Work Text:
“Mind if I join you?”
Hob’s snapped out of… Whatever he was just thinking about, he’s not that sure. All he knows is that Dream is dead, well, his Dream is. He just attended the funeral, he’s on a bridge with everyone else and he’s probably about to wake up, and just… Go on with his day? Like fucking nothing just happened?
He wonders, briefly, if Lucienne, or the new Dream could make him some kind of death certificate he could take back into the waking and get a few days off to actually mourn, drink like he never has before and cry himself back to sleep and maybe be treated by the memories of his oldest friend. The one person- or, not-person he thought he’d never outlive.
Hob takes in Death’s appearance as he slowly turns to her. She’s beautiful; like Dream was, like all of the endless are, otherworldly. She gives him such a sweet smile, it’s impossible to find any similarity to Dream. Even then, he searches for it. Finding it somewhere in her eyes.
“I’m here to talk,” She tilts her head, leaning onto the bridge next to him. “Figured I owed that to you. Or to him, maybe.”
Death looks at him for a long while. Or is it seconds? Hob can’t tell.
He sees the look in her eye, like she’s expecting something, waiting for–
“You want to find out if that’s it?” He asks, he was meant to chuckle, but it just didn’t come out. “If I'm ready to call it a day?”
“That’s up to you” Simple, difficult.
Hob looks away, looking at her hurts, looking at any of his siblings hurts because all he can think about is him, how much they look like him, how much they don’t look like him.
He thought he’d have forever with Dream.
Hob bites the bullet, fuck him for being curious, fuck him for being in love and never doing anything about it.
“Suppose I do… Chuck it all in.” He lifts his gaze again. “What happens then?”
He’d almost done something about it, last he saw him. But he didn’t, cause he’d just lost Aubrey, beautiful, kind, blue-eyed, raven-haired Aubrey. And Dream had been so distraught over his own issues, it fizzled out of his mind, he didn’t believe it’d be the last time he’d see Dream.
“You’ll find out. If you’re ready.”
He’s not, he’ll never be.
“It’s been over 650 years.” He ponders, long forgotten the original date of his birthday, if he ever knew it. All he knew is that it was in the middle of spring and he can’t help but find it fitting. He’s changed it up over the years.
“I’ve seen it all. Done it all, heard it all, felt it all… Then suddenly I’m chatting with Death at the funeral of the king of dreams…” He’s able to chuckle this time, meeting Death’s gaze briefly.
Fuck, she knows…
“But,” She prompts, shifting closer, giving him a sympathetic look.
There’s a lump in his throat, he attempts to look away, forward toward the waters and the rest of the Dreaming, back toward all the other guests. It’s inevitable, everything reminds him of Dream. He clears his throat.
“I- I know there is more to be experienced. There always is…” His chuckle is wet, now. “But what fun is there if I can’t tell your brother about it all?”
Death chuckles, patting his shoulder.
“We all have our time. This,” She says, gesturing vaguely. “Just proves it. Even I’ll have mine, when the universe itself goes.”
Hob shakes his head. “I’m not ready, that’s the thing. But, I suppose no one ever is.”
“No,” She affirms. “Even when they say they are.”
He nods, he gets it. He understands there’s a new Dream, but it just won't be the same, it’s him, it’s not him. It won't ever be, it is now.
He wonders if there’s an afterlife of sorts, the chance of somehow seeing Morpheus again makes his chest tighten up.
“Tell you what,” She speaks, after a beat of silence where Hob doesn't. He looks at her. “I still have a few things to do around here, after all the other guests are gone. I’ll go see you then, just in case you change your mind.”
She smiles, he nods again, unwilling to risk words lest they refuse to come out. She walks away, and he’s left alone with his thoughts.
His decision.
He chooses not to speak to the new Dream when the opportunity arises. And soon enough he wakes up, alone in his bed. In the flat he’d bought with Aubrey not two years prior.
She wanted a cat, they never had the opportunity to get one.
He has the day off, he doesn’t do much. He debates writing a will, a note, perhaps. But he doesn’t want it to look like a suicide, no. It’d be unlike him. He’d rather a sudden death, is dying from heartache possible? He thinks it is. In older folks that’ve been married for so long when one goes, it doesn’t take long for the other to follow.
Sipping the last of his wine given to him by Dream, he laughs at that thought. How ironically truthful it is.
And as the last drop of the wine is swallowed, only half past 8 pm, a shiver runs down his spine as something in the room changes, and he is not alone anymore.
“Evening, Death” He puts the now empty bottle down. “I would’ve saved some for you if I knew when you’d be coming.”
She smiles, “It’s alright.” And sits down next to him. Again, looking at him expectantly.
“I’ve had a good run.” He ponders, aloud. His decision made, he thinks it’d already been made the moment Dream had told him they wouldn’t see each other again. “Think it’s time for a rest, eh?”
Death nods, holding out her hand. “You’ve had a good run, Hob.” she affirms. “Only sucks that I’ve lost the bet.”
That gets a laugh out of Hob. “Damn you both and your wager,” He finds himself wiping the prickling of tears at the corners of his eyes. “He told me about it, last I saw him… Damn cheater, you’re only losing ‘cause he left first.”
Death shares his laugh. “Yeah,” she smiles, wistful. “He did pull some bullshit just to win sometimes.”
“I’m sure he did.” Hob chuckles, and takes her hand.
Now dying is, much different than what Hob thought it would be. For how long he avoided it.
As Hob took Death’s hand, everything slowed, nearly to a halt. He didn’t even look over his shoulder to take a peek at his body as Death spread her wings, like nothing Hob had ever seen before. He felt a tugging sensation and they were elsewhere. A vast, dim grassy nothingness that made Hob stumble. Death’s hand on his arm to steady him.
“Careful, don’t move your head too quickly.” She tells him.
He blinks once, twice. Able to look around once his vision steadies and… He feels quite the same. He still breathes, feels his heart drumming steadily in his chest. A soft breeze coming from seemingly nowhere blowing through his hair.
“I- uhm…” He has a few questions, but none seem able to fully leave his mouth.
Death seems to find humor in this.
“Come on, you’ll understand in a bit.” She starts walking, tugging him forward almost excitedly. He does his best not to stumble. Trying not to find surprise in how strong her grip is.
Through the infinite grassy planes, yellowed from the lack of sun, and seemingly unkept. She leads him to a small cottage– Cozy, built with dark shades of wood and stone, a small gravel pathway leads up to the door, which Death tugs him toward, knocking and barely waiting a second before opening it and walking right in. There’s a grin on her face, which Hob is confused by until…
He hears a very familiar voice.
“My sister, I cannot have a restful afterlife if you insist on barging–” It’s Dream. His Dream.
“Hob,” He says, nearly a whisper. His eyes wide.
Hob didn’t even realize his mouth was agape until he closed it.
”Dream.”
“I’ll leave you two to talk, be back later!” Death rushes out of the cottage as fast as she dragged Hob in. Hob’s head turns briefly as the door is shut behind her, but his gaze is back on Dream in the next millisecond.
He looks… Soft, domestic in a black knit sweater. He’s still lanky and angular but something has made him less… Rough around the edges, Hob supposes it’s the fact that he’s not Endless anymore, the weight of all the responsibilities he’s had for so long, gone. He looks human, and god does that make Hob’s somehow-still-beating heart ache.
“Hob- what..?” Dream tries, looking confused. That echo of otherworldly gone even though the tone of his voice remains the same. And Hob can’t help but step forward and scoop him into the tightest hug he thinks he’s ever given someone.
“You won your wager.” He says with a laugh, unable to contain it as he attempts to put space in between them, only to feel Dream’s fingers digging into his triceps.
Dream’s eyes widen impossibly more as the meaning dawns on him.
“You didn’t…” He whispers.
“I did.” Hob affirms, unable to contain himself as he watches blue eyes well up with tears, he’s already dead fuck it. He cups Morpheus’ cheek as the first tear falls, wiping it away with his thumb.
“You’re dead.” His grip is tighter, the distress on his face more evident even as no more tears fall.
“As are you.” Hob can’t help but chuckle, indulging in the closeness he’s being allowed. He assumes is being allowed, as he still hasn’t been pushed away.
“But, but I– Your–” Morpheus stammers. ”Why?”
“How would I keep on going without you there to listen to my updates?”
“You’d have the new Dream of the Endless.” He argues.
Hob clicks his tongue, tilting his head slightly. “Yeah but, he isn’t exactly you is he?”
Morpheus blinks at him, eyes searching his face, he looks so perplexed, it’s such a human emotion Hob isn’t used to but now that he’s seen it, he wants to see every single complex expression Morpheus is capable of doing, all the ones he’s missed out on.
Arms are wrapped around Hob’s middle as he’s pulled into another hug, proper this time. Hob holds Morpheus close, he’s able to feel the slight rise and fall of breaths being taken. He supposes it’s not exactly a real thing. Neither of them have to breathe, Morpheus much less than Hob. But he assumes it’s some kind of placebo, a custom.
“You abandoned your immortality for me.” Is spoken against Hob’s neck, it’s as much as a question as it is an affirmation.
“I did, yeah.”
“And I cannot fathom why you’ve done such a thing, Hob…”
“I would’ve fought Lyta Hall and the Furies head on if you’d told me what was going on.” He admits, it’s easier to tell the truth when you’re dead.
He hears as much as he feels the indignant scoff that exits Morpheus’ lips against his neck before pulling away just to look at him.
“You would not.” Morpheus shakes his head, and Hob has to very much hold himself to not lean forward and press his lips against Morpheus’ pout.
“I would,” Hob laughs, “I would’ve done it.”
“I would not have allowed you,” is his argument. “It would’ve been foolish and just resulted in–” Morpheus cuts himself off. Mostly due to the face Hob is now making at him.
Hob’s raises his eyebrows, a small grin on his face. If Morpheus had wanted to say ’resulted in his death’ that’s far too late now.
“I’m known to be quite foolish.” Hob shrugs, it’s the truth. “But this wasn’t a mistake, I chose this. Because what I couldn’t fathom was a world without this you in it.”
Morpheus just stares at him; so Hob continues:
“I know, there’s the new Dream, I saw him. And I’m sure he’ll do great, but my experience, my very, very long life is all because of you. Not him… I didn’t even know I had the option of seeing you again when I chose to die but this has made it completely worth it… And if you don’t want me here I- I’ll gladly take my leave and find myself another afterlife to–”
A tug on his collar and he’s cut off by lips meeting his own. He’s too surprised to reciprocate, Morpheus puts space in between them before he can.
“You abandoned your immortality for me.” He repeats, like he’s convincing himself that someone would do that for him.
“I did, I’d do it again.” Hob tells him, because it’s true. He brings his hand up to cup his cheek once more, smearing away the tears that flow freely. “I should’ve told you I would earlier.”
The thought comes, maybe it would’ve changed something. Maybe, if he did. They’d both still be alive.
Too late to reminisce. What matters is that Morpheus should know.
“I’ve loved you from the day you told me to meet you in a hundred years.” He confesses, Morpheus looks at him, scrunching his nose, no doubtedly thinking of that time himself.
“I was not kind to you, back then.” His voice warbled by the tears that fall, Hob’s heart can’t help but ache at the sight.
“No,” Hob chuckles. “No you weren’t, not really.” Leaning in, he presses his lips to Morpheus in more of a proper kiss, Morpheus exhales a shaky breath as their lips meet and Hob’s other hand trails to the back of his head, running through the dark hairs as he’s wanted to do so many times before.
“I cannot tell you for how long I’ve… Loved you.” Morpheus says, when they part for air neither really need. “Because I do not know.”
Hob smiles, bringing his forehead against Morpheus’. “But you do, now?”
A nod, “It is… Easier. To allow myself to feel now”
That admission hits Hob like a blow, he could cry himself. He almost does, but he holds it in, for Morpheus’ sake, he can cry all he wants to later. In Morpheus’ arms even, if he’ll allow it. As far as he knows, now they really do have eternity. Or something close to it, he’ll have to talk to Death and ask her, once she’s back. He can’t bring himself to care much about the nuances now that he does have Morpheus in his arms, that he’s been kissed by Morpheus first, allowed to kiss back.
They share another few kisses before Morpheus tugs him by his sleeve around the small cottage he has for himself, the way he seems almost giddy by it all. The interior reminds Hob of the few bits he was able to see of the Dreaming, not that it was very much, but he sees the resemblance, smiling to himself at how very Morpheus it all is.
Eventually, they sit together at a reading nook. Curiously, they fit together in the space as if it was made for the two of them, perhaps it was. Hob’s new to this afterlife thing.
“We are given books, or… Different forms of media representing our lives manifest in the space of our afterlife, it was books for me. That shelf holds all of them.” Morpheus gestures to a grand bookshelf that holds innumerous books, bound in velvet, a deep shade of navy blue; labeled in a way Hob can’t exactly make out, but he doesn’t really mind.
“I do have books to be read, as I do not hold the collective consciousness any longer, reading anything is… A novel feeling.” He explains, turning to supposedly retrieve the book he had been reading when Death brought Hob in. But something seems to catch his attention, he rises to his feet, going to a different bookshelf littered with more books, titles Hob actually can read for the most part, except–
“These are new.” Morpheus ponders, his fingers brushing over the new volumes, lined up in order, bound in warm brown leather, a red stain design near the bottom, and golden lettering Hob is very much able to read as Morpheus pulls it off the shelf.
He can recognize his own name when he sees it.
“I think those might be mine.” He chuckles, standing and taking the one and-a-half-step necessary to reach Morpheus, who hands him the book.
“I suppose it is.” Morpheus runs his fingers over the lettering on the cover, and Hob can’t help but smile at the implication of the books of his life, here.
“You said these manifest wherever one’s afterlife should be, yeah?”
“I did.”
“Guess that means I’ll be sticking around here for a while.”
Morpheus smiles, truly, unlike any smile Hob’s seen when they were alive.
“For as long as you’d like.”