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They’d joined for the money.
It was always money.
But they needed it. Some of them more than others.
George wouldn’t say, but he needed it more than them. Still, he was the one that needed the most convincing and who only joined for the two of them: Dream and Sapnap.
Of course, they knew about the risks. There were always risks, but winning could fix everything. And if— if only one of them won… Dream thinks he could live with that. Well, not live since he might be dead, but he would be alright.
Still, the actual reality of the situation hadn’t hit them until they were in the giant room with rows of beds, blank walls, and hundreds of people here for the same purpose.
Even then, the three had clung to the naive dream of victory: that the three would find a way, as they always did, and come out on top of all these equally ambitious people. That their bond, their strength, and their experience would protect them and would succeed over everything, as it always did. (The guards look down at them when they say this, tense with hopeful bravado, then laugh when they make them beg, desperate to keep living.)
Then the first body hit the ground, people they met, knew, disappeared and Dream watched on grimly.
He was a realist. Always had been. And while he was willing enough to indulge his friends in their wishes, he didn’t allow himself.
He knew it was most likely they wouldn't survive. That he wouldn’t survive.
Too many people knew them.
It shouldn’t have been shocking to find so many people wanting to introduce themselves and greet Dream, el Sueño, and a hundred more learning who he was. Anyone who decided to join this “game” ran in their circles or in ones similar. If they didn't, then they were simply as crazy as them all for free which was even more dangerous. So the more people he met, the more it emphasized the inevitability of tragedy.
It would only take one game.
So when the lights fall after they’re given their food, but their trays and bottles aren’t confiscated, Dream knows this is it.
His small group gathers in corners and beds, crouched low to the ground, watching each others’ backs and staying alert for anyone coming to attack them.
There are no rules here, nothing to protect, or even a time to rely on. They were at the mercy of greedy human nature.
Dream, his team, and other close friends they had reunited with here held their breaths and hoped no one who wants them dead finds them.
Despite the bravado of some of them, when attackers arrive, they all run.
There’s no way of keeping track of each other, not in this darkness with beds everywhere they step, and to call out to each other is a death sentence for all of them.
With the rest of his team in front of him, Dream feels it with cold certainty that the end of his line is approaching. However, Dream has always lived for his friends and it will be no different here.
If he can make his death mean something then that’s enough for him.
So he pushes Sapnap in front of him and runs.
The first shard of glass hits him in his lower back.
He sucks in a breath, but continues to run, ignoring the screaming pain and the warmth that now trickles down his leg.
He tries to swerve, change paths, anything, but there’s another hit, this time his arm, and Dream has to put on a burst of speed with no strategy in mind.
The pain in his back is slowing him, he can feel it. His leg drags, barely noticeable, with each step he takes, but it will not allow him to put enough distance to climb into higher beds.
Gripping his bleeding arm, Dream keeps running, aiming for the corner of the room where he might turn into the space behind the beds fast enough to launch an offensive.
His breath is whizzing in his lungs, desperately taking in oxygen for his body. His heart thunders with his steps, matching them beat for beat so he can barely hear the footsteps chasing him.
It is two seconds before he reaches the corner that he knows he’s failed.
He won’t make the turn.
It’s in this second that Dream smiles and gives all his luck, love, and best wishes to the two most dearest to him.
They had a great run in life. Together til the… well.
They’ll be fine. While George hadn’t joined for the money, he would battle on to the end for what he lost. And while Sapnap fought anything and everything around him, including George, he would stick close to his friend patiently.
He hoped at least, hah.
Dream reached for the bedpost, using his uninjured arm to pull himself around. His lower back screamed in pain, but he turned, almost slamming into the headrest and—
The shard of glass punched into his throat.
He choked, hands coming up to reach the hand that still gripped the slippery glass.
Something supported his back as his world tilted backward and the hand he gripped yanked itself back.
His hands fell. His body spasmed. He’s laid on the floor.
A face appeared in front of him. He can’t see it.
“Sorry Sueño. Nothing personal, ey? Just a favor.”
He opens his mouth, but he can only gurgle and more blood warms his neck, collarbone, and back where the blood is pooling on the floor.
He tries to slash with his own bottle instead, but his arms won’t move anymore. He’s cold. His chest is heaving for breath, but it’s stuttered with a punctured throat.
Still, he tries again because if can— if he can just—
A hand catches his, knocks it back to the ground.
He can’t see anymore, but he feels when the shard of glass is yanked from his neck.
Another empty gasp is choked out of him, and he squeezes his eyes shut when pain reignites in his cold body.
He thinks he’s still spawning on the floor, but his consciousness is fading now and he can feel the finality of death surrounding him.
Such is life, he thinks one last time. Stay alive, Sapnap, George.
He laughs.