Stormfree (Dream SMP)

CH 3

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George yelped in surprise and stumbled back against the tree trunk, watching as Dream and his attacker became a flurry of movement among the bushes. He frantically glanced around before picking up a hefty stick from the ground and snapping it over his knee to wield the sharp end before him. Bad had staggered up to his feet and took the other end, asking what had just happened, like George had any clue. Should they help? They couldn't even discern the two fighters from each other, they'd turned into flashes of white among the brush, the ever-darkening sky not helping at all. All they could hear was violent rustling and the occasional grunt. Dream wasn't asking for help, if that signified anything.

"We have to stop them!" Bad cried, favouring his bad leg. George raised an eyebrow at him.

"And how do you propose we do that without getting our shit kicked in?"

"Language," he growled back. "I think the other guy is a Defect too, he's wearing white. We don't have to fight each other!"

"Well you can go ahead and tell them that." George gestured to the pair with his stick, wrinkling his nose as he noticed that they'd moved farther away. One of them stood up – he couldn't make out who it was – only to be tackled back down at the waist by the other. A strangled cry rang out that could've come from Dream, then there was a sharp crack, and finally silence. George and Bad watched with bated breath as the forest stilled for a moment. Then, horrifyingly, a hulking figure slowly rose to its feet, bearing broad shoulders and a very obvious lack of a mask. The stranger turned and stretched briefly before staring them down.

"Stay back!" George warned at the same time Bad cried, "What did you do to him?!"

The figure tilted his head, then looked back down at the ground. A deep voice rumbled in his chest, saying something they couldn't hear from their distance, and then the underbrush where Dream lay stirred. He sat up with some difficulty, and George squinted to try and make out his silhouette, but to no avail. It was too dark. Then, to his utter surprise, the stranger offered a hand to help Dream back up to his feet. George tossed his makeshift weapon to the ground and threw out his hands exasperatedly as Bad loosened his stance, still wary. The two picked their way back over to the oak tree, Dream holding a hand to his mask and the stranger smirking cockily the entire time.

"What the hell was that?" George snapped. "Who are you?"

"Oh my goodness, are you okay, Dream?" Bad asked, hobbling over to meet the masked man and inspecting him, keeping his stick clenched in one hand.

"Relax. We were just settling a score," the stranger drawled, still grinning. He had light pink hair, to George's surprise, and was sporting a bleeding cut across the nose as well as several bruises. Strangely, George felt some pride knowing Dream had held his own so well against a man that large.

"You – you muffin!" Bad snarled, standing in front of Dream as if he could stop the stranger from going after him again. George almost laughed at the shocked expression on the man's face. "That was stupid! We don't gain anything from fighting each other!"

Dream placed a hand on his shoulder, still holding his mask with the other. Now that he was closer, George could see the small, jagged crack near the top of it, connecting with the right eye hole. "It's okay, Bad," he chuckled, his voice sounding oddly thick. Something dark dripped from his chin as he spoke – blood, maybe. "I know him. He's from Sector Three, they pitted us against each other all the time for fighting matches."

"That still – !"

"I'm fine," he urged. "Techno just had to make himself feel better by catching me off guard because he knows I would've beat him otherwise."