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They'll argue over it for millenium to come, but Hob always loudly maintains that there was quite literally no possible way for him to jump to the conclusion that a bit of an itch was a cosmically relevant first symptom.

It starts after a bar fight in Cornwall, to protect some kid from being jumped by a dozen burly men with sticks up their arses. Hob doesn't quite make it out of the fight without broken bones and a bit of a skull injury from the fire iron, but smiles through the blood at the youngster as he picks him- her?- up off the floor.

"Alright?" He asks, and the kid nods back hurriedly before scampering off. He winces at the crick in his broken neck as he wipes his face on his sleeve and stumbles out the door.

("HOB GADLING," his furious husband thunders at him at apocalyptic-level, atomic bomb volume that night, as soon as he lies down to bed.

He groans. "Yes, yes, I know. How do you even find out-"

"The sixteen year old is having wet dreams about you," Dream says savagely in punishment, grabbing Hob by the face to tilt him this way and that, ignoring his loud complaining disgust. "How many times do I have to tell you-"

"-Stop getting into bar fights," Hob intones dryly along with him, rolling his eyes. The argument lasts well into the night.)

But the next morning when he wakes up, the back of his neck is itching. He figures it's a rash of some kind and goes to work without bothering to check it out, grimacing now and then when he feels the discomfort as the scratchy sweater catches on it.

It continues the rest of the week, spreading to his arms and shins, but Hob Gadling is a man who has been personally skewered in the gut with a rusty lance, chained to a heavy metal ball and drowned in a muddy river and been the guinea pig of his husband's favourite Nightmare. It doesn't even register on his pain scale.

"I know you can do it, dear," He tells his student, clasping her by the hands. Her wrists have unhealed scars, still. "Just keep fighting. It doesn't matter what your grades are, as long as you love what you're learning, you hear me?"

She's famous for being stoic and disdainful whenever anyone tries to help her, but Grace Matty's eyes well up with tears as she nods, breathing hard. The she frowns, tilting her head. "Sorry, uh- did you get a new tattoo, Prof?"

It's such a weird subject change that Hob frowns also. "What?" He looks down to see intricate swirling patterns on his forearms. Great. Another possible curse slash adventure slash assassination attempt. "Oh, yeah, hah, got it last week."

She tilts her head, sniffing and wiping her nose with a sleeve. "Suits you."

"Thanks," Hob says, because they actually kind of do. The bright kind of golden, making his skin look rather nice when he tilts it in the sunlight. "But you can't deflect with me. So, let's talk about a study plan..."

Later, he pulls off his shirt to find the same swirling patterns across his shoulders and shins, beautiful swirls of flora and spirals that stretch down his body and actively grow more as he looks at them, the color of new wheat.

He sighs and goes to bed, yawning. There's time till it reaches his full body. He'll deal with it next week.

("Next week," Dream says scathingly, a couple thousand years later.

He rolls his eyes. "Acting like I don't know you deliberately ignored that fae assassin entering the castle because you wanted me to keep giving you head."

"It was a calculated risk-" )

He gets up the next day, groaning at the fever heat he can feel radiating from him, pushing his hands into his aching eyes. Still, there's the shop to run, so he pushes himself to his feet and keeps going.

Every person who comes in smiles at him, losing the tension in their shoulders as soon as he makes eye contact.

"I think I'm going to do it," one of them leans over the counter to whisper. "I think it's time I started following the damn dreams I've had since childhood."

Hob grins at the stranger, reaching out to squeeze their hand. Oh, but Dream would love to hear that. "Do it," He enthuses, more than used to being on the other side, talking random shite to people he didn't know in his immortal mania. "You'll succeed eventually!"

They grin, eyes crinkling, before departing.

It is a fast day, and a busy one. Everyone wants to chat- leaving Hob thrilled- about anything from their sick relatives to school grades to football matches to confessions. It is a good day, but it leaves him immensely drained, and he's practically falling over by the time it's time to close up.

He takes the longer route to let the brisk air help him, brushing his fingers against the barks of the scattered urban trees, imagining he can see their leaves unfurl wider and prouder as they survive another winter. "You'll make it," he tells the birds huddling together in the nest above, smiling.

What a lovely day. He looks out over the bridge-

"Don't jump," he says suddenly. His eyes feel hot. The man jerks, swirling around to face him. His eyes widen when he sees Hob. Can't be more than 18, barely an adult, and still has misery lining every inch of him.

Hob swallows. "Don't jump," He repeats. "Life is worth so much if you go look for it, kid."

The boy straightens, searching his face, eyes welling with tears. "There is, isn't there?"

"Yup," Hob says. His arms burn. "Come down."

Miraculously, the boy listens, trembling in the winter cold. Hob's heart melts, and he takes off his jacket to drape across the other, ignoring the protests and the feeble whispers that they couldn't afford to repay him.

"Don't need horseshit from you, little one," Hob says fondly. "There's money in the pockets, go grab something warm. And my card is in there, call if you ever need me; you have a place to stay?"

A nod. Fairre wishes for a bigger one, with central heating, but the one he has will be good for the night.

How did I know that? the thought whisps across his mind, then dissolves when he sneezes.

"Ah, hells, I must go home before this damn cold does me in," Hob jokes, patting the boy on the shoulder. "You run off too, and no more bridges for you, understand? Call me tomorrow."

"Thank you!" The boy shouts as Hob walks off. "What's your name?"

"Hob!" He shouts back before he can think it twice.

"Thank you, Hope!" He yells and-

Something in his stomach drops. He stops for a second as he turns the corner, and feels oddly like he's in freefall.

Time slows down, like he's moving through molasses. You are not terrible, I suppose, it sniffs disdainfully, before the world resumes again. The sky flickers, abruptly black as the void. Ah, the first counterpart, it whispers. Always told you our third was too impatient.

The sky turns blue again. No one else has so much as looked upwards.

Something is happening.

The tattoos, he remembers, and breaks into a run, cursing as he sprints the few blocks back to his home.

Food, he thinks, even though they're not his thoughts. Not at all. So many wish for food, hope for prey. From the deepest oceans to the highest peaks, what more can you want from the universe except food?

Shelter, also, although the living usually possess it already. But better shelters are always coveted.

A mate, children. The greatest achievement to strive to- to live on.

"Excuse me," He says, although maybe he says it in the wrong language as he sprints past the bewildered doorman, taking the stairs.

A good wind. A good monsoon. A good life.

"Dream," He says, panting, standing in the middle of his room.

A good winter. A good catch. A good field.

"DREAM!" Hob screams, holding his head in his hands as it starts splitting at the seams. He can't see anything. He can see too much. There is so much more out there- how stupid, to think that it was only Earth, only one universe? And each one comes with its own near-infinite entities, hopes and wishes and wants and-

"DREAM!" Hope roars, sobbing, and his husband crashes into him at full speed in four dimensions, catching the insides of him as they spill over through the cracks of the worlds, sand banking the liquid gold of hope's endless ocean.

(Water is a constant. Anywhere you go, water is a constant. Life always begins in the seas.)

"Hob," Dream gasps, a thousand hands and shadows pushing Hope back into a physical form, like trying to mold a running stream. Dream is scared. His husband is terrified and it is calling the others, and Hope cannot bear for anyone else being here at the moment.

"I want to go home," The last flickering flame of humanity within him sobs. He is scared, and he is everywhere and too big and too scattered, and he can remember every memory he has ever had with picture-perfect clarity, and he wants his ma, his pa, his three elder siblings and one brat of a niece, in their small and filthy cottage in an insignificant village in the middle of the forest. This hurts. "Dream, take me home."

"I cannot," His husband whispers, heartbroken. Hope sobs, even though he already knew this, because they were gone. Long gone. "But I can be your tether, if you open your eyes."

Hope trembles and considers resisting. Does not want to.

Hands cradle his face in fractals. Home fades away, humanity fades away at the touch, so dear and familiar, that his panic abruptly abates. The hurt lessens. "Hob Gadling," Morpheus says. "Open your eyes."

He takes a breath and does.

"Oh," Hope says, tears falling down. He always knew Dream was other, but to finally see him as he was meant to be seen, as all species simultaneously, as a whisper in the shadows and croon in a lullaby, in all dimensions, with all eyes- "You are so beautiful."

Dream shakes his head, horror and grief reflecting back in his eyes, darting through all the places Hob's soul is bleeding from, where Hope burst through. He looks like he is already mourning him.

Hob takes a breath and- pushes himself up, wincing. Stretches and feels the ends of the universe, and recoils back in horror, not ready to face it yet.

It is easy to ignore, really, with the beauty in front of him, crying and whimpering in fear for Hob.

Hope smiles. "So dour, love mine." He whispers, chuckling. Pushes herself up, against their husband, their stranger, their ever-running darling, their complement. Hopes and Dreams. "Beautiful love. Stop looking so sad and bothering Despair, you ninny, I'm still here."

Dream exhales and gives the impression of sitting back on their heels, as they make space for Hope in his metaphorical lap. Arms as strong as uranium bands wrap around all the unending facets of him, clinging on and shaking in fear. "I don't. I don't understand, what has happened-"

"In a minute," Hope whispers, feeling the answer- knowing the answer, knowing their darling concept of a partner also knows the answer and just needs...

They look beyond for a moment, and see the impression of Time. He doesn't finish the thought.

"Hob?" Dream asks, trembling. Hope moves back so they're looking at each other once more, heart clenching in adoration at the resplendent horror all around him, holding him together as he calms down, slotting into his place in the system.

"Still me," Hob whispers. She presses forward and wills them both into humanoid shapes, so he can kiss his wife. "I don't- I don't know why either. Or how. But- still me. Yeah?"

"Love," Dream rumbles, whispers, moans. She's still trembling.

"Easy," Hope whispers. Kisses him again. "Breathe. It's not a calamity. Just something new."

"It is-"

"If the next words out of your mouth are 'my fault', sweetheart, you're going to get slapped," Hob says in a stronger voice, as he shifts himself back into his usual form to glare. "Just- we'll figure it out. Everything's alright, yeah?"

Hope smiles at Dream. Tentatively, half in awe, its spouse smiles back, before it wavers away and Hob is yanked back into the shaking grip, in all universes at once.

Hob chuckles and closes his eyes. Sighs as they rock back and forth, feeling the mantle of a new era of adventure hover over their shoulders, ready to press down, and uses his function to hope fiercely that they'll make it through, until the fear no longer holds as heavy.

"So," It says finally. She grins, flips into a coy brown bird, a skittering shrimp, a playful whale, a swaying stamen, a displaying spider, a rumbling earthquake- flitting around her wife in well-worn paths of enticement, filled to bursting with the hope that the mate acquiesces, accepts. Steps out from under the influence of the rest of the family for a second, so he can push his startled husband backwards onto the mattress of their bed in the Dreaming.

Dream grunts as he hits the sheets, mouth falling open in shock as Hope climbs on top of him.

"I'm assuming we won't be free for ages and ages after this," He says, rolling its eyes. Then she grins, spreads themselves out into a marvellous display across all the space available to him, in which he exists, lapping against the shores of her lover. Preens seductively, watches the essence of the Dreaming flare up in excitement, snorting, bristling, stiffening, dancing, pressing back, trembling from holding themselves back. "Bet you'd fuck so much better at full power, hm?"

"Is this really the moment for a seduction?" Dream demands, even as his hands close on her hips, all eyes end-to-end black in lust. He understands. Now that the panic has abated, arousal is practically burning her alive.

"Yes, of course, now c'mon, quickly, before they get here," Hope kicks its husband lovingly, pressing their weight down harder. "Became Endless just for you, and you can't even give me an orgasm?"

Hob laughs as Dream's palm closes on his nape immediately, dragging him down. The reflection of himself in his husband's eyes is golden and bright, yet the love within shines twice as strong. And when they kiss, Hob can taste off the other's lips the hope that Dream can keep him forever.

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