𝕎𝕚𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕎𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕄𝕖 - Ⓓ Ⓝ Ⓕ

~7~

There was a crash, and Dream instantly snapped awake.

He blurrily opened his eyes, reaching forward for the touch of his best friend to make sure that he was okay, but when his hands met air, he instantly tensed. He quickly sat up, his heart beginning to race as he quickly scanned the room for the shorter boy, and when his gaze came up empty, he felt his pit of anxiety grow. George said he wasn't going to go anywhere – he promised – but now he was gone, and Dream had no possible idea of where he must have gone.

"George?" he called out, hesitant, and looked around the bed for his phone. He didn't remember dozing off, not all of it at least, but he remembered giving George his phone so he could talk to someone, but Dream couldn't remember who.

"Dream!"

"Dream!"

A chorus of two familiar voices was coming from somewhere, and Dream looked around again, hoping to figure out where the voices came from.

When he looked at the floor, though, the voices were forgotten.

"George!"

Dream's heart stopped at the sight of the brunette lying on the floor, his body limp apart from his huffs and pants of uneven breathing. The oxygen mask was on the floor beside him, just barely out of reach of his fingertips, and the table had been knocked over, as well as George's IV. The next thing he noticed, was the blood trailing down George's wrist.

Dream instantly left the bed and kneeled beside George, hastily pressing the oxygen mask to George's face and rubbing his arm quickly. His breaths were hard and laboured, and his eyes were screwed shut. It was a sight that Dream had now found himself familiar with, and he hated every bit of it.

"George, can you hear me?" A part of Dream knew that he wasn't going to respond, but he thought that it was worth a try.

George didn't answer, but two other voices did.

Dream quickly reached for his phone, stuttering a broken sorry and a promise that he'd call back, and hung up on them. He didn't know what exactly happened, but something had to have happened for George to get out of bed. Dream just couldn't figure out what.

After a moment of panicking about what to do, he remembered what the nurse told him, and found a panel beside George's bed. The red emergency button was staring up at him devilishly, and Dream felt sick to his stomach as he hovered a hand over it, before finally pressing it, and a light beep sounded through the room. After doing so, Dream knew that help was coming, and allowed himself to relax slightly and try to focus on George, and help him be more comfortable. Dream didn't want to move him, though, since he was untrained in the medical field, but even he knew that you shouldn't move somebody that might have taken damage to their spine or neck. And considering how the table was pretty much flipped upside-down, he didn't want to risk George further injury

He placed both his hands on George's wrist, scared about the blood trickling from his arm, and pulled his hoodie sleeve up enough so that he could see where George was injured. When he got to where the IV needle was supposed to be, he felt a little sick. The needle was long gone, and was probably ripped from George when he fell, causing an inch long tear in George's arm, exactly where the needle was and bleeding profusely. Dream paled when he realized that George might have damaged one or more blood vessels in his arm from the fall and the angle the needle went out, and instantly applied pressure to the wound, not wanting blood loss to be another medical note to add on George's file.

George let a whine slip past his lips, and Dream continued to press down on the wound with one hand while he reached out and tapped George's cheek gently, trying to bring him back to consciousness.