The Bounty Hunter and the King's Son

Chapter six

(TW: mention of murder, poisoning, trauma, torture, suicide) //stay safe//

The first thing he sensed was warmth. All his life the only thing he'd really known was the ice cold sensation that was being absolutely alone. But now, in this very moment, George knew warmth.

And it smelt a lot like pine cones and vanilla.

Suddenly grasping reality, George's eyes shot open but his body was still as death. He tried to look around the best he could and felt his muscles relax when he recognized the crappy ceiling that was Dream's temporary house. Realizing he was back in the bed Dream had offered to him, he quickly jumped up and out.

The floorboards whined out under the sudden pressure, and George flinched. He wasn't sure exactly how he'd gotten back here, and he didn't know how upset Dream was either.

With no hesitation, the bedroom door swung open and revealed a masked Dream. He was still in his typical worn and torn green hoodie, blue jean pants, and his hair seemed a little more messy than it had before. Though, George felt something was just a little off in his demeanor. He seemed almost....soft? Holding a grey tray of maybe oatmeal and some liquid in a teacup, he headed toward George.

"Get back in the bed! You collapsed earlier you shouldn't be standing without eating something first." George was correct, Dream's voice was laced with care and worry. It made him shudder in disgust. 

If a murder could mask their voice like that to sound so...convincing, George didn't want to find out what else Dream could lie about. Though he sat before George with a concerned tone, George knew the worst was yet to come. He'd set a toe out of line, and he figured his oatmeal would've been poisoned. Dream was trying to kill him because he'd been a nuisance. 

"I'm not hungry..." George lied. He swore Dream could hear his heart about to beat out of his ribcage.

"Nonsense," Dream grabbed a chair, that looked like it was on its last leg, and took a seat. Holding a spoonful of oatmeal up towards George, he began, "Sit down and open wide!"

George felt the familiar sense of fear creep up his spine and into his thoughts. George was used to physical pain. He'd have his father to thank for that one, so usually when he's been faced with danger he could calculate his survival rate. Got kicked in the gut? You'll live. Got tortured for a few days? You'll want to die, but sadly you'll live. Have a well-known bounty hunter offer you a bite of oatmeal? Death all the way.

"George...?" Dream sounded a bit impatient, like he was getting annoyed by George's hesitation. George decided to finally sit back down on the mattress, but with a blank face. He wasn't going to eat it.

"Look, I won't feed it to you but at least eat it? I'm sorry it's not some fancy castle meal, but you need it to build strength for tonight." He seemed genuinely concerned.

This got George's attention. Maybe he was just concerned because their mission was tonight. 

He nodded at Dream, agreeing. Dream set the spoon down in the chipped bowl, and placed the tray on the seat he'd been sitting in. He looked back one more time at George, who was avoiding eye contact, and headed out the room. 

It was odd, and mostly concerning seeing him act like that. Even locked away in the castle walls, George knew what Dream really was. George May have hated his father for being cruel, but he knew the things Dream had done were far worse. He heard from the gossip that passed between guards.

Dream made George want to puke. The fact he was acting so suspiciously kind only made George more fearful. It didn't matter that they had a mission tonight, he still seemed way too nice.