The Railroad

Chapter 7

It was, in fact, a zombie. A zombie that had been shot in the shoulder by Dream, who had lost the glazed over look in his eye and was now on high alert, gun locked and loaded. It was trained on the zombie that still wouldn't fall. George had never seen one this far gone in the flesh, and it was horrifying. The skin was practically melting off the zombie, its posture was horrible and it was limping slightly, and the eyes were pure red.

On top of it all, the smell was rancid, like something that was incredibly expired. It smelled rotten. The brunet was ninety nine percent sure he would be able to smell it from a mile away, it burned his nostril hairs that badly.

Another shot cut George's thoughts short, and the zombie fell to the ground, a fresh hole through its forehead. George felt the bile rise in his throat, not so much from the sight but from that smell. Before he knew it, he was leaning to the side and throwing up any of the remaining food he had in him.

Dream rubbed his back comfortingly, still sitting in silence. George didn't blame him, he was sure that killing anything was hard, even if it was just a zombie. The brunet wasn't sure if he could do it, not even if his life depended on it.

Once he was done and it was all out, he sat back up, wiping off his mouth and scowling at the sour taste leftover. Dream was staring at nothing, eyes unfocused and gazing out into the starless sky. His lips were pressed into a straight line, and his face betrayed no emotions. George hesitantly placed a hand on his shoulder, and he turned slightly so George could see his left eye.

"Are you okay?" the brunet whispered, anxious for some reason.

"Define okay," Dream chuckled in response, but there was no humor behind it.

"Do you... um... wanna talk about it? Sorry, I'm not the best at the whole 'being there for your friends' ordeal."

"It's just drama from my past that always seems to catch up with me when I hold a gun. I appreciate the concern, George, but I assure you, I'm okay. And I swear not to freeze up like that again, I know that was probably scary for you and I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry, Dream. You can be sorry to whoever else you want, but never me. I never would have, or could have done what you just did. You saved my life, and I don't imagine it will be the only time on this trip. It's a debt I can never repay; so please, don't be sorry."

"You're a liar," Dream deadpanned, George cocked an eyebrow at him. "You're amazing at the whole 'being there for your friends' ordeal."

George laughed lightly, and Dream did the same. They both stared into each other's eyes, or eye, for a moment, nothing interrupting the peaceful atmosphere. The moment seemed to last forever, and George didn't want it to end. The brunet could've sworn he saw Dream's eye flicker down to his lips for a split second, before he spoke again.

"You should get some more sleep, you still look exhausted."

"I will if you do," the brunet said. Dream gave him a look, but he sat, stubbornly.

"Fine," the blond groaned. "But only for a minute."

They both lay down, now next to each other on the damp dirt and scarce grass. Dream turned to look at him again, and George looked back. He could feel the tickle of Dream's breath hit his skin, and he shivered slightly.

"Are you cold?" the blond whispered. Before George could even get in a response, Dream had taken off his brown jacket and thrown it over George. Now without the hood, the thick head of blond curls was visible, shimmering in the moonlight in a similar way as his eyes. "Better?"

George nodded, and Dream laid back down, now on his side and facing George, using his arm as a support for his head. The brunet didn't care that his coyote was still watching him, he closed his heavy lids as he was suddenly overcome with another wave of exhaustion. As far as he was aware, Dream didn't move.

Just before he fell asleep for a second time, he heard a slight murmur, felt a light gust of air that was fainter than wind on a calm day. With it, three words were distinguishable: "Sleep well, princess."

~~~

A throbbing pain in his head woke him the next morning. It was still early, the sun peeking above the skyline and giving birth to a new day. Dew wet the surrounding grass and the sound of insects and birds were audible once more, already going about their days without a care in the world. Dark clouds were visible in the Northwest, slowly making their way to the pair of boys just trying to survive.

Great, the brunet thought grumpily, lying back down. Dream, it seemed, had finally managed to get some sleep. He was still facing George, his right arm acting as his pillow and nothing but the clothes on his back to keep him warm. He still wore the mask, and his mouth was parted slightly so he could breathe easier. Soft breaths and the slight rise and fall of his chest were the only indicators that he wasn't dead, because otherwise he was still and inert.

George grinned lightly as he remembered last night. It faded, though, as he got to the zombie that was dead only a few yards to his right. He sighed, not wanting to do what he was about to do but knowing he'd do it anyway.

He got up from his spot on the ground, draping Dream's jacket over the blond, and walked carefully over to where the zombie was, more motionless than Dream. He knelt down next to it, extending his hand hesitantly until it touched the slimy texture of the zombie's arm. The brunet retracted it by reflex, but forced himself to reach out once more and touch the nasty substance on the arm. Once there was a decent amount of the goo between his fingers, he grabbed an empty vial in his bag that he brought specifically for such a case as this. He scraped the sticky, awful smelling slime into the container and sealed it, slipping it into his pocket.

"Wonderful," the brunet sighed, staring down at his now dirty hand.

He glanced at Dream, who was still sleeping in the exact position in which George had left him. There would be no harm in going to find the creek they passed on their way here, right?

There'd better not be, because George had already tiptoed off.

~Word count: 1,125~

A/N: to be honest i don't know what this chapter was, probably introducing certain things that may be relevant later and giving birth to the idea of them possibly entertaining their feelings for one another.

i'm doing great currently. me and one of my very good friends were fighting and i almost pushed them away, causing irreparable damage, but yesterday we made up and i am very happy. never give up on a good friend, no matter how mad you are, because i promise you you will regret it. just a quick live lesson, lmao. have an awesome night!