Archive of Our Own ^beta

All things considered, George considers himself to be fairly ordinary.

He works a mundane sales job while taking a break from his unremarkable university degree in an attempt to make heads or tails of what to do with his life.  It isn’t that he hates computer science, he’s good at it, and he knows it will make for a solid career whenever he graduates, but George can’t shake the need for something more .  So he’d dropped out, much to the disappointment of his parents and the shock of his friends.  A year, he’d given himself.  A year to choose a direction for the rest of his life, or he’d go back to uni and finish his degree, resigned to an uninspiring office job.

It’s been almost six months and, well.  He’s working in retail for minimum wage and burning through his limited funds to try to make ends meet while occasionally going to the pub on Friday nights with Karl.  Far from the inspiring siren’s call he’d hoped for, but at least he doesn’t have to look at a computer all day.

He does, however, have to make nice with incredibly rude customers, which might be worse in his opinion.

“Thirty pounds even,” he smiles at the middle-aged woman across the counter.  She taps her card impatiently against the metal as George methodically removes the security tags from the blouse she’s buying.

“A pretty lousy sale, if you ask me,” she grumbles and swipes her card.  No one asked her.  George keeps smiling.

“Are you coming out with us tonight?” Karl asks as the woman walks away with her bag.  George sighs and glances at the clock hanging over the fitting room on the other side of the floor.

“Can’t, close tonight,” he reminds his friend.

“Just meet us after then,” Karl pleads.  “C’mon George, it’s been ages.”

“It’s not even been a week,” George grumbles, mentally calculating how much he’ll have in his checking account after payday tomorrow.  He knows he’s going to give in, if only because Karl is one of the most persistent people George knows.  “And we live together.  And work together.”

“You need to loosen up a bit,” Karl chides.  A couple of teenage girls approach the register and they each wave one over to check out.  “How do you expect to grow if all you do is wake up, go to work, and sleep?  No wonder you’re stuck in a rut, man.”

Karl’s right, of course.  George is supposed to be ‘finding himself,’ whatever that means, and he’s not going to do it here.  He knows this.  But growth is daunting, and George had never been great at stepping outside of his comfort zone.  Days like today make him wonder why he’s even bothering with a year off to begin with.

“I’ll do my best,” George concedes, and Karl slaps his shoulder in encouragement. 

Karl clocks out at four, lucky bastard he is, and the remainder of George’s shift drags without his best friend to keep him company.  Hannah and Sylvee are perfectly nice, but George doesn’t have much in common with either of them, so he tends to keep to himself and his corner of the department store as the clock hands tick miserably by.

He’s saved at last by the PA announcement at eight instructing all customers to make their final purchases and leave the store as the lights begin to dim.  As much as closing can be a pain, there’s something about counting the till that George finds relaxing.  He sorts the bills and coins that have been all mixed together throughout the busy day into their own uniform piles, orderly and methodical.  It’s the computer programmer in him, he knows, and there’s that twinge of dread that maybe there really isn’t anything better out there for him.  Just him and his numbers and letters and symbols against the world.  

He shuts the thought away with the drawer to the cash register. 

He’s the last one here tonight, the girls had gone home after straightening the fitting rooms at the end of their shift, and the store is quiet.  Eerily so, some might say, but George has never minded the quiet, not somewhere he knows so well.  The management office with the safe is down a level in the back, and George takes the elevator down like he does every close.  It creaks and whines with age, stutters a bit right before it stops, and the doors open to the familiar darkened hallway lined by storage rooms and back offices.

“Phil?” he calls, scanning the hall for any sign of the manager.  He hears a footstep, he thinks, but the hallway echoes and it’s impossible to determine a direction.  “I was just–I’m just locking up the cash from the registers.”  There’s no response, not even the sound of movement this time, and George mentally shakes himself for being ridiculous.  There’s usually someone down here at this time of day, sure, a janitor from the night shift or a manager finishing up some administrative tasks before locking up for the evening, but maybe Phil had to leave early and forgot to mention it, maybe the janitors are already upstairs making their rounds.  There’s nothing–there’s no reason for the hair on the back of his neck to be standing up the way it is, for the tremble in his hand as he grips the plastic bag he’s meant to lock in the safe.

He does so carefully, straining his ears for any indication of company as he enters the combination and swings the tiny door open with a creak that sounds deafening in the otherwise-stillness.  “Phil?” he tries once more, and is met with a rustling from the other end of the hall.  “Phil?  Is that you?”

He should turn back, should beeline to the elevators that will take him up and out and tomorrow morning he’d come back in and everything would be normal but something compels him in further, towards the store rooms in the depths of the basement, towards whoever seems so determined to give him a fright.

“Is someone there?  ‘Cos, the store is closing, so we have to leave.”

George jerks his head around at the responding clang , eying the deep red door in front of him.  “Hello?” He keeps his voice even, determined not to let whoever’s down here think they’ve won.  Surely another employee, maybe Punz or Foolish trying to have a laugh at the end of a busy day, or maybe Phil put his headphones on to do inventory and hadn’t heard him calling, or maybe–

He pulls open the door to a suspiciously dark room and feels around the wall for the light panel.  He’s met with rows upon rows of overflowing boxes and tackily dressed mannequins and absolutely no sign of anyone else in there.

“Phil?” he shouts one more time, taking a few cautious steps forward and glancing around to look for movement.  “I’m–I’m heading out for the day.”

He’s just out of arm's reach when the door–which he’d been certain to prop open–swings shut behind him.  George rushes back to the entrance of the room and tugs frantically at the handle that refuses to budge.  “Oh you’re kidding me,” he mutters to himself as he tries to keep calm.  Surely there’s another door out of here, or a key, or someone is around to let him out, or he could call someone, or–

Something in the room with him moves, and George practically jumps out of his skin.  “Who’s in here?” he asks, doing his absolute best to keep the panic out of his voice.  He’s failing, he knows, but he refuses to give into the fear, if only to save his dignity when one of his friends inevitably jumps out at him to scare him. 

And he could’ve sworn that mannequin had been looking the other way when he’d come in.

Shit.

“Alright, very funny, but you can cut it out now!  You’ve got me!”

He’s looking right at it as its arm moves, stiff and robotic but definitely moving and it takes a step closer, then another.  Over its shoulder, George spots another doing the same, pacing slowly towards him, backing him against a wall, surrounding him.

“I said you got me!  You win!  Now cut it out!” 

The mannequins don’t react to his words as more and more of them seemingly come to life around him.  It feels suffocating as they close in, trapping George in the empty basement of the closed shop and for a moment George considers that maybe this is it, maybe nothing matters anymore because he’s going to die here.  Pressed against the cold cement wall, he closes his eyes and braces for impact.

But instead, the hand he feels is warm as very-much-alive fingers wrap around his own and George blinks his eyes open in shock.  He’s met with thick curly hair and doe-eyes and freckles and a mischievous smirk that instructs him, “Run!”

George doesn’t need to be told twice.

The stranger pulls him through a back door–one that George absolutely would’ve eventually found on his own, he tells himself–just as one of the mannequin-figures strikes the wall where George had been standing with enough force to rupture an exposed pipe.  All George can do is exactly as instructed: follow him through the innards of his workplace with barely a glance back at the creatures that are somehow trailing after them.  Surely no robot could be programmed like this, right?  Certainly no robot George had ever seen, and he’d seen his fair share in the time he was working on his degree.  No one would waste that kind of robotics money for a prank in the basement of a London department store.  

It would make sense to assume people in costume, that would explain the moving, and the sheer number–George notes a handful more that they pass on the way–but George had had one in his face, had been able to take in the detail.  He can’t fathom how a human could be inside whatever it is that’s chasing them.

The stranger pulls him into a freight elevator at the other end of the tunnel and slams the door-close button just as the mannequins approach.  George presses himself as far against the back wall of the elevator as he can, watching in shock as the man wrestles an arm that had managed to reach in through the closing metal doors, ultimately yanking the limb from its body as the doors promise them momentary safety. 

“You pulled his arm off,” George observes, because he can’t think of a single thing to say beyond the obvious. 

“Yep!  Plastic!” the man replies, tossing the arm for George to catch.  Sure enough, it’s the same solid plastic George would have expected the mannequins to be made of had they not been on the attack.

“What, are they like students or something?  Some sort of prank?” George asks, hoping against hope that that’s all it is.  He’s spooked, properly spooked at this point, and the stranger seems a bit too familiar with whatever it is that’s chasing them.

“Why would they be students?” the other man furrows his brow in confusion.

“I dunno, to get that many people to dress up, or whatever,” George gestures with the hand not gripping the plastic arm. “Students.  Right?”

“Sure,” the man huffs out a belittling laugh, like he find’s George’s attempts to make sense of the situation pathetic.  It’s aggravating, but George wants answers.  “Well, they’re not students.”

“Well whoever it is, when Phil finds out he’s gonna call the police.  The store’s closed, it's like, trespassing,” George points out.  He doesn’t mention that this stranger is also, technically, trespassing.  He’s pretty sure he would remember someone like this working here, but George has never seen him in his life.

“Who’s Phil?”

“Store manager.”

“Oh,” the man’s face twists a bit, like he’s considering his next words.  “Phil’s dead.” 

The elevator dings open, and he’s gone without another word, leaving George to pace quickly behind him. 

“That’s…you can just say that,” George sputters, but the other man is completely unfazed by how absolutely fucked up it all is. 

“One sec,” he murmurs, turning his body away from George, but George catches a glimpse of something that looks like a metal pen as the man pulls it out of his pocket and does…something to the elevator door that keeps it stuck open.

“No, not one sec,” George huffs, grabbing at his sleeve.  “This is stupid.  What’s going on?  Who are you?”

He shakes George’s arm off easily.  “They’re made of plastic.  Living plastic.  And I tracked the signal of whatever’s controlling them to the roof of this building.  So, y’know,” he smirks, and holds up a beeping mess of wires.  “Gonna go blow them up, save the world, probably die, all that stuff.  But you go, and don’t worry about me.  I’m usually fine, anyways.”

“What do you–”

“Just go home!” He cuts George off and pushes open a heavy metal door that leads outside.  George realizes how close he’d come to never again feeling the cool London evening breeze on his skin, and is more relieved than he could articulate using words.  “Just…get out of here.  And don’t tell anyone about this, or you’ll get them killed, now go!” 

He urges George outside with a firm shove, and George is left in chilling silence when the door closes behind him.  Not a second later, it cracks open again, just enough for the now-familiar curly head to peek out with bright eyes and a grin.  George once again considers that he might be enjoying all this, this danger, and wonders if somehow the other man just lives his life like this.  George could never.

“I’m Dream, by the way, what’s your name?”

“George,” George replies, a bit breathless.

“Nice to meet you, George.  Run for your life!”  For the second time that night, George takes the direction seriously and turns on his heel, dashing across the street just as the building behind him–his job, most of his life, at this point–is engulfed in a violent flame and wonders what the hell he’s supposed to do now.

The thing is, George has never been one to put himself out there.  He’s not used to excitement and wild adventures with strange men, and when he finally checks his phone he realizes that only an hour has passed since he was supposed to meet Karl.  All that, and it had been barely longer than his lunch break.

He’s exhausted; physically, from more running than he’s done since secondary school, but even more than that he feels mentally drained.  He can’t fathom meeting Karl right now, can’t imagine engaging in idle conversation with anyone, much less begin to describe what had happened to him tonight. Don’t tell anyone about this, or you’ll get them killed, the man–Dream–had told him.  

And so, as much as he yearns for the comfort of his bed, George keeps walking, wandering aimlessly through the chilly London streets.  It starts raining at some point, as it tends to do in London, and he wonders if the fire has been put out.  The fire, he remembers.  His workplace, the one thing he even had to fill his days, and it’s gone.  And he’s the only one who knows why.

He should feel more…scared, maybe?  Upset, at the prospect of job hunting, maybe angry, or distressed that such a terrifying thing had happened to him.  He replays the same moment over and over, the one where he’d been certain he couldn’t escape, when the mannequins had surrounded him in the basement.  He remembers the fear, the desperation, but the thing he keeps going back to is the feeling of a larger hand wrapping around his and the mischievous glint in the green eyes right before he ran for his life.

He should be afraid, but George doesn’t think he’s ever felt more alive.  He should be glad it’s over, but, somehow, he misses it already.  And maybe that should scare him too, but really he just feels…sad.  Lost.  George is used to feeling lost, yet this somehow feels worse.  This feels like loss.

The rain helps, in the end, snapping him out of whatever trance he’d been in since being left alone with his thoughts.  A fat drop rolls down his forehead and catches on his eyelash, startling him just enough to remind him to check his phone again.

“Shit,” he mutters when he sees the half-dozen calls and at least twenty texts from Karl, along with a handful of calls from his mum, his sister, even Hannah and Sylvee.  Surely it’s on the news by now, and everyone has seen the explosion.  The store is–was–right downtown in a busy area, there had been people milling about that he’d barely noticed in his rush to get away.  Everyone he knows must have seen, and he’s been fully off the grid.

Just then, his phone screen lights up with another incoming call from Karl.

“Hello?” he answers carefully, bracing for the onslaught.

“Holy fuck, you’re alive!” his roommate exclaims, the tangible relief in his voice makes George feel a bit guilty.

“Sorry, guess I forgot to turn my phone off do not disturb when I got off,” George explains sheepishly, and it’s not a lie.  His phone had been silenced from his shift, and he’d been entirely too distracted to consider that people would be trying to reach him.

“Shit dude, it’s everywhere.  Like, all over the news and everything.  You could’ve been dead!”

“I’m fine, I’m okay,” George assures him again, then adds, “I wasn’t even in.  Like, I was outside.  I didn’t see anything.”  Also not a complete lie, but nowhere close to the truth.  He’d seen too much, and yet still not enough.  He needs…he craves more. 

“Where are you now?”

“I’m…” George stops to finally check his surroundings.  He’d just been wandering, with no regard for where or how far he’d gone.  He’s back in a neighborhood somewhere, but none of the street signs look familiar to him.  There’s a bus stop, at least, so surely he can find his way.  “Don’t worry about it, I just went for a walk.  I’m coming home now though.”

“Hurry dude.  You scared me.  Keep your fucking phone on this time.”

“I will,” he promises, and he means it.  The call disconnects and the first thing he does is switch off do not disturb.  The second thing he does is text his mum to let her know that he’s okay, echoing what he’d told Karl about having already left before the fire.  He repeats the message to his sister and the girls, just to ease the guilt of having people worry about him.

It takes about half an hour on the buses before George cautiously opens the front door to the flat he shares with Karl.  The door hasn’t even closed behind him when George finds his arms full of his lanky roommate, and all he can do is return the hug.

“Asshole,” Karl murmurs into his shoulder.  “You coulda been dead.”

“I’m fine,” George replies automatically.  It takes a second for him to realize they’re not the only ones in the apartment, and does his best to offer Punz and Foolish an awkward wave without pushing Karl away.

“The fuck is that?” Punz asks, and only then does George notice that he’s been holding the detached mannequin arm the whole time.  Even Karl steps back to take a look, and George has never been good at being put on the spot.

“It’s…” he hesitates, because he just doesn’t have a good answer for that.  It’s a dismembered piece of living plastic taken from killer mannequins in the basement just doesn't seem like something he’s allowed to say, not that anyone would believe him if he did.  “It’s nothing,” he settles on lamely.  Something in his expression must indicate that he’s not going to explain more than that, or maybe he looks as dead tired as he suddenly feels, because no one presses.  George, for his part, simply tosses the arm off to the side and collapses on the couch.  That’ll be a problem for tomorrow.

As it turns out, his first problem for tomorrow is to find a new job.  

It feels stupid, because how is George meant to just move on with his life?  With the living plastic and Dream still somewhere out there?  It’s then that he remembers just who had been responsible for the explosion.  From inside the building.  It’s easier to think about job hunting after that.

He’s not alone, at least in that.  Karl sits with him at the kitchen table all morning, scrolling through all sorts of job boards.  He’d even gone so far as to borrow the morning paper from their neighbor, Mrs. Peterson, to give it a try the old fashioned way, as Karl had put it.  George has significantly less enthusiasm for their task.

“I think Greggs is hiring,” Karl comments.  “Like, they’re always hiring.”

George makes a face.  “I’m not working in food service.”

“Oh, I’m sorry your majesty,” Karl scoffs.  “I wasn’t aware you had some secret stash of funds you can use to pay our rent until your mythical dream job appears out of nowhere.”  The wording makes him flinch, not that Karl could have possibly known.  With a sigh, the other man stands up, grabbing both their breakfast plates to put in the sink.

“I’m gonna go for a walk,” George says suddenly.  Karl turns to look at him questioningly.

“You good?” he asks.  George nods.  “Want me to come with?”

“I’m fine Karl,” George replies, standing and stretching his back.  “Just need to get out for a bit.”

“You sure you’re okay?” he squints at George, like he’s trying to read his mind.

But George is an expert at deflection, so he just rolls his eyes and smirks.  “Gonna miss me if I step out for an hour?  You’re that lost without your silly little job?  Go bother Foolish or Tina or something.”

“Fuck off,” Karl huffs, already pulling out his phone, probably to do exactly what George had suggested.  With his friend sufficiently distracted, George gathers his keys and a tugs on a dark green hoodie.

He’s just opened the door when he comes face-to-face with someone he, frankly, had thought he’d never see again.

“What are you doing here?” he questions.

“What are you doing here?” Dream returns.

“I live here.  Your turn.”

“I’m tracing a signal.  Those things from last night, it’s leading me here, for some reason.  You’re not made of plastic are you?” George tries not to be endeared when Dream taps on his forehead, like he’s actually checking if George is human.  It’s dumb, he’s so dumb with his dumb doe-eyes and dumb pout and dumb cat beanie pulled down over his dumb curls.  George is a bit obsessed.

“Not as far as I know,” George answers, though maybe that’s what the plastic would say too.

“Well, fuck, I guess,” Dream sighs. “Dunno why it would lead me here.”

It’s then that George remembers the arm that he’d dragged all the way home with him last night, and wonders if that might be what’s messing with Dream’s…signal, or whatever it is he does.

“Hold on,” he instructs, stepping back inside the front hall to locate the discarded limb.  Karl has moved from the kitchen to the couch, perfectly in view of the front door, of course, and of course he looks up when George reenters.

“Thought you were going for a walk?” he asks.

“I am, just remembered…” he glances around for a second before he spots his target.  He lifts it for Karl to see, then adds, “gonna get rid of this thing.  Not like we’ve got any use for it.”

Karl shoots him a funny look, but doesn’t comment further, allowing George to slip out the front door again without argument.

Dream hasn’t moved, and George is honestly a bit surprised about it.  But he sees George and lights up, like he’d been waiting there just for him. 

“Could it be…this?” George asks, holding up the arm again. “It’s from last night, you gave it to me. I just—forgot I had it.  Until I made it home.”

Dream tilts his head as his nose scrunches in thought, looking entirely too much like a golden retriever for George’s fragile heart.

“Could be, yeah,” Dream settles on, taking the arm without even asking.  He turns it over in his hands a few times, studying it.  What he’s looking for, George has absolutely no idea.  Then, without further comment, he turns on his heel and begins striding away, across the lawn and down the street.

Now that simply won’t do.

George has to jog for a few steps to catch up, then adjusts his gait to match Dream’s long paces.

“What, just like that?” he asks. “I helped you, and you’re just leaving?  You still haven’t told me what that was last night.  Or even who you are.  What kind of name is Dream anyways?”

“Do you ever shut up?” Dream huffs.

“No, and I think I’m owed some sort of explanation,” George asserts. 

“Or what?”

“Or…I’ll start talking.  You said if I did that I’d get people killed.  So, Dream.  Your choice.”

“Is that supposed to sound threatening?” Dream scoffs.  George scowls. 

“So what if it is?”

A sigh, but Dream doesn’t provide any more clarity.  He doesn’t tell him to piss off, either, though, so George takes that as a sign that it’s okay to keep following.

They approach a blue police box, one that George has seen in the old shows his parents used to watch sometimes, the kind big enough to step inside.  It looks just barely out of place on the modern London street corner.  To his surprise, Dream walks right up to the box, caressing the weathered wood with a gentle hand before sliding a key into the lock.  He glances around, like he wants to make sure no one is watching.  It’s a busy street corner, and George can’t believe that no one is stopping to stare, but the crowd just moves on around them, paying absolutely no mind to the out-of-place box or the man trying to enter it.

Satisfied with his findings, Dream cracks the door open just enough to step inside then turns to face him.

“You coming?” he asks.

“Coming where?” George replies, squinting as he tries to peer around Dream’s body blocking the entrance.  From what he can tell, there’s no way two grown men would fit inside there, nor can he understand why they would want to in the first place.  But Dream just smirks, jerking his head backwards to gesture him onward.

“You’ll see.”

George has absolutely no reason to trust him.  George has known this man for a cumulative total of less than an hour, knows barely more than his name, but Dream’s taunting grin as he disappears inside the box stirs a fire in his belly and walking away now feels like giving in.

He steps inside.

And promptly freezes.

George doesn’t tend to get sensory overload often, usually only when he’s somewhere loud for an extended period of time, or when there are too many flashing lights for his color-blind vision to keep up with.  But stepping through the unassuming wooden doors, George is hit with an explosion of light and sound and space that he could never have imagined from the tiny wooden box and it’s so much.  He has no idea where to look, between the honeycomb of lights covering the inside walls, the coral-like pillars winding their way from the floor to the high ceiling, and the luminescent column in the center, casting the entire room in an otherworldly blue glow.

And then there’s Dream, standing in the middle of it all, hands clasped in front of himself, waiting.  He looks taller in here, somehow, grander.  He fits in among the angles and colors and lights and quiet hum coming from the console in the middle of the room.  Obviously he fits in here, George points out to himself.  Clearly it’s his–

“You okay?” Dream asks, and the genuine concern in his tone reminds George that he is absolutely not okay .

“Yeah,” he croaks, instead of telling the truth.

“Take your time.  I know it’s a lot.”

“It’s–this thing…” George begins.  “It’s bigger on the inside.”

“Yeah,” Dream nods calmly.  Still waiting.  Watching the gears turn in George’s head, like he’s waiting for something to click.

It feels like an out of body experience when it does.  He’s jerking his head from left to right, whether to clear it or to try to make sense of his surroundings, even George really doesn’t know.  It feels like something he’d see in a video game, in one of those futuristic alien adventure games that Karl loves so much.  There’s something so–so alien about it, and George feels sick to his stomach because somehow…

Somehow absolutely everything and nothing makes sense at once and maybe his entire life is a lie.

“It’s alien,” he ventures.

“Yeah.”  It’s infuriating how calm Dream remains, while George is having his entire worldview obliterated on a Saturday afternoon. 

George looks up at him, determined to hold his gaze despite his inner panic.  Dream’s eyes are so kind, so patient as he watches him, like he’s waiting for the opportunity to help without taking away George’s agency to process at his own pace.  The concern almost makes him want to cry.

“You’re alien,” George concludes.  His voice sounds shaky even to his own ears, and he knows Dream can hear it too but he can’t possibly care about pride right now.

“Yeah,” Dream repeats, though George hadn’t needed the confirmation.  “Is that alright?”

“Yeah,” George replies quickly.  It’s not alright, it can’t be alright, it can’t be real and yet here he is, apparently standing inside an alien spaceship with the most intriguing man he’s ever met–a man who is, apparently, not exactly a man after all–and yet he still doesn’t want to be anywhere but here.

“It’s called a TARDIS, this thing,” Dream recites, like he’s been through this several times with several other humans before.  “T-A-R-D-I-S.  Time And Relative Dimension In Space.”

“This–okay,” George nods, breathless. 

“Take your time,” Dream advises again.  “It’s like culture shock.”

“And those things…?”

“They’re being controlled by something called the Nestene Consciousness.  They’re a species of living plastic, basically, like I said.  And their food supply was destroyed in a war, so they’re here to, like, feed,” Dream explains.  It shouldn’t make any sense, none of this should, but George hangs on his every word and he thinks he understands, maybe.  At least, as much as anyone could. 

“But you can stop it, right?” George asks.  “Like, that’s why you were there last night.  Why you’re here.  You can stop it.”

Dream grins and turns around to pull a few levers on the console.  The ship whirs to life, and George thinks maybe he should be a bit more scared that he could be abducted by a literal alien, but he’s more concerned with holding on for dear life against the sudden jolt of movement.

Then everything goes still again, and Dream grabs his sleeve to usher him back outside.

“What did you–” George’s question dies on his lips when the door swings open to a completely different part of London. “Did we…fly?”

“Disappears there reappears here,” Dream corrects.

“Naturally,” George scoffs.  Dream’s responding smile makes him feel a bit dizzy, though it could just be leftover motion sickness from the trip.

“Anti-plastic,” Dream says suddenly, pulling a vial from his pocket, and it takes George a second to realize that he’s answering his question from before.  “Just have to find the transmitter and poof.  Easy.”

“Alright, genius, where do we find that then?” George challenges.

“I have no idea!” Dream replies, throwing his hands up in defeat.  “Like, it’s gotta be massive to transmit a signal that strong.  Big, circular dish right here in the middle of London, and I’ve got no clue where they could be hiding it, like it’s gotta be invisible or something.”

George scans the horizon, smirking as his gaze lands on the London Eye over Dream’s shoulder.

“What?” Dream scoffs when he catches George’s expression.  George just shrugs, biting his lip to try to suppress his grin. “What? ”  George takes pity on him and nods in the direction of the ferris wheel.  “What’re you–” he turns around to face the same direction as George, and George can practically see the lightbulb go off when he realizes what George had noticed.  

He feels a spark of pride at that, that he’d already made himself useful to this incredible man who, no doubt, had seen and done more than George could ever hope to experience in his unremarkable little life.  He, George, had been the one to point them in the right direction.  It makes him feel giddy, and he floats on that feeling as they descend into the London sewers under the Eye.  It’s dark, and scary, and George doesn’t bother fighting the urge to glue himself to Dream’s side for protection.

“That’s it,” Dream whispers, pointing to a glowing vat below them.  It reminds George of lava, but like…stretchy.  Or like really dangerous orange slime.  He has to suppress a giggle at the thought, figuring that now is probably not the time for jokes.

“Right, then, dump in your anti-plastic thing and let's get out of here,” George urges.

Dream stops him suddenly, tugs George’s arm so he can look him in the eye.  “We’re not here to kill it,” he says firmly–we, like George is already a part of this weird secret alien mission.  “I want to talk to it first.”

And with that, he descends down a rickety staircase to approach the being and does just that.  It’s remarkable to watch, actually.  Dream is extremely well-spoken, confident and even-toned and George doesn’t understand a single word he’s saying–it’s English, but his references to faraway galaxies and alien races and something about intergalactic law goes so far over George’s head–but he still hangs on Dream’s every syllable.  It’s incredible, entire worlds above them that George had never even considered existed.  And Dream’s seen them all; he can just snap his fingers and suddenly he’s light years away learning about the Nestene Consciousness and more and it's just…incredible.

“That was just insurance, I wasn’t actually going to use it!” Dream’s voice takes on a frantic pitch and George tunes back into the conversation at hand.  Two mannequins–like the ones from last night–have their hands wrapped around Dream’s arms, one of them holding the anti-plastic vial that had been in Dream’s jacket pocket.  There’s a cranking sound from above, and the Consciousness makes a noise that George can only describe as a roar as a metal door descends to reveal Dream’s ship–the TARDIS–and for the first time since they met, Dream looks actually panicked.

This is…bad.  Probably very bad.  Probably even worse than George and his human brain can comprehend and even he knows that this is.  Really bad.

So the way he sees it, he has two options: he can heed Dream’s warning to, once again, run.  Or, he can take matters into his own hands.  He can do something meaningful and stop this–this invasion, or whatever world-ending event will inevitably occur if he leaves Dream to die down here alone.

He’s running on pure adrenaline, that’s the only explanation for the burst of upper body strength as he grabs hold of a loose chain above his head, shouts hey, and propels himself from the overlook with just enough force to kick one of the mannequins–the one holding the vial–forward and into the glowing tub of the Consciousness.  

Dream uses the temporary distraction to knock the other one off and grabs George’s hand again.  George recognizes the same mischievous glint in his eyes from the shop’s basement last night, but this time he smiles back when Dream tells him to run and drags him towards the TARDIS.

George is trembling, but he doesn’t think it’s from fear.  He’s not scared, he actually doesn’t think he ever was.  On the contrary, George hasn’t felt this alive in…possibly ever, actually.  He barely has time to digest the realization before the TARDIS stills again and the doors swing open.

He recognizes the street that they’d boarded from this afternoon, and tries his best to mask his disappointment.  This has all been some…freak accident, him being at the wrong place at the wrong time.  Today was a once-in-a-lifetime type of day–a type of day that possibly no one else on Earth will ever get to experience the same way George just did.  He should feel grateful that he’d been there at all, but all he can feel is regret for a lifetime of tedium that awaits him when he steps outside again because how could anything hold a candle to everything he’s seen?

“You, uh, you did good,” Dream breaks the silence when George doesn’t immediately make a run for it.  He looks awkward, a bit boyish with his eyes trained on his fidgeting hands, and George swears he can see the faintest tint on the other man’s cheeks, but that could just be leftover adrenaline from their escape.

“Thanks,” George replies.  He glances between Dream and the open door, and Dream follows his gaze.  “I–uh, I dunno.  Just did what I had to.”

“You saved my life, George.  You did,” he adds, when George goes to protest. “You–thank you.  Really.  You’re braver than you give yourself credit for.  Not too many people would’ve been able to do what you did.  Believe me, I’ve met a lot of people.”

George scratches the back of his neck, a bit unsure how to respond to the praise.  Dream’s right that he’s never considered himself particularly brave.  It’s not that he’s a coward either, he’s just.  George.  He works–worked–as a sales clerk at a department store because he dropped out of university, he spends weekend evenings at the pub watching football with his friends, he grew up in a little house just outside London with a mum and dad and sister and the furthest he’d ever traveled was Brighton for a family holiday when he was twelve.  When he wakes up every day, he usually has a pretty good idea as to how his day is going to go, because nothing ever happens to him.  

In his twenty-odd years of life, the past twenty-four hours have been, without a doubt, the most incredible hours of his existence, and he has no idea what he did to deserve someone as incredible as Dream stumbling into his life, even by accident.  

Dream is an alien with a teleporting spaceship who travels around saving worlds from other alien invasions.  Dream has seen things George can’t even imagine.  George is just…George.  

And George can’t see how he could possibly belong in Dream’s world.

“Well,” he sighs eventually.  “I’m sure you’ve got lots of other people to meet.  More interesting than me, at least.  So, y’know, thanks.  For everything today.  But I can–I’ll let you be on your way.”

Dream frowns, and he looks a bit like a puppy the way he tilts his head with it.

“That’s–okay, sure, yeah, I’d better get going,” Dream sounds reluctant when he agrees.  “Unless…unless you wanted to.  Come with me?”

“Come.  With you?” George parrots.

“If you want,” Dream confirms.  “This baby doesn’t just do London, y’know.  Anywhere you want to go, anywhere in the universe.”

“I–I don’t know,” George shakes his head.  Because it’s ridiculous, right?  “I–my mates, they’re gonna wonder where I am, y’know?  Especially after last night, Karl’s gonna freak if I just disappear again.  I can’t do that to him.”

“Right,” Dream nods.  “No, yeah, of course, I understand.”  And George thinks that’s going to be the end of it, until Dream smirks to himself, like he just thought of a funny joke to tell, and looks George dead in the eyes, raising a challenging eyebrow.  “It’s just–it also travels in time.”

“Time.”

“Mhm.” Dream looks so smug, so infuriatingly smug, but God, he’s kind of earned it with that one. 

“Time travel,” George clarifies.

“All of time and space, everything that ever happened or ever will, right here, free of charge.”  He leans casually against the console, crossing his arms in front of him, still wearing a shit-eating grin like he knows he’s won.  “Just say the word, George.  We can go anywhere you want.”

And, George, well, George is but a human.  Who is he to turn something like that down?

So he returns Dream’s grin and takes two steps forward, stopping a mere few inches from the other man.

“Bring it on.”

“Alright George, where are we going?”

They’re shoulder-to-shoulder at the console, George watching intently as Dream begins to flick levers and press buttons and the ship around them whirs to life.  The beam in the center of the room pulses like a heartbeat, speeding up as Dream punches in coordinates, as if the ship itself is as excited as George is for the next adventure.

“We can go anywhere?” George asks, his brain still trying to wrap itself around the new reality that anywhere reaches further than a train ride to the shore.

“Anywhere,” Dream confirms.  “What’s it gonna be?  Forwards, or backwards?”

“Forwards,” George answers.

“How far?”

“How far?”

“Yeah,” Dream grins.  “Lots of future to choose from, y’know.”

“I don’t know, actually,” George points out.  “Seeing as how I’ve never been.  The world could end tomorrow for all I know.”

Dream perks up a bit at that, and pulls a few more levers.  The room shakes around them, and George has to hold on to keep from falling over.  “Your wish is my command,” Dream says.

“What wish, idiot?” George huffs.

The shaking stops more suddenly than it starts, a sudden jolt like the tube pulling into a station, then they’re still.  The doors open, and this time the view outside is anything but a random London street corner.

“This is the year five point five slash apple slash twenty six. Five billion years in your future,” Dream recites, and George wonders how many other people have gotten to experience this exact moment with Dream.  “And this is the day the sun expands. Welcome to the end of the world.”

“What? ” George gasps, walking forward almost in a trance.  They’ve landed in a small room, an observation deck of sorts, and the wide glass window in front of them reveals–well, George assumes it’s Earth, but it looks nothing like the Earth that he knows.  It’s surrounded by drones creating some sort of electric field around the planet, and while George has never been to outer space, he’s pretty sure the sun isn’t supposed to be that big.  “Where are we?”

“Well, on this day in history, all the richest and most famous people in the universe are gathering right here to watch the Earth end,” Dream says.

“Why?” 

“Why not?  Billions of years of history, you didn’t think it would just go quietly, did you?”

“I guess I…never really thought of it at all,” George admits.  “So is that what we’re here for?  This end of the world party?  Or are we planning to–”

“Not this time,” Dream cuts him off with a shake of his head.  “Sometimes there’s nothing to save, y’know?  It’s not like anyone is living there anymore, humanity is long gone.”

“Where did–do we go?”

Dream smiles and stretches out his arms.  “Everywhere.  All spread across the galaxy and beyond.  Human science is so fascinating, so young compared to other species but when you figured it out, there was no stopping you.  The human race lives on.”

George looks out the window again, and he pictures the way it was.  He tries to remember the way the Earth looked in all the satellite photos he’d seen during his own time and compare it to what he sees now.  It looks…much the same, George is surprised to note.  Billions of years into the future, and the Earth, despite everything, looks just as he remembers it.  Except that now, there are no people.  Just him, a simple boy from London who’s so, so far from home.

A pit forms in his stomach at the thought, but he does his best not to let it show on his face as he follows Dream through the hallways of the satellite.  He doesn’t want Dream to worry about him, not so soon after joining him on his travels, but more than that he doesn’t want to seem…weak.  And he hates that he thinks it at all, but Dream must have met hundreds of people infinitely more impressive than George, and George just doesn’t want to disappoint in comparison.  

He thinks he would be devastated if Dream just sent him back after all of this, already bored of the pathetic human who couldn’t even survive his first trip without getting homesick.  Maybe it’s stupid, because absolutely nothing Dream has done to this point has given any indication that he would be so dismissive, but George still worries.

“What are you doing here?” a frantic voice–one he doesn’t recognize–startles George, and a frazzled-looking blue man approaches them.  “The guests are arriving any moment, how did you get in here?”

“That’s us, we’re guests, see, we have an invitation,” Dream lies smoothly, pulling out a leather wallet that looks like it could hold a badge, but the inside of it is just blank white paper.  “Dream, plus one.  I’m Dream, this is George.  He’s my plus one.”  

Somehow, the blue man must see what he needs, because he relaxes and agrees, and George wills himself not to blush at the thought of being Dream’s plus one.  It’s a common phrase, it doesn’t mean anything, just that he happens to be the one accompanying Dream today.  It could’ve been anyone.  George is still pretty pleased that it’s him, though.

They settle in a bigger room as the other guests begin to arrive.  George tries not to giggle at the strange-looking species as they enter, but it’s really hard.  Not even that they all look ridiculous–although some certainly do–but just out of the sheer absurdity that is his life.  These are all living creatures, he reminds himself.  People, by some measures.  Sharing this same universe with him.  Perhaps some of them even existed in his own time.  Maybe that’s where he should ask Dream to take him next–anywhere in the universe, in the year 2023.  Just so he can see what else is out there.  See for himself the other life forms that humans have been trying for centuries to prove exist.

“What’s so funny?” Dream whispers.

“Nothing,” George responds.  “Just that–they’re aliens.”

“I’m an alien,” Dream raises an amused eyebrow.  “You didn’t laugh at me.”

“Yeah, but you don’t look like an alien,” George points out.  “You look like me.  These guys–like, he’s blue.  Literally blue.”

“Well, there’s plenty more where they come from,” Dream says.  “Everywhere we go.  Something new every day.  New to me, even, sometimes.  You’ll have to get used to that.”

“No, no, I know,” George promises quickly, because the last thing George wants is for Dream to think he’s not serious about this.  That he’s here to mock and make jokes while Dream saves the universe over and over again.  “I’m just…adjusting, y’know?  It’s just a bit jarring.”

“I know,” Dream nods, eyes gentle with understanding, and his hand finds its way to the small of George’s back.  “Wanna take a walk?  We’ve got a few minutes before the action starts.”

“Yeah,” George agrees.  “Please.”

They end up in another room like the one they’d begun in, one with a wide glass window that overlooks the Earth and sun.  Wide wooden steps lead down from the door, and they sit together on one. If it was up to George, he would be happy just to stay here the rest of the day.  He doesn’t much care for socializing with the other guests, he’d rather just be with Dream.

“What was that you had before?” George asks.  “That you showed the blue guy that made him let us in.  There wasn’t anything on it.”

“Oh this!” Dream reaches for his pocket and pulls out the same leather fold.  “Psychic paper.  Makes people see what I want them to see.  Much easier than faking documents.  Or going through the process of getting them legally, I guess.  Saves time when you wanna get in somewhere.”

“Huh,” George considers.  “Magic?”

“Sort of,” Dream shrugs.  “Pretty fine line between magic and science anyways, right?”

George hums in agreement.  He’s not wrong, really.  At least in his time, that’s what most magic is when you really think about it.  He shouldn’t be surprised that in billions of years across billions of galaxies and planets, science had come far enough to make such things possible.  Hell, he’s looking at a brigade of drones physically holding back the sun from destroying the Earth.  Nothing should surprise him now.

“Where are you from, Dream?” George asks.  “Or, when even?  You’ve got all this amazing stuff, you know everything…and it feels like all I know about you is your name.  Which isn’t even a name, really.  Like, Dream?  What even is that?”

“It’s my name,” Dream grins, teasing like he knows exactly what George is asking but wants to be a shit about it.  “Could say the same to you, what’s a George?”

 “You’re so annoying,” George scoffs, though he’s not the least bit annoyed.  “George is a name, Dream is just like…a word.  Like, how is that your name?”

“That’s just what I’m called, Georgie, I dunno what to tell you,” Dream shrugs.

“Idiot, don’t call me that,” George huffs, flushing with heat unrelated to the approaching sun.  “Tell me something else, then.”

“Like what?”

“I dunno, anything,” George groans.  “I’ve left my entire life to come with you, the least you could do is–I don’t know–not be a complete stranger.”

“I don’t know much about you, either,” Dream points out.

“You know my name, what planet I’m from, where I live, and where I used to work until someone blew up my job,” George lists.  “That’s like…at least three more things than I know about you.”

“I’ve shown you my TARDIS,” Dream replies.  “That’s more than most people.  That’s about all I have, her and me.  I’m not really much of anyone.  I’m just me, traveling by myself.”

“That sounds so…depressing.”

Dream smiles, and this time it’s sadder than George has seen on him before, and he realizes that Dream is lonely .

“It’s not too bad, not all the time at least.”

“I’m here now, though,” George reminds him.  “It’s not just you anymore.”

“Yeah?  You wanna stay?” Dream looks so hopeful, that even if George had been considering going home he could never stand to be the one to wipe that look from Dream’s face.

“If that’s okay, I–I think I’d like that,” George replies, and he can’t hide his own grin when Dream is looking at him like that.  He thinks he might already be addicted to the other man’s attention after just a few days.  Although, in linear time, he’s been with Dream for five billion years.  It feels like both forever and a few minutes.

“Yeah?  Even if it’s dangerous?  Like, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I literally took you to the end of the Earth.  And yesterday we were crawling underneath London trying to stop an alien invasion.  I mean it when I say that anything can happen.  I can’t promise it’ll always be safe.”

“I trust you, though,” George says easily, and he’s surprised to find how true it is.  “And I’ve been told I don’t trust easily, so.”  He shrugs, and Dream is watching him so intently, like he’s the once-in-a-lifetime event, not the actual phenomenon happening right in front of them.  George has to look away before he does something stupid.

“Okay,” Dream says softly, and George feels the weight of another shoulder pressed against his.

They sit in silence after that, but it’s not uncomfortable.  Quite the opposite, actually.  George has dozens of things he could be spiraling over, dozens of reasons to overthink, not the least of which being the fact that he’s sitting here getting ready to watch the Earth explode with an alien who brought him here using his time machine, but George can’t remember the last time he felt so peaceful.

“My planet is gone,” Dream confesses softly, like he’s never said the words out loud before and George’s heart lurches at the realization that that could be true.  “It burned, just like this.  But everyone was still on it.  I was the only survivor.  That’s why I travel alone now, there isn’t anyone else.”

“Dream,” George whispers sadly, because he doesn’t know what else he could possibly say to that.

“It’s okay,” Dream promises.  “I mean, it’s not, but it is what it is.  There’s nothing to be done anymore, just have to keep going.”

Blindly, George searches for Dream’s hand resting between them and tangles their fingers together, squeezing tightly.  It’s then that he realizes just how close they’re sitting, pressed together from their thighs to their shoulders.  He hadn't even registered until now, too caught up in the comfort the proximity had provided.  He hopes it’s doing the same for Dream.  “You aren’t alone now, yeah?”

Dream squeezes back.  “Guess not,” he replies.  And he still sounds sad, but there’s something else too.  Relief, maybe, or hope.  He doesn’t know, he’s not quite good enough at reading Dream’s cues yet.  He’ll get there, though.  He may never be able to replace what Dream has lost, but George is determined to be whatever Dream needs now.  A friend, a traveling companion, someone he can rely on.  He doesn’t dare hope for more.

“Earth death: imminent.”

The automated computer voice reminds them of why they’re there to begin with, and George turns his full focus to the scene outside the window just as the Earth’s shields blink once, then fizzle out entirely and the planet that George has occupied for his entire life is impacted by the sun’s fiery mass, causing the planet to crumble into millions of rocks, and then that’s it.  The Earth is gone.

“Wow,” George breathes. “Just like that.”

“It happens to everything, eventually,” Dream says.  “We think our worlds are so permanent, that whatever we know will just go on forever and ever, but it never does.  The universe moves on.”

“Is that–” George trails off, hesitant to bring up the seemingly sensitive topic of Dream’s people again, but Dream is on his wavelength already and knows where George is going before he even says it.

“You can ask,” Dream allows softly, squeezing the hand that George had honestly forgotten he was still holding.

“Is that what happened to your planet?  Eaten up by the sun, or whatever?”

“Not exactly,” Dream answers.  “It was…more complicated.  There was a war.  Not like your wars, though.  Bigger.  We lost–everyone lost.  I’m sorry, I don’t really know how to explain it all.  I don’t–I haven’t given myself much time to think about it, honestly.  Just been keeping busy.  Traveling.  Seeing the universe.”

“It’s okay,” George assures him.  “You don’t–I know I was asking a lot of stuff, but you don’t actually have to tell me anything if you don’t want to.  I agreed to come with you regardless, you don’t actually owe me anything.”

Dream turned to him to frown.  “Don’t say that.”

“Say what?”

“That I don’t–I don’t know, that makes it sound like I don’t want you here as much as you want to be here.  I asked you to come in the first place, y’know?  I wouldn’t have asked that to just anyone.  And you did save my life, so I think I do owe you at least a little bit.”

“You brought me five billion years into the future,” George teased.  “I think we can call it even.”

“But you’re still staying, right?”  And he looks so concerned, despite every promise George has made in the past hour that he wants to be here, that George is going to change his mind all of a sudden.  George thinks it should be him worried about Dream changing his mind, after all, he’s the one intruding on Dream’s already-established life. 

Although, based on everything George has learned today, maybe Dream’s life isn’t that established either. Maybe he feels just as aimless as George, still looking for that one thing to give meaning to everything.

As he looks back at Dream, eyes trailing over the soft lines of his eyes and the light freckles on his cheeks, he thinks he might’ve found his purpose.

“Yeah, idiot, of course I’m staying.”

“Awesome,” Dream grins, springing to his feet so suddenly that George almost falls over.  George wants to laugh at the open glee on his face, so he does.  “Then let's not waste any time here, the main event is over after all.  We still have the rest of time and space to see, let’s go!”

George thinks he would follow Dream anywhere if it made him smile like that.

They’re back in the TARDIS now, standing opposite each other around the console as Dream begins to tinker again.  He always does it before they’ve even decided on their destination, George has noticed, and he wonders if he’s actually doing anything productive when he does that, or if it’s just one of his ways of fidgeting when they’re inside.  Dream almost never sits still, he’s always bouncing around or doing something with his hands.  It sort of reminds him of Karl, and the familiarity makes him smile.

Dream flashes him a grin and pulls a final lever on the control panel and George has to hold on for dear life as the vessel starts to shake around them.  The ride feels more turbulent than most, and Dream’s hands are active on the controls the entire time.  

George would never claim to be an expert in time travel, but he’s a little surprised by how involved the process is.  He’d always assumed that you just kind of…poof.  Instead, it feels like Dream is flying them through a particularly rough storm in one of those small passenger planes the way they jerk from side to side and up and down.

“What is wrong with you?” George complains.

“Sorry,” Dream at least has the decency to look a little sheepish.  “The TARDIS sensors latched onto some sort of carrier ship falling through the time vortex, we’re just sort of following it now.”

“What for?”

“I dunno,” Dream shrugs. “Fun?”

George thinks they may have different definitions of fun, until he remembers the rush of adrenaline he’d gotten from swinging towards the vat occupied by the Nestene Consciousness, and decides maybe they aren’t so different after all. 

Besides, what’s George going to do, leave?  Highly unlikely.

So onwards they hurtle through the–the time vortex, or whatever it is that apparently makes time travel possible.  When they stop, it’s as sudden as they started, and George nearly falls to the ground.  Dream, of course, seems unfazed.

“Now what?” George asks, following him outside to wherever they’ve landed.  It’s dark outside, nighttime, most likely, so it’s hard to make out any details, but as far as George is concerned it still looks like Earth.  Earth of the past, just like Dream had promised.  

“Now we go ask someone if they’ve seen anything suspicious in the past few days, see where and when that thing actually landed.”

“Don’t we know when it landed?” George frowns.  “We were following, like, right behind it.”

“Welcome to time travel,” Dream grins.  “Like, I know we’re pretty close, it should be around here somewhere, but it’s not, like, exact.”

“Can’t you just like–I dunno–wave your alien tool things and find it?”

“My alien tool things? Dream raises an amused eyebrow at his request.

George scoffs. “You know what I mean, idiot.  Like the little wand thing you use to open doors.”

“My sonic screwdriver?” Dream asks, laughing as he pulls the device in question from a pocket in his jacket.

“A what?” 

“Sonic screwdriver,” Dream repeats, like that’s a normal thing that people just have .  Though, for all George knows, it could be, where Dream is from.  “It’s useful for breaking and entering.  I do a lot of that, if you haven’t noticed.  Not as much use in locating alien ships in London.”

“That’s boring, what use are you?” George teases.

“Hey, I’m your ride,” Dream pouts.  “Plus, this way we have an excuse to meet the locals.”

“Locals,” George scoffs.  “It’s London.  I am a local.”

“Not of this London, you’re not.”

“When actually are we?”

“Not a clue, let’s find out,” Dream grins, and George is a little curious as to how Dream plans to ask someone what year it is without looking insane, so he follows.

They follow the sound of laughter and music and Dream peeks inside.  “You coming?” he asks, cracking the door open.

“I guess,” George sighs in fake exasperation.  “I mean, if it’s my only option.”

“Idiot,” Dream rolls his eyes, and George has to hide the hitch in his breath when Dream grabs his hand again to tug him inside.  

Inside turns out to be a bar of sorts, dimly lit with a stage on the other side.  It’s nowhere near the 21st century, George knows that much, but they have electricity at least, so he knows they can’t be too far back. 

“Wait here,” Dream whispers, squeezing his hand before letting go and making a beeline for the stage.  George barely suppresses a giggle at the sight of Dream–staggeringly out of place in his jeans and jacket and stupid cat beanie–standing in front of this room of well-dressed people of the past.

“Hey, excuse me,” Dream calls the attention to himself.  “Hi, sorry, I was just wondering, has anyone seen anything unusual fall from the sky recently?”

Silence, then the room bursts into laughter, and George joins them just at the look of confusion on Dream’s face.

“I’m serious,” he tries again.  “Something–something big, falling from the sky near here, probably within the past few days?”

More laughter, and George hears someone next to him scoff.  

“Rookie,” he mumbles.  George looks over to the stranger, who’s amusement at Dream on the stage seems more understanding than the mocking laughs of the rest of the crowd.  He’s leaning against the bar, but even standing up straight George thinks the man would be a few inches shorter than him, his curly hair is hidden under a baseball cap but the rest of his outfit is a bit more period-neutral: a dark peacoat that could easily be found walking the streets of George’s London, but doesn’t seem too out of place in whatever time period they’ve landed in, over black pants and a white shirt.

“Excuse me?” George asks, and the other man turns his head.

“You with that guy?” he asks, nodding to where Dream is still trying to plead his case from the front of the room.

“Maybe,” George replies vaguely.  “Why?”

“He’s an idiot,” the man responds.  “How are you gonna time travel and not even know where you traveled to?”

“And I suppose you could do better?” George challenges, defensive. 

The man shrugs.  “I’m here, aren’t I?  As opposed to that moron drawing attention to himself up there.”

“Alright then, moron,” George scoffs.  “If you’re so smart, when are we?”

“London, peak of World War Two,” he answers smugly.  “So you might wanna get your friend to rethink his ‘thing falling from the sky’ question.”

George has to laugh, he actually does, because only Dream would stumble into such a ridiculous situation.  “He is an idiot,” he agrees fondly, sparing Dream another glance.  He doesn’t appear to be getting anywhere, and George tries to catch his eye to call him back, but Dream is determined.  Determined to do what, George doesn’t know, but he’s learned not to question Dream’s methods.  However ridiculous they may be, they work more often than not.

“Can I buy you a drink?” the stranger asks.  

George considers him for a moment.  He knows the look, of course.  He’s spent enough time in bars to know when he’s being hit on, and while he couldn’t be less interested in this guy if he tried, he’s never one to turn down a free drink.  Especially given that his card wouldn’t become valid for another eighty years.

“Only if you tell me your name,” he replies.

“Only if you tell me yours first.”

George narrows his eyes.  “George.  You go.”

“Sapnap,” the stranger replies, true to his word.

“Do all time travelers have weird names?” George scoffs.

“Hey, I’ll have you know Sapnap is a very popular name in the 51st century,” Sapnap defends, and George supposes it makes sense that he would come from the future.  It’s strange to think about, humans and time travel.  Obviously Dream has his TARDIS, but Dream’s also an alien.  Surely they live by different rules than humans do. 

“So you’re an even further way away from home than I am,” George comments.

Sapnap looks him up and down, examining him.  Judging him, even.  “Lemme guess…early 2000s?  Judging by the wash on those jeans.  And a name like George,” he makes a face, and George is a bit offended.  “That went out of style centuries ago where I’m from.”

“Well, we can’t all have fancy time travel at our fingertips” George huffs.  “And you still haven’t bought me a drink.”

“Patience, kitten,” Sapnap instructs, and George cringes at the nickname as the other man makes a motion to the bartender, who immediately begins to fill two glasses.

When the drink is handed to him, George takes a sip and nearly spits it back out.  “What the fuck is that?” he gasps, while Sapnap nearly loses it from laughing.

“Bro, your face,” he cackles.  “It’s beer, dude.”

“It tastes like piss,” George glares down at the offending beverage, debating whether or not it would be considered rude to hand it back without drinking the rest. 

“Well, yeah,” Sapnap replies, as if it should’ve been obvious.  “They’re in the middle of a war.  It’s not like they’ve got a backlog of people to make fancy booze.  Or the ingredients to do so, for that matter.  Most people are just happy there’s any alcohol around here at all.  Now,” he smirks, before draining his own glass and setting it back down on the counter.  “If you want the really good stuff, I do keep a fully stocked bar on my ship.”

“What, you mean your time machine?” George scoffs.

“Sure,” Sapnap grins.  “You coming?”

George glances back to the stage, but there’s no sign of Dream anymore.  He should probably be more concerned with being abandoned eighty years in the past, but somehow George knows that Dream would never really leave him.  He trusts him, so absolutely.  They’ll find their way back to each other when it matters.  But in the meantime, surely there’s no harm in getting to know a time traveler from the future.

So George takes another sip too, mostly because he feels bad leaving it so untouched, and rises to his feet.

“Lead the way.”

As it turns out, Sapnap is actually a lot of fun.

He’s a bit smug, and incredibly irritating, but he’s also funny, and cool, and a literal time traveler from the 51st century.  

George follows him back to his ship–which is dark, sleek, futuristic, can turn invisible, and is absolutely nothing like the TARDIS–and is greeted by a robotic voice offering the both of them a drink.

“My computer,” Sapnap explains, which isn’t much of an explanation at all, but maybe it’s just another one of those things that's completely normal in the future.

And it’s fun, hearing Sapnap’s stories from his adventures as a rogue Time Agent–George surmises that not everyone from the future has access to a time machine, and that Sapnap had actually stolen the one they’re sitting in right now–and all the different people and species he’s met.  

Dream doesn’t do things like this often, just sit down with him and tell stories.  Anything he learns about Dream comes in the form of offhand remarks with little room for follow-up or context and George is left to put the pieces together for himself.  And George knows why; he understands that there’s a lot about his past that Dream doesn’t even want to think about, let alone talk about, but George is still just human and he’s dying to know everything about the universe out there, even beyond what he’s been able to see in his short time traveling with Dream.

It could’ve been hours that they spent drinking, talking, laughing, even dancing at one point, when Sapnap wanted to show him the pop music that he grew up with.  George doesn’t think he fully gets it, but it's got a nice enough beat for them to get up and jump around, inhibitions a bit clouded by alcohol, and it’s just fun.  It feels like a night out with Karl and his other friends back home, the type of lightness he’s been missing.

Eventually, though, George points out that he should probably try to figure out where Dream went, lest he get stranded in 1941.

“If he really did leave, I can always take you back where you came from,” Sapnap points out, and that much is true, but George feels a twinge in his chest at the thought of not seeing Dream again, so the two of them head out to look.

Unsurprisingly–okay, George is a little bit surprised, he’s still battling the part of him that feels like Dream choosing to take him on was a fluke and that Dream would flee at the first given chance–the TARDIS is still parked in the same spot George and Dream had left it earlier that night.

“Dream?” George calls, knocking lightly on the front door.  He gets no response–can you even hear knocking from inside this thing? –and tries the handle.  The door creaks open, and George nods to Sapnap to follow him in.  “Dream?” he calls again.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Dream is across the room in seconds, grabbing George’s arm like he’s checking him over for injuries.  George feels himself flush, whether it’s from the attention or the alcohol, he doesn’t care to decide.  “I looked away for like…a second and you disappeared!  Do we have to set some sort of rules about wandering off on your own when we go places?  Like, you’d think it would be common sense, but apparently–”

“Dream,” George interrupts him, huffing out a fond laugh as Dream jumps.  “I’m fine.  The alcohol at that bar was shit so Sapnap took me to his ship to get some good shit.  I figured we’d catch you again at some point.  You’re pretty hard to miss.”  He tugs teasingly at the front of Dream’s beanie, and he thinks he imagines the pink on the other man’s cheeks at the gesture.

Somewhere behind him, Sapnap clears his throat, a reminder that they’re not alone–for once–and Dream jumps like he’s just now noticing the other person inside the TARDIS.

“Who’s this?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and George has to clench his fists to resist the urge to smooth it out.

“Sapnap?” George answers, equally confused, because he had mentioned that he’d met someone.  But Dream tends to be extremely single-focused when he’s thinking about something, and apparently George’s return had blocked everything else from his awareness.  “He was at the bar.  He thinks you’re an idiot, by the way.  Gotta say I agree with him.”

“Well, that’s probably not the best first impression,” Sapnap rolls his eyes, but steps forward and extends his hand for Dream to shake.  “Sapnap.  George told me a lot about you.”

“Dream,” Dream replies, confusion still etched on his face as he accepts Sapnap’s handshake.  He tilts his head, studying in the way he sometimes does, and George nudges him with his foot as a reminder that he’s staring.  “You–you have a ship?”

“And here I thought you didn’t listen to me when I talk,” George grumbles, at the same time as Sapnap answers, “Yeah!  She’s parked over the Themes at the moment.  She’s not much but she gets me where I need to go.”

“And this…ship…”

“Is a time machine, yeah,” Sapnap answers the unasked question.  “Former Time Agent, I–they pissed me off, so I stole it.”

Dream snorts.  “Yeah, been there.”

They hit it off, surprisingly.  Or, maybe not surprisingly, but for as warm and kind as Dream always is, George has never really known him to make friends.  At least, not with anyone other than him.  But maybe it’s the novelty of meeting another time traveler, because Dream is laughing and bouncing around the console as he shows Sapnap around and he’s hardly ever this excited about something that doesn’t have world-ending implications.

George just sits back and observes.  It’s…nice.  He likes this, actually.  He thinks maybe he should feel jealous, that someone else has taken Dream’s attention, and maybe that will come, but right now he’s too distracted by the light crinkles in the corners of Dream’s eyes from the strength of his smile and the wheeze that comes from deep inside him while Sapnap describes a run-in he had with some alien species on a planet made of diamonds to think about anything beyond how absolutely radiant Dream looks when he’s happy.  He wants to soak it all in like the summer sun, to bask in Dream’s warmth and make sure that he stays this happy always.

“You should come with us,” Dream suggests out of nowhere, and Sapnap doesn’t seem at all thrown off by the request, just laughs and nods in agreement and George smiles at the comfort of it all.

It’s later, when Sapnap has gone off to explore the limitless rooms in the depth of the TARDIS until he finds one suitable to call his own, that George and Dream are alone again, standing together in front of the console.  They haven’t moved from their World War Two landing spot, at least George doesn’t think they have, and he’s not sure if it’s because Dream has more he needs to do here, or if Dream just wants to savor the evening they have, before embarking on their next adventure that George knows they’re never guaranteed to survive.

“I’m sorry for wandering off,” George apologizes softly.  “Like, obviously it was fine, and I wasn’t in trouble, but still.  Probably not the smartest choice to disappear with every strange time traveler who offers to show me their ship.”

“Yeah, you’re really making a habit of that, aren’t you?” Dream teases, bumping their shoulders together.  “It’s okay.  Technically I wandered off first, anyways.  And you made it back to me safe, which is what really matters.”  

You made it back to me.  

George scoffs to hide the warmth in his cheeks and his chest at the sentiment. 

“Yeah.  And had a lot more fun than you did, probably,” he taunts.  Dream takes the bait.

“Oh yeah?” he questions.  “And what fun did you get up to on Sapnap’s super fancy time machine ship?”

“Booze.  The good stuff, not the piss they had at that bar.  He showed me some music from his time, we danced.  It felt like a night out back home,” George shrugs. “Dunno, was just fun.”

“We have fun too, don’t we?” Dream asks, genuine concern etched into his features.

“Of course we do,” George is quick to assure him, because he refuses to allow Dream to think he doesn’t treasure their time together above all else.  “Just a different kind of fun.”

“I can do dancing, if that’s what you want,” Dream tries, unappeased by George’s assurances.  “We can–we can do that stuff here too, y’know.  I don’t want you to feel like–I dunno–I’m just dragging you along to stuff.  I want you to have fun.”

“I promise, Dream, I do have fun with you.  I don’t need you to change anything.  You don’t have to… dance, or whatever,” George shakes his head, giggling a bit at the image.

“What? ” Dream pouts, pathetic puppy dog eyes in full force, and George tries really hard not to describe it as adorable.  “Why are you laughing?”

“Nothing,” George responds through giggles.  “Just…you dancing.  Seems a bit silly.”

“Why is that silly?” Dream protests.  “You don’t think I can dance?”

“Dunno,” George shrugged.  “Seems hard to picture.”  He’s challenging him, baiting him.  Dream is competitive, hungry to rise to any challenge, and George knows this.  He’s hardly above using the knowledge for his own amusement.

“You know I’m like… centuries old, right,” Dream points out.  “Like, I’ve done pretty much everything.  I’m a man of many talents.”

“Sounds like you’re just gonna have to prove it then,” George smirks plainly.  

Dream narrows his eyes, fully aware that he’s being baited and taking it anyways.  He pushes some buttons on the control panel, but instead of the room starting to spin, soft music starts to play from somewhere above them.  It’s old music, George vaguely recognizes it as that big band stuff his dad used to listen to, and he supposes it fits the time period they’re in.

“Well then?” Dream challenges, extending a hand for George to take.  “C’mon, Georgie, dance with me.”

“You’re an idiot,” George shakes his head, but he’s powerless to deny Dream anything.  

His hand is small in Dream’s–overwhelmingly so.  It’s something he’s noticed before, obviously, this is hardly the first time they’ve held hands, but standing right against him like this–one hand clasped in Dream’s, the other resting on his shoulder while Dream’s hand spans the small of his back–everything just feels magnified. 

Dream is not good at dancing.  He has no sense of rhythm, he trips over his own massive feet, and every time he attempts to spin George ends in near-disaster–including one time that he almost spins him directly into the metal railing leading up to the console–but they’re both laughing.  George laughs so hard tears form in the corners of his eyes, and Dream isn’t much better off as they stumble around the TARDIS control room.  George hasn’t danced like this with too many people, but he imagines this is about as good as it gets.

“You’re such an idiot,” George laughs, trying in vain to steady them.

“Oh, I’m the idiot?” Dream taunts.  He tugs George close to him again, jerking him off balance so that George has to catch himself on Dream’s chest.  If he hadn’t been standing so close, he would have missed the way Dream’s breath hitches at the contact, but George is too busy composing his own breathing to call him on it. 

“Am I interrupting something?” Sapnap startles them for a second time that day, and Dream immediately drops his hands.  George tries not to let it sting as Dream bounces to the console like nothing had happened.

“Just another day in the life!” Dream exclaims.  Sapnap glances between the two of them questioningly, and George silently shakes his head when he meets his eyes.  Don’t push.

Thankfully, Sapnap seems to get the message, though the way he narrows his eyes makes George pretty confident he’s going to be approached about this…whatever later.  Which he will worry about avoiding when he gets there.

“Alright, boss, where we off to?” Sapnap asks, claiming the jumpseat and kicking his feet up on the dash. 

“No clue,” Dream shrugs.  He flicks a lever, and George is already prepared for the way the TARDIS shakes to life, but Sapnap is caught completely off-guard and is jolted to the floor by the sudden movement.  “That’ll teach you to put your feet up on my TARDIS,” he teases.  Sapnap just grumbles in response as he collects himself and repositions on the seat.

George takes the opportunity to slide closer to Dream, nudging their shoulders together to get his attention.  “Does that mean you found what you were looking for?” he asks.  “If we’re leaving, I mean.  Did you figure out what we were following?”

Dream tilts his head towards him with a smile so soft George could almost melt.  “Yeah,” he murmurs gently.  “I figured it out.  Don’t worry.”

“Wasn’t worried, idiot,” George grumbles, but there isn’t the least bit of heat behind it.  “Was just wondering.”

“Either way,” Dream grinned.  “Sorry for doing the fun part without you.  But stuff moves fast around here, and you were occupied –”

“Oh, fuck off,” George huffs.  “Just get us out of here.”

“Where to?”

George considers for a moment, or pretends to, at least, before he can’t contain his grin any longer.

“Anywhere.  Long as you don’t ditch me again.  Idiot.”

“I think I can make that happen,” Dream agrees.

And as he goes about his routine, pushing buttons and turning dials and flicking levers, he slides his hand over just enough to link their pinkies together as they take off.  It’s so tender that George’s heart squeezes in his chest, and he’s reminded of one of Dream’s little anecdotes, from their trip to a distant-future Earth colony across the galaxy. 

“Did you know Time Lords have two hearts?”

“You’re fucking with me,” George shakes his head.  “What for?”

“What are any of our organs for?” Dream shrugs.  “There’s some sort of evolutionary benefit to everything, right?  For one, it means I’ve got a spare in case anything happens.  And increased blood flow helps with a lot of stuff.  Reaction time, stamina, all that sort of stuff that makes us biologically superior to humans.”

“So you’ve just got…two of them?  In there?”

Instead of responding, Dream takes one of George’s hands in his own and presses it to the top left side of his chest, right where George would expect a heart to be.  After a moment, he moves them to rest on the lower right of his chest, and sure enough, right under George’s palm he can feel a second heartbeat, just like Dream had described.

“Woah,” he breathes.

“There you go,” Dream smiles softly, almost fondly, if George didn’t know any better.

He thinks about it, sometimes, particularly when he’s feeling hyper-aware of his own heart.  Would just one heart leap, while the other ticked on steadily, keeping him grounded in reality and separate from whatever…feelings influenced the organ.  Or would they squeeze together, double the love pouring out in every beat.

George would never ask such a question, obviously, he couldn’t, so he thinks he might never know.

One thing he does know is that he’s absolutely fucked.

In the short time he’s been traveling with Dream, several things have become extremely clear to George:

Dream is kind.  Maybe the kindest, most understanding person George has ever met.  He treats everyone he talks to like they’re important, and he genuinely wants to help them all.  He’s usually successful, too; he’s saved so many people, people who will never know he even exists and he doesn’t even care.  He doesn’t do it for the recognition.  He travels through time and space helping people simply because he thinks it’s the right thing to do.  He’s kind of like a superhero, not that Dream himself would ever agree with such a label.  George finds him amazing, and at any given moment is practically bursting with the need to tell him so.

Dream is hurting.  George will probably never understand the entire depth of that hurting, he can’t.  They’ve lived different lives for so long–hundreds of years, in Dream’s case, George has come to learn–that in many ways it feels almost impossible to completely catch up.  And while Dream has continued to open up to him more and more as they spend more time together, there are still moments where he’ll say something, then George will notice Dream’s eyes glaze over and George knows he’s somewhere many light years and many centuries away, in a place George will never know.  All he can do is squeeze Dream’s hand to bring him back to the present, then graciously ignore that it ever happened as Dream starts them off again.

And George is so unbelievably, hopelessly in love with him.  That’s the one that’s really proving to be a problem.

He hasn’t really fancied anyone in awhile.  He’s been on dates, obviously, guys in his uni classes and people his friends try to set him up with, but the interest is usually fleeting at most.  He’s not used to the sheer intensity of the burn in his chest when he hears Dream laugh, or the gnaw of longing in his stomach whenever Dream grabs his hand.  More than once, he’s been forced to quickly avert his gaze when he’s caught staring at Dream as he tinkers with the TARDIS’s internal workings, crimson blush cementing his guilt as he pretends to take interest in whatever they’ve got playing on the screen that day.

And he hates thinking of it as a crush, because that just feels so juvenile, but that’s what it is, isn’t it?  It’s a crush, like you’d get on a celebrity you see on TV.  Because Dream is, well, Dream.  And no matter how many times Dream takes his hand to guide him through a new world, or looks at him with poorly-disguised fondness, George has to remind himself that it doesn’t matter. 

There’s something there, he knows that, he’d have to be dense not to recognize the softness with which Dream addresses him, the attention that he reserves for George and George alone.  Dream is fond of him, but that doesn’t mean that he has any interest in being more than they are.  After hundreds of years of existing, George can’t imagine what he’d want with a silly human anyways.

So George will take what he can get: soft touches, a large hand grabbing his, fond smiles that George knows are only directed at him.  Dream makes him feel special, and it’s enough–more than enough.  It is.

“Dude, he’s not even in the room, you can drop the heart-eyes.”

George scoffs, turning away from the doorway in hopes that Sapnap doesn’t notice the way he blushes at getting caught daydreaming.

“‘M not doing anything,” George protests half-heartedly, pretending to busy himself with the kettle on the counter in front of him.  George doesn’t typically spend that much time in the TARDIS kitchen, and he’d never admit it but he knows it’s because Dream doesn’t spend much time in the TARDIS kitchen, and George prefers to be wherever Dream is.  But Dream is busy at the moment–at least, he’s not in the control room tinkering away like usual–leaving George to wander the never-ending halls of the ship until he’d ended up here.

“No, no, ‘cause it’s actually embarrassing to watch,” Sapnap counters.  He swings open the fridge and grabs a glass bottle of water before hopping onto the counter.  “It’s like–the most obvious thing ever.  I’d almost feel bad for you if it wasn’t so fucking annoying.  And if he wasn’t literally even worse.”

George rolls his eyes at the suggestion.  “Right, sure.”

“I’m serious.”

“Well, so am I.  Plus you’re an idiot,” George returns. 

“George.”

“Sapnap.”

Sapnap narrows his eyes, studying him as he takes a swig of his drink, while George distracts himself by looking through the fridge–that always seems to be fully stocked, even though he knows for a fact none of them have gone shopping–before settling on apple juice.

“You need to do something about this,” Sapnap gestures vaguely at him, and George can play dumb, but he knows he’s pining, and he knows it’s showing.  And the last thing he wants is for Dream to catch on that he wants more, because that would make things weird, and maybe Dream wouldn’t be as comfortable being so close to him, and eventually wouldn’t want George traveling with him at all, and then George would be left with a broken heart and his miserably boring old life.

Dream can never know.

“This is what I mean!” Sapnap interrupts his spiral.  “You’re either sitting around daydreaming about having his alien babies or whatever, or you’re having a panic attack about wanting his alien babies.  Get a grip dude.”

“I’m not–doing that,” George scoffs in disgust, doing whatever he can to keep his mind from wandering even remotely in that direction–he’s got more than enough emotional problems without worrying about whatever physical attraction is looming beneath the surface.  “He’s just…Dream, y’know?” 

It’s the only explanation he can give, words will never be enough to fully encompass everything that Dream means, but Sapnap understands anyways.

“Of course I know,” Sapnap replies, gentler.  “I’m here too, y’know?  You two are my best friends.  Like, seriously the best friends I’ve ever had.  And I know that no matter how long I’m here I’m never going to come close to what the two of you have.  I could travel with him for a thousand years and he’s never going to look at me the way he looks at you.”

“Stop,” George whines, powerless against the blush spreading across his cheeks at the implication. 

“You stop,” Sapnap teases back, kicking his leg against George’s side.  “You’re insane if you don’t think he’s crazy about you too.  Like, he’d literally do anything for you.”

“That’s not–”

“He would,” Sapnap interrupts.  “Like, we’re both here, but he’s doing this for you.  Like, everywhere we go, it’s because he wants to show you the universe.  He’d give you the universe if he could.”

“He asked me to come with him,” George protests.  “He’s just–I dunno–holding up his end of the deal.”

“Deal,” Sapnap scoffs.  “What’s your end of the deal?  Sitting there and looking pretty?”

“Hey, I’ve saved his life multiple times,” George reminds him.  It’s an exaggeration, sure, but George knows he’s become a valuable member of their little team they have here.  

“Oh, is that so?”

George startles at the new voice coming from behind him.  He turns quickly, ready to argue, but Dream doesn’t appear put off in the slightest.  On the contrary, he’s wearing that smile that makes George want to melt into the floor.  He’s glad he’s not looking at Sapnap anymore, he doesn’t want to see the smugness he knows is on the other’s face.

It doesn’t matter, he reminds himself.

“Yeah, that’s so,” George counters, deciding that their usual banter is the safest way to proceed.  “Idiot.”

“Idiot,” Dream returns, the word sounding nothing like the insult it should be.  “We’ve landed, by the way.  Just came to tell you that.”

“Oh,” George frowns.  “I didn’t know we were going anywhere, I would’ve–I didn’t see you in the control room.”

Dream smiles a bit shyly, scuffing his foot against the tile floor.  “I, um, I wanted it to be a surprise.  Where we are.  If you wanna come see?”

George follows him, because he’s powerless to do anything else, ever.  He would follow Dream to the ends of the universe.  He has, basically.

When Dream opens the door, like he’s revealing a long-anticipated masterpiece, it takes George a second to clock where they are.  When he does, tears nearly spring to his eyes.

It’s mid-afternoon and raining, but he’d recognize the street anywhere, just as they’d left it all those weeks ago.  Weeks, months?  Time has no meaning in the TARDIS, and he realizes he actually has no clue how long he’s been away.  Before he can even open his mouth to ask, Dream is a step ahead of him.

“It’s not exact, you know how it is,” he admits.  “But we should be, like, within a couple days of when you left.  So.  Hopefully no one’s missed you too much.”

“God, Karl’s gonna kill me,” is all he can say, breathing out a laugh of disbelief.  It’s never occurred to him to ask to come back, so concerned with what Dream might think, that he would assume George meant for good and would drop him off without a glance behind him.

But he’s missed his friends so much.  He’s missed going to the pub for football matches that he doesn’t care about, he’s missed gossiping with Hannah and Sylvee at his stupid job, he’s missed evenings on the couch with Karl, reruns of Breaking Bad on the tv and a bowl of popcorn between them.  He wouldn’t trade his adventures with Dream for anything–and he’s not done yet, if Dream will still have him–but God it feels good to be home.

“Figured I’ve been a bit selfish with you lately,” Dream shrugs, just before George launches himself into his arms.  He doesn’t know why he does it, but words could never be enough to express his gratitude–for this, but also for everything. 

“Thank you,” he whispers, face pressing into Dream’s neck.  It’s hardly the first time they’ve hugged.  They hug all the time.  But Dream hugs him back so tightly that George can feel his hearts–both of them, distinct–pounding against his chest, and it’s like they’re one.  Like their three hearts combine to keep them both alive, and George thinks about Sapnap’s words, how Dream would give him the universe if he asked. 

“Always,” comes Dream’s whispered response.  “I’ll be here, yeah?  We can hang out for a bit.  Take your time.”

“You’re gonna wait for me?” George confirms.

“Of course,” Dream replies, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.  “If you want, that is.  It’s okay if you want to just…stay.  At home.  I know it’s a lot, what we do.  You never have to stay with me, I wouldn’t…no hard feelings, y’know?  Any time you want to call it quits.”

“Of course I want to stay with you, idiot,” George scoffs, unable to contain a grin at Dream’s nervous rambling.  An ancient alien species, Dream should have nothing to be nervous about, ever.  It just makes it all the more endearing whenever his mouth takes over for his brain as he rushes to explain his thought process.  “You could…you could meet Karl, if you wanted.  You don’t have to just sit here.  Unless you don’t want to.  I don’t know what the…rules are, with that sort of thing.”

“Well,” Dream smirks.  “I’ve never been big on the whole meeting-the-family thing, but I think I can make an exception.  Just for you, though.” 

“Oh, ‘cause I’m so special, right?” George taunts. 

“You are,” Dream replies, breathtakingly honest as he smiles down at him with his stupidly bright green eyes, and George has no way to respond to that because they’re still standing so close that his brain has gone a bit fuzzy.

It’s Sapnap that saves him, though he’d embarrassingly forgotten that Sapnap is even there.

“Does that just apply to him, or am I allowed to come too?” he asks.

“No Sapnap, we’re going to keep you locked up in here like a dog,” George deadpans, sticking his tongue out when the other man makes a face at him.  He then amends, “I guess you can come.”

It’s a familiar walk to his flat, the streets the same as ever, but George knows he’s changed.  He’d never been excited to walk these sidewalks, up the stairs to their second floor apartment, too dragged down by his general lack of motivation towards life , but now he’s absolutely giddy as he slips his key into the lock at long last.

“Karl?” he calls when he cracks the door open, and immediately he’s greeted with a crash from the direction of the kitchen and then his roommate appears, eyes wide.

“George? ” 

The problem is, he’s not exactly sure how long he’s been gone, from Karl’s perspective, and he’s not exactly sure how to ask without creating even more questions than he could answer.  It reminds him of Dream in that stupid World War II bar, and he has a tremendous amount of respect for his friend for pulling it off without breaking a sweat.

“Uh, hey,” is what he settles on, before the wind is knocked out of him and he’s pulled into a hug that rivals the one he and Dream had just shared in its tightness. 

“I told you to never fucking do that to me again,” he mumbles.  “Not even a text or a call?  Especially after the thing with work?  Fucking asshole, I thought you were dead.”

“‘M sorry,” George apologizes, a bit helpless without a good explanation for everything that had happened to him in whatever amount of time they’ve been apart.

“Like you just–you said you were gonna take a walk,” Karl continues.  “And then you disappear for a week?  What the hell man, that’s–that’s not like you.”

“That was my fault,” Dream admits, and Karl jumps backwards, startled like he hadn’t noticed the two other people in the apartment.

Karl narrows his eyes.  “And who are you?”

“This is Dream,” George introduces.  “He’s–”

“A friend,” Dream provides.  “I asked him to come traveling with me for a bit.”

“I know all your friends,” Karl accuses.  

“Well he’s a new friend,” George replies, defensive.  “I’m sorry I couldn’t call–”

“Seriously, dude, what’s going on?” Karl interrupts.  “Is it like…drugs or something?  Like, are you in trouble?  Because this isn’t like you.  You’re not usually so–”

“Interesting?” George snarks bitterly.

“I was gonna say stupid, asshole.  Fucking irresponsible disappearing like that.”

“It’s not like I had a job to go to, so what’s the big deal?”

“Then you’re just selfish.  Because we were all worried about you.  And it sounds to me like you don’t even care.”

“Of course I care,” George sighs.  He doesn’t want to fight, that’s the last thing he wants.    “I’m–I’m sorry, Karl.  I should have told you before I left.  And I can explain–” he makes eye contact with Dream to confirm that he can, and Dream gives him the nod of approval. “I can explain everything. I promise.”

Karl studies him, glancing between George and Dream and Sapnap, still standing in the doorway, before turning on his heels and marching towards the living room.  George takes it as a sign to follow, but before he can move, a large hand catches him around the wrist.

“You go,” Dream says softly.  “We’ll give you some time.”

“Where will you go?” George’s brow furrows in concern at the thought of Dream leaving.

“Not far, don’t worry,” Dream replies with a fond smile, and George notices that his hand is still wrapped securely around George’s wrist.  He’s certainly not going to be the one to move away.  “The TARDIS will stay right where it is.  And just to prove it to you…”  He drops George’s arm, then, using both hands to reach the chain hanging around his own neck and unfastening it.  There’s a key hanging from the gold chain, usually just hidden under the collar of Dream’s sweater.  “Here.  TARDIS key.  About time you got your own, anyway, now that you’re a permanent resident.”

George is stunned speechless, practically frozen in place as Dream reaches up to fasten the chain around him.  The metal is warm against his skin–warm with Dream’s body heat, he points out to himself–and the thought alone makes him shiver.  

“Are you cold?” Dream asks, because of course he notices when they’re standing as close as they are.  And George isn’t, really, but he’s not going to admit to Dream what he's actually feeling, so he shrugs.

“A bit.”

And because George hasn’t taken enough psychic damage today, Dream slips the green striped beanie from his head and tugs it back down over George’s with a grin.  

“Better?” he asks.  George nods wordlessly.  “Good.  It looks good on you.”  

“I-I should…” George points in the direction of the living room, doing his best to ignore the tremor in his voice.

“Right,” Dream whispers, and George thinks he must imagine the shakiness in the syllable, because that would be ridiculous.  Almost as ridiculous as Dream leaning in and pressing a kiss to his forehead before stepping away, but somehow that’s exactly what happens, and it takes everything George has to stay on his feet.  “I’ll see you in a bit?”

“Huh?” he blinks, dazed as he processes Dream’s words.  “I–yeah, yeah, you’ll be…?

“We’ll be around, Georgie,” Dream promises, and George trusts him unconditionally. 

Dream and Sapnap–witness to the whole exchange for the second time that day–leave then, George assumes to wait in the TARDIS, but right now he needs to shift his focus to his best friend waiting in the other room.

Karl is sitting on the couch when he enters, and scoffs when he sees the beanie on top of George’s head.  George does his best to ignore the attitude–he knows Karl has a right to be upset–as he takes his usual place on the other side of the couch.

“I’m sorry I left without saying anything,” George starts, because he knows it’s on him to break the ice.  “I didn’t actually–it happened really fast, y’know?  I didn’t know I’d be gone this long.”

“It,” Karl huffs.  “What’s it?  What even happened, George?  I thought I knew you man, but this is all so…weird.  It’s like you’ve been replaced by some alien or something.”

George huffs a laugh at how close his friend has landed to the truth, a sound that is not very well received. 

“Are you actually going to explain anything or are you just going to keep being a dick about it?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, no, you’re right,” George shakes his head.  “It’s just…okay, you’re not going to believe me, but I need you to try, okay?”

Karl looks skeptical, but nods.  “Okay.”

“Okay,” George repeats.  He takes a steadying breath before launching into the story.  

He tells him about meeting Dream at the shop the night of the explosion, and how he’d helped him defeat the Nestene Consciousness the next night.  He tells him how Dream asked him to travel with him, about finding out that Dream is an alien with a time machine, how he’d taken him through the past and the future and everywhere in between.  He tells him about meeting Sapnap in a bar in World War II, and how he’d joined their crew.  He tells him about all the people they’d met, all the people they’d saved together across all of time and space.  He tells him about how kind Dream is, how he had been the one to take him back here to visit, how time travel isn’t an exact science and they’d tried to get as close as possible but sometimes it doesn’t work out and he really didn’t mean to disappear for that long, and George knows he’s  just rambling at this point but he needs Karl to understand.

Karl just considers him for a moment, studying him like he had right before George left to take a walk a week ago, and George is nervous.  He and Karl hardly ever fight, at least not seriously.  He hates thinking that Karl is upset with him, even if he deserves it, and he just needs his friend to understand so they can be okay.  So he can share this part of his life with Karl too.

And after a moment, when Karl responds, all he says is, “you’re in love with him.”

George thinks he might need to borrow one of Dream’s hearts because his has definitely stopped in his chest.  It’s one thing for Sapnap to tease him over heart eyes, but in their banter over it neither of them have ever used that word.  The L word, the one that George tries his hardest not to think about too often.

But of course Karl’s right, George knows it, Sapnap too, probably, even if his jests aren’t meant to hit that close.  He wonders again–worries–if maybe even Dream has caught on, but he shakes the thought from his head.  That’s not what matters right now.  He’s here with Karl, and Dream is…somewhere else.  So he can talk to Karl.  Honestly.

Because he’d promised not to lie to him, George just sighs and nods.  “I am,” he agrees.  “I wasn’t when I left, that wasn’t why I did it, but I am.”

And it’s a scary thing to admit out loud, but this is Karl, who knows George better than probably anyone in the world, and it feels right to let him hear it.

“Right,” Karl nods, pensively.  “Well, I’m happy for you, I guess.  That he’s–y’know.  Whatever he is.”

“That’s it?” George blinks.

“What do you mean?”

“Like I–I just told you I’m time traveling with an alien and all you have to say is…that?”

“Well I don’t know!  I don’t know what you’re supposed to say to someone who just told you they’re a time traveler.  Like what the hell, dude?” Karl exclaims.

“I dunno, it just happened,” George explains.  “Like…you know how miserable I’ve been, y’know?  Even before I had to look for a new job.  So I just…saw an opportunity to get away and I took it.  And it’s been good.  It’s good.” 

“Isn’t it, y’know, scary?”

“Yeah,” George laughs.  “Really scary.  Everywhere we go is something new.  Especially with him–Dream, y’know–always looking for trouble.  He’d say he just wants to help people, but he likes the thrill of it too.  So we’d never walk away from someone in trouble just because it was a little scary.  It’s a good scary.  Just means what we’re doing is important.  It’s worth it.”

“You’re different,” Karl observes.  “Like, so different.  Like, c’mon, George, you’re basically allergic to risk-taking.”

“I dropped out of Uni without any sort of backup plan,” George points out.  “I just–sometimes it feels like this is why.  Like I was meant to do this with him.  I think I could do this forever.”

“Do this?  Or be with him?”

“Both,” George answers confidently.  “I could never do it without him, I don’t think.  I mean, obviously, he’s the one with the time machine.  And so much of him is the way he lives.  Getting to see him see the universe–even if it’s something he’s seen before, you’d never know it from how excited he gets about everything.  I’d never want to keep him away from it.  It’s like…a package deal.”

“God, you’re fucking whipped, man,” Karl teases.  “You sure he’s not using some sort of alien brainwashing on you?”

George rolls his eyes.  “Pretty sure, yeah,” he scoffs.  “I mean, you saw him.  I never stood a chance.”

“He is pretty much exactly your type, isn’t he,” Karl smirks.  “Blond, tall, basically a giant golden retriever.  You really are fucked.”

“Shut up,” George huffs, embarrassment coloring his cheeks.

“I just can’t believe that after all the guys I tried to find for you, the one you’re finally interested in is an actual alien.  Like dude.”

“I know,” George sighs. “I’m hopeless.”

Karl glances between the knit beanie sat snugly on his head, and the key on the chain that George can’t stop fidgeting with, eyebrow raised judgmentally.  “Hopeless…not too sure about that one.”

George launches a pillow at him.

To George’s surprise, his Earth-friends get along instantly with Sapnap and Dream.  

Once his and Karl’s bickering-turned-pillow fight had calmed down, Karl had suggested calling everyone over to see him.  George had been a bit hesitant–especially given his uncertainty about how much he was allowed to say–but Dream had agreed enthusiastically when they asked him, and that’s how they’ve ended up with a full apartment, complete with an alien and a time traveler from the future.

Sapnap hits it off with Punz and Foolish right away, huddled together over the football match playing on the TV.  Hannah and Sylvee and Tina are there too, fawning over Dream’s hair under the guise of teaching him how to style it, but George knows better, and something like jealousy rolls in his gut when Hannah runs a hand through his curls.

That should be me, he thinks before he can catch himself.  It shouldn’t be him, actually.  Dream is allowed to talk to whoever he wants.  It’s for the best if it’s not George, actually.  He’s sure it would make traveling together horribly awkward, what they have now works, so he keeps his hands to himself for the most part, lets Dream initiate the touch between them.  George would never be so bold as to–whatever the girls are doing with him right now.

His distaste must show on his face, because Karl kicks his leg to get his attention.  George jumps in surprise, redirecting his glare to his roommate. 

Fuck off, he mouths.  Karl just grins in response and pours himself a shot.

The group gets louder as the evening goes on and the drinks Punz and Foolish had brought continue to flow.  They’ve gone through a whole stack of pizzas at this point, and it seems like everyone but George has had more than their fair share of drinks.  George has been nursing the same lemonade mixed with vodka all night, already overstimulated from the commotion and not in the mood to add to it.

Besides, he thinks if he has to keep watching Dream giggling secretively with the girls in the kitchen, any more alcohol and he’d become the most depressing person in London.

As it is, he eventually needs a break and slips away to the front balcony.  The football match has gone to a shootout, so the guys surely won’t notice his absence, and the girls and Dream had disappeared to the kitchen almost half an hour ago.  

The silence is deafening, and he thinks it's the most quiet he’s had in months.  The TARDIS is never quiet, full of life buzzing from within, paired with Dream’s constant humming and tinkering and Sapnap’s boisterous laugh, George hadn’t realized just how little time he’s had alone.  He hasn’t missed it, either.  It’s amazing how something he used to seek–used to crave–suddenly became unimportant when compared with the company of his favorite people in the universe.  Even Sapnap, for all his teasing, is a comforting presence after a long day.  

He already can’t wait for them to take off again.  It makes him feel guilty, being so surrounded by love and support right here, and all he can think of is how much he never wants to stay here again.

“You left me,” a familiar voice accuses, and George has to remind his heart to keep beating when he turns around to meet friendly green eyes.

“Yeah, well, you seemed perfectly entertained in there without me,” George huffs.  He tries to sound teasing, but Dream sees right through it, moving to lean against the balcony railing beside him.  He presses their arms together, just like they do standing around the TARDIS console, and George risks tilting his head onto Dream’s shoulder.

“Earth’s always been my favorite, y’know,” Dream murmurs, surveying the dark British skyline.  It’s not the best view from their apartment–it’s cheap, and a bit away from the center of it all–but Dream looks out with as much wonder as he does when studying a decaying star.  “Humans–you’re incredible to me.  Just seeing how far you’ve come in such a short time–some species have been around for millions and millions of years, and are still discovering the same things your scientists are working on now.  Time travel.  Just a few hundred years from now, Sapnap is gonna steal a time ship that your people created.  Like, do you have any idea how remarkable that is, to do all that as a species in just a few millennia?  You’re like, speedrunning existence.  It’s remarkable, George.  Humanity is remarkable.”

“Speedrunning existence,” George scoffs.  “You’re such a dork.”

“Hey,” Dream whines.  “This dork can leave you here if you’re gonna be mean.”

“You wouldn’t,” George asserts.  “You’d miss me too much.”

“That’s true,” Dream concedes easily.  “I’ve gotten pretty used to having you around.  Would suck to be on my own again.”

“You wouldn’t be on your own, idiot.  You could still have Sapnap.”

“That’s not the same, and you know it.”

He does know it, and he thinks about his conversations today with Sapnap and Karl.  Absently, he swipes his thumb along the line of the gold chain around his neck.

“Guess I’m stuck with you then,” George hums.  “Since you’d be so miserable without me.”

“Not–not stuck,” Dream frowns, turning to face him so that George is forced to meet his eyes again.  “You know you can leave at any time, right?  Any time you said the word, we could be right back here and you’d never have to see me again if you wanted.”

“Idiot, why would I want that?”

“Dunno,” Dream mumbles, dropping his gaze with a shrug.  “Just, you’re not stuck.  I don’t want you to feel like you are.”

“Dream,” George grabs both his hands.  “I don’t feel like I’m stuck.  I’ve never felt more free in my life.”  Then, more quietly, admits, “I want to stay with you forever.”

“I want that too,” Dream whispers, squeezing his hands gently.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.  As long as you want to be with me, I want to be with you.”

George has to remind himself that they’re talking about traveling.

He wonders if they are still talking about traveling.

“Eight billion people in this world,” Dream comments. “Over two hundred thousand years of existence.  And you might be the most incredible one I’ve ever met.”

“Me?”

“You have no idea how special you are,” Dream murmurs.  “I know what you think, y’know.  You’re not boring, or ordinary, or ‘just’ anything.  You’re George.  You’re kind, and brilliant, and so brave, and so human.  You make me better, y’know?  You challenge me, make me think like you.  It makes me kinder, better at this.  It could’ve never been anyone but you.  I need you to understand that.”

“You’re just…so good Dream,” George replies.  “You don’t–that doesn’t come from me.  You were already good.  You’ve always been good.  The first day I met you, we–you said you wanted to talk to it before killing it.  You were willing to risk your own life to give someone else a chance.  You just–you care so much.  Everyone you meet can feel it.” He laughs a bit, and Dream strokes a thumb across his knuckles.  It’s so tender he could cry.  “It’s a good thing you’ve got two hearts, y’know?  All the love you have in you wouldn’t fit in just one.  And you don’t get nearly enough back.  But I see you.  And I–yeah.” He trails off with a shrug.

He’s said too much, he knows he has, but Dream just makes him honest.  Dream bares himself so freely that George has no choice but to do the same back, and sometimes it means admitting things that he’s not ready to admit.  He can’t bring himself to meet Dream’s eyes again, which means he’s left staring at their joined hands, his own dwarfed by Dream’s.

And then Dream is hugging him, but it’s nothing like the tight embrace they’d shared outside the TARDIS.  It’s gentle, the way Dream holds him, one arm around his waist while the other hand cups the back of George’s head.  Like instead of worrying that he’ll slip away, he’s worried George will shatter in his grasp.  George thinks he just might.

“George,” Dream whispers, barely a breath against his temple.  “You have to know I love you, right?  Please tell me you get that.”

“I love you,” George admits like a secret.  He knows it’s not, though.  He knows it's written into every word he says, every breath he breathes.  Sometimes he thinks it would just take a single look for anyone to know.  George loves Dream, practically written into his DNA.  “I hope you know that too.”

“George,” he breathes.  “You can’t just–you can’t just say that.”

“Why not, silly?” George laughs softly.  “It’s true.”

“Because if you keep saying things like that, I’m gonna do something stupid like kiss you.”

George’s heart stops, while he feels both of Dream’s pulse in double-time against his chest.  He’s glad they’re not holding hands anymore, that Dream can’t feel the way he’s shaking at the confession, and he thinks he might throw up or pass out or something else equally embarrassing.

He doesn’t, though, and somehow gathers enough strength into his voice to murmur, “Do it, then.”

Kissing Dream is nothing like George has ever felt before.  He’s never been a romantic, never believed in the perfect first kiss with fireworks and stars and weak knees and all that.  It’s nice, fun, even, but that’s usually the end of it.  From the moment Dream’s lips meet his, George knows he’s ruined for anyone else for the rest of his life.  It’s dizzying, and if not for Dream’s arms around his waist and his own around Dream’s shoulders, George thinks he would collapse.  It’s soft and tender and honest and everything else that he’s learned to associate with Dream.  It’s perfect.  George never wants to stop.

He has to pull away first, though, his human lungs no match for Dream’s superior Time Lord organs, and Dream has the decency to look sheepish for forgetting such a trivial thing.  George would be more than happy to ignore his need for oxygen if it means he gets to keep kissing Dream, but he knows the other man would never consider anything that might endanger George.  Stupidly considerate, he is.

“Hi,” Dream grins, leaning down to peck his forehead, just under the cuff of the beanie that George has still been wearing all night.

“Hi,” George whispers back.

“That okay?”

“More than,” George promises.

“I’ve wanted to do that for…so long,” Dream admits.  “Like, God, I couldn’t even tell you how long.”

“Well, why didn’t you, idiot?”

“Are you kidding?” Dream scoffs.  “I like–practically had you trapped with me.  I didn’t want you to think you like…had to, or anything.  Or like you were stuck.  I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“You’re so dumb, oh my God,” George groans. “I wouldn’t have felt like I had to, idiot.  I wanted it too.  I figured, I dunno.  You’re like this with everyone.  Thought it was arrogant to assume I was special.”

“You are special,” Dream frowns, and George wants to kiss it off his face so he does, just a quick peck, but it’s enough to make him smile again so George considers it a win.  “Sounds like we’re both idiots.”

“Guess we are,” George hums.  “You’re more of an idiot though.”

“Why am I more of an idiot?”

“You just are,” George shrugs, grinning up at him giddily.  He feels like he’s floating, tumbling through deep space without a ship or a suit, nothing but Dream’s arms to protect him.  The best armor in the universe. “Now kiss me again, idiot.”

George’s heart soars when Dream does exactly that, and if his forever looks anything like this, he thinks even that won’t be enough.

They end up staying in London for a few days.  Sapnap crashes on the couch, and no one questions when Dream follows George to his old room when it comes time to sleep.  Realistically, George knows that Dream doesn’t need such regimented sleep as humans do, and could probably use the night hours tuning the TARDIS for their next adventure or something of the sort, but selfishly he wants Dream’s arms around him constantly.  He gets to sleep like that now, head pillowed on a firm chest, dual heartbeats his lullaby, and he intends to take full advantage of it. 

During the day, Dream wants George to show him around the city.  George points out that Dream has seen every version of London to exist, that he’s surely seen more of the city than George could ever show him on foot, but Dream insists.

“I want to see your London,” he explains, and it’s so sweet, so romantic that George has to oblige.  

He shows him the university he dropped out of, the shop he goes to late at night when he’s craving jaffa cakes, the pub Karl drags him to on Fridays, the pile of rubble that used to be the department store he worked at—Dream has the decency to look sheepish at that—the train he takes to visit his parents. 

It seems silly and mundane, and George feels the need to apologize for his lackluster existence, but Dream looks at it all with as much awe as if it was some undiscovered ancient civilization.  He thinks no one but Dream could find such beauty in the dreary London streets.  It’s one of the things that makes him so remarkable.

It’s the longest they’ve stayed in one place since he met Dream, and it doesn’t take long for George to get a little stir crazy.  He loves his friends, he loves his home, but he’d left it all for a reason.  He can tell Dream is aching to keep moving too, so after four days he quietly suggests that they get ready to go. 

They all go to the pub on the last night—George, Dream, Sapnap, Karl, Punz, Foolish, Hannah, Tina, Sylvee—as a sendoff for the travelers.  Only Karl knows all the details of what they do, it’s better that way.  Easier to keep it a secret, and Dream needs to stay a secret to stay safe.  But it weighs on Karl visibly, the knowledge that George is going to disappear again. 

They try not to let it put a damper on the evening, but George stays close to Karl’s side all night, soaking each other in before they’re apart.  Dream and Sapnap have changed his life, he can’t imagine going back to life without them, but that doesn’t erase the important part of his heart that will always be reserved for Karl.  His best friend, who’s been with him through some of the most difficult times of his life.  He never would have gotten this far without him.  So he lets Karl wrap an arm around his shoulder, tipsy giggles pressed into each other’s shoulders just like when they were at uni. 

They leave the others at the pub entrance, hugs and promises to call and to visit, and George knows Dream intends to do everything in his power to make sure they follow through on the promises.  Karl is the only one left when they approach the TARDIS, parked just where it had been the other day when they arrived. 

“This is us,” George says, and the key tucked under his shirt burns warm, like it can sense that it’s almost home.

“You travel in that?” Karl asks skeptically.

“Show him,” Dream nods at the door, and George slips the key into the lock.  The door swings open, welcoming them home and Karl freezes in the doorway as he takes it all in.  George remembers the dizzying feeling, the shock and confusion as everything he knows about the world is rewritten in front of him.

“It’s—it’s bigger.  On the inside,” he comments.

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” Dream smirks.

“Lots of space,” George adds. “Got my own room here and everything.”

“Not that you need it now,” Karl rolls his eyes.

“You could come with us, if you wanted,” Dream suggests, surprising them both.  George hadn’t even considered the possibility, hadn’t even considered asking to bring his friend along, and a part of him flares with jealousy at the thought of having to further split Dream’s attention, before the more rational part of himself reminds him that he has absolutely no competition.

Still, Karl’s response comes quickly. “No way.  I couldn’t—the way George describes it, the way you guys live—I couldn’t do it.  I like the life I have here just fine, y’know?  Feet on the ground, pub after work with some friends, solid job, that’s all I need right now.  But keep asking.  Maybe one day.”

“We will,” Dream promises. 

“Please promise me you’ll be safe?” Karl asks quietly once they’ve stepped outside again, and George doesn’t point out that Dream’s sensitive hearing can pick up his words anyways.

“I can’t promise that,” George shakes his head.  “But I can promise I’ll be happy.  Is that okay?”

Karl considers him for a moment, before pulling him into a bone-crushing hug.  “Yeah,” he whispers.  “Yeah, that’s good.”

“And I’ll come back as much as I can,” George adds.  “You might not even have time to miss me, y’know?”

“Yeah, I’ll just enjoy having the apartment to myself.  It’s a lot cleaner without your shit all over the place.”

George shoves him a bit, laughing to cover the pang in his chest when he thinks about how long it might be until he sees Karl again.  What could be only days here might be weeks for George, and now that the novelty of traveling has worn off, now that he’s been home for a bit, he wonders if it’ll get harder to be away.  

It’s worth it, he reminds himself when he catches a glimpse of Dream standing in the doorway to the TARDIS, waiting patiently for him to say his goodbyes before they set off again.  He’s worth it.

Karl turns to address Dream then, hand on George’s shoulder like a protective father sending his daughter off on her first date. 

“You’d better look after him for me,” he instructs gravely.  “I swear to God if anything happens to him on your watch I’ll discover time travel and come hunt you down myself.”

“I promise,” Dream nods, equally serious.  “His safety is always my priority.  I’d give my life for his in a heartbeat.”

“No you won’t,” George replies automatically.  Dream frowns, like he’s hurt by George’s assertion.

“Do you not believe me?” he asks.

“You’re just not allowed to,” George shakes his head.  “No dying.  Not while I’m around.”

“Well,” a small smile spreads over Dream’s face, “Guess we’ll just have to keep each other safe then.”

“Guess we will,” George agrees.  Behind him, Karl makes a gagging sound and he can see Sapnap roll his eyes from behind Dream inside the TARDIS, but George doesn’t care when Dream’s eyes are on him like that.  “Ready to go?”

“Whenever you are,” Dream confirms.

So George turns to hug his roommate one last time, and he follows Dream inside.

A sun—one different from Earth’s— shines brightly overhead, and George closes his eyes, enjoying the warmth against his skin.

“New Earth,” Dream had presented the planet to him, one of the future colonies of humanity and other species after the original Earth becomes uninhabitable.  As far as George is concerned, it looks absolutely nothing like the Earth he knows.

“Well, yeah,” Dream says, “this is like the fourteenth New Earth.  Way past your time, past Sapnap’s time even.”

There are flying cars, sleek glass buildings that reflect the bright sun, and the grass they lay on is almost unnaturally green.  It had been Dream’s idea because, as it turns out, Dream is stupidly romantic.  For George, just getting to be around Dream is enough, to travel by his side and hold his hand and fall asleep in his arms, but Dream wants everything –cute dates, flowers, walks along intergalactic beaches at sunset.

Who is George to deny Dream anything he wants?

They’ve spread out a picnic on the unnaturally-green grass–apple grass, Dream tells him–complete with classic New York style pizza in honor of their trip to what they’ve been calling New New York.  Instead of a picnic blanket, they sit on Dream’s spread-out jacket, Dream’s head pillowed on George’s thigh while they eat.  His blue, green, and red cat beanie of the day sits snugly on George’s head so he can run his fingers through Dream’s hair, a months-long fantasy that he now gets to live out whenever he wants.

“So, the year five billion, the sun expands, the Earth gets roasted,” Dream explains, always rambling on about where and when they are.  It’s one of George’s favorite things about him, honestly.  He gets so excited to know things, and he wants to share his knowledge with the people around him.  Sometimes he gets strange looks, but George will never be anything but amazed and grateful for every piece of information Dream graces him with.  “Planet gone, all rocks and dust, but the human race lives on, spread out across the stars.  Soon as the Earth burns up, oh yeah, they get all nostalgic, big revival movement, but then find this place.  Same size as the Earth, same air, same orbit. Perfect. Call goes out, the humans move in, and here we are.  New Earth, New New York.”

“That’s amazing,” George replies, gazing down at him with all the love he’s ever possessed.

“Are you actually listening to me, or are you just ogling?” Dream scoffs.

“Hey, I always listen to you,” George pouts, offended.  “Besides, so what if I just wanna look at you, can you blame me?  You’re, like, hot.”

“Hot?” Dream huffs.

“Yeah, you’re like–you’re like a God, basking in the sun,” George explains.  “You’re so gorgeous, I could look at you always.”

“Please , coming from you?” Dream frowns, lifting a hand to gently caress his cheek.  George leans into the contact instinctually.  “Baby, you’re like, so beautiful.  Inside and out.  The most gorgeous person I’ve ever met.  I’m so lucky.”

It’s hard to get used to, hearing Dream talk like this so openly.  Dream has never been stingy with his affection, but it’s as though now that he’s detailed to George all the ways in which he loves him, he can’t stop saying it.  Not that George would want him to, despite the crimson stain on his cheeks every single time.

“You’re so dumb,” George deflects.

“Dumb, and extremely in love with you,” Dream agrees.

“Stop.”

“Never,” he smirks, patting the side of George’s face twice.  George catches his hand and holds it there, turning his head to kiss the palm just for good measure.  It catches Dream satisfyingly off-guard, and George isn’t the only one blushing now.  It’s something he takes great pride in, being able to make Dream blush.  It’s not difficult, for him, at least; despite his lover being a nine hundred-year-old time traveling alien, George has never struggled to turn him into a secondary school girl.  It’s excruciatingly cute.

“I love you,” George murmurs, just to watch how his blush deepens at the words, but it’s paired with a giddy grin like he’s hearing it for the first time.  George gets it, it never gets old hearing it from Dream, either.

“I love you too, angel,” Dream replies, smirking like he knows exactly what the pet name does to George.

“Dream,” George tries to protest.

“You are my angel,” Dream argues.  He takes George’s hand and holds it against his chest, right against one of his hearts.  “You came to me when I was lost, and you saved me, and you keep saving me every single day.”

“You saved me too, then,” George replies, soft and fond.  “I was lost too, and you saved me from, like, capitalism and going back to university.”  Dream laughs, and he recalls his conversation with Karl a few weeks ago.  “I think we were made to find each other.  I think we were made to be exactly what each other needs, at exactly the right time.”

“Are you saying we’re soulmates, Georgie?” Dream grins.

“Shut up, idiot, no, that’s stupid,” George scoffs, embarrassed by his own honesty.

“It’s not stupid, baby,” Dream says gently.  “I think you’re my soulmate.  After all the years of shit I’ve had to deal with, the universe finally decided to give me something good.  You’re more than worth it.  I’d live the last nine hundred years in every lifetime I ever have if it meant I got you at the end of it.”

“God, you’re so…” beautiful, perfect, sweet, “Shut up.” I love you.

Fortunately for George, Dream has always understood him.

He sits up just enough so that he can tug George down with him, chest-to-chest and nose-to-nose in the apple grass, billions of years from the place George grew up, and George has never felt so certain he belongs somewhere.  And then Dream kisses him, and it doesn’t matter where or when he is, as long as Dream is there with him.

“I’ll never shut up,” Dream whispers against his lips.  “I’ll spend the rest of forever telling you how much you mean to me.  I’ll spend the rest of forever loving you.  And you’re just going to have to deal with it.”

George rolls his eyes, but he can’t contain his smile.  There’s no one else he’s ever met that he feels forever about–no one but Dream.  Lucky for him, Dream happens to be the one who can give him forever.  Forever, and then some.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Sapnap pokes his head outside the TARDIS, catching their attention.  They both sit up, Dream’s arm tucked snugly around him.  “But the TARDIS is picking up some weird signals, I think she’s trying to send us somewhere.”

Dream turns back to George, momentarily distracted by the need to kiss him–not that George would ever complain–before asking, “You ready to go, love?”

George nods, accepting Dream’s hand when the other stands and reaches down to help him do the same.  He squeezes once, then they’re off again, running through the doors of the spaceship that is their home.

The three of them stand side-by-side in front of the TARDIS console as Dream begins his process of launching them into the time vortex.  He’s gotten better at it, George thinks.  It’s not nearly as rough a ride as it used to be, a lot less tinkering needed to get them going.

As he flips the final lever, the jolt is familiar and comforting.  George is happy, truly happy.  Dream links their pinkies together, offering him a smile that George can feel in his gut, as he sends them off on their next adventure.  He gets this every day now, George thinks, for the rest of his life.  For as long as he can remember, he’s always wanted more, longed for something he couldn’t quite name but knew in his heart was out there waiting for him, and he’s found it.  Somehow, some way, he’s managed to escape his ridiculously ordinary life, managed to find the love of his life and a best friend to be by his side to share every moment, and, above all, gets to really feel like he’s making a difference in the world–in the universe.  

And it’s everything he ever dreamed.