Ends of the Earth

Part 22

"You're nervous. Why are you nervous, George?"

Dream's voice is soft and careful, but George can still hear the worry that backs his words. He's still lying on the cement, eyes tipped up towards the broken ceiling overhead. A grey cloud drifts over the building they're in, and it looks heavy with rain, like it could split open at any moment. George watches it through a split in the cement, until it's no longer there and he has no choice but to drag his eyes back down to meet Dream's waiting gaze.

"George," Dream urges softly, "whatever it is, just tell me."

With a sigh, George pushes himself up so he's sitting. He pulls his knees up towards his chest, hears the soft murmur of voices around him, but still, he feels alone and scared.

He searches for the right words carefully, opens his mouth and tries to tell Dream, "I think...the medicine they gave me in the city..."

He falters, pulse jumping and stuttering. The edges of his vision blur with tears, and he shakes his head, presses the heels of his palms into his eyes. He hates how Dream is looking at him, like George is holding his whole world in his palms and he's about to crush it all, break it into tiny pieces that can't be repaired.

Dream's fingers wrap around his wrists, and he lets Dream pull his hands away from his face. Dream holds them gently in his own hands, lets his thumbs stroke softly over George's palms as he waits for George to finally say it aloud.

"Before they gave me the medicine," George tries again, "they told me that it was still in the trial stages. They haven't given it to a lot of people yet."

Dream nods, but there's confusion clouding his features as he tries to sift through the words and figure out the meaning. His thumbs still against George's palms, and he slowly asks, "okay, so what does that mean? Are you having weird side effects or something? Is that why you're sick?"

George had wondered that himself when it first started, but he had asked Niki. Her experience with the medicine had been nothing like this, and that's how he came to the conclusion that it simply wasn't working for him the same way it had for her.

"No," he answers truthfully. His heart climbs up his throat, and he shakes his head once, drops his eyes down towards the floor and quietly adds on, "that's not it."

Dream falls silent, and George stares down at the cement as he quietly continues, "Philza, he's the one who gave me the medicine, he told me that there's a chance it won't work. It hasn't worked on everyone they've given it to, and I think that maybe-"

Dream's hands pull away from him even before George finishes his sentence. A pained look flashes over his features, and then his expression turns complicated, eyebrows knitting together as he shakes his head like he can ward off the rest of the words.

"Dream," George urges quietly, but Dream shakes his head again.

"No," Dream states it like it'll change what's happening, shakes his head once more and adds on, "that's not...it has to work, George. I mean, it's a cure, right? It's supposed to help you. This is something else. This has to be something else."

His voice carries something desperate, like he's pleading with George to change the outcome. George's chest feels heavy, and he holds his breath as he watches the different emotions flicker over Dream's features.

After what feels like a lifetime, Dream sighs, runs a shaky hand through his hair and mutters, "it has to work, George. It just...it has to."

There's a dull ache in George's chest, like his heart is splitting straight down the middle. He squeezes his eyes closed, pictures the version of Dream he met so many weeks ago, the Dream who was always taunting and teasing, the Dream who was constantly challenging and driving him insane.