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kydrogendragon · 1 year

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Bar Fight

Rating: General Word Count: 1295 Ship: Dreamling (Hob x Morpheus) Warnings: None Additional Tags: Mentions of Alcohol, Someone's Drunk and gets kicked out, Punches are thrown Summary: Hob learned a great number of things about his stranger, his friend. He also learned that he wasn't one for crowds or being touched by those he didn't care for. So when Hob spotted a particularly troublesome guest who he'd cut off just minutes before grabbing Dream by the collar of his coat, Hob raced from behind the counter to the corner table. Square D2. This is a part of the Dreamling Bingo put together by @dreamlingbingo! You can find my masterpost here for my completed squares. AO3 Link: Bar Fight - KydrogenDragon - The Sandman (TV 2022) [Archive of Our Own]

It had been just shy of ten years now since his stranger reappeared in his life thirty-three years late. In that time, the pair had gotten close, at least Hob liked to think so. He finally learned his damn name. Turns out the man's got a few of them. Dream of the Endless is how he'd introduced himself. Morpheus, apparently, is another, as was the King of Dreams and Nightmares, Shaper of Forms, Lord of the Dreaming. Hob had hoped to learn one name; instead, he's learned a book worth of them.

Dream, however, was the name he called his friend most often. Your Highness, when he was feeling cheeky, or Morpheus, when he was being serious or whispering the name against his friend's pale skin as they sank into one another, limbs tangled in Hob's plush bed.

Like he said, they'd gotten rather close over the past few years.

Hob had learned what his friend was and the nature of him. Not a devil, like he previously thought, neither faerie nor God, but something greater than those. If Hob's being honest, he's still trying to grasp exactly what Dream was, but he understands it enough.

Hob learned of Dream's kingdom, of the Dreaming. He'd met Lucienne and Matthew, Mervyn and Cain and Abel. He'd met the newly reborn Corinthian, Gault, and Fiddler's Green. (To meet a place and have it speak back to you on the whispers of the wind was a new one, it took Hob a bit to process that one.) He had learned that his friend once was married (to a muse of all things!) and that they'd had a son. A famous one, one known for his love and also for his failure. A son whose name is remembered even in modern history. A son immortalized in a tale nearly as commonplace as Romeo and Juliet.

Hob had learned why his friend was late all those years ago. He learned of the cruelty of mankind through Dream's words; he learned of loneliness, of isolation, and broken pride. He learned that his friend was healing and changing for the better, and in a sense, his captivity was part of the reason Dream could sit with him and call him a friend.

Hob had learned that his friend enjoyed overly sweet hot chocolate but would deny that fact if ever asked. Hob learned that his friend enjoyed the sun's warmth on his face in whichever form he took that day. Hob learned that his friend found comfort in oversized jumpers Hob should have thrown out years ago, ones with holes and fraying ends. Hob learned a great number of things about his stranger, his friend. He also learned that he wasn't one for crowds or being touched by those he didn't care for. So when Hob spotted a particularly troublesome guest who he'd cut off just minutes before grabbing Dream by the collar, Hob raced from behind the counter to the corner table.

"–ou lookin' at, huh? Ya bloody prick, ya got somethin' t'say?" The right brute of a drunkard swayed as he stumbled through his words. The man, Jack, came here often enough for Hob to recognize him. Always seemed to come and get downright wasted to drown out the sorrows of whatever gamble it was he lost this week.

Hob grabbed the man's shoulder and tugged, forcing him away from Dream, only to be met with a solid fist to his jaw. Hob stumbled back, his right-hand lifting to the side of his face.

"Ow!" he said in the way someone might repeat back their friend's drunk statement in astonishment at their own stupidity and less in a cry of pain.

Jack's swing caused the man to stumble backward into the table Dream had been sitting at. He flailed his arms behind him to no avail and crashed to the floor with the grace of a newborn cow, bringing the table along with him.

Dream stood from his seat. Hob could see his friend's eyes lose their grip on human form, unveiling the galaxy that lies beneath. Twin stars glared daggers into the fumbling drunkard, who was slowly getting back on his feet.

Hob could feel the eyes of the other patrons on the three of them, curious as to how this would all end. He was good at spinning a tale and a lie. It came with living for as long as he had and weaving so many different lives, but even Hob wasn't sure how he'd explain away whatever Dream might do to the man. Crossing the few steps back to Jack, Hob grabbed the man by his lapels and started dragging him towards the front door to the New Inn.

"That's it, Jack. You're done here," Hob said as the man attempted another swing. Thankfully, this time Hob managed to dodge its original trajectory of his face again, but it still hurt as the man's fist landed on his shoulder. It was the first of many blows, each getting weaker with each throw.

Sniffling a groan, Hob kicked the front door open. The cool night air of London in autumn burst through the barrier of warmth in the New Inn like a knife. Then, as the man kicks and screams about how "that daft punk was trying to start something" and how "his wife was gonna hang him for losing his paycheck," Hob quite literally tossed the man out the door.

Hob grabbed the door knob and began to close it as he said, "Go home, Jack. Before you get yourself hurt." As the door shut, a round of applause and cheers cried throughout the New Inn. Hob shook his head and smiled at the rest of his patrons.

"Let's not start any more fights tonight, please?" He chimed over the cacophony of noise. A roar of laughter and a well-timed "No promises, Rob!" was met in response. With a sigh, Hob returned to the broken table and to the concerned look on Dream's face. Before he could say anything, Dream's hand was resting on his cheek. The cool of his palm felt good against the growing warmth. Hob was definitely gonna bruise there. He just knew it.

"You were injured," Dream whispered.

"Just a scratch."

"Because you chose to defend me," Dream continued. Hob looked into his still black eyes, the stars flickering in the vast expanse.

"Better me than you, my friend," Hob whispered in turn. Another thing Hob had learned was that Dream didn't need to breathe, so when he heard him exhale, he knew the action was intentional.

Hob lifted his hands to rest on Dream's waist, his thumbs rubbing circular patterns against the soft fabric of one of his borrowed shirts. "Did you really think I'd just sit and watch him try to rough you up? In my own bar? You know me better than that."

Dream hummed in response. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against Hob's own. "You need not come to my defense," Dream mused, drawing a chuckle from the immortal man.

"You've said that before," Hob smirked as he drew his hands closer, pulling Dream nearer still.

"And yet you still do not listen when I say it."

"Guess I'm just stubborn that way."

Dream hummed again, pulling back so that he could see Hob's face and the grin that rested upon his lips.

"Such insolence." The corner of Dream's lips tugged upwards. Hob's smile grew.

"You love it." Dream's eyes narrowed as the slight grin morphed into a smirk.

"What will I do with you?"

"Kiss me, hopefully. Seems a fitting reward for rescuing my King from harm, no?" A warm chuckle resonated through Dream's chest as he leaned in.

"A kiss, then, for my brave knight."

#dreamling #dreamling bingo #morpheus #hob gadling #dream of the endless #ky writes

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