White light spills over Dream's terrified features in flashes. His fingers scroll, his eyes flicker, the muscles in his throat and jaw scream with firing tension.
The text went through.
I had another dream where I got to see you, it starts, and Dream lets the horror course through his blood and sting his nerves with helpless shame.
It was an accident. He didn't mean to. He didn't mean to.
His vision grays as the emboldened confession from his darkest hours rattles in his shaking grip. His breath is quick, and shallow, and labored.
Why the fuck did I do that?
His taut hands shuts off his phone with a mockingly gentle click.
He cowers into himself, fingers digging into the flesh of his shoulders, knees pulled towards his chest. The tendons in his forearms and knuckles are stiff with raw adrenaline and shock.
His wide-eyes tear into the darkness.
The flat surface of his phone refuses to bend where it's pressed against the curve of his muscle, no matter how tightly he wills it to break. Small crescents deepen where his nails curl into skin.
Notifications remain silent. The screen remains black. Seconds pass, and pass, and the air disappears from his lungs.
His pulse drums with no pause between beats.
He remembers cradling his sister to his chest, just like this, all those years ago, when she'd realized they'd never return to touch the dark-watered sand-his arms over her small frame, locked in his care, letting her tears burn his then thin forearms.
He feels young again. It claws up his throat, scouring his insides. His hands are cold and he may have just lost someone for the second time.
This could be it.
His language, his fury, his disgusting pining all dumped into George's hands without warning.
This could be it.
Blindly, he rips his phone from his shoulder and dials a number.
The call rings, and rings, then disconnects.
A choked noise escapes his throat.
He calls again.
"Hmph, hello?" The sound slurs through the phone line with half-awake drowsiness.
Relief and terror flood in him.
"Help," Dream says hoarsely, "help me."
Sapnap's voice becomes alert in seconds. "Dream?"
"I fucked up," he rasps.
Nightmares. You're haunting me. Reaching. Stupid, pretty face. Would you lie? Would you lie?
"Wha-dude, what time is it-"
"I don't know what to do," he raves hurriedly, "I don't know what I'm gonna do. I can't-I can't- "
"Where are you?" Sapnap interrupts sharply, "are you safe?"
Dream's rapid breathing collects clouds of pain in his chest, the sound of Sapnap's words rushing him back to the cigarette-beach and hot car and muddled horizon.
"Answer me," Sapnap says.
"Bed," Dream forces out, eyes squeezing shut, "I'm in bed."
"Okay, good. That's good."
"What am I gonna do? What can I fucking do?" His voice laces with the rough air, "what can I-why can't I-"
He hears Sapnap shift on the other end. "What did you-"
"It was an accident and I didn't mean to-and I didn't-why the fuck did it send-"
"Dream," Sapnap demands, "tell me what happened."
"I was about to text him something stupid," Dream spits, "and then he popped in out of nowhere. I tried to delete what I was going to say but the fucking message sent, and now I've messed it all up and I'm-" his words sharply cut back when he feels moisture dripping down his cheeks.
His shaky fingers release his arm and gently dab at the unrealized tears. Warm, and sparse. In the darkness, he can make out their faint glistening on his fingertips.
"...What was the message?" Sapnap asks, tinged with a soft tone Dream never hears outside of their wet-eyed moments and painful confessions.
"Everything," Dream hollows, "I've been writing to myself like a diary for the past week, and pasted it all the second I started to freak out and god, with what is in there, he's going to hate me."
"Wait, what? Isn't he still at his grandparents? I thought-"
"I don't know," Dream interjects with hysteric tremor, "I don't know! Maybe he's home, or-or an older message got sent somehow-I don't know."
Sapnap clears the sleep from his chest. "Okay, okay, well, it could just be a glitch. Let me text him and see if it works. Alright?"
Dream sours. "A glitch?"
"Let's just try." Silence falls while Sapnap types. "I'll ask him...when he's getting back. Yeah." He pauses, "uh."
Dream sits up. "What? What happened?"
"Um, it definitely sent, and he-read it," Sapnap explains clumsily, "it says he just read it."
He refuses to pull his phone from his face to check for a similar receipt. "Fuck."
"So he has service now, I guess," Sapnap says, then mutters, "that prick."
"I'm dead," Dream says.
"It's probably not as bad as you think."
"Oh god, yes it is," his hand finds his hair in anxious grasps, "Sap, it totally is."
"Maybe send him another message? Explaining you didn't mean to?"
"Are you crazy?" Dream shrills, "he's never seen me like this, not this bad. It's-it's humiliating. I can't believe this is actually happening. I'm so fucking stupid."
Sharply, Sapnap says, "hey. Shut the fuck up, okay?"
Defensive shock rises to his flushed cheeks. "Excuse me?"
"Stop beating yourself up for caring, Dream," Sapnap voices with stern compassion, "it's not cool."
Unbridled surprise and comfort rushes Dream into silence. It soothes the ache of his ribs and guides his heart down from its uphill climb. The sheets and blankets pooled at his feet become soft, and inviting.
He takes in a hitched, sobering breath-and recalls when they'd been sixteen and fifteen, cozied in his mom's basement at two in the morning, bumping elbows and stifling shouts as bright-colored Brawlhalla dried their eyes.
Livid yells had echoed through the floor overhead. The voices of his mother and her boyfriend they'd never liked muffled into an embarrassing, sharp-scaled dragon that disintegrated Dream's blooming feeling of safety.
"Sorry," Dream had mumbled, "this has been happening, lately."
"It's fine," Sapnap assured curtly.
Their remotes had stilled in their hands, avatars on the screen shifting rhythmically in the absence of direction. Three lives and intimidating letters hung by health bars and a meaningless, round-counting timer.
Angry footsteps caused Dream to grimace, and Sapnap to glance up at the ceiling quickly.
"It really sucks," Dream blurted in a whispered confession, as his eyes traced the light-brown carpet and soda stains.
"Oh," Sapnap said.
Their silence was tense, and awkward, until a gentle hand settled on Dream's upper back.
"I wish I could understand," Sapnap muttered slowly, "this shit is tough. But you're...you. And I know you. And I'm here." He carefully swiped a thumb across Dream's 'Johnny Rotten' t-shirt. "Is that enough?"
Dream had smiled, and looked at the sincerity in Sapnap's eyes with warm gratitude.
"Of course." He pressed on the plastic, colored buttons to resume their match. "That's always gonna be enough."
Dream knows they are built on these defining moments of collision, labored with empathy and tough love. Stubborn arguments that dissolve into mumbled apologies days later, Sapnap's bank of memories he chooses to thumb through when Dream expects it the least, the respectful distance they watch each other's lives from as the years go by.
When gravity shifts them close, Dream remembers why he chose this life-why he chose this person.
"You're so harsh on yourself, all the time," Sapnap continues through the phone quietly. "It's just hard to listen to."
Dream sniffs, tugging the sheets up over his ankles. "I'm sorry, I...didn't think about that. I've been so-" he sighs shakily. "It's not easy to snap out of it."
"I know."
The tear-tracks on his face grow cold. He wonders if Sapnap remembers the chilled basement and warm banter like he does.
He wonders if he ever recounted the memory to George, late at night when they'd spoken of old family ruins and present healing.
George.
His breath threatens to quicken again.
"So," Sapnap speaks up, "you did a thing on accident."
"I did," Dream says in a whisper, the acceptance of it trembling and terrifying.
"And you said you don't feel ready to talk to George about it?"
Dream's sleeve dries his cheeks, and stubbled jaw. The mere thought of glancing at the block of text he'd sent threatens to stream more anxious tears from his recovering eyes. "God, no."
"Then chill, for a bit," Sapnap says, "right now, in the next five seconds, what can you do?"
Dream swallows, easing the tension squeezing his tongue. His voice is soft, "n-nothing."
"That's okay," Sapnap assures, "nothing is fine."
"Nothing is fine," Dream repeats.
"Yeah."
"Really," an incredulous, tired chuckle bubbles from his chest, "nothing is fine."
Sapnap huffs. "Yep."
"And I'm an idiot," Dream says.
"And you're an idiot," Sapnap affirms, but Dream can hear his smile.
Faint laughter fills the space of their call, exhausted and genuine. Dream wants to apologize for waking Sapnap, apologize for everything-but their erratic, unexpected contentment on the line keeps him at bay.
His fingers knead the back of his neck as their outburst subsides.
"I really told him everything," Dream says quietly, and relief begins to lift in him. "Is-is it bad that I kind of feel...lighter and heavier at the same time?"
"Dunno," Sapnap says, "I guess you have to meet yourself somewhere, right?"
"Yeah." Dream leans back into his pillows with a heavy exhale. "My mom said you called."
"You talked to her?" Sapnap's voice pitches hopefully.
Dream's heart softens.
"I did," he recounts, "it was nice to hear her voice, she...knows about George, now." His hand falls to rest on his propped-up knee. "And she wasn't surprised. She said I was being shitty to you, though." He nearly grins. "Not in so many words."
"Yeah, she might be onto something there," Sapnap jokes, but lets out an uneasy huff. "I just wanted to know what was up. Sorry if it felt like I was keeping tabs on you, or something. I-I really tried not to call her."
"It's okay," Dream says with sincerity, "I'm glad you did. Even...even when I couldn't answer it was nice to know you were there, if that makes sense." He pauses, gazing out into the quiet night beyond his window. "Nick...I'm glad that you know me."
"Oh. I'm glad you know me, too."
Dream's face breaks into a small smile. "Do I?"
"What does that mean?" Sapnap asks.
Dream chuckles in amusement. "Nothing, just-I can tell when you're keeping stuff from me, that's all."
"Yeah yeah," Sapnap says quickly, "stay out of it. When you ditch me for days like this it takes away your inner-circle rights."
Valid. "I'll work on it, man, I promise."
"Good."
Icy guilt nips at his anxious heart from the underlying strain in Sapnap's tone-nearly faded, hardly there.
Dream's head spins. Have I hurt who I love more than I've hurt myself?
"I don't try to ignore you," he says softly.
Sapnap sighs. "That's why I kept texting."
Silence slips into their phone line. Dream slowly stretches out his taut muscles, and follows the pull that guides him out of his blankets, and to the window's ledge.
He slides open the glass, and says, "I haven't been down here in a long time."
Humid air trickles in through the screen. Orlando always smells like the forest green of tropical leaves, with notes of garbage and suburban cigarettes.
"I can tell," Sapnap says, and his voice slows, "y'know, it might just be because my brain is still rebooting right now, but...this is how you've always done it, I think. All on the inside." He pauses, letting the words sink between them. "It just makes you miserable."
Dream watches the orange glow from a streetlamp dim. He timidly asks, "what do you think I should do?"
Sapnap falls quiet in what Dream assumes is stunned contemplation. After a moment, he mumbles, "um...what do you think you should do?"
Dream nearly gives his view of the empty street an eye-roll, but lets it pass. He sees a stray, black cat wandering between parked vehicles on the road. A shadowed object hanging from its mouth drops a small, light silhouette that floats down to the asphalt.
"All I know is I can't come back from this," Dream murmurs quietly. The feather begins to tumble idly along the ground as the cat slinks into the night. "This could be it."
"Are you...scared?" Sapnap asks.
"Oh, always," he says, then settles before carefully moving through his winding thoughts, "but I think I'm starting to feel...like this was inevitable. I don't know. Like no matter what I thought, or said, or did in the past few weeks-it was always going to bring me here." His tone softens, "even when I first met him, I was supposed to end up here, though I didn't know that for a long time."
"Wow," Sapnap mutters, "that's big."
Dream gently shuts the window. "Yeah. Sometimes, it feels a little too big. You know?"
"I get that," Sapnap says, "like maybe it's too much."
"What are you supposed to do with that, then?" Dream asks, tugging on the cords to lower his blinds. He mumbles, "I should really buy some curtains."
"Be patient, I guess." Sapnap then adds, "if you get curtains you'll probably feel worse."
Dream frowns. "Why?"
"You need sunlight, you vampire."
"I get more sun than you," Dream retaliates.
"Whatever," Sapnap says, "just don't block it out."
He sits on the edge of his bed with a snarky reply on his tongue, but falters.
Let's give you something to look forward to, then. Something sunny.
Like you?
"What if I have to?" Dream asks.
"What?"
Dream falls flat on his back, the springs of his mattress carrying the slight bounce to his fluffed hair. "What if he's done, when he says something back-and I have to shut off everything I'm feeling now?"
"Oh-you're talking about-okay. That's not really blocking it out, Dream. That's letting it go."
Sometimes, it's okay to lose.
Dream's voice grows incredibly small, "I don't want to."
"Really?" Sapnap questions.
Dream's pulse quickens. "What?"
His voice presses on the tendrils in Dream's heart, "like, not even part of you wants to?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Dream says.
If it was all for nothing-he stares at his ceiling. His days of solitude creep in heavily-maybe I should just tell you everything.
"I'm not trying to go all psycho-freak on you, but can I just...tell you what I think?" Sapnap waits until Dream offers a noise of permission. "You gave yourself an out, Dream."
"An out," he repeats flatly.
"Yeah," Sapnap says, "I know you didn't do it on purpose, or whatever, but some part of you knew sending that would mean it all could be over. Right?"
Dream grits his teeth.
Maybe I should just fuck everything up.
"What's that-that quote you like, the stupid Greek one?" Sapnap asks, and memories of a kinder summer suddenly resurface before them.
Hours in classical literature, visiting bookstores, scrolling through ancient forums-Dream had fallen in love with tragic heroes without ever knowing why. He would fade from calls to hear faintly, "where's Dream?" and George's warm voice reply, "rereading the Odyssey, probably," or Sapnap's, "close the fucking tab, dude, this is the third time today."
Eventually, his passion had left him, just like everything else.
His brows furrow as his heart slowly begins to sink with realization. "The one I sent you, like, two years ago?"
"Yeah, yeah," Sapnap says, "the one about the throne, and the girl who buried that guy."
His eyes shut.
"You..." Dream's voice slowly softens as he quotes, "you've rushed too far, too fast to the edge of daring. And there, Antigone, you hit upon the throne of justice."
"That," Sapnap says, "that's you."
His eyes open. He can make out the long arms of his ceiling fan in the faint, escaping light. Small reds from his monitors blink into the black air.
Dream mutters, "okay, Sapnap." His heart pounds. With deep hesitance, his words drop low as he asks, "what's the throne of justice, then?"
"Also you, dumbass."
Silence cradles him.
"If it's so big," Sapnap says carefully, "it makes sense you'd try to destroy it."
The implied end to his sentence hangs heavy on the tether between them: before it destroys you.
-
When the late hours of night turned early for their tired voices, he escaped his dreams. He walked along no beach, he saw no other soul, he merely slept in a void that delivered him great calm when noon rolled around on a fresh day.
He woke with an intention. To not look at his phone, to clean the laundry and filth he'd been lounging in, and try to pick up the pieces of himself he'd scattered through the empty halls and high-ceilinged rooms.
He carefully shaved away the days of scruff collected on his angled jaw, the blades tracing over sturdy bone and leaving softened skin. He'd tilted his head at himself in the mirror, slowly learning to recognize what he saw. His thumb swiped over the bags under his eyes and the dark shape of his brows.
Staring at his empty room and blank computer screen had made its mark.
He'd been weary to return to it.
He hovers in his door frame with contemplation, knuckles gently rapping against the white-painted wood, and gazes at his desk. Bright colors sway on his monitor's screensaver animation, twining together and breaking apart in silent rhythm.
Dream carefully passes over the clean carpet, and lowers himself into his chair. Although he should be bogged by dread and shame after his texting misfortune, his steps have felt easier. His chest can breathe deeper. His hands lost their tremble.
The honeyed edges of truth singe and soothe his tattered heart.
He'd connected with himself, somehow, between the candid night and Sapnap's grounding words. He let the sweet water of honesty flow down his roots and out his eyes, rushing through him, instead of against.
He can't undo it. He can't fix it. He has to put himself back together.
Dream clicks his computer into life and sees a happy invitation waiting for him on Discord.
He scans the abundance of names descending down the list. At any moment in the days prior, he would have been exhausted to even consider hearing a melting pot of laughter, sharp insults, and welcoming attitudes.
Yet he's closer to healing, now, closer to rejoining the world he'd painfully removed himself from-and George isn't online.
Dream joins the call.
Warm greetings lift the corners of his mouth, and he loads the game with trickling excitement. The image of dark grass blocks and oak pathways returning to his screen ushers an unexpected, homely feeling in the low bearings of his chest. Despite his distance, the loving, virtual community he'd built releases him from absence with open arms.
It feels like hope. It feels like family.
Patches enters his room with curiosity at the sound of Dream's laughter, and lounges near him for a long stretch of time.
They build on the SMP for several hours, playing music and bothering Tommy's live audience with any chance they get; which includes bullying him relentlessly for accidentally using the phrase "potty break" in front of several adult men.
Karl and Wilbur had expanded the two, measly treehouses from Dream's blackout memories into a small village on the canopy. It has pulleys, levers, not-so-sufficient waterslides and a birdhouse that is named: Sapnap's Only Friends.
"No no no, that's a stupid name, take that down," Sapnap complains while Dream navigates through the jungle-fenced in aviary.
"I think it's fitting," Dream says.
Sapnap scoffs. "If anything, it should be about Dream. Not me."
"Okay, okay, how about I make it 'Dream's guilty pleasure,'" Karl says, breaking the sign over the double-doors.
Dream searches through the chests to locate fruit seeds. "That makes it sound weird."
"Am I wrong?" Karl questions with a giggle. His character crouches near Dream, shifting repeatedly.
Dream smacks him.
"Hey," Sapnap says, "don't hit him."
"Do you really like birds, Dream?" Wilbur asks curiously.
Dream leaves Karl and Sapnap behind as he exits the wooden doors, passing by Tommy's AFK avatar. "Um. I guess."
Wilbur makes a noise of approval. "Can you give us an interesting fact that you know?"
Dream begins to bound across the green treetops, feeling unexpectedly shy. "Sure. Uh...like what?"
"Anything," Wilbur encourages.
Dream breaks several blocks of tree leaves aimlessly. "Um, parrots evolved around fifty-nine million years ago," he offers, "or that's what the earliest evidence shows."
"That's brilliant." Wilbur's genuine voice tugs the corners of Dream's mouth upwards with slight gratitude.
A faint sound notifies that someone has joined the channel.
Is he back from his potty break, Callahan tosses into the in-game chat.
"I mean, technically they found an older fossil that makes them around seventy million years old," Dream continues, clearing his throat, "but it was just a regular dinosaur with a bird-like beak." He scans the jungle floor for watermelons hidden in the winding vines. "There's a clear difference in bone structure from parrots to those guys."
"Do you see what I have to put up with," Sapnap says.
Karl laughs. "It's very cool, Dream. You're not a nerd at all."
Wilbur appears from Dream's left and presents several brown seeds he's collected. "So, do you just have these memorized in that massive brain of yours?"
Dream smiles, selecting the birdseed in his hotbar to click on a nearby parrot. "Well, I-"
"Hello," a new voice interrupts.
Dream's hands slide off the dark keys, away from the desk, and land heavily in his lap.
"George!" Karl greets happily.
George.
"Hey man," Wilbur says, "welcome back!"
George.
Dream's eyes stare unblinking into the horrid green and blue biome trapped on his dusty screen. The untamed parrot flies off into the depths of the jungle.
"Thank you," George responds, his tone amicable, and guarded. Dream could recognize this shade of politeness from half-a-world away. "How are you all doing?"
"Great, we're actually working on the treehouses again. I think you'll like what we've done with the place," Karl says.
"Really? That sounds cool."
Dream can hear the disinterest-the cold, calculating patience.
Wilbur hums. "Yeah, I moved your chest to the second floor earlier. Hope you don't mind."
"That's quite alright," George dismisses, "I have bigger things to worry about right now."
A chime pings through the call.
"Lads," Tommy says, "is GeorgeNotFound on my stream?"
"Go take another potty break," Karl orders quickly.
Wilbur's loud laughter fills Dream's headphones.
"You're still on about that, okay," Tommy grumbles, then asks, "George, George, are you going to be joining us, man?"
"No," George says, "I'm not here for that."
An unsettling pause tumbles between the rapid banter that'd been skipping from voice to voice for hours. The silence drags its agonizing claws across the skin of Dream's chest. He can almost feel the beads of blood drip into his lungs.
Sapnap says nothing.
Dream says nothing.
"Dream," George directs, his voice unreadable, "can I talk to you?"
authors a/n
Hi there :) debated posting this today for a while, this one was a lot of fun for me to write, Sapnap and Dream's dynamic has a special place in my heart. uncovering more about each character as the fic progresses has been interesting for me, and I hope for you as well <3
George will be back 100% next chapter.
thank you for reading and all the lovely comments, I would like to point out that spams make it a tad difficult for me to interact with you all on here, light moderation would be greatly appreciated!
I'll most likely be slow to post the next uploads, as I'm spending a lot of time making sure I get the story/themes right :)
a/n
yeah and um this is me :) the reuploader of Heat Waves :) Im not gonna post more chapter after chapter 10 i think because we all know u HAVE TO get an ao3 account :) and yeah, but um please check out my fancition too. Have a nice Day everyone!