Work Text:
The woods are warm and humid, bathed in soft lights. The light of the moon, of fluorescent mushrooms, of fireflies and of Sapnap’s embers that linger on his hands and eyes when he sniffles. George keeps his glasses down, his hood drawn up, but he’s not any more controlled. He’s crying, but it’s a private affair. One he’d never quite felt comfortable doing around anyone.
The crickets and flittering bug wings blend with the gusts of wind in the trees and the distant crinkle of leaves.
The grave was contested. Argued. But this was the end result.
In the woods, distant, but still close enough they both stray to it when it’s dark enough they won’t be judged, but in a place George likes to think Dream would have adored. There’s a river with steppingstones nearby spaced just far enough apart he can imagine Dream would have laughed about it being parkour, feet skimming the stones until he was across. Not a drop of water on him.
The trees are thick, but there’s natural paths. If they wanted to play hunt, if they wanted to chase one another with blunt arrows and dulled swords, they could have.
Sapnap sighs. The embers run across his hands again as he wipes at his eyes and then wraps an arm around George’s back. He’s shaky. George can hear his whimpers. George leans against him and feels Sapnap’s hair brush his cheek.
“I miss him,” Sapnap murmurs.
Three weeks. It’d been three weeks since Dream’s death.
Likely longer since it’d only been three weeks since they’d been told.
A small assembly among the adults only, and even then it was a clearly selected audience and the second iteration of the news. It was clear Las Nevadas had already known, and beyond that, it was a PR release more than a eulogy. Sam spoke. Called it an ‘accident.’ Quackity stood off to the side, arms crossed, eyes fixed on something distant. They discussed ‘ethically cremating’ the body from within the prison. Moving his body—or what remained of it—at first hadn’t even been a discussion on the table. George regrets he wasn’t even the one to speak up, to say, “He ought to have a grave.”
It’d been Wilbur out of all of them.
Then lines were drawn.
“Why?” Quackity asked, a scoff. “Who here actually liked him?”
“It’s not about liking, ducky,” Wilbur had said as he strode up to Quackity. “It’s about a message. An effect. Why are you so quick to bury what must be the biggest relief you’ve had yet?” Wilbur teased, addressed the dozen of them gathered. “Dream deserves a grave, because at the end of the day, don’t you all want one?”
“A threat, Soot?” Quackity spat.
“We’re all going to die one day,” Wilbur said. “And if we can honor even those of us with horns as large as their ego, we ought to afford everyone a resting place.”
From there, out of all of them, George and Sapnap had kept silent the longest. There were neutral parties like Bad and Ant who agreed but argued the route they ended up taking—let it be a private grave. They didn’t need a memorial like Schlatt’s. Dream had done enough harm. Wilbur was stubborn. Let it be large. Imposing. A reminder.
Eventually, Karl had spoken before Sapnap. “I say we let those that were closest to Dream decide,” and his eyes had swept to Sapnap.
Quackity’s eyes had too. As had Wilbur’s, but his with a menace. “And who was close to him when he died? Should we send a crow for Techno?”
And that had cut deep.
The Syndicate weren’t here. Of course, they weren’t. Quackity wouldn’t have let them in Las Nevadas. Like the teens they’d hear from someone else. Sam had promised to tell Tommy and Tubbo, Wilbur mentioned passing on the information to Philza, Jack Manifold planned to tell Niki.
But Wilbur was right, neither Sapnap or he had been the last to have a friendly conversation with Dream.
George could barely remember the color of his eyes.
“Dream deserves a grave,” Sapnap had said, quiet. “I want it private. Away.”
And George never spoke up. Only low. A whisper to Sapnap. “I know a place.”
And time had passed. And like a morbid ritual, they drew to the spot and knelt. George liked to return without Sapnap once a week. Privately, he’d lay on the grave, his fingers dipping into the dirt and his breath ghosting across the pebbles.
George would draw his cloak over himself and the grave, as if worried Dream would get cold in his deathbed. He’d dip his fingers up to his knuckles further into the earth and plants would spring up. Flowers. Grass. Weeds.
If only he could give life to his friend. George closes his eyes. He’d gladly give a life of his to Dream. Curled up like this, he felt a mix of feelings. He’d wanted a lot from Dream. He wanted Dream to leave prison so he could yell at him, tell him how dumb he’d been, how dethroning him was so silly now and clearly they could have been allies if Dream was…
He just wanted it to be different. He wanted it to be the same as it always had been.
He wanted to yell at Dream until Dream and him resolved it all, and then hours or days later, Dream would come around, put a hand on his back and George would turn his head to look at him. This imaginary kiss, where neither touched mouths, where neither went any closer, but it almost felt like they would. George would stare at Dream’s lips, his eyes hidden behind his glasses. Dream wouldn’t know he’d think about leaning forward, even when angry, wouldn’t know George would away and touch his tongue to his lips and wonder what Dream’s mouth would have felt like in that moment. How many times when they reconciled had George thought about confessing something more?
But the window would pass.
“You’re an idiot,” George would say, and Dream would return the comment.
And then he’d be by his side again.
But from what he saw of the body, he wasn’t sure Dream would have ever been Dream again. Not as he knew him. Not as he hoped to know him.
George sniffles and presses his cheek into the ground, feels his eyelashes skim the grass.
“I miss you.”
George fell asleep on the grave.
Sapnap found him there in the morning, flowers haloing his face and hair. There was a set to Sapnap’s mouth, a tremor in him when he looked at his best friend curled up on the grave of his best friend. Sapnap was hurt to see him so and he shook George a few times.
George wonders if that brief fear in Sapnap’s eyes he saw as his eyes opened was Sapnap fearing this was it—he’d lost them both. When their eyes met, George sees a sadness in Sapnap’s eyes that reminded him of Sapnap’s father. The same tearful love that Bad held in his eyes when he regarded them all, when he regarded Skeppy after the egg.
Sapnap presses a warm hand to George’s cheek until he sits up. A small, sad smile down at George. “Hey, sleeping beauty, let’s get you home, okay?”
They’d headed to Kinoko, Sapnap with a hand between his shoulder blades and then, a constant sideways look at his face. George didn’t reveal anything. He kept his mouth shut and his glasses covering his eyes. Eventually, Sapnap drifts away.
But George kept finding himself back at the grave. First consciously, then unconsciously. He’d fall asleep at home, sometimes in Kinoko where Sapnap was insisting he stayed, sometimes at his remodeled home that was now a defunct Cat Café, but regardless—he’d wake at the grave.
Sapnap didn’t always catch him there. He hated when Sapnap did. Sapnap’s layers around his heart had begun to fall with the ever-pressing demands on his walls and his friend kept feeling pain after pain. George didn’t want to become another.
Sometimes George could rouse himself, rub his eyes and sit up where he lay at the grave. Could leave and tell Sapnap he’d simply been at home. But the more the plants grew around the grave, the more he was starting to suspect Sapnap didn’t believe him when he caught him.
“George,” Sapnap stresses as he stands there, embers flickering from his hands. “I can’t lose you too.”
“I’m fine,” George mutters and takes Sapnap’s hand to pull himself up.
“I know it’s—just…wait to go to sleep until Karl or I’m around, okay. We can watch over you,” Sapnap begs “You could get hurt while you’re sleepwalking.”
But he didn’t want to encourage Sapnap to stay awake at night. Insomnia was starting to work its way into Sapnap’s eyes in the way Kinoko’s mushrooms became a coping method for him. His eyes were red from either the mushrooms or sleep deprivation.
Sapnap had nightmares. George knew he did. If he was awake in Kinoko at night, he’d hear Sapnap screaming.
George knew he wasn’t the only one filled with regret. Sapnap had said things he hadn’t meant to Dream, and those had been his last words. His only words. There were dramas still unfolding elsewhere on the server, there was a wedding permanently on hiatus Sapnap would dodge questions about, and then there was George—his friend who kept wandering to a grave while he slept.
And so, he was fine. Because he had to be.
George wasn’t found by Sapnap this time.
“Huh, always wondered where you ended up,” Quackity said as he stooped, gently tapping the side of his face until he opened his eyes.
George sits up tiredly, pulling the plants that had slunk over his arms and threaded into his hair off. The words register a moment late, but he looks into Quackity’s crinkled eyes and feels relief. For a moment, a voice other than Sapnap’s meant death. He isn’t sure why he feels that way.
“Didn’t know you knew where Dream’s grave was,” George says. It was still dark out, but there was plenty of warm light. Quackity’s cigarette glowed where it perches between his lips, the lantern Quackity carried is orange and gives off the same radiance as the fireflies. The moon is hidden behind trees, it’s cooler light filtering down in beams. Despite the surely late hour, it felt as safe as daybreak.
“I didn’t. I followed you. I’ve seen you sleepwalk a few times, but Sap’s been slacking, so I figured I’d make sure you didn’t walk off a cliff,” Quackity says, settling beside George on the ground. He spares the grave an odd look and shifts so his back isn’t to it. “Prime, this place gives me the creeps.”
George cocks his head. He’d never had the same experience. The place is tranquil. The plants are a mimicry of Dream’s scent. The oak trees, the roses, the moss—the mix of wildflowers—it all came together and reminded him of Dream. XD’s touch still carries over. George had grown to feel most safe here.
Maybe that’s why no matter what he’d return.
“I’m fine,” George assures him. “Going to offer for me to sleep in Las Nevadas?”
“How’d you guess?” Quackity asks, bumping George’s leg with his. “It’s further away. Make it a lil harder for you to sleepwalk so far,” Quackity offers. Quackity pushes his hair under his beanie, smiling softly. “I know it’s just…you three in Kinoko, but in Las Nevadas there’s more of us. Foolish and Sam are insomniacs too. Be easier to manage it.”
“Speaking of it being only us three,” George starts. Quackity’s gaze darkens a moment. He holds up a hand. A swift shake of his head. Clearly neither Sapnap, Karl or Quackity were going to address the engagement and lack of wedding.
“No, George, no. I’ve—” Quackity takes a deep breath. “Whatever’s going on, you’re still one of my best friends and I’m looking out for you,” Quackity says and gently lowers that hand to George’s wrist. A breeze swept through the area and Quackity shudders. He draws away as if burnt, standing. “Let’s go, okay. I’ve been meaning to show you the indoor pool we had built. You’ll love it.”
Las Nevadas was colorful and fun, George supposes. He’ll like it more when they’re all friends again.
He has a hard time focusing. The desire to drift off, to sleep, haunts him. Worse, something haunts Quackity too. His eyes are still etched in the same paranoia George distantly remembered Wilbur having. The way they dart. See something in shadows no one else does.
They are sitting at the pool, Quackity happily stripped to swim trunks, but George feels too cold and keeps a t-shirt on with his trunks.
Their conversations keep falling flat. As if neither has the energy to keep it up.
“George,” Quackity says.
“Hm?” George asks, kicking his feet around where he sat at the edge of the pool. The water sloshes around his feet, cool, but pleasant.
“Do you—how are you doing?” Quackity asks, swimming over to the edge to tread near the edge, gripping the side of the pool to look up at George.
“Fine,” George says.
Quackity’s eyes go past George for a moment. To something out of sight. To something that makes Quackity recoil. A nervous laugh.
“Prime, you always say you’re fine, but I’m not sure you are,” Quackity says. “You miss him, don’t you? You’re wearing his old cologne.”
George shrugs. He wraps his arms around himself. “I just…wanted things to be different, Quackity. And…and now they’re done. And…I don’t know what I want now.” He doesn’t know if he wants to try to beg XD or find something to appeal to him or…
Let Dream go.
But.
He wants Dream back.
But he doesn’t want to lose him again.
If he brings him back and Dream…dies again.
Quackity sighs. “I get it,” he says. He leans his chin on the edge of the pool. “I wanted it to go far differently too.” A shrug. “But. I’m glad it’s over.” His words turn bitter towards the end and it feels like they were directed at someone other than him. George nods. Over. He’d rather it still be ongoing. At least when Dream was in prison, he could pretend it’d reach a solution without him acting.
Now. He wishes he’d done something. Something different.
George mutters, “Do you ever wish you’d said something to him different? Before El Rapids…back when he was…”
Quackity pushes wet hair out of his face, his fingers skimming over his scar. “I’d have told him to fuck himself sooner.” George snickers. Quackity flashes him a small smile. “But I’m guessing that’s not what you’d say.” George shakes his head and Quackity leans back, rivulets of water running off his hair into the water. The droplets sliding over his scar make it look worse, distorting in the dim-colored lights of the pool. “I don’t think he ever really thought of any of us, George. He didn’t care. You could have been all like ‘yes, Dream. I’m so happy you’re dethroning me,’ and he’d have done the same shit.” Quackity says, mocking George’s voice.
George frowns. Dream cared. He did. George kicks water at Quackity. “He’s such an idiot,” George says with fondness. Then. “Was an idiot.”
Quackity shields himself from the water, but the mood falls somber again. Quackity kicks off the wall, floating on his back. “I should throw you a bachelor party, George. A celebration. You’re finally free. Maybe a little drunken fun and you’ll find something else or someone else,” Quackity suggests.
“No, thanks,” George says quickly.
He didn’t want the loud parties and to flirt with strangers. If there’s something he wanted, he wanted Sapnap and Karl and Quackity to work things out again. For the four of them to hang out and be honest, to discuss Dream and properly mourn him. He’d tell them how he’d plan to bring Dream back and they’d welcome it.
But they wouldn’t.
It sounded almost like XD’s voice in his head.
He’d broached reviving Dream to the god, and the god had said, “And how long would he live, George?”
“I don’t know. How long do we all live?” George had retorted because he didn’t like the way the god’s voice echoed. XD tutted. Clicked a non-existent tongue against non-existent teeth and lips.
“Your friends would sooner kill him than welcome him, George,” the god purred. A hidden message there.
Trust only XD.
George clears his mind. He doesn’t like what XD keeps implying. Sapnap is only talk. He wouldn’t…None of them would.
He shifts, laying on his back with his legs dangling in the water. He stares at the glass ceiling above. The sun is starting to rise, the sky lightening. If he closes his eyes he could imagine laying at a river, Dream and Sapnap nearby, talking. He’d feel Dream sneak closer and sometimes he’d splash George. It’d end in a scuffle and George darting up to try and get him back, but sometimes he’d hear Dream take a deep breath.
He knew that breath. Knew Dream was scanning to see if Sapnap was near. Then, a soft breathy giggle.
He’d trail his fingers over George’s stomach. If George didn’t open his eyes, Dream would giggle louder, gently try to get George to flinch from the tickling, running his fingers up, pausing near his chest as they’d nudge his sides, until he’d jab George’s neck. Then, “George…” Dream’s breath against his chin, brushing over his stubble and near his ear. Then both hands, tickling him in earnest and George would end up breaking, laughing and Dream would be pressed against him, his hands settling on his sides, warm and soft.
Dream’s mouth inches from his own.
When he opens his eyes, he sees XD standing over him. He’d fallen asleep. Sometimes it isn’t as obvious, but seeing as he’s in a replica of his memory of the old community house and river rather than Las Nevadas and XD is there, well, either he’s asleep or delirious.
“George, have you made up your mind?” XD asks.
George sits up. Did he do it?
He wants Dream.
“One of my lives and you’d revive him?” George asks.
“Yes,” XD promises.
“Not yet,” George says. “I want to be there for him. When he returns. Where would he come back?”
XD hums. “Normally it’d be where someone died, but…I’d make an exception for you as my best friend, George. His grave.”
“Can you protect him?” George asks, following after the god as it drifts off. XD cocks its head. “You protect me, don’t you? I want you to protect him.”
“No,” XD says and continues drifting over the ground. George balls up his fists.
“Then I’ll give another life. I have plenty—” George says, grabbing XD’s cloak.
“You have more than three, because I gave you them!” XD says, whirling on him. The voice takes on that chilling tone, a high-pitched ringing echoing behind its words. “I’m only accepting one back, because you’re my friend, George.” The god looms above him, its voice distorting. “I could take all your lives. I could give you infinite! Your lives are nothing.”
“Then if they’re nothing, I’ll die protecting him if it comes to it!” George snaps. He doesn’t care about getting in the gods face, even as blue flame surrounds it. Even as the god’s form distorts to unearthly shapes and sounds, wails of the dying echoing around it, its cloak warping with faces of agony.
For a moment the god holds his stare and then its figure diminishes some, as does George’s dream. The colors begin to drain. Soon, it is a gray mass around them; splotches of color on a few things. The god and yellow roses on sharp vines coiling closer to him and wrapping around his legs. George holds his ground regardless, unwilling to back down.
The god looms
above him, one hand reaching out to grip his chin.
“When you die George,” the god said, “And you will. Sooner rather than later. You’re going to be with me. Forever,” the god warns.
“Fine,” George spits. “I don’t care. I want Dream back.”
“So be it. When you next go to his grave, I’ll bring him back,” XD says.
George lets out his breath in a huff. A quiet relief fills him as his dream begins to fade and he murmurs, “Thank-you.”
The god doesn’t answer him.
When George blinks, he is truly awake. He’s been moved away from the pool onto one of the folding chairs. Quackity has thrown a towel over him as a blanket and is sitting nearby, sipping a cocktail.
“You really do just pass out, George,” Quackity says, quiet. It’s day-time now. The sun is overhead, midday. Quackity’s changed. He’s in his suspenders and button-up. It was a new button-up. While his old one had been off-white, this one is a dark red with gold lining.
“How long?” George asks. He pushes himself up and holds himself. His hair is dry, but the chill hasn’t left him.
“I left for a couple of hours to attend to some things, but I came back. I’d say six or seven hours,” Quackity says. “You wouldn’t wake up and I didn’t want to hurt you, so I left you here. Just made sure you didn’t sleepwalk.”
“I don’t break easy,” George says with a laugh. “Sapnap once accidentally caught me on fire trying to wake me.”
Quackity grins, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. George hates it. He hates how it’s not going to change. “Hey,” a hand squeezing George’s knee. “Gotta keep you whole, huh? Guess we all gotta take on the over protective guard dog role for the late asshole. Besides, with Sapnap and Karl being how they are, you’re one of my only friends. You count for a lot, George”
“You could count Wilbur as a friend,” George jokes and Quackity groans.
“A nuisance,” Quackity says with a shake of his head. He stands. “Come on. Get dressed. You feeling okay or need to go somewhere less hectic?”
“I think I’ll go on a walk,” George says.
Quackity doesn’t really leave him alone, which is fine. George is good at vanishing when he needs to. He fishes an enderpearl out of an enderchest and while Quackity pauses to talk to Fundy, he teleports away. Quackity won’t hold it against him. They’re always like this. People know George leaves.
George hesitates to go to the grave first. He instead stops by Kinoko and absently collects armor and weapons for Dream. That’s what Dream would want? He always felt safest behind a sword. He’ll give Dream armor and…
George pauses, the spare gear hanging in his hands. Then what? His friend has been dead. Doesn’t limbo do something to people? He’s seen Wilbur. There’s something not right about him. Wasn’t there a time distortion? How long has it been?
George feels himself begin to hyperventilate. Dream’s body—they’d only seen it in brief. Someone had done a good job making it look whole again. But why had it looked so mangled? What accident? What if it wasn’t an accident? He’s starting to shake and he has to drop the sword and lean against the wall. He just wants Dream as he’s always been.
What if he’s a zombie? Something awful? He wants Sapnap to support him. He wants reassurance. He wants—
“George?” Karl asks. “I…forgot you live here too.”
“I don’t—I don’t—Karl, did you need something?” George settles on struggling to control his breathing.
“No, I just heard—I heard you drop stuff,” Karl says, takes a step into the room. “George, are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” George snaps. He grabs a bag. Other trinkets. Not the armor. Not the sword. He has his own hanging from his hip. He doesn’t want to arm Dream right now. George pushes past Karl who catches his arm, his fingers digging into his forearm. “Karl, I’m not in the mood—"
“George, look at me,” Karl says, firm. George isn’t wearing his glasses. He can’t hide his eyes. He shakes his head. “Please.”
“Karl, how did Dream die?” George asks. He knows Karl can’t answer. He knows none of them got
“I don’t know, George. None of us do,” Karl says slowly. “Come on. Let’s sit down. Get something warm to eat. It’s been a rough few days, hasn’t it? Sapnap’s been so…so off since the funeral. He’s really been moping—”
George hates how it is now. He hates it so much. “It’s been weeks since the funeral, Karl,” he snaps harsher than he should. Karl flinches. Karl lets go of his arm and wraps his arms around himself.
“…Sorry, I just…George, do you mind staying? Please. I know you wanted to go elsewhere, but…I lose less time when others are around. Sapnap’s been really busy lately and I just…” Karl begs, but George shakes his head. He can’t. He can’t. He can’t keep sitting around watching them all fall apart.
Not anymore. He can’t do it.
George leaves.
When he reaches the grave he’s winded from running. He stoops quickly, clutches onto the gravestone and closes his eyes. “Please, XD.”
The wind whistling through the trees. The plants. Then. It’s a breath. It’s a breath he’d know, it’s a presence he’s felt a thousand times. He doesn’t need to turn to know it’s Dream. He doesn’t need to take a deep breath in to know it’s going to be the scent of the woods clinging to him, the oil from polishing his axe lingering on his skin. He doesn’t need to open his eyes to see any of him.
But he does.
And XD revived him whole, but left scars.
And there’s more than George remembers.
Winding and wrapping around him. Dream’s dressed as he always has. His hoodie he hasn’t had a chance to wear in so long. But around his neck, around his hands, around his wrists—all bare are more scars. Dream stares at him, eyes lost and confused and overwhelmed and when George staggers towards him, Dream flinches back. “Dream,” George says.
A hesitation. Then, “George.” His voice sounds so off. As if it hasn’t been used in years.
George closes the distance between them and buries his face in Dream’s chest. He’s alive. He smells as he always did. He’s warm. Safe.
Then.
“George,” Dream says again. Fond. Surprised. And George for a moment, thinks he’ll have it exactly as he wants it.
He’ll have Dream exactly as he wants him.
All he has to do is not ask. To pretend it’s fine.
“Dream,” George says, pushing Dream gently to the ground and holding him. His friend lets him, but he can’t ignore the way Dream shudders for a moment before he presses his face into George’s hair. The way his hands grip George, but feel so fragile. “I missed you.”
“How did you—the book?” Dream asks slowly as they lie over Dream’s grave.
“I asked XD,” George admits.
Don’t ask. Don’t ask.
“Oh,” Dream breathes. Worry. “Oh…” He’s shaking again, presses his face into George’s hair. His hands have balled up in George’s cloak. “George…”
“How did you die? No one told us,” George asks. Clarifies needlessly. “No one told Sapnap and I.”
Dream freezes. He’s already been so stiff, so off—but this sends him further. He flinches when George shifts his hand to splay against his back, to feel Dream’s breathing against his fingers. Dream shudders and George absently adjusts his cloak, draping it over them both.
“…killed me,” Dream whispers.
George isn’t sure he heard him. He couldn’t have. He said Sam. He said anyone else. He said…
“Who?” George asks, his heart beating loud in his chest, in his throat, in his ears. He wants to hear Dream’s heart. He doesn’t want to hear his own.
“Quackity killed me,” Dream says.
And it all comes tumbling down.
Because he’s been told this before, hasn’t he?
Indirectly. Directly.
The signs all pointed to it and he refused to open his eyes.
He’s haunted by it all.
Sapnap scream-crying at Dream’s grave the first night, fire erupted around him to the point George can’t be near him. Karl and Sapnap’s arguments. Karl pulling George away from Quackity the first time he came by Kinoko. Quackity’s haunted looks. The old blood-stained white-t-shirt being burned outside of Las Nevadas on the night of Dream’s funeral. Stumbling past it almost in a trance and Quackity’s look of horror.
There’s no returning to the riverside, with Dream’s mouth inches from his and the gentle laughter from Sapnap and Karl.
There’s no returning to what it used to be.
George begins to scream, muffling the sound with his hand as Dream holds him.