Three Futures Enslaved | Dream Team

Chapter Twenty-Three

George found himself yearning for his home more and more often.

Before, it came and went. He had been busy looking for Dream and rushing from one village to another to think about home. Now that he was in an assassin camp and literally surrounded by the threat of death, he had more time to himself, as weird as that was.

Coriol reminded him too much of all the people he wanted by his side again. He missed Filens. He missed his father. He missed Dream, and Sapnap, and all the people who made him feel safe and loved. He was sick of being worried all the time. He hated always having to check over his shoulder to make sure that no one was standing there with a knife.

Dream would've had to have dealt with the same feeling on a daily basis. Back when they had been travelling to Suspiro, he'd caught a rock thrown at him without turning around. It was as if he had eyes on the back of his head.

Well, it made sense. As an assassin, you'd probably have to deal with not being assassinated yourself all the time. It was like a sixth sense. Maybe a seventh. George didn't know.

Maybe if he spent enough time in the camp, he'd be able to groom a sixth/seventh sense of his own. He could use that to see into the future like some sort of superpower.

George sighed. He was getting way ahead of himself. If he really had that sense, he'd be able to use it to find Sapnap and escape.

Running away from assassins. An impossible feat. But George was all about doing the impossible.

He looked up as Coriol entered their shared tent. George spent most of his time in the tent, sleeping and passing time. He had no idea where Coriol slept. A part of him felt bad that he had stolen the man's bed, but Coriol didn't seem to mind.

"You're still here?" Coriol said mildly, setting down a bag. "I thought you'd be out exploring the camp again."

George looked at him in surprise. "You know about that?"

The medic chuckled, patting him on the shoulder. "Don't feel bad, George. It's only natural for one to want to explore their surroundings. It's nice to go somewhere you can get completely..." 

His sentence trailed off. George glanced up at him again to see that the man was studying him carefully with concern. "What?" he asked, somewhat self-consciously.

Coriol frowned, then shook his head. "Nothing, I don't believe. You just look... lost. In your own thoughts."

George frowned as well. Dream's voice echoed in his mind, completing Coriol's sentence from before. "It's nice to go somewhere that you can get completely lost in, only to find your way out again. It's like being reborn."

A slight laugh escaped him. "Coriol, can you... please... stop?"

The man flinched back. "W-what?" he asked, his typically calm and collected demeanour faltering. 

George shook his head. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I don't know. I---"

He exhaled, feeling defeated. How was he supposed to tell the man that every word he said, every movement he made, every time he looked at George, George saw the people he missed in the most in him?

"It's nothing," George muttered. "I'm sorry I brought it up."

Coriol studied him some more, then looked away. "Alright."

It hurt. But there was nothing he could do about it.

***

George found himself wandering the camp again without meaning to.

It was hard not to stare at everyone, but he was managing. As much as he hated to admit it, he was starting to get used to the camp. It wasn't as if people waved their weapons in each other's faces all the time or anything. 

He passed by a fight that had broken out between a ring of tents. A crowd was beginning to gather, mostly assassins who looked bored out of their minds. Most people walked straight past without giving the fight a second look.

George slowed down, glancing over at the two women. They looked like Mel in that they could probably punch anyone in the face and get away with it because they were just that intimidating. He wondered if that was another skill that all assassins seemed to have: the ability to spook people off simply by glaring at them. It seemed to work for Dream.

A small sigh escaped him. Dream. The man had lived through the life of an assassin as a child, the same one George was struggling to adapt to now. Not that he wanted to; it was more of an accidental sidetrack from his main goal of finding Dream. But at the same time, he found himself with a new-found respect for the green-eyed man and his smiley face mask. 

An appreciative "oooh" rose up from the gathered watchers as the woman on the right landed a solid punch on her opponent's face. The struck lady staggered back, clutching at her nose. George's stomach gave a too-familiar lurch as he saw the blood pooling between her fingers.

He turned away, repressing a gag. It doesn't make sense, he thought to himself, almost wryly. You've seen so much blood already. You've seen death. So why does it still bother you?

It was a good thing that it still bothered him, or so he told himself. It meant that he was still good at heart.

Maybe that was just him grasping at straws, but he was desperate. He didn't want to become like the rest of the people in the camp. He didn't want to start to fit the mold they were setting.

They're not all bad. Coriol seems nice enough.

He's just taking leverage of you so he can overthrow Actaeon, he chided himself. Don't get attached.

He might be the only reason you haven't been grabbed and ransomed off yet, the other side of him argued back.

It's just a general courtesy.

George looked up. He could see the tip of the Coriol's healer tent from where he stood, pieces of red fabric --- maybe someone's socks; he wasn't too sure how large the budget of an assassin camp was --- tied to a pole extending from the top. Beyond that would be the tent he called his makeshift home. 

Where's Sapnap's tent? he wondered, idly glancing around. It's got to be here somewhere.

He didn't really want to poke around and look through every single tent in the camp to find him, but he also got the feeling that he didn't have any other choice. 

With a sigh, he started walking towards the healer tent. I can search around the area, with that tent acting as the center, he reasoned. It'll be easier to keep track of which ones I've searched and which I haven't. It's also the easiest tent to spot. 

George walked down the well-worn dirt path running all the way to the entrance of the large sepia tent. He made his way towards the entrance flap and crouched down, carefully entering. "Coriol," he said as he straightened up, "I wanted to ask you abo..."

His words died down in his throat as his gaze landed on the cot laid out closest to the entrance. Passed out on it, his entire right side bandaged, his hair a mess from lack of attention, was Sapnap.