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It’s over.
George breathed a weary sigh from a wearier body.
Ash settled on his bruised knuckles; made a home in the flesh of his lungs and buried him before he’d truly died. It was a blanket of burnt destruction and George lay wrapped in it upon the broken path of Kinoko, body shattered along with his dignity.
“Dream wouldn’t kill us, would he?” he’d asked Sapnap. Dream’s promise of destruction had hung in the air, an oath of renewal and righteous rebirth—and ending any who tried to stop it.
Sapnap had given him a pitying look, having long accepted Dream for what he truly was. “He would,” he spoke softly, placing a hand on George’s shoulder like they’d fall apart if he let go. “He will.” It was a warning and apology.
He won’t. George had thought as they amassed Kinoko’s defenses. He won’t. He’d thought as Las Nevadas fell, as Quackity and Karl left without a trace, and those that’d come to this land for a new home abandoned all they’d made.
But George couldn’t leave Sapnap and he couldn’t leave Dream. I can’t leave my home.
So here they were, George’s denial bleeding out like the blood from his veins. Dream had come for them as mercilessly as any other, sword as true as his words. Now George was dying and Sapnap had already met his grave beside him. It felt like everything and nothing at all.
He observed like a bird through a dusty window, the world a fuzzy and distant memory. His vision was filled with fire and dirt; he was too tired to raise his head from the ground.
Death warmed him with smoke in his lungs; kept him pinned and flightless on the bloody earth even as his mind floated away. He knew it was soon. Maybe it’ll be good to die.
Footfalls reached his ears and dark boots stepped into view, disturbing his quiet eulogy. They paused—he watched the rocks shift beneath their feet— they turned.
A familiar voice filled his head. “Still alive are we, George?” A sword touched the ground beside him, shining red.
Dream , he tried to say but couldn’t. He could only watch. He was too tired.
The sword disappeared and George readied himself for its sting, praying it would be quick and that there was some relief in the end but there was nothing. The boots lingered.
His fingers twitched on the ground, a shallow breath forced from his chest with a painful moan.
The boots bent, knees touched the ground and suddenly there was a hand on his face; a calloused and gentle hand. “George,” Dream breathed. “You lost.”
Kinoko was burning. The whole world was burning. Sapnap was dead.
They’d lost.
He let the hands move him, turning his body up from the ground and looking towards the clouded sky. He could breathe easier now.
“End it…” he murmured past chapped lips, throat shredded by ash and screams. I can’t stand the terror any longer. Be done with it.
The broken shape of Dream’s mask came into view, leering over him to disrupt the splatter of stars. Suddenly it disappeared, replaced by a familiar face.
“George…” He could barely focus on Dream’s features doubled in his retinas. “This doesn’t have to be it. You don’t have to die here.”
But you killed everything. You took away my home, my heart, my friends.
George had nothing.
A potion loomed above him, hope taunting him in Dream’s grasp. “Admit defeat. Admit you were wrong. Come with me.”
You took everything away and now you ask me to give whatever’s left.
George had followed Sapnap through fire and storm, torn himself in two with his heart reaching across battlefields, stretched thin as he ached for both sides. He’d followed one half of his heart and now it was gone. Only half of him remained.
His fading gaze remained fixed on green eyes, too wide and too wild.
I should die with you. His hand still brushed Sapnap’s cooling face. I should be brave like you, be selfless like you. But George was alone and terrified—and half the man he used to be.
Do I die here? Am I noble or a coward?
Breathing became harder, his vision darkening as Dream waited above him.
“Will you join me, George? Times ticking.”
Each heartbeat moved the clock's hand forward, each second a step closer to oblivion.
George was half the man he used to be and George had never been brave.
“Yes.” I am a coward.
A bottle was brought to his lips.
Yes. He willingly drank the potion tilted to his mouth with bloodied hands. I’m too coward to die.
The hatred coiled in his stomach, the drink both poison and life-bringer as it branded his veins with shame that’d haunt him the rest of his days.
Dream smiled. “Welcome home, George.”