Work Text:
UNSTEADY
Dream is not fully asleep. He was up ten minutes ago to let go of all of that Arizona Tea in his bladder, and was checking #dnffanart on Twitter five minutes ago. The house is quiet with Sapnap in Texas and George out of town. So Dream is just lying there in that slow breaths, half-way-between-wakefulness-and-unconsciousness state when George’s ring tone startles him back into full-alert mode.
He doesn’t bother turning on the light, just feels into the space on the bed next to him for his phone.
“Hey,” he says. Expecting the dulcet tones of his boyfriend telling him he can’t sleep. What he gets instead is panic breathing in his ear.
Dream sits up and puts his feet on the floor. “George? Baby?”
He hears another couple puffs of breath, before George is able to put together words. “Where are you? I don’t know where I am?”
Dream had been afraid this would happen. It happened quite a bit when George moved to Florida. At least it did when George stayed in the guest bedroom. Once he started to share a bed with Dream, and he could just call out and reach a hand across the warm sheets and be grounded by the familiarity of Dream himself, it was less so. Before that, while still in England, George would call Dream if he woke in a panic thinking he was in a strange place, in a strange bed. With a stranger.
Because it’s an actual thing. That happened.
“You’re at Karl’s. Remember?” he asks, as slow and soothing as he can, waiting for George’s brain to catch up. “I’m home because I had that thing with Drista and you’re visiting Karl in North Carolina to make some videos.”
“Somethings happened. I’m not--I’m not wearing my trousers. Someone--Did someone--Somethings happened!” His breathing picks up again and Dream’s brain goes offline. All he can think is:
Not again.
George and Dream were becoming friends then. Meaning, George had finally started answering Dream’s insistent coding questions. Dream lived at home with his parents; George was at University. Dream’s not even sure why George called him of all people. It was morning in the UK, and just midnight in Florida. Maybe it was a blind, random, finger smash. Maybe it was intentional. Maybe it was fate.
George was at a party. Dream was up late listening to music.
Dream had listened to George’s distressed cries over the phone feeling utterly helpless. 4000 miles away. His hands clenched into fists, his own breath hitching in his chest. Fear lacing every cell of his body.
Since then, as they became closer friends, Dream was ferociously protective of George. Driven by his need to keep George safe, sure, but also based on his own fear and trauma of that night. Never forgetting that terrified feeling. Staying on the line as George found help. Stayed with him on the line as he found a friend. Stayed with him as the friend called for help. Stayed on the line as George went to hospital and to be examined. All the while Dream powerless to do more. Flights open on his desktop but no money, no passport, not old enough to even make decisions on his own without consulting his parents, and school the next day.
“Is anyone there? Are you alone?” Dream asks. He’s on his feet now.
“I’m--I’m alone.”
“Go to the bathroom and lock the door,” Dream tells him, trying again to keep his voice calm.
There’s silence on the other end, then shuffling, and then Dream can hear George’s footfalls as he makes a break for the bathroom. Dream’s heart beats painfully in his chest. He hears the door slam.
George doesn’t drink often. Not after that. Rarely, if ever, with only his most trusted people or home alone with his online friends.
And Dream doesn’t drink at all.
Maybe George wanted to feel normal, go along with the crowd, or maybe whatever happened wasn’t his choice. Dream stumbles over to his computer and brings up Discord. He still hasn’t taken time to turn on the light, so he fumbles for his keyboard in the dark, swearing as he knocks his water bottle on the floor. He messages Karl.
“George is panicking in one of your bathrooms,” Dream tells him once he joins the voice call.
“Okay,” Karl says, sounding sleepy, but nonplussed as usual. “Going there now. Anything I should know?”
“Karl is coming, George,” Dream says into his phone. George doesn’t answer, but he can hear him breathing. Too loud and too fast maybe, but audible. Which anchors Dream from freaking out completely.
“He woke up undressed,” Dream says, then lets out a shaky exhale.
“Oh, fuck. No. I promise you he’s fine. We played cards with Foolish, Chandler and Chris after dinner and did some Tequila shots. It hit George pretty hard? I’m assuming he doesn’t drink much?” Karl asks. Dream can hear as he opens his bedroom door and begins to move through his house.
“Get to the part that explains why George would be undressed and not remember,” Dream says. It comes out louder and harsher than he means it to. He trusts Karl. 100%. But Dream is losing patience with George hyperventilating in his ear, and George sobbing and asking for help in a memory that will always echo perfectly in his mind. Dream’s hands shake as he picks up the fallen water bottle and waits for an answer.
“He was drunk, but responsive. Stumbling around like a toddler. Chandler and I had to help him to his room. We layed him down and took off his shoes. I don’t know how he usually sleeps, and he was wearing jeans, so I took those off and tucked him in. Everyone called Ubers and left. I swear to God, Dream. I wouldn’t let anyone hurt George.”
“Okay, okay. I know.” He let’s out another shaky breath. “That’s-- I should have thought of that.”
“Does he have . . . a history of that?” Karl asks, hesitantly. “Of someone hurting him?”
Dream pauses. George hasn’t told many people, and it’s really only his to tell. But Dream thinks it’s important to at least let Karl know what he’s dealing with. “Yeah. We. He. This has happened before at a party. Years ago. Are you outside the bathroom yet?”
“I’m here. Should I knock?” Karl asks.
“Not yet. Let me talk to him.” Dream speaks into the phone again. “George? Baby? It’s Karl outside the door.”
“Dreeeeam!” George whines softly into the phone. “Dream. Help. Help me. Please,” George whispers, but he might as well have been shouting. The he hears George unmistakable wet sobs on the other side of the line.
There’s a pain in Dream’s chest. It’s so intense, Dream rubs a hand there to make sure there’s no actual wound. The tears spring to his eyes in a flash and he covers his mouth with his hand and presses as hard as he can to stop the audible sob that threatens to escape. He’s back in his childhood bedroom. Out of reach. Helpless.
Dream pulls the phone away from his ear as he composes himself enough to think.
First thought: George is safe.
Dream repeats that one a few times to himself before coming to his second thought: He is not 4000 miles away this time, and he is not helpless.
Dream swallows and takes his hand away. “I’m coming, George. I’m coming.”
“You’re coming?” George repeats after a few sniffs.
“I’m coming right now. You’re safe though. Do you hear me? You’re at Karl’s house. No one has touched you. No one is going to touch you.”
“I’m safe?” George asks.
“Yes.”
“I’m at Karl’s.”
“That’s right. Can you talk to Karl for me, baby?” Dream instructs.
He hears Karl though George’s phone, and disconnects the voice chat on Discord. He types in the chat: Just keep talking to him and keep reminding him where he is if he slips. Text me your address when you get a chance. And what’s the nearest airport?
He puts his phone on speaker and sets it on his desk.
Dream does a quick Google search and books what he needs quite easily: Charter Flights.
“Dream?” George asks, sounding a bit more present. “Are you really coming?”
“I’m booking a charter right now,” Dream says.
“Oh, Dream. Karl explained. I’ll--I’ll be okay. You don’t have to do that. You don’t have to come,” George tells him.
“I do, though. I couldn’t last time. I feel like I need to. I want to. Is that okay?” Dream asks.
“Okay.”
Dream stays on the line as he looks for his shoes and slips his wallet into his pocket. He grabs his backpack from his closet and packs a change of clothes, a hoodie, and his toiletries. He stays on the line during his Uber ride to the airport and when George opens the door for Karl. He is on long enough to hear Karl offering to make George some toast and tea before Dream has to meet the pilot and board his flight.
It’s much cooler in North Carolina than Orlando, and Dream pulls on his hoodie on the ride from the small airport to Karl’s suburban home. Karl answers the door and hugs Dream tightly, as if he knows Dream needs it but, then again, he probably just hugs everyone. Or both. He probably hugs everyone, but also knows Dream needs it. Karl asks Dream if he’s okay. He’s not. But he will be.
George looks small sat in a tight ball on Karl’s oversized couch. The TV is on, but Dream’s eyes stay fixed on George. As soon as he’s sure that George is looking at him, a creep of a smile growing on his face he reaches for him. George drops his knees and Dream all but falls onto him, burying his face into George’s neck. The skin on George’s arms, in his short sleeves, are cool. Dream pulls away only to struggle his hoodie over his head, wrestle it back right-side-out and onto George. George laughs as he smooths his hair out of his eyes.
“You’re an idiot,” George says, fondly.
Dream frames George’s face with his hands and peppers kisses along George’s forehead, on his chin, on his cheeks and, softer, on his mouth. Dream’s tears are back, suddenly, and Dream once again leans into George and let’s himself go. George coos at him, in comfort, and rubs his hand down Dream’s back.
“I’m okay, Dream.”
“I’m not,” Dream says back. He sniffs. “That’s probably stupid. I know what I experienced doesn’t even compare. But I never want to not be able to get to you. That was the worst day of my life.”
Georges pulls him in closer. Tighter. Runs his fingers through Dream’s hair. “I’m so glad you came.”
“Me, too.”
“I can’t believe you booked a private jet. Such an idiot,” George teases.
Dream laughs wetly into George’s shoulder. “Anytime, George.”