Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

George woke up with a protest on his tongue. 

The sun was already high in the sky, higher than he’d have guessed. It took him a second to get used to the bright light, but once his eyes adjusted he looked around the room. Unsurprisingly, the blond was gone, and George would be lying if he said he wasn’t feeling a little hurt by that. Perhaps he shouldn’t have pushed so much, but even knowing that, the way the blond just disappeared on him left a bitter taste in the brunet’s mouth. 

But at least, the blond had fulfilled his part of their deal. Every single bit of straw in the room had been spun into a delicate netherite thread. The amount of netherite in the room would probably be enough to buy a smaller kingdom. It seemed that George would live another day …

The brunet sighted, both tired and relieved. He wasn't entirely sure how to feel about those last moments of his conversation with the blond. It was quite clear that talking about that one particular story had upset the other. George should've just left it be. But at the same time, George couldn't help but wonder what made that story different from all the others. 

Perhaps he knew them?

It felt impossible, the blond didn’t look any older than George himself. But looks could lie, and something in his guts told George that the blond certainly was older than he looked. There really wasn’t much of a point in trying to cling to what he used to call realistic just 3 days prior, not when he was sitting on a pile of netherite thread that just appeared overnight. It was quite possible that the blond knew the mercenary and the god. Or maybe …

George’s eyes drifted towards the book. The masked god stared back at him from the page. The resemblance was undeniable. But if the blond was the god from the story, why wouldn’t he tell him? Besides, the god was supposed to be trapped. Although … if he were the same god from the cursed lover’s tale- they did travel close to the end of the world to find him after all … No, George was overthinking it. 

With a sigh, the brunet looked out of the window, trying to figure out the time. The sun was certainly way too high for it to be early morning and considering that there were no insufferable kings threatening him with an execution just yet it was probably safe to assume that either there were more important things than collecting a fortune in the form of netherite, or Quackity really had slipped the king an extra bottle of alcohol. 

Whatever it was, it worked just fine for George. Eternity would be too soon to see the king’s face again. 

He probably wouldn’t be lucky enough to not see the king again but any time spent without another execution threat hanging above his head was a victory in George’s opinion. He was considerably rested, the king was nowhere in sight, and there was even a plate of food and a jug of water by the door of his cell. The day started surprisingly well all things considered. 

Unfortunately, all good things end and so did George’s surprisingly nice morning. 

It was slightly before noon if George had to guess based on the position of the sun, when the door to his cell opened. The king staggered into the room with all the grace of the local drunkard and not smelling better than one either with his crown sitting crooked on his head like it had given up trying. 

The guards standing in the door pretended not to stare, succeeding to various degrees. Quackity, who padded into the room shortly after Schlatt, pretended he wasn’t bothered. The king himself didn’t even try to pretend anything. He looked like a man halfway between death and another drink, squinting at the world like it had personally wronged him.

How someone like him could rule a country was beyond George. He could barely walk straight, and not even the fresh set of clothes or whatever fancy fragrance the servants had doused him in before he left his chambers could hide the stench of liquor. Expensive liquor, no doubt—but liquor all the same. Just a more gilded version of any lush in any back-alley tavern.

And yet this pomped-up alcoholic had the power to have him beheaded without doing more than snapping his fingers. At least, George had enough sense to not comment on the king’s clear hungover state as some stupid, suicidal part of him wanted to. 

“Gregory!” the king exclaimed, immediately wincing at his own volume 

“It’s George, sir,” corrected Quackity in a way that felt automatic at that point. One would think that the king would at the very least remember the name of that one specific peasant that made him the richest ruler in their part of the world, but it seemed that he couldn’t be bothered. Not that George minded much, he already thought so lowly of the king that the only way to lower his opinion further would be to dig. 

“I don’t remember asking you for your opinion,” the king snapped in response, sounding irritated. 

For a moment, George wondered if the few extra hours of time were worth this, and Quackity looked like he was wondering the same when the king stepped closer to him. “Remind me pumpkin, why do I even keep you around?” 

To Quackity’s credit, he didn’t step back when the king invaded his personal space. “I’m your advisor sir and-” 

“Tsk, should’ve made you a concubine instead. That fat ass is the only thing good about you.” The king’s eyes not so subtly traced the curve of Quackity’s hips. “You look so pretty until you open your mouth and ruin it.” 

Quackity didn’t let his opinion on the king’s words show, save for a subtle twitch of his jaw. George on the other hand cringed, feeling disgusted enough for both of them. How the ravenet could still work for the king was beyond him. If it were George in that position, he’d already be off to a diplomatic visit never to return. 

The king moved again, looking like he was about to grab that ass he was so fond of. Before he could touch though, Quackity sidestepped and avoided him with the ease of someone who’s done a thousand times. “Sir, the netherite,” he reminded the king, stirring Schlatt’s attention away from himself. 

“Right, right.” Reluctantly, the king turned away from his advisor and faced George instead. He winced, squeezing his eyes shut against the sunlight spilling through the window. 

“Fuck! Why is the fucking sun so bright?! Guards!” He snapped his fingers angrily. “Cover the window!” 

But there was nothing to cover the window with, no curtains to close, not even furniture to move in front of it. All they had was netherite thread and a spinning wheel, neither of which was very useful for blocking light. The guards seemed to realize that much, looking completely lost until another angry shout from the monarch sprung them into action. 

“Now that’s better,” the king said, sighing. As it turned out, the royal guard was good for something other than ignoring the many shortcomings of their ruler. They also made for decent human curtains.

On another day, watching royal guards trying to awkwardly block the window with their own bodies might’ve been a funny spectacle, as things were, George didn’t have time to be amused because the next thing he knew, the king’s attention was on him. Which was arguably the last place where he wanted the king’s attention to be. 

“Now, where were we?” the monarch mused, letting go of his beef with the sun in favor of focusing on his newly acquired wealth. “Right! The netherite!” 

Remembering his priorities, Schlatt walked over to the pile of netherite thread. Or more like staggered over. George had seen a cart with a broken wheel move straighter than the king did at that moment. Furthermore, the monarch winced with each step as if the simple act of laying one foot in front of the other was giving him a headache. 

When the king leaned forward to inspect the delicate strands he nearly facepalmed right into the pile. He barely managed to catch himself on the wall, gagged, then steadied himself with a burp that made even the guards look away. Then he proceeded as if nothing happened and the rest of the room followed his lead, ignoring the sorry state of their ruler as if it was a full-time job. Maybe it was. Maybe being able to ignore the king while he stumbles around drunk or hungover was mandatory for any job in the castle. 

“Well, you did it … Not that I doubted you of course.” The king smirked and for a moment all George could see was red. The king had been very clear about the fact that he doubted him just a day prior.

If someone offered him the cursed blessing of the Blood God at that moment, George was fairly sure that he would’ve taken it. Losing his mind to blood-thirsty voices sounded like a price he was willing to pay for the chance to wipe the smirk off of the asshole’s face. Luckily though, the rage passed as fast as it came and George didn’t do anything stupid. 

“So, now that I know that you’re not tricking me, we can finally get to business.” The monarch sounded far too pleased for George’s liking. Whatever was coming next, it was bound to be no good. “Since you clearly possess quite a unique talent …” 

The pause that followed spoke volumes about how little the king cared about remembering a name that he was reminded of less than 5 minutes ago. He looked to Quackity, snapping his fingers at him impatiently. 

“George,” the ravenet filled in tiredly. 

“Right, right, I was just about to say that. Well then, George, since you proved that your ability is real I would like to offer you a deal-”

“Sir, if I may, I don’t think-” Quackity interrupted, cutting the monarch off mid-sentence. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the king was not happy about it in the slightest. A vein pulsed at his forehead, looking dangerously close to popping when he narrowed his eyes at his advisor.  

“If I may, sir,” Schlatt mocked, pinching his voice higher in a poor imitation of Quackity. “Can’t you shut up for 5 minutes?! You’re giving me a headache!”

Quackity, having enough sense to not further irritate the already snappy monarch, stepped back, bowing his head like he’s done it a thousand times. “I’m sorry-”

The king cut him off. “How about you make yourself useful for once instead of useless apologies and go to grab me something from the medic. Will you, doll?” 

“I … yes, sir.” Quackity sighed. 

“That’s better. I knew there’s something more than just air in that pretty head of yours. Now get that flat ass moving, Flatty-patty. I’m not getting any younger.” 

Resigned to the servant treatment, or perhaps reluctant to test the patience of a ruler that was clearly not sober enough to properly weigh the pros and cons of executing his advisor, Quackity trotted out of the room. The king watched him exit, staring at the ravenet’s departing backside with far more intensity than George considered necessary. 

Then he turned back to George and winced when a stray ray of sunshine hit him in the face, groaning like the light itself had slapped him. One hand came up to shield his eyes, the other waving vaguely in the guards’ direction.

“Block the fucking sun properly, idiots!” he snapped at the guards who immediately straightened their postures, doing their best to close the gap between them through which the sun shone. “I’m employing idiots. You should all be thrown in a dungeon!” 

After he was done yelling at the unfortunate guards who undoubtedly just reconsidered whether the pay was worth this, the king looked around, looking almost confused. As if he’d forgotten what he was even doing in the room. Then his eyes landed on the netherite. His brows scrunched together in concentration as if pulling a sober thought from the alcoholic soup of his brain was a herculean effort. 

The moment stretched on for long enough that George wondered if the king had spaced out, but then the monarch snapped out of it, turning to face him. He lost his balance for a moment, stumbling like a sailor on his 3rd bottle of rum, but he caught himself before he could kiss the floor. 

“Right, so as I was saying eh … George. As I was saying, I have an offer for you. You see, I can’t really let you go, now can I? I mean man, you’re a threat to the economy!” The king chuckled as if he just said the joke of the century. No one else laughed with him. “So, how about instead, you work for me? My official netherite manufacturer. Sounds good, doesn’t it?” 

The king’s voice was way too cheerful for what he was proposing. It took all of George’s self control to not snap back something about not being a fan of a sexual harassment at a workplace. He bit it back though, although his voice was still far too curt and sharp when he answered, “No.” 

The king paused, looking almost genuinely surprised by George’s answer. In the brunet’s humble opinion, there wasn’t much to be surprised by. The human curtain behind him was enough of a reason to decline the offer, the comments about Quackity’s backside only sealed the deal.

Unfortunately, Schlatt wasn’t one to take no for an answer. Instead of snapping at him like he did at the guards, the king grinned, all teeth and dangerous. “I don’t think you understand me, George.”

He moved towards George and in spite of his bloodshot eyes and unsteady step he somehow looked more sober than he did before. “You’re either going to spin netherite for me or no one.”

Suddenly reminded of who exactly he was dealing with, George took a step back, only for the monarch to take another step forward. 

“I’ll have my men fill this room with straw again. And you’ll either spin it till morning and accept your position as my official netherite supplier,” the king said, his smile getting just a little wider as if he already knew he'd already won as he stopped right in front of George. “Or you won’t and … well, it’s been a month since we last had an execution. I’m getting bored, and you look like it’d be fun to watch you swing.”

“That- this is not fair,” George muttered, sounding weak and defeated even to his own ears. He hated it. Hated how hopeless he felt and he hated the fact that it showed even more. 

“This is business, doll.” The king shrugged, grabbing George by the jaw. The brunet struggled against the painful grip but the other man was stronger. “It’s not personal. I can't risk you using those pretty hands of yours to help someone get richer than me. I’m sure you understand that.”

Eventually, the king let go of him, basically showing him back as he did so. George couldn’t even bring himself to mind at the moment. All he cared about was the fact that the king was finally turning to leave, taking his human curtain of guards with him. 

“Alright, I’ll see you again tomorrow, George. Or should I say, my official netherite manufacturer?” The king grinned one last time before walking out of the cell. 

George just stood there for a moment, trying to collect himself and hoping that Schlatt would fall down these damn stairs. Sadly, there was no sound of a monarch rolling down the stairs, just a rhythmic pattern of several sets of feet descending down the stairs and eventually, even these faded into silence. Only then did George collapse down on one of the piles of thread around the room and allow himself to fully process the conversation that had just taken place. 

He didn’t think the situation could get any worse. But fate, like the king, had a talent for proving him wrong in all the worst ways.

Technically not much had changed from his previous predicament, but naive as it was, George really hoped that the king would let him go once he spun enough netherite. Now it was clear that no such a thing would happen, and George should’ve seen it coming. He really should’ve. And maybe he did, he just didn’t want to accept it. It didn’t matter. All that mattered at the moment was the fact that he had to get out of the castle, more than ever before. 

He’d rather throw himself out of the tower’s window before he’d spend the rest of his life making Schlatt any richer than he already had. Besides, he ran out of items to trade for another miracle. All he had left was … If he was going to die anyway, he was not going to do it for someone else’s enjoyment. 

Throwing himself out of the window was the last option though, he’d much rather avoid the dying part altogether. Maybe he could talk Quackity into running away with him. Surely the ravenet wasn’t content with the way the king treated him. Maybe if he just gave him the right push …

Who was he kidding? If Quackity didn’t leave in all the years before he was hardly going to leave with George. It was still worth a shot, plan B or C perhaps, but George needed something better to rely on as a plan A. 

George spent the whole day trying to think of a way out. Servants came and went as he paced the cell, carrying out netherite and bringing in straw and food. He tried to sneak out of the door and merge in with them, but the guards noticed him immediately and tossed him right back. He mostly ignored them after. Quackity didn’t show up, much to the brunet’s dismay, and so the amount of possible escape plans was getting concerningly low. 

By the time the sun was setting, George came to the conclusion that his best chance at escaping the tower was a miracle. Which after two nights of trading for miracles didn’t sound as impossible as it would the previous week. It was still a gamble though. George still didn’t understand these miraculous deals too well, and he only had one thing left to trade. It meant more to him than either the goggles or the earring did, but would that matter if he didn’t ask for a netherite but for help with his escape instead? There was only one way to find out and George hated the uncertainty. 

Not only did he not know if the man in green would accept his offer, he also didn’t even know if he would show up or not. He was lucky these past two days but would he be again? 

As the last bits of sunlight died, George really started to doubt it. 

What was taking him so long? Usually the blond was quick to show up. What if he wouldn’t show up at all? Then George’s options would narrow down to one very unappealing option. He tried not to think too much about it. 

Maybe it was because he wasn’t trying to sleep? For the past two nights, the blond always decided to be a menace and ruin his sleep. Besides, their meetings almost always felt like dreams. If it weren’t for the netherite, George would never assume them to be more than that. In either case he was desperate enough to try it. If the joy of ruining his sleep was what it took for the green menace to grace him with his presence then so be it. George was past caring. 

But in spite of his previous dedication to sleep his way to his execution, George found himself unable to fall asleep or even relax. There were just too many thoughts rushing through his head. Soon he became frustrated with his inability to fall asleep, and the frustration made it even harder to fall asleep. 

Eventually, he just gave up. It was clear that the sleep wouldn’t come and the blond was also nowhere to be seen. He should’ve asked for the man’s name the previous night. At this rate he was going to die calling the blond a green menace and for some reason a little part of George was undeniably disappointed by that. 

He didn’t know the man for long but somehow he wormed his way into George’s heart. The idea of not even knowing his name or saying goodbye ached more than it should’ve considering they only knew each other for two days. And yet …

Aware that he won’t be getting any sleep, George stood up and walked out to the window. 

The world outside was coated in darkness illuminated only by the faint light of the moon and the stars high up in the sky. The city below was mostly asleep, perhaps there were people still up in some of these houses, craftsmen or scholars finishing their work by the candle light but from the distance George couldn’t see that. 

For a moment he just stared at the city below. Then at the ground right at the foot of the tower.

It was a long way down.

“Hey dream guy? I could really use some help right now,” he said to the empty space. He waited for a moment, hoping beyond hope but nothing happened. With a sigh, he looked out of the window again, leaning out a little to see if he couldn’t maybe climb down the tower after all. 

He couldn’t.

“What the hell are you doing!?” A voice responded behind him, panicked, worried and so unexpected that George nearly fell out of the window when he startled. 

A pair of hands reached out to him, as if to steady him but the blond never quite touched him in spite of the clear intention. Luckily, George managed to steady himself without an issue himself. 

He breathed a sigh of relief before turning to the blond. The mask hid any expression the other might’ve made but the way he hovered suggested that he might be worried. 

“I was just admiring the view,” the brunet lied. 

He doubted that he was very successful because the moment he stepped aside from the window, ignoring the way his heart was pounding in his chest, the blond moved to float between him and the window. He levitated in the middle of the windowsill, crossing his legs and leaning forward to inspect George. Whatever he was looking for he seemed to be satisfied because his posture relaxed. 

He looked over the room next, taking in the freshly stocked straw waiting to be spun. If George was to guess, he’d say that the blond was bored by the display. He rested his chin in his palm, forging the picture of nonchalance itself, but the way he kept blocking the window betrayed the fact that he wasn’t as unbothered as he tried to appear. 

“So, are we spinning netherite again?” the blond asked, tilting his head to the side in a mix of curiosity and playfulness. In spite of the monotony, his voice had a teasing tilt to it when he continued, “not to sound rude man, but it’s- it’s getting kinda repetitive, y’know like-”

“No,” George interrupted before the other could get another word out. 

The blond paused, clearly not having expected the interruption. Somehow his head fell further to the side in that angle that bordered on impossible and George would bet all the netherite in Schlatt’s vault that the look of surprise on his face just morphed into a smile. 

“No?” he drawled, his voice curling with curiosity, head still tilted at that impossible angle like he was daring George to make things interesting. And George had every intention to give him just that. 

“No,” he confirmed. “No spinning netherite tonight.” 

Slowly, the blond straightened up. The white disk covering most of his face didn’t let anything show but George was fairly sure he had his attention. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that. If things went well, then maybe by a miracle he’d make it out of the castle. If not … maybe he just gave this man whose name he didn't even know the perfect opportunity to trick him into some deal that would only benefit one side. But he couldn’t afford being worried about it at the moment. 

“Well then what do you need?” the blond asked, moving closer while still keeping himself between George and the window. 

The brunet took a deep breath, sparing a second to ponder if he wasn’t making a terrible mistake. Then he spoke. “I need your help getting out of here.” 

“Out of here?” the blond echoed, looking around the room thoughtfully. 

“Yes, out of here,” the brunet confirmed. “Out of this tower, out of this castle, out of this god-damned kingdom.” 

The blond chuckled, seemingly amused by his little rant but before George could get mad or defensive about it, he shrugged. “Alright then, I can help you with that if that’s what you want.” 

An argument died on the tip of the brunet’s tongue. For an embarrassingly long moment, he just stared, trying to comprehend the blond’s words. 

He agreed? Just like that? 

For some reason, George expected it to be harder. It felt too easy. Then again he didn’t know if his ‘payment’ would be accepted yet. There was still a chance for things to go south. 

“I gotta ask, though,” the blond continued, abandoning his spot between George and the window in favor of circling him curiously. “Why are you asking to escape now?” 

The question, innocent as it was, made George freeze. He remembered the king’s words with more clarity than he’d like. He couldn’t fathom having to deal with that man for the rest of his life, either providing him with more riches or dangling from the gallows. The thought alone sent a shiver down his spine. 

But if he was asking for the blond’s help, the least he owed him was an explanation. And so, releasing a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, George started, “The king. I thought that if I gave him that netherite he would let me go. But today he told me that I either spend the rest of my life crafting netherite for him or die for his entertainment. I don’t want either.” 

The other stopped in front of him, eerily still. George had gotten surprisingly good at reading him, but at that moment he didn’t have a single idea what the other could be thinking. It was unsettling. A chill seeped into his bones, and he could swear that the room got colder by a few degrees.

“That bastard,” the blond hissed, so low it was barely audible. Angry too. 

George had never heard the blond sound so angry. The only time he was anything other than carefree and cheerful was when George asked about the stories. But even then he sounded sad rather than angry. This was something else entirely.

There were chills racing down the brunet’s back. Deep instinctual fear inside him awoke and his muscles locked, ready to bolt. He felt watched. Judged.

The moment passed as quickly as it came. Suddenly the temperature rose back to normal and the oppressive feeling of dread vanished as if it never existed in the first place, leaving the brunet disoriented. 

Before he could open his mouth and say anything, the blond beat him to it. 

“Alright then,” he said almost cheerfully. “I’ll help you but-”

“What?” George interrupted, feeling out of his depth.  

The blond chuckled, likely amused by George’s confusion, as if nothing had happened at all. As if the room wasn’t filled with the energy of something powerful being angry just a moment prior. “I said I’ll help you, George. But not for free.” 

Maybe he had imagined it after all. Instead of pondering about it any longer, George sighed. “Right, right, I know.”

“So,” the blond started as many times before, “what do you have to offer?” 

George hesitated for just a moment. He knew what he had to do, but it didn’t make it any easier. 

Slowly, almost reluctantly, the brunet reached into the inside pocket of his clothes and pulled out a compass. 

It was an old thing, easily the least valuable out of everything he could offer so far, and yet it meant the world to him. He could still remember his mother showing it to him for the first time, spinning amazing tales about where the compass could take him that filled his younger self with awe. She always said that the needle wasn’t broken but that it simply pointed to things far greater than the north. Now that he was older, George knew better than to believe in such silly tales but he still kept that compass close, never going anywhere without it. With it, he always felt like a piece of his mum was with him no matter where he went. 

In terms of money, it was even more worthless than his other belongings, he would know after his father tried to sell it behind his back during a tough year. No merchant was willing to buy the old piece of metal that didn't even serve its purpose anymore. Not even what his father hoped to be a gem at the bottom of the compass made it sellable. Stained glass the merchants called it. Unique craftsmanship, one they'd never seen before, interesting but useless. One of them even mentioned it looked like it had been fused into the metal long after the compass had been made - ugly, worthless. No one was willing to waste a single copper coin for it. Not after the harsh winter they had.

To George though? It was priceless. More than worth punching his father after he found out he tried to sell it. For all he loved his earring and the googles, they could never compare with the only reminder he had of his late mother.

And now he was giving it up for his life and freedom. Deep down, he knew his mum would've wanted that, but it didn't make parting with it any easier. That compass was his comfort item for the majority of his life and even with so much at stake George still felt the urge to hide it and find a better way to get out of this mess. 

The blond observed the offered compass, tilting his head in curiosity. “So, this compass, it’s important to you?” 

George nodded, not trusting words to explain just how irrationally important it was. 

The blond hummed in consideration. Then he shrugged. “Yeah, I think it can work.” 

Overcome with a feeling of relief, the brunet released the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. The feeling of unease that came with giving up one of his most prized possessions didn’t leave, but at least now he knew that he’d be getting out of the tower. That was what he wanted after all. 

“Thank god,” he breathed. 

The blond reached out to take the compass, but George hesitated. His fingers tightened around it, and for a moment, he just stood there. Then, with a small, regretful smile, he looked up. 

“You know… this compass used to belong to my mother,” he said suddenly. He didn’t even know why he was talking about it but once the words were out they refused to stop coming. “It’s the last thing I have from her … It doesn’t even work, but she always came up with the wildest stories about it.”

Feeling nostalgic all of sudden, George opened the compass. The needle stubbornly pointed in a direction that wasn't north as it always did and the brunet smiled fondly at it. It was broken but it was his. 

Then his eyes traveled higher, to the writing engraved on the inside of the top cover. He ran his finger over the letters committing them to memory as if they didn't already burn themselves into his brain a long time ago. 

“It doesn't point north but there's this writing,” he continued, turning the compass over so the blond could see it, “and she always said that …” Noticing how stiff the other had become, George trailed off. 

The stillness was different from before, the air wasn't thick with cold anger. It was more like a shock. The sort of shock that leaves someone frozen and speechless. Why would the blond have such a reaction though was beyond George.

“Hey … are you okay?” he asked, reaching out hesitantly. 

The blond startled a little, pulling away from George's outstretched hand. The hand that was previously waiting for George to hand him the compass, retreated as if it was burned. He seemed to be trying to be nonchalant about it, but George couldn't shake off the feeling that something wasn't right. Before he could do as much as think further about it let alone ask about it, the blond was already floating around him again.

“Y’know,” he said, "I actually changed my mind. There’s no fun in just taking the compass. I don’t want it anymore.”

“What?!” the brunet protested, unable to comprehend the sudden change in the other’s behavior. He had never acted like that before. Besides, he wanted the compass just a minute prior. What could’ve possibly led to him changing his mind so suddenly was beyond George. He should’ve kept quiet and just handed over the compass while he still could. 

“Let’s make it more fun, shall we Gogy?” the blond continued, ignorant to George’s protests. The cheer in his voice sounded forced but the brunet was too angry at the moment to care. “We’ll play a game! A game- come on, don’t look at me like that George. It’ll be fun.”

George had a different opinion. “No! I don’t want to play a game, I- what?! Why would you even want that?!”

The blond paused, as if he honestly considered the question. The movement he made could almost be described as a nervous shuffle. Then he shrugged and replied, moving around the room again. “I mean, you asked for a different thing than before so I think- y'know I think it's only fair if I ask for a different price.”

“You were literally okay with the compass just a minute ago!” shouted George. 

“Hey George?” the blond interrupted. “You still don't know my name, right?”

The unexpected question startled George enough to make him forget about his anger for a moment. Having lost his footing, the brunet suddenly found himself feeling confused and a little out of place.

“Well … I wanted to ask you but …” he admitted, rubbing his neck in embarrassment. In spite of his previous anger, he had to admit that he felt bad about not knowing the other’s name. Especially since the blond clearly knew his name. He should’ve asked and- 

“Figured.” The blond laughed, not quite wheezing but sounding genuinely amused all the same. “So, how about this - you have to guess my name before the sun rises and if you do I’ll help you get out of here?” 

“That’s not fair!” the brunet objected. The anger returned, and George could feel his nails digging into the flesh of his palm where he clenched his hands in fists at his side. “How am I supposed to guess your name! I have no idea who you are!”

The other just chuckled in response to his outrage. As if there was something funny about the situation. As if giving George an impossible task just when he was starting to hope was the joke of the century. And maybe it was. He shouldn't have fallen for the blond’s nice act. He was just as bad as all the other creatures from stories.

“Aw come on George. It's not that hard,” the blond said, not even bothering to mask the smirk audible in his voice. “You've been calling me all the time.”

The brunet sputtered in protest. There were quite a few names he'd like to call the blond sitting atop of his tongue, none of them flattering. Before he could tell the asshole what name he thought suited him the best, the world blurred around the edges.

The last thing he heard before everything went black was the blond’s voice. “Next time call me by my name, okay George?”

The brunet woke up slumped underneath the window.  

The blond was already gone when he opened his eyes which was a surprise to exactly no one. George still stood up and scanned the whole room for any sign of him though, just to be sure. Sadly, his search only confirmed what he already knew, the dickhead was truly gone, and all that was left was his impossible task. 

Momentarily overcome with frustration, the brunet kicked apart the nearest pile of straw. The golden strands flew all around mocking him with the reminder of another impossible task he was assigned. 

He ignored it. The mocking voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Schlatt could take its joyful execution plans and shove them where the sun doesn’t shine. 

There had to be a way. There was a way. Until the blond snatched it away from him. How was he supposed to guess someone’s name? There were so many names! He didn’t even know where to begin! Not to mention the fact that common human names might've not applied to whatever species the other was. It was like looking for a single thin netherite threat in a room full of straw. 

Feeling hopeless, the brunet slid down the wall, hiding his face in his knees with a sigh. In one of his hands, his mother's compass was still held safely. At least he still had that. But not even the comfort that the compass always was a source of comfort was enough to make him feel better. But he tried anyway, opening the compass and running his fingers over the familiar dents in the metal, willing the action to bring him the comfort it usually did. 

There had to be something, a clue or at least a place to begin. But try as he might, he wasn’t able to think of anything. The blond never mentioned his name or his past or … anything really. The closest he’s ever gotten was when they were talking about the stories. He never said it outright, but George was fairly sure that he had known at least some of the people himself. 

Perhaps he could just try to guess. Start with the common name and move on to the less common ones then. It was a poor plan, and it was going to take him way too long but it was the only idea he had.

Behind the window, the moon was high in the sky. He was running out of time, and he was painfully aware of it. He only had hours left to guess. There was no time to be picky, a stupid plan was better than no plan. 

And so George started guessing.

He guessed. 

And guessed. 

And guessed. 

His voice felt raw after what must've been at least an hour or two of guessing and still George had no luck. There were just too many names and nothing to help him narrow it down.

It was jarring, to realize how little he knew about the blond in spite of having spent two nights chatting away with him. He had told the blond so much about himself, but the other told him nothing, not even his name. And George hadn’t even realized. He was having such a good time talking with the other that he didn’t even realize how little he really knew him. 

Looking back at the hours they’ve spent talking, George wondered if it was all a lie. If he was just another fool who’s fallen for the divine’s cruel tricks. If the blond had planned for this all along. Maybe he was just waiting for George to get desperate before revealing his true colors. Maybe he was not friendly or fair at all. Maybe he just wanted to see him suffer. 

Frustration and helplessness brewed an ugly potion inside him. It wasn’t fair! The blond had agreed, it wasn’t fair for him to go back on his word like that. Or to leave George with no hint.

“Just admit that you hate me!” he screamed at no one in particular. 

“Just say you hate me …” he whispered, quieter now. It almost bordered on a sob but George wasn’t willing to admit that. 

Somewhere behind him, someone cleared their throat awkwardly. “Ehm … Is attacking the straw a part of the spinning process or did it wrong you somehow?”    

Startled, George spun around to face the new-comer. He hadn’t heard them enter at all, which combined with the late hour made his heart gallop in his chest. It was the middle of the night, he didn’t exactly expect any visitors, besides maybe the green menace. He’d be shocked to see anyone, let alone the royal advisor. 

Quackity hovered by the door awkwardly, looking torn between coming inside and walking away, pretending he’s never been there. Eventually, he decided to come in although he was keeping his distance.

George wasn’t sure how he looked, but he assumed that kicking straw while yelling at nothing would certainly be a reason for people to think twice before approaching him. He’d also tended to stay away from Wilbur when the man started yelling at a crow. Prime! To think that he was comparable to his village’s fool … The anger drained out of him, leaving behind only shame. 

“Sorry,” he sighed.

“No, no, don’t apologize,” Quackity said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “I’m not here to judge.”

“Why are you here then?” George returned. The words lacked any real bite, above all else, he was genuinely curious as to what could’ve bring Quackity all the way to his cell at such an ungodly hour 

“What? Can’t I come to visit my favorite spinner?” the ravenet asked with a laugh. 

A little, betrayed part of George wondered, if Quackity came just to laugh at his misery, a much bigger part was just confused. 

“It’s the middle of the night, Quackity.” George pointed out the obvious, gesturing at the window in case the ravenet somehow missed the lack of sun outside. It was already closer to dawn than it was to dusk. Any sane person who wasn’t threatened by an execution and had a speck of self-love to spare, was long since asleep. Then again, anyone who worked for Schlatt had to at the very least hate themselves, otherwise George couldn’t think of a single reason why anyone would remain in the service of the same man. 

The other seemed to consider his words, looking out of the window as if he just realized how late it was. Then he shrugged. “Well if you don’t like my amazing company, I can always just leave-”

“Wait,” the brunet sighed, making the other pause with his hand halfway to the door handle 

Quackity turned around, barely containing the smile that tugged at the corner of his lips. “Yes?” he asked with feigned innocence.  

For a second, George considered telling him off, it would be well deserved for the way the ravenet batted his lashes at him, but eventually he gave up. He wasn’t exactly making any progress with the name guessing game, he might as well spare some time to see what could Quackity possibly want from him. 

“Stay,” he said reluctantly, plopping down on one of the few intact piles of straw.

“Well, since you insist I guess I could spare some of my precious time.” Quackity chuckled at the glare the brunet sent his way and walked over to him, pushing together some straw to form a pile to sit on himself. “Seriously though, what did the straw do to deserve such treatment?” 

An unamused, bitter laugh escaped George at the question. “Do you know what the king told me after you left?” 

Quackity at the very least had the decency to look skittish. George almost felt bad for him. Almost. For all the blatant disrespect from the king, the ravenet was still the royal advisor and there was no doubt that he knew about the king’s plan to keep George as his personal netherite spinner forever. 

“Right … that ,” Quackity said, confirming what George already knew. But knowing didn’t make the pang of betrayal in his chest any more bearable. Some part of him wondered if it was Quackity who came up with the idea to keep him around. Before he could think further about it, Quackity interrupted his thoughts by speaking again. “Look, I tried to talk him out of it but he’s stubborn like a ram. I fucking told him that it’s not a good idea but he didn’t listen. Said I was unreliable after I told him that no one can spin straw into netherite and-”

The ravenet continued rambling, talking about how he tried to talk some sense into the king who avoided common sense as if it was the plague. Some of the things he’s said would probably earn him a place on the chopping block, but George was already getting used to the fact that the advisor didn’t think highly of the monarch he served. With the way the said monarch treated him, George would honestly be more worried if Quackity did have any respect at all left for him. 

“But y’know … he didn’t listen,” Quackity sighed, ending his rant with a helpless shrug. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry dude. It fucking sucks but- but y’know working in the castle has some perks, maybe you could-”

“No offense man,” George cut in, not letting the ravenet to proceed any further, “but I’d rather not be objectified and harassed all day.” 

A chill ran down George’s back when he remembered the way Schlatt talked to Quackity. Watching it was, to put things lightly, bad. Being the target? If that ever happened, he’d probably lose it and kill a few people, starting with a certain king. 

“Right …” The ravenet trailed off, looking uncomfortable himself. It was just a brief moment but enough for George to take notice, before Quackity was back to his confident unbothered self. “You don’t have to worry about it though, he doesn’t do that with the rest of the staff … well mostly.”

“Really?” the brunet asked skeptically.

“Trust me, this ass,” Quackity said, gesturing to himself, “will keep him entertained for at least another decade. Fuck maybe even two!”

If George hadn’t seen the way Quackity’s jaw clenched whenever Schlatt addressed his looks, he would have believed the ravenet was actually proud of the fact. But he’s seen it, and he was fairly sure that Quackity wouldn’t mind if the king never looked at him again. Maybe he could still try to talk the ravenet into helping him and running with him. 

“It … doesn’t have to be like that,” the brunet said slowly, not sure about his idea at all 

but not having anything to lose either. “We could leave. It wouldn’t be hard for you to get out of the castle, right? And by the time he’d even notice that we’re gone we’d already be far away from here and-”

“George look-” the ravenet interrupted. his voice thick with something that sounded suspiciously like pity. “I … Prime knows that I want to help you, but I can’t George, I really can’t. I wouldn’t be able to stay here if I helped you and I can’t leave just yet.” 

The brunet’s shoulders sagged in defeat. He had half a mind to argue with the ravenet, to push just a little bit more until Quackity gave in. But he didn’t. Instead he bit his tongue and kept the words inside. There was something in the ravenet’s gaze, determination perhaps, that he knew he wouldn’t win again

“I’m sorry, George,” Quackity repeated, looking genuinely remorseful. But what good was remorse to a dead man? 

“It’s fine,” said George, although it was anything but. He was running out of time. Each minute he spent talking with Quackity was taking him closer to his doom. Doom that seemed inescapable at that point. 

Without help, there was no way for him to escape the cell. The door didn’t budge even when he threw himself at them. He didn’t know how to pick locks, and even if he did, it would be pointless when the lock was on the inside of the door and climbing was impossible. 

He briefly considered trying something stupid like taking Quackity hostage and demanding to be let go. However, the idea was dismissed as soon as it appeared. Even if he looked past the fact that he really didn’t feel like endangering Quackity, there was still the very real concern that the king wouldn’t care about his advisor at all. Perhaps it was just the alcohol speaking for him in the morning, but George had seen enough dismissal of Quackity’s role even when the king was sober to suspect that between letting him escape and killing his advisor the king would choose the latter. The royal said it himself, he didn’t want to risk George making anyone else as rich as he was. And something told George that one advisor was a price the king was willing to pay to ensure that. 

“George?” Quackity scooted closer, waving his hand in front of George’s eyes worriedly. “Are you okay?” 

Blinking back into reality, the brunet realized that he must’ve spaced out. The events of the day were wearing on him. First the king’s so-called offer, then the blond’s name guessing “game” …

“Quackity," he blurted out before he could think better of it, “how would you guess someone’s name?” 

“Eh?” The ravenet pulled back, looking out of his depth, which George assumed was a valid reaction to such an absurd question. “I’m not sure I follow, George. Why are you asking?”

For a split second George hesitated, wondering if it was a good idea to tell the royal advisor about the events of previous nights. But then, before he even knew it the words spilled out of him and there was no way to stop them. 

He told Quackity about his inability to spin netherite, about the green clad man and his deals, about the so-called game. 

By the time he finished, he was out of breath and his hands shook as he remembered the gravity of the situation. Not to mention the fact that he just said all that to Quackity. Believer or no, George doubted that the ravenet still considered him sane after such a tale. To his surprise though, the royal advisor didn’t seem disbelieving or shocked, just thoughtful. 

“Hmm figured,” murmured Quackity, looking George up and down. 

Out of all possible reactions, that was not one George had expected. He expected dismissal, or maybe concern for his sanity. Not for Quackity to just accept it. 

“W-what?!” He stammered out, much more shocked by the situation than the ravenet was. 

“Think about it, George.” The other shrugged, standing up from his pile of straw to pace the room. “It makes sense you had help. If you knew how to spin straw into netherite, would you really live in a run down mill in the middle of nowhere? Would your father give you up for a few gold pieces?” 

Heat crept up George’s neck and settled on his cheeks at the reminder. He wasn’t entirely sure whether he was angry or embarrassed about what his father did. “You … you know about that …” he sighed.

The other just shrugged, as if knowing how George’s father had basically sold him was the most natural thing in the world. “I’m the royal advisor, George. I know everything that’s said in this castle and trust me, the guards always talk when they get back from a mission.”

While it probably wasn’t an intention, the words only served to make George feel worse. Quackity, to his credit, seemed to realize that much as he was quick to change the subject. “But that’s not what you asked me about, right?” 

The shift was awkward, but George was grateful for it all the same. He didn’t need a reminder of how little he was worth to his father. He needed to guess a name. And if Quackity knew so much about the happenings inside of the castle, then maybe he could help. 

“The name, I need to guess the name,” he said.

“Yes, yes …” Quackity mused, pausing to think about the issue for a moment. “You know … sometimes people get so convinced that things are difficult or impossible that they don’t see the answer sitting right under their nose.” 

The brunet opened his mouth to protest, then closed it, then opened it again. He understood what the ravenet was saying and he also didn’t understand at all. Was Quackity implying that he was making things difficult for himself when they weren’t? He literally had no clue what the blond’s name was! Not even a hint!

Seeing his reaction, Quackity sighed. “George … what you did here, that was a miracle. You know that, right?”

“I- I guess?” the brunet replied, more than a little confused. If there was any connection between the question and his problem then that link was lost on him. Before he could ask though, Quackity continued. 

“But you see, George,” he said, “the thing with miracles is that they never come to you. Not the real ones, not the … fair ones. You can find them, you can make them, or … you can call them.” 

The ravenet shrugged, feigning nonchalance but his eyes were sharp when they bore into George. “Tell me, George, which one were you?”

“I-I don’t know,” the brunet replied truthfully. 

His response pulled a deep sigh from the ravenet who looked at him with eyes just short of pleading. Like he was begging George to prove that he was not as dumb as he just made himself look. But unfortunately, George had no answer for him. 

Looking both tired and completely done, the ravenet stood up. “If someone came to you so many times with an offer that didn’t benefit just them then that wasn’t a coincidence nor were they seeking you out just to help you out of the goodness of their heart, George. No one, let alone divine, is that nice.”  

By the time George processed that Quackity was leaving, the ravenet was already halfway out of the door. He only paused for a moment to say, “rest well, George. And remember, divine or not, everyone responds when their name is called.” 

And just like that, the advisor was gone and George was still exactly where he started - clueless as to what the blond’s name could be. 

With a frustrated scream, he kicked apart the pile of straw where Quackity was sitting just a moment ago. Then he plopped down on his own pile, putting his head in his hands. 

Both the green guy and Quackity seemed to think that he already knew the blond’s name. That he had called him somehow. But he didn’t! He- 

Wait.

Maybe …

Maybe he … did?

Thinking back to these moments after the sunset, the realization drew on him. He called the blond. It could hardly be considered a call. Just a simple ‘hey dream guy’. But … crappy as it was, it was a call wasn’t it? 

So that was one instance. But the previous nights? He never said anything like that. Unless …

Rocking his brain back and forth for the answer, George tried to remember as much as he could from his first night at the castle. He just wanted to sleep. He was frustrated and-

Might as well wish for a dream.

The memory struck him like a lightning from a clear sky, sudden and unexpected. 

He had said that, hasn’t he? And right after the blond appeared for the first night. And then the second night- 

George shot up to his feet, nearly falling over himself as he scrambled for Quackity’s book. 

His fingers trembled as he flipped through the aged pages with the desperation of a drowning man clinging to even the thinnest straw to stay afloat. Silently he thanked all the gods and King Philza for the fact that Quackity hadn’t taken the book back after one day. 

He missed the right page and had to return twice before he finally stared at the picture of the mercenary and his god. The resemblance between the god and the blond visiting his dreams was uncanny. He refused to believe it before but … It wasn’t that hard to believe after all. 

Skimming over the text, George quickly located the line he was looking for. 

All I want is dream

He had read that out loud and the blond appeared. Almost like a … Quackity’s words flashed through his mind. 

Divine or not, everyone responds when their name is called.

And suddenly, like puzzle pieces that finally clicked together, it all made sense. 

Might as well wish for Dream.

All I want is Dream.

Hey, Dream guy.

So was it like what? Dream ?

There was only one Dream he was devoted to.

He hoped for Dream to guide him.

Memories flickered in front of his eyes, the words stared back at him from the page and- 

Feeling a little lighthearted from the excitement and adrenaline rush, George pulled out his compass. He nearly dropped it with how much his hands shook but eventually he managed to open it. Familiar engraving greeted him and George just stared at it as if he had seen a ghost.

Then he burst out laughing. It wasn’t a nice laugh, it was loud and hysterical but he didn’t care. 

It was so clear!

The answer was right under his nose the whole time!

It took a moment for the laughter to die down. He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes for a moment, letting the last bits of adrenaline and hysteria pass. 

They were right. He knew the answer all along … And the assholes didn’t even tell him. But in spite of that, George couldn’t bring himself to be angry. This was his task, the price for help. It was obvious why he had to do it alone, and looking at the compass in his hand, he might’ve understood why the blond changed his mind so suddenly. 

Once he felt calm again, George opened his eyes and smiled. 

“Dream,” he said to the empty room, “your name is Dream.” 

Like on command, the air shifted around him. 

He expected the blond to show up but instead the room blurred around the ages. Something tugged in his chest and suddenly George felt as if he was dragged forward by the invisible rope. The cell around him disappeared, dissolved into thin air and reshaped. 

When the pulling sensation lessened, George opened his eyes again. The first thing he saw was water, dark waves licking lazily at the white sand below his feet. He stepped back to not get wet and looked up only to be greeted by the world of black. But it wasn’t the pure undisturbed black one was greeted with when they closed their eyes. It was the black of the night sky dusted in hundreds tiny stars, reflected by equally black sea. The sea stretched on for as far as he could see, becoming one with the sky at the horizon. 

Looking left and right, George was greeted with the very same sight. The whole place was empty and cold … desolate. Almost like … 

Almost like the end of the world.

The god, they said that the masked god was sealed away at the end of the world- so that means-!

With his heart pounding harder than the blacksmith's hammer in his chest, George turned around. He nearly slipped on the unsteady sand in his hassle but it didn’t matter, he had to see- His eyes landed on the lone figure standing in the middle and he froze. 

A familiar green cloak stood out against the monochrome surroundings, utterly still for the first time since George had first seen it. No invisible wind toyed with its edges now and the stillness gave its wearer an eerie air of mortality

In this place, at the end of the world or somewhere close enough, the blond- Dream looked painfully, disarmingly mortal. And George couldn’t take his eyes off him, afraid that he would vanish again if he blinked. 

Seeing him like this, with both feet firmly on the ground, was strange. But what truly made George’s breath hitch were the chains.

He should’ve expected them. He knew he should . But the sight of them still knocked the breath out of his lungs. 

Thick manacles engulfed the blond’s wrists, glowing sinister in the strange half-dim light. The chains connecting them to the ground were surprisingly thin, but even with the distance between them, George could tell what they were made of. For the past two days his survival had depended on turning straw into that very metal. Netherite.

Although …  he had never seen netherite glowing like that before.

Still, the cuffs and their ominous shine became insignificant the moment George's gaze reached the blond’s face.

His face , not the mask. 

George could feel his heart stop in his chest for a moment when his eyes locked with a pair of emerald green, so deep he could get lost in them. The miller’s son didn’t see many emeralds in his life, but the few he’s seen? These eyes put them all to shame. 

“Took you long enough, Gogy,” the blond teased. But his voice cracked, thick with emotion, and it shattered the illusion of nonchalance. 

George himself wasn’t much better off either. His chest was tight with more emotions than he could count. 

“Dream?” he choked out, barely able to believe that it was real. That he was real.

“Y-yeah, that’s me.” Dream laughed awkwardly, pulling at the chains. “I’d hug you, but… I’m stuck.”

His mouth moved as he spoke, his lips quirked up in that awkward smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He was real, not just a myth hiding behind a mask, he was- Before George could even realize what he was doing, his body moved and he rushed forward, right into the blond’s arms. 

Dream grunted in surprise when George collided with him, and for a moment, he froze in shock. Then he instinctively brought his hands up, hugging George back to the best of his abilities with the chains restricting his movements.

The arms around his waist were the only thing keeping George upright at the moment. Without their support, his legs would surely give up under him and he’d crumble to the ground, overwhelmed by the sheer amount of emotions that filled his chest. 

“I know I’m irresistible, but I wasn’t expecting you to literally throw yourself at me,” the blond laughed, still sounding caught off guard by the brunet in his arms.

“Shut up.” George rolled his eyes at the comment and pushed the other away. He tried to sound serious, but the grin stretching across his face so wide it hurt ruined it. “I hate you so much. You’re literally the worst.” 

But in spite of the brunet’s words clearly being a joke, Dream’s face darkened. 

“I don’t,” he said.

George blinked in confusion, not understanding what the other was talking about in the slightest. He clearly didn’t mean what he said. Yes, he was angry before but even then he didn’t feel like he hated the blond. He was hurt and angry, but for reasons unclear even to him, he didn’t hate. And he thought that the laughter with which he said it now would be enough for the other to see that he didn’t mean it. 

“W-what?” he managed to push out, waiting for a response with a breath caught in his throat.. 

“I don’t hate you George,” Dream blurted out, perhaps a little too fast. As if he was just impatiently waiting for a moment he could tell George and now that moment finally came he couldn’t hold the words inside any longer. There was also the chance that he was just lying, but for some reason, George trusted him to be genuine. The sadness that took over the blond’s eyes and the way his voice bordered on desperate was way too real. “Before- you- you asked me to admit that I hate you. I don’t. I don’t hate you, George.” 

“Oh …” 

So the blond had heard him. 

George wasn’t quite sure what to do with the information. On one hand, the knowledge that the other had seen or at the very least heard his crashout was embarrassing, to say the least. On the other hand though, he felt like given his situation, a reaction such as his wasn’t entirely unreasonable. 

“I know,” he said eventually, “I was angry at the time but now … now I think I get it. I mean, it was still a dick move but … I get it.”

At the time, he was so convinced that the blond had set him up to fail, and it had made him mad. Now though, knowing that the answer was right under his nose the whole time, he knew that it wasn’t the case. If anything, it was the other way around. Dream had helped him. In an unnecessarily annoying way that relied a bit too much on George remembering the ways in which he unknowingly summoned him, but if even miracles had to be paid for then how could something else be simple? 

“Thank Prime.” Dream breathed out a sigh of relief and George's chest tightened with a feeling he couldn't quite name when he realized that the blond was actually worried about the possibility of George hating him. It felt odd for the blond to be worried about him out of all the people not liking him. Then again, didn’t George also feel hurt when he thought that the other had hated him? 

All in all, if this was really all it took to get Dream's help in escaping the tower, then he really couldn't complain. Although, he still didn't understand how exactly knowing Dream’s name would help him escape. The logic behind the price of the miracle was still lost on him but trading one thing for another made a kind of sense, at least. A name though? What good was that? 

Without thinking too much about it, George opened his mouth to ask. 

But he never got to ask his question because in that exact moment the ground shook, nearly  slipping from below George’s feet. The world blurred, and for the moment, the white sand and black sea were replaced by stone and straw, only for everything to go back to normal just as quickly. 

“W-what happened!?” George asked instead, looking at the blond in panic. The world around them was still, like nothing ever happened at all. But George knew better. 

Dream for his part, didn’t look panicked. Instead, sadness etched itself into the lines of his face when he spoke, “we’re running out of time.” 

The cryptic answer did nothing to soothe George’s anxiety. If anything, it made his heart beat faster in his chest, pumping adrenaline into every part of his body. 

“What do you mean?” 

“You’re not supposed to be here, George,” Dream sighed. “The world is rejecting you. You’ll have to go back to where you belong soon.”

A million questions swirled around in George’s head. He wanted to ask how to escape the castle. He wanted to ask if he’ll see Dream again. He wanted to know who trapped Dream in there and a thousand other things. 

But as the edges of his vision started to blur, one question stood out above them all. 

“The person destined to set you free,” he asked, “is that … me?” 

Dream looked at him, a little awkward and a little skittish and for a moment, George was sure that he had just made a fool of himself. What was he thinking? 

But then the blond smiled, and George could swear Dream’s cheeks turned red. Maybe it was just a trick of the light, but he wasn’t so sure. “I don’t know, but … I never wanted anyone to do it more than you.” 

“Okay then,” he said. And before he could stop himself or even think about it, George moved towards Dream again, wrapping his arms around his neck. Balancing on his tiptoes he pressed his lips against the blond’s. 

The kiss wasn’t long, but George still felt out of breath when he pulled away. If his ribs weren’t a cage, his heart would already be running free with how wildly it was beating but his voice was surprisingly calm when he promised. “I’ll find you, Dream. I promise I’ll find you.” 

Then, realizing what he just said- what he did - George moved to pull away, but to his surprise, Dream’s hands wrapped around his waist and pulled him closer. 

Startled, George looked up, only to see Dream equally shocked by his own actions. Emerald green eyes widened in confusion, but Dream didn’t let go and George didn’t pull away. He was too lost in these green eyes and the constellations of fleckers surrounding them to even think about pulling away. 

Truth to be told, he didn’t think he wanted to pull away. Ever.

Seeing his lack of resistance, Dream slowly relaxed. A smile crept up on his lips-, and the skin beneath his fleckers blushed crimson. “And I promise I’ll wait for you, George. I’ll always wait for you, even if I had to wait for eternity.” 

Upon hearing the words, George could feel heat rising to his own cheeks. Dream had no right making him feel like that. He- 

George’s brain short-circuited when Dream brought their lips together again 

The kiss was slower this time, gentler and deeper and George melted into it. 

The world was falling apart around them, melting and twisting - ending - as it tried to get rid of the invader, but George didn’t care. He couldn’t stop it if he tried, so he didn’t. Instead, he let himself get lost in the kiss, savoring the moment for as long as he could. The ground slipping from below his feet didn’t matter, all that mattered was that Dream’s hair was fluffy where George’s fingers tangled in it, his body was warm and his lips soft. 

The moment seemed to stretch on forever and end in just a second all at once. 

And then George was falling. Spinning in a kaleidoscope of black and falling. 

And falling. 

And falling. 

And then he was not. 

Opening his eyes, George was met with a familiar cell full of straw but this time the sight brought a smirk to his lips. 

He knew what to do. 

It took longer than George would’ve wanted, but there was still enough time before dawn by the time the last bit of straw in the room was turned into netherite. 

George still couldn’t quite understand what was happening. He had never used a spinning wheel before in his life but after his talk with Dream he just knew. The straw turned into fine netherite threads under his fingers at a rapid pace. 

He didn't understand how it was happening. He wasn’t sure if he cared enough to try to understand. All that mattered was the final result - a room full of netherite. But this time it wasn’t for the king. Not really. He’d probably get to keep it, if only because George was unable to carry it all but it was the last netherite George would ever get for him. A parting gift of sorts. 

Or a ‘fuck you’ right into the king’s face, considering the fact that the netherite Schlatt kept him captive for was going to be his way to the freedom. Not to mention that unlike before, he now had the power to endanger the economy Schlatt was so worried about. 

As the last netherite thread fell soundlessly to the floor, George grinned. He still had a lot of work to do and not much time but for once, he felt confident. He was going to make it out of this castle. He was going to find Dream. And if he had the time along the way, he was going to destroy the economy or at the very least make someone richer than the king simply to spite the tyrant who had him kidnapped and threatened by execution. 

Without wasting any more time, George gathered all the netherite into one big pile and set to work twisting them into a rope. He’s never done it before but just like with spinning the straw, his hands moved on their own, and all George could do was trust that the final product would hold strong. 

Netherite was said to be one of the sturdiest materials ever, but looking at the thin delicate threads, George couldn’t stop the surge of anxiety within him. They looked like they could snap if he as much as breathed too strongly in their direction. And yet, no matter how much he pulled and twisted, they didn’t budge.

Twisting the rope took longer than George would’ve wanted, but eventually it was done just in time. 

The world outside of the castle was pitch black but George could tell that the sunrise was near. It always followed the darkest hour. Which meant that he had to hurry. If he didn’t, then the morning sun would come up and make it easier for the guards to see him and that would be a problem. They could still see him in the darkness but it was considerably less likely given the dark blue color of his shirt. Besides, the king would come at dawn. 

If George never saw the king again in his life it would be too soon. Not to mention the fact that his plan kind of relayed on a netherite rope which the king probably wouldn’t let him keep, let alone use to escape. 

And so he had to go. 

It was easier said than done, though, because as he once again stood by the window, George couldn’t not remember what a long way down it was. 

One end of the rope was firmly tied to the door handle while the other was dangling at the side of the tower. It was crazy- insane even. The doorknob could give in under George’s weight, or the rope could slip or- so many things could go wrong but while the anxiety inside him burned wild, there was also an unexplainable sense of calm spreading through him. 

With one last deep breath to steady his nerves, George swung his legs over the ledge. His fingers tightened on the rope instinctively as if his life depended on it. Which it did. At the moment, he was still relatively safely seated on the windowsill, but the moment he started climbing? He’d be dead if his grip on the rope slipped. 

The thought sent a shiver down his spine and the brunet forbade himself from thinking about what a long way down it was. Instead he turned his gaze towards the night sky. “If I die, I’ll come back to haunt you. Do you hear me, Dream? I’ll haunt you for eternity. So you better hope I don’t fall.” 

The only thing that answered him was a gust of wind wheezing past the tower. If he listened closely it almost sounded like a familiar laugh. 

With that, George finally gathered the courage to move. His scrawny build was finally coming in handy as he squeezed his entire body through the small window with ease. And then it was just him, the rope in his hand and the void beneath him. 

He didn’t look down while he climbed, too aware of how awfully far the ground was. Instead he focused on the stones in front of him, carefully moving lower inch by inch, only looking up at the window he climbed out to see the progress he made. 

The sky on the east horizon was turning lighter as he climbed. Black gave way to dark blue that slowly turned into fiery red and orange. Mesmerized by the display, George paused for a second, admiring the beautiful colors. He didn’t stay still for long though, he still had a castle to escape after all. 

The climb down felt like it dragged on forever, but George persisted, clinging to the rope whenever the wind picked up and tossed him from side to side, nearly making him fall more times than he would’ve liked. But eventually, his feet hit the ground and he breathed a weary sign. No guards were waiting for him at the bottom of the tower, and no shouting from inside the castle reached his ears, therefore he assumed that no one saw him. That was good.

Not interested in figuring out how long it’d take for the guards to notice their netherite spinning prisoner standing outside of the castle walls, George took off running. His muscles stained and he was out of breath after scaling down the tall tower, but he didn’t stop. He ran away from the castle, past the capital city and through the forest where he came across a road. 

It was still far too close to the castle and its drunkard king for his liking, but his lungs felt like they were on fire and he doubted he could run any longer. Even walking sounded impossible, but he couldn’t stop. 

Perhaps he could hitchhike. In spite of the early hour with the sun not even peaking above the trees yet, the road was already busy. It appeared that people always wandered in and out of the capital and merchants seemed to never sleep. It would take a while before anyone knew about him. The king might’ve noticed he was gone, but it’d take some time to actually notify people that he was wanted. So if he found someone headed out of the city-

As if on clue, a voice echoed from behind George. “Prime man, why the rush? Is there a wither chasing you?” 

Spinning around, George came face to face with a raven-haired man. Or more like face to knees, considering that the other was sitting on the front ledge of a wagon. George's brain short-circuited for a moment as he stared at the man. He wasn’t sure what the ‘wither’ the other mentioned was, but he had much more serious concerns at the moment. 

Whatever expression he made, the others seemed to find it amusing. He laughed, leaning forward on his knees. 

“Well? he asked. “Do you need a ride?” 

“I-” George stammered, unsure what to say. He was thinking about hitching a ride just a moment ago. Now though, with the opportunity presenting itself on a silver platter, he hesitated. The desire to rest his legs and get away from the castle faster battled with caution in his chest. Eventually though, looking into the man’s warm amber eyes, he sighed, “yes, actually.” 

“Cool, I can give you a ride,” offered the man. But before George could take him up on the offer and climb into the wagon, he continued. “So, got anything to pay with?”

“Pay? You literally offered me a ride!” George protested, outraged by the request of payment when the guy was clearly already going in the direction George needed to go in.

“Well yeah, but y'know how it is,” the other laughed with a shrug, “there ain't nothing in this world for free.”

“Right, right,” George muttered, rolling his eyes. Miracles required payment, staying alive required payment and even hitching a ride required payment. He was really getting quite tired of this economy. 

He dug around his pockets until he felt a thread different from the loose seams of his pants. His fingers closed around it but he hesitated for a moment. When he decided to grab a few netherite threads to take with him, it was for this very purpose - to pay. On second thought though, paying with a netherite thread was certainly going to bring attention to him, make him memorable. He didn't want that but he also needed the ride and he wasn't sure if anyone would offer to take him for free. Besides, wasting time stopping carriages when the guards were probably starting to look for him wouldn't make him inconspicuous either. 

“Well?” the man prompted. 

With another, even deeper sigh, George pulled a single netherite thread out of his pocket. “Will this do?”

The other accepted the thread, looking it over sceptically. The moment was long enough to make George uneasy before the ravenet grinned. “Shiny, nice.”

He pocketed the thread, careful not to lose it. Then he patted the bench right beside him. “What are you waiting for? Hop on.”

Surprised by how fast that was, and by the lack of comment on the fact that he just casually pulled a precious metal out of his pocket, George took embarrassingly long to unfreeze and move. Once he did, he awkwardly climbed onto the wagon to sit next to the man. The other though didn't wait for him to get seated properly before he snapped the reins, making the wagon move and causing George to basically fall onto the bench. 

The brunet barely bit back a protest and instead chose to focus on the road in front of them, lest he start a fight with a guy who could technically still kick him off of the wagon. 

But looking at the road got boring soon, and the tense awkward silence didn't help him feel less jittery either. And so, trying to find something to occupy him, he turned around to look inside the covered wagon. The majority of the things there appeared to be sellable, the rest … less so. Overall it looked like a mix of a traveling shop, a home and a personal collection of trinkets of someone with a hoarding problem. He could swear he even saw a round fish bowl with a colorful fish swimming inside. How that wasn't a breaking hazard on the bumpy road was beyond him. 

“So, you’re a merchant?” George asked, trying to fill the awkward silence. The wagon full of various goods behind him was a dead giveaway, but he was willing to risk a stupid question if it put an end to the awkwardness. 

The man took a moment to answer, which in itself was odd, but George tried not to think too hard about it.

“Eh kinda?” he said eventually, earning himself a raised eyebrow from George. What kind of answer was that?

The kinda-mechant caught on to the fact that George was not satisfied with his answer and continued, “The wagon’s my fiance’s. He's the merchant. Real good at it too, could sell water to a drowning man. I’m usually a soldier, but since he’s off being all busy and important working in the castle, I’m filling in for him. Keeping the business running y’know? There’s not much for a soldier to do in times of peace anyway.”

George froze at the mention of the castle. 

“The castle?” he asked, just to be sure. 

The soldier-turned-merchant groaned, letting go of the reins with one hand to gesture around in clear agitation. “I know, right!? If I could I’d drag him right out of there, but that idiot keeps insisting that he’s fine! Like, do you know the king?! No one working for him is fine!” 

The obvious dislike the other guy had for the king soothed George’s nerves a little. At least he wasn’t the only person on the wagon who hated the man. 

“Yeah, the king sucks,” he agreed.

“Name’s Sapnap, by the way,” the man introduced himself, extending his free hand towards George. 

“George,” the brunet responded after a little hesitation, shaking the offered hand. 

“Nice to meet you Gogy!” Sapnap laughed. 

George rolled his eyes at the nickname that Sapnap so easily assigned him, and jabbed right back. “Shut up, SappyNappy." 

“Hey!” Sapnap protested before turning his eyes back to the road in front of them. The silence that settled over them this time was comfortable rather than awkward and George found himself smiling in spite of the situation. 

He was a runaway, likely to have half the kingdom on his heels soon, considering how reluctant Schlatt had been to let go of him, but sitting on top of the beaten up old wagon, joking with Sapnap, he felt oddly at peace. Like things really could be okay.

Still smiling, George reached into his pocket, where the familiar shape of the compass rested. He pulled it out and opened it. The needle still stubbornly pointed away from north but this time he didn’t see it as a defect. Quite the opposite. 

He thought back to his mother giving him the compass. Back then, he thought that it was broken, but she had just laughed and told him that all compasses point north, that there’s nothing special about that. But this compass? She said it would take him to things far, far greater than north. She said that it was magical and that it would take him to the end of the world . 

Back then he thought they were just fairy tales, just stories to fuel his child fantasies. Now though, he remembered the story of the mercenary and his compass. Perhaps, places like the end of the world and things like compasses pointing to them really existed. 

His thoughts were interrupted by Sapnap, who cut through the silence with a question.

“Say George, where are we headed to?” he asked, easily including himself in George’s journey. 

The brunet thought about it for a moment, looking down at the compass and running his fingers over the familiar cursive text. 

Find your Dream . 

Then he grinned as he answered, “to the end of the world.”

“To the end of the world it is! Let’s go Ossium!” Cheered Sapnap, urging the horse on. 

George laughed right alongside him, clenching the compass tighter in his hand. The stained glass at the bottom was cold against his palm, deep green with a black slit running through it, making it look more like an eye than a gem.

Back then, he'd believed the merchants who called it worthless. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

Wait for me, Dream. I’m coming for you.