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1
The first time Dream sees his limbo he is met with darkness.
He tries to open his eyes only to realize that he already has them wide open. Okay. So his limbo is complete darkness. Except it isn’t. As his eyes adjust, Dream starts to make out the faint stars glowing in the distance. He pats around at the ground to get a sense of where he is. He’s surprised to feel the cold stone beneath his fingers.
He doesn’t understand what this place is. Could this really be his deepest fear? Is this the one place that was designed to break him? It doesn’t make sense. He’s survived prison surrounded by four walls that he stared holes at for what feels like years, this is nothing. He’ll just wait until Punz takes him back and he can get on with his day. He only has to be here for 38 minutes or so.
He walks around aimlessly, not too worried about bumping into anything. He circles around and walks without purpose. He counts the second in his head. A minute turns to 10 then 20 and before he knows it, it’s almost time for him to come back
But then he hears a voice.
His own voice, echoing and shaking the very ground he’s standing on. For the first time in his pained experience he can feel his bones shake in anticipation of something very, very wrong.
“I have been waiting for you,” his voice booms across the air.
“Who are you?” Dream screams into the void. “What do you want from me?”
“One cannot reach their full potential without reconciling with their past. Time is funny like that.”
He’s struck silent for a moment. Confusion settling in.
“I know you are confused,” the voice says. “But I am not here to hurt the ones you hold dear. I just have one question for you.”
“Get on with it.”
“Have you talked to George lately?”
Cold dread sits heavy in his stomach. “What have you done to George?”
“The question is; what have you done?”
“Where is he?!”
A figure emerges at the distance. He stands several feet tall, glowing at the edges. There’s an aura surrounding his presence and Dream feels a chill rise up his spine. Familiarity grips at his shoulders for reasons he can’t understand. Is this the future he’s doomed to?
Dream opens his eyes to find himself back at the Prison.
That night, Dream sneaks away and packs a bag with supplies for a week’s worth of travel.
He walks along the edges of a world he once traveled freely, a smile on his face and joy in his heart. He sees familiar planes and builds. He watches civilization move slowly, what once was a lively community tainted with strife and conflict is a barren wasteland with ghosts as its residents. Everyone has moved on with their lives. He sees people he’s never met before, people he once knew changed so drastically he can’t recognize them anymore. There’s pain and hurt pulling all of their spines taut. War has changed them all. No one trusts the word of another, caution is worn like armor when in contact with anyone but themselves. There is no more belief in the sunrise, no more awe in a rising moon. Stars dull with no life to shine on. Weeds have overgrown their way into homes and no one bothers to change it.
The prison stands tall from behind him, mocking and too big for the hurt it’s given Dream.
There is no more room for him here. No matter what he does, he no longer belongs within the confines of a cell room nor the comfort of a burrow built and destroyed.
But there is still hope for everyone else. He will fix it. He will make everything right and maybe then they will make room for him, tear open the cages of their heart and hollow out a space for him to stay. He can do that. All he needs to do is know if George is safe.
Because, otherwise, what is the point?
Before the fourth day ends, he finds George asleep underneath a blanket of moss and tightly woven ivy. He’s not surprised to find him tucked in and hidden, nature has always found a way to look out for its favorite.
George looks different when he sleeps. He breathes slowly, skin cold and free of any sort of movement. When he sleeps, life is put on hold for him. He is the same as he was before he closed his eyes yet everyone around him shifts and molds into different versions of themselves and their fears.
Dream had heard of a story like this before, a lifetime ago, a story about beauty being encased in the sleep of a person’s mind. Staying young and forever wonderful as the seasons turn. Only to be woken once true love has come knocking on the door.
Sleeping Beauty, was the title. How fitting, he thinks.
Dream kneels beside him, inspecting the way George’s limbs have molded into the earth beneath him. There’s a whisper of a dream on his lips, a kiss of destruction left behind by his psyche.
For the first time since everything went wrong, Dream sobs. It comes from deep within him. There’s a vault in the place of his heart and the key lies in front of him, sleeping and beautiful.
It hurts to see him this way. It hurts to see him in any way. It hurts to see George.
He cries and cries and the moon greets him with her own sorrow and Dream cries even more. He falls asleep like that, tears staining his cheeks, laying beside the only boy that truly knew him.
They are asleep. They are beautiful.
They will never have this again.
“I’m sorry, George,” he whispers in his sleep. It’s a constant feeling lodged in between his bones. Sorry. Regret. Helplessness. He keeps it hidden within him but George always had a way of tearing that out of him. It always comes out when his guard is down. I’m sorry I couldn’t fix this. Sorry I’m not around. Sorry I was sent to prison. Sorry that you are the only thing keeping me from giving up, I know it’s more than you need to shoulder.
Whoever wrote Sleeping Beauty was wrong. This is not beautiful, this is painful; a waste. George doesn’t deserve to miss everything important in his life because the earth craves him.
Each time he sleeps, the flowers bloom for longer. And the longer he stays asleep, the longer everything growing from the soil is kept alive. Dream realizes this.
He would burn the world to give him the life he deserves. Fuck the flowers, fuck the roots of the trees keeping them tall and sturdy. What about him? What about everyone else? George keeps them all alive, it’s cruel for the Earth to keep him away.
When Dream wakes up, there’s a tear drying on George’s eyelashes.
He must have heard him last night. His heart gives another painful rattle, a heaving cry. He wants so badly to make it right but he can’t do that from beside him.
So he gathers himself, places a lingering kiss on George’s forehead in place of everything he can’t say, and sets on his way back.
As he pushes past branches and steps over large roots, there’s a screaming disappointment coming from the depths of his being that mourns the fact that George didn’t wake up.
Sleeping Beauty is a scam. She is not asleep and she is not beautiful. She’s frozen in time and a ghost of her former self and a kiss does not wake her.
Punz is beyond angry with him when he returns. He’s greeted with a punch to the face and spitting words but he knows it’s a thin veil for concern.
Dream feels it too when he looks at him. That old feeling of trusting someone to have your back. Knowing that someone is willing to die for you.
Punz is angry at him and it makes him think of quick-wit and a white cloth tied around a head too small for such a wonderful mind.
Dream wonders when his family had extended to fit the shape of a man looking for control through a man in tatters and broken pieces.
2
The second time he gets sent to limbo, it was because Punz had given him a vial of poison to drink.
This time, limbo means a room with never ending lefts and rights to make.
A maze, he realizes.
Dream figures he has nothing to do but explore it. Might as well do it to kill the time.
It doesn’t take long for him to reach the end. At the last corner is a room. It’s the only room in the entire maze. Dream makes his way to the door and lets himself in.
Inside is an entire room filled with mirrors lining the walls from floor to ceiling. He walks up to one only to be met with his reflection.
Except it doesn’t look like him. Or, at least, Dream doesn’t think it does.
The face staring at him is barren of any scars. Skin flushing red and lines hugging the sides of his mouth. This face looks happy. This face has nothing to hide.
It takes him an embarrassingly long time to realize that this is him, only younger. Way before everything. He’s fresh faced and hopeful and Dream hates him.
He turns away from his reflection and takes a look at all the different mirrors. They show him different versions of himself. Masked, unmasked. Scarred and broken. Young and naïve. But the one reflection that stops him in his tracks is his true reflection. It’s him, as he is right now, and it scares him more than he’d like to admit.
He hasn't looked at a mirror in ages, is this really what he looks like now? He can hardly recognize himself. The man staring back at him has long hair, trailing past his shoulders. His eyes are sunken in, hollow from tiredness. There’s a long scar starting from the root of his hairline, down across his left eye, ending right at his ear. It’s shocking to see himself like this.
Dream sits down in front of the mirror and just looks. He memorizes the curves of his face and the lines that hadn’t been there before. He relearns his own face, stunned silent by the person he’s become.
He tries smiling. It looks wrong. Eyes lifeless and smile crooked. He quickly decides that it isn't for him. He makes more faces at the mirror, trying to see what shape his features morph into.
He practices talking. Learning what expressions to make when someone tries to hold a conversation with him. Granted, that hasn’t happened in ages, but he figured it couldn’t hurt.
He stays in front of the mirror until Punz takes him back.
When he greets him with the smile he had practiced in front of the mirror, Punz looks at him weirdly. Like happiness on Dream’s face is severely misplaced.
When he asks Dream if he’s okay, Dream drops the smile and tells him he’s fine.
He was right to think it wasn’t for him. Dream should probably save the smiles for those that have a reason to be smiling.
3
It takes them 4 days before they try again. This time, Dream goes out into the night. No armor, no weapons.
It doesn’t take long for the mobs to find him. Nor does it take long for them to kill him.
When he opens his eyes, it’s morning again.
He’s right where he was standing when he died.
His attention is called to the side by a familiar voice.
Wilbur.
He’s calling for Tommy, clad in his stupid outfit that Dream hadn’t seen in so long.
This is when he realizes this is the past.
Tommy comes running toward him, Tubbo trailing close right behind him.
“Hey, wait up!” He calls out.
Before Dream can say anything, both boys run straight through him, like he wasn’t even there.
They pass through him like a cold breeze, leaving Dream heaving and ice cold.
They can’t even see me.
He watches as the three of them mess around, no care in the world, paying him no mind.
He stands there watching them thinking this has to be the worst one yet.
Then, as if whichever god of limbo is out there heard him, he hears George and Sapnap.
“They keep drawing borders everywhere, Sap. It’s getting annoying.”
“George…” Dream breathes out. He can’t hear me.
“Well, what can we do? It’s not like we can just wage war on them.”
“Yeah, well, we should. They’re acting like they own this place.”
“Whatever. Let’s go, we still have that dispute to resolve.”
And they walk right through him.
He doesn’t know how but he thinks this is a world where he never existed. He can sense it in the air, free of conflict and strife. It makes him hate himself.
Dream jogs to catch up with his old friends, content to merely see them happy even if they don't know him.
He walks beside them, watching as they greet everyone they walk past. They seem well liked within the community.
It hurts him differently than a blade to his chest.
When Dream gets revived, he doesn’t even mind it.
He’s quiet for the rest of the day. Punz doesn't ask him anything. He leaves out an extra plate of stew for him to finish. It’s enough to make him forget the feeling of getting walked through.
4
The next time he sees limbo it’s different.
Instead of darkness he’s surrounded by flowering trees and endless bushes. It’s a lot nicer than his last limbo. Dream starts walking, keeping an eye out for the booming voice that talked to him before. Something in him knows he isn’t here but it doesn’t hurt to be sure.
He sees the red mushrooms growing along the edges of the trees and he stops dead in his tracks. It feels like forever since he’s last seen a mushroom. He picks as many as he can, shoving them in his clothes and whatever pockets he can find. It’s a little uncomfortable but the thought of making mushroom soup, maybe even planting them when he gets out, is enough to quiet the complaints.
The trail of mushrooms leads even deeper into the forest. He looks up to see smoke coming from ahead.
Someone’s living here.
He lifts his foot to take a step forward and he steps back into reality. Dream is gasping for air, ribs aching like an imminent collapse is on its way.
He’s back. It took less than the allotted 38 minutes for him to be revived. Punz was getting quicker.
He spends the entire day trying to get his mind off of the mushrooms and the cabin he never got to see.
5
Dream is mid swing when he opens his eyes to his limbo.
He’s dead.
That’s fine. Not like this is the first time.
Limbo looks the same as it did since the last time he was here. Tall trees branching out and towering over him. Grass greener than he’s ever known. There’s flowers blooming all along the stretch of what the eye can see.
He walks the path ahead of him, not knowing where it leads. The last time he was here he didn’t really have the chance to explore. Now, he figures it’ll take some time until Punz realizes what has happened and brings him back. A walk will give him time to think.
As he continues walking, Dream notices the sprawling vines grow thicker along the bark of the trees. There’s less sunlight streaming in from above him with how thick the greenery has grown.
He sees it from afar. George’s house.
“No…” he says, under his breath and in disbelief.
His steps fall into a jog and soon enough he’s barrelling forward, racing to reach the house.
For a moment he’s afraid it’s a mirage. Some kind of sick hallucination that disappears the moment he knocks on the door. But he places his hand on the wall and the house stays. It’s solid and it’s real and it doesn't disappear.
His breath shudders in his chest. His hand is on the door knob, heart in his throat. He opens the door with a creak and light flows into the room. It’s exactly the way it used to look like. On the bed is George, asleep as he always is. He takes Dream by surprise by opening his eyes.
George stretches in bed like he had just woken from a nap, not a slumber long as the day.
“Dream, hey,” he says with a smile.
“George…” breathless and stock-still
“What?” George giggles. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
An eerie feeling washes over him. But Dream doesn’t want to scare him, so he puts on a smile and pretends like this is normal.
“What’s for dinner?” George asks.
“Uh,” he stammers. Then, like magic, he’s holding a bag of meat. Game he had trapped and killed for their dinner tonight. He looks in the bag and says, “lamb.”
“Oh, that’s perfect!” George exclaims. “We can have your favorite tonight.”
And as George is busy in the kitchen, Dream feels tears well up in his eyes. He’s never seen George this lively before in his life. He has a smile permanently etched on his face, like life is peaceful and he doesn't miss months of his life to sleep.
“What’s wrong, Dream?” George asks. He walks over to where Dream is standing, grabbing the bag from his hand and ushering him to sit on the bed. He quickly puts away dinner and sits beside him.
“Nothing,” Dream explains. “Just happy.”
George’s concern falls into a smile. Dream is happy to have placed it there.
“I like your smile,” George admits va
“What?” He asks. Because no way he heard that correctly.
“I think your smile is beautiful. You haven’t done it in quite a bit.”
“You think so?”
“Yes, Dream,” George nods. “You should smile more often.”
“Good thing I have a reason to.” He feels drunk. Eyes hazy and love lining his bones. If this is his limbo he would gladly trash his plans, fuck living forever, fuck nations and elections. Dream doesn’t want any of that if he could have George in front of him like this for eternity. And somehow, that makes it hurt all the more.
George wraps his arms around him, pressing a laugh into the crook of his neck.
“Such a sweet talker,” he murmurs.
Then, the impossible happens. George is leaning in close. Dream feels the ghost of his breath fan over his cheek. His face is burning red before anything even happens.
“Are you gonna kiss me or do I have to do everything in this house?” George teases.
“What?” He asks, dumbfounded. He can’t even think straight with the pressure of George around his body. He can hardly breathe right when George is right in front of him, awake and beautiful, asking for a kiss.
This must not be limbo. Dream has been there, it wasn’t fun. This isn’t that— it can’t be. George’s touch lingering under his skin feels like heaven come down from above.
“Dream,” he says, lowly; intimately. “Give me a kiss?”
And who is he to say no to that. So he does. Dream leans in and presses their mouths together. It’s slow and practiced, as if this were a regular occurrence.
Dream kisses him like it’s the only thing that can save him. Their lips slide against each other in a dance only they know. George winds his fingers up in Dreams' hair and for a moment he can see stars.
Dream pulls back for some air. “George,” he says against his lips.
Like a starved man, George chases after his lips. The kiss turns deep, mouths desperate to feel the ridges of each other’s lips. Dream winds his arms around George’s waist, hauling him to sit on his lap.
George lets out a surprised laugh. “Dream,” he says, mockingly scandalized. “That’s a little forward for a knight.”
“A knight?”
“My knight,” he says into his ear.
I’m gonna die.
Dream doesn’t know what to say and so he doesn’t. He leans instead, smile ghosting his lips. George brushes their lips together, swaying forward and back.
“George,” he complains.
George merely laughs in his face and the sound of it is so dizzying Dream actually closes his eyes to steady himself.
George stands up and walks back to the kitchen, a playful grin touching his eyes.
“You’re gonna have to work harder than that.” And he goes back to finish making their dinner.
Dream flops down on the bed, mind racing as fast as his heart. “Holy shit,” he whispers under his breath.
10 minutes have passed since their lips last touched and Dream can’t stay still. It’s all he can think about. He’s thinking about the way their lips met in the comfort of a home they share. George sat on his lap and called him his knight and Dream has never felt happier. Maybe he’s never been happy before because this is next level. Dream feels giddy. He’s counting down the seconds until their lips meet again.
He’s at the table with George, sharing a meal of roast lamb. It’s quiet; normal. George doesn’t look sleepy at all. There’s butterflies dancing all over his stomach it hurts.
“Tomorrow we have to go into town,” George mentions.
“Town?” he asks. “How come?”
“Well, the castle needs tending to and I have to meet with a few of the townspeople to settle something about sheeps and pets or some other.”
“Wow,” Dream says “Sounds like someone’s very important.”
“That is what happens when you pronounce me king.”
Right, he thinks. George is king. He made him king and he is his knight. In all senses of the word. He will do anything to keep his king safe. Even if it means leaving limbo and returning to a world where he has never tasted George’s lips.
They eat til they’re full and end up huddled in front of the fire.
George is the one to break the silence. “Promise me you’ll stop getting into trouble.”
“When have I ever done that?”
“Be serious, Dream.”
“Alright, alright,” he giggles. “No more fights.”
“Promise?”
Dream thinks he’d give him the moon if he asked “I promise you, my King.”
George laughs and Dream feels it in his chest. He leans in to kiss him. Because he can. Because it feels right.
They sit there, happy and alive, passing the time with their lips against the others. At some point, their breathing turns heavy and George tilts his jaw to kiss him even deeper.
The fire crackles in front of them but Dream has his attention on the boy in front him. His hands wander across the ridges of his spine, trailing up into his hair. It’s a wonder to experience this, yet he knows he’s on borrowed time. If his counting is right, he’s already been here for 4 hours. He doesn’t know how much time he has left.
Dream kisses George with all he has. It’s not long until George pulls away from him, flushed red and panting.
“What’s wrong?” He asks.
George looks around the room and Dream’s eyes follow suit. All around them are flowers blooming and mushrooms sprouting from the ground. George’s doing.
“Sorry,” he says, sheepish.
Dream grins at him and says, “it’s alright.” Dream kisses him again to prove that and the flowers stay where they are.
It’s hour 8 when George falls asleep.
He’s tucked under Dream's chin, snoring slightly. Dream keeps himself awake. He knows this can’t last and he won’t waste his time by sleeping.
He gets up, careful not to jostle George and makes his way back to the fireplace. Dream picks the flowers, a blush covering his cheeks at the memory of why they even grew in the first place.
He starts weaving the stems together. Ages ago, when things were right, George grew an entire field of poppies because of a nightmare he had. High emotions tended to bring out nature’s affinity for him.
Dream laughed at him and George gathered as much poppies as he could carry by the pocketful and sat him down under an oak tree.
They spent the entire day weaving trains of flowers together. It’s one of his happier memories.
He makes quick work of the ones in his hand, practice and muscle memory coming in despite not having made one in a long time.
“What are you making?” George asks. He’s sleep-heavy from being woken up.
“Those flower crowns you taught me to make. What are you doing up?”
“You weren’t in bed,” he states, simple and truthful.
“Couldn’t sleep.”
Come back here, just lay with me.”
“Let me finish this and I’ll be right there.”
“Alright.” George goes back to sleep.
Maybe there’s nothing else he can do. This isn’t real. This is limbo. He’s been wondering this whole time how something so perfect— so right ever be limbo but Dream gets it now. This is limbo because this place knows he has to leave. It’s perfect and all he’s ever wanted and it will not last. So by some divine grace, the universe knew he would have to leave. Someone is watching him and they know this is truly what will kill him.
Having George and leaving him.
This is limbo.
Dream places the flower crown in his pocket and leaves one on their bedside table. He lays down beside George and accepts his fate.
He has to leave.
He closes his eyes and when he opens them, it’s the 10th hour and he’s no longer in limbo. But when he shoves his hands deep into the pockets of his hoodie, he feels the flowers he had woven into a crown green him.
It’s enough to keep him going till he finishes his plan.
Just a little bit longer, George, he thinks. One last fight and I’m done for good.
+ 1
Dream thinks his new friend is great. He’s loud and obnoxious but he smiles at him often. When he collects dirt and gathers wood he always takes something to bring back to him. He never shuts up; always a story for him to spill. The other one is a lot quieter. He doesn’t really say much to either of them but Dream thinks company is company.
It’s a week before anyone new comes along.
Dream is following the trail of flowers out into the field. He looks at the distance and sees a boy standing there. He’s illuminated by the sun, casting a halo around him. The blue of his shirt seems to glow.
Dream can feel his heartbeat quicken. It’s silly but whoever this is feels like a friend.
He walks until he’s near him. The boy has his eyes closed, face directed at the sun.
“Hi,” he greets.
“Hello,” he answers.
Dream can feel the tip of his ears burn red. He wills himself to get it together. Just because a pretty stranger says hi to him doesn’t mean he has to lose his cool.
“Nice flowers.” What the fuck am I saying.
“Thank you. I made them.”
“Wait, what? You made them? How?”
“I don’t know. I just… did.”
“Huh,” Dream surveys the field. Poppies , he notes.
“It’s beautiful,” Dream says. He picks the poppy nearest to him and twirls it around in his finger. Dream stares at him, beautiful and sunlit, and thinks what the hell he might as well take the leap, right?
He places the poppy in the crook of his ear, burying it deep into his lovely hair. He can feel the way his heart is beating out his chest.
The boy says nothing back, instead offering him a smile in return. Dream thinks it’s blinding even with the sun shining right behind him.
“My name is George. You are?”
“Dream. I think we’re gonna be great friends.”
And somehow, in some way, he knew that they already were.