Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Rain pattered against the glass, coating it with droplets that reflected the street light just outside George’s kitchen window. The sun was long below the horizon- it was nearing winter, and the days were short. His day was beginning to draw to a close, any and all obligations fading into the background noise to join every new raindrop that splattered onto the translucent surface.

It was typical weather for this time of year. Gloomy, damp, and altogether uncomfortable. The cusp between acceptable warmth and the utter cold, teetering between the two and never quite able to choose for a solid month. He had no consistent wardrobe, and was never sure if he would wake drenched in sweat or with mild hypothermia.

He stretched, socked feet carrying him towards his room. Just before he closed the door behind him, he reached out to pat his hand along the wall, finding the lightswitch and flicking off the lights in the hallway, then closing his door with a soft click.

His room was where he spent most of his time. With his PC and setup just across from the foot of his bed, how could he not? It was how he made a living. But work time and time to himself had two very distinct, very different vibes. He was not taking a seat in his chair, pulling on his headset- instead, he was collapsing face-first onto his covers, digging his phone out of his pocket and propping his chin up to look at the few notifications on the screen.

Discord, a random picture from Sapnap he had no doubt was dumb, and nothing else. He frowned, unlocking his phone and opening the messages app, finding he had to scroll to come across the name he was searching for. Dream. The last Dream had messaged him was yesterday morning, claiming he had some family event and would be gone the rest of the day. George hadn’t thought anything of it, he was a busy man- but he never messaged again after that. It was uncharacteristic, Dream was very good about replying, and was never wrong about when he would return from small absences. Even if it did run later than intended, he was quick to send George an update explaining the situation.

He sighed, about to exit the app and watch something on youtube when his screen went blank for a moment, vibrating in his hand just as Sapnap’s profile picture popped up, requesting to call him. He pressed accept without a second thought, hitting the speaker button and letting the phone rest on the covers in front of him.

“What do you want, Snapchat?” He asked, the feigned exasperation in his voice a common greeting between the two of them.

“Did you see Dream’s tweet?”

Alright then, straight to business. No tease back? Was something the matter? Sapnap always found time to tease his friends, especially in retaliation.

“No-”

“I’m gonna call you back on discord, get your laptop or something,” Sapnap spoke harshly, his words sharp and demanding. Something was definitely wrong. Did Dream tweet something stupid, take a joke too far? What was Sapnap all riled up about?

He opened his mouth to respond, but Sapnap ended the call before he got the chance. He furrowed his eyebrows, reaching for where his laptop was sitting on his bedside table and pulling it towards him, opening the top and clicking on the discord icon on the hotbar.

He clicked on the server they shared with Dream- finding Sapnap already waiting in the voice call they used when they recorded. He joined, making sure he was unmuted, and pushed the laptop a few inches away so he had room to look at his phone.

“I’m opening twitter- what did he even say?” George stared at the bird in the center of his screen, waiting for the app to open completely. Once the familiar interface popped up, he tapped the search bar, typing the first two letters of Dream’s tag before his account popped up. He followed it, scrolling down to see his most recent tweet.

‘Hi guys! Due to some personal conflicts, I’ve made the difficult decision to take a brief hiatus. I’ll update you all when I determine when I will return. Thanks for being understanding!’

He stared at the letters, lips parting in shock as he read them over and over again. This didn’t sound like Dream- stiffly formal, announcing a hiatus? He couldn’t think of any two things that were less Dream-like. Workaholic, jokester Dream?

“What the fuck-” he started, the swear falling from his mouth in the midst of the overwhelming confusion that surged through his mind.

“He didn’t even fucking tell us. He didn’t mention shit, and he just goes on a hiatus?” Sapnap was most definitely annoyed. George could tell easily by the way he spoke, the tension that was etched into every word. He had a right to be annoyed- what was going on? Their best friend had personal issues bad enough he needed to take a break, and he didn’t mention a single word?

“I’m gonna try to call him-”

“I already have. Three times. He didn’t pick up a single one,” Sapnap interrupted again, only confirming that he was in a foul mood. George ignored what he said, opening the phone app and pressing Dream’s name.

It rang, and the two of them sat in silence until the call finally failed. He stared down at the “Call Unavailable”, a pool of dread starting to build up in his stomach.

The dread only intensified as time passed. He kept calling Dream constantly- at least every 15 minutes- with hope that he would pick up at least one. Drop a tweet like that, and then not answer any of his friends’ concerns? Every passing second George grew more and more concerned that something awful had happened.

“I found a flight from London to Orlando,” Sapnap spoke after a prolonged period of silence, George’s eyes ripping away from yet another “Call Unavailable” and instead fixating on Sapnap’s discord icon.

“What?” He set down the phone for a second, a notification popping up on his computer screen that guided him to his DMs with Sapnap. He clicked on the link, an airfare website popping up that showed a direct, overnight flight from London to Orlando this coming Friday night. It was Wednesday, wasn’t it? Early Wednesday morning?

He glanced at the time in the upper corner, frowning. It was nearly 5 am, but he could hardly see himself sleeping when he was worried sick over Dream.

“Even if he picks up at this point, it’s clear he’s off his fucking rocker, dude. He needs someone there, don’t you think?” Sapnap’s aggression had faded over the past few hours, instead shifting into muted annoyance and borderline exhaustion.

“If I’m going to Florida, you are too, dumbass!” George snapped, Sapnap’s weak laugh echoing out of the computer.

“If you can find me a ticket, I’ll go, pretty boy.” There was the Sapnap George was more acquainted to. He opened a new tab and pulled up the same website, clicking on the search bar and hitting the drop down menu to peruse the locations available still. He was disrupted by his phone buzzing, the soft ring of an incoming call making his heart skip a beat.

He didn’t even have to read the name to know who it was, a fuzzy image of Dream holding Patches flashing across the screen. He pressed the answer call button before the first ring had even gone all the way through.

The screen shifted, a small timer appearing and an array of buttons. He pressed the speaker button, the timer just barely hitting two seconds on the call’s duration. His body was alight with coiling emotions- anger, concern, frustration, fear- they were directed at all different things, but they managed to shove themselves into one cohesive sensation that carried over into the intensity of his voice.

“DREAM?!”

Chapter Text

Seventy-three missed phone calls. He wasn’t sure who they were from- he hadn’t bothered to check. The notifications for his messages had long since been turned off. He couldn’t bear to pick up the device- the stabbing pain through his skull catered to that very effectively. It had been. . . he wasn’t even sure how long it had been. Hours? Days? Weeks? Any one of them could have been true and he would have no way of knowing.

He shifted, rolling onto his side and gathering the sheets between his trembling fingers. The soft fabric was wound across his skin, fibers brushing against the pads of his fingertips and grounding him to his own present reality. The dull grey wound down around the exposed skin of his abdomen, circling his calf as if it was a snake, ready to constrict around his body, squeeze his life force into the mattress pressed below his shoulder blades.

These migraines were really starting to impact his day-to-day. They had started some time ago- once a month, maybe, sometimes even less than that. It was okay then, he could take the night off from social media and expectations pretty easily. Say he had some obligation, maybe a dinner with Drista and his mother. But now? They had become weekly. They got worse on top of that, condemning him to bed rest for hours. At their worst, they would incapacitate him for days on end.

The doctor said they were primarily stress-induced. He should remove stressors from his life if he hoped to see any improvement. But stressors were his life, his joy, his everything- what was anyone supposed to do when their entire existence was one huge stressor? The light of screens constantly bombarding him, the pressure of getting everything right. He was always under fire regardless of if he did something or not. It was just the life of someone with a large sphere of influence, and it was something he put up with every day. He would find a way around it, he always did.

Green eyes flickered open, staring down at the crumpled sheets. The only light was the constant flashing of his phone screen as another call popped up. Was he really that concerning? He hardly considered himself important enough to gather this much attention. All he had done was send out one little tweet. George should have been asleep now, and Sapnap wasn’t one to spam call him until his battery finally drained down to zero.

He picked up his head, waves of dirty blond framing his face as he glanced at the bright screen. Even without directly looking at it, it sent a jab of pain just behind his eyes. But he was able to make out the time. Midnight.

So it was midnight. He had been lying here for close to five hours. In all honesty, he was unsure if he had fallen asleep at any point during the whole time. It felt like it had passed in a blink, but simultaneously the blank spot in his memory seemed to drag on for far longer than that.

He exhaled, a puff of air escaping slightly parted lips. He couldn’t do much except wait- wait for the migraine to pass, wait for the strength to return to his body and mind. He had been doing a lot of waiting recently. Maybe some of the things he was waiting for contributed to the state he was in.

Avoid stressors. The doctor had told him to avoid stressors, and the migraines would slow to a stop.

He groaned, rolling to his back and lifting his hands to drag down his face, pausing to rub furiously at his eyes. He opened them again, the tingling static in his vision dancing in tune to the thoughts in his head. Avoid stressors, but how? Avoid his career, his friends, everything he cared about? Disconnect himself from the world? Everything was a stressor, was he supposed to sit on his ass for the next year or so? Then he would just be stressed about not being productive.

There was no winning. He furrowed his eyebrows as his hands drifted up to work into his hair, tugging at the strands in thought. Where did he draw the line? The question had plagued him before, but after announcing he was taking a short break from all social media to his entire fanbase? It was more pressing than it had been before. He was almost obligated to come up with an answer. He let out a frustrated groan, dropping his hands to his sides. He could call George or Sapnap-

No. No, he shouldn’t. He didn’t need to bother them any more than he already did. But hearing a familiar voice. . .

“Alexa, call George.”

As soon as the words left his mouth he regretted them. It was- fuck, 5am in England, or something like that. What was he doing? George was asleep. He shot up into a sitting position far too quickly, ignoring the overwhelming pain that made him want to curl into a ball and reaching across his nightstand to jab the decline call button on his phone. It rang less than once, and he was about to end the attempt at contact, his finger hovering above the button as the screen turned from a pending call to an active call.

“DREAM?!” The voice that came through the speaker was undeniably George. The slight rasp that the phone brought, the smooth and gorgeous tone that carried a familiar, comforting melody. His stomach twisted like someone twirling pasta on their fork. Why was George up this early, did something happen?

“Are you okay? It’s like- what time is it?” he tried to make himself sound at least semi-normal. He could find a way to end this call and then leave it at that.

“Am I okay? What the hell, Dream?! You tweeted you were done with content for a while and then immediately went silent- I’ve been trying to call you for hours and you didn’t pick up!”

Dream could recognize the undertones of George’s voice now. After so long of only being able to communicate through voice chats or facetime, he had grown very accustomed to picking up moods based on tone alone. This tone was one he hadn’t heard before- desperation. Concern, perhaps. Flecks of anger scattered throughout. He was glad this wasn’t a facetime, it meant George couldn’t see his recoil at the underlying aggression.

“Did he finally answer?”

The second voice was softer, almost distant. But he knew it just as well.

“Sapnap?”

“I’ve been on VC with him all night, we’ve been calling you nonstop. What happened, what’s going on?” George cut into the conversation, steering it back to the original topic. He heard rustling as the phone was moved. If he had to guess, George had placed it closer to his laptop so Sapnap could be involved in the conversation.

“I-I’m fine. Really, it’s okay. Just some headaches. Have to take some time away from bright lights.” The white lie escaped from a clenched jaw, being met by a moment of silence.

He hadn’t told anyone except his family about the migraines. It’d been months, he had seen his friends in person in that time, and he still didn’t tell them. He was scared, mostly that they would find him weaker than he already was. He pulled his bottom lip below his teeth as he sat on his bed, crossing his arms over his chest and pulling his knees in closer. The glow of the phone screen illuminated features twisted in a combination of pain and swelling anxiety.

“Dude, your voice is shaking. No bullshit, what the hell is going on?” Sapnap, ever the eloquent soul, at least had the sense to keep his voice low and soft. It helped quell Dream’s nerves, not to have someone borderline screaming at him.

“I told you, it’s headaches-“

“It’s JUST headaches?” Sapnap interrupted, emphasizing his point. Dream fell silent, the lack of response telling more than any answer could have. Sapnap’s sigh carried through the speaker after Dream neglected to explain- Dream could almost see the way he probably rubbed his eyes, leaning his forehead into the palms of his hands as he sat at a softly illuminated desk, speaking to a discord screen.

The miles between the three of them stretched infinitely longer.

“I should probably go. . .” Dream’s voice was barely above a whisper, but with no noise disturbances his phone picked up on it nonetheless. He reached to grab the device, thumb pausing as it came within millimeters of shutting down the one line of contact he had made almost completely against his own will. The light stabbed his retinas, scorching his brain, as the screen brightened when George spoke again.

“Sapnap, I found one for Saturday, I just sent you the link,” he spoke to the youngest, message not intended for the man curled into his sheets and debating cutting himself off from the world. Regardless of the fact that he had no part in this little exchange, it ignited his curiosity enough to pull his thumb away from the decline button.

“Yeah? Give me 10 minutes and I’ll book it. You’re set for a Friday overnight?”

What were they talking about? He was in too much pain to think extensively, but that didn’t stop him from rolling possibilities around in his head. He set the phone down so it rested on the mattress beside him, reaching down to snag the edges of his blanket and haul it up over his shoulders.

“Dream, how’s the spare room looking?”

His shoulders tensed, the realization rushing across his body, slamming into his chest like a freight train. Friday overnight, Saturday- were those flights? No, he couldn’t have them show up now, no! He was having migraines weekly, maybe more, there was no way he could bury himself in his own facade with- fuck, what day was it?

He scrambled to grab his phone again, pressing the power button to look at the date. He cringed at the rush of light, struggling to read the letters printed beneath the time. Wednesday.

Three days.

He couldn’t do this.

“It’s not usable. You guys can’t come here. Cancel the flights,” he was breathless, words catching on the panic that surged into his lungs and muted the clarity of his words. His voice trembled, and he pulled up the call window again. Just end the call, Dream, push the button and don’t look at the phone again. Eliminate stressors, the doctor said.

God, he was very, very stressed right now.

“Mine’s nonrefundable. Sorry dude, looks like you’re gonna have some company. And who knows when I can get a flight back into Texas? Might be a while, huh George?” The soft lilt to Sapnap’s voice drew Dream into the soft embrace of nostalgia. Their late night calls, constant pestering and teasing during manhunts. It was familiar. In a way, it was safe. Safe to hear the Sapnap he knew, one that wasn’t focused on nitpicking about his problems.

“Ohhhh nooo, my hand slipped. I accidentally just bought a one way ticket to Florida. Oops.” George played into the tone Sapnap was trying to establish, drawing a chuckle from the aforementioned.

Nostalgia and familiarity were good, but they did nothing to dampen the raging panic that wound through Dream’s limbs. He had to prepare for the two closest people in the world to spend some unknown amount of time with him- he had to reconstruct his meticulous facades and barriers, something that took months the last time they had seen each other, all in the matter of three days. It was an insurmountable task.

Appearing confident and calm was easy over voice calls. Being the Dream that broke records, cracked jokes, was all around a positive influence- that was easy when all he ever had to use were his words. His mannerisms, his subconscious mind? Those were much more difficult to disguise.

He couldn’t hide shaking fingers as he reached for a water bottle, couldn’t hide quickening breaths and wide eyes, couldn’t hide baggy clothes and dark circles. He couldn’t hide the man behind the mask. The fanart was all accurate, portraying him with a mask. More accurate than anyone thought.

“Dream? Did you hear anything I just said?”

Sapnap’s voice gripped his throat with cold hands, startling him out of the dull thrum of his thoughts. He physically jolted at the shift, once again thanking whatever god was listening that he wasn’t on camera right now.

“No, I-“ He paused, pulling the blanket closer and squeezing his eyes closed to ward off the moisture that clung to his eyelashes. “I just zoned out, sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. I just said I was gonna sign off. I have to pack, and uh. . . most of my clothes are currently on my floor, so probably do some laundry.” He let out a nervous laugh, not giving Dream a chance to say goodbye before the sound of someone leaving a discord call played through the speakers.

“Dream?”

It was just him and George now. This was okay, this was gentle. He hadn’t been on a call with just George in some time, there was always someone else present. He liked the way George’s tone softened, quieting to a whisper.

“Yeah?” He couldn’t avoid his voice cracking during the word, jumping an octave as the intense waves of emotion that had been bubbling into his vocal chords finally spilled over.

He ducked his head to wipe his watering eyes and nose on the blanket wrapped around his shoulders. It wasn’t the most graceful thing in the world, but he never claimed to do anything elegantly.

“Nothing, it’s nothing. I’m sorry I got so frustrated when I first picked up the call, I just. . .” He sighed, and Dream could envision the way he pressed his lips together when he was annoyed, the gentle flush that decorated the soft skin of his cheeks, his eyes focused anywhere except the source of his annoyance. He wondered if George looked the same now. “I was worried. I thought- we thought something horrible happened to you when you wouldn’t pick up the phone.”

“I’m sorry I scared you,” Dream apologized, eyes downcast as he fiddled with the edge of his shirt.

“You have nothing to apologize for. It’s almost 1am for you, isn’t it? You should get some sleep.” George skillfully navigated his way around Dream descending into guilt, instead switching the conversation to a much lighter topic.

“Can’t sleep,” Dream replied with honesty, seeing no reason to hide not being able to fall asleep. For all George knew it was a one-time thing. Blissfully ignorant to the exponential exhaustion his friend spiraled into.

“Alright, well are you on your bed?” George paused, continuing when Dream made a soft noise of confirmation. “Good, good. Lay down for me?”

Dream frowned, picking up his phone and settling it on the bedside table. He grabbed his pillow, sliding it away from the center of the bed and pulling it closer to the phone’s speaker. It took a bit of careful manipulation, but he was able to work himself into a somewhat comfortable position. He was laid out on his back, one hand draped across his stomach and the other resting on his pillow beside his head. His hair splayed out on the contrast of the white pillowcase, surrounding his head in a silky golden halo.

He didn’t have to say anything, George instead taking the lack of rustling fabric as an indication Dream had complied with his request.

“Thank you. How’s your head doing?”

“It’s. . . okay.” Another white lie. It had maintained an excruciating level of discomfort throughout the whole night, with the only small gaps coming as random periods of respite before it returned worse than it had been before. His short conversation had managed to peel his thoughts away for just a moment, but it hadn’t reduced the magnitude whatsoever.

“So not good.” George let out a soft and breathy laugh, likely in exasperation. Dream didn’t particularly care for the reasoning behind it- all he knew was that the sound filled him with a sense of peace and calm. On his own, George tended to have that effect. But when he was paired with any of their other youtuber friends, it was an entirely different story.

“Alright, how about this?” Dream shifted, turning his head to look away from the ceiling and instead at the darkening glow of his phone screen before it went completely black. Darkness clawed its way into the room, submerging everything that touched it all at once. It was easy to understand why such a beast would terrify someone who was young and naive, but the older you grew the more you understood that the void could sometimes be welcoming. With no light to tell him otherwise, Dream could almost imagine his friend was lying beside him.

He would be soon, some part of his mind tried to remind him. But the larger part of his consciousness knew that was untrue. If he couldn’t find some way out of the visit entirely, he knew George would not spend his nights soothing frayed nerves. He would be in the spare room, or on the living room couch, however they chose to split his house’s limited availability.

Like this, with only his own company and his imagination, he could think of some other world where he could reach out and grasp the back of George’s shirt, pull him closer instead of pushing him away. He didn’t have to shy away from Sapnap smacking his shoulder with childish joy. It was a world that was far away, one he would only cradle against his chest and cherish for moments where he could ponder the what ifs.

Nobody wanted to piece him back together, and he was willing to accept that.

Sometimes, he just liked to pretend.

“Close your eyes, and take a deep breath,” George said, his voice crackling through the speaker next to Dream’s head. He could hear a soft pattering in the background. Was it raining in England? Even as they approached winter, Florida was still as hot as ever. The divide between them stretched farther, the ocean expanding as it drew them apart. A satellite migrating out of perigee, pulling farther away from the planet it revolves around.

He complied, eyelids closing as a deep breath was drawn into his lungs. He held it for a moment, and exhaled with the same longevity. He wasn’t sure what George’s goal was here, but he was happy to play along.

“Keep your eyes closed and just listen. If you start to feel tired, let yourself sleep, okay?”

“Mhm,” he hummed his understanding, trying to ignore the raging storm inside of his skull. George wanted to help him fall asleep. The thought was there, but Dream doubted he would be able to do much of anything. It did give him an opportunity, however, that he could not pass up. If he was silent, long enough that George believed he was slumbering, the call would go dead. He would be alone again, and he would feel the world lifted from his shoulders. He did not have to worry about being a burden with nobody around to truly burden, and he would have time to find a way to call off the visit.

“I’ve been reading this book lately, I think you might like it. Weight, I think the title is. With everything about Theseus going on on the server, I started reading a bit more on mythology. It’s, uhh- it’s about Atlas and Heracles.”

Dream found a slow smile drawing across his face as George stumbled through his explanation. He was clearly tired, the way he had to make awkward pauses, how a word or two jumbled together, but that didn’t seem to dissuade him.

“All I ever heard about the myth is that Heracles took the world off of Atlas’ shoulders for a little while, that he let him take a breath, but this book goes more. . . in depth, I guess you could say?”

He had only moments before been confident he wouldn’t sleep tonight, so why did his eyelids feel glued shut? His muscles relaxed, the constant nipping of his migraine finally subdued as his heartbeat slowed. This had to have just been some sort of insane timing, didn’t it? The pain just chose now to break. Nobody could force his hand when it came to migraines, not even his own mother. They ended when they ended, it was as simple as that.

“It’s more than just that. It’s about Atlas before and after Hercales- lots of loneliness and despair.”

Dream was no longer listening to what George was rambling about. All he could make out was the way George’s accented voice faltered on occasion, how he could hear the smile through the phone.

When a satellite exited perigee- the end of the elliptical orbit closest to the planet it orbited- it had to pass a brief moment where it was at its closest possible distance to the planet before it continued, moving towards to farthest the satellite would ever travel- the apogee. The tug of the planet’s gravity was stronger, yanking on the satellite, coaxing it closer, whispering about how easy it would be to simply fall together.

Dream felt a pressure in his chest as his thoughts dulled to nothing, a tug on a line tied directly to his heart. The metaphorical string was pulled taught, a gentle pressure that reminded him someone was on the other side, pulling him towards them.

He reached out, fingers wrapping around the string as it appeared in his dreamscape, for once in his life tugging back, fingertips winding around the thread as he stepped forward, following as it disappeared into the empty void that wrapped around him.

“It talks a lot about burdens, which is what intrigued me the most. Atlas carried the weight of the world and Heracles offered to help him- it was kind of… oh, what’s the word- symbiotic? Heracles got what he wanted, and Atlas got a break. I think it kind of, I dunno, connects to actual real things. People bearing burdens, but someone else helping them along the way? It’s a lot to think about- too much for me to really get into right now. I’m tired, and not completely done with the book.”

George’s voice halted, hearing gentle, rhythmic exhales that just barely found their way to the microphone. He hummed, a noise soft and content.

“Good night, Dream.”

The darkness in the room receded as the phone lit up, the screen showing a haphazard, blurry picture of George’s face as he attempted to obscure the camera. The buttons on the bottom of the call flashed red, the screen remaining illuminated for a few seconds before it dimmed, eventually turned off, and plunged the room into an inky black once again.

Chapter Text

Dull pressure gripped his body, squeezing and constricting almost every facet of his existence. The thundering pain of the migraine had since subsided, but the unrelenting discomfort persisted into the morning hours. He could function like this, at least.

With a groan muffled by his pillow, he rolled onto his side and blinked the sleep from his eyes, hand knocking into something heavy. He frowned, grabbing at his phone on the bedside table and squinting at the harsh light. It didn’t bother him as much, but it was a far cry from pleasant. He checked the time and sat up straighter, blinking again to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. It was 3 in the afternoon- had he really slept that long?

God, that gave him even less time to work his way around Sapnap and George tormenting him for weeks. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, having to steady himself on the mattress for a moment as his head spun at the sudden change in altitude. His room was still almost entirely dark, the slightest amount of sunlight filtering in from around the edges of his blackout curtains. No wonder he hadn’t woken up.

He grabbed a sweatshirt from his closet, one that was a rich blue color, and tugged it on over the shirt he had finally fallen asleep in the night previous. His fingertips paused on the cold metal of his door handle, brain working in overdrive as the events replayed over and over in his head.

Did he really fall asleep to George rambling about a fucking book?

He stifled the desire to slam his forehead against the door until he passed out again, instead running a frustrated hand through his hair and yanking the door open to face the rest of the day.

His first order of business was to feed a very disgruntled Patches, apologizing profusely as if she could actually understand his words. He must have forgotten last night, but she still pushed the top of her head further into his hand as he gave her a quick, apologetic scratch and left her to eat. Sometimes he almost thought she could tell when he was struggling- if he had let her into his room last night she would have insisted on laying on top of him to smother his migraine herself.

He glanced around his home, finding there was really nothing to do in preparation for guests.

No, no guests. None at all- he WAS going to find a way to have zero guests. Do not prepare for guests.

But would cleaning really hurt? No, it would not. He was a clean person to begin with, so there was hardly anything to tidy up. Doing some vacuuming and wiping down the counters would only help him calm his nerves and organize his thoughts into something more coherent.

He untangled the cord and plugged the vacuum into the wall, starting up the machine and running it across the carpet mindlessly. He didn’t want Sap and George here, right? He loved them- he loved them to death, but this wasn’t something he wanted them to see. In his current state, there was no way he would be able to hide all of his imperfections like he usually did. The few times he had met one or both of them there had been weeks or months in advance for him to mentally and physically prepare himself. Mere days weren’t even close to sufficient. With that amount of time, the best he could do was get himself fully functional. Even that was a bit questionable.

The noise was a bit abusive to his still-sensitive eardrums, but he just grit his teeth and ignored it.

On top of the two of them coming to visit, they also knew something was wrong. They weren’t stupid, especially not when it came to him. It was almost scary how well they had gotten to know every inflection of his voice, every hesitation, and pause. It was good that they had progressed past the need for the ‘how are you feeling’ stage, but it also made it significantly more difficult to maintain this carefully constructed picture of himself. He had managed it so far, but after Sap picked up so quickly on his white lie about it just being headaches, he was scared that mask was about to be torn away.

He stood the vacuum up and grabbed one of the blankets thrown haphazardly onto the couch, folding it and setting it back down on the cushion. He repeated the process- wow, he had too many blankets. Why did one person need 3 different blankets in one room? He asked himself these questions every day.

What else could be vacuumed? The spare room, his recording room, the hallway. Might as well work his way down the list. He unplugged the vacuum to move it to the next location, head still churning with about as many thoughts as could possibly get crammed into his skull.

What was he even gonna do if he couldn’t convince them to stay put? He wasn’t ready to house two people for some unforeseen amount of time. He needed groceries, needed to rearrange the house, needed to tuck things like medication into a cabinet so it wasn’t just sitting on the bathroom sink. He was used to his home being empty, so he didn’t care where things were. More and more got thrown onto his ‘to-do’ list. He wanted to put off the trip if he could, but he also wasn’t going to just let himself be totally unprepared if he failed in that aspect.

His phone vibrated in the pocket of his joggers, and he turned the vacuum off to pull it out and check what it was. He unlocked his phone, tapping on the group chat he had with both George and Sapnap. An image took a moment to load, then popping up as Sap taking a half-assed picture of two bags sitting on his bed, his face in the bottom corner of the frame with a stupid grin and a peace sign. His black hair was hanging down over his forehead, a few strands poking up in random places to give him the vibe of a bedhead that hadn’t been totally fixed. Dream didn’t doubt that was exactly what he was looking at. He exited the picture, typing a quick reply.

[From: Dream] its not too late to unpack those

It only took a second for the boy to respond.

[From: Sapnap] not a CHANCE

[From: Sapnap] plus ik u want to see me ;)

Dream huffed, shutting off his phone and shoving it back into his pocket to resume slightly-more-stressed vacuuming. They really weren’t going to drop this, were they? He ignored another buzz from his phone as he pulled his chair out from his desk so he could fit the head of the vacuum underneath it.

He could always come up with some lie. His mom was sick? No, Sap definitely still had her number from the time Dream had no service for a week. They knew he was home because of last night, so no chance of saying he had a trip. Even if he said he had some highly contagious illness they’d still claim he needed someone to take care of him and show up anyway. Was there a way out of this?

More importantly- did he want there to be a way out of this?

Yes, his brain told him it was stupid to allow them to be here. It was dumb, and them finding out about his fragility was inevitable and terrifying. But he ached for some company, especially the company of people he enjoyed so much. The angel and devil on his shoulder bickered back and forth, warring in his head and driving a divide through him.

He wanted nothing more than for Sap to tackle him into a hug like he always did when they first saw each other. To have George greet him in the morning with a cup of coffee he somehow always made perfectly. To stay up and watch movies until they fell asleep on each other.

But he was still afraid, almost obnoxiously so. He didn’t want anything to change, and no matter how much people claimed it wouldn’t it always did. Even subconsciously, opinions, and actions always changed when someone learned significant information about another person. It was selfish, but he wanted to cherish what he had forged. If they learned his thoughts, saw his struggles, then everything he knew would slip through his fingers. Why would they want to be around someone that was cracked and splintered- fraying at the edges. He couldn’t lose them, and the only way to avoid spilling everything that raged in his head was to keep them at arm’s length.

Inviting them into his home was not arm’s length.

He cringed at the taste of iron in his mouth, releasing his bottom lip from between his teeth. He didn’t even realize he had been biting his lip. His tongue pressed against the small cut, and he looked around the room he was in.

At some point during his inner turmoil, he had migrated through his home, vacuuming and tidying where tidying needed to be done. And now, he was standing in the spare bedroom with no clue how he ended up there. He looked down at the pillow in his hands, shoving it back where it belonged on the bed. He sat down on the pale grey covers, the bottoms of his feet protesting from walking around for so long with no shoes. The clock perched on the desk read close to 6:30. How had he been cleaning for over 3 hours? It felt like he started 15 minutes ago.

Now that he looked around, the room was spotless.

He leaned his elbows on his knees, putting his forehead in the palms of his hands and squeezing his eyes closed. His breaths shifted, becoming a bit more shallow as short puffs of air escaped his lungs. Why was this so difficult? It would be so much easier if he could just make up his goddamn mind-

Something brushed against his leg, a moment later Patches shoving her head beneath his arm. He lifted his head and moved so she could nudge her way into his personal space. A soft smile crept onto his face as he complied with her demands for attention, nerves settling before they had the chance to knot themselves together.

“Where would I be without you?” he mumbled, and she just stared up at him with wide eyes.

He forced himself to put the vacuum away once Patches finally had enough of him, and flopped onto the couch just as the clock hit 7:30. He found the remote shoved into the crack between the cushions, turning on the TV and flicking through channels until a football game flashed across the screen. He turned the volume up just slightly, setting the remote back down on the couch and fishing his phone out of his pocket.

George had responded with his own packing update, which he quickly responded to and then closed so he could avoid the lump that threatened to lodge itself in his throat. He let his phone lay facedown on his chest, hands resting on his stomach as the noise of the game brought his attention back to the TV.

The Giants and the Eagles were playing, he had forgotten the matchup for Thursday night was those two. He didn’t care much about either of them, but it was better than wallowing in his own silence. The Eagles were losing miserably, as per usual.

He tried to pay attention to yet another failed play, rolling his eyes as the Eagles were again forced back towards their own endzone. 4th and 16, pretty much a guaranteed punt. His interest dipped as the game continued on, and he raised his hand to muffle a yawn.

He woke up like 6 hours ago and he was already tired. It was almost laughable, he might have been more annoyed if he wasn’t on the edge of sleep. After a migraine, after cleaning the whole day, after mentally exhausting himself by overthinking everything- it made sense.

His eyes slipped closed, the background noise of the TV chattering through the room, the glow shifting as the images on the screen changed. Even though the cheering of a successful interception, he managed to slip into a soft sleep.

A loud thud startled him out of his rest, his phone now lying on the floor instead of where it had been settled on his chest. He must have rolled onto his side and knocked it off at some point. He let out a soft groan, leaning closer to the edge to grab the device and put it on the coffee table before he rolled over again. His back faced his phone as it sat on the table, screen flashing as a string of texts came through.

[From: George] leaving for the airport in 6 hours :)))

[From: Sapnap] pog when r u landing

[From: George] like 7 i think

[From: Sapnap] sucker i land at noon

[From: George] SHUT UP

[From: Sapnap] no u

After the disruption of his phone falling, he was never really able to get back to sleep. He laid there with his eyes closed, drifting in and out of a very light slumber before he gave up on trying.

At least he didn’t sleep into the afternoon this time.

The back of his neck protested as he slowly pushed himself into a sitting position. His head was propped on the arm of the couch all night, which admittedly wasn’t the most comfortable way to sleep. Not like he could take it back now, though. He rubbed the spot that was sore, making his way to the kitchen to scavenge for food.

He pushed the thought of the impending disaster from his mind, finding minimal comfort in pretending this day was like any other. He constructed a loose grocery list and headed out, leaving his phone on the coffee table in an attempt to avoid the way his heart picked up whenever it buzzed.

He managed to make it through the day by repeating the same ‘I don’t see it therefore it doesn’t exist’ method. It was the first time in probably years he went the entire course of the day without picking up his phone. It had stopped buzzing halfway through the afternoon, which he could only assume indicated the battery was dead. That- or. . . Fuck, or George was gone. Which meant George was flying. Towards Florida. Towards him.

The soreness at the base of his neck felt almost identical to the day after back squats at the gym. The heavy bar rests just across the back of your shoulder blades, cutting into the skin and leaving a barely-there bruise against the bone at the peak of your spine. The weight still bore down on him, his shoulders folding inwards.

The weight of the world was not an easy burden to bear, Atlas served as a testament to that statement. His solitude and his responsibilities pushed through the soles of his feet, emanating into the ground below him. Great mountains stood stagnant, the tides of the sea swaying at steady intervals. He was everything and he was nothing, holding up the heavens yet unknown by even the most curious of adventurers, profound scholars. Overshadowed, and condemned to an unchanging, uncomfortable existence.

Green eyes stared into the water running from the faucet and cascading into the bowl of the sink. Sleep had escaped his grasp, abandoning him to lay on top of his covers and stare into oblivion for a majority of the night. Wether it was nerves or revenge for sleeping far too much in the past 2 days was unclear to him, but as the sun greeted the horizon his window of opportunity drew to a close.

He cupped his hands beneath the icy flow, gathering a bit of water and half-splashing half-rubbing his hands on his face to wake up. He picked up his washcloth from where he had set it down beside himself, drying off the excess water and blinking furiously.

His reflection stared back at him in the mirror, the tips of his hair damp and his face flushed from the shock of the water. He looked away after only a second, turning the lights off and pulling the door closed behind him.

His eyes found his phone, still lying facedown on the coffee table where he had left it all of yesterday. He picked it up, hesitation tingling in his fingertips as he pressed the power button. Nothing happened. He frowned, having to backtrack to his room to plug the device in and leave it on his bedside table to charge. Whatever mess he had left for himself would have to wait a little while.

His body was tired after a night of no sleep, but his brain was firing like a cylinder engine, pressure building as thoughts exploded in rapid succession. He half convinced himself he was dreaming. Nobody was showing up to his door, his friends were in their respective time zones, and he could maintain the vaguely shaky level of normalcy he had grown accustomed to.

He bat away any nervous energy, forcing it behind the haphazard wall around the most sensitive parts of his brain. In times past it was a fortress of indestructible material, but now it was held together with school glue and duct tape. Three days was not enough time, but he was far too scared to ponder the consequences of that just yet.

He picked up the remote and jammed the power button to get the TV playing, ignoring the shaking of his fingertips and pressing the buttons far too aggressively. Some random season of Survivor settled into background noise, and he tucked his hands between his thighs once he sat to dissuade the tremors.

His eyes fixated on the imperfections in the coffee table, scanning the grain of the wood- scouring for anything that could clutch the fraying ends of his attention and weave them back into a coherent braid. He disregarded the changing of the clock, consumed only by his own thoughts and lack thereof. He bounced between two extremes so quickly he thought he would make himself motion sick.

The complexity of his mind’s web was ever-increasing, thoughts leaving a trail of thread that tangled and meshed with others, weaving and twisting overtop of his brain.

The blade of a sword sliced through the intricate lace of doubt, instead instilling an instantaneous panic at the sound of knuckles rapping against a door. His breath caught in his throat, mouth going dry.

His socks made muffled noises as he walked towards the door, the conflict that raged through his entire being surging to a climax when his fingertips wrapped around the cold metal of the doorknob.

Push them away, send them home. They will find out, and they will hate you. You are weak, you are nothing they thought you were.

Wrap them in the warmth of your home, welcome them inside and relish in their company. They will hate you with time, but you will feel friendship until then.

Both sides laid down their weapons, reaching across the battlefield to interlace their fingers, holding hands and joining company.

They will hate you with time.

He jerked the door open before he couldn’t anymore, his chest heaving as bright green eyes flooded with panic locked onto painfully familiar and simultaneously foreign faces just before him.

He had no time to decipher himself before he was wrapped in warmth, arms pulling him forward and drawing him closer, closer to the steadfast beating of a heart beneath his fingertips.

His hand came to a rest on Sapnap’s chest out of instinct, but he recognized his hesitation and countered it by winding his own arms around his friend, forehead pressing against the crook of his neck as a warm smile spread across his face entirely against his better judgement.

He lifted his head eventually, the laugh that ripped through Sapnap’s being transferring to him. His smile turned into a grin, the tides that churned in his mind calming to a ripple in a temporary wave of tranquility.

His eyes shifted from the black-haired man still giggling and hugging him as if he would disappear in an instant. Instead, they found the second of the party that had landed on his doorstep. The Uber they had taken backed out of the driveway, speeding down the road and leaving the three of them the only people in sight.

He took in the white-rimmed sunglasses shoved onto the top of his head, brown hair ruffled up and eyes rimmed with exhaustion after a long flight.

His smile was barely-there, but it spoke volumes without having to utter a single word. The soft affection in the way the corners of his mouth quirked up, a gentle and otherworldly glow that the early afternoon sun cast across his skin.

“George! Get over here!” Sap pulled himself away from Dream, reaching out to close his fingers around the man’s slender wrist and pull him closer, pull him into them.

For a moment, the weight lifted from Atlas’ shoulders as Heracles entered his realm like a beautiful storm. He offered only temporary relief from the burden of a lifetime, but that was not where Atlas found his pain began to ebb away. Instead the raw and all-consuming isolation fell into the ravenous waves. The thunderclouds broke, spreading and drifting away into memory to reveal the vast and uninterrupted sky specked with a thousand pinpricks of light.

Another arm slipped around his waist, almost unnoticeable through Sap’s excited chattering, through the laughter that consumed the three of them. He felt the fingertips gripping his side, felt the impossible warmth of the two men he found his greatest comforts within.

And he felt like he was coming home.

Chapter Text

It was far easier than Dream had initially anticipated to slip into a more comfortable state of mind. The bubbling and building paranoia that had knotted itself into his stomach eased ever so slightly, shifting to the back burner of his mind. He had helped them bring their bags in from the driveway- Sapnap immediately called dibs on the spare room. George was too tired to protest and accepted his defeat with poise and grace, condemning himself to the couch for the duration of their stay. However long that was? Nobody really knew that. Not yet, at least.

“Should we order pizza or something?”

Sapnap lounged on part of the sectional sofa, his hood pulled up over his head and his phone resting face-down on his stomach. His legs were kicked up, the arm of the sofa just below the crook of his knees.

“Hmm?” Dream glanced up from the TV remote, locking eyes with the man that was staring pointedly at him. Sap shifted, pushing himself up on his elbows. His hood fell away as he did so, leaving his hair messy and disoriented.

“Should we order food?” he repeated the question, observing the way Dream blinked a few times and finally processed the question. He set the remote down on the coffee table and leaned back into the cushion behind him. He was sitting on a single-person chair that was set up across from the sectional, the only “free” side of the table. Two sides were taken up by said sectional, leaving the single chair on the third and the TV at the fourth. It was mounted on the wall, a few inches above an oak shelf lined with various games and a few consoles. All of the furniture was spaced fairly far apart. Dream had a nice house, and plenty of room to make everything comfortable.

“Oh. I, uh- sure? I’m not hungry, but I’ll order whatever you guys want,” he answered as casually as he could, ignoring his heart catapulting itself into the void at his little white lie. He was hungry. He was very hungry, actually- he hadn’t eaten in what had to be. . . he thought about it for a moment. Since Wednesday, before his migraine had kicked in. That was a little over 3 days ago. But he knew if he ate anything he would get anxious again and just throw it back up. Not a good way to avoid suspicion. He could cram a sandwich down his throat tonight after the both of them went to bed just to keep himself going.

Sapnap seemed to believe him, to his relief, and instead turned his attention to the blob of blankets sprawled out on the other half of the sectional. Just the top of his head was visible, fluffy brown hair spread across the couch pillow he stole from the unoccupied loveseat shoved against the wall in the guest room. Sap frowned, reaching behind himself to smack George’s head lightly. George jolted awake, jerking away from where he had felt someone hit him. His eyes were wide with confusion and muddled exhaustion, but when he saw the amused smile on Sap’s face it quickly turned into annoyance.

“What was that for?!” He snapped, lifting his head off the pillow to glare at the youngest of the three. Sap just snorted and laughed, ducking his head and turning away when George’s pillow was thrown directly at his face.

“Sorry, didn’t know we had sleeping beauty over here.”

“I’m tired! I had a 13-hour flight and it’s literally-” George glanced at the clock on the TV stand. “-Almost midnight in England. So WHAT do you want?”

Silence fell over the trio for a second before a faint wheeze drew both of their attention. Dream was leaning back in his chair, his fist crammed against his mouth to keep himself from making any noise. When they both looked at him in confusion and surprise, he wasn’t able to hold himself back. He pulled his hand away, taking a deep breath and trying to speak before he just fell into a fit of laughter.

He clapped his hands, barely able to breathe through the high-pitched, airy sounds. George blinked, still tired and disgruntled from Sap’s oh-so-kind wake-up call.

“You sound like a teapot.”

The lack of emotion in his statement made Dream laugh harder, Sap finally breaking and joining as well. The two eventually calmed, struggling to breathe and occasionally erupting again when they saw George’s entirely unamused expression.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, you just sounded too much like a married couple,” Dream eventually managed through a huge smile, wiping beneath his eyes with his fingertips.

“You’re both the worst. Did you wake me up just to make fun of me?” He huffed, stealing the pillow back from Sap and shoving it under his head.

“No! No- don’t you DARE go back to sleep you bitch.” Sap tried to smack George again, but George bat his hand away. “What do you want for food?”

“I dunno,” George said through a yawn, drawing one of the three blankets piled on top of him even closer to his chest. “What do you guys want?”

“Dream said he isn’t hungry, and I kinda want pizza.”

“Then order pizza,” George mumbled, peeling his gaze away from Sap and instead looking at the other member of their little group. “Dream, you’re not hungry?”

Dream was thankful for the dim lighting. It was pretty much winter, the sun was already very far gone. If not for that, they probably would have noticed the way he tensed just slightly.

“Yeah, I ate a lot this morning before you guys got here.” He pulled the excuse out of his ass, forcing himself to relax and pull at his hoodie strings to seem significantly more casual. George narrowed his eyes, a flicker of doubt flashing across his expression. The fear returned to Dream’s stomach, clenching down and cementing his belief that if he attempted to eat now he would just get sick.

“Alright, whatever. I’m going back to bed. Wake me up when it gets here.”

Dream heaved an imaginary sigh of relief that George just dropped the subject, pulling his phone out of his pocket to place a delivery order. He paused, frowning and instead opening the notes app. It was almost 7 at night, and he worked at a restaurant when he was in high school. He wasn’t about to place a delivery order that late on a Saturday.

“What do you want?” He mumbled, typing in a drink for himself and then picking something random for George as well. He seemed like someone who would enjoy Sprite, so whatever.

“Just get a large half pepperoni. Oh, and get me a Coke- wait, shit nevermind. Ordering drinks for delivery seems like a dick move.”

“Nah, I’m going to get it. It’s Saturday, minimum wage isn’t enough to cover how fucking painful managing a shit ton of delivery orders is. So Coke?”

“Yeah, sure. Want me to go with you?” Sap finally sat up completely, swinging his legs around so he was sitting normally on the couch. He stretched his arms above his head, wincing when his shoulder popped.

“I got it. Someone’s gotta be here in case George wakes up so he doesn’t think we ran away.” Dream sighed, running a hand through his hair and eventually forcing himself to stand. He straightened his hoodie, pausing for a moment to let the brief spell of vertigo pass. It wouldn’t take more than 30 minutes, they would be fine here for a while alone.

Sap called out a goodbye when he heard the garage door open, grabbing the remote to turn the TV on and settle in.

The windshield wipers moved methodically across the glass, the dull hum of the engine swelling through the interior of the car. Florida was notorious for random bouts of rain, to begin with, so when the gentle patter of droplets commenced he couldn’t be particularly surprised. He exhaled, his grip on the steering wheel loose and his eyes on the road ahead. Driving was always casual, calming. Especially in the rain at night, when all he could see was the pavement reflecting his headlights and the trees on either side of the asphalt.

The radio crackled as the next song began. His brief tenure of silence only stretched a few seconds, in the interim of melody broadcasting into the bubble of space that a car created. He hummed along to the familiar tune, his fingertips tapping against the material in time with the gentle bass.

Even if he was outside of his home, it all felt a little surreal. He was going to pick food up for George and Sapnap. Who were staying in his home. For an extended amount of time. A small frown tugged at the corner of his mouth as he flicked on his turn signal, slowing and pausing at the stop sign before he continued his route. The trees thinned and morphed into buildings, the glow of other headlights now shining in his line of vision.

He was still hesitant to let himself relax around them, it seemed foolish to let his guard falter and make himself more vulnerable. It would only end in disaster, he hated every moment that meant risking his own neck for the sake of comfort. He turned again, pulling into the parking lot of the pizza shop and putting the car in park, pulling the key out of the ignition. He didn’t get out yet, instead leaning his forehead against the steering wheel for a moment. The silence was consuming as the anxiety in his gut twisted, flickering back to life after a temporary break.

What was he doing? How did he even end up here? He had failed to avoid the visit altogether, and now he was just accepting it? Laying down and dying, baring his throat to the sword of his mind. He felt pathetic, that he had so quickly given in to his desires for comfort and company. At this rate, he would just start talking about his issues like his friends were a goddamn therapist. He took a deep breath to dissuade his rising heart rate, squeezing his eyes closed for just a moment. He really had to get a handle on his emotions if he was going to control himself. He felt like he had the emotional stability of an elementary schooler.

“Right. Right, pizza,” he spoke softly to himself, surprised by how his voice wavered when he did so. He leaned back in his seat, running both hands through his hair and sighing. Why did it always come back around to this? Why was he always so weak, it made no sense. What did he do in some past life to deserve being so goddamn fragile?

He shoved the door open and got out of the car before he could put it off any longer, gripping his phone and his wallet and walking in the door. There was nobody inside, so he was able to order at the counter right away and then sit down to wait quietly. He fiddled with his phone, unlocking it and pressing the messages icon to send to the group chat that he had just ordered.

He set the device down, instead pulling at the sleeve of his sweatshirt and staring aimlessly at the back of the chair across the table from him. He was thankful that the overwhelming nature of his thoughts just a few minutes ago had dissipated, but now his brain was just a dull buzz. Nothing of note surfaced in the ocean of static. It was far less stressful, but it did feel a bit lonely. He couldn’t win no matter what he did.

It seemed like only a second passed before his name was called, and he stood up to retrieve the pizza box and the plastic grocery bag with 3 bottles in it. He nodded in thanks, setting the box down on the table behind him so he could grab his wallet and use his thumb to pull a $5 bill part of the way out, shifting his grip to hand it to the worker.

“I didn’t see a tip cup at the register, so here,” he explained, and the girl who looked to be around his sister’s age took it from him and thanked him with a smile before retreating back into the kitchen area. He remembered how much it sucked ass to work in customer service, he wasn’t about to leave without tipping, even if his order was literally less than 15 bucks.

He shouldered the door open, awkwardly digging in his pocket for the key fob and unlocking the doors to his car. He set the box down on the passenger seat and the bag on top of it, crossing to the other side so he could pull himself back into the vehicle and turn it on.

His phone connected to the bluetooth instantly, unpausing whatever song had been playing when he turned the car off. He jumped at the sudden noise, scrambling to turn the volume down as his heart rate spiked. He blinked and then barked out a short laugh at how much a radio managed to scare him. Before he left he reached into the bag beside him, finding the bottle of ginger ale he had gotten for himself and unscrewing the lid to take a small sip. He set it back down in the cupholder, almost cringing when his stomach tightened in protest to the scent of pizza filtering in the air of the car. God, he was hungry- but he couldn’t give in to yet another dumb desire of his. He had accepted the hug, accepted the comfort, but he had to draw the line somewhere. He was in control of himself. He knew being around them made him nervous, and he knew when he ate when he was nervous he felt sick. So he knew he would feel sick if he ate with them, yet why did he want to? It was domestic, maybe. Casual, something friends did. He wanted to pretend they wanted to be his friend. Fall into a false sense of security.

He had to step on the brakes pretty hard to stop for a stoplight, and his hand went to prevent the items on his seat from falling. He snapped back to attention, laying his head back on the seat. He got distracted far too easily to be thinking so hard while he was driving, he reminded himself. The light turned green, and he accelerated gently through the rest of the intersection.

The worries took the back burner until he pulled back into the driveway, pressing the button on the ceiling to trigger the garage door and pulling forward. It closed when he pressed the button again, and he grabbed the two things from the seat and opened his door, maneuvering his way out. His lips pressed into a fine line, and he struggled for just a second to get his door open, kick off his shoes, and enter the main part of the house.

“Pizzaaaaa!” Sapnap’s voice greeted him the second he stepped inside, and a disgruntled yelp followed by a giggle told him George was not-so-nicely woken from his nap.

Sapnap hurried into the kitchen, shooting through the door and taking a seat at one of the stools shoved underneath the island. He reached out towards Dream, who just rolled his eyes and handed Sap the Coke bottle, pushing the pizza box towards him without having to be prompted.

Maybe a minute later George joined them, stretching his arms and yawning as he entered the room. He took a seat next to Sap, blinking the sleep out of his eyes still. Dream opened one of the cabinets and grabbed two plates, setting one in front of each of them and handing George the Sprite. He accepted it with a soft thank you, clearly still disoriented and sleepy.

Both of them took a slice from the box and started eating, leaving Dream to sip at his ginger ale and search for something to busy himself with. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, having to squint to make out the text on the screen. An unpleasant pressure settled behind his eyes at the bright light, and he shut the device off instantly. There was no way he was getting another migraine, right? He had one three days ago, there was usually at least a week between them. But something in the back of his brain already knew the answer to that question.

Stress-induced migraines didn’t particularly abide by schedules. They catered to the stress levels of the inflicted individual, so what did it matter if there was usually at least a week? If he was stressed, it could result in a migraine. And god, he was stressed.

“We should watch a movie,” Sapnap suggested around a mouthful of pizza, pausing to swallow and then continuing his thought. “My vote is Monty Python.”

Watching a movie- of course, he suggested watching a movie. Sitting in front of a bright screen for 3 hours sounded like exactly how Dream wanted to spend his night.

“Which Monty Python?” George chimed in, oblivious to the turmoil coiled in Dream’s gut.

“How is that even a question. Holy Grail is- is unmatched. Nothing can compare, not even close.”

“Life of Brian is so much better-”

Their conversation faded into a faint ringing in his ears as he honed in on the fact that his discomfort was on an upwards climb. It was intensifying pretty quickly- he had to find some way out of this or he would trap himself in a situation he wasn’t fond of having to explain. Heat built up behind his ribcage as his panic was drawn from the back burner and thrown onto an open flame. His throat almost felt like it was closing up, constricting his breath and gripping his entire being in the hands of a cruel and unjust god.

“Hellooo, Earth to Dream? Which one do you want to watch?” George’s voice snapped him out of his delusion, thrusting him back into his present reality.

“I- uhm. . . I’m tired, I’ll just go to bed. You guys can watch.” he blurted out the haphazard excuse, which didn’t sound convincing even to himself. His cheeks burned as soon as the words left his mouth- god, he was an idiot. He sounded so dumb, he was embarrassing himself without even doing anything particularly embarrassing.

He flashed a forced smile, grabbing his ginger ale and taking a step back towards the doorway.

“I’ll. . . uh, I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Sleep well!” His voice was as tight as his shoulders, ready to snap at the faintest touch. They weren’t stupid, so he had to get the hell away from them before they asked any more questions. He turned on his heel and strode down towards his room, pulling the door closed rather abruptly behind himself. As soon as he was enclosed in his own space, he felt the tidal wave crashing down. The pot on the open flame boiled over, and the spark of panic quickly raged into a wildfire.

He sat on the edge of his bed and worked his hands into his hair, ducking his chin towards his chest. His shoulders folded in on himself, morphing his posture to make him look impossibly smaller than he already felt.

Heracles’ deception left a gaping wound in the unwavering resolve of a titan. His footsteps carried him down the mountain path, and the universe once again bore down on Atlas’ shoulders. His brief company fled from his sight, taking with him the gift of the golden apples. The manifestation of hope Atlas had allowed himself to partake in, a physical representation of the golden sheen that morphed into his irises at the prospect of a new friend. Atlas felt nothing but burning shame, for he had been naive enough to believe anyone could offer him sympathy beyond what their own motivations required.

His breath hitched in his chest, his grip on his own hair becoming painful. But he did not relent, the brutal sensation grounded him. It had been one day, and he had already failed at everything he had set forth for himself. He had let himself believe they could care, had allowed himself to succumb to the familiarity of it all. They were there out of pity, he had somehow coerced them into believing they had to care for him like a child. He was a colleague! His job was to film with them, and that was it. Why had he manipulated them into feeling obligated to be his friend? Nobody could possibly want to fly away from their home to spend time with him, it was the only explanation. He had no doubt they were sitting in his kitchen talking about how much they hated it here-

He felt something touch the back of his shoulder blade, and he jolted out of instinct. Now he was fucking imagining things? Imagining someone rubbing circles onto his back, manifesting his own fallacy of comfort and affection. His grip tightened even further on blond strands, hard enough to pull some out entirely. A soft sob finally escaped his chest, the warmth of tears spilling from his eyes when he opened them just slightly. His head hurt so, so bad, intensified by the lack of oxygen inherent from the stuttering breaths.

Faint movement in the corner of his blurred vision made him tense, and someone moved in front of him. His eyes were downcast, he could only see grey socks and black sweatpants until the figure bent at the knees, crouching down to get eye level with him. Fingertips wrapped around his wrists, their grip impossibly careful as they pulled his hands away from his hair while he was overcome with shock.

Sapnap’s usually glittering and feisty dark eyes were soft now, concerned. He drew Dream’s hands away from his hair and instead held them in the man’s lap. He was able to use one hand to keep Dream’s in place, reaching out with the other to brush a tear away from just beneath his eye. He tried to pull away, another cry bubbling up his chest. It was louder, broken- more tears soaked his cheeks to replace those that Sapnap tried to soothe. The younger stepped back, removing any points of contact he had. Touch just seemed to make it worse.

“What do we- what should we do?” Sap whispered, attempting not to startle someone who was so clearly distraught.

“I’m not sure, uhm. . . try to help with breathing, maybe?” The second voice was instantly recognizable as George, who must have been the source of the hand on his back, keeping him relatively stationary.

“Okay, yeah, makes sense,” Sapnap huffed, his gaze returning to the way his friend’s eyes were disoriented and confused. “Dream? Can you hear me?”

After a small delay, he was able to nod.

“Good, good. Can you breathe with me?” Sap spoke slowly, annunciating every word. As he finished he made a show of taking a deep inhale and an equally as exaggerated exhale. He repeated the process twice more until Dream hesitantly followed his instruction. “That’s good, keep it up. It’s okay.”

He continued his exaggerated breathing until Dream could follow along, the rise and fall of his chest slowing to move in tandem. The tremors of his hands gradually ceased as well, and Sap was able to very cautiously take Dream’s clenched fists in his hands, uncurling his fingers from where they dug into the palms of his hands. He didn’t even notice he was doing that. Sap gently touched one of the angry red marks, and he jerked his hands away, his heartbeat quickening for a split second before an arm hooked around his shoulders, drawing him backward until his back pressed against something solid. The arm around his shoulders dropped to his waist, and another hand pushed his hair out of his face, simultaneously tipping his head back until it was resting.

“It’s alright, keep breathing. No need to panic again, we won’t hurt you,” George’s voice was right beside his ear, and he could feel the hum in his chest as he spoke. He couldn’t stop himself from mimicking the breathing patterns of the man pressed against him. He tipped his head into the hand that worked through his hair, his usual thoughts foggy and disorganized.

“My head hurts,” he mumbled, not coherently thinking about what he was saying. He was tired, and this was comfortable. He forced down the little bubble of thought that told him to shove George away, and he sunk further into his chest instead. He felt George prop his chin on the top of his head, the arm that wound around his waist tightening ever so slightly.

“Sap, can you go get some food and water for him?”

“Well, what should I-”

“I don’t know! Something plain?”

Dream tensed as George’s voice raised at the very last line, but it was quickly soothed when the hand on his waist started to run up and down his side. The bed shifted when Sap stood, and the door creaking as it opened was Dream’s only indication he had left the room at all. As he calmed, his thoughts began to straighten, returning to their usual state gradually.

“Just a headache, m’ fine.” He started to move, to attempt to pull away from George, but he was quickly drawn back into the addicting serenity of the embrace.

“You’re not fine.” George’s response was firm and unyielding, but the tone with which it was delivered held more concern and genuine emotion than Dream could particularly comprehend.

“You should go.”

A beat of silence passed between them, George’s hand stilling in his hair and against his side. Dream knew he didn’t want to be here, so why would he imprison him like this? George wanted to leave, so he gave him the opportunity. He should already be walking away, and yet he persisted.

“No, Dream- I’m not leaving you.”

Chapter Text

In the silence of the room surrounding them, the creak of the wooden door as it opened seemed remarkably louder than it actually was. Sapnap slipped out into the hallway, heading towards the kitchen upon George’s request to get some food and water. A sigh slipped past George’s lips, the feather-light caress of his fingertips on Dream’s side persisting.

“Just a headache, m’ fine.” Dream’s voice finally interrupted George’s train of thought, and the man stirred in an attempt to pull away. George furrowed his eyebrows and splayed his hand across Dream’s stomach to keep him from getting up. It took only that to coax him to lie back again, his head tipping back to settle on George’s collar.

“You’re not fine.” He replied, his hand once again resuming the movements it had been taking before. He knew something consistent and gentle always helped to ground him- something Dream was in clear need of. His concern found its way into his voice, bleeding through the words that slipped off of his tongue and hanging, heavy, in the air.

“You should go.”

George’s throat constricted, and it took him a moment to swallow the bubble of discontent that lodged itself in his airway. Did Dream actually want him to leave? Was it some facade he had projected upon himself in a bout of anxiety, or did he really and truly want George gone? He found himself unable to move, frozen in time for a heartbeat as he struggled to pick apart the message laid out before him. Dream sniffled, and it drew him back into the reality of the situation. His friend was distressed, he needed company. Even if he wished George gone, he would not abandon someone he cared about in their time of need.

“No, Dream- I’m not leaving you.”

His decision was absolute, that much was evident. If the way Dream sank further against him, pushed against the hand threaded into his hair told him anything, it was that his message had been received. He didn’t struggle to pull away again, instead letting himself fall backward into the chasm he had been teetering on the edge of for so long.

The younger’s breathing finally evened out, giving George the opportunity to reflect upon what had just happened once he knew the tension was slowly leaving Dream’s frame.

It had been clear as soon as he had departed from the kitchen that something was wrong. He and Sap had exchanged glances, whispering amongst themselves for a moment about if they should follow or not. They seemed in mutual agreement that they should, and so George had led the pair down the hallway, pushed open the door that led to Dream’s room.

It had been dark- it still was, but small amounts of light from the hallway now crept through the open door. He had been sitting on the edge of his bed, curled up on himself with his hands buried in his hair. He flinched at their touch, he pulled away from Sap’s attempt to comfort him. It had all rung a multitude of alarm bells in George’s mind. Headaches were one thing, he was familiar with headaches. He knew people that had experienced them, had witnessed some particularly bad ones, hell he’d even experienced some. This is not what “just headaches” looked like.

He shifted, using the hand that carded gently through dirty blond strands of hair to instead tip Dream’s head back just slightly, tilting his own head and moving it forward so he could look down at the man cradled against his chest. His green eyes were muddled, bordering on unfocused as he blinked slowly, concentrating on nothing in particular. His usual smattering of freckles was shrouded by the flush of his face and the relative darkness of the room. Wet stains still marred his cheeks, remnants of the tears that had been spilled just a few minutes prior. His eyes were rimmed with red to accompany, lips parted to allow him to breathe in short puffs of air until his nose cleared. To put it kindly, he was a bit of a mess. George frowned, his hand slipping out of the mop of blond hair that quickly fell across Dream’s forehead. Instead, he shook his arm a bit so the sleeve of his shirt slipped down enough for him to grab the edge, pulling it over his hand to dry the last few tears.

He returned to petting Dream’s hair once he finished, turning his head to glance back over his shoulder for a moment.

“Here- c’mere,” he mumbled, detaching himself from a disoriented Dream as he scooched backward on the mattress until he was able to lean against the headboard, a pillow jammed against his back. He opened his arms to Dream, gesturing for him to come closer once again. The man just shook his head, his hazy expression changing to a sharper focus.

“No… It’s fine.” He tried to reject the offer, and George just huffed.

“Don’t be a bitch baby, Dream,” George attempted to shove in a lighthearted tease, but the neutral expression of his companion didn’t falter. “Just come here, please?”

He took a moment to ponder the offer being laid out on the table before him before he succumbed, tucking himself against George’s side and laying his head against his chest, just above his heart. His arm draped across George’s stomach, and once he finally settled in he found a hand back in his hair, another tracing a line up and down his bicep and shoulder through the fabric of his sweatshirt.

It was… odd, to say the least. George was used to Dream being witty and sarcastic, confident in his abilities and himself. Now he seemed far too small, vulnerable in a way George wasn’t sure he was ever intended to witness. He realized, all at once, that there was much more to Dream than he knew about. His online presence, his conversations over the phone and over text, there was some degree of fabrication. It wasn’t a necessarily bad thing- George did it too. Everyone did. But now, seeing the way that he unwound like a spool of thread falling away from the backbone that had once supported him, it was much more real.

He felt the muscle beneath his fingertips tense when the door opened, light spilling into the room. Dream turned his head, pressing it into George’s shoulder to look away.

“Close the door, Sap,” he mumbled, and the other nodded and complied, pushing it closed with his elbow. He stepped closer, setting down a glass and a plate on the bedside table. Once the light fled the room, Dream lifted his head to look at the newcomer. His eyes still held a gentle haze, muddled exhaustion and faint flickers of pain blended together.

Sap shoved George’s leg out of the way so he could sit on the side of the bed, his eyes staying focused on the third member of their little group. He furrowed his eyebrows and tore his gaze away, looking towards George instead.

“How is he?” His voice was barely above a whisper. George frowned and glanced at Dream for just a moment, his frown fading slowly once he did so. He didn’t even react to the question, his eyes half-closed and unfocused. He supposed Sap was right for asking George, wasn’t he? A twinge of concern poked at George’s gut.

“Relaxing- slowly but surely.” He raised a hand to pet at the unkempt blond hair, addressing Dream directly now. “Hey?”

He waited a moment until some semblance of recognition flickered through Dream, a soft hum of acknowledgment.

“Can you try and eat something? Drink some water?”

He lifted his chin now, tired green eyes meeting deep brown ones. The bedsheets crinkling drew his attention to Sapnap, who stared at him as he waited for a reply. George felt a soft tremor pass through his friend’s body, but he didn’t acknowledge it. Now was not the time.

“Uhm- I-” his voice cracked, and he cleared his throat before he attempted to continue. The two had to strain to hear him, with how delicate his words were. “I can. . . try. . . I guess?”

A small thank you passed from Sapnap’s lips, and he leaned to grab the plate he had prepared, holding it out towards Dream expectantly. The man pushed himself upwards, folding his knees so he was sitting cross-legged. The plate settled in his lap, and he looked down at the sandwich Sap had thrown together.

“I couldn’t find a whole lot, sorry. Your kitchen is confusing,” Sap attempted to crack a bit of a joke, but couldn’t muster too much amusement. Both of them could see Dream’s fingertips trembling- it hung in the air, weighing down on their shoulders as they were forced to recognize the very image of fragility sitting before them. It, understandably, dampened the mood.

George let out a silent sigh, straightening his shirt to rid it of the crinkles Dream had left in the fabric. He sat up, gnawing on his lower lip to ignore the lingering warmth on his side. Longing settled in the base of his throat, his hands folding in his lap as he attempted to push away how comfortably he and Dream had fit together.

Heracles clutched the golden apple against his chest, finding that it wasn’t an apple at all. It shimmered in molten sunlight, a ball from which pulses of warmth radiated in tune to the beat of his own heart. When he blinked, the facade flickered from existence, and he was left holding the fruits of the labors he had slaved through for so long. Why did his shoulders still feel heavy? He had given the heavens back to Atlas, he had abandoned the Titan on the edge of the cliffs. His footsteps stopped, and he looked back from where he had come. The path was overgrown, it was one rarely traveled- Atlas had all but been forgotten. He had fallen away from memory, and in his hands, Hercales held the final thing Atlas had served a purpose for. He was a guardian no longer, for his treasure was descending the mountainside.

Heracles found his feet anchored to the ground, refusing to let him take another step forwards. He saw, against his eyelids, the ball of hope cradled in his callous fingertips. With a deep breath, he turned on his heel, the soles of his feet sinking into the grass as he began to ascend once again. His steps carried him towards the summit of the world, towards a man that had never asked him for anything except a bit of company, and a brief respite from the burdens he had to bear. Carrying the weight of all he knew, looking out on the horizon and believing nobody would ever stay once they obtained what they had sought.

Chapter Text

Even heavier than the plate in his lap or the world he could almost picture on his shoulders, was the weight of two sets of eyes focused entirely on him. He squeezed his hands together to soothe the tremors that wracked his frame, keeping his eyes downcast towards the plate nestled on his legs. To avoid drawing even more negative attention, he abided by his word. He said he would try to eat something so. . . well, he had better get started.

He found it difficult to stomach the small bites he took, even once George and Sap began to have a casual discussion upon noticing the discomfort that plagued him. His tongue felt heavy, betraying his efforts to blend into a more comfortable state of mind.

After half of a sandwich, he gave up his attempt, laying the rest down on the plate and letting out a soft exhale. His stomach protested for more, but he pushed down the feeling with the knowledge that he would probably just get sick anyways.

“All done?”

He lifted his chin to meet George’s gaze, the weight of his tongue only intensifying at the genuine concern he was met with. It had to be fake, surely. His brain circled back to where it had been just hours before. Yes, that was right. It was fake. They felt obligated to be there for him, that was all. He flinched when Sap moved without warning, taking the plate from his lap and setting it back on the bedside table. He mumbled an apology and turned his attention back to the two sitting before him. He held out something else, and Dream took a moment to process, eventually accepting the water bottle.

A frown spread across his face as his unsteady hands failed to open the cap, giving it one more go and holding it out to Sap in a silent plea for help. He complied, opening the cap and returning it, watching as Dream raised the bottle to his lips and took a few small sips of water. Once he finished he took the water back, replacing the cap and setting the bottle where it had come from.

Dream shifted, shoving his hands into the pocket of his hoodie and lowering his gaze to the blanket spread out below him. He wished they would just leave him in silence. It would hurt less, not having to pretend they wanted to be here. He wouldn’t have to see the sincerity on their faces and know it was all a facade. Nobody could possibly want to sit in a half-lit room and baby him. Sap was probably dreaming of being back home, George of getting on a plane and never looking back. He didn’t blame them. If he were in their situation he would hate himself too.

His hands clenched in his pocket, shreds of warmth and comfort fleeing from his body as if being chased. He would know, he was the one chasing them away. He shook his head just slightly, ridding himself of the memories of fingertips threading through his hair, the gentle pressure of a hand on his waist pulling him closer. It had made him feel wanted, even for just a moment, but he knew it was carefully constructed in his mind. It was a projection of everything he wished he could reach out and grasp.

He knew, in truth, that such a beautiful sensation was not deserving of his presence. Not deserving of his tarnish. He acquiesced, stepping away from the golden light pouring in from the window and instead observing from the shadows, watching something he knew he could never obtain.

“How’s your head feel?” It was Sapnap’s voice that drew him out of his muddled state, and he felt his cheeks grow hot with embarrassment. Right, his migraine. It washed up over him all at once that the past hour had really happened. He had broken- without any grace or poise- and they had felt the obligation to try and piece him back together. They had seen him fractured, it was everything he was always afraid of.

People always said that once their greatest fear came true it wasn’t as bad as they thought it would be. They must have been lying, for Dream found it was much, much worse. Without having to speak even a word, he could almost taste how badly they must resent him. He had forced them to stay here against their will, he had trapped them and guilt-tripped them into pretending that they cared. They had to hate him, they had to wish he would just disappear.

They had to have wished they never met him at all.

He could get his laptop, find tickets back to Texas and to England as soon as they were available. They could leave within a few days, be rid of him- he could block them on discord, free them from the chains that he somehow wound around them without even realizing it. How could he have been so naive? To not notice the harm he was causing-

“Dream? Are you alright?”

His breath hitched in surprise, the heartbeat that had started to pick up again thundering in his ears.

“Yeah- yeah, uhm. . . Yeah, I’m fine,” his voice trailed off, the warmth in his cheeks only continuing to grow. He still somehow managed to continue to make things worse. It was astonishing, really, how drastically he was fucking everything up all at once.

“Are you sure?” The skepticism was evident, George’s eyebrows furrowing as he looked Dream up and down, took in the tension in his shoulders and the little sparks of fear in his eyes.

“I’m sure!” Dream snapped, his voice nearly breaking at the end of the phrase. They were taunting him at this point, weren’t they? There was no other reason to stick around. He had given George the chance to leave more than once, Sap could have just not come back to the room, but they still sat here. They sat here and they feigned sincerity, and they watched as he fell apart in front of them. Was it entertaining? He supposed it would be after he forced them to be his “friends” for so long. It would be entertaining to watch someone they hated crumble.

It wasn’t necessarily anger that swelled within him, though with the way his voice was almost a shout just a moment prior it must have seemed so. He was confused- dreadfully confused. Why were they staying? What did he do to deserve all of this? It was wrong. He knew it was wrong, but why did it feel so right to have them just beside him? He could still feel George’s hand in his hair, a phantom desire that refused to leave him to mourn the death of the fantasies he had believed he could, just maybe, obtain.

“No need to yell, dude,” Sap interjected, and the sparks of confusion and desperation morphed into an acute sense of shame. “We’re just trying to help-”

“Well stop it!” Dream spoke before he had the time to think, and his regret was instantaneous. He was digging his own grave- it was deep enough he might pass through the entire goddamn planet soon.

“The hell do you mean, ‘stop it’?” Sapnap matched his aggravated tone, the hot temper he was notorious for flaring up in full.

“Sapnap-” George attempted to cut the youngest off, try to pat out the flames before they caused any damage. He was a bit too late.

“I don’t need your fucking pity! Either of you!” Tears pricked Dream’s eyes for what seemed like the millionth time that night. A combination of desperation and frustration poured from his chest, a buildup of everything he had been forcing down. “You can stop pretending you care, Jesus Christ. I already know you don’t want to be here, I know you hate everything about this- I tried to tell you not to fucking fly all the way over here but you still did! You still did- you still- what did I even do? To force you to feel like you have to pretend I’m your friend?”

“What are you talking about-” George’s voice wavered, but Dream’s head was still too clouded with an onslaught of emotion to process it.

“You know what I’m fucking talking about- just. . . god, just look at me.” The intensity of his voice faded, the sharp edge dulled to nothing as his tone sank to a more somber sound. The tears that pricked his eyes slipped down his face, his breath hitching ever so slightly. “Just look at me, George. I’m- I’m a mess. I drug you both down, you don’t want this. Fuck, nobody wants this.”

More deafening than anything Dream could ever imagine- a jet engine, the roars of a crowd, an explosion of the largest caliber- was the silence that settled in the room. Only seconds passed, but to him it was years. He might as well have a spotlight, with the way George and Sap both stared at him. Horror, maybe disgust. Dream couldn’t quite discern their expressions.

The silence crashed down like a bridge buckling and plummeting to the ground, all at once and absolute. It brought much more than noise, it brought motion and life to an otherwise dull and withered room.

“Dream-” George’s voice finally broke, and he moved from where he sat. Dream felt a cool touch- George’s hands were cold compared to the burning red of his cheeks. He shifted as he placed his palms on the edges of Dream’s jaw, his thumbs resting just below the younger’s cheekbones. He paused for a moment before he spoke again, just looking down at his friend’s clear confusion. He sank back so he was sitting on his calves, able to get eye level after he had to rise to his knees to be able to move closer to Dream in the first place.

That was when Dream finally noticed the wetness on George’s cheeks, tear stains that mirrored his own. He could almost laugh- George always hated when people yelled around him. If he didn’t know that, he could have thought he might have cared. But he didn’t, and Dream could no longer tuck himself into a universe that let him find comfort in the what-ifs. It was clear now, more clear than he needed it to be. Each revelation felt like another knife twisting in his stomach. He would tell him he was right- that they were leaving. Good, they could save themselves from more of him. George should be booking a plane ticket back home already. It was cruel to prolong it, though Dream supposed it was the very least that he deserved.

Why wasn’t he mad yet?

“Don’t. . . Please don’t tell me you believe all of that?”

Had it not been for their proximity, Dream wouldn’t have heard him at all. His eyebrows creased even further. What did he mean, believe all of that? Believe that they hated him? He didn’t believe it, he knew it. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind-

“We want to be here, it was- we chose this. We chose you. Not for. . . even a second did I ever regret getting on that fucking plane,” a short and breathy laugh was cut off by another gasping breath. “How could we ever hate you? You’re my best friend, I. . . Dream, none of what you just said is true. We should be asking what we did to even. . . how did we imply that?”

Dream gave a short, bitter laugh. He raised his hand, pushing George’s own away from his face.

“That isn’t funny-”

“Because it’s not a joke!” George grabbed Dream’s wrist, keeping him from pushing his friend further away. “I’m trying- I tried to be gentle about it, but please just shut the fuck up for a second and listen to me, okay?” The tears continued to stain George’s skin, concern and frustration melting together into the colors that swirled in his eyes.

“Whatever planted that dumb shit in your brain- forget it. Please, Dream.”

“Why would I forget it if it’s true-”

“Did you not hear a word he just said?!” Sapnap’s tone was still sharp, and the sudden intrusion into the conversation made Dream flinch.

“Please don’t yell.” George, ever the mediator of the group, managed to finally quench the flames that had singed the edges of Sap’s patience.

“I- yeah, uhm. . . I’m sorry I just- Dream, it’s fucking terrifying to see you like that. Like, dude, we’ve known each other for years! Seeing you hurting like that is. . . it’s really scary. We just want you to be okay.”

A frown spread across Dream’s face, the fork that had been twisting his guts the entire night only twisting further. Was this just a massive lie? So carefully crafted- it didn’t seem like either of them to go so far for the sake of a bit. But it couldn’t be sincere, how could it possibly be sincere? He was a wreck, shattered glass all over the kitchen floor. The kind you swept up and threw away, not the kind you could glue back together.

His apogee flickered to life when he first slammed the door to his room, sat down on his bed with tears clouding his vision. Satellites never stopped moving, though. For a moment it had existed at a point in space that was the farthest it would ever be from the Earth’s surface. The gravity pulling upon it was lesser, and it wandered through an open sky on a path that had been drawn out a thousand times before. But it continued, and it started to travel back towards the atmosphere it had been born from. Gravity reached out like comforting hands, attempting to draw the little machine back into its embrace. Waiting in the ocean below, as far as one could get from any civilization, scattered remains of satellites that had served their purpose gave the impression that returning would be more sinister than the words the Earth whispered about companionship and reunion.

When the satellite was just about to journey closer and closer, the very last of the fuel it had saved activated- as predetermined for when the journey it was intended to take had drawn to a close. Instead of moving closer, breaching the atmosphere, and burning through the sky, it was instead propelled further away from the planet below. It drifted back, freed from the monotonous loop it had been condemned to, and instead found itself in the presence of other “useless” satellites. There, among the stars, it found the so-called “Graveyard Orbit” was far more comforting than achieving the perfection it believed was the only route.

He had spent countless hours with them. In video chats, in discord calls, playing in their favorite games- he knew them. He knew how they acted, how they laughed, how they joked, and how they breathed and blinked and lived. He had remained so enclosed within his fragile mindset, trying to build impenetrable walls, that he hadn’t noticed they were within them all along. The thought almost broke him again- the weakest parts of himself were not hidden, and it was possible they never were. He felt vulnerable, more so than he ever had before. But for once, he was unsure if it was necessarily a bad thing.

Maybe, just maybe, he could believe in some semblance of a happy ending. It was likely to be a hopeless endeavor, another what if that would never come to fruition, but unlike before there was a pinprick of light he was able to grasp onto. After so long being obsessed with the concept of perfection-

He had always believed they were perfect. The two of them. But Sapnap’s face was flushed with anger, and George still had tears on his skin- they were emotional. They were real. And he supposed, in a way, they were perfect. Perfectly real, not some robotic imitations of what someone should be.

The sensation of comfort was fleeting, and it was miniscule in comparison to the remaining dread and fear. But if he had learned anything from years of simply existing, it was that probability was not always as insurmountable as it was made out to be.

Maybe, this time, there was a chance. This was not a foreign universe, some world where he could imagine and dream and grasp for something that was never meant to be- this was reality. And this was a chance.

He was hesitant, as he looked down at the thread that had once connected him to some sense of belonging. The edges were frayed, and the scissors fell from his hands, clattered to the floor. Insead, he reached out, grasped the ends, and tied them together into a lopsided knot. It was far from beautiful, but it would hold.

For now, that was all that he needed.

Golden light poured forth as the sun met the horizon, turning the sky into a vibrant mirage of color. Atlas’ sandals held firm on their pedestal, the universe weighing down on him in unison with the weight of another missed opportunity. Then, a hand lifted to press against the burden he had to bear, accepting some of the weight upon calloused fingertips. Heracles strained against the sky, the golden apple sitting on the ground beside his feet. He did not take the weight, he did not relieve Atlas from his prison of time, he instead offered help, offered company. It was everything Atlas ever needed- he was content to serve his purpose and cradle the heavens in his hands, he did not need someone to take his place, he instead needed someone willing enough to occasionally help with the burden, bring some relief to his aching limbs.

Someone willing enough to stay.

Chapter Text

Brief waves of nervous energy that subsequently resulted in migraines continued to plague Dream, even weeks following his ultimatum. He had long since come to the conclusion that he had, perhaps, been overlooking the company his friends graced him with.

It was difficult, but with some pestering from Sapnap and remarkable patience from George, he acquiesced. They were hands in the darkness of his mind, turning on the lightswitch and finally bringing into view the tatters of his life scattered before him.

It, inevitably, got worse before it got better. They had to leave eventually, head home to where they were loved and cherished, where it was far more familiar. He was left tender and cautious, but they were sure to keep him company. Rarely was there a time he wasn’t communicating with someone- over voice chat, text, even facetime on rare occasions. As much as he claimed it was annoying (playfully, of course) even he could tell how much it truly helped.

At times he grew frustrated that they treated him with such fragility, and at times he craved it. It was a roller coaster for everyone involved, and he had to force himself to swallow the bile of guilt that consistently bubbled up his throat.

The next time he saw either of them face to face was months later. He fumbled with a new key on his keyring, jiggling it until the lock came loose and finally opened. The doorknob turned, opening into a large, vacant entryway.

“About damn time you got that thing open,” Sapnap yawned, his voice coming from somewhere over Dream’s shoulder. Two cars sat in the driveway, each of theirs respectively, with Sapnap’s having the trunk thrown open and a few bags sitting on the asphalt. Two more were held in his hands, and he stepped past Dream to set them inside before returning to repeat the process.

“Stop bullying me!” he shot back, following his friend to start unloading his own car.

“I’ll show you bullying if you don’t unpack faster so we can get food.”

Dream snorted, shaking his head in disdain at the younger’s obvious annoyance. “You sound so southern when you get tired.”

Sapnap looked up from where he was zipping the top of a duffel bag, his hands pausing and his eyes boring holes into the back of Dream’s head. At that, Dream finally lost his composure and broke down into a fit of laughter, barely managing to pick up a few items to haul into the entryway. He promptly ignored the comment, following with some things of his own.

“Where’s George? He was supposed to be here first.” Skillfully avoiding the topic of conversation to divert the possibility of both of them getting too distracted to properly unpack, Sapnap instead raised the question of the missing third member of their trio.

“About that- he, uhm. . . he called me right before I left Florida. Won’t be here for a while still, week or two at least. Said something popped up that he had to take care of before he flew out. Postponed the flight and everything.”

Sapnap furrowed his eyebrows, a soft grunt conveying his displeasure pretty well. A brief, somber silence settled across the both of them for a short amount of time. They had been looking forward to this- all three of them. Being able to not only visit, but live with each other? All three had agreed it sounded like a beautiful disaster waiting to happen.

And even Dream could admit he missed George’s fingers combing through his hair whenever his head hurt, or his voice through the phone coaxing him into a peaceful slumber on nights where rest seemed to elude him. He didn’t voice that part, but he had a feeling Sap could understand that they both missed him, albeit for different reasons.

“Guess we’ll just have to make a mess for him to take care of when he gets here,” the older joked, a vague attempt to lighten the mood. It worked, judging by Sap’s breathy laugh. His voice pitched up, an awful attempt at a British accent accompanying.

“‘I’m not your butler! You’re both slobs, I’m going back home right now’”

“That would be good if your fake accent didn’t sound like a dying cat- oh shit, speaking of cats-” Dream trailed off, turning on his heel to jog back to his car. He opened the side door, greeted by a distressed meow. He grabbed the handle of Patches’ carrier, lifting it up and carrying it back, careful not to jostle her too much. “Sorry, girl, come on.”

As soon as he unzipped it, she darted out, walking past Sapnap to explore the unfamiliar house. They watched her disappear around the corner, eventually succumbing to their need to finish getting all of their stuff inside in the first place.

The sun was long gone when they finally collapsed onto the couch, Sapnap plopping down a bag of cheap chinese takeout he had gone to pick up while Dream organized the kitchen. Thankfully they had been prepared, and Dream had paid to get new furniture shipped and set up in advance so they were faced with one less headache upon arrival. He was infinitely thankful for his decision as he sank back into the cushions, watching Sap flip through channels until he settled on a playoff hockey game. He picked up his container, digging into his food just as there was a rather loud knock on the door.

Sapnap groaned, his head falling back onto the couch behind him.

“The fuck is that?”

Dream set down his glass of water on the coffee table, standing and wincing at his knees popping as he did so.

“No clue, neighbors maybe?”

He made his way to the front entry, not bothering to peer out the window. He opened the door, standing there for a second as he processed the face being illuminated by the porch light.

“Surprise?” George gave an awkward smile, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck.

The brief wave of shock faded, and Dream broke into a grin, reaching forward to grab George’s wrist and yank him inside, closing the front door and then pulling him into a tight hug. George reciprocated, his head leaning against Dream’s shoulders as his hands settled in the center of his back, pressing him ever so slightly closer.

“Thought it was gonna be a while?” Dream mumbled his question, but their proximity was plenty close enough for George to hear.

“It was- my mom is taking care of it, though. So here I am.” His explanation was short, devoid of any detail, but Dream found he didn’t exactly care.

“Who was it?” Sapnap’s voice cut through their tender moment, and Dream picked his head up from where it was tucked against the crook of George’s neck and his shoulder.

“Why don’t you come see?” George replied before Dream had the chance to, and there was no reply from the living room aside from some rustling. A moment later, Sap turned the corner, taking two big steps and accepting when George moved his arm from Dream’s back and held it out in invitation.

The tender moment ended quickly, when Sapnap pinched George’s side, the latter letting out a pained yelp and shoving Sap away.

“What was that for?!”

“For not telling us you were coming today!”

“I wanted to surprise you-”

“Surprise these fucking hands, pretty boy-”

Dream crossed his arms over his chest, watching the two of them go back and forth with a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. If he closed his eyes, he could see the discord screen, their respective icons lighting up as their voices filtered through the microphone.

But this wasn’t a discord screen, and he couldn’t hear a mechanical purr to their words. Instead, he could see the playful fire in their eyes, hear the mocking tone that was so often lost in the digital processing it went through.

They were here, and this time it was to stay. He couldn’t get over the fact, no matter how many times he accepted it. No matter that it was happening right now, it all felt like a dream.

Was he scared? Absolutely. He knew it wouldn’t be perfect, he knew there would be ups and downs, that they would see a more raw and undefined version of him that he had tried so desperately to hide. But they had seen him break, and they had chosen to stay. Not only stay, but to help in the uphill process of gradually piecing him back together.

His burden was his alone to bear, just as Atlas’ responsibility fell both figuratively and literally on his shoulders. Just as Heracles’ tasks were his to complete. But both of them found help and relief in unlikely places, a gentle hand to press against the weight of the universe, a kind word directing where to go.

No, nobody could take on another person’s turmoil, their burden of sorts. Nobody could single handedly take control of something that did not belong to them. But more helpful and absolute than either of those things was the wonderfully simplistic action of possessing the ability to see past the ragged edges. To, instead, see a beauty in the broken parts.