TW (check overall TWs because there are no specific TWs for the sake of spoilers!!)
Lmk if there are typos!!
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George laughed as he closed the front door. Dream walked over to the couch and sat down, running a hand through his hair.
"I think I've learned too much about you in the last few hours," George said with a small smile still tugging at his face.
"You literally know my biggest secret," Dream deadpanned.
"Yeah, but I learned the little things. There's a difference between knowing stuff about a person and knowing a person."
Dream glanced up from his hands, and he huffed a small laugh. "And do you, George, know me?" He smiled so George knew he was just joking. Still, the shorter brunette's face flushed.
George shifted from one foot to another. He hadn't really thought Dream could be hiding that much more from him. "I don't know..." he admitted quietly. He glanced at Dream's expression— or rather, lack of one. George cleared his throat and laughed it off. "I mean, you were holding out on me with the Shakespeare thing! Like— What? You're secretly smart now?"
Dream snorted and rolled his eyes. "I was an English major before I had to drop out of college. I've always liked Shakespeare, too. I mean, half of the books on the shelf right across from me are Shakespeare." Dream watched George glance over at the shelf thoughtfully before retraining his soft brown eyes back on him. "You aren't very observant," he commented.
"Hey!" George rushed to his own defense. "English isn't my thing. Plus, you said you didn't know what an adverb was! How would I know you're secretly a theatre kid?!"
"Two things," Dream said firmly. George obviously stood up a little straighter at the tone. "Firstly," he continued seriously, "I'm not a fucking theatre kid." Dream was glad to see George's nervous expression morph into a smile accompanied by a small laugh. "Also, I know what an adverb is. That was a joke."
"That's a funny way of trying to hide the fact that you don't know what an adverb is." George crossed his arms.
"You look stupid standing over there," Dream said with joking judgment. He gestured to the couch he was sat on.
George smiled, but sat down. "I hate you." He grabbed his phone from his pocket and checked the time. It was nearing one in the morning. "It's late. I should go to bed."
Dream stretched over to see the time too. "Shit," he mumbled. "I have to go. I'm sorry, I've got..." he sighed, giving up on looking for an excuse. "You know."
George nodded solemnly.
Dream wandered down to the end of the hall without another word. George listened silently to the door click shut. He sat for a few more moments before Dream walked back down the hall, still looking sort of drunk. George knew it'd be more of a problem when he tried to sleep it off than it wasn't now, but the worry was there.
Dream was wearing a black sweater and black pants, and sling over his shoulder was— you guessed it— a black backpack.
"You sure you're good to go out like this?" George asked.
"Like what?" Dream asked smiling. "I have no idea what you're implying, but I'll have you know that I'm basically sober, George."
George felt a little lighter at the comment, and he pretended he didn't know what Dream was about to do. He ignored the bad feeling bubbling up inside him, and acted as though he wasn't a little concerned about Dream going out there with even a few shots in his system. It'd probably be fine. Dream was a professional.
***
Dream had to admit, what he was about to do wasn't very professional. He knew he wasn't supposed to allow feelings to get mixed in with everything, but he'd managed to track down the other man responsible for everything that'd happened to George.
He'd been told by Sapnap multiple times that this was a bad idea, but he refused to listen, and luckily, the other still agreed to help. They'd figured out the man's address and tracked his schedule. Now was the perfect time to go.
He left while trying to look as normal as possible. He didn't quite understand why he felt so nervous.
Maybe it was just because he'd been drinking earlier.
He met Sapnap outside. They drive to the house, and Dream already knew this was going to be different from anything he'd ever done before. He was used to being angry at people. He used his anger to get through the actions he had to carry out. He'd just think about whatever horrible thing this person had done.
But this time was different. Dream knew George. They lived together and he got to see first hand how fucked up he was after the whole situation.
In their research, Dream and Sapnap had discovered that this guy and the man Dream killed commited crimes like this together often. You know, before one of them got killed. They had both already been charged for accounts of sexual harassment. Nothing worse (though Dream didn't doubt that plenty of their crimes went unreported).
So now, Dream stood outside of a small single story house, and he was ready to break in. Usually, this isn't what he did. He'd normally kill somebody while outside. If he broke in, it was just more risky. It could seem more personal. Premeditated (which it was). However, he was willing to risk it.
The man had only just gotten home. The lights in the living room were on and Dream saw a shadow cross the thin curtains from inside.
First, one light clicked off. Then another and another. The house was dark.
It wasn't difficult to get in. A window was open to let in a draft, considering the heat outside. Dream easily removed the screen, avoiding the making it look like a breaking and entering, even though that's exactly what it was.
Dream acted quickly and impulsively. When he spotted the baseball bat by the front door, he grabbed it and slipped his knife into his pocket. A taste of the man's own medicine might make smashing people's heads in with pipes feel a little less desirable.
Outside of the kitchen there was a small dining room and a short hallway with a bathroom and one other door.
It was cracked open, and there he was. He plugged in his phone and yawned and went to turn off the lights like he hadn't a care in the world— like nothing he'd done mattered to him.
So when he nearing the door to turn off the bedroom light, Dream slammed the door open. It hit him in the face. He stumbled backwards towards the dresser across from the bed.
Dream could've sworn he blacked out right then and there, because the next thing he knew, he was standing in the room now. The bat had blood on it, and the man was crying about something.
He wasn't dead. Not at all. But he was going to wish he was.
Dream brought down the bat with as much strength as he could.
All he heard was a crack.
1207 words
Not super happy with this one, but I've been working on it for awhile, so I figured I'd wrap it up an post it because I won't be posting for a little bit because I'm in the middle of finals weeks.
I also have a pool party on Thursday, and I have tickets for the Eras Tour on Friday!!! So I'll be busy the next few days!!
YOU ARE READING
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...
