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Fundy doesn’t think he’s ever been in the Church so late, never seen it so devoid of people, between the large open space, the dim lighting, and the sound of rushing water, the whole place has an eerie feel to it. Like it's somehow come unstuck from time.
But odd as it is, it’s the only place that Fundy could think of going where no one would find him.
He just-
He just wants to be alone for a while and going home means too high of a chance of Ghostbur waiting for him or Quackity bursting through their shared door without warning.
So, he lays on his back in the middle of the Church, mask cradled against chest and chewing at his necklace chain, head resting over the lip of the fountain, enjoying what little peace he can find in this world right now. And Fundy can admit to never having been the most devout person on the server - that goes hands down to Tommy, who’s half the reason the rest of them can still visit Church Prime at all - but the fountain’s water is supposed to grant clarity apparently and, well, what’s Fundy got to lose except for an hour or two drying his hair?
And, he figures as he taps his fingers against his mask and stares up at the faceless statue, he could really use some clarity right now.
Seeing as he...isn’t sure what to do with Dream.
He’d only started their whole thing to string the man along, gain more info and he’s pretty confident at this point that that feeling was mutual if nothing else was. A pair of con artists using each other to gain and further their own plots now stuck and unsure what to do with the mark that’s reached the end of its use. Dancing around each other like idiots.
It’s incredibly embarrassing!
And made even worse by how everyone in New L’Manberg is trying to be so supportive of his life decisions! He’s desperate for someone, anyone, to tell him that Dream sucks and they disapprove so that he can have an excuse to break it off! But no! They’re all too nice! Why?
Well and then, of course, his fingers dig hard into his mask and his heel starts tapping staccato beats against the white stone floor, there’s the whole George thing. The flower mix up that Fundy knows Dream played up on purpose just to try and get under his skin. Fundy refused to be the one chased off however which was just one more problem with the whole thing.
That, as much as Fundy wanted it to be done, he was also determined to play as oblivious as possible until Dream manned up and told him to his face that it was over.
He had always been competitive, symptom of growing up alongside Tommy Innit and then eventually Tubbo as well, he’s sure, and this was feeling more like some stupid game every day it dragged on.
There’s also…
Fundy blows out a breath.
Fundy, well, he’s irritated at himself because of how easy it had been to play at being hurt when the flower mix up happened, too much like he might have actually felt hurt by it and Fundy doesn’t even know where to start with that.
He sighs and slouches deeper into the water, low enough that it licks at his brow bones.
He’s certainly not feeling clarified.
He wonders if it’s more of a long term effect.
He relaxes. Dozes, almost.
No clarity comes but this might be worth it if only to give him the space to really think. He loves his country but sometimes it gets crowded. Feels too small for him. He wonders sometimes if it would do him some good to get away for longer than a few hours but that’s only ever a passing thought. He’s much too needed still to do anything but think about getting away. His duty is to his country, to his father’s legacy, to his inheritance, first and foremost.
Niki thinks it’s an unhealthy way to grieve. Fundy would agree but he doesn’t really know how to go about this any other way.
Considering one role model was a vicious dictator and the other blew himself and a whole country to smithereens, it’s not like he’s got the best examples. He, personally, thinks he’s doing great all considering the hand he was dealt. Not like he’s blown up anything!
...yet.
If he’s got some emergency TNT stashed away for a rainy day, well, that’s no one's business but his.
…
It’s nice to think about getting away even if he knows it’s currently impossible.
Fundy wouldn’t even be picky about where he went! Just somewhere with wide open spaces, untouched, uninhabited or very nearly so, preferably next to some kind of body of water. Somewhere no one knows him and for a little while he doesn’t have to be a founder of L’Manberg or, worse, Wilbur Soot’s son.
Maybe he’d try to steal away some of the other kids as well. Tubbo could use a few days not tied down to a desk. If he could catch Tommy that kid desperately needs someone to tie him down and make him process his own grief instead of moving onto the next challenge. Jack’s good to have around to lighten the mood. Niki would never forgive him if he left her behind and Ranboo’s basically another little brother at this point, so of course he’d come along as well.
He frowns.
Well, that’s just…
That’s just most of the cabinet, huh?
Are-
Are the people not the problem-?
Someone giggles.
Fundy’s eyes pop open and he sits up before he thinks better of it.
Not only is he immediately blinded by hair and water but the tops of his shoulders are soaked. He pouts and shoves his hair off his forehead and wipes at his eyes.
The person laughs again as Fundy blinks his eyes open. “Yeah, okay.” he huffs and rolls his eyes. “Haha. It’s very funny.”
He pulls at his wet shirt with a grimace and glances towards the doors of the church. “Do you know if they’ve got any towels-?” he starts and stops just as fast as he registers what he’s looking at.
That being nothing.
Or, well, no one.
“Uh…” he draws out the sound and glances to the back of the church to make sure that he hadn’t somehow missed someone slipping past him. But there’s no one back there either.
He frowns.
“Hello?” he calls, one hand clutching his mask against his chest as his anxiety spikes.
The laughter comes again. Along with a ringing echo of, “Hello?”
And Fundy goes very still because, wait-
He jerks his head back, back arching as he looks up and behind him, leaning partially over the water again.
He screams, scrambling back with his heart in his throat, mask clattering to the ground, when he finds the Faceless statue now staring down at him. “What the fuck!” he shrieks, back hitting the opposite wall but he wants to be even further, his feet still scrabble against the floor, pushing him hard against the wall.
The statue parts the falling water as it leans forward and Fundy tries not to faint over the fact that stone isn’t supposed to move like that! Fuck, oh fuck. Fundy knew there was a reason he stopped going to church. “You don’t need to run.” it says even though its mouth doesn’t move, even though it doesn’t have a mouth, just a hood and a face not carved to give the illusion of shadow.
And Fundy would absolutely disagree regardless. He needs to be gone. He needs to move. But now he’s not sure he could get past it. “I- I don’t-” H can’t get any words out. He’s hyperventilating. He knows he is and he knows that’s bad, that he needs to calm down. But he just- just can’t. He’s too busy trying to get his mind to believe his eyes.
The statue tilts, he swallows back bile, tilts its head and steps onto the water - on it! Not in! On! - and walks towards him. “Stay- stay back!” he yelps, throwing up his hands like he could do anything against a fucking statue! That thing could probably crush him beneath its weight without thinking.
A stone foot lands on the floor and Fundy braces himself expecting it to crack beneath the statue’s weight but he doesn’t know why he’s expecting anything. It’s already walked over water, why would he think its supposed weight would affect it now? In fact, as if to prove him even more wrong, it doesn’t make a single sound as it walks.
Though, Fundy’s eyes go even wider, his whole body trembling now, as it walks the carved stone begins to crumble away from its main body to reveal-
To reveal a person.
No longer the giant stature of the statue, instead likely standing no taller than Fundy. Covered in robes so dark a green they’re almost black, accents of gold and a white so bright it’s almost searing. Fundy’s dear of the unknown, the unnatural, begins to tip closer to curiosity.
About halfway between Fundy and the fountain, they pause and their head tilts down and Fundy jerks forward before remembering himself when he realizes they’re looking at his mask. “Don’t-” he starts and stops as they crouch down and pick up his mask.
Inanely, he notices their bare feet and the bangles around their ankles.
They glances from his mask to him and Fundy catches the edge of something white in the shadow of their hood. Then they stand once again and walk closer. Fundy tucks his knees up closer to his chest and holds out his hands, cringes and braces for the worst.
But then he feels something press against his palms and peeks an eye open. He blinks and straightens when he realizes that- that it’s his mask. His fingers curl around it automatically and he glances to the being now crouched in front of him.
“Put it on!” they chirp, pushing it at him more insistently.
Fundy swallows but nods, hands shaking as he takes a few more tries than usual to get the ribbon tied properly. He looks back and asks, hesitantly, “Why?” even though he does feel more secure with his mask on.
They laugh and tug the edges of their hood, not enough to pull it off their head but enough to- “We match.” they say and Fundy’s gone from hyperventilating to holding his breath.
The white mask they wear makes him immediately think of Dream, it’s unnerving how similar they are to the man when Fundy really starts looking. But their mask is cracked across one half and the wide grin that Fundy assumes had once been in a typical position is now sideways.
“I-” His breath hitches as his lungs finally expand and he decides to fall back on his usual habits to try and survive this encounter. He laughs and nods, teeth flashing defensively without him thinking about it. “We do!” he agrees, almost manic cheer in his pitchy tone.
The being doesn’t seem to even notice Fundy’s distress though, pressing their hands together and saying brightly, “We match other ways too!”
“O-oh?” Fundy responds, partially curious, mostly worried about what him and this being could have in common. “Like what?”
The room goes dark like someone blew out all the lanterns except for a spotlight on Fundy and Fundy’s heart rate skyrockets as the being intones, “We’re both alone.”
A chill races down his spine but at the same time he starts sweating. The lights turn back on and Fundy throws his hands up in front of his face to keep from being completely blinded. He’s glad he left his jack behind for once because all at once he’s being smothered by heat.
“What?” he murmurs and lowers his hands, blinking rapidly and trying to shift but sinking into the floor when he does.
He lifts his hand up and squints as he rubs his fingers together and grit falls away. He glances down and discovers he’s no longer on the stone floor of the Prime Church but rather he’s now halfway buried in...sand?
He shifts from sitting on his butt up onto his knees and glances around but there’s- there’s nothing and the being that he had been talking to is nowhere to be seen either.
“Hello?” he calls out as he pushes himself shakily onto his feet, trying to brush the sand off his clothes mostly unsuccessfully. Already the sand has made its way into places sand shouldn’t be and Fundy grimaces.
There’s no response to his call.
Fundy’s not really sure what to do now. He’s always prepared for pretty much anything but he’s not sure how anyone could be prepared for being tossed into the middle of a desert nowhere by a statue of a god turned to a real person? Fundy presses a hand against his forehead because even just thinking that has his head spinning. The rest of the cabinet is gonna think he’s slacking off and how is he supposed to explain that, really, guys, it was out of his hands!
He blows out a breath and lifts his hat to wipe the sweat from his brow before placing it even lower on his brow. At least his face is protected from the brutal sun by his mask, but he can already feel his neck and arms baking.
Where..where does he go from here?
He chews at his lip and turns around and around but no matter where he looks there’s no indication as to where a hope for civilization might lay. So, he starts thinking instead of where a desert might lay in relation to the SMP and looks to the sun and he starts traveling East.
As glad as he is that he left his jacket behind, he’s wishing he had been too lazy to throw on his boots as well. Boots, he’s quickly learning, are not the best footwear for trekking through a desert.
At least, the ones he’s wearing.
He walks until his legs feel like noodles and his boots are five times heavier with all the sand in them and his clothing is soaked through with sweat, he would say he’s never felt more disgusting but, well, there were some dark days during the war. He finally has to take a break when he really begins to feel like he’s melting and shucks his boots to shake the sand from them, however fruitless, glancing up to the sky to check that he’s still going in the right direction-
The sun hasn’t moved.
If Fundy wasn’t currently overheating he’s sure he would have gone cold.
Fundy bolts to his feet, boots be damned, and starts spinning every which way but- but everything already looked the same! Or does everything look the same because he’s not making progress?
Is he-?
His breathing slowly starts evening out as his panic lessens, he shifts his weight and he doesn’t sink into the sand as much as before. He doesn’t feel the grit of the sand as much either.
Is he really in a desert at all?
He goes from melting to freezing between heartbeats and laughter ringings in his ears as he bolts upright.
Wet hair falls into his eyes and his shoulders are instantly soaked but Fundy will take being vaguely damp over being baked alive any day.
The laughter only increases in volume and Fundy snarls, “It’s not funny!” before he realizes he recognizes that coughing laughter, so different from the unusual pitch of the being.
Fundy shoves his hair from his eyes and finds, as he expected, Tommy standing bent over, hands wrapped around his stomach, in front of him. “Did- did you fall asleep in the fuckin’ fountain?” Tommy wheezes and Fundy scowls.
“Shut up.” he mutters, very much not in the mood as he blows water away from his mouth and rubs it out of his eyes.
“Where’re your shoes?” Tommy cackles and-
-and Fundy pauses as he shifts to get up and looks down at his feet.
Not only are his boots gone but, he wiggles his toes, there’s the familiar grit of sand between his toes.
He swallows and glances up to the statue, completely ignoring Tommy now.
But, as far as he can tell, everything is exactly as it should be.
He doesn’t trust that it’s going to stay that way.