Work Text:
George is dying.
There's nothing he can do about it.
George is dying.
Tommy is already gone, dragging the bloodied sword behind him as he walks away from the scene. They were getting in an argument, and Dream started to pull out his bow, but Tommy was faster. Tommy was faster, and now George is dying, and it's all his fucking fault. Dream doesn't remember falling to the ground, he doesn't remember dragging himself over to George. Dream shifts his friend so he's laying across his lap, tilting his head back so he doesn't choke on his own blood.
"George.." Dream whispers, tears already blurring his vision. "I'm so sorry, I didn't..I thought..you shouldn't have.."
"It's okay," George laughs, immediately flinching when he does. He buries his head into the side of Dream's chest, gasping for air. "Fuck. It hurts, Dream. It fucking hurts," George rasps, clutching onto him. Dream holds him back, his heart shattering at how small George looks here. He's always been small in comparison to him, but George is so small. He's half curled up, blood everywhere, and there's..there's nothing Dream can do. "I thought dying was supposed to be peaceful."
"You're not dying," Dream laughs, hands shaking. "You're gonna be fine, okay? Sapnap's on his way with a potion."
"He isn't," George rolls back, his eyes already glazing over. "You're such a shit liar," he giggles, wincing. Dream does the same, pain coursing through his veins. He might not be dying, but he feels like it. George smiles up at him, blood trickling down the side of his face. "I'm sorry. I know you- that you're in.."
"Yeah," Dream smiles back, holding him a little tighter. "It's okay."
"I love you."
"Don't say that. It doesn't mean anything."
George is quiet, and Dream wishes that he wasn't. "It means something," he murmurs, his voice soft. "Just not what you want it to mean."
"Yeah," Dream agrees, looking down at the stab wound in George's stomach. There's so much fucking blood, and there's..there's nothing he can do. George is going to die, and he can't do shit about it. "I'll kill him," Dream promises. "I'll fucking kill him. I- I'll kill Tubbo. That'll be worse. I'll kill Tubbo, and I'll make him watch, and-"
"Don't," George scoffs. "Don't do that. You're already an asshole," he teases. "Seriously. Don't. It's not worth it. I don't want you..I don't want you to do that," he murmurs. "I don't want you to hurt them. They're just kids." Dream wishes he could bring himself to argue with him. He wishes that he could yell and shout, he wishes he could tell George how wrong he is, how fucking stupid he's being.
But he can't. Not now. Not ever.
Dream closes his eyes, letting the rage dissipate. "You're not even thirty," he laughs. "You're so fucking young."
"Well," George smiles. "It's war, Dream. What did you expect?" Dream expected George to live.
"I thought I could protect you."
"You did."
"Not good enough."
George shakes his head, the action very clearly laborious for him. "It's okay. There was no way you could get to me fast enough. When I'm gone, wi- will you bury me? By my mushroom house. I liked the house," he turns, snuggling closer to Dream. "I'm so tired."
"Please don't go," Dream pleads, tears streaming down his face. "I don't know what to do without you."
"I know," George mumbles. "I'm sorry. I love you."
"Not like I love you."
"No," George agrees. "Not like that."
Dream holds him as closely as he can, resting his head on George's. "I never meant to fall in love with you. I couldn't help it."
"It's okay. I'm sorry I couldn't fall in love with you."
"It's fine."
"Okay."
Dream listens to George's ragged breathing, listens to the way he gasps in pain. "I don't want to stay here without you."
"Then don't," George murmurs. "Take me with you if you go. I don't care about the house that much. Not as much as you."
"Stop saying those things," Dream laughs, but it comes out as a sob. "Please stop talking like that."
"I'm sorry."
"It's my fault," Dream reassures him. "Please be okay. I'll do anything for you to be okay."
"It isn't up to me," George whispers. He reaches up, cupping Dream's face with his hand. "Be safe, okay? Don't hurt them. They're just kids, they've been through too much. Please don't," he smiles, blood staining his lips. "I'm tired."
Dream leans into the touch, nodding. "Go to sleep."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure. I love you."
"I love you too, Dream."
"Yeah."
"You're my best friend."
"I know."
"Okay."
Dream can't stand to look at him, so he doesn't. He stares off, looking at New L'manberg. He hears George gasp, taking in his last breaths of air. He hears the rattling wheeze, he can feel George's grip on his arm and chest start to loosen. "Dream.." he squeezes his eyes shut, refusing to look down at the broken man in his lap. He waits a few moments before he opens his eyes again, glancing down at George. His eyes are open, staring back at him.
Dream sobs, turning away as fast as he can. George's body is cold. His blood is still warm. There's so much blood.
He gently rolls George's body off of his lap, looking away as he drags his hand over his face. "I'm sorry, George." Dream murmurs. He wanted to kill Tubbo so badly. He wanted to hurt Tommy just as badly as Tommy had hurt him, but..he can't. He's so tired. He's exhausted. He doesn't feel anything. He thought he would feel more. Is he just numb to pain now? Has George's death already started to affect him? That's not how it's supposed to work, right? It should take months before he's over it.
Right?
"Let's go home," he scoops George's body up. "Let's get away."