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There was a reason he named himself ‘Dream.’ Not that many people knew, of course, he didn’t go around telling, well, anyone.
It was almost funny that no one had ever thought about it for too long. People asked, of course, but they never expected a serious answer. In fact, if he told them the truth they wouldn’t believe him. Maybe he should try doing that sometime, if anything for the humor of it...or to finally let that massive secret out.
Dream could bend dreams. It wasn’t easy and he didn’t do it often, but Dream could change anyone’s dreams to anything he wanted. If one of his friends was having a nightmare...boom! Sweetest dream of a world made of candy. Some jerk who made his sister cry? Make him dream about a perfect future: money, success, fame, fortune, eventually going to absolute shit.
He didn’t know how he found out or why all of a sudden he could control dreams. He knew when it happened, well, at least, around when. It must have come when he was 9 years old, literally he couldn’t remember the entirety of 4th grade. He could recall Drista’s first day of preschool, then nothing until he walked into Mr. King’s 5th grade classroom half sick with anxiety.
It felt like he’d always known, existing as an innate part of him despite knowing it hadn’t been. He didn’t think about it too often, it gave him a headache.
Bending dreams felt...weird. Different dreams gave him different feelings, mostly bad. Giving nightmares was his least favorite. It made him feel like hundreds of bugs were crawling all over him for the entire next day. More than once he’d been sent to the nurse’s office for a lice check after he’d scratched his head too many times. The third time it happened, Dream had stuck his arm in an ant hill and pinched himself every time he twitched, effectively training himself to not react to the feeling. Despite the lack of reaction, Dream avoided bending nightmares...he still didn’t like it.
Sending lustful dreams made him blush….half loving and half hating them. Sex dreams made him unbelievably horny, almost desperately so, but unable to relieve himself of the feeling unless it was with the person he’d sent the dream to. That had been horrible to find out, by the way. After sending two or three dreams to crushes when he was 13 and stupid and them not jumping him, in fact, two of them had barely looked his way and the third had beat him up for ‘looking gay,’ he’d said, Dream had given up. He’d tried again with his very first long-term relationship, a whole 9 months, and simply put it was the Best. Sex. Ever.
Giving happy dreams would be awesome if they made him happy, right? Sadly, it wasn’t the case. Bending sweet dreams felt like Dream had completely emptied all of his happiness into the other person, leaving him with just barely more emotion than being completely numb. He cried inconsolably for hours the first time it’d happened.
He stopped if possible, that is, until high school when his best friend had started exhibiting the first signs of depression and had confessed to thinking about hurting herself. Dream had sent the best, happiest dreams he could for a solid week, dreams about her future as a doctor praised for saving millions of lives, or a scientist who engineered a way to stop world hunger with new food sources, or even once a full grown superhero who saved orphans from a burning building. He stopped when she told her parents she wanted to see a therapist, not wanting to forfeit any hope for a future.
That week was a blur, practically hell for Dream. He’d been exhausted, barely able to talk to his friends or participate in classes. Dream had vowed to never do something like that again, until his parents sat him down to explain that his teachers had emailed them about how amazing his behavior had been: he hadn’t been disrupting class, talking or being fidgety. They told him to keep it up, that they were proud of him. With tears in his eyes, Dream had given a crooked smile and thanked them, before staring at his closed door for well over an hour, empty.
It hurt, so badly, to think that him being practically a shell of himself was what his teachers and parents wanted, but it made sense. He had a gift, the ability to give people happiness. He shouldn’t take that for granted, but clearly couldn’t do it for a week straight. Eventually, Dream decided to choose a random classmate every day to send a good dream to, taking the weekend for himself to recover.
When Dream started Youtube, he got really good at sending dreams. It took him awhile to figure out how to send dreams to people he’d never seen, focusing on sometimes something as basic as a username was very challenging, almost doubly as exhausting, but he figured it out. The comment section and chat became his targets, choosing one every weekday to send a positive dream.
Two things happened: 1. He beat the Youtube algorithms and absolutely exploded, and 2. His dream sending made a ton of viewers see him as their comfort streamer, either because they experienced his dream bending or heard about how awesome he was from others. More viewers meant he needed to put more work into improving his content, more time streaming, and more exhaustion.
As much as he loved his work, being able to put himself out into the world creatively, he was struggling. Dark circles permanently etched themselves under his eyes, making him glad he’d never begun streaming with a face camera. He’d long since been ignoring the loose grey hairs that had come out in the shower and small streak at his temples that Drista liked to make fun of.
Dream had lost most of the muscle mass he’d had in high school from playing sports, never that good but certainly a hard worker, most of his clothes fit loosely at best, luckily he’d never been one for fashion and wore mostly t-shirts and sweats anyways. Besides, he barely left the house- took too much work- and those people he did see he could blame the weight loss on not being active and forgetting to eat.
Forget to eat was another way of putting it….too exhausted to eat anything other than microwave meals or dry cereal was another.
Dream struggled, sure, but overall he was fine. That’s what he was: fine; he wasn’t good, he wasn’t bad, just...fine.
“Beat that, Dream!” George cried, a final arrow sinking into the green man, dodging just a touch too late, causing a death screen to pop up onto Dream’s screen. He groaned, ignoring the gloating the older man continued to spout. Suddenly, he yawned, causing George to stop, “aw...poor Dweamie’s tiwed?” the brunette cooed, voice sickly sweet and mocking. Dream scowled, then another yawn slipped out.
George’s mocking stopped, face melting into an expression of concern, “seriously, Dream. If you’re tired we can stop for the night,” he offered, “you’re no use if you’re tired.”
Dream glanced as his phone, it was only 5pm and the older man had only been streaming for an hour. “Nah, I slept long enough and woke up a few hours ago. Just tired, I guess.”
He watched as George’s chat began telling him to go to bed, shifting uncomfortably. Dream didn’t like the viewers seeing him weak, “seriously, I’m fine George. I want another round.”
That night, Dream sat scrolling through his twitter mentions for a new target when George’s contact popped up- he was calling. The blonde immediately accepted the call, putting the older man on speakerphone, “hello?”
“Hey, are you going to bed anytime soon?” the older queried. That was weird…Dream smirked, “what, are you stalking me or something? I’m in bed now.”
George spluttered, causing Dream to laugh as he continued scrolling, “shut up, dumbass. I wanted to ask you if we could talk before bed, I'm worried about you.” Dream frowned, what?
“Why?”
The brunette’s tone shifted to something Dream couldn’t name, “you’ve been tired lately, have you been sleeping well?” The green-eyed man forced out a laugh, sounding fake to even his ears, great. “I’m fine, dude. I don’t know, maybe I’m not. I’ve gotten at least 8-hours a night, though,” he forced in a cheerful voice.
George sighed through the phone, amplified by the speaker. Dream hated lying. “Can we sleep call tonight? I know you wouldn’t lie to me or anything, but I worry about you. At least I can make sure you aren’t doing other stuff,” he trailed off.
Dream smirked, “oh yeah, other stuff? What kind of other stuff are you looking to see, Georgie?”
“You’re disgusting. I was talking about being on your phone or whatever, idiot. Are you in?”
The blonde sighed heavily, exhaustion coloring his voice, “fine, would it make you happy?” The older man affirmed. Dream plugged his phone in, focusing on George, the person he’d chosen for the night now that his search had been distrubed, and settling under his covers, “good night, George, sweet dreams.”
Dream groaned when he woke with sunlight bleeding through his eyelids, flipping onto his stomach. The movement caused a dull ache to throb behind his eyes. He brought the heels of his palms up to press on his eyes, relieving the pain slightly.
“Goodmorning, sleeping beauty!” a voice chirped from near his head. Dream groaned once more, needing a minute to re-orientate himself before remembering that he’d fallen asleep with George, “mornin’,” he grumbled, voice still gravely with sleep.
“D’y’know you talk in your sleep?” George said, voice high and amused.
Dream’s brow furrowed, releasing his eyes and seeing sparks of white flashing in his vision, “anything interesting?” The brunette chuckled deep in his chest, sending a spike of...something….down Dream’s stomach.
“Oh...a few things. Mostly just stuff I couldn’t understand. One time you said ‘George’ all moan-y though!” he absolutely lost it after those words, belly-laughing. Dream’s eyes went wide, before scowling, head throbbing, “oh, you’re joking. Very funny, George.”
George stopped laughing, gasping for breath, “you believed me for a minute! Nah, I really couldn’t understand- too quiet and tinny over the phone. That reminds me though-”
Dream buried his head under the pillows, wincing as another spike of pain rang through his head. Thank god it was Friday, he could spend the weekend recovering. This week had been rough for some reason, one of the reasons why George had probably realized he was off earlier.
“-Dream? You still there?” he blinked, forcing himself to focus.
He scratched the back of his neck, “uh, sorry. Repeat that?” George sighed, “I said that I’m leaving for the States tomorrow, one of my friends from uni decided to elope and marry a girl he met on vacation, stupid, y’know? So I’m flying in to...uh, one of the Carolinas tomorrow to be there for him. They’re getting married on Monday. Anyways, I’m staying with him for a few nights to dogsit, but then I was thinking maybe it might be cool to come and see you? If it’s not a bother?”
Dream’s heart leapt into his throat, “uh, yeah. North and South Carolina’s kinda far, you might wanna fly from there to here, but I’d be happy to have you, could stay as long as you want. I have the room,” he choked out, “um, not to pressure you or anything, but I’d like to see you.” George huffed out a laugh, “good, because I already booked a flight. I’ll see you two. I’d be flying on the Monday after next if that’s okay?”
The blonde quickly agreed, ignoring the dull ache as it subsided slightly. They talked plans a few moments longer, settling in the details, before deciding to stream in an hour.
They hopped on a bedwars server to warm up, swiftly switching from call to discord. They played a few rounds, more messing around than anything, when someone joined their channel.
“Hello?” George called while bridging. A sniffle sounded, causing both men to freeze.
“Hey, you guys aren’t streaming, are you?” Sapnap spoke low, voice heavy and damp. Dream quickly assured they were not while George asked what was wrong, both players going still on the screen.
The youngest choked back a sob with a cough, “m-my grandma died last night. We, uh, we’re planning things right now. I-um, I was really close with her,” his voice broke, “so I-I’m kind of helping a lot. Uh, I wanted to let you know. I-I probably won’t be s-streaming anytime soon, I’m sorry,” he broke down into tears.
George sucked in a breath, “Sapnap, we’d never expect you to stream when that’s going on, I’m so sorry. Take as much time as you need, we’ll push any group stuff until whenever you’re ready, okay?” Dream nodded, then remembered the younger couldn’t see him, “Sorry man, that sounds awful. I’ll be thinking about you, okay? Like George said, take as much time as you need. We’re here for you,” as much as Dream had been struggling, he knew that he’d be sending all of his energy to the raven haired man that night, “just keep in touch, check in with us, okay? I love you.”
Sapnap sniffled again, biting out a ‘love you’ before leaving the call as quickly as he’d joined. George and Dream stayed quiet for a few moments before agreeing to not stream right then, they weren’t really in the mood. Saying his goodbye, Dream rubbed his temples aggressively while signing off his accounts.
A rumble in his stomach challenged the weariness deep in his bones. He gauged the distance from his chair to the kitchen- not for the first time, mind you- and decided to brave it. After choking down the last few handfuls of cinnamon toast crunch, Dream collapsed back into bed to reschedule their planned recordings, trying to set up a few new solo or duo ideas. He needed to conserve his energy.
Night fell with Dream making very little progress on anything worthwhile. He was disgusting, needing a shower, but was planning on making that a problem for the next day. He’d made a to-do list before George got here, planning on spreading it out throughout the week to ensure he’d *actually* get it done. More than once he’d made the mistake of trying to do too many things in a day and being completely bedridden afterwards, actually being less productive that way. In 9 days he had to clean the apartment, fill the fridge, arrange a ride for George from the airport to his home (they agreed that with Dream’s car...the way it was...George would be safer in an uber), set up his recording room- that saw less and less use as his fatigue made it so he could barely leave his room some days- up into a guest room, and whatever else he thought of.
Seemed manageable, but without a full weekend of recovery, Dream was worried. Not worried enough to stop him from focusing on Sapnap when he fell asleep with his lights still on, simply too tired to turn them off.
A week had passed and Dream remembered why he didn’t do this, why he’d never gone more than a full week of dream bending. It felt like he was killing himself slowly...like one day he’d just go to sleep and never wake up.
He had a constant headache, distracting him from even the most basic acts of self-care such as eating or showering. Dream hadn’t looked into the mirror in a few nights, but was sure he’d look like hell. God, everything fucking hurt. He hadn’t been on the SMP in three days, most everyone asking if he was okay. The only people he regularly responded to were Sapnap (who he checked in with daily to ensure the younger boy was okay) and George (who updated him on plans and needed him for plug-in stuff).
He’d gotten exactly two things done: over the weekend he’d cleaned the apartment and on Wednesday the guest room had popped into existence, laundry moved off the bed and various other items that got shoved in there removed.
That was probably part of the issue, the work. He’d been too fatigued to do these tasks on good days, let alone after going on 14 straight days of dream bending. George was coming tomorrow and there was no food in the apartment, he’d checked when he still had the energy. Dream would have to put in a delivery order in the morning.
For now, he dragged himself out of bed to at the very least shower, if not brush his teeth. It’d been a few days. He knew it was getting bad when he had to shower sitting down, half-heartedly scrubbing at his body and hair.
Dream sat on the counter while brushing his teeth, head barely held up. He’d have to refrain from dream bending tonight- Sapnap had told them he’d been feeling better and was up for a stream tomorrow. Besides, he couldn’t let George see him in this state, half-dead.
He spit out the toothpaste, catching a glimpse of himself while rinsing his toothbrush. God he looked even worse than he felt, which seemed impossible. His cheekbones stood out pronounced, dark circles adding to the effect to make him look positively skeletal. The description probably wasn’t too far out, he’d noticed his shorts slipping just too low on pronounced hip bones, worse than before. His eyes were dull, sunk into his head.
Previously shiny dirty blonde hair, now dark and wet, was knotted and reached down to well below his shoulders. He didn’t want to attempt de-tangling that mess, ponytail it was.
The man stumbled back to his room, heavily leaning on every surface available, collapsing into bed. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow, body desperate for a fucking break.
George got worried as Dream still hadn’t responded to any of his messages, now almost to the younger man’s apartment. If they hadn’t been double checking plans for over a week and George hadn’t found the chauffeur with a ‘Gogy’ sign, he might have thought the other man had forgotten. Luckily the man had given George his door code, so he could enter whenever he came in.
After tipping the driver, George quickly found Dream’s home and knocked once, then again when there was no answer. Frowning, he entered the code and dragged his belongings into the apartment. Where was the younger man?
A meow sounded from near his feet, George automatically smiling and cooing at the small creature. He dropped his bags, scooping to pick up the kitty, “Patches! Where’s your daddy?” George queried, scratching under her chin. The cat seemed more interested in the attention, settling firmly into George’s arms and purring. The Brit smiled softly, missing his own baby girl at home, before settling the kitten on the floor with an indignant meow.
She walked down the hallway, passing by the neat and small living room and kitchen, both clean and barren of life. Dream had said he wasn’t much of a cook, but George was expecting some forms of life...maybe a bowl in the sink or cups by the tap, but perhaps the boy had cleaned before he’d came.
“Dream?” George called, not wanting to intrude on his friend’s privacy. He was, of course, a guest in his home. No response, once again, except for a louder meow from Patches. Needy cat.
George shrugged, leaving his bags to follow the small creature. She sat in front of the closed middle door, glancing back at him and flicking her tail expectantly.
“You want me to go in there, girl?” he asked, feeling silly for taking cues from a cat but without much else to go on. She meowed, almost as if she was responding. George had to tease himself for even thinking as such, she just seemed vocal.
Nevertheless, George knocked on the door. Without a response, he cracked the door, “Dream?”
He peeked his head around the doorframe, eyes widening at a lifeless lump lying in the bed, “Dream!” George rushed to the bed, gently shaking the slight figure with a small panic tightening his chest, if the younger man was playing a prank he was going to murder him, then bring him back to life to yell at him, then murder him again!
George threw off the blanket, revealing a shivering, small figure. He gasped, the man looked terrible. Terrible wasn’t even the right word...he looked, he looked dead.
Thank fucking god the younger man groaned, eyes opening weakly, “George?” he slurred. Dream shivered, teeth clattering, “time’s’t?”
George laid a hand on his friend’s forehead, finding it damp, but a normal temperature, “Dream, what- I don’t- what’s happening?”
The blonde groaned, weakly shaking off George’s hand and sitting up slightly, “I-I’m fine, just gotta get up…” The older swiftly grabbed the kid’s forearm, supporting him as much as possible as he stood.
Dream practically collapsed as soon as he put weight into his legs, closing his eyes as he prepared to hit the ground. He didn’t, and looked up confused. George’s face looked broken, holding the younger man under the arms. He lowered the two of them to the ground, gently supporting the blonde.
“Dream, you...I shouldn’t be able to hold you up. Y-you know that, right? I, you, I-I don’t understand. Are you sick, or, or…” he trailed off, tears welling up and sliding down his cheeks. Dream felt a spike of embarrassment, closing his eyes as tears pricked his own eyes.
“I-it’s a long story, George. I’m not sick, I just-” Dream blew out a harsh breath, “I-you’re not going to believe me.”
George cupped the younger man’s cheeks, feeling more than seeing heat rise in them, “Dream, I’ll believe anything you say right now darling, I need to know. I deserve to know why I found you s-so…” George stopped talking to swipe away a tear from Dream’s cheek tenderly.
Dream took in a deep breath, prepared to tell the only person in the world he trusted enough his biggest secret. It wasn’t scary, it was terrifying. “I-I can control dreams. It takes a lot of work a-and it makes me tired, but I can change the nature of someone, anyone’s, dreams,” he whispered, eyes flicking away from George’s face. He couldn’t see the older man’s reaction.
“When we slept on call?” he asked, voice hoarse. Dream nodded. “I thought it was odd, I don’t dream unless we’re on call,” George gave a little self-deprecating laugh, “why me?”
This part Dream didn’t want to answer, but he wasn’t going to start lying now, it wouldn’t be fair, “I-uh, I choose 5 people a week. It’s kind of my thing, like, donating...happiness?”
A tense silence filled the room, George’s hands coming to rest on Dream’s, thumb stroking the back of his hand gently. A few minutes passed before the older spoke, “donating?”
Dream winced, it was a bad choice of words, revealed too much. He nodded, neck muscles aching. George sighed, eyes closing. He needed more information.
The younger man got the message, mouth opening and words just spilling out. He told George about not remembering 4th grade, about one day just knowing, about the ants, the crying, the exhaustion, the headaches, Sapnap, this past two weeks, everything. Every secret he’d been hiding for years was spilled, filling the room with the tension he’d been hiding inside himself. Dream felt lighter than he’d felt in years.
George was...crying? He wrapped his arms tighter around Dream, sobs shaking his body. The blonde didn’t understand.
“Dream, y-you don’t find this fucked up at all?” George rasped. He flinched as if he’d been hit.
“I-I don’t understand, I’m only doing what I can! I’m dealing, George, I’m fine!”
The older man snapped, grabbing Dream’s shoulders and forcibly turning him to face brown eyes and a flushed face with way too much ease, “You call this fine? Weighing practically nothing and fucking collapsing, being practically comatose, having grey hair at twenty-one, not fucking feeling anything, being too exhausted to even keep your eyes fully open right now, that’s FINE?! Dream, you’re killing yourself trying to keep this up and don’t even realize it!” he snarled, fingers digging into where he held the younger man, likely to leave bruises.
Dream’s mouth gaped, opening and closing as he tried to think of something to say, some kind of defense. “B-but what, what about Sapnap? Was I just supposed to let him be sad when I could do something?”
George narrowed his eyes, “are you asking if Sapnap would rather you become nothing more than a shell in exchange for good dreams? Should I call him and ask, because I think you know just as well as I what his answer is going to be,” George said scathingly, voice as cold as ice, “I won’t, simply because you’re going to explain yourself how you nearly killed yourself once he’s back. The only reason you’re not doing it now is because I don’t think he could handle another person nearly dying on him right now. Did you even think about that, about how badly he would take this- knowing he’s your excuse?”
Dream shrunk back into himself, eyes flashing with panic, “I-It’s not that bad..” he whispered.
Fury blazed in George’s face, “NOT THAT BAD? Dream I thought you were DEAD. You look fucking sick...you’re at least 15cm taller than me and I can guarantee you weight significantly less. I-how long has it been since you’ve eaten anything of substance?” Dream had to think, the last few days had been blurs. “If you can’t remember, that’s a problem. Dream, this needs to stop, understand. You can’t keep...destroying yourself for other people, they don’t expect it and I promise they don’t want the consequences,” George paused, swallowing heavily, “I need you, Dream, and not just for content or whatever. I need you, and that means not half-delirious and exhausted or like...this. I want you as you, fuck everyone else, okay? Care about yourself for one fucking minute, and if you can’t do that, then care about me and what I need, do you understand?”
They were both sobbing by this point, Dream shaking as he cried into George’s shoulder. He’d fucked up, hadn’t he?
Eventually they detached, Dream half-asleep where he lay on the older man. George gently nudged him, hazy green eyes meeting his own, “would you sleep with me?” he begged, “I-I need you near me, I need to know you’re okay. I’ll order food while you nap, but, please.”
Dream nodded, heart breaking just a little further at the need in the older’s eyes, “m-my bed’s a mess. I-guest room?”
George stood, supporting most of Dream’s weight easily, making the blonde cringe once more. He was right about that, too. They slowly made their way into the smaller room, settling on the bed easily. Dream gave George his space at first, not wanting to force the older man to touch him.
The older sighed, gently guiding Dream’s head to lay on his chest, “sleep, Dream, and don’t focus on anyone else for once. Think about you,” he urged, desperation shining through. The green-eyed man nodded, eyes already drooping shut.
Right before he drifted off, Dream felt lips press against his forehead. “Sweet dreams, darling.”