Chapter Text
When Hob woke the following morning, it took him a minute to process that he was indeed alive, even if he felt like death warmed over. He could feel every throbbing pulse of his heart through his entire body, hazy and somewhat detached from the sensations.
He sat up with a groan and waited for his head to stop spinning. Slowly, carefully, he swung his legs off the chaise, waiting for a sign they would hold his weight. His dress from the night before was in ruined tatters, and a chill went up his bare spine. With a little whine, he wrapped the large fur blanket around his shoulders and stood up. It covered him almost to his knees, keeping him surprisingly warm in the castle that was just cold enough to be maddeningly uncomfortable.
He shivered again and took a few tentative steps toward the door that was held ajar. He poked his head into the hall. “Hello?” No answer.
The castle was quiet, still as the last moments of night before the dawn. The lanterns were still lit, their flames dimmed. Small, stray beams of early morning sunlight forced their way through the gaps in the drapes. A chilled hand braced lightly against the wall as trembling legs slowly made their way down the hall, he hoped, towards the main staircase.
Hob’s head spun with questions- just who and what was Dream? What happened to him now? Would he ever be allowed to step outside these musty walls? Dream had said he would see to Hob’s needs, but what did that mean?
Eventually, he made his way to the foyer, his feet and fingers feeling absolutely frozen. “Hello?” he called again, his voice echoing slightly in the lofty halls.
“Good morning, little one.” The soft, raspy words once again came from the shadows, made hazy by the dawn. Hob jumped, drawing the fur blanket closer around his body.
“Dream-” he stammered, fingers curling into the fine fur. “How- wait, how are you awake? I thought night creatures couldn’t stand the daylight.” Dream chuckled, soft and low and rumbling like distant thunder.
“A creature of the night I may be,” he replied with a knowing smirk as he stepped out of the shadows and through dappled beams of weak sunlight, “However, I am older than you could possibly fathom. I was made long before my fellows developed their aversion to the sun.”
Hob blinked- that was not the answer he was expecting. Said night creature was now standing before him, attired similarly to the previous day. An almost white hand gently pet Hob’s sleep-tousled hair. “A blessing,” he murmured, almost too soft for Hob to hear, “For you are even more beautiful in the light.” Hob blushed and shrank into the fur with a shiver.
“You are cold,” Dream observed casually. “Come. I said I would see to your needs.” He turned on his heel and headed up the stairs, and turned to the left. Hob followed, a bit slower than the previous night, taking in the artwork and tapestries that spanned centuries.
Dream led him through a set of double doors, the same heavy, dark wood as the main entrance, but less withered by time and decay. They opened to another sitting room, larger than Hob’s entire single floor home, decorated in the same style and colors as the room from last night. Hob could also see a large, dark desk and tall, full bookshelves behind moveable screens, and what looked like a bed through a crack in the door at the back of the room.
Hob froze three steps in the door. These must be Dream’s rooms, he thought with another chill.
“Sit,” Dream ordered softly with a flick of his hand toward a chaise. A fire blazed to life in the hearth- rather than sit on the chaise, Hob scrambled to kneel in front of the roaring fire, letting the heat ease his chilled bones.
Dream watched over his shoulder from the door to his bedroom, smirking. He could already tell that most of his energy would be spent keeping his little morsel warm.
Hob was too busy warming himself by the fire to notice Dream leave, or come back- he started when he felt Dream sit behind him, a pale arm clad in black wrapped around his middle, encouraging him to lean back against Dream’s chest. “Come here, little one,” he purred in Hob’s ear.
Hob let himself lean back, the fur still wrapped around him softening the marble-hard chest keeping him upright. He was sure Dream could feel the pounding of his heart vibrating through him.
On the floor to Dream’s right appeared a silver tray piled high with different cheeses, nuts, and fruits, some of which Hob had never seen before. Next to it was a dark teapot and a cup, thin tendrils of steam snaking their way from the spout. “That’s it,” Dream cooed softly, “Just relax. Let me. Remember…” His voice hardened ever so slightly, laced with an ancient power. “It serves us both for you to be well looked after.”
Hob tried, he really did- tried to let the fire help ease the tense chill from his muscles, tried to let Dream’s chest take more of his weight. He shivered despite steadily warming up. Dream, of course, noticed, and another thick fur materialized to cover Hob’s lap. The human’s eyes widened.
“How- but how did-” Dream chuckled again, the sound rumbling down Hob’s spine. He held a piece of cheese to Hob’s lips. “Never you mind. Eat.” The commands were gentle, but there was no doubt he expected to be obeyed. Hob opened his mouth and let bony fingers place the cheese on his tongue, chewed slowly, and swallowed. Dream’s breathy whisper sent chills down his spine with a start:
“Very good, my sweet.”
Dream continued to delicately feed him, and Hob could feel the trembling fade from his limbs with every bite and every sip of tea. In between mouthfuls, the night creature would croon praise in his ear, card long fingers through hair still mussed and tangled from sleep. Hob felt himself relax more and more- warm, full, and content.
When the platter and teapot were empty, both of Dream’s hands came up to Hob’s blanket-covered shoulders, kneading gently. Hob immediately tensed again, his mind no longer wrapped in the warm smoke of Dream’s praises but racing with ideas of what the night creature could possibly want- surely it was too soon for him to need to feed again? Hob wasn’t sure if he could handle losing the same amount of blood so soon, and hadn’t Dream said he wanted him to last?
“Realx,” Dream cooed in his ear. Hob could hear the indulgent little smile in his voice as he tried desperately to release the tension in his muscles. Dream’s fingers were massaging his shoulders with carefully controlled strength; it was obvious how he was trying to be firm but not squeeze so hard as to break or bruise.
Hob tried, he really really did, but he couldn’t stop the breath getting stuck in his lungs. Dream frowned as he saw and heard the human swallow hard, felt him squirm in nervous tension.
“Relax, pet,” he said again, this time as a stern order. “I will not bite.” He gave a soft snort of amusement. “At least, not at this moment.” Hob couldn’t help the shiver that tripped down his spine and brought goosebumps to the surface of his skin- no doubt Dream could feel them as those fingers continued to rhythmically curl and release into his shoulders.
They sat like that for a long while, Dream massaging Hob’s neck and shoulders while the human desperately fought to keep himself relaxed, or at least not so tense the slightest touch would make him snap. Midday sunlight filtered through the gaps in the drapes, adding a touch more warmth to certain spots in the room. The fire continued to crackle cheerfully- it somehow burned as warm as when Dream first lit it, without a single log being added.
Hob’s limbs began to feel pleasantly heavy, even as his backside mildly protested sitting on the stone floor for so long, especially after the treatment it had received the previous night. A hazy, lazy contentment settled over him, and he felt his eyelids getting heavy, as if he wasn’t half in the lap of a creature who could destroy him with half a thought.
Dream chuckled indulgently as he watched Hob fight a losing battle against drifting off, watched his eyelids slide shut and his head loll before gently jerking back into consciousness, only to drift out a little further. Suddenly, a noise caught his ear. He turned his head, sharp and quick, to look over his shoulder out the window.
It was faint, much too faint for Hob to hear, and even with his heightened senses, Dream had to strain to be sure he wasn’t imagining it. It was definitely the rumble of a large group- men and horses, maybe some carts. He frowned as he listened harder.
Dream’s sudden, unnatural stillness was what finally released enough adrenaline to overcome Hob’s lazy sleepiness. “Dream?” he asked softly, looking over his shoulder at the man-shaped force of darkness behind him. The night creature was hard and still as marble, his upper lip minutely twitching. The tendons in his neck were nearly bursting out of his skin. He showed no sign of having heard the human other than the slightest clenching of his jaw.
“Dream?” Hob asked again, turning fully around and getting to his knees. The fur on his lap fell to the floor, the one around his shoulders shifting open to reveal his chest. He tentatively reached for the night creature’s shoulder with one hand while the other hastily snatched up the second fur to cover his modesty. “I-is something wrong?”
“A large party is approaching the crossroads from the east,” Dream growled, barely a murmur. Hob’s stomach clenched; if he didn’t know better, he’d say Dream sounded uneasy, or at least annoyed. “I cannot tell which way they mean to turn.”
Hob knew the three options- they could continue east, to whatever was waiting for them across the valley. They could choose to turn south, where they would come upon Hob’s village within three days. Or they could choose to go north, and would reach Dream’s castle in a day and a half.
Two of those three possibilities were less than ideal, at least until they could learn more about just who exactly was approaching.
“We need more information,” Dream finally ground out, lithely rising to his feet. “Jessamy!”
There was a small puff of black smoke and feathers, and a pitch black raven with white feathers on its breast was standing on the back of the armchair. Hob jumped slightly; there definitely hadn’t been a raven there a few seconds ago. He stayed on the floor, resting on his haunches- there was no way he’d be able to keep two furs wrapped around himself if he stood.
Dream turned to the raven that was cocking her head to the side, waiting to receive whatever was promised to catch her interest. “There is a large party approaching from the east,” Dream told the bird as if she could understand him, “Be my eyes.” The raven squawked twice in affirmation. With a wave of his hand, Dream opened the window, letting in a gust of crisp autumn air that made the fire wave and sputter. The raven flapped her wings with another almost happy sounding caw and took off.
Dream turned back to Hob, the human wide eyed and gaping like a fish. “Jessamy is my familiar,” he explained, sitting in the armchair as if it were a throne. With another casual flick of his hand, the window clattered shut. “Through her eyes, I can see exactly what we are dealing with.”
“Oh,” Hob squeaked intelligently, “Alright then.” Yes of course, why on earth was he surprised that the dark creature on the hill he had been sacrificed to had a sentient and intelligent pet that he could (apparently) form some sort of mental connection with?
Everything was silent for a long moment, save for the crackling and popping of the fire, but even that seemed muted, as if it too was waiting anxiously for news. Hob pulled the furs back around himself with tense and slightly trembling fingers. Was the moment finally at hand where the village’s bargain with the ancient nightmare would be put to the test? Even as powerful as he was (or seemed), what could one vampire do against what could possibly be an entire army? “Dream?” he ventured tentatively.
“Hush,” Dream hissed back. He closed his eyes, mustering his concentration. When they flew open again, they were midnight black and beady, just like the eyes of his raven. His already pale hands were clenched around the armrests, claws threatening to rip open the upholstery.
Dream decidedly did not like what he saw.
What he had thought to be a respectablly large sized caravan was but the front half of what could only be described as an army. Jessamy’s eyes showed him dozens, if not hundreds of men, all armed to the teeth and armored in leather and metal.
The raven wheeled around to the head of the force- leading them all was a man on a blood bay destrier, arms and legs covered in red, puckered burn scars and thick with muscle on full display. His torso was covered in leather armor like his fellows, and a wicked looking claymore was strapped to his back, along with a short sword at his side.
Dream was about to sever the connection with Jessamy when the host began to slowly but surely choose a direction: they were heading south, towards Hob’s village.
Dream snarled as he pulled away from his raven, his eyes returning to the ice cold blue of a winter sky. And yet, they were blazing with fire.
“They are heading for your village.” Dream’s voice was a low rumble, like ominous thunder- and yet, Hob could almost swear he sounded uncertain.
“So-” he began haltingly. He swallowed hard and tried again. “So you’ll help us?” Hob shrank in on himself as Dream turned the full force of his focus to the human still kneeling on his carpet in front of the fire that had begun to burn hotter with his temper. Hob bashfully turned his gaze to the floor, trying to make himself something small and unremarkable.
“It’s just… this is why I’m here, isn’t it. I’m here as a sacrifice to you, in exchange for protection if the village needs it. I- I can’t make you uphold your end of that bargain, hell I don’t even know if all the stories about this arrangement are true. But I’m already yours so, please.” His fingers curled even tighter into the furs as deep brown eyes already starting to shimmer with tears met Dream’s. “My friends are still there, people I care about. Even if the whole arrangement is a load of horseshit, I would ask you-” he swallowed hard. “Please help my village.”
Dream was staring at Hob with a mix of vulnerable incredulity and shock. He had promised all previous offerings to see to their needs, and he had (until he grew bored of them or they no longer served their purpose), but none of them had ever asked him for anything more. Being allowed to live another day was always more than enough for those poor frightened creatures. The fact that Hob had worked past his fear to voice his request intrigued and aggravated him in equal measure.
And yet, despite his obvious courage, the human at his feet reminded him of a baby bird fallen from its nest- small, powerless, almost pathetically desperate. Such a stark and disturbing contrast to the man who had practically come to life beneath him the previous night.
He could kill him for his insolence, but that would be a waste of the most delectable blood and flesh Dream had had the pleasure to sample. He could give him such a fright that Hob would be plagued by nightmares every time he closed his eyes. Hob was maddening: maddeningly and perfectly delicious, maddeningly impudent, maddeningly contradictory.
Dream apparently had remained silent long enough for Hob to interpret his lack of response as a refusal. The human seemed to become even smaller, curled in under the weight of his despair and the fur about his shoulders. Hob’s throat closed up and tears burned the backs of his eyes. His lips trembled as the barest hint of a strained whimper slipped out- he’d deny it, if he didn’t already know Dream could hear even the smallest of sounds.
Something in the night creature jolted, an unpleasant lurch in the pit of his stomach. There had been many a time he thoroughly enjoyed the scent and taste of fear, despair, hopelessness, the way it sweetened the blood almost like overripe fruit that had just started to ferment.
It didn’t suit Hob at all. Not when his blood ran so much hotter, sharper, tangier than any human or creature he had ever drunk from in his many years.
Bony fingers hesitantly twitched and reached for Hob, almost against Dream’s will. He didn’t know what he’d do, or say. Anything really, to rid Hob of the rancid sentiments souring his blood and scent. And if that meant undertaking the likely tedious task of saving his village… well, he had been getting bored lately. This would be a good chance to stretch his legs, to remind humanity that he was still alive and more powerful than they could possibly fathom.
The sentiment was somewhat jarring.
“I…” Dream hesitated, then shook himself. He did not hesitate. Not ever. “I will uphold my end of the pact with your village.” The words sounded scraped over hot coals, as if it had taken all his considerable power to say them. Hob’s gaze shot up, barely concealed hope flickering in his eyes.
“Really? You will?” Dream scoffed and looked away, anywhere but at those sparkling eyes that reminded him of tiger’s eye with their browns and ambers.
“I am a creature of my word,” the vampire mumbled to the window, crossing his arms almost petulantly. Hob stood carefully, using both hands to keep the furs covering as much of him as possible.
“Thank you,” he murmured bashfully. “I- thank you.” Dream snorted softly through his nose, but Hob thought he saw the tiniest twitch of a smile.
~X~
Hob wasn’t expecting Dream to immediately set to work. He expected a creature of Dream’s unfathomable age to have a much longer, slower view of the passage of time, to be unfamiliar with urgency. But no sooner had the creature agreed to the bargain, he had stepped into action. With an understated flourish of his hand, Dream was clad in elegant black leather armor, and Hob in trousers and a shirt of sturdy linen, with supple leather boots on his feet. He flinched in surprise, and the furs fell to the floor.
Dream moved with single minded purpose through the halls of his mansion, leaving Hob to half jog, half sprint to keep up. His stride was almost predatory in its assuredness and confidence, as if it hadn’t been hundreds of years since he unleashed the full extent of his powers. Shadows writhed and churned as they followed him like obedient dogs, Hob dazedly tagging behind.
They abruptly halted outside a dark wooden door that looked the same as almost all the others. It opened with a flick of Dream’s hand and lantern flames burst to life in sconces around the walls. Once Hob’s eyes adjusted, he could see it was a storage room, filled with every kind of weapon he could imagine, and some he couldn’t have- maces, morning stars, swords and daggers of all sizes, even a few crossbows and longbows. He felt himself gaping and almost missed Dream’s words.
“Arm yourself. I will not be able to both chaperone you and take down an army.” Hob took a few cautious steps into the armory- he knew the very bare minimum of how to defend himself from attackers, where a strike would cause the most pain. Of course he had wrestled and brawled with his friends and assorted drunkards over the years, but this was different. This was to be a pitched battle against an army of well trained soldiers. Not for the first time in the last two days, Hob felt incredibly out of his depth.
He ended up choosing a dagger that looked relatively new and sharp and a short sword. A few minutes of rummaging found him a leather belt that fit around his waist to hold the weapons. “What about you?” Hob asked, glancing around the room.
Dream scoffed and drew himself up with a smug smirk, and were Hob’s eyes deceiving him or did he grow an inch or two taller? “I have no need of wood or steel,” he said, low and dangerous and promising. “Come, let us decimate this would-be army.”
~X~
However Hob thought they were going to make the almost full day’s journey from Dream’s mansion to where the army was camped, he was wrong. He had been expecting a carriage, or horses at the very least. But instead, Dream manifested a flowing robe about his shoulders, the material cascading to his feet in silky waves. He tugged Hob close to him, an arm wrapped securely around the mortal’s waist.
Hob felt his stomach turn inside out and almost brought back the food he had consumed only hours ago even though it seemed an eternity. He felt his skin tingle and prickle with the same feeling as walking through icy mist, saw only the blackest darkness for but a moment- when he opened his eyes again and got his feet back under him and the dizziness had abated, they were on a hill overlooking the an open field, where the army had made camp.
Hob immediately looked for a flag, for a sigil he might recognize. Then, at the head of the camp, he spotted a tattered red standard with three black triangles arrayed in a circle. “Fuck,” he swore under his breath with a shudder, “That’s Azazel’s flag.” He looked to Dream and clarified, “Local warlord, or was several years ago until most of his band died of the plague.” He frowned as he observed the host again- there must have been around two hundred men. “Seems he’s gotten enough of his numbers back to start raiding again.”
“Why did your village leaders not call on me in years past?” Dream wondered aloud with a bird-like tilt of his head. This village had been sending him sacrifices for what had to have been many generations by now- not that he could blame them for being afraid to approach his castle and demand that he uphold his end of the bargain.
Hob shrugged. “Don’t know. Probably afraid you’d eat them too.” He chuckled nervously but it didn’t diffuse the tension. Hob cleared his throat. “I was a babe the last time they came here, but I’ve heard enough stories and seen enough drawings of the crest to know it’s definitely Azazel.” Dream could feel the dread rolling off him- this was what Hob’s nightmares were made of, real humans that came to destroy his home and family, not monsters of myth that hid in the night.
The vampire’s visage hardened into something firmer than marble, set in its resolve. “Stay here,” he ordered the human, gathering his power in the center of his chest and drawing himself up. He seemed to grow taller as the sky darkened around them, ominous masses of deep gray blotting out the few rays of sunlight making their way through clouds that were white and fluffy but moments ago.
Hob glanced over his shoulder. “Wait, where are you-” He couldn’t get the whole sentence out before Dream vanished in a frozen gust. Hob let out a huff and mumbled, “Alright then… Be careful.”
The minutes that Dream was gone stretched on for hours. Hob’s stomach churned unpleasantly as he paced back and forth along the ridge of the hilltop, squinting at the shapes below, trying to make out what was happening. He had just gone to sit down with an impatient huff when the screaming started.
His eyes flew to the valley below- wails of pain and terror flew up to where he sat on the hill, sounds that should have come from trapped prey animals rather than hardened raiders. Shrieks and cries, the faint squelch of rent flesh, shouted curses, frantic pleas for mercy, the occasional ring of steel. What in the world could possibly-
Dream.
Hob’s blood ran cold as he continued to watch, now able to pick out the streak of black smoke that must have been Dream, snaking through the camp faster than lightning could think. “Fuck…” the single word was gasped in breathless, terrified awe as Dream singlehandedly laid waste to the entire array of troops, and possibly Azazel himself. He shivered and stumbled a few steps down the hill. He already knew that Dream could destroy him with barely a thought if he so much as blinked wrong, now he knew he could take out whole armies in a matter of minutes.
And yet, Dream chose to be gentle with him. Chose to hand feed him, wrap him in furs to keep him warm, relax his muscles with his own hands. He had heard all the stories about the monster on the hill- about his ice cold cruelty, about the power he commanded. And while those were all true, there was a side to Dream that was, dare he say, almost soft. Or at the very least, a side that wasn’t totally made of ice.
Regardless of motivation, it was a side that wanted to keep Hob alive and cared for, and dare he say content? He shuddered again; even the faint possibility that this unfathomably old and powerful creature could want to provide Hob with more than the bare minimum needed to keep his blood tasty was too much to think about.
Hob barely breathed in the minutes it took for Dream to finish subduing the camp. He saw that ribbon of black smoke slow down ever so slightly, before it vanished and another gust of chilled wind ruffled his hair.
Dream landed behind him in a crouch, long fingers pressing their tips into the ground. Shadows and smoke gathered and settled around him like a cloak and fluttered around his form to the ground.
“Dream-!” Hob darted over to where the vampire still hadn’t risen to his feet, and it was then he realized he was trembling. “Dream, what happened?”
The barest hint of a strained, pained grunt slipped past Dream’s lips as he tipped out of his crouch and onto his knees, hands and arms and shoulders taking his weight to keep his face off the ground. One hand clutched and clawed at his side, and Hob could see tiny trickles of blood so dark red it was almost brown wind their way between his fingers.
“You’re hurt, fuck, how-?” Hob tried not to panic as he crashed to his knees before Dream, hands flailing as they searched for something to do. What could possibly have been fast or strong enough to harm an ancient apex predator? “What do you need-? Dream? How-?”
“He knew,” Dream finally rasped as he looked up at Hob through his lashes. His pallor was a sickly gray, eyes sinking down and down into his skull. Thin, black, spidery veins wound their way across all the skin Hob could see, giving him the appearance of cracked pottery. “I have very few weaknesses,” Dream continued, each word an angry struggle, “And somehow Azazel knew the greatest of them. He is dead now. They are all dead, but-” he swallowed hard around a pained whine, and it came out as a deep grunt instead.
Dream knew this was the closest he had come to dying since he actually died and was reborn to the night so many eons ago, felt it in the creaking of his ancient bones. He could feel the strength leaving his limbs, the primal instinct to save himself by draining Hob dry screaming in his ear.
“Shit, Dream-” His hands braced against Dream’s chest and tried in vain to support his weight, but it was like trying to move a pillar. “What do we do?” Hob could hear the panic threading through his voice, why was he panicking? Why did it matter that this unfathomably old creature was dying in his lap? Why did that make him so sad and so scared? He forced himself to take short, painful breaths. “What do you need, I-”
“Blood,” Dream choked, his crimson smeared hand wrapped in a death grip around Hob’s wrist. “I- I need to feed. So I can heal. However. I-”
“Then feed,” Hob replied without hesitation, holding his free wrist to Dream’s lips. “It’s what I’m here for. Take what you need.”
Dream’s eyes lasered in on the pulse pounding just beneath the delicate skin of Hob’s wrist, his mouth watering with desperation. “You do not know what you are offering,” he snarled under his breath, still spellbound by the frantic yet steady rhythm of Hob’s pulse even as his vision blackened around the edges. “I am- I do not know. If I will be able to stop.” His voice shook with raw want.
It was a dangerous precipice they stood on. It was taking all of his remaining self control to not pounce on the human and completely eviscerate him, to tear him apart and suck every last drop of blood from his insides. It would be all too easy to take too much, to drain him as his heart slowed and eventually stopped, while Dream only grew stronger.
It would be easy. So easy to kill him. And even as the life drained from him in thick globs of blood, Dream was terrified by the prospect.
“I trust you,” Hob assured him frantically. “You won’t kill me, you said yourself it serves us both if I’m kept whole.” He let out a nervous chuckle that hovered on the edge of a sob. “Drink.”
The wound in Dream’s side throbbed painfully and along with Hob’s blessing, completely shattered the already tenuous hold on his control. He half roared in desperation as fangs lengthened and sank deep into Hob’s wrist, through flesh and vein and tendon. His unbloodied hand held the arm in place with all the give of a steel cuff.
Hob screamed and tried in vain to yank his arm away as teeth pierced his flesh followed by almost painful suction- Dream wasn’t sparing any thought for his comfort, which made sense considering he must have been in unbearable agony. It was a heady and nigh nauseating sensation, to feel the blood slide through his veins and leave his body with every pull of Dream’s mouth, and so different from when Dream had bitten him the previous night.
Dream’s legs solidified underneath him as he drank, the clarity returning to his vision. The tart sweetness of Hob’s blood fanned out hot across his tongue- no blood had ever tasted this good, not even Hob’s in the throes of passion. He felt the mass of his power grow and grow, healing his wound and filling the cracks in his form, and growing some more. He drank and drank and drank, even as Hob let out a little panicked whimper when the lightheadedness became too much to simply breathe through.
“Dream…” he pleaded, high and breathless and laid open. He was so cold, he could hardly feel the tips of his fingers as he weakly pushed on Dream’s shoulder with his free hand. What little blood remained in his body roared in his ears as his vision blurred around the edges, and what he wouldn’t give for a giant tankard of water right about now.
“Dream, stop…” he blubbered in a panicked gasp as he slumped forward. He would have cried if his body had any liquid left to turn into tears. “Stop, stop, t-too much…”
Some part of Dream’s mind registered Hob’s words, but the ancient animal was free and did not want to be reined in. Eyes of unseeing night sparkled as he tore at Hob’s wrist, teeth piercing and rending flesh as he tried to get his tongue deeper, get more of the ambrosia that was practically gushing into his mouth. He vaguely registered Hob’s cry of pain, could hear the uneven beats of Hob’s heart, frantic at first as his body fought to stay alive, then slower, and slower as his strength gave out and he finally collapsed, unconscious.
Dream didn’t stop until his human’s heart was beating so slowly, in his frenzy he thought it had stopped. The thought was enough to yank him from the tide of primal instinct to feed until he couldn’t drink another drop. Terrified, he yanked his fangs out of Hob’s wrist and let his limp form crumple to the ground. Strength surged through him in hot waves; despite being on the brink of true death but moments ago, Dream had never felt so strong or alive.
“Hob?” His voice vibrated with the power of Hob’s blood coursing through him, but the human did not stir. His golden tan skin was pale and clammy, wrinkling in places it had never wrinkled before from dehydration. His hands trembled again, but it was a new kind of trembling, one Dream wasn’t familiar with. This wasn’t the shake of weakness, this was the quake of fear, a fear so strong it shook his bones.
Dream decidedly hated the sensation, he who hadn’t feared anything in millenia. Hob couldn’t die, let alone die by his hand. He wouldn’t allow it. Hob would survive this, even if Dream had to drag him back to the world of the living.
Dream gathered Hob’s limp form in his arms; startled by how he weighed practically nothing, and by the fact that Dream couldn’t tell whether it was because of his increased strength, or because he had really drained that much from him. “Do not die,” he rasped, not caring whether or not Hob could actually hear him. “Do not even think of it.”
He glanced at Hob’s face as he prepared to whisk them back to his castle, and was stopped in his tracks. Even though Hob had given of his blood willingly, eagerly even, there was no peace to be found in his expression. Even in his unconsciousness (he refused to acknowledge the possibility that Hob could be dead), his face was drawn and pained, pulled into a desperate and almost sad grimace. His hair hung limply, dull and lifeless. He was so cold.
There was a frantic tightness in Dream’s chest he refused to acknowledge as he spirited them back to the castle, for fear that if he did, it would utterly consume him as he had consumed Hob. He laid Hob’s body on the chaise where they had consummated their pact the night before, a night that seemed millenia ago now. Tender fingers tilted his head back and parted his lips. Ba-bump.
His eyes went wide.
A heartbeat. Hob was still clinging to life.
“Hold on,” Dream nigh begged as he rolled up his sleeve. “Hold on for me Hob.” He bit hard into his wrist, hard enough to risk severing tendons. Blood welled up into the punctures as Dream held his wrist over Hob’s parted lips. Blood dripped slowly but steadily into Hob’s mouth, staining his teeth red and rolling down his tongue into his throat. Dream squeezed his hand into a fist to force more out.
“Drink, Hob,” he pleaded, “Drink of me, as I drink from you…”
Dream had to open his wrist twice more, the skin healing before he could get Hob to swallow what he thought was a sufficient amount. Enough for some color to return to his face, enough for his heartbeat to be stronger than intermittent. Hob’s breath was steady, if shallow, and his face had released some of the pained tension it had been holding. Dream hovered nervously over him, watching, waiting. Wound tighter and tighter with every moment that passed that Hob did not wake.
He began to pace back and forth in front of the fireplace- it took a few passes before it occurred to him to light a fire. The room steadily warmed, even as the sun sank below the horizon. And still Hob did not wake.
He tried to busy himself by seeing to Hob’s comfort: the leather boots were gently pulled off his feet, the belt with his sword and dagger removed, the furs from that morning draped over his body and tucked up to his chin. And still Hob did not wake.
The witching hour was fast approaching when Hob showed any sign of life other than shallow breaths and a faint heartbeat. His brows twitched into a slight grimace, and a tiny moan slipped past cracked lips. “Hob?” Dream crashed to his knees in front of the chaise, eyes darting back and forth.
Hob groaned as he regained consciousness. His head pounded in time with his pulse, his mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton. He felt shriveled and dried out like an old prune, his skin uncomfortably wrapped around his bones. He was lightheaded and weak, like the slightest movement would knock him back out. He tried to get his muscles to move, but they barely twitched.
He tasted copper on his fuzzy tongue, the tang of it sharp and unnerving. “What the fuck,” he ground out, forcing his heavy eyes open. He managed to raise one hand to rub at his aching head, his awareness still limited to the complaints of his body. It started to come back to him in blurry flashes, like the last remnants of a dream. The hilltop, Azazel, there was so much blood and Dream-
His eyes snapped fully open and landed on Dream, knelt before him as if praying beside a sickbed. “Dream. What…” He forced himself to swallow, trying to wet his throat with what little saliva his mouth could produce. “What happened? Are you okay?”
“I am well,” he reassured Hob as he gently wrapped lukewarm fingers around Hob’s free hand. If Hob didn’t know better, he’d say there was almost a flush in Dream’s cheeks. Dream knew he owed Hob his life, but the words to acknowledge that simple and obvious and enormous fact stuck in his mouth.
“Good,” Hob breathed with a little nod, “That’s good.” He opened and closed his mouth, trying to get the dry fuzzy feeling to go away, but there was almost no spit to be had, just the tang of blood. “Gods I’d kill for some water.” Dream almost jumped out of his skin in his eagerness to fetch it for him, or whatever it was he did to conjure it from thin air.
Rather than a glass, the water was in a smooth wooden mug that Hob could easily grip even in hands that felt shaky and clumsy with his weakness. “Slowly,” Dream urged with a gentle edge as Hob lifted the cup to his lips to drink.
Hob took long sips until the cup was empty, his headache already abating slightly as he felt his skin round out just a little. They remained silent as Dream gave him another cup of water, then a third. By the time the last drop was gone, Hob was feeling much better, if hungry and exhausted to his bones.
Without really thinking, Dream settled back onto his haunches and gently ghosted his knuckles over the apple of Hob’s cheek that had almost returned to its customary shade of golden brown. “I think it no exaggeration to say I owe you my life, Hob Gadling.” The words were a low whisper, for Hob’s ears alone. Not even the night could know that Dream owed his life to a human.
Hob leaned into the tender caress, too tired to be any sort of apprehensive or nervous, considering that the creature touching him so tenderly was the one who had nearly drained him to death just a few hours ago. “You’re welcome,” he replied with a cheeky if exhausted grin. “Couldn’t just let you die, not because of something I asked you to do.”
“Nevertheless,” Dream shot back with a little smirk, “It was incredibly reckless of you, to offer your blood to a dying vampire.” His voice dropped to a whisper, his eyes lowered to the floor in what would have been shame had Dream dared to name it. “I nearly killed you.” Hob gave what would have been a casual shrug had he been standing but offered no comment- he knew Dream was right. But here he was, heart still beating and lungs still breathing, so what did it matter?
“But you didn’t,” Hob assured him gently. His eyes kept fluttering in his tiredness, Dream’s form appearing hazy and almost angelic, like a vision. He could feel his words starting to slide together and come out of his mouth against his will, the exhaustion acting like a drug removing his verbal filter. “Knew you wouldn’t. You like me too much.”
Dream froze, mouth agape. Hob had struck right to the core of him, but not painfully. No, he had just waltzed in and sat himself down with a smile. Dream did like him, for more reasons than his body and his blood: Hob’s wit, his warmth, his courage, his selflessness. Was he growing fond of him?
He let out a breathless chuckle and gave Hob another pat. “Rest, Hob Gadling.” He swallowed and his voice hardened into something close to iron. “I did warn you, it was dangerous to offer yourself so freely. ‘Anything you want,’ you said. I will continue to take of you until only the barest threads remain.” Dream’s expression turned dark and heated- a spark of tender care still remained, but once again the beast inside was rumbling, wanting to devour Hob whole. “I promised to have you every night hence, your body and your blood. However. You have given enough today. I am well pleased, little one.”
Hob’s smile grew and he visibly relaxed into the chaise and Dream’s touch. The little blood that could be spared suffused his cheeks with a pink flush as a low ember of want lit in his chest- easily ignored until he had his strength back. “Good,” he breathed, heavy eyes drifting shut. “That’s good. I’m glad.” He swallowed, Dream’s eyes fixated on the muscles of his throat. “Guess I get to live another day.”
“Yes Hob,” Dream breathed as Hob once again succumbed to sleep, relaxed and at peace. “For many more days to come.”