Predator (DWT x OC)

10

TW// Very mild gore? I'm not sure if it even counts but just in case.

The day drags by slowly. I occupy my time by napping in the occasional rays of sun that light up parts of the floor, or by watching the fish sparkle in the river. I feel like I'm slowly going insane, trapped in a room, not able to get outside. My mind wanders in the endless boredom, to the lake in L'manburg, and swimming with Tommy, to sitting in the van laughing with Wilbur, to long nights talking in the cold night air with Tubbo and Fundy. I stare longingly out the window, wishing so desperately that I could go back to that place, to forget the war, to forget Dream, and just be happy and carefree again, but it's too late to turn back now. 

Dream hasn't come back since his weird reaction to my question about his mask. I almost miss having someone to talk to. Almost. I don't bother trying to talk to George, whose snores I can hear behind the door, which is still locked tightly. Instead, I sit cross legged, right at the window, closing my eyes as the last rays of golden afternoon sun warm my face.

The door opens, and I open my eyes instantly. I turn my head to see Dream stagger through, the door slamming behind him. He's wearing black pants and a green top that's soaked in something, making it darker in places. He's also carrying his axe, which has red smeared on the blade.

I jump to my feet as he comes closer to me. He's wearing his mask, but I can see blood dripping from behind it. I take in the scene before me and realise he's injured, clutching his face and wobbling unsteadily. The neck of his shirt is soaked in blood, and it's smeared on his forearms, but it does't seem to be bleeding heavily anymore.

He sways forward dangerously, and I shoot my hands out to steady him. Grasping his arm, I help him to a chair, and guide the axe out of his tightly clenched fist. I set it up against the wall, sick to my stomach at the blood on it.

He sits on the chair, head in his hands, as I make my way back over to him. He's weakened and far from being alert, but still I don't think I could take him on. Anyway, the door is locked, and George is still on the other side, now wide awake, making my opportunistic escape attempt impossible. Instead, I stand in front of him, a million questions running through my mind.

"What the hell happened to you?" I ask, hands on my hips.

"Ran into Tommy and Fundy on patrol." He mutters, refusing to look at me. 

Tommy? Fundy? An ice cold chill runs through my body, the air knocked out of my lungs like I've been winded, and my brain spins into hyperdrive, because they could be injured, or captured or dead and no they can't be dead. They can't...can they? Dream lifts his head to see my face frozen into a look of pure fear.

"They're fine Rosie. I promise. I only got a swing at their arms at most, nothing serious, then they ran away, that's it. They're fine." He says quickly, and even though I can't see his eyes, there's something about his voice, the way he sounds desperate for me to know, that makes me trust him. I finally breathe again, relief sweeping through me. 

They're fine. They're not hurt. They're not dead. They're safe in L'manburg and still fighting. I can't help the small smile that spreads on my face, reassured that the revolution is still going, that they're still ok. 

I look back over Dream, whose own blood is smeared over his body. I'm tempted to just leave him here, but I don't think anyone here has any kind of healing capabilities, and the healer in me, the one I inherited from my mother, long ago, refuses to let me walk away without helping. 

So, I grab a med kit I remember seeing in one of the chests,  then fill up a bowl of warm water and grab some towels. I dump everything on the table beside him.