Helium DNF tbhyourelame

Chapter 13

Someone, someone.

Far across the murky surface, deep in the heart of the water, a purple glow sinks down.

Someone.

The teeth of his boot smack into inch-deep water, and a blue bloom skitters through the droplets. His heart is soundless, flat waves cease to crash, he breathes and cannot hear the air pass in his throat. Illuminated splashes drive him further and further, warm liquid rising to his knees, and the purple presence rapidly diminishes.

Dream dives in. Saltwater slips over his hair and pools in his ears, eyes shut, breath locked, scooping palms and strong kicks guiding him further into his plunge. Floating purple light encroaches beyond his eyelids, and he peels wet lashes apart.

A chorus of reds and blues pour into his open pupils, sprawled out in a sudden explosion surrounding his chest. Jellyfish drift in the lights. He wonders up at the ascending, bioluminescent bubbles; blackness looms below his suspended feet as water, salt, lagoon-made tar gently floods his gaping lungs.

Slices of moonlight strike the surface swaying far above his floating hair. Beams burn his limbs, and he curls inward, knees tucking against his chest. His forearm crawls over his face.

Rippling down from leagues above, a half-remembered voice shouts, "Look!"

His ribs ache, and his eyes lull shut.

-

A gutting gasp slices through Dream's throat.

His abdomen folds in an upward heave and elbows hit his knees, covered in white sand—sheets, blankets, real—and his inhales rattle violently.

"Dream? Dream—hey, hey, you're awake. You're awake."

George's fingers touch his upper back and his muscles skitter in a sharp flinch. His trembling palms shove into his eyes, images burning, memories afire.

"Some—someone was—" His heavy breaths nudge the curve of George's hand as it carefully lowers to his shoulder again. "Drowning. They were—drowning, they needed—help—"

"You're okay, you're okay. It's okay." George brushes a palm up and down Dream's spine, slow and firm. "We're right here in your bed, okay? This is real, Clay. This is real."

Dream's hands slide away from his eyes, breaths spacing out. Fabric covering tight muscles on his back grows warm under George's repeated path, and his mind wanders through it devotedly.

"Why was somebody in the water?" he breathes, and George pulls him in closer. "Why the fuck was I back in the water?"

"I don't know."

"Fuck—what the fuck." His face hits George's collarbone. "I thought they were gone. I just want them to be gone."

"I know," George whispers. "I know."

His arm crawls across George's waist and squeezes tight. George holds the side of his aching head, and his eyes slowly adjust to the poorly lit room. Muted grays slip through the curtains and blinds, and the shapes of his familiar furniture become less fuzzy with each grounding inhale.

Limbs pressing warm to his own and back half-propped by pillows, the outline of George grows crisp, too. Bleary eyes gaze down at him, a puffy face lined by a slight frown; Dream's forearm relaxes over his middle at the sight of him.

"I... I can't go back to sleep again," he says. "I'm sorry."

"If you're up, I'm up," George dismisses in a murmur. His thumb brushes Dream's cheek. "Want to talk about it?"