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Food deliveries had become a somewhat regular occurrence in the Dream Team household since George moved in.
Knowing this, George hoped that they happened often enough that Dream wouldn’t question him slipping downstairs to pick up the essentials to partake in the one stream Dream had advised him against joining.
Unfortunately, luck was not on George’s side as he walked through the house, hot wing delivery in hand, and noticed Dream standing in the kitchen snacking on goldfish all too late.
Dream eyed the box he was holding.
“Is that what I think it is?”
George pulled a face. “Depends on what you think it is.”
Dream used his pinky to lift the lid and peer in before pulling away and shuddering like he was reliving old memories. “Don’t do it, George. These streams never end well.”
George rolled his eyes at his theatrics and reached over to steal a goldfish. “You’re so dramatic," he muttered, popping the goldfish in his mouth.
Dream dropped his jaw indignantly. "I am not! I did it and regretted it for days after.”
“So? You're a baby, and it's not like I'm asking you to join me. But I already agreed when Bad offered…it would be rude of me to say no.”
Dream pointedly chose to ignore the first part of George's statement, and his eyes narrowed curiously. “It wouldn’t be rude. You don’t have to agree to everything people offer, you know.”
Dream kind of had a point there. George didn’t really want to do the stream per-say, but he had a deep urge to please his friends when they asked something of him. However, bringing that up would ruin the credibility of his argument and likely lead to a deeper conversation George didn’t really want to have, so he persisted.
“And what if I want to do it? I like spicy food."
“Oh, come on. It’s just torture at that point–nobody in their right mind would willingly do a hot wings stream with Badboyhalo. He tried to make me eat, like, three wings at once. He is certifiably insane.”
George responded by throwing a goldfish at Dream, who swatted it away from his face easily. “Just because you can’t handle it doesn’t mean I can’t.”
“You’re gonna make yourself sick,” Dream said, a knowing look on his face.
“I’ll be fine, I did it before.”
“Yes. And you hated last time, you called me like four times. ‘Dream, my tummy hurts’, ‘Dream, I make bad life choices’,” Dream mimicked, pitching his voice up.
“Shut up, idiot.” George sounded affronted. “I do not sound like that, and I never said that.”
“Oh, come on. You can’t seriously tell me you don’t remember how miserable you were after last time.”
Truthfully yes, George did remember that. He wasn’t actually overly inclined to go through with this, his stomach had been kind of off and crampy the past few days, and the idea of adding spicy meat and copious amounts of dairy to the on and off discomfort wasn’t super thrilling, but George had agreed to the stream days ago on a whim while overtired and underwhelmed and now he felt too guilty to take back his agreement.
“I already said yes.”
“You can always back out. You don’t need a reason,” Dream said, and his tone was beginning to address something a little more real than George wanted to talk about right now. Or ever, preferably.
Fortunately, George was saved from the rest of the conversation when Dream’s phone rang with a call from Sapnap, and he took the opportunity to grab another handful of goldfish before heading back to his room with his box of hot wings and a small carton of milk balanced haphazardly on top.
********
Hours later, Dream was texting his merch manager when he heard footsteps coming down the hall and looked up curiously to see if Sapnap had gotten home yet.
Instead, he was met with a head of familiar unruly dark brown hair.
“Dreammmmmmm,” George whined, throwing himself onto the couch next to said friend.
Dream peered up at him over his phone, mild amusement dancing through his eyes. “What’s up?”
George frowned. “My stomach hurts.”
“Did you do the hot wings stream?”
“Yes.”
Dream rolled his eyes, looking back down at the green messages on his screen. “You're an idiot. I don’t want to hear it.”
“But my stomach,” he complained, rolling onto his back and wrapping his arms around said offending area, wincing as it growled angrily.
“You did this to yourself,” Dream pointed out.
“But the content…” George trailed off, knowing he was fighting a losing battle. “To be fair, it kind of hurt earlier, too.”
“Why would that make me approve any more of your choices?”
“I don’t know. I thought eating something would help.”
“And you chose to overindulge on food that is way too spicy for you as the solution?”
George frowned. “Well, when you put it like that…”
“You are so dumb.”
His lips formed a pout. “Stop being mean. My esophagus is like, on fire right now. And my tummy hurts," George complained, letting his voice stretch into a whine with his lashes fluttering for extra mock sympathy points.
“What do you want me to do about it?” Dream’s tone was teasingly exasperated, eyebrows raising pointedly.
“Watch Breaking Bad with me?” George asked, and Dream wanted to say no, he had work to do and that he did this to himself, but George was all flushed cheeks and glittering eyes and Dream found he had no choice but to agree.
He rolled his eyes again, this time with a barely concealed smile tugging at his mouth. “Fine. Pass me the remote then, dumbass. You’re sitting on it.”
George rolled over just enough to grab it and handed it to Dream.
Dream flicked the TV on easily, grateful for the distraction. Despite the teasing, he could see George writhing around in discomfort and, despite his annoyance, Dream might be inclined admit that he cares, and that it kind of bothered him to see George sick like this. After twenty minutes of George shifting around, Dream laid off on his poking fun when George shuffled to and from the bathroom.
Watching him return from his second trip, Dream didn’t fail to notice how gingerly he was cradling his stomach as he made his way back over to the couch as the blond reached for the remote to turn down the volume.
“Having fun?” he commented as George made his way over to the coffee table first to sip the water Dream had brought for him. Instead of offering an annoyed retort like he had been earlier, George had no reaction.
”I was sick,” he responded instead, looking absolutely miserable. Dream frowned, pausing the show entirely this time and sitting up a little straighter to get a better look at George’s pale pallor.
“You threw up? Do you feel any better now?”
George shook his head. “Not really. My stomach still really hurts.” He flopped back onto the couch next to Dream, curling up in a ball with his arms wrapped tightly around his middle. “Ugh, like, really hurts. I feel like shit.”
“You look like shit,” Dream quipped, but his heart wasn’t in it as he studied George’s sickly composure.
“Thanks,” George dry-panned, letting his eyes fall closed.
Cautiously, Dream reached a hand up to his forehead to check his temperature, a little concerned about how sick George seemed over some hot wings. It had been hours, why was he only throwing up now? He sighed with relief when it was normal. Kind of clammy, but it didn’t feel noticeably warm.
George peeked an eye open. “I don’t have a fever."
“I know. I was just checking.”
“Can you turn the show back on? I think I’m gonna doze off for a bit, and the distraction is nice.”
“Yeah, ‘course.”
Another episode passed and Dream assumed he was asleep, absently allowing his hand to tangle itself in George’s dark locks while Walter White moved across the screen. There was something soothing for him about the repetitive movement. George’s hair was soft against his fingers, and Dream noticed the creases of discomfort in his friend’s forehead fading the longer he fidgeted.
The moment came to a halt when George’s eyes flew open with an urgency that had Dream flinching back, startled.
“I’m gonna be sick again,” George gasped out, clumsily pushing himself to his feet and heading for the kitchen sink in much closer proximity than the bathroom.
George moaned over the metal basin, hands braced on the counter on either side as his stomach contracted and he heaved, bringing up bile. Dream cringed as he made his way over to stand behind him to keep his hair out of his face and rub his back.
“Wow, this really got you good, Georgie," Dream said sympathetically, leaning away to pass him a water bottle from the fridge.
George accepted it gratefully, but a few tears of exertion ran down his face as Dream flipped on the faucet to rinse the mess from view. He was both thankful and somewhat concerned that there wasn't much left in the brunet's stomach.
“I’m never eating hot wings again,” George groaned once he caught some of his breath back.
“I told you you’d regret it,” Dream commented, but there was no bite to his tone, his gentle touch on George’s shoulders taking away from the teasing sentiment.
“I think I’m gonna head to bed,” George mumbled miserably. His eyes were puffy and he looked awful, effectively dissipating any amusement Dream had previously held and replacing it with a coil of unease in his chest.
“Okay. Let me know if you need anything.”
Pale and shaky, George looked pitiful as he nodded before disappearing down the hall to his room. Dream sprayed disinfectant in the sink and wiped down the counters and made work of cleaning up a little more before heading back to the couch. He resumed the episode they had stopped at, but his heart wasn’t in it. It didn’t take him long before he was heading to bed as well, hoping George’s stomach would have settled by the morning.
************
“Dream,” a voice murmured urgently in a tone tilted close to a whimper. “Dream.”
Someone was tapping Dream’s arm.
“Huh?” he muttered, voice gravelly and still bordering the line between conscious and unconscious.
“‘m sorry, please wake up.”
Dream blinked as it took a second for the voice to process through his sleep-addled mind before it registered as George’s and he sat up.
“George? You okay?” Dream fumbled for the lamp in a half-awake haze while his brain tried to process why George was in his room at 2 am sounding so small.
“No, I don’t-I don’t feel good.”
Dream was jolted wide awake by the thickness in George’s voice; George was crying, why was George crying?
“Is it still your stomach?” he asked, eyeing the arms George had protectively wrapped around his middle. He shifted upright and pushed his legs over the edge of the bed so he was sitting up, patting the bed next to him to invite George to sit as well. Even in the dim lighting, George looked impossibly pale.
“Hey,” Dream prompted when George shuffled closer but didn’t respond. “Talk to me, what’s going on?”
George finally nodded. “Y-yeah. Stomach,” he choked out. “It really hurts.”
Dream’s eyebrows furrowed as George leaned into him and rested his head on his shoulder, shifting so he was in a position to rub circles on the brunet’s back while heavy tears made their way down his face and all Dream could do was try to provide a little bit of comfort.
“Is it just your stomach? Did you throw up again?” Dream reached his other hand across to George’s forehead to try and gauge if he had a fever for the second time that day, feeling at a loss when he was only a little warm. Some spicy food shouldn’t have his best friend waking him up in tears in the middle of the night.
“Mmhm,” George murmured, his eyes fluttering shut. Dream could feel his lashes tickling the skin above his collar bone. “I was sick in my room, but I can't-something doesn't feel right. Sorry."
Distantly, Dream worried about the cleanup later, but right now he was focused on the fear fluttering through his own stomach at George's words.
"'m sorry," George repeated when Dream didn't respond, and he mentally shook himself, feeling adrenaline starting to buzz through his fingertips.
“It’s okay, Georgie. We’ll clean it up, don’t worry,” he tried his best to make him feel better about it. He couldn’t tell how lucid George was right now, it kind of sounded like he had just dragged himself out of bed.
George let out an involuntary whimper, his legs curling up to his chest as another spike of pain drove through him. Dream noted George’s nails digging into the skin of his palm and used the hand that wasn’t currently holding him close to gently tug his fingers away before they broke the flesh, sliding their hands together in a way that fit a little too perfectly to think about right now.
“I might throw up again,” George warned, his voice weak.
“Okay, that’s okay.” Dream wasn’t sure how well he was covering his racing thoughts, but he was doing his best. “Do you want to go to the bathroom?”
“I don’t think I can move,” he choked. His vision was spinning.
Red flags were going off like crazy in Dream’s head now, his train of thought working on overdrive trying to figure out what the fuck was wrong because this definitely shouldn't happen from a couple of hot wings and overindulging on dairy.
George gasped as he lurched forward with a gag, but before Dream could even think about moving to grab the bin from the corner the movement turned into a strangled sob as the shift brought a fresh wave of pain shooting through him leaving the nausea aborted.
“Shhhh, okay. It’s okay,” Dream tried to soothe, running his thumb over the back of George’s hand and continuing to rub steady circles into his back.
He didn’t like the way George’s other hand had moved from being wrapped around his middle to splayed against his side as he bent over. Dream eyed the specific spot they landed on, an unsettling chill settling over his skin.
“What kind of pain? Is it like…aching? Or–”
“ Sharp,” George ground out, his eyes squeezing shut as more tears slipped forth.
Dream's mind went reeling back to a call he’d had with Sapnap a couple years ago, remembering his friend's tired voice recalling a specific event that made Dream's stomach turn in realization.
“Yeah, dude. It hurt so bad, and like, sharp. Like someone was stabbing me .”
Shit.
“Okay,” Dream breathed, eyes wide. “George, I think-I think we’re gonna take a trip to the hospital, okay?”
It was an attestment to how scared George was when he didn’t protest, he just cracked his eyes open and nodded.
“Do you feel okay enough to come down the stairs with me? I'll help you.”
Dream was almost surprised at the wet, humourless chuckle George managed. “Not really,” he said, voice ruined. “But do I really have a choice?”
Dream shrugged, his face set in a grimace as he helped George to his feet.
Dream all but carried George down to the front foyer, awkwardly bearing most of the brunet’s weight against his side as he tried to lead him down the stairs with an arm looped under his shoulders.
He helped him get seated on the small cushioned bench by the front door and tossed him a thin jacket to slide on.
“Can you get your shoes on?” Dream said, pulling said items from the closet and handing them to George. “I’m gonna go get Sapnap.”
Dream hoped to god Sapnap was home. He had been out with Punz for most of the day. Dream hadn’t checked the time since George woke him up in tears, but he was assuming (and praying) that Sapnap had come home already. He really did not want to make this trip with a distraught George alone, and they didn’t have the time to wait for his mom to show up if he had to.
Dream didn’t bother knocking in his rush, instead opting for pushing Sapnap’s door wide open and unintentionally catching him off-guard. From his computer, Sapnap flinched in surprise.
“Dream-wha–?”
“We’re taking George to the hospital, come on,” Dream tumbled out, fingers tapping against his leg anxiously.
“Woah, dude, slow down. What? Is he hurt?” Sapnap pulled off his headset to listen to him, looking freaked out, and Dream felt a little guilty for bursting in like this. He forced himself to take a deep breath to slow down and explain.
“His stomach really hurts, he can barely move. I think–” Dream cut himself off, biting his lip.
“What?”
“I don’t know. I thought it was from the spicy food earlier…but now it-it looks like it might be his appendix. I don’t want to look like I’m overreacting, but I can let my pride take the hit if we go and I’m wrong.”
“Oh, jeez,” Sapnap said, clicking off his monitor and pushing himself out of his chair. “How long has it been hurting?” Dream could hear the unspoken question— How long before it’s dangerous?
“He only started throwing up after the hot wings, but he mentioned it hurting before. I don’t know for how long–or how bad it was before.”
“Shit, okay. Let’s…let’s definitely get him to a hospital then. Have you looked at the ER waiting room times yet?”
“No, fuck, I didn’t think of that,” Dream muttered, tugging on his hair. “God, he’s in so much pain right now. This feels awful, I feel like I’m doing nothing for him.”
He didn’t even realize how hard he was pulling until he felt a hand on his back and another on his wrist, guiding his fingers away from his head.
“Just breathe for a sec dude, okay? Right now, we need to get him to the hospital. If it’s his appendix, the doctors will take care of him and he will be just fine.”
The worry in Sapnap’s eyes betrayed his calm demeanor, but Dream appreciated it nonetheless. It allowed him to pull his thoughts together and he looked at the ER waiting room times for the closest three hospitals, displeased by how long each of them were and setting a GPS for the quickest one.
When they came down the stairs, George was still sitting on the bench, shoes on but untied, leaned over a growing puddle of bile.
“Shit, George,” Dream breathed out, rushing to his side to pull his friend’s hair away from where it was dangling in his face as George continued to retch, tears running down his face with each painful contraction of his stomach. There was nothing left in his stomach to bring up at this point. “Sap, can you grab a water bottle from the kitchen?”
“Got it.”
“S’ry,” George slurred, looking absolutely miserable. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy from crying and ringed with exhaustion. “Feel sick.”
“It’s okay,” Dream responded. He used his other hand to rub soothing circles on his upper back. “You think you’re done?”
George shrugged, eyes glassy and lips nearly white as he took the water bottle Sapnap handed to him and gripped it with shaking hands.
“Done enough to get to the car?” Dream rephrased, gently prying the bottle out of his hands to crack open the lid before handing it back.
George just shrugged again while he took a tentative sip and Dream figured it was the best he was going to get.
“We’re gonna help you up, okay?”
Dream positioned himself on one side and Sapnap on his other and they pulled him to his feet, hovering close by incase he was unsteady.
Almost immediately, George whimpered and doubled over, hands caged around his side and Dream fumbled to keep him upright. Dream saw the realization set in with final confirmation in Sapnap’s eyes.
“Oh yeah, that is definitely your appendix, dude.”
“It really-it really fucking hurts,” George managed past clenched teeth. Dream wrapped a supporting hand around his waist, George’s trembling was making him unsteady on his feet.
“I know, Gogy,” Sapnap muttered, his tone softening to something rare. “They’ll have you feeling better in no time, don’t worry. They might even let you keep it!”
Sapnap pulled a towel from the bathroom and dropped it over the small mess, cringing a little at the action, but they were in too much of a rush right now to deal with it.
“Here, I can drive,” Sapnap instructed, grabbing his keys from the hook. “I have the directions pulled up on my phone already. You sit in the back with him.”
George still looked a bit like he was going to pass out at any second so Dream didn’t bother with the awkward shuffle this time, instead just picking him up effortlessly to get him to Sapnap’s car.
“Please don’t throw up on my seats,” Sapnap quipped as he slid into the front seat.
“No promises,” George croaked out, and Sapnap let out a breathy laugh in response that didn’t reach his eyes. There weren’t too many cars on the road at the ripe hour of nearly 3 in the morning, so Sapnap easily sped down the main roads without interruption.
George opted to lean on Dream to walk into the ER, the pain lulling and giving him a brief moment of relief, and Dream got him settled in a chair while Sapnap went to the desk to sign him in. Dream tried to muster as much comforting energy as he possibly could while George tipped his head so it was resting as comfortably as it could in the hard plastic chairs. He rubbed a thumb over the back of George’s palm when he heard him muffling whimpers, the tightness in his face giving away the amount of pain he was still experiencing.
The emergency room wait time was a while, and Dream found himself switching out with Sapnap to allow himself to anxiously pace as he waited for George to be taken in. He was a little agitated that there was little to no alarm surrounding the pale, sweaty, nearly unconscious shaking patient leaned into his friend.
It was excruciating to watch George writhing as he tried to find some kind of relief, looking impossibly washed out in the uncomfortable waiting room chair. It wasn’t long before Dream couldn’t handle it anymore and caught the attention of a nurse, who initially reprimanded him– annoyed for not waiting his turn–but at the mention of appendicitis, alert eyes were bringing over a wheelchair and escorting them to a curtained bed, giving Dream some paperwork to hand out and asking George a few questions to scribble down that she clipped to a chart and left at the end of the bed.
“It’ll still be a bit of a wait, honey,” the nurse informed George gently. “But I’m going to talk to someone to see if I can give you anything for now for the pain. Does that sound okay?”
George nodded. “Thank you,” he managed, and past the anxiety, Dream almost laughed. Even overridden by the pain of a likely bursting appendix, George was still unfailingly polite.
Once whatever basic pain meds were in his system, George was able to relax a bit, but he couldn’t get comfortable laying down.
Noticing this, Sapnap sat down on the edge of the papered bed and had a hand combing through George’s sweat-soaked locks while he allowed George’s warm forehead to rest on his lap. It felt like ages before a doctor finally peeked his head in past the curtain.
“George?”
George nodded.
The doctor smiled. “I’m Doctor O’Sullivan, and I’ll be checking you out today.” He looked down at the chart in hand. “So, I hear you’re experiencing some pretty severe stomach pain, huh?”
“Yeah.”
When George failed to give more detail, Sapnap took over. “We think it’s his appendix…I had mine out a couple years ago and it was just like this.”
“How long have you been feeling this pain?”
“Started hurting yesterday,” George murmured. “But not like this.”
“Well, we’ll get an ultrasound to confirm, but before I do that I’m going to do a quick test that should let me know pretty quickly whether or not it’s the appendix causing problems in there.”
Both Sapnap and Dream grimaced, the assessment familiar to both of them.
“Okay, George. Can you lay all the way back for me?”
Sapnap shuffled off the bed, the paper crinkling loudly as George settled flat on his back. Dream offered him his hand to hold and George took it, swollen eyes looking wearily at the doctor.
“I’m going to press down in a few spots, okay? I want you to let me know if any of them hurt more than others.”
George shifted uncomfortably as the doctor pulled up his shirt, starting on the left and palpating different spots on his stomach, nodding contently when George showed no reaction beyond slight discomfort. He asked George a few questions about where he was from, about his accent, trying to keep him engaged and distracted, and Dream was grateful.
“Alright, George,” the doctor addressed, ghosting his hands over a point on his lower right side. “I’m going to press down right here, and I want you to let me know if it hurts more when I’m pushing down, or when I release. Sound okay?”
Dream felt George tighten his grip on his hand, and he squeezed back. I’m right here.
He held his breath as he watched the doctor, dreading what was about to come.
George’s cry wasn’t loud, the sound muffled by a hand flung haphazardly against his mouth, but it was absolutely heart-wrenching as his eyes squeezed shut in agony and he flinched away.
He was retching in seconds, arms guiding him upright and supporting him with his chest heaving as watery bile spilled from his lips into the adequately placed emesis bag courtesy of the doctor.
“Dream, watch his head, he’s gonna–”
George went limp in Dream’s arms.
*******
George came into consciousness with the most irritating beeping ringing from somewhere.
He hoped if he kept his eyes closed, it would go away. Surely Dream or Sapnap would notice and turn off whatever fucking timer that was on their own, because right now he felt weird and way too drained to move.
He groaned when it continued, trying to sink further into his pillow in hopes of drowning it out.
“George?”
Thank god.
“Can you turn that off?” George grumbled, kind of annoyed Dream hadn’t already.
“Turn what off?”
George finally opened his eyes, squinting at the light streaming in from the windows. His room was not usually this bright. He blinked, trying to adjust, noticing the beeping was not an alarm, but a heart rate monitor. In a hospital room. Lovely.
He blinked uneasily as the previous events started to come back to him. Hot wings, puking, crying, more puking. Fun stuff.
“Oh.”
“How are you feeling?”
George pressed his lips together, trying to assess. How did he feel? He felt weird. His brain was kind of fuzzy, and he felt vaguely…full. Bordering nauseous, and getting worse the longer he sat up.
“Gross,” he settled on. Dream nodded.
“No kidding. A nurse should be in here in a sec now that you’re really awake. You’ve been in and out for a while, this is the first time you’ve really been coherent.”
George stared at him, trying to process the words coming out of Dream’s mouth.
“What happened?”
Dream looked at him carefully, twisting a coin between his fingers. “You had appendicitis. It almost ruptured, but luckily they caught it in time.”
“Oh…that’s…not good.” George looked around the room at where there were two jackets thrown over the chair in the corner of the room and tried to recall the vague memories of what happened through the fog clouding his head. “Where’s…where’s Sapnap?”
“Only one of us is allowed in here at a time, so I think he went down to look for the cafeteria. We’ve been here a while, he went home earlier for a bit to clean up.”
George grimaced at the memories of the mess, suddenly incredibly grateful for the fact that he wouldn't have to go home to a physical reminder of the last night's events.
"Ew, sorry. Sucks to be Sapnap."
Dream chuckled. "Yeah. He really bit the bullet there, we'll have to buy him like–a fruit basket or something."
"Pokemon cards," George suggested and Dream hummed his agreement. Dream sounded tired, George noticed. Upon closer studying, he could see that the blond's features were drawn and his hair was a wreck, like he’d been tugging at it. George knew he did that when he got stressed.
“Are you okay?” George asked, suddenly feeling bad. Dream looked surprised at the question, the coin he was fidgeting with slipping from his hand and clinging on the floor before he let out a laugh.
“Are you seriously lying in a hospital bed asking me if I’m okay?” George flushed, Dream still chuckling. Before he could respond, an older lady dressed in scrubs who kind of reminded him of his mum came bustling into the room and started peeking at the strange machines and wires connected to him.
“Hi George!” she greeted, and George thought she sounded much too cheerful to be carefully inspecting the needle buried in his skin right now. He did his best not to gag. Needles weren't his favourite. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m okay,” George responded automatically, but Dream gave him a look having heard a different answer to the same question moments earlier. “Kind of sick, still. And…slow.”
The nurse tutted gently, wrapping a blood pressure cuff around his upper arm. “That’s from the anesthesia. You’ll likely experience a fair amount of pain in your abdomen as it wears off, and the surgeon will be in soon to talk to you more about pain medication and what to be careful of going forward.”
George nodded, nearly flinching as the plastic cuff tightened awkwardly against his arm. As if sensing his discomfort, Dream moved closer to his other side, not moving even after the nurse nodded at the reading and took it off.
“Are you okay if I put your bed up a little more so you’re sitting up? I’m going to take your temperature.” the nurse asked, kind eyes looking carefully at George. He nodded his response, and she pressed a button that slowly brought him into a semi-sitting position.
“Okay, just let me know if it’s too much at any point,” she instructed, putting a thermometer in his ear.
George took some slow breaths as he tried to clear his head a little more. It didn’t really work, but he noticed it made him woozy, to be up like this.
The longer he sat there, the more prominent the vague nausea became.
“Um–” he swallowed, saliva filling his mouth. He was scared to open his mouth, worried more than words would come out. Luckily, his discomfort must’ve been written all over his face because immediately the nurse was bringing a strange-looking blue bag in front of him and Dream brought a hand up to rub soothing circles across his shoulder blades.
“It’s okay, just breathe, George. It’ll pass,” Dream reassured softly into his ear, not leaving his side even as he coughed up the very slim contents of his stomach and whimpered as the bile burned his throat.
There wasn’t much to bring up, his stomach was almost entirely empty, so it didn’t take long for him to be reduced to painful dry heaving before it settled. The nice nurse brought him some ice chips to munch on while she went to find the doctor to talk to him and set him up with an antiemetic in his IV.
“I don’t feel very good,” George mumbled when they were alone.
“I know, I'm sorry. You probably won’t for a few days,” Dream said, his voice soft and apologetic. He sat down on the small space on the bed beside him, carding a gentle hand through his hair and he relished in the way George sighed softly in contentment.
*******
Sapnap was pacing anxiously in the cafeteria when he finally got a text from Dream with a room number letting him know George had been moved into a regular room. He had gone home briefly while he waited, changing as well as grabbing a change of clothes for Dream and a backpack with some things they might need for the day.
His phone dinged with a notification as he made his way to the elevator, smiling to himself when he read it.
GeorgeNootFound Tweeted: they took my appendix and didn’t even let me keep it. this is awful
He typed out his response quickly, a simple ‘ lol L’ that he figured was sufficient for the internet.
When Sapnap made his way into the private room, he felt his chest loosen at the sight of George sitting up and laughing, looking tired and pale but void of the obvious pain he had been in last night.
The youngest made his presence known by chucking a vending machine bag of Doritos at Dream’s chest and throwing an apologetic smile George’s way.
“Sorry, nothing for you, Georgie. Doctor’s orders. I bet I can get you some ice chips, though.”
George pulled a face. “I’ll pass. My tongue is never going to unthaw at this point.”
“Suit yourself. How are you doing?” Sapnap asked, eyes softening as he made his way over to his bedside opposite from Dream. The sound of crinkling cellophane filled the air while Dream leaned back to open his chips.
George gave him a look before lifting a hand and tilting it in a simple ‘so-so’ gesture. “Better than I was. They put me on a bunch of drugs, which is nice. I kind of feel like I’m made of clouds. It's fun.”
Sapnap couldn’t help but laugh along with Dream. “GeorgeNotFound supports doing drugs, real not fake.”
“Oh, shut up,” George responded, tilting his head back and sinking into his pillow.
“You can go to sleep if you’re tired,” Sapnap supplied, looking at the way his eyelids drooped longer and longer with every blink.
“But you just got here–”
Dream cut him off with a gentle nudge. “And he’ll still be here, after. Go to sleep, idiot. Let the fun drugs do their thing.”
George looked at the both of them before he finally nodded and allowed his eyes to drift shut, letting the floaty haze tugging at his consciousness pull him away.