(no subject)
The last of the Sandman fics that I dug out of my hard drive.
Hob meets the new incarnation of an old friend. Friendship, pre-slash if you want to see it. Could be considered a fairly distant sequel to the previously posted fic.
He didn’t know why he’d come. Ninety-four years. It had been ninety-four years since he had dreamed a funeral and woken up in tears. He hadn’t dreamed about his old friend since that time at the old Renfaire, after having a chat with Death. As the time for the meeting had grown near he’d wondered on occasion if he should have taken her up on her offer, but most of the time he still didn’t regret it. He had so much to live for, and he liked to think that Dream Lord or not his friend wouldn’t have wanted him to give up, not over that. In saner moments he realized that a being like that, one who’d been so furious two hundred years ago when Robert Gadling had the impertinence to suggest that he came to their meetings because he wanted a friend, probably wouldn’t care much. But that never quite managed to silence the small part of him that pointed out how the Dream Lord had returned the next century with as close to a smile as he’d ever seen on that pale, angular face, and called him friend.
That had been the highlight of his century at the time, he thought as the waitress brought him another beer. She’d asked him when he arrived if he was waiting for someone, and once he told her that he was drinking to absent friend she’d left him alone except for refilling his drink. He was grateful for that. The Dream King had been more than a friend, he’d been a touchstone that helped Hob mark the centuries, gave him something to look forward to. The only real friend who hadn’t aged and died through the centuries. He abruptly wished he’d invited his sister Death to come have a drink with him, though he couldn’t begin to wonder if she’d have accepted. It was kind of her to visit after the funeral, though. And as the century had slowly passed, she hadn’t been the only one.
He’d met the big redheaded man before, tall as the Dream King but broader, and more apt to smile and laugh. He’d been a sidewalk artist the first time, a sculptor the second. It was only the second time when Hob had realized what he was speaking to. Something like the Dream King and Death, but not so distant. He’d spoken of the Dream King, briefly, calling him Morpheus and speaking of a new Dream King who wasn’t Morpheus but somehow was anyway. Hob hadn’t understood. The second time he’d been out having a drink, feeling maudlin, when a person who he still couldn’t call man or woman with any certainty had sat across the table from him. It had been perhaps fifty years after the funeral. The man-woman had stared at him in silence long enough to make Hob very uncomfortable before she-he had begun talking, rambling almost. Hob had managed to pick from among the things he-she said that she-he was another sibling of the Dream King and perhaps had understood the being no better than Hob had. He-she too mentioned the new Dream Lord, as if hoping that Hob could provide insight into this new incarnation who seemed to be a combination of too different and too much the same. That had been a particularly strange encounter. He wondered when he thought about it if the other had been drunk before ever sitting down..
He wondered how many of them there were. He’d only seen five, large and imposing at the funeral, but the redheaded artist hadn’t been among them. He supposed that there could be more that he didn’t know about, and he was surprised to had directly met so many of them. That was little comfort though and as he sipped his beer. He shouldn’t have taken a table where he could sit staring at the empty chair across from him. He should have sat at the bar. He shouldn’t have come here at all. A footstep behind him made him straighten and turn, ready to tell the waitress that he didn’t need another beer yet, and froze.
He was tall, just as he’d always been tall, but the fine and unruly hair was brilliant white rather than deepest black and the coat wrapped around him was white as well. It was like looking at a negative image, except for the eyes. The deep, black eyes with glints of light from long extinguished stars. Even those were different though and he realized the face has changed as well. Slightly fuller, not quite so angular. He looked young, Hob realized in shock. And then he realized that of course the other looked young. He wasn’t yet a hundred years old, and the original Dream King had existed since the dawn of time. If not longer. Muscles twitched in the young man’s face and Hob watched in fascination, it had been so rare to see real emotion on the face of the Dream King. On the face of Morpheus, he corrected himself. This strange young man was the Dream King now. Had always been. It gave Hob a headache, but the conundrum paled into insignificance as he realized what the expression was on the Dream King’s face. He was nervous. The King of Dreams, as he stood there looking at Hob, was nervous.
“I didn’t think you’d come,” was all he could think to say, recalling his last meeting with Morpheus.
“I believe that it’s impolite to keep one’s friends waiting,” the young man said, and Hob smiled to hear Morpheus’s words echoed. To his great surprise there was a faint twitch at the corners of the Dream King’s lips, nearly returning the smile.
“Can I get you a drink?” Breaking the script, stealing the next line, and now there was a small smile shaping the thin lips as the young Dream King nodded and moved around the table to sit in the empty chair. Hob grinned as he raised is arm to get the waitress’s attention. It wasn’t the same man who he’d been meeting for these past few centuries, but that was okay. He’d come, and he still called Hob friend. They didn’t know each other, not really, not yet, but as the waitress set a beer in front of the Dream King Hob thought that he wouldn’t mind spending the time to get to know him.
He was surprised at how much more open this Dream King was, how much more willing to talk. He spoke of the Wake and the time after, and Hob could hear in his voice that the young man had been afraid when he faced Morpheus’s family. His family. Rob mentioned the visitations and he nodded, confirming that the girl was Death and naming the unknowns as his siblings Destruction and Desire, which shocked Hob mostly because he hadn’t expected an explanation. They talked until the bar closed and Hob stumbled out the door knowing more about both Morpheus and the new Dream than he ever thought he’d know. And Dream was still next to him, and they walked. Hob wasn’t quite sure where, and he thought he might have had a bit too much to drink, but that didn’t really matter, he knew that nothing would happen to him while he walked with the Dream King. It was surprisingly companionable, walking with this great, strange being, shoulders brushing occasionally, and he was surprised and regretful when the other stopped abruptly. Not as surprised though as he was by the cool, friendly hand on his shoulder. “Next century, Robert Gadling?” He nodded.
“Yeah, I’ll be there. And hey,” he added, reaching out to touch Dream’s arm as he turned away. He turned back to look at Hob, surprise visible on his face, but Hob had begun to hope at his last meeting with Morpheus that they could be friends beyond brief once a century meetings. The death of the old Dream King had put a stop to those thoughts, but he hoped that they could get off on a better foot now. “...In the meantime, don’t feel like you’ve gotta be a stranger, all right?”
Dream smiled and nodded faintly. “Good night, Robert Gadling.”
That night, Hob Gadling had pleasant dreams.
Hob meets the new incarnation of an old friend. Friendship, pre-slash if you want to see it. Could be considered a fairly distant sequel to the previously posted fic.
He didn’t know why he’d come. Ninety-four years. It had been ninety-four years since he had dreamed a funeral and woken up in tears. He hadn’t dreamed about his old friend since that time at the old Renfaire, after having a chat with Death. As the time for the meeting had grown near he’d wondered on occasion if he should have taken her up on her offer, but most of the time he still didn’t regret it. He had so much to live for, and he liked to think that Dream Lord or not his friend wouldn’t have wanted him to give up, not over that. In saner moments he realized that a being like that, one who’d been so furious two hundred years ago when Robert Gadling had the impertinence to suggest that he came to their meetings because he wanted a friend, probably wouldn’t care much. But that never quite managed to silence the small part of him that pointed out how the Dream Lord had returned the next century with as close to a smile as he’d ever seen on that pale, angular face, and called him friend.
That had been the highlight of his century at the time, he thought as the waitress brought him another beer. She’d asked him when he arrived if he was waiting for someone, and once he told her that he was drinking to absent friend she’d left him alone except for refilling his drink. He was grateful for that. The Dream King had been more than a friend, he’d been a touchstone that helped Hob mark the centuries, gave him something to look forward to. The only real friend who hadn’t aged and died through the centuries. He abruptly wished he’d invited his sister Death to come have a drink with him, though he couldn’t begin to wonder if she’d have accepted. It was kind of her to visit after the funeral, though. And as the century had slowly passed, she hadn’t been the only one.
He’d met the big redheaded man before, tall as the Dream King but broader, and more apt to smile and laugh. He’d been a sidewalk artist the first time, a sculptor the second. It was only the second time when Hob had realized what he was speaking to. Something like the Dream King and Death, but not so distant. He’d spoken of the Dream King, briefly, calling him Morpheus and speaking of a new Dream King who wasn’t Morpheus but somehow was anyway. Hob hadn’t understood. The second time he’d been out having a drink, feeling maudlin, when a person who he still couldn’t call man or woman with any certainty had sat across the table from him. It had been perhaps fifty years after the funeral. The man-woman had stared at him in silence long enough to make Hob very uncomfortable before she-he had begun talking, rambling almost. Hob had managed to pick from among the things he-she said that she-he was another sibling of the Dream King and perhaps had understood the being no better than Hob had. He-she too mentioned the new Dream Lord, as if hoping that Hob could provide insight into this new incarnation who seemed to be a combination of too different and too much the same. That had been a particularly strange encounter. He wondered when he thought about it if the other had been drunk before ever sitting down..
He wondered how many of them there were. He’d only seen five, large and imposing at the funeral, but the redheaded artist hadn’t been among them. He supposed that there could be more that he didn’t know about, and he was surprised to had directly met so many of them. That was little comfort though and as he sipped his beer. He shouldn’t have taken a table where he could sit staring at the empty chair across from him. He should have sat at the bar. He shouldn’t have come here at all. A footstep behind him made him straighten and turn, ready to tell the waitress that he didn’t need another beer yet, and froze.
He was tall, just as he’d always been tall, but the fine and unruly hair was brilliant white rather than deepest black and the coat wrapped around him was white as well. It was like looking at a negative image, except for the eyes. The deep, black eyes with glints of light from long extinguished stars. Even those were different though and he realized the face has changed as well. Slightly fuller, not quite so angular. He looked young, Hob realized in shock. And then he realized that of course the other looked young. He wasn’t yet a hundred years old, and the original Dream King had existed since the dawn of time. If not longer. Muscles twitched in the young man’s face and Hob watched in fascination, it had been so rare to see real emotion on the face of the Dream King. On the face of Morpheus, he corrected himself. This strange young man was the Dream King now. Had always been. It gave Hob a headache, but the conundrum paled into insignificance as he realized what the expression was on the Dream King’s face. He was nervous. The King of Dreams, as he stood there looking at Hob, was nervous.
“I didn’t think you’d come,” was all he could think to say, recalling his last meeting with Morpheus.
“I believe that it’s impolite to keep one’s friends waiting,” the young man said, and Hob smiled to hear Morpheus’s words echoed. To his great surprise there was a faint twitch at the corners of the Dream King’s lips, nearly returning the smile.
“Can I get you a drink?” Breaking the script, stealing the next line, and now there was a small smile shaping the thin lips as the young Dream King nodded and moved around the table to sit in the empty chair. Hob grinned as he raised is arm to get the waitress’s attention. It wasn’t the same man who he’d been meeting for these past few centuries, but that was okay. He’d come, and he still called Hob friend. They didn’t know each other, not really, not yet, but as the waitress set a beer in front of the Dream King Hob thought that he wouldn’t mind spending the time to get to know him.
He was surprised at how much more open this Dream King was, how much more willing to talk. He spoke of the Wake and the time after, and Hob could hear in his voice that the young man had been afraid when he faced Morpheus’s family. His family. Rob mentioned the visitations and he nodded, confirming that the girl was Death and naming the unknowns as his siblings Destruction and Desire, which shocked Hob mostly because he hadn’t expected an explanation. They talked until the bar closed and Hob stumbled out the door knowing more about both Morpheus and the new Dream than he ever thought he’d know. And Dream was still next to him, and they walked. Hob wasn’t quite sure where, and he thought he might have had a bit too much to drink, but that didn’t really matter, he knew that nothing would happen to him while he walked with the Dream King. It was surprisingly companionable, walking with this great, strange being, shoulders brushing occasionally, and he was surprised and regretful when the other stopped abruptly. Not as surprised though as he was by the cool, friendly hand on his shoulder. “Next century, Robert Gadling?” He nodded.
“Yeah, I’ll be there. And hey,” he added, reaching out to touch Dream’s arm as he turned away. He turned back to look at Hob, surprise visible on his face, but Hob had begun to hope at his last meeting with Morpheus that they could be friends beyond brief once a century meetings. The death of the old Dream King had put a stop to those thoughts, but he hoped that they could get off on a better foot now. “...In the meantime, don’t feel like you’ve gotta be a stranger, all right?”
Dream smiled and nodded faintly. “Good night, Robert Gadling.”
That night, Hob Gadling had pleasant dreams.