Uncontainable (DreamTeam SCP AU)

Events Log Eight

Wilbur backed down a bit. "Davidson, is that true?"

"Might as well call me George," He sighed frustratedly, "And yeah, it is."

"It's still freaky as hell," Fundy frowned.

Eret turned his attention to Nick. "Has he ever done that before?" Nick's eyes shifted, not staying one place.

"N-no. Never. I think I'd remember that," He mumbled.

Zak and Darryl entered at that moment, awkwardly entering the scene at the moments of the most tension.

Zak scratched at his stomach anxiously.

"H-hey muffins," Darryl smiled weakly. He looked tired again. He leaned on Zak, who wrapped an arm around Darryl's waist protectively.

"I still don't get how the hell—"

"Language!"

"—534 could take an image from George's mind and transfer it," Wilbur finished, "That'll be fun to research."

George sat back from the group, thinking to himself.

Why didn't I know something was up immediately after he disappeared?

Why didn't I try to find him?

I have to find him.

But Dream said...

No.

I won't accept it.

I have to know what happened.

George wished that Clay was here to help him — he was always the best at logic puzzles, even if he did baby-rage at some of them.

The volunteer program.

There's conspiracy theories within conspiracy theories about that one.

What if...

No.

Surely not.

George had to keep himself from running off right then and there, rushing to go research and theorize and get to the bottom of Clay's disappearance.

I have to continue his work.

George tapped Nick on the shoulder anxiously. "Can we talk?"

"Sure!" Nick responded, hushed.

"Dr. Armstrong and I are going to do some testing on Dr— SCP-534's new human form," George announced, dragging Nick to the decontamination chamber.

After a hasty process, they spilled into Dream's unit.

"We need to find out what happened to Clay," George hissed, plastering a fake smile on as he realized that Eret was watching them. "I can't believe I waited this long."

George could still remember when Clay hadn't showed up to dinner that night, the icy-hot disappointment that settled in the back of his throat.

He could remember going to sleep alone, the room somehow seeming too cold despite all the blankets he piled on.

He could remember how it had felt, checking his phone every thirty seconds the next morning.

The waiting.

The wondering.

When he finally went to Site-19 security.

The loving messages from friends.