Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hob Gadling usually had a lot of faith in life. After a few centuries, you must do so, if you want to continue living life to its fullest. There were always better things, new possibilities, new advancements. The human race was always a surprising bunch, Hob must admit, himself included. If not, why would he be waiting at the New Inn, more than twenty years after the missed appointment with his Stranger? Hob indeed had a lot of faith in life. But teaching was tedious and tiring work, and thus, this very evening, he found himself in a dour and reminiscent mood. His mind couldn’t help but wander towards the Stranger, this always dark-claded figure, and only constant in Hob’s very long life, as he drank a few glasses at the bar he erected not too far from their old haunt, the long-dead White Horse. Hob smiled at the irony of the Stranger being just as absent as the White Horse was left to rot, not even a few kilometers away from this newer pub. Just as he was thinking about maybe calling it a night, frowning down at his drink, a shadow fell on the table.

“Hob Gadling.”

Hob raised his head in disbelief, a slow smile making its way on his face.

“You’re late” he simply berated his friend, his Stranger.

The Stranger didn’t ask before sitting himself in the unoccupied seat at the table Hob was currently sitting, an unusually warm (and genuine!) smile on his lips.

“It seems I owe you an apology. I have always heard it impolite to keep one’s friends waiting” the Stranger’s rich voice answered him, an olive branch extended between the two of them.

“Apology accepted” smiled Hob, truly ecstatic at his friend’s presence. 

“I… Where have you been? It’s been an awfully long time” Hob’s smile dimmed a little, but still held.

“I have not missed our last appointment by choice, my friend, rest assured” the Stranger replied, observing Hob with a reserved and guarded expression.

“Where… Can I ask what happened?” Hob asked, perplexed. 

“You’re not obligated to answer if you don’t want to! I’m sorry, I don’t want to over-step, it's totally alright if you don't, sorry to even ask, I- '' Hob started to panic, rambling and not wanting to offend his Stranger yet again.

“It is alright, Hob Gadling. You deserve to know” the Stranger gently interrupted Hob.

The Stranger then told the short tale of his years of imprisonment, making it the shortest possible while still giving the essential details. Hob felt a certain unease grow in him at the tale, his heart shattering in his chest at the thought of his Stranger, imprisoned in a glass sphere for over a century, all alone and deprived of even his dignity.

"I'm so sorry, it's no wonder you appear so... stressed. It must've been deeply traumatizing" Hob offered after the Stranger's account of his missing years, refusing to think about his own old wounds and (physical as well as emotional) scars.

The Stranger's face morphed into an expression eerily similar to that one fateful night in 1889.

"You know nothing of-" the Stranger started to thunder.

"You think of us so little, don't you? To think that we can't even imagine and sympathize with what you went through, that we wouldn't deem it cruel and disgusting just because you met some bad apples of the bunch?" Hob barked, losing his countenance.

"I-" 

"No, I am talking right now." Hob interrupted, looking him dead in the eyes, having no patience for any more of the man's antics (which might also be attributed to the few drinks Hob had already drunk before the Stranger's arrival at the New Inn as well as the shitty day he just had).

"Do you think so little of me, for thinking I wouldn't miss you, my friend, and be utterly appalled by what happened to you? That it doesn't just break my heart to think about all the suffering you went through? That I wished I could've taken your place and suffered in your stead? Do you think I wouldn't, that I would relish in your pain instead? Do you think so little of me? Do you?" Hob fumed, all of his accumulated emotions of the past century or so transpiring in his voice.

A beat. Silence.

"I thought... I thought it was the end, you know?" Hob chuckled darkly, looking away.

"That you'd rescinded your offer, that I would start to age or wouldn't even see tomorrow because of my transgression at our last meeting. Because I dared to say something, to call you friend." Hob took a sip of his drink, still evading the other man's gaze.

"Did you think I had not missed you, in all of those years, that I haven't yearned everyday that you would return, even more so after our missed meeting? I was wrecked with so much guilt, so much sadness, anxiety, and I knew I would take all I said back in one breath if only just to see your face again. I... how couldn't I do anything else? When I... I..." Hob said shakily, running a hand on his face, barely holding back tears at the thoughts swirling in his mind.

"And maybe I don't know anything, indeed, but it's not... it's not because I don't want to" Hob continued after a slight skip, looking down at his almost empty glass.

Hob swirled the liquid inside of it, trying to gather his thoughts and feelings all while bracing himself for the Stranger's answer. After receiving none, Hob started talking again.

"I'm glad to see you, but I can't do this tonight. I just can't, I'm sorry" he said, kicking back the rest of his drink, before standing up and picking his things off the table, leaving enough bills to cover his tab on it. Just as he was rounding the corner of the table, a pale hand shot to grab his wrist.

"Hob."

Hob closed his watering eyes, reveling in the feeling of skin against the skin, the first real contact the both of them ever had in the centuries of knowing each other.

“It’s not a never. I just need a moment to think, to sober up. Please” choked Hob, a maelstrom of feelings swirling in his chest, almost threatening to burst up his throat.

“Very well” came the Stranger’s reply after a few moments of silence.

“Thank you” whispered Hob as the Stranger’s grasp slowly dissolved around his wrist.  

Hob left the New Inn without even casting a glance behind him. The short walk to his apartment, usually refreshing on such an evening, left him feeling restless and antsy instead. Why had he stormed off like this? Or rather, why has the Stranger’s sudden reappearance - and horrific tale - shaken him so much? Hob rarely pondered on such feelings, not only preferring to bury them most of the time, but also letting them go, for the hurt they usually caused was too grand to support. Hob took the stairs two by two up to his floor, almost falling down in his haste.

“I am too drunk for this” muttered Hob, as his head spun and his hands shook, trying (and failing) to find his house keys.

Hob groaned, resting his head on his door and taking deep calming breaths, just as one of his previous therapists advised him to do when the tide of panic started to invade his mind and what sometimes felt like his whole being. After a few minutes, Hob calmed himself enough to fish out his keys from where they were and unlock the door of his home, closing it briskly behind him once entered. From there, Hob left a zig-zagging trail of garments leading towards his room, burying himself in his bed sheets and letting go of the tears he had been holding onto ever since he left the pub.

“Fuck” sobbed Hob uncontrollably, clutching one of his pillow, inconsolable at the swarm of confusion, sadness, anger, longing, bitterness, elation, and much more emotions that buzzing in his mind and body.

And fuck indeed. 

Chapter Text

A month passed before Hob saw the Stranger again. This time, however, he was more prepared for it. Or as much as you can be when you don't know exactly who it is you're waiting for, nor when or how you would see him again. While the mystery had been a fun part of his last centuries, Hob had grown tired of not knowing his Stranger's name, much less how to contact or summon him. 

Hob was sitting at his desk, currently holding one of his bi-weekly office hours, but since there weren't any pressing evaluations coming up, most of his past sessions had been empty of any students and spent on catching up on his workload and new relevant publications in his field. Being a teacher was nice, but it came with much more effort than rewards. He was engrossed in a particularly interesting article when he felt a presence hovering at the threshold of his office. 

"Just a minute" he said to the static figure, trying to finish up the paragraph he was currently reading, not wanting to miss the flow of it. 

" Hob ", a deep and rich voice interrupted him nonetheless, making him freeze in surprise.

Hastily standing, Hob made a gesture to the chair in front of his desk.

"Hi! Sorry, I thought you were a student. You can sit here if you'd like," Hob started to ramble, going to close his office's door, granting them at least a small amount of privacy.

Hob heard the ruffle of clothes, his Stranger taking his offer. Hob then sat himself again, on the opposite side of the desk, closing his laptop to give the man in front of him his full, albeit nervous, attention.

"This is unexpected," Hob said after a slight moment of silence stretched in between the two of them.

" But not unwanted, I hope ," commented the Stranger.

"Just surprising, that's all. I didn't know when or where I would see you. You catch me at a good time, is all I'm saying," Hob started to fidget with one of the few pens laying around his desk.

" Good ," simply said the Stranger.

"I'm sorry I left the other time. You caught me in a not-so-good time," offered Hob after a moment, seeing that his Stranger made no move to talk or explain why he was there.

Hob did feel remorse at how he had handled things the last time they saw each other. His Stranger didn't deserve to be the target of his anger and animosity that way. Hob would be lying to himself if he said that he hadn't thought about how he would understand if then the Stranger stopped their meetings altogether. He was ready to wait until bloody 2089 if ever. But, fortunately, he didn't need to, seeing as his Stranger was sitting right in front of him on a random Tuesday night, a month after their last meeting.

" It is of no consequence. I believe you also asked for time to think ," answered the Stranger.

"Yeah. Yeah I did," Hob frowned, looking at the pen twirling in his fingers.

"Anyways. I'm glad you're, well, here. And well too," Hob cleared his throat then smiled softly at his friend - who was looking quite regal indeed, even if he were currently sitting on the ratty chair in his small university office.

" It has been better in my Realm lately, indeed, Hob Gadling ," said the Stranger, glancing around the small room before zooming back in on Hob.

"Good, that's good," smiled Hob.

" How have you been keeping, my friend? " Asked his Stranger.

"Well enough. I still owe you the tale of the last hundred or so years, don't I?" Answered Hob cheekily.

" If you would like to share, then yes. But I would also like to know, if possible, the reasons for your abrupt departure on our last encounter? " softly inquired his Stranger, as if afraid to speak out.

Hob worked his jaw, debating if he should just bite the bullet and admit to his friend the true reason of his brusque escape - for it was an escape alright - at their last meeting. 

"If you would like to share your own reasons for your own abrupt departure at our 1889, perhaps I will share too," Hob offered instead.

" Very well, Hob. I shall go first : it was purely egotistical and selfish of me to leave you when you simply voiced some truths I had wished to ignore. I was brash and set in my manners then, too proud to admit I had my faults and needs. I now see that I was the one in the wrong and wish to make amends. You are, indeed, my friend, Hob Gadling, if I may have the privilege of calling you that - for you only hold the power to deny me such an act ," answered the Stranger in a grave and solemn tone.

Hob went a bit slack-jawed at his friend's honesty, not expecting him to be so verbose.

"You may call me your friend..." Hob hesitated, not knowing how to name his Stranger.

" Morpheus ," supplied his Stranger - and a name he had! finally!! - sensing Hob's hesitation.

"Morpheus" tried Hob, finally obtaining a name after 600 years - such a precious thing, Hob would definitely cherish it.

" I have numerous names, but it is the one by which I usually go by. You may also call me Dream ," offered his Stranger - but not so Stranger anymore.

Hob felt a laugh bubbling inside his chest. He had not one, but two names. 

"Dream" smiled Hob, trying this one out too.

Morpheus gave him a small smile.

"Well then, Dream, I, uh, accept your apology and offer these truths in return : I was scared too, last time, and it reflected poorly due to my already not-so-good state of mind. You caught me on a bad day and already inebriated. I... I didn't want our meeting to be sullied by that, but against the best of me, I lashed out and made a fool of myself" Hob continued.

"I was elated at seeing you again after such a long time, but I was also grief-stricken by your horrific tale and I got angry at the implication that you thought yourself uncared for, that I wouldn't care about your situation and your return" Hob then added.

"Cause I do. I mean, care about you" Hob finished in a barely audible whisper.

" And I, for you ," admitted Dream.

Hob's heart lurched in his chest at the admittance and assurance of Dream's care. He searched his friend's face for any sign of deception or doubt but found none, instead finding acceptance and warmth in Morpheus' gaze and his small, gracious, smile.

"Good. Cause you ain't getting rid of me" joked Hob, half-nervous half-rejoicing, a large smile etched on his face.

Both men - or rather, the human and the anthropomorphic personification - had much much more to say to each other, but for now, a ground of truth, reassurance and care had been laid between the both of them and would only grow from there on.