"We found it."
George looked up from the table, seeing Niki walk in the room. Tubbo stumbled behind her, arms full of folders and files. George asked, "Found what?"
Niki grinned. "The place where Wilbur is hiding, we found it."
Everyone's heads snapped up from their work. The whole team was in the room now that Niki and Tubbo were back. Sapnap pumped his fist in the air and shouted, "Let's fucking go!"
Everyone smiled, meeting each other's excited eyes. Tommy got up and helped Tubbo pass around the files. Ten folders were handed out and everyone opened theirs, eager for the mission.
"How did you find it?" Jack asked.
Niki took a seat and explained, "In Miami there was another killer five years back. He was caught and we got to talk to him. It didn't take much for him to talk and he was spilling the whole thing to us. He told us about this building on Palm Beach. It's a real fancy place; big house, pretty beach, and everything."
"And Wilbur is there? Just chilling on the beach?" Clay questioned skeptically.
Niki nodded with a shrug. "Apparently. We looked into it and the police departments of both Miami and Palm Beach say that the place is owned by someone called Will Burr. The faces of the owner and Soot's mugshot match up, so I'm guessing he changed his name."
"What a creative name change," Karl muttered with a scoff.
"I brought the map of the house from when it was built, so we have blueprints. We just need to come up with a plan for infiltrating it and finding Soot and Dream's sister," Niki said, opening her folder.
George looked at the blueprint of the house, which was more of a mansion, and said, "Good work Niki and Tubbo."
Niki smiled and nodded in thanks. Tommy and Tubbo huddled over their blueprint, whispering back and forth. Karl, Alex, and Sapnap were all discussing the possible places Wilbur could be hiding and Jack and Zak were calling the Palm Beach police department and asking for permission to stay there for coms. George turned to Clay, who was chewing on his lip thoughtfully as he looked at the map.
George brushed his knee against Clay's and whispered, "We'll get her back, don't worry Clay."
Clay gave him a small smile and looked back to the map. "I can't help it, George, I'm worried. I mean, look at this place, it's huge. How are we supposed to find her― if she's even there. Wilbur could have her someplace else... he might not even be there."
"He will be," George insisted gently, placing his hand on Clay's knee to rub a soothing circle.
Clay placed his head in his hands and said quietly, "I― I just... I'm scared. What if she's like me? What if I'm too late?"
"What's so bad about you? You're amazing and selfless. If she's anything like you, then we should be happy."
"You know that's not what I meant."
"I know," George muttered. Clay looked at him and George added, "Clay, I'm sure she's fine. She shares your genes, so she must be stubborn and persistent. She's a fighter and most importantly, she's going to be so happy to see you."
Clay's shoulders slumped and his eyes teared up. "Thank you," he whispered. "I don't deserve you."
George cupped his cheeks and murmured, "Clay, you deserve the world and more for what you've done for your sister."
He wiped a lone tear from Clay's cheek and smiled softly. Clay closed his eyes and leaned into George's touch. "I― you mean a lot to me George, I hope you know that."
Clay opened his eyes, gratitude and adoration shining in them. George smiled. He glanced around, finding everyone too busy with the new information to be paying attention to them. As he looked back to Clay, he whispered, "You mean a lot to me too."
Clay smiled wide and pressed a gentle kiss to the inside of George's wrist. George took his hands from Clay's cheeks and looked back to the papers in front of them, trying to hide his blush. He cleared his throat and muttered, "Let's get to work."
"Sir, yes sir," Clay said with a joking salute, forcing himself to look at the papers and trying to hide his laugh. George glared at him, feeling someone looking at him. He glanced at Niki, who jerked her chin to the door.
She mouthed, 'Can I talk to you?' George nodded and excused himself. He followed Niki out of the room.
As soon as the door clicked behind him, he asked, "What did you want to talk about?"
Niki took a deep breath and said, "I wanted to ask you something."
When George nodded, she asked, "Did you forgive him?"
George looked to the closed door and nodded slowly. "Yeah, I did. Why?"
Niki hesitated, a conflicted look crossing her face. She said, "I don't think that's a good idea, George. After all he did― you forgave him in a week... after months― months― of lies."
George frowned. "That's not your decision to make. I can forgive him if I want to. He deserves forgiveness."
"He's a monster."
"Don't call him that," George snapped.
"Do you remember the amount of people that he's killed? How they were killed― stabbed, cut open, left on their home floors for their families to find. Do you know how sick you have to be to do all of that?"
George winced and mumbled, "He did it for a reason. He's better now."
"No, he's still a killer. He's Dream― a psychopath, a murderer, a monster. Nothing he can do will change that," Niki stated steadily. "No one can change their past, no matter how hard one tries, and Dream has a bad one."
"The past doesn't matter anymore. We have to think about the future."
"How can you say that?!" Niki said, her mouth open in shock. She gritted out, "People have lost sons and daughters, fathers and mothers, siblings and cousins― all because of him."
"You don't have to forgive him," George said quietly, "but I do. I'm sorry you can't accept that he's changed."
"No," Niki said harshly, "I'm sorry for you. He's going to lie again and when he does, you'll know I was right. I'm sorry that your standards of trust are so low that you're willing to trust Dream again― a fucking serial killer."
George flinched. He swallowed and looked away, muttering, "I'm going to take a walk."
Niki didn't appear fazed. She said, "Maybe that'll help you clear your mind and then you can see that I'm right. Dream doesn't deserve to be trusted."
She walked back into the room and George didn't follow her. The door swung to a close and just before it shut, he heard a familiar voice ask, "Where's George?"
George's lips thinned in a tight line and he pushed back his tears. He walked down the halls and out of the station. A burst of warm air hit his face as he left the air conditioned building and sat on the bench outside.
Is Niki right? George rubbed his eyes and exhaled. He was so, so tired.
All of this constant activity and new information was exhausting him. He thought, Am I not in a good enough mental state? Was he too drained to be making decisions like these? Was he right to trust Clay? Or was his mind too scattered to think straight.
He looked at the setting sun and sighed. George bet that the sight would've been beautiful for anyone else, but not for him. Never for him.
He dismissed the thought and walked to his car, not bothering to say goodbye to anyone. George would deal with it in the morning. Fifteen minutes later, he was in his apartment, skipping dinner and collapsing in his bed.
His eyes landed on the wall. The wall full of his collections on Dream. George hadn't had the time or motivation to take it down. It was a constant reminder of who Clay was― or rather, who he had been.
A reminder of the lies.
'...stabbed, cut open, left on their home floors for their families to find. Do you know how sick you have to be to do all of that?
Dream doesn't deserve to be trusted...'
Was Niki right? George couldn't help but notice how heavy his shoulders felt, like there was a weight pushing him down. His eyes raked over the photos, countless victims with countless lives.
George knew he should feel something, anger or sadness, but he couldn't feel anything. The happiness that he had with Clay earlier that day was gone― in it's place was a pit. A pit of emptiness and at the bottom... at the bottom there was the web of lies that Clay had spun.
George wished he could cry, but no tears surfaced. He sighed in frustration and stood up, pacing his room and pulling at his hair. He stopped in front of the wall and stared at a gruesome picture of one of Dream's kills― one of Clay's kills.
He had to stop thinking Dream whenever his past was mentioned, because, well, they were the same person. They committed the same crimes and killed the same people.
George leaned forward, pressing his forehead to the wall and muttering, "Why can't I feel something? Anything."
He sighed shakily and stepped away to look at the messily put together collection of photos and articles. "Fuck," he whispered, lifting a trembling hand to trace over a photographed smile.
Before he knew it, his fingers ripped the photo from the wall. It fell to the ground like a leaf and George just watched in silence. His hands fisted and he turned back to the wall.
Soon he was ripping each and everything from the wall, from photos and articles to maps and pins. George gritted his teeth as he felt a small sting on his finger tip.
He paused, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths as he lifted his shaky hand. A drop of blood welled, appearing from a thin slice of red. He let out an emotionless laugh. "Of course, of fucking course I get a paper cut."
George looked to the wall, blinking blankly at the torn papers. His floor was littered with shreds of remaining articles. It was completely useless, all of it.
He ran a hand through his hair and sat down on the edge of his bed, thinking, Am I doing the right thing in trusting him?
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a/n - yikes
happy or sad ending?
ty for reading! ily!! <3