Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

What happened? 

That was his first thought when he awoke, his eyes adjusting to the sudden light of the world around him. What had happened? Where was he? Who was he? Why….can’t he remember? He sat up, finding that he was sitting in a patch of grass and...there was a house? A cabin, a wooden, small cabin in front of him. The door was cracked open, even.  

Maybe he could find some answers. 

So he stood up, trying to ignore the aching feeling in his muscles, in his knees. Every bit of him told him, screamed at him to lie down, to sit back down, to stay on the ground forever, but he persisted. He was determined to at least find out a little information. He hated feeling helpless and lost. He wasn’t helpless, not at all. 

Opening the door further and limping through, his gaze was met with bookshelves. Bookshelves and bookshelves upon bookshelves. Only a few books were sprawled across the floor. The walls were made out of dark spruce wood and bricks, and there was an odd scent of crisp fire, honey, and sugar in the air of the home. He found himself wandering around the ghost of the house, hunting. Looking for something, for anything that might be able to help him. He came across a kitchen, a kitchen with barely anything in it.

When he looked in the sink, which was still clean, he could see his reflection. Blonde hair….blue eyes...bruised and cut up skin...young...was that who he was? Was that the person that he was meant to be? It felt wrong, but it felt so right. Why did something feel off? Why did it feel like there was something more to it? 

(Where did his injuries come from?)

He shuddered, ignoring his reflection for the time being. He roamed around the house more, like a spirit lost in the afterworld. He found only a few rooms- a living area, it seemed, with a fireplace, a small kitchen, a washroom, and a bedroom. That was all that was left. And every single room was littered from head to toe with either books or bookshelves and leaves. It...looked like a wreck, but so tidily so. Like it was purposefully left like that. When he entered the bedroom, he slowly turned open the door and took a look inside; it was the last room he had yet to visit. 

There was a singular, purple bed in the room. It was medium-sized- not too small, but not large either. This room had almost as many books as it did in the living room, which was odd, considering that the bedroom itself wasn’t the biggest. However, the thing that he took notice of the most was the things that were on the bedsheets of the bed. On top of the delicate, violet sheets was what looked to be a compass and a note. Sluggishly, still feeling the aching sensation in his body, he crept towards the bed at a snail’s pace.

Then, he reached down slightly, picking up the compass first to inspect it. It was golden, and it was slightly dirty and rusty; it looked like it had seen some days, that was for certain. It was held up by a small golden chain that also met the same dirt and rust as the compass did. If he squinted, he could see that the back of the compass had the words, “Don’t Forget” written in it. He didn’t know why, but reading the words alone left a chill in his bones and heart. Something was wrong.

More hastily, he grabbed the note, looking for answers. 

“I don’t have much time left. Not even enough to send a proper letter. I tried, I’m so sorry, I tried. But I saved you, I did, after so many efforts, after so many attempts, I managed to save you. You’re safe now, I promise. I’m sure you’ll know what to do. You can take care of yourself, I believe in you. Keep your head held high. 

I also want you to keep this compass. It was once a possession of mine, but….I don’t need it anymore. It serves me no purpose, and I fear what it holds….Please, take care of it for me, won’t you? I’m sure you will. Right now, if there was anyone I would trust it with...well, to be honest, I would have given it to- nevermind. What matters is that it’s in your hands now. Take good care of it. It’s very important. And make sure it doesn’t go into the wrong hands. I trust you. And I believe in you. 

I’m running out of time. I’m so sorry I took you out so far, I didn’t mean to, but it was the safest option. I have to leave now. But maybe you’ll learn a thing or two about me while you’re here. We haven’t really talked that often, have we? Ha...I wish I had the time to do that now. You’re a good kid, you know that? You have a good heart, just….lost. I’m sorry. I have to go now. It’s opening up. I have to leave. I’ll try to visit, I promise. 

Stay safe from him. 

-KJ

The letter is wrinkled and the handwriting was scrawled and messy, which made it hard to read, but he managed to do it. At the end of it, though, he had more questions than answers, he found. KJ? Who was that? His savior, obviously, but...who? Who was he supposed to stay safe from, in addition to that? He needed to know, otherwise, he’d be vulnerable against them. The sound of vulnerability...it made his head turn and his stomach grows a heavy, tangled knot.

Being vulnerable was something he would not be. As long as he’s alive, he’ll make sure of it. And the way this person wrote...it sounds like they have gotten mad, or insane. He felt pity for the person, but also gratitude, for they did save him, from whatever danger he was in. But unlike the letter had said, he didn’t know what to do at all. Should he go out and explore? Should he stop where he is and just go to sleep? Or…

He eyed the compass. 

Gingerly, his hands reached out to it, caressing the sharp gold. It shimmered when he looked at it, and he could see his reflection through it, but he tried to ignore it. That wasn’t important now. He had much bigger problems to attend to. Softly, he sat on the bed, making his muscles relax and breathe, cupping the gadget in the palms of his hand. With his other hand, he took it up gently and traced the edges of the compass. A sense of familiarity ran over him, but he...he couldn’t quite place his finger on it. But compasses….that rung a bell, for whatever reason, but it did. Yet this compass looked...different, odd. Nothing like he was expecting.

Upon further inspection, the compass had small, faint trails and squiggles of lime green and light purple spreading across it, like veins. Like the compass was a living, breathing thing. Or like it was a heart of some kind. Carefully, he glued his eyes down onto the words, “Don’t Forget” a final time. The letters were a bit big, and they were in much neater handwriting than the letter was. It seemed...ancient, like a relic he shouldn’t be even in the presence of. It gave off the energy of order and power, and something he couldn’t quite place. 

And then he opened the compass. 

It was a bit hard, but he pried the compass open. And what he saw was….something. The compass was broken, first of all. Why would he be given a compass that was broken? What was the point of it? Didn’t that mean that the compass was worthless now? He couldn’t even use it, to begin with. The needle laid limply, only spinning slightly if he moved the compass harshly, and the glass was broken. It was shattered, far too broken beyond repair.

Maybe if he was looking a bit closer, he would have noticed the faint light that started to bubble up inside of the compass. A bright blue light- a light that seemed to signify heaven and angels. A holy color. And it glowed, my, did it glow. It glowed like the sun, like the brightest piece of glowstone, and if he would have paid more attention, he would have realized the small figures beginning to rise in the instrument. 

When he blinked again, he saw people.

They were specters, now that he thought about it. They were transparent, and they looked like they have been woken from some sort of long-term slumber. They were, at first, yawning and stretching their limbs just before drowning in confusion and panic, still looking dazed. There were exactly three of them. The one on the left seemed to be a ram hybrid. He had great, grand elegant horns. He had facial hair running from the sides of his face to his chin. He had slicked-back dark brown hair, and he was wearing a suit. However, he had a very noticeable red gash near the area of where his heart would be. When he talked, his words sounded slightly slurred, like he was drunk.

The one on the right was tan, and he was wearing a mask with a smiley face on it. The colors behind that smiley face, however, were green, white, and red. He wore a light green sweater and had a dark blue bandana on with black hair creeping out of it. He had a red gash on his forehead, near his brain. He was the loudest of the three. 

The man in the middle, however, was the person who gave him an overwhelming feeling of deja vu. The man in the middle had fluffy, messy brown hair that was let loose, some of his bangs over one of his eyes. He wore a long, black coat that ran down to his ankles, where he wore knee-high boots. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and he wore black fingerless gloves in addition to that. Under his jacket was a white shirt, which he couldn’t see due to the giant, large red slash across his chest. His eyes were dark brown, and they were full of knowledge and emotion.

What was most noticeable about the man, though, to him, at least, was how he talked and what state his clothes were in. Some of his clothes, from certain angles, were tattered and torn like they had been blown to bits. Other parts of them, however, remained perfectly intact and unscratched. But no matter what angle his clothes were at, he smelled of gunpowder, and there was powder all over his clothing. The way he talked was between sane and insane, between normal and crazy.  

“¿Qué demonios acaba de pasar? ¿Dónde está mi bebé? ¿Donde está mi amor? Ella esta a salvo?” 

“Okay, what the actual fucking shit- my fucking head- goddammit-”  

“What- where...we were in the...where are we? What is-”  

“La estaba buscando antes de que ese bastardo lo matara. Maldita perra enferma. ¡Ese era un niño! Una vez que le ponga las manos encima, ese bastardo pagará…”

“I don’t want to be back! I was happy just where I was! I had all the booze I could ever need! What kind of bitch brought me back?” 

“I was watching- he was- that sick fucking monster- he wouldn’t stop- he didn’t deserve to- that was my-”

“Lo que le hizo a Thomas...y luego esa luz...y luego...¿apareció un hombre? ¡Se lo llevó! Tomó a Thomas y abrió algo, y…”

He could feel his brain starting to hurt from all the voices, even if they were just three. There were just three, but they all seemed too loud, and they were all overlapping one another and had a sharp edge to their tone. He gripped his head, tightening his grasp and trying to do anything to calm a raging headache that was brewing in his skull. It was all too much for him to handle. Who were these people? Why were they panicking? Mor importantly, why were they in the compass?

Was this what the person who left him here meant when they said that he had to make sure it didn’t get into the wrong hands? Was this what it was? It….it captured spirits and locked them away in the compass until it was opened again? Why does a device like that even exist? Why was the person who left him here wielding such a thing?

What were they doing? What was going on? It was all too much for him to process. He begged in his mind, pleaded in his head for the voices of the specters to stop, to fall silent because, at that moment, he couldn’t seem to find his voice, too focused on trying to clear his mind. 

He wanted it all to stop. 

Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop-  

“Shut up!” He heard himself yell. Was that his voice? It sounded so scratchy, so...broken. It sounded like he had gone through hell and back like he never had a drink of water in his life, and only now was he deciding to speak. His voice was scratchy, crisp, and hoarse. It sounded horrible, yet it rang throughout the bedroom and echoed from the walls. The voices fell silent, and he found himself looking down at the ground. He didn’t want to see the specters. 

“Holy shit, wait, we’re with the kid? Oh, oh, okay, I am not qualified for this, no way, nu-uh. I am not dealing with this sort of mental instability trauma from children today-”  

“Thomas! You’re- you’re here! Holy shit, I thought that bastard got you for good! But ayyy, man, you’re back now! That’s great, isn’t it? I re-” 

“....Tommy?”

He snapped his head up at the man in the middle. All three of them were now looking at him, the left one with mild distress and frustration, and the man on the right seemed excited and happy, but the man in the middle? He looked...disturbed, confused, like he was in disbelief. The man was shaking slightly, and he tried to take a step towards him, to which he tried to shrink back from. Yet...there was almost like a calling reaching out to him to cry, to embrace this stranger- a specter, no less. A dead man. Why did he feel so much...attachment? To someone he has never met before?

“Is that my name?” He found himself asking, mouth moving before he could properly think. “I...don’t remember anything…” He trailed off. 

The man in the middle ran a hand through his brunette hair, eyes searching into his for something. “Is that your name? Tommy, what are you on about? Come on, Toms, don’t pull this bullshit with me- you- you won! You’re alive, and you’re okay, and-” As he took another step forward, he took notice how “Tommy” shuffled backwards quickly. “...Tommy? What’s wrong?” 

He- Tommy?- shook his head. “I told you already!” He was growing a bit impatient, and fast. “I don’t know who the hell any of you people are! You’re- you’re specters, aren’t you? The lot of you? You’re ghosts! I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but this is weird!” He had snapped out of his small trance of tiredness and shock.

“Wait,” The man to the left frowned suddenly, moving forward as well. “You serious? You actually can’t remember anything?” He squinted. “Doesn’t “Manberg” ring a bell to you?”

The man in the middle snapped his attention towards the man to the left briefly. “L’Manberg.” He hissed sharply, face full of sudden anger before it softened instantaneously as he looked back at the blonde in front of them. 

“No?” It was supposed to be a statement, but it was phrased and said like a question. “Am I...supposed to?” Tommy blinked. “Look- listen, fellas, this is weird as fuck- we’ve established that, yeah? I just want to know who the fuck I am and who the fuck you guys are. Also where the fuck am I?” 

“Hmm,” The man to the right was inspecting the walls. “This isn’t like anything in Mexico, man!” He blurted out, touching the wall, to which his hand phased through it. “Woah...am I high, man? I’m not even with Mamacita or with my homies! I’m doing drugs without them!” 

The man to the left sighed. “I...forgot how fuckin’ annoying that guy can be. But seriously, kid, you’re not pulling our leg? You’re serious?” 

Tommy just sent the hybrid a glare. “Of course I am! Why the fuck would I lie about something like this?” 

“We..have a lot of work to do.” The ram hybrid huffed, a look of exhaustion creeping onto his features. Out of the corner of his eye, Tommy could faintly see the man in the middle go pale, only staring at him wordlessly, mouth agape and eyes wide. He looked like a deer stuck in headlights. The guy to the right, however, was still babbling on about something about Mexico and “his homies”. 

What a weird fucking day.  

—Ω—

Karl surged through the portal again. He doesn’t know how long he’s been doing this, jumping into the portal to save the young boy from getting beaten to death by his abuser. He’s been at it for...hours? Days? Weeks? Months? It was hard to say. All that he knew is that he needed to save him, he had to. It became almost like a routine of sorts. Once again, he would wake back up and try to concentrate on the feeling, for once in his lifetime, trying to bring it to him instead of the other way around. He would then arrive at the prison, try to stop Dream, fail, and only be able to hear Tommy’s screams of agony and pain as fist met flesh as he felt the timeline reset again. He was tired. So, so tired.

But he would not give up. He could never give up. Call it a sense of justice, but Karl felt as though he had an obligation. There shouldn’t be anyone else that needed to die, and he saw how the events played out after Tommy’s death. The poor kid had gotten even more traumatized, and plans were made, friendships were strained, and the server was tense. An air of disbelief had fallen onto it upon hearing the news.

Karl could never forget how Quackity had come home, his eyes red, puffy, and watery. He and Sapnap had instantly gotten worried, and the concern only continued when Quackity had fallen to his knees in their home, sobbing with pure and utter grief as he hit the floor. Sapnap had surged forward with his arms open in an attempt to catch his fiance, but he was too late and Quackity had already fallen, so the duo went to the next best thing: comforting. 

With shaky breaths Quackity had explained the demise of Tommy. Karl could hear Sapnap’s jaw tense, and he could make out a tenseness and some sort of anger on his face when Quackity had said, in tears, that it was Dream who had taken it away.

Karl knew that Sapnap still cared for Dream- they were childhood friends, of course he would. With years upon years of friendship, even after all that he put everyone through, Karl knew that Sapnap had a hope for his friend to redeem himself, to right his wrongs and turn a new leaf. That maybe, one day, he’d get out of prison and things would be how they used to be. Karl knew that Sapnap craved that: those childhood memories he created with Dream.

But at that moment? Sapnapp was enraged. He had put him in prison, in the most powerful and secure place of the server, and someone still managed to die by Dream’s hands. It was like the world was laughing at them, tying the strings of fate cruelly and laughing at their grief. 

(Karl knew what he had to do. Even with all of his failed attempts. 

The compass weighed heavily in his hoodie pocket). 

At one point, though, Karl had devised a plan. He had something that could interest Dream. A bribe, maybe. A trade. He had something that he knew would be much less time consuming for the other man, and that it would wreak havoc onto the server like he would want it to. After living through the original timeline long enough, Karl knew what Dream wanted: he wanted to resurrect people. And, it so happened that Karl, of all people, had the perfect weapon for that certain job- sort of. 

(“Here,” Punz said, trading the pounds of diamonds, netherite, and gold for the compass. “I honestly don’t know how you knew about this- only Purpled and I should be aware of its existence, but fine. You know that I work for the money and the money alone, don’t you, Karl? It’s fine. I’m skilled in necromancy, anyways. If any spirits manage to get away, I’ll capture them some other way. It’ll give me an opportunity to teach Purpled some new tactics, at least.” He reasoned with himself before placing the compass in the time-traveler’s palm. “But you need to be gentle with it, okay? It’s really delicious. And even though it will still work even if broken, it...it has some effects.”

“Yes!” Karl whisper-shouted under his breath, cupping the compass in his hands before looking up at Punz. “Uh, Punz? Can you explain to me what this thing is here again, exactly?” He laughed awkwardly scratching the back of his head. “Sorry, I’ve been having...memory problems, recently.” 

Punz sighed. “You bought it and you don’t know? Well...it’s basically a spirit catcher,” He explained. “When necomrancy goes rogue, on rare occasions, there are some cases where the spirit will guide itself out of its own body and be itself again, if we’re not doing that already- taking the soul out, I mean- for one reason or another. That,” He points to the compass in Karl’s hands. “Can basically capture any ghost or spirit and have them trapped in there until you open it again. Once it’s opened, their soul is now tied and connected to the compass and can only be cut with another special sort of tool. When cut, it will release the soul so it can be free. If it’s not cut, the spirits can never get too far from the wielder of the compass, and when the compass closes again, the spirits automatically go back inside it. You wanted me to revive three people and keep the compass, right?”

“No, thank you. I’ll lead the way. The people I want to revive are JSchlatt, Wilbur Soot, and Mexican Dream.”). 

So as Karl took another step towards the portal, he took a deep breath. He couldn’t mess it up. Not now. Not again. This time, he’ll succeed. He’ll make things right. He has to. 

When he went through the portal, Karl saw the same thing he had seen countless times over and over. Tommy was telling Dream something, smiling up at him with coy as if he’d won something. Dream, who was still allowed to have his mask on, remained still as Karl saw his hands ball into fists. He shuddered, but it didn’t seem like either of them caught sight of him yet. He could use that to his advantage. Tommy kept on talking to Dream, walking towards the lava wall before pacing towards Dream, glaring up at him with a remarkable loathing. A loathing so deep and strong that Karl was almost shocked at it. Then, he heard the words he was waiting for. 

“Why don’t you go see them, then?” 

Karl was on his feet in an instant. “Wait!” 

Dream and Tommy had spun their heads to face him, Tommy’s face full of surprise whilst Dream stilled. Then he started to chuckle a bit, and then it grew gradually louder and louder, until he sounded insane. Even Tommy, who at that point was just a few inches away from him, started to back away from him in fear, eyes darting to the two adults before him. He was still beaten up from the other times Dream had hit him, but Karl had interfered just in time. 

“I knew it!” Dream yelled, his voice full of joy and laughter. So much so that it became frightening. “So you are a time traveler, Karl. I knew it. I knew it! Hahahaha! You know, Karl, this prison was built just for you! How ironic it is to see you here when now, you’re not even supposed to be in here!” 

Karl tensed, trying to make his face as stoney as he could. He didn’t want to give away any sort of weakness to Dream. “I came here for a reason,” He said coolly before holding up the compass. “You’re familiar with this, right? I’m sure Punz has shown you this.”

“How did you know about Punz and-” Dream stopped suddenly, his mask staring at the compass. “Give that to me.” 

Karl shook his head. “In exchange for Tommy only.” He compromised. “You let him come with me, and I’ll give you the compass. Even better, I’ve already gotten the spirits you probably want in the compass.” 

“You’ve come prepared,” Karl could hear the grin in Dream’s voice as he took a step towards Tommy, shoving him towards Karl. “Been here a few times already? Anyways, take him. I have no use for him anymore now that I’ve got that.” He outstretched his hand. “Hand it over, Karl.” 

Karl’s muscles bunched up as he swallowed, slowly holding out the compass and gently prying it into Dream’s hand before taking a hold of Tommy. Once he had a hold of Tommy- having a hand on his shoulder with Dream not touching him, he let out a sigh of relief. Tommy had a puzzled look on his face, but he wasn’t looking at Karl; he was looking at the instrument in Dream’s hands. 

“Leave it,” Karl whispered to Tommy, stepping back to the portal, trying to drag the younger boy back. “Tommy, we’ve got to go-” 

Before he knew it, for whatever reason, Tommy had sprinted forward, snatching the compass out of Dream’s hand by the chain. Dream had cried out in shock before yelling in anger as Tommy whipped the compass around, it falling onto the ground with a large crack. The blonde, however, had managed to pick it up swiftly before running to Karl, Dream hot on his heels. 

“Go, go, go, go!” Tommy screamed, pushing Karl into the portal roughly. As Karl went through, trying to drag Tommy in with him, he could faintly see a hand hit Tommy’s cheek, to which the blonde had yelled out in pain. 

And the world went green.  

(“Rest well, Tommy,” Whispered Karl gently as he held an unconscious Tommy and laid him on the ground gently before quickly scratching down the note and leaving it in the bedroom. Tommy would be fine- he was a strong, determined, brave person. Even if he was beaten up, Karl could feel the pull of the portal again, and this time, it wasn’t by his own accord. He wanted to stay, he really, truly, did, but he couldn’t. If he tried, there was a possibility of getting Tommy into more danger by possibly bringing him with him. 

As the portal opened once more, Karl gave a little wave, his face calm and...relieved, for once. He’d donce something right. “Goodbye, Tommy,” He said softly. “Take care of the ghosts for me, will you? I’ll be back. 

The portal swallowed him up).

Chapter Text

Over the days, Tommy finds himself growing used to the specters, oddly enough. 

It was...weird, at the beginning. They were all calling him “Tommy”, which, eventually, he decided to adopt the name and keep it. He learned that the specters' names were Schlatt, Wilbur, and MD— or, well, Mexican Dream. To be honest...he did have mixed feelings about the three of them, which boggled his mind. They all felt so familiar yet not at the same time. 

Schlatt was one of the only- if not the only person that actually helped him with his amnesia. He was mindful of it, and he kept MD and Wilbur grounded when they kept on questioning him. He respected his boundaries and, most of the time, he left Tommy to his own devices. On the other hand, he seemed sluggish most of the time. His movements were slow, and sometimes, his words were slurred. Sometimes, he would ramble about nonsense that...made Tommy feel a sort of fear. Other times, he would yell and complain about not having any booze. 

MD was the funnest to hang around, though. He always knew how to make Tommy laugh, and he seemed very proud of that fact. He would tell Tommy stories about himself and his past, his homies, his girlfriend, who he titled as Mamacita. Or, otherwise known as “Girl Dream”. Sometimes, when he was upset or stressed, MD would speak to himself frantically in whispers in the tongue of a language he couldn't understand. Sometimes, he would be overbearing and pry on Tommy’s memories, asking if he remembered anything. But otherwise, he stayed fairly oblivious and was one of Tommy's sources of joy. 

Wilbur...Tommy especially had mixed emotions about Wilbur. Confusing emotions that didn't make sense to him. He felt the need to do things that would just come out of the blue regarding the ghost, and he doesn't know why. Wilbur would act strange around him, too. At some times, he would leave Tommy completely alone and ignore him, only looking at him is disarray, with a lost look in his eyes. Other times, he would be overbearing with Tommy— even more so than MD. He would bring up events that gave Tommy deja vu, yes, but ones that he didn't remember. And every time when he would give the same answer, Wilbur looked between a mixture of sadness, anger, and confusion. 

Sometimes, Wilbur would be over worrying. If Tommy woke up suddenly from a nightmare that he couldn't remember, Wilbur was always the one that came down to check up on him and calm him down. It felt familiar, brotherly, and Tommy would feel his brain trying to muster something up, but he could never place his finger on it. Wilbur, he finds, is the person who gives him the most whiplashes and headaches though, despite his pleasurable presence at times when he wasn't being moody or odd. There was even a time where they bantered, and it...made Tommy feel safe. At home. 

Tommy had cleaned up the house after a while, placing some books back on the shelf, though a few interested him. He put those certain books in his bedroom. The house wasn't perfect, but it was alright, and it was enough for Tommy. There was some spare food in the fridge, he found, and the specters didn't need to eat, so they didn't need to be rationed. As of now, he was sitting on the edge of his bed, flipping through one of the books. This one was titled, “The Masquerade”. When he felt the temperature drop, the blonde looked up. 

It was Wilbur. 

“Just...doing checks,” Wilbur smiled. He must be in one of his better moods. “What are you reading, Toms?” The nickname felt natural, and so Tommy didn't bring himself to say anything about it. 

Tommy, instead, showed him the book. “Just some of these books I was interested in. Can you read some of them for me?” Whenever Wilbur got into these certain moods, it was easy to convince him to do things. It was better than being berated for answers or being ignored, anyways. 

“You want me to read that one?” Wilbur hummed, floating closer, sitting onto the bed and phasing through it slightly. “Open it for me, won't you? I can pick things up, but it takes a bit of energy.” He chuckled. 

Tommy rolled his eyes, but he did as he was told. “I'm not your fuckin’ slave, bitch.” He huffed back. 

“This ones pretty short,” Wilbur commented. “But here we go. Ahem.” He cleared his throat before continuing. “A group of rich people come together to party, or so they thought. What began as a group of friends having fun developed into a nightmare for many. A suspicious mansion owner ended up using his power to attack and murder each of his guests through manipulation in ways we are unsure of.” 

Tommy listened attentively. “What do you think their names were, Wilbur? Oh! You're a ghost! You think you know these people?” 

Wilbur scoffed in return. “Tommy, just because I'm a ghost, it doesn't mean that I know everyone from every single story. Hell, this might just be all fiction, you never know.” 

“Or it could be real!” 

Wilbur shook his head fondly. “Whatever you say, Tommy.” 

“Did somebody say murder?” 

Wilbur looked up from the teenager, only to narrow his eyes at the ram hybrid. “Schlatt.” He gritted out. 

“Wilbur.” Schlatt replied coolly. 

Wilbur and Schlatt...didn't get along that well, to say the least. They always had this beat of tension in their conversations whenever they talked, Tommy could tell. Wilbur always looked at Schlatt with his eyes full of aggression and rage. Schlatt would always glance at him in amusement, always teasing him, yet the teasing always seemed to go too far. So much so to the point where Wilbur would storm out of the house, slam the door behind him, and stay out there for a good hour or two. However, they could never get too far, that much he has learned already. 

“What do you want?” It was clear that Wilbur was trying to keep his temper calm, yet there was always that sharp undertone he had.

Schlatt shrugged, looking off to the side with a toothy grin on his face. “I just thought it would be worthwhile to mention that there’s some rando at the door screaming for the kid. Thought to let you know, Wilby.” 

Apparently, that must have struck a nerve because Wilbur stood up at once, narrowing his eyes at Schlatt. “Do not call me that. You don't have the right. Only he does.” 

“Did. You mean “did”, Wilbur. You have to admit the truth,” Schlatt lowered his voice as he made eye contact with his fellow ghost. “He’s practically dead! I mean, look at him!” He gestured to Tommy, who had just froze, watching the conversation unfold. 

“Get out,” Wilbur spoke lowly. “Thank you for the information, Schlatt, but please get out. We’ll be down to meet this stranger in a moment.” 

Schlatt did a mock salute. “Alright then, President.” 

“Get out!” 

Schlatt had only let out a loud laugh as he left, not even opening the door. Instead, he phased through the wall, his cackles still being heard even after he had gone. Wilbur had momentarily hid his face in his hands, muttering to himself, before he turned his attention to Tommy. He placed a hand on the blonde’s shoulder, which made him shiver slightly from how cold the touch was. However, Wilbur looked serious.

The ghost spoke slowly. “Tommy, I want you to come downstairs with me. But if I tell you to run, run, okay? Get as far away from here as you can.” 

Tommy frowned, growing more and more confused by the second. “What the hell do you mean? I thought nobody could find us! You, Schlatt, and even MD didn't know where we are- we’re in the middle of fucking nowhere!” 

“Tommy, Listen,” Wilbur had crouched down slightly so that they were properly face-to-face. Tommy bit down the yell of how he wasn't a child back into his throat. “There are very bad people out there. People who want to hurt you. So if I say run, do it, no questions asked. Don't stop until you're safe, okay? Do you understand? Promise me that.”

“Wilbur, why are you—” 

“Promise me.” 

Tommy paused before letting out a sigh. “I- fine, Big Man. I promise, I promise.” He grumbled, the nickname slipping out. 

(He ignored how right it felt to say). 

Wilbur looked relieved and a bit more calm. “Good,” He hummed, attempting to ruffle Tommy’s hair, but his hand went through it. Shrugging it off, he silently went towards the door, phasing through it as well. 

Tommy huffed under his breath— did no one in this household have any fucking manners? With a bit of a stomp in his step, Tommy got up and opened up his door, following Wilbur to the front door where excessive knocking could be heard. As the blonde boy got closer, he could hear a voice calling out as well. It sounded masculine, yet a bit high pitched and awkward sounding. The knocking was relentless, and it didn't seem to ever be stopping. 

“Tommy? Tommy, open up, please! Tommy! Tommy, it's me, you can let me in!” 

The boy in question watched as Wilbur went paralyzed in front of the door, eyes widening as his hand was mid-outstretched towards the knob. “No- it can't- what?” Is what Tommy could faintly hear the man mutter as he, before Tommy knew it, threw open the door, looking frantic.

There stood a man Tommy has never met in his life. 

But then again, what else was new?

The man had a purple hoodie on- much like the color of Tommy’s bedsheets- with a spiral on the front. He had light brunette hair with bangs and brown eyes that were looking panicked. His hair was also, frankly, a mess, if he did say so himself. It looked like the man had tumbled straight down a hill and then into a bush. But on top of his head, the man wore a pair of goggles. Not to mention the old looking book he was carrying. It reminded Tommy of the books that were scattered around the house’s floor when he had first arrived. 

“Tommy! Thank Prime you—” The stranger stopped in his tracks, looking up at Wilbur. “…Ghostbur?” He whispered, yet a sort of recognition shone in his eyes. 

Wilbur shook his head, regaining his composure. “not quite,” He smiled. “You know what happened— don't play dumb with me.” And despite that smile and his sickly sweet tone, it held an edge of danger and warning. “You know what you did, and I don't think I appreciate you being here. But I have one question for you.” He leaned forwards. “Why did you bring me back?” 

The man shook his head. “I can't say that right now, but I need to speak with—” He suddenly realized the figure that was standing off to the side of Wilbur. “Tommy! Oh, thank Prime! You're okay! I'm glad you were able to fit in nicely; I'm so sorry for the mess. And I see you found the compass, so—” 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Tommy interjects, holding up his hands. “I'm sorry, but who the fuck are you? And how do you know my name?” 

The man’s face drops. “What the honk?” He whispers to himself. Okay, yeah, Tommy thinks this man might be insane. “It's me! Karl Jacobs? Karl? The— I know we haven't talked much, but—” 

Wilbur clears his throat, making the man stop in his tracks. “Karl,” He begins before leaning down towards the man and whispering something in his ear. Karl’s hands immediately slap up to his mouth as he mutters something back to Wilbur. The ghost only nods, which seemingly makes the despair in the other brunette’s eyes grow. 

Karl tries to take a step towards Tommy, which is quite difficult since Wilbur is blocking the doorway, even if he is a specter. “Oh my Prime— Tommy, I'm so sorry. If I knew that this would have happened, then I would have—” He stops himself, looking at the ground. “Maybe I could go back? I could fix it, but…” His voice grows more quiet, but the duo in front of him can still hear it. “...my memory’s already getting as bad as it is from the constant jumps, and I have a responsibility here now, so…” 

Tommy blinks. “Wait. Karl Jacobs? As in “KJ”? Wait— are you the fucker that brought me here?” 

Karl winces. “...Yeah. But if I knew that me jumping here would result in you getting your memory loss, then I would have never gone through with it! I would have made another plan, I promise!” He begs, and although Tommy doesn't know what the hell he’s on about...he feels an obligation. A feeling. Like something is nagging at his brain. 

(“Help him inside, dickhead,” A voice that's so much like his own, yet not at the same time, insists. “It's his own house, anyways. And he saved our fuckin’ life. We owe him that.”) 

“Wilbur, please step away from the fuckin’ door, you prick. You're blocking the way.” 

“What?” Wilbur’s face snaps towards him. “Tommy, we’re not letting him inside. He’s— he needs to leave, Tommy.”

“No,” Tommy says, shaking his head. “I want him to stay. Because I have a lot of fucking questions for you, Karl.” He points at the brunette, making the man in question cringe slightly. “But...you can come in. Make yourself at home, or whatever.” And he steps aside, glaring at Wilbur until he, reluctantly, does the same. 

Karl takes a step inside the house, taking it all in before hesitantly smiling at Tommy. “I see you cleaned up all the books. That must have been hard, right? Sorry about that…” He laughed sheepishly. “I was really in a rush.” 

“That was going to be my first question, actually,” Tommy trailed behind him. “Is this your house? I'm assuming it is based on the letter you left me and on how you know about the books and compass. I just want to make sure, yanno?” 

Karl hummed in response. “Yeah, it's mine! It was the only place I could think of that I felt like you could be safe in.” 

Tommy wrinkled up his nose. “The only place I'd be safe in?” He repeats. “The fuck are you implying with that? I'm a Big Man! The biggest of men! I would literally beat up any asshole if they tried to hurt me!” He argued. 

To his annoyance, Karl just laughs and reaches out to ruffle his hair. From the corner of his eye, Tommy can see Wilbur stiffen. “Sure you are, Tommy, sure you are. Anyways...I also wanted to bring a little something. I could get more later, but…” He pulled out two apples from his hoodie pocket. “Ta-da! It's not much, but it was all I could fit in at the moment.” 

Tommy just stares at them. “And you got these for me because...why?” 

“Because...I care about you? What kind of question is that? Listen, Tommy, I...you're under my protection now, okay? I swear to you, I won't let...I won't let Dream anywhere near here. You probably don't even remember him, but just- just know that he's dangerous, alright?” 

Suddenly, Wilbur was there, in between the two of them. “I thought Dream was locked up?” He questioned, trying to look innocent. “Is there something you're not telling us, Karl?” 

Karl noticeably stiffens. “Even though he's in prison...Dream- he still is manipulating. I..listen, I'll talk about this with you later, Wilbur, I promise. But can you just get off of my back for just right now? I'm...so tired. So tired, Wilbur.” 

Wilbur, on the other hand, scoffs and mutters a, “You're tired? Guess how I've been feeling for the last couple of years, fucker.” 

A new voice chimed as a familiar figure phased through the songs. “¡Escuché a alguien hablando! ¿Qué está pasando? Ohh, Thomas! Who’s this?” 

“You seriously don't remember him? Didn't he do the same thing to all of us?” Said Wilbur, aghast at MD. 

MD just shrugged as he floated above the ground. “Don't remember seeing this person, man! I only remember seeing this blonde guy and then being sucked into something. But anyways, we have a new person!” He moved towards Karl, inspecting him. “You like drugs, maan” He said in an obvious whisper, as if he was sharing a grand secret.

Karl stifled a small laugh, but he shook his head. “You're Mexican Dream, right? I'm Karl, but- what the honk? No, I don't like drugs.” He waved a hand in dismissal, a golden ring glistening on his finger. 

MD instantly took notice. “Maaan! You're married? Who’s the lucky lady, man? You know, I was going to marry Mamacita before I died.” He let out a wistful sigh, resting his cheek into his palm. “Ahh...Mamacita. She was an angel, man. A fuckin’ beautiful lady.” 

“Oh?” Karl prompted as Wilbur groaned. “What was she like?” 

Wilbur shoved his head into his hands. “Did you have to ask him? Now he's not going to shut up!” 

MD quickly shushed him as he floated up higher. “Oh...Mamacita? She was beautiful, man. She had blonde hair that was long and so pretty, man. I’m the luckiest motherfucker alive, do you know that? She was ruthless, man. She would always come with me and homies and hit up cocaine with us! Then we traveled away from Mexico to look for something new. Ah...Mamacita...mi amor me pregunto cómo será…” 

Karl smiled softly. “That sounds great, Mexican Dream. I'm sure she's an amazing lady.” 

Tommy, suddenly interested, gasped. “Wait- hold the fuck on- were you gonna marry her, MD?” 

“Of course I was!” MD huffed. “I was going to set up this whole thing for her, man. You know what her favorite type of flower was? White lillies. I was going to give her a bouquet of them, man, and then I would propose! Never got that far though...poor Mamacita…” Even with the mask on, everyone in the room could tell he was frowning. 

Tommy let out a loud whoop. “Oh, MD! You know what we’re gonna do? We’re gonna find your Mamacita and set up a fuckin’ wedding!” He decided impulsively. “You deserve it, man! And I'm sure she'd be stoked to see you!” 

“Man…” MD paused. “Fool, I'm dead!”

“And?” Tommy challenged. “She’ll still want you! That doesn't matter- what does that have to do with anything?” 

“That...might have to do with a lot,” Karl hummed, a bit shocked of how the conversation had turned dramatically. 

“Tommy—” That was Wilbur, taking a step towards the younger boy and summing up the energy to place his ghostly hand on his shoulder. “We are not fucking doing this. You can't just decide things like this! We are not going on this fucking adventure to find MD’s- MD’s girlfriend just because you want to!” 

Tommy placed a hand on his hip. “And tell me, Wilbur, who has the fucking compass that keeps you guys around? I could literally drag you assholes with me to wherever I go, and there's nothing you can do to stop me! We’re doing it- I decided- we’re gonna do it.” 

Karl glanced at Wilbur who, for the first time, looked at him with pleading eyes, begging him to do something. “Um, Tommy?” Karl spoke up with a small sigh. “Don't you still want your answers? I can't really be interviewed properly if we’re constantly moving...that is, if you want to bring me.” 

“Sure you can!” Insisted Tommy. “Come on, it'll be fine! I can get my stupid answers on the way. Karl, my man, Big KJ, don't you want to see love blossom? Think of his poor Mamacita! She must be worried sick!” 

“We’re not matchmakers, Tommy.” Wilbur stressed, clearly growing quite irked with the blonde boy. 

“Well, fuck you then, motherfucker, because now you are!” MD exclaimed excitedly. He looked genuinely happy. “We’re going to find my Mamacita! Ohh, Thomas, when you meet her again, you're going to be amazed! She’s a fuckin’ angel, I tell you, an angel!” 

Tommy ignored the “again”, and how it sent a stab at his heart. “I bet she is, Big Man! I bet she is!” 

Wilbur let out a muffled scream as he put his head in his hands, again.  

“We leave tomorrow, men! We’re gonna find her!”