Chapter Text
It was the night after the finale. The night of November 16th, the day everything went to shit. Most everyone was involved in their own troubles. Techno and Phil were off doing their own thing, Tubbo was busy being President, Dream was busy being Dream, and everyone else had to tidy up their own little corner of the SMP and mind.
Which means nobody is paying attention to Tommy, a situation he finds ideal. He wandered to a small clearing, with the occasional poppy and dandelion strown among the grass, both short and tall. The wind brushed gently against his skin. Tommy noticed the grass didn’t sway along to the wind he felt.
You see, Mediums give off a special energy only detected by ghosts - spirits of the dead who had yet to move on. From the occasional ghost that cared enough to describe it to him, Mediums seem to glow brighter than everything else in the ghosts’ eyes, and their colors seemed much more vibrant compared to everything else. Ghosts are attracted to Mediums because powerful Mediums can bring a ghost back to life once in their life, although the cost is high and the Medium involved often dies. Tommy was careful not to let the ghosts tempt him into doing anything of the sort. He’s not going to risk his life for some random stranger’s ghost.
Tommy took out a book - a journal. It wasn’t very thick, but it was packed with different handwritings: The first half was neat and tidy, the second half was messy but slowly got better as you read on.
The first half mostly jotted down the dos and don’ts of being a Medium (Number One being letting any ghost you don’t know close enough to get attached, you don’t want to die reviving someone who’s only using you as a tool.), how it feels like using your abilities, what signs of a Medium, what signs signify ghosts are near…… One of which being feeling cool wind but nothing else does.
The second half were just the writings of a boy venting and writing about the terrors in life after he acquired the journal, acting more like an actual journal. Detailing the boy’s fear and feelings, how he lost his family, and how he came to find another one. The journal ran out of pages a long time ago, and the boy in question stopped writing down everything. He still read his old writing once in a while, the tear stains on the pages were proof enough of that.
Tommy took a deep breath and closed his eyes, searching deep. He wasn’t sure how to describe it, it was a sixth sense, delving deep into the Ghost side of the world. When he opened them, he could see several ghosts. According to the journal, there were different levels in the world. The shallowest being what everything else living sees, the deepest being the afterlife. Mediums can gaze into levels beneath the shallowest. Ghosts most relevant to the Medium gazing into the different levels appears without the Medium needing to see deeper.
Tommy settled with the second level, Wilbur had to be relevant enough, right? He didn’t recognize most of the ghosts present, he guessed they were from his biological parents’ side. His eyes darted around in search for his older brother, gripping the journal tight. They fell on a man with horns wearing a suit, who began approaching him. Tommy froze.
He tried to push the ghost of Schlatt away, his arms passing through. He spun around to face him, panic apparent in his features before reminding himself that he was still living, and that Schlatt couldn’t do anything to him.
“Fuck off!” Tommy hissed, “I’m not here to see you.”
Schlatt sighed, “I know that. Can’t I just say sorry?”
“I know Death reverses insanity and corruption and shit,” Tommy replied, “But for fuck’s sake only come to me when I’m done dealing with the shit you left behind for me to deal with. Where’s Wilbur?” The goat man shrugged, glancing around before the both of them spotted a man in a yellow turtleneck sweater and wearing a red beanie who’s strumming along a guitar. The music sounded faint and far away. Tommy’s heart squeezed as he noted the repetitive tune, knowing not many new things could be created after death, and all his brother could do was replay the songs he had already written, losing the ability to create new ones.
“Wilbur!” Tommy called out, running towards the man who snapped his head up at the sound of Tommy’s voice, a wide smile splitting on his face. Other worries started to surface in Tommy’s head the moment he identified his brother and the moment he drew near. The smile was too genuine and wide for someone who had gone through the stuff they did. That smile was too happy for someone who had gone insane, blew up something they worked so hard for, and in the end convinced their Dad to kill them.
Side Effect of Death: May cause some memories to either be wiped (irreversible) or lost (reversible).
Tommy’s smile fell just a little. Sure, he missed Wilbur the way they were before the election, when everything was fine and he didn’t have to write letters begging for his older brother to help and write letters which is the equivalent of crying his heart out to his Dad. Sure, he missed the days when they just had fun. But Death heals broken sanity and minds, so Wilbur should be back to reasonable. And there weren't many people who were with him since the start and saw him through the end.
“Tommy!” Wilbur tried to ruffle Tommy’s hair like they used to, but his hands fell through, living in an entirely different level of the world. Tommy wasn’t really there, he just saw through it. The levels were like glass laid on each other to Mediums, they can see through them, but in the end they are different levels and they can’t touch.
“Wil, please take this seriously,” Tommy gripped his shirt, “What’s the latest thing you remember?”
“I think it’s a bit after Niki joined,” Wilbur answered, “Her bakery was still in the process of building and furnishing. How did I die……?”
Tommy fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. Great, just brilliant. Now he got to figure out whether Wilbur’s memories were wiped or lost, and whether he could get it back or not.
“Wilbur…… That’s a long time ago,” Tommy forced out, “Actually, was it really just eight months? Felt like years. You died this morning, or was it afternoon? Today was chaos.”
“Oh. Why can’t I remember……?”
“Death kinda erases some of your memories sometimes, not all the time though. Some ghosts like Schlatt over there,” Tommy jabbed his finger in the direction where he knew Schlatt was watching the exchange, “Remembered everything. You know you remember everything when you remembered how you died.”
“Can’t you explain everything to me?” Wilbur floated around, seeming happy with himself as he attempted to figure out Ghost physics. Tommy was conflicted. How could he explain everything without making Wilbur sound like a dick? How could he explain Techno completely going batshit on L’Manberg, especially since this Wilbur was still fond of the nation? How could he explain Phil killing him?
The wounds were still fresh and Tommy was careful not to agitate any of them.
“I don’t……” Tommy avoided eye contact, “I’m not sure……” He struggled to find the right words. “Things really went to shit, big man.” He found himself choking on tears threatening to rise, blue eyes brimming with them.
The sudden explosion. The noise was loud. He cried out as a piece found its way near him, the only reason he survived was that he was still wearing his armor. The only reason anyone survived was that they were still wearing their armor. The ringing in his ears as he looked around in horror and his gaze finally landed in where the TNT room was, to find his Dad staring at the destruction and Wilbur, flitting back between the two scenes repeatedly.
“-ommy! Tommy!”
The voice jerked the blonde-haired boy back into reality. He blinked, realizing hot tears were running down his face and he was grabbing his shirt tighter than ever. Wilbur was waving a translucent hand in front of him, trying to snap Tommy out of whatever he had been engulfed in earlier.
“You spaced out,” Wilbur explained, “What happened?”
“I- I don’t want to talk about it,” Tommy’s voice cracked. Dammit. He shouldn’t be crying. He’s a big man. He hadn’t cried when he gave his discs to Dream. He hadn’t cried when he woke up realizing he failed his nation. He hadn’t even cried when L’Manberg got blown up. He shouldn’t start crying now.
He gulped and hiccuped, trying to calm himself enough to do what he had wanted to do, and the main purpose of coming here in the first place. He wordlessly flipped to a page in the Journal talking about Mediums and the extent of their abilities.
Manifestation: Manifesting a Ghost so you can constantly see them without having to gaze into another level (raising them to the shallowest level but they still cannot interact with things, and only you can see them, being a Medium they’re tied to).
“Hey- uh Wil,” Tommy gathered himself, laughing a bit, “I guess you kind of know I’m a Medium now.”
“It makes sense,” Wilbur gave Tommy a half-hearted smile, still put off by the near crying state Tommy was in just moments earlier, “You showed up alone at Phil’s doorstep just begging for a place to stay. Not a lot of regular kids show up alone.”
“Yeah, and one of the things we can do is manifesting ghosts,” Tommy showed Wilbur the notebook, pointing to the small section about manifesting, “It’s really annoying that everytime I want to talk to you I have to go through the effort of looking into the ghost world.”
“I don’t have any say in this,” Wilbur pointed out in a sentence on the journal stating that the Medium didn’t need the ghost’s consent to be manifested. Tommy barked out his signature laugh, although it lacked something it once had.
“Yeah, you’re not getting rid of TommyInnit anytime soon, bitch!”