Servant of Evil - Dreamnotfound

Chapter 7

Dream goes to the execution, obviously. He wouldn't miss his last chance to see George for the world, no matter how bitter it may be. He waits with bated breath as the prison doors open, and his lover is being escorted out to the guillotine just a few meters away.

George is breathtaking, is stunning beyond belief. Even in torn and simple wear, he carries with him the regality of a Royal. Even with bare feet pricked by the pebbles on the ground, his gait is no less dignified. He may have been dirtied, but he is no less beautiful. He is beautiful in every sense of the word. He is beautiful in how he does not waver, in how he keeps his gaze ahead of him despite the crowd demanding acknowledgement. He is beautiful under glaring eyes and biting insults, remaining as stoic as ever. He is beautiful in the light of the torches held high, in the harsh glow that makes the defiant flame in his eyes blaze up. He is beautiful as the supposed Queen of this Kingdom, even in the face of death.

Dream wonders if George would have been a better Queen, if he would've worked better as an Ace to him. Surely he would have been greater, surely he would have done more than Dream could ever wish to achieve in his rule. He had always been wiser, kinder, more patient and understanding. George was calm where Dream was impatient, and was resourceful where he was frustrated. Maybe in that other world, they could have ruled peacefully. Maybe in that other world, they had more time with each other.

Dream is done with his wishful thinking. George is being lowered down on his stomach now, body flat against the old wood and head poking out through the neck hole of the mechanism. His expression is apathetic, almost bored even, and Dream wants to applaud him for his nonchalance. Deep sienna irides sweep over the crowd almost lazily, until they meet with vibrant emeralds and make eye contact.

George's façade falters ever so slightly, almost imperceptible but Dream was never one to take his eyes off the subtleties of his lover. The corners of his lips twitch, and Dream knows exactly what he wants to do. He pulls back the hood of his cloak, feeling vulnerable despite the fact that no one around him should know who he actually is. Dream smiles as gently as he can, despite the visceral mix of emotions threatening to bubble up and spill over. He keeps his gaze on the way George's expression softens, on the way his lips curl up to return the smile, on the way his eyes flutter shut and crinkle with joy, on the very last moments of him being on the mortal realm.

The executioner holding the rope lets go, and the blade drops swiftly. There's a single thump then the sound of something being dropped into the prepared basket. Finally, to the people, the Queen of Diamonds was dead.

Dream stands there numbly, eyes thankfully filled with tears and obscuring the morbid scene in front of him. He only sees blurred red, and he can't tell if it's George's blood or the tendrils of despair coiling around him. Everyone around him rejoices, but he can't even bring himself to keep the smile on his face any longer. He can't bring himself to smile at all with the burden of guilt weighing him down and the regret seeping into his very bones. He doesn't know how long he remains in place with his head hung low and his regret ran high, but he jumps ever so slightly when a hand comes to grab his shoulder.

"Dream?" It's quite a low, almost tentative whisper, but the fact that this person knows him is enough to make him terrified. He attempts to scramble out of the firm grasp, breathing frantic and eyes wild. "Hey, hey, it'll be okay. Calm down, it's just me."

"Sapnap?" Dream blinks repeatedly as he finally processes the sight of his best friend standing right in front of him. Before he can think of the implications of such, before he can rationalize how badly it would end for him if Sapnap were to reveal who he was right now, he's crashing into his arms and crying into his shoulder. To Sapnap's credit, he doesn't seem at all surprised by the gesture or fazed by the sudden weight on him, and instead he returns the hug and even pats his back in an attempt to comfort.

"Hush now, we wouldn't want anyone to stare." Sapnap reprimands, but it's gentle and kind and it's everything Dream needs and yet doesn't deserve. "Why don't we leave this place, huh?" He nods curtly as they pull apart, wiping his damp cheeks with the sleeves of his cloak and following the other out of the rowdy crowd.

"Where are you taking me?" Dream asks later, when the prison building is merely a gray dot in the distance. His voice is hoarse and his eyes feel swollen, but he pays it no mind.

"To the woods. To a new life." Sapnap looks at him with an inferno flaring in his vermillion eyes, and Dream realizes quickly that it's fueled by determination and passion. "I made a promise to George, after all."

"Out of obligation, or of debt?" Dream cannot help but doubt, especially when the whole world has turned against him several times before and he feels like he has nothing left. He cannot help but be suspicious, especially when the only person who has stood by his side all this time is now dead. He and Sapnap may have been friends, may still be friends, but their morals and principles have clearly changed them more than they'd like to admit. There's always a price to be paid, there's always an underlying motive, because things just aren't that simple anymore.

"Out of friendship." Sapnap is resolute. "Out of wanting the best for both of you despite the circumstances."

... except maybe they are. Maybe they can still be.

Dream hums in acknowledgement. He lets his guard down, because he has nothing else to be taken away from him aside from his life. He lets himself trust, because if he cannot trust the one George believed in, if he cannot trust his own childhood best friend, then he has no one left. He's thankful for his presence, for the promise of company in the foreseeable future. He expresses his gratitude by nudging his hand against Sapnap's own, a silent message in the language of subtle affections they've been fluent in since they were children.

"You still have the tattoo." Sapnap observes as a matter-of-fact, still looking at the hand that has brushed his. It's something to fill the charged air, to pull Dream out of his spiraling thoughts.

"Of course I do. It's not so easy to wash off." It's not so easy to wash off his mark, his sins, his lover's blood on his hands. It's not so easy to wash off the evidence of his brutal rule. He abruptly snaps out of it when something is being pressed onto his hands, the sensation rough and new and quite unlike anything he's ever felt before. He spares an inquisitive glance and his raised eyebrows ask a silent question.

"Wear it." Sapnap elaborates, even helping slip them on his trembling hands. He doesn't stop holding them, using them to pull Dream along while gently rubbing circles into the clothed skin. Just when had they begun to shake? "No one will think twice about a lumberjack or blacksmith with leather gloves on."

"Is that going to be my new beginning?"

"It can be, if you so wish for it to be."

"I wouldn't mind." He really wouldn't. "As long as it's with you." And the gentle smile that comes after tells him that it is.

A comfortable silence befalls them as they come to a stop near a horse tied to a fence that Dream presumes is Sapnap's. He fiddles with his new gloves while his friend prepares their steed for travel. He decides he likes the way they feel, so different and raw and it's something his spoiled self was never made to experience. He decides he likes leather more than silk, likes the scratchy fabric of his cheap cloak more than the velvet of his capes.

A hand is offered to him, and he looks up to see Sapnap has already mounted his horse while he was lost in thought. He doesn't hesitate when he takes it. He doesn't falter when he hoists himself up the side and sits behind his best friend. He doesn't look back when they move away from the capital and into the multicolored horizons framing the wilderness.

.

.

.

"I have nowhere else to go anyway." Dream says later, burying his face into Sapnap's nape and letting his tears be carried away by the winds. The ride is rough, and the weather is a little unforgiving, but he feels the safest where he is right now with his arms wrapped around Sapnap's waist and chest pressed flush against his back. He doesn't need to see it to know that his best friend is smiling, bright and hopeful no matter how melancholic they may feel.

"Then let's go home."

And they do. Except home wasn't quite home without George in it, without their third puzzle piece.