Night: 7
Life Count: 190
George:
He was waiting for Dream.
But something was wrong, a feeling he couldn't get rid of ever since he saw Dream leave with Deo, a nagging feeling of unease and worry. Dream was probably fine, he was one of the strongest fighters they had, and no one would even try to kill him. But Wilbur tried, and Techno tried, and both times Dream barely escaped with his life, and with the traitor in their group who was killing people, and who had met with Wilbur, the odds of him being attacked were high.
But he couldn't dwell on those thoughts.
He had to keep positive, for his friends, for everyone still stuck in the arena, for every life already lost in the last week. A lot of people died in seven days, out of ten thousand people, one hundred and ninety were still alive.
That wasn't positive thinking.
He paced back and forth, the cold stone walls giving him a small feeling of claustrophobia as he waited for Dream. The cave, when filled with Dream's laugh, Dream's voice, just Dream, had been warm and cozy, soothing and calming, but now it was just a joyless box of grey. He was tired, tired of living in hell, tired of worrying about dying, about his friends dying, tired of waiting around for Dream to come back, if he was ever coming.
He had to come back eventually.
Right?
It was Dream, the practically invincible fighter, the smartest person he knew, the best friend he ever had, so of course he had to come back. But he couldn't stop pacing, his feet drumming on the floor in a repetitive pattern as he waited for the sound of Dream's voice, his laugh echoing from the corridor. His blond hair catching the sun, his mask lifted to show his stupid, attractive smile, little freckles barely visible.
He missed Dream.
He gave a start as footsteps echoed outside the cave, his heart beating faster as happiness sparked inside him. He stopped pacing as a head peeked around the corner of the cavern entrance, his dark hair slightly matted with sweat, a splatter of blood covering some of his sky blue hoodie.
"Skeppy?"
"George, you look slightly disappointed to see me." The mocha eyed man joked, his forced laugh not lining up with his worn and tired face, a hint of regret and anger shown in his clenched jaw and nails digging into his palms.
"Yeah, I was just waiting for Dream." George's eyebrows furrowed as Skeppy's eyes flashed at the mention of the masked man, anger visible in his face. "Skeppy, what's wrong? What's happened?"
"We caught the killer." The dark haired man muttered, his eyes to the ground. "I came in just as they were about to kill Deo. I tried to get h-"
"Wait, about to kill Deo?" George asked, then pure fear set on his face as realization set in. "Wait, Dream was with Deo. Is Dream okay? Did he get hurt? Where is he?"
"Dream was there with Deo." Skeppy crossed his arms and met George's eyes, the brown irises flinty. "I don't know if he's alive or not."
"What do you mean? If he was with Deo, and you guys caught the killer, than how could you not know?" George felt the panic spike again. "What happened to him? Was he badly injured by the murderer? Where is he?"
"George, he was the murderer!" Skeppy burst out, and George took a step back at the volume of his voice. "I heard Deo scream for help, then got there just as Dream was about to slit his throat!"
"Your lying!" George yelled right back at his friend. "Your lying Skeppy!"
"No he's not, George." Bad appeared right behind Skeppy, wrapping a supportive arm around the dark haired man's waist. "I saw it too. Dream was about to kill Deo when Skeppy and the others arrived and stopped him."
"What do you mean 'stopped him'? What did you do to him?" the fear wasn't going away as George looked at the pair in front of him. "You wouldn't... kill him, would you?"
"He was going to kill Deo, and he had already killed the guards before we got there, George." Bad bit his lip slightly. "I don't know what he would have done to the rest of us."
"IS HE DEAD!" George screamed at the two, his eyes filling with tears, his hands starting to shake. "TELL ME IF HE'S DEAD!"
"I don't know, George." Skeppy muttered, his eyes back to the floor as he ran his hand through his hair. "I don't know if he's alive or dead. No normal person could survive that, but Dream's gotten himself out of tough situations before now and-"
"What did you do to him..." George whispered.
"I PUSHED HIM OFF A CLIFF!"
Skeppy trailed off as he bit his lip, waiting for George's reaction as the British boy stared at him, one tear tracing down his face. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, his face going blank in an instant, his brown eyes shutting down, closed off like a door had just been slammed on his emotions.
"Leave. Get out of here before you join him." George hissed, his hands clenched in fists as he stared at Skeppy, anger almost making his eyes go. "Leave!"
"George, what are you-" Skeppy started, his hands shaking slightly as Bad reached down and intertwined their fingers.
"LEAVE!" George shoved the brown haired man backwards, making him stumble backwards into Bad, who wrapped his arms around his boyfriend protectively.
Seeing them together made George's pain worse, how Bad's eyes were always scanning for threats, always putting Skeppy before himself, and how the dark haired man was ready to kill, to murder his own friend, so that Bad would live.
"I'm sorry, George." Skeppy murmured as he grabbed Bad's hand tighter and started to walk away, the echoes of his meaningless words left in his wake.
Meaningless words.
How could you be sorry for pushing someone off a cliff, especially someone who was your friend? This game was turning everyone insane, slowly corrupting everyone, poisoning their minds, like Wilbur, Deo, and now Skeppy. But the dark haired man wasn't evil, he just wanted to protect Bad, to not let him die in this horrible game, and George understood that, but to kill Dream?
He had to find Dream.
Or at least proof he died.
George grabbed a small satchel off the small wooden hook by the cave entrance and started filling it with all the medical supplies he could get his hands on. Knowing Dream, if he was still alive, he'd probably gotten himself in some stupid situation and managed to get himself hurt. He slung the leather strap over his head, grabbed his sword and ran out of the room as fast as he could, his heart in his throat, fear gripping him.
He needed to go now.
Everything was a blur around him as he ran, tears pricking in his eyes, trying not to think of Dream's broken body, laying at the foot of the mountain, the heather stained red with blood. He burst out of the entrance to the tunnels, the cool night breeze hitting his face as he passed discreetly under the lookout guard. The figure, maybe Illumina, didn't notice as George pushed away the vines and slid down the stairs, taking two steps at a time. He arrived at the bottom of the mountain, breathless and fearful as he scanned the heather for a body, a flash of a green hoodie, a glimpse of blond hair.
Or the red of blood.
He saw the discoloration of the grass, and his heart stopped for a second as he raced over to the spot, the heather flattened, like someone had fallen from a cliff. He could see the packed dirt of the walls around him, all crumbled and broken like someone had slid down them. He noticed blood staining the fallen pieces of rock and dirt, like someone injured had displaced them while tumbling down. There was no body, and the red splattering of blood made a trail, away from the flattened heather, and away towards the forest,
Dream was alive.
George raced along the blood trail, footprints of crushed grass leading him away from the mountains and into the trees, the sky becoming darker as he entered the forest. The sound of his own feet echoed in his ears, every sound making him jump as he neared the middle of the forest, the blood trail completely covered by shadows. He looked up at the barely visible moon, just a silver crescent in the sky, the light hardly touching him as he pulled the hood of his cloak over his head, protecting his ears from the brisk wind.
Footsteps.
Not his own.
He whirled around, drawing his sword, and glancing warily around him as he backed up, shadows obscuring his face. He strained his ears for another sound, trying to spot his assailant as he cautiously watched his surroundings for any movement. The wind whistling through the trees and the birds calling didn't help his paranoia, every sound making him jump, his sword raised. The trees were silent, the only sound being his heavy breathing and the breeze through the leaves as his eyes roamed the dark forest.
Silence.
He moved cautiously out of the shadows, deciding that if he had heard someone, they would have attacked by now. It was probably his over-paranoid brain making things up, his nerves already on edge because of this stupid game. He put his feet carefully down on the grass, trying not to make too much noise as he started to walk away from the center of the forest, back to the mountain.
He was almost too late to react.
The only thing that alerted him was the glint of purple, the flash of a blade slicing at his head, and he ducked his shadow clothed assailant's first blow. They barely gave him time to draw his sword when they were swinging again, another deadly stroke to his chest which he barely blocked. The dark clothed figure held their sword in their left hand, their right arm limp at their side, and a substance that looked like blood was covering their clothes. A hood was pulled over their face, shielding their features as they rushed at George again, with a desperate sort of ferocity, like a caged animal.
"Just leave me alone!" They screamed, their voice pained and shaking, but recognizable, a sound that made George's breath leave his lungs.
He didn't have time to respond as the cloaked figure pressed his attack, his blows sloppy but powerful as he swung at George's head. The brown haired man neatly flicked his sword in between his attacker's hand and the sword hilt, disarming him of his weapon and making it clatter to the ground.
"Stop attacking me!" George tried to talk, but the cloaked man turned and rammed his foot into the brown haired boy's gut, cutting off his words.
He flew backwards, his back hitting a tree and knocking his head against the smooth bark, blacking out for a second, his eyes shutting as pain flashed through his skull. George opened his eyes just in time to dodge a fist to his face, his attacker's hand smashing into the tree behind him, the crunch of bones echoing around the forest. He winced as his attacker drew back a bit, clutching his hand with a growl of pain before turning and swinging his fist at George's nose. He felt the cloaked man's knuckles connect with his face, a crack, then blood dripping down his chin as he put a hand to his bleeding nose.
"LEAVE ME ALONE!" the cloaked figure yelled, desperation and agony mixed with anger filling his voice as he pressed his recovered sword to George's neck.
George tried to respond, but blood filled his mouth, and he spat it out, the taste of rust on his lips, trying to stem the flow with his hand. His assailant kept a hand on the collar of George's shirt, the shadows masking both of their faces as the cloaked figure drew his sword back. The brown haired man's eyes went wide as his attacker prepared to swing the blade down, to end his life.
"STOP!"
George's yell echoed through the woods, the British man's eyes closed as he waited for the pain, then death, but it never came. His eyes fluttered open to the tip of the purple sword frozen right above his chest, hovering there as the cloaked man paused. Slowly, George reached up and pulled off his hood, letting the faint starlight fall on his face, the moon casting shadows on his brown hair, his eyes glimmering in the dim light.
"George?"
The attacker stepped back slightly, his voice filling with happiness, the same voice George missed and loved. The brown haired man smiled slightly as he saw the faintest gleam of blond hair, mostly obscured by the dark hood that covered the rest of his face. It really was him, alive here, in front of him, talking to him and admittedly almost killing him, but still real and living.
"I'm so glad your alive, Dream."
George stepped forwards and lightly wrapped his arms around the taller man, being careful not to touch any wounds, but Dream winced anyway. Hesitantly, tentatively, the blond man returned the hug with one arm, the other hanging limp at his side, the crushed fingers twisted sickeningly, and George had to avert his eyes. He buried his face into the other man's green hoodie, basking in the soothing scent that wafted off the lime fabric, torn and burnt in places, and covered in blood.
"What happened to you?" George asked the taller man as he pulled back, trying to see him clearer in the dim light. "I though you died!"
"We shouldn't talk here." Dream glanced around the woods, intertwining his unbroken finger's with George's hand, and starting to lead him out of the forest. "I've got a place we can stay for now."
"You already found somewhere?" George was slightly impressed as the tall man led him out of the trees, the sun just beginning to rise over the mountain, casting warm rays of light over the meadows.
"No, I found it when I was off 'scouting' while you were unconscious. I knew something like this would happen, so I found a little spot just in case." Dream's voice was tired and worn, pain edging it as he limped towards a small waterfall, flowing into a beautiful creek next to the meadows. "It's not to close to anyone's camp, but near enough that I can get there pretty fast, if I wasn't half dead like I am now."
He led George to the ridge above little pool below the falls, peering up at the rushing blue water above them, then letting go of George's hand, he walked to the edge of the waterfall and just... disappeared.
"Dream!" George yelled, looking down at the pool of water below, trying to spot a flash of blond hair below. "Dream, where did you go?"
"Up here!" the tall man's voice echoed from behind the waterfall, and George spun around, looking for his friend. "I'm behind the water."
"Your what?" George walked closer to the falls and peeked behind the curtain of rushing water. "Oh..."
Behind the waterfall, a small cave opened up, the falling water concealing it from outside view, the inside almost completely dry. A small torch was hung on the stone walls, it's small flickering flame lighting up Dream as he lay in the center of the cavern, his dark cloak spread around him, blood splattered on the stone around him. George walked cautiously into the cave, mesmerized by the beauty of the sparkling water on the rock, the fire from the torch casting little flickers of light onto the tall man laying in front of him.
"What happened to you?" George murmured as he knelt next to Dream, helping him to sit slumped against the cave wall. "How did you survive?"
"Well, after I fell off the cliff." Dream winced as George pulled off his cloak and hoodie, leaving him in his white t-shirt, stained with blood. "I managed to grab one of those bushes lining the mountain. They had thorns."
He lifted up his hands to show George the puncture marks on his palms, blood still dripping from some of them. His right side looked a mess, with his twisted fingers, the infected smelling arrow wound, the arrowhead still buried in, and a large bruise, maybe from a rock, stretched up from his wrist to his elbow.
"I don't know if you always put yourself in these situations just to terrify me, or to tempt fate." George muttered as he wiped the blood from his friend's wounds. "I always find you covered in blood, and almost dead, and every time, you manage to scare the shit out of me."
"I do what I do best. Almost die." Dream wheezed sarcastically, his strange laugh bubbling from his lips. "After I tumbled down the rest of the cliff, I landed in the meadows and limped off to the forest. That's when I found you, and almost killed you. I am really sorry for that."
"I'm all right. I just got a bloody nose." George smiled, his eyes focused as he finished splinting Dream's hand, wrapping it in a sling and tying the bandage over his shoulder. "Keep your hand there, and no sword fighting with that hand until it heals."
"Thanks Georgie." Dream leaned back, his whole body relaxing as he let out a sigh, muffled by his mask as he crossed his uninjured arm behind his head. "I'm just glad you're here."
"I'm glad your not dead." George slid next to the blond haired man, letting his head rest on the stone behind him, smiling as he reached over and ruffled Dream's hair.
"Than I guess it's a win-win. I like living and having you here, no disturbances, no one killing us and no Wilbur Soot causing hell for me." Dream sighed at the mention of the crazy man, and George leaned over, wrapping a comforting arm around the taller man's waist. "He's gone insane, and now with his spy, he's grown way too dangerous."
"A spy?" George asked, glancing up at the white smiley face mask covering Dream's face, brought up just slightly to show his small frown. "What do you mean?"
"I think Skeppy told you how he almost killed me, after he walked in on me 'about to kill Deo'." Dream bit his lip slightly at the mention of the dark haired man. "Well, when I was walking with Deo, however, he trapped me and the guards in storage, locking the doors and knocking me down. He killed the guards with my sword, then wounded himself."
"Why would he do that?" George murmured, burying his face into the crook of Dream's neck, his breath ruffling the taller man's blond hair.
"He tried to kill me, then, when I'd finally got him surrendered, I gave him a chance to leave with his life." Dream brushed strands of George's hair out of his face, smiling softly down at him. "He started screaming for help, and that's when Skeppy came in, with my sword to Deo's neck, the guards dead by my weapon, and he assumed the worst. I ran out of there and was about to escape when they blocked the vine tunnel."
"Who is 'they'?" George asked closing his eyes, his body relaxing against the taller man's side as he played with the British man's hair.
"Bad and Skeppy. They cut me off as I tried to get out, and Skeppy forced me back to the cliff edge. H-he tried to kill me..." Dream's voice hitched slightly, and he sighed. "Then he pushed me off the plateau, and you know the rest."
George could feel Dream shaking slightly as he opened his eyes and peered up at the blond man, a single tear gleaming on his exposed jaw. He reached up and brushed it off the taller man's face, and Dream smiled gratefully at him, a hint of sadness in his face.
"It just really hurts, having friends like Skeppy and Bad, then having them betray you, hold an axe to your neck, watch as you fall to your death." Dream's voice was shaky as he resumed running his fingers through George's hair. "It makes you wonder if anyone even cares about you anymore."
"I still care, Dream." George murmured, closing his eyes again and resting his head on Dream's shoulder. "I'll always care about you. I'm always going to be right here."
That was true, for both of them. After Dream had walked through fire for George, and George had taken an arrow for Dream, they both knew.
They would die for each other.