It's Called: Freefall

|You Both Hang With Nothing To Do|

Lmk if there are typos and I'll fix them.

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George blinked a few times, but everything was moving and it hurt his head. He shut them again tightly and mumbled something— he didn't even know or remember what.

"Shut up," somebody said, but there was no fight or hostility behind it. One could even say it was affectionate. "You definitely have a concussion. Don't want your brain to explode or something." The voice was familiar, but he couldn't place who it was. He didn't even know where he was going.

He slowly half-regained consciousness and he realized he was basically being carried by the other person. An arm was propped under his shoulders and his entire weight was being supported by them. He might as well have been being dragged along. "'m fine," he mumbled, knowing he was most definitely not fine.

"No. You aren't," said the other, stating the obvious. George wanted to roll his eyes, but he didn't feel like fighting. His head was still throbbing painfully and he was sure it was still bleeding.

He doesn't remember much other than that.

***

He awoke later to a ringing in his ears and the ache in his head still there and still very much hurting, but duller. It was like the pain was burying itself into his skull.

George momentarily panicked, trying to sit up but failing as colors once again flecked his vision and he nearly blacked out. He conceded to just laying still for a moment, trying his best to think and figure out why everything was so fuzzy. He felt as though he were going to throw up, but he did nothing about, instead opting to just lay in bed and suffer through his confusion and nausea.

A few minutes later, Dream knocked on the door before poking his head through to see George. "You're awake," he said obviously. George hummed his agreement. "How're you doing?"

"Feel like shit," he grumbled, covering his face with his arms to block out the light from his window.

"That's to be expected from a grade 2 concussion." Dream opened the door the rest of the way and placed a cup of water on the table bedside George's bed.

George was about to question him, but that actually made a lot of sense. "So what happened exactly?" he asked instead.

"I don't know the whole story. I saw you get hit in the head by a pipe or something by one person and then pulled away by another."

George groaned, remembering how he'd been walking down the sidewalk before he was fucking pummeled with a pipe.

"So you remember that?"

George nodded. "Felt awful," he said simply, not mentioning what he was beginning to remember of the rest of the altercation. He shifted uncomfortably under his blanket at the thought.

"Are you feeling any better? I gave you some acetaminophen earlier. It was all I could find. You called me a bitch and then tried to chew the capsule."

George definitely didn't remember that. "I guess it's better than it felt before. Still not great."

"That's good. You were pretty fucked up before," Dream recalled nervously. He shifted from foot to foot while standing under the doorframe.