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Dream only has one life left.
Dream only has one life left because Tommy has just killed him twice, backed by almost the entirety of the server. Standing face to face with him, it's only now that Tommy realizes for the first time that Dream is just an inch or so taller than he is.
"So even you're afraid of dying," Tommy bites out, raw relief making the edges of his voice harsh. "Who knew? The great and mighty Dream, willing to do anything to stay alive. You're no god. You're just like the rest of us."
Mouth pressed into a thin line, Dream doesn't offer a reply. Tommy laughs, a little hysterical, and raises Dream’s— his— sword.
"Say it," Tommy demands. "Say you don't want to die."
When Dream asks the first time, George refuses.
"No," he says firmly. "Absolutely not."
"Why?" Dream whines. They're laying down the foundation of the community house— or at least they're supposed to be, but they're all out of birch wood. Sapnap, for all his grumbling and griping, agreed to go collect some. Dream and George are sitting on the narrow platform they've managed to build so far, leaning against the neat brick pile that will be one of their walls, feet dangling in the warm water of their lake. George gives him a flat look.
"Why would we?" he counters. "It's so risky. I don't want you suffering because of something stupid I do, and I definitely don't want to suffer because of something stupid you do."
Dream doesn't offer an explanation, only pouting, and George scoots closer. Their shoulders bump. "Please," Dream tries again. George just shakes his head. And then Sapnap trudges out of the woods, complaining as soon as he’s within earshot, and Dream drops the subject.
The second time Dream asks, George rolls his eyes.
"This again?" George groans, rising and brushing the dirt from his knees. He's replanting their little wheat farm, bushels of grain tucked into the bag on his back, and he glows golden in the sun. The freckles on his cheek are two shades darker than usual.
"Yes," Dream says, giving him an imploring look. George shakes his head and throws a handful of seeds at him, scattering them all over the dark, tilled earth and into the water behind Dream.
"You're so stubborn," he complains. "No, Dream, I've already said it."
"George," Dream says plaintively.
"Dream," George mocks in return. "No. Not if you won't even give me a good reason."
“I have a reason,” Dream says, but it sounds weak to both of them.
George sighs. “Don’t put your lives on the line so flippantly, idiot.”
Dream pouts and slouches off, back to their home.
The third time he asks, George snaps.
"Why?" he demands. It's night, and in the starlight he glows silver and moonwashed. The community house is finished, now, finally complete; they’re sitting on its roof, staring up into the sky. The leaves rustle. A bird calls in the dark of the trees. George looks at Dream, eyes coal-black. “You’re so stubborn. Aren’t we fine like this?”
Dream looks away.
“It’s too risky,” George continues. “If one of us dies, we’re taking the other one with us. Is that the sort of responsibility you want, Dream? It’s- it’s unnecessary. Why do you want to link our lives so badly?”
“Because,” Dream says petulantly. “It’s us here, at the beginning, and it’ll be us, together, in the end. Don’t you want that?”
“It’s us and Sapnap,” George reminds him instead of answering. Dream presses his lips together, and his voice is quiet when he speaks again.
“That’s not the same,” he murmurs. George freezes before he turns, his entire body tilting towards Dream.
“Why is it different?” he asks, just as quietly. Dream looks down, his hand finding George’s. He slots their fingers together— they’re both calloused from brick-laying and wood-cutting.
“Because,” Dream finally says. He tries the shape of the words in his mouth before he gives them a voice. “I love you. I want to live for you. That’s my reason, George.”
George’s eyes go soft, but his mouth is a displeased line. “Dream,” he says quietly. “I don’t want to be the cause of your death.”
“Who says it’ll be you?” Dream returns. George’s somberness cracks.
“True,” he shrugs. “It might be you, after all. You’re pretty stupid.” Dream laughs, and George nudges him. “Dream.”
“George,” Dream replies. “Don’t make me go on, after you’re gone.”
George is quiet for a long moment, watching the sky. “Alright,” he says.
When Dream looks back at him, shock colouring his face, he tightens his hold on Dream’s hand. “I wouldn’t want to go on without you, either,” he confesses.
They link their lives the next day— neither have the patience to wait. They perform the ritual on the first floor, sunlight spilling in from the windows. It's quiet, and private; even Sapnap leaves to give them their moment. When they pull away from each other, Dream can feel his heartbeat, his and George’s.
“I’ll take care of you,” he says to George, drunk on love, feeling unbreakable. George smiles, sweet and secret, and leans in to kiss him.
“There’s no taking this back,” George tells him. “We’ll be together forever— I’m your grave, Dream, you know that?”
“Yes,” Dream breathes. “Wherever you go, I’ll go with you.”
The enchanted netherite of Nightmare casts faint light across Dream’s face, illuminating his expression- like an animal, hunted, teeth bared and eyes wild. He's backed into a corner, no armour, no weapons, no hope. Tommy looms, victorious.
“Say it,” he repeats. “Say you don’t want to die, Dream. Or I might decide to slip. You’ve only got the one life left, you know that?”
A muscle in Dream’s jaw jumps when his teeth clench. His eyes dart to the portal from which Tommy’s army had entered. "I don't want to die," he says. He doesn’t beg.
Somewhere far away, George sleeps on.