Work Text:
To say that Hob didn't expect Matthew the raven to bang on his windowsill at 3 am in the morning would be understating it somewhat. To say that Hob didn't expect Matthew to immediately drag Hob outside to Morpheus slumped against a tree, in some kind of leather armor and smeared in grime, soot, and blood... would be an even bigger one.
"There was... a battle," Matthew explained haphazardly on the way over. "We won, and I don't think he's actually hurt too bad, but he's used up a lot of strength lately."
"Dream?" Hob knelt beside his friend, gently cupping his jaw, trying to figure out if Matthew was right about Dream not being too hurt. "Hey, come on. It's Hob."
Morpheus opened eyes filled with darkness and starlight. One of his hands shot up, lightning fast, grabbing Hob's hand in a painful vise. For a few seconds, Hob worried that Dream was going to break his wrist, but then the grip slackened. "Hob?"
"Hello, there," Hob said. "Matthew said there'd been a battle on."
"Yes. It is over. And I have tended my realm back to health."
"Hasn't taken even three seconds to rest, though."
"Matthew."
"Come on, I think this is conversation best said in my flat, when cleaned up and there's tea," said Hob, extending his hand to Dream and rising. Morpheus took it, but it was evident his legs weren't going to propel him upright as he immediately buckled into Hob. Hob steadied him, and they painstakingly made their way back to Hob's flat - Dream resisting when Hob tried to support too much of his weight.
Though the second they were in the flat, Morpheus became almost a dead weight, eyes fluttering. "Shit. Dream, hey --" He set the Endless down on the couch, trying to survey him for wounds.
"Hob," Dream murmured, eyes still full of starlight. "Just. Tired."
"Do you mind if I get all this dirt off you?" Hob said gently.
"...Go ahead," Morpheus whispered. Matthew lit atop the couch, letting out a soft caw.
"All right, all right. One minute..." Hob set about retrieving supplies - warm water, soap, cloths. Bandages, antiseptic, just in case. He finally noticed the armor had deep gouges and slashes in it and momentarily blanched. Hob really hoped it was just the armor with gashes. He started with Dream's head, wiping gently at grit and ash and blood. There was a cut, but no longer bleeding; Hob pressed a light bandage on it.
Dream had leaned into Hob's touch as Hob wiped down his hair, looking for head wounds. Though filthy, he was relieved to find no injuries there.
"Dream, love, I'm gonna need the armor off."
Morpheus furrowed his brow, like he was concentrating - and cried out as the armor shimmered, but didn't vanish, pain flickering in his expression.
"Boss, you'e too exhausted to properly use your power, just. Let Hob."
"There's a love, sit up," said Hob, tugging Dream gently upright. The armor seemed to be three main pieces: coat, vest, and some sort of additional fabric flaring around his legs. He tugged the leather sleeved coat off first, folding it carefully next to Dream on the couch. Then the vest, which was braided together in the back, behind Dream's waist and neck.
"You said he wasn't hurt, Matthew," Hob snapped, taking in the sluggishly bleeding gashes on Dream's chest and ribs.
"I said he didn't seem too hurt!" cawed the raven, hopping from one leg to another.
"They are not serious," Morpheus muttered. "Flesh wounds, Hob."
"Yeah, well, sorry love. This is gonna sting." He wiped at the dirt and grime on Dream's torso, getting the gashes cleaned, before dabbing copious antiseptic on them. Morpheus hissed, involuntarily trying to jerk away. At least the gashes gave Hob something to focus on besides the sinew and muscle, which he had imagined seeing for some time now.
And he'd been dropping pet names this entire time. Christ.
By the time Hob had managed to fully disrobe him, clean out all the other smaller wounds, bandage everything, Dream's eyes kept sliding shut only to fly open as if resisting rest. Hob fumbled through his wardrobe, finding a black t-shirt and boxers, socks, and a dark purple dressing gown. Dream watched him through half-closed eyes.
The sequence of events remained a bit blurry to Dream. There had been the battle, and then every inch of his time spent healing nightmares and dreams and repairing what had been broken. Taking census with Lucienne.
His armor stayed on, without even realizing it, all the way to the point where Matthew mentioned Hob was probably wondering where he was. Lucienne had encouraged him to go, rest, like she knew he wouldn't keep off his feet otherwise.
The journey to the Waking had exhausted him to the point where he fell forward, tried to get up and then fell backward. "I'm getting Hob," Matthew had said, panicked, and flew toward the building. And now he was here, on Hob's couch, struggling to keep his eyes open after Hob had -- what? cared for him? Dressed him in his own clothes, tended wounds Dream had forgotten were there and more besides.
Hob shoved something soft behind his head, and gently prodded him sideways until he was horizontal on the couch. He wanted to say something - Don't go, maybe, or thank you, or good night - but his mouth wouldn't form the words. Dream reached out, snagged Hob's wrist when the latter tugged a blanket around his shoulders.
"You want me to stay?" Hob asked.
Dream nodded, pulling on Hob's wrist.
"Duck, there's not room for both of us. Only thing that does is the bed," said Hob, then blushed lightly.
"Bed, then," Dream managed. The thought of losing Hob as an anchor instilled dread in him.
"Uh… you gonna walk there or should I carry you?"
Dream's arms and legs had turned to sludge, and he glared. Do the math.
"Fine, don't kill me for it later," said Hob, and scooped Dream into his arms, blankets and all. By the time Hob had gotten him on the bed, tucked into blankets, all he had left were the sensations – warmth, Hob settling in beside him. Dream let out a soft hum, slipping into the Dreaming the moment after.
Hob stood in a throne room that looked mid-way under repair.
"Hob," said Dream, materializing at his elbow.
Hob yelped. "Jesus, mate. Warn a guy."
Dream tilted his head and shrugged. "Wrong divinity, Hob." Hob could hear the smirk. "This is my palace. Would you like to see other parts of the Dreaming?"
"That would be lovely. Whatever you want to show me," Hob said, looking up and seeing a dizzying night sky, constellations not found in his waking life. He glanced at Dream, and took in how his appearance had changed: a bit taller, black coat almost a cloak, starlight shimmering in his hair, which fell somewhat longer and wilder.
Morpheus inclined his head. "Some areas are still healing. I think you would enjoy the Library, for a start." He set off at a walk, and Hob frowned as he noticed the limp, the way Dream's hand kept drifting to his side.
Hob managed to get Dream to sit, under the auspices of looking at a stack of books Hob had printed in the 15th century, until the dreamscape shifted, blurred, and then disappeared.
When Hob woke, he didn't expect Dream to still be in the bed next to him, let alone be half on top of him. Dream's raven black hair had acquired an impressive bedhead – Hob had thought it already looked like he had bedhead before. Welp.
The King of Dreams made a petulant noise, blinking a bit when Hob shifted, and refused to be dislodged when Hob tried to extricate himself. Morpheus seemed to fall asleep again in the next moment. He sighed and then took a closer look at Dream, who shivered a bit at the dislodged blankets letting air in, the circles under his eyes that hadn't quite faded, and –
Hob quietly cancelled his morning classes, pulling the blankets back up.