"Oh, good, you're here. I wanted to show you something. See this?"

"...Yes?" The thing on the workbench doesn't seem stuck together, even. It's just a pile. You don't know what you're missing.

"I did it. I finally..." Now he looks at you, eyes and grin unfocused. "I built... you don't need to go to all that trouble any longer. You can tell Richard to fuck off forever. This'll... this'll... if we use this, the world won't end. I invented it."

Oh. He is dreaming. You lace your fingers. "But what does it— how does it work?"

Gil doesn't say anything. He just keeps grinning.

"...Maybe you can show me?"

"Oh, sure, no problem. I just..." He reaches for the pile, then draws his hand back, stymied. "Um..."

"You don't have to," you say hastily.

"No, it's okay. Here." He seizes on something triumphantly, and you think for an instant it's real— it's a dream, he can build a world-ending-stopping machine if he wants to— before the whole pile shivers and collapses, clanging, onto his lap and the chair and floor and everywhere else. Not that real.

You watch, first in bemusement, then in concern, as Gil yelps "FUCK!", grabs a wrench, bangs ineffectively at the remnants of the pile, buries his face in his hands. He stays like that for a little while. "Um, it's okay," you venture.

"It's not! It's— I always— nothing ever goes right— there's nothing I can— you have to do it all by yourself, and I— I— no matter what, you're going to die, and—"

"I'm not going to die," you say. "I'm going to be God. It's different."

"No it isn't."

You chew your lip, then pluck the wrench out of his hands and take his shoulders. They're warm. "Gil, you're dreaming."

"I wish I..."

"No! You're actually dreaming! Right now! Snap out of it." You shake him a little. "I'm serious. I'm the real Lottie. If you don't snap out of it, I'll hit you with the wrench, okay? And you're dreaming, so you're not made of goo, so it'll hurt. You don't want to test that, do you?"

"..." Gil's brow creases. You sigh, pick the wrench back up, and whack him on the arm. "Ow!" he says, and stares, and stares, and rubs his arm. "What the shit, Lottie?"

"I told you," you say primly.

"What are you— I'm—" He prods the inside of his mouth. "I-I-I-I thought you went to Henry's! Are you back? Are you asleep? I-I-Is something wrong?"

"Not really. I'm not back. I just had to practice, and, um, I thought... I thought anybody else would be mad at me if I went in their dreams." You glance sideways. "It's not your fault you can't save the world. It's not your sacred duty, it's mine."

Gil looks pained. "I-I-I-I was asleep. I was just saying stuff."

(6/a lot)