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Dream muted himself when he grew tired of hearing Bad yelling at him to eat another wing. Another three wings, even - which was just unfair torture for someone with zero spice tolerance, who had gone through nearly a half gallon of milk only to eat two small wings.
Half a gallon of milk had not been a good idea. His stomach was churning painfully and though he was dreading it, he knew that his body was going to make good on his promise of throwing up.
God, it hurt. The entire stream from the moment he ate that first wing - even smothered in ranch - had been torture. Torture for charity; what a joke. Dream would gladly have donated twice the fundraising goal if it meant he simply didn't have to participate.
Bad was still going, and even with his headphones down Dream could hear his name being called. He found himself beyond caring, and deafened the call to keep his mind off the continuous pressure to eat more of the insanely hot chicken.
Nausea kept coming over him in waves, making his skin flush and prickle with sweat. He needed to get to the bathroom, but his stomach felt so tight he was afraid that any significant movement would cause it to leap into his throat. Dream gripped his head in his hands and groaned. His stomach gurgled a similar noise in response, trying and failing to digest intense spice and too much dairy.
He probably spent ten minutes at his desk, head in hands, riding through waves of nausea before he finally gave up on staying in his room. Upright and standing, the nausea felt worse, and he stifled a burp into his fist with apprehension but it was only that, only air. Despite how ill he felt, his stomach seemed like it was resisting being sick, and after a moment's pause Dream grabbed the jug of remaining milk. If it felt as bad coming back up as it had going down, he would probably need the milk, no matter how much it made him puke.
It felt like a long, slow walk to the bathroom. He shut the door behind him, putting the milk on the vanity counter, and stood over the sink for a moment just staring at the taps. And then to his reflection.
He looked pretty awful. Pale. Like the blood was just gone from his face. He'd messed his hair running his hands through it and his lips looked angry and red, probably from the spice, a horrible contrast to the almost greenish tint to the rest of his face.
Standing at the sink wasn't helpful. It wasn't what he came to do.
It took no effort to lower himself to the floor, kneeling in front of the toilet and dragging the milk jug down with him. The clean water of the toilet bowl stared up at him when he flipped up the lid. Calm. Cold. Usually non-threatening, but he had faced it last night, too, and was not looking forward to the repeat.
Even holding onto the toilet bowl, willing himself to give in, didn't bring the awful release he needed. Dream alternated between leaning against the bathtub and back at the toilet in turns, waiting for something to happen.
He tried pressing down on his stomach, which hurt and made him burp but nothing else.
"Oh my god," he groaned to the empty bathroom. "This sucks."
It finally came down to the milk. He needed to throw up; short of sticking his fingers down his throat - which he very much did not want to do - the only option was to force it by overloading his stomach. Dream uncapped the milk jug with slightly shaky hands, sat back on his ankles and drank.
He managed three gulps of the liquid before the muscles in his abdomen clenched abrupt and hard, sending him forward with the unswallowed mouthful of milk coughing onto his chin as a gag forced its way up his throat. He almost couldn't let go of the milk jug in time.
Finally.
For a brief second as he hovered above the toilet water with his mouth open waiting for the inevitable, he thought that it might not have worked at all but then another heave doubled him over the bowl and a trickle of milk came up. Not a lot, but the third time brought up his stomach contents in a gush that left him gasping.
It tasted vile, a mix of soured milk and spice that coated his tongue. His body forced him over the toilet again with a choked gurgle that he hated hearing, the helpless sound of vomit being forced from his throat. Dream had a moment of reprieve, retched again, and finally knelt panting over the porcelain with his eyes watering and tongue burning with acid and heat.
He spat, let his mouth hang open just to relieve some of the fire. When it finally seemed to be over, at least for the time being, he sniffled where his nose had begun to run from tears and immediately regretted it when the smell nearly made him gag all over again.
As weak as he felt, Dream spat one more time and forced himself upright and away from the toilet, reaching to flush away the awful mess. Finally, he slumped against the wall opposite, sweating and miserable. An exhausted hand managed to reach the toilet paper roll, tearing off enough to wipe his mouth of the mess that always accompanied throwing up. And Dream closed his eyes, breathing still heavy and erratic from the effort of getting sick, not caring about the hard tiled floor under him or the sour taste and burning that he hadn't rinsed out of his mouth.
"Fuck," he exhaled. It just wouldn't go away; the milk had zero effect when coming back up, and Dream eyed the jug but couldn't bring himself to drink any. He thumped his head against the wall with a groan instead.
His phone, shoved in his pocket during the stream, buzzed with a text message from Skeppy. U alive?
I just threw up , he replied, and tossed his phone down across the floor.
It could have been five minutes or even ten. Time felt meaningless in his misery; his stomach felt nauseous and aching, and he was pretty sure the ordeal wasn't over yet. He heard footsteps on the stairs before Sapnap's voice called out from the hall.
"Dream?"
The steps came closer. Hesitated. Then Sapnap knocked. "Dream? You, uh, you okay?"
Dream just barely mustered the energy to reply. "No," he groaned. Sapnap paused.
"Um, okay. Do you... need anything?"
Dream stared at the half-empty bottle of milk. His mouth was on fire, desperate for something to drink and cool the burning, but his stomach twisted at the thought of more milk. He raised his voice as much as he could with his scratchy throat.
"Could you bring me some water?"
Bathroom tap water always tasted too metallic to drink, so he was grateful to hear Sapnap reply, "Sure," and his footsteps recede down the hallway.
When Sapnap returned just a minute later, knocking again, Dream sighed, his head rolling lazily toward the door. "Just come in," he said. The door opened hesitantly - did Sapnap think he was naked? - and his friend peered in cautiously.
"Hey," Dream said tiredly.
"Hey," he greeted back. When Dream didn't get up from his position on the floor, Sapnap stepped inside and came directly over, crouching down to meet Dream at eye level and handing him a glass of water - cold, Dream could tell from the condensation on the glass even before he took it with a surprisingly shaky hand.
"Thanks," he muttered.
"No prob."
Sapnap stayed where he was on the floor, watching Dream take a mouthful of water just to hold it in his mouth trying to relieve the fire on his tongue. It wasn't nearly as effective as the milk, especially as it warmed, but each cold sip still brought a few seconds of relief. He wound up panting after draining a quarter of the glass, whining as it still left him burning inside.
"It hurts," he slurred, trying to keep his tongue away from the roof of his mouth, anything to get relief.
Sapnap snorted in amusement. "You're an idiot."
He seemed inclined to stick around, though, keeping an eye on Dream as he sipped water and shifted uncomfortably on the tile. Sapnap's eyes flickered to the jug of milk and his brows raised. "Did you seriously drink all that?"
"Yes," Dream groans, "and I'm never doing it again."
"Baby."
Dream tipped his head in Sapnap's direction. "Were you watching the stream, or something? Why'd you come down?"
"People in my chat were freaking out telling me to check on you," Sapnap laughed. "Like you'd died or something."
"Bad wanted me to eat three. Three ," Dream emphasized, whining, "for literally no reason."
"Yeah, that wasn't gonna happen. You wouldn't even have made it to the bathroom if you tried."
"I feel like I'm dying."
"You're fine," Sapnap rolled his eyes. "You're gonna be fine."
"It hurts so fucking bad," Dream pressed his head back against the wall. "I feel siiiiick." Just like on the stream, Dream had no qualms about making his misery known no matter how juvenile his whining sounded. He had been forced into the challenge; he deserved the right to complain.
He was feeling nauseous again, his stomach rolling in warning.
"I know." Sapnap sighed. He reached over and tipped the water glass in Dream's hand, a silent suggestion to keep drinking. Dream brought the glass to his lips and just revelled in the coolness before taking a longer drink.
"Are you good?" Sapnap asked. "Want me to leave you alone?"
He didn't, but as he swallowed a gulp of water any reply Dream might have given was cut off by the lurching of his diaphragm that had him scrambling up to his knees and just barely grasping the toilet bowl in time to retch violently.
"Oh, shit -"
Dream couldn't acknowledge Sapnap's presence or apologize for suddenly vomiting in front of him, not when he was doubled over, his stomach forcefully bringing up another round of liquid pain. His sweaty hand slipped on the edge of the toilet seat, overbalancing and nearly sending him half into the bowl, which would have been awful but a pair of hands immediately steadied him from behind.
"Woah there," Sapnap muttered, and Dream could feel him kneeling behind him, a hand coming up to rest on Dream's back between the shoulder blades.
"Sap -" he choked, and was immediately cut off by another heave. The middle was always the worst, when the contents of his gut felt endless and his body only gave seconds of reprieve between bouts of sickness.
"You're alright. You're okay."
It was worse than the first time, his stomach finally ridding itself of the entire stream's worth of milk and regret until he could feel it in his nose and choking his breath. The only other thing he was aware of was Sapnap's hand rubbing up and down his back. Dream finally stopped, empty after two unproductive gags, and all he could do was lean over the toilet bowl gasping, eyes tearing, nose and mouth both dripping a combination of saliva and snot; a completely unflattering image he couldn't care less about.
In the silence, his breath stuttered loudly. A moment passed, and Sapnap wordlessly handed him a damp washcloth.
"Thanks," he muttered, voice hoarse. The cloth wiped away the mess on his face and helped with the lingering spice on his lips as he pressed it there, relishing in the coolness. He felt like he couldn't get enough air into his lungs with his abdomen aching from the strain.
"You done?"
"Probably."
The hand that had soothed him while he threw up was sitting still but moved toward his shoulder and pressed a firm massage there, a different sort of comfort. Dream sighed, spat twice to rid his mouth of the sticky taste of vomit and pushed the lid of the toilet down to flush it.
Sapnap easily moved with him to lean against the wall. Dream didn't know if he wanted to stay in the bathroom much longer, the smell of sick making low-grade nausea linger. But he needed to catch his breath.
"Sap?"
His friend hummed in reply, watching Dream with a slight apprehension. Dream realized that this was probably an awkward situation to be in; it wasn't something that had come up in the months they had lived together. On the occasions Dream was sick, he had vomited alone, and Sapnap had only done so once but been the same. This was new territory. "Sorry. Thanks for... for helping."
Sapnap shrugged, and any trace of discomfort evaporated into a wry smile. "I told you you would get sick. I told you."
"Didn't think it would be this bad," he muttered back. "Bad sucks. Milk sucks. Charity sucks."
Sapnap threw his head back in a surprised laugh. "Dude, don't let the internet hear that, you'll get canceled all over again." He grinned.
Dream frowned, remembering the comment he had made halfway through the stream. "Well... let's just say I wouldn't be surprised if 'fuck charity' is trending by tomorrow."
"Seriously?"
"I regret nothing except for letting Bad convince me to join."
Sapnap continued to chuckle, and Dream felt the nausea start to subside. His mouth still burned uncomfortably, but either it had lessened or his taste buds were simply destroyed and he couldn't feel as much anymore. He leaned into Sapnap's side, briefly.
"Thanks man. Seriously. I didn't mean for you to be, like, holding my hair back while this happened."
Sapnap gave him a slightly guilty look. "I... probably should have done that. You're kinda messy."
Dream reached up and grimaced at the feeling of sweat through his bangs, and a slight stickiness at the tips of his hair in front. He had been too preoccupied to bother holding it back himself.
"Ugh. I need a shower."
"Then get a shower. And go to bed. You're probably gonna feel like shit later." Sapnap paused halfway to standing. "Or, well. You'll probably have to -"
Dream groaned. "What is wrong with you? Shut up."
"It's true. That's gonna burn just as bad, you know."
"Sapnap," Dream exasperated. "Thank you. Please leave."
Sapnap grinned. "Love you, Dream," he teased.
"Love you too," Dream grumbled. The bathroom door shut behind Sapnap as Dream hauled himself to his feet to head for the sink. A shower would be good.
His phone still sat on the tiles by the vanity, and there was a new message from George.
hope you're doing okay
Dream smiled despite himself.
release my death video , he replied. and avenge me
drama queen
Sapnap says you're fine
get some rest
ttyl?
sure
I'll get you an oreo milkshake later
to make you feel better
Dream huffed out a laugh, anxiety loosening at his friend's teasing form of sympathy. He needed to brush his teeth, not spend ages texting George in the bathroom, but sent out one last message before setting his phone on the counter.
i am not having milk ever again