Work Text:
/tp George to Florida
They’d talked about this moment for months. Waking up to the news that the travel ban from the UK to the US has been lifted. The COVID numbers subsided enough for George to finally fly to Dream and Sapnap. And Patches, of course.
The plan was, George would obtain his tourist visa (relatively quick and easy to obtain) and, at Dream’s insistence, wait until he had spent some time in Florida before making a decision about applying for citizenship.
“What if you don’t even like Florida, George?” Dream had asked many times. George was pretty sure he could deal with some humidity if it meant he could be with his best friends. But forever was a long time, and if that was intimidating to Dream, George wasn’t going to insert himself before Dream was ready.
“True. Or what if Patches doesn’t even like me?” George would ask back.
Dream stopped what he was doing, whatever the shuffling was at his desk that his mic was picking up over the discord call quieted. “She’s going to love you.”
George’s chest seized up a bit, as it did whenever Dream talked about love. Even the love of his cat. Dream was very free with those words, with his assurances, but George did wonder how their own relationship would hold up in real life. Would Dream find his laugh as funny and not grating? Would George’s clinginess become annoying as it did to most people in George’s life over time?
George couldn’t help but wonder when Dream asked if George would like Florida, if what he really wondered if he would be able to tolerate and still love George. It was an out.
“You don’t know that,” George said back.
“I do,” Dream said, calmly, but George didn’t fully believe him. He still worried. And not about Patches.
//////
The August Florida humidity takes George’s breath away, and so does Dream.
They are standing close, closer than what would seem normal for friends who are meeting for the first time. But, of course, that doesn’t really accurately describe Dream and George’s relationship.
Chest to chest, not ready to let fully go of their first hug, George takes in the freckles across the bridge of Dream’s nose, as Dream seems to be captivated by what he sees as well. They are both smiling, to the point where George’s face hurts.
“Yeah, yeah,” Sapnap’s loud voice breaks the spell. “He’s real. You’re real. You can memorize the color of each other’s eyes later when I’m not sweating my balls off.”
They can’t stop smiling at each other. George and Dream orbit around one another with magnetic eyes and static touches for the first couple weeks. The tension builds to a palpable force until Sapnap announces that he’s going to visit Karl, so he can finally get the attention he deserves. George and Dream protest loudly, until Sapnap tells them flat out that they should “make muffins” while he’s gone and the night ends with George covering his burning face with both hands and Dream chasing Sapnap through the house, Sapnap screaming bloody murder.
That first night alone, they let themselves go. In the streaming room of all places, after a victorious game of Bedwars, followed by a quiet whispering round of GeoGuessr. Not streaming, but just for them.
Dream shuts down his PC and the room goes dark. They find each other. There’s no need for words. They’ve had months worth of calls and conversations about their feelings and the what if’s of an irl relationship.
The transition is easy. From friends to lovers. It’s like they had been balancing on a needle’s point for months. It didn’t take much to let themselves fall. Like fate blowing the seeds off a dandelion and making a wish.
George’s room is all but abandoned. He sleeps with Dream, steals his clothes most days, and they stream together, side by side. Sapnap, thankfully, brings Karl back with him so there is no worry of a third-wheel. They have loud boisterous meals, and play games late into the night before parting their separate ways sometime before dawn.
And time goes by.
George had sent his Green Card application in half-way through the second month and forgets about it with the optimism of a man in love. They can see their futures unfolding before them. Everything feels so light and breezy. So easy, easy, easy.
Three weeks before he’s due home, George starts to worry, just a bit. He’ll have to get an extension on his tourist Visa while he waits. Which is fine. But, surely, he’ll be hearing good news soon, which will make the tourist Visa unnecessary. He wonders if it’s a bad sign that his Green Card application is taking so long.
Georges pushes it from his mind most days. Delays the worry that this feeling of Happy and Home will possibly come to an end.
It’s a clear evening in the hot tub. The four of them are under the stars, stomachs full of burgers off the grill. They are drinking Cokes and listening to music. Karl wants to visit Disney before the weekend, but Sapnap wants to make plans to go to Harry Potter World. George is about to sound his support for the latter when his email notification sounds, interrupting him. The chatter goes on around them, but George twist away from the comfort of Dream’s arm around his shoulders to reach his phone. It’s something from Immigration. The voices feel far away now, and George’s throat tightens with the pressure of the moment.
Georges makes a quiet excuse and climbs from the hot tub, ignoring the quietness of Dream behind him as he, no doubt, watches him grab his towel and make his way inside. George dries as best he can, so as not to make wet tracks through the house. In the bathroom, he shuts the door behind him.
Sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, George wipes away the droplets of water that have made their way from his hair to his face. He opens the email with shaky hands.
Scanning the email three times, because he can’t believe. It can’t be real.
His application has been denied. He’s being sent back.
Feeling dizzy and sick all at once, George lowers himself to the tile floor.
It’s over. The fairytale is done.
Goodbye is messy. George clings, Dream cries, Patches meows, and Sapnap gets himself worked up for the fourth time that week and punches a hole in the kitchen wall.
It’s raining in London when his plane lands. Because of course it is.
George’s flat has been let for months. He’s homeless. He stays with Wilbur even though his Mum begs him to just come home. But his parent’s house doesn’t feel like home anymore. Brighton doesn’t feel like home.
George sleeps for twenty hours.
Wilbur wakes him with a shake and a smile. “Sorry, mate. I get the jet lag but you should eat, and also call Dream. He’s been blowing up my phone for hours. He thinks I’m holding you hostage.”
George wets his gumline with his tongue and eventually nods.
George changes out of his pajamas. After fishing out his toothbrush from his carryon, he wobbles his way on sleepy limbs to the toilet. After brushing his teeth thoroughly, he’s mid spit when his esophagus tightens into a sudden retch. He freezes, thinking he must’ve just gotten a splash of toothpaste foam in his gag reflex, but then another one comes on tenfold and he has to drop his toothbrush in the sink in favor of using both hands to catch his fall as he dives in front of the toilet. He dry heaves a few times but nothing comes up.
George hasn’t eaten in twenty-four hours, he can’t imagine what would be upsetting his stomach, unless it’s. . . not eating for twenty-four hours. George gets back to his feet and wipes the sweat that’s gathered along his hairline at the back of his neck. He takes a couple of deep breathes and then washes his hands and face with cool water. He rinses his toothbrush before returning to his room.
Grabbing his phone of the bedside table, he tries to Facetime Dream. There’s no answer. He settles for texting Dream: I’m alive. Wilbur is not holding me hostage, idiot.
George can smell hot food and is suddenly ravenous. He goes to put his phone in his pocket, but then hesitates before texting: I miss you.
The reminder makes his body ache all over. It makes him want to lay back down and wrap himself in a blanket. But he doesn’t. Dream told him before he left to keep hope. Sapnap told him to stay strong.
When George gets to the kitchen Wilbur is pulling on a jean jacket, keys already in hand. “I ordered you a pizza and only nicked two pieces. You’re welcome.”
“Thanks,” George says. “Where are you going?”
“Band practice. Do you . . . want to come with or something?” Wilbur asks.
George already feels like he’s intruding on Wilbur’s life enough, he doesn’t want him to feel like he has to babysit. “No. You go on. I’m going to eat as much of this pizza as I can and if I don’t explode, I’m going to maybe see if anyone is streaming. Maybe join.”
“Good. Have fun,” Wilbur says.
The kitchen is quiet once he leaves.
George pulls out his phone and looks through his notifications. Several from Dream while he was sleeping, a couple from Sapnap, and one from Quackity. He sets his phone down and eats his way through most of two pieces of pizza until it suddenly doesn’t taste good. He sets the rest of the second piece down and realizes he’s dizzy again.
George takes out his phone and tweets: Jet lag sucks.
He closes the app before looking at any of the responses.
The thing is, George doesn’t remember feeling like this when he flew to America. Actually, he felt a little like this in the days before he left America. Maybe it’s just stress. Or dehydration. Or both. He packs up the rest of the pizza and puts it in the fridge.
Back in his room he looks through his luggage to find his water bottle. Once he finally finds it his limbs are heavy and sluggish with sleepiness. The flat is quiet. He’s cold. He lays down and pulls the duvet up around his shoulders, wishing it was Dream’s warm arms. He tells himself he’ll just lay here for a few minutes. Enough to warm up, and let the woozy feeling in his head pass. He imagines Dream holding him close. Just a few minutes, he thinks.
George wakes up to an alert sound. Searching around, he finds his phone under the cover with him. He’s missed two calls from Dream, and there’s also two texts from him. One says: I miss you too, BB. The other reads: Don’t forget you’re meeting with Phil’s immigration lawyer today.
George sits up and has that disorientation of wondering if it’s day or night. He checks the time, and the day and realizes that if he doesn’t get up now, he’s going to be late.
The train ride is long and bumpy. George’s head still woozy, and his stomach tilty.
The solicitor is not unkind, but he’s direct and factual and doesn’t sugarcoat the situation. He does answer all of George’s questions, and even stops for a break to have his assistant get George some water because, apparently, he’s looking a bit peaky at one point.
It's not as if George thought the solicitor was going to be able to wave a magic wand and have him on a flight that week. But when the solicitor says, “These matters take time,” and he’s talking potential months, at best, George can’t help but feel let down.
George Facetimes Dream on the train, on the way back to Wilbur’s flat. This time he picks up. George relays the information that the solicitor told him as best he can remember. He also confesses about how he's been feeling. Bad. And wrong. And all out of sorts.
Dream is quiet for a long time. Or maybe George is, and Dream just watches him.
“It’s going to be fine, George,” Dream finally says.
“Is it, though?” George asks.
George isn’t a crier. He isn’t someone that wells up during Disney movies, or even alone when he’s feeling sorry for himself. He doesn’t look down on all that, it’s just not how he’s built emotionally. Thick skin, some would say. But it doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel.
So, it sort of alarms George when he feels the prickling behind his eyes. George brings his phone down from in front of his face, so Dream can’t see the fat tears that run down his cheeks. He uses his sleeve to wipe them as soon as they fall. George can hear Dream calling his name.
When George arrives back to Wilbur’s flat, Wilbur is there. He stills where he is making a sandwich at the kitchen worktop and stares at George.
“Are you alright?” he asks.
George swallows. He doesn’t want to worry Wilbur. Or Dream or anyone else. However, George has never felt so un-alright in his entire young life. He wants to tell Wilbur that he had bad news from the solicitor. And that he’s scared it means things with Dream are over. Not now, but eventually. Dream will tire of the long-distance thing, an aversion to which contributed to Dream holding back until George was in America.
George wants to tell him that his heart is breaking, and he feels shattered, with many of the pieces missing. He’s beyond repair.
“I’m tired,” George tells him instead. Which isn’t a lie.
Wilbur nods, probably seeing the truth of it written on George’s face.
George gets back to his room and tweets: Going to take a break from streaming. Longer than I thought. Thanks for understanding.
Quackity is streaming. George opens up the laptop that Wilbur has loaned him his since he is in the absence of his own set-up. He logs in and joins the discord call and turns his camera on. Quackity’s voice is in his ear in an instant.
“George! I’m Live!” Quackity yells. He leans forward to where he can see George’s face. “You look like shit, buddy.” George regrets turning his face cam on.
“No. No, Chat. He’s fine. His camera is just crap. When are you getting your stuff from Dream?” Quackity asks.
In truth, George had told Dream not to send it yet. That step just seemed so final. He wanted everything waiting for him, when he returned. But now, that just seems silly.
“Soon,” he tells Quackity. “What are you doing?”
“Just opening crap Chat made me buy on Amazon,” Quackity says.
“Carry on, then,” George tells him. He looks around for his water bottle again and wishes he would have filled it. Quackity echoes back, imitating George’s accent before he does, carry on opening packages while George watches along with chat occasionally chiming in a comment or forcing a laugh.
About a half hour in, George starts to feel woozy again and closes his eyes. He hears Quackity calling his name an realizes that he’s resting his head on the wall next to him and is leaning out of shot. He straightens up and apologizes.
“I’ve been calling your name. I ended five minutes ago,” Quackity says. “You okay?” he asks.
Again, George thinks about how he doesn’t want to burden his friends. But maybe Quackity would understand. George knows he would listen.
“Why don’t you go get some water, and then tell me what’s been going on,” Quackity says.
George nods. He stands up from his chair and doesn’t even have time to think about the wooziness, or anything at all really, before everything just goes black.
Someone is calling his name. George wakes with a start as he realizes he is on the floor. Wilbur is shaking him but this time there is no smile, just the furrowed brow of concern. George starts to get up when a searing pain rips through his right arm.
The Doctor wants to do an X-Ray, so it shouldn’t come as a surprise that the first question she asks is, “Is there a chance you could be pregnant?”
George stares at her. He’s glad no one is here, that Wilbur was made to wait in the waiting room.
Since he hasn’t answered so she tries again. “Are you a carrier?”
In George’s family this wasn’t something that was talked about. A shameful thing for a man. George doesn’t buy into this school of thought, but he also tries not to think about the fact that he tested positive all those years ago. He was safe with Dream. It shouldn’t be an issue. But George isn’t stupid. He knows that there is still a chance, especially thinking about how he’s felt lately.
George nods at the doctor, which triggers a series of more questions, and tests, and explanations. George still opts to have the X-Ray, but they cover him in extra led blankets around his middle.
On the way back to the flat, Wilbur offers to fill his medications form the druggist. When he returns to the car with the prenatal vitamins, and not pain meds as he was probably expecting, he looks a little shook, but he doesn’t say anything. It’s quiet the rest of the way.
Wilbur buzzes around George like one of those giant bees in Minecraft. He goes to plug in his phone, which he says has gone dead, then he fills George’s water bottle, then he offers George a snack, then he gets George an extra blanket. Finally, sitting on the edge of the bed he says, “Do you want me to sit with you when you call Dream?”
George shakes his head.
“You . . . You are going to call him, right?” Wilbur asks, gently.
George hesitates. “People are going to think I’ve done it on purpose. For the Green Card. They’ll say I’ve trapped him.” George picks at a snag on the quilt Wilbur’s set on top of him. It looks handmade and has lovely shades of blue, George’s favorite color. “What if Dream-- ”
“No. Don’t say that. Dream loves you. And he trusts you implicitly. We’ve all seen that for years. That’s all that matters. Don’t worry about people.”
George nods, but it doesn’t expunge all of the worry. He should have told Dream he was a carrier. And, regardless, he’s never heard Dream say he wants a baby. Least of all with George.
When George presses the contact for Dream, he feels afraid, something he’s never felt when it comes to Dream.
Dream doesn’t answer.
“He’ll call back,” Wilbur assures him.
George leans back on the pillows and rubs the hand not in a cast, over his lower abdomen under the covers. He’ll call back, he repeats to himself. And once more to his baby: He’ll call back.
When George wakes up he’s too hot. He throws off the quilt and the duvet. He searches the bed for his phone, but sees that Wilbur has plugged it in to charge on the bedside table.
A missed call and vm from Sapnap, and two frantic texts from Quackity, but then the third Quackity says that Wilbur updated him on his broken arm, and calmly asking George to call him when he feels up to it.
George gets up slowly, as the doctor had instructed. He finishes the water in his water bottle and brings it, along with his toothbrush, with to fill again in the bathroom.
He finds Wilbur in the kitchen. He’s smiling. “Oh, you’re awake. Just in time.” He offers George tea.
There’s a knock at the flat door. “Can you get that, George?” Wilbur asks, as he reaches for cups.
George shuffles over to the door of the flat.
Opens the door. Expecting a package. Or food delivery.
Dream stands there looking worn and tired and gorgeous. He reaches for George.
FOUR MONTHS LATER
“Hi, guys!” George says to his chat, waving at the camera on his computer. He reaches to adjust his light and his microphone. “I wanted to thank everyone for your love and concern and nice messages while I was taking my break. It’s great to be back.”
George reaches down and takes Dream’s hand, who is completely out of frame, in his. Dream squeezes. “I have a couple of special guests today. Dream?” George asks, like he normally would, not looking toward Dream.
“Hi, Chat,” Dream calls out. Chat starts going crazy wondering and theorizing why Dream sounds different, and not like he’s in a VC.
“Oh, Dream. They can’t see you, you muffin.” George turns the camera so Dream, sitting next to him in his own chair can now be seen. With the height difference, the shot cuts Dream off at his chin. He’s wearing his Dream merch sweatshirt.
George pulls the microphone closer to Dream. “Hi, Chat,” Dream says again. He waves with his free hand, his left still firmly clasped with George’s right hand, on the arm of George’s chair.
George takes a moment to answer some questions and thank donos. Some are skeptical that it’s really Dream, but others just celebrating and spamming DNF IS REAL and GEORGE BACK IN FLORIDA? in the chat.
“George, did you forget to introduce our other special guest?” Dream asks.
“I’m here!” Sapnap calls out, before George can answer.
“You are not the special guest, Sapnap,” George tells him.
“I am the specialist. Now budge up,” he says, stepping in front of the camera.
George stands up, and Sapnap drops down into his chair. Chat immediately starts to go crazy at the site of George’s round belly. George puts his left hand on his tummy and the next thing the chat sees is a gold band on his ring finger.
George sits on Dream’s lap and pats his belly. “Well, that kind of spoils it. Chat, meet the newest member of the Dream Team.”