Chapter Text
“Boss needs to see you.”
“Fuckssake!” The pen scores a deep green line over the heretofore pristine surface of the Christmas card Hob had been about to start writing in. He glares up at Matthew who has just alighted on his desk- seemingly from nowhere- and, in doing so, scared the living daylights out of him.
“Matthew! What the hell?” Hob tosses the pen aside and sits back, smoothing a hand over his face, trying to calm his racing heart. “Don’t you know how to bloody knock?”
“Wings!” says the raven, spreading them in demonstration. “Great for flying; not so great for knocking. Anyway, I’m already inside.”
Which was undeniably true. Hob glances around, brow furrowed. Matthew had never just appeared in his flat before; usually he rapped on a windowpane with his beak, or swooped down to greet him whilst Hob was outside. “How’d you even get in? There’s no windows open!”
“Through your daydreams. I can do that sort of shit. Now,” Matthew clacks his beak impatiently, “Did you not just hear what I said? Dream needs to see you.”
“I’m not his bloody dog, you know, to come running when called.” Despite this snapped assertion, Hob is already on his feet and shrugging on the first coat that comes to hand and yanking a pair of trainers onto his feet. “I have a life.”
“Yeah, whatever. He’s just down the road.” Matthew flaps up onto Hob’s shoulder just as Hob reaches the door and together they descend the stairs and head off in the direction of the park.
“He actually said he needed to see me?” Hob says after a few moments, considering this to be highly unlikely. He feels the raven shift in consternation and knows he guessed right.
“Not in so many words, no.” Matthew admits. “But he’s sitting sulking on a bench in that little park you two often go to on his jaunts into the Waking, so clearly he wants to see you. Even if he won’t just turn up and speak to you directly. Never known a guy so incapable of asking for what he wants. Still,” he adds brightly. “That’s why he’s got me, isn’t it? Best buddy raven looking out for him.”
“Right, okay. So, do you know the reason he’s here, or…?”
“He’s got a problem. In the Dreaming.”
“Shit, really?” Hob quickens his pace and Matthew’s talons dig more firmly into his jacket. Poor Dream cannot seem to catch a break; it’s been crisis after crisis since his return from his century of imprisonment , although the past few months have seemed more stable. What could it be this time? Gods? Demi-Gods? More sorcery? Ancient Chthonic entities? Hob’s brain struggles to come up with more supernatural or eldritch problems that it could be: he’s not exactly au fait with that sort of thing…
“Wait,” he stops dead. “How the hell can I help with that?”
“Come on, man!” Matthew flares his wings to prevent himself losing his perch at the abrupt change of pace, smacking Hob full in the face. He does not apologise. “Don’t overthink it! Just do whatever you normally do. Whatever it is that makes Lord Morpheus come back to the Dreaming all soppy and sunshiney an’ shit.”
“Does he really?” Hob says, absurdly pleased at the notion.
“Well, not really. I’m kinda exaggerating. But he’s marginally less morose, so we take it. But we gotta get a move on, man,” Matthew nudges the side of Hob’s head with his beak. Not quite a peck, but verging on it. “Or our guy’s gonna nope out and disappear on us.”
***
The park is pretty much deserted- which is no surprise given the current weather- so Dream is easy to spot, sitting alone on his bench. He does look morose, Hob thinks as he approaches, all hunched over and staring down at his hands which are lying limply in his lap, stark white against the black of his clothes.
Dream glances up at the crunch of shoes on the gravel path, and sits up straighter when he sees he has company. He does not brighten at the sight of Hob, but he doesn’t look flighty or angry either, so Hob will take that for a positive.
“Hello Stranger,” he says. “ Fancy seeing you here.”
“Hob,” Dream tilts his head as if genuinely surprised to see him. “What brings you out here?”
“I had a visitor,” Hob says, inclining his head towards Matthew, who puffs up his feathers. “A little birdie who thinks you might be looking for a friend.”
“Matthew, you overstep,” Dream says, casting the raven a glance. But there is no heat in his words; no censure in his gaze. Hob is inclined to agree with Matthew’s initial assessment- Dream is seeking him out, even if only subconsciously, and he is not angry at his subordinate for his interference. “But it is nice to see you, nonetheless, Hob. How are you? How have you been keeping?”
“Oh you know, same old, same old!” Now that he’s standing still, the fact that London is experiencing a ‘sudden cold snap’ is making itself fully evident. It’s absolutely bitter and windy to boot. Hob is regretting not grabbing a warmer coat (and a hat and gloves whilst he was at it) in his rush to leave his flat. He shoves his hands deep into his pockets and jiggles up and down on the spot to try and keep warm. Matthew, irritated at the jostling, takes off with a caw and glides down to join Dream on the bench.
“And yourself? What, uh… what brings you out here on this fine winter’s day?”
“I am, “ Dream pauses, and looks down at his hands once more. “Being cold.”
“Oh? Right, yeah,” That was an… unexpected answer. The wind chooses that moment to gust particularly harshly and Hob decides that his current jacket isn’t worth the fabric it's made from. He may as well be naked for all the protection he is getting. “Any… uh, particular reason?”
“To. Experience it.”
“O…. kay. Well, human experiences are important, I suppose…” There are several moments of silence between them before Hob can’t take it any more, so he continues brightly: “Now you’ve… experienced… it, how’d you feel about another- nicer!- human experience? Coming in out of the cold and warming up with a hot drink?”
“I do not require. Tea.”
“Hot chocolate, then?” Hob wheedles. “I’ve got oodles of flavours.”
Dream stares up at him and this time Hob makes himself wait him out. They’ve played this little game before. Dream wanted the company, but he didn’t think he deserved it. Now the invitation had been made-initiated from Hob’s side- he just had to wait for Dream to give himself permission to accept it.
Finally, Dream nods once and rises. Hob notices how he flexes his fingers as he does so, seemingly unconsciously. Truly, they must be cold.
“Wonderful!” he says. “Shall we?”
***
Back in the blessed warmth of the flat, Hob wastes no time in heading to the kitchen.
“Whittard’s ok, yeah? Sort of fancy brand. Looks fancy, anyway. I got a whole selection of flavours from a mate last year, so you can take your pick. There’s… lesee” he rummages through the cabinet, lifting down several decorative tins as he speaks. “...orange, peppermint, or… salted caramel, white chocolate, mince pie, apple strudel… oooh, rocky road- forgot I had that. Aaand.. Hazelnut! Right, yeah, that’s your lot. “ He puts the last of the tins down, wipes his hands on his trousers and looks to Dream. “Go on then: pick your poison.”
Dream gives him a long look.
“Which am I supposed to choose?”
“Well, that’s up to you. Whatever tickles your fancy?”
“What if none of them do?”
“Aaww, comon, boss! You gotta like the sound of at least one of ‘em!” Matthew says, flapping up onto the counter. “You don’t want me to pick for you. Trust me.”
The look Dream levels on his raven is long-suffering, but he does step up to the counter and give the selection of cocoas his due consideration. Finally, he tilts the tin nearest to him with one finger, inspecting the jaunty decorations from a different angle, then steps back and nods. “This one.”
“Salted caramel, eh? Good choice. Great choice, actually. Think I’ll have the same!” Hob rubs his hands together. “Matthew, do you want a cup? Er… can you even have a cup? I guess hot chocolate isn’t really a raven thing…”
“Dude, I’m a dream, I can eat whatever the hell I like, ” Matthew says. “But I’ll pass on the cocoa thanks. Got any chips or anything?”
“Umm…” Hob sticks his head into another cupboard, rifling through the general detritus within. “I’ve got some Flamin’ Hot Doritos? Think they’ve been open a while so they might be a bit stale, though.”
“Sure man, hit me up!”
From Matthew’s enthusiasm, the prospect of stale chips did not daunt him in the slightest. Hob pours the half-eaten pack of Doritos into a bowl and glances over at Dream, who is still standing rigidly next to the counter. He still looks cold and he is still flexing his fingers.
“Why don’t you guys make yourselves comfortable and I’ll get these made!” Hob gestures vaguely to the tiny kitchen table, notices the stack of marking adorning it, and hurriedly sweeps it all into his messenger bag to be dealt with later before placing the bowl in the centre. “Please, sit down.”
He bustles about, heating milk and decanting chocolate powder into mugs whilst Matthew perches on the table and attacks the chips with abandon. One happy customer tonight, at least, Hob thinks. Now to get the other one to settle down and relax, because despite the offer of a seat, Dream stands and waits in silence, and it is not until Hob places a steaming mug of sweet-scented cocoa onto a coaster in front of his empty place that he condescends to sit at the table.
“So,” Hob says, sliding into the seat opposite, own mug in hand. “Matthew says there’s some sort of problem in the Dreaming?” It doesn’t seem like Dream can be drawn into small talk this evening: best to get straight on with it.
Dream sighs.
“Matthew is entirely too free with his words. And I would not call it a ‘problem’”
“I would,” Matthew chirrups, spraying a beakful of orange Doritos crumbs across the table.
“Yes. I believe we have established that. Nonetheless, the phrasing is incorrect.”
“Well, what would you call it then?” Matthew shuffles round to fix Dream with a beady-eyed stare.
“An… issue, perhaps.” Dream says, carefully neutral. “A slight one.”
Matthew makes a sound that Hob can only interpret as the raven equivalent of a scoff and Hob raises an eyebrow.
“Right. Ok,” he takes a sip of his own drink, appreciating both the warmth and the velvety sweetness of the chocolate- yes, caramel had been an excellent choice. He considers his friend for a moment, and rather hopes Dream will actually try his drink today; it would do him some good, even if it was just to warm him up a bit. “Well, you know what they say: an… issue shared, is an issue halved. Wanna talk about it?”
He fully expects Dream to say no and is ready for the entire back and forth of persuading and demurring that has often been a hallmark of their conversations. Hob has quite the collection of coaxing and cajoling in his arsenal, so he is a little surprised when his friend at first chooses silence instead.
Dream wraps his hands around the mug and stares down into the gently steaming liquid for a moment, as if trying to divine the secrets of the universe within it. Then he looks back up at Hob.
“Very well,” he says.