Switcheroo, Who? - A Dream SMP Fanfiction

Ch. 3: Every Action Has A Reaction

".....Let me get this straight."

Dream leaned back in slight frustration in the hard seat he had been given as Puffy sighed. "Alright, sure. One more time, for the fifth time."

It had been less than hour already. After what felt like eons of persuasion and reassurance from Puffy, Sam had reluctantly allowed Dream to be brought over out of his cell. The male followed Puffy out of the room onto the honey block to get back over, protected from the lava as they were carried back across the magma ravine. He grabbed his mask before they left, on instruction from Puffy. She mumbled something about him needing it, and he didn't see the need to argue. If these two people were this unsettled by the sight of his face, they were either unnerved by its general visibility, or he was just ugly and didn't want to look at him.

....It was probably the first one.

Dream was most certainly not ugly.

He was the handsomest person anyone could ever have the joy of meeting, in his own humble opinion.

The minute he had set foot on the other side, however, Sam immediately grabbed his arms and placed enchanted shackles on his body without warning. Heavy boots and bulky cuffs, conveniently placed nearby, were now attached to Dream's unsuspecting frame. Puffy attempted to protest, but Sam wouldn't hear it. It would take some time to convince him that Dream didn't need the restraints.

Dream didn't necessarily mind the bonds - after what crumbs of understanding he had gained from both Puffy and Sam, he could at least accept the reasoning behind their caution. He was, however, a little miffed at how long it was taking the warden to process everything. It didn't help that he kept sneaking suspicious glances at the mistaken inmate, or acted extremely wary of Dream. Dream posed no threat, especially without dangerous items and trapped in the netherite bonds.

Sam had slowly led them out of Dream's general cell area, making a series of twists and turns up stairs and down corridors. Dream didn't bother trying to map the place; he instead focused on keeping up and getting the heck out of there. He didn't want to stay any longer than he had to in this place. Eventually, the giant prison guard stopped them in front of a singular iron door down a dead-end hallway. He opened the entrance with a journal-keycard, motioning quickly for the two accompanying him to go inside. Puffy and Dream immediately complied, and Sam shut the door behind them all as soon as he got in himself.

The room turned out to have a lone table and two chairs, devoid of any windows or other pieces of furniture. Puffy chose to lean against the wall on one of the sides of the table, gesturing for Dream to pick the seat farthest from the door. Sam regarded the shackled male disdainfully, taking great care to sit as gently as possible in the chair across from him. The minute he was no longer standing, Puffy jumped right into the best paraphrased explanation she could come up with.

The short and cloud-haired female relayed to Sam about how Dream was telling the truth. This Dream was not the one they knew. Their personalities, their scars, everything small detail that could immediately have identified Dream wasn't present on this one. He wasn't faking his amnesia, for he had no lost memories. While what he was saying about certain people on the server was strange, it couldn't be denied that he was not lying. He just wasn't aware of the strange parallel differences here.

As she summarized what few things she had learned, Dream faced Sam with an even look. He had not placed his mask back on, and was currently pondering what might lie beneath Sam's gasmask one. After having to listen for a third time to Puffy tell Sam everything she could so he could understand, Dream lost interest in paying attention and studied the warden in front of him. Green specks near his deepset eyes made him look older, green hair streaked with silver falling lightly across his brow. A golden circlet with three offset prongs towards the front rested atop his head, and the industrial gasmask shone silver beneath the lone glowstone illuminating the isolated room. Netherite covered every inch of his visible body, and Sam never seemed to relinquish a hold on his trident.