Chapter Text
Being somewhere you’re not supposed to can be jarring.
Terrifying.
Especially if you’re George, waking up on his bathroom floor after his suicide attempt the night before.
He had done everything as planned; he scheduled a goodbye tweet for a week out so nobody would get worried and look for him, had made sure none of his friends would bother him for a couple of days leading up to it (some excuse about a family emergency), ate what was supposed to be his last meal, and swallowed his supply of antidepressants with it. But it didn’t fucking work.
George’s entire body felt achy. He had a pounding headache, and his joints felt inflamed. He wasn’t even sure if his legs would be able to support him standing. So he just laid there. Staring at the flickering overhead light he had gotten more used to these past few months.
If he had a pinpoint when it all went wrong, it was probably moving out of his parents’ house.
It was supposed to be great. He was going to be able to invite friends for streams, learn to cook on his own, and just have more responsibility. Maybe it would’ve worked out if at the same time Dream and Sapnap hadn’t moved in together.
God, at this point it had been about a year since they had officially moved into the ‘Dreamnap House.’ That same February was when George had moved out. And being alone while his two closest friends were together across the ocean fucking sucked. Especially when they’re too wrapped up in each other to care about you.
He knew it was selfish. He knew he should give them time- they had been friends completely online for 10 years, for Christ’s sake. But that ugly jealousy curled deep in his stomach and seeped through his bones. Once a week had passed since Dream and Sapnap had settled in, they seemed to remember that their trio had a third member. And being the spiteful shit he is, George ignored them.
They called and texted over and over, day after day, but he didn’t respond. A few days went by before other friends began to reach out; UK-located ones threatening a visit to make sure he was safe. He felt bad for worrying people, but people just caring felt so good. After being blown off by his friends for the longest week of his life, George needed attention. He needed people to care about him. He resolved that to have people care, he should do bad things. Take more risks.
After coming back to them from the disappearance fiasco, George started small. He would be on call with friends while cooking, and would chop vegetables roughly. Sometimes shutting his eyes. He would go to record IRL vlogs, and do stupid shit. Climbing trees and grabbing things like pinecones and other jagged objects as tight as he could to feel them break his skin. People would always ask him if his hands hurt after seeing the red marks and peeled skin, but he would just laugh it off. And they would just joke about how he hasn’t been outside much.
But then he kept pushing it. And it was things his friends didn’t know about, and definitely couldn't laugh off.
He stopped taking his meds. On his scarce trips to the store to get food, George would run across busy streets. He would pick up sharp rocks, and scratch them along his arms. The next day, faint scabbing would appear, which he would pick at and watch bleed. He stopped washing his dishes- opting for a quick rinse. Part of him wanted to get sick. He wanted to throw up and watch himself shed off pounds. He never really had body issues; it was solely for the pleasure of self destruction.
It was his little secret: that he was slowly killing himself.
On one of his and Sapnap’s late night calls finalized this. Both of them were drunk off of sleep deprivation, and were talking about anything and everything. They used to have these calls much more often, but they had become rarer and rarer as Sapnap spent his nights with Dream watching movies and spending in person time together.
“Yeah, man, it’s so- it’s so crazy. Finally being able to see each other after so, so long. I just really wish you were here.” George could hear Sapnap settling into his chair to probably fall asleep in, and gave a curt hum in response. This conversation had happened before with both Dream and Sapnap, and it was never his favorite topic. The pity made his skin crawl when he knew they’d be happier without him there. Neither of them knew how he really was.
“Sure, mhm.”
“God, what’s up with you man? You’ve been so short recently.” This surprised George. Sapnap and Dream used to be on top of his feelings and tuning in to how he acted, but that had been happening less. The situation presented George with two options: tell the truth, or keep up the act.
“I just- I..” George trailed off, and looked down at himself. It felt like he was viewing himself from the outside, in a compartment just above his head. On autopilot, he traced down the scabs on his arms. There were a few straight cuts too- “accidents” with the kitchen knives. He really didn’t know how to continue. How do you tell your best friend that you’re depressed and that they’re part of the cause? The worst part is Sapnap and Dream weren’t even doing anything bad. They deserved the world. It was just George being the fucking mess he is.
“George? George?” Yanked back down into the real world, George realized Sapnap had been trying to get his attention. “I get it if you don’t wanna talk, but.. I’m here for you, okay? I love you, man. You’ll be fine.”
If only it was that simple. George rubbed a hand on his tired face, and realized it was beginning to wet with tears. “Um, yeah.. I’ll talk about it soon, okay? Or I’ll just get over it, whichever- whichever will come first.” He let out an exhausted sigh. “I’m gonna sleep, goodnight.”
“Oh, okay. Goodnight, I love y-”
He couldn’t hear him say it a second time in a row. Not when he couldn’t say it back, and he knew it wasn’t true. Nobody loved George, just the idea of him. Case in point: why did Sapnap let him off so easily? It was because he didn’t fucking care. He was just trying to be polite. Now if George died, he wouldn’t be held responsible, and he and Dream could live out their lives and YouTube careers without their annoying third wheel. Who wasn’t good at games, wasn’t funny, didn’t deserve any of the fame he got. There were so many better people, why him? He just kept everyone from greater things. He was a fucking bore who should just end it early so everyone could be happy.
George paused.
It didn’t have to be a hypothetical. He could do it. He could kill himself, and make everyone happier. He could do one good thing for the people he loved.
That’s when George set the plan in stone.
He gave himself time to prepare.
George sent a quick tweet out, explaining that he had to take a break for a “family emergency.” At his friend’s concerned responses he told them all that he was okay, that he just had to go out to visit family for a bit with no internet.
Obviously, that was a lie. George spent his next few days quietly, thinking over what he was about to do. He spent a lot of time with Google Docs open, writing and writing notes to his friends and fans in case anyone cared enough to look through his computer. He figured that they wouldn’t, though. It was just a way to get his last thoughts out.
The morning he knew that he was going to do it, George scheduled a thread of tweets for a week later:
“Hey everyone. I want you to know that I’m sorry, and that I love you all. I truly appreciate everything that was given to me and the experiences I had. I love my friends and everyone in my life so much. I’m sorry I have to leave you.
George”
The majority of his day was spent making sure things were in place for later. He placed the bottle of his meds on the bathroom counter, and left a glass of water next to it.
When it became later in the night and George was having dinner for the last time, it almost felt normal. He almost wanted to FaceTime Dream and Sapnap, and talk while they had dinner in different parts of the world. Silent tears made their way down his face. George knew he had to stick with the plan, though. Making a call was tempting, but he had to push through. Tomorrow, none of this would matter. Tomorrow he would be gone.
Once his plate was in the sink, George soberly made his way to the bathroom. He tried as hard as he could to just not think; about Sapnap, Dream, their fans, their friends, anyone.
In a blink, George was holding the bottle of antidepressants in his hand, and staring in the mirror. His eyes looked baggier than he remembered. His whole frame was a lot more skeletal- maybe he should’ve spent these last months working out to look good in his casket. No matter, though.
Before George could think he quickly downed the pills, followed by the water.
The motion made him dizzy, and he quickly sat down.
This was it. George was going to die. Soon enough, his body would begin feeling the effects of the overdose. Soon enough, he’d be convulsing in pain. Soon enough, his heart would fail.
There was an odd sense of peace in the notion, though.
He wouldn’t have to care. He wouldn’t have to feel.
George closed his eyes, knowing that it will all end soon.