Chapter Text
“I can’t let you visit the prisoner, George,” Sam had said, voice low and expression unreadable. “It’s too dangerous.”
Dangerous my ass, George thinks with a scowl.
Crouched down on the forest floor, George absentmindedly draws a circle in the dirt with a jagged stick. He thinks. Ruminates. He can’t get Sam’s blank stare out of his head; all he had done was ask if he could visit Dream some time. I just want to see him one time, he’d said, twiddling his thumbs. I miss him, you know?
Because even if the last time he’d seen Dream, he’d been borderline unrecognisable (power-hungry and crazed and sleep-deprived, smiling coldly at George and telling him just how little he cared for him), he was still his best friend. Former best friend; whichever it was.
Perhaps it was the guilt of not visiting for months, for letting Dream rot in an obsidian cell alone . He’d meant to visit earlier, really, but George was just so tired nowadays. It was so, so much easier to just sleep and dream about the early days of the SMP. When Sapnap had visited, the haunted look in his eyes for days after had put him off.
But Sam had outright refused. He wouldn’t look George in the eye and remained tight-lipped. If he knew anything, Sam was stubborn and steady in his convictions. George had relented with a mumbled forget it , and shook it off.
He had been so, so, unbearably angry at Dream for a while. The feelings of betrayal had stung for Prime knows how long, leaving him bitter and full of loneliness.
But the anger had faded into numbness. After dreams upon dreams of a world where his best friend wasn’t obsessed with control and where just being with George was enough, he'd realised just how much he missed him. He missed Dream's stupid mask and his stupid laugh and the specific shade of his hoodie and every little thing about him. Sapnap had Karl, but who did George have?
Nobody. And now, he wasn’t even allowed to see Dream, not even for one moment.
Blinking back his tears, George kicks at the dirt. He wants to sleep. Wants to return to the blissful happiness of his memories, when things were simpler . When there were no sides - no prison - no wars. Just him, Sapnap, and Dream. The exhaustion settles in his bones and he has to make an effort to not cry.
“George?” And before he can even blink, the being he’s grown acquainted to following him around pops into existence besides him. There's a frown plastered upon their ever-changing mask. XD looks worried, tilting their head. “ Are you alright? I sensed your distress.”
“I’m— I'm fine, XD.” He murmurs, shaking his head. George had long since grown used to the god inserting themself into his life: from the random gifts showing up at his doorstep to the way they seemed to know his every move. Perhaps he should have been more concerned — but he could barely bring himself to care anymore. Nothing seemed worth enough to care about anymore.
“ But you aren’t fine!” XD sighs, one of their wings brushing against George’s shoulder in what he thinks is meant to be a comforting gesture. “ You were just about to cry, George. That doesn’t constitute as ‘fine’.”
“I was not going to cry,” George argues, scowling. His head is already beginning to hurt from the sound of XD’s inhuman voice echoing in his skull, the cacophony of voices reverberating in his ears (and if he listens close enough, he swears he can hear Dream's voice in there somewhere). He digs his nails into his thighs to ground himself, exhaling. “Did you want something? I thought you said you were busy.“
“ I’ve been protecting the end as per usual. So yes, very busy,” XD mutters, boredom lacing their voice. “ But I sensed your sadness. Did somebody hurt you? Say the word, and I'll make sure they won't see the light of day—"
“XD, what did we say about threatening people?” He sighs. No matter how many times he tries to teach the god, they remain stuck in their ways. George supposes he can't expect to change them; he is, after all, nothing more than a mere mortal. “Nobody hurt me. It’s just...”
George hesitates. There's a thick lump in his throat, stopping his voice from coming out, his tongue twisted in knots. XD is staring at him curiously, and it makes him feel like he's being circled by a shark. It sends chills down his spine. “It’s— um. It’s Sam.” He sighs, blurting the words out with a grimace. “He— he just… I asked if I could... visit Dream."
XD's expression darkens at the mention of Dream's name, the skies darkening above them. He swallows nervously. "I mean— I just wanted to, you know, check on him. It's been… so long. I miss him, XD. Sam— he just told me, that… Dream was too dangerous. That I wasn't even allowed to check on him."
" Hmm. " The god hums, drumming their fingers against their mask. " You know I can look more like him if you so desire."
“It’s not that,” George sucks in a breath. He cringes at the thought and shakes his head. Because, the truth was: he'd thought about it before. Too many times to be normal. But he couldn't help it — if he ignored the ever-changing mask, the multiple sets of wings and the ethereal halos circling their head, XD's blonde hair and that shade of green were painfully familiar. “I— I want to… I don't know. I just want to see him, you know? Even just... just one time, and never again. But there’s no way Sam will let me in."
Humming, XD tilts their head, the sound vibrating against their skin. “ You know there’s no gate in this mortal realm that I can’t bypass, George. If you desire to get in the prison — if that would make you happy — I can make it so.”
George stares, scrutinising them. “...What, surely you’re not suggesting that we break in? If we get caught, XD, I don’t know what will happen. Plus, what if Dream tries to escape because of me—"
“ Relax, George.” They sigh, cupping the side of his face in their hand. Their skin is ice-cold to the touch, and George shudders. “ Me and Dream are linked, remember. I can see exactly where he is. I can teleport you in to see him, and then out. It will be like we were never there. The warden won't have to know.”
He stares dubiously. It wasn't that he doubted the god — XD could produce netherite and golden apples from their bare hands if they willed it. They were, in XD's words — friends — after all. But there's that small feeling of shame curling in his gut, about betraying Sam. One of his oldest friends. He swims in the guilt, his voice half-caught in his throat.
XD senses his conflict and groans, crossing their arms. " I don't like seeing you upset, George. Come on! It'll be quick. I promise. Please? It'll make you happy." They smile brightly at him, staring expectantly.
Prime, does George want to say yes without hesitation. He wants nothing more than to see Dream — the real Dream — to hold him in his arms and to feel the way his heart beats again his ear, to tell him everything will be okay, that he doesn't need power or the revival book or anything, because he has George. He's dreamt about the prison for nights; he's gone up to the prison, stared at those daunting blackstone walls, and reached out.
He never had the courage to enter. Until today — and when he did, Sam had said a firm no.
Maybe, just this once. He could see Dream. Could say his goodbyes, could tell him everything he wished he could tell him. Closure, was what Sapnap had told him when he had visited. Did he want closure?
I do, he realises, fists clenching. "...Okay," George finally murmurs, a heaviness weighing against his shoulders. "Just— make sure Sam doesn't find out."
He didn't expect XD to teleport them into the prison instantly, though. He inhales sharply when the familiar nausea hits him, world spinning around him. It throbs in his skull, pulsing with waves of pain. His eyes burn, a faint ringing in the back of his ears. His entire body aches. Keeling over with a groan, George holds his head and grimaces. He reaches out for XD's hand, and ends up almost falling on his face.
The god is gone, and he only sees dark obsidian walls and waterfalls of lava. "Damn it, XD," he grumbles, wearily looking around to try and find them—
And then he sees him.
(Dirty blonde hair. Ragged orange prison suit. That familiar form.)
“...D— Dream?” George lets out a shaky breath, eyes widening as he takes in the sight of his (former) best friend.
And then horror creeps into his expression. He looks around: there's so much blood , coating the room from corner to corner. There's so much of it, too much, and the worst part is that some of it looks old, dry and flaking off the walls. George feels like he might be sick. It only gets worse when he looks at Dream.
Half of him feels like he's still dreaming. Like he's having a nightmare — because Dream is covered in the very same blood. He's on the ground, barely moving, his breathing haggard and laboured. He clutches at his stomach, and there are wounds upon wounds scattered upon his skin; more of it is covered in scars than there is unharmed skin. His leg is bent at an angle it shouldn't be at, twitching against the ground.
George's breath hitches when he realises that some of Dream's fingers are gone, reduced to bloody stumps. Of the fingers that remain, half of them have nails bitten down to their bed; the rest have no nails, blood coating them.
The Dream in his memories had vibrant eyes, the warmest grin, sunny blonde hair and soft hands. He was confident and proud, bragging about his achievements and pushing George to his very limits.
This Dream was curled up into the wall, shaking and muttering to himself. His hair was long and tangled with grime and blood, almost entirely white. The prison uniform he had on was ripped around the edges, red soaked into the fabric. He looks into Dream's eyes — dull and lifeless — and he chokes when he realises that there’s a jagged scar running from one side of his face down to his chin, his right eye milky and glazed over.
(It looks just like Quackity’s scar, his mind whispers.)
The cell is silent, bar Dream’s heavy breathing. He finally seems to register George’s presence; his eyes widen, and he squirms backwards, nothing but pure terror flashing in his eyes. Dream cowers, shaking his head. It was as if he was trying to make himself as small as possible in the corner of the cell.
And then it’s like he actually sees George, because he goes still, looks up, and stares .
“...You’re— you're not real,” Dream breathes out, his voice hoarse and soft and not at all like the Dream that George remembered. He lets out a small, hysterical laugh, clutching his hair. “Fuck. I’m— I’m hallucinating again. I— I should've—."
“Dream—“ he tries again, gently reaching for his hands. They aren't soft like he remembers. They are rough and calloused and he flinches at the feel of all the scars. Dream stiffens up and stares at George like a terrified animal, shaking in place. "I'm here. It’s me. Really. I—”
“No, no,” Dream’s voice cracks and he pushes George away, shaking his head ferverently. He chokes out a sob, a broken laugh escaping his throat. “You’re not real. Stop it. Stop it, stop it, you’re not real. Why are you here? Why? After so long— I… I have to be hallucinating. He told me you knew . You wouldn’t visit. You knew all along what he was doing, I'm losing my mind—"
“What who’s doing, Dream?” George swallows the lump in his throat. He gently rubs circles into Dream’s palm. It hurts, more than anything, seeing Dream like this. "It’s me. I’m real, dream. I promise. I— I’m sorry. I should’ve come earlier.”
“It's too late,” hiccups Dream, shaking his head. "Why now? Why did I have to see you now? I was fine. I was— I was doing fine. He was right, I— I'm going to die here. I can't— I'm sorry, George, I— it's too late for me, it's too late—"
“ Dream!” George finally snaps, frustration bubbling over.
He regrets it a second later when Dream stiffens up. His eyes go unfocused, distant, and he begins shaking like a leaf in the wind. "I'm sorry, sir, I’m sorry,” he chokes out, tears spilling down his face. George stares, bewildered, raising his hands up in surrender. “Please— please, please don’t hurt me again, I’m sorry sir, I’ll be good, I’ll be good, I've learned—"
"I'm… I'm not going to hurt you, Dream," he murmurs, reaching out for his shoulder. It only makes Dream flinch away from him, his gasps and sobs echoing around the cell. The cold feeling in his chest doesn't leave. Who is this sir? "Dream, it's— it's okay. I'm here, now."
Dream doesn't respond. His eyes are glazed over, his breathing erratic. When George reaches out again, Dream doesn't do anything: only sits there and quivers, murmuring inaudibly under his breath. The stench in the cell makes George want to throw up. It's overwhelming, all too much. It smells like blood and viscera and spoiled food and George wants to do nothing but cry as Dream stills in his grasp. He feels helpless.
He wraps his arms around Dream and freezes up when he realises just how small Dream is. Dream had always been taller, larger than him, stronger — but he seemed so tiny now, emaciated and frail, like the slightest breeze could snap him in half.
George swallows. Dream's prison clothes barely fit him, hanging loosely around his body, and he swears he can feel his ribs under them. He feels sick. "Dream..." he chokes out, holding him even tighter like Dream might crumble if he looks away for even a mere second. "I don't— I'm sorry. I… I didn't realise you weren't— you weren't doing well. I didn't— I didn't know this was happening, Dream, I'm so sorry."
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Dream murmurs, eyes squeezed shut. "I'm sorry sir, please, please don't— I'll do anything, I'm sorry, please, please, don't—-" His voice cracks, and he breaks down into sobs in George's chest, hiccuping and heaving.
Fuck. He has no idea what to do. Dream, strong and headfast and stubborn and prideful, was in his arms covered in blood and having a mental breakdown, and George thinks he might have one soon too. All he can do is pull dream to his chest and try not to throw up everytime he notices more and more scars present on Dream's body that he knows weren't there before.
Sam said the prison was safe, that it was going to be what Dream deserved— but George didn't know if anybody deserved this. He didn't know what had happened here, in this room, in this godforsaken cell. There was blood everywhere — Dream's blood — and it was so small and awful and unbearably warm. He lets out a harsh sob of his own and pulls Dream even closer to him.
"I'm sorry, Dream," he cries. "I— I should've visited sooner. I'm sorry."
He doesn't know how long he sits there for, clutching Dream in his arms. George supposes he should be worried about Sam finding him, but Prime, all he wants to do is lay there forever and tell Dream everything's going to be okay. Even if it's a lie.
He hadn't visited; partially out of anger and partially out of spite. He'd stared at his ceiling at night and told himself with tears in his eyes that Dream was a monster who didn't care for him. When Bad had told him that Dream had wanted him and Sapnap to visit, he'd stared at the wall and refused . When Sapnap had visited, he had come back choked up and upset. It had been so much easier for George to just escape to his dreams.
But now, he wishes he hadn't, looking down at the sight before him. Eventually, Dream's broken cries and pleas come to a stop. He stills in George's grasp, eyes closed.
He doesn't look comfortable, even when sleeping. It looks like the slightest sound might jolt him awake. It's nothing like the Dream George knew, who could sleep through the apocalypse. Another lump forms in his throat when he realises that Dream has had to sleep on nothing but obsidian for the months he's been in prison.
"...XD?" George calls out to the stale air, breath hitching. "Are you there?"
" I'm always here, George," the god replies a second later, their body taking form in the opposite corner of the room. They tilt their head when George startles, his heart dropping into his stomach. " How did the visit go? Would you like to leave, yet?"
He stares down at Dream's barely breathing, bloodied form and frowns. Worry creases in his brow. "...Not good." And then he exhales — knowing that he's about to ask XD for a very large favour. One he might never be able to pay back in his entire lifetime; but it's worth it, it's worth it for Dream.
" XD?" He breathes out. The god looks at him, rapt with attention. "I… I know I'm asking a lot. But— I just— is it… is it possible if you could... I don't know. Help me bring Dream back to my cottage? I'll — I'll repay you. Whatever it takes. Please. I just…"
XD hums, swaying side to side. He knows this is a bad idea. XD seemed to anger whenever he mentioned Dream, but he was desperate . " I don't know, George," they sing-song. "He's serving his sentence, isn't he?"
His sentence . More than just a life sentence, a sentence of forever. Forever was a painfully long time, but the months he'd hadn't seen Dream for already felt like an eternity. George shakes his head, stubborn. He would do anything for Dream, even challenge a god.
"But— just look at him!" he exclaims. Dream shifts in his lap, shivering in his sleep. "I… he— he's my best friend , XD. I can't just... leave him in this prison. Not like this . Please. You— you have a connection to Dream. Right? You have to help him. Please." He looks back down at Dream, frail and thin and beaten and bruised, and George finds himself holding back pained tears.
XD stares silently, and George feels a cold terror claw up his chest. What if they say no? He can't possibly break Dream out himself. "...Please, XD?" he shakily adds, voice quiet and meek. "it would— it would… really make me happy. Please."
The god stares, their expression unreadable. In this moment, George is hit with the realisation tgat he is at XD's mercy; they have no emotional connection to Dream, no obligation to save him. Only George's words. They seem to think about it, drumming their fingers along their mask, before letting out a sigh. " Alright. But only because you asked nicely, George."
George's shoulders finally slump down, the tension gone from his shoulders, and he flashes the god a weak, grateful smile. "T— Thank you. Really."
This time, he expects the teleportation, clutching onto Dream as tight as he can as the scenery around him shifts from the suffocating prison walls to the forest near his cottage. The nausea rises in his throat, but it's nothing compared to how sick he'd felt looking at the cell. He lets out a sigh of relief as the familiar mushrooms and trees surround him, the air a hundred times lighter than it had been.
"I— I'm out," he murmurs, trembling. Dream's eyes are still closed, his body painfully light and curled up into a ball — but he's out of that cell, with all the blood and unspoken horrors, and George lets out a sob. He looks at a puddle, staring at his reflection. His eyes are redder than he thought they'd be, and he rubs at them and shakes his head. All the strength has been sapped from his body, so George simply sits there amongst the greenery, the wind humming in his ears. It's familiarity — one that he's missed in the brief moment he'd left it.
He doesn't know what he's going to do now. Bring Dream into his house, patch him up, of course — but then what? The Dream he'd remembered had been soft and warm and loving with shining eyes that could rival the sun. The Dream he'd remembered had also been power-hungry and cruel and full of so much hatred for the world. Never, in both of his memories of Dream, would he have imagined seeing him like this, broken beyond belief.
"Now, if you don't mind, I have to attend to my duties," XD says, cutting through his thoughts, their wings spread in exasperation. They eye Dream's unconscious body with a curious gaze. "After all that effort I did to aid you, I hope you won't let him die. But if you ever need me again, just call on me. I'll be there. I already sense your happiness, George — I'm glad."
"That's— that's kinda creepy," George manages a weak chuckle, when the god disappears from his view. And then he's left alone, with Dream in his arms. And then the realisation hits him, eyes widening—
Fuck. He'd just broken Dream out of Pandora's Vault.
George swallows shakily, his legs trembling as he cradles Dream in his arms and stumbles past the door of his cottage. He'll deal with the aftermath of his actions later.