Novelette {Oneshots}

To Be You ✧ 𝙳𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖

𝙳𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍
This one's more implied dreamnotfound than actual dreamnotfound.

𝚃𝚆𝚜: more descriptive injuries?

𝙳𝚎𝚜𝚌: George returns to Dream's quarters to discuss the next king, but with a few problems..
More DreamSMP stuff.
This was written consecutively to Successor, same sort of idea.

𝙾𝚕𝚍 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔
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"Dream you know that this is the right decision."

"It isn't!" I protest, wholeheartedly believing my side of the argument. George is wrong, he's so wrong and he doesn't even understand it. "George you are staying on my council, as my right hand man, as the next king, and that's final."

"You can't. I can't be the next king" he sighs. "don't you get it? I'm British! A traitor, in everyone's eyes. Destined to betray for L'Manberg."

"But you wouldn't do that-"

"Tell that to the people!"

"The people spread lies, George. They're empty threats-"

"Empty threats" he repeats quietly. George suddenly turns to face me, and I'm horrified by what I see. Blood, and lots of it, streaming from open cuts beneath his clothes and ones clearly visible on his face. He's blood and bruised, deep purple marks littering his face.

"Oh my god" I mouth, looking George up and down a few more times in disbelief. He tugs off his overcoat, casting it aside casually over a chair. Revealing more blood streams, bruised and cut knuckles.

"So sure about that now?" George asks, faking a calm voice to hide the hurt underneath. His eyes hide his fear, or so he thinks. He must be in so much pain, pain he's been hiding since he walked into my chambers five minutes ago like nothing happened.

"I'm calling a medic stay here-" Instantly I'm on my feet, charging towards the doors. "No!" George grabs my sleeve as I pass by him, holding onto it weakly. The effort it takes to grip the material only causes him more pain, the only reason I stop revisiting.

"George you need help, what- how-" I'm lost for words. Sure it was rumoured that the people hated George for his nationality, as if he was part of L'Manburg itself. But nothing had ever actually happened before. Not to the Europeans rebels, and certainly not to my second in command.

"I don't want a medic" George reiterates sincerely. "Not to clean up this mess. I can do it myself, I deserve it." Anger boils inside of me, not at George, but at the people who did this to him. My own people. "George as your king I demand you see a medic-"

"Save it" he holds up a hand, signifying he won't listen. "I don't care about your kingly shit, not right now. That isn't my job anymore."

"Then as your friend." George's eyes suddenly soften, sending a spark of hope through me. "Please George, as your best friend, see a medic. I care about you."

The brunette offers me a tight smile. "Sorry, but no. Thanks for your concern, but I can fix it myself-"

"No you can't. If you won't see a medic, at least let me help you" I plead desperately, concern lacing my voice. I'll be angry another time, sort this straight another time. Right now, all I care about is him. Not for the sake of the country, but for the sake of him. As my best friend.

Maybe even more than that.

I shove that thought aside, tugging at George's sleeve. "Please" I beg, and I know I've won by the look he tries to hide. "Fine" he mutters. "But only if you aren't busy. If there's something on your agenda, I'm leaving."