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"Right," Technoblade says as he shuts the door, hooves clicking against the floorboards. George glances up from where he's leaned over the table, sorting through rough sketches of the prison and sheets upon sheets of contingency plans. "We're settin' out as soon as you’re ready?"
"Yeah," George shuffles his papers back into a pile and makes his way over to the other player. "Do you have it?" Techno pulls a Power V book- the last enchantment George had needed for his bow- out of his inventory and hands it over wordlessly.
It's been a long few weeks with Technoblade. George isn't sure where he’d mustered up the courage to seek the Syndicate member out- they’d never really spoken before George had shown up on Techno’s doorstep, still sleep-worn but determined. George didn't have much, then, just the armor and tools he’d taken from his dreams, unenchanted. No plan, no leverage. It’s almost funny how much has changed ever since.
Other than Steve snuffling in the corner and the sound of Techno rustling through his chests, it’s quiet as George takes out his bow at the anvil, feeling the enchantment sinking into the wood. It glints in shades of blue; the leather-bound grip is heavy and unfamiliar in his palm. He looks it over thoughtfully.
"Should I name this?" he muses. The rest of his tools aren't named, for the sake of saving levels if nothing else, but the bow is his weapon of choice. It seems fitting, somehow. Techno hums in response, a low noise in the back of his throat.
"I'm probably not the person to be askin'," he says drily. "I mean, my weapons are all named, but the best of 'em is the Orphan Obliterator."
George snorts, despite his dampened mood. Who else is there to ask? There's a long moment of silence as he considers his weapon, before Techno speaks again.
"Morphine," he says abruptly, and when George turns to look at him, he ducks his head back towards the chest he's still looking through. "Used to dull pain," he explains, a little gruffly, "named after a god of dreams."
"I like it," George says simply, and places Morphine onto the anvil to set it in stone.
Neither of them really like their plan- it’s too rough, and there are too many things that could go wrong. Too many holes, unknowns, uncertainties; their contingency plans only involve the two of them fleeing, without Pandora’s sole prisoner. They can’t do much better, though. The prison is a fortress, dark against the open sky, and no one is willing to reveal her secrets. Sam remains tight-lipped, Tommy even more so. And Quackity.
(George isn't stupid. He knows about Quackity.)
But the two of them have got their own tricks. George, pointlessly, checks the clock- just after noon, with plenty of sunlight to go- as he sets his armour aside and clambers gracelessly into Techno's bed. Techno settles into a chair at the table, book in hand.
"You'll wake me up before sunset, right?" George asks, pulling the thick blankets over himself. "You'll wake me?" Techno's piercing gaze is fixed on him even while the player flicks through the yellowed pages of his book.
"Of course," he says solemnly. George nods, eyelids already drooping as he sets his head on the pillow.
"Be right back," he jokes a little nonsensically, and allows himself to be pulled under.
When he opens his eyes, it's in the bed of his mushroom cottage. Watery moonlight is slanted across the floorboards, bathing the room in silver and blue. DreamXD tilts his head from where he's perched next to the bed, four wings shifting in and out of view, haloes and eyes and mouths blurring until they solidify in a mimicry of Dream’s countenance. George’s heart aches.
“George!” he says cheerfully, voices all layered over each other. “You’re back!”
“Hi,” George says, sitting upright. DreamXD scoots closer, right into his space.
“I missed you,” he sighs, taking one of his hands. “You never come around, anymore.”
“I’ve been busy,” George says shortly, although he allows DreamXD to press his face into his palm. “There’s a project, sort of, that I’ve been working on.”
“A project?” DreamXD perks up. “Is that why you haven’t been sleeping?”
“... Yes,” George says. DreamXD leans in.
“I missed you a lot,” he says honestly. “Can I help you with anything? On your project?”
George tips his head and prays that DreamXD can’t hear his heartbeat. “Would you?” Hook.
“Of course,” DreamXD says. “As long as you’ll come here more often.”
“Of course,” George parrots. DreamXD nods, form fracturing briefly in his excitement. Line.
“Anything, then,” he promises. George smiles, slow and sweet.
“There’s only one thing I really need your help with,” he says. “And as soon as this is all over, you won’t be able to get rid of me.”
DreamXD nods again, enthusiastically. Sinker.
George wakes up to Techno shaking his shoulder gently, hovering by the bedside. His brows are furrowed with worry, but they smooth out as George blinks the sleep from his eyes. Golden sunlight streams in through the windows.
“Good, you’re back,” Techno says, straightening from his crouch. George sits up, still disoriented; outside, the sun hasn't yet started to dip behind the trees. “I’ve been tryin’ to wake you up for a good few ticks. How’d it go?”
“Perfectly,” George says, and takes Techno’s offered hand, letting the other help him to his feet. He stretches and retrieves his armour from the chest as Techno puts his book away, worn bookmark tucked between the same two pages that it started in before George fell asleep. The level of concern surprises George, just a little; he’d been asleep for most of the afternoon, and he’d only asked for Techno to wake him, not to keep watch.
Maybe in another world, George thinks wryly as he dons his armor, they might have been friends without all of this. But there’s no time for that now.
Techno has led their horses out of his stables and tethered them to a fencepost just outside of the door by the time George gets everything packed into his enderchest and inventory- two unnamed creatures, saddled and armoured in iron. Carl is still sequestered away, after the events of the Butcher Army; Techno had told him the story when he’d taken George to meet the horse, a couple weeks back. Techno nods at him as George shuts the door and descends the stairs.
“Got everythin’?” he asks. “Potions, weapons, pearls?”
“Yes, yes, and yes,” George replies, and lets Techno help him into the saddle. “Ready?”
Techno mounts his horse with far more grace. “Let’s go,” he says, setting off at a trot towards the Nether portal, George close behind. The obsidian frame is stark against the white snow, set on the edge of a frozen shore; beyond that, the iced-over water spans toward the horizon. The haunting sounds of the portal don't spook their horses, thankfully, and Techno spares a backwards glance at George before disappearing through it.
Emerging in the Nether is always George’s least favourite part of Nether travel. He winces at the wall of heat, and his horse tosses its head in discomfort; Techno is already waiting on the obsidian bridge, though, and George urges them both forward. They’d spent the better part of a week widening the path, enough for the two of their horses; it arches over the lava and netherrack below, black in the orange light. Other spindly paths, cobbled together in patchwork materials, span the open space- George can see where they converge in the distance, at the Nether Hub. He and Techno aren’t heading there, though. Their path curves southward, and then down to a wide, unlit portal frame, nestled almost entirely out of view behind an outcropping of netherrack.
Techno rifles through his inventory and produces a flint and steel, striking a spark on the obsidian. The portal flares to life, and without a backwards glance to the heat-shimmer of the Nether, they urge their horses to step through.
Their portal spawns in the forest on the opposite shore from the back side of Pandora’s Vault- exactly where they had mapped it out. They dismount in tandem, and Techno leashes their horses to a post while George glances around between the trees. They’re alone; not even birdcall breaks the quiet.
“I can feel the fatigue,” Techno notes as they duck out from among the trees, towards the shoreline. The dim light of the portal disappears into the foliage. George glances up at him; he’s holding Toothpick, limp at his side, and he has to use both arms to raise it in example. “Are you not feelin' it?”
George can feel the relief all the way to his bones when he exhales and pulls out his own pick, holding it up with the same ease as always. Techno grins around his tusks, chuckling.
“That god of yours is good for something after all,” he drawls, and adds, jokingly, “all accordin' to my master plan.” George’s smile isn’t quite as wide, but the hope blossoming behind his sternum makes him feel weightless as the grass gives way to sand. Across the water, the prison’s walls loom against the darkening sky; it’s a beautiful evening, waves painted in sunset colours. Techno sets a boat into the water, and beckons for George to take the seat behind him.
They cut across the strait in efficient strokes, curving towards the narrower side; when they round the corner, Techno slows, drawing closer to the wall to keep them out of view. George peers upwards at the pillars, counting them under his breath as they pass until finally, he sets a hand on Techno’s shoulder.
“That one,” he mutters, and Techno rows them over. George keeps his hand on Techno’s shoulder as he balances precariously on the boat’s seat, wobbling dangerously. He sets down a narrow platform of wooden planks for the both of them to step onto.
“You’re sure?” Techno asks, and George pulls out his communicator, glancing at the coordinates. By the time he looks back up, Techno is still fruitlessly trying to break the boat, more amused than frustrated. George’s axe splits it in a single move.
“I’m sure,” George says with a grin, and steps into the corner. “I’m heading up.”
“Give a shout if you need me,” Techno replies, leaning against the blackstone wall. George nods. Ladders in hand, he scales the wall until he hits the top of the alcove, and then sets his pick to the blackstone, carving out a perch in the pillar just big enough for himself.
He double-checks his coordinates again, and gets to mining into the prison's walls. Even without the Elder Guardians' effects, even with Efficiency V sharp on the edge of his pickaxe, it still takes him too long to mine each piece of obsidian. Techno is a silent sentinel on the platform below, and the encroaching night darkens the hole to nearly pitch black. It's the better part of half of an hour before George can hear the crackle-pop of bubbling lava, and he crouches. Four more blocks to go.
He mines through the two blocks in front of himself and takes a breath; as soon as he breaks one of the blocks that makes up the walls of Dream’s cell, the alarm will sound, and they’ll have a few ticks at best before one of the guards discover where he’d breached the wall. He has faith in Techno, even against three, but it’s not a risk either of them want to take. He checks his hotbar one last time, heart pounding, and sets his pick to the obsidian in front of him.
Three things happen when it breaks: a siren goes off, piercing and shrill. Dream whirls around, shock colouring his face. And both Quackity and Sam let out twin cries of outrage from across the flowing lava.
“George?” Dream gasps. Quackity’s platform is still inching forward as Sam scrambles to do something, helpless across the gap. George grits his teeth. The last piece of obsidian separating them seems to take hours to break, even though he knows the mining fatigue can’t touch him.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” Sam roars from the other side, almost drowned out by Quackity’s own shout of “What the fuck?” George pays both of them no mind, eyes locked with Dream’s; Dream has his hands braced on either side of the hole George has made, entire body straining towards freedom. Towards George.
The last block cracks and breaks.
Dream surges forward.
George looks Quackity dead in the eye as he pulls Dream behind him, urging him to the exit, and seals the wall back over just as Quackity reaches the cell. Dream is half-limping down the narrow corridor, and George follows, placing a few more blocks for good measure. He catches up to Dream with ease, splashing potions as he goes- Fire Resistance, Regeneration, Invisibility, Strength- and grabs his arm to loop it over his own shoulders. He shouts down the ladder for Techno when he reaches it, dim starlight washing over them.
“Tech, water!” he orders, and Techno places the water bucket without hesitation, flooding their platform; he’s already got two boats in the river, ready to go. Dream plunges into the water, George close behind him, and George pushes him toward Techno’s boat as Techno pulls out the spare weapons and armour he’d brought. George leaps into the other boat, and then they’re paddling back towards the portal with Pandora's sirens still wailing into the black sky.
“Quackity and Sam were both there,” George says, loud enough for Techno to hear. “I don’t know- I’m not sure how long we have until they’re both out, but the other guards are going to be on their way.”
“This fatigue is seriously tickin’ me off,” Techno mutters unhappily.
Dream, marked only by the floating armour seated behind Techno, finally speaks up. “What the hell,” he rasps. “Since when-”
“Not now,” George snarls as the bottoms of their boats scrape against the shore. Distant torchlight dances from among the trees to their right. “Techno-”
“The guards,” Techno finishes, stepping out of his boat. He already has Rocket Launcher in his offhand, its enchantments shimmering in the dark; George draws his sword, the unnamed one that DreamXD had gifted him, and leaves his boat in the water. Dream’s helmet swivels between the two of them.
“Take off your armour and run for the portal, straight ahead,” George instructs in a whisper, without looking towards him. “Go through, and don’t leave the area. We’ll be right in.”
“George,” Dream starts, and George snaps his gaze over to where Dream’s eyes would be.
“Not now,” he hisses again, and then, “go!” Dream’s armour winks out of sight, and the sound of his footsteps disappear into the foliage; George and Techno glance at each other and brace themselves. Amusingly, Techno’s ears perk up at the rustle of approaching players.
Antfrost is the first that they see, Bad close behind. They’re both armoured up, though they’re clearly struggling with the same fatigue as Techno; Ant has his sword clutched in both hands, and Bad can't seem to lift his own all the way.
“You really don’t want to do this,” Ant threatens George, although the way his eyes dart towards Techno takes the bite from the words. George sweeps his arm out, as if to keep someone behind him.
“I think you’re the ones that don’t want to be doing this,” he says. Techno steps forward, Orphan Obliterator flashing into his hands. Ant’s gaze flickers nervously towards Techno again.
“Dream belongs in the prison, George,” Bad says, almost pleading. “The things he’s done-”
“You tell me, right now, that you haven’t done terrible things, Bad,” George cuts him off icily. “You made your decision, didn’t you?”
Bad reels back, hurt bittering his expression. Ant juts his chin out defensively.
"We can't just let this slide," he says harshly. "We're going to come after him- and you."
"Come on, then," George challenges, and leaps into the battle. Antfrost yelps and catches the first swipe of his sword with his shield, but George is faster; the second swing gets him in the cheek, opening a long, bloody line. There’s the sound of glass shattering, and then Techno darts behind him and takes the hit Bad had aimed at George's side, his Thorns enchantments glowing reproachfully. Even wielding his sword two-handed, the player fights like a beast, forcing Bad backwards a handful of steps before he can regain his footing.
Between George’s advantage in speed and Techno’s brute force, they drive the two guards back down the shoreline and, more importantly, away from the portal. Under their combined attacks, Bad and Ant’s blows become more desperate and sloppy, panicked as their health drops with every landed hit. Their armour is good, but George and Techno’s is better; Techno doesn’t seem bothered at all by the bloody gash in his shoulder, Regen knitting the wound closed in moments. George sees the moment that Ant slips up, stuck between Bad and the two of them, and lunges.
He sweeps Ant’s feet out from under him, sending him crashing to the ground with a shriek; George follows, planting his knee firmly onto Ant’s chest and sinking his blade into the sand next to his face. Techno’s sword streaks over his head and meets Bad’s with a ringing clang.
In the silence afterwards, George almost feels like laughing. Instead, he stares down into Ant’s eyes; the player’s chest heaves, fear lining his face.
“Let this be a warning,” George says, voice almost a growl. “Come after him if you want.”
“George,” Ant rasps, and George slits his throat. Bad shouts, a wordless cry of outrage that Techno cuts short with Orphan Obliterator before Ant’s body has even finished dissipating into fine, dark particles. The prison’s sirens are still shrieking across the water. There is blood soaking George’s clothes, staining the sand, and the guards’ items litter the ground around him, morbid little grave markers. He sticks Ant’s sword back into the sand, an echo of what he’d just done with his own.
“Let’s go,” George says, and Techno offers his hand, hauling him to his feet. They hurry back through the trees towards the portal in silence, Strength and Regen curling off of Techno’s shoulders; their horses are shuffling their hooves nervously, ears twitching at every sound in the underbrush. It only takes them a few ticks to mount their rides and duck back through into the Nether, the siren swallowed by the dizzying whirl of the portal.
“Dream?” George calls as soon as they step back onto netherrack, glancing around. Dream’s borrowed helmet blinks into view, then the rest of his armour, and George dismounts, motioning for Dream to hop onto his horse. "Right. Let's get going-"
"You're not fucking going anywhere," Quackity snarls from the obsidian path. George's head snaps up to where he's storming down the crudely-made steps, armour bright against the dark blocks. "You pieces of shit-"
"Don't try to stop us," George warns, his sword rematerializing in his hand. Quackity scowls, twisting the dark scar cutting down his cheek and splitting his lip.
"He belongs in that jail, after all the shit he put us through. All the shit he put you through-" Quackity makes a frustrated noise. "You can't just waltz in and decide you want him out. That's not how this works."
“I don’t care,” George says hotly. “Quackity, get out of the way.”
“I don’t want to fight you, George,” Quackity says. “I’m putting him back in the prison, no matter what.”
“Move, or I’ll move you,” is all George says in return. Quackity’s expression darkens.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he scowls. George blocks Quackity’s first axe hit with his shield, but instead of striking again, Quackity dodges past him, straight for Dream; Techno slashes with Orphan Obliterator from his saddle, cutting him off.
“We’re gonna do this again, Butcher?” he asks, and Quackity tightens his grip on his axe- George takes his distraction as opportunity and brings his own axe down, catching Quackity in the shoulder.
“Go!” he urges Dream, blocking another hit from Quackity. Both horses race past them, up the stairs and onto the bridge, out of sight; Quackity scrambles to follow, only for George to cut him off with another attack, darting up the stairs to firmly bar the way. Quackity turns on him.
“You were my friend, George,” he says, fury simmering under his words. “But I need Dream. I’ll kill you if I have to.”
“Kill me, then.” George challenges. “You’ll die three times over before I let you near Dream ever again.”
The line of Quackity's mouth thins. "I don't want to fight you," he repeats bitterly, and a splash potion flickers into his hands, shattering onto the netherrack in the next breath. With Swiftness clinging to his ankles, Quackity slips past George easily. George scrambles to follow, but Quackity is already several blocks away; in the distance, George can still see that the two on horseback have stopped.
George only hesitates for a moment before he pulls out Morphine and nocks an arrow. He can hear his own heart thudding in his ears as he aims.
The arrow flies, straight and silent. It hits home, white fletching jutting out from between Quackity’s shoulder blades, blood blooming, dark and slick. Quackity doesn't make a noise as he falls.
Quackity was shot by GeorgeNotFound using Morphine.
George takes a deep breath and starts running down the obsidian path, sidestepping Quackity’s items; he’s never had interest in taking trophies, anyways. The heat presses down on him from all sides, but he barely notices it; as he draws closer, he can make out the shape of a player, blocking the way. Techno is midway through dismounting his horse, Rocket Launcher in his offhand and Orphan Obliterator in the other; Mining Fatigue is no longer shadowing his skin.
Sam has his own weapons raised, and with his netherite armour, he cuts an intimidating figure in the middle of the path, immovable as bedrock. His eyes are cold when he looks over at George, Morphine still clutched in his trembling, bloody hand. “I’m sure you understand that there will be consequences for your actions,” he says quietly, “just like Dream is going back to the prison, to serve out his sentence.” George’s jaw clenches. “If you wanted to be with him so badly, I can assure you that you’ve done quite enough to earn your place in the Vau-”
Techno tackles him off of the path, cutting his speech off with a strangled, undignified yell. George lets out a startled scream of his own as he lurches to the edge of the bridge, rushing to look over it; Sam and Techno have landed on the netherrack below, Sam on his back in a groaning heap, Techno wincing as he clambers to his hooves. He glances up at George.
“Get out of here!” he urges, and George nods, scrambling onto Techno’s horse as the sound of metal against metal rings out from below. He spares a glance at Dream as he kicks the horse’s sides, spurring it forward; together, they gallop down the path. George keeps his communicator in hand, halfway expecting for a new death message to appear at any moment- either Techno’s or Sam’s- but as they ride onwards, it remains blank save for the guards’ and Quackity’s.
They reach the portal with no other incidents. The emotion that floods him when he catches sight of the dim light might even be relief. George reins his horse in, slowing as they approach, and glances at Dream; even if he weren't invisible, George thinks, his expression would be unreadable.
“Almost there,” he murmurs, empty reassurance. Exhaustion is seeping into his bones, weighing him down; he takes a deep breath and sits up straighter in his saddle. “I’ll go through first. Wait a few ticks, and then follow me.”
He steps into the portal before Dream can reply; glancing around, he sees nothing but snow stretching on until it meets the night sky. It’s cold and peaceful and still, almost frighteningly so. Moments later, the whirl of the portal marks Dream’s exit, snow muffling the sound of his horse’s hooves. Other than the sound of their steps, they’re quiet as George leads the way back to the cabins.
They see the beacon-light cutting through the clouds first, and then smoke, spiraling into the sky; for a moment, George thinks, I’m back. Not home, but somewhere to return to. The feeling lingers, bittersweet, as he directs them to the fenceposts in front of Techno’s cabin, George fumbling through his inventory briefly before he finds his leads and the bucket of milk he’d almost forgotten.
“Here,” he says shortly, passing the bucket to Dream, busying himself with leashing his horse to a post as the other player drinks. The invisibility fades slowly and leaves Dream, pale and battered, swaying slightly as he dismounts; under the armour plates, his clothes are dirty with blood, and his skin is laced with scars. George ties the second horse to another post and takes the stairs two at a time, propping the cabin door open and peering inside. Baba raises his head from where he’s resting with Steve in the corner, giving George a disinterested grunt; the campfire flickers, sending shadows dancing on the walls. Quiet. Empty. Safe. George turns and gestures for Dream to enter.
Dream lets himself be herded into a chair, more or less collapsing into it as George hunts through the chests. In the firelight, he looks even more drawn; he’s thinner, too, and there are a myriad of new scars decorating his tired face. He doesn’t have his mask, George realizes suddenly, and his eyes are piercing as he watches George pull out potions and bandages.
“You need to take off your prison jumpsuit,” George says, mostly to the chests. “I’ll find you something to wear, just give me a tick.” Without waiting for a response, he heads down the ladder to the lower floor; above, he can hear the gentle clanking of metal as Dream removes his armour. It takes George a bit of searching, but he eventually digs up a pair of pants and a shirt of Techno’s that could fit Dream, as well as a length of cloth and a water bucket.
When he climbs back up the ladder, Dream has only managed to unzip the jumpsuit partially; his arms are angled awkwardly as he tugs at the zipper on the back, though it refuses to budge. He’s frowning as George strides over to him, a little wrinkle in his brow. It’s been a long time since George has seen him making such expressions.
“Let me,” George says, and even to himself, he sounds tired. The zipper is well and truly snagged in the fabric- no amount of tugging makes it budge up or down. Resigned, George releases Dream’s collar after a few moments of fruitless pulling. “I think I’ll have to cut it open.”
Dream doesn’t say anything, just continues watching him as he goes back to searching- Techno has a serrated blade that would be perfect, and George finds it carelessly left beside one of the brewing stands. The heavy silence presses down on him as he carefully saws down the length of the zipper; Dream’s back bears scars both old and new. George’s hand hovers over the planes of his shoulder blades, the notches of his spine, before he remembers himself and drops it. An arrow here killed Quackity. An arrow here could kill Dream, forever.
The next hour is spent cleaning Dream’s wounds and bandaging them; Dream sips a Health potion slowly as George works, carefully wiping old blood and grime away, winding bandages around his torso. The scars he knows are crossed over with new wounds, some already mostly healed; with every one that George doesn’t recognize, the urge to ask grows stronger. He bites his tongue, though, and averts his eyes as Dream pulls his borrowed shirt on.
As George starts treating his arms and hands, a sort of pathetic relief settles in his mind; the strong bones of his fingers, his calloused palms- his hands, at least, George knows. Dream’s knuckles are bruised and red, the split skin still healing; George knows how this happened, too, but still he says nothing, just bows his head and scrubs dried blood away gently.
The stifling silence is shattered abruptly by the sound of footsteps on the porch, steady and purposeful. George freezes, heart stopping and then pounding twice as hard, before drawing his sword and putting himself firmly between Dream and the door in an ungraceful scramble. The footsteps pause, and the doorknob squeaks quietly as it turns; George takes a deep breath, and prepares himself to fight once again as the door swings open.
Technoblade blinks down at him.
Then he looks at Dream, tense at the table, poised to flee. “Hate to barge in on a party,” he says drily as the adrenaline leaves George in a rush. “Prime’s sake, you’re tense.”
George drags a hand down his face. “You scared a life right out of me,” he sighs, dropping his sword back into his inventory. Dream sinks down in the chair heavily as Techno closes the door behind him, shaking the snow from his cloak and hanging it up. “Is Sam..?”
“Nope," Techno answers his unspoken question crisply. "Turned tail and ran after I got a buncha good hits in on him,” he grumbles. “It’s the smart thing to do, I guess, but really…”
“We didn’t need any more deaths today, anyway,” George tells him, and Techno rolls his eyes as he makes his way to his chests.
“That’s a whole extra life you’ll have to deal with when he comes huntin’ you down, but you do you,” he says. “Dream, you’ve looked better, I’ve gotta say.”
Dream clears his throat. “I’ve looked worse too,” he says, voice rough. Techno gives George a look of exasperation.
“You’ve been out of prison for like, two hours,” he says. “I don’t know where you’re gettin’ the energy for quippy comebacks. George, you don’t look too great either. Dead tired, actually.”
“I am dead tired, thanks,” George replies as he finishes tying off the last of the bandages on Dream’s arm. Techno props open his enderchest, tossing George a golden apple a tick later.
“Eat,” he says, “you need it.” Dream’s head has been turning between the two of them throughout the entire conversation, and as George crunches through the thin gold coating of the fruit, he leans back in his chair.
“So,” Dream says, almost accusingly, “how’d this whole team up happen?” He’s not looking at George- instead, his stare is leveled towards Techno, propped up against the wall with a hand buried in Steve’s fur.
Techno just looks back at him flatly. “Well,” he says, “George wanted to break you out. And seein’ as I still owed you a favour, I thought I might as well help him out and call it even.”
“George can’t call my favours in for me,” Dream says immediately, hackles rising. Techno doesn’t break his stare.
“You weren’t gonna be doing much callin’ in the prison,” he points out. Dream snorts, though there’s no undertone of humour, just hostility.
“I’m not counting a favour called in by someone else,” he starts, and George cuts him off, setting the apple core on the table.
“Fine,” he says, and Dream looks back towards him. George nods at Techno. “It’ll be a favour to me, then. I owe you one.” Techno, at least, knows what a favour from George could mean- DreamXD, after all, has marked his favourite player clearly. If the way that Dream’s mouth tips into a frown is any indication, he has an inkling, as well.
Techno looks between the two of them, then raises his hands. “I’m not gettin’ in the middle of this,” he decides. “It works for me either way. Keep ransackin’ my chests if you want, I’ll be upstairs if ya need me.” He crosses back over the room, climbing up the ladder; the trapdoor at the top snaps shut, and moments later, the muffled sound of a bell ringing begins.
Dream is already looking at George when George turns to him. George immediately averts his gaze and starts cleaning up, collecting the dirty washcloths and discarded bottles from the tabletop. It’s a long moment before Dream speaks.
“I didn’t think you and Technoblade would get so friendly,” he says, his tone indecipherable. A little insulted, George frowns at him.
“Spending weeks with someone will do that to you,” he says shortly, and motions for Dream to stand. “There’s a room downstairs that you can sleep in, come on.”
Dream descends first, past Techno’s storage room and down into the room that George has been staying in. There’s a bed in the corner, blankets tangled, and a couple of chests that George knows for a fact he hasn’t organized- he doesn't have the energy to feel embarrassed about the state of his room, though. Dream lingers by the ladder as George straightens out the sheets, and it takes him a tick to realize that he's looking over the papers that George had kept: sketches and notes, plans he'd reworked over and over and then scrapped, the pages devolving into a journal of some sort.
"Why did you do it?" Dream asks abruptly.
George pauses. "Why did I- what?"
"Why'd you break me out?" Dream raises his head, and in the torchlight he looks remarkably vulnerable. "I thought you hated me."
"I thought you hated me," George returns, and then the words rush out of him before he can dam them back up. "I thought you hated me. I would have come for you even if I hated you."
Embarrassingly, his voice breaks, and he bites back his tears. "Isn't that funny? I thought you hated me. I really did." Frustration, despair- George can't tell what he's feeling as he turns, straightening out the pillows with more force than they deserve. He doesn't know what to say when he takes another shaky breath, ready to continue, but before he can, a pair of arms wrap around him.
"I never hated you," Dream murmurs into his shoulder. His hair tickles George's cheek. "I'm sorry. Thank you."
The dam breaks. Silently, hot tears run down George's face, dripping onto the stone floor; Dream's arms tighten around him, and his voice is shaky when he speaks again.
"I missed you," he murmurs. "I missed you."
I missed you too, George wants to say. I missed you so much. "I would have come for you even if I hated you." he repeats instead, like a promise.
Dream inhales, his breath rattling both of them. Reluctantly, George wipes the tears from his eyes and disentangles them, stepping back; Dream's hands trail off of his shoulders and waver in the air before they fall to his sides. When George meets Dream's eyes, someone familiar looks back at him.
Tomorrow, Sam and the guards will come for his head. Quackity will be close behind. George owes Techno a favour and then some, because they won't certainly won't be leaving him alone, not after this; his promise to DreamXD, too, weighs him down. They'll have to run, and Sapnap may never forgive him for his cowardice. Not in this life, not in the next.
But that's all for tomorrow to deal with. Right now, in the small, warm safety of his room, as George tucks Dream carefully into his bed, as he takes a hand that he knows better than his own and holds it to his cheek, as Dream's breaths even out into sleep, George closes his eyes and thinks, I'm home.