#dnf angst

Dream is too nice. At least George thinks so. He's never seen Dream angry.

Like truly angry. The type of anger that leaves you feeling like someone set fire to your blood as it flows through your veins.

He's seen Dream frustrated. Seen him overwhelmed to the point of tears.

He's witnessed Dream get angry before, of course. But always over petty things.

Never anything that truly matters.

It had kind of shocked him. When Dream wasn't angry when everything went down with Quakity, and then Tommy.

He was sad. So devastatingly sad. And scared. Terrified even. But not mad.

George thinks he had the right to be mad.

Their ignorance and refusal to communicate had put him, put his family, in danger.

But still, he wasn't angry. Frustrated perhaps. But not actually mad.

He's too forgiving. Even after everything, he was still desperate to get in contact with them. He wanted an explanation.

He kept insisting that there was a valid reason for the things he did. And he was willing to forgive them for it.

Dream was so sure that he had done something wrong, and that if he could just reach out to them he could apologize and make it better.

It made George feel sick.

He remembers the day Dream had finally returned home after surgery, having finally healed enough for his mom to feel comfortable sending home.

He still wasn't completely healed. He would still need to take it easy to avoid tearing or opening his stitches and would still need help changing his bandages.

But he wasn't bed bound anymore.

It was while George was helping change out his bandages that Dream had asked him to try reaching out to Tommy.

Anytime he tried to call it would either ring until it went to voicemail or would be immediately hung up.

George had reluctantly agreed, but only under the condition that he would do so in a different room. He wasn't sure how the call would go, if Tommy would answer at all, but he had a feeling it wouldn't go well.

Unfortunately, he had been correct.

It had started off fine.

Tommy greeted him the same way as he always did, as if he hadn't just dragged his best friend through the mud and left him, and his family, for the wolves.

The conversation was normal for a minute or two, only going downhill when George brought up the 6'2, man shaped elephant in the room.

"Dream's been trying to talk to you."

George isn't a hundred percent sure how the the rest of the conversation. He's pretty sure the anger simmering underneath his skin caused him to black out.

He's pretty sure there was a lot of cussing on his end, probably on Tommy's too. He's also pretty sure he had called him a "spineless, sorry excuse for a friend."

He knows that by the time he hung up the phone he was shaking. He had been filled with so much genuine rage that he felt at risk of exploding. Like throwing a balloon at a cactus.

He had stormed back into Dream's room, ready to rant.

However, all of the fight drained from his body when he saw Dream.

The man was laid out in bed, looking exhausted. George didn't understand how a man so large could look so small.

Dream had looked up at the sound of him entering the room.

"How'd it go? " His voice sounded so hopeful, like he genuinely believed that George could have helped.

George didn't get a chance to respond before his face gave it away.

"Oh." Dream had muttered, voice dejected as he stared down at his duvet and began to pick at the fraying edges.

When Dream began to sniffle, George decided he could be angry later. For now, Dream needed me.

George crawled into bed with him. He carefully pulled Dream to his chest.

Dream cried. He cried so violently that George had begun to worry that he would tear his stitches open.

He cried so hard for so long that he had begun to gag, choking on his own heaving breath and sobs.

He finally feel asleep after nearly twenty minutes, but it was fitful.

George had asked him later, how he wasn't mad.

"I spent so much of my childhood being angry. At everything. And everyone. I hate how it makes me feel. I don't like being mean."

The response was saddening. It made him wish he could somehow crawl inside Dream's ribcage and coil himself around his heart. The way a snake does it's clutch of eggs.

It's a morbid thought to have, he knows. But he's small enough to fit. And the closer he could get to his heart, the easier it would be to protect it.

He could wrap himself around it, hissing and scratching to anyone who gets too close. Anyone who even attempts to break it.

Dream doesn't like being mean, so George can do it for him.

☆

George hasn't left his bed in days. He's gotten up to piss, and a couple times to eat.

But besides that he hasn't moved since laying down almost immediately after pressing the upload button on his last response video.

He feels drained if all energy. It feels like he's back in London.

The thought terrifies him.

He rolls over in bed, looking at Dream.

Dream had come into his room sometime after Caitis final stream.

The two hadn't spoken much, besides very briefly discussing if he should make a response to the last statement.

They eventually decided against it. She made it clear she wasn't going to listen to anything else he had to say. And everyone else was already drawing their own conclusions. So they didn't see the point.

Now, Dream is laying on his bed phone screen illuminating his face in the dark room.

There's a furrow in his eyebrows and he looks frustrated.

"Wha' you doin'" he questions, voice slurred from disuse and his drowsiness. He's tired. He's oh so very tired. He feels like could sleep for ten years and wake up still tired.

Dream startles at the question, dropping his phone face down on his chest.

He turns to look at George, taking in his appearance. He seems to consider for a moment before sighing and handing George his phone.

It's opened to Twitter dms. The dms are with Sophie, yet another creator he can't remember ever having a conversation with claiming he's an awful person "behind the scenes". It's beginning to drive him mad.

George reads the messages, unable to contain his scoff as he reads the most recent one that says something about an among us lobby.

He hands the phone back to Dream, feeling speechless. Him and Dream hold intense eye contact for a moment.

Eventually, George decides he's too tired to be awake any longer. He flips over to face the other side of the room, away from Dream.

He can't help it when, a seconds later, he begins to sniffle. Tears well up in his eyes and he squeezes them shut in hopes of stopping them.

"Are you ok?"

George can't help the harsh laugh that escapes him.

"No, I'm not fucking ok." The words are harsh. He's being mean. Dream doesn't deserve the anger directed at him, but he's angry and sad and just so tired.

"Everyone's treating me like I'm some sort of a fucking monster. Hell, everyone's treating you like you're a monster and you didn't fucking do anything. And I know I fucked up. I really, truly do. But that doesn't make a some sort of-"

George cuts himself off with a sob.

"I'm sorry." He cries, voice wobbly and wet with tears.

Dream is in his space in an instant. He wraps his arms around his waist and tucks his nose against the back of George's neck. He holds George close to his chest and he continues to cry.

"I know, George. I've got you." Dream coos.

"Please don't leave me." He begs, sobbing louder.

So many people have left him in the past three weeks. Turning their backs on him without bothering to talk to him.

When everything happened with Dream, he joked that he would have killed himself.

He thinks he would actually go through with it if Dream, or Sapnap for that matter, were to ever leave him.

Dream's arms tighten around him, pulling him impossibly closer.

"I'm not leaving. I promise. I'll stick around for so long that you'll get sick of me. I'm not going anywhere until you ask me to."

The words are spoken with such conviction that George has no other choice to believe him.

He let's out a wet laugh. "I'd never ask you to leave."

"Then I'll never leave. "

George manages to fully calm down sometime after that. Comforted by the weight of Dream's arms around him, he falls asleep.

☆

When he wakes up, hours later, the room is dimly lit by the sun that shines through the window.

Dream's still asleep next to him, laying on his stomach with an arm thrown across George's body.

George leans over and picks up his phone. For some reason he decides to check Twitter. It's a bad idea. He knows it's a bad idea. Everytime he opens the app he's bombarded with thousands of messages.

Some of them are words of support.A lot of them are telling him to hurt himself or wishing that he will get hurt.

When the app finally loads, the first thing he sees is a thread from Dream's private Twitter. It's about his messages with Sophie.

He reads through it heart fluttering at the way Dream defends him.

Defends them.

Dream presents them as a combined front.

Phrases like "us", " we", "our", and many more littered across the thread.

He clicks the profile and finds another one about Conner.

After he finishes reading that one, he turns to look at Dream. He looks so peaceful as he sleeps, unbothered by the world around them.

George turns back to his phone, looking at the profile. A picture of Patches stares back at him. He stares back.

He considers for just a final moment before making a decision.