Archive of Our Own ^beta

Normally, Hob Gadling did not sit on a park bench on a Tuesday afternoon, feeding the birds. 

Normally, he'd be in lessons with his first years about Edwardian politics, knee deep in lecture notes and caffeine.

Normally, he would not be nursing two broken hearts and a soul that desperately wanted to crawl in a hole and die for a while. 

He tossed another handful of sunflower seeds out, attracting two finches, and a handful of wrens. Thing was, he wasn't even sure why he was feeding the birds today. He didn't normally even bother with birds and sitting on one bench for — Hob checked his phone. Did a double take. 3 and a half hours. How had he managed to sit here that long? Glancing at the bag in his hand, he muttered, "How fucking big was this bag anyway?"

"Enough for a good sulk, I'd imagine," said the person beside him. 

Hob twisted in his seat. "Bugger off," he said, enunciating every syllable. 

"No." The tall woman was dressed in a faded white coat with amble pockets, eyed him up and down. "I've only just sat down, you know. And you look like you need to scream at God for a while."

Hob choked on a harsh laugh. "As if God has anything to do with anything in this world." He leaned back on the bench. "God doesn't get his hands dirty with humans and all the ways they can be horrible to each other. He doesn't give a fuck about people dying because they did the right thing. He doesn't even give a fuck about... "

The stranger nodded. "No, they don't," she agreed when it became obvious Hob wasn't going to continue.  "God is an uncaring cunt."

Hob barked another horrible sounding laugh. "You're right about that one."

"Oh, I certain am," the other said wryly, folding long legs under the bench. She rearranged their coat, opening a few buttons at the top.

Hob chucked another fistful of seeds. "I know everybody's got their time, and all that shite, but — but some people shouldn't have  — shouldn't have expiry dates. They should just --" He swallowed down another sob, folding over his knees. Couldn't even keep his composure in public.

"You don't subscribe to the heaven is so much nicer than here bullshit, then?" Something moved under the coat, poking its head up the open area.  Wide black ears swiveled around. 

"How can death be better? How can death and nothingness and just stopping be better than — better than cheese on toast and chimneys and telling stories around a campfire? What could possibly be better than being with people who care for you?" Hob's breath was coming faster, even as the tears flowed down his face.

"Some would say its not worth the effort."

"That is utter bollocks!" Hob cried, straightening back up.  "Every day is worth it, every sunrise. Every pint of beer and untouched glass of — wine." Hob gasped again, trying to rein himself in. Fuck it, he was losing it in front of a random stranger in the park. "And if he really thought it wasn't, then I would - I would have shown him. I would have held onto him and shown him. I would have done anything to help him, and he's gone!"

"And yet you remain," she said quietly. Long black furred legs pulled themselves out of the coat, claws extending for traction. 

"He wasn't supposed to be - he'd supposed to be there, always be there until — until " Hob gasped, and suddenly tasted fur in his mouth. "What?" A large black head shoved itself back into his face. "What?"

The cat head butted him again, purr starting in the large chest. Fluffy front paws landed on his chest, claws digging into his coat.

"And if after you've shown him all that, what then?"

Hob rubbed his eyes, trying to rein himself in. He raised a shaking hand to the soft fur puffed up between the straps of a cat harness. "I would have loved him," he whispered into the dark fur. 

"And when that wasn't enough?"

Hob's eyes were closed, face hidden away. He didn't see the cat's ears flattening back into his head, lips raised in a silent snarl at the woman.

"If - if he still — " Hob sniffed, hands still shakily petting the soft fur. "Then I would be there, too. So he wasn't alone, so he knew - knew people cared about him, not just his function. So - so nobody would forget him." 

A rough tongue licked one trail of tears on his cheek. Soft fur rubbed against his beard. The huge paws had started kneading at jacket, purr continuing all the while. 

Hob smiled wetly. "Thanks ..."

"He's a Nightmare."

Hob shook his head, wiping a few more tears away. "Nah, he's a cat. They are majestic killers stuck inside a stuffed toy. You'd be pissy too if people kept scooping you up." He pulled in a deep breath in, pulling his shoulders back. "Look, mate, I'm sorry for dumping all that on --"

The woman was gone. 

Hob twisted around, scanning the whole park. There was no sign of a tall woman in white anywhere. There were no places she could have hid - she had to have half a head at least on him. His braced a hand on the cold bench, looking behind him - nothing. And the bench was cold, he realized. Like no one had been sitting there.  Like he'd imagined the whole thing. 

The nightmare meowed at him. 

Hob looked down at the massive black cat on his lap, leash suddenly in one hand. "So that happened," he said to the cat. 

The cat blinked and rubbed his face over his beard again. 

"Wait, is this how the cat distribution system works now?!"

Walking home with a cat garnered no real amount of attention. The cat stayed, content to be held in his arms with his head resting on one shoulder. Hob only had to put him back on the ground outside the back door to the pub while he fumbled his keys into the lock. As soon as the door swung open, he sauntered up the stairs, trailing the leash.  He waited somewhat patiently for Hob at the top, tail curled around his legs, ears flicking. 

"Give us a mo', governor," he muttered, laughing. "You've got more legs than me."

Hob would have sworn the cat rolled its eyes. 

"Alright, well, welcome home," Hob said, tossing his keys into their bowl. He opened the closet and hung his coat up, shoes tucked away.  "We'll have to find the closest vet, see if you're chipped."

The cat made a sound at that.

Hob laughed. "Well, I'm not stealing you if you have a family to go back to." He closed the closet door, and walked into the living room. "For fuck's sake."

HIs new flat mate had decided to take his own harness off. Well, try to at any rate. One leg was jutting out of the neck hole, another paw caught on the clasp. The cat gave a low growl, bit another part of the harness and began to roll like an angry beach ball. 

"Would you just -" Hob knelt down on the carpet, catching the growling ball of rage. "Fuck it, let me help, you dolt." The cat continued to chew on the harness even as Hob fed his legs back through the correct holes. "It's Nylon, you can't chew through it."

The growl sounded like, "watch me."

Hob rolled his eyes, and found the buckles. "Hold still," and for a wonder, the cat stopped moving. Hob made quick work of the body straps, and moved onto the neck clasp. "No tags, no name, not even a vet number. Somebody's got take better care of you. There," he said, tossing the harness and leash back toward the front door. 

"Would you be that person, Hob Gadling?"

Hob whipped his head back around, to come nearly nose to nose with a face he thought he'd never see again. Morpheus. He knelt on the carpet, soft black hair in complete disarray. He lunged, arms wrapping the black shoulders. "Please be real," he sobbed, knocking them both all the way to the floor. "Please, please, Dream, please be here."

Thin arms wrapped him, fingers buried his hair and cloths. "I'm here, Hob. I'm real."