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“George, you got the crystals?” Dream shouts from below, placing beds in preparation for the dragon to land. They’d worked so hard for this, and now, now they are finally here. It had been a long, hard few years, with many close calls, but as he stands at the base of the obsidian towers, George thinks it’s all worth it.
“I need an answer, George,” Dream yells again, louder and more frantic this time. George understands where his best friend is coming from, he wants to kill the beast that has plagued the overworld since before their time.
“Yeah, I got them!” George calls back, smiling to himself as Dream whoops in response. As the blonde scans the sky above for the Ender Dragon, George begins to tower up carefully. It would be a shame if he were to fall this far in.
He holds his breath as he scales the rough obsidian, hands desperately scrabbling for a hold. George can feel his nails break under the stress of hauling himself up, making them even shorter than they already were from his weeks of biting them down to the quick.
Finally, he reaches the top of the first tower. Dream plays lookout from the ground, ready to tell George if the Dragon is close. He pauses, staring at the glowing crystals. They really are almost pretty, the colors looping and swirling around. Not that he could see them, but he can imagine.
Dream notices his hesitation, hollering up to make sure he’s alright. George shoots back a quick thumbs up and takes a deep breath. It’s now or never.
It would be just like they read about. The second something makes contact with the crystal, it explodes with enough force to knock him off the tower, which is why he’ll have to block himself in with dirt before hitting it. Then came the other part. When the Ender Dragon feels the first crystal break, it will become enraged, attacking the first thing it believes is harming it.
George. George will be the first thing it sees, George will be its first target. Dream will have to act fast, shooting it with an arrow before it can send him flying. No pressure. George laughs darkly to himself. Yeah, no pressure at all.
With shaking hands, he places two dirt blocks in front of him, hoping it will be enough to shield him from the majority of the blast. He loads his bow with a brand-new arrow and draws it back, aiming directly at the center of the crystal.
“Ready?” Dream has his crossbow loaded as well, aimed at the direction he presumes the Dragon will come from.
“As I’ll ever be,” George says, his voice hoarse from overuse and anxiety. But it’s good enough for Dream, who shoots him one of his heart-stopping grins and resumes his stance.
“On the count of three,” Dream’s voice swells up inside of George’s chest. He’s always admired his best friend’s bravery, the way he could feel more confident just from his words alone.
“One,” George calls out, breathing in deeply as he firmly plants his feet, ready to duck behind his make-shift shield of dirt.
“Two,” Dream replies, more solemn this time.
“Three!”
George barely hears himself say the words, shooting his arrow and diving back behind the dirt as quickly as he can. The noise from the exploding crystal rings in his ears, but he’s lucky- he’s only lost two and a half hearts.
There is a great thundering above him, and George looks up just in time to see one of Dream’s spectral arrows lodge itself in the Dragon’s chest. Quicker than he can believe, the Dragon pivots, turning her attention to the blonde instead. George has time.
From his place high-up on the sturdy tower, he shoots down four of the closest crystals, not having to worry about the blast from this distance. He drops down off of the tower, splashing his water bucket beneath his feet before he hits the ground.
George moves faster than he ever has in his life; this is what he’s trained for. Dream had him practice shooting moving targets and he finally understands why. He needs to be quick, needs to shoot the non-enclosed crystals while running if he wants to avoid the Dragon’s attention.
He dodges Endermen as he hits a sixth crystal, the adrenaline pumping heavy in his veins. Four more to go.
“Keep going, George!” Dream is flinging arrow after arrow at the Dragon’s head, hoping that one will land in her inky purple eyes. George watches as he reaches back to load another spectral arrow into his crossbow, his arm flexing only slightly after years of practice. Somewhere along the way, the blonde discarded his green sweatshirt, only a tight black t-shirt and a spare iron chestplate covering his torso.
He snaps out of his daze right before he collides with a pillar. He knows that this crystal is harder to destroy, encased in iron bars. George will have to be extremely precise with where he aims his arrow.
He’s on his feet, running again by the time he hears the crystal explode. The next two are relatively easier, placed on lower towers than the previous ones. George is counting down the seconds until he’s by Dream’s side again, fighting the Ender Dragon like their lives depend on it. To be fair, they do, a voice in his head tells him. He pushes it away, not having time to care about it right now. The only thing that matters is the last crystal.
It’s really fucking high up. George doesn’t know if his arrow will have enough momentum to hit it if he launches it from the ground. He’ll have to tower up. Steadily, block-by-block, he builds tall enough to reach the end crystal from below. His hands are shaking again but he’s not sure why.
He loads the arrow, draws it back, and shoots, waiting for the bang that is sure to follow.
It never comes.
The Dragon has launched him into the air, far above any height he’ll ever be able to recover from. He looks down to see Dream surrounded by Enderman; the blonde doesn’t know George isn’t still on the tower.
Shit, the tower! This will all have been for nothing if he hadn’t hit the crystal. But, as he falls to the ground with no time to get his water bucket, he sees the remnants of an explosion. He hit the crystal.
George lands on his back with a sickening thud.
He’s always heard that when you die, your life flashes before your eyes. For George, as his heart struggles to beat, his aorta disconnected, his body losing vast amounts of blood within seconds to every crevice of his insides, he only sees Dream.
____
George has only known Dream for a few weeks but he already thinks he could love him. The boy is pretty, all blonde hair and golden skin, like he was hand-sculpted out of the finest marble by the gods themselves. If George could see his eye color, he knows he’d get lost in them. And his hands. The countless times they’ve accidentally brushed is enough to set his weak heart on fire, Dream’s calloused fingertips consuming his every thought he has. He thinks about how they would feel on his body- on his wrists, in his hair, on his hips.
A cold feeling crawls into his chest, seizing him. George suppresses a shudder, desperate not to wake the man next to him. His own mind disgusts him. Men shouldn’t feel this way about other men- it isn’t right. But George finds himself questioning his own beliefs more and more lately. How can something that feels so natural be bad?
Oops. Dream must not have been as asleep as he thought, the blonde groaning and rolling over on his side, shifting to cover himself with the thin woolen blanket he brought with him.
“Ender, George. You’re still awake? What time is it?” Dream rasps, blinking sleep from his eyes. His honeyed tone soaks George’s brain so sweetly; he thinks he could listen to Dream forever.
“The stars are still out. As for the time, I’m not entirely sure,” George manages, shivering again, but not from the chilly night air. “I couldn’t sleep.”
Dream clicks his tongue empathetically. “I know how you feel. When I was little, I used to keep myself up pondering over endless questions in my head. It’s harder to rest knowing you don’t have answers.”
“What kind of questions, Dream?”
The blonde shrugs. “Usual kid stuff. I think I wore my poor mother out with my incessant whys.”
George knows the questions that kept his own brain up at night, far from the simple wonderings of an innocent child. Vicious memories of hate-filled words come flooding back; he wants to change the subject.
“Do you believe in love?” George traces over his favorite constellations decorating the night sky as he waits for Dream’s response- Orion, Ursa Major, and his own, Scorpio.
Dream sighs, because this isn’t the first time George has kept him up with his boundless curiosity. “I used to. Then I watched my parents’ marriage fall apart in front of me. It’s hard to believe in love after witnessing that.”
George wishes he hadn’t asked. “I’m sorry about that. It must’ve been hard on you.”
Dream shakes his head in the dark, dismissing George’s unnecessary lamenting. “Don’t be. I’m just glad my sister didn’t have to see.” He pauses before continuing. “Love is finicky and I think it’s different for everyone.”
George knows this to be true. He watches from the sidelines as Dream wears his heart on his sleeve, everything he touches tainted by his endless bounty of pure love. George wants nothing more than to be the recipient of Dream’s most honest emotion. But he doesn’t deserve it- doesn’t deserve the blonde.
He’s been silent for far too long, the only noises he can hear now are quiet cicadas, the slowly-dying crackles of the fire, and Dream’s gentle deep breathing. George lulls himself to sleep quietly, ignoring the ache in his chest.
___
George quickly learns that traveling with Dream is as unpredictable as it is exciting, the other man sometimes wandering off with no explanation, returning hours later with a beaming smile stretched across his face.
This time, however, Dream stumbles back to their camp with ragged, pained wheezing, favoring his left side. George is at his side in seconds, letting Dream lean on him as he leads him to sit.
He notices the blood almost immediately, the deep crimson soaking through Dream’s undershirt and staining his hoodie. When George reaches to touch his side, Dream hisses, wincing away from further danger. Even if he knows deep down George would never hurt him.
“What in Ender’s name happened, Dream?” George cradles his pain-twisted face in gentle palms, running his thumb over the injured man’s cheek softly.
“We needed more iron.” Dream replies, his words rushed, “I ran into a few cave spiders.”
George feels his heart drop. The heavy bleeding now makes sense. Cave spiders are venomous, their bites containing a powerful toxin that prevents blood from clotting. Dream needs milk and he needs it now.
Dream’s eyes dilate and contract, his vision hazy and unfocused as he tries to match George’s gaze.
“I need you to tell me where the cave spider bit you. I know it hurts, but you have to try.” George can feel tears building on his waterline. He doesn’t want to cry over this stupid boy.
“My arm,” Dream rasps, his chest rising and falling rapidly, “My left tricep. I wasn’t looking and it snuck up on me while I had my sword raised.” he tries to make light of the situation, but it only comes out as pitiful.
With this information, George works quickly. He searches through his bag with new fervor, trying to find even the tiniest bit of milk. He nearly cries with joy when his hands land on a cool jug, fishing it out and making sure it hadn’t expired. When Geore is positive it’s safe, he opens it and tips the bottle to Dream’s lips, instructing him to drink.
With the most pressing matter dealt with, George carefully cleans the bite on Dream’s arm. It isn’t as sanitary or as strong as he would’ve hoped, but the poultice would have to work until they can make more healing potions. Dream winces when George wraps a bandage around his tricep tightly, the wound still sore from the venom.
“Take your hoodie and undershirt off, I need to check your side.”
“It’s fine, just leftover blood from my arm,” Dream half-smiles tiredly, “I need to be more careful.”
As the adrenaline and fear wears off, George can feel wetness on his cheeks, his chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath. Dream had been alone in a cave, with no milk, and no armour. What if there had been more than one cave spider? George’s body shakes as he sobs, thinking about what could’ve happened if Dream had come home just a little later.
He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, he can’t fucking breathe. George is only vaguely aware of strong arms wrapping around his body, and he leans into the warmth, resting his head on whatever is holding him.
“I’m okay, George, I’m okay.” Dream whispers, petting the small curls on the back of George’s neck with his uninjured hand. George only cries harder, his breath coming out in little gasps as he soaks Dream’s neck with his tears.
“You’re such an idiot! What if you had gotten trapped in the cave? Dream, what if you had- what if I found you and it was too late? What if I hadn’t been able to save you?”
“Don’t think about what if’s. Think about the present. You did save me, George. And now I’m here with you, safe and sound,” Dream rocks the two of them slowly, his hand never leaving George’s hair.
George pulls back slightly, his cheeks blotchy and eyes red-rimmed. “I don’t want to do this without you, Dream. I can’t.” His I can’t live without you remains unsaid, but the meaning is evident in his voice.
“You won’t have to, I’m right here.” I can’t live without you, either, George’s brain fills in.
___
I love him, the thought echoes in his brain over and over again as his vision goes dark, I love him and I will never get to say it.
___
The sky explodes with light and color, brilliant purples and whites filling every corner of his vision as Dream delivers the killing blow to the Ender Dragon. All of this, all of his blood, sweat, and tears had been for this very moment and they had finally done it. Dream and George had finally killed the beast.
Dream scratches his voice raw with how loud he screams and cheers, tasting iron in the back of his throat. But something is missing. Something feels… off.
He goes silent as he realizes it: he hadn’t heard George’s familiar screams at all. It’s odd. Dream thought that the brunet would be just as excited as he was, but the silence grows louder as each second passes.
“George?” He finds himself calling, brain working on autopilot when he hears no response. Instead of jumping into the portal, Dream spends the minutes after the Dragon’s death searching for his best friend.
He’s getting frantic, close to giving up when he sees it. In the distance, close to the edge of the island, lies a small form curled protectively in on itself.
It’s not George, it can’t be, Dream thinks. But his legs carry him over anyway. He doesn’t process it when white goggles and enchanted diamond armour are clearly visible, when fluffy brown hair is spread out in a halo around a peaceful, pale face.
“George,” Dream shakes his shoulders roughly, choosing to ignore how easily he can manhandle his friend. George doesn’t respond, doesn’t even stir.
“C’mon, George, we did it! We beat the Ender Dragon.” Dream laughs wetly, wiping away the trail of blood leaking from pretty pink lips as if it were nothing more than sweat. It’s cold on his finger, just as George’s body is where it touches Dream’s bare skin. He suppresses a chill that isn’t related to temperature at all.
Dream calls George’s name, again and again, praying to whatever’s out there that he’s just sleeping. But he won’t get a response. George took his last breath long before the Dragon did, his body cold while Dream’s blood ran hot with ambition and confidence.
Quiet tears run down Dream’s face as he rests his hand against an alabaster cheek. George had always looked like a porcelain doll, even more so in death, his skin as cool as the real thing. Dream brushes chocolate hair behind a pointed ear, hoping that deep brown eyes would flutter and open, giving him a warm smile while George’s cheeks turned red. Dream would never see blush on his pretty face again.
Numbly, he scoops up the brunet’s body, cradling it against his chest as he heads towards the portal. Dream doesn’t want to think about endstone ever again.
___
George’s funeral is a small affair. Dream buries him under his favorite tree, his grave marked with a small headstone inscribed with a personal message. Dream cried as he covered the body in dirt, cried when he poured his heart out in a letter that will never be opened, clasped in a corpse’s hand. He put pressed cornflowers in the envelope, sealed it with wax, and wrote George’s name on the front. The letter itself was nearly ineligible, the ink running where large teardrops fell.
George always made fun of his handwriting. If only he could see it now, the neatest it’d ever been. He always said Dream wore his heart on his sleeve, but he was wrong. Dream’s heart was buried under a weeping willow, written in somber words for no one to see.
He needed more time. Dream’s “I love you, too,” died on his tongue along with George that day.