I'm on your side

Save me Dream

   Dream POV:

A grueling week has went by. Dream paced the room back and forth, his bare feet clattering against the floor as though it was detrimental to his survival. But it wasn't. He was just in the most stressed state of his life and needed to fidget, even if that was in the form of walking. His dirty blonde hair was constantly ruffled, and running his clammy hands through it did no help. The bags under his eyes were heavy like weights had fallen on then. Purple and hideous. But who cares? All he cared about at that very moment was where his beloved George was.

"Dream. Relax, alright? You need to sit down, you've been up for-"

"Shut up!" Dream yelled, sticking an arm out loud and preposterously.  The room seemed to be engulfed in this silent and negative ambiance, that felt eerie even if you had walked in with no clue of what exactly was going on. 

Wilbur didn't understand, did he? He just could not form any sort of sympathy, or grievance for the way dream was acting. He thought perhaps that this was funny. That enraged Dream. Is that true, or is he over thinking it? Who knows, he just wants to find George. He attempts to think of the enemy. 

Everything had been resolved, he had thought. Techno was long dead and Schlatt was laying deep within the barricades of a rocky cave that had no escape. They had all made sure of that, even checking it once a week to make sure his body was decaying in there. No more Schlatt. It cannot be him. 

The storm outside heaved a loud struck, sending a bolt of lightning through the wall window of Dream's apartment-

"Holy shit Dream. Oh god. You have to see this." Tommy said, running into the room, and almost slipping onto the hardwood floor. His face was pale within the dark shadows of the living room, or perhaps a tinge of blue. Something was wrong.

Dream ran over to him. "What? What is it? Is it George. I swear Tommy don't fucking play with me right now."

"It is."

"Then what the hell are we waiting for?! Tell me now." Dream said, his voice hoarse and almost desperate. Tommy shot Wilbur a guilty look. Should Dream even see this? 

"I'll pull it up on the....tv." Tommy paused, looking at Dream once again with a stunned and utterly heartbroken gaze. "We have to find George."

Tommy took the tape that had been placed quaintly in his mailbox and with shaky hands, brought it towards the tv console. He had trouble trying to get it in there, but eventually did. The tv screen went black and white, those ugly pixels taking up most of the screen. It went loud and static boomed through the room. Dream sat down on the couch, his leg bouncing harshly and rapidly. 

Then it went to a single message. The screen was black and only played a distant white noise that seemed to send mischievous messages through the room. White and messy font wrote a letter that should never be delivered. 

"Tommy. This is Schlatt. Surprising, right? Well, I couldn't agree more. Really! Being locked within a dark cave must have done something to my mind because I just cannot think of what to say to you. All I know is that all of you are a bunch of cowards. Why didn't you throughly check the entire thing before throwing me in there like it was nothing? What I mean by that is there was a shallow lake in the cave. I have no doubt you remember that. But there was a hole in it. Nifty, wasn't it. I used it to weasel my way out and got out. You didn't think I'd die in there, how could you?

   But it was still horrible, and I'm sure you know how much I love revenge. I relish in it, as if it were a swimming pool of all of your stupid fucking bones. And I'm sure Dream is reading this as well. Hi, Dream! How are you? Not that I care, but I'm assuming not very well. I mean, your little lover boy is gone. Oh no! Where could he be? Well, obviously it wouldn't be proper etiquette to tell you that. But I can surely show you. I figured you would be too anxious to approach me again, so I did you a good favor so you didn't have to. Being in love is a wonderful thing, so I decided to rip it from you. Quite literally. Take a look."

    Dream felt his entire body drop. His head throbbed with the pains of insomnia but that was now laced with a dizziness and hurt. He did not want to see the photos that were about to be shown, yet he did. Would it instill hatred, anger, or fear. Only time will tell. Wilbur and Tommy stayed silent, but watched as the first picture came up.

Tommy seemed to whimper, a hand going to the back of his head. 

George's face. Georges beautiful, angelic looking face- No.

Georges face now was ugly. It was scary. It was completely destroyed. His jaw had been bashed multiple times, and dried blood seeped from open holes within his cheeks. His back teeth were cracked and bits just settled into his mouth as sharp as the blade of a cleaver. The bones of his nose had been ripped and torn open, the flesh almost pulled back. His plump and once delicate lips had cuts all over them, large blood clots scattered all over his face. What had they even used? A slice the size of saw was etched across his forehead. It spelled out the word: Schlatt. That was enough to make Dream absolutely mortified. He had carved his fucking name into George. George, his love. His life. His life seemed to be disintegrating. 

The frame on the tv changed casually, as though it were just a ridiculous little school presentation. It was Georges chest, revealing almost 50 scratches etched across his shoulder, his feeble collar bones that were emphasized more than usual, and along his neck, to close to the vital areas. It seemed there was not one piece of George that hadn't been absolutely demolished. How could Dream let this happen?

He noticed the room George was in. It was nothing clean. Sanitary. Not anymore. His cuts were all opened and the fluids and excrement displayed on the floor would probably give him life threatening infections. There was blood, in shades that ranged from crimson to a dull grey. There was piss and vomit almost as though it were mixed together. And a lone chair.

And a picture. A small polaroid photo sat on that chair. One of Dream and George together on one of the best nights of his livelihood. The night of the first date. The fancy restaurant. The way they bickered and laughed over how sophisticated the menu was. The way the waiters thought they were the coolest people who ever walked on earth and decided it was best to take a picture to remember this moment. It was all coming back to him. Dream could feel himself getting nauseous. He wanted to look at George even if it was in this way, but wondered whether or not this was the last picture? Oh how he wished it was, as the next one approached. 

It was Georges feet. If his face was destroyed, then his feet were absolutely and utterly annihilated. They had been bent backwards and distorted to no avail. It looked as thought they had been twisted over and over again like they were not human flesh. All the nail beds had been ripped off, and were completely raw and open against the cold concrete floor. The disgusting shade of blood covered them, and it looked as though they had been completely infected. The bones of his ankles were gone. Battered. Hit. Over and over again. And it seemed to never stop. A hammer lay next to Georges grotesque and weak body, if only he could grab it. 

Dream stared into the tv as the peppered static showed up once again. His mouth was agape but his eyes filled with a numb set of tears that seemed to never stop. But he wasn't crying. He didn't know what to feel. Seeing George in this state and knowing it was his fault for not double checking to see if there was an escape in that fucking cave. It was all Dream's doing. And George had to endure. And Dream had to sit in his house safely and calmly, with a leisurely mind, unaware but now aware that this was happening in who knows where. He heard Wilbur vomit, but did not flinch. Tommy was screaming, and looking towards the floor. Dream however, was the most affected. 

But George was the one who was the most hurt. And he was the most innocent.