Fall Apart (Dream Team)

Chapter 32: Exhaustion

CWs: none really, some mention of anxiety

Dream couldn't for the life of him, figure out how the hell a doctor had convinced George he was fine so quickly.  He had seen the look of George's face when the doctor said it was nothing important; he'd seen the way George looked down, his eyes glassy.  It was obvious George had wanted a better answer, a real answer— but as soon and Dream tried to contest it, he'd shut him down. He'd agreed with the doctor, restating that he was in fact sick, and just dramatic.

It made no sense.

He recalled what George had said the previous night— that he thought he was dramatic.  He had told him that same line again in the hospital, saying he was just dramatic, that he was fine. It was the same line every time, the same unsupported claim. It was perfectly illogical; sitting in the emergency room, having just finished throughly terrifying Dream with how sick he was, George had the audacity to tell everyone he was dramatic, and that Dream was somehow the illogical one.

Save actual abuse, Dream couldn't think of a single reason George would act like he did. 

He sighed, running a hand through his hair.  He'd never heard George say anything against his parents or give any indication that they would do something to hurt him— George spent a lot of time with his parents, choosing to stay close to them.  He talked about trips they did together, and went to dinner with them often. 

Nothing about the situation made sense— George's obvious sickness, contrasted with his willingness to give up so easily, left Dream's head spinning.  He supposed the fact that it had reached an ungodly time in the morning judging by the clock in his car didn't help. 

Dream gently hit his head against the steering wheel. 

He hadn't managed to fall asleep the previous night until six, before waking up for Christmas with this family at eight.  He hadn't felt the exhaustion in the midst of the day's activities, and it was just now catching up to him.  He looked at the time.  Almost 2am.

Sitting upright and running a hand over his face, Dream put the disposable mask the hospital had given him back on before grabbing his keys and phone.   He got out of his car, closing the door before realizing he'd left his wallet inside and opening the door again. 

The walk across the parking lot felt longer with every step— the distance between him and the check in desk growing imperceptibly longer as he walked across.   He stifled a yawn as the man checked his temperature, spacing out as he followed instructions to return to George's side. 

Opening the door, Dream was greeted by a nurse typing something on a computer and a sleeping George.   He waved a quick hello before collapsing in a chair, leaning back to rest his head against the wall and closing his eyes. 

"Have you picked up his prescription?"

He shook his head against the wall.

"Alright, he's already checked in on our system, so he just needs to be there.  The pharmacy is on the first floor, next to the gift shop."

Dream nodded, sitting up and rubbing his forehead.  Opening his eyes, he was assaulted with the harsh, fluorescent lighting bouncing off the polished floor.

"He kept the water we gave him down and his vitals are completely stable.  He'll be ready to leave in under an hour," the nurse gave him a small smile, before returning to whatever she was doing on her computer.

"What do I need to do?" He asked, hoping the question made sense. 

He was worried the issue wasn't resolved, he didn't know when or if George would start screaming again.  The way he looked at his long-time favorite person had changed— instead of being the warm, comforting George that he always was, George almost scared him.  His screams had chilled Dream to the bone; he never wanted to hear something like that again.  Just the memory, still vibrant in his mind, made Dream hesitant to approach him.  The unholy screaming may return, the rapid heart rate and dread running through Dream's veins returning with it.