Chapter Text
Dream lays on the Prison's floor for days, the back of his neck has stopped burning. He's so alone. It's quiet, it's always quiet. Apart from his own ragged breaths, the slow flow of the lava, and his ticking clock, it's quiet.
Tick-tock. Tick-tock.
Dream stares at the potatoes Sam had delivered earlier. He turns his back to them, his hand rests on the wound that healed when George came to visit. When George stayed.
Why didn't George stay? Why did George not come back? Was George dead? Sleeping? He mentioned that he was sleeping a lot.
"Oh George..." Dream coos to himself quietly, like he used to tease in their games with their friends... former friends. He repeats the phrase a few times, he does that frequently now. He just lays there and repeats it, sometimes he'll do it multiple times a day, sometimes he'll spell the words with his finger on the floor. Sometimes he writes about George. He throws those books in the lava.
Tick-tock. Tick-tock.
Today, he stares at his clock. The sound is enough to infuriate him. He's sick of it. He's sick of that stupid noise. He's sick of being alone. He's sick of the feeling of thread pierced into his heart, wrapped around his throat. He hates his attachment to George because it's gotten to be more than that.
The thread tangles his limbs now, loose enough to wrap around every single one. The worst is around his arms, tangling and limply hanging from them. He's hugged George with those arms, fought George with his hands.
"I'm always going to come back for you, idiot."
But he didn't. George never came back for him, and Dream was an idiot for believing he would.
Tick-tock.
Dream grabs the clock, violently throws it against the adjacent wall at the back of the cell. He screams until his throat is raw, slamming his fists against the wall, imagining it's George. George, who's face always appears in his head these days. George, who's voice haunts Dream's mind in the middle of the night. George, who's hands left ghost prints Dream remembers from years ago of hugs and happy times. George, who lied to him. George, who left him. George, who tied himself to Dream and sewed himself into Dream's heart and had the fucking audacity to leave.
He punches until he runs out of energy, dives into exhaustion. He slides down the wall with a hateful sob and bruised knuckles.
"I hate you."
Who the words are directed at, Dream doesn't know.
-
Its been weeks since George visited. Maybe. Has it been days? Weeks? Maybe a month?
Dream stares at the broken clock on the floor. The shattered glass reflects the orange glow of the lava.
Dream stands close to the lava, shivering from cold. How was he cold? He doesn't understand why his teeth chatter and his limbs tremble but they do. The chill is a deep ache in his bones that he can't shake.
Dream's thought about it more than once at this point. Too many times to not go through with it, he decides. Glass rests in his palm, grip loose as he sits on the floor.
This is it.
Dream takes a deep breath, and starts cutting at the ropes that tie him to George. His hand shakes, blood makes the glass slippery and hard to hold. It digs into his palm and makes it even harder but he doesn't stop, not until both arms have been practically mauled by his own hands.
The glass falls to the floor with a clatter, and Dream stands. He stares at his hands, dripping with blood and beyond recognizable to his eyes. Unrecognizable but undoubtedly his. He can feel it, he can feel every individual cut on his arms. He can finally feel it, freedom. Freedom is coming. Freedom from the faces and voices that haunt his eyes and mind. He's done it. Freedom from the strings that tie him to people. It's done.
-
Hours later, and Dream is being driven to the edge of insanity.
"Dream!" George's voice is right in his ear it's right there but George is no where to be seen where is he where is George he isn't there-
"Oh Dream~" he taunts, and then there he is. George is leaned against the back wall of the cell, an innocent smile on his face.
"I promised you I'd come back."
Dream lunges at him, his hands going through George's face, smearing blood on the walls. He screams in frustration. He wants him gone, he wants him dead. He isn't supposed to be here, Dream cut ties with him!
"Dream, I missed you."
"Shut up!" Dream grips his own hair and pulls violently before covering his ears, nails scraping at his scalp, "Leave me alone!"
Dream stumbles around his cell, chasing after his elusive friend, blood smearing on the walls and dripping onto the floor. He wants to strangle that fucking smile right off of that stupid face. He wants to stop hearing his voice. He wants, he wants, he wants.
Dream's knees give out, and he collapses onto the floor, head spinning as a pool of his own blood slowly begins to form from his arms.
"Dream, come with us. We miss you."
Sleep tugs at Dream's eyes, he can feel the warm embrace of Death approaching. He welcomes it, he's so cold. So very cold. Even with warm blood oozing down his arms he's cold.
"Oh dear…"
He's heard that voice before, gentle and carried by the wind.
Dream's eyes start to slip shut, and he sees feathers that hold the universe envelope him, warm company until his soul can be pulled from his body and finally pass.
"It appears it's not your time yet, Dream." She whispers.
What?
He reaches to grasp those feathers, to have the world at his fingertips, something bigger than him to hold. He barely grazes them, before his world turns black like the walls of his cage.
-
Dream wakes to a steady beeping sound, and a hand in his own. His head hurts. He looks up, the lights are off. Where is he?
Turning his head to his left, is a heart monitor, an IV bag, and a bag of blood. He looks a little further down, and sees who's holding his hand. His stomach twists in rage because he almost got excited that it might be George. That emotion quickly turns to shock, and his eyes burn with tears when he sees who's at his bedside.
"Momma?"