Fall Apart (Dream Team)

Chapter 36: Moving Forwards

CWs: a mention of those grief pamphlets and america's healthcare system

Whiplash would be one way to describe it. Shock was another.

Dream's arm had gone numb long ago from keeping himself pressed against George, despite the bar of the hospital bed.  It wasn't like he cared— it was worth it to rest his hand on George's arm as they sat in silence.

George hadn't said much since the doctor left— he stared at the wall, a spaced-out look in his eyes, not responding.  A couple of nurses had come in periodically to take a blood sample and encourage him to drink gatorade, but the two were otherwise left in silence. 

Dream wasn't up to talk much either; he was still trying to process what had happened.  Process wasn't the right word— he wasn't even able to begin to process what had happened.   He couldn't even figure out the reason George had let him stay, let alone what it meant or what was even wrong with him.  More so, he couldn't even begin to fathom what George's childhood had been like.  He hadn't missed the skeptical looks the doctor gave when George discussed getting sick all the time, and he didn't believe anyone who ignored the clear pain George was in truly cared about his wellbeing. 

He knew George had downplayed what he went through, it was in his nature to do so.  He didn't mentioned the screams that haunted the back of Dream's mind, and Dream was sure he didn't mention the countless instances of the exact same thing happening.  Alex had indicated understanding of the screams, and Dream couldn't help but fear George had been sick well before he left the UK.

Dream sighed. He had no idea what to do.

"George and Clay?" The voice of doctor Lewis called. Dream tore his eyes away from the nothingness of the wall, looking back to the familiar, masked face of the doctor. "Is it okay if I talk to each of you individually?"

Dream nodded, placing the stuffed cat gently on George's lap. He'd been running a hand along it back and forth for what must have been an hour. It was comforting, and he needed something to do with his hands, even if that cat was George's.

"Thank you, Clay, come into the hallway with me?"

He nodded again, moving his arm and standing up, leaving a lingering hand on George's arm before following the doctor out of the room.

He watched as doctor Lewis closed the door, leading him into a larger, carpeted room at the end of the white hallway and closing the door. Dream's heart dropped to the floor as he noticed the tissue boxes, alongside what appeared to be grief pamphlet on a table.

He thought George was okay. He didn't think it was fatal.

A lump clawed his way to his throat, restricting his breathing.

He couldn't loose George.

"Don't mind any of the pamphlets, this is just the room we bring families to. The purpose of this room is confidentiality and a place to be out of the way. Please, sit down," Doctor Lewis offered, as if he could read Dream's thoughts.

He nodded, swallowing hard as the pit in his stomach began to close up. Pressing his hand to the bridge of his nose, Dream sat down, and looked to the doctor.

"So, how are you handling this? It's obviously a lot, and it's okay to be overwhelmed in these situations, even if you're not the one that's sick."

With those words, Dream felt like crying again.

He bit his lip to stop it from shaking under his mask and rubbed his hand across his eyes. He wasn't okay, he wasn't handling it, he was beyond overwhelmed. He wanted Nick, Sapnap, Pandas— he wanted his lifelong friend be with him. He wanted to sob in his arms as he assured him things would be okay. He wanted Bad. He wanted him to tell him things would be okay, he wanted him to tell him there was some form of plan that ended in George living happily, even if he didn't believe it. He wanted Bad to instruct him to breath normally, to measure his breathing. He wanted a hug from the person he'd known for so long, that he'd looked up to for so long. He wanted George to tell him he was ridiculous for worrying so much, that of course things would be okay. He wanted George to hug him, to hold him in his soft, warm arms, just like the first night they'd met.