Work Text:
Ghostbur was an optimist. How couldn’t he be? The world was bright and happy, he made new friends every day! He had Friend by his side, and people brightened when they saw him. He gave people blue to pass on some of that optimism.
He also loved, more than anything, to spend time with his friends. He liked to make people happy, to help them, to show them the little things that made him uncontrollably happy. He liked to sing, share music with his friends.
How those two things had gotten him here, though, was another question entirely. He didn’t really like to say he hated things, the only thing he really hated was the idea of being revived.
He feared that, more than anything.
So when Dream screamed about reviving him, and Sam refused to let Tommy see him, to get him out, that had been the breaking point. He cried, even though the tears hurt his skin, because he didn’t want to be revived, he wanted to stay here, with Friend and Tommy and Tubbo and Phil and Ranboo-
He screamed. The sound tore at his vocal cords and hurt the lungs that he barely even needed considering he wasn’t really alive. He begged for Tommy, Sam, anyone, to save him.
And Dream laughed. The lava fell, trapping him in, and Dream laughed. Ghostbur tried his best to plead with him and convince him to do something else, but that only made him laugh harder.
Abruptly, he stopped. Stared at Ghostbur with such intensity that he wanted to break eye contact but just couldn’t, rooted to the spot out of pure, uncontrollable fear.
“Have fun in the afterlife, Ghostbur.” Dream said, voice level and holding so many horrible, horrible promises. “And, thanks in advance for all the help you’re about to give me. Have a good trip.” Ghostbur’s eyes widened, and he tried to scramble away but he couldn’t get far enough, the heat from the lava pressing into his back in a silent reminder that he was trapped and oh god Dream was getting closer-
He blinked. That was all it felt like. A blink, and then he was sitting in a hard, horribly shaped seat. The floor was rocking underneath his feet, rattling along with almost unbearable amounts of noise. He looked around, hands shaking where they clenched on to the edge of the seat he was currently occupying.
He was sitting in what he could only guess to be a train car, the windows tinted black and the walls grey, the ceiling grey, red-tinted seat cushions and stripes of crimson along the floor.
Ghostbur hadn’t been here for very long, but he already hated it. He absolutely hated the color red, that was right up there with getting revived, and it was everywhere. He liked yellow, or blue, or green or anything else.
Blue. He had to have some blue, or at least his sweater was yellow, which would be a good enough break from the red that surrounded him. He looked down to search his pockets, and that was what broke him. That was what had a sob escaping his throat, rattling through the train car and bouncing off the cold steel walls.
His pockets were empty. And his sweater was red.
Another heaving sob wracked from his chest, face starting to sizzle like it had been moments before. He absolutely hated it here, he hated the color and the cold walls and the stupidly loud train. He wanted to go back home, to bury his face in Friend’s cerulean coat and laugh with his friends.
Footsteps began to click down the floor, their tapping echoing through the car. Ghostbur glanced up, hope flooding through his chest.
“Oh, good, hello! Can you help-” His question died on his tongue as he registered the person in front of him. Green sweatshirt, hauntingly pristine porcelain mask, a sword sheathed at his side. Dream.
He tilted his head, the painted-on smile reflecting eerily under the blinding fluorescent lights of the train. “Hello, Ghostbur. Your stop is coming up soon. Ready to get off?”
Ghosbur shook his head almost violently, not caring as the fast action made the world spin and rock in his eyes. Dream scoffed, sighing mockingly. “Well, that’s unfortunate, because you really don’t have a choice. You’re getting off, and Wilbur’s getting on.”
“Dream, please, I don’t want to get off, I want to go home and see my friends. They don’t want Wilbur, no one wants Wilbur. Just, please, take me home.”
Unfortunately, even as the words fell from his mouth, the train started to slow. Dream tsked slowly, taking careful steps over to the red-striped doors. “Well, I’m afraid this train is one-way, for you at least.” The train halted with a jolt, the doors sliding open to reveal a desolate platform, colored with the same greys and reds. “Now come on. It’s time to get off, Ghostbur.”
Ghosbur shook his head again, pulling his legs up so his heels rested on the edge of the seat and he could hug his knees to his chest. Dream only rolled his eyes, stalking over to where Ghostbur was sitting in only a few steps.
“Come on.” He huffed, grabbing Ghostbur’s arm and hauling him to his feet. Ghostbur’s eyes widened, feet scrambling for a moment before he got them fully under him. It didn’t help that Dream was actively dragging him towards the door. He couldn’t help the tears that streaked down his face as he tried to dig his heels into the floor and pull away. It was pointless, obviously, Dream was far stronger than he was.
They stopped in front of the door, and Ghostbur was met with a chillingly familiar face. Wilbur, staring at him with a slightly amused look in his eyes. When his gaze landed on Dream, the former president’s face lit up in borderline sadistic glee.
“Are you my ticket out of this fucking place, Dream?” He grinned, and his voice sounded just like
Ghosbur’s but so, so wrong at the same time. Dream smiled back, hand tightening dangerously around Ghostbur’s upper arm.
“Sure am. This mess will be taking your place.”
Ghostbur’s useless heart stuttered, eyes widening in fear at the desolate, red-trimmed platform and the implications that Dream’s words held.
“No, no, please, don’t leave me here, don’t leave me alone!”
“You can’t change this, Ghostbur.” Dream intoned, and then Ghostbur was thrown forward, tripping over his own feet and stumbling to the ground, the harsh tile floor horribly cold, a cold that seeped through his skin and into his bones. He vaguely heard Wilbur scoff, his boots clicking past Ghostbur’s head.
“Nice to see you, Dream. Took you long enough.”
A dial tone rang through an unseen speaker as Ghostbur shakily sat up, watching as the doors started to slide closed. He felt rooted to the ground again, unable to do anything but listen as Dream laughed, patting Wilbur on the shoulder.
“It took a while for the ghost to get close enough to me…” The doors latched, cutting off Dream’s words and leaving Ghosbur completely, horribly alone.
A breeze tugged at his hair as the train zipped from the platform, kicking up small rocks that clicked off the walls and the floor around him. He was going to start crying again. He didn’t have any blue, what could he do to make himself feel better?
There was no sun, no Friend, and he was honestly terrified to sing for a reason he could not name. Instead, he curled his legs up to his chest, the linoleum still biting cold into his skin. Crossing his arms around his legs gave him a moment of hesitation, eyes boring into the red knitted fabric.
He matched. He belonged on this platform. Not a train in sight, trapped on these cold floors for more time he wanted to think about, alone and so, so, afraid.
He thinks he just wants to feel the sun on his face one more time.