Dreamnotfound One Shots

It was an Accident (Part III)

"He's in room 354. It's down the hall, second door to the right."

George and Jennifer had gone up the stairs and made sure Clay was still in the same room as when he was admitted. Turning around and facing the long hallway Clay was down, George swallowed out of fear. Sweat had begun to bead around his hairline and drip down little by little.

The young Brit suddenly felt a hand rest upon his left shoulder. "George, do you need a moment?"

"No, I'm fine. I promise." George looked over to see Jennifer glance at him with a worried stare, her thin lips pursed and eyes swirling with motherly love. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I promise."

Jennifer nodded and began to head in the direction of Clay's room. George noticed the walls of the hospital were bland and white. It looked horrible and felt strangely like an asylum. 

"Jennifer, do you think Clay could wake up at all?" George was attempting to make some small talk as the way down to Clay's room was filled with tension and worry. It was thick and George wanted to disperse the anxiety as much as possible. Him being anxious enough was overwhelming and he didn't need another person to add to the feeling.

Jennifer turned her head slightly to look at George. "George, listen to me. Whatever it's like in there... whatever happens to my baby boy... you'll be alright. I hope he does wake up and I'm holding onto that sliver of hope every time I come to see him.

George nodded and swung his head back to look at the hallway before him. There, in front of the young man, was room 354. The polished light wooden door was persuading him to grab a hold of the knob and turn it, opening the gateway into a fearful reality. 

Walking over to the door, George put his right hand on the doorknob and turned the metal bar down towards the floor. Just before opening the door, he swallowed, a ball of fear hanging in the back of his throat and his mind fearing the state he would see Dream in. George's attempt to calm himself failed as sweat dripped down the sides of his face and his eyes darted from the knob of the door to the number and back again to the knob.

'Come on, George. Just open the damn door.'

Pushing with what little force he could muster, George pushed open the door into room 354 and expected to see the worst of it all.

The moment the young British male stepped into the hospital room, light blinded him. The white curtains were pushed to the side of the window to allow as much natural light to bleed into the room as possible. There was a nightstand by the widow with a vase of flowers and a couple cards, probably 'get well soon' ones. Two chairs were on opposite sides of the table, the chairs a very light blue with some kind of faint flower print.

A faint beep of a heart monitor pulled George away from the furniture. There, laying in the hospital bed hooked up to wires and IVs, was his best friend, Clay.

George rushed over and looked down at the sleeping body. Clay's left arm was in a cast, bandages wrapped around his chest, head, and legs. He had stitches on his arms which were slightly covered by a couple bandages and yet there was a small smile on the young man's face. Dream looked like a sleeping angel, tired and beaten after a long fight.

George's eyes began to tear up and he pulled his gaze to look towards the heart monitor beeping in the background. Clay's heart rate read 67, about normal someone in a coma. Of course, staring at the "lifeless" body of his best friend, George broke down.

The tears flowed from his eyes as he silently prayed for Clay's safe return to the land of the living. He prayed for Clay to wake up in the moment, his eyes shimmering with joy and his signature wheeze echoing through the empty and narrow halls of the hospital.