when he touched the flakes, it was like touching air.  They weren't cold, and the sun was still shining.  The rain hadn't returned.  Everyone was happy the rain had not returned.  

Dream didn't notice the heavy jacket Cain and Abel both wore, or how Fiddler's Green's voice had gone thin and reedy, or the way his Dreams hid from him once more.  It was just as well.  He had more work to do, and so little time to do it.  There was no time to stop, to wait, there was-

"Matthew!"

Dream blinked to attention at Lucienne's shout, scowling at her, but she was not focused on him.  Instead, she was running across the throne room, away from him.  He tilted his chin up and saw what she had noticed, Matthew, returned from the Waking, tumbling, uncoordinated, and out of control, to the ground.  In an instant, he was up, and striding across the throne room.  Lucienne had caught Matthew, and was cradling him close, tucking him away and into her thick fur robe.  

"What is wrong with him?" Dream asked, looking over her shoulder where Matthew trembled in her arms and tried to bury himself deeper and closer to her.  Whatever reaction he had expected to his question, it was not a glance filled with fury and anger.  He took a step back, even as his librarian scowled at him.  

"He's frozen!" Lucienne snapped, turning with a flourish of her jacket, stalking to the library and the fire that she kept roaring there.

Dream trailed after her, confused, because the air was not cold, and ravens were hardy creatures, there was no need for Matthew to be so dramatic with what he was doing.  He paused at the threshold to the library and blinked at the sight of Cain and Abel, and Gault, and even The Corinthian, all huddled by the roaring fireplace that Lucienne stalked closer to.  

The condemnation in their faces as they crowded around Matthew was a lance to his frozen heart, and the sound of it cracking was a whip crack across the room.  Dream stared at all of them, huddled beside the fire, wrapped in thick, warm coats, and blinked once more, lifting his eyes to the window.  Outside, the Dreaming was buried in snow, a barren land of cold and blanketed in endless white while cloudy skies promised nothing but more snow and more cold.  

Dream drifted closer to the window as he watched a small windstorm kick up the snow and send it spiraling across the Dreaming, a Nightmare riding the power of it.  Several dozen Dreamers were tied up in the nightmare being crafted for them, trapped and frozen in the depths of their dreams.  Dream reached out to touch the frosted glass, his fingertips lingering against the precious ice crystals, stroking over them.  They weren't cold.  

When was the last time that he had felt cold?  When...

Dream frowned, trying to focus on the image beyond the window.  There, there was work to be done.  Work that he had to do, had to complete.  He had to restore the Dreaming, but now, now this was the Dreaming?  What, why was it covered in snow?  He blinked, swaying as he kept his hand pressed to the glass.  Why wasn't his hand cold?  If he was touching the ice, touching the glass... why wasn't his hand cold?  

Under his fingertip, the glass cracked, and the wind swept in.  There was a cry beside the fire, and Dream turned to look at them, all of his people huddling closer to the weakening fire, feeding it more wood to keep it burning.  With a grunt, Dream sealed the crack he had made, and the temperature in the room began to rise once more as he slowly pulled his hand back, letting it fall to his side. The walls of the library were starting to blur and Dream blinked, trying to force them into focus, once, twice, but they refused.  

Not far, Lucienne cried out his name, but Dream was already watching the Dreaming twist under and around him, and he was crying out in pain, because it hurt.  It was cold now, it was too cold, and it was slick, just like glass, and it was wrapping around him again, trapping him once more in a too-small cage under a mockery of stars.  He lashed out, snarling, trying to fight the cage, but it was closing around him again and he was left with nothing but very human fists that were useless against iron and thick glass.  

He screamed, pounding against the glass that was growing thicker by the second, he needed to do something, he needed to break free, he needed to escape, he could still escape, he knew how, he could do it.  Dream tried to gather his power, gather the Dreaming around him, but it slipped through his fingers, the finest powdered snow that kept falling without stopping.  

“Dream!” 

Hands so warm they burned, making Dream hiss in pain, cringing back from them, reached for him and wrapped around his arms.  

“Christ almighty, you’re frozen, hold on, fuck, hold on.”  

Dream trembled, because the air around him was suffocatingly hot and he was struggling to breathe, but he did not need to breathe.  He shook, and tried to force himself into a more corporeal form.  There was no need for this, he did not feel cold, nor heat, nor-

“Fuck!  Dream, hold on, hold on, I’ve got you!” 

There was a blizzard raging under his skin, and the burning hots seared into him, leaving permanent marks on his skin as he screamed, again and again, even as he was wrapped in softness and pushed so he was lying down, only to be wrapped in further softness.  There was a soothing voice speaking, reassuring, the owner of the hands that burned, and the storm quieted, revealing a frozen heart so ready to melt under the heat.  But he couldn’t, he couldn’t, he knew better, he did.  

“Stay right here, Dream.  I’m going to take care of you.  Hold on, we’ll get you warm, I promise.”  

Dream swayed, consciousness fading in and out of the Dreaming, where a blizzard was raging, and the storm under his skin.  He was the Dreaming, and the Dreaming was him, and he was, he didn’t feel the cold, there was too much cold, it was too much.  He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t feel, there was so much work to do, he had to get back to work, he’d never finish it at this rate, and they all deserved it to be fixed and- 

“You are not going anywhere until I get you warm.”  

Burning hot arms, searing through him, lifted him and Dream felt the storm under his skin quiet a fraction, enough to allow him to blink open eyes that he had not decided to shut.  Blurry visions of bookshelves and an old couch gave way to a bedroom with a quiet buzzing noise.  It was hot, too hot, and it burned, and Dream bit down a whimper, trying to pull away from the heat and press closer.  He didn’t have time for heat, or softness.  The cold kept him safe, kept him strong, kept him protected.  He didn’t deserve the heat, the warmth.  He had work to do, there was so much… 

“Fuck, hope that you’ll forgive me for this when you’re conscious again,” Hob muttered to himself as he stripped the voluminous robe off of Dream and left it pooled on the floor.  His friend wasn’t wearing anything under it, and every inch of his skin seemed to be frozen and he hadn’t stopped trembling.  He glanced at the space heaters he already had going in the room and every spare blanket he could find piled on the bed.  It had to be enough.  

Hob wasted no time getting Dream under the covers, and under the half of the bed with the heated blanket over it, turning it on medium, because hell if he was sure whether or not the Endless could get dehydrated.  Once Dream was tucked in, with only his hair showing, Hob stripped off his clothing and climbed into the other side of the bed, scooting close enough to pull Dream into his arms.  He made it a point to wrap as much of Dream up and against him as he could, forcing the maximum amount of skin-to-skin contact.  He tucked Dream’s nose against his neck and held him tight, even as his friend trembled again, and again, seemingly unable to stop.  

It’d been centuries since Hob had believed in a god, or anything remotely close for that matter, but with Dream shaking down to the very depths of him, Hob closed his eyes and tightened his arms around Dream and prayed to anyone who was listening that he would be all right.  “I’m here,” Hob whispered, even though it probably meant nothing to who, what, had done this.  He was here, and he’d do everything he could to keep Dream safe and to warm him up.  Normally he would have broken out in a sweat, but Dream was still so cold that Hob couldn’t even tell he had space heaters in the room.  “I’m here, Dream, it’s okay, I’ve got you, we’ll get you warm again.”  

It was more than an hour later that Hob felt Dream go abruptly still, his trembles at last subsiding, and an arm (still cold, but not like ice, more cool marble) creep around his waist to have a hand press up against his back.  Hob didn’t move, kept breathing slow and steady, but now the hand against him had the faintest twitches against his skin.  

“Hob?”  

Hob let out a rough breath in relief, even though Dream’s voice was so hoarse and weak enough to be wildly worrying.  “I’m here, love.  I’m here.  Right here.”  He’d worry about pet names, and the fact that they were both naked after Dream was okay and apologize for all of it afterward, right now he just needed to make sure that Dream was all right.  Dream hadn’t said anything further, nor had he moved beyond the one arm that he’d stretched out.  

Dream was drowning in warmth.  He wasn’t hot, but he was thawing, and now that he could feel the cold, he wanted to start shivering all over again.  The only thing keeping it from being necessary were the arms that he was buried in, and all of the miles of warm skin pressed up against him.  It was all that mattered, all he could feel.  He pressed his face in closer and felt the thudding of a pulse beneath him, listening to the slightly quickened heartbeat from Hob.  It was all too much, he should pull away before he took too much again.  It would be so easy for him to take too much.  Hob was always so generous, but there were limits, he’d found the limits once and he did not wish to find them again.  

However, the effort of moving, of trying to reach for the Dreaming that was blessedly muted under the loud sound of Hob’ heartbeat, seemed insurmountable, so he didn’t move at all, instead, greedily soaking up the warmth and comfort that was offered.  Soon enough it would be taken away and he would have to return and… and… 

Dream blinked with a frown, staring straight ahead, just over Hob’s shoulder.  And fix it.  He’d hurt his people, again, and it was his fault.  He would have to be better.  He would be better, they deserved that, and it was possible that they wouldn’t give him another chance.  He dug his fingers into Hob’s soft skin, a small noise escaping him as he buried his nose against comforting warm skin.  

“Easy, easy,” Hob soothed, feeling Dream’s fingers dig in hard enough to leave bruises where he was holding on.  “I’m not going anywhere.  We’ll stay here until you’re ready to move, promise.”  

Dream snorted.  An impossibility.  He needed to return to fix things, to bring this warmth back to melt the snow, until… 

Dream blinked.  

Until?  

Dream frowned and forced himself to think of the Dreaming, lush and green.  He would return it to that state.  And he would keep it that way.  Because that was the way it was meant to be.  There was no until.  It would be that way again.  

Until the memory of iron and glass became too heavy to hear and Dream would be left to fight the thoughts back and to keep everyone safe.  He had to keep everyone safe, and then he could, he could…

“Dream?”  

Pulling his attention back to Hob, to the room that was filled with so much warmth he felt as though he might burn alive, Dream struggled to speak.  “I apologize for the intrusion and the imposition on your time and home, Hob.”  Dream lifted his hand from Hob’s back and it was so much effort to tug it away from him to tuck back against his chest once more.  He shivered, against his will, and dug his fingers into his palm.  The Endless did not get cold. 

“Hey, no, Dream,” Hob started, but Dream was already pushing himself upright with what looked like a Herculean effort, his body shaking and trembling as he sat up, slowly, and immediately began to sway.  He wrapped an arm around Dream’s shoulders, trying to steady him, and he was already like ice again.  “You’re not imposing, and you’re not intruding.”  

Dream scoffed.  

Hob narrowed his eyes.  “You’re not.  You never are.  You could visit every day and it wouldn’t be an imposition.  Hell, nothing would make me happier since I haven’t seen you for almost a year.”  

Dream swayed, the words feeling so much heavier than they should have been.  A year.  A year, after weekly meetings for months.  He didn’t deserve Hob Gadling’s kindness, or his warmth, given so freely, without expectation.  “It was not my intention to stay away for so long.”  A twisting admission of the truth, he had not noticed the passing of the time, and Hob Gadling had suffered for it.  

“Did you finish your clean up?  Get a chance to rest?” Hob asked, keeping his voice soft.  He wasn’t expecting, of all things, for Dream to start to tremble beside him at the question.  He held onto Dream tighter and caught the familiar sight of tears gathering at his waterline.  Panic choked his throat and he stared, because Dream was trembling harder, staring down at the pile of blankets in his lap.  

“I have not,” Dream said, his eyes closing with the weight of his failure.  Any progress that he had made in repairing the Dreaming had likely now been undone by the blizzard.  He would have to begin again and he… he was so tired at the thought.  At the disappointment of Lucienne, of Matthew, even Mervyn.  He had failed them all once more, and once more he would have to beg their forgiveness, their indulgence.  “I must, I must return.”  

Hob frowned as abruptly, Dream tipped backward, as though the string holding him upright had been snipped, and caught him, cradling him carefully, before tucking him under the blankets and up against himself.  “With all due respect, my friend,” he started, his voice soft.  “I think you have to rest now, or your body is going to make you rest.”  

Dream closed his eyes and turned into the warmth and comfort of Hob Gadling’s arms, the gentle scratch of chest hair on his cheek.  Comfort, warmth, protection.  Safe here.  He was safe here.  “I am not human, this body isn’t real.”  

“I understand that,” Hob said, keeping his voice soft.  “But just for a little while, love.  Let yourself rest, right here, like this, for a little while.”  He paused, and added.  “It would make me happy.  I’ve missed you.”  

Longing, sharp as a spear, and twice as pointed, shot through him, and Dream was not strong enough to resist it any longer, not with the siren call of Hob Gadling asking him to stay.  To rest.  “For a little while,” Dream answered, his eyes fluttering shut.  “I will stay.”  

“Good,” Hob whispered into Dream’s hair, situating him close, only to feel Dream take a final deep breath and then go still.  Had it been anyone else, he would have worried, but Dream had no heartbeat, no pulse.  But now, here, in the quiet of his room, he could feel the faint thrum of Dream’s power under his skin, and that was a better reassurance than any.  

–

Dream slept (or his version of sleeping) for four straight days.  Hob had been worried, at first, about climbing out of bed, and Dream had clung to him, but a few soothing words and a promise of returning had been enough to allow him to sleep free for food, water, and quick showers and changes of clothes.  (And maybe a few dozen books and his cell phone charger.)  Dream seemed reluctant to let him go for more than a few minutes at a time, but even though the room resembled a damn sauna, slowly, Dream was losing the air of perpetual cold that had been lingering on his skin.  

Awareness, a slow, comforting wave lapping over him, came back to him in pieces.  Dream was aware that even now, he was warm, he was safe, and there was someone who had seen to his comfort.  Time had passed, that much was certain, but now, the act of opening his eyes and facing the world, facing his people, his work, did not seem overwhelming.  Dream sat up carefully, taking stock of himself, and turned his attention to Hob Gadling, who was looking at him over the edge of a book.  

“You are still here.”  

Hob raised both of his eyebrows and smiled faintly.  “It’s my bed.”  

Dream closed his eyes and clenched his fingers in the body warm blankets.  It was.  He had imposed, and Hob had offered his own bed without hesitation.  “I am-” 

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Hob interrupted.  “You are welcome here, at any time.  In my bed, in my flat, with me.  You can’t impose, or wear out your bloody welcome, or whatever else you might be thinking, and I want that to be explicitly clear before you leave again.”  

Opening his eyes, Dream stared at Hob Gadling with a frown.  “You informed me I was imposing at our last meeting.”  

Hob closed the book and put it behind him, resting his head on one hand as he looked at Dream.  “That’s not how I remember it.  In fact, I specifically remember telling you that if you needed to forgo the visits, specifically so you could rest, I wouldn’t be upset.”  He smiled faintly.  “I knew how hard you were working, and I wasn’t going to hold myself as more important than you resting.”  

Dream looked down at the blankets once more and stroked his fingers over them, considering.  “You are too generous with me.  I will take advantage.”  

Hob raised his eyebrows.  “Take advantage, huh?  How so?  I’ve already told you you’re welcome at any time, in any way that you want, and you can’t wear out your welcome.”  

“When I was imprisoned,” Dream paused and heard, rather than felt, Hob’s breath catch.  He’d spoken about it barely, in fits and starts, to explain his absence, but never about this piece of it.  “I was naked.  Trapped in glass and iron for over a century.”  Beside him, Hob swore, and Dream felt him move a fraction closer.  He twisted his fingers in the blankets.  “I do not realize how cold I am, always, until I am warmed.”  

Dream’s lips twisted and he scowled.  “The cold seeps from me.  It has infected the Dreaming, undoing so much of the work that I have done to repair it, and-” 

“Slow down, slow down,” Hob said, reaching out to take Dream’s hands.  “Let’s start with you, first.  How do we warm you?”  He gestured around the room to the blankets and space heaters.  “Is this helping?”  

Dream’s fingers trembled in Hob’s.  “Yes,” he admitted.  “For the first time since I have been freed, I am not cold.  I am never cold when I am with you.”  

Hob made a quiet noise in his throat.  “And that’s why you’re afraid you’ll take advantage.  Because you’re warm with me.  And you don’t want to be cold anymore.”  

Dream nodded once.  “I would not lose you as a friend, Hob Gadling.  You are the definition of the word, and I hold that in the highest possible regard.”  A faint tremble ran up his spine at the thought of leaving this small bastion of warmth to return to the chill of the Dreaming.  

“You’re not going to lose me,” Hob promised, his voice soft, even as he scooted closer to Dream.  “In fact, why don’t you bring me with you?”  

Dream blinked and tilted his head.  “Bring you with me?”  

“Yeah!”  Hob said, giving Dream a winning smile.  “Obviously, you’re welcome here, I’ve already said that.  But I go to the Dreaming whenever I sleep, and if being with me, you know, helps, why not just grab me in the Dreaming?”  

“You would allow me to do such?” Dream asked.  

Hob would do damn near anything for the faint hint of awe and surprise on Dream’s face, but he gave another firm nod.  “Of course.  I want to help, and if this will help, of course I want to do it.”  

“Then, I would ask for your help, Hob Gadling,” Dream said, settling under the blankets once more, allowing himself to be nestled in the warmth that smelled like Hob Gadling, his eyes fluttering shut.   

“Always,” Hob said, scooting in closer to Dream, reaching out to take his hands, and closing his eyes.  “Any way I can.”  

Dream let the strength of that promise carry them both into the Dreaming, bracing himself for the icy chill of the wind that he knew would be coming.  Instead, there was sunlight, bright and warm on his face.  He blinked his eyes open at the sound of Hob’s excited laughter.  There was still snow covering much of the Dreaming, but the storms had gone, and instead… 

“Look at how big that snowman is, Dream!” Hob said, pointing as he stood at the edge of the bridge.  

Dream stepped up beside Hob and admired the several Dreams who were working together with their charges to build a truly gigantic snowman together.  Not far beyond them, several dozen more children were in the middle of a snowball fight, with another Dream and a Nightmare tag-teaming the refereeing of the event.  

The more he looked across the Dreaming, the sun shining brightly above them, the less the cold was felt, and the more he could see the joy of such a season amongst the Dreams and Nightmares.  Even the castle, no longer encased in ice, had snow on the highest parapets, and his Guardians appeared to be frolicking it in at the front of his castle.  

A warm hand wrapped around his and Dream turned to look at Hob Gadling’s shining face.  In deference to the winter, he was wearing a warm jacket, and a scarf, but he did not look to be hiding from the cold, rather rejoicing in it with a smile.  “You enjoy the snow?”  

“Yeah, of course!” Hob said with a laugh.  “Especially on days like this!  When the sun is shining, the snow is meant to be played in.  These are the days the kids go sledding, and have snowball fights!  They’re the best winter days, and eventually, they’ll fade once more for Spring.”  

Dream blinked slowly as Hob led them to the castle, whether by instinct, or because Dream feared entering it and Hob could sense such a thing, and his Guardians waved to him with a happy roar.  He held onto Hob’s hand tighter, and was pleased when his friend did not let go.  The inside of the castle was colder, but the floors were still ice, now he could see trails along them.  He frowned at them before Hob laughed delightedly.  

“Ice skating!”  

Abruptly, Dream was wearing a different set of footwear, as was Hob Gadling, and they were gliding along the floors on the skates.  Because Hob believed he would know how to skate, he did, and they moved easily together, changing speeds and spinning slowly together without ever losing their feet.  He found himself smiling, and the sun was shining bright through the tall windows on either side of his castle as they skated deeper within, toward the library.  

“My lord!” 

Dream felt Hob pull them to a stop in front of Lucienne and looked between the surprise on her face and Hob Gadling.  “Lucienne, may I introduce Hob Gadling?  Hob Gadling, this is Lucienne, librarian of the Dreaming, the greatest library that exists.”  

“Pleasure!” Hob said with a grin, shaking her head.  “Do you need to take Dream back now?”  He gave his friend a rueful grin.  

Dream gripped Hob’s hand painfully tight, but he was unwilling to release him so soon.  He shook his head once.  “No, but I shall ask Lucienne to perhaps show you the library another day.”  He gave her a small nod.  “Lucienne.”  He turned to leave with Hob, before he abruptly remembered and spun around.  

“Lucienne, Matthew, is he…” 

Lucienne smiled faintly and tucked the book in her hands against her chest.  “He is doing quite well, my lord.  Mervyn found him a very fetching red scarf.  You would be wise to complement it when you see him again.  I believe he has been helping Gault to oversee the snowball fight in Fiddler’s Green.”  

Relief swarmed through Dream and he nodded to her in thanks and watched her turn back to the library.  Hob’s hand was still warm in his as they skated their way to the throne room.  “Matthew is my raven,” he explained after a few long moments of skating in silence.  “The cold had hurt him… before.”  

“I’m glad that he’s doing better,” Hob said.  “But not all cold is bad, right?  You can see that?”  

Dream stared at the reason that the cold had become far more manageable in the Dreaming, the reason for the blinding sunshine that was slowly melting the snow away into spring and took them through a large doorway into the throne room, the cavernous room making him stop in the doorway, the skates disappearing from his feet.  Here, it was cold, and he could feel it clawing at him.  

“You know I have nightmares of cold, sometimes,” Hob said.  

Dream turned to Hob with a frown.  “I can-” 

“No, no, that’s not a request to do anything,” Hob said, walking carefully into the room, holding onto Dream’s hand as he led the way.  He shivered and tugged his scarf up a little higher as it got holder.  “But I get it.  Sometimes the cold feels like it’s a part of you and you’ll never be warm again.  If it catches me by surprise, I remember that feeling.  There were a few winters, after Eleanor and Robyn, when I was on the streets of London… seeing you was the only thing that kept me going as I froze, again and again.”  

Dream was silent.  

“I don’t know what it’s like to go through what you did,” Hob continued, turning to face Dream at the base of the staircase.  “But I know what it’s like to feel like you’ll never be warm again.”  He released Dream’s hand briefly and reached up for his scarf and unwound it from his neck, reaching up to tuck it around Dream’s neck instead.  “Most times, you just need someone to remind you.”  

Dream did not need to say the words he was thinking for Hob to hear them, by the faint smile on his face.  

Hob reached up and cupped Dream’s face in his hands, sweeping his thumbs over his cheekbones again and again.  “You aren’t going to be cold forever.  I won’t let you be.  Any time you feel cold and want to see me to warm up, just come to me.  I don’t care when, or where, okay?  Whatever you want, promise.”  

The Dreaming shook with the weight of that promise, the ringing depth of it.  Even then, Dream melted into the soft hold on his cheeks, the ice around his heart cracking clean in two, leaving the bleeding, aching center open for Hob Gadling to warm at last.  “Hob.”  

“Let me be the warm for you when you can’t remember it,” Hob breathed, his voice soft.  “I want to be that for you.  Let me be that for you, Dream, please.”  

Dream fell into the promised kiss just as Hob surged up and into it, the last of the ice falling from around his heart with the sound of glass shattering.  Warmth and heat flooded around them both, and Hob’s chuckle into the kiss as he tangled his fingers in Dream’s scarf, he was helpless not to bow to the tugging demand.  He wanted, needed more, desperately.  

But instead of pulling back, instead of trying to get space, Hob was pulling him closer, his fingers and mouth greedy, and Dream sank into him, sank into the kiss that he could have let go on forever, the warmth of him intoxicating, his heart beating wildly in his chest until he was certain that Hob could hear it.  

Breaking the kiss was the sweetest agony, and Dream let their lips fall apart slowly, heaving in one breath after another, waiting for Hob Gadling’s image to fade, but instead, he stood there, smiling at him, nearly glowing with warmth.  How was he supposed to resist such warmth?  He could not, and he no longer wished to try.  

“I am tired of being cold,” Dream admitted, his voice a whisper, leaning into the warm palms still cupping his face.  

“Then let me warm you up,” Hob whispered back.  “Let me love you until you forget what being cold feels like, Dream.”  

The promise in those words was almost too much, and Dream surged into another kiss, sweeping Hob away to his bedroom.  It had shifted to look very similar to Hob’s, with the blankets, and the promised warmth of Hob’s body against his once more, but that did not matter.  All that mattered was Hob holding him close, and the burning heat of his hands chasing away any of the last hints of chilled glass and iron.