Preface

what wound did ever heal (but by degrees?)
Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/42345498.

Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M, Gen

Fandom:

The Sandman (TV 2022)

Relationship:

Dream of the Endless | Morpheus & Hob Gadling, Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling

Character:

Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Hob Gadling, Death of the Endless, Matthew the Raven

Additional Tags:

Hob Gadling Saves Dream of the Endless | Morpheus from Roderick Burgess, Not exactly though; a Roderick Burgess 2.0, Post-Season/Series 01, Traumatized Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, comforting hob gadling, Protective Hob Gadling, Hurt Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, re-living the trauma, caged dream of the endless | morpheus, Hob Gadling Saves Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Hugs, Cuddles, Hurt/Comfort, catatonic dream of the endless | morpheus, feral dream of the endless | morpheus, Naked Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Nudity, No Sex, Intimacy, feel free to read this romantically, Pre-Slash, Gen or Pre-Slash, My First Work in This Fandom

Language:

English

Series:

Part 3 of No One: ---/Me: So I'm doing this thing called WHUMPTOBER 🎃 2022

Collections:

Whumptober 2022, the random collection

Stats:

Published: 2022-11-08 Words: 5,832 Chapters: 1/1

what wound did ever heal (but by degrees?)

by fogsrollingin

Summary

The Magdalene Grimoire, in the possession of a true worker of magicks, still had the keys to summon and trap an Endless.

11/8/22 update : I've stealth edited this fic so many times that it's a new read

Notes

yep gave a Shakespeare quote the fanfiction-ized title treatment 😎

Whumptober 2022 Prompts: No. 30 NOTE TO SELF:DON'T GET KIDNAPPED (again), No. 19 Knees Buckling, No. 15 Emotional Damage, No. 24 Catatonic, Alt Prompt No. 15 Tears, No. 21 “You’re safe now", and Alt No. 7 Protective

See the end of the work for more notes

what wound did ever heal (but by degrees?)

The Magdalene Grimoire received curiously little to no credit in the summoning of an Endless. 

It was rumored the magus and his Order of Ancient Mysteries had used it to summon an Endless again in the hopes this time they would capture Death. There were never any rumors of devils living in Burgess's basement besides the one, however. The Order's attempts to summon and trap other beings far more powerful and important than themselves must have proved fruitless.

The book faded into obscurity. 

But Roderick Burgess and his desperate, half-witted cult members were amateurs. The Magdalene Grimoire, in the possession of a true worker of magicks, still had the keys to summon and trap an Endless. And not even if that Endless were already weakened, as Morpheus had been in 1916; the Grimoire's magicks could weaken them. And not even if the Endless were not on the same plane as the Grimoire; the Grimoire's magicks could summon through the planes. 

Still, there was something special about what Roderick Burgess had done to the Endless he'd caught and kept like a collectible. That's what Stephen Gladstone thought.

Stephen Gladstone, a scholar and true worker of magicks, an artifact restoration and digitization specialist at the Royal Museum of London since 1997, had suffered irregular sleeping and fatigue problems all his life. It was a crisp fall day that he went into work. He put on the coffee and the rest of his day was caffeinated, as always; as was necessary. In the afternoon, he unboxed a crate of relics, and there he found the Magdalene Grimoire.

Where Roderick Burgess had accidentally summoned Dream of the Endless, Stephen Gladstone's sights were on no other. 

The scholar was methodical in his magicks just as he was in his museum work. He would study every detail of Roderick Burgess's experiences summoning, trapping, and imprisoning Morpheus. He would keep what worked, and patch what didn't. It would take a couple years, maybe more, to have everything ready. But to sleep deeply, uninterrupted by his own mind depriving him of unconscious rest; to wake refreshed. These were Stephen Gladstone's true dreams.

He began with inquiries into the estate, Fawney Rig. With any luck, he could find (or magick) the means to obtain it. If he was going to start with what had worked for Roderick Burgess, he had to start with Fawney Rig.

Two Years Later...

Morpheus was visiting Goldie (or Irving, or Girving) and Abel in the Land of Nod. Cain still hadn't forgiven him for Gregory so the elder brother was absent, which suited the monarch. He preferred the gentler dispositions of the young gargoyle and Abel right now. He had just bestowed a gift - some rockier land and a lake for learning to swim - when Dream of the Endless faltered. He was standing on a shallow cliff overlooking the lake he'd created, Abel and Goldie behind him with wide, wondrous eyes as they watched him work.

Morpheus had only felt a lurch in his chest, like a stalled out function for just a moment. He pressed a hand to his chest and rubbed, confused.

Suddenly a piercing pain struck through him, like a fishhook in his gut. He cried out, his knees buckling. He hit the ground and doubled over just as Goldie and Abel rushed to his aid.

"Morpheus! What can we do?!"

"Get Lucienne," he gasped. She might know. It was a vague thought, totally eclipsed by the sight of his body wisping into gusts of sand against his will.

"No," Dream of the Endless breathed. "Not again."

Transforming into thick black swirling ribbons of sand, Morpheus vanished.

The winds howled and the waves crashed onto the shores of the newly created geography. Goldie and Abel looked at each other, scared.

"We better go find Lucienne. Come on, Irving."

The small gargoyle warbled agreement and tried to blink away its tears. 

"It's okay, Irving." He extended his arm so the creature could hop up and climb onto his shoulder. "Morpheus is an Endless. And he loves you. He'll be back. Don't you worry."

Death was on the set of a movie, a dark fantasy of some kind. There would be a very lethal accident on set soon but for now she was appreciating the actor playing Death. Death watched Death take after take as she sat in the rafters, dangling her legs, snacking on popcorn. Unlike her siblings, she usually enjoyed the myriad of interpretations mortals came up with for her.

Work was approaching for her, a key grip stepping into their benighted mark, when out of the corner of her eye, near a set warehouse exit, a sleeping guard jolted awake in his chair. Death heard his heart pounding, skating perilously close to a heart attack, his breath coming in gasps. Sweaty and shaking, he pressed a hand to his heart, then used a handkerchief to wipe his forehead.

"Hell of a nightmare," she murmured just as a PA staggered out of a break tent, her skin a green-ish pallor as she swallowed back saliva. Blinking tears out of her eyes, she was so sickly she used nearby equipment to help her stay upright.

"Sarah? You okay?" Another PA approached, hands outstretched to help and Sarah nodded, then shook her head. She was still trembling.

"I was napping in the tent and then all of a sudden, everything was sucked away. It..." She swallowed, "it felt like dying."

Death's eyes narrowed, concern needling its way through her. 

Other staff that had been snoozing were coming together on set now, shaken and bewildered. Most of them didn't talk about it. They were going straight to the snacks, or drinks; something to nourish them after this odd metaphysical trauma. Death bit her lip, observing them all closely.

Someone shouted and it echoed through the warehouse. All heads turned, including Death's.

One of the actors wouldn't wake up.

PA's were calling for help, shocked gasps and swears, exclamations to God as emergency services rolled in with their sirens and vans.

Death's jaw clenched. "Fuck." She threw the popcorn away, having lost her appetite. The key grip's accident she was originally here for wouldn't happen now. Humanity's death schedules were reworking themselves in the wake of Morpheus's renewed absence. 

Death could feel the machinations of the fates and their threads re-weaving mortal lives all over the world. Death didn't mind, and she wasn't obligated to do anything more than to follow the new schedule as it emerged. That's what she had done in 1916 after all and she didn't feel particularly regretful of that choice. 
But she was going to make another choice now; a different one.

Dream slammed onto the stone floor of Fawney Rig, kitten-weak and shaking inside the binding circle. 

The Dream Lord wasn't wearing the fabled helm or Ruby, but after stripping the being of its cloak, deliberately mimicking Roderick Burgess's documented actions, Stephen found the sand. So at least there was that. He contemplated the leather pouch as he signaled his hired hands to get started lifting the Lord of Dreams into the glass cage, careful of the binding circle, although that wasn't much of a concern. The binding circle was as permanent as binding circles got. The glass sphere was the same design as Roderick Burgess's, different materials. It was bullet-proof now.

He decided to give the Endless a day to recover from the forced summons and binding, to perhaps come to terms with being back in Fawney Rig, imprisoned in the same cell. Stephen thought it would send the right message: he meant business and he was a higher talent in magicks than Roderick Burgess. Imagine how much longer Stephen Gladstone could keep him in there?

On the second day, Stephen went down to the basement to have his first chat.

It was one-sided. Stephen knew it would be. He laid everything out. He wanted deliverance from restless nights and exhausted days. He couldn't help but suggest a couple other things that he knew Roderick Burgess had received from Dream too though: wealth and success. 

When he was done, Morpheus hadn't moved an inch, hadn't reacted in any way. He remained still, this rake thin white figure contorted in the sphere, and Stephen knew then what he had done was a hideous violation of something deep and fundamental to the universe; to reality.

He was already in it though, wasn't he? 

He fiddled with the pouch of sand.

He took a single grain from it that night, and slept soundly for eight hours straight. On the third day, awaking refreshed like he'd never experienced in his life, Stephen had a spring in his step as he made his way down to the basement. 

He announced what had happened. He'd successfully gotten what he wanted out of this whole thing. It was exhilarating. He was smiling ear to ear. He waited for some kind of reaction from Dream of the Endless. At the very least he thought he'd get a scowl.

Instead, in a bizarre turn, Lord Morpheus finally moved to sit and stare just past Stephen's shoulder. His brows furrowed, his lips slightly parted, Dream of the Endless was confused.

On the fourth day, Stephen suspected his weakening and disorientation magicks had worked too well on Lord Morpheus. Combined with how he'd duplicated Roderick Burgess's atmosphere of captivity, it seemed he'd traumatized the being to the point of catatonia. Morpheus never focused his eyes and he didn't react to anything outside the glass.

The guilt gnawed at him but he couldn't back down. He finally had what he wanted. If he had to keep the Endless prisoner here for the rest of his life like Roderick Burgess had done, then so be it. 

Death strolled into The New Inn's backyard garden full of thriving herbs.

"Hello." Death smiled at Hob Gadling, who stopped picking tomatoes and turned. At the sight of her bright eyes, he smiled back instinctively, human through and through. Then came the soft, quiet understanding of who she was.

Hob gave a small huff and made a face. "What happened? Why now?" He shook his head. Of all the times Morpheus would've called off his eternity, it would've been in 1789 when he'd taken such offense to the word "friend."

Now, though? He'd seen Morpheus two years ago and it had been surprisingly great. His stranger had acknowledged their friendship, even finally told him his name. Hob had suggested they meet more often than a century and while his friend didn't commit, there was an amused smile, a glint in his eye that said "maybe" in a yes kind of way that had thrilled Hob to no end.

So why in the bloody hell was Death here? There were no other cosmic entities that gave two shits about him, nor any that he was messing about with unless he'd unwittingly flunked the Tree of Life or something in History.

"I am not here to take you."

"Oh," Hob smiled. "Well that's a relief."

Death grinned wider, then shook her head. She loved - and she knew Morpheus loved it too - how wrong Hob Gadling had proved him to be.

"So, um, can I offer you a drink inside? Food?" He asked, not sure if he could treat her like Morpheus but thought it was good manners to offer anyway.

"No, thank you," Death replied smoothly. "I'm afraid I'm here with serious purpose, and a task for you to undertake."

One month later, Stephen Gladstone was away on holiday, and Hob was taking a nice leisurely drive down to an estate neighboring Fawney Rigs. 

He never made it though. Instead, he pulled over at the mouth of Fawney Rig's driveway, and inched the Land Rover into the forestry. When he'd gotten as far as he could, he parked, threw a camouflage tarp over his vehicle, hefted his gear bag up on his back, and started the hike.

An hour later, Hob had explored the entire mansion to make sure there'd be no surprises. No surprise mistresses or unfavourite sons like he'd heard Roderick Burgess had harbored. Hob did pick up on Stephen Gladstone's power; it was unnervingly oppressive. Hob thought maybe he could arrange a time for him and Morpheus to meet and burn this entire place down to ashes.

Hob smiled wistfully, then knocked over the most heavy and expensive sculpture he could find in this godforsaken estate. The jade and dark amethyst crystals shattered and spread to glitter all over the floor.

As planned, the guard shift in the basement strolled upstairs to investigate and got an easy lights out, courtesy of Hob's centuries of experience throwing good ol' haymakers as a soldier or bandit. 

Tell the truth, Hob didn't like fights or violence now. If he ever found himself calling upon the skills he'd developed from that era, it was about being fast and effective in neutralizing threats. True to that, Hob was certain the guards were fine. In fact, it was fifty-fifty they would wake up before him and Morpheus could escape. So, he handcuffed them to a radiator.

Now to see about his friend.

He stepped into the dank dungeon of this mansion; Dream's underground prison.

"Fuuuck," Hob whispered, his shock and disgust mounting as he surveyed the expansive, cold and dark space.

Hob's breath caught, his blood ran cold at the sight of the glass orb. At the bottom, he could only see bare feet, a head of black hair. His friend.

A month ago when she visited him, Death had said Morpheus had been imprisoned on these same grounds for over a century. Hob hadn't known that. Two years prior, Morpheus side-stepped why he'd been thirty-three years late to their appointment and sure, Hob picked up on the circumspection and he'd suspected something but he never would have thought Morpheus had suffered something so humiliating, so egregiously draconian.

Hob hurried and jumped the moat. He wanted Morpheus out of there as fast as possible; he was ready to move quick and decisive. Still, he approached the glass carefully, not wanting to startle the Endless. And also... somewhat scared to fully see him like this. 

Dream of the Endless was elegant, composed, powerful. He was proud and clever, even mischievous sometimes. The knowing smiles they'd exchange, always amused and conspiratorial in solidarity over their centuries-long friendship. Hob loved talking to him, and he loved how fascinated Morpheus could sometimes be with him. They got on so well, talking about humanity, progress, mistakes made. Morpheus was always so restrained but his eyes... his eyes would glisten with emotion, or blink with surprise, widen with interest. For centuries Hob used to think of him as a mysterious stranger. Now, Hob could see himself thinking of Morpheus as a companion relatively easy to read. 

Hob stepped up and looked inside the glass cage.

A spotlight shone on Morpheus from above, illuminating his pallid, emaciated body. He was naked, curled on his side, eyes closed and barely breathing. His arms and legs were tangled up, not a single comfortable position on a curved floor. Nothing but bone and sinew, Hob could count every notch of his friend's spine, every rib lining his long torso. His stomach was concave, and Hob's eyes skated past the dark area of his groin to his thin, pale legs, his feet upturned against the glass.

Hob swore and took a step back to breathe through furious tears. He had to focus. Morpheus was one of the most powerful, eternal beings in the entire cosmos (the way he smiled at Hob; the way he had apologized for keeping his friend waiting; the way he'd deigned to drink and eat the food Hob recommended for the first time ever) and yet somehow some monstrous, lowly mortal had hurt, stripped, and caged him in a fucking dungeon. 

Hob returned and touched the glass. "Morpheus?" He whispered. He wasn't ashamed to admit he wanted his friend's eyes to open and see him. Hob wanted one of Morpheus's rare smiles when he realized he was there to save him.

Morpheus didn't so much as flinch.

Was he sleeping? Hob wondered. Could Dream sleep? Was that even possible?

Hob moved on. He examined the floor, giving a disdainful look to the binding circle. Hob wasn't a witch when he'd been accused as such in the 1600's, but later he'd given it a shot. Turned out he wasn't too bad. Not brilliant. He'd proved to be an average witch. Good enough for this jail break though, that was for sure. Any witch from the 1600s was an exceptional one these days anyway; more timeless and spicy magicks to absorb and play with back then.

So when Death had explained how the binding around her brother was now virtually indestructible, Hob had shrugged.

"Let's transfer it then," he'd said, showing he knew the fundamentals of magic.

Death had beamed.

Hob smiled at the memory as he pulled a few ingredients and a couple Latin chants from his pack. 

As he performed the magicks, the binding holding Morpheus on the floor lifted. Black, oozing tar wound its oily slick around him, finding cracks and purchases to seep into him.

Hob shuddered with disgust and did his best to keep his last meal down. 

Then it was over. 

The circle's center was in him; it was him. Morpheus was still trapped in its radius, to be sure; the radius was just around Hob now.

It would have to do, for now.

Hob looked back up to Dream of the Endless in his cage. Surely, Morpheus would've sensed that?

The Endless did not so much as move.

Apparently not. 

"Morpheus?" Then Hob dared to tap the glass.

Morpheus flinched, then slowly lifted his head to gaze at Hob. 

"Morpheus," Hob exclaimed, relieved. The Endless's hair was wild, his squinting eyes were black, star pupils, red-rimmed. To Hob's surprise and dismay, there was no spark of recognition as Dream stared him down.

Hob's anxiety ratcheted up. This was going to be so much more difficult if Morpheus had somehow forgotten him.

"Morpheus," Hob whispered urgently. "Come on. It's me, Hob." His pressed his palm to the glass and hoped his friend would mirror the gesture.

Instead the caged Endless curled his body, arched his back, and hissed through bared teeth. It was oddly animalistic, feline behavior.

"Okay! That's okay," he said, stepping away, hands up, unnerved. "Look Dream, I'm gonna get you out of there, okay?"

Morpheus sneered, then pressed his lips together. His reflective eyes fixed on Hob, unblinking and contemptuous. 

Shit, Hob thought. He really doesn't recognize me. 

He considered whether it was a trance, or some other convolution of Stephen Gladstone's advanced magicks.

Just then a loud caw echoed around the basement. A raven swooped inside and deftly flew to land on the wet stone floor, right beside Hob's feet.

"You'll be free soon, sir. Just hang in there," the bird coached. 

Hob blinked away his disbelief. Morpheus, Lord of Dreams, brother to the angel of Death, with a talking pet bird, was... well, why not?

The bird looked at him with a squawk. "Nice to meet you. I'm Matthew."

"Hob."

"Great, now can we get going? The boss isn't looking so good." Hob turned to see what Matthew was talking about and he was right: the Endless had his eyes on Matthew, and he was practically hyperventilating. 

 "Sir?" Matthew cawed. "Sir, it's okay. It's just me, Matthew."

Hob needed to get in there. Dream moved closer to the glass to peer at Matthew like he'd never seen a bird before. Hob took advantage of that by going to the other side of the sphere to break it open. Morpheus paid no mind to him as he used a specialized knife to cut the bulletproof glass; he was only focused on Matthew.

"Hob, I think something's wrong with him."

"How so?" Hob asked, stopping for a second to see if the opening he'd made was big enough for Morpheus to climb through.

"He's looking at me weird." Matthew flew up to face Dream, his wings flapping faster than normal to try to stay in place in front of him. "Morpheus! Sir! Snap out of it!" 

Morpheus slapped the glass with his palm, making both Matthew and Hob startle. "Go!" Dream's voice boomed. "Get out." He sounded haunted.

Hob swore under his breath. His vantage point was from behind, Dream's thin body kneeling, both hands pressing on the glass, fixated on his raven. 

Hob lined up the pressure points in the glass opening he'd carved with his knife, took out a hammer and chisel and got to work shattering the thick transparent wall.

Through the clattering shards of glass hitting the stone floors, Hob heard Matthew replying to Morpheus, his voice pitchy. "What are you talking about? We're here to break you out."

Hob spied Morpheus's hands shaking on glass, bowing his head down low in defeat, all while Matthew tried to tell him he was saved. It didn't make sense.

"Matthew, I've got this," Hob interrupted.

Whatever headspace Morpheus was in right now, Hob had a feeling that explaining the situation rationally wouldn't get him out of it. Hob could already sense too that Matthew hadn't lived long; hadn't experienced trauma that weaved through your body and settled in your soul. "Can you go find a cloak? Something for Morpheus to wear?"

"Oh, sure," Matthew replied, sounding worried. "I'll be right back." He flew out of the basement with his new mission.
Hob and Dream both watched Matthew take his leave. Then Dream lowered and turned in his cage. He wrapped his bony legs and arms around his body and watched Hob through his messy hair, eyes glinting with threatening malice.

Hob frowned, but he could only tackle one thing at a time. He cleaned the jagged glass pieces away from the opening he'd created.

"S'just us again, eh? Think you can take my hand? So's I can get you out of there?"

Shadows cast over Morpheus's features, his eyes reflecting like a cat's. He didn't reply. He gave no indication he understood. 

"Okay I'll come in and get you, then," Hob said easily. He ducked and crawled into the glass sphere. As soon as he was in, Hob felt it.

"Oh no," he murmured, breaking into a sweat. He wiped his face as he slowly went to his knees. His ability to think had basically arrested; clarity was as cloudy and beyond reach as a storm. 

These were powerful magicks. Hob didn't know what to focus on now. He had a mission, he'd loved his son, he was a professor, he liked to write, he lived forever...

Morpheus hissed and got Hob's attention. The Endless was pinned against the glass wall, fear disguised as hatred in his eyes. Hob wanted to go to him, hold him, get him out of here...

So, Hob managed to think, his instincts as a human were intact. 

Hob stared at Morpheus and considered the being, his friend, his catlike behavior. 

"Hey, Dream," Hob whispered, shuffling in place. Every movement made noise with the acoustics of the small, thick glass sphere they were in.

Morpheus breathed heavily, his hackles raised and eyes narrowed. 

"Don't be scared." Hob blinked, trying to get the cobwebs out of his mind. He knelt and reached out.

He managed to touch Dream's fingers; his knee. 

"Oh," Hob gasped, "What the hell, you're... cold."

Dream shivered, like he'd heard and understood and agreed. 

Hob swallowed nervously and slid his hand over Morpheus's to hold. He felt tremors, tiny chills running through the Endless's whole body. Hob inched closer, following his basest instinct to be close, to get his friend warm.

"Hey," Hob whispered. "Dream? Follow my voice through the haze, my friend," he said. "It's Hob." 

Morpheus made a face, annoyed confusion like he was trying to remember, or trying to parse out the last 600 years from the millennia he'd existed.

"Hob... Gadling," Dream whispered back tonelessly, watching their fingers intertwine.

"Yes, exactly." Hob smiled. "Your friend, remember? We're friends?"

"Fr..." Morpheus trailed off, his head tilting.

"Friend, yeah. Stay with me." Hob scooted even closer.

Unlike Morpheus, Hob wasn't scared. Not of the cage nor of the Endless. For the first - and last time, probably - ever, between the two of them Hob had the upper hand.

Morpheus gasped and stiffened when Hob threaded an arm around his waist and pulled them flush, chest to chest. "It's okay, it's okay, shhh," Hob whispered. 

Morpheus grunted and whimpered in his arms. He didn't rip away from Hob's hold, though. He just didn't understand. "I'm getting you warm, is all. Just a hug." He reassured, rubbing Dream's skeletal back.

It was strange, holding this eternal being. Morpheus was breathing. Hob could tell because his breath was catching, his chest was expanding and contacting, his body was taut between cold shivers.

Hob nuzzled into Morpheus's neck. He smelled of mountain air and a tart kind of citrus. "It's okay, Dream. You're safe. It's safe now."

"Hob," Morpheus repeated on a shaky breath. "Gadling."

"Yeah, come on. I've got you. Relax." Hob hugged him tighter and Dream gasped then held his breath. Hob held him carefully but stubbornly and slowly - so slowly Hob couldn't even be sure it was happening - Morpheus breathed out and his body seemed to relax.

After a few more minutes, Dream of the Endless let his head fall onto Hob's shoulder.

"That's it," Hob murmured, placing a palm on the back of Morpheus's neck.

Dream shook harder now, warming from the immortal mortal's body heat. His hand scrambled, weak but determined to get a hold on Hob's back. Hob's sweater bunched under Morpheus's grip.

"That's the ticket," Hob encouraged as he rubbed Dream's back. The Endless tucked his head into Hob's neck. 

Gasping, quiet sobs wracked his thin frame and Hob didn't think. He just cupped Morpheus's head with his hand protectively. Morpheus's hair was wild but soft, some texture between a bird's wings and a cat's mane. Hob threaded his fingers through the strands and tightened his hold on the Endless when his frame shook with damage.

"It's okay, it's over. It's over now, Dream. It's all over, love."

Hob was patient, no stranger to pain or tears or trauma. He held his friend together as Morpheus fell apart, clutched him back as tightly as Morpheus held on to him so desperately.

After a while, Morpheus quieted. And finally, he spoke, his voice wet and crackly from disuse.

"As magical deceptions go, this is not unpleasant. I would ask that it end, however, so that you may reveal yourself."

Hob squeezed Dream. "Shhh, this is not a deception, Morpheus. I'm getting you out of here." 

Morpheus shifted under him, uncertain.

"I am not free. I am powerless." They were statements meant as questions. Hob could hear the restrained hope in his words though.

"I know. Soon, my friend. First things first. We need to get out of here, okay?"

Hob waited on the Endless to respond.

Morpheus swallowed and nodded slowly.

"Good, okay." Hob rubbed his back more and there was satisfaction to be had when Morpheus accepted it, melting into his touch. Besides being stripped naked and imprisoned, the eternal being was washed out and rinsed in magicks that confused and clouded his perception. Hob's affection and clear promises lent themselves to whatever instinct Dream had that he could still follow: Hob was safe.

Matthew finally flew back into the dungeon, a black robe trailing in the air as he held the neck of it in his beak.

Hob huffed as the bird brought it into the sphere. "Oh wow perfect. This is so you, Dream," Hob couldn't help but gently tease as he took the robe and draped it around the Endless. 

"Yeah," Matthew said quietly, watching as Hob pulled a dazed Morpheus's arms through the sleeves. It seemed the sight of Morpheus in this kind of fugue state was upsetting the raven. He didn't speak much now. He hopped around Hob as he took care of Dream, giving off the occasional solicitous chirp.

Once Hob finished dressing him, he crouched and rubbed a hand down Dream's back again. "Can you stand?"

Dream thought about it, then shook his head. "No. I cannot."

"C'mon then. Piggyback ride." Hob turned and presented his back to the infinite Lord of Dreams. "Hop aboard."

Morpheus clenched his jaw, determined, and hitched one thin leg around Hob's waist, which Hob held under his knee, then the second. Hob hefted Dream up a little higher, startling a breath out of him.

"I got ya, it's okay. Hold on."

Morpheus did as he was told, holding to Hob tight around the shoulders. Hob carefully climbed down out of the sphere.

Matthew flew over and landed on Morpheus's shoulder, then fluttered onto his head. Morpheus didn't object as the raven quietly made himself at home in the black nest of Dream's hair. 

Morpheus leaned his forehead against the back of Hob's neck. 

Hob made his way out of the mansion then trekked its grounds to get to his car. Through it all, Morpheus didn't ask where they were going or what Hob's plans were. He was worryingly silent. Hob was focused on his own mission though. He was getting his friend out of there. That was the imperative.

When they finally got to his car, with Dream still hitched on his back, Hob got the camo tarp off and opened the back seat door. Then he leaned them against the car just to the side of it.

"Okay, Dream," Hob said, starting to like it more than 'Morpheus' because it sounded like an endearment. "Love, how you going? Let go. I'll catch you."

As soon as Morpheus's limbs loosened around Hob, in one quick motion Hob swiveled around and caught the Endless before he could collapse. "Got it, I've got you," he whispered with exertion as he maneuvered the Lord of Dreams into the back seat, long delicate arms and legs covered and bundled in.

When done, the Endless was sitting up straight in Hob's back seat, looking as regal and unworldly as ever. His posture rigid, his eyes were an unfocused, dark ocean blue. He looked at Hob through thick eyelashes and then away, taking in his surroundings of Hob's car interior. 

Matthew moved onto his shoulder and nuzzled his jaw. The raven still wasn't saying anything; it seemed he'd picked up on how Morpheus was responding best to the quiet; to Hob's soft touches.

"Hob." Morpheus's voice cracked and Hob never would've thought his friend could sound that way. Without thinking, he ducked inside and sat on the edge of the seat so he could pull Morpheus into another hug. Morpheus shuddered and clutched onto him.

"It's okay. You're out." 

"I..." Morpheus paused, catching sight of Matthew on the bench seat looking up at them.

Morpheus blinked, clearly struggling. "The magicks involved here are warping my sense of time... and..." Morpheus looked at Matthew. A tear rolled down his cheek. He shifted, still holding onto Hob. "Jessam-"

"No, sir," Matthew interrupted quietly. He hopped closer. "I'm Matthew. Jessamy was a long time ago."

"Matthew," Morpheus rasped. He raised a shaky palm. Matthew gave a soft hoot and stepped under it. The Endless petted him and closed his eyes, pressing a tear or two out. "Is Lucienne coming?"

"She's waiting for you in the dreaming, sir," Matthew answered.

Dream's brows furrowed, his breath catching. "Why can't I go now? How is it that I am still powerless?"

Hob sighed and with one last back rub along Dream's starved form, he pulled out of their embrace. He kept hold of Morpheus's arms, bracing them.

Morpheus shifted uncomfortably, a guarded look developing as he took Hob in.

"Don't be mad. It's still okay. It's just..." Hob licked his lips nervously. "I transferred the binding circle into me." 

Dream's eyes widened and he reared back, snatching his arms out of Hob's grip.

"You-"

"Shhh, easy, easy. Dream-" Hob didn't quite touch him but desperately wanted to.

"You would-"

"You can trust him, boss," Matthew vouched. Morpheus glanced at his raven and clenched his jaw. Hob gave him a sad, appreciative smile.

Morpheus schooled his expression. "Why would you have me bound to you?" His tone was imperious. Hob knew Morpheus was scared but of course knew better than to question the being's authority.

"Just to get you out of there," Hob promised earnestly, hands up and palms out. "Now the plan is we're going to drive back to my house, and I'll fall asleep in the safety of my bedroom, and you'll be able to escape the binding through my dreams."

Hob watched as Dream processed what he said. 

"Between now and then, we just take it easy. I'll get you some blankets," Hob added, thinking out loud and pulling away to rummage around in the rear compartment of his car. 

Having scavenged a couple soft blankets, he came back and tucked them around Morpheus. Morpheus closed his eyes and allowed it, which Hob thought was a great sign.

The raven picked his way up to Morpheus's chest using the robe's fabric. The Endless pressed his hand along Matthew's feathers so he wouldn't fall off of him, so he could stay pressed to his chest. Matthew chirped and settled in.

"Okay, are you okay?" Hob didn't dare touch Morpheus again. There was a new boundary there, now that Morpheus knew he was basically at Hob's mercy.

"Yes. Let us move forward with this plan of yours."

"Okay," Hob murmured, pulling out of the back seat. He felt guilty; ashamed to technically be complicit in Morpheus's captivity even if it would be only a matter of hours. There had been just no other way at such short notice.

Hob comforted himself with thoughts of his plan going off without a hitch. Morpheus would be freed and Hob will have proved his trustworthiness. They'd resume meeting. Maybe they could spend more time together though. Hob would like that.

He got behind the wheel and tried to catch Morpheus's eyes in the rearview mirror. The Endless was unaware, staring out the window instead. He was still holding Matthew close to his chest, the raven a little ball of warmth, no doubt.

It struck Hob, just how vulnerable Morpheus still was; always was. 
A memory of Morpheus's warning from two centuries ago echoed in his mind.

"Still, you could be hurt, or captured."

At the time, Hob never would've thought the same advised caution could be applied to Morpheus as well. And now that he did, Hob was surprised by how deeply he felt a protective rush over Morpheus.

Hob turned the engine over and shifted, and soon he was pushing the limits to get home, to knock himself out with some Dramamine and get Morpheus home free and safe.

Afterword

End Notes

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