Switcheroo, Who? - A Dream SMP Fanfiction

Ch. 21: You're Not My Mom!!... Kinda. Sorry. I Didn't Mean That.

Manhunt!Dream POV:

"Sorry, a god????"

"Ugh...." George scowled intensely, looking upwards. "I've gone over this, like, a million times now. YES, a god, Tommy. He can help Clay."

Truthfully, George had only went over it twice after the initial announcement, but Tommy's confusion was still entirely justified. George "going over it" constituted the repetition of the same perplexing words over and over. He told them nothing more about the deity that could supposedly assist in Clay's situation, making the lead extremely vague and unhelpful.

Like, seriously.....a god?

George had led them out of the lava-lit room before this, moving quickly and cautiously. It was clear that he was suddenly nervous about being in a place he wasn't supposed to be. Tommy had voiced his opinion along the way, suggesting they go check out the two dark tunnels on the sidewall from earlier, as an exit out of the underground bunker. He was swiftly turned down. Puffy and George were very adamant about not pushing their luck, and dark tunnels of unknown capacity would not contribute to their stealth.

They had, after all, entered a space that didn't necessarily belong to them. Who knew what was down there? And who knew when the owners of the area would be returning?

Tommy and Puffy had alluded to Ranboo being one of the owners, sure, but there was clearly more than one occupant.

They had taken enough risks today and shouldn't recklessly add to the list. Clay certainly didn't need to run into any new yet familiar faces again. George had been enough of a scare for the next 24 hours.

Once the options of exploration were cut out of the mix, the only way left to go was up.

Quite literally.

The group would have to go back the way they came down.

The four now stood beneath the strange water mechanism, having rode back across the ice on the boats from earlier, storing them back in their original compartments once finished. The waterfall leading into the landing pool gently streamed down still, the giant tank of water above filtering itself around. The group would've been trying harder to brainstorm ways to get up inside the tank, to avoid the hot lava-air blasting at them from the vent and in an effort to leave, but had been sidetracked by a more pressing matter.

It wasn't very easy to ignore the vague but intriguing bomb George had dropped on them just minutes before.

"Jeez, sorry, sorry," Tommy scoffed. "No need to be such a stupid prick abou' it. I jus' don' believe you, is all."

"And why do I have to appeal to you?" George rolled his eyes. "You're not the one who's getting sent back into the past. I don't care if you like how it sounds."

"Again, you're bein' a bit of a bitch," Tommy crossed his arms. "You're bein' rude. Who fuckin' spat in your drink, George? I sure as hell didn'. I did nothin' to brass you off. Would never do tha' t'you, George! Even if you're wearin' tha' silly little cottagecore fuckin' hat. Ever, ever. I-"

"Get on with it," the second European grumbled impatiently.

"....All I'm sayin' is," Tommy spread his arms, "you've been sleepin' for some time. Hones'ly haven' seen you at all since........since......I.......Huh. Uhhhhhhh........You know, I don'.......Don' know. Don' know......Can' remember. You never came to see ME, tha's for sure-"

"And how does my sleep schedule affect my credibility?" George inquired coldly. "It's none of your business."

"See, d'you even hear yourself ri' now?" Tommy blinked, as if shocked George didn't understand him. "Your sleep schedule affects your stupid credi-bull-tee-wha'ever-thing, in a large fuckin' way. You've been slumberin' an' snorin', all cozy in your jim-jams an' pillows, ri'? Actin' knackered for no good reason, an' suddenly you show up jus' knowin' gods an' shit? I'll fuckin' call bull-to-the-shite if I very well feel like it, Mr. Fuckin'-"