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Language:
English
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Published:
2022-09-30
Updated:
2023-10-03
Words:
400
Chapters:
4/?
Comments:
32
Kudos:
100
Bookmarks:
6
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499

Not Even Past

Summary:

"The past is never dead. It's not even past." - William Faulker

Various Hob drabbles, because I can.

Chapter 1: 2004

Chapter Text

Teaching’s a learning curve, a steep one. It’s mistake after mistake, his first year. Unsurprising. 

More surprising is what happens in early November. 

Medieval unit. His first ever lesson on the Black Plague. 

Not ten minutes pass before he bursts into tears. 

One student brings him a tissue; another, a water bottle. They’re worried. Hob’s (mostly) just embarrassed. 

“Sorry,” he gets out, after gulping the water. “Lost myself. Just. I’ve researched my genealogy. Constance Gadling, my ancestor”— the truth, whenever possible— “died of Plague when her son Robert was fourteen. Fourteen! Can you imagine?”

Hob, of course, doesn’t have to.

Chapter 2: 2023

Chapter Text

“Are you aware that you’re colorblind?”

(It’s not their oddest ever pillow talk.)

“Yeah. Didn’t realize for centuries, mind. How’d you know?”

“Dreamers’ landscapes reflect the colors of their Waking lives.” Dream brushes a thumb to Hob’s lips. “Would you like to see the full spectrum?”

“Oh, fuck, yes.”

“Then: sleep.”

*

The dream finds them on a mountain’s overlook. And the trees in valley below are—

“Red,” Hob breathes. “And—that’s orange? Jesus.”

“I could see to it that you always dream this way.”

Tempting. But—

“Maybe only when you’re here with me?”

Dream’s smile is lovelier than the view.

Chapter 3: 2022

Notes:

I saw a comment the other day on Reddit about how oddly calm Hob’s reaction was to Dream’s reappearance, and it got me thinking. I personally would have loved it if we’d gotten tears and/or a hug, but that wouldn’t have quite fit the characters or the narrative. I do think Hob reacted with less surprise than he might have, though, so this little meditation was born of asking myself, how did he manage to stay so calm?

Chapter Text

He hasn’t scripted the whole thing out, of course. No matter how many times he’s daydreamt the scene. Too many variables: a full script just wouldn’t make sense. 

It’d be a lie to say he doesn’t know his first line, though. 

Just something to get started. Something to memorize, call upon when needed— to give himself time to adjust. 

(And it’s a good thing, too, because knowing his first line is the only thing keeping the heart inside his ribs and the tears inside his eyes and, quite frankly, the ale inside his stomach.)

Hob smiles. “You’re late,” he says.

Chapter 4: 2023

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

“Sorry,” Hob sniffles, for the fourth (fifth?) time. Dream passes him another tissue, though he can reach the box himself.

“Know better than to think something’ll live forever. Or, most things. You know what I mean.”

“Mm.”

“But I always think they’ll last longer than they do. Not forever, but longer. Does that make sense? I mean, trees can live a bloody long— sorry,” he hiccups. “I know there’s worse happening out there, fuck’s sake.”

Dream does not offer another tissue; but extends his hand.

“No, I don’t want to dream about it, love,” Hob whispers. “I want it back.”

Notes:

Look me in the eye and tell me Hob Gadling wouldn't shed a tear for the Sycamore Gap Tree.