Chapter summary: In which Morpheus stops a Nightmare, Hob has two conversations he never imagined were connected, and Destiny mourns a loss only he knows of.

2: Changes Begin

True to his word, Morpheus stayed in the Waking. He could feel when Hob's mind slipped into the Dreaming. Only then did he allow himself to leave the comfort and relative distance of the windowsill for the bed. The mattress was not the most comfortable and had definitely seen better years. The blankets were old and faded but served their purpose. The pillows could have more stuffing, but again, they served their purpose.

Hob slept on, blissfully unaware of Morpheus' presence. Or perhaps because of it. The evening had not passed gently for the immortal human. He had eaten, yes. But he had eaten too quickly and his stomach ultimately rejected the first meal with a vehemence that startled Morpheus. The second meal Hob had eaten slower, trying to pace himself. It was clearly not an easy endeavor.

Morpheus grimaced at the memory and the contents of the chamber pot that had since been emptied. He had an odd sense that something was… Not wrong exactly, just different. Like he was missing something. It was a strangely detached thought that faded away just as quickly as it had come like a wisp of cloud.

Quietly, he sat by the sleeping human and gazed down at his friend's face. He could still recognize it beneath the dirt and the grime. He would know Hob's face anywhere. They would need to send the sheets to the wash in the morning, but that was not for tonight's worries.

Tonight, Morpheus worried about the faint twitches, the briefest cut off whimper, and the frantic rolling of Hob's eyes beneath their lids. A Nightmare. As Dream of the Endless, it was Morpheus' duty to create and guide his Dreams and Nightmares. But watching his friend suffer at the hands of one of his own creations at this low point in Hob's life bothered Morpheus in a way he could not quite explain.

He was also curious.

It took barely a whiff of effort to shift from the Waking to the Dreaming. He wasn't sure what he expected. A fire perhaps. The loss of a loved one. A fear as yet unfaced.

Not the depths of a body of water.

Dark water swirled around him punctuated by bursts of bubbles and muffled cries. Far above, sunlight flickered and rippled. Beyond reach. Beyond hope. Beyond the touch of the moving shadows and currents this far below where Morpheus floated, unbothered by the lack of air.

By why here?

Turning, his eyes settled on the body of his dear friend, and it broke his heart. Hob's wrists were bound together as were his ankles and his mouth was gagged. Bloodshot blue eyes that should be bright and shining were wide and wild, darting here and there, seeking some way to escape this dismal fate. Because had he been mortal, this would be the death of him.

A memory then.

The water was deep and heavy, pulling at Morpheus' clothes like the waters of the River Lethe. But this was a dream and no mere dream could resist Morpheus' command. Reaching through the water, Morpheus brushed his fingers against Hob's cheek. Startled, the human jerked his head towards the Endless and gasped audibly around the gag. Bubbles burst from his mouth, but there was never any danger of drowning.

Blue eyes the color of the far off sky blinked through the water and slowly, Hob's struggles ceased. Morpheus' free hand brushed Hob's other cheek so he was cradling his dear friend's face, holding his gaze and drawing him out of the memory of drowning.

"This dream is over," Morpheus whispered. The words were soft and unaffected by the dream water they floated in. For what was a Nightmare or a bad memory compared all the power of the Endless?

Instantly, the Nightmare holding Hob fled and the human drifted down as the water swirled around them, vanishing in a vortex of stardust and water droplets. The moment air replaced the imagined water in the immortal human's lungs, Hob clutched his soaking wet shirt and fell to his knees, coughing and gagging. But no water would come up. The Nightmare was gone, but some memories lingered even without the influence of Dream of the Endless. This must be one of those.

Morpheus approached with care, crouching on one knee. His hands had slipped from Hob's face when the water vanished and Moprbeus was hesitant to renew the touch. They were close enough to touch now, but neither moved to close the gap. Perhaps it was for the best. Morpheus' hands were still tingling from the brief touch of skin against skin that pulled Hob free of the Nightmarish memory. Touching again so soon was intimidating.

"Hob," he called softly, pitching his voice low to keep from startling the shivering human. "Can you hear me?"

Blue eyes, still bloodshot and wide, but without the frenetic edge of insanity, lifted and settled on Morpheus' face. For a moment, they widened in surprise. Then Hob's entire frame drooped in relief.

"You're here," Hob answered wearily. He sighed and shook his head, his lank hair falling every which way as he coughed a laugh. "This is a dream."

"It is," Morpheus said simply. "Do you fear water?"

Hob laughed. "I suppose it would seem that way. But no," he said with a wry smile. "Just the drowning part."

Ah. So it was indeed a memory.

"Would you be opposed to a bath?"

Hob sat back on his unbound ankles, straightening his back, and tilting his head far enough to see the ceiling. His eyes narrowed, then grew wide, sparkling with joy as he beheld the view. His lips parted in awe, twitching up at the corners in a smile.

"That is gorgeous."

Morpheus blinked and followed Hob's gaze. Stars and nebulae swirled in the vastness of the sky that served as the ceiling of his throne room. Gazing at them soothed his mind and eased his fears. Seeing them glimmer made him feel young again, beholding the newborn stars draped in his mother's vastness for the very first time. The grey stone walls of the throne room rose up from the floor only to fade away into the dream of Night.

"Is this why you went with black?" Hob asked suddenly.

Confused, Morpheus blinked and stared at Hob, tilting his head in consideration. "Perhaps," he replied gravely. "I have always loved black. Although," he hesitated, remembering the glittering stars of his youth, "I am not opposed to white either."

"So just a change of pace then," Hob said, grinning. He huffed a laugh and ran a free hand through his damp hair. "I would like a bath, yes. I feel like shit."

Morpheus bit back a comment with eons of practice. Instead, he chose to look away and sit down on the floor properly.

"Don't suppose the inn's got one, eh?"

"I can call for one, if you wish."

Hob shook his head and waved the offer aside for now. "I might take you up on that in the morning."

Settling into place, Morpheus allowed the silence to hang. It was comfortable and did not need to be filled. Hob eventually laid down on the stone floor, hands clasped over his belly, and gazed up at the dream of Night. Slowly, the tension from the Nightmare and the hard times he must have endured over the past century began to fade away.

"I almost didn't recognize you, you know," Hob said eventually, breaking the silence. "At the Inn, I mean."

Morpheus tilted his head to indicate he was listening, though he did not speak.

"I had to sneak in 'cause the doorman refused me entry. I looked, but I didn't see you at first. Thought you'd decided not to come."

That… hurt a little. "You doubt my word?"

…they've all gone…

It was Lucienne's voice. Faint, thready, and barely there, but it lingered in his thoughts like an echo or a memory. For a moment, sadness, loneliness, and betrayal threatened to overwhelm him. He swallowed back the urge to weep and the emotions faded back to a tolerable level.

Where did that come from? He couldn't remember ever hearing Lucienne say those words so it couldn't be a memory. But then, if not a memory, then what was that? And why was it associated with so much emotion?

"I think it was the eyes," Hob murmured, breaking through Morpheus' racing thoughts. "Hm, yes. Definitely the eyes. You have a distinct… I don't know how to describe it. A distinct… presence I guess. A weight to your gaze that's not there when other people look at me."

"A weight?" Morpheus asked, his attention returning to his friend.

Hob nodded, turning his head just enough to see Morpheus' face in the shadows of the hall "'S one of the reasons I knew you weren't Human," Hob continued. "I know you're not the Devil or a demon. Fey maybe. That's probably closer. Eldritch definitely."

A faint tug of a smile touched Morpheus' lips. Eldritch indeed. "I do deal with the Fey often enough. They tend to prefer me over my siblings."

Blue eyes flickered from the starry ceiling to Morpheus' face in surprise. "You have siblings?" he asked. Then blinked. "The Fey are real?!"

"I do and they are," Morpheus replied, allowing his unblinking human-like eyes to fade back to a visage as close to their true form as could be done in this humanoid form. "I am the third eldest of seven. Of them, I am closest to the Fey. So indeed," a playful tone seeping into his words, "eldritch is a good word."

For a moment, Hob just stared, his eyes flickering across Morpheus' face, taking in the starry night that was his eyes and the faint quirk of the Endless' lips. The human turned back to the dream of Night far above them.

Then his smile grew to something soft. "You have stars in your eyes." His joy burned bright and clear as he beheld Morpheus' visage once more. "You're a dream," he said.

"I am."

Hob chuckled merrily. "Don't suppose you'll tell me your name," he teased.

Dream of the Endless bit back the urge to smile. "You know it already," he said simply.

Hob blinked, frowning in thoughtful surprise. "What?" Immediately, he sat up and leaned close to Morpheus, very much in the Endless' space. The sudden movement and close proximity startled Morpheus, but he did not let himself flinch.

"What do you mean I know your name?" Hob gasped. "You neve- When did you- I don't remember you telling me."

"I did not," Morpheus assured him. "But you know it all the same."

Hob sat back on his haunches, mouth open and scoffed. "Did I say it? Here? In this dream?"

"You did."

Hob sulked. "Well now I have to remember this dream. Damn," he muttered, rubbing his hands over his face and falling back to the lay sprawled on the floor. "You look good in black, by the way," he said. "The longer hair is nice too. I am curious though. Why the change?"

"Human fashion changes like the seasons," Morpheus replied. "The easiest way to vanish is to appear as expected."

"I suppose black is always a safe color," Hob agreed, still not looking away from Morpheus. "You can never go wrong there. White can be too pristine. It stands out too. Especially at night." He sighed. "Like a star."

Morpheus nodded.

Once again, the silence slipped into place. This time it remained for a long time. Neither man nor Endless broke it. They simply existed together. But all dreams must eventually come to an end.

"You will be waking soon."

"Yeah, I think you're right."

The stars continued to whirl overhead.

"Will you be there? When I wake up?"

Hob's form began to fade.

"Yes Hob. I will be there. You still owe me your stories."

Hob grinned and vanished.

When he opened his eyes again, he was nestled in a cocoon of warm blankets. A soft thud followed by the gentle sloshing of water pulled him fully to wakefulness. In slow, hesitant movements, he pushed himself up to look for the source of the sounds.

There, in the corner, by a large wooden tub, sat his Stranger. The long ebony locks, soft and feathery like a raven's wing, draped over the Stranger's shoulder as the man leaned over the tub. His dark eyes, shadowed by the dim light streaming in through the window, were barely visible through the steam rising from the water.

Steam?

Sitting up further, Hob was stunned to discover that yes, that was indeed steam. And yes, that was indeed a bath. Dreams do come true.

As if in answer to his thought, Hob's Stranger lifted his head and pale, ethereal blue revealed themselves through the shadow and steam.

"You're still here."

The Stranger gazed at him unblinking. "I am."

Swallowing back the multitudes of questions, Hob shifted. "Is that for me?"

"It is."

Heaving himself up took more effort than Hob would ever willingly admit. But he did manage to reluctantly climb out of bed. The cool breeze from the open window swept across his skin making him shiver. The window creaked slightly as it moved on its hinges.

The sun was dipping low over the horizon, almost completely hidden behind ominous looking clouds. Hob sniffed the air and nodded to himself. "There'll be a storm tonight," he said, walking carefully over to the tub where his Stranger sat.

His Stranger hummed in soft agreement. "The birds think so as well. Most have returned to their roost."

"Hopefully, the rest of them'll follow," he said.

He felt oddly self-conscious stripping in front of the man. But there was a tub right there and Hob trusted his Stranger with his life. Especially after yesterday. Was it yesterday?

"How long was I, ah, asleep?" he asked, unbuttoning his ruined shirt.

At first the Stranger said nothing, as if in deep thought. "A full night and most of the day."

Hob blinked. "You had to think about it?"

His Stranger nodded.

Hob smiled awkwardly. "Sorry about that. Didn't mean to leave you alone."

"I was not alone," his Stranger said softly, standing and moving to the window to pull the sheer curtain across it.

"True enough," Hob admitted with a chuckle as he removed his pants in relative privacy while the Stranger looked away. "Although I bet I wasn't the best conversational partner."

"On the contrary," the Stranger said, just as Hob stepped into the hot -sweet Mary! That was hot! How did it get this hot?- water. "If I did not enjoy your presence, I would not have stayed." The Stranger handed Hob a small bar of soap and a washcloth. "Our deal was to meet once every hundred years so I could ask if you still wanted to live. The statutes of our deal have been met." Blue eyes gleamed fey in the uncanny light. "Yet here I stay."

There was a lot to unpack in that last statement. Emotion wove thick through each word. Confusion seemed to be the foremost emotion. But something else followed closely on its heels. Something that Hob would almost dare to call fondness.

"Here you stay," Hob repeated, his voice barely a whisper as he began cleaning himself.

Shaking himself, he focused on scrubbing himself of the months worth of dirt and grime that had caked on his skin while his Stranger sat nearby and watched. Oddly enough, his Stranger's eyes never drifted lower than Hob's collarbone. The gaze was less intrusive than Hob would have expected, more comforting.

Feeling bold, Hob looked down at the washcloth and focused on scrubbing himself as he spoke. "I had a dream about you," he said, almost wishing he could take back the words. "You said I knew your name."

"You do. You called me what I am." A faint smile touched his pale lips. "Though I find your choice of the word 'eldritch' to be oddly fitting."

Hob laughed. "I called you wha-" Wait. He froze. Looked up at his Stranger with an odd look. "How did you know about that? The eldritch thing?"

His Stranger cocked his head in mild confusion. "You told me."

"Yes. But only in my… dream."

Oh.

Oh gods above.

Something cold and heavy settled in his gut. It dried up Hob's mouth and made his legs tingle.

"You were in my dream."

His Stranger did not nod, but he pointedly did not look away from Hob either. Which was answer enough.

"Was that-" He swallowed. "Was that real?"

"Dreams are real."

Hob hesitated. "No. Dreams are dreams. They're in our imagination. We're- I was unconscious. Asleep."

"And now you are awake."

Such a simple statement and yet it carried so much information Hob wasn't sure he was ready to understand. That said, this was his Stranger. His Stranger had never harmed him. He stayed when he didn't have to. Booked a room for Hob without needing to. Ordered food and a bath without ever asking for compensation.

And Hob was curious.

"So," he deliberately swallowed back his fear and forced his hands to go back to scrubbing his body. "Dreams. You can appear in them." His Stranger answered with silence. "Then is everything I… see and experience in dreams… real too?"

"Why wouldn't they be?"

Why wouldn't they be? Hob thought hysterically. Because they're dreams?! Obviously?!

"Then," Hob dared to lift his eyes to his Stranger's face, "your eyes there, in that room with the sky for the ceiling, were those real too?"

Long black hair framed the Stranger's pale face. Clothes the color of the midnight sky were tailored to his Stranger's thin, willowy form. The darkening sky cast shadows across his Stranger's pale face, once more shading those pale blue eyes.

Which were now twin pools of liquid night. Stars like those in that gray stone room glittered in his Stranger's eyes where the pupils should be. In Hob's dreams, those eyes were breathtakingly beautiful. In this waking world, those eyes were still breathtakingly beautiful.

A distant part of his mind screamed any number of superstitious things. But the only words that made it out of Hob's mouth were, "They suit you."

Shock.

For the first time in a long time, Hob could see clear surprise on his Stranger's face. The stars in those glistening black eyes sparkled brighter. Pale lips parted in a silent 'oh' that tugged at Hob's heartstrings.

"You said I owed you stories," he said, changing the subject to more familiar things.

His Stranger nodded, eyes still endless night.

"Will you keep those eyes while I tell you?"

His Stranger nodded slowly.

So Hob told him everything and for the first time in a long time, he felt seen. And it soothed him in a way he couldn't quite explain.

In a realm of silence and a maze only one in existence knew the solution to, a peculiar figure walked. Their form was draped in cloth from head to toe. A book that was thicker than it appeared was chained to the figure's wrist. Milky white eyes, blind to all but the words on the pages of the chained book stared down at the current page in confusion.

The page he turned to had changed. The words faded, merged, and reformed into new words. A new story. A new Dream.

His heart ached.

He placed a shaking hand on the page as a single tear fell. The words were unbothered by their reader's tears, continuing on remorselessly with the march of Time.

Destiny was not the most social of the Endless, but he loved his family. All of them. He wept when Despair's first aspect was murdered. He wept when Dream finally gave in to his heartache and took Death's hand.

And now he wept for Dream once more. With Despair, they had a body to bury. But with Dream, there was nothing. There is nothing. There would be nothing. For now that end had not happened, written though it had been in Destiny's book.

Now the story had changed. Destiny knew all of the worlds for this universe's story as he did every universe that ever was, is, or would be. Yet he could do very little to directly interfere.

However much he wished he could. Dream may be a stickler for the Rules, but still he bent them when needed. Destiny was jealous of his young brother. To have those who cared so much, that was a blessing Destiny was pleased little brother had.

Even if it eventually destroyed Dream.

And remade him anew.

The next family dinner would be an affair to remember.