It Was Never the End DreamNotFound

Chapter 7

George POV

"What?" Dream's body seemed to freeze. "My voice? You- you're sure?" 

George nodded. He'd never mistake Dream's voice for anyone else's. He was too annoying and practically never shut up. There was also something...  familiar about the man in his nightmare. He'd reminded George so much of Dream, yet he also wasn't his Dream.

"Can you describe him again? In more detail?" Dream's voice was strained. 

George closed his eyes, letting the memory of the man's undeniably handsome face resurface in his mind. His vision had been blurry, but he could still make out the man's features. 

"He had sharp canine teeth," George began, "and black diamond earrings. He seemed to be wearing a green hooded cloak rimmed with gold. He had scars on his face, too." 

Dream squeezed George's hand. "Where?" 

"One across his nose, one on his cheek." 

Dream's grip tightened around George, almost becoming painful. He wriggled his shoulders to show his discomfort, but Dream only held him tighter.

"What else?" Dream's voice seemed to grit out between his teeth. 

"About that," George hesitated. "The rest of his features were... strange." 

"Stranger than having my voice?" Dream's attempt to joke fell flat with the tension his tone carried. 

"He had wings," George whispered. "Huge, white wings. They would have been so beautiful if they weren't covered in blood. His tears were tinted with gold, and he had two thin rings of glowing gold light in an x shape around the top of his head." 

Dream stayed silent for a long moment, then, "What about you?"

"Me?"

"Could you see any part of yourself?"

George shook his head. "Not really. All I could see was my hand when I reached for his face, and some of my arm. I think I was wearing some kind of red cape with white spots, and I had a blue sleeve." He paused. He felt like the next detail was important, but he didn't know why. "There was a ring on my finger. I couldn't see the details, but it was green." 

"You were talking in your sleep," Dream murmured. "You said 'love you, too, so much my sweet feral boy',  what was that about?"

George flushed. "I swear I have no idea. I couldn't hear myself very well, and I could feel blood in my throat." 

Dream didn't say anything. George lifted their interlocked hands and nudged him. "Why are you being so weird? It was just a nightmare."

Dream didn't budge under George's nudge, just sighed. "I don't know what it was, Georgie, but a normal nightmare isn't that detailed." 

A shiver traveled down George's spine. The nightmare had been terrifying, and the pain felt so real. Almost as if his chest had really been torn open, soaking him in his own blood. In a moment of vulnerability, he leaned closer to Dream, resting his cheek against the taller man's sturdy chest. 

Dream didn't seem to notice, even when George nuzzled his nose against him comfortably. He didn't know why he felt safe around Dream, or why he was reassured when he was close to him. 

Eventually, Dream's chin came to rest on the top of George's head. He sighed. "We have awhile to go until morning. You should try to go back to sleep."

George lifted his head slightly, his hair brushing against Dream's neck. He didn't reply, just pulled away and nodded.

Dream moved back to his own blanket. George laid down, but turned his head, trying to make out Dream's mask in the dark. "Dream?"