Reticent

No Response

    George ached everywhere. He was tired and sore and he felt suffocated. Breathing in the water was getting labored. He kept finding small leaves and mystery petals floating around as if they were leaking out of him, or something. He couldn't take in air at all, lest he start hacking up his lungs. He was coughing blood consistently, now. It had been a couple days without any air, even. Dream's visits got shorter and further in between.

    Why? Was he scared to see George? Was he too stressed out to come?

    It had to be George's fault, whatever the reason.

    As hours dragged on, George grew more and more exhausted. There were moments throughout the day where he simply had no energy to move.

    When was the last time he ate? Probably when Dream offered him food a few days ago. Days. It had been days, at least. He might not have eaten what Dream offered. He couldn't remember.

    A lot of his memories were hazy. It gave George headaches when he tried to think. Recalling things was just too much energy. He was so tired. He was hurting. Every time he thought of Dream, his chest ached, though now it was a lot closer to splintering pain. Nothing was dull anymore. All of it was sharp and agonizing.

    George wanted to see Dream again. He managed to get George's mind off the constant hurting. He was such a comfort.

Where was he?

    What time was it? George was huddled at the bottom of the pond and couldn't really see where the sun blazed in the sky. When was the last time he even saw Dream? Had it been a few days? He couldn't remember. George would be upset about that if he had the energy. He just wanted to go back to sleep.

    Dream... I need to see you...

    If he was a bit more observant, perhaps George would've noticed vines underneath the flaps of his gills and in the back of his throat.

    Dream, meanwhile, paced not too far off the start of the deer trail. He was stressed and worried sick, having noticed George's recent drop in energy. Something was wrong. Very wrong. As his friend, and seemingly the only person who visited George, it was Dream's job to help the best he could. But what more could he do? He had already bought medicine. He didn't know what food would be best for healing... Whatever George was. Short of bringing him to a doctor, Dream had already done everything he could to help.

    But George wasn't getting better. George was getting worse. A lot worse. Dream's friend was suffering. He couldn't even talk anymore.

    Could Dream bring a doctor to him? Or maybe a veterinarian would be better? Maybe he could try contacting one of George's kind. Surely a doctor of the same species would know how to help. But how would Dream even do that? How would he reach out?

    Dream was the only one who could do something.

    Decidedly, Dream rushed down the deer trail in search of George. Maybe George would know how to reach out. Maybe, if they worked together, George could get better. He had to get better.

    When Dream finally made it down to the pond, George was nowhere to be seen. A bit out of character, seeing as how it was mid-afternoon. Usually, George would be up by the bankside, waiting. His eyes would light up when he saw Dream coming down the deer trail. A massive smile would spread across his face and he'd wave in greeting which Dream would reciprocate.

    "George?" Dream called nervously. There was no answer. The pond was silent, aside from the distant rushing of water where the creeks met it. There was no rustling in the grass or leaves from local wildlife. Not even a breeze swept through the canopy. It was as if the entire area was holding its breath.

    "George?!" Dream called again, a bit more frantic. If anyone was there to listen, they would easily hear the panic in his voice.

    Desperate, Dream ran down to the bankside and scanned the water for something George-shaped. At the bottom, vaguely, he could see something gently drifting in the water. He plunged his hand in and aggravated the water, hoping to catch George's attention.

    George was awoken to rumbling in his ears, as if something was violently thrashing in the water not too far away. Slowly, he turned to the surface to see what was making the noise.

Dream's hand. It was Dream's hand in the water. Mustering all the strength George had left, he swam his way to the bankside. He reached for the hand, grasping it and letting Dream's strengths pull him up. He let go when George was situated and settled himself on the bankside.

Dream's face lit up upon seeing his friend, though it quickly fell. George looked so incredibly sick. Even while he stayed in the water, Dream noticed he was taking shallow breaths. He was hardly able to keep himself from being swept away by the current. He looked as if he hadn't eaten in days.

"George..." Dream whispered in dread. In response, George merely blinked at him, slow and distant. He seemed so tired.

George lifted his face above the water and spoke for the first time in almost a week. "Dream..." He said, his voice weak and hoarse. "I'm glad you're here."

Not a second later, the violent coughing started. George reached for Dream who grabbed him immediately, his brow furrowed in concern. He pulled George over his lap upon request.

The coughing didn't stop. George couldn't breathe. Blood dripped down his chin and onto Dream's arms.

"George..." Dream murmured on the verge of tears. "Please go back in the water."

Petals fell out of George's mouth and gills. "No-" He managed to argue between splintering shudders of his ribcage. "You're... Warm..." A whole rose head rolled out of George's throat and bounced gracefully off Dream's arm.

What the hell...

George gasped for breath and gagged as a second rose head fell from his throat. Blood dripped from his gills and stained Dream's clothes.

Dream merely watched in horror as the creature in his arms writhed in agony.

After a moment, there was a pause in George's coughing. Petals fluttered from under his gills as George took deep, labored breaths.

"George... You're scaring me," Dream whispered as he leaned close.

George, not paying attention to Dream's words, was far too focused on the potent taste of metal on his tongue. Blinding pain splintered across his chest. Though he was breathing, he felt suffocated. As if his body wasn't actually taking in air. He could tell Dream was talking, but he couldn't process any of his words.

It was as if he had been plunged into water. Sounds were drowned out around him, incoherent and muffled. The pressure in his chest intensified until he felt as though he would explode. It was agonizing. He was coughing again, worse than before, but he felt so distant from the sound.

"I'm fine..." George tried to say. He felt the words in his throat, but the words, if there were any, must've been mangled and unintelligible.

It was a lie. An obvious lie. George was well aware that he was getting worse. A lot worse. But Dream was with him. He was in Dream's arms. He needed to stay there.

Dream watched in horror. He could do nothing. George was in agony right in front of him, in his arms, nonetheless, and he could do nothing.

"I really don't think you're fine," Dream choked out, praying George could hear. "I think we should talk to some of your people and see if they can help. I doubt any human doctors would know how, so..."

No response. George stopped coughing as another flower head fell from his mouth.

"Do you think that's possible? To reach out and ask for help?"

No response. George slowly fell limp in his arms.

"George?"

No response. Was he still breathing?

"George, answer me."

No response. He was still.

"George, please..."

No response. There was never another response.