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Dream clicks the Minecraft icon from his desktop, the launcher screen popping up, and he chooses one of the newer releases. It's been a while since he's played on a solo survival world, purely for the enjoyment of it and building up from scratch— well, and a bit of manhunt practice. He needs to check the practicality of certain strategies.
George is on a call with him, talking about his gripes with editing like Dream hasn't heard it the last time they recorded. He doesn't mind, as long as George is editing while complaining, which he hopes is the case.
“Maybe you should do this video for me,” George says, light-hearted but Dream knows it's a testing question. The mic picks up a barely audible sigh.
“George. It's not even that much footage.” He creates a new world, and after a quick loading screen, he pops up in a flower forest between a desert and spruce forest. He picks a few of the blue orchids, and it reminds him of George’s minecraft skin, a thought that makes him smile.
It's been a few days since he regressed— usually, it's when he's stressed and Sapnap is there to take care of him, but this past week has been more of a calm tide. The hazy feeling creeping in the back of his mind feels more like a suggestion and he swats it away. George doesn't know, and even if his reaction wouldn’t be a negative response, he'd prefer to keep it that way.
Sapnap stumbled on it by accident when he first moved in— Dream forgot to hide a tupperware container of some of his regressed things in the hallway closet. After a google search and a discussion, it resolved with Dream having a caregiver for the first time in his life. With George… he isn’t sure where he would place on the scale of the feasible reactions. In Dream’s mind, it’s either with a thumbs up or, in the moments where he’s too tired to be thinking without a negative spiral, a lost friend.
For now, he places the orchids into the back of his inventory and tries to ignore them. He barely stops from replanting them in the flowery plain but holds on for sentimentality’s sake.
“It's one hour,” he whines, and a few clicks break through his headphones along with George's voice, evidence that he's continuing. Dream isn't sure whether to be assured or surprised. “Dream.”
“Wow, a whole hour. It's not like manhunts are triple that.”
“I don't like editing. You… like editing, for some reason.”
“Yeah. I like to edit my videos well, so they perform better. You and Sapnap wouldn't edit even if you haven't posted in like, a year.” He hears an audible eye-roll— it's true, and clearly George must reluctantly agree. Dream huffs, and he moves his character around a pine forest in search of a cave.
He needs iron for one of the things that he’s trying to practice, but it feels nostalgic, on call with one of his best friends while braving the underground in a new Minecraft world— back when PVP was spam clicking and he didn’t have so many worries. He smiles to himself when he finds an opening in the ground, the large mouth of a cave inviting him for iron. Even when he’s come across this part of the game hundreds of times, it gives him a little joy in knowing that he’s progressing.
It's a few minutes before the next response, and Dream almost expects to hear a quip but George pauses his clicking and says, “What are you doing right now?” He sounds more invested in the question than whatever work he was doing. His voice makes Dream blink out of the foam building on his thoughts.
He clears his throat. Finishes mining the iron vein. “Uhm, running around in minecraft. A survival world.”
George hums, and the silence between words is disconcerting, a string of guilt that Dream doesn’t realize he’s feeling sticking to his brain like glue. “Go get a cornflower for me. Right now.”
“I— I have a blue orchid,” he says, and it feels a little stupid to say “I got them because they reminded me of us playing minecraft together”, so he leaves it off entirely.
“No. A cornflower. It’s important, I promise.”
Dream purses his lips but compiles, counting up the ore he collected before hopping the few blocks up back into the clear plains. The sun sets distantly with an orange hue accompanying its fall. A patch of dotted blue paints a bright picture from across the flower forest— he walks over and collects a few of the flowers.
This shade of blue reminds him of the deep waters of the Atlantic. He prefers not to think about that distance in detail.
He sits silently for a few seconds waiting for George to register that he got his wish when he remembers they aren’t screen sharing. “I got them,” Dream says, and he clicks to punch the grass a few times as if to make a point.
“Okay,” George says, “cool.”
“Why did I get them?” He replaces the blue orchids with them. The cornflowers stay in the top left slot of his inventory— trying to suppress them from view. If he thought about flowers and George and one of his childhood games, he thinks he would slip, holding on by threads from revealing his headspace as it is.
“I dunno. I think they’re cool.” He laughs. “Can you screen share? I wanna watch.” Dream shares it with him, capturing Minecraft and jumping in the game to make sure it works. He watches it pop up on his second monitor where discord is displayed in monotone colors.
It’s quiet, the pair both focused on his gameplay, and Dream feels a cold draft from the A.C. kick up in his room. He flexes his fingers, and his bones almost protest, a testament to how frigid it is inside. “I’m gonna grab a sweater, be right back,” he says, and hears the echo of George's voice through his headphones when he puts them down.
He shuffles through the rows of cold weather tops he has in his closet— a lot of sweaters, mostly hoodies taking up the space, and his eyes instinctively meet a pastel green one. The fabric runs softly over his fingertips— it’s an oversized one, and a sweater he often wears when regressed for the pure comfort and the sleeves wrapping over his arms like a hug. It’s not a coincidence he chooses it— because it’s just a warm sweater, he says to himself. Yep.
He slips it over his head and the cold seeping in his skin is immediately flushed out, just a cozy warmth remaining, and he has to take a clarifying second before sitting back in his chair. George is on call. He can’t just switch it to peaceful mode and start making little houses for him, Sapnap, and George. Even if he wants to. The idea is a lingering taste of comfort that only half of him wants to push away in order to talk to his friend.
George knowing he regresses wouldn’t be the worst thing, the other half says. One less burden. Maybe one more caregiver— one over discord calls and mic-decayed words for the time being.
He sits back in his chair and puts his headphones back on— George is greeting him half sarcastically, and he unpauses from the menu screen to see the same flower field, now covered in lilac tones and violet from the darkening sky. He’s sure the sky outside is the same color— it’s too late in the night for either of them to be awake. Here they are, huddled around the same visual of flowers and Dream’s character.
He shuffles so that his sweater brushes over cold skin, blocking out the draft, and he stops himself from smiling when the sleeve ends fall over his hands, softening his knuckles and roughened skin into a floppy little paw, and even thinking about it makes him feel smaller than where his head should be. Where George expects him to be.
“You should build a house,” George says when mobs start to spawn around the horizon. It snaps his vision back up to his monitor and he pulls the sleeves back below his hands— if he pretends, then the sweater still engulfs them.
At this point, Dream really contemplates saying something, but it's too comforting as it is. He can hold off from regressing until he's left the call, and then he can dot cornflowers around his base and ask Sapnap if he thinks George would like it. He already feels halfway to slipping.
So maybe he does want George to know— he can't think of any other reason he would stay on the call when he knows what's inevitable in a situation like this.
The house he builds is a basic square one, complete with the leftover cobble he has serving as a slab roof. A crafting table goes near the corner on the inside and he places a cornflower on the floor.
Without a door, a skeleton manages to walk in and draw its bow back at Dream. He makes a little “ah!” sound, smacking the mob with a stone axe until it finally dissolves into bones and a single arrow. He makes sure to craft and place a door next. It's placed a little wonky, but he couldn't be bothered to fix it.
George huffs in what could be a laugh. He doesn't comment on the door, or how Dream forgot to crit the skeleton and took several hits due to wasted time. “Are you completing the game or just… doing whatever?”
“I don't know,” he says. “Doing whatever, I guess.”
“Okay,” George says. Dream hears him sigh— George's chair creaks, and he thinks idly that he's relaxing into his seat, putting his full attention on Dream. It gives him a pang of joy and the same amount of anxiety.
Even if he can guess the outcome of letting him know that he regresses and is slipping right now, his nerves are jittery in his hands, wanting something to tap, all askew and accompanying the knowledge that he's doing something that feels drastic.
“Uhm, George,” he says, a test if he's even still awake. Maybe a question out of hope that he can avoid the conversation. He receives a very much awake hum. “Uhm, do you… ah. Nevermind.”
“What is it?” It doesn't sound the least bit agitated. Curious, if anything. A free wave to continue.
“Do you… do you know what age regression is?” The question feels like a heavy burden off his chest, and a lightness in his lungs, every intake too cold— he did it, something he feared for countless months, and now the anticipation is killing him.
His hands fall still on his keyboard, monitor blankly displaying the texture of oak planks. George pauses with enough time for Dream to come up with a hundred excuses to leave, but he says, “Yeah. I do.”
“Okay. Cool.” He takes a breath. The rattle of the A.C. is the only thing in his ears, muffled by his headphones and so, so loud to his brain. If George were talking, he's sure that his voice would be the only thing he was tuned in on, but he's not, and it's terribly quiet.
There wasn't a negative connotation in his voice or anything that conveys rejection. It's still awkward, and it sinks into his bones like bitter tea, waiting for a final response to be pieced together. Dream isn't ashamed of his coping mechanism but it's the apprehension that's giving him a shake.
“Do you…?” George leaves it open-ended. He can guess what it means.
“I— yeah.”
George hums, a thoughtful sound that echoes off Dream’s brain in hope. “That's cool. I'm glad you have some way to de-stress besides… sleeping constantly.” George laughs, short and clearing any nervous energy. His talent has always been restoring the playful energy after tense moments— genuine care mixed with teasing.
It earns a smile from Dream. “You sleep more than I do.” He hears the faint and sarcastic uh-huh, a soft sound that the speaker crackles. He fiddles with the hem on his sweater sleeves. “So… I feel like I might slip. Is that okay with you? To like, take care of me for a bit.” He tries not to let his voice break on the last sentence, and the volume shrinks to just a sliver of his voice.
“Yeah, of course. I've been a caregiver a few times before.” That knowledge doesn't surprise him— George has that kind of “older brother who lets you get away with stuff” energy, always the energetic one in Tommy's vlogs. It’s not a coincidence he’s thought of George as a caregiver before whenever Sapnap is out of town or asleep and he wanted someone to talk to in his headspace. “Do you like any particular nicknames?”
“Uhm.” He feels his face go red. It’s comforting when he’s regressed to hear Sapnap call him nicknames that make him feel even smaller, but saying them out loud to his best friend is a little daunting. “I like… Dreamie, and the usual nicknames a parent says to their kid. And— and sweet boy.”
“Do you want to keep playing or would you rather do something else?”
“Keep playing,” he says, and he taps his fingers on his keyboard. His character wiggles a bit before going stationary again. “I was pretty close to slipping earlier, I— I’ll just try to get back into it.” He feels some of the words get stuck in his throat. He figures that since George has already had experience with caregiving, it’s no use keeping his requests quelled under a false pretense. “Can you talk to me like… as if I were regressed right now? It helps me into it.”
“Yeah.” George clears his throat, and Dream almost expects him to start a whole speech, but he doesn’t. There’s a pause and Dream takes the time to click around his inventory until his cornflowers take their place in his hotbar. “You like the flowers, Dreamie?”
Dream hums in affirmation, the name making him smile, a bright bubbly feeling. He scrolls on his mouse until the cornflowers appear in his hand. “Got the other flowers because they look like you,” he says, a shyness overtaking his tone. He lets his other thoughts slip off into nothingness.
There’s no underlying stress in this regression, just a pleasant transition from one clear sky to another— this one is painted in bright hues and the want to run around in-game, show George cool biomes, and maybe make a big house for Dream and his friends. It’s a solo server, but he likes to imagine, and one of his favorite ideas is his two best friends living happily with him and getting to color with them whenever he wants.
“That’s— that's really sweet. Here, I’ll put my camera on so it’s like we’re both together,” George says, and Dream beams. His discord profile brightens up with the visual of his face— his bedroom is completely dark except for streaming lights, highlighting facial features that look tired and hair curled messily over his forehead. His smile is patient, and Dream feels like the luckiest kid in the world to have such a nice caregiver— temporary or not.
“Sorry, I just have my minecraft skin,” Dream mumbles, pressing the perspective hotkey on his keyboard until a front-facing view of his avatar pops up. He clicks like he’s waving to the camera, a lime green hand that looks like his sweater paw. The little pixel face on his character smiles happily and he thinks that it’s how he feels now, a joyful little blob with a big smile.
He sinks deeper into his sweater and brings the collar over his face. It reminds him of deep lavender fields and the fresh air after dawn, so familiar and he hums to express the overflow of comfort he’s feeling.
“That’s okay. It reminds me of a certain someone,” George says, and his cheeks push upwards with his devious grin. “A certain smiley boy I know…” Dream smiles wide at that comment and he wants George to see him, how happy he is— he opens the keyboard on Minecraft and types :D.
“That’s me. I’m the smiley boy.” He giggles. He hits shift on his keyboard, watching his character bounce up and down on his screen. The flowers are still in his hand and he focuses on the few pixels, then goes back to George’s facecam.
“Yes, you are. How old are you feeling?”
Dream has to think about it— getting an exact age has always been hard for him, since everything feels like one cohesive meld of wanting to play with his caregiver and space out and think of a million different ideas. He can sometimes take bits and pieces of it and patch them together, and for now, he can make a guess.
He holds his fingers out and slowly brings three down. He counts them up under his breath and then says, “seven.”
“Thank you, Dreamie. Is there anything you want to do?”
He pauses. Talking to George is really cool, but he wants to explore the world, meet new friends and destroy the monsters he doesn't like. He likes mesa biomes. Maybe he can find one with tangy layers of terracotta if he walks far enough. “Wanna explore.” He enters his original perspective and peeks outside. The sky is pale blue.
“Okay. Lead the way.”
He trudges through the tallgrass in the plains, meeting the sands that clash with grass blocks. Mesa biomes spawn close to deserts. With that in mind, he hops along the desert, spotting a savanna peeking out from between spruce forests and dunes.
From the spruce forest, he spots a group of wolves, their barks faint but audible and he blinks himself to alertness. He sits up in his chair to lean in and watch them run into the forest. “Doggie,” he says unconsciously. He sees George smile from his second monitor, and he digs through his inventory to find— only three bones, mostly from the one he stopped from hurting him in his house. Maybe a dog will still want to be his friend.
“Go run after them. They don’t know you want to tame them yet,” George reminds him, and Dream hurries to sprint down a sandy hill. A wolf strays from the pack to stare up at him and bark.
He kicks his feet happily— one of them wants to be his friend! They're tamed after two bones and then his dog is sitting in full view on his monitor. “I— George, I have a dog!” They're sitting patiently, and he shifts so that he's closer to them. He wishes he had a Patches in the game, but the dog is cute, too.
“That's epic. Do you have a name for them?”
“Uhm…” He chews the inside of his cheek while thinking. “His name is… Woofy.” The collar is a default red, and he changes a cornflower into dye so that it's painted blue.
“Such a good name for him. He— he does woof.” Dream hears George laugh at himself, the visual of his friend smiling on his other monitor beside the spruce trees and turquoise grass. Dream un-sits his dog and lets him follow along, turning his mouse back occasionally to make sure his friend is still beside him.
He feels himself sink into the fuzzy wash of comfort, reactions to the game murmured into the mic with George guiding him and helping him out of tense situations. He rubs the hem of the sweater between his fingers as a soother whenever that happens. Like right now.
It's nighttime, and since Dream really doesn't want to go to the surface and risk having Woofy get hurt, he's staying in a cave. The dark echoes along the back of the stone wall in an open-ended void, and he puts torches in his offhand, keeping an axe in the other while he trudges forward.
Woofy barks often, and Dream always has to shush him in case any monsters can hear them. George points out any time there's iron, or when he hears the faint rattle of bones down one dead end.
“I think it's close to daytime now,” George says after a bit when Dream's inventory is full of about a stack of iron ore. “Do you wanna go back up now? Or… do you want to keep exploring?”
Dream’s character stands on the top of a cavern, peering down over a waterfall and a golden glow reflects on stone. It reminds him of the sun, but he's smart enough to know that it's lava— something he needs to progress in the game. Diamonds would be nice. A mob waiting down the cave to scare him wouldn't.
He wants to go down the adventurous path, show off his skills to George so he'll be proud— but still. “I want Woofy to be safe,” he says, biting his lip trying to figure it out. He doesn't have that much armor, only leather boots. “Where's safe?”
George’s face softens. “Probably the surface by now. Woofy is a strong pup, I think he'll be alright going up. Is that okay?” He nods faintly, then makes an “mhm” sound when George doesn't respond. “Okay, sweet boy. Let's dig a staircase out so Woofy can follow.”
He makes the stairs using his stone pickaxe, trying to preserve his iron one. Woofy trails along as he carves a path out of stone and andesite and whatever other blocks come in his way. He pops up in the middle of plains, similar to the one he saw but without the rainbow of flowers. A few buildings of a village sit across the biome, yellow wool and oak planks catching his eye.
“George!” He beams, catching the man’s attention. He thinks of how he can get a cat, and what could be in the village chests, and he forgets to elaborate, drumming his fingers on the desk. He clicks in the direction of the village. “I want a cat.” Dogs and cats aren't supposed to get along, at least in the cartoons he watches with Sappy. He thinks that his pets would get along because Real Patches is nice to everyone.
“Oh. You'll need some salmon first, so the cat knows you want to be friends,” George says, head propped on his arm as he looks somewhere just below the camera— intently watching, or trying not to fall asleep. “Those spawn in rivers.”
He smiles and rolls his eyes. “I know that, Gogy.” The nickname slips out of his mouth like a habit of affection, and Dream would be embarrassed about it if it weren’t for the way George looks too amused for his own good.
He remembers that he can zoom in on the game, and he opts for that instead of leaning forward and squinting at LEDs. There's water somewhere across the biome, and he lets go of the zoom key to run towards it. Woofy adamantly trots behind him.
A group of fish floats around in the lake and he jumps in to take some. Five raw fish seems like enough, and he swims away, saying sorry to the rest of the salmon for taking their friends.
He's never felt this small with anyone else, besides Sapnap. It's a calming feeling— he's playing minecraft with his friend, running around and talking about all the cool stuff that he normally keeps to himself. He loves his Sappy, but he also likes just existing with George, letting childish thoughts run laps in his head and hearing George either agree or ramp up all his risky ideas.
Dream likes this more than he thought he would. He really wouldn't mind if they did this more often, and he smiles thinking of having two caregivers beside him watching cartoons with Patches curled up on his lap. It's not a far-away idea. He loves hugs, and one day he can hug George, too, getting to cuddle him whenever he's regressed or even not. His friends are his favorite people no matter the headspace.
He thumps his feet against the carpet in happiness, and he doesn't realize George is talking to him until the sound leaves his headphones. “What'd you say?”
“Maybe there's two cats in the village,” George says. Dream moves his mouse to sprint towards the houses. There are lots of villagers around the area, and he spots a sandy-colored cat jumping along the side of a hill.
He wants one that looks like Patches, but he thinks every cat is adorable, so he runs up to them. They meow.
“Go up to them slowly, Dreamie. They'll run away if they're scared, which is a bit silly, since who's scared of a little boy? Cats should be nicer to you.” Dream smiles, wholeheartedly agreeing. Maybe it's because he has a bright green sweater on, and they don't like green? He likes his cozy sweater so the cat will just have to deal with it.
With the advice in mind, Dream crouches up to the cat and puts salmon in his hand. He holds his breath as they creep up to him with an ocean blue stare and he right clicks the cat. They take two salmon and then they sit on the grass, meowing politely.
“Hi, kitty,” Dream whispers. He doesn’t want his kitty to run away if he’s loud— Patches likes to be near him and sit on his lap when he’s quiet and strokes her fur. Dream doesn’t know how to pet his minecraft cat so he un-sits them. “You can name her, Georgie. But it has to be a really good name.”
“Oh. Uh… a really good name, huh? I don’t know, that’s a lot of pressure.” He hums like he’s thinking, gaze fixed on his desk with a questioning pout. Dream stares at his facecam while waiting— the blue light of his monitor hurts a bit, so he blinks it away, eyes trailing down at the clock. 1:17 a.m. He’s pretty sure his bedtime with Sappy is 9:00 and a swell of fatigue makes him aware of that fact. “Name her… uh, Grass Block.”
“George,” he whines. He clicks on the ground. “That’s right there. It doesn’t count.”
“Okay, how about— Cloudy is a good name.”
“Cloudy,” Dream says, and coincidence or not, the cat blinks up at him. “Oh, she likes it! She likes the name.” He’s teeming with joy, and Cloudy meows again, trotting over towards Woofy. His new friends like each other, too! He leans back in his chair, trying to stretch his legs and he yawns.
“Are you tired?” George asks. Dream shakes his head. He still has to run around with Woofy and Cloudy, and all the adventures he wants to go on with George…
A bit of exhaustion is still tugging his mind around, and he doesn't have the energy to fully push against it. The sweater feels cozy enough that he could fall asleep in his chair. “Mm… maybe…”
“How about we get you to bed, okay?” Dream hums an agreement, fighting off another yawn. “Does Sapnap know about you being a little guy?”
“Yeah! Sappy’s my caregiver, I love him lots.” He waves goodbye to his pets and murmurs “bye bye”, clicking and leaving the game. He stares at the pretty crystals on the menu screen.
George smiles. “I'll message him since he's online and see if he can put you to bed.” Dream hums and waits, tapping his feet on the carpet and thinking about playing with George again. Next time they'll go on an adventure, and then he’ll show off to Gogy, and they can beat the ender dragon together.
It's a few minutes of gentle conversation until there's a gentle knock, and Dream turns in his chair to see the door creaking open, an equally tired face meeting him with a smile.
“Hi, buddy,” Sapnap says, walking in and inching the door closed behind him. He has on a white shirt and sweatpants, either previously about to fall asleep or planning on it. “Were you playing with George?”
Dream wants to stand and give Sappy a hug, but he doesn’t want to leave George alone. He brings his headphones down around his neck. “Yeah. Playing minecraft. I got a really cool dog, and then I got a cat.”
“That’s awesome. Here, go get your pajamas and sit on your bed, I’m gonna talk to George.” Sapnap reaches a hand out of the headphones and he returns them, getting a playful ruffle to his hair in thanks. He giggles, a smile as wide as plains on his face. Sapnap always knows how to make him feel the most comfortable, at home with the floaty warmth when he’s small.
He sorts through his dresser until he finds what he’s looking for— a green dino onesie that fits oversized on him, with little spikes that trail down the back and a plush tail. He pets the fluffy cotton. It was one of the first things he bought for regressing, a light enough material to sleep in and stay warm.
Snippets of George and Sapnap’s conversation stick out to him, but he tunes it out, focused on finding a pair of fuzzy green socks to match. They’ve been shoved in the back of the drawer, and he pulls them out delicately. Once he plops himself down on his bed, Sappy turns to face him.
“Do you want to say bye to George?” He asks, extending the headphones, and Dream immediately reaches over.
“Bye, George!”
He sees his facecam still on, and George waves with a genuine smile. “Bye, Dreamie. Good night!” It fizzes off of his monitor, replaced by grey empty space, and Dream sets the headphones down with a clunk. He misses Gogy already, but he knows he’ll get to talk to him in the morning. Maybe with a question about being his caregiver.
“How about you go get changed, sweet boy, and I’ll stay here and tuck you into bed?" Sapnap says, then adds with a mischievous look, "Maybe some stuffed animals will appear while you’re gone, who knows.”
He’s never run to get dressed into his onesie faster.