If you wanna listen to the song, it's It's Called: Freefall by Rainbow Kitten Surprise
TW: violence, threats, murder
Dream fucked up. He knew he did, but he had no idea that this guy had his address. He'd assumed the man had fled for his life, not found his way to his apartment.
Dream opens the front door to find the place a mess. More than usual, at least. It was like a tornado had ripped through their living room. He goes to poke his head around the corner into the hallway, when something rattles against George's bedroom door and a man yells, "When that fucker gets back, I'll kill him! And you for good measure!"
Dream looks around, realizing how trashed everything is and he swears he gets a few gray hairs worrying about what had happened and if George had gotten injured in the chaos.
Finally, in the dreadful silence, George yells something.
"I'm calling the cops!"
Good, Dream thinks. Then he pauses, realizing what would happen if the police showed up and took the man in for questioning. He would take Dream down with him.
"How're you gonna do that when I have your phone? Don't think you can trick me that easily," the man asks in a sickly sweet tone. Dream thinks he's going to throw up.
"You think that's my only phone, dumbass?" George's voice gains a little confidence. "I have a work phone. Either I call the police or you get the fuck—" George pounds a fist on the door back at the man— "out of my home. I don't know who the hell you think you are, or who the hell Dream is, but you can choose to not believe me. But you'll get arrested." His voice settles to an eerie calm, and Dream is a little proud. Unfortunately, he was painfully aware that George did not have a work phone.
"How do I know you're telling the truth?" A little worry seeps into the man's voice, and Dream pokes his head around the corner for a moment, trying to catch a glimpse of him.
George is silent for a second, then, he says, "You don't. Guess you'll just have to trust your own judgement." His voice shakes a little bit.
A plan formulates in Dream's head, but he'd be breaking his own rule of keeping work and home separate. It'd be worth it to keep an innocent person safe, but he'd probably have to move. Again.
Either way, the old door on George's room isn't going to last much longer. A few good slams would take it out, The Shining style (Dream wouldn't put it pst this crazy guy).
While the man spits insults and tries weighing the options of leaving or murdering two people, Dream removes his phone from his back pocket to text George's phone.
Hey I'm almost back. Food done?
The message pings a few feet away on the phone the man held. He chuckles, and calls to George. "You don't know who Dream is my ass," he spits. He reads the message aloud, and Dream almost feels guilty for scaring George like he's about to.
The full frontal assault on the door continues as Dream bides his time, waiting a couple minutes to text again, and desperately hoping the door holds.
He sends a silent prayer to any god that was listening that he'd closed the front door in his shock. He texted the phone again.
Forgot my key. Can you open the front door?
Dream can almost sense the sickening smile on the man's face, as he reads the message aloud to George again. And, again, he can almost see the way George's face is probably drained of all color.
Dream huddles close to the wall around the corner of the hallway, hoping against all the forces of nature that hated him, that the man would walk past him and right to the front door.
Heavy footsteps thud down the hall, and George is screaming, trying to warn him from inside that somebody was coming to the door to kill him, under the assumption that he had no clue.
Dream protruded a knife from his pocket. He always kept one with him (he had to). George yelled to warn the imaginary him on the other side of the front door.
A knife of his own in his hand, the man creaked open the door, and Dream reacted quickly.
The knife Dream carried with him wasn't a throwing knife. But every knife is a throwing knife if you throw it at someone, no?
Dream knew how to throw a knife.
Dream knew how to aim at his target from behind as the man spins around in astonishment at the utter lack of a victim at the door.
Somebody screams, and somebody falls to the floor.
It is not Dream.
But George doesn't know that. But Dream can't deal with George, still barricaded in his own room and still clearly horrified at the implication that his roommate just died.
Dream needed to be rid of the body. Nobody was going to miss this man, he knew that for sure. He was suddenly very glad he'd gone to buy more trash bags.
***
Dream had gotten rid of him. Trash bags, zip ties, and duct tape did a pretty good job of packaging a body. And having a remote location to put it definitely didn't hurt. Dream, in some ways, hated the part of him that knew how to do this.
He was also painfully thankful for this part of him.
When he arrived back home, George sat in the eye of the hurricane in their living room, looking thoroughly confused and scared. His head snapped up at Dream, and he looked like he was about to scream.
"What the fuck?!" he shouts. "What the actual fuck?! Dream, you— Somebody— Did you..." he trails off in his panic. He continues mumbling.
"It's okay. He's gone," Dream says coldly from where he's standing. He wants to comfort his roommate. Just a bit. But he can't bring himself to. "You're okay." His voice softens, but he doesn't move.
George stands up, sniffing. "He..." George pointed meaninglessly down the hallway toward his room. He drops his hand. "I thought you were dead."
"If I was, it wouldn't be a huge deal. We've known each other for, what, two weeks? You'll survive." He feels guilty, so he makes himself busy with picking up the living room around George, who looks appalled.
Dream shoves the shelf back up against the wall and throws the books and various knickknacks back onto it with little organization.
George doesn't move from where he's sitting, surveying the mess. And the situation. And probably Dream's sanity.
Once again, the brown haired man mutters. "What. The. Fuck."
1116 words
George is confused :]
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It's Called: Freefall
Fanfiction--- "Are we out of trash bags?" Dream finally asks, removing his head from the cabinet. "No. I moved them just to fuck with you," he snarks. "Yeah, we're out," he concedes when he gets an annoyed look from Dream. --- OR: George hates his lonely apa...
