Switcheroo, Who? - A Dream SMP Fanfiction

Ch. 14: George's Not-So-Super-Secret Base, Featuring Patches and Paranoia

DSMP!Dream POV:

Something in Dream's skull was throbbing.

Was it the ghost of a headache? Was it a vein ready to pop out of his skin, spurred on by sudden adrenaline? Dream tasted nothing but bitterness in his mouth, ignoring the fact that it might be blood as his teeth gnawed subtly on the inside of his cheek.

Sam.

Sam.

Sam.

Dream felt nauseous. Was the room spinning? Was Sam grinning?

Sam.

Sam.

Sam.

Sam.

Sam.

It had only been a few days. He had felt the warmth of the wind on his skin, worn clothes that didn't display his criminal status for the entire world to see. He had gotten out of his cramped cell, sleeping on a real bed and trying things he never thought he'd be able to do again.

And it was all over now. Sam was here. Sam had seen him.

Did he know?

Did he know?

Was he here to take him back?

Was this the real one?

DID HE KNOW?!

"Dream!" Sam exclaimed, nothing but joy in his voice. "Whoa, you're here, too?"

He's lying. He's faking.

He has to be.

Sam.

Sam.

Sam.

Dream's response was nothing short of dead silence. Sam's greeting smile wavered, only for his eyes to scan Dream's person. Some of the potion covered Dream's hands in a purple film, from throwing it at George earlier. Synapses fired inside the other male's brain, but most likely jumping to the wrong conclusion, based off of the look in his widening eyes.

"Look, uh- Sam!" George desperately tried to rein the situation back in, his voice muffled in Dream's mind. "I think you need to go, is all."

"Oh," Sam swallowed. "Am I...interrupting, um, something?"

The connotations completely flew over Dream's head. He hardly noticed George's reddening face, too focused on the sheepish male at the door.

"Just busy work," George shook his head. "Potion organizing. Making. Messy stuff, though. Super dangerous. Yeah. You should just come back some other time, or go talk to Bad."

Bad.

Bad.

Is he in on it too?

Was he coming to make sure that Dream's life sentence was exactly that?

"Oh..." Sam averted his eyes. "Uh....sorry, about that, I guess. I....just didn't know-"

"It's alright," George said kindly. "We were just working on some things."

We were working on my survival, Dream thought, his blood pressure rising. We were working on how to keep me alive. You don't want that. You don't want that. Where's Quackity? Where's Bad? Why did you come?

"I see," Sam coughed. "...Uhh, yeah. Just, uhm....wanted to see if you had any tips, is all. I know I'm still here, and that's really rude of me, but I'm kind of desperate, and Bad....is my last resort. He won't tell me anything useful."