Chapter Text
This is the third night in a row that George has had a dream about Mars.
They aren’t necessarily bad dreams- although, objectively, every dream about Mars is a bad dream. One wouldn’t necessarily consider recounting the worst months of their life a “good dream,” or even a neutral one. They aren’t nightmares; he isn’t reliving the time the airlock blew, or when Pathfinder was overloaded and he lost contact with Earth, or when the Iris launch failed and he thought for certain he was going to die. No, these dreams have been a lot tamer, and they’ve all been the same.
He wakes up. He goes about his daily routine, from the time period when he had a daily routine, eating potatoes and drilling holes in the rover and sitting in front of a camera, talking about his friends. He goes to the bathroom and looks at himself in the mirror, and when his reflection stares back at him, he doesn’t recognize the man he sees.
His face is gaunt, and he looks malnourished. He’s got a fine layer of stubble and his eyes are bloodshot from not enough sleep, even though there isn’t much else to do other than sleep. The worst part is the look on his face, like everything is hopeless, like he’s given up. And he knows- even when he’s asleep, he knows that it’s just what he looked like for so long. There was a reason he avoided looking at himself in the mirror. But he can’t help it in his dreams, and that’s when his reflection starts to speak.
The first night, the reflection had barely opened his mouth when George awoke with a start. The second, he had begun to form words. On the third night, those words echo throughout the dream-Hab and through George’s head, loud and clear.
“You thought you left?” he says to himself. “You can never escape.”
“I did escape,” the real George protests. “I’m safe, I’m on Earth.”
“You can never leave!” his reflection cackles. “Nothing you can do about it, Doctor. You’re stuck here just like the rest of us.”
“The rest of who?” he demands desperately, because he thinks if his reflection stops talking something bad will happen, something terrible will happen-
“The bones, the dust, the shadows,” his reflection hums. “One day you’ll join them. One day you’ll be buried here too. You should leave now, before you realize you can’t.”
George wakes up with a start. Next to him, Dream shifts, one arm falling onto George’s lap. His boyfriend buries his face in the pillow and groans, and George runs a hand through his hair, trying to calm his racing heart. He’s breathing too heavily, and his lungs are starting to thrum with a now-familiar ache.
“Hey,” Dream mumbles, rolling over so he can look up at George. “You okay?” Even through the darkness, George can see that his eyes are filled with concern. It’s the third night in a row that George has woken up like this; the third night in a row that he’s dreamed of red planets and loneliness and a sky without stars.
“Yeah,” he says, swallowing dryly. “I’m fine.”
He’s not fine. The shuttle Argeiphontes left six days ago, slated for a three-month repair mission on the Hermes. It’s being led by Captain Puffy, Major Sapnap, and Commander Technoblade. The rest of the crew and their families are feeling the loss. Karl has been basically living in George and Dream’s house, sleeping in their guest room because his own bed “feels too large.” Niki stops by most days, bringing her slew of children with her when they’re not working. They’re not real children, of course- Tommy and Ranboo both have master’s degrees, Tubbo has a PhD, they all work for NASA- but compared to the rest of the crew and to how old George feels most days, they’re practically babies. They keep the house from being quiet, certainly, but sometimes George misses the peace of doing nothing.
Because they’re not doing nothing anymore. Niki has been in a solid job for nearly a month now, studying the long-term effects of radiation exposure on the human body (of which George is the primary subject). Dream has been going to meetings involving Phil and Quackity and other people whose names George doesn’t recognize, and he refuses to tell George what they’re about. And George himself is supposed to start teaching a new program to prospective astronaut trainees about survival and improvisation in dire circumstances, but he’s been told he’s not allowed to do that until he gets his lungs sorted out.
Because that’s another major issue- his damn lungs. It’s been a little more than a month since they figured out the scarring on his lung tissues was growing, and they’ve tested him every week and come back with the same results: it’s getting worse. And while George really, really doesn’t want a lung transplant, it’s looking like that’s what it’s coming to. He hasn’t told Dream, yet- his boyfriend isn’t the only one keeping secrets- just says that he’s doing fine whenever Dream asks. It’s not healthy, and he knows it, but saying the words out loud makes it seem like too much of an inevitability. Alyssa, his psychologist, doesn’t make him say it out loud. She gets the notes from Skeppy by George’s permission, anyway.
So, sure. He’s not exactly fine. He hasn’t been fine for a long time. There are good days and bad days, but most days his lungs just hurt and he misses his friends and even with Dream sleeping next to him, his heart longs for something different; a time when he hadn’t been trapped alone on Mars for eighteen months and faced death every single day.
Or maybe that’s what his heart does long for. Maybe he wants to go back to that time, when he was alone, playing by his rules, living off the rush of adrenaline. He tried bringing that up to Alyssa at his last session, but he couldn’t make the words come out of his mouth.
“Okay,” Dream says, opening his arms. George shifts down, lets himself fall against Dream’s warm body, matches their breathing together. The pain in his lungs doesn’t fade. He didn’t expect it to.
He sleeps restlessly for the remainder of the night, drifting in and out of consciousness, his dream self’s words playing through his mind on a loop. You should leave now, before you realize you can’t.
He turns over in Dream’s grip. Dream tightens his hold. It’s supposed to be comforting, but it just makes his lungs hurt more.
Puffy drifts aimlessly down the halls of the Hermes. It hasn’t even been a week, and being back on her feels… natural. Like this is the place Puffy is meant to be. The ship has been orbiting Earth for a while now, completely empty, and she’s clearly not used to having a full crew aboard once again. There’s no real Commander for the mission, although she supposes she and Sapnap deflect to Technoblade by default, and the rest of the crew follows them.
The other three- the new three- are all good people, good workers. Hannah and Foolish both helped JPL come up with solutions for repairs while the ship was still in transit, and Puffy knows she and George both approved of their work. The last crew member is Connor, who helped work on Hermes while she was still on the ground. However, it’s the first time actually in space for all three of them, which is made clear by the fact that they avoid EVA suits with a passion. All the external repairs have been done by the three veterans.
She still can’t believe that the higher-ups at NASA (namely, Phil and Wilbur) let them come back up to space after the whole mutiny thing. She figured she’d never get to see Earth from a distance again, and yet here she is. Leading repairs, operating systems on a ship that she knows so well, being given the chance to do another mission, if she really wants to. She’s been thinking a lot about Ares 5, and most of her thoughts are positive.
“What do you think, then?” she had said to Sapnap earlier, while they were discussing it. They were down in Airlock 2, running systems checks and making sure everything was going smoothly. “You want to do another round to Mars? Be the first to go there three times?”
“Nah,” Sapnap had laughed. “Karl’s mad enough about this trip. I think he’d divorce me if I spent another two and a half years in space.”
“He wouldn’t,” Technoblade had said from the doorway, stopping by to check on their progress. “He loves you too much, or something like that.”
“Thanks, Techno,” Sapnap had snorted. “What about you? You going to space again?”
“Maybe,” Techno had responded. “If they’ll let me.”
It was a stark reminder- to Puffy, at least- that this was all because NASA didn’t want to ruin their own image. That covering up the mutiny was a strategic move for them to save face, not to protect the Ares III crew. But whether they were looking out for the astronauts or not, she’s going to take advantage of it.
“Maybe they’ll give me the Commander position,” Puffy had joked. Techno just raised an eyebrow.
“I recommended you for it, actually,” he said, and with that, he walked off. Sapnap held his hand out for a fist-bump.
Things on Hermes have been going relatively well- other than Airlock 1, there are a few other major problems, replacement pieces that need to be set in place that were sent up on Argeiphontes with them. It shouldn’t take them more than the set three months, but even that’s risky. The crew’s grown dependent on each other, and although they’re close enough to Earth that they can talk to their loved ones with relatively little delay, they’re only allowed to do that once a week. Puffy misses Niki and George and Dream more than words can say.
But they’ll be alright, she supposes. They’ve made it this far. They can make it a little farther.
Karl taps his foot impatiently as he waits outside for the NASA employee to let him into the room that will allow him to talk to his husband. He’s done this so many times before, come here to record video messages or just talk to Sapnap. He has to count on two hands to get to the number of times Sapnap has been to space; Karl knows the drill. The first trip he was there as a best friend, the second as a boyfriend, and now he’s back as a husband.
“You can go ahead, Dr. Jacobs,” the employee says. He nods respectfully to her and makes his way inside, situates himself carefully, and waits for the screen to fill with his husband’s face. The second he does, he crosses his arms and huffs, looking off to the side.
“Hey, baby,” Sapnap’s voice says teasingly. “Why so dramatic?”
“I hate it,” Karl says, turning back to the camera pointedly. “I miss you. I hate it without you. When are you coming home. Blah blah blah, sappy married couple stuff, how are you?”
Sapnap laughs, then pushes himself back a bit. He’s floating, and Karl laughs.
“I had them turn off the centripetal gravity just so I could do this,” he says, and he turns himself so he’s completely upside down. “I’m good. How are you?”
“I’ve been sleeping in Dream and George’s guest room,” Karl says flatly, because it’s the truth. “The house feels too empty without you. And I ran into Wilbur today and he said you were being considered for the Ares 5 mission-”
“I’m not,” Sapnap interrupts immediately. “I’d miss you too much. And I told Puffy I think you’d divorce me if I did that.”
“I wouldn’t, I love you too much,” Karl snorts. “But I’d be pissed as hell. I’d move in with Dream and George and start a polyamorous relationship with them that you would have to wiggle into when you got back.”
“Oh, really,” Sapnap laughs, spinning himself so he’s the right way up. “How would you do that?”
“I don’t know, they’re so wrapped around each other it’s impossible to distract them,” Karl snorts, and Sapnap laughs again. “Seriously, you should see it. Niki and I went to dinner with them and they didn’t pay attention to us the entire time.”
“How are they, then?” Sapnap asks. “The rest of the crew?”
“Niki’s doing okay, I think,” Karl says. “But that’s because she’s not codependent, she’s healthier than the rest of you. George and Dream are George and Dream, you know how they are. Dream’s been going to meetings, apparently, and he won’t tell George what they’re about.”
“Of course he won’t,” Sapnap snorts. “He doesn’t want George to worry, George has enough problems. How are his lungs doing?”
“He’s getting checked right now, I drove him here,” Karl responds. “Worse, I think. He said they started hurting last night and hadn’t stopped.”
“Damn,” Sapnap grimaces.
“Fucking- Albina,” Karl says, before Sapnap can say anything else.
“What?” Sapnap says.
“George and Dream are expanding their mythology knowledge, I just thought of it,” Karl says. “Albina. George was talking about her on the car ride over. Etruscan goddess of the dawn and- get this- protector of ill-fated lovers.”
“So not us, then,” Sapnap says firmly. “We’re destined for greatness, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Karl says, soft smile mimicking Sapnap’s clear through the camera.
“Send my love to everyone, yeah? And Puffy’s and Techno’s, too.”
“I will,” Karl agrees. “Are we out of time already?”
“I’ve got work to do, baby,” Sapnap nods, and Karl pouts. “I’ll see you soon. I’ll make you all your favorite foods when I get back. Take you to all your favorite restaurants.”
“You better,” Karl teases. “You better pamper me to Hell and back after everything you’ve put me through.” He’s not serious and they both know it, but it still feels good to be able to talk to Sapnap without a delay. It feels good to talk to him at all. He had him back for barely seven months, and now he’s gone again.
They say their goodbyes and Karl heads over to the hospital section of the building, ready to pick up George. As he walks, his phone starts ringing- he pulls it out to find he’s got a call from George himself.
“Hey,” he says after he picks up. He gets a few looks as he strides through the halls, holding the phone up to his ear, but he ignores them. “What’s going on?”
“When are you getting down here?” George asks. He sounds out of breath.
“I’m on my way right now, why?”
“I’ll tell you when you get here,” George says, and then he hangs up. Karl gives his phone a look, like it can translate that to George, and continues on his way. He goes to George’s usual room to find him hooked up to the oxygen machine and staring at the wall.
“What’s up?” he asks, sliding into the chair next to George’s bed.
“They got the results for this week back,” George says flatly, not looking over at him.
“And?” Karl’s expecting the worst, honestly, and the worst he receives.
“They’re getting worse. They want to do the transplant- they’ve already found a match. It’s- they want to do it tonight, Karl.”
“Oh,” Karl says, eyes wide, and George finally turns and looks at him. His eyes are red, and he looks terrified out of his mind.
“Can you call Dream?” he asks.
“I- are you sure they want to do it?” Karl asks. He knows the risks of a lung transplant, they all do, of course they do. Fifty percent of people make it five years. Less make it ten.
“Skeppy says I’ve got about a year before the scarring gets to be too much for my lungs to handle,” George says, and he sounds completely miserable. “He’s right, the transplant is the best course of action, but- I don’t. I can’t say it. Not to Dream.”
“Right,” Karl says. Because there’s a lot of risks, the main ones being death, or rejection and then death, or not making it more than a year or two. If he were in George’s position, he wouldn’t want to say it to Sapnap. He dials Dream’s number, and George turns his gaze back to the wall.
“Hey,” Dream says after a good few moments. “Is everything okay? How’s Sapnap?”
“Sapnap’s good,” Karl says. “Uh. It’s about George. They’re doing the lung transplant.”
“What?” Dream says, sounding completely shocked.
Karl takes a deep breath. “They’re doing it tonight.”
Bad slams the door of Phil’s office open. It’s been a very, very long day, and it’s nowhere near over yet. Wilbur is nursing what looks like a fresh cup of coffee, sitting on top of the desk. Phil is typing frantically on his computer, and Fundy is on the phone near the window. Phil and Fundy don’t look up as he very loudly enters the room; Wilbur gives him a half-smile that looks painful and forced.
“No, I’m telling you- there should be more time - what do you mean, you’ve already given more time- asshole!” Fundy turns back to them with a shout, making slightly crazed eye contact with Bad, then Wilbur. Phil continues not looking up. “He hung up on me! I’m the fucking Director of Media Relations and while discussing a fucking media shitstorm the asshole hung up on me!”
“I’ve got really bad news,” Bad says when Fundy has taken a few deep breaths.
“So do we,” Wilbur says. “What’s yours?”
“Another potential media nightmare,” Bad says with a grimace. “You’re not going to like this.”
“After the day I’ve had, believe me, I’m not going to like anything,” Fundy says, slamming his phone down on Phil’s desk and sitting next to Wilbur. Phil continues typing. “Try me.”
“They’re taking George into surgery.”
Phil looks up. “They’re what ?” he demands.
“Taking George into surgery,” Bad repeats. “Right now. For a lung transplant.”
“Back up, like, five steps,” Wilbur says, shaking his head. “What happened?”
“I don’t know, I heard it from Skeppy while he was rushing back to the hospital,” Bad tells them. “He came in for tests this morning, and the results came back terrible, apparently. They determined that a lung transplant was the best hope for the longest survival.”
“Oh, you’re kidding,” Fundy groans. “And no one thought to tell me about this? When was this decided?”
“It’s fine,” Wilbur says soothingly. “It’ll be fine.”
“It will not be fine!” Fundy says. “Bad- they’re releasing the video logs to the public. Every single video log that was taken while George was on active duty is being released. That means every log from Mars, every log from Hermes, they’re all being released to the public.”
“You’re kidding,” Bad says. “Isn’t that supposed to be kept private?”
“Apparently not,” Fundy cries. “We’ve never had to release private astronaut logs before, but now- the fucking MIC wants all of them publicized to be evaluated! We’ve been arguing with them all day-”
“They won’t even let us release them just to their department,” Phil says. “And they won’t let us consult George, either. He’s going to- fuck, he’s going to get out of surgery and the entire world is going to know his whole story.”
“I’m calling Dream,” Bad says, shaking his head. “Dream and Niki, they need to know- the rest of the Ares III crew does, too, someone get in contact with Commander Technoblade-”
“Already done, just hit send,” Phil says, turning back to his computer briefly.
“Don’t call Dream, he’ll be a mess right now,” Wilbur says tersely. “Just- let Niki know, and make sure they find out as soon as the doctors are certain George is going to recover.”
“This is the worst,” Fundy hisses. “This is the fucking worst - I’m going to go talk to the damn reporters. Hold an emergency conference. Phil?”
“Yeah, I’m coming.” Phil stands up and brushes himself down, then strides out of the office with Fundy, who holds his phone up to his ear again.
“This is a nightmare,” Bad says to Wilbur.
“Yeah,” Wilbur laughs humorlessly. “It really is.”
“Well, things can only go up from here,” Bad mutters, and he regrets the words the second they come out of his mouth.