The Dream Case || Dreamnotfound

6

"Thank you," George said gratefully as he stood up.

He left Techno's office and headed down the hallway. He couldn't help but notice the crew of men and woman who were taking down the security cameras and adding new ones.

George scoffed, Dream was just going to hack the system again if anything.

When Dream had destroyed the flash drive the past night, it was disheartening for everyone on the team. The files that were burned was just an inconvenience for George's team. All of Dream's files were online, they just needed to reprint everything to get physical copies again.

The dagger wasn't much of a loss. They had many of Dream's daggers, it's just that that dagger specifically had had a fingerprint. Now it was back with Dream and George was back where he was two days ago, before the last victim was found.

"George!" a familiar voice shouted from behind him.

George didn't turn around, instead he let Tommy jog up to walk beside him. "How are you doing Tommy?"

"I'm doing absolutely fantastic!" Tommy exclaimed. "I survived a serial killer! Can you believe it?!"

George laughed softly. He said, "If you're interested, I told my supervisor that I would like to have you as my intern."

Tommy stopped walking. George continued on, grinning as he heard Tommy shout, "Yes! Of fucking course I would like to help you find Dream!"

The boy caught back up with George. George said, "Great. You can go find Jack. He's my assistant and he'll give you the forms. Once you get those, go home and get some sleep... I hope to see you here again."

Tommy grinned and rubbed his hands together. He muttered something enthusiastically and left George to find Jack.

George chuckled and left the station. He arrived at his home and collapsed on his couch with a sigh.

Rubbing his eyes with one hand and turning the tv on with his other, George pulled his feet up onto the coffee table. He watched the news blankly for a while, not registering the events happening.

A cold, sharp surface scraped his throat and George froze.

"Don't move," a familiar, disguised voice rasped.

George's heart sped up, watching in his peripheral as Dream slid a hand into his pocket and pulled out his phone. The hand holding the dagger to George's neck shook from the effort— Dream's left hand, the injured arm.

After Dream took George's phone from his vision, his hand slipped to George's waistband and unholstered his gun. The gun's absence left George feeling more vulnerable.

The dagger was removed from his throat and George stood up immediately, turning around to face Dream.

And there Dream stood, in his living room holding a dagger. He wore a mask, his hood down, and dirty blond hair was exposed. His left arm was sloppily bandaged, blood seeping through the white fabric.

Dream spoke, his voice hoarse, "You received some medical training in England, use it."

George blinked. "What?"

His eyes darted to his phone and gun, which were both sitting on a counter. Dream sighed and used the end of his dagger to smash George's phone screen, breaking the device permanently. He unloaded George's gun and put the bullets in his pockets.

"Fix my arm," Dream demanded. "You shot me, so fix it."

George flinched and nodded. Dream stumbled onto George's couch and let George unwrap his arm. George winced as blood dripped onto his couch.

"I-I'm just gonna get supplies," George stammered and rushed into his hallway.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. As he opened a closet, he wished he owned a second gun.

George walked uneasily back into his living room, carrying the necessary supplies. Dream seemed to be watching the news on the tv.

George knelt by Dream's arm, which was resting on the arm rest. Dream grabbed George's collar with his uninjured hand and pulled him close.

George's eyes rapidly darted between the two black dots on the mask. After a long moment, Dream sighed and released his grip on George's collar, his hand going back to the dagger by his side.

After several seconds of confused silence, George looked to the wound on Dream's arm. George had shot Dream on the back of his arm, just below his shoulder.

"You- you removed the bullet?"

Dream nodded. "Yep."

"Did you use you fingers?"

"Hurt like a bitch."

George winced and muttered, "I need to wash it off in the sink... hydrogen peroxide would just damage it more."

Dream obediently stood up and followed George to his kitchen. George pulled Dream's arm under the warm water, grimacing at how close they were. The angle in which Dream had to stand in order for the water to reach his wound was awkward, to say the least.

After a minute of long silence and running water, they left the kitchen. Dream sat back down and George opened his medical bag that he had for emergencies.

Dream was seemingly unfocused, watching the newscaster drone on. His free hand rested by his side, holding his dagger.

George muttered, "This might sting."

He opened a container of Vaseline and applied it to the gunshot wound, wincing as Dream hissed. Once the Vaseline was applied, George started wrapping Dream's arm with a non stick gauze.

As he bandaged Dream's arm, George used the opportunity to talk to Dream. "Why do you do it?"

"What? Kill people?" Dream let out a long sigh, clearly exhausted. He ran his free hand through his hair and muttered, "I have to."

"What do you mean?"

Dream leaned his head back against the couch, exposing his neck. George followed the curve of his neck before snapping his eyes back to Dream's mask.

"I have to," Dream repeated quietly.

"Do you enjoy it?"

The silence that followed was long and tense. Dream sighed. "Not usually, the best part is making notes for you."

Dream turned his head to face George, who froze at the attention and the revelation. George finished wrapping his arm quickly and cleared his throat.

He stood up awkwardly and put the materials back in the bag. "Um, take this stuff. You'll probably need to change the bandages like three times a day or something."

Dream nodded slowly, but he made no move to leave. Several long moments passed and George was still standing awkwardly. After minutes he realized that Dream was sleeping, passed out from exhaustion.

George froze before tiptoeing to his kitchen. He grabbed his longest knife and walked back to Dream. His hands shook as he hovered the blade over Dream's neck.

Do it, he screamed internally at himself. A minute passed and George exhaled in frustration. He muttered, "Fuck."

He sat down in the recliner and set the knife on the small table next to him. George found that he was as exhausted as Dream.

His eyes betrayed his intentions of staying awake and watching Dream; he fell asleep moments later— several feet away from a notorious serial killer.

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a/n - oop... would you guys kill Dream if you were in George's shoes?

I can't kill Dream though, lol. what would this story be without him? yeah... bye <3