Archive of Our Own

1-Three years old

Dream is out with George and he hates it. Not because George is terrible or because this day is terrible, but because he misses his daughter. The little girl who Dream raised and then eventually Sapnap and George helped with too. He misses her because he hasn't seen her in over twelve hours and he is sure his mother is getting overwhelmed even if she raised three of her own kids. But Patches is different, she always has been.

She isn’t a lot and her personality is amazing, a beautiful mix of everyone amazing in her life. She loves bright colours and she loves animals. Her favourite word is George’s name and her favourite dance move is to make one of the boys put her on their feet while they sway or walk around the house. They’ve had some kinks to work out, but Patches is perfect. She has a whole life to develop her own type of thinking and her own opinions, but for now she is exactly like everyone around her.

As much as a three-year-old can be at least.

“Dream?”

Dream practically snaps his neck with how fast he turns his head. “Yeah?” He asks, blinking out of his daze.

“Do we need any groceries?” George questions.

They had decided after their traveling to go to Walmart because George needed some sort of… well, Dream doesn’t actually know what he needed, he just knows he agreed because George promised it would be a quick trip, that they would go home as soon as he had his things. It was a quick trip, but Dream had been up since six in the morning and his tolerance for going to Walmart at seven pm has much since changed after having to raise a kid.

Dream sighs, realizing they were in fact on their way to the aisles that hold ingredients for different dishes that Dream is sure his mother could fix up. He looks around, feeling himself pull his fingers, he stops before George’s reaching hand can touch him.

They do need groceries, but he likes to go with Patches. She likes to point at different things and guess what they do. She has made him hate shopping without her happy smile when she gets things right. Nothing in the world beats it. It’s like they are the only ones who exist, the only ones who are happy and healthy enough to experience that type of love and companionship. Dream doesn’t want to trade or replace it for the world.

He shakes his head. His eyes widening, he’s becoming overwhelmed, not with anyone in the store, but with the idea of thinking of his daughter, how he isn't with her and how he can't see her. How he is doing their favourite activity without her, he can't stomach it.

“Dream?” George asks, his body moving closer, shielding him from anyone watching them. “What's wrong?” He whispers calmly, Dream moves his eyes to look at him, pleading.

“Can we just go home?”

George doesn’t waste a second, he grabs Dream’s hand delicately and starts guiding him to the door. “Of course we can,” he says while walking.

“What about your thing?” Dream asks.

“I can just order it to the house, it's fine. Let’s go home and see Patches, yeah?”

Dream agrees without a heartbeat.

He expects a lot of things when he walks through the door every time he comes back from being out. He expects toys all over the place, Patches laughing about while Dream’s mother watches her tiredly from the couch. He expects quietness, Patches sleeping soundly in her room while Dream’s mother tries to stay awake until her son comes back home. Those nights usually consist of Dream offering the spare bedroom or offering to drive his mother home. She usually takes the first option.

What he has never expected or ever seen is the house smelling of baked goods. He’s talking like a grandmother's house or a fresh bakery. A smell that whiplashes both George and him that he doesn't quite know what to do with, except stand in the doorway and question if it's even his own home.

It is their home, Patches’ favoruite teddy bear, or he should just say her Mooshroom cow teddy sits on the floor in the living room, a bee and a random cat teddy she had gotten from one of Dream’s family members, probably his younger sister, sits close by. Her favourite show is playing on silent in the living room, TV showing all of the bright colours. And most importantly, a picture sits on the wall, a wide one in a wide frame as it shows Dream’s whole family, Patches, George, Sapnap and himself standing in the middle, smiling wide.

It is their home. Thank God, he thought he might have somehow just walked into a rando’s house.

George must have a better mind than him, clearer, because when he walks in the house he turns, taking Dream’s hand in his own, pulling him through the doorway and effectively making Dream come back to his senses. He hears hushed talking from the kitchen and he hears the sweetest hints of his girl's laughter.

He lets George guide him into the living room. Immediately he rounds the corner of the wall, the one that keeps the kitchen separate from everything else. He hates the wall, he wants to knock it down or at least make it a half wall. It’s too closed off for his taste.

When he and George walk into the kitchen, he is blasted with the baking smell. He looks at the counter first, it's covered in flour and pieces of egg shells. There are mixing bowls all over the counter and Dream’s mother is lining a cookie sheet with parchment paper. 

Patches has her fingers in some sort of dough. Dream pauses, he knows the dough, which sounds weird, but truly, he spent his whole childhood helping his mother mix and knead that exact type of dough.

“Oh!” His mother says loudly, “You scared me.” Her hand holds her heart, something he thinks every mother does. “Hi, bug,” she says softly, not moving until Patches turns her head, smiling big and wide as she claps her hands excitedly.

“Hi, ma,” Dream says, before he looks back at his daughter. 

“Dad!” She cheers moving to crawl off of her stool. She kneels first, getting her grubby hands all over it, but Dream doesn't care. He kneels as well, one knee on the floor while his arms open big and wide. His daughter comes running, her ginger-blond hair with little bits of brown highlights bouncing along with her movements. She immediately smashes into him as if he can’t feel it. He can't blame her, she’s only three.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he mumbles, hugging her tightly, before he picks her up, holding her in his arms.

“Hi, Geo’ge,” she says, his name still falling from her lips wrong, but they are working on it, and plus she has other names for him, easier ones to pronounce.

“Hi,” George says politely back, moving closer to Dream’s daughter. He sticks his neck out, moving his face closer so she can lift her hand to poke his nose. He scrunches it, but lets her do it anyway, leaving a mess behind on his skin.

Dream smiles, while his shirt gets covered in leftover dough. He kisses the side of her head and when she turns back, he kisses her nose, the most prominent freckle sitting beautifully on top. He grins when her nose scrunches in the same way George’s does.

When she starts to play with her fingers, he looks over to where George was standing, instead of being met with the boy, he is only met with the fridge. He turns his head, watching as his mother and George talk while she shapes the dough into little balls, placing them so they bake perfectly. She is talking quietly to George, not like she is telling secrets, but more like she doesn't want to interrupt the daddy-daughter time that is happening a few feet away.

He looks at his daughter, “well, what were you making?” She shifts in his hold, making grabby hands at the mixing bowl, he walks them over.

“Bi’c’it!” She says excitedly.

“Biscuits, really?”

His mother tunes back in then, “Yes, the same ones—”

“From when I was younger,” Dream finishes for her and when she looks surprised he shrugs his shoulders. “I recognized the dough,” he says simply as if that's a normal thing to have happened.

She smiles, going to say something else, but the oven timer beeps before she can. “Oh,” she says, “the cookies are ready !” She sing-songs. Dream smiles at her antics, she's always been like that, humming under her breath and singing while she does mundane tasks.

George watches her as she removes the cookies from the oven smelling them as their scent wafts out. 

“Cookie!”  Patches says, squirming.

“Hey, hey,” Dream says, “they have to cool down.” She continues squirming even after Dream tells her no multiple times. When he is about to be more strict about it George steps in, coming up to them both and putting his hands against her waist, lifting her out of Dream’s arms.

“It’s okay,” George says softly and Dream lets him take her. “Let's go have some play time, huh? How does that sound?” Patches nods enthusiastically and George smiles, “okay, but first let's go wash these hands.” He starts their journey to the main floor bathroom and Dream sighs, brushing his hands through his hair.

“You know,” Dream’s mother says, opening the oven and placing the baking sheet of biscuits into the heat. “She really likes to play with the eggs and we made a small batch of cookies before, which your sister came and picked up, and she really has some sort of knack for painting or something.”

Dream smiles, leaning against the island countertop. “She’s three,” he deadpans.

“She’s a very creatively genius three-year-old.” His mother says, replicating his position. “She likes George,” she adds. 

“I’d hope so. He practically raised her through the phone.”

She nods, smiling. She moves, starting to clean up the bowls and messes that his daughter created. He watches the eggs and flour get wiped up, the way his mother scoops shells into her palm, putting them in the compost bin. He watches the whole process, from cleaning up to the freshly cooked biscuits as she pulls them out of the oven.

“Do you want me to take you home?” He asks softly, tired.

“Oh, no, you look exhausted, I'll just drive.”

“No, I can drive you, it's okay.”

She sighs, “I can drive home. It's okay, go rest. Go read Patches a story, I'll clean up here and put away the biscuits and cookies.”

Dream wants to be stubborn about it, but he thinks he might be a hazard on the road if he tries to drive his mother home. It’s best if he stays back. He reluctantly nods to her, moving out of the kitchen, only to find Patches and George asleep on the couch. He smiles, but they can't sleep like that so he softly nudges George. He wakes up, smacking his lips.

“Time?” He asks and Dream answers.

“Late.”

George nods, looking around and then looking down. “Oh, I can go put her to bed, sorry.”

Dream shakes his head, “I can do it, it’s okay.”

George looks down, “okay,” he says, but it sounds off, like he doesn't want to let her go.

Dream takes her anyway. She doesn't wake when he places her in her bed, night clothes already on, he sighs, maybe he should change her.

Patches has always been amazing at not being fussy, something he got lucky with, he guesses. Changing her is no different and placing her back in bed once she has been successfully cleaned makes his heart melt. The way she curls up into another stuffed animal, her Mooshroom, still in the living room.

He nods to himself, making sure to remember to thank his mom profusely for this day. He shuts off the light and says quick goodbyes to his mother, George being nowhere to be found.

2-Eight years old

It’s Father's day.

The thing is, Dream would have forgotten if it weren't for the flowers sitting on his bedside table, all mismatched. Yellows and greens, mixing with reds and purples. There are only a few that are blue, placed in a diamond shape at the centre of the bouquet. Dream wants to say it’s because Patches picked them out, but with George being color blind, he isn't too sure about that guess.

He smiles at them, pulling them down to his face to smell. They smell like flowers, that weird earthy smell everyone loves or acts like they love, Dream doesn't mind it, but he’ll be honest, it is definitely not his favourite.

He sets them back down, looking at his ceiling as he lays on his back. He knows he should get up, but he also knows that George definitely has Patches and Nick is over, which means they are all doing something, something that definitely results in a prank against him…

He gets up. He can't have the three idiots in his life mess with him on Father’s day. How would that be fair?

He stands, stretching and pulling on a shirt and pants. It’s going to be a lazy day, he knows it will. It doesn't really matter how he looks, but somehow he still finds himself in front of the mirror fixing his hair as he brushes his teeth.

When he walks downstairs, he doesn't bother trying to hear what's happening in the kitchen, instead he shuffles along the floor, silent. He perches himself against the wall of the kitchen’s entrance, watches as Patches and George have a petty argument about whatever they are baking. Patches keeps blowing flour at George and George keeps doing it right back to the eight-year-old. Dream smiles, stopping himself from scoffing as he examines the mess they've made.

An empty egg carton sits open on the countertop and Dream knows it was almost full yesterday, he wonders how many eggs have ended up on the floor or in the compost bin because of accidents or… well, ‘accidents’. He bets there's a lot more missing because of the second option.

He continues watching the way dry ingredients get mixed by Patches and then she inevitably steals the wet ingredients from George because no matter what anyone says, George would give her anything she wanted.

He watches as Sapnap asks about certain things and why they get combined. “Why do those get put together?”

Patches’ humming stops as she looks at George, who looks back at her, as if the eight-year-old knows more. They both shrug at the same time, their eyes meeting Sapnap’s before they say the same words, perfectly in sync.

“I don't know.” 

“I dunno.”

Dream smiles bigger, they really are alike. The only difference is age, who they are as a person, and the way words are said. George’s accent makes his words more pronounced, even if it is disappearing just a little bit, more and more every year. Patches is just lazy with pronunciation, she lets words roll off with very little time taken into saying them properly, even if she has a one-hundred percent in English and spelling. Dream doesn't mind, as long as she knows how to speak up when she needs to and how to control how powerful her words are, Dream will continue letting her be laid back at home. Safe at home.

Home.

It’s Father’s day and Dream is at home.

It’s Father’s day and Dream is watching his little family make food.

It’s Father’s day and Dream is feeling rather mischievous. So when he steps forward, Patches laughs, covering the way the floor creaks, Sapnap looks up, opening his mouth before Dream lifts a finger, silently shushing the man. Sapnap closes his mouth, nodding his head slowly, looking back down at his phone.

Dream tries not to laugh as he sneaks up behind George, he makes sure the man's hands aren’t holding anything dangerous, maybe it’s a dad thing. When George lifts his hands out of the bowl, after balling up every bit of dough he could, Dream strikes, grabbing George's waist and giggling manically at the screech George lets out.

“Oh my f—” George catches himself, turning around and glaring at Dream. “You are such an as—”

“Woah!” Sapnap says loudly, reaching across the island and cupping Patches’ ears, “there are kids present.” 

Patches shakes his hands off, glaring at Sapnap before she deadpans. “I know what words are, uncle.”

George ignores them, “You are an asymmetric fool.”

Dream bursts out laughing, hands still resting on George’s waist. “A…” his laugh cuts through, sounding more like the wheeze he used to have than anything else. He coughs through his next words. "An asymmetric f—fool?” He asks, smiling as big as anyone can imagine.

“Yes,” George says proudly, chin pointing up and everything, Dream wants to kiss him.

Well, okay, he doesn't want to. He never really has and he has Patches and she is his number one, he can’t be getting involved with other people. He has a tiny human to look after. He has Patches to be careful of, he can't just be inviting people in her life just for them to leave, especially when she is growing up. Eight is much too late to be introducing a person she has only known as ‘Gogy’ or ‘George’ as ‘my boyfriend’ or ‘partner’ instead, not that he'd want to. He doesn't want to.

He removes his hands, as if he might have been burned. As cliche as it is, Dream almost thinks he actually was burned, like his hands were scorched with fire or lava. He almost wants to look down at his fingers just to see if the flesh is bubbling or… or even melted off. He doesn't though, he can't make his daughter think that he is insane. Instead, he steps back.

He looks at her, she is gabbing away with Sapnap about something, he isn't sure. He doesn't think he can focus. He feels a hand brush his own, he pulls away, rubbing his wrist, holding it to his chest, like he’s protecting it. George tries to get him to look at his face, but he gives up when Dream only lets his eyes focus on his own skin. 

When George huffs and turns back around, standing next to Patches, Dream looks up. He sees the look Sapnap gives George. The type of look that asks a million questions. He sees George’s breath stutter, his back going rigid and his shoulders going stiff. They don't relax, not until Patches starts rolling balls out of the dough. Talking about something before she turns around. Dream is almost positive she is about to throw the ball in her hand at him, but instead she blinks at him, staying something.

“Dad!” She shouts and Dream blinks back to reality. He blinks rapidly at her, sticking his head out like he truly wasn't listening. He wasn't listening, but to be fair, he was having an existential crisis in his head, so he thinks his eight-year-old can cut him some slack.

She does, her next words come out kind, kinder than Dream has ever heard and somehow he thinks his little girl might know something he doesn't. “Can you put the…” she waves her finger around, turning to Sapnap for help, “the…?”

Sapnap interrupts, “parchment paper.” 

Patches snaps her fingers on one of her hands, pointing at Sapnap, “yeah, that on the thingy?” Then she turns back to her father, grinning.

Dream nods, he knows what she means, her brain works in the same way his does. He does as asked, silently. As if she is the one supposed to be giving him orders. He listens as the boys joke around with her. Sapnap jokes about pouring flour all over her head and when George jokes about eating all her biscuits, she laughs, beautiful joyous giggles. Dream can't hold back his soft smile, who would ever be able to?

He continues listening to them, mindlessly placing the baking sheet in front of both of them. The clatter on the counter makes his ears hurt. He’s sure if he was a wolf he would have his ears pinned down to the back of his head, trying to lessen the pain of the loud noise.

Sapnap nods and then George looks at Patches, “what do we say?”

“Thank you!” She says happily. She doesn't look at Dream when she says it, but he knows it has no less of a meaning.

“You're welcome,” Dream says, smiling, kissing his daughter's head before he backs away. He needs water and he knows he has a practically empty bottle in his mini fridge upstairs, so he heads that way.

He knows Patches is in good hands, she has two grown ups watching her and plus she has been with them all morning, she is a-okay. The steps are silent, as always and when he gets into his room he barely notices the door cracking open when he opens his fridge.

But, he is also a dad, and parents somehow have super hearing. Dream honestly thinks it comes from having to listen for a baby crying in the middle of the night. It’s not like he was a heavy sleeper to begin with, but he was a single parent, he still is. When he looks at the one and only photo of all three of them, he lets himself crack a smile instead of frown.

Patches is surrounded by amazing people, he’s sure her mother knows that as well.

“I’ll be back down. I'm just grabbing my water,” he says, turning around. 

“That’s okay,” George says softly, “I just wanted to, um…” he pauses, “Patches is with Sapnap watching a cartoon while the biscuits bake so I just—” he huffs in frustration. Instead of speaking again, he walks forward. He places his hands against the hem of the shirt Dream wears. He looks up. “Happy Father's day.” 

Dream smiles, “thank you.” He’s keeping his hands off of George, that's how it should be and when George feels him stay at his own distance, he pulls himself away, inch by inch.

George starts stepping away, “come on, let's go join in on watching the movie.” His eyes never meet Dream’s.

Dream nods, following. “What movie did she choose this time?”

George laughs as they start walking to the stairs, “well, Sapnap kind of had an argument with me over it…” he says sheepishly.

“Why was there an argument? And you guys handled it without me being the mediator? Who are you and what did you do with my George?”

My, my, my—

George spins around, blush resting on his cheeks. “First of all, you are Patches’ dad not ours—”

“It’s Father’s day, you can't be mean to me.”

“ Second, “ George exaggerates, “ I said we should let you pick because it’s Father’s day , but then Sapnap said he wanted to watch the Bee Movie,” Dream smiles big, already knowing what's coming. “And you know her obsession with that movie so…”

“So they ganged up on you?” Dream asks and George nods. “Good,” Dream says, George looks at him like he just disgraced his entire ancestry. “Now you know I feel when you and her get together, y'all are like…” he pauses trying to think of a word. “You're like connected or something, some telepathy or some shit.”

“Woah,” George laughs, still looking at Dream, ”did the Dream just swear?”

Dream shakes his head, “shut up, idiot.” He tries to walk past George, but he stops him with a hand on his chest.

“I haven't heard you swear since she was born,” George says quietly.

Dream scoffs, shaking his head, “that is such a lie.”

George shrugs, “maybe, but you believed it for a split second.”

Dream’s mouth gapes as he smiles, “are you trying to gaslight me?” He asks.

George smiles, shrugging, “I don't know, am I?” And then the idiot starts running, running across the rest of the space from where they are standing to the staircase and despite Dream’s wince, George also runs down the staircase.

Dream almost wants to yell at him, but as Dream steps onto the first step George is already at the bottom, so despite his concerns for George he apparently doesn't share those same concerns for himself. He picks up his pace, water bottle still in his hand, and by some miracle and the Gods above, his little slip at the end of the stairs doesn't break his back. Instead he catches himself and chases George into the living room which makes George shriek as he jumps onto the couch.

Dream smiles evilly as he approaches George, setting his water bottle down on a side table as he practically stalks George, as if he is a cat stalking its prey. George squirms in his space, quickly grabbing a pillow to block Dream.

“Oh, George!” Dream says and George screams out a familiar.

“ Stop!”

Dream chuckles, moving closer as he grabs George's pillow from his hands. George laughs freely as the pillow hits him. Dream’s cheeks hurt, he can't stop himself from smiling as wide as he possibly can. He grips the pillow with more aggression to hit George again, but then he feels something hit him on the back. He turns and sees his little girl, she's holding a small pillow smiling like a maniac, the Bee Movie playing in the background. 

He gasps and her smile starts fading, “Oh, you little, stinker!” He says, moving at her with quick speeds as he picks her up, throwing her over his shoulder, It's more like a slow movement to make sure she sits comfortably but still, and then he starts spinning. She kicks and squirms as her shrieking laughter fills the air. On any other day it would hurt his ears, but today… today is different. He sets her down after a few spins, he doesn't want her to get sick. When she giggles, grabbing her pillow and running at Sapnap Dream turns back to look at George. The man still lays on the couch, his back resting fully against it while his big brown eyes watch Dream.

God, he loves his family.

He is about to reach down and help George up, when the hardest hit from a pillow knocks him over. He topples onto the couch as he hears two menaces giggling behind him. He means to get up right away, but the way George’s hair sits on his forehead from him pushing into the couch more and the way his eyes stay wide as they blink up at him, the combination makes him want to scoop the man up and hold him forever.

But Dream doesn't get forever. Instead, he gets his daughter giggling as she says, “Doggy-pile!” And then jumps on his back, making him make a sound very akin to “ oof .”

Dream wants to correct her wording. He wants to tell her it's ‘dogpile’ and not ‘doggy-pile’ but he also makes sure to catch himself so he doesn't end up suffocating George. He holds his weight. Patches isn't heavy, she's only a small child, but that doesn't make it any less hard. He doesn't want to move an inch. If he does, she could fall off, hurt herself, or he could hurt George, or he could, somehow, get too close to George. They are all possibilities, possibilities that don't happen because the timer for the biscuits goes off, making Dream snap out of whatever moment he was stuck in. 

Patches gets off Dream quickly, running to Sapnap as he speaks to her, it's quiet but Dream hears it. Of course he does. “Let’s go get your baked goods, hmm?” 

Patches yells excitedly, “yeah!”

“Okay, then come on, silly. Let's go.” Dream already knows Sapnap is crouching down, letting Patches get on his back. He smiles and then quickly gets off of George.

He stands, awkwardly playing with his fingers as he clears his throat. He expects George to sit up and hide his blush. Instead, George sinks more into the couch, grabbing the pillow from the ground and holding it to his chest, cuddling it as he stares at the ceiling, his eyes closing as a gentle smile rests on his face. 

Dream knows he won't go to bed, but he has to make sure for his own state of mind. “You can't go to sleep,” Dream says softly. “We have to try you and Patches’ amazing biscuits.”

George cracks an eye open, “was that even proper grammar?”

Dream shrugs, “I don't know.”

George sits up, “wow, see all, know all Dream, doesn't know grammar.”

Dream rolls his eyes, standing in front of George, he puts his hands out, letting George take them. “Come on,” Dream says, pulling George up and off of the couch. “Let’s go eat and then restart the Bee Movie for the idiots.”

George pouts, “am I not one of ‘the idiots’ now?”

Dream has never felt an urge quite like this one. An urge that makes him want to cup George's face and kiss off the stupidly perfect pout he puts on. He wants to remove any sort of confusion or pain from George's features, fake or not. But he doesn't, he won't, and he can't.

“You,” he says, poking George’s nose with his finger, just to see the nose scrunch, “are the biggest idiot.” Dream speaks, pulling George closer. “You're practically the president.” George smiles, but he also rolls his eyes, trying to hide the fact that Dream is complimenting him.

“Let’s go,'' George says, guiding Dream to the loud kitchen. How can only two people make so much noise and light up a room? Dream doesn't know. But he does know that when he watches George let go of his fingers to join in on the dance party while the ‘baked goods’ are cooling, he can't help but stand back and watch.

They say ‘it takes a village,’ Dream thinks Patches has the perfect village.

The biscuits are amazing, they aren't as fluffy as his mother’s but he thinks it's because she has the magic touch, most mom’s do. He hopes he adopted that touch too, Patches deserves to experience that type of magic.

They have gone through too many movies to be normal, Sapnap is sound asleep on the couch and Patches wanted to be a ‘big girl’ and take herself to bed. Dream has just returned to the living room after having found she actually did everything she needed to do for bed, only to find George sound asleep too. The only problem is his hands are holding onto his bare arms as if he is freezing in his sleep.

Dream clicks his tongue, shaking his head and whispering a soft, ”idiot,” under his breath.

He walks over to the couch, grabbing the white, green, and black blanket that rests there, covering up the cold man. He doesn't mean to wake him, but when his hand accidentally brushes against George’s arm, the man's eyes flutter open. He groans softly, stretching and then looking up at Dream.

“Time?” He asks.

“Late,” Dream responds, as always. George gives him the smallest of smiles before he sits up, stretching his arms above his head as he looks around, his lips smacking. The corner of Dream’s mouth turns up as he reaches for his basically empty water bottle, but it doesn't matter, George can have the rest. Dream would have given him all of it if he asked earlier.

George takes the water bottle with greed, but it doesn't bother Dream. He watches as George takes the last gulps of water before he makes a refreshing sound and then hands the bottle back to Dream. Dream takes it, setting it back down before he puts his hands out, George taking them as he gets up.

“You going to bed?” George asks and Dream nods.

“Patches has school, so I have to wake up early to take her and get her ready.”

George nods, his fingers tightening against Dream’s for a second before his grips loosens. “I could…” he stops as he starts swaying their hands. “I can get her ready tomorrow and Sap can drive us to the school, we don't mind.”

Dream cocks his head, “are you sure Nick will agree to that?”

George shrugs, “if I get Patches to request it, he will.”

Dream shakes his head at his tactics. “We’ll see tomorrow.”

“I wanna do it, really.”

Dream stares at him, “I know.”

George nods his head once and then he takes them both toward their bedrooms. George’s room is just down the hall from Dream’s, but Dream stops them before they can walk up the steps. 

“Should we wake him?” He asks and George shakes his head.

“No, I'll get Patches to wake him tomorrow and then he’ll have to take us to school.” George guides him up the steps.

“Oh, yeah?” Dream asks, stepping behind George as one of his hands glides along the railing while his other stays loosely clasped in George's. “You gonna go teach there too?”

George snorts, stuttering a step. When they reach the top of the stairs, he turns around. “Yeah, I will,” he says proudly.

“Yeah? And what would you be qualified to teach?”

George thinks for a moment, his foot tapping in the way cartoons do. “Computer science,” he says, “they’d be the most genius kids.”

Dream smiles, “they would, maybe you should go get your masters in teaching or something and do it.”

George shakes his head, pulling them back down the hall. “I can't.”

“Why?” Dream asks following mindlessly, it’s like that’s the only thing he knows how to do; be mindless for George.

“Patches would miss me too much, and…” they pause at George’s door, “you wouldn't survive with me back at school. You barely survived when we first met.”

Dream pouts, “that was like a decade ago and I was a dumb kid.”

George shrugs, “I guess some things never change.”

Dream steps forward, “what does that mean?” He asks quietly, reaching his free hand up to remove a piece of hair that has fallen out of place on George’s head. “Are you calling me a kid?”

“No,'' George says, tilting his face up, looking into Dream’s eyes as George’s hand squeezes their fingers together, his other one playing with the hem of Dream’s shirt again. “I’m calling you dumb.”

Dream laughs, “why am I dumb?”

George doesn't answer, he just shrugs, moving his eyes around Dream’s face before they retreat to staring at his fingers that play with the fabric draping off of Dream’s body.

Dream doesn't push him, instead he moves his free hand back, grabbing George's hand that fidgets. He pulls it off of himself and then disconnects their fingers. George almost looks sad, but Dream pulls him in for a hug. He rests his face in his neck at first, but then he moves when George hugs back, his fingers bunching up Dream’s shirt again.

Dream’s mouth sits next to George's ear, but they don't say anything. George just let’s Dream start to sway them. Dream can feel George’s smile against his chest, but he doesn't disturb their peace.

George does it instead.

“You smell good,” he whispers.

“Yeah?” Dream responds, using the same tone.

“Mhm,” George says, taking a deep breath, “I like it.”

“Good.”

George shifts, but doesn't pull away, “okay,” he says back, as if it makes sense, somehow, to Dream, it does.

Dream squeezes them together, the closest they've been all night, his swaying slows, but does not stop, his next words being breathed into George's ear. “Thank you for today,” he murmurs, pulling back to kiss George’s head, swiftly smelling George's hair. He’s addictive.

“You're welcome.” George murmurs back.

Dream smiles and then pulls away fully, “goodnight George.”

George nods, a tight-lipped smile adorned on his face, “goodnight Dream.”

Dream starts walking away, but George calls after him, “oh, and Dream?”

“Yeah?” Dream says once he’s turned to face George.

George rests his body against his door frame, “make sure to shower tomorrow, you smell bad.”

Dream barks out a laugh, “you just told me I smell good.”

George smiles slyly, “I lied.'' He says.

‘ I miss the smell of the soap that you use, but I secretly get your mom to buy me it as well, so it becomes our soap ,’ is what George really means. 

He opens his door fully, retreating to his room as he calls out another, “goodnight Dream.”

‘I love you, sleep well .’ Is what Dream hears

‘I love you more, don't leave before you wake me tomorrow, I don't want to miss your sleepy smile and bedhead. ’ Is what Dream almost says. Instead, he swallows it down, breathing out a shaky, “goodnight, George.”

3-Ten years old

The kitchen is a disaster. He figured it would be when Patches and George insisted on making him sit at the island while they cooked, but dear lord, he needs to teach them how to clean as they go. There are empty cartons and empty packaging lying across the island counter. It’s like a tornado came through and ripped all of his cabinets open, pulling everything out and placing it in front of him, the only difference in packaging is that they are all half-empty.

It’s not a special day, but Patches woke him up by jumping on him in bed while George stood by the door with a soft smile. Dream hugged his girl and made her lay down with him, pulling her into his chest. He peaked his eyes out at George.

“What?” he had said.

“Nothing,” George shrugged, moving off of the door frame to walk over to the bed. He stood by the side, reaching over and moving hair out of Dream’s face. Dream smiled and Patches squirmed.

George didn't look away from Dream’s eyes as Patches wriggled out of Dream’s arms, sitting up and looking at them both. She poked her finger into George’s side, he didn't make a noise like he usually does with Dream, but he looked at her nonetheless. She stared at him with an expectant look, as if she was too shy to do something.

George smiled, “well, what do you say, pumpkin? Wanna go make dad some food?”

That's how he ended up in the kitchen, it is later than he would like, maybe just before five in the afternoon. He had a headache in the morning so he slept it off and obviously, as stated before, got woken up by his daughter and best friend. He watches George point to different spices, things he didn't even know George knew how to use, but his mother must have taught the boy. 

Patches passes the spices as if they are candy. He doesn't think she knows what any of them do, but he's sure in a year or two she will be asking billions of questions about it all.

She’ll be a little chef, he’s sure of it, she already loves baking, maybe a little too much, but Dream doesn't mind. There's always fresh baked goods sitting on the platter on the island, or counter, or table… but it's okay, they all usually eat them anyway. When Sapnap comes by he usually tears into the platters. He comes by all the time, splitting his time between this house and his room here and his own home and the room there.

Dream watches George make… something, Dream isn't entirely sure what it is, but by the ingredients as they mix he's sure it's going to be delicious.

When George places the mixed food in the preheated oven he turns back around, looking at Patches and then nodding. Patches gets giddy, running to the pantry, Dream almost questions what she's doing, but when his daughter comes out of the pantry with a bag of flour and when George grabs eggs and everything else they need he knows where this is going.

He watches George grab bowls and Patches grab a whisk. When George comes back, he barely looks at Dream, meanwhile, Dream is entranced, staring at him like he holds the world. At some point he is sure George will hold the world, like a God in the drawings people used to create of them.

He watches as Patches starts measuring and adding dry ingredients as George waits. When Patches slides the dry ingredient bowl over, George acts like he is doing something, but really he is watching Patches crack eggs skillfully, just like Dream is.

When she was a kid Dream’s mother said she was good at cracking eggs, a skill no one really thinks is hard, but there she is, perfectly cracking them every time. Dream better be careful, soon she’ll only use one hand.

He puts his elbow on the counter, resting his head on his hand as he watches her mix and scramble. He doesn't look to his left until he hears a soft inhale and then somehow there is flour clouding his vision. He coughs, waving his hand in front of him as he turns to look at George. He has a giant smile on his face as he giggles, Patches joins in, but Dream is too focused on thinking of what he should do. So he reaches forward, his arm span big enough to grab the flour bag and grab a handful. George shakes his head screaming as he tries to get away, but Dream gets up and runs at him, cornering him as he throws the flour at the brunette.

George gasps and then he grabs the excess off of himself and slaps it on Dream’s head, massaging it into his hair. Dream gaps at him in offense and George stares back before bursts of laughter come back through, his head thrown back and everything. When Dream’s hands take purchase on his hips, George moves his hands up to Dream’s chest, his smile still sitting bright, Dream thinks he might also be replicating that look.

He is about to say something, but of course he can't. He pulls away looking at Patches who was definitely watching them, but her head turns quickly, as if she's trying to hide that fact. She is mixing in a singular bowl now, probably onto making the dough, but she still saw something, whatever that something is. His ten-year-old knows something that he doesn't, but he won't question it.

Dream feels a hand on his arm, “go shower,” George says softly and Dream turns to him. “We’ll finish here and then we can eat and go to bed.” When Dream doesn't move, George lifts a hand, “go shower,” Dream nods, moving.

When he is practically out of the kitchen George calls after him, “oh, Dream?” Dream turns to him, blinking, “make sure to take another pill so your headache doesn't return, they're in the bathroom.”

Dream nods, walking away swiftly, he gets up the steps and gets into his bathroom, he barely looks in the mirror before he goes into a drawer, grabbing a pill and swallowing it dry.

He seems to always be swallowing dry pills.

4-Fourteen years old

Patches keeps pushing questions, questions Dream doesn't know how to answer. It’s not like he can just lie or even tell the truth, half the time he doesn't know which is which. So here he is, sitting in his room trying to calm down after a fight with his fourteen-year-old daughter. He knows he should go talk to her and work it out, it's quite childish not to, but George told him to go cool down. He practically sent Dream to his room like his mom used to, snapping and pointing angrily before he softly spoke.

“Go cool down in your room, I'll talk to her.”

Dream knows he didn't hear the fight, he was in his office, but they were yelling, loud and obnoxious. But, at the end, when Patches said three words, George had come out of his office, seeing Dream break a little bit. 

He knows teenagers are hard, but he also knows how difficult he was and Patches is a godsend compared to him. He knows what he put his family through as a kid, what caused the break in relationships. Patches is everything he is not.

Patches is simple, nice, beautiful, she is kind and she is respectful to everyone, even when they don't deserve it. She doesn't pry and she is kind when she asks questions, but somehow she wanted to know things that ripped open scars, she kept prying as Dream was bleeding on the floor and he just couldn't. He said no, he told her he can't answer her questions.

“Patches, no.”

“It's a simple question!”

“One I cannot answer.”

“Cannot or will not?”

“I will not answer anymore.”

“Why are you being so… ugh! It's my right to know!”

“You have every right to know, you are correct, but I just can't right now.”

“I hate you.”

Dream knows teenagers are difficult.

He sits in his room, trying to figure out how to apologize and how to explain. She deserves to know everything she wants to. It's her right to knowledge, but he isn't sure how asking about his relationships and his life is gaining her any more knowledge than she already knows.

He sighs, he will just wing it, as he sits up going to walk to his daughter’s room, he gets a knock at the door. He stands still and then calls out.

“Come in.”

The door creaks open and Dream’s girl stands there George holding the door open behind her. He has a soft smile on his face, but it looks a little bit downturned, maybe even sad. Dream gives the same one back.

“Patches has something to say and I’m sure you do too, so,” he says softly, looking down at Patches making Dream look at the plate she holds. “She baked for you two, apologize to each other and make up. I’ll be in my office.” His voice stays stern, as if somehow his role switched from best friend to parent. Patches walks away from the two of them, sitting on Dream’s bed, waiting.

Dream doesn't have the mind to stop before he does it, he brings George into a hug, kissing his forehead, “thank you,” he whispers.

“She loves you.” George responds and Dream knows.

We love you.

When the door closes Dream immediately goes to the bed. “I’m sorry,” he says, crouching down and when Patches looks at him with red eyes, he breaks even more, he reaches forward and when she sets the plate beside her Dream gets ready to catch the collapsing body. Patches practically fall into his arms, sniffling and crying in his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, baby.” Patches nods, definitely getting tears and snot of Dream but he doesn't care, he hurt her.

Patches sniffles, “I’m sorry, I didn't mean to push that hard, I—I didn't mean…” Dream doesn't shush her or anything, he just lets her get her words out. He agrees with what she said, she should be sorry for it, but emotions were running high and Dream knows what it feels like. He wasn't helpful when he needed to be, but he’ll do better, they’ll both do better.

“I love you, dad.”

“I know, baby, I love you too, You know that right?” He asks, pulling back a little bit to look in her eyes, “You know I love you, so, so much.”

She nods, wiping her face and sniffling. She sits back on her own, going up to his pillows so she can sit against his headboard. He gets up as well, climbing into his bed, careful of the biscuits he knows she made. She reaches for the plate, picking it up and passing it to him. She looks shy again, but she speaks nonetheless.

“A piece offering… and an apology, I probably should have baked apology brownies, but these were quicker and they let me think about it and…” she sighs, looking up. “And you don't need to tell me if you don't want to. I don't need to know everything. I just thought you were trying to keep secrets and—” she cuts herself off and Dream sees everything he was.

Sad, scared, worried that he would break his own heart by over-explaining.

Maybe she is everything he is, the rambling, the green eyes, the freckles, the hair. She has all his qualities and her mother’s. George’s are sprinkled in there too, delicately placed. Like her giggles or her cackle. The way she says certain words or the way she leans forward when laughing. She has everyone.

Dream grabs a biscuit. “What do you want to know?” He asks, taking a piece to eat.

She looks at him, cocking her head, George . She places the plate down, “Who’s my mom?” She asks quietly, like she's scared. Dream inhales and exhales, grounding himself.

“She was this woman who I had known my whole life,” Dream looks at his daughter. “We had grown up together and she was my first kiss and she was…” he breathes, “she was amazing, we got together one night and she found out she was pregnant after something went wrong, so we decided to keep you and raise you together.”

“Where did she go?” Patches asks.

Dream wants to cry, but he doesn't, he has already gone through it. He lived it, but now his daughter will have to and that requires him not to break down. He will not make his daughter pick up his broken pieces. They have long since been taped together, enough for him to help his daughter tape her pieces too, the ones he’s about to scatter.

“She had you and there were complications,” he explains briefly, tagging on more information. “Her mother told me that she had known about them and she didn't want me to know or worry because she wanted you to have the best life possible. She didn't want to break my heart,” Dream looks over, “she accidentally did in the end, but I got you and you are everything she was.”

Patches just blinks at him, shrugging, “oh, okay.” she says. Dream is almost surprised, he thought he would see her curl into a ball and cry, just like he did. He thought he would see a tear fall down the same cheek that his tear did when it dropped onto her as he held her, sobbing in that hospital room, wishing it was all a cruel joke.

“I’m sorry,” Dream says for no reason at all, it wasn't his fault, it was no one's fault. “She loved you.”

“I know,” Patches answers. “I know she did. I just wanted to know why there is only one picture of her. It's fine, I didn't know her. I’m okay.”

Dream nods, somehow he is thankful she didn't know her. He can't imagine what it would be like having lost her now instead of then, but he kind of wishes they had time together. Time for Patches to grow with a mom instead of a single dad and his roommates. One of which did not live with them for the first year or so.

“Anything else?” Dream asks, taking another bite.

“Why don't we see grandpa?”

Dream doesn't know how to answer other than being blunt, so he just shoots the bullet. “He doesn't like me very much,” he answers. 

It’s true. Dream and his father haven't had the best track record. The first crack was when he was fifteen and rebellious. The second was religion and Dream’s sexuality. The third was Patches and her mother. Being unwed and having a kid as a single dad, even after the grief, was something that broke it all, or at least he thinks so. He doesn’t think he wishes it was different. The mother of his child died and all his father could say was that the child in his arms was a sin and sinner deserved to burn in hell—Dream blocked out the rest as the doctors escorted his father out of the room. He thinks he sobbed a lifetime that night, whispering a single phrase over and over again.

I love you, I love you, I love you .

“Why?”

“I was a bad kid.” Dream answers instead of the true meaning.

She looks confused, “but you're not a kid anymore.”

“I am not,” Dream agrees.

“So why does he still not like you? He can't just hold things you did as a kid against you.”

Dream thinks she got her emotional intelligence from Sapnap, or maybe Karl, maybe it was even George. Dream knows in secret he is great with advice, he just doesn't show it.

“I don't know,” Dream answers quietly. “You're right, he shouldn’t use things from that far past against me, but that's why we don't see him.”

“Would he like me?” She asks softly.

Dream wants to say that he would, but he isn't sure. 

“That child is a si—”

“I don't know,” he breathes quickly, honestly bleeding everywhere. He's waiting for a disappointed look to cross Patches face, but nothing comes.

“Hmm,” she shrugs, “that's fine. I don't think I want him to like me.”

Dream smiles at her, god he loves her. So much. He prays to the lord to keep her safe, keep her out of harm’s way, or at least let her heal from hurt. Let her grow and become a beautiful human.

He doesn't believe in God, but if there is one, he hopes they hear him.

“Why does George still call you Dream?”

Dream’s lip juts out, his eyebrows pinch in thought, “I don't know,” he answers honestly, taking another bite and chewing while he thinks. “Maybe he is just comfortable with it.”

Patches accepts his answer, but as he is going to take another bite she speaks again. 

“Did he…” she takes a breath, biting her lip in thought. “Did you guys ever…?”

Dream lets out a breathy laugh, “did we ever what?”

“Have you ever fallen in love?”

Dream doesn’t know what to say, there’s an answer that sits at the tip of his tongue; yes, yes he has fallen in love, many times. He fell in love with his childhood cat, with Patches’ mother, with George's smile and with Sapnap’s loyalty. Hell, he practically got thrown off a cliff when he first got to hold Patches.

He thinks he has always been in love with everyone in his life, platonically or not, it didn't matter. He has fallen in love with everything in his path. Everything that helped him change and stay the same. He hopes it's not weird, he hopes that what he means gets portrayed right, he can't help his giant heart.

“I have,” Dream answers, finishing his biscuit.

“With who?”

Dream sighs, leaning back, “with everyone.”

“But who’s everyone?” She asks politely, only curiosity seeping through.

“Your mother,” Dream supplies, “you.”

She smiles, “what about George?” 

Dream blinks, “yeah, I love all of my friends.”

Patches blinks right back at him, owlishly, as if she is a cat judging his words, like he is lying. “But George is different.” She states, no question in her tone, like she already knows.

“George is my friend.”

“No, Uncle Sap is. George isn't called uncle, though, he’s different.”

There is no use arguing with her, she knows too much already, more than Dream himself. He sinks down into the bed, moving the plate of biscuits so he can stretch his legs out. He reaches over to Patches, pulling her into his arms. He kisses her head as she cuddles into him.

“He is,” he breathes, “he is different.”

5-Sixteen years old

The kitchen is lively, something that is a common occurrence now. Dream loves it, he feels like his home is the source of happiness for so many of Patches’ friends. She has six over right now, it should be chaos, but everyone is in the kitchen, just doing random things.

He watches as Allison eats from a bag of chips as she talks to Lenny. They both start laughing as they see Riley start running after Lucus because he took her can of soda. It's like a zoo in his kitchen, but as George walks up behind him and leans into his side, a new development. He picks his arm up to hold him closer, moving his eyes to his daughter and Sage. Patches is teaching them how to bake. Holding their hands as she helps them with measurements.

Dream wants to walk away, but he can't. He is stuck watching his daughter laugh in her own world with Sage. He watches her lean into the touch, smiling with a deep look in her eyes. She seems to be the happiest right now, just helping, but Dream knows the deeper meaning.

“Can I talk to you?” George asks softly, but Dream doesn't respond, he just watches his daughter teach them how to crack eggs with one hand, while the others start flocking to the bag of chips that Allison holds. It’s kind of funny. Sage is sort of clumsy with their fingers, but Patches moves her hands in too, helping steady Sage’s nervous jitters. They move in sync, perfectly balanced.

He knows there is something between his daughter and her friend, but he doesn't want to disturb it. He wants Patches to feel what it feels like to fall and he can one-hundred percent see it. He watches Patches eyes dilate and her hands move. He watches her face relax as Sage leans into her.

He watches the flame spark, he’s seen it since they were fifteen. When Sage first came over he immediately knew they were different from Patches’ other friends. Patches kept them close and explained to Dream as soon as she had time alone what was happening in Sage’s life.

Dream took them in with open arms, he swears they stay at his home more than their own, but he doesn’t mind, why would he? He is a safe space, he loves being the safe space for the kids. It’s all he’s ever wanted since he didn't particularly have one as a child. He only hopes he is doing a good job.

“Dream?”

“Hmm?” He asks, tilting his head toward George's voice, but he doesn't move from his spot, eyes still staring at the two he’s been watching the whole time. He feels George's hand drag up Dream’s arm and then George spins in his hold, hands resting against Dream’s chest.

“Come talk to me,” George says and Dream looks down at him, he watches George smoothly blink.

“Why?” He asks.

“Because our kitchen,” our, our, our , “is full of teenagers and we definitely should not be psychoanalyzing the way they hold each other while baking.”

“I’m not psychoan—”

“You just stared at Sage and Patch for ten minutes, straight.” George states, smiling, “come on, let them bake their biscuits and let's go watch a movie or something.”

Dream sighs, he doesn't particularly want to leave six teenagers alone in his house, but it's not like it's the first time. So he looks at George instead of the kids, when George urges him with a tilt of his head, Dream gives in. “Okay,” he whispers, starting to move.

George smiles and grabs his hand, taking them out of the kitchen. They move past the living room, it has half built forts made, with blankets and pillows spewed everywhere. Dream feels kind of jealous. Not in the gross way, he isn't like aggressive jealousy, just jealous that he can’t also be in the forts. But he guesses that him being in there would be weird, so he continues walking, ignoring the movie that is selected to play on the TV. They move up the stairs with no mishaps, but when they make it to the top of the steps, hand in hand Dream remembers he should probably grab snacks and some drinks.

“You go get set up, I'm gonna grab us some snacks, ‘kay?”

“Okay,” George smiles and lets go of Dream’s hand, continuing to walk to Dream’s bedroom.

Dream watches him walk for a moment before he turns back around, walking down the stairs, his steps silent. He moves past the living room again, nothing changed. He ignores it all and goes straight for the kitchen, but when he gets to the wall between the kitchen and living room he hears Allison talking in a hushed tone.

“Wait, are they together?”

“No, they are just friends.” Patches answers.

“Wait, really?” Lenny cuts in to ask.

“Are you sure? They were like…” Riley trails off, her voice soft as always.

“Like what?” Patches seems to be getting defensive and Dream almost steps in before he hears the next words come out of Allison’s mouth.

“Like, in love.” Allison says, like it's obvious.

In love.

In love.

In love.

“Maybe they are just close friends,” Sage defends, Dream can practically see them shrug.

“Sage,” Allison deadpans, but not in a rude way, never in a rude way. Dream knows that for sure. “That’s how my parents act—”

“Well, they aren't my parents, only my dad is. George is just… He’s George, he’s different.”

Dream shouldn't be listening, he should leave, but they are talking about him, he has every right to eavesdrop.

“Well, I think that no matter who they are, they are in love. Like, mega in love.” Allison’s voice gets agreement from others and Dream thinks that he can hear a soft “maybe,” come from his daughter.

Somehow everyone seems to know something that he doesn't. His breath gets caught in his throat, like its phlegm from a cold. He turns on his feet, silently going up the steps and to his room. When he comes back empty handed George questions him, but he shrugs it off, walking over to his mini fridge and grabbing out some fruit and soda he had stocked away.

When George cuddles into him as they set up the movie, Dream doesn't question it. Everything is welcomed.

In love.

In love.

In love.

He kisses George's hair, burying his nose in it, smelling their shampoo and conditioner mix. He smiles. It’s always been them . Decades of only them .

When he moves them down the bed, playing with the skin on George's arm, feeling the goosebumps from touch rise, he takes another deep breath and grins, thinking; maybe I am.

+1-Nineteen years old

Patches is stressed. She has to have so many cookies, cupcakes, and biscuits made by tomorrow in order to meet her quota and Dream doesn't know how to help. Patches told him to just sit back and watch instead of getting his ‘grubby hands everywhere’ as if he didn’t raise her. He scoffed and then she retorted with a scoff of her own.

Sometimes he thinks about how alike, they are and how much they seem to be the same person, but then he watches her interact with George and he thinks she is a shapeshifter. One that knows how to make everyone laugh and smile. He loves it and he knows George does too.

The problem here is that Dream kitchen is full of platters upon platters of baked goods while Dream mother and Patches run around like maniacs trying to get everything in order, and George is even helping. So the only one whose help isn't wanted is Dream and his grubby hands as if that made him feel any better to be rejected by his daughter the day before her big day.

Her bakery opens tomorrow, something she has wanted since the first time her grandmother taught her how to bake. She loves it, the way she can decorate the cupcakes and cookies. The way her cakes will sit on display. The scones she has spent hours of her life perfecting. And then her favourite, the biscuits. She loves it and Dream loves how much she loves it.

“Clay, can you grab that please.” Dream’s mother asks as she points half haphazardly to a bunch of items in front of where he is sitting. He nods, but he truly has no idea what she needs, she's been doing a lot, switching between helping George roll out dough to mixing batter. She’s been mixing icing for Patches and decorating on her own. So when he stands and looks over icing bags and parchment paper and even extra bowls and measuring spoons he starts tapping his fingers, confusion washing over his whole body.

He doesn't notice when George walks behind him, until he grabs his reached out hand, guiding it to the icing sugar. “Patches wants light pink for something, your mom needs the sugar for her.”

Dream turns his head to look at George, “how do you know all this stuff?”

George shrugs, pushing his fingers into Dream’s locking them together. “I want it to be perfect for her.”

“So do I,” Dream defends, as if George was accusing him of not wanting it to be perfect.

“I know,” George says softly, turning them so he can move a hair from Dream’s face. “You are doing perfect,” he adds and Dream wants to cry, or kiss him, he can't decide. So instead he melts, pushing his face into George's touch and gripping his hand a little bit tighter.

“Thank y—”

“Can you guys go make out somewhere else, please.” Patches says, reaching around them to grab the icing sugar.

“Patches,” Dream’s mother warns.

“What?” She asks, “they are over here being all lovey-dovey and not helping.”

Dream spins, “hey, I get you're stressed, but George has done a lot for you and you need to—”

“Dad,” Patches deadpans, interrupting. Dream is taken aback for a moment, but then Patches speaks again. “I was joking.”

Dream’s face goes red, he's embarrassed that he couldn’t tell his own daughter was telling a joke. He's embarrassed that he couldn't tell she was teasing him. He feels George giggling behind him, laughing like the menace he is. Dream turns to him and George immediately buries his face into Dream’s chest, giggling even after it has long since been funny.

Dream stays confused as George laughs, not noticing when the boy reaches away from his body, he only feels it when it’s too late. The cracking sound and the feeling of something wet dripping through his hair is enough for him to sputter. 

“What the fuck!” He exclaims, stepping back from George and holding his arms out, as if that will stop the egg from dripping down his head. Dream looks at George, who is definitely laughing like a psychopath now, like full blown, keeling over, having to hold onto the counter, laughing. Dream almost wants to laugh too, but he’s so caught up in the way George holds his own stomach, the way his mouth shows both rows of teeth.

He barely notices the puff of a powder cloud that surrounds them. George stops, looking up with a  bright smile before he squeals, “Patches no!” But it's too late, there is icing sugar all over George’s head and body, Dream matching except Dream has an egg mixed in with his mess.

“What da—” She goes silent and so does everyone else. Dream turns to her and she is staring wide-eyed, like she just did something wrong. As if she is nine again and not nineteen.

When Dream turns back to George he isn't watching Patches or the floor, he is staring directly into Dream’s eyes, a silent question sitting between them. The only problem is, Dream doesn't know which question it is.

Am I her dad?

Are you going to tell her off?

Was that wrong of her to say?

Can I be?

Do you want that?

Do you want me?

Do you want us?

Was decades of waiting long enough?

Dream doesn’t think the last five are plausible, that they are sitting in George's mind just like they are in Dream’s. He thinks that they can't possibly be that connected, that even through wants and feelings, decades after first meeting, they can't be this in tune. This in sync.

“Alright, go wash up,” Dream’s mother says, “I’ll help with the rest.” She ushers them out, making them practically run into each other because they don't know what to do or say, like they are stuck.

Dream is the first one to start walking, he tries not to trail behind sugar and eggs, but he isn't sure he is successful. He doesn't turn around to find out.

He drags his body to his bedroom, closing the door and going straight to his bathroom. He needs to be alone and he needs to clean off the food that he somehow ended up in.

Dad.

Dad.

Dad.

For all Patches’ life George has been George or Gogy, he has never touched the title uncle and definitely not dad, but he can't blame his daughter. She has seen them from the beginning of her time, the way they hold each other, the way that slowly but surely they became closer, emotionally, physically, mentally.

She watched them start to watch movies as they cuddled. She watched them treat her as their own, not just Dream’s. She heard Dream’s family talk about the two of them as if they are something that comes together, something that is connected. A pair of socks, a pair of shoes, a pair of hearts, a pair of brains

Dream wonders when the world decided to say that those last two aren't connected. That the brain did not connect the heart and gut. That Dream’s mind didn't tell his heart what to do, that it didn't control the way his gut flipped. The way his heart pumps blood and the way his lungs expand with air, the way he gets stomach aches or when he had kidney stones, the way his body moves, that none of it is controlled by what his brain wants, what his brain sends to his body.

“Do what your heart says.”

“Do what your brain wants.”

“Go with your gut.”

How did they decide that in the moments when he gets butterflies in his stomach, fluttering around like they are running a marathon, isn't controlled by his brain? How did they decide that his heart speeding up to a dangerous pace when a certain someone touches his arm isn't because of his mind? How did they decide that the way his brain sees love, in the form of a five-foot-nine brunette a few years older than him, a boy he has known for decades, a man that he wanted and realized he couldn't have, isn't connected to his heart and gut? How did the world decide that?

Dream’s hair drips down into his face as he puts shampoo in it, massaging away all the egg and icing sugar. He wants to know what he deserved to be put in such a predicament. What he deserved to have his love live a life away from him when he first fell, or at least when he thought he first fell. He isn't sure, he was distracted, he had a kid and then the mother of his child had died. He lost his father’s respect, he had too much fame to think about anyone other than his family, and he was alone, no one other than his mother, sister, and Patches to keep him sane.

His brain ate itself alive trying to forget about any sort of love, or life outside of his child. Now that child is nineteen and she is starting her own life. She is becoming her own person, brain, heart, gut. Her life is becoming one of its own and Dream isn't sure what he should do now. His little girl isn't his little girl anymore. He has time for love and life, he is in his late thirties. His time has been spent caring for another human and now he has his own time. 

He has his own time to love…

Love.

George.

Dream barely sleeps, maybe it's because his wet hair sits uncomfortably on his head. Or because of the way his body kept tossing and turning. Maybe it's because it's his daughter's big day, or maybe… maybe it's because all that has been running through his head since his shower has been the last five questions. It has been twenty five words;

Can I be?

Do you want that?

Do you want me?

Do you want us?

Was decades of waiting long enough?

Love.

George.

Love.

George.

Five questions, twenty-five words, twenty-eight syllables, forty vowels, and one-hundred-fifteen characters.

Five questions, twenty-five words, twenty-eight syllables, forty vowels, and one-hundred-fifteen characters.

It’s six in the morning and Dream is at the bakery that Patches bought. He is setting up streamers and a big grand opening sign by himself. It wasn't on purpose, well it was, but by his own decision. He got up millenniums before everyone else. Well, he got out of bed before everyone else. He didn't exactly sleep, as stated before; five questions, twenty-five words, twenty-eight syllables, forty vowels, and one-hundred-fifteen characters.

He left before everyone else, his mother staying at their house to be able to get to the bakery quickly. She was supposed to be the first one there, but Dream is a little too eager. A little too excited and definitely a little too in his head.

He stabs himself with a pin, effectively pulling himself out of his own brain. The sight of blood dripping down his finger makes him take a deep breath. He is okay, everything is fine. It’s his daughter’s big day and his fancy clothes sit in the back, waiting to be worn for her.

She requested casual but nice and Dream knew exactly what that meant. He takes a breath, moving to the sink behind the counter. He turns the water on, dousing his finger in it like its peroxide. He kind of wishes it was. He doesn't know if it's actually good for him, he never bothered to actually look it up, but the bubbling and the painless clean it gives is enough for him to want it.

He watches the cut run clean and then he pulls his hand out from under the water, grabbing some paper towel from its stand. It’s out of place, the white clashing with the cream and sage. Dream will have to see if he can get specially coloured paper towel for the bakery, he bets Patches will love it.

He brings his hand up, looking at it and then he sighs, spinning in his spot. Everything is tacked perfectly. Everything is done, stocked and placed where it should be. He has nothing left to do except go change. He sighs, he might as well, it's close to their meeting time anyway.

He goes to the back, grabbing the bag he brought with his clothes and some extra for everyone else, just in case. He won't admit that he thought of George’s first, making sure they were packed way before his were.

He moves his hand into the bag, pulling out his clothes. He didn't bother locking the door when he left the front. When he is tucking his turtleneck into his slacks he hears the jingle of the bell. He knows it's his family. He straightens his neckline and his slacks before he walks out of the back room. He sees his daughter first. She’s in a soft flowy dress, a waistline apron donning her waist as she looks around. Dream’s mother is in a dress as well, it's definitely older, just like she is, but she looks beautiful.

But then there's George and even the most lovely and beautiful Gods or Goddesses could never compete with how ethereal he looks. He’s wearing a white dress shirt paired with some nice fitting slacks, but they aren't completely black, no they have a glitter in them, Dream watches it shift with the light as he trails his eyes up George's body. His waist caught most of his time. When Dream meets his eyes, he can tell George was doing the same thing to him. They were checking each other out like a couple of teenagers.

Dream clears his throat and Patches’ eyes snap over to him. “You,” she smiles, “are amazing.” She runs into Dream’s arms hugging him as he returns the favour, hugging back and swaying them. “I love you,” she whispers.

“I love you too,” he responds, kissing her head. Some things never change.

“Thank you,” she pulls back, smiling at him before pulling away and looking around. The colours are perfect, as she knew, but she didn't see the place with all the decorations and she didn't see it organized in the way that Dream knew she liked.

She walks around, humming as she observes everything. Dream’s mother moves around the counter, placing cooled cakes into their display fridges. That leaves Dream and George, watching everyone else while they do nothing. Well, Dream did the decorations and George did a lot of the baking with the two women, but right now they have nothing.

Patches turns and she giggles spinning in a circle, “well,” she speaks grandly, standing in front of the front door. “What do you think?” She asks. 

And Dream knows exactly what she is asking, “I think,” he says, moving from behind the counter to drag his fingers across the colours that merge together. “That they would love it.”

She smiles, it’s a little bit sad, but she knows that no matter what, being bittersweet is nothing to hide.

“Patches,” George says, walking up to her as Dream’s mother puts on a playlist from Patches’ phone. “Congratulations on opening Sage’s.”

Dream smiles and so does Patches, she jumps into George's arms, hugging him the tightest she ever has. George hugs back, stuffing his nose into her neck, Dream watches uneven breaths fall out of the boy and Dream knows he’s getting emotional. Something rare for others to see, but something common enough for him not to get embarrassed about anymore.

“Don't cry, idiot,” Patches says, words she obviously picked up from the two best friends.

“I know, I know, I'm sorry.”

“Don't apologize, just dance with me.” She grabs his hand and pulls him into a slow dance. Dream gets out of their way, coming to rest behind the counter just like his mother.

“When did you get here?” She asks quietly, wiping down a counter that has been cleaned at least five times by Dream. He doesn't tell her though, she's a mom and a grandmother, she will always want to look everything over.

“Around five thirty,” he answers, watching as Patches puts her feet atop George's so they can move just like they did when she was little.

She hums, “did you sleep?”

“Yeah,” Dream lies, she catches it.

“Don’t lie,” she says, resting her hip on the counter so she can face her son.

Dream sighs, turning to face her instead of his family. “I slept a little bit.” It's still a lie but she accepts it.

“And have you talked to George yet?”

“No, why would I?” 

“Because,” she sighs, moving closer, “you have something to confess.”

Dream tries to hide it. He tries to not let his shock show or his love come out. “Like what?” He asks a little more aggressively than needed.

“Like the fact you've been in love with him since you were kids.”

“He wasn't a kid when we met.”

“Clay, just because you had a kid at a younger age doesn't mean that when you were twenty or nineteen that you weren't a kid either.”

“Mom—”

“No, you were a kid. A kid who had to grow up too fast with too much grief, but you also held so much love, and you,” she turns to watch George and his daughter dance, Dream follows her gaze. “Had the most for that boy.”

“I had the most for my daughter—I have the most for her.”

“But you still love him, more than you've told anyone.” She turns back to him, “baby, It’s been long enough. Go love him the way you want. Trust me, he wants it too.” 

Dream can't fight her anymore, so he doesn't. “But what if he doesn't want that?”

“If you truly believe that then I raised you wrong and I know I didn’t, so please,” she pauses, pushing him a little bit. “Tell him before this night is up, everyone deserves to have their big day, make this one yours as well.”

Dream stares at her before he looks at the two people he has loved since the beginning forever. Patches deserves happiness and she has now gotten it. It sits in this place, spread across the walls and in everything she bakes, the sage and cream bleeding into her heart, just like it did in that kitchen years ago. She is getting her happy ending and as much as Dream loves her and has loved her for eons, she doesn't need all his love anymore. She needs him to be there when she is breaking, or when she is celebrating, or when she meets the perfect person again.

She doesn't need every once of his time anymore, even if she will sit at the front of his mind forever, but Dream… Dream needs his love, he needs to know that when Oakley looks down on him and their daughter, that what she sees is Dream happy as well. Something she always wished for and he needs her to hug Sage when Sage sees Patches find her own love.

So yes, Dream is always going to be her father and he will always be there for her whenever she needs, alive or not, but tonight after her grand opening, when everyone filters out, he will get his turn. His turn to love the person he has spent tens of years loving.

When the doors shut after the day filled with family, friends, and even Sapnap’s whole family line. Everyone takes a much needed breath. It was successful and it was beautiful. Patches doesn't want to admit it, but Dream saw her go in the back a few times, walking out with red-rimmed eyes. He knew they were tears of joy and tears of;

‘We made it, I just wish you were here to celebrate with me.’

Dream didn't interrupt, only continuing to talk to everyone else as George effectively, maybe not on purpose but still, avoided Dream. That was until Dream’s mother took Patches home after closing. Dream offered to clean up and George kind of just stayed silent, standing as far away from the front door as possible, as if he didn't want to admit he wanted to stay. Dream’s mother gave them both a look and that's how they ended up where they are now, standing apart from each other, avoiding each other's eyes.

Dream doesn't say anything, he just walks away, grabbing a wet towel from behind the counter. He starts wiping things down, wiping crumbs away as they both stay completely silent. Only sound is Dream’s gruff breathing from how hard he is scrubbing a stubborn stain, how did it even get there? It's only the first day. It’s practically impossible. He scrubs harder, his fingers cramping as his arm moves back and forth, circle over circle.

He feels a presence behind him, he knows who it is, but the damn stain won't lift, it won't come out. He circles and circles and moves and moves, his sponge gets more brittle and brittle until he can barely see it. His eyes don't focus on it anymore. Instead, his mind moves to the hand that touches his back. It moves up and down, soothing him. He knows there's a voice. He knows there is, but he just can't focus on it.

“Dream,” the voice says, pulling him until he faces a blurry figure. George’s eyes come into sight first, blinking at him with worry, his arms moving up and down. Dream can't do it, he pushes his head into George’s body.

“Sh–she did it,” he cries. “She did it and I don't know what to do.”

“Shh, hey, it's okay. We just support her. She’s doing everything she’s ever wanted.”

Dream sighs, holding onto George more harshly. Wrapping his fingers in the cloth lining George's back. 

“I love you,” Dream breathes.

“I know, I love you too.”

Dream pulls away, he should do it. It’s been too long, long enough. It’s the right time, he should do it. Instead, he asks one of the five questions. “Was decades of waiting long enough?”

George stares at him, “what do you mean.”

“Did I wait too long?”

“Too long for what? You're not making sense.'' George tries to reach up to Dream’s face, but Dream grabs his wrist, pushing it down until Dream can hold his hand in two of his own. “Dream?”

Dream stares at their hands, “I love you,” he says softly.

“I know, I love you too.” George answers, confused.

“No,” Dream takes a breath and then he looks into George’s eyes, “I love you.”

George's eyes go wide. “This isn't funny,” he breathes, as if Dream would ever play with his heart, especially this far into their slow burn love.

“It's not,” Dream agrees, “but keeping it a secret was debilitating.” He adds as an afterthought even if it’s at the forefront of his mind, “I love you.” It is like a chant to him, something to fall into step with. “I love you and the way you smile, I love your voice and I love that you were Patches' second dad. I love that you stayed when I told you and I love that you built a family with me even when we didn't admit it to each other.” He takes a step forward. “I love you and I'm sorry that I waited decades, so I have to ask,” he lets himself stand right in front of George, moving one hand to cup George's face as his eyes search all over it. “Was the decades of waiting long enough or did I lose you years ago?”

George shakes his head, swallowing. “You never lost me,” and then the man lifts himself up, connecting them together. Lips moving smoothly as they confess everything into a kiss. Everything that waited decades and lifetimes to come out, it all spills between them, a beautiful mess. If Dream could get it in a painting he’d buy two-hundred copies, placing them everywhere he can reach.

Can I be?

Yes.

Do you want that?

Yes.

Do you want me?

Yes.

Do you want us?

Yes.

Was decades of waiting long enough?

I’d wait millions for you.

Love.

Each other.

George.

Mine.

Love.

Each other.

George.

Mine.

Dream grips him harder, pulling him toward him more and more, as if it is even possible. Dream hopes to God that it is because he has waited too long to let his boy go this quickly. He thinks about Oakley and Sage and he thinks that they are finally celebrating up above. Celebrating the two who finally gave into their desires, their love.

He thinks about Patches and how she's waited years for this, how all of her highschool friends knew before Dream and George did. He thinks about his mother and how she told him tonight was the night. He thinks about his trust and his love and his George . His George, who is in his arms, kissing him as deeply as he can, conveying everything they've held back for years.

He thinks about everything leading up to this moment and how they are making out in his daughter's bakery, but it isn't in the fast and hungry way. No, it is sweet and slow and so passionate that Dream thinks he might just die on the spot. He might just disintegrate in George's hands, falling through his fingers like sand. Cavities pushing through his teeth, rotting him to the core, sweetness pouring through.

He thinks he wouldn't mind, as long as George joined him, but he’d wait millenniums for his boy. If it meant forever, then he would give his soul. He’d give his soul to see his family fall together. They deserve to have each other like they've always wanted. Patches deserves a concrete life, one with no questions and this night, the night that is sealed with kisses and confessions is exactly that.

Patches has had a lot of loss in the last three years. It took until early this year for her to believe in herself again, for her not to blame herself for what happened to her love. But this night, her grand opening, was a celebration of love, between her and Sage and between the two men who stayed and pinned for years. The two men who raised her until she grew up and became her own person.

A celebration of love and life. A celebration of grief and death, whatever it was was perfect for all of them. The type of closure they needed.

Love and life.

Grief and death.

Love for the dead and grief for the living.

He doesn't care which is which as long as his family is healthy and happy.