Chapter Text
Sapnap and George are fighting again. It's nothing new.
Dream hunkers down into the protection of the couch as they shout at each other, curses and insults flying in every which direction.
He's alone. He's entirely and utterly alone. Clay is the one usually to manage situations like this, but Clay isn't here, too busy managing another situation in the innerworld. Only Haven is free to switch, and Dream isn't about to put him in that situation
He turns away from the commotion, fighting the urge to shut his eyes tight and hide away from the world. He can't show them that he's scared. They'd take advantage.
Staring at the floor, contemplating whether or not to leave the room, Dream’s about to get up and leave when a slap resounds around the room.
His head shoots up. He freezes.
George and Sapnap stand there, still as statues. Dream squeaks. Both of their heads shoot over to him.
They’re going to kill him. They’re going to hit him. They’re going to beat him up and pull him around by his hair and lock him in his cage and–
“Dream?”
Dream lets out a sob, scrambling off the couch and backing himself into the corner of the room. He realizes then that it’s a bad idea, wedging himself into a place where there’s no escape, but Sapnap’s approaching and there’s no way to get out and he's trapped, he's trapped he's trapped he's trapped and oh god–
“Dream. Hey. You’re okay. You’re okay.” Sapnap takes a cautious step forward towards Dream and Dream shrinks back, spine digging into the wall.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, please don’t, I’ll be good!”
Dream's losing his mind. He's hallucinating. There are shadows, shadows everywhere, reaching out to touch him, and he shuts his eyes tightly, willing them away before they– they– he gags, retching, but nothing comes out.
"Dream," George says, surprisingly gentle. Dream cracks an eye open– it's rude not to, after all, and George smiles.
"Hey, good boy," and Dream relaxes just that bit. Maybe, if they're praising him, that means they're not going to be as rough during his– during his punishment. He's not sure what exactly he did wrong, but he doesn't have to know. That would be silly. Objects don't deserve to know anything.
"Hi, sir," Dream replies, voice wobbling even as he tries to steady it. George's face crumples and Dream isn't sure why. Did he do something wrong? Even more wrong?
"Not sir," George corrects gently, not moving any closer to Dream even though Dream did something wrong there and should be punished for it. "Not sir, just George is okay."
"George," Dream repeats obediently, bowing his head. "Hi, George."
"Hi, Dream. Let's take some deep breaths, okay? May I touch you?"
"You can say no," Sapnap chimes in, voice soft in the big room, sinking into the carpet and Dream's chest. "You're always allowed to say no to touch, baby, we won't be mad."
Dream agrees immediately, bobbing his head up and down to the rhythm of his bird-flight heartbeat hammering away in his chest. He doesn’t want it, not really, but he’s not allowed to say no. He’s not. He could, but all that would get him is more punishment, and he’s earned enough of that for today.
George exhales. “Thank you,” he says, and Dream knows he’s made the right choice. Good. He’s been good.
Reaching out, George places an open palm on Dream’s sternum. Dream flinches away, but there’s nowhere to run. George looks like he was expecting the movement and just waits, hand still outstretched, until Dream’s settled again.
“Breathe with me,” George orders, starting to take big breaths of his own. With one hand on Dream’s chest, George takes his other and lifts Dream’s hand, moving it to his own chest so they’ve traded. Like this, Dream can feel the way George’s chest rises and falls.
Sapnap moves, and Dream’s eyes shoot to him, but Sapnap just smiles gently and gestures to the kitchen.
“Gonna get you a drink, Dreamie, what do you want?”
What does he want?
“Anything you want, sir.” And then he realizes that maybe, because they wanted him to use George’s name instead of sir as a title, that he should do the same for Sapnap. “Sapnap.”
Sapnap sighs. Dream knows he's messed up.
"Not sir,” Sapnap corrects gently, and Dream shrinks back. "Whatever else you want, okay? You don’t have to use… titles.”
“Okay,” Dream agrees immediately. Anything to make him happy. “Yes, Sapnap.”
Sapnap lets out another breath, looking like he wants to say something else, but doesn’t. Instead he just turns and walks to the kitchen, disappearing into the open doorway and leaving Dream and George alone.
“Hey, Dreamie,” George coos, hand still on his chest, still taking deep breaths in and out and in and out and in and out and in and out and inoutinoutinout and–
Vaguely, Dream realizes he’s hyperventilating.
He doesn’t care. If he passes out, then he won’t have to feel what George and Sapnap will do to him. He’s been bad. He’s been so bad. Their hands are going to creep up his thighs, stroking harshly, wrap around his legs, pull him close, grab, touch, pull, grope–
“Dream. Breathe.”
Dream grabs onto the voice like it’s his only lifeline, even as the movement gives him rope burn, the fibers digging into his palms, drawing blood, and oh, no, those are just his fingernails. Blood leaks sluggishly down his hands and wrists from how tightly he’s digging his fingers into the soft flesh of his palms.
“Dream. Breathe with me. You’re alright. You’re okay. I’ve got you.” George is saying nonsense, just talking to talk, to hear his own voice, and Dream couldn’t be more grateful.
He tries to grab on, he really does, but he’s slipping, the rope falling from underneath his fingertips even as he tries with everything he has to hang on tight for dear life. He feels himself falling away, spiraling down into the void where there aren’t any emotions and there isn’t any strife.
It feels like home.
And Dream loses the fight.
He lets the rope slip from his weakened grasp, lets it disappear into the darkness as he floats into nothingness. It’s nice. It’s safe. He never wants to come up.
All good things must come to an end, though. Eventually, someone comes to find him. Someone with golden ears and a sweeping tail and someone multiple heads shorter. Haven. Dream doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
‘Haven,’ Dream rasps, voice hoarse from his crying.
Haven just looks at him, eyes much older than he should ever have to be. He looks tired. Dream wants to sweep him up into a hug and cradle him and tell him that he never has to feel stressed, that he can be a kid forever. He doesn’t. He can’t. His limbs feel lead-weighted, and his head too heavy to lift.
‘You want me to take over? I can. I can, I’ll do it good.’ Haven speaks up, tail curled around his leg.
‘It’s okay,’ Dream replies, and means it. ‘Go home, Hav. I’ll be okay.’
‘No. I wanna stay,’ and Haven is stubborn, stubborn enough that Dream already knows he’s not going to be winning this argument anytime soon.
‘I wanna stay,’ Haven insists, and Dream caves, despite knowing that Clay is going to be mad at him later on. He needs the company, the support. He needs it.
‘Okay,’ Dream concedes, struggling to get up. Haven bounds over and tries as best he can with his little body to prop Dream up into a sitting position. ‘Okay. You want to do the talking?’
‘Yes, please,’ Haven says, now curled at Dream’s side, ears twitching lazily as he rests his chin on Dream’s lap. The pressure is grounding, and Dream pets over Haven’s head in appreciation.
‘Alright. C’mon, let’s go back.’