Chapter Text
Tommy and Tubbo had been waiting for this for weeks.
After nagging their parents for days, they were finally allowed to spend the summer at an old family home of Tommy's, long out in the woods. Tubbo's parents thought it was a great idea while Tommy's parents had been sceptical but eventually gave in after days of asking and asking.
So they were hyped to say the least.
Tubbo had packed up his computer and gaming set (he promised his viewers that he would stream, after all), comfortable clothes, some old pieces of furniture that they could borrow and before they knew it they were ready to go.
The house was quite old. Apparently, the original house had been severely damaged in a house fire, so it had to be refurbished slightly, with two stories and a small attic, with a basement tucked underneath. The walls were brick, some areas painted in white, and the roof was a dark brown, vines already creeping up the edges. Tubbo thought it looked creepy. Tommy disagreed.
"Thank you for dropping me off, Mrs Tommy's mum," Tubbo smiled adjusting the straps to his bee striped bag. Tommy always called it childish but he didn't care. He loved it.
"No problem dearie. Don't forget to send me updates," Tommy's mum pressed her lips to her son's forehead and Tommy rolled his eyes with an exhausted groan. Tubbo chuckled slightly to which Tommy punched his friend in the shoulder playfully.
"Now Tommy, this is important," his father interrupted, "Don't disrespect the house in any way, it used to be my friend's before, well... so treat it with the same respect you'd treat ours."
"Yeah, yeah dad," he waved him off, hauling his backpack over his shoulder, "I know."
The place was even bigger on the inside, cobwebs dusted the corners of the hallway and in between shelves of books. It would take a while to clean, but Tubbo was up for the challenge. The hallway peeled off to a living room and dining room, which had a medium sized kitchen attached at the side. Upstairs there were three bedrooms, a bathroom and a flap on the ceiling, which when pulled down, released a ladder to the attic. Under the staircase was a door, leading down to a basement. It was a nice house, if just a little dirty.
"This place is poggers!" Tubbo laughed, already sprinting upstairs, "BAGSEY THE BIGGEST ROOM'S MINE!"
"Hey! Get back here, bitch!" Tommy raced after him, jumping up 2 steps at a time.
By the time he got upstairs, Tubbo was already snooping in the first room. It had a large, queen sized bed up against the furthest wall and a waist height dresser next to it. Directly across the room was a walk in wardrobe which took up the entire length of the wall. The walls were painted a sunflower yellow.
"This is crazy!" Tubbo smiled widely. Beside a large chair in the corner, just in front of the window, sat an old, beautifully crafted guitar.
Tommy checked out the next room along. It was a similar size to the other room, but this room had a king sized bed in the corner, a large wardrobe and a paperwork table, the perfect table to fit Tommy's computer. Part of the wall was sticking out, he presumed the chimney travelled through from the living room. Some of time room's walls were white, while others were a dark ashy green.
Tubbo went to check out the third and final room, but hesitated, a small chill travelling up his spine, like someone was digging their icy fingers into his neck, steering him away. He pushed the door open gently. Inside was a slightly smaller room with dark purple walls, with a desk covered in files and folders filled to the brim with paperwork, some with small burn marks or soot that hadn't been wiped off, a double sized bed in the furthest corner of the room. The room design would have seemed edgy if not for the small, glow in the dark stickers stuck to the ceiling. Hung on the wall, there had to be at least a dozen bookshelves, all filled with books of varying sizes and topics. Tubbo scanned over them quickly, pulling an old, dusty red book from on of the shelves.
"Sun Tzu... the art of war?" he muttered to himself.
"What you got there?" Tubbo nearly jumped out of his skin as his friend suddenly materialised next to him, peering over his shoulder.
"Just some book about war, got it from the shelf."
Tommy whistled, "That's a lot of books. Who needs this many anyway? Wait- what even are these? 'Psychology and Study of the Human Brain', 'The History of Mongol China', 'Basics to Learning Martial Arts', 'Advanced Techniques to Learning Martial Arts', 'The Art of Potato farming????' why are there so many books on fencing???"
Tubbo chuckled, placing the book back onto the shelf where he found it, "Come on, let's go start unpacking. You want this room?"
"Nah, I'll have the green one," Tommy was already halfway out of the room.
"I'm taking the yellow one then!" Tubbo ran out right behind him.
Neither of them noticed as the door slowly closed behind them.
)()()(
Something was off about this house.
Tommy and Tubbo had quickly settled in, unpacked their stuff and cleaned the whole house of dust and built up grime. It took 2 consecutive days of hard work, but it payed off. The house was looking better than ever... but sometimes, Tommy would see a light in the corner of his eye flicker or Tubbo would place down his phone only for it it move from its place.
("No I remember putting it there!"
"Maybe you're just bad?"
"No, I swear, I promise, it was there!")
Some patches of the house were cold, freezing. The floorboards would creak and groan even if no one stepped foot on them. Doors would close without a breeze, utensils would go missing, lights would flicker ominously when they walked by, paperwork would go disappear completely. It was a nightmare.
"I just don't understand, it's like this place is haunted or something," Tubbo sighed into his hand.
"Maybe it is, you did say that Tommy's dad's friend died in a house fire, right?" Dream responded from over the phone.
"Don't be silly," George replied, his microphone crackling slightly, "Ghosts aren't real. Maybe it was rebuilt wrong after the fire, so the house is just a bit creaky."
"Aw, you scared of ghosts, gogy?" Sapnap cooed.
"Have you tried using a Ouija board?" Dream asked.
"Not helpful, Dream! Maybe we shouldn't be encouraging our friends to mess with the potentially supernatural," BadBoyHalo scolded.
"It's fine Bad, there's only two of us anyway. I don't think a Ouija board would work well with only two people," Tubbo waved them off.
"You can still do it with only two people, it's just better to have more."
"We don't even have a Ouija board, Sapnap."
"We can order one for you," Dream added, helpfully.
"What do you mean, 'we'? Don't drag me into your ghost hunting shenanigans," George shook his head.
"Listen guys," Tubbo interrupted, "There's no ghosts in this house, it's not haunted, I just sometimes feel like it is. Like, I sometimes feel a shiver up my spine, or stuff goes missing, or doors close without a reason to, but the house isn't haunted, it's-"
He was interrupted by the slow strumming of a guitar.
"You alright, Tubbo?" Dream asked after a moment.
"I- what the hell?" the boy could only stare at the guitar, unmoved since they first arrived, strumming itself, "Wh-what the hell?!"
"Tubbo what's wrong?" Sapnap asked, sounding slightly concerned.
"No, that's not... that's..."
"I didn't know Tommy could play the guitar," Bad hummed innocently.
"Bad... T-Tommy's not playing."
"What?" George sounded nervous.
"Th-there's no one else in the room, it's just me."
"No way, show us," Sapnap protested.
Tubbo turned his camera to show his room, only for the Dream Team to see that there was nothing, no one.
"... house's haunted," Dream muttered, like he was completely and utterly done.
"What're they playing?" Bad asked curiously.
"Is that what you're worried about?" Tubbo cried.
"House's haunted," Dream repeated, this time with more finality.
"What the fuck?!"
"Language, George!"
Tubbo tuned the rest of them out, only focussing on the instrument in front of him, the chords still playing slowly and carefully. There was no logical explanation for this. This shouldn't be happening. Somehow, his horror seemed to melt away, like a hand was pressed comfortingly to his back, turning his fear into morbid curiosity as he slowly stood from his desk, approaching without hurry. The hand seemed to follow, never leaving his back. He knelt down by the instrument and forced himself to relax him shoulders despite the sudden cold that surrounded him. Maybe if he showed that he wasn't afraid the... ghost would be less likely to hurt him.
That's when he heard it.
"Wasting your time,
You're wasting mine,
I hate to see you leaving,
A fate worse than dying."
The voice was male, wispy and quiet, almost un-hearable but still there, the lyrics barely recognisable. Tubbo forced himself to remain relaxed as he listened to the invisible man sing.
"Your city gave me asthma,
So that's why I'm fucking leaving,
And your water gave me cancer,
And the pavement hurt my feelings."
Slowly, he began to hum along with the repetitive tune. He sometimes he couldn't make out the words, or didn't quite get the pitch right, but the ghost (how could it be anything else?) never seemed to mind, strumming the chords gently.
He opened his eyes gently (when had he closed them?) only to feel his breath catch in his chest. In front of him, the golden light from his window bent, like it was hitting something semi-permeable, and he could just about make out a figure. A man. A man with brown fluffy hair and a beanie, a yellow turtleneck sweatshirt and round glasses. He was smiling contently, running his fingers over the strings, like there was no place in the world he would rather be. Blue eyes met brown ones. The figure stared at him for a few moments, faltering with his words as his eyes widened.
"Y-you can see me?"
"Tubbo!" his head jerked slightly at the sound of his name and turned back to his computer, "Tubbo? Are you alright?! Tubbo?!"
He snapped his head back to the guitar, but it had stopped playing, the man was gone and the hand on his back was missing.
He felt surprisingly empty.
Shaking himself off, he jumped back to his desk, and pulled his headphones over his ears again.
"I'm here, I'm okay!" he cried, hearing a sigh of relief from the other members on the call.
"Don't scare us like that..."
"Where did you go?!"
"What the hell was that Tubbo?!"
The teen turned back to look at the guitar one last time, where the space seemed so empty and lifeless now.
"Dream I-"
He was cut off by a blood curdling scream.
)()()(
Tommy was bored. Bored out of his damn mind.
Tubbo was on a call with some fellow streamers, talking about God knows what, the shopping had been done, the house was tidy and unpacked and his computer had decided that now was a good time to have a massive update. He had nothing to do. What was he supposed to do instead?
Why, go exploring, of course.
There were only two rooms in the house they hadn't explored yet, the basement and the attic. The attic was far too much work to get to himself, so he settled on the basement. He bounded down the stairs, using the banister to swing himself around quickly and unlatched the door under the staircase. He didn't hesitate to flip on the light switch.
There was a small set of cold stone stairs leading downwards, with a black metal railing. Inside the basement itself were boxes upon boxes of old stuff and junk, lamps that seemed to be decades old, picture frames of what looked like the old family who lived here. He glanced around, hopping down the step two at a time, before sneezing at the incredible amount of dust. The room was mostly boring old rubbish that Tommy couldn't care less for, charred books and encyclopaedias, old clothes and shoes, half burnt furniture and-
'What the fuck is that? Is that a fucking SWORD?!'
On a shelf on the back wall, sat what looked to be a fencing sword, but without the safety tip. At first glance, it looked brand new, but the wear on the brown leather handle and the layer of dust on the blade said otherwise. It must have belonged to the guy in the edgy room, who had all the fencing books. Whoever they were, they must have taken good care of it. Tommy slowly reached up and grabbed the handle, feeling it's weight in his palm. Tommy shivered.
'Jeez, when did it get so cold?'
"Yo this is fucking sick!" he took a turn to lash it forward. It cut through the air sharply, making a small whipping sound. He held it up into the light and admired it, seeing his own reflection.
"This is so po-" his words caught in his mouth.
There was something behind him.
Someone behind him.
He spun his body around, only to balk when he saw nothing.
No one.
His heartrate picked up in his chest and he took a step backwards. He was probably just seeing things, but it really looked like there was someone there, with long pink hair and a white pyjama shirt.
"What the fu-"
An icy cold hand clamped on his shoulder.
"P u t i t b a c k."
"WHAT THE SHIT?!" Tommy screamed, whipping around to only to come face to face with glowing white eyes. He slashed his blade only for it to travel right through the man, like he wasn't there at all, "WHAT THE FUCKING SHIT?!"
The ghost suddenly lurched forward, like he was going to attack, stopping only a few inches away.
"TUBBO!!" Tommy cried, throwing himself backwards, wheezing as he landed on his back with wide open eyes and dropped the sword like it was made of hot coal. He could see his breath leave his lungs at the impact, the heat in his body meshing with the freezing temperature of the room, so cold that the stone floor seemed to burn his hands.
The translucent being stared straight into his soul, unblinking, "D o n ' t t o u c h i t a g a i n ."
Tommy was frozen is pure terror, eyes dilated in fear. The figure spared him one last glance before disappearing from sight, like he was never there in the first place. Still, he didn't dare to move. Distantly, he could hear the sound of pounding footsteps and someone shouting his name.
Suddenly, he felt a chill along his spine again, but it wasn't threatening like before. This cold was comforting, like someone was rubbing their hand in circles along his back and he let his breath hitch. Somehow, he could almost feel a second presence in the room, standing by, unsure of itself.
A figure appeared in the doorframe of the cellar and Tommy nearly cried in relief.
"Tommy!"
"Tubbo!"
The brunette fell to his knees by his friend and clasped his face in his hands, looking him over in worry.
"What happened?!"
"I- I just wanted to look at the sword..." he stammered, and Tubbo's eyes locked onto the blade, cast aside on the floor.
"Where did you get it from?"
Tommy didn't trust his voice, so just pointed at the now empty shelf. Tubbo nodded and stood, gripping the sword in his hands and all but chucking it back in it's place, like he couldn't bare to look at it.
"What happened, Toms?"
"I saw a reflection in the blade, there... this is gonna sound insane Tubbo. You're gonna think I'm insane-"
"No, tell me, and tell me the truth... I... I think I know where this is going."
Tommy looked at him with incredulous eyes before nodding slowly.
"I was just messing around with it. I mean, it's a fucking sword Tubbo, how can expect me to see a fucking sword and not pick it up? But, anyway, I waved it around a bit and as soon as I held it up into the light, there was like... this reflection of someone, not me, someone I'd never seen before, just standing behind me. I turned around, cause duh, there was some random dude standing in my basement, and there was no one there."
Tubbo nodded.
"I turned around, right, and suddenly I feel this-this hand on my shoulder, like someone pressed dry ice to my skin and I turn around again and there's this guy, long pink hair, pyjama shirt, but he's all intimidating, like his eyes were glowing Tubbo, and I got tried to defend myself by slashing through him with my newly found, super poggers sword but it just goes through him, like he just didn't exist and I know I sound like I'm off my nut here but I-"
"I believe you."
"And I- wait, you what?"
"I believe you Tommy. Actually, just before you screamed like a little girl-"
"My scream is manly thank you very much-"
"I actually... I actually met one too."
"What, a ghost?"
"Yeah, a ghost."
"What did yours do? Did they hurt you?"
"No, they played me a song on that old guitar in my room."
Tommy groaned, "Oh great, why do you get the nice song playing ghost while I get the 'don't touch my shit' ghost?!"
"Maybe because I didn't go around touching magic swords-"
"I didn't know a ghost would come out and try to fuck with me!"
Tubbo let out a hearty laugh and Tommy felt himself grin. The hand that had been on his back had gone, but the comforting presence still remained. The second presence, however had disappeared entirely.
"How many do you think there are? Ghosts, I mean," Tommy asked, one eyebrow raised.
"Well, I met one," Tubbo counted off on his finger, "who sang me a song, you met another one, who scared the ever loving shi-"
"I wasn't even that scared Tubbo-"
"So that makes at least two... but I think there might be more..."
"Yeah, me too, like just before, I felt like there were two people standing next to me, but there was no one there at all. I felt a hand on my back..."
"So did I!" Tubbo gasped, "They were like, rubbing circles on my back to calm me down cause I was super nervous."
"Same, but I mean, thanks random ghost man... woman... person, but the great Tommyinnit doesn't need comforting."
"Excuse me Mr Brave, I've never heard anyone scream that high pitched-"
"SHUT UP TUBBO!"
The teen began cackling, only to stop suddenly.
"Oh shit, I left the Dream Team on a call."
"Huh?"
"Oh fuck! He probably thinks I'm dead or you're dead or-" Tubbo cried while shooting to his feet and bolting up the stairs, closely followed by Tommy.
"Did he hear me scream?!"
"Yeah!"
"Oh for FUCKS SAKE!!"
)()()(
Cold. Cold. Cold. Cold. Freezing. Freezing. FREEZING.
"D o n ' t t o u c h i t a g a i n ."
Tommy shot up in a cold sweat, gasping, taking in lungful's of air which never seemed to be enough, his heart beating out of his chest and clawing at his throat. He grasped pitifully at his chest like it would somehow get rid of the primal fear deep inside him, despite how childish it may have seemed.
The glowing white eyes had burnt themselves into his his brain, haunting him, watching him. Every time he closed his eyes all he could see was a flurry of pink and white and the sudden flight or fight response that pulsed in his veins and unfixed his hair.
As much as he hated to admit it, he was scared.
The paranoia hadn't left him despite his jokes and jeers and comments. It hadn't left him despite Tubbo insisting that his ghost hadn't tried to hurt him at all. It hadn't left him during his call with Dream and the others, or during dinner, or during streaming, or while he cleaned his teeth or while he laid awake in bed, trying desperately to close his eyes only to see flaring white staring right back at him.
He couldn't do this.
He practically chucked the duvet off his body and swung his legs over the side of his bed, ignoring the cold (cold cold cold freezing-) that made contact with his feet. He paced the length of his bedroom, opened the door quietly and stepped out into the dark corridor, taking only two strides before he met his destination.
Tubbo's room.
He breathed deeply and pushed the door open.
Inside, one of Tubbo's bedside lamps glowed softly, illuminating where the brunette sat, cross-legged on his bed, a pen in his mouth and notepad in his lap. He jolted as the door opened, only to sag in relief at the sight of Tommy.
"Hey man," he said softly.
"Hey."
"What's up?"
"Not much."
Tubbo raised an eyebrow.
"You sure?"
"Yup," Tommy popped the 'p'.
Tubbo didn't look convinced, narrowing his eyes, "Couldn't sleep?"
"... no," the blond admitted carefully.
"Me neither."
"Really?"
"Yeah. Do you think I'm up at these ungodly hours of the night for shits and giggles?"
Tommy sat himself down on the end of Tubbo's bed, completely unsure of what to say. After a few moments of silence, Tubbo sighed and dropped his notepad and pen onto the bedside table, pulling the bedsheets over himself and laying down comfortably. Tommy watched him for a few moments, confused, before Tubbo lifted one of his arms so that the bedsheets lifted too.
An invitation.
"No."
"Come on."
"That's weird Tubbo."
"It's not weird. You're nervous, I'm nervous, neither of us can sleep. Maybe we just need the company?"
Tommy stared at him, contemplating the decision, but the more he thought about it, the more enticing the idea became. Tubbo wasn't just his friend. He was like his brother. His annoying brother who he just seemed to connect with in so many ways, never seemed to find him boring or annoying, who always stayed by his side. They were two halves of a whole, some would say.
He huffed in annoyance but shuffled himself under the covers so they were both facing each other and Tubbo's face lit up.
"The fanfictions just write themselves," Tommy deadpanned, and Tubbo snorted a laugh before closing his eyes comfortably.
They stayed like that, curled up on either sides of the bed, slowly drifting off to sleep in each others company. Tubbo fell asleep first, face pressed against his pillow with his eyes fluttered shut. Tommy could feel himself slowly slipping away in the warmth and the safety of being by his friend's... brother's side. He smiled to himself before jolting slightly as the air by his face turned cold and he could almost feel a dip in the bed. Lifting his head, he stared out into the room, only to see the air at the end of the bed rippling slightly, like a stone being thrown into a lake.
"Who are you?" he asked to the air.
He received no answer.
)()()(
"What the fuck are you doing?" Tommy asked, peering over Tubbo's shoulder, holding a warm cup of tea in his hands.
"I was thinking," Tubbo placed his notepad and pen down on the kitchen table. It was 10a.m., the sun filtered through the old beige curtains of the dining room, "that if these ghosts are corporeal enough to play the guitar or cause the temperature to drop, they should be capable of holding a pen, right?"
"Uh, yeah?"
"So that means that if we can get the ghosts to communicate with us, we can make sure that nothing like the other day happens again. Set some ground rules and all that. Set boundaries."
"My ghost literally spoke to me, Tubbo. I don't think they need a pen and paper," Tommy deadpanned.
"Well, I don't know about yours, but my ghost struggled to sing, and he was super quiet, even then. I don't want to push them to do anything they don't want to."
"Pinkie literally screamed at me, Tubbo."
"Yeah, and he disappeared right afterwards! He was probably tired."
Tommy huffed slightly before shivering, like someone was running their hand over his shoulder. Tubbo did the same before smiling slightly.
"Looks like they're here," he tapped the paper against the table and cleared his throat, "Hello ghosts! My name is Tubbo and this," he gestured at the blond, who glared at the pad like if he stared hard enough it would burst into flames, "is my friend, Tommy. We've been living in your house for a while now, as you already know, and it was nice of you to show yourselves to us. I'm sure that being dead has to be tough, so I wanted to get in touch, maybe set some ground rules? Just so we can co-exist nicely. That sound good?"
For a moment the room was silent, and Tommy was about to scoff before the pen slowly began to raise, like someone was testing picking it up. Tubbo's face split into a grin while the other's glare deepened.
The pen slipped and fell once, then twice, but on the third attempt, the being held it firmly in their hand, before sliding the paper pad closer to themselves. Tommy could only watch in awe as the pad flipped open, and the pen began to shakily move along the paper.
"Hello. My name is Phil."
"Hello, Phil," Tubbo greeted warmly, "Thank you for communicating with us."
"Hey, hey Phil, do you mind telling your other ghost friend to fuck off-"
"Tommy!" the brunette chastised, smacking him lightly on the arm. The pen bobbed slightly, like the person who was holding it was chuckling, "Don't be rude."
Tommy rolled his eyes, "I'm just saying that Pinkie," the pen started bobbing more as Phil held in laughter, "was a little bitch and I want him to know that I think he is a little bitch."
Tubbo growled a small warning before noticing that the pen had started moving again.
"Don't worry, me and Wil have already had a word with him."
"Great, there's more of them," Tommy deadpanned.
"How many of you are there?" Tubbo asked.
"Three."
"What are their names? The other ghosts."
"Wilbur and Techno."
"Techno? What kind of 12 year old edge lord-"
"Those are lovely names."
"There my sons."
"Ha, idiot used the wrong 'they're'- ow, Tubbo, don't smack me."
"Why can't you speak to us like, Techno, was it? Like Techno did yesterday?"
"Not sure how. We've never needed to before so we never learnt."
"Right... the other two ghosts managed to show themselves right? Maybe they could help you?"
One of the chairs shifted slightly, like someone was putting their weight on it. Slowly, the light from the windows bent, slowly revealing a tuft of fluffy brown hair and a sunny yellow jumper, until Tubbo recognised the person. It was the man who played him the guitar. This must be Wilbur.
"Oh, poor old Philza. The only ghost yet to reveal himself."
The poltergeist opened his eyes and looked over at the two teens before his eyes did a double take on Tommy. Almost immediately, he dipped his head and slouched his shoulders and it took Tubbo a couple of moments to realise that he was trying to make himself smaller.
"Damn, Techno really did a number on you, huh," Wilbur's voice was laced with sympathy, pity creasing his eyes.
Confused, Tubbo turned to see his friend stood as stiff as a board, eyes obviously seeing something that wasn't there. Gently, he reached out a hand.
"Tommy-"
"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?!" Tommy snapped out of his stupor and grinned confidently. It would have looked convincing, if now for the small tremble in his hands, "I'm not scared of this Techno guy. I just wanted good ol' Phil here to tell Techno that I think he is a bitch and I, the alpha male, Tommyinnit, am not scared of no bitch boys."
"Oh really?"
Tommy shrieked in fear and flinched so hard he nearly fell backwards, dropping his cup onto the floor, where it shattered into pieces. Tubbo snapped his head to see the new presence the room, automatically putting his body in front of his broth- friend's.
The ghost was exactly like Tommy had described. Long pink hair that managed all the way down the his waist, falling in waves, a white long sleeved pyjama shirt, rolled up to the elbows with a golden crown on the front and a pair of pink pyjama trousers with small cartoon pig faces patterned all over them. The only difference between this Techno and the one Tommy described was the eyes. While Tommy described his eyes as glowing a threatening white, this Techno's eyes were brown, almost red in colour, with tired bags underneath.
"What- what the shit?!" Tommy cried, eyes widened.
"What the hell man?!" Tubbo glared as hard as he could but the ghost's face remain stoic, unreadable.
"Meh, thought it would be funny."
Wilbur, who Tubbo had honestly forgot was in the room, grabbed the other by the arm, eyes cursed with a glare.
"Techno..." he growled warningly, and Techno raised an eyebrow, "We talked about this."
The pink haired ghost's voice was almost filled with amusement, "I wasn't just gonna stand there and let him call me a bitch boy, Wil-"
The pad and pen slammed against the table, making both humans flinch.
"Enough. Techno, leave," an accented voice announced with finality and Techno hesitated.
"Phi-"
"Technoblade."
Tubbo squinted his eyes slightly. It might have been a trick of the light, but he swore he saw a man sitting where Phil was. Maybe that was him, with blond hair and a black coat.
When Tubbo turned back, Techno was gone, leaving a thick tension in the room. Wilbur sighed, "Sorry about him. He's not good at socialising and stuff."
Tommy scoffed shakily, hands still trembling, "Yeah, obviously."
"What do we do now?" Tubbo asked, desperately trying to change the subject.
The brown haired man hummed for a moment before snapping his fingers, despite the fact that neither human could hear the noise, "I've got it! Tubbo, you could only see me after you came near my guitar, right?"
"Uh, yeah?"
"And Tommy, you only saw Techno after you decided, against literally anyone's better wisdom, to touch Techno's sword."
"Listen man, I wasn't gonna see a sword and not fucking touch it-"
"So maybe we need to find your item, Phil? Do you know what it is? Where it is?"
The pen began to hover again before Wilbur stopped him.
"You can just tell me and I can tell them. I can still hear you, Phil."
The pen was dropped onto the table. Wilbur remained silent for a few moments.
"That old thing?" Wilbur questioned, "I can't believe you actually kept that. Any ideas where it could be?"
Silence. Tommy and Tubbo shared a look.
"Right, the attic. Come on, you two. Time to meet the one and only, Dadza... Don't shake your head at me, Mr Minecraft, you know that's what you are."
)()()(
Tommy sneezed for the third time in ten minutes.
"Are you sure it's in the attic? I mean, we should have found it by now, right?"
"Stop complaining, it's just looking through old boxes," Tubbo shifted, his arms elbow deep in a cardboard box, "We needed to come look up here anyway."
"Hey, ghost man-"
"Wilbur."
"Ghost man, why don't you help out, huh? Look into boxes and stuff instead of watching us do all the work?" Tommy asked, placing another book on potato farming onto the floor. Jesus Christ how many did one man need??
"Sure, but I'm nowhere near strong enough to lift any up. I could only just play my guitar, let alone do heavy lifting," the ghost shrugged, floating towards and already opened box.
"This just seems like child labour with extra steps," Tommy grumbled to himself.
"What did you say it looked like again?" Tubbo asked, placing another box onto the floor by his feet.
"It's white and green striped bucket cap. Not too difficult to spot."
"You mean like this one?" the blond held up a hat to show the others, matching the description.
"Yes, that's it!" Wilbur just about repressed his urge to fly at the teen to see the hat up close, knowing that it would probably startle him, "Phil! We've found your dumb cap!"
"Didn't you say you were the ones who got it for him?" Tubbo asked with a cheeky grin.
"I mean, we were like, ten and thirteen when we got it for him. I'm not gonna judge thirteen-year-old-me's fashion tastes," Wilbur shrugged.
The room grew slightly colder as someone passed through the floor and Tommy's eyes widened slightly. There, floating in front of him was a man who looked to be in his thirties, with shabby blond hair and a small amount of stubble. He wore a black jacket over an ashy green sweatshirt and baggy grey sweatpants with mismatched socks. Pink and yellow. The man seemed to notice the boy's attention on himself and widened his eyes.
"Heya mate? Can you see me?" his voice had a thick, northern British accent.
"I... yeah. I can see you," Tommy smiled a lopsided grin as Wilbur pumped his fist in a silent victory.
"Hey! I want to see Mr Minecraft!" Tubbo beamed as he all but snatched the hat from Tommy's hands.
"Mr Minecraft?" Phil sent an amused glance at Wilbur, who shrugged his shoulders, "Don't tell me you told them about the-"
"Yup, told them about the baby zombie," Wilbur's voice contained an audible grin and Phil groaned into his hands.
"I can't believe you died after five years to a baby zombie!" Tommy cackled.
"At least I didn't fight a war over a cow," Phil shot back.
"Henry was a good cow, Philza!" Tommy cried dramatically, "And a good friend- wait, how did you know about that?"
"Oh, we watched you streaming," Wilbur grinned, "Techno did nothing but commentate on how you could be better at the game. Pretty funny, actually," Tommy's eyes narrowed for a moment before widening.
"THAT'S WHY MY CHAT WAS TELLING ME TO TURN AROUND AND LOOK BEHIND ME!" Tommy gasped and sent the two ghosts a glare, "You freaked my chat out. Thanks for that."
"And now #Tommyinnitishaunted is trending on Twitter," Tubbo added helpfully.
"Is it really?" Phil wheezed in laughter.
"Yes. You don't want to know how much fanart people have drawn from that concept alone," Tommy shook his head in mock disappointment.
"Yeah, and since Wilbur sung to me while on call with them, the Dream Team has only been fuelling the fire. And it's only been a couple of days!" Tubbo sighed, with a face of slight, friendly annoyance.
"Yeah, been doing nothing but pestering me into buying a Ouija board, on stream," Tommy threw his hands up, "Fundy offered to exorcise the demons in our house and Quackity basically shouted a Mexican prayer into his microphone the second I joined the vc and Schlatt hung up on me because he, and I quote, 'doesn't associated with haunted people'."
"They're all joking, of course," Tubbo hastened to add, "It's just like, a huge inside joke."
"Did you say Schlatt? Like, as in, JSchlatt?" Wilbur questioned, something unreadable in his expression.
"Uhh, yeah?" Tommy questioned.
"I knew him," Wilbur basically whispered and both human teens winced. Phil gained a sympathetic look.
"Where from?" Tubbo tilted him head slightly.
"Used to be friends, before..."
"Hey," Tubbo smiled warmly, taking a couple of steps closer to the ghost, "Maybe we can get you in a call with him. I'm sure he'd like to hear from you. He has mentioned having a late friend before. Talked about you like you were his whole world."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
Wilbur looked at the brunette with glazed over eyes.
"You'd do that?"
"Yeah."
"I... I think I'd like that... yeah."
"We also need to introduce you guys to the Dream team. They have been doing nothing but pestering me about meeting the 'singer ghost man'," Tubbo narrowed his eyes in faux frustration.
"Little to do they know, that there are three of you. That's gonna give 'em a surprise," Tommy grinned evilly.
Phil hesitated for a moment.
"Would it be alright if Techno got to talk to Dream?"
"Huh?" Tommy raised an eyebrow, "Why's that?"
"Because I think they used to know each other. Whenever Dream starts speaking on one of your streams he gets this... look in his eyes. Like he's remembering something. Someone. I recognise the name too. Dream. I think he used to know him, from his fencing lessons."
Tommy and Tubbo shared a look.
"Uh... sure," Tommy nodded hesitantly and Phil smiled gently.
"Thanks. He needs to speak to someone else anyway."
"Is that why you left earlier? To talk to him?"
"Yeah... Techno's quite... he struggles in social conversations and after years of being alone he doesn't really know how to talk to people. Spends so much time trying to put his thoughts into words that sometimes he just doesn't say anything at all. He's defensive and cautious around change. About things he doesn't understand. Give him time."
"Techno has the social ability of a pig who's taken several drags of marijuana," Wilbur said nonchalantly and both Tommy and Tubbo started cackling.
"YEAH! DRUGS!" Tommy shouted and Tubbo echoed him.
"Chaos gremlins, the both of you," Phil laughed.
Maybe this wasn't so bad after all.
)()()(
It took two weeks for Tommy to speak to Techno.
The teen had just finished streaming on the SMP and he was tired. Despite his schedule, the stream had ended up being nearly three and a half hours long with so much talking and yelling that Tommy was exhausted. He'd streamed long into the night and Tubbo had gone to bed an hour ago. Taking a sip of his water bottle, he slumped back in his chair, mentally preparing himself to get up and change into his pyjamas.
That's when he heard the knock.
It wasn't like Phil's knocking, which was three precise knocks in a row, all an equal length apart, or Wilbur's knocking, which consisted of him just knocking as many times as he deemed necessary until the boy answered. This knock was hesitant. Two knocks at first and then a pause before the final, almost inaudible tap.
"Uh, Tommy?" a monotone voice called from behind the door, "Can I come in?"
Techno.
At first Tommy was inclined to say no. He'd been avoiding the ghost like the plague for two weeks now and he hadn't exactly planned on stopping. He couldn't ignore the way his heart beat out of his chest, or the way his fight or flight response kicked in. The pink haired man had been doing the same, leaving the room without a word at his presence, disappearing, silencing, avoiding.
But now here he was, outside Tommy's room, asking to come in.
After several seconds of awful silence, he gave in.
"Yeah, sure big man."
For a moment there was no movement.
"Do you want me to open the door?"
Or can I just come in? was left unsaid.
"You can just, uh, just come through."
A few more seconds of nothing before a hand reached through the door and the ghost slowly entered the room, consciously making sure that Tommy could see his every movement. They remained still, eyes never leaving each other for several sickeningly tense moments.
"You're gonna ruin your back sitting like that."
Tommy balked. That's not the first sentence he was expecting.
"Uh..." he sat up slightly straighter, fixed his posture, feeling unnervingly pinned under the other's watchful gaze.
Silence.
"You know, when you first came here we made bets on how long you'd last."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"Well?"
"Wilbur bet that you'd last a week at best. Phil said you'd last a month."
"How long did you bet?"
"I bet that you'd stay."
What?
"What?" Tommy echoed his thoughts.
"And that was the worst thing, because I didn't want you to stay, I wanted you to leave but in order to scare you off, I'd have to wait until you found my item."
"Your sword... you scared me on purpose."
"Yeah."
"I'm gonna be honest with you, Technoblade, that was a pretty dick move," Tommy's grin was strained at best but still, the man's mouth twitched in vague amusement.
"Yeah. It was."
"Where are you going with this? I mean, what's the point of telling me about your stupid bets?"
"Because it took me a while to realise that I didn't hate you." Tommy stopped breathing, "I hated the change. This was our house, not yours. I didn't like the thought of you taking it away from us."
Tommy stared at him, uncertainty filling his eyes.
"And I don't hate you Tommy. As much as you annoy me, I don't hate you. And that's the thing. I was so caught up in trying to protect my home that I didn't notice how much damage I did."
"This... this sounds awfully rehearsed, Technoblade."
"That's because it is. I had a script and everything."
"I still don't know where this thing is going, big man."
"You're still scared of me."
There. The bomb was dropped. The carpet ripped out from under the both of them. It seemed that saying it out loud made it so much more real, but still, Tommy laughed nervously.
"The great Tommyinnit doesn't get scared."
"I know you had nightmares. Phil told me as much."
"Fucking snitch," Tommy growled, but there was no bite.
"You're scared of me and I want that to change."
"Why?"
"Have you ever been lectured by Phil?"
"Yeah?"
"Times that by 100."
"You want me to not be scared of you so Phil doesn't lecture you again," Tommy deadpanned.
"Well, when you put it like that I sound like an asshole," Techno said back in the same tone.
They stared at each other again.
("-he doesn't really know how to talk to people. Spends so much time trying to put his thoughts into words that sometimes he just doesn't say anything at all. He's defensive and cautious around change. About things he doesn't understand.")
"Tommy."
It took a couple of moments to realise that he wasn't looking Techno in the eyes.
"Tommy."
Brown met Blue.
"I'm sorry."
The teen scoffed slightly and stood up.
"Big T?... I forgive you."
Technoblade remained stoic and still, as if he wasn't expecting that reaction, eyes widened only a fraction before his expression sank.
"You're still scared of me."
"We can work on it together, big man."
At that, they remained silent again, until Techno slowly nodded his head and turned to leave, disappearing through the bedroom wall and out of sight completely. Releasing a breath that he didn't even know he was holding, Tommy sat down on his bed heavily.
He'd deal with this tomorrow. For now, he just wanted to sleep.