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Hell is eternal. No matter how life concluded, there would still be a punishment for him even after the closure settled.
In the end, Dream was stuck in Hell with George.
He knew how he got there. Damn with the religion- any religion really. He considered it bogus. He also probably forgot to donate to some charity in his rich lifetime, or got cancelled too much on Twitter for God to accept him. Whatever it was, heaven was far too out of reach for him. He had no hopes whatsoever of becoming reformed.
George, on the other hand- Dream had no idea how he ended up down here.
With him.
Part of him thinks it’s how their souls were tied together, despite the tragic ending. The blond thinks “I brought him here. I couldn’t let go when we were alive, so I’ve dragged him down to Hell with me.”
How unfair.
Honestly, Dream feels bad for George. The latter did believe in God- the Christian one. At least, he thought the man did under assumption- there was always a dainty silver cross hidden in the depths of his shirt- one the brunette would chew on in times of high stress.
That’s probably why they were together now, sitting on red limestone rocks overlooking a river of fire.
Because George committed acts of sin by chewing on a cheap depiction of a cross, and because Dream didn’t donate to every charity event on earth and got cancelled on Twitter three times a week.
Not because they kissed one night out of the blue, under the array of glimmering stars. God probably saw them that night- he definitely did. The Heavens were clear and sparkling, the air crisp, and their love deep. It’s when the feelings truly blossomed in Dream, and died in George.
And Dream spent the rest of his living days pining after the handsome, dark-haired man, who took up Christianity to cope with the guilt of his sins. He watched George fall after their kiss- he was probably falling long before they met.
— — —
Sharing a space in Hell sucked, but this was his punishment. For eternity he would love the clear image of this man; unfortunately, Dream really thought it would all be over when he died. The longing would dissipate and he could throw his feelings out into the fire, watching them burn away as he is relieved of the everlasting emotions which haunted him in his life.
Yet, there he sits on the riverbank, watching lava bubble by lazily as the feelings stay, never separated from his body or his mind, as this was his punishment.
To forever yearn for someone destined to never like you back.
In Hell, those who are not demons share resemblance to insects.
Dream is Dream, but his skin is green and bumpy, face pincers sprout from his shrunken mouth, his eyes have turned a stark yellow, and ugly, hairy legs grow from his sides.
It’s ok though, because George used to comment his beautiful emerald eyes looked like the color of piss when he caught Dream staring too long.
George is more akin to a moth- face swollen and fuzzy, three times the size of his lean shoulders. His eyes are two giant black spheres, and the clothes on his back have fused into giant, round, teal patterned wings.
Even in Hell he is beautiful.
In life, he never really got over George. How the man stood, how he carried himself, his blunt thinking face, which for some reason was so attractive. His wit was striking, his ambition was out of this world. And now in Hell they were sentenced to share a rock by the riverbed for an uncomfortable eternity.
Dream knows this is his fault. It sucks to be physically close to someone you really do love, but they don’t like you back. To them, you were always just another person. A person you told stories to, laid secrets out to their untrustworthy ears, a person you grew close with when life stacked your predicaments together perfectly. Yet, in time their shared situations wouldn’t be the same anymore, and what caused them to bond in the first place would eventually draw them apart as life gives more openings to move forward. One was able to walk away on his own separate path, while the other was destined to hold on to all of the memories.
Even as friends, Dream’s heart broke. He tried moving on; George made it look easy. But it was never right, and his heart was tied to the British man forever.
It’s the type of love you fondly remember sixty years from now, sitting with grandchildren as they ask you who your first love was. And you have to sit with the fact that you never truly moved on, and that you probably never will. At sixty though, it’s a bit hard to start the journey to forgive and forget, so most people end up keeping their grief forever, only for it to eventually bleed into whatever afterlife they fall for. You might come to love other people in your life, but one will still hold a piece of your heart even after the organic organ has failed and begins to rot.
Dream thought Death was the final escape from this madness which plagued him. That once he passed, he’d be given the grace to forget about George, and the brunette would slowly fade from his mind as he spent an eternity performing whatever physical punishment he thought of in Hell.
He does admit, in his living life he really tried to forget and move on. To overshadow the feelings with new ones, to distract himself from the sorrow that would forever be apart of his soul. But in the end, everything always came back to George- a man he could never have.
George didn’t like him back.
Such a bold, blunt statement, that even now brings a cold sadness as he burns in the pits of Hell. But Dream swears there was something present at one point. A spark, maybe. A brief interest in him, his emotions, his thought process, his personality, his body. And then it was gone from the man’s eyes without a verbal confirmation. George moved on like nothing ever happened. Their kiss was nothing but another name on his list. And then the next girl was added beside his, and then the next.
Dream was just another friend George had a weird phase with.
And that phase had changed Dream’s life.
— — —
George had wings.
The beautiful white and blue appendages fluttered softly when he moved to distance himself on the small rock where they sat.
There was nowhere else to go. Harpies circled their area, not allowing them to leave and explore the other parts of Hell. If George tried to fly, his only chance at escape would be shredded by the soaring demons and their black claws. He in turn, had to wait patiently for his time to come.
With the given design of wings, George was promised a chance at Reformation, because why would God leave one of his apologetic, dedicated subjects behind? Hell was more of a waiting room for George than a direct punishment.
He was really only down here because of Dream.
George was being punished because of Dream’s selfishness, reflecting his inability to relinquish one who does not owe him a single thing.
Dream will never be able to reform, so he has to learn to let the person he loves the most, go.
And when the hand of God reached down for his subject from a plethora of white clouds and golden rays, George took the abdication with a simple, uttered, “Goodbye.”
Dream knew he wouldn’t stay. Not for him anyway. It didn’t matter if they stayed friends after the phase, after the blond’s crash out, after all they had done in secrecy in their dark rooms. . .
Dream knew if the roles were reversed he would spend an eternity with George, even if it was in Hell. Even if Reformation was handed to him on a silver platter by the Devil himself. But he knew if the roles were reversed, George would still not love him either way. Dream is beginning to think the Universe played a cruel trick on him, making him meet this man only to drag him away and shoot his heart.
And that was his personal Limbo. This was his punishment. He could not let go of George when alive, even after distancing himself from the Brit’s growing life. George bloomed like a beautiful flower, its pedals dancing in the wind. If Dream came even close just to admire, it would shrivel up and die, killing all other possibilities the flower could have provided for other people. On top of all the other Sins Dream committed, he was sentenced here, and his chosen punishment was fitted accordingly.
Spending an eternity with the man he loved, whom did not reciprocate an ounce of feelings back and created an awkward atmosphere where the two never acknowledged each other while in close proximity, or let him go and spend an eternity with the haunting memory of the beautiful man, the one he could never see again in passing like he used to do when they were still alive.
The ghost of George, as well as the presence of his physical form, will forever haunt Dream.
He really expected hard manual labor, or even torture. Never a mental crisis that would destroy him more than any physical penalty. He honestly would choose a different sentence right now if he could, just to give his mind and his heart a break from the melancholy and depression he felt while sitting on the rock.
Dream would love to spend an eternity with George if the Brit ever loved him back.
But alas, George left him for something better, and Dream accepts the hard truth that he wasn’t ever enough.
And that’s ok. As long as George was happy.
“Were you two even compatible?” His new Demon friend Sapnap asks. The Incubus sits waist deep in the pool of lava as if he were merely relaxing in a bubbling hot tub.
“Yes and no-,” Dream sighs. One of his legs twitch as he clasps his pincers together. “It was like, uh, think of colors. You do know what colors are, right?”
The Demon nods, an emotion Dream can’t quite make out flashes in his red eyes.
“Well, for starters, the man is colorblind, though God probably fixed that for him when he took the Reformation.”
Sapnap hisses at the mention of the name, hiding his face lower into the glowing pool.
“Sorry,” Dream says. He’s still getting used to things down here. “But, think of it like this. I was the color green. The most beautiful shade of emerald green you can picture. I stood out, and so many people loved my green. But him, he, George’s favorite color was blue. That’s the only color he could see correctly. No matter what I did, I could not force him to eventually love a color he can’t see at all.”
“So y'all weren’t compatible then.”
“No! I mean, yes! We were!”
Sapnap gives him a look with a knowingly arched brow.
“Ok fine. Maybe he was compatible to me, but I wasn’t to him. He can’t see the color green anyway. It looks like piss brown to him.”
The incubus laughs, blowing bubbles across the surface of the sluggish lava.
“At least we had the colors in our lives, even if it was just for a little bit,” he eventually says, getting lost in some far away thought that brought his eyes to the horizon of the pool.