Hiya! I'm Defelala, AKA Defe!
My pronouns are They/Xe/Thee/He, and I'm a twitch streamer and a youtuber. I can get quite busy at times, so please don't rush me for updates.
This story contains suggestive content and implied sex. Nothing too explicit, I don't like writing porn lol. And yes, I have an actual plotwise reason to add in these scenes. It both ties into the time period and something that happens late in the fic. Be respectful, and don't say weird shit in my comments.
No, this fanfic is not inspired by "Roadtrip" by Dream. It's actually inspired by "Dear Fellow Traveler" by Sea Wolf.
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As always, the song is inspo
enjoy! 💖
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He was going to die here, wasn't he? Surrounded by miles of farmland and a stupidly small town where the most exciting thing that happened was the annual livestock show.
George sighed, grabbing another dirty cup and dunking it in the murky water. Even the soap bubbles were dull, barely staying a minute before they disappeared. He wiped his forehead with his arm, sighing. The AC was broken again. He would need to call Darryl, the handyman again soon.
Darryl was sweet, but a little awkward. He was a good friend of George's though, having helped him get this job when he got fired from his last one since his boss found out about his... well... "perverse nature".
Thank God Darryl didn't seem to mind that he was gay. Otherwise George probably would've been stuck doing some dirty job, cleaning up after livestock at some farm hours away from his house. That kind of work would break George even more than he had already been broken. The scrawny boy just wasn't cut out for hard labor like that. Not that this job was any better though.
Now that he thought about it though, Darryl did seem to give off some sort of familiar feeling. George would be lying if he said he hadn't wondered if his friend was queer too. There was just something about the way he looked at the owner of the diner.
The ground shook a little with the hum of a car driving down the road. Dim lights held up solely by ducktape and the will of god buzzed, reminding George that he needed to replace them soon.
A door slamming shut and the beep of a car locking signaled to George that a new customer had arrived. He didn't look up, it not being his problem until the person actually walked through the door.
He pondered on who it was, seeing as none of the regulars came in on Sundays. Well, not this early at least. Mr. Minecraft ate lunch with his second wife and three kids a bit later in the day, and Puffy only came around by the time George's shift was over.
The brrring of the door's bell going off brought him out of his thoughts, and George glanced up to see if his guess that it was Mrs. Innit picking up some lunch for her son and husband was correct.
Instead of the sweet blond woman standing in the doorway, a stranger stood there.
He looked a little sickly, with his thin nature and dark eyes, but it might've been the lighting. It was pretty dark in the diner, even during the day.
The person met his gaze, and George felt his heart jump. He sat down, sliding into a booth. Something about him was enchanting, and George found that he just couldn't look away.
Dishes all but forgotten, George went over to take his order. He was the only person working in the diner that day, but that was okay because it was always slow on Sundays. Not that it was ever really busy on other days. The most people George had seen in the diner at once was when the Fishers had a family reunion a few years ago. He was grateful Nick had shared a shift with him that day, or he might've just blown his brains out by the time they all finished ordering.
"Hi, what can I get for you today?" George put on a smile despite the crushing fatigue weighing down upon him and the bags under his eyes. He took the little notepad out of his pocket, ready to take the stranger's order.
As he stood there, George took him in. He was a little tanner up close, and a smattering of freckles coated his sharp face like stars. He reminded George of one of the models in the male skin mag he kept hidden in his mattress from his dad. Sans the scar running across the bridge of his nose. He wondered where they came from. A bar scuffle gone wrong? A jaded ex lover? George's interest in who this stranger was just kept growing and growing by the second.
When his eyes met George's, he was shocked by how vibrantly green they were. It was almost supernatural, how they seemed to pierce George.
Something caught on the stranger's mind, and he looked back down at the menu clutched in his hands.
"Uh, just a- you guys are still serving breakfast, right?" he asked, his fingertips hesitating over the shiny plastic of the laminated paper.
George hummed, trying his best to turn his thoughts away from things he shouldn't dwell on until he was safe in his bed late at night.
"Then I'll get a stack of blueberry pancakes and a, um, a glass of apple juice," the stranger smiled, handing his menu over to George.
His hand brushed against George's, and oh god he needed to take a cold shower when he got home. It had been so long since he had laid with someone, and it was honestly wearing down on him.
"Coming right up," George suppressed a shiver, wanting his thoughts to focus on making this really cute boy's order instead of him himself. He flipped his notepad closed, repeating the order in his mind.
George went back around the counter, walking into the kitchen. They hadn't gotten a tv yet, the owner replying 'do you think i have money for a tv? If I was that rich, I'd be living in New York!.' when George asked about it. So instead of the news or saturday funnies, George got to listen to Elvis.
As George got out the pancake mix, he heard the stranger moving to the bar. The burn of someone staring at him caused a shiver down his spine, and he glanced over at the only other person in the diner.
The stranger had moved from his booth seat to sit at the bar/counter, studying George with an unreadable expression.
George couldn't help but notice the rhythmic way his fingers drummed against the wood. He felt his face heating up; what he was so flustered about, George couldn't guess.
He continued making the food, being extra careful with it because, hell, he liked the guy with a thousand freckles sitting at the counter.
Sliding the plate and glass over to him, George leaned against the counter.
"So, what brings you here? We don't get too many strangers," George hummed, definitely not secretly checking him out as he ate.
"I'm on a cross country roadtrip to reunite with my long lost twin in California," he replied between bites of pancake. George snorted. He'd heard lots of reasons for people being on the road, but a long lost twin? It definitely took the cake.
"Sounds interesting," George smiled, turning around. He looked back at the stranger, tilting his head, "I'd love to go on a road trip, see all the different things the world has to offer."
He startled a little when he felt a hand on his elbow. George faced the man again and was immediately struck by how serious his gaze was.
"Come with me then. This town feels like a death trap, and you know I'm right. Let me show you what you're missing out on."
Before he knew it, George's work apron was discarded on the counter and he was in the passenger seat of a 760 GLE Volvo with someone he just met less than 30 minutes ago releasing the break.
He looked over at the guy, messing with the hem of his shirt. The seat cover was patterned with white and black checkers, and it felt a little like a bus under his thighs. It was humid inside the car, making George feel grateful that it was a warm day and he decided to wear shorts.
He heard the whir of the AC turning on before he saw the pale hand of the stranger clicking it on.
It was then that George realised that he didn't even know the name of this mysterious man.
"So... What's your name?" George asked, leaning against the door.
The stranger stayed silent for a moment.
"Dream."
"Dream," George tried out the name in his mouth. It felt natural, like his name was always Dream and George had already said it a thousand times.
Dream hummed. There was an air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror. George squinted his eyes, trying to read the tiny text describing the smell of it.
He bounced a little in his seat, the car running over a rough patch in the road.
"Your eyes are pretty," Dream smiled, "Heterochromia, right?"
George flushed, sitting back. He did think his eyes were really pretty, but of course he wouldn't tell anyone that.
"Yeah. I don't know that they're pretty though," he trailed off, suddenly shy.
Dream hummed, ending the short conversation.
George opted to look out the window, feeling that soft, smothering feeling of impending doom pool in his stomach.
What the fuck was he doing? Here he was, in a car with a stranger, heading off to god knows where, and he never even let his father know where he was.
But between the silver bars of stifling anxiety there was a little voice that told him that his father had been a dick lately anyways.
Yeah, sure, he's sad. But George was sad too. George felt that pain all the same as his dad did.
Maybe even more.
He must've been making a weird face, since Dream snorted.
"Hey, do you like The Animals?" he asked, smiling.
George thought for a moment. They sounded familiar, but he couldn't place where he knew them from.
"I don't think I've heard them before," George responded, sitting back in his chair.
"Well today's your lucky day George! I've got a mixtape of their greatest hits right here for your listening pleasure," Dream reached behind him for a flimsy cardboard box resting in the floorboard behind his seat. Without taking his eyes off the road, he tossed it onto George's lap, grinning.
Dream smiled a lot. It was fine though, since George liked his smile. His teeth were sharp, and George tried to not imagine what they would feel like sinking into his skin.
"It's the bright red tape, don't mind the label," he said.
"Ok."
There were quite a few cassette tapes in the box, some brand new looking and others beat up and scratched beyond recognition. It was honestly a miracle that some of them even still worked.
Spotting the cassette he was looking for, George dug it out with a triumphant smile.
“Songs that remind me of you <3,” George read the faded label under his breath, tracing his thumb along the paper. He wondered who ‘you’ had been. Perhaps a best friend. Maybe a girlfriend. Feeling self conscious, George pushed the tape into the slot.
It started playing, and George already liked it three seconds in.
“There is a house in New Orleans,” Dream sang under his breath, and George was blown away. Ok, if being good looking wasn’t enough, Dream also sounded like an angel?
God, what else could he do?
George hummed along to the song, despite not knowing the words. He had to admit, it was pretty good.
“So, California huh? Got any places to visit along the way, or are you- we, are we just gonna stop for motels along the way?” George asked, breaking the comfortable silence. Dream rolled his shoulders back, humming.
“There should be a map in the glovebox, pull that out and you’ll get your answer,” he replied. George snuffed. He flipped open the glovebox, and rifled through the papers for a moment before finding the map.
Humming along to the song, he stretched it out over his lap.
“What do the numbers mean?” he traced a finger along the line from Florida to California, the first three crossed out.
“They’re places I want to visit. Sights I want to see. We’re free to stop anywhere you want to go too, yaknow,” Dream hummed.
George thought for a moment. He looked in the side-view mirror at the town growing ever smaller and smaller in the distance behind him, the life he was so ungracefully thrown into after his mother upended everything, and his father who wouldn’t even know he was gone until Nick came to take over his shift and found him missing.
Maybe he should have left a note.
He did have his father’s phone number, maybe he could stop at a payphone and call him to let him know what he’d done.
Then again, George kind of wanted his father to hurt.
He wanted him to worry.
It wasn't like Dream would kidnap him anyways. He had been nothing but sweet so far.
“I’ve always wanted to see the ‘World’s Largest Cow Skull’.”