Love Bites Oneshots

Demons of Dreams

Written by: yourhonor

Status: canon

TW: gore, panic attack, nightmares, and self harm (brief)

A disturbance.

George blearily rubs his eyes, sitting up in bed, awoken by a strange crackling sound. The room is washed over in a red color, bed empty save for himself. Weird.

The stale, typically-refreshing air of the night flies in through the open window, making the room stuffy and suffocating. He stands and travels across the creaky floorboards.

As he opens the door of the bedroom to see the living room he's surprised to see the once wooden floorboards replaced with cracked stone and moss, bugs crawling in and out of the cracks, blood staining the cold walls. It looks familiar.

He squints in confusion at a figure sitting in front of their fireplace. Their back is turned to him.

The fireplace crackles and spits little dancing flames, ash decorating the mantle. He frowns. "Dream?"

The man doesn't respond, simply lifting what looks like a teacup to his lips for a sip.

"Dream, what are you doing?"

No response.

"Are you alright?"

Suddenly the figure spins around.

It's Schlatt.

Red eyes meet his. Schlatt's teacup and saucer fall out of his hands and crash to the ground, revealing the contents of the teacup. Deep, red blood stains the stone. He gasps.

In his lap is Dream's severed head, which rolls into the pool of blood, staining his skin with a big streak of red, eyes meeting George's gaze as he tries to back away.

"Why didn't you save me, George?"

His lips move unnaturally, his voice piercing the air, piercing George's head with it's ghostly echo. A scream rips through his throat.

Blood drips from the ceiling, into the fire, onto his neck, into his hair and onto his hands. Running blood rolls into his eyes from his head, as he tries to blink away the red in his vision. He tries to choke out a response as the fire bursts into a deep red color.

"George? Answer me, George." The head croaks at him. He sobs, trying to apologize, rationalize, or say anything.

"George."

"George...?"

"George!"

George's eyes snap open for real this time as he gasps out, sitting up so quick he hits his head on the bed frame with a thud. Warm tears nearly convince him he still has blood in his eyes.

"Oh fuck, are you okay?"

"Dream?" George whips to face the voice before realizing what's happening.

He's in his bed. For real this time. Dream is gently gripping his shoulders, eyes worried and darting around his face as if trying to figure out his expression. "What's going on, George?"

George wants to hug him, kiss him, pretend nothing happened and let himself be wrapped in his very real and very alive boyfriend's arms so he can get his breathing under control.

But it only begins to go downhill. You'd think he'd start to relax once he realizes it isn't real but he can't figure out why it's getting worse. His chest rises and falls faster as he digs his fists into his eyes, avoiding eye contact with Dream out of shame and fear, like Dream's head would just fall off if they met each other's gaze.