𝕎𝕚𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕎𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕄𝕖 - Ⓓ Ⓝ Ⓕ

~41~

Dream watched helplessly as George was sucked into the water, desperate, and couldn't reach Sapnap's rope in time before it vanished in the depths below, just like George, and Dream had to swallow his scream. He rushed forward towards the water, his feet splashing as he engulfed himself into the grey, but he didn't dare to leave the steps just yet. It was too dangerous.

"George!"

He reached out into the water, eyes blown in panic and anxiety as he thrashed his helpless limb around, trying to catch onto the brunette before he was pulled too far away, as well as the rope. In the back of his mind, he realised that he had just put himself at risk for infection with his still-recovering arm, but that didn't matter right now. He had to get to his two best friends – he had to save them.

"George! Come back!"

The deafening sound of thrashing waters filled George's ears, masking an eerie silence. He couldn't hear anything but the consistent tumbling of the water as it threw him around blindly, pushing him into multiple objects and causing bouts of pain to erupt across his body. How the hell could Sapnap have swum in this? Sure, the other was stronger and had more swimming experience, but these waters were downright dangerous. How could he throw himself into the rapids so easily, while George was grasping at life, trying his hardest to fight against his urge to breathe in? Sapnap was fucking inhuman.

Something banged into George's shoulder, tearing his skin, and whatever oxygen he managed to hold onto slipped from his mouth, forming rising bubbles in the darkness. George squeezed his eyes shut, his lungs crushing under the pressure, and despite being engulfed in murky water, he could tell that he was crying.

"Do you want to die young?"

No. No, he doesn't – but he might not have a choice. Who does, in situations like this, anyway?

His lungs burned and his fingertips fell numb, his chest cramping. He tumbled through the water, debris scratching and bruising his once smooth skin, and faintly, in the back of his mind, he wondered if Dream had jumped in after him, trying to safe him. George hoped that he didn't.

George was suddenly slammed particularly hard against a wall, and he reached out, his cold fingers trying desperately to catch onto something so that he would stop getting thrown by the water while his forehead connected with something, and his mouth opened involuntarily. He sputtered, foul water forcing it's way down his throat and filling his lungs, and his panicked mind forced his body to cough, although it only caused him to suffocate more.

He could tell that he was loosing it, and that he wouldn't be able to hold on for much longer. A small part of him acknowledged that maybe – just maybe – this was it. George wasn't destined for greatness, wasn't destined to be some kind of fucking saviour, and while he may have managed to make so many people's lives better, it wouldn't matter in the end, anyway. Had George been living for himself, or had he been living for others? When was the line crossed?

The pressure around George's body increased, and then suddenly, he was weightless. Maybe this was how astronauts felt, floating longingly millions of miles away from any sense of home. The world must look so small to them, all the way up there, and George wondered if he, too, would like floating among the lonely stars.

He was sure that it would be beautiful.

In a last attempt to see the world around him before he succumbed to the void, George opened his eyes, and when he did, they widened in wonder. There, someway away through the ink, was a bright, glowing light. The warmth of it overcame George as it got brighter and brighter, and he reached out through the water, wanting to feel warm one last time before his veins ran cold. Was this it? Was this the light at the end of the tunnel that everyone talked about? Was this salvation – freedom?