Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

O Muse! the causes and the crimes relate;

What goddess was provok'd, and whence her hate;

For what offence the Queen of Heav'n began

To persecute so brave, so just a man; [...]

—Virgil (c. 29 - 19 BCE), in Book I of the Aeneid 

Hob is at a point in his immortal life where he knows the difference between dreams and Dreams. 

Which is different from dream and Dream, his... something. If it were the century he was born in he’d say his courtship, or his intended. Boyfriend sounded too trite, and like they had agreed on something, which they hadn’t. Friend did not encompass it, though he still felt lucky to call him such. It was new, undefined, sweet and green like the first curl of the fiddleheads he’d pick in the forests as a boy. 

He mentally shook himself. Now wasn’t the time, because he’s in a dream, which had just turned into a Dream, but without the presence of Dream. The soldiers he had just been fighting, men on horseback in trenches, fighting with broadswords while hand grenades blew off limbs, all turned faceless and swirled to sand. Some remained, looking at him briefly before turning to become a different nightmare for someone else. He almost waved as they went, they were old friends.

Shit. When did this all get so complicated?

“I greet you, Hob Gadling.” The woman in front of him intoned. What had been, he’s relatively sure, somehow France in both 1386 and 1917, had phased into a temple on a mountain. He could hear a spring bubbling somewhere. When dreams switched to Dreams, everything became sharper, more clear, less hazy. He always remembered Dreams. 

“I greet you as well, my lady, but you have me at a disadvantage with names.” Hob had been a peasant, who dreamed of the chivalrous duties of knights and attained them. He could fall back into courtly patterns easier than mimicking modern ones some days. 

She smiled, it looked like one you would give at a funeral. “I am Melpomene, one of the nine. My sister Calliope has sent me, as we are welcome to walk and spread inspiration in the Dreamlord’s realm.” 

Hob is excellent at taking things in stride, but your current...partner’s...? (No, too defined now, they really had to talk this out) ex-wife’s sister showing up in your dreams is a little much for anyone. Still, he had manners and a true extrovert’s delight for meeting people. Melpomene’s hair was black, thick and long with a slight curl, and her skin was olive. Her chiton hung in rich jewel tones and a tragedy mask rested at her feet. 

“Any friend of Calliope is a friend of mine.” He bowed and focused on shifting the dream like Dream had taught him. It changed to an empty theatre, which was probably too on the nose, but sue him. 

“Thank you for your hospitality.” Only now did Hob notice the bloody knife in her hand. It’s held more like a symbol than a weapon, but he didn’t have to like it. 

“The pleasure is mine. So, you are here for inspiration? Forgive me, but I’m not writing papers much and Cleo, I think, is the muse of history.” There were chairs, now, set like a stageplay was about to begin. He took one and gestured to the other. The muse sat like a queen and inclined her head. 

“This is true, and you are under her purview much these days. But I am here to inspire you within your own story. I am the muse of tragedy, Hob Gadling, and I come with Inspiration.” 

He heard the capital letter in the last word. A boon, as Dream would say, a gift that poets would die for. 

“I appreciate your gifts, my lady, but I can’t say I understand what this is about.” 

“No. You would not. We see the past, present and future, not to such a degree as the Enrinyes or Destiny of the Endless, but we see in stories, in their cycles. Calliope has seen the future, and while she had wished it to pass, a natural conclusion, upon her release by Onerios she has changed her mind. You are the key, she believes. I am inclined to agree, though it is without my nature to change the course of a Tragedy.” 

Another capital letter. Great.

“My lady, what is a tragedy?” He leaned forward, trying to understand. “And what does this have to do with Dream?” 

“Everything.” she answered. 

“Dream’s been through enough, and I get catharsis, I really, really do but-” 

“Calliope agrees with you. She has sent me.” She held out her knife, handle first to Hob. The blade cut deeply into her hand, red rivers pouring onto the stage floor. “Take this. You will know when it is needed. That is my first gift, my second is this: you are in a Tragedy, Hob Gadling. There are many who would see it changed.” 

“Wha-” 

He sat up in bed, alone, drenched in sweat and gasping like he’d run a mile. In his hand was clutched a bloody knife, meander patterns swirled around it's handle, cold as ice to the touch. 

“I don’t want to be in another bloody fucking tragedy.” he growled, throwing off the covers. And he didn’t want Dream to be in another either, fuck catharsis. 

-

Hob has not mentioned any of this to Dream. He almost had called for him, upon waking, but stopped. This seemed personal. A quest for him. He’d spent that day teaching, distracted, sporadically looking up what he could about the muses. They rarely featured in myths on their own, often invoked at the top and never featuring. A bit like Dream, he thought; the architect, the director, but never the star. He was good at classics, as much as the next history professor who did not teach them, but they were far from his area, and so were deals, gifts and boons from supernatural beings. He stopped, accidentally blocking the narrow stairs down to the underground for half a second before someone shoulder checked him and got him going again. 

-need advice. Not an emergency. Maybe a 4.- he texts Joanna Constantine. 

-not doing shit for a 4, m8. 7 or over.- 

He sighed as the incoming train’s displaced air whipped his hair before it screeched into the station. Stepping on, he prayed his signal would last just a bit longer. 

-Need the help jo pls. Ill buy u coffee or smthg.- 

-coffee. U serious.- 

-pls its important. About Dream- 

He always did feel a bit bad using his- fuck, he needed a way to think of Dream in his head, name so casually. 

-no. Figure out your own love life- 

A smile crept onto Hob’s face and he waited. He knew Jo, recently but still, and she couldn’t help herself. He started to count backwards from one hundred. 

By the time Hob got out at his stop, his phone had buzzed twice. He’d make her wait, just a minute longer. 

-fine, what.- 

-coffee and a pastry. Sacred Grounds, 2 on sat. better be good.- 

He grinned. 

-you got it- 

Chapter Text

Calliope was not a stranger to The New Inn, hardly anyone in Dream’s life was now. Apparently, Hob had been the only person in history to accidentally build an honest to god’s temple, smack in the middle of London. This attracted beings, luckily, mostly those friendly to Dream. 

She had come around one afternoon, before the pub got into full swing, and walked up to Hob with tense grace. 

“I greet you, H-” she had started, which Hob had cut off with a slightly hysterical little ‘ahh’ noise. 

“Robbie! Yeah, that’s me! Hi, nice to meet you what can I get you?” he’d stumbled over his greeting, only getting a bit of side eye from his bartender. He could easily explain that though through nerves, as the woman in front of him was stunning. Long dark brown hair fell in waves over a loosely draped white pantsuit that looked like it cost more than the building they were currently in. 

She slightly narrowed her eyes but nodded, seemingly going with it, which was a relief. 

“Rob. Yes. I wish to speak to you.” 

Yeah, Hob thought, this was not a person. 

“Sure! Yep, Hank, hold down the bar I'll be right back.” Hank muttered something in reply but Hob did not hear or care to. He guided the woman to a table in the back, by the door to the stairs to his flat. 

“Sorry about interrupting you, my lady, but that name isn’t one I use currently.” 

“Forgiven, I understand your need for secrecy. I am Calliope, has he told you of me?” It is very much phrased as a test, a meterstick. 

They are seated, but Hob bowed his head as deep as he could without it looking weird to the other patrons. “Of course he has, my lady. You and your son. It is an honor.” 

“He spoke of our son?” Tears sprung to her eyes, and Hob put his hand near hers on the table.

“Yes. Shared grief. I lost my son as well. I am truly sorry. The pain is incomparable.” 

“He has changed.” she whispered, to herself more than Hob. 

“Aye, he has my lady.” 

She blinked back her tears and shook her head. “None of these titles, please. We are equals in our regard for Onerios. I wished only to meet you and see his choice.” 

He can’t help but blush at that. “My la- calliope. We may hold his regard in a similar way but he has not wed me, nor can I imagine us equals.” 

She does grab his hand at that, and he can tell it is a small act of bravery for her. Dream had told him of the rescue, in clipped, icy furious tones. Hob had not pressed. 

“Hob, the regard of the Dreamlord transcends station. And you have built this temple, more than I ever could do for him. I would have us be friends, unless you have an objection to your love’s past lover.” 

“I’m not the jealous type.” he smiled. “I would be honored. And please, stop by here any time. I know it can be hard, getting used to the world again. It’s safe here, I don't let the sports fans in.” 

“You are good.” she said after a moment, eyes on their hands. “You are good... for him.” 

-

“You are good for him” had occupied his thoughts for days, right up until Dream himself appeared in his kitchen at nine pm, directly in front of Hob. 

“Sh it !” he’d fumbled his tea but managed to not break the mug, which was a first. 

“God damn do you have to do that.” 

He did. It was a tradition. 

Apparently, when you tell a concept hell bent on rules and well versed in courtly manners, “yeah mate, come over anytime, what’s mine is yours” that meant they could just appear in your living room, or your office at work, or your bathroom in the mirror while you were brushing your teeth, or next to you in bed (Hob had no objections to that one) or anywhere else they pleased. 

Which was fine, really, it was much much better than once a century, but Hob had been a soldier and a bandit and a sailor and a mercenary. 

Which was to say that the first time Dream had done it, he’d gotten a throwing knife through the sternum for his trouble. 

Dream had blinked, looking at Hob and then down to where the sixteenth century blade was sticking out of his black vee neck t-shirt and still quivering slightly. There had been dead silence for all of two seconds before Hob had started having a spectacular mental breakdown. 

“DREAM! Shit, shit shit shit I’m so sorry you scared the piss out of me oh my god it’s not- keep it in I’ll get the first aid kit I think I missed your heart-” 

At which point Dream had cocked his head, pulled the full four inches of steel out of his chest and dropped it on the floor. His torso and shirt knit back together, no blood having ever appeared. 

“You cannot hurt me in any way that matters, Hob Gadling.” 

He’d needed to breathe into a paper bag for a few minutes while sitting on his couch after that experience. 

Dream, in the present, smiled his little smile Hob called the ‘amused by Hob’ smile in his own head. 

“Getting better though, didn’t drop the mug. Want tea?” He turned back to the kettle and grabbed another mug, dropping in an earl grey bag and pouring water over it. Dream never drank the tea, but this was his favorite one. 

“Was hoping you’d stop by. It was a long day today and having a friendly cuddle is always the best after.” he turned and handed Dream his tea, beaming at his... something. Damn it, he’d thought it would come to him that time, looking into Dream’s eyes. 

“Are the youths trying your patience.”

“Oh, always . This batch has figured out they can get me to go off on a tangent already. It's only the third week. I’m in for it this semester.” he groaned good naturedly. He loves his students so much. 

“Mm. Your verbose tendencies lead you to be an excellent educator, but also become easily distracted.”

“Yeah, but it's how I got you to fall in love with me, duck, running my stupid mouth.” he nuzzled right up to the King of Dreams and Nightmares, pressing his nose to his marble cheek. An amused rumble and a wiry arm around his shoulders greeted him. 

“Indeed.” 

Hob could figure out what they were another time. He did assume it would go something like the time he’d gotten drunk and asked Dream if he would still love him if he was a worm. 

(“I would love you in any form you chose, and worms dream, like all creatures.”) 

Which had been sweet, but had led to a worm-dreaming discussion, and how, if Hob had become a worm, could he dream himself human enough for sex in the Dreaming. Which had, in turn, led to Dream saying that he could simply take on his worm-form and Hob had had to stop him right there, because eldrich nightmare tentacle monster or shadow cloud or cat he could handle, but for some reason, goth worm was too far. 

Right, he’d been thinking about defining their relationship. 

Hob groaned into his neck. He hadn’t been lying, even without the muse of tragedy rattling around in his brain, the beginning of the semester was always hard. 

“I’ll give you five quid if you lie in bed with me ‘til I sleep.”

“I have no need for human currency, nor do you need to offer me payment for succor. It is my pleasure to give it.”

He giggled at that, high and slightly needy. “Just cuddle me, stranger.” He didn’t use the name often, only when he was feeling nostalgic, or dead tired. 

“Yes, my love.”

Was love a relationship title? He’d figure it out in the morning.

Chapter Text

“Right mate, this better be fucking good.” Johanna constatine said as she dropped her bag next to the chair across from Hob and sat down in a huff. “And he better be nowhere nearby.” 

Abstractly, Hob did understand other’s fear of his...Dream. He was thirteen billion years old, more powerful than almost anything else in the universe, and had the capricious nature of a pissed off cat on good days. Still, he could never, not once find it in himself to feel the same. 

“Aww, don’t want to meet him again? He’s really cuddly when he-” 

“I will leave right now.” she leveled at him. 

“Fine! Fine, okay, order whatever you're getting and we’ll get down to it.” 

She snatches his offered card and stalks to the register, coming back with what looks like twenty shots of espresso in a cup that she had to bully the barista into making for her. And a chocolate croissant. Hob has promised a pastry. 

“You said it was about him. What’s he done.” she said without preamble. 

“He’s fine. I got contacted by something about him-” 

“Demon.” Jo said, taking a gulp of her caffeine monstrosity. 

“No actually a muse.” 

She raised an eyebrow. “A muse muse. Like a Greek one. And you called me.” 

“Of course I called you, it's a-” he lowered his voice and looked around. “Supernatural thing.” 

“No, hob, it's a god. I do demons, remember? Magic work? Not... people. Gods. you know.” she waved the croissant at him. “What did she want?” 

“She warned me and gave me a knife. It was the tragedy one.” 

“Yeah mate that sounds fucked. And absolutely not my area unless you're selling that knife. Honestly, you work at a university and live like twenty minutes out from the British Museum and you called me?” 

“Well yeah I-” 

“You need a classics professor. An archeologist.” 

“Well unless you know Indiana Jones-”

“God, you're old and annoying. Seriously, go talk to someone you work with, who will know stories about the muses. Not me, who exorcises demons.” 

They stared at each other for a moment. 

“Coming to trivia night next week?” Hob asked. 

“Of course I am, and Matthew is on my team. We’re gonna rinse your regulars.” 

He grinned and walked her to the door of the coffee shop. 

Hob was friendly with his colleagues, but not too friendly. They knew they could come to him for peer review, or advice, or a complaint session, but he did want to work here for a good long while still and that is hard when your good friends see you not ageing. Academia had less of a turnover than, say, mercenary work had, but with some careful distance Hob could probably maintain his position here for about thirty years. 

So it was riding that line of familiarity but not friendship that he knocked on the doorframe of the classics professor. “Hi, got a minute for some shop talk?”

Professor McKinney looked up and gave him a tiny smile that reminded him a bit of Dream. She was harsh in her grading, but fair. It was a rare student who got out with an A, but those who did had learned something beyond their classics. 

“Of course Professor Gadling. Come in and have a seat. I’ll consider you my last office hours appointment for the day.” 

“Thanks Andi, and seriously, call me Robbie.” He wasn’t trying to be friends, but last names were for board members. 

“As you like. What are you here to ask me of?” Her accent was a random mix of contemporary Czech, academic French, Bavarian and Londoner. Hob found it charming, a story mixed in a voice. Dream would love that. 

“The Muses.” 

She frowned. “The Muses? They were not often evoked in the Middle Ages.” 

“Nah, it’s not for class as such. Personal writings.” 

Getting up, she took several old books from her shelf, looking like they had been marked in her own undergraduate days. 

“The muses are difficult. They are in every story, every legend. However, there are few writings of them as entities. Is this what you are after?” 

“Got it in one. Personal anecdotes, you might say.” 

“Mm. Ovid is the most famous. He tells of a contest between the muses and nine daughters of a king named after them. The muses win, of course.” 

“Of course.” Hob echoed. Not really what he was looking for. 

“Hesiod speaks of meeting them in the beginning of his Theogony, where he goes through the family history of the Gods.” 

Hob perked up at that and she handed him her copy. “Borrow that, if it helps. But what are you really asking me for?” 

“Just... anything about them, personally.” 

“Ancient Greek? Later?”

He frowned. “Later?” 

“Of course. Many Greek poets evoked them before tales told. This did not stop. Dante invokes them, Chaucer, Milton, and famously Shakespeare-” 

Hob had to take several deep breaths. 

“-who opened several lines with them. Beyond that...” she shrugged. “You would have better luck with the texts of the Orpehus myth.” 

It was a day for emotional whiplash in academia, he supposed. “What? Why?” Yeah he’ll just go home and google Dream’s dead son, yeah that's cool and normal. 

“A muse was his mother, Calliope. She and her sisters gathered his bones, all but his head, and buried them on Leibethra. It was said when the sun shone upon them, the city would be destroyed.” 

Hob could feel himself getting in trouble with Dream. 

“Not his head, though, or his lyre. His head was revered as an oracle, sources differ on where. His lyre was made into a constellation.” 

“Was the city ever destroyed?” 

“Yes, a shepherd moved a stone, causing light to fall upon the bones. A massive boar was the foretold cause of the ruin, and the river that ran near it was called after a boar. It flooded the city, killing all.” 

Dream....would do that. It’s even a play on words, of prophecy. Hob should not be looking into this. 

“There is little else, Robbie. I am sorry. They are enigmatic. Mostly they come to those they like and give inspiration, advice.” 

“Yeah, I have that part.” 

She smiled softly, a bit apologetically. “I am sorry. You could try museums. They are named for them, after all. A sort of temple. There may be answers you seek.” 

“Wait, seriously? Muse, museum? God’s wounds I feel stupid I didn’t put that together.” 

Andi laughed and rose to see him out. “Few do. Good luck, Robbie.” 

“Thanks for your help. Let me know what I can do for you.” 

A boon, he can't help but think. Dream was rubbing off on him. His ears flushed red at his own innuendo.

-

The British Museum is on Hob’s shit list, because he’s an academic this lifetime. No one can deny though their unparalleled collection of...everything. Few people are in the vase room with him currently as he stares at an amphora with the death of Orpheus on it. He was looking for muses, he was . But Andi had been right: the muses were less depicted than Orpheus. Hob kept looking for the muses, but kept finding Orpehus. 

“I think she’s being quite clear.” Calliope said next to him. She was looking down at the vase too, where a woman thrust a spear into her son. 

“We don’t need to look at that.” Hob shifted them so they weren't looking instead at one of the copies of the portland vase. “I wasn’t trying to either-” 

“No, but you keep coming back to my son, everywhere you turn in here, in our temple. My sister is being clear.” 

“The tragedy... is Orpheus? It is, Calliopie, but I can’t fix the past-” 

“He lives.” 

Hob felt like the floor had been snatched from under him. A German couple walked past them, murmuring in low tones. 

“Im... sorry? It’s an integral part of the myth that he dies-” Hob gestured to the vase. 

“Destroyed yes, died no. His head became an oracle.” 

“And you're telling me he's still alive. And that is what me- mel-” 

“Melpomene.” 

“Shit, sorry I’m so bad with Greek names, I promise I'm learning, but Orpheus is what she’s telling me is this tragedy?” 

Calliopie held his gaze. “There is only so much we can interfere, so much we can say. We may inspire, which my sister has done. We may aid in this place of our worship, as I have done. I wish my husband no harm, Hob, you must understand that.” 

“No, hey, I do. I promise. I’m figuring this out, I came here didn't I?” 

“You did.” she conceded. 

“Then I’m working on it. Thank you for helping, I know which direction to look in now at least, even if Dream is going to be so pissed.” 

She took his hand, then, and they both looked at the vase. 

“You seen Hadestown?” Hob asked, he had basically nothing left to say. “I... its. Um. I have no idea how I’d react to a musical about Robyn-” 

“I was imprisoned. But... I will seek it.” 

“Playing on the West End right now. I saw it. Before Dream came back and I learned about... this.” he thought about what Melpomene had said. “It’s cathartic.” 

He wasn’t sure how long they stare at the vase, but eventually she squeezed his hand.
“Thank you, Robert Gadling.” 

And he was alone in a closing gallery.

Chapter Text

Hob had never  been a stranger to a disrupted sleep cycle. Soldering meant grabbing naps when and where you could, and mercenary work and banditry meant keeping watch all night. Things had become different, though, when your friend (best friend? Friend with benefits? Entity you fucked only in his realm because he was working through some trauma?) was the embodiment of sleep and dreams. Not being able to fall asleep for a few nights was basically ghosting, as the kids called it. It's not like Hob could help it, his immortal body had six hundred years of resistance to most drugs and their earlier variants, and if his brain wouldn't shut off there was nothing he could do. Didn’t stop Dream from getting pissy about it, which is why Hob was deeply unsurprised when, on the third day since meeting Calliope at the museum (and subsequently not sleeping) Matthew tapped at his window. 

“If this is a booty call he has to do that in person.” Hob said, sliding up the window to let the raven in. “I do not take those from royal messengers, sorry.” 

“I’ll peck your eyes out if you ever make me think about the boss having sex again, thanks.” Matthew groaned. “Booty call, fuckin’ yikes. I’m here ‘cause you're not sleeping, which you know.” he fixed him with a beady eye. “So... go to sleep.” 

“Oh, yeah, sorry, thanks, I just forgot to sleep.” Hob groaned. “That’s so helpful , thank you for reminding me .” 

“No need for the sarcasm, jeez.” he flapped, settling on Hob’s shoulder. “I don't know what the boss thinks you're gonna do about it either, I deliver the messages. Told him it was dumb but he compels me to do his shit so I don't have a choice, even if it's stupid.” 

Hob dragged a hand over his face. “Fuck. Sorry." 

“Dont mention it, I’d be cranky if I hadn't slept more than an hour or two in three days either. Or, I don't sleep anymore. I would have been cranky.” he amended. 

“Thanks. There’s just something on my mind.” he gestured to the mess of books around his kitchen table and massive bookshelves. 

“Finally getting your PhD? I’ll have to call you doctor Hob then.” he cawed. 

“Think a PhD would be easier than this. I hate magic shit, I keep trying to avoid it and it keeps finding me.” 

“Uh, yeah dude you're immortal.” 

“I hadn’t noticed.” 

“Had not noticed what, Hob Gadling.” 

Hob’s too tired to be shocked, but Matthew let out a deep caw and flapped on his shoulder. 

“Glad you weren't holding a mug.” Hob says slightly nonsensically to the bird with no hands. “Would have had to add it to the mug tally.” 

“Hi boss, the mug tally?” 

Hob pointed to a chalkboard on the side of the fridge with “mug tally” written at the top. There’s various tallies below it, at least twenty. 

“For when I startle him and he drops a mug.” Dream explained. “He is keeping track to charge me damages.”

“That’s some domestic ass bullshit, I'm leaving before you start kissing while doing the dishes or arguing about vacuum cleaner brands.” Matthew stepped off Hob’s shoulder, made one circle of the living room, and vanished. 

Hob dragged a hand over his face. “Sorry I haven't been sleeping, love, I just can't. Happens sometimes. Not avoiding you.” 

“I see that, and I did not suspect you were. I was worried. It is unhealthy for humans to go so long without sleep." 

“God’s wounds I know .” 

“You are irritated with me.” 

“No, no , Dream, I am irritated with myself cause I can’t fucking sleep and I feel like shit okay?” Not to mention his lack of sleep is rooted entirely in researching Dream’s dead son and keeping it from him. 

They needed to have a talk about consent, is, ironically, Hob’s last waking thought, because sand had just wrapped around him and his knees had given out. 

-

“If I'm asleep on my floor I’ll be kind of mad.” He said when he came to in Fiddler’s Green, leaning on Dream’s chest. 

“I moved you to bed to rest properly, beloved.” 

The image of Dream picking him up and moving him, along with the pet name, made Hob toss the consent-over-sand conversation out the window. Pick your battles or whatever. 

“I should have called you after the first night,” he sighed. “I’m sorry, you know i’m-” 

“Stubborn? Self-willed? Intractable? Pertinacious-”

“I was going to say ‘like this when I'm researching’ but let it all out,” he laughed.

“Researching.” Dream purred, running his fingers through Hob’s hair. Across the meadow Gilbert appeared, bowed to them, and went about his business. “My library is always at your disposal. And you would rest while you worked.”

Dream’s library, or, Lucienne's library as they all knew it was. That was the best idea. Muses dreamed, probably, or Orpheus did. Better than any human-written text anyway for personal information. 

“That would be a huge help, honestly.” 

“It is yours to use, as you know. Lucienne enjoys your company. But that is for later, now, I wish to hold you.” 

Looking out over the drifting meadows and waterfalls, the petals on the breeze, Hob’s overtired brain finally just blurted out what was on his mind: “What are we?” 

Dream froze. “What... are we? I am an anthropomorphic-” 

“No, shit- I didn’t mean to say that and I know what you are-”  

“You are asking to the nature of our relationship.” He resumed his petting and looked over the meadows as well. “Matthew said you would ask this of me.” 

“We don’t have to define it any one way!” Hob answered quickly. “It went, no offence, fucking bad last time-”

“That was my fault. Do not dwell on it, I am wiser to what you mean to me now, as well as the value of others in my life.” They never actively talked about his imprisonment, even if Hob wished they would, but it hung over them like a blade. “My past relationships have been... troubled. I do not wish to lose you in the same way.” 

Hob turned in his arms, cupping one perfect marble cheek. “Hey, you won’t. I’m kind of stubborn, or someone said that to me a little bit ago.” he smiled at the tiny flick of the mouth Dream gave him for that. “And I am way too far into this to back out. Basically I’m asking because I want to know if I can tell you I love you without you-” 

He was cut off by Dream kissing him full on the mouth, which was the best case scenario. Around them the meadow burst into bloom, rainbows flooding the sky in improbable arcs. It was far from the first time they’d kissed, but every kiss in the dreaming somehow went like this. 

“Beloved.” Dream rumbled deep in his chest when Hob pulled back to breathe. “I adore you, I would have you at my side-” a huge blue butterfly landed on his face. Hob snorted. Usually the dreaming was a bit more respectful to its king. 

Dream closed his eyes and heaved a sigh. “Del, this is not the best of times.” 

“ItS tHe BESt TimE! HOBsie Is heRe! i'Ve WanTED TO mEET HIM ever so MucH!” 

Hob whipped around to see a young girl in the oddest collection of clothes he’s ever seen, half goth, half carnival, bounding towards them. He sat up, which made Dream hiss like a put-upon cat. 

“Uh, hi, I’m Hob-” 

“I KNow WhO yOu ArE, yoU sPent LotS AnD LotS AND loTs of TIMe wItH me! welL, soMeTImES, tHEn yoU Go AWay FOr a LoNg tiME, BuT YoU cOme BaCk! most peopLe DON'T cOME bACk, oR DeAth TAKES TheM wHilE tHeY'RE MiNe Which iS rUDe BecaUse WE'rE NoT Done pLAyINg-” 

“Hob, this is my youngest sister, Delerium.” 

She waved and more butterflies appeared around her. Hob waved back. “Nice to meet you. I always love meeting Dream’s family.” 

Behind him, Dream scoffed. 

“ooH, who else HaVE YoU MEt? I lIKE EVeRYONe but thEy DONT lIke me A lOT, They WiSh I Was ME fROM BeforE but i'm Me NOW.”

Hob... understood that, but in reverse. He sometimes wished he was him from before but others liked him now, because that was the person they knew. Huh. 

“I’ve met Death... and you. That’s it, actually-” 

“And I am endeavoring to keep it that way.” Dream added. 

“BeCAuSe wE'rE yOUr fAVoRiTes! WHIch Is WHy Im HeRE. I WaNT To FINd  hIm, drEAmy, i NeeD tO FInD him.”

“Find who?” Hob asked, looking between them. He’d been gifted inspiration, and it was tingling. 

“Our brother, who left us. And asked not to be found.” Dream said, looking at Delerium. 

“buT I ThInk he WanTS tO BE fouNd. i'd WAnt TO Be fouNd, IF IT wAs me, I thINK.”

Dream sighed and pulled Hob back to him, chest to back. “Is this truly so important to you, sister?”

“yes DrEAMY PLEASe! i MiSs HiM. EVerYthInG wAS bEttER.” 

“It was not, but very well. I will help you.” He was trying to be better, for his family, for Hob, for his realm, for those he had hurt. “Hob, I am sorry, this dream-” 

“No! Um, sorry, could I go to the library instead of waking up? I think it’s a great idea to research there. And I’m finally asleep, after everything.” 

Dream nodded and they were standing, still pressed together. “Very well. Matthew  will take you. Del, let us depart.” He leaned down and kissed Hob on the cheek, long and slow. “I will seek you later, my beloved.” 

“byE HOb! I'm nOt GOInG TO kiss YoU, dREAM woULD be MAD.”

Hob liked her. “Nice to meet you!” 

The two Endless vanished, and Matthew landed on his shoulder. “Can’t fucking belive that you were kept up by your research so now that youre asleep you want to do it more. Nerds.” he sighed. “Surrounded by nerds.”

“You love all your nerds.” Hob challenged as they walked, the castle appearing in just a few strides thanks to Matthews guidance. 

“Nerd afterlife.” he grumps. He does look very pleased, though.