The World Below [DNF]

Chapter 29: The people you left behind

Dream POV

Paralyzed. Yeah, paralyzed was definitely the best way to describe Dream's current state. He couldn't do anything else but stare at the brunette, who was looking at him with raised eyebrows. I nearly appeared as though he was expecting an answer. However, Dream was speechless. It had taken George less than a day to figure out his identity. He could help but wonder what gave him away.

George took his eyes of Dream and folded the knife back together. The brit's gaze then settled on the tree. "Beautiful knife you've got there. Looks rather familiar." 

The brunette's expression didn't reveal much, but Dream noticed a hint of amusement in his voice. Though, Dream's own voice didn't want to cooperate. So, he gave it a try to get of the ground instead.

The attempt failed miserably. He'd forgotten about his arm and when he tried to prop himself up, a flash of pain shot throughout his entire body, which made him winch and fall back down. 

George turned his way and seemed confused at first but must've concluded the reason for Dream's failure.

Dream was the one wearing a mask, but he certainly felt like the more exposed one out of the two. He gave it another shot to get up, careful not to use his injured arm. He managed to get up this time, but didn't know how to proceed from that point. 

Should he just take off the mask and explain everything? 

Should he try to escape? 

George was still observing him with the same reserved expression until his brown eyes stopped at Dream's left hand. The brunette furrowed his brows, which caused Dream to lift his hand up to try and figure out the sudden interest in his left hand. 

The answer was clear. The cut must've begun bleeding, because a crimson liquid ran over the back of his hand. Dream knew that it would need to be taken care of. But he feared that the only person that would be able to do it was the slightly scary brit standing in front of him.

George seemed to be chewing on the inside of his cheek. He didn't look too pleased about the current situation either. But sighed shortly after.

"Okay, Dream. I can't have you bleed to death; it won't be appreciated." The brunette headed back towards the house and Dream guessed that it was a sign for him to follow.

George might physically be alive. But the George that he remembered must've died. His manners resembled his father's so much, it was terrifying to see. 

All the times they'd spent together in that park doing God know what. Or when George had tried to help him understand some stupid science-shit, seemed like nothing more than imaginary scenarios in this moment. Dream felt that maybe it would've been better if George actually would've been dead and he could've remembered him as the George he fell in love with, and not this new version.

He was led to another room on the upper floor of the house. It looked like the rooms in hospitals. Dream sat down on the bed in the middle of the room. He got déjà vu from earlier, back in the facility. Except this room looked a whole lot cleaner. 

George turned to face him. "I'm assuming that you won't remove the mask." Dream could help himself anymore. "Why would you need me to do that? It's not my face's that's the problem." He made sure to drape his word in as much condescension as possible. George nonchalant ways made him furious. 

How could he ever have liked this guy? 

George froze at the sound of Dream's voice and he could've sworn that he saw a hint of hurt flash through the chestnut brown eyes for a millisecond. Although, it disappeared as quickly as it had appeared and the reserved expression took its rightful place once more on the pale face.

"If you need to know, your eyes can indicate on the amount of blood you've lost." Dream didn't think it was possible for George to sound colder than earlier. But he sure as hell was wrong about that. The brit must really hate him and Dream couldn't figure out why. Sure, he'd completely disappeared, but he thought that George died that night. He would've accepted that George didn't trust him, but he felt like this hatred was a little undeserved.

Dream didn't respond but removed his shirt to reveal his arm. He cringed at the sight. The stitches were broken, and his entire arm was red. 

George got a tiny scissor, thread and needle, an injection needle and some cleaning supplies. The brunette didn't give any warning before he began to clean the wound. Dream gripped the sheet to stop himself from hitting George as a response from the pain. Some mercy must remain deep inside the brunette. Because he put the local anesthesia before continuing to pull out the old stitches and replace them with new once. 

The procedure was all done in painful silence. It was clear that both had questions, but they were both were too stubborn to be the first one to cave into the curiosity.

Dream hated himself for still being this affected by the other's touch. It was still as exhilarating as before. George was quick and seemed eager to get away as fast as possible.

Dream put his shirt back on and saw that George was about to leave. But Dream wouldn't let him go just yet and grabbed the British boy's wrist. George flinched and tried the escape Dream's grip, but he wouldn't allow that. 

The anger that he'd tried to suppress took over. "You might not trust me, which is valid. But where's this hatred coming from?! What the fuck did I do to deserve it? I've lived five fucking years believing you died!" George looked him straight in the eyes and his composed facade fell. 

He ripped his hand away and his eyes looked like they were on fire. "Oh, stop with the stupid act, Dream. Do you think you're the only one who's suffered grief? I searched for YEARS after any trace of your existence, but I came up with nothing. Nothing!" Dream was stunned at the sudden outburst. It must be a lie. 

George glared daggers into his soul. "And do you know what's the worst part is, Clay Johnson?" Dream cringed at the use of his old name. "It's that you never even existed. You left and I had the audacity to miss you just to realized that you'd lied about your entire existence. Clay Johnson never existed, there's not a single record of your existence online or in any archives." 

The accusation was not what Dream thought was going to be the outcome of this. He'd never lied about who he was, well until now, but it was different. "George, I've never lied–" But George stopped him. "I honestly don't give a fuck, so save your precious lies. But remember that I know that you're hiding something and I will find out what. No matter the cost."

George was about to leave the room. Dream's head was a mess but one burning question remained. "Do the others know? Know who I really am?" The brunette hesitated before stiffly shaking his head. Dream let out a breath of relief. 

"But don't think that I did it for you. I wasn't the only one who've grieved you. It wasn't just me that you left behind." George turned his back against Dream and walked out, leaving Dream alone with his thoughts.

The words hurt. George wasn't wrong. Dream had left them. Even if he might've thought that George died, didn't erase that fact that his grieving caused him to push everyone away at the same time. 

He suddenly understood why George never found anything about Clay Johnson. That's because it wasn't his real name. They'd changed his surname after his father's death to minimize the risk of anyone tracking him down. He'd been told to never share his real name with anyone. His real name also contained a lot of bad memories. So he'd nearly forgotten about his birth name until now. Not even Sapnap knew his real name.

An overwhelming tiredness washed over him and he saw it as a sign to head back to his room and get some sleep. Guilt was nagging his conscience. When he'd moved, he'd done everything to forget about his past. If never even crossed his mind to just do a quick google search about his friends. But George had tried and Dream could see why the brunette resented him. It definitely appeared as though Dream had lied about everything and then taken of without a trace.

He removed his clothes and the mask before crawling into his bed. His eyelids was about to close at any second. His life was a mess and he had no idea how to fix it. George hated him and it was just a matter of time before the rest of his old friends found out the truth about who he was. So many questions remained unanswered, but the lack of energy finally won the fight against his mind and he started drifting away.