Fall Apart (Dream Team)

Chapter 30: Oh God Oh F*ck

CWs: anxiety/panic attacks, sensory overload, shutdowns, and beginning to deal with a traumatic experience. there's a lot of angst here

"I'm leaving the door unlocked, so call me if you need anything, okay?" Dream called softly, looking at the lump of blankets that was his favorite person in the world.

George made no acknowledgment that he'd heard what Dream had said, but Dream let it be.  He certainly wouldn't force a response, and he could only hope that George would come to him if the pain got too bad.   He gave a soft smile and left the door cracked, before walking down his hallways to the living room.  Patches wrapped herself against his legs, nearly tripping him as he became consumed in his thoughts. 

Poor George— he'd looked so out of it the entire evening. He spent the night zoned out on the couch, looking pale and never giving a straight answer.  He'd slowly stopped responding entirely, and by dinner, he'd been completely unresponsive. 

Dream's mom had suggested he take George back to his house, early on in the night, and he'd mostly agreed.   By the time they finished dinner, George looked entirely gone, his eyes glassy as he stared, shoulders slumped against the chair. They'd collectively decided it was best if Dream left with George, and the rest of the family went to look at Christmas lights— the lights were normally one of his favorite parts of the holidays, but he couldn't have cared less about them, anyone.  All he cared about was getting George home safely.  He could only hope his doctor's appointment went well; on the chance, it didn't, Dream and his mom had thought of some other options, much of which was too complicated legally for him to understand.

He pulled out his phone and sent a text to his mon that George was in bed and put his phone down.  Patches jumped into his lap on the couch, head-butting his hand.  He happily obliged, scratching his cat as he curled up into his lap. 

"He's going to be okay, right Patches?"

Patches meowed back at him, rubbing her head against his hand again. 

He smiled.  Even if she didn't know English, the mock-conversion he'd had with her was comforting. 

~

Dream must've left his TV playing some History Channel conspiracy. 

Somewhere from the depths of his house was an eerie, pained, wailing, wrapping around the walls.  It was deeply unsettling as if it was something edited for a psychological horror film.  The noise was unlike any noise a living creature, should make.  Ever. 

Standing up, he went to the volume dial on his speakers, turning the volume to zero.  The TV was off anyways, but he assumed Patches had found a way to mess with it. 

He paused.  The volume was at zero and the TV was decidedly off, but the noise persisted.  He walked over grabbed his phone from the couch— nothing.  His phone was silent. 

He checked for Patches.  It couldn't be her, he was sure of it, but he had to check.  Patches was wandering around the living room, looking up at him with wide, unsettled eyes.  Not Patches. 

There was nothing on fire or wrong in the kitchen.  His appliances were off, and the sound got fainter when he walked into the front of his house regardless. 

Wondering if he somehow left his PC on, he walked down the hall to his soundproofed room— nothing.  His room was still.  Patches poked her head in to investigate, but nothing else moved.  His PC was dark, with no flashing lights or illuminated screens.  His bed was the same as it always was, with his blankets half falling off the bed, and his typical sweat pants and t-shirt were strewn on the floor.  He turned off the light, beckoning patches out and shutting the door again.