Criminal Minds ~ DNF

6

"Oh, c'mon, man! You can't just keep that kind of thing from us!" Tommy wailed.

"Yeah, George! I haven't left campus all year, you've got to give me something!" Tubbo tried. George laughed at his friend's efforts.

"And who's fault is that? It's classified, I've told you all I can," George smirked in the darkness. He knew that he was going to end up telling the two everything anyway, but watching them squirm for a little was way more fun.

"Don't give me that shit! Come on, what was Dream like?" Tommy asked frantically, rolling over to face the ceiling.

"Dream was hot, he told me so himself," George laughed.

"We know you're gay, you don't have to reiterate," Tommy grumbled. Tubbo reached up to slap his friend's overhanging arm.

"Be nice or else he won't tell us!" He whispered harshly at his best friend, glaring at the top of the bunk bed.

"Alright, fine," George threw his hands up in mock surrender. The younger boys' demeanor changed, now excitedly leaning forward to hear the story.

"It was a lot of buildup for half an hour, really. Schlatt abandoned me in favour of alcohol, the receptionist was a bit of a tart, and they didn't have any biscuits on the plane home." Though the FBI was very much an American organization, George was still a Brit no matter how hard Schlatt tried to stamp it out of him.

"What was the Dream Killer like?" Tubbo asked eagerly.

"He was..." How was George meant to explain it? "Intense. Like, really fucking intense. He told me that he was insane, then he begged me not to sedate him, then he told me that he liked to eat twats." George smirked at that. It wasn't exactly true, Clay had used a much stronger word, but the gist was there. The two others spluttered into laughter.

(If you're American, a twat is another word for a woman's downstairs area. It's also an insult, for example, if you are a twat,  you are a rude and obnoxious person. Same with the c-word used earlier.)

"He didn't!" Tubbo cried in between giggles.

"Well, maybe not in that context," George amended, joining in.

"He sounds like a great human," Tommy spluttered. "Wait, what was the context?" The mental image that George had been seeing when he closed his eyes flashed in front of him.

"Um, I don't think you want to know..."

"Try me. Tom Simons is a lot of things, but he is not a pussy!" Tommy made an attempt to puff out his chest.

"Alright, Tubbo, cover your ears," George warned. When Tubbo reciprocated, he continued. "He was talking about burning and eating people."

"Cannibalism? That's fuuuuucked," Tommy tried to keep his reaction low enough that Tubbo couldn't hear. The older boy removed his hands from his head tentatively, silently asking if the coast was clear. George nodded.

"That... that's wow," Tommy continued. "Anything less gory?"

"He was really flirtatious the whole time I was there, kept calling me darling and love. I think he might've threatened to kill me once, I don't remember. It all kind of blurred into a giant blob of terror," George was only half-joking. If he hadn't been able to sleep before going to Florida, he certainly couldn't afterwards. Every time he wasn't focused on something, his mind wandered to Dream. Dream, bent over a young woman while he carved the horrible but easily identifiable smiley-face into her flesh. Dream, carrying a dead man bridal-style over to an incinerator and dumping him, limbs sprawling at awkward angles inside the machine. Dream, with fresh, human blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. George shivered, covering it with a little cough.

"Hey, bossman, you good?" George should have known. When it came to other people's wellbeing, Tubbo's eyes were sharper than a knife. George hummed non-committally in response. He didn't want to get into it, especially not with someone as soft-souled as Toby.

"That's still fucking amazing! Our Gogy spoke to a serial killer and lived to tell the tale! Not many people do, you kno-" Tommy rambled until he was interrupted.

"Will you three shut up?" Another voice chimed in, leaning over the barrier of his own bed. It was George's bunk mate, Eret. "I'm trying to sleep over here!"

"I don't think you know who you're talking to, mate. This is George Davidson, the one who we-" Tommy defended until Eret once again cut him off.

"Went to Florida, we know. The whole fucking campus knows. That doesn't change the fact that it's one in the fucking morning. Go to bed, for Christ's sake!" George and Tubbo shared a glance, silently laughing.

"Alright, chill out," Tommy mumbled, turning his back on the mildly angered man across from him.

"That's our cue, as well," Toby whispered to George, holding back a giggle. "Night!" The goodnight was returned and each boy shifted around in their bed. George closed his eyes, trying to ignore the awful visions that played in the back of his mind.
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George found himself wandering through a field of wildflowers. Where am I? Where am I going? He walked a little further into the endless flowerbed, looking for an exit. There was a forest bordering the east side of the field. Shifting his weight indecisively, he thought to himself, what's the harm? He stumbled into the trees, weaving his way through them with the caution of an aimless dart player. Tiny pinpricks of sunlight burst through the green canopy, barely illuminating the path ahead. It burnt through the leaves in randomized spots, setting fire to the dried shrubbery on the floor under George's feet. The brunette took a step back as the flame emitting from the dead sticks began to spread. It burnt in a strange pattern, curling in a large circle. George could do nothing but watch as a ring of fire was set alight around him. Everywhere George looked, heatwaves obstructed his view. The flames lapped at his ankles and he was forced to move into the center of the ring. George's breath caught in his throat as the mirages morphed into people. His friends, Tubbo, Tommy, Maisie. All clinging to each other with terror-filled eyes, pointing at something behind George. He turned and saw somebody that he didn't know standing inside the fire-ring. Despite George racking his brain as to who he was and coming back with nothing, somehow the man seemed familiar. The man wore a white shirt with a red-orange flame printed on the front, black jeans and a bandana to hold back his dark bangs. This was not a mirage. The man slowly raised his arm, extending his hand to George. Though every instinct he possessed screamed at him not to, George stepped toward the man. Another step, and then another, then another and George was only a few meters away from where the man's fingers ended. The raven-haired man's face broke into a smile. It was not one of kindness or humor, instead donning a sarcastic, crude undertone. George's confused frown soon turned to pure fear as a long, snake-like dagger materialized  in the man's hand. The hilt was wooden with a small flame pained on the end, mimicking the one on the unfamiliar man's shirt. The blade itself was silver and lethal. The man advanced, using his forearm to knock George in the chest. The aggressive maneuver sent the Brit flying backwards, landing only a few inches away from the aflame boundary. George lay there, winded and in pain while the boy with the bandana smirked to himself. He stood over the brunette, hissing obscenities at him about how weak he was. The words all blurred into one, but George could still pick out little phrases.

"... Not afraid of you... FBI... Dream won't... Must be me... British boy... Like my fire?"

What was the aggressor talking about? George's eyes widened as he realised two things simultaneously. One, the dagger was suddenly being swung dangerously close to his throat and two...

George was certain that it was the Fire Killer who wielded it.

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Word count: 1369

Luna xx