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The lake was peaceful. In the red glow of the hot July evening the water almost had a siren's call and Dream was glad Hob had managed to persuade him to come. He'd brought a small bag with waterbottles and fruit in plastic containers, watermelon and grapes and peaches. They would be warm and a little soft later, when they would have finished swimming, but Dream didn't mind. Maybe he'd get to see Hob lick his own juice-sticky fingers after they ate.
They had splashed around and reveled in the cool relief of the water. Now Hob was swimming a few laps around the lake, and Dream let himself float on his back, looking up into the cloudless red-orange-gold sky. He was retired for all of three months now. Hob had been very kind, very understanding, and had offered to take him in as long as it would take Dream to adjust, as long as he wanted. Dream wondered if Hob knew that those were two very different timeframes.
A bird flew overhead, through Dream's field of vision. He tried to see what kind of bird it was and turned his head.
A mistake, that's what it was. Dream's body followed the motion of his neck, folded and sunk like a stone, water sloshing and crackling in his ears. Breath escaped him in a surprised gurgle and bubbled upwards. He regretted it immediately, the pressure in his empty lungs cold and agonising.
Fear and adrenaline spiked his blood as he struggled to get closer to the surface again. He was not good at swimming, never had to be. His body was too new, too different. Heavier than Dream was used to. Too heavy. He sank deeper.
Stupid, he scolded himself, reckless. He should have taken the time to learn. He had felt too sure, too safe, because Hob was with him. Hob, who currently was at the other side of the lake.
His body bucked and strained with pointless effort, the need for air overwhelming. Panic gripped him tight, squeezed Dream's heart and made his blood thunder. The harder he struggled, the faster he sank. He was too weak, too inexperienced. He was alone.
Dream gave in. Breathed in. Sucked water and pain into his lungs, the liquid in his throat and mouth denying him a scream. Dream gave up. Let go. He let himself hang in the water, limbs floating. The inside of the lake was eerily calm, soft light and quiet gurgling all around him, like the beginning of a nightmare. It hurt.
The water darkened around him and Dream's lungs spasmed, another bolt of pain. With a soft thud, he felt himself land in the mud at the very bottom of the lake. His thinking grew hazy.
He was familiar with the concept of life flashing before one's eyes moments before dying. As far as Dream considered it, he'd been alive for three short months. No memories from before disturbed his last conscious moments; instead, the first thing his fallible human brain showed him on the verge of death was Hob's face, elated, surprised, as he opened the door and found his friend in front of it.
That was the only thing Dream could bring himself to regret, the missed opportunities to thank Hob. He would have liked to show him his gratitude, in any way Hob would have permitted. He would have liked to let Hob know what he truly meant to him. Three months was a short time. Three months could have been an eternity.
His lungs spasmed again, pain flashing through his chest. The soft, undulating light from the surface grew dim as his vision darkened at the edges. Dream's limbs thrashed without his doing, his body fighting for air again that would not come, disturbing the sludge on the bottom. Despite the growing panic of his body Dream felt calm. He would die. He knew he would from the beginning, knew it from the moment he felt the endless murmur of billions of minds leave his consciousness. Had been content, even, in the knowledge his time was limited. If he only had known how limited.
The pressure and pain inside him grew, his nerves twitched. Dream let go of all shame and pretense. There was no use for them now. He wanted his soul to know a little peace before he would meet his sister for the last time.
Dream imagined Hob's broad, smiling mouth, soft against his own, imagined his hair under his fingers. Yes, he would have liked that. The last thing he saw before he blacked out was a dark shape coming towards him.
xXx
When Dream came to, it was to even more burning pain in his lungs, in his throat, in his mouth. His body shook as something hit his back with force.
"Come on," he could hear Hob's voice, "come on, you silly idiot, breathe."
Dream tried to tell him that he tried, would try for him, that he could not. Water poured out of him through his mouth and nose. It was worse than vomiting. It curled his whole body, it felt like fire. Again and again Hob hit him, and again and again water left Dream's body in waves, until finally, finally, there was air again. The air hurt, too, but less than the water and it tasted impossibly sweet, like sunshine and life.
Dream coughed and turned around, clung to Hob's shoulders as his body hacked up the last remainder of the liquid.
"That's it," praised Hob, "that's it, get it out. You swallowed the whole bloody lake, didn't you?"
The coughs turned into harsh pants as Dream greedily sucked in air. All he could focus on was the fact that he was still very much alive, and that Hob's skin under his hands was very warm. Dream sunk against Hob's chest, all restraint spat out with the water. Turning his face into coarse hair and soft skin he let himself cry. Hob wrapped his arms around him, held him, rocked him like a child.
"Sssshhh," Hob soothed, "I've got you. You're okay. I've got you."
Dream wordlessly put his arms around Hob's waist in response. He was glad that he'd been given another chance. This time, he'd make it right.