The injuries

A/N: I AM AN IDIOT...I POSTED CHAPTER ONE AND THREE BUT NOT TWO-

IM SORRY

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Luckily, Dream was able to make the antidote that neutralized the new poison. George helped stop the bleeding as he did so, which was a great help. The dragon would've died if Dream was by himself, or if George refused to help. The medic was more than grateful.

Dream led the dragon to the infirmary, it limped but at least it was able to stand.

"Wait, how would it fit? The infirmary's too small."

Dream looked at George almost guiltily, "Well, the thing is about dragons...you know how there are dragon shifters? They're neither human nor dragon, but born as both?"

"What does this have to do with my question?"

"The thing is, technically, all dragons are shifters. But it can only shift into a specific animal. For example, you might not like this, but Mars is a drake. He can only shift into a mountain lion, nothing smaller. But he prefers his shifted form since it's more convenient."

George paused to process the information, "So...I was right to be scared."

Dream gestured for George to stay there as he took the injured wyvern behind the building. He called out before he went out of the Brit's view, "Para and Patches are dragons too that prefer being shifted as well."

When I, the author, say that George nearly collapsed to the ground, I'm not joking. He felt his legs turn to jelly, however he was still strong enough to stand. Wasn't he just surrounded by them earlier that day? Yes, he was. His attention was sought from three dragons, creatures he was trained to kill.

When Dream came back, he was carrying a falcon in his arms, a familiar feeling ran through George, "I need to bandage her...uh...she said to tell you 'thank you for saving me', by the way. She could tell how hard it was for you, and she's really thankful."

George was silent, an empty music note. Dream knew George wasn't going to say anything, so instead he spoke again just above a whisper, "Why don't you go to sleep? It's getting late."

Dream stuck around for a second longer, his stance told George all he needed to know, before entering the infirmary. George took a moment before he limped his way inside the house. His mind was blank, not truly processing the events of today. When he got to his room, he tripped over himself and fell to the floor with a thump and a striking pain sizzling throughout his thigh and stomach. With a hiss, the Brit slowly stood up and walked towards the bed with a more prominent limp and tearing pain in his stomach.

He lightly placed himself on the bed and lifted his shirt to see that two out of the three stitched wounds were bleeding. It just had to be the biggest ones too, it allowed the blood to drip faster. A whine left his throat as he slowly got up, keeping his shirt up to not dirty it, and went as fast as he could to the bathroom. George huffed when there was only the towel he used the night before sitting there. He had dried blood on his hands from the dragon, so of course he decided to say fuck it and take a bath.

The bleeding has yet to stop which worried George a bit as he thought, I must've fucked up the stitches.

He didn't want to bother Dream since he looked really guilty about whatever. Probably because he hid the fact that three dragons were all over him, hidden in plain sight. George understood why, he was a dragon hunter. Dream found him next to a dying dragon, shot down from his own poison-tipped arrow.

Finding out that those three animals, and maybe even all of the injured ones, were dragons wasn't what made George freeze at the moment though. It was the twisted feeling he got when he helped the wyvern. It wasn't a bad twist, but it wasn't good either. The way it stared at him as it bled, poison running across it's bloodstream in a painful manner. Then the thankful look when Dream fed it the antidote, looking at him with icy blue, yet warm eyes. George felt bad for the wyvern, but he also felt like shit for betraying the first rule as a dragon hunter that would cost him his life if someone else were to find out.

And the way that Dream was when he was helping it, he clearly cared for the dragon. If they knew each other, George didn't know, but he did know that Dream would sacrifice his own life if it were to save another life. Even though he's only known him for two days now.

George winced more as he left the bathroom. He was careful not to rub on the stitches, but people do this subconsciously. And it so happened to be that George subconsciously rubs any aching spots in unknowing hope to soothe away the pain. It made it worse since the more he thought about not touching the aching wounds, the more he either caught himself or flinched at his fingers meeting the stitches. The painkillers must've worn off too, since the pain was getting too much. He had hunched himself over the foot of the bed, groaning at the pain that burst in his stomach. The faint feeling of ache licked at the no longer bandaged wounds on his thigh as well. The painkillers really did wear off.

A chirp got George out of his thoughts and looked over to where he heard it. At the closed window, Para sat there. It tapped the glass, asking for George to open it. The Brit took a moment before he limped over and weakly opened the window. The parakeet picked up something it had from the sill and hopped inside. It held it up for George to take, so he did.

Upon examining it, George came to realize he had no idea what this object was for. It was small and a little chipped, but it was decorative and shined in the small light of the room, "Thanks?"

Para chirped in response. George limped and grumbled in pain as he made his way over to the bed. He sat down and gently placed the little trinket on the nightstand and slowly layed down. He tried moving as slow and little as humanly possible to not trigger a surge of painful electricity surge throughout his body. But even lying down still hurts.

The bird flew over and looked down at George. He looked back up at it, "You look like you wanna say something."

It took a few seconds before it jumped into flight right out of the window. George didn't have the will to get up and close it, so he just layed there, not moving an inch.

Whatever amount of time passed when there was a knock on the door. George let out a hum of acknowledgement, knowing that it was Dream on the other side. He was correct.

"Para told me she saw you were in pain," Dream spoke softly as he stepped inside.

George smiled, not wanting to laugh out of fear that it might hurt him, "Aww, of course you're worried about me, that's my pretty privilege working at its finest."

The Brit could just tell Dream rolled his eyes underneath the mask, "Are you gonna let me check you or not?"

In a sudden burst of random confidence, George raised his eyebrow, "Check me out?"

"Only if you want me to," Dream lightheartedly fired back, which George didn't expect and it made him go pink.

"You're cute when you blush, Georgie," he went on.

"I'm as cute as you are hot."

Dream crossed his arms as he approached George's bedside, "You haven't seen what I look like."

"Don't need to. You got a charming voice and you're well-built," Dream 'awed' at George before he could continue, "For a pansy nurse."

The masked man knelt beside the bed at George's side, "Says the short twig."

"I'm not a twig, I have muscle."

"Compared to this pansy nurse," Dream mocked George's accent, "You're a twig. Is it alright if I lift your shirt to check the wounds? It looks like you bled a little."

George looked down at his shirt, noticing a dark spot forming in the blue shirt, "Shit, I'm sorry, I ruined the shirt."

"It's fine, Georgie, it doesn't fit me anyways. May I?"

"Oh, yeah, sure," George dropped his head down when Dream lifted his shirt a little. Dream didn't seem to notice that he let out 'Georgie' instead of his regular name, but certainly the Brit caught it. And it caught on his cheeks which are now slightly more pink.

"Did you pick at the stitches by any chance?"

George sighed, he kind of regretted it since it hurt but it was too late for that, "I tripped when I entered the room, that's when it started bleeding. Then I went to take a bath and I was being an idiot and rubbed at them...sorry."

Dream shaked his head and moved back to look at George, "It's fine, it just looks like the stitches got a bit too loose. I would fix it but I don't have anything to numb the area and I ran out of medicine."

"It's fine if you do it without numbing, I can take it."

Dream laughed as he stood, "You little masochist."

"Don't go teasing me, Dream, I can only take so much," George had to hold back a laugh of his own to not experience pain once more.

"Right. I'll be right back with my equipment then. Get yourself comfortable, Georgie, this may or may not take a bit."

When Dream left, George huffed in slight embarrassment. He didn't know where he got the confidence to say the things he said but somehow did and that confidence was currently dying out. However, he wasn't alone for too long as Dream came back with what looked to be thread, a kit of surgical needles and a needle holder, some cotton balls and antiseptic wipes. He set the materials down on the nightstand, eyes lingering on something before picking it up. George noticed that Dream was looking at what Para gave him earlier, "Para flew in to give me that before going out to call you."

"She considers you a friend. She's a cockatrice, this is one of her treasures," Dream put it back down and went to wash his hands, "That subtype usually gives a piece of its treasure to others for either friendship or a mating offering, and I very much highly doubt it's the latter."

George nodded despite Dream not seeing it. When he came back, Dream started preparing the needle. "Are you sure you want to do it without any numbing?"

"I'm not a baby, Dream."

"Yeah, you're not. But pain is something even the strongest person in this universe feels," Dream spoke in a quiet voice, clearly concerned for George. It warmed his heart in a way he's never felt before.

George smiled at Dream and looked up to the ceiling as he grabbed a pillow, "I know. I just don't want to fuck up the stitches more as I sleep. It'll be more of a hassle if the stitches come undone, so let's just fix it."

The pillow rolled out of George's mouth, he's pretty sure it's torn as much as it's soaked with his saliva.

Dream placed a comforting hand on George's head, causing the Brit's heart to drum against his ribcage even more than it did before, "Sorry, did it hurt a lot?"

"No, I totally didn't devour that pillow just now. Damn, Dream...couldn't you have been a little more gentle?"

The man snickered, "There's no such thing as gentle in my book."

"Mhm, says the man who's currently stroking my head as softly as he can muster."

As soon as George said that, Dream pulled his hand away, "I was trying to be nice, you know, since I made you cry."

George wanted to laugh, "I teared up, there's a difference. If you want to make me cry, pin me down and make me beg, be merciless next time."

Dream choked on nothing, really, keeling over in a coughing fit at George's sudden flirty boldness. The Brit had to hold back laughter so badly since he didn't want to be in pain. When Dream recovered, he took a moment to think, "Is that a challenge or a promise?"

"I wanna sleep now. Good night."

The masked man wheezed, "Dodging, I see what you're doing. Alright, I'll leave you." He got up and stretched his legs for being bent for so long, grabbing the ruined pillow, "I'm throwing this in the laundry."

"Okay."

Dream stepped away from the bed to pack the materials away. Once he was done, he stopped at the door, "Do you want Patches to come in?"

It took a moment for George to answer with an aching heart caused by Dream's careful and considerate tone, "No, it's fine."

With a small breath, Dream bid George a good night before closing the door behind him. As soon as it went silent, George slowly sat up and looked to where the little trinket Para left him. It was an innocent gift of friendship it left for him, a request from a dragon to a dragon hunter to be friends.

You, as a reader, may be thinking that George is being a little too dramatic. He might be, but the guilt of having Para think of him as a friend when he had layers upon layers of dragon blood on his hands and arrows really ate at him. Despite having little interaction with the disguised dragons, he started to like them. Mars might've been something he was scared of at first, but George was starting to warm up to the thought of having a mountain lion purr in his lap. Patches was just a regular-looking cat so he was already fine with it. Para was a sweet little parakeet that picked at Dream for no real reason, which made George laugh. Truly, guilt ate at him.

Had he killed a dragon Para, Patches, or Mars knew, maybe friends or mates? Hell, did he kill Mars' mother? Being with Dream, someone who accepted and learned about seemingly every dragon out there, had him seeing how simple they really were.

He feels sorry for Para, knowing that he couldn't accept her friendship without getting over his guilt.

With his mind running wild, George's eyes felt heavy with sleep. So naturally, he laid down. Not wanting to think about his guilt for any longer, he decided to think about how passionate Dream was. The man was fascinating as much as he was obvious. His body language was very easy to read, and George can only assume how expressive his face was. Not to mention how colorful his voice can get when they're messing around.

The way Dream is dedicated to helping the injured animals was amusing to George. He always found it nice to watch Dream check on injuries and redress them with care. Sometimes, he would even whistle while doing so. Para would whistle with him, which George found endearing.

Dream's laugh was nice, but his wheeze was something infectious. It's hard for George to not laugh when Dream does. It's great to have someone to laugh with too, he hadn't shared one with someone in what he thinks to be months, maybe even years.

George also thinks about Dream's build. The man's nearly a skyscraper. Not as tall as the guys from yesterday, but still tall enough to cause the Brit to look up. And he's fit. George had to train to get his muscle, so what did Dream do to still seem stronger than him? Was he naturally like that? Those questions were left unanswered for George, but he didn't seem to mind because he went on to thinking about how Dream is quick to respond to the jokes thrown at him. He even jokingly flirts back at George when he fires out a short remark. His stupid jokes were also something to look forward to in their conversations.

George has yet to see it again, but he remembers the first time he opened his eyes Dream had his dirty blond hair down. It met his shoulders, barely grazing them. But with it tied back, George can see if his ears go red, which is basically every time he gets caught off guard. Sometimes they turn a bit pink when he rambles. He does so when he's fixing up the injured animals. Usually, he has a one-sided conversation with them. There were times where he's completely silent, focusing solely on the creature in front of him. Once again, George admires Dream's dedication to his work. He is so careful with them that it warms George's heart. He's far more passionate than George ever was as a hunter.

His thoughts went full circle as he continued thinking about Dream, because really, he was the only thing on his mind. The man was with him nearly the entire day. George likes it too. He likes being around Dream and occasionally stealing his attention, being the dirty blond man's main focus in that moment. Honestly, George didn't really like being around people much before, let alone have attention to him. But Dream was someone George wanted to have an exception for. Because Dream was the only exception he had in a while. If you gave George five minutes, he wouldn't come up with the last time someone (that wasn't his mother) cared for him as much as Dream has. His platoon mates basically hated him, his superiors barely acknowledged his existence, and the kids he grew up with ignored or messed with him.

So, of course Dream was the only exception. Maybe that's why George's heart thumped loudly when Dream's hand ran through his hair or the tone he used when offering to call Patches to lay with him.

As George decided to understand his train of thought, he furrowed his eyebrows. The only exception, George questioned his thoughts, that's kind of...off.

It suddenly hit George, "Oh shit, don't tell me I like that damn himbo."