Chapter Text
Hob was not a list person.
He never had been, never would be.
Now Eleanor? She was a list person. She loved her lists. And crossing items off lists. At the very least, she (and later Robyn), had taught him the value of a proper list when all else seemed lost.
Which was why, when Hob found himself in a situation he didn’t understand, the first thing he did was attempt to make a list of things he knew.
One. He was dreaming. Sort of.
How he knew that, he had no idea, but he was certain of that in the way he knew intrinsic truths of himself. He was in a dream, of some sort, which perhaps made the rest of things make sense without needing to rely on particular logical reasoning.
Two. He was a cat.
Why he was a cat, he had no idea. But he was. An orange tabby, if he wasn’t mistaken. But he was, and he didn’t feel like a human, but like a cat, ready to pounce on anything that captured or drew his interest.
Three. Something was very wrong with where he was.
The air around where he was sitting was still, almost stifling in the stillness. It didn’t feel right, and every inhale (and oh breathing was strange with all his senses dialed up as they were) seemed to be forced. As though it wasn’t necessary, and as though the air wasn’t quite air yet. The sense of wrongness only grew stronger the more he tried to focus on it, his tail flicking impatiently.
Four. He was waiting for someone. Someone who needed him.
The last thing he remembered before he was a cat, was being told by a voice that echoed and rang that he was needed. That someone needed him and couldn’t admit it, and he could help in a way no one else could. And if there was one thing Hob was very good at (even as a cat), it was going to be helping whoever it was that he was waiting for.
(He did suspect it was their throne he was sitting on, but that would be something for him to figure out later, whenever they appeared.)
Five. Hob was no longer entirely, completely human.
This was one of the more perplexing items on his mental list, but it was true. There was something in the back of his mind now that told him this was the truth. But what he was, especially now that he was a cat, he did not know. He simply was. What he was, if it was a what, he didn’t know. But he was.
Lastly? He was stuck.
There was nothing to be done for it at present. He had tried a variety of things, of methods, and had not been able to change back. (He had, at least, tested his reflexes rather thoroughly and was glad that they seemed to be as enhanced as a cat's would.) He was stuck here, waiting for someone, waiting to see what would happen next, so he could begin to... do whatever he needed to. Help. Someone. Whoever it was.
"Who might you be?"
Hob's attention immediately focused on the woman standing in front of him, who was holding a book and watching him curiously. She didn't seem angry, or upset, mostly confused and curious as to his presence. Where he was, precisely, would have been useful in determining what had happened to him and why. Perhaps it would have let him start sorting all of this mess. Instead, he gave her his best impression of a shrug.
She raised both of her eyebrows. "I can understand you perfectly well if you speak."
Hob considered that for a moment, wondering if he would speak with his normal voice, the voice of a cat, or something else. He swished his tail against the marble of the throne and listed his head to look at her properly. "Can you?" There was an echoing meow behind the words, clearly what the vocalization sounded like, but she nodded once more. He relaxed and rolled over onto his belly, stretching out with a pleased purr as the cool stone pressed to the soft skin there. "Where am I?"
"You are in the Dreaming. How did you come to be here?" She reached out to touch a fingertip to his tail. He flicked it at her with a frown. "Where did you come from?"
Hob shrugged again. "I have no idea. I was told I needed to be here, so I am. Everything is different, and I am a cat."
"You are..."
She stroked a fingertip along his spine and Hob had to find a shiver of something, power, or magic, touching him at the same time and narrowed his eyes at her, but she didn't seem to want to do anything else beyond that singular touch. There was something clearly confused on her face now and she was watching him with narrowed eyes as he didn't bother to try to finish the sentence for her.
"Not a Dream. Nor a Nightmare. Where might you have come from, to contain power like that?" she asked. "Strange that my lord would not have warned me of your coming." She looked pointedly down at the chair. "Or that you would be quite so forward as to sit on his throne."
"It's comfy," Hob pointed out, his eyes drifting shut as he let out a breath. Whatever lord that he had taken the seat of would survive, he was a cat after all. "It's not as though he is using it at the moment." He licked his lips and considered as he stared at his paws and dragged his tongue along one. "Will he be back soon? Maybe he knows what I am supposed to do and who I am supposed to help."
She pressed her lips together and frowned down at him. "You are supposed to help?"
"Yes," Hob answered, and the firmness in his own voice surprised him a fraction. "I do not know with what, but I will be able to help." He pushed himself up to his feet and stretched, before curling up on the throne once more. "If you do not know when he will be back, it seems that the best thing for me to do will be to wait for him here."
"What are you?"
Hob gave a loud meow and stared at her for several long moments. The question rankled. There was an obvious answer (a cat), a less than obvious answer (a human, turned into a cat) and the truth, which was that he was... something else all together, now, that he didn't completely understand. He wanted to know, and he wanted to answer truthfully, but since he couldn't, he shrugged and curled up on the marble once more. He could wait for whoever it was. He had time, and though his Stranger (Dream, he knew a name now) had promised to visit him sometime soon, he had a feeling that he would know if he was being looked for.
(He added that to the list. It was a strange thing to be certain that he would KNOW.)
"Do not be surprised if you are removed when my lord returns," she said, turning on her heel to descend the stairs, leaving a book on the arm of the throne.
Hob lifted his head to stare at the spine of the book curiously, the writing in a language he did not recognize. Interesting, that this lord would be reading a book, and would have a woman bringing him a book who felt comfortable quizzing him in such a fashion. Who was this lord?
He'd find out soon enough, he was sure.
~!~
Their conversation had been beyond any expectation Hob ever could have had of his friend returning. It had been hard to keep the smile off his face as they had begun talking, and this time, his friend did not simply listen, but offered quiet commentary, and it had his heart singing with joy the entire time, even as the evening passed and closing time rapidly approached. He was sad for it to end, but he had decades worth of those quick and secret smiles to store under his ribs and hoard them like the thief he no longer tried to be.
He finished off the last of his beer and raised the empty glass to his Stranger. No name had been forthcoming, but where before it had felt like an imposition to ask, now, it almost felt as though it were a game that they were playing together. "So, will it be back to the usual '89 rhythm?" he asked, his voice soft, smiling sadly. "I'd like that, if possible. But I don't know what requirements you have on our arrangement, Stranger."
His Stranger had paused, his fingertips resting against the stem of his wineglass as he studied the liquid in it without partaking. He'd maybe taken two sips that Hob had seen all evening. Maybe he would garner up the courage to ask if he could order something his Stranger actually liked at their next meeting, no matter when it was.
"I would not impose on your life, and how you spend it, Hob Gadling."
Hob's eyes sharpened to his Stranger, the tentativeness with which he said those words, because they seemed to be leading somewhere. He tilted his head and offered a quiet hum of consideration. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice soft.
His Stranger's eyes had flicked up, and the bottomless blue had shone with the light of thousands of stars for the briefest of seconds, making his breath catch, before they had faded back into the normal eyes of a man he knew.
"Only that it has been... recommended to me, that friends me more often than once a century. However, if that is the arrangement you wish to keep to, I will not-"
Hob's heart leaped into his throat and he reached out to touch his Stranger's hand, pressing his fingertips to that pale wrist, halting him. "Friends do meet more than once a century," he agreed, hoping that he did not sound as desperate as he had felt at the moment. He managed a broader grin. "My friend, I will meet with you as often as you could possibly make time for me, and find nothing but joy in it. There is little that could make me happier, I suspect, than the chance to meet with you more regularly, as long as it places no undue weight on you."
The smile Hob got in return, small and tentative, but shining with emotion had Hob's heart jumping out of his chest to land in the palms of his Stranger without hesitation. He kept up the eye contact that seemed to linger for several extended seconds before his friend nodded once more.
"It would please me to meet more often, Hob. How often would you recommend?" He paused, before continuing. "I have not found myself in the possession of a friend before, and would seek your lead in this matter."
Hob wanted to wrap his friend up in his arms, hug him tight, and probably never let him go. If those words were not the most heartbreaking thing he had ever heard in his life, he did not know what were. He managed a smile and another tap of his fingertips against his friend's wrist. "Least once a year, I would say. I'd like to meet more often, of course. Maybe once a month, or once every couple of months? I don't know what your schedule looks like, my friend, I do not want to impose."
His friend had pursed his lips and considered before answering and Hob had never wanted to kiss someone more than he did his friend in that moment, to smooth away the considering confusion that was on his face. He looked grave and serious, but open to the suggestion, which was more than Hob had ever expected of him.
"Time is rarely linear for me in such a fashion. However, I can ensure that I do visit you at least once a year, and shall endeavor to visit more often than that."
Hob nodded rapidly, unable to keep the grin that grew on his face. "My friend, nothing makes me happier. I would love to see you sometime in the next year. Even if it's tomorrow, next week, next month, you are always welcome where I am, and I will welcome you with open arms." That gained him a piercing look, considering and heavy, and Hob felt a shiver run up his spine at the sheer weight of that look being leveled at him in such a way. He offered a small shrug but waited for the judgment of such a declaration.
"You are a good friend, Hob Gadling. Perhaps far better than I deserve. I thank you for your willingness to teach me how to be a better one."
Hob beamed, still grinning. "I think you are a brilliant friend, for the record. And I will be very excited to tell you as many stories as you like when you return." He lit up with excitement. "Perhaps we can even explore other places outside the pub." He caught the pointed nod from his staff member and stood up, glad when his friend followed the same cue and they began to make their way to the door. "If you want to, of course. We don't have to do anything you don't want!"
His friend paused in consideration once more before he nodded. "I would like that."
"Great, amazing," Hob breathed out, nodding eagerly as he brought them to the door and opened it for his friend, stepping out into the cool air, before turning to look at his friend with a rueful grin. "I guess that this is where we say goodbye for the evening?"
His friend nodded and Hob once more felt himself utterly pinned into place by those eyes and that gaze, making him gasp and squirm under it, even though he was far too old for that sort of reaction, to say the least.
"Thank you, for your company, and your friendship, Hob Gadling."
Hob would never, ever get tired of hearing his stranger say his name, or calling him his friend, especially with the small smile that was on his face. It felt like something that was made just for him, something that was his, alone. Something that he would always be more than a little weak for, so he swallowed, and nodded. "Of course, stranger, any time. As often as you like."
His Stranger nodded once more and turned to leave, but Hob tensed when he paused and turned back to look at him.
His Stranger smiled faintly. "My name, Hob, is Dream." He inclined his head. "I will see you soon."
Hob wanted to cry as he watched his stranger, Dream, his name was Dream, oh he would never forget this moment, for the rest of his life, no matter how long it was, not ever, not after this, stepped into the shadows and disappeared. He leaned against the New Inn and breathed deep, lifting his eyes to look at the stars. How had he gotten so lucky? Not only had his friend returned, he'd been granted a name, and his friendship, it seemed like they would be meeting far more often than he ever imagined possible. It was everything he ever could have wanted, handed to him on a silver platter.
If only he could have seen what the future would hold on June 7th in 1989.