Criminal Minds ~ DNF

26

The atmosphere in Dream's house was very different to the one in Washington. It had been five days since Clay and Nick had reached out to their friends and George and Drista were sat the kitchen table playing poker. The girl was a fucking card shark, totally unexpected!

"All in," she smirked, confidence pulling at the corners of her lips.

"You suck, Dris," George whined. He folded his cards into the table and Drista cheered.

"I didn't even have anything!" She whooped, turning her cards into the table to reveal... nothing of value. George would like to say that he wasn't gullible, but out of the seven rounds they'd played, Drista had won this way six times.

"You're so annoying," he laughed, rolling his eyes playfully.

"I know," she smiled. George put the cards down, getting up to go to the window. He did this quite frequently, for he missed the sun and the fresh air that came with it.

"I'll text Dream and ask for you but I can almost guarantee that the answer will be no," Drista called, packing the poker chips away.

"I know," he sighed. "Can I at least open it?"

"I don't see why not," she waved dismissively. He unlatched the window with a grin, sticking his head out to breathe in the air.

"Oh! Speak of the Devil," she said, pulling her ringing phone out of her pocket.

"Hey Dris, everything going okay?" Asked Dream.

"Yeah, everything's fine. George wanted to know if he could go outside," Drista pressed and the brunette lookd up hopefully.

"..." there was a silence, with nothing but white noise on the other end of the phone.

"Can he wait until I get home?"

"Yep!" George shouted so that Clay could hear him. The blonde wheezed at his eagerness.

"You're not giving Drista any trouble, then? You be careful around her, she bites," he teased, earning a 'hey!' from his sister and a laugh from George.

"No. He's actually really boring to be around. He literally doesn't do anything cool. I don't know what you see in him, Clay, he plays chess," Drista made a face.

"Hey! Don't diss chess, chess is awesome!" George defended, his head still out the window.

"When pigs fly," Drista muttered, and Dream wheezed.

"Well, it seems like you've got it under control," he spoke directly to his sister now, lowering his voice so George wouldn't hear. "If you lose that boy, Drista, I swear to God, I will murder you."

"No you won't," Drista scoffed, hanging up. George, who had been getting far to excited about the oxygen that he now had access to, had leant too far over the windowsill. Drista burst out laughing as he tumbled over top, landing on the soft grass below him.

Was grass always this green? Was the sky always this beautiful? Were the clouds always that fluffy-looking? He looked around in awe, a little stunned as to why he was suddenly outside. Drista ran to the window, still laughing.

"Hold it right there, mate," she said, mimicking George's accent. "I feel like you did that on purpose." 

"Never," he grinned, still playing with the green blades. Drista was going to pull him back inside but halted herself. Why ruin his fun? Carefully, she lowered herself out the window, landing with far more grace and decorum than he had.

"Just don't tell Dream, kay?" The phrase was said far too often - a lot of things seemed to be kept from Clay with regards to George.

Speaking of Clay, Drista was sent photos of death notes and George just could not hold in his laughter at how obscure they were. Dream killed twice, once in New Mexico and once in Cali. (I say Dream killed twice - altogether, the group murdered too many people to count)

Hello Agents. My name is Dream, but you already know that. You've been looking for me, haven't you? Hah. You could say I'm Dream Not Found. There's one other issue, though. George Was Taken! :)

Hello, Agents. You like my little pun? Good, because it's the last one you'll see in a while. I'm going home for a while. :)

____________________________________

"We should stage your death," Dream said offhandedly. He had come home the day after George tricked Drista into letting him outside and the two were now sitting on the couch binge-watching season two of Friends.

"You think?" George asked, pausing the show.

"Yeah. I wouldn't hurt you really, not again. I bought fake blood this time," Clay smiled wryly. George raised his eyebrows in agreement. He hadn't bathed in about a week by that point (through no fault of his own) and if he was covered in fake blood, surely Clay would let him shower?

"When?"

"Now, if you're up for it," Clay said. George nodded, Ross and Rachel disappearing into blackness as he turned the TV off. The duo went back down into the basement where George still slept (the guest room had long since been given to Drista) and set up the camera.

"Lie down, it'll be easier," Clay instructed and George did as he was told. Dream unscrewed the cap on the bottle of blood and began pouring. He made a puddle around where George lay, getting as much as possible everywhere he could. The liquid stopped, and George felt Dream move away from him. He glazed his eyes over, hoping he was pale enough to be considered a corpse.

"Do you remember when you used to do paintings as a child?" Dream began, speaking to the camera. "You would run to your mother, show it to her and when she couldn't figure out what it was, you'd explain it to her."

"I don't think I need to explain this." George kept as still as he could, holding his breath. Dream kicked the brunette, turning him over with his foot. George went limp, letting his head loll.

"Oops! No heartbeat. Well, I guess that's it. George Not Found? No, George Found Dead..."

Dream pushed the stop button on the recording, giving George a thumbs-up.

"It's sticky!" The Brit wailed, sticking his little pink tongue out in disgust at the feeling.

"You're gonna get that all over the house... Tell you what, you'll walk in buckets. One, because that would be incredibly funny and two, practicality."

And that was how George found himself drenched in fake blood walking through the house with purple plastic buckets attached to his feet. Sigh...