Fall Apart (Dream Team)

Chapter 37: An Explanation

CWs: some pretty bad gaslighting, and (mild?)emotional abuse. read this one with caution after the second line break, i will provide a summary at the end. also for panic attacks and a mild mention of queerphobia

Per usual, George woke up from the pain.

He wasn't surprised by any measure, but the sharp, stabbing pain in his stomach was still enough to elicit an audible cry of pain. He attempted to curl into himself on his side, turning to find Dream, asleep, his head resting on his chest. George had stacked pillows under his head at the doctor's instruction, and Dream had taken to using his chest as a pillow, his arm around George's shoulder. He appreciated the gestures but Dream had effectively trapped him— he couldn't move, he couldn't curl over in pain.

He couldn't read the pain medication the doctors had recommended to do anything, although even if he didn't have someone laying across him, he doubted he could move a muscle regardless. It wasn't like he needed it anyways, as he'd gotten used to the pain waking him up daily.

All he could do was lay there, eyes squeezed shut in agony, until the pain either subsided or he passed out. There was nothing more he could do.

Except there was. With a jolt, he remembered the heating pads Alex had given him.

When he and Dream left for Florida, George had been embarrassed of them, scared to tell Dream he was in pain. He hadn't wanted Dream to know anything was up, and as a result, hid the heating packs in the very bottom of his suitcase. He never unpacked it. Since arriving in Florida, he had always been tired or in pain, and he never had the time nor energy to unpack, much less to microwave a heat pack every hour.

He supposed he could have plugged in the heating pad, had it not been below nearly every shirt he owned.

Looking back, it was stupid how he hadn't asked Dream to get the heat pad— he knew it helped with the pain, and he could have saved himself so many hours, lying awake at three in the morning, tears in his eyes from the pain. He could have gotten up, he could have walked around, and he could have possibly avoided Dream calling an ambulance for him if he hadn't been so embarrassed by something so simple. After being hospitalized, George could hardly believe he found something so simply, so mundane, embarrassing. He'd talked at length about getting shouted at by his parents, detailing some of the lowest points in his life, with Dream in the room. He knew Dream wouldn't mind helping with such a simple task, especially not after he'd spent countless hours in the hospital with him.

George moved his hand to touch Dream's hair, sighing. He appreciated Dream's presence more than he could ever say.

~

"Do you feel up to eating George?"

George looked over the back of the couch, turning himself slightly from his position among the blankets. Dream had helped him walk to the living room, given him enough pillows to keep him upright, and turned on the heating pad for him before leaving to walk around outside. The man was stressed and treated George as if he could shatter at any moment, and George had to take about 20 minutes to convince him to leave the house. He knew what Dream was like— he knew that if Dream didn't do something physically, he would begin to lose his mind, either in the form of increasingly weirder jokes, or breaking down.

One of Dream's conditions for leaving, was that his mom be over. George didn't mind; he found it endearing how much Dream cared. Besides, he liked Dream's mom, she was kind to him, and believed he was sick— something he hadn't had in a long time.

"Um," he responded. He wasn't hungry by any means, and the pain had only recently subsided enough that he could scroll through twitter to see what he missed. He wasn't eager to eat, and in under an hour be throwing up and in pain again. "Not now."