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“GhostInnit! Can you come here for a second?”
Tommy looked up from the book he was reading. “Sure!” he called, putting the book away and jogging over.
Quackity was standing next to a jukebox. In his hands, he held a circular, black disk. In the middle, there was a green ring. It made Tommy a bit uneasy, but he couldn’t place why.
“So, I had this idea. You like music, right?” Quackity asked.
Tummy shrugged. “Alive Tommy probably did, so maybe I do too!”
Quackity laughed a little nervous laugh. “R-Right! Okay, I’m gonna play this disk. Let me know if you remember anything, alright?”
Tommy nodded. “Okay!”
Quackity slid the disk into the jukebox, hitting a button to start the disk.
The disk had a slow start. Tommy didn’t immediately remember something like he hoped, although he remembered watching the sun setting while sitting on a bench. It made him a bit happy, although he couldn’t shake the uneasiness he had.
And then the music fully started, more instruments joining. The music wasn’t bad, in fact it was quite good.
But it gave Tommy such a large jolt of fear. He felt like someone was watching, waiting for the perfect opportunity to jump and kill him. He took a step back, but the anxiety was still there. He nervously scanned the area, looking for anyone hiding.
Quackity said something, nervous, and it made Tommy feel a hint of guilt for making him worry. But the fear was stronger, and the music was louder.
He covered his ears, cowering away more as he curled up slightly. Quackity stopped the music, but the irrational terror was still there, pounding through his non-existent ghost veins.
Somebody touched his shoulder, and he violently flinched away, images of someone with a glistening sword filling his head. He did the first instinctual thing that came to mind:
He turned and ran.
Tommy scrambled away, running to the water next to the obsidian wall. He dove in, knowing there was a hole there. He resurfaced on the other side, stumbling onto land as he continued his escape.
His feet thudded against the ground rapidly as he ran as fast as he could, inhaling harshly with breaths he didn’t need. He didn’t know where he was going, but anywhere from music, killing, pain, unease, terror was good for him.
Tommy stumbled to a stop as he reached the edge of a small river. A tall tower, with stripes of pink and cobble reached to the sky. A large sign that said FEAR was created ominously on a far hill.
He turned, avoiding a small hole as he quickly dug into a wall. He didn’t know why he did it, but doing so revealed a small opening. There were a few chests, a bed, and a spiral staircase burrowing into the ground. He quickly tapped down the stone staircase, seeing a few wooden buttons on the wall that made his stomach roll.
He turned a corner, and came face-to-face with an empty, cold ravine filled to the brim with buttons. Tommy turned, running back up the stairs as fast as he could. He ran from the damp cave, dashing into the forest with no aim but to get as far away as possible.
Eventually, he stumbled to a stop, sliding to the ground with his back against a tree. Pine needles under him made the ground slightly more comfortable, but he didn’t notice. He hugged his legs to his chest, noticing tears dripping down his face. It just felt wrong, wrong, wrong.
He gripped the side of his head, memories flashing by.
A man with white eyes and a haunting message, counting down from ten, giving up two music disks, getting exiled, living in a ravine, maniacal laughter, ram horns, fireworks, getting exiled again, a netherite sword, no, no, no
Someone glaring at him, making him feel small and heavy. "Tommy, shut up."
Wilbur grabbing him by the shoulders, insanity shining unnaturally bright in his eyes, tainting familiar brown with red.
“Tommy, are we the bad guys?”
Ț̴̺̟̓͊o̵͇͉͐m̵͓͎̓̓̈́m̴̢͇̫͒͆̓y̸̫͎̙̒͆,̸͕̦͚̾͐̕ l̵̡͖̺̔̚͝e̸̦̘̺͒̾͝ẗ̸͚͖́͛͝s̴͕͍͌͑͛ b̸͉̘̈́͆̕͜e̸͉̝̟̔̓̕ t̸̘̼͛͑͜͝h̸̺̪͐̓͜ë̴̼͚͚́͛͝ b̴̡͕̪̔̈́̐a̵̙͔̻̓̽͆d̸̝͙̟̽̽͘ g̴̢̝̫̈́̔̕u̵͓̞̙͑̚̕y̵͍͇͓͒͋͝s̴͚͙̺̔͛̈́.̸̘̺̾͝
He pressed his hands to his ears, trying to block the whispering voice of craziness. He just wanted it to stop, just stop, stop, stop-
Somebody sat down next to him. Tommy flinched, but when they made no move to hurt him, he slowly raised his head. A face, half white, half black, with kind, mismatched eyes and a divided tail.
It was Ranboo. A house on fire, griefed to the ground.
A friend. He had no friends, not anymore.
He could trust him. Could he?
Ranboo didn’t force him to talk, just sitting next to him. Tommy felt himself relax slowly, the insane voice in the back oh his head fading to a whisper. Just being in the presence of another conscious person helped calm him down significantly.
He turned his head, resting his head on crossed arms. Ranboo met his eyes. Tommy didn’t need to talk, Ranboo already knew.
“It was Wilbur, wasn’t it? Saying that thing over and over again,” Ranboo said. There was no judging in his tone, just gentle interest and concern.
Tommy set his chin on his arms, staring at the dark spruce forest. When had it become night?
“I-I guess? I don’t know, I just wish I remembered.” He let out a distressed noise, burying his head back in his arms.
“C-Cause I have so many people just look at me, like I’m doing something wrong, and I know that something is wrong, and I shouldn’t be crying, but I am. A-And then certain things, like hearing music and wanting to run, and hearing this voice telling me to be the bad guy, b-but I never wanted to be the bad guy.”
He sniffled. “I just want to remember, and meet everyone’s expectations.”
Ranboo was silent after his outburst, carefully thinking about how to proceed. He sighed lightly, leaning against his own tree. “You know, you said the same thing to me when you were, uh, still alive.”
Tommy raised his head, glancing over with watery eyes. “I did?”
Ranboo nodded a bit. “Before you were exiled, you pulled me aside. You told me that you and Tubbo were drifting apart, and how you didn’t know what you were going to do with yourself if you got exiled. You… also mentioned not wanting to be the bad guy, despite Wilbur ending up like that.”
The hybrid gently placed a black hand on Tommy’s arm. “I know you don’t remember a lot, and your personality is completely different now. But if you want, I can help you try to remember more. Only if you want to, of course.”
Tommy sighed. “Yeah, that would be really nice. Before we go back, can I ask you something?”
Ranboo nodded, sitting forward with full attention. “Yeah, go ahead.”
Tommy uncurled, sitting crossed legged. He fiddled with his hands nervously. “I keep hearing people saying that me and… Tubbo, his name is Tubbo, right? Tubbo was my really good friend, wasn’t he?”
“He was. I wasn't here for long, and I didn’t really see how firm your relationship was. But the small time I saw you two together… you guys were really close.”
“Ranboo, why can’t I remember him?” Tommy asked.
Ranboo watched a pinecone fall to the ground. “I don’t know if I’m being honest. Maybe you associated him with bad memories, and so… I really don’t know how this memory stuff works, but maybe you blocked out memories with him because it was really painful and harmful?”
Tommy pulled himself to his feet. “All I can remember is wanting him to know I was sorry.” He looked at Ranboo, face glowing slightly with hopefulness. “Can you tell him that for me? Tell him I’m sorry, even though I don’t know what for.”
Ranboo’s face flashed with understanding, before settling to a deep solemnness. “Yeah, of course, buddy.”
Tommy smiled, bright and joyful. “Thank you. Oh, I probably need to go tell Quackity I'm okay. Thanks again, Ranboo!”
The grey boy ran off through the trees, leaving a hybrid behind with whirling thoughts.
He knocked on the wooden door three times, before stepping back and waiting.
L’manburg’s president opened the door. Tubbo looked exhausted, eye shadows dark and gaze unfocused.
“Ranboo? Is something wrong in L’manburg?” Tubbo asked, worry for his nation coming before his mental health (and his best friend, but Ranboo chose not to bring that up).
“Geez, Tubbo, you should sleep once I leave,” Ranboo started, worried as the boy swayed a bit.
“Yeah, yeah, okay. What did you need?”
Ranboo shifted slightly, fixing his red tie nervously. “Uh, Tom- GhostInnit asked me to tell you something.”
Tubbo woke up at that, snapping to attention. “He did?”
The poor boy looked desperate, hopeful. Ranboo nodded, rubbing the back of his head as he avoided eye-contact. “Yeah.”
“He wanted me to tell you he’s sorry.”
Tubbo’s face changed to remorseful sadness, his turn to avoid eye contact. “Is.. is that all?”
Ranboo thought for a second, not wanting to get Tubbo’s hopes any higher. Then again, the poor kid looked almost depressed.
“He also said he really wants to remember you. Maybe you should talk with him one day, try and see if he remembers anything.”
Tubbo perked up a little, although there was still too much sadness in his brown eyes. “I… I don’t know. Maybe soon.”
Ranboo tried to ignore the boy’s quiet sobs behind the closed door as he walked away.