Archive of Our Own

“This is seriously a joyride,” Sapnap laughed, throwing his head back against the headrest. “You need to turn the music up.”

Dream smiled and peered at the boy in the passenger's seat, whose body was slouched down, leg brought up to his stomach, with his hands holding it there steadily. “Don’t get too comfortable, now,” the blond breathed, turning up the music slightly. “You wanted this, so you should be the one singing the loudest. I don’t know if you can sing while bent like that.”

“Yeah, Sap,” George piped up from the backseat, momentarily placing his elbows on both Dream and Sapnap’s shoulders. “How is any air even getting into your lungs right now?”

Sapnap rolled his eyes and sat up, crossing his legs and holding his hands in his lap dramatically, to say the least. “Is this better for you fuckers?” the boy asked, an obvious sarcasm holding onto the ends of his words. 

The blond pierced his lips together, nodding his head. “Mm, definitely. Should I play opera music?”

George flew to the seats back at Dream’s stupid remark, and his contagious laughter infected both Dream and Sapnap like they had been exposed to nitrous oxide. 

There they were, the three of them, blasting music and driving together as the sun set on the horizon, not having a care in the world. Music flooded their ears and lyrics spilled from their mouths, leaving the inside of the vehicle drenched in tone. 

And they were free; from worry, from work, from all of their responsibilities—even if it was just for a moment. 

It was nearing eight in the evening, and the sun had finally set behind the trees, off to make its nightly rotation. The moon was now in their view, bright and beautiful as ever. How wondrous it was to have vision like never before, to be able to see clearly. Because as Dream gazed into the rearview mirror, eyes fixing on George, he felt like the world had been in its rotation just for him.

He felt that the Universe was on his side. George and Sapnap were here, in his car, all together. Sure, they’d been in this position before, but it was refreshing—this incredible domesticity—to be theirs after what felt like months of separation. 

Those brown eyes met with green in the mirror, and Dream smiled. He couldn’t help the emotion that overcame him when George was just in his vicinity, let alone so close to him. 

George was home, and he was what made Dream’s house into a home. Their home.

The blond felt a hand on his shoulder first, then a scream—one that would haunt his mind for the rest of his life. “Dream!” Sapnap shrieked, and when Dream’s eyes met with the road again, it was too late.

He hit the brakes, tried to swerve, keep them somewhat steady, but the front of that red Tesla met with the other vehicle at just the wrong point, sending them tumbling sideways.  All he could hear were screams, agonizing screams that were full of fear and pain, and he could hear their bodies slamming against the roof of the car.

Dream tried not to imagine cracked skulls, blood gushing from open wounds, being trapped in that car on the side of the road, with no way of getting help.

But in just an instant, the car had landed back on its wheels, just off the road. The airbags protruded from their holding places, and the smell of burning rubber filled his nose, choking Dream’s lungs. His hands were still glued to the steering wheel, like he was longing for a sense of control as they flipped through the air. 

It was a miracle, he thought, that they’d landed the way they did.

“George? Sapnap?” Dream called frantically, straining his neck to look for the both of them. It ached as he turned it, but he didn't care—he couldn't. 

Sapnap coughed, rolling his head around like a bobblehead, like it was dislocated from its joint. “‘M good,” he mumbled, pushing the airbag out of his face, but he grabbed his shoulder, exhaling deeply. “George.”

Dream slowly unbuckled his seatbelt, still fearful that, by some satanic infortune, the car might start to move on its own. Though as the buckle came loose, all he cared about was the boy in the back seat, who was laying back, awkwardly positioned. It didn’t look terrible, until he saw blood coating the fabric of his pants.

He looked farther to the right and noticed the broken window, and immediately knew that shards of glass must have stabbed into him as they flew. “Sapnap…” The blond spoke softly, laying a gentle hand on Sapnap’s arm.

“Yeah?”

“Call 911.”

Sapnap fished for the phone in his pocket, wincing through the pain of his shoulder as he moved it, and was able to dial the number. 

“I’m going to check out the other car, I see exhaust.” 

The other car was a few hundred feet from his, yet his vision was too blurred to make out their position. He opened the car door and the inside lights flickered on. It took everything in him to keep moving, to shut the door behind him and not look back, because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to leave it if he truly assessed the whole of the damage. 

Closer and closer he got, which only worsened his hopes. The car was upside down, and the wheels had just stopped spinning—like they’d gone out of control. He wondered if that’s why this happened, because of lost control.

Or maybe it was because of the lack of attention, which he prayed, for his own selfishness, that he wasn't the one to blame. 

But their headlights were unlit, and the only light exuded from their vehicle was on the inside, exposing their injuries.

The driver was bleeding from the head, Dream thought, and the passenger almost looked lifeless as she hung there by her seatbelt, which was the only thing keeping her head from banging against the ceiling. 

“God, fuck,” he mumbled breathlessly, stumbling back from the venomous sight. 

Dream hated the way his mind instantly switched modes; he was panicking. The boy ran back to his own vehicle, and to his surprise, both George and Sapnap were sitting just feet away from the scene, close to one another. Sapnap had his arm laced through George’s, and George’s head rested on his shoulder. 

In any other circumstance, Dream would’ve taken a moment to awe over the moment, to allow his thoughts to roam about his love for them and their friendship, but he couldn’t. Not now. He needed to know that they were okay, not just comforted. (Although he wanted nothing more than to have them home, lounging on the couch, allowing silence to fill the room as they decompressed in each other’s presence)

“We’re okay,” Sapnap reassured, only able to face a temporary smile. 

The blond knelt down in front of them and laid both of his hands just above their opposite knees. He nodded to Sapnap, then focused his attention on George, who looked too tired to be better than okay. “Did your leg stop bleeding?”

“Not sure,” George replied, slowly straightening the leg in question—his face scrunched only for a moment in the act, shooting signals to Dream that, even if the blood wasn’t rushing, he was hurting.

Dream writhed at how that made him feel. 

Of course, he blamed himself for this; for not keeping his eyes directly on a road that was known for things like this, for not keeping his friends safe. Deep down, he believed this wasn’t on him, because he did everything right. 

But it's not every moment that a right can turn things around, and there’s certainly never a moment where it reverses a newly created trauma. 

The blond gazed down at the boy’s outstretched leg, and with newly adjusted vision, he reckoned the bleeding had stopped. “Does it feel like there’s anything in there?”

George shrugged shakily, like his muscles were spasming. “I don’t know how I’d know that,” he sighed, moving his hand to feel around the bloody patch. He winced slightly under his own touch. “It hurts pretty bad, though.”

“You’ll be okay,” Sapnap reassured, resting his head atop George’s. “The ambulance is on the way.”

Dream just nodded, because that's all he felt he could do. He was blaming himself like he had control over the world and all that happened in it, like if he had just created life a little differently, they wouldn’t be here right now. They would’ve been alone on this road with absolutely nothing to worry about—no animals, no bumps, no other humans. 

He had broken that unspoken promise that a driver always makes to their passengers, whether it was his fault or not.

“I think I see the lights,” George mumbled, pointing weakly to his right.

Sure enough, the isle of trees was illuminated by blaring red and blue lights, growing closer and closer as the seconds passed. The wait, though short, was excruciating. Patience was a virtue, and Dream’s was running thin.

Paramedics raced to them before Dream told them the people in the other car needed more attention. Still, one of them stayed back to assess them, bringing them to the back of the ambulance. It was agreed that George go first; he was the only one covered in crimson.

“My name’s Lacey,” the woman greeted, her tone warm, comforting. Just what they needed. 

George tried at a smile, but it faded as quickly as it came. “Mine’s George,” he revealed, sounding like something was missing. 

She nodded, looking up at his face for a moment, then refocused her attention on the man’s leg. “I can’t see anything going on with this fabric in the way, so I’m going to have to cut it.”

“I trust you,” George replied quickly, like he was begging for relief, and he would do anything to get it. “Just—” he took a sharp breath in “—don’t tell me what you’re doing. Just do it.”

The corner of Lacey’s lip twitched upward, then she disconnected their eyes. 

Dream hovered closely, keeping a hand on George’s back. 

“I’ll be okay, Dream,” the brunet promised. “Don’t worry.”

And Dream let himself believe it.

Gray fabric was cut from George’s skin, exposing a gash across the length of his thigh, about half an inch deep. “Oh God,” he hissed, tensing his entire body at the sight.

The woman opened her mouth to speak, but slowly closed it, remembering George’s request. She poured saline onto gauze and lightly tapped the area, using the moment to check for anything that may have embedded itself in the skin. 

All Dream could do was watch, and it broke him to see George in pain. He was just newly in America, and he was already bloody and bruised. Under Dream’s authority. Sapnap was okay, which he couldn’t have been more thankful for. 

There was no way he could’ve handled both of his best friends being hurt like that.

Dream watched as Lacey left George’s side, walked deeper into the vehicle, and came back with a small box. “Should we just go to the hospital?” he queried, eyes becoming puppy-like. 

“It’s okay, he just needs a few sutures,” she reassured, that kind smile once again splayed on her complexion. “He’ll just need to rest for a couple of days before there’s any major movement, and ice it periodically for the swelling. The area looks all clear, though. No glass shards. You’re lucky.” Her crystal blue eyes met dark brown ones, and Dream was immediately comforted by her certainty. 

George grinned and bore the sutures, and they were done briskly, yet carefully. The ‘few’ stitches had turned into around twenty, but Dream stopped counting after the tenth. He admired the brunet for his strength, and, frankly, for his ability to not pass out while undergoing such an operation, let alone without much of a painkiller. It was adrenaline, Dream assumed, that was keeping him going. 

By the time she completely closed the wound and wrapped George’s thigh, Dream had been pulled aside by two officers. They were questioning him, getting his license and registration, keeping him in place. He was all they had right now, because as far as he could tell, the two in the other car wouldn’t be speaking tonight; maybe not even the next day. 

Dream had to keep reminding himself that this wasn’t his fault—even the officers knew that.  

He explained to them what happened, how all he knew was that the other driver was in his lane, but that he wasn't looking directly at the road, either, when the accident happened. His demeanor was soft, and it was obvious to the officers his mental state. “Once the others are cleared for visitation—whenever that may be—we’ll get their side and give you a call,” one of them offered with a sigh.

The blond smiled faintly and shook their hands, happy to discontinue their conversation. It wasn’t like he disliked speaking to them, but he would’ve much rather been by Sapnap and George’s sides. 

“He’s all finished,” Lacey greeted him with joy, removing her gloves.

George nodded, eyes looking heavy.

“Let’s get you home, okay?” Dream said gently, rubbing George’s back. 

Sapnap stepped closer, gray bouncing between brown and green. “How?” He, too, looked worn down, and his voice came out as so. 

Dream hadn’t thought about that. He peered around him, hoping an answer would magically come across him, that something in his line of vision would spark clarity. But all he could see were those red and blue hues reflecting off of the trees, and darkness beyond that. 

“I don’t know,” Dream admitted quietly, brows lowering. 

“I could take you guys.”

The blond turned around, taken aback by the offer. “You’d do that, Lacey? Aren’t you on the clock?”

“I am,” she started, shrugging slowly, “but I can spare a few fifteen minutes, or however far your house is.” Her smile was wider than it had been before, and Dream could just tell that she wanted to do this more than anything. And who was he to turn that away?

“If you’re sure, then that would be awesome.” Dream nodded thankfully to the women, then gazed down at George, who was already staring up at him. “We'll fix you up when we get home, I promise.”

George bobbed his head once, the corners of his mouth curving upward.

The cops had taken care of the tow-truck for them, and the man doing the towing shook Dream’s hand, let him know to come to the shop in around three days. Dream thanked him, then the cops for their kindness and generosity. He was blessed by them after the treachery that had just happened; it gave him hope for the world—there were still kindhearted people out there, similar to him, who were like angels sent from above.

“Are you guys ready?” Lacey asked, leaning on the edge of the ambulance.

“I sure am,” Sapnap scoffed, rubbing his neck. “Where do you want us?”

Lacey motioned to the back. “You and George can be back here, and Dream can be up front with me so he can direct me to y’all’s house.”

Without anything further, Sapnap hopped into the back. He sat on the side bench and pulled his phone out of his pocket, probably to text his mom… or Karl, Dream thought. 

The blond started toward the passenger's side when he felt a tug on the hem of his sweater, and heard a faint whisper of his name. He turned around, and his eyes met George, who had one hand still on Dream’s sweater, and the other over his wound. “I need help getting up there,” the brunet sighed; he almost looked as if he was holding back tears, but maybe Dream was just seeing things. 

“Oh– Yeah. Here.” Dream let George wrap his arms around his neck after he bent down to his level, and Dream hoisted the brunet to his feet.

For a moment, they were so close —Dream could feel warm exhales from George’s nose hit his neck, and they threatened to send chills down his spine. But it was only that moment, because George repositioned himself, somehow lifting his body into the ambulance, crawling to Sapnap’s side, and using Sapnap’s legs to get himself up. “Thanks, guys,” George muttered to the both of them, trying not to pant from the painful exertion. 

Dream hesitated. Something in his gut was trying to tell him something, begging him to ask questions, but his mind had no idea what that meant. Everything seemed okay apart from George’s leg injury—Sapnap was a little banged up, but he’d be okay. Dream assumed he had bruises somewhere, everywhere for all he knew, but his adrenaline still had his back, so he didn’t have to worry about himself right now. 

“Should I close the back?” he yelled to Lacey, whose window was down.

“Please!” 

He closed the left side of the door first, then watched as his sight of the two boys vanished as he closed the right. It was honestly terrifying (though it shouldn’t have been), putting such a barrier between the three of them after what happened to them. Dream knew it wasn’t a long ride, but his heart was in his stomach, which was sure to drop down to the ends of his toes as soon as he sat in the front seat. 

When he shut his own door, Dream stared forward, following the beams of the headlights. He had no idea what he was looking at, or what he was looking for, but it was a distraction, nonetheless.

Lacey started the vehicle and turned off the circulating blues and reds, just before shifting into drive. “Are you okay?” the woman interrogated, one hand on the wheel, the other arm resting on the glove box. 

“I will be. I’m just glad they’re both okay,” he breathed, finally somewhat relaxing.

The woman nodded and positioned both of her hands on the wheel before pressing her foot on the gas. She eased onto the road, and when Dream looked through the back window, he watched the scene quickly disappear behind them. Out of the corner of his eye, the sight of George’s head on Sapnap’s shoulder once again warmed his heart. But it also terrified him—George was never clingy like this, ever.

Get out of your head, he scoffed internally. Stop ruining these moments for yourself. 

His inner voice may have been an asshole, but it always kept him out of dark spaces.

“Turn left right up there,” Dream directed through strained breath, void of emotion. He’d exhausted himself, and his adrenaline had long worn out. “Then left on the next street. Straight ahead will be it.”

A tenderness swept across Lacey’s face. It was comforting—sort of like an unspoken connection full of understanding, sympathy.

Dream wondered how she did this job every day, how she went home to her family at the end of the day and acted like nothing affected her. But maybe she didn’t have a family; maybe she was only able to do this job, see what she sees, because she has no one to go home to. His heart broke thinking of all the possibilities.

He didn’t have time to start a new conversation, though. 

“Thank you so much, Lace,” Dream praised. Lacey beamed a little harder than she had, and Dream almost wondered why. I called her Lace, he realized. “Oh– I’m so sorry, that just slipped out—”

The woman held her hand out and swiped it downward; a disregarding motion. “Please,” she chuckled. “My husband is the only one who calls me that, really, but I love that nickname.”

“I’m glad you have someone to go home to.” The words had fallen from his mind to his lips much too quickly to stop them, but he didn’t regret saying it. 

“Trust me, I am too.”

She and Dream got Sapnap out of the back first, then allowed George to put his weight on the two of them, setting him on the ground as gently as they could.

Dream offered to carry George inside if he was in too much pain, but he refused it. That’s the George I know.

Sapnap thanked Lacey before rushing after the brunet, who wasn’t far ahead of him. Dream could tell he was worried about him. 

When Dream turned himself back to the woman for the last time, her arms were outstretched. “Thank you for being such a kind soul,” she whispered.

The blond stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her, resting his head on hers. “Thank you for being as close to an angel as one gets. You truly saved us.”

“If you ever need anything,” she put forth, parting from their embrace, “you know where to find me.” 

“Be safe out there, Lace.”

With a nod, she swung around, got into the vehicle, and drove off, waving back at him through her rolled-down window, Dream waved back, feeling her presence leave him. It was bittersweet, because though their night had been treacherous—sure to leave scars that would take months to heal—she had been there; someone as kind as she had been there to assist, and that would forever leave an impression on all three of them.

Carefully, Dream made his way toward the front door, watching his steps as he did so. The front door was cracked just slightly, so he slid inside, closed it, locking it behind him. And he double-checked it, because he’d already failed once at ensuring their safety. He didn’t know what he would do if he failed again. 

The house was unlit apart from one lamp in the living room, which was as far as the other two boys had gotten. Sapnap was already passed out on the couch, whereas George was just lying there, blanket over him. His eyes were only slits, his lids looked heavy—not necessarily out of exhaustion, though. Dream couldn’t tell what it was, but George still felt so off to him.

Dream had seen him hurt before, physically and mentally, but this was so much different. 

He’d barely spoken a word to him since the accident, which was definitely uncharacteristic. You’re about to blame yourself, that voice uttered within him, which immediately stopped exactly that from happening. 

I don't know why you keep helping me, Dream thought back, but thank you.

“Do you need anything?” Dream asked tenderly, kneeling down beside George. He didn’t want the brunet to strain his voice, to make his words travel all the way up to his ears. Exhausted, that boy on the couch was, eyes laden with something underlying, and Dream wouldn’t allow it to worsen. 

To his surprise, George sat up slowly, somewhat hunched over. “I think I need to walk,” he whispered.

Voice even quieter than George’s, Dream only replied with an “okay” and stood up, holding out his right arm. “Use me to get up.”

Unlike before, he accepted the assistance, grabbing hold of Dream’s arm for stability. He stood as gracefully as he could, but he was partly hunched over, struggling to straighten his back. Dream just watched the brunet, led him out of the living room, around the kitchen, noting how small George’s steps were, how painful they looked. 

George had been more so skidding his feet across the tile floors, and he had to stop every few paces to rest. He would hold his stomach, look as though he was threatening to punch it, pry it open and kill whatever was creating his pain. Dream hated how he wasn’t able to open his mouth or create a sentence that would allow him insight, because he had no clue what he could say. “Are you okay?” he had tried, but George just grunted in response, pushing forth.

They were shuffling their way back into the living room when George whispered something, inaudible. “What’d you say?” 

“Need to sit,” George repeated, letting all his weight fall onto Dream’s arm.

“Hey.” Dream went around the back of the boy and held him up until they reached the couch. He sat George down, and could only watch as the brunet wrapped his arms around his knees and laid his head on the armrest, face contorting from the pain he was in. The sight was dreadful, it hurt Dream throughout his body to see George like this, but what was he to do? Paramedics said he was okay, apart from the obvious cut and bruising, yet there seemed like there was more—something deeper they wouldn't have been able to see. 

The blond collapsed onto the ottoman, facing George. Though he turned his attention to Sapnap, who resembled the calm after a storm, lying there in complete silence as if it were just another night of rest. Dream had to admire that; it was his recovery. He was thankful for how little he was hurt, for how little damage had occurred to his outer being. What was going on inside, Dream wasn’t sure. I’ll be here when he wakes up, though, the blond thought, his inner voice sighing. 

A guttural cough came from the blond’s right, and his head whipped around. It was dark in the room, so he couldn’t quite make out George’s face, but what he could see was the blood that was now covering the cloth of the armrest. He tried to refocus his vision, make sure he was seeing what he was seeing, secretly hoping that maybe he himself had just fallen asleep, and his mind was doing everything to egg on his guilt, manifest his downfall. 

In spite of Dream’s prayers, as he jumped closer to George, he knew the blood dripping from his lips wasn’t a crazy nightmare. “George?” he whispered frantically, holding the boy’s shoulders, shaking him gently. 

“What’s happening, D’rm?” It sounded like more than a cry for help; it stung Dream’s eyes, sent chills down his spine and bullets through his skull. 

Dream, despite it all, had no idea how to curate a sentence, let alone one that would be of comfort. The unknown was all this was, and that terrified him more than anything had ever before.

George was motioning to his stomach, tugging at the bottom of it like he had lost all strength to just rip it off. Dream, hesitantly, lifted it from his skin. 

The area was blood red, blotched with purples and blues that blended together like a haunted midnight. “Oh my god,” was all Dream could say, and he saw how George’s eyes grew with horror, because he didn’t even have the strength to look down at himself. 

“Dream?” George cried, tears spilling. His voice was thick, filled with something—blood, Dream was sure. 

“Everything is going to be okay,” Dream attempts to comfort through sobs. “We’ll figure this out.”

The boy’s cries had stopped as he spoke, and those brown eyes were now hidden behind glistening lids.

“George?”

Nothing.

“Hey!”

Silence. Not a sound, not other than soft breath, which felt fainter than it should’ve against Dream’s hand. 

“Please…” Dream shook George, but there was no resistance. He let go, and the brunet just fell back, head crashing against the back cushion. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

He raced to Sapnap’s side and placed a hand on his back, using almost all of his strength to shake him. “Sapnap,” he begged, “please wake up, please.”

“Huh?” Sapnap’s eyes fluttered open quicker than Dream had expected. “What? What’s going on?”

“George,” Dream panted, adrenaline causing loss of breath. “He’s… unconscious, I think. I’m pretty sure. He’s still breathing but he has a bruise on his stomach and it’s big and nasty and—”

Sapnap sat up and laid a hand on Dream’s thigh. “Hey,” he said calmly, “take a breath. If something’s wrong, this won’t help him.”

Dream closed his eyes and took a deep breath in, and let it go slowly, shakily. “Okay,” he attempted to restart. “He was in a lot of pain, so he wanted to try and walk it out. We walked, and when I helped him back onto the couch, he balled up and kinda just rocked. I looked over at you for one second, and—” The sob he had been trying to hold in escaped his lips through a cough, and tears once again welled in his eyes. 

“It’s okay,” Sapnap consoled. “Breathe, and continue.”

In. Out. 

“And then he coughed, and it sounded– juicy, ya know?”

The boy in front of him nodded. 

“I saw blood on the side of the couch, but I just thought I was losing my mind. It was dark and I had to look really closely, but it was blood. It was real. The blood was coming from his mouth and he looked— He was so terrified, he was trembling, but when I got to him, got close enough to feel and smell the metallic of his breath on my face, it was like he had faded away, and…”

Dream didn’t know what else to say. His mind drew a blank when it should’ve configured an answer, a tactic like it always does. Yeah, thanks for the help, he cursed that voice in his head, who scoffed in return. Sorry I’m not real, it said, and Dream wanted to bang his head against the wall, crack open his skull, and watch the remains of whatever was in his head spill down his face, off his lashes, and drip like molasses onto the wood beneath his feet.

“We need to get him to the hospital,” Sapnap said with a sternness in his tone, but it was obvious there was something underlying. “I’ll start the car, you carry him out. I can get us there in seven minutes, tops.”

The blond could only nod as Sapnap jumped to his feet and ran out to his Porsche, leaving Dream alone. He had to muster up the strength to even touch George again, let alone pick him up, because questions plagued his every thought. What if I hurt him more? What if moving like this will make it worse? Will we crash again? Is our luck that bad?

“Shut up,” Dream urged himself through gritting teeth. “You have to do this.”

And so, facing his mind, he scooped George into his arms—one wrapped around the back of his shoulders, the other under the backs of his legs—and ran outside. As gentle as he could, Dream sat him up in the back of the vehicle, but kept both hands on George as he quickly sat down next to him. 

“Hold him,”  Sapnap urged, turning his head back to Dream. “As tight as you can, don’t let him move.”

Dream thought he would be hesitant, but without even thinking he lifted George into his lap and held him there. He couldn’t help but imagine this position in any other situation, how romantic– Don’t fucking make this about you, he screamed at his mind, because the boy in his arms was dying, how could he be so selfish as to romanticize this? Tears welled in his eyes, more than they had before, because reality was finally setting in.

George was dying in his arms. Bleeding within himself. Dying. On his lap. In his arms. 

Because of him.

“Please,” Dream begged through sobs. “Drive faster.”

Sapnap swerved carefully between the cars that were on the road like he had forgotten all about their night; all he could focus on was the fact his friend was in the backseat, in need of immediate help. And he would get him to that hospital as quickly as he could, no matter what it took. “Just a few more minutes.” The words were gritted through Sapnap’s teeth like he was struggling to keep himself in control, to maintain the stitches he had sewn in his mind to keep away the recent past.

The drive felt like hours, days, though in reality, it was only six painstaking minutes, in complete silence other than occasional chokes for air. But they weren’t from George.

Dream kept checking his pulse, making sure his heart was beating—making sure that he was alive. If he were to be lost with the other souls of the world, brain washed out and left to wander aimlessly in the afterlife, of course Dream would blame himself. George had his whole life to live, but then he came to America, for him and Sapnap, just for Dream to wreck it.

George may be okay in the end, but no one will know how much damage, mentally, this will have caused.

“Get out of the damn car, Dream!” Sapnap wailed, flinging the door open for the two of them. Dream didn’t bother to get out before George; he stood up with him, mustering a strength he thought he’d lost on the drive there. 

The three of them rushed inside, through a group of people, and Sapnap slammed his hands down on the reception desk. “Our friend is bleeding out— Well, internally we think.”

Friend. Bleeding.

“He passed out and he needs help now.”

Dream could tell he was trying not to scream the words, but he was about to break. He stepped closer to the woman behind the counter. “Sapnap, lift his shirt.”

The woman’s eyes widened like she’d just seen a ghost. She picked up the phone and turned around, said something quietly, and hung up. But then she jumped up and raced from behind the desk, urging them to follow. So they fast-walked with her right to a bed that was vacant, sitting in the hallway. “Put him here,” she motioned. The blond laid him down cautiously—the way George’s head fell, like it was weightless, to the side, absolutely broke Dream.

Is he even in there? he thought to himself, and that made him want to rip his mind out of his skull. 

I can’t help you anymore, the voice in his head replied. For now, you’re alone with yourself.

It took everything for him not to collapse on the floor right then, because his knees were about to give out.

But then three doctors came rushing from the inner doors of the hospital, and planted themselves at George’s side. One checked his vitals and whispered, “He’s crashing,” to the one man there, who was dressed in white scrubs. To that, he lifted up George’s shirt, felt around on the bruised area, and, grim, he replied, “He’s bleeding out, get him back into emergency surgery. He doesn’t have time to waste.”

Dream felt his heart drop out of his being. It was on the floor now, beside him, slowing with its pumping, crimson spilling over the marbled tile. 

As they wheeled George through the doors, Dream tried to barge through, hold his hand for the first time despite how he was, and escort him through being cut open, drained, fixed, cut deeper, and sewn back together. And he would be there as he was placed into his own room, cozy (disregarding the overall setting), and Dream would be there.

Would he want him there, though, after this?

“Sir,” the man said sympathetically, blocking the doors. “You can’t go back there.”

You can’t go back there. You can’t be with him. You can’t be there when he opens his eyes. You can’t be there if he opens his eyes. You might not be able to see him again.

I didn’t get to say goodbye.

Dream couldn’t hold himself together anymore. He dropped to his knees, head in hands, and finally let his tears fall like anvils to the ground.

Sapnap was quick to drop with him, wrapping his arms around him. “He’s going to be okay, brother,” the man sobbed into his ear. “George is in good hands. This isn’t your fault.”

This isn’t your fault.

That may be true, yet he couldn’t help but think about how his face was the last thing George saw before the crash, and the first one he saw right after. How he was the last person he saw before closing his eyes, passing out, losing consciousness. 

“He has to be okay,” Dream cried, wilting further into the ground, only being held up by Sapnap. “I can’t live without him here.”

—

It’d been hours. It’d been hours of waiting, hours of silence, hours of excruciating noise only Dream could hear, because his mind wouldn’t stop fucking screaming. 

Light was peaking over the horizon, and Dream felt like he hadn’t blinked since the accident. His eyes were crusted over, glued open with the guilt and shame he felt so deep within himself. Truly, he had never felt this way before. The pain was gut-wrenching, but it was so much more than that. There was a grueling feeling tingling throughout his body, like his blood was thickening. 

There was a hammer banging in his head, like a metronome, reminding himself that he was alive. He wanted it gone, needed it out, because it was so loud. It was too loud for the silence he was surrounded with.

Sapnap slept through the night next to him, head bobbing gently to one side. 

Dream couldn’t even imagine trying to sleep. He was sure the voice that had left him would come back as the embodiment of some demon, haunt his nightmares, rid his mind of any hope that may still be lingering (though he doubted there was any left. He was fucked; in the head, in the heart). 

Nobody was there to keep the blond from pacing around the waiting room, from being tangled in thoughts that threatened to take him away from the real world. He was alone, surrounded by bodies, by minds that were probably racing as his was. No, they couldn’t have been. But no, that’s selfish to even think, to even begin to believe.

He was in a fucking hospital—the place people thought of when they broke a bone, had a never ending cough, crashed their car. Healing happens, but not before the storm. The storm always comes first; a period ridden with unknown and (ir)rational fears, pain, knowledge a person never wants to acquire.

Shut up, Dream begged his own mind, losing faith in the promise of the voice that told him it had gone. Shut up shut up shut up shut up.  

If even one more ounce of pressure threatened his head, he swore his brain would burst open and start seeping out of his ears. The grey goo would find its way out somehow, and he would be a medical mystery to every staff member in that hospital. 

But Dream had to be there when George woke up. So he would wait, live with the pain, because he couldn't let George blame himself for this. 

It’d been hours, but then a familiar face showed itself, just turning around the corner. “Dream? Sapnap?” the man called, searching the room. 

“Right here!” Dream wailed, and ran back over to Sapnap’s side. “Hey,” he whisper-yelled close to the man’s ear. “The doctor is here.”

To his surprise, Sapnap came to his senses quickly, jumping from his place of rest.  

Hands folded together, the doctor further approached them. “I’m Doctor Parsons.”

Dream wasn’t sure what to do other than hold out a hand. 

Parsons unfolded his and completed the gesture, moving slightly to the left to shake Sapnap’s. “We found a form of ID on your friend. George Davidson?”

“That’s right,” Sapnap beat Dream to saying. 

The man nodded once. “Mr. Davidson was bleeding internally due to blunt force trauma to the abdomen, which, in his case, tore blood vessels within the area. The blood had nowhere else to go, so it tried to find a way out. In the process of that, pressure built up, and blood proceeded to pool around his organs. He passed out because his body was starting to shut down. Can you explain to me how this happened?” He was calm. Almost too calm for comfort after what he explained. 

His body was starting to shut down. Dream started speaking, hoping the words didn’t come in a blur like everything was in his head, attempting to forget what the doctor had just told them for the moment. “We got into a car accident, the cops came, and we were all okay, just a little battered—”

“Well,” Sapnap interrupted, “George got a pretty big cut on his thigh, so the paramedic helped us with that.”

The blond nodded. “She– The paramedic cleared us, and then she was able to take us home. Everything was fine, though George was a bit more sore than us. So when we got inside, I helped him on the couch, and Sapnap fell asleep almost immediately. He laid there for a while, but he wanted to walk. I helped him up, and we walked around the kitchen for a little before he asked if we could go back, and we did.” He paused for a breath. “George curled himself up, and I– I looked over at Sapnap for, I swear, just a second, and George started coughing up blood. He was holding his stomach, so I lifted his shirt and it was blotchy and purple and blue and then he was just– gone.”

Parsons's eyebrow rose just slightly, but the rest of his face remained motionless. “Well then, he’s lucky to be alive.”

“So he’s okay?” Sapnap asked quickly, leaning his body forward just slightly. Dream followed suit, because he was sure that if he didn’t get an answer now, he would surely turn the place upside down to find out.

“Yes,” he sighed, sounding relieved to finally break the news, “graciously. Mr. Davidson had to undergo surgery to mend where the bleeding was coming from, so he was put under anesthesia, which is always a risk when we don’t exactly know the patient, but he should make a full recovery in just a few days. We did a CT scan to make sure everything in his head was okay, and there was just minor damage—things that will heal on their own—but we’re keeping him for those few days to keep him monitored, for that and his bleeding, to make sure he’s safe and okay to go home.”

Dream breathed. For the first time since the accident, he was able to breathe. In through his nose, and out through his mouth, without having to fight back strained sobs and heartache. (Well, there was still a pain coursing through his limbs, and he was fighting to keep himself upright, battling to keep from blaming all of this on himself, but at least George was going to be okay. That was all that mattered to him.)

“Can we see him?” Dream had to ask. Though he was terrified of the answer. 

Doctor Parsons hinted at a smile. It was generous and kind, acknowledging the pain the two of them must be experiencing right now. Comforting, it was, after how hard he had seemed at the beginning. “I’ll come get you when he wakes up.” He held out his hand to shake theirs once more, and with that, he was off, striding back through the double doors that had shaken them the night before.

And then it all came rushing back to Dream.

Every emotion he had felt before was back in full, the pressure of it all threatening his psyche. He was terrified. Because what if he didn’t wake up? “He could’ve died,” he muttered, suddenly rendered breathless again. So much for air. That pesky demon-like thing was back in his head, speaking for him, making him feel so he didn’t have to bear all of his weight in the underworld. He had fallen back into the hair he had resided in, legs definitely not able to hold the weight of him and his thoughts combined.

“Dream?” Sapnap questioned, crouching down hastily next to him. 

The blond’s head was buried in his hands, because he had to hide. He had to hide himself from the world, because right then, he felt see-through. Like everyone was watching him. He was surrounded by eyes that weren’t George’s, voices that weren’t George’s. But that was all he could hear. 

What’s happening, D’rm? had been playing on repeat in his head since it was said, and each time it replayed, his heart cracked a bit more. Dream was sure that if it kept up at this rate, it would shatter completely, change him, make him disgustingly unrecognizable. He would open the door to George’s room, and he would ask, “who are you?”

And how was he supposed to answer that?

“Dream!” Sapnap was yelling now, both hands firmly gripping Dream’s thighs, attempting to break his trance. 

“He could’ve died,” Dream coughed out, tears spilling. “He could’ve died, and now I can’t see him.” His green eyes met Sapnap’s. “And I won’t even be next to him when he wakes up.”

Sapnap lifted a hand from the man and placed it around the back of his neck as he stood, wrapping him into a hug. “But he didn’t die, D,” he tried, voice shaking. He sounded terrified, traumatized. “He’s still with us.”

—

“Let’s go get some food,” Sapnap suggested, standing up from his seat. 

Dream could tell he was antsy to move around, to walk in an area that wasn’t there, but he couldn’t fathom standing, leaving this area of the building. The doctor could be out any moment to get them, lead them to George’s room, and he would finally see him again. (He would never admit it outloud, but Dream was terrified he would be different, that George would just become a memory that tried to hide itself in the back of his mind.) “You can go,” he settled for. “I’m not hungry.”

Sapnap’s eyes looked heavy, but not because of lack of sleep. It was pain that Dream saw, and he didn’t know if it was because of George, or if it was because Sapnap was seeing a new side of him. Dream had experienced loss—he’d grieved—though it was never like this. “You have to eat something, D,” the man said in return, concerned. “I’ll get you something.”

The blond heard him, but now, all he could think about was how different this was to him. He’d been hurt before, physically, mentally; he’d been beat down all the same. Loss was something he’d known throughout his life, whether it was a friendship slowly whittling away, or a family member losing their battle to life. Dream knew what loss felt like, but it had never felt like this.

Everything was so real. Too real. It was in his face, within his stomach, like a roach crawling on the inside of his body, following the path of his veins, making its way to his heart. He felt sick—physically moved by what he was facing, because it felt like more than just loss. 

Loss had never felt this murderous. The pain wasn’t just coursing through him; it was cutting away at everything he was, every thought he had was burdened with George, with guilt, with ‘what-ifs’. He couldn’t fight them and he didn’t dare face them. 

To call them demonic would be an understatement.

Days. Dream spent days (three, to be exact. Three days, six hours, and seven minutes) in the hospital, because he couldn’t move. The door, to him, felt like a portal to the underworld, somewhere he’d be eaten alive. Leaving never even crossed his mind, though whoever was in his head thought about it often. 

Something so ingrained in Dream’s head was constantly yelling at him to move; and it was paralyzing. Mental manipulation, he thought, only when his mind allowed him to be a free thinker. He was barely able to control the words that were uttered from his cold, chapped lips.

Dream needed an exorcism, to be rid of this evil spirit that decided to fuck up his entire life in one night. 

He was lost in his own mind like it was a corn maze with no right way out, and it was infested with ghosts of the dead, only there to do harm. No one would help him; no one could help him.

“I got you a muffin.” The suddenness of Sapnap’s voice somehow broke Dream from his thoughts. He wanted to thank him, but Dream knew he wouldn’t get it. He didn’t believe anyone would. 

So, he only nodded, the words ‘thank you’ not quite feeling right on his tongue. 

Dream stared at the muffin in his grasp, not able to will it to his face without feeling mass amounts of pain shoot from one limb to another.

“For Davidson?”

Green eyes, at the speed of light, rose and found where the voice was coming from. Dream’s heart was about to burst out of his chest. “We—we’re right here!” he yelled, forcing himself to stand. 

Sapnap followed suit, gathering himself with much more strength than Dream could even imagine for himself. “What is it?”

The doctor approached the two with a certain pep in his step, one he hadn’t had before. “Do you want the good news or the bad news?” 

“Bad,” Sapnap replied before Dream even got a chance to process the weight of the question.

Dream whipped his head around, giving the man next to him a look he couldn’t hold back. Sapnap shrugged, face housing a heavy amount of fear. 

“Well,” Parsons started, “the bad news is that—”

Deep breaths, Dream. Breathe. You can’t have another breakdown.

“—there was a substantial amount of pooling, and he was basically choking on his blood, but we already knew that. We had to drain what had been lost within his body and repump it the right way after.”

Breathe. “And the good news?” Dream asked, shakily. 

“He’s going to make a full recovery.” The doctor smiled. “And he’s ready to be seen.”

Every bad thought Dream had had in those dreadful hours of waiting not-so-patiently vanished like they could’ve simply been blown away the entire time. His breath trembled, but he could breathe. “He’s going to be okay?” Dream asked, just to confirm this wasn’t another sick joke his own mind was yet again playing on him. 

Doctor Parsons stepped closer to Dream, laying a hand on his shoulder. “He’s going to be okay, Dream.”

The blond couldn’t help but pull the man into an embrace, because he’d just saved George's life. He’d saved his life. “Thank you,” he whispered into his shoulder. “Thank you.”

And those two words finally felt like they were meant to be. 

Thank you, he whispered to himself, within himself, for fighting against the voice.

“I can take you back there now,” the doctor suggested as he pulled from the embrace, “if you’d like.”

Dream’s eyes lit up. “Please.”

Without another moment passing, Parsons turned around and advanced down the hall, taking the first left, then another. Dream and Sapnap followed close behind him, though not daring to get too close. 

Parsons stopped right outside a door that was barely open, curtains pulled shut. “Right in there—” he motioned with his hands “—whenever you’re ready.”

The blond looked to Sapnap, whose eyes said “you can go.” Dream wasn’t sure how he knew, but he did.

Against all his fears, all his guilt, he slowly pushed open the door.

“Hi, Dream,” George greeted him, voice sounding a bit weak. “Hi, Sapnap.”

His voice almost brought Dream to tears. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“Are you okay?” the brunet asked Dream, head cocking to the side. 

Dream almost scoffed, because George was the one in the hospital bed. He was the one who just went through surgery because he was bleeding out, but he asked Dream if he was okay. “I will be,” he decided to go with, smiling the slightest bit. “How are you doing?”

George smirked. “I’m a little sore.”

“Okay,” Dream chuckled, putting his hands up, “you’re not allowed to say that ever again.”

The three of them got in their hugs, made up for the small talk they’d missed, and somehow, Dream made it through all of it. His mind stopped projecting as soon as he entered the room; he savored its kindness, because he didn’t know how long it would last. “Do you remember blacking out?” Dream questioned after a silence that was almost too long to bear.

George thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. “No,” he replied quizzingly.

Dream raised an eyebrow, looking at George like he was an alien. “Do you remember coughing up blood?”

“Blood?” The brunet’s voice was a little more frantic than Dream could handle. It brought him back to right before it all happened. He couldn’t relive that. Not right then.  

“I can tell you about it when we’re home.” Home. “You’re gonna be okay, and that’s all that matters.”

There was a faint knock on the door, and all of their heads turned in that direction. 

“Hey,” a female nurse greeted them with the warmest smile. “I’m glad to see you three reconnecting.”

Dream nodded, matching her facial expression. “Did you need us to leave?” He really didn’t mean to say it out loud, but she had to have been there for a reason.

She planted herself right by the door, so as to not intrude further. “I was just gonna say that George should be getting some rest. The surgery was quite extensive, and without rest to gain back strength—”

“We can go,” Sapnap interrupted, though not with ill intent. Dream knew Sapnap saw the look on his face: covered with threats of a flashback, with memories that no one wanted to add to. 

The woman nodded quickly and took her leave, allowing the door to shut behind her. 

George sighed and once again rested his arms by his sides. “I guess I am a bit sleepy.”

Sapnap stood first, and laid a hand on George’s knee. “We’ll see you when you’re up again.” 

The brunet nodded, and so did Dream, rising from his seat. “What he said,” Dream managed, sick to his stomach over the fact he had to leave George’s side again. 

“Wait, Dream,” George called just as Dream was about to leave the room. 

Both boys stopped and turned back, waiting for more. 

George continued, “can I talk to you?”

Dream turned to Sapnap, like he needed approval. 

Sapnap nodded. “I’ll be in the waiting room.”

Okay.

The blond backed up into the room again, and this time, shut the door behind him.

It was just him and George. Alone for the first time since the crash.

He didn’t know this would happen so soon.

“What’s up?” Dream almost slurred, and he wasn’t sure why. But it didn’t seem like he was sure of anything, really.

George didn’t waste any time. “You were looking at me.”

Dream’s face dropped. “What?” he said, because there was no way he saw him. There was no way.

“You were looking at me when we crashed, Dream. In the rearview mirror.”

He had no idea what to say.

Every memory came rushing back to him like a dam had broken in his mind, the one that he’d built as the doctor told him George would be okay. It was all crashing down, landing right behind his eyes. A film was playing behind the green, reminding him of every good and bad thing that has happened to them, every moment of closeness they’d experienced, every fear-filled night they’d somehow conquered. They’d made it through so much, but a simple second of eye contact could discontinue all of it. 

You were the last thing I saw before we went tumbling.

“How could I not?” Dream said finally, fighting back tears. “You were— You’re here, with me, us. So how could I have avoided that?” A sinking feeling was growing in his stomach, because he hated the words he was saying. “This isn’t your fault, it’s not your fault I looked at you, it’s not even mine or yours that this accident happened. The other people swerved into our lane and I wouldn’t have had a chance to react, even if my eyes were on the road at that very moment.”

I’m honest to you, but I’m lying to myself.

“But Sapnap saw it in time to yell your name.”

For some reason, Dream allowed his mind to venture into his memory from that night, just before the accident. He had blocked everything out because he couldn’t bear to keep it boxed away, and he didn’t dare allow it to make a home. 

The moment came flashing back, in spite of his efforts, and he heard Sapnap’s curdling scream reverberate off the interior of his skull.

Oh my God. 

Dream opened his mouth to defend himself, to say anything, but nothing came out. 

It was silent, but the room was flooded with clear smoke. Dream could barely breathe.

“I should rest, Dream.” His name sounded like a slur when George said it. “I shouldn’t have brought this up.”

Something changed. Something about George had changed, and Dream knew it. Maybe his brain got tattered and sloshed around in his skull, leaving it bruised. But he remembered that. The voice was back. And Dream wasn’t strong enough to beat it down again. Not this time. 

But he remembered that. 

“Yeah,” Dream said, short, not daring to inhale the fumes in the room. He turned before uttering, “get some rest.”

When he closed the door, leaving George alone (this time, with nothing else to say), the fumes still followed him. 

—

“You okay, bro?” 

“Yeah,” Dream had to say.

But he could tell Sapnap didn’t believe him. Not in the slightest. 

“Did something happen in there?” he urged, brows furrowing. 

“No,” Dream scoffed, surprising himself with his lack of hesitation. “And that’s the problem.”

Sapnap didn’t know what to say, and Dream couldn’t blame him. He couldn’t be blamed for any of this. He was the one that saw it all happen; he was watching from the passenger’s, from the back seat, from the driver’s seat. The man had every view as he watched everything crumble down, and Dream hated that. He knew they were going to crash before Dream could even react. He watched George’s pain grow from the back of the ambulance, but he trusted Lacey’s word (and it wasn’t her fault, either). 

He watched Dream cradle George in his own rearview mirror.

All the while, Dream was breaking, piece by piece, hour by hour, and Sapnap was just watching. Because Dream wouldn’t let him help. 

And he sped, despite the accident, because he couldn’t lose two of his best friends at the same time. 

“Just— call me when you want to come home, okay?”

Dream blinked rapidly, and watched as Sapnap turned around, picked up his pace, and somehow disappeared behind the glass doors that led to the outside world. 

“Okay,” he whispered to the air around him, which still wasn’t quite cleansed of its thickness.

All Dream knew was that he needed to see George again, as soon as possible (though he knew there was no way he would be able to speak up; he already felt guilty enough). So, he marched to the front desk, preparing his words. “Excuse me?” 

“Oh, you again,” the woman observed, tone disheartening. She sounded sad that he was still there. “What can I do for you?”

“Could you just tell anyone who’s looking after George Davidson to come get me when he’s ready to be discharged? I’m staying here.”

She’s looking at me like she’s worried for my own health, like I’m forcing myself to stay in such a grueling environment. 

A corner of the woman’s lips upturned as she turned her attention to the phone in front of her, dialing a number. She picked it up and Dream could hear it ringing once, twice, until someone picked up. “Hey,” she started, looking up at Dream, “One of the men who was with George Davidson— Yeah. Yeah, Dream. He’s staying, so he’s requested that one of you just come and get him when Mr. Davidson is ready to be discharged. Okay! Thanks so much.” She nodded. “Yep. Bye-bye!” After putting the phone down, she smiled. “They’ll come get you in a few hours.”

Dream couldn’t hold back his own smile. “Thanks so much, you’re great,” he beams, tapping the desktop once before turning around. He wondered why he was overjoyed to see George as soon as possible, when he just experienced heartache in a way he never imagined possible. 

He couldn’t tell if George was blaming himself for all of this, or he was hardcore blaming him. Either way, it hurt worse than any burn he’d ever gotten. 

But he couldn’t think about it anymore. He’d already dug a hole deep enough to fit the three of them, and he didn’t want to drag them down with him. 

Dream sat, and he waited, and waited, twiddling his thumbs, singing songs in his head—anything to keep himself from picking up the shovel again.

And it felt like hours, yet again, before someone came to get him. 

But when someone did, it was Doctor Parsons. Though he didn’t call his name this time, he just walked up to where Dream was sitting and sat next to him like they were old friends, preparing to catch up. “Dream,” he greeted, spirits high.

“It’s good to see you, I think,” Dream chuckled, turning to face the doctor.

Parsons laughed, running a hand through his hair, which had fallen out of place due to his long shift (and lack of time to use more product). “It is, I promise. It’s just good news this time.”

Dream leaned in, awaiting whatever information the man was about to spew at him.

“We ran a few more tests, and he looks like he’s healing well!” Parsons sounded happier than anyone to be sharing this information with Dream. “He can go home in about an hour when I get him cleared. But,” he added quickly, “I need to have you help him in recovery—you and your friend—because he won’t be able to do much for a couple of days and he shouldn’t have much strain on his body, or something might happen again before he is completely healed.” 

“Just tell me what I need to do.” Dream sounded like he was pleading, begging for a quick escape out of that dreadful place. 

The doctor rose slowly. “The nurse, when she brings him out, will give you all the papers and tell you everything you need to know. Do you have a ride?”

“No,” the blond whispered. “I’ve been here since he has.”

Dream was almost ashamed to admit it. 

“Call your friend, then,” Parsons advised. “As soon as he’s here, we’ll get George out here and loaded into your vehicle.” With that, he was off again.

Phone now in hand after mindlessly seizing it from his pocket while the man spoke to him, he clicked the phone icon by Sapnap’s name. It didn’t ring once before the man on the other end picked up, answering with, “Is he ready?”

“Yes,” Dream sighed, relieved he didn’t have to explain it all right now. “As soon as you’re here, he’ll be ready.”

“I’m on my way as we speak, actually,” Sapnap said slyly, and Dream could just see the distortion of his face. It made him smile. 

“Be safe.”

Sapnap breathed a little heavier on the other end, like he was trying to suppress a weight, bottle something inside. “I will.”

Alone again, Dream was, but he wouldn’t be for long this time. He checked the time, 9:23. It was going to be a long night. 

It took Sapnap only one minute longer to arrive at the hospital than it did earlier, which mildly concerned Dream, but he wouldn’t say anything about it.  He was just thankful he was there with him, that he was unharmed (physically, at least).

Dream rose from his seat, and before he could reach the front desk lady, a nurse turned the corner with George rolling in front of her. The timing was impeccable, and Dream wondered if it had been calculated. Or maybe it was pure luck; something he lacked. 

“You’re both here for George, right?”

The two of them nodded in unison.

“Perfect!” She stepped to the side of George, a wad of papers in hand. “There’s not much you have to do, really. Just administer these meds to him—” the woman pointed to the top piece of paper “—by the dosage it says, and do it until they run out. Keep him resting, don’t let him do anything too strenuous, okay?”

“We’ll figure it out,” Sapnap said for the both of them, smiling down at George.

The woman smiled. “Well then, lead the way to your car!”

Sapnap didn’t hesitate to turn around and take all three of them to his parking spot, which was actually not a spot at all. His Porsche was right outside the front doors, and the smile on that man’s face was beaming when he turned around. “I didn’t want to make y’all walk farther than this.”

“That’s so you,” George chuckled, thankful for who Sapnap was. 

He’d opened the passenger's side door before jumping to George’s side, helping him up. Dream was on the other side of him, both hands gripping onto the brunet’s arm. “We got you,” Dream grimaced, still fatigued and the slightest bit weaker than usual. George wasn’t even that heavy.  

When George was finally in the car, buckled in, he muttered a strained, “thank you,” and smiled at all three of them.

“Be safe now, you three,” the woman cautioned gently, because she knew how they got there. 

Dream dropped into the back seat of the car after nodding to the woman and shut the door. Sapnap trotted to the driver's seat, settled himself in, and turned on the engine. “Time to go home,” he proclaimed, easing the car into motion. 

Home was where the three of them were now, together. It always hit Dream, and he knew it would never hit him any less.

Sapnap drove slower this time, careful, hyperfocused on his surroundings. Dream knew he was, too, and wondered if George was as aware as they were. He didn’t seem to be out of it, but he was definitely in pain. 

They were home before they knew it, though, and Sapnap was the fastest to George’s door. “I got'cha,” he asserted, and George allowed Sapnap to take his weight, lifting him cleanly out of the car and to his feet. Dream was right there when he was up, though, bending down just slightly so that when George put his arm around his neck, he wouldn’t have to strain a muscle to reach it. 

Without troubles, they made it to the porch and into the house, and then Dream and Sapnap helped George to the couch, where he would most likely reside for the next few days.

“I’m gonna go get the meds,” Sapnap remarked, turning back towards the door.

Dream didn’t have time to think about what this may lead to before Sapnap slipped back out the door. 

He also didn’t have time to think about how there was still blood, now dried, embedded into the couch's edge. So he ran to the linen closet, snatched the first not-white towel he could find, and ran back, throwing it over the stain. “We’re going to ignore that,” he faltered, but tried to save it with an airy chuckle. 

George breathed, but went silent. 

Don’t ask don’t ask don’t ask. You just got home. “How are you doing?”

Dream cringed at his lack of self control. 

“I’m okay.”

But he didn’t sound okay, not at all. No, he sounded much the opposite. George sounded like a stranger. “You don’t sound like it.”

George scoffed. “I almost died, Dream. I’m probably not gonna sound ‘okay’ for a while.”

“But you lived.” Dream sat next to him on the couch, close enough for comfort, far enough away to combat what was lurking within.

“You don’t understand!” 

Dream tensed up, his body jerking back marginally. “I was the reason you almost died, George,” he retorted. “What the fuck don’t I understand?”

George drew back, pushing back against the cushions. He was small, and it was Dream’s fault. Again. “I almost died without saying I love you,” George murmured. And Dream heard it, whether he wanted him to or not. 

He can’t mean it like that. Dream’s face contorted, features threatening to mash together and become one with each other. “What do you mean? It’s not like you haven’t told me that before—”

“You idiot,” George cut him off, exasperated. “I love you, Dream.”

Dream didn’t want to believe it. Not because he didn’t want it (he wanted it more than anything in the world, actually, to hold George and love him like he’d always wanted), but because he was afraid it was too good to be true. That he was just high off some crazy pain med the doctor had given him. He couldn’t face a worse hurt than he had the past few days. He couldn’t survive any more of that.

George just looked at him and shook his head like he’d never seen someone look like such a lost puppy. He rolled his eyes. “I’ll just show you.”

And George kissed him. 

It was like a fantasy being lived out in real time, because Dream had only envisioned this moment for what felt like forever. George’s lips felt perfect crashing up against his, and they both moved in perfect harmony like they’d done this every day. It was new. It was intimate. It was wonderful.

Dream couldn’t help but indulge farther into George, and he fell on top of the smaller man, accidentally letting some of his weight pressurize his stomach.

The brunet yelped into Dream’s mouth, and Dream jumped back. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry, I—”

George just laughed. And he sounded happy. “I could’ve died again! Like, come on,” he teased, “what’s wrong with you!”

“Oh, don’t even start this, because I will tackle you to the ground when you’re healed,” Dream shot back playfully, raising a brow.

“You can tackle me in another way,” George sang cunningly, “if you’d like.”

Dream just rolled his eyes, because he couldn’t deny how he’d love that. “Maybe when you’re not all bruised and on the verge of bleeding again, Georgie.”

The blond stood up with something renewed in him, something rejuvenated; something that might not have been there before. He liked it. He loved it. “You want some soup?” he asked, but didn’t wait for George to answer. “I’ll make you some soup.”

“I’d love some soup,” George professed, all bubbly and in love.

And it was calm. Domestic, even, after painstaking nights of worry that none of them wanted to relive. Healing would come, but for now, love would keep them grounded.