Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It started a while after his revival. At first, it had been silent. Or well, silent was hardly the right way to describe Wilbur’s mind, at that moment. He was alive! Sensations encompassing his entire being, because he was more than just a vessel, and more than just an endless bystander at a train station. He could no longer hear them passing by in a thunderous chorus, followed by eternal solitude. 

He had felt numb at the start, but then he had it confirmed. He was alive! And there was so much left to do, he thought, staring at the sunrise. His sunrise.

He’d avoided most people after that. He wasn’t sure why, but he doubted anyone would be eager to see him. So he stayed out of their way, taking in each sensation he could.

But as the lack of encounters and confrontations grew, it started.

The crying.

He remembered the crying, briefly, watching the familiarly unfamiliar face steaming with tears. As if they were burning him. Watching him getting off the train, in return for Wilbur getting on it, with Dream as the conductor.

But now Wilbur heard it. Vague at first, easy to ignore. Then a little louder, especially during the night when everything else was silent, and he couldn’t get himself to go to sleep. He’d been asleep for so long, after all. Thirteen and a half years at a train station. Crying, then silence. Crying again.

Wilbur didn’t pay much mind to it. He went about his day. When he talked to Tommy again however, Tommy’s voice filled with spite, he heard the voice again. Silent and broken. Betrayed in a sense. 

“Wasn’t your fault,” the voice said, echoing in Wilbur’s mind for a minute, “It’s okay”, then followed by a desperate “Please come back.”

Wilbur couldn’t get himself to take it seriously. Wanted to laugh at the broken voice, that sounded like his own, but nothing like his words. Nothing like his intonation.

“Why the fuck are you smiling?” Tommy asked, squinting at Wilbur, “What are you planning.”

And almost on instinct, Wilbur smiled and went “Oh many things Tommy. Many things.” because all his mind seemed to tell him aside from the echo-y voice, was all the things he should be planning, all the things he had to see, and all the things he had to start. Now that he finally realized that he hadn’t truly wanted to die, as he thought thirteen and a half years ago.

Tommy had looked at Wilbur strangely since Wilbur returned. As if he was a glitch and a monster at the same time. As if he wasn’t quite supposed to be there, and as if Wilbur was always mere seconds from claiming the entire world as his own. Or blowing up another country. Memories of that still flickered in Wilbur’s mind. Memories of a sword, and of the noise that had sounded like music back then. Like the coordinated middle, in an otherwise unfinished piece. L’Manberg, his unfinished symphony.

“Wilbur, just go away, will you?” Tommy said, and his eyes had a strange melancholic glow, that Wilbur didn’t associate with Tommy at all

Wilbur didn’t want to go away, because in silence the cries echoed in his mind, and Wilbur hadn’t heard voices in so long. Hadn’t communicated in so long, and he liked talking now, liked doing what people did when they were alive. But the spark he had within him was strangely fragile, and being told to leave, only made it much more uncertain of its direction. “Why should I?” he asked, “I’m here Tommy, I’m alive.”

“I got that,” Tommy said, shortly. “Why don’t you go bother someone else about it, Wilbur?” his voice was darker now. “L’Manberg is gone.”

“Yes, it is.” Wilbur said, looking around at the crater he was once again present in, “And?”

“And that was it.” Tommy said, “That was what we started, and you ended it Wilbur, and now you can go bother someone else.”

Wilbur really wished the implications of that didn’t sting. A powerful part of him wanted to shout that he had nowhere else to turn. Not now. Not without the millions of things that followed.

Yet a part of him looked at Tommy and saw a child. A child Wilbur had played a part in breaking, and turning into a soldier, and perhaps that gave him the right to dismiss Wilbur after all. “I have so much to do.”

“Then go do it,” Tommy said, looking him in the eyes, and it would’ve sounded like a dare if there was even a hint of playfulness in his tone.

“Okay,” Wilbur said. As soon as Tommy turned around, Wilbur stood alone in the crater.

And then, just a little while later, Wilbur slowly wandered in a direction that seemed to call him. All of it was so new, yet so familiar. The sun still rose and set all the same, with the skies turning their blues and pinks along the way, but everything seemed so intriguing. There was Tommy, who seemed to hold a grudge about little old L’Manburg, there was the boy’s outfit- it didn’t have the symbol of L’Manburg on it. Wilbur understood that it had been thirteen and a half years, but the armor that he frequently wore just looked too big and bulky on him. Whenever Wilbur mentioned it, Tommy just tensed and rushed the conversation towards whatever came to mind first. It was frustrating, but Tommy was just a confused kid that would find his way eventually. Maybe Tubbo was doing it to look cool so the other followed suit? He didn’t understand the children, but he tried his best to sympathize. 

Speaking of one of the children, he remembered Tubbo told him where they lived just a day or two ago. Time either passed by him too quickly from the change in dimension or the lack of sleep, but both reminded him that he didn’t have a home to rest at. He walked through some of the grass, his boots making soft noises in it along the way. The buzz of cicadas welcomed him as he made his way to a place that seemed second hand to him. 

He must’ve spaced out because the next moment he remembered was the soft pressure of snow against his shoes that made him slightly stumble. He softly laughed to himself. Snow. He forgot that he even missed this. He took off his fingerless gloves, wanting to feel it properly this time. He reached out, and scraped some into his hand, feeling the coldness of it, as he shaped it into a little snowball. The water slid down the side, as it slowly started to melt in his hand. Before, he would’ve dropped it and tried to dry it off by now, but the cold sensation, turning his fingers red, reminded him once more that he was alive.

It took almost the full snowball to melt for him to remember that he still needed to visit Tubbo. He grabbed his black gloves, somberly putting them back on before realizing he could feel snow anytime now. No one controlled his experiences anymore. That thought surrounded his mind for the past few days, yet it always brought him the child-like wonder of having a parent extend your bedtime by an hour. 

He gently ran his hand through the snow, wishing it a silent farewell as he walked towards the direction of Tubbo’s home. Well- walking might have not been the right word. However, it started out as such before shifting into a speedwalk skipping that morphed into a sprint that soon wore him out even more, before he finally settled on a brisk pace to take him there. 

Seconds felt quick to Wilbur with the cold air going in and out of his system. He shivered, but he continued to walk through the snow. It didn’t take him much longer to figure out that he didn’t know where he was. The only path he knew were the footsteps that outlined his arrival to the snowy biome, and even then, the new snow falling covered up some of the first steps. 

He squinted his eyes, unable to see any source of civilization nearby. All he could see was a small black dot in the distance. It could have been his eyes playing tricks on him. He tried looking away from the dot, yet, it didn’t follow his vision. He slightly frowned at this, walking towards the direction of the dot, confused as to why it was there. Wilbur knew he wasn’t walking quickly, yet the dot’s size rapidly grew in front of him. 

Minutes passed before he realized that the black dot was a small crow. He tilted his head at the sight of it. Why was there a crow in an environment like this? part of him questioned. Regardless, he smiled at the crow as he made his way towards him. As soon as the bird was close enough, he perched onto Wilbur’s shoulder, resting his wings for a moment. Wilbur realized his own exhaustion after seeing the bird. 

“Hm, you must be tired, huh?” His voice broke on itself, slightly startling the crow. The bird didn’t directly answer his question, instead lightly rubbing his small head against Wilbur’s neck. 

“Me too.” Wilbur shared a quiet moment with the bird. “But we’re alive aren’t we…” Wilbur’s voice shifted to a whisper near the end, the words hurting his throat. 

Wilbur held vague memories of a time before everything, before war and white lies in letters, where the sight of such a crow would’ve been a sign of a familiar presence. Though this crow seemed alone, much like Wilbur himself, and he was unsure if he could rely on anything familiar at this point. He felt the bird’s feathers on him, and he couldn’t help but smile, just a little. The bird made a small jump on his shoulder, followed by two high-pitched joyful chirps. Wilbur laughed. “Hm?” he tried, knowing full well that he wouldn’t receive a helpful answer. Wilbur felt as if he heard faint hesitant laughter in the back of his mind, though it could’ve been a trick it played on him.

Then the crow flapped its wings, and Wilbur moved his head to the side, to give the crow space to take off. With one determined flap, the crow flew up in the air, and Wilbur stood there, alone in the snow once more.

And then, he really had no other choice than to keep walking. So he did, moving through the snow, slower and slower, the landscape appearing less appealing each moment. He was back. He was alive, and yet the snow was holding him back. For a fleeting moment, it felt as if he was back at the train station, clawing at the walls to get away, but the sky was watching him this time. He could see it, and each beat of his heart reminded him that he wasn’t eternally watching the trains pass by anymore.

The sky became darker and darker, as he trotted through the snow. His fingertips turned colder, and he was trusting his sense of direction less and less with each step. It had been so long. So long since he’d used the legs that were now shaking dangerously.

That was when he spotted a figure in the distance.

He didn’t recognize it at first, though as he approached, the features became clearer. The figure approached Wilbur too, with a certain level of caution, and before he knew it, the face was entirely visible. The wings came out the back, and Wilbur was looking at someone he knew all too well.

The holder of the sword, and the one who’d wrapped his wings around Wilbur to give his son a moment of comfort in the past. 

Phil, Wilbur’s father and past executionist, froze.

Wilbur froze too, looking at him. The man looked older somehow. His eyes holding less life, and less of a spark, or perhaps that was just what he looked like, looking at Wilbur now.

Phil looked as if he’d seen a ghost, which was an ironic metaphor to use in this instance. A crow was sitting on Phil’s shoulder, and Wilbur put two and two together quickly, and perhaps he should have earlier.

They weren’t that far away from each other, perhaps 60 feet or so, and Wilbur could see his father so clearly now. He noticed Phil, mouthing something. Wil if he wasn’t mistaken. And Wil was him, before everything. Before thirteen and a half years ago.

“Ph- ph- phil,” the words were silent to himself, his shivering and dehydration interrupting any sound he could have made. “D- dad…” he tried louder this time, the action still just as silent but painful unshed tears formed in his eyes. 

He moved his feet from the snow, making it two steps before his legs collapsed from under him. He breathed in sharply from the fall, which only reminded him of how much his body needed to rest. 

The once peaceful snow felt like small daggers coming from every direction. His shaking body only seemed to make it worse as the daggers would painfully shift across him.

Suddenly all at once, he was on fire, the heat burned through his skin and hit his core, making him squeeze his eyes shut and try to pull away. “Wil, Wilbur, you’re gonna be alright, mate. Just don’t close your eyes, it’ll all be fine.” Phil- Phil was there. Wilbur opened his eyes, the action feeling laborious to him. Phil seemed stressed? No no, he shouldn’t be, Wilbur was alive! “I- I’m a- a- alive,” the hoarse whisper was unbearable to feel, but when Wilbur tried to swallow he winced even more. 

“Fuck, fuck, where is it…” Phil muttered. Wilbur looked over, but nothing connected to him. There was something warm against him, it was on his shoulders at first, but it shifted as he heard some items moving against each other. Yet, even only having one bit of warmth was too much, even if he knew it was Phil making him feel it, it was so bad to the point where he almost wished he was back at the train station. Almost. 

Phil gasped and said something Wilbur missed, holding a yellow orb in front of him. He squinted, despite everything feeling blurry and missing to him, and realized it was glowing. “Wh- what?” he managed to croak out. 

Phil slowly pushed the spherical item into Wilbur’s mouth, the shivering man trying to pull back, but Phil held him tightly. Reluctantly, and subconsciously, Wilbur bit into the item, before realizing how sweet it was in his mouth. It tasted like the cookies Phil would make when he was a kid, halfway melting into his mouth because they just came from the oven. Wilbur didn’t realize how much he missed them as he continued eating the food, Phil helping him along the way. 

Wilbur finished eating quicker than he started, he would have frowned and asked for more but he already felt full. He cleared his throat, thrilled that he didn’t feel the typical pain he associated with it, “Phil? Why are you here- Awww, did you miss me?”

Phil gasped, and pulled Wilbur into a tight hug. Although both acknowledged how tight the hug was, it didn’t hurt Wilbur in the slightest. He honestly felt better than he ever had before. It didn’t make sense to him though, Phil’s cookies never made him feel like that before. Of course, they made him happy for a sugary treat, or would even give him nostalgia of the past years, but he wasn’t even shivering from the cold anymore. Maybe he truly was immortal now, food giving him all the power he needed to thrive in his world.

His thoughts were sharply cut off by his father’s sobs as he clenched Wilbur’s coat. Phil tried to speak, only for more cries to exit him. Wilbur was shocked from the exchange and gently rubbed his father’s back, a habit that Phil would do with him as a kid to help calm him down. 

After moments of the two sitting in the snow, Wilbur broke the silence. “I uh- got a little lost” Wilbur quietly chuckled, “Oh hey, did you know snow doesn’t give you any landmarks, even if you ask nicely! It’s ridiculous really.”

Phil only grabbed Wilbur tighter, “...you’re back.”

Wilbur nodded, guessing Phil could probably feel the nod over his shoulder, “Nobody can get rid of me that easily.”

Phil softly sighed, “Don’t run off and kill yourself again.” The sentence was said as if it was a playful remark, but it came out of a place of sorrow and remorse.

Wilbur rolled his eyes, “I can’t promise anything really.”

Phil pulled away from the hug, eyes stone-cold in a way that made Wilbur terrified for the first time in years. “Wilbur Gold Soot.” His words were laced with a wave of reserved anger that Wilbur rarely heard in his childhood, solely made for when he needed his message to not be misconstructed in any way. “You’re going to promise me that you aren’t going to go do something idiotic like last time and- do we even know how many lives you have?”

Wilbur firmly stated, “L’Manburg wasn’t idiotic. It was the laws around the server that were.”

Phil’s glare didn’t change, “It’s idiotic if it’s what got you killed.”

“Everyone dies to something.”

“Do they die three times to the same thing?”

Wilbur spoke quietly, “You can’t say that without admitting you killed me as well.”

Hurt spread across Phil’s face, one that made Wilbur start to apologize, but Phil softly confirmed, “I- I know I hurt you.”

Wilbur shrugged as he smiled wide, "Eh, life comes and goes. I've had quite a bit of time reflecting, and it doesn't bug me too much! I just find it ironic that you forgot to mention it."

Phil attempted a smile in return, but it came out flatter than Wilbur’s with worry behind his eyes. The expression sent a strange spark through Wilbur, and he wasn’t certain what exactly it was it meant, and he didn’t have time to consider it before exhaustion took over his mind once more.

Phil looked Wilbur up and down, and Wilbur suddenly felt warmth again on his shoulder, spreading through his veins. “Wil... A-are you alright coming with me? You look… You need rest.”

Perhaps he did because Wilbur felt as if the entire world was spinning around him in a fog. Endless piles of snow, and an endless dark sky. Though the trains were gone, he reminded himself once more. 

“Here…” Phil said, and Wilbur felt the wing around his back, like a protective shield from the wind. A shield that somehow made Wilbur feel more exposed than before. He didn’t need the protection. Life was so unbearably fragile, he realized, and letting others protect it, was a mistake beyond all else.

But he was tired. So so tired… And as an arm was wrapped around his shoulder, he found himself allowing Phil to lead him, because perhaps he was just a little bit prone to mistakes

Chapter Text

Wilbur had barely acknowledged his surroundings until they’d made it to the house, tucked in among the mountains and the snow. Once Phil opened the door, Wilbur groggily wandered inside, recognizing the smells, and the familiar furniture, that had changed quite a bit, but still held the same atmosphere somehow. Wilbur didn’t have a home, but this house with all the strained emotions and uncomfortable attachments related to it, was probably the closest he would get. For now, of course, because Wilbur had plans, even if he couldn’t think of them at that moment.

As they entered the home, Phil turned to Wilbur, with narrowed eyes, wrinkling his nose. “No offense, mate, but your eye bags are deeper than the hole of L'Manburg. When have you last slept?”

"Haha, good one," Wilbur said, absentmindedly taking his first steps up the stairs.

Phil had hesitated, his eyebrows furrowed. "Wil, please tell me you've had some kind of sleeping schedule since you've returned."

"And I wished I had a house when I returned back here, we don't always get what we want." Wilbur had responded with a shrug, because it didn’t matter, really. Wilbur was alive, and he didn’t have to count the days anymore. He stumbled, grabbing the nearest stationary object he could reach to prevent himself from falling on the stairs. Phil sent him a concerned look.

Before he knew it, Wilbur had found himself in a room with a little bed that he wished wasn’t as appealing as it was. The mattress was soft, accompanied by the sheets, and Wilbur was brutally reminded that he hadn’t truly seen a bed for thirteen and a half years. Soon, he was tucked underneath a duvet and felt himself drifting off into a dreamless slumber, which was far better than the nightmares he’d half-expected.

He woke up to a plate of food, sat up, and ate a few bites before he fell asleep again. He wasn’t certain how much time had passed whenever he dared open his eyes. He should get up! He should face the world he’d been denied for so long, but getting up meant so many things. He had so little time to finish his work, though the darkness called to him, like a friend he never wanted to leave.

And the voice was there too, unfortunately, whenever he woke up. The cries, the whines, and the words that became clearer and clearer. Wilbur held his eyes open for a long time, as if he was in a staring contest with the ceiling, as the cries refused to settle. “Ugh, would you shut up for one second.” he groaned.

When the cries immediately ceased, Wilbur tensed up.

“You can… You can hear me?” was all Wilbur heard now, and he stayed completely silent. “Please.” the voice added after a short while, “It’s so lonely here.”

Wilbur almost feared his heart had stopped once again before he whispered: “Ghostbur…” it wasn’t a question, nor a statement. He wasn’t certain what it was, but perhaps he shouldn’t have said it.

“Yes!” the voice said, giggling with more relief than Wilbur had ever heard from anyone else, “It’s me, Ghostbur! And you’re Alivebur, right?”

“Alivebur?” Wilbur chuckled to himself, “I’m certainly alive, but I typically go by Wilbur.” If Wilbur could hear someone smile, he would describe it as the sound of Ghostbur’s voice.

“Oh, I’m sorry! It’s been a while since I’ve talked with anyone… Gets quite lonely here. Hey, where are you?”

“Phil’s upstairs. Maybe you weren’t here often. He had to make a bit of room up here since he didn’t expect my arrival.”

Minutes went by without a response from Ghostbur. Just as Wilbur was about to ask if he was still there, he heard the friendly voice again, “But… I’m sorry but this doesn’t make much sense to me. I- I’ve been to Phil’s house, and this doesn’t look like a house of any kind.”

Wilbur made a confused noise. “I don’t know if ghosts are constantly on weed or some other shit, but it’s pretty live laugh and love in here. Spruce shelves with some nicknacks and those little windows halfway covered in snow. Hey- I just realized. The windows are made out of spruce fences because Dad can’t see glass! That’s sorta neat.” Wilbur felt proud of his realization, even if someone else probably realized it before him.

Ghostbur’s voice on the other hand held a slight amount of fear, “Nono, there’s… I’m not really sure what this whole place is. It’s this big cylinder tube. It’s… It’s gray and there’s some benches here, but there’s also this really long tunnel! I tried walking to the end, but I- I don’t think there is one.”

Wilbur’s heart dropped when he heard that. “Ghostbur… brown benches with some shitty lights in the ceiling?”

“Yes!” Ghostbur let out a soft gasp, “Have you been here before? Are we on some long-distance phone line? I- I don’t see a phone here.”

Wilbur thought for a moment, “It’s… It’s more than a phone line.” He should’ve remembered already, but his head was groggy. The transparent version of him, tears streaming down his face, almost as if they were burning him. The one who took his place on the platform. Wilbur didn’t know how to break the news to his Ghost counterpart. “I think you’re in my limbo.”

Ghostbur giggled, “I love limbo! I’m not very good at it though, whenever I play the pole just goes through me.”

Wilbur rolled his eyes at Ghostbur’s train of thought, “Nono, it’s… a little more serious than that.” Wilbur’s words became more spaced out, trying his best to avoid the actual topic.

“Does the bar actually hit me now?”

Wilbur awkwardly laughed, “No, it’s-” he quietly groaned from frustration, he’d never been good at breaking bad news to someone. “There’s no limbo bar.”

“That’s silly. How are we going to play limbo, with no limbo bar?”

Wilbur sighed, Ghostbur deserved to know, “You’re-”

“I know,” Ghostbur’s words were covered in child-like excitement, “we can just pretend there’s a limbo bar! I’ll go under it first.” There was silence for a few moments. “I did it! Now it’s your turn.”

“Ghostbur, this isn’t some kind of game.”

“It is though! I can’t find a dictionary, but if you try lookin’ in one of those, you-” Ghostbur quietly gasped, “Do you not know how to play limbo? Oh, you poor thing.”

When Wilbur spoke, his voice was louder than he meant it, venom dripping off each syllable, “You’re in prison. You’re never getting out and you’re stuck there!”

The silence that extended between them was louder than Wilbur could ever yell. “Ghostbur, I’m-”

“Wilbur?”

Wilbur jumped from the sudden noise, looking over and seeing Technoblade at the other end of the room. He seemed confused, which Wilbur thought must’ve been from the thought of him being alive and well, but it didn’t take him long to realize it must’ve been from talking- and yelling- to himself. 

“Is Techno with you?! How is he?” Ghostbur excitedly squealed. Not now, Wilbur responded in his head, but Ghostbur must’ve not been able to hear it as he rambled off other questions. Through his babbling, he could hear mentions of Tubbo and Ranboo, but most of it was muddled together from Ghostbur’s cheerfulness. 

“Hi, Techno!” Wilbur said too loudly. “How are you? I uh- hope you’re- it’s all going well.”

Techno raised an eyebrow, “I, uh… I guess it is. You’re back and stuff.”

Wilbur nodded, “Yeah, yeah I am.” 

Ghostbur jumped in, “Techie, it’s been forever! What adventures have you been up to?”

A rough silence extended between the three, time feeling more present by the second.

Ghostbur chuckled and whispered, “I think Tech is ignoring me like you were.”

Wilbur rolled his eyes which only made Technoblade even more suspicious of the newly revived man in front of him. 

“You alright? Phil told me you nearly died from hypothermia. Probably not the best way to reunite with your father.” Techno snorted quietly.

Ghostbur’s voice turned sadder, “But, I- that didn’t happen. I saw it myself, Phil gave you an enchanted golden apple and you guys hugged. Nothin’ bad happened, you did look a little uncomfortable though.”

That caught Wilbur slightly off guard, though he couldn’t quite respond properly or ask for more information. He nodded bashfully, “Yeah… uncomfortable is a word to describe it.”

“Yeah… hey, Phil told me to show you to the portal and stuff. He doesn’t want you dying again.” Although Techno didn’t say ‘literally,’ Wilbur could hear it clearly.

“Oh, Don’t worry! I can show him where it is! I’ve followed Ranboo through those portals a few times. He’s really nice. He seemed a little worried last time I saw him though, but Tubbo was there and he was also worried. Maybe we could give him a visit. We can visit both of them!” Wilbur heard quick echo-y claps, presumably from Ghostbur’s enthusiasm.

“Mhm, sounds like a plan.”

“Great…” Techno said, and Wilbur started to notice that there was something hesitant in the other’s posture. Something awkward, and restricted, though Wilbur found it difficult to place why. “Let’s go,” he said, gesturing with his head towards the door, and that was when Wilbur had no choice but to leave the comforting darkness. Perhaps it wasn’t too appealing after all because Wilbur had been alone for so long, so maybe it was time he saw how much the world had changed without him. Wilbur stood up from the bed and followed Technoblade out the door.

“Oh! I guess Techno is taking us to the portal after all. That’s great! Aliv- I mean, Wilbur! Haven’t you missed this place too? Did you even see this place, while you were alive? Did they-”

“Shh,” Wilbur said quickly and harshly, closing his eyes.

“Heh?” Techno said questioningly.

Wilbur’s eyes widened. “Oh, nothing! I was just thinking about something.”

“Thinking about something hush-able?” Techno said with a hesitant smile, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were hearing voices too.”

Wilbur chuckled awkwardly, though he didn’t say anything else on the matter.

He hardly had the time to consider what it was like to see Technoblade again because Ghostbur was certainly an unexpected turn of events. Wilbur had simply assumed that hearing the cries and the begging words had been a side-effect of the revival. One he would get rid of eventually.

Prime, he hoped he could still get rid of it. He wasn’t sure if he could handle all the questions in his own mind, let alone whatever it was Ghostbur was talking about. There had to be a way to break the connection because that was what Wilbur did best. It was getting rid of things once they were a lost cause, and Ghostbur’s situation was a lost cause, wasn’t it? Even if Ghostbur wasn’t quite bright enough to realize it himself.

Wilbur and Techno walked outside, the wind reaching Wilbur’s hair and face pleasantly, making him realize that it was before noon. He wondered for a moment, how long he had slept. Wilbur looked at the surroundings properly, now that he was no longer collapsing from exhaustion. “What’s that place over there?” he asked, pointing towards what looked like a solitary house, nearby Phil and Techno’s.

“Oh. That’s Ranboo’s place,” Techno said. He glanced at Wilbur. “You know Ranboo?”

“I met him briefly,” Wilbur simply said, remembering the moments after his revival. The way Tommy had stared at him with fear, Tubbo looking vaguely concerned, the new face that stood slightly behind all of them, and all the words that didn’t matter, because Wilbur was alive, and this was his sunrise. “What’s he like?”

“He’s good.” Techno said, “I don’t know how long he’s going to stay here though.” 

“What do you mean?” Wilbur asked.

Techno breathed deeply. “He just spends less time here is all.” He shrugged, “It’s not my problem. Plus I don’t think I’m the best choice for filling you in.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s with Tubbo now! I- I’m not very sure though, I just know they make each other very happy.”

Ghostbur had mentioned those names together before. The two stood next to each other, at the sight of Wilbur’s revival. Yet it was still odd to hear this stranger mentioned next to the man Wilbur remembered so clearly. The president of the fallen nation. Wilbur would almost say it was a failed nation, but that wouldn’t be true at all. A failed nation would leave him marked as a nobody. No, L’Manburg made everybody know his name. He even got power for a long while. It was all he could ever ask for.

“Soot?”

Wilbur slightly jumped, from the sudden noise, “Yes?”

Techno let out a small laugh, but his eyes were tinted with concern that made it feel like it was supposed to comfort the two of them instead of being a genuine expression. “I’m not the best at conversations but I’m pretty sure that isn’t a yes or no question.”

Wilbur nodded, rubbing his eyes. “Sorry, ’m just a bit tired. Sleep works a bit differently when you’re alive. Well- I suppose everything is a bit different. What were you asking?”

“Just if you were gonna stay at Phil’s or if you want a house for yourself. I was uh… offering to help if you needed it.” 

“Awww, Techno is trying to be your friend. He seems all big and scary, but we were pretty close! Well- we never really talked or hung out much, but sometimes I saw him searching through some chests and he seems nice. I tried to offer him some blue, but Tommy said not to. Not sure why though.” Despite the topics he was discussing, Ghostbur’s voice stayed passively happy as Wilbur assumed would be a new norm. Yet, he’d never heard of this “blue” before. Maybe Ghostbur was on drugs after all.

“Actually, that might be pretty nice. I’ll admit L’Manburg was a flop, but my house won’t be! What should we call it? I’ve been thinking about what to call it if I started a new nation., or country, tomato potato, and- I think BimBom sounds neat.” 

Techno glanced back at Wilbur, “BimBom was the best you could do? Look, man- I don’t respect government. Y’know, that’s my main thing. But I wouldn’t even respect a girl-scout cookie organization named that.”

Wilbur pouted, “Hey, you try spending thirteen and a half years alone and come up with good ideas.” His words became sharper near the end, becoming defensive as he subconsciously thought Techno would be on his side.

However, Techno only gave him a confused look, “It wasn’t-” he bit his lip, gave Wilbur a quick contemplative look, and turned away, “Nevermind.”

“Oh no, he’s in a bad mood now. You should apologize,” Ghostbur’s voice whined in his head.

“I-” Wilbur was going to claim that he wasn’t going to apologize, but he realized he couldn’t say that without Techno hearing him.

“Don’t worry, everyone gets a bit tongue-tied. I’ll help you!” If only Wilbur could communicate silently with the ghost. “The first word is ‘I’m’ and the second is ‘sorry.’ Words can be a bit hard sometimes, but I’m sure Tech will accept your apology even if you’re a bit bad at it.”

Wilbur frustratedly sighed. He didn’t know if Techno heard it and was pretending not to, or if he genuinely didn’t hear the exhale, but Wilbur was grateful to not be called out about it. Once enough seconds had passed with what he felt was an expectant look from Ghostbur he mumbled a quick “‘M sorry.” just to get the ghost off his back. He caught a nod of acknowledgment from Techno, and let out another breath.

Simultaneously, Wilbur heard what sounded like a relieved sigh in his head. “There we go.” Ghostbur said, “Good job! You’re getting the hang of it, I think. I don’t like it when people are mad. It’s hard to tell sometimes, but it’s good to try to keep them happy.” there was something strained in the last words, as if they held a hint of something less joyful, that someone attempted to shove out.

“We’re here.” Techno stopped walking, only a few steps away from the nether portal. Wilbur instinctively ran his hand along the border of obsidian, it was cool to the touch, and vibrated with a low hum. “We were planning to make a path, but we always had other priorities too.” Techno explained. 

Wilbur nodded and walked towards the portal, only for Techno to grab his arm and pull him back. “For the love of subscribers, are you an idiot?” He heard Ghostbur mumble something, but he didn’t bother to pay attention.

Wilbur pulled his arm out of Technoblade’s grip, “Have nether portals changed since I was last here?”

Techno snorted, “No, but that’s exactly why you shouldn’t be going yet. I’ve got some armor back at my base, even some golden apples I can spare. Unless you’re-” realization spread across his face, “Oh that makes sense.”

“What makes sense?”

“This-” Techno sighed, “This is just a suicide mission, isn’t it?”

Wilbur made a small step away from Technoblade. “What are you even talking about?”

Techno rubbed his head, he looked like he was trying to relieve a headache of some kind. “Look, I know that it’s supposed to be ‘twice is a coincidence and three is a pattern,’ but…” Techno groaned, “I’m not gonna sugar-coat with you. You were reckless before you died, you thought you could walk into a freezin’ cold biome without anything on you, and I don’t need a third time to realize what you could be doin’.”

Wilbur nodded despite not necessarily agreeing with his claims. Wilbur didn’t want to die anymore, and Wilbur wasn’t going to die. That couldn’t possibly be that hard to understand. “L’Manburg was ages ago and I’m a grown man, I can handle myself.” It wasn’t his strongest argument, but he knew he was right in the end.

“You’re the same grown man that thought he could run a nation with one of your dumb protocols bein’ that you don’t wear armor. You might be able to ‘handle’ yourself, but I feel like you’re gonna do a poor job at it.”

Wilbur’s eyes burned with fire, because while he didn’t care deeply, not really, that didn’t mean it was something that could be brushed off so easily. “It- It wasn’t dumb. L’Manburg was my nation-”

“Surely you aren’t blind. It’s in ruins!”

“It doesn’t fucking matter if it’s in ruins! I’ve done more than you will ever achieve in your whole pathetic life.” He shouted harshly, “All you go on about is how you hate governments and orphans, and it’s because you’re nothing more than that. It’s not my fault that I actually make an impact in this world while you’re up in your stupid house because no one can stand being around you.” Wilbur’s chest was heaving at this point, both of his hands curled up into fists.

Technoblade spat out at Wilbur, “Oh my fucking Blood God, Soot. Fine- I promised Phil that I wasn’t going to let you kill yourself, but if you’re so passionate about blindly throwing yourself at whatever comes your way, then go at it.”

Wilbur practically screamed, “Fine, I will!” and with that, he threw himself into the nether portal and felt the purple wisps surround him so loudly that he couldn’t even hear Ghostbur’s pleas. 

Chapter Text

The netherrack was a harsh change of scenery compared to the white snow from before. The heat felt unbearable immediately, the fire nearby not helping the problem. He took off his fingerless gloves, sticking them inside his pocket, rolling up his sleeves, despite it giving little relief. The portal seemed to screech at him, but the moment that he covered his ears from it, Ghostbur was screaming at him instead.

“Wilbur… I forgot your middle and last name, but I’m being super serious when I ask, what have you done?! Techno was supposed to be our friend! I mean he was already mine, but- oh no no no,” Ghostbur’s voice grew more worried, “I don’t think you’ve understood what you’ve done.”

Wilbur was glad for the lack of company, so he could respond without the embarrassment of talking to himself, “Ghostbur, he doesn’t understand what he’s done! He insulted everything, everything I’ve put my life towards, as if he’s so much better than me for the lack of purpose he has.” Wilbur walked towards the cobblestone path in front of him. He’d probably taken this path before, but he couldn’t care about the possible nostalgia of it at the moment.

“Maybe he is better, because he’s nice! Nice people are good and he was good. He was just trying to be your friend, and you should be nice in return because that’s what friends do.” Ghostbur’s voice quivered, sounding like he was on the verge of crying.

Wilbur laughed, “Some friend he is. He just thinks I’m a reckless idiot that lives to blow shit up!” As the cobblestone path thinned into one block instead of three, he walked slower, putting his arms out for extra support.

“You are acting like a reckless- a- well you know the word! And please stop cursing. It makes you sound upset.”

“Oh. My. Fucking. Prime . If I sound happy, Ghostbur, it’s because I am happy. If I, oh my, for some reason sound upset- why fuck me with a chainsaw! It’s because I’m a little upset!” Wilbur’s words bled into Ghostbur’s mind with their playful tone yet threatening meaning. 

“But- why would you be upset? Techie was trying to help! He even said he wanted to build a house with you. That’s what friends do together.”

“Ghostbur, I don’t know how much you misunderstood, but Technoblade is not my friend. And he will never be my friend. His only friend is whatever gives him the upper hand!” The cobblestone path turned at a ninety-degree angle and Wilbur turned with it.

“Wilby, that’s-”

Anything Ghostbur would have said was cut off by a ghast crying, which took both of them by surprise. 

“Was that a cat?”

Wilbur whispered, “No.”

“Well, it sounded like a cat.”

Wilbur was about to groan but only managed a strained noise, as a shiver was sent down his spine. He watched the ghast in the distance, and despite everything, he felt just a little exposed, standing there in the fiery heat.

“Well, as I was saying-”

“Please for the love of Prime, be quiet .” Wilbur hissed, trying to keep his voice as low as possible. Not low enough it seemed, because before he knew it, something shot towards him at an impressive pace, and it was time to do something, that Wilbur was no stranger to.

He bolted ahead on the cobblestone path, hearing the ghast scream among the sound of burning flames.

His heart was beating rapidly, and while panic set in, there was a small part of him, that felt so irresistibly alive . His heart served as a reminder, that nothing was going to stand in his way now. 

“Why aren’t you saying anything? Are you scared of cats?” Ghostbur said, his voice tinted with a certain frustration, though there was a hint of concern as well, “Listen, Wilbur, it’s okay to be scared of some things, but cats don’t hurt you, unless you hurt them first. So as long as you just walk past peacefully, or go pet it-”

“For the last time, it’s not a fucking-” Wilbur was cut off, by ghast shooting at him once more, just barely missing him as he jumped, falling on the cobblestone path. Scraping his hands and arms slightly, he managed to push himself up from the ground. Wilbur made the observation, that pain somehow felt different in the world of the living. It sent a rush of adrenaline through him, and prime he hadn’t felt adrenaline in so long. With a slight confident smile, he knew probably shouldn’t be present, he kept running straight ahead. 

“What’s going on?” Ghostbur demanded, “Where are you right now? Oh my, you might not be going in the right direction. What do you see right now?”

Wilbur looked around frantically, unable to see any recognizable landmarks among the red and the ghast screams, echoing in his ears. He ran a bit further. “Okay okay, there’s a fork in the road right here.” he said, looking at the paths ahead of him, catching his breath, “What do I do?”

“Who would leave a fork in the road?” Ghostbur exclaimed, outraged, “That’s so dangerous!”

Wilbur’s eyes widened with frustration, as he heard the screams behind him. He looked around, breathing faster. “What do I do!?” he shouted.

“Pick the fork up, obviously!” Ghostbur shouted back, “And why are we shouting now? We were whispering before! What’s going on?”

“Oh for crying out loud! Left or right Ghostbur?” Wilbur said quickly.

“Uh, again, it depends on where you are, but Tubbo and Ranboo’s place is to the left, I think.” Ghostbur tried.

“Right,” Wilbur whispered, rushing to the left, the ghast following his every step. 

“I said left!”

Wilbur would have thought of a comeback, but he was running too fast to think of anything other than the heavy pounding of his boots against the floor. Adrenaline and blood pumped through his body, and he was going to make it! He was always going to make it because Wilbur was alive, and nothing was going to stand in his way! There were no longer walls to claw at, or trains with closed doors, and tracks as far as the eye could see. He’d like to see the world try to stop him. It hadn’t stopped him before, because he was back, and he was alive, alive, alive and-

He watched as he was being shot at once more, and he stumbled as he tried to duck it, he landed on the hot ground, his chin bashing into the fire, looming dangerously. It burned into his skin, like what he’d imagined hell to be before he saw it. Wilbur pushed himself up, feeling his cauterized skin, mocking each movement. He hissed, but the sound was immediately drowned out by familiar cries, that didn’t make any sense.

Ghostbur was screaming, no longer in anger, but in undeniable pain. “What’s happening to me?” he cried.

“Ghost- fuck,” Wilbur grimaced through the pain. He had tears in his eyes that mimicked the sound of Ghostbur’s sobs. 

“Please, please-” Ghostbur’s cries were louder than the Ghast’s shrieks, “I’m sorry, I don’t know what I did wrong, I’m sorry Wilbur.” 

“Doesn’t,” Wilbur kept on sprinting, breathing out words through steps, “Matter. Now.”

The ghast shrieked again as Wilbur saw a portal. The purple wisps of smoke that loom outside those obsidian creations had never looked so welcoming, along with the faint whirring that accompanied it. Wilbur ran faster, each step hurting more and more, but getting him closer and closer to safety. A fireball landed just a few feet behind him. 

“Wilbur, I’m sorry about t-telling you that you n-need to be friends with T- t- techy! I- I didn’t mean it, please, make it stop!”

Wilbur couldn’t tell Ghostbur all the comfort he knew the ghost deserved, he had to stay alive, for the both of them. Just ten more seconds away, just nine more seconds of unbearable pain. Just-

“Wilbur, please!”

Wilbur sprinted straight into the portal, slamming into the wall behind it. The ghast shrieked and spat out a fireball. Wilbur’s legs almost went out under him from pure fear that the ghast would take out the portal, but the purple swirls grew louder and louder as he was only inches away from a fireball killing him.

The second he made it out of the heat, and into the ice-cold landscape of Snowchester, he collapsed. While he could hear his breathing, in a little less hectic way out here, though he could still feel the burn, and Ghostbur… Ghostbur was still sobbing. Wilbur was crawling near the ground, and with a deep breath, he placed his chin in the snow. It sent a shiver through his body at first, though the coldness slowly numbed the worst parts of the pain, replacing it with the feeling of a wet wound. It wasn’t comfortable in the slightest, but the pain lessened, and Ghostbur’s cries became quieter. 

“T-thank you.” Ghostbur whispered, his voice strained, “I’m s-sorry I-”

“It wasn’t your fault.” Wilbur said, hissing through the pain, “You have nothing to apologize for.”

Ghostbur was silent for a breath. “ W-what… What was that? It hurt. It hurt s-so bad, I…”

Wilbur swallowed, finding himself considering the statement deeply because in truth he wasn’t completely sure. Or well, he got the gist of it, he wasn’t completely dense, but he didn’t quite understand the extent of it. “In the nether… There was a ghast.” Wilbur said, trying to sound as calming as possible, which was ridiculous, because why was Wilbur put in a situation where he had to calm someone? To calm a ghost that sounded like himself, yet didn’t resemble him at all? What was Wilbur supposed to say, and why was he stuck being the one to say it? Yet, he didn’t have the time to think much of it now. “It attacked, and I stumbled and I got a burn…” Wilbur said, trying to grasp it all himself, “It must’ve… It must’ve hurt you too.”

“What? But that doesn’t make sense at all. We’re far away from each other, you said. I shouldn’t be able to feel that.” Ghostbur said, disbelief shining through the leftover sobs.

“I don’t… I don’t know exactly how.” Wilbur admitted, “But I guess you can somehow… Feel the pain I feel… At least when it’s that intense, it didn’t happen before.”

“Oh.” Ghostbur said, “ Oh, I’m so sorry Wilbur. That really hurt but, I had no idea you were going through it too.” Ghostbur’s voice grew quiet with guilt.

“Please,” Wilbur said, catching himself laughing humorlessly. “Please, there is no reason to apologize to me I…” he took a deep breath, “I’m fine Ghostbur! I’m always fine, but now we somehow need to fix the pain.”

“So we can… So we can feel better.” Ghostbur stated determinedly, “ Okay. I’ll stay strong like you Wilbur!”

Perhaps Wilbur was about to dispute Ghostbur’s words, but before he even knew himself, he heard footsteps to his right.

“W-Wilbur?” Wilbur looked over at the sound, seeing a boy- was that even right? The person to the right of him had half-black and half-white skin, green and red eyes worriedly staring near the snow. The kid’s hair was also half-black and half-white, but it was distinct from the skin with how soft it seemed from appearance. On top of his hair was a crown that shined with green and red gems, one that reminded Wilbur of Techno. He even had dark purple armor like him.

“Oh my goodness, Ranboo! Is he alright? I didn’t hear him in the nether with you.” Wilbur was glad that Ghostbur’s mind was focused on something that wasn’t pain. 

“Yep, the one and only Wilbur Soot! Fun fact, fire really hurts.”

Ranboo ran a hand through his hair with an exasperated expression on his face, “Of course it would! Did your armor break or something, I- I think we have a spare set you could borrow.”

Wilbur pursed his lips. L’Manburg had a rule against armor. Yet, L’Manburg was a giant crater in the ground. He wasn’t even the president of the nation anymore, it was Tubbo now, he didn’t even know if he was still a L’Manburg citizen either. “That-” Wilbur thought carefully about his next words, “isn’t necessary.”

“Wilbur,” Ghostbur said in an authoritative tone.

“But thank you for the offer anyway… Ranboo?” 

Ranboo shuffled where he was, rocking back and forth, “I- Is there anything I can do? I know we don’t know each other but,” Ranboo cleared his throat, “We wouldn’t mind helping you for a bit.”

Wilbur nodded into the snow, “That sounds nice.”

Moments of silence stretched between the two. “So… you said something about fire? I- I’m not an expert of first aid or anything, but we can probably at least give you some bandages or get someone here who’s more experienced? Actually, yeah- I’ll go get Tubbo and you- uh. You just sort of sit here, cool?”

Wilbur chuckled, “Cool as snow.”

Ranboo’s voice faded away as he walked back towards wherever he came from, “Cool, yeah, snow.”

Wilbur sighed and slightly shifted into the snow, getting a colder part onto his face.

Ghostbur’s relaxed tone came into his mind, “Ranboo’s nice. He’s fun to talk to. Sometimes he gets a little uncomfortable, especially around new people, but he’s a super neat guy! I hope you guys become friends.” 

Wilbur heard some running that was slightly muted by the snow, he tilted his head slightly upwards and his eyes met Tubbo’s. 

Wilbur gasped, “Tubbo! It’s so great to see you!”

Tubbo stopped walking upon Wilbur’s welcome. Something in his eyes showed a hesitance that Wilbur hated. It was the one that made Tubbo agree to anything instead of voicing legitimate concerns. It made Tubbo lose one of his lives to Schlatt’s presidency. It made him powerless in the end. 

Tubbo’s voice cracked, “Wilbur, I-” Tubbo exhaled, “I didn’t expect to see you so soon.” Wilbur felt he could hear distaste in the boy’s voice, but he didn’t bother to point it out.

“I figured I’d give one of my favorite people a visit,” Wilbur couldn’t help but grin. Tubbo was a little taller than he’d last seen him, or maybe he carried himself a little higher.

“Awww. I think Tubbo’s got a fond memory of you.” Ghostbur gasped, “You can be his friend too!”

Tubbo was caught off-guard by Wilbur’s remark. A small smile found a way onto his face, “You- there’s no way.”

Wilbur let out a small laugh, “Oh absolutely! You were always one of my favorites, so brilliant and strong.”

Tubbo almost laughed along with Wilbur, but his eyes clouded with an active worry that Wilbur had seen many times. “Is there something you need?”

"Well, my face is burning for one," Wilbur stated, raising an eyebrow. 

“For two, actually !” Ghostbur remarked, and Wilbur almost had the urge to laugh, though he honestly doubted that Ghostbur was trying to be funny.

“Oh! Right right, Ranboo said, and-” Tubbo looked at Wilbur’s face a little closer, just enough for Wilbur to get a good look at the boy’s eyes.

Or, perhaps he wasn’t a boy anymore. It had been thirteen and a half years after all, and time did indeed show in those eyes. Like a glimmer, igniting the spark of recognition, that made Wilbur feel as if he was intruding. Though that was just something Tubbo had to get used to, of course. Tubbo cringed slightly at the sight of the wound, “Sheesh man, the nether really did a number on you.” he said, almost as if he was trying to lighten the mood, “What were you doing in there without armour anyway?”

“Fuck off.” Wilbur said with a laugh, though when Ghostbur made a noise of uncomfortableness, he added a quick, “Sorry, sorry... But if you have anything that could help-”

“Oh. Of course,” Tubbo said with a series of very quick nods. He took a deep breath, and looked at Ranboo. “We should… We should bring you to the mansion.” he looked at Wilbur and added nervously, “And uh, snow isn’t good for burns in the long run.”

“ You try falling into fire , and thinking ahead afterwards.” Wilbur said, as if he was joking, though a quick hiss of pain as he lifted his head, made him feel pathetic. If there was one thing Wilbur despised, it was feeling pathetic.

Tubbo laughed, though the clear worry was still showing, as he placed his hand on Wilbur’s arm to steady him. Once Wilbur stood on both his legs again, he shook Tubbo’s arm off, because he was not going to make a habit out of being steadied all the way to the nearest residence.

If it was a residence of course. “Excuse me, did you say mansion?”

“Oh! Yeah, Foolish built it for us. We were just moving some of our things there when Ranboo saw you.”

Now that was most peculiar, because the our was said so naturally, as if Tubbo and Ranboo were combined by default, and once again Ranboo was reminded of Ghostbur’s words.

I just know they make each other very happy.

“You two live together?” Wilbur inquired curiously, trying to ignore how Ghostbur’s breathing became more unsteady because of the pain from the burn once again.

At that, Tubbo’s eyes widened just slightly, and Wilbur caught a faint blush on his face. “Oh… Oh yeah, you missed a beat, uhm…” Out of the corner of his eye, Wilbur noticed Ranboo shifting uncomfortably. “We’re sort of, maybe uh…” Tubbo tried, phrasing the next part like a question rather than with the certainty it probably deserved, “Married?”

At first, Wilbur looked from Tubbo to Ranboo with disbelief paving his expression. “Married?” he repeated. Then, he laughed, “Of course! Of course, that all makes sense now, so much time has passed! Congratulations Tubbo, my man!” he looked at Ranboo, who smiled awkwardly, “I’ll have to get to know your husband better. And you live in a mansion , you’re doing well for yourself here!”

Tubbo chuckled, a bit of relief showing through it, though it was still hesitant. “Y-yeah! We haven’t quite moved in yet, but it’s very, very big. You’ll see it, ah look!” he pointed in the direction they were walking, the roof already towering above everything.

Wilbur wasn’t certain what he had been expecting, but the sheer size of the place, casting a grand shadow, was not something Wilbur would’ve assumed came from a private mansion. A castle perhaps, god forbid, but certainly not the type of place Tubbo would live in. As they approached, Wilbur’s mouth gaped, looking at the several floors going up, stone and light from the windows, adding a homely glow.

Chapter Text

Tubbo led Wilbur over to a room near the entrance of the house. It was mostly empty except for some boxes labeled with markers. From where Wilbur was, nothing seemed special at first. There were some labeled with clothes, furniture, and pictures, but there was a box named ‘Michael’ that was unlike the others. The peculiar box had some drawings on the side of it. There were three… people in it? The drawings were too shaky to be easily determined, and Wilbur didn’t have the time nor patience to decipher them.

Tubbo caught where Wilbur was staring, “Oh, don’t mind the boxes. We know which ones will have the medkits.” Wilbur nodded as if that was the main question in his mind. Yet, he didn’t want his reunion with Tubbo to be filled with him eavesdropping on his new life.

“Where should I sit?”

Tubbo looked away bashfully, “Oh! I uh, we mostly just sit on the floor.”

Wilbur walked towards one of the walls and slouched against it. His legs still ached from his fight with the ghast, and he gave himself a moment of peace as he closed his eyes.

Apparently, he gave the peace to Ghostbur too, “Thank you. It was starting to hurt again.”

Wilbur mouthed, “No problem,” before realizing that Tubbo and Ranboo were staring at him, with Tubbo looking him directly in the eyes and Ranboo focusing on his burns.

Wilbur propped himself up slightly, “Am I in the way of something?”

Tubbo pursed his lips, “No, it’s just-” He exhaled, “Nothing.”

Wilbur rolled his eyes, “Tubbo, if I’m in the way you can just tell me.” Though Tubbo just shook his head and smiled awkwardly in response. Ranboo kneeled down next to Wilbur and opened the medkit. There didn’t seem to be too much in it, but Wilbur couldn’t judge since he didn’t need a hospital to treat his wounds. 

Ranboo quietly asked something he couldn’t hear, with Wilbur’s confused glance, Ranboo said it slightly louder, “S-so Wilbur, uh, does it hurt right now?”

Wilbur barely resisted the urge to scoff at him, “I wouldn’t be here if they didn’t.”

“Wilby, that wasn’t very nice,” Ghostbur commented.

Wilbur sighed, “Sorry, I’ve had a rough day so far.” His words grew quieter near the end, embarrassed that he needed to apologize to someone he barely knew.

He might’ve expected Ranboo to make fun of him for not having armor or say he was an idiot for going alone, but the boy only nodded and slightly tilted Wilbur’s face towards him. A focused expression came across Ranboo’s face as Wilbur held still. 

Ranboo looked somewhat relieved when he said, “Second-degree at the chin, but uh, first-degree at the surrounding area.”

Tubbo nodded, “Do you know what to do?”

Ranboo shifted his focus to Tubbo, “N-not exactly, but I’ve got a general idea. Sorry, I-” Ranboo tightly closed his eyes and hid his face with one of his hands. An enderman vwoop came out in small chirps. Tubbo kneeled down to where Ranboo was and held his other hand. His eyebrows were knitted together with concern, but he tried to have a small smile on his face.

Tubbo’s voice lowered to a whisper, “Hey, Boo, it’s alright. How about we head outside?” Ranboo responded with a shake of his head. Then came another enderman vwoop, one that sounded like a constant buzz that made Wilbur slightly cringe from the unpleasant sound. Ranboo nodded and stood up, still covering his face with his hand, and Tubbo stood up with him. Tubbo mouthed something to Wilbur that wasn’t clear to him as the married couple exited the building. 

“Aww, poor Ranboo. Ranboo said he’s never met you before but I can explain! Sometimes, he gets… how did Tubbo describe it? I- I don’t think I can remember.” Ghostbur sighed.

Wilbur shifted slightly to look around the corner, and when he couldn’t see anyone, he whispered back, “It’s alright if you don’t know the exact wording, just give me the general idea.”

“Well, I’m not too sure. All I know is that it can be really unpleasant for him. Once when it started happening, Tubbo started counting. I’m not sure why though, maybe Ranboo really likes numbers.”

Wilbur rolled his eyes and made a sharp exhale out of his nose that could have been recognized as a laugh, “I don’t think-” Did Wilbur want to ruin his fun? The ghost was already in limbo. The most he could do was play around with his silly ideas. “Yeah, maybe he really likes numbers.” Wilbur could barely keep himself from laughing at himself saying the statement.

Ghostbur gasped excitedly, “You really think so? Hm, maybe you should ask what his favorite number is.”

Wilbur wanted to close his eyes and rest, but he didn’t want Tubbo or Ranboo walking back in seeing him talk to himself. “Mhm, that’s a… good idea.” Wilbur yawned near the end, his adrenaline crash hitting him rougher than he expected.

“Are you okay?”

Wilbur nodded then remembered that Ghostbur couldn’t see him, “Yeah, yeah. Just a… yeah, I’m fine.”

Ghostbur’s confusion showed in his tone, “I’m not sure what the word for it is, but you seem pretty… the word isn’t sad, because it’s not exactly an emotion, but it takes over your head like the sad thoughts would.”

Wilbur sighed, “Tired?”

“Yeah! I’ve heard that sleeping helps when you’re tired. Not sure though, I haven’t tried it out myself. Maybe you could ask Tubbo and Ranboo.”

Maybe the exhaustion was making Ghostbur… not exactly funny, but somehow adorable in a way that made him want to giggle along with him. “I’ve… I’ve tried sleep… pretty nice.”

“So if you’ve done it before, why aren’t you sleeping now?”

“Supposed to be polite and shit. Not polite to fall asleep in someone else’s house.”

“But didn’t you fall asleep in Techno’s house?”

Wilbur made a confused noise, “Nah, I fell asleep in Phil’s house.”

Ghostbur huffed, not understanding the situation, “But Phil is a someone else, so therefore, you already slept in someone else’s house.”

Wilbur chuckled, “Oh, Ghostie,” Wilbur heard footsteps walking along the spruce floor, and stopped whispering to his counterpart. 

Tubbo peaked his head out, holding a silver bucket in his hands. He walked towards Wilbur’s direction, looking calmer than before as he sat down next to him and grabbed a rag from the medkit. 

“What’s all that noise?” Ghostbur asked.

Wilbur needed to lay down some rules for communication for Ghostbur, but he decided not to do it while Tubbo was there. “Is he alright?”

“Yeah.” Wilbur raised his eyebrows, expecting some kind of explanation, but he supposed it wasn’t his business. Tubbo dipped the rag into his bucket of water and gave the rag to Wilbur. “Hold it where it hurts the most.” Wilbur held it to his chin, both him and Ghostbur giving an exhale of relief. 

“It doesn’t feel as good as the stuff from before. Can we go back to that?” 

Tubbo gently grabbed the hand that wasn’t holding the rag and Wilbur winced from the pain before realizing that his hand wasn’t even burned. When he dodged one of the fireballs he must’ve scrapped his hands on a wall along the way. Tubbo laid Wilbur’s hand down, grabbing another rag from the medkit and dipping it into the water. 

“This might hurt a bit,” Tubbo stated as he dabbed the wet rag onto Wilbur’s hand. Once most of the dirt was cleaned, Tubbo looked closely at the skin and let out a sigh of relief. “I don’t see anything inside your hands so that’s good.”

“Wait- Ranboo told me there were veins and blood inside hands. Did you lose those somehow?” 

Wilbur barely held back a giggle, “Yeah, that’s good.”

Ghostbur gasped, “No that’s not good! Your hands won’t have any circulation!”

Wilbur laughed but tried his best to cut it off short with a cough after seeing Tubbo’s concerned glance. 

Tubbo looked skeptical as he placed a hand on Wilbur’s forehead. “Have you been coughing a lot?” 

“Not really, just happens every now and then.”

“Hm. Let me have the rag for a second.” Wilbur gave him the rag as Tubbo redipped it into the water. “Continue holding it to where it hurts, but hold it with the other hand.” Wilbur nodded and did what he was told. Tubbo grabbed the now free hand and cleaned it like he did the other one. Some dried blood came off which caused Tubbo to frown. 

Tubbo fished around the medkit before he grabbed a small tube. It had a label Wilbur couldn’t read, but he wasn’t too worried about what it was. He taught Tubbo all the medical knowledge he knew during one of the first wars. He would’ve told it to Tommy, but he didn’t have an interest in it. 

Tubbo uncapped the tube and rubbed the semi-transparent paste onto Wilbur’s hands. He winced at the pain, but Tubbo kept going. 

“Wilbur, Wilbur, Wilbur,” Ghostbur hissed. Wilbur wished he could comfort Ghostbur, but he remained silent throughout the ghost’s pleas.

Tubbo grabbed a roll of gauze and started carefully wrapping it around Wilbur’s hand so it would hold itself together. He tucked in the end and gestured for Wilbur’s other hand. Wilbur complied and tried to hold the rag in a way that didn’t touch any of the bandages that were already done. Tubbo raised an eyebrow, “Where are your gloves?”

“Most likely in my pocket…” Wilbur mumbled as he hung the rag on the side of the bucket. Tubbo continued rubbing the paste onto Wilbur’s hand, then wrapped the gauze around it as well. After searching his first pocket with no success, his second one had both gloves in there. He sighed in relief and put on both of his gloves once Tubbo put his hand down. 

Tubbo gently grabbed the bottom of Wilbur’s chin and tilted it upwards. He made a sound of worry then let his hand fall from the man’s face. 

“I don’t know how to handle burns,” Tubbo quietly stated. 

“That makes two of us,” Wilbur shrugged. Although he was slightly disappointed that Tubbo didn’t learn how to, he couldn’t blame the boy either. 

Wilbur started to get up when Tubbo brought Wilbur back down using his arm, but instead of yanking him backward, it gently brought him to the wall he’s been laying on. “What are you doing?”

Wilbur slightly tilted his head, “I’m leaving?”

Ghostbur whined, “Aww, but we didn’t even get to have any fun.”

Tubbo looked at him with disbelief, “We haven’t even treated your burns yet, you can’t leave.”

Wilbur groaned, closing his eyes in frustration, “You’re not my dad.”

“Don’t worry, he should be here soon. Well- him or Techno.”

Wilbur sat up immediately, “What!?”

Tubbo’s casual expression shifted into one of worry, “I said that Phil or Techno should probably be here soon. Did you hit your head too?”

“No no, I-” Wilbur’s mind flashed with his and Techno’s fight. He didn’t even say goodbye to his father before he left. He’d be lucky if either of them would even look him in the eye, let alone help him medically. “I just have to go.” Wilbur shakily stood up, exhaustion filling his mind. 

Tubbo’s voice turned shaky, “Wilbur, just talk to me. What’s going on?”

“Wilbur?” Ghostbur was quiet compared to how loud Wilbur’s mind was.

Wilbur ran a hand through his hair, “It’s fine, it’s fine, I’m fine. It’s all just fine, and I’m good to leave!” 

Wilbur moved towards the exit before Tubbo stood in front of him, blocking his way out. “Wilbur, please , at least let us treat your burns. I- I know you hate me but you don’t need to leave so soon.”

“Wait, you never told me you hated Tubbo,” Ghostbur’s voice creaked with melancholy. “Is there anyone you like? I- I don’t like jumping to conclusions, but first, you don’t like Techie and now you don’t like Tubbo either. D-Do you also not like me?” The last words wavered more compared to Ghostbur’s typical tone. 

“It’s not like that- it’s- it’s more than just that.”

Tubbo looked confused, and Wilbur was reminded of past betrayals and moments of heightened caution. He was reminded of young Tubbo, hesitant to take a stand, his voice now booming with strained determination. Tubbo yelled, tears on the verge of spilling, “Then tell me!”

Wilbur spent so long in limbo he forgot that people might still have attachments to him. He almost hoped that everyone would forget so that he could go back to being himself without any problems. “Tubbo…” Wilbur stepped forward slowly, showing Tubbo he wasn’t going to do anything sudden, and in exchange, Tubbo watched his every move. His eyes occasionally darting to other parts of his body. When Wilbur was right in front of the boy he stopped walking. 

A moment of silence was exchanged between the two before Wilbur bent down slightly and hugged Tubbo. At first, Tubbo didn’t reciprocate, but seconds after, he slowly put his arms around Wilbur. The grip was weak, probably to give Wilbur time to pull away, but he soon tightened his arms around Wilbur, exhaling in relief. 

“W- Wilbur?” Tubbo’s body shook with a sob, but he mostly tried to keep his cries quiet.

“Yeah, Tubs?”

“Are you j- just gonna leave again?” Tubbo’s voice broke at the last word, his composure only lasting so long. Wilbur squeezed tightly in response. 

“Why…  haven’t you responded yet?” Ghostbur wasn’t crying yet his voice mimicked the sadness in Tubbo’s. 

At least a minute stretched between them before Wilbur pulled away. Although he wanted to view Tubbo as a pure equal in the situation, he couldn’t help but give him pity once he saw the boy’s red-rimmed eyes. 

“Sorry, man, I didn’t mean to get so emotional,” Tubbo sniffled and whipped his face into his sleeve.

Wilbur put a hand on Tubbo’s shoulder, “It’s fine. You’re allowed to have your emotions.” Although he didn’t mean to, his voice softened into a warmness that he rarely presented.

“Does this mean you’re staying?” Ghostbur’s hesitance spoke more than his words ever could.

Wilbur took a deep breath in, “Tubbo, you’re not an idiot so I’m going to be honest with you.” Tubbo slowly nodded. “I… I can’t really promise myself staying.”

“...okay.” His voice harmonized with Ghostbur’s.

“Okay.” Wilbur gave Tubbo’s shoulder one last part before removing his hand. 

“Just-” Tubbo’s words came out slower than they normally would have, “Next time you go and… get a life taken away, just please say goodbye before you do it.”

Wilbur gave Tubbo a confused look, “I- Tubbo I just meant I can’t stay at the mansion.” It wasn’t a complete lie. He did mean that he couldn’t stay at the mansion, but what he heavily implied was one of his main thoughts at the moment.

But Tubbo took this lie gratefully, “Oh! I- Oh wow, I really took that the wrong way.” They both awkwardly laughed to themselves.

They stood like that for a little, when Tubbo’s expression suddenly shifted, glancing at a couple of the boxes around them. He bit his lip nervously. “I uh, need to go do something real quick.” he rubbed the back of his head, “I’ll be right back!”

Wilbur nodded in response, as Tubbo walked to a nearby box that Wilbur couldn’t make out the words on, and picked it up. He walked out the door, his posture certainly a little more sheepish, and Wilbur was left alone.

“What happened? Where’d Tubbo go?” Ghostbur asked, his voice quiet, yet less sad than before, “And what was that nice feeling?”

“Hm?” Wilbur asked.

“That nice feeling, like being close to Friend, or… Like safety, wrapped around me?” Ghostbur tried.

Wilbur inhaled, “Oh.” he said. That made sense, perhaps. Ghostbur had felt the relief from the wound being treated too. “I hugged Tubbo.” Wilbur said, feeling a little awkward saying it out loud, “You must’ve felt that, somehow.”

“Oh! Oh, that’s really nice!” Ghostbur said excitedly, “Can I feel everything you feel? How exactly does all of this work?”

“I’m not… Certain.” Wilbur replied honestly, “But perhaps.” his voice turned a little quieter at the last part, as he thought of the implications of that. Because if Wilbur getting hurt, would keep hurting Ghostbur in return, that made the entire thing so much more difficult. It was simpler, when it was just Wilbur, piecing himself together, and taking what belonged to him, despite what it would cost him in the end. But if this voice, that held a tight involuntary grip around Wilbur’s mind, would be affected by all of it too, it made decisions so much harder. It made Wilbur’s plans so much harder because some things couldn’t just be explained away, and the mere thought of those painful screams from before, made Wilbur shiver.

And a brief thought was clear to Wilbur in that moment even if he didn’t say it out loud. He needed to get Ghostbur out of his mind, whatever that would mean. Wilbur needed to keep all of this to himself, because if he ever wanted to complete any of his plans, then dragging around a ghost like that… Someone who remembered so little, yet experienced things just as vividly, would make everything Wilbur wanted to do impossible.

Wilbur heard Tubbo shuffling around with things upstairs when he saw his chance to leave. He had things to get done, and a mind to quiet down. He rushed to the front door, turned the handle and opened it, just about to run outside, when he saw them.

A nervous Ranboo, hunched over, behind a figure that stood tall and confidently. Someone who looked at Wilbur with an expression of cold aggravation. Wilbur swallowed something in his throat. “Hello, Techno…”

Chapter Text

If Wilbur had been asked to guess where he would be a few days after his revival, after thirteen and a half years in limbo at a train station,then sitting on the floor of a mansion, Technoblade looking right past him as he treated his burn wounds from the nether, would not have been his first thought. It was one of those experiences Wilbur had, where he felt as if maybe, he should’ve done more to avoid such a situation. Technoblade was holding Wilbur’s chin, barely having made eye contact with him at all. He was looking closely, as if Wilbur was not a person, but a broken table Techno had been considering putting out for a yard sale for years now.

Tubbo was still upstairs and had gone a little quieter since before Techno arrived. Ranboo was standing in the corner of the room as if he was trying his best not to be seen. A backpack stood beside Techno, and he rummaged through it, audible clicks of bottles coming from it. Techno poured some liquid on a piece of cloth and handed it to Wilbur silently. With a sharp exhale, Wilbur placed it against his burn. He heard Ghostbur hiss slightly but didn’t say anything himself.

“Why is everyone being so quiet?” Ghostbur asked, sudden desperation in his voice, “You- you didn’t leave, did you?”

Instead of responding, Wilbur placed his free hand against the floor and pressed down. Just as he’d suspected, he heard a relieved sigh from his mind.

“Did you say it was second-degree burns?” Techno asked, turning towards Ranboo.

“Ye- yeah!” Ranboo said, “From the nether.”

“Mhm.” Techno hummed, moving Wilbur’s hand away to get a good look at the burns. He rummaged through his bag once again and picked up a crimson red potion. He swirled it around, “I brought a potion.” he said, and while he didn’t look at Wilbur directly, it was the first time he had addressed him since he arrived, “But I’m not sure if you really need it.”

Wilbur scowled, though he wasn’t sure if Techno saw. It was an instant health potion, that Wilbur knew brought a great deal more pain than the ones of regeneration, that he knew for a fact Techno had at home too. He inhaled sharply, “Well,” every instinctual wording in his mind urged him to refuse, though the thoughts of Ghostbur’s screams once again plagued his mind. “I mean, it would be nice to have.”

Techno huffed, and added with precision: “I mean, after what you said this mornin’, I don’t think you really want it.”

Wilbur’s chest was burning with aggravation because he knew exactly what Techno was doing. Faint memories of the times, where playfulness would hide in Techno’s words, were present, though this was something different. This wasn’t just a game, but rather mocking. A spite that lingered in the air, leaving the tension unbroken. It would’ve been all the more reason to refuse Techno’s offer, if it wasn’t for the ghost, hearing every word.

“No! We do want it, right? It hurts still.” Ghostbur said the last part strained.

“...sorry,” Wilbur mumbled, barely audibly.

“What was that?” Techno asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I said fucking sorry,” Wilbur said darkly, and Ghostbur gasped.

“Could you repeat that?” Techno asked.

Wilbur breathed deeply with frustration, “I’m sorry, alright Technoblade? Is that what you want to hear?”

“Sure is a start,” Technoblade said, throwing the potion towards Wilbur, who barely managed to grab it in time. He didn’t want to think about the possibility of Ghostbur hearing the shrill sound of broken glass for the first time.

He uncapped the bottle, and took a sip from it, testing the level of pain he and Ghostbur would feel. It surprisingly wasn’t much, mainly a small pinch.

“If that’s how you’re gonna drink the potion then we’re gonna be here for a few years,” Techno began packing up the stuff into his backpack. 

Wilbur almost rolled his eyes but knew that maintaining a good relationship with Technoblade would be good in the long run. With that, he took a bigger sip, and once he swallowed he could feel the immediate burn of it going down his throat, where the pain transitioned into a pulsing feeling in his chin and hands. While Wilbur only winced, he could hear Ghostbur’s small pleas but tried to focus on anything that wasn’t him or the pain. He decided on the potion bottle itself. The glass bottle had some scratches on it that contrasted the red liquid inside that slightly sparkled. 

Once most of the pain was gone, Wilbur raised the bottle to his lips when Techno interrupted him, “Drinkin’ the whole thing at once will make it more effective.”

Wilbur knew Techno was right, but he didn’t want to admit it out loud. So instead he nodded in response, closed his eyes tight, and downed the whole thing. Wilbur regretted it immediately, closing his hand into a fist and punched the air, although it didn’t help much with his pain. 

What might’ve hurt more was Ghostbur’s cries from the almost burning sensation. “Wil- Wilbur, make it stop.” There was a sob at the end that painfully reminded Wilbur that Ghostbur had a lower pain tolerance than he did. “I- I know you can’t make it stop right now, but please do it soon.” Wilbur would have preferred Ghostbur to be angry at him for getting hurt in the first place over the apologies that he heard in his mind. They were quieter though, as it was a private conversation that Wilbur was never supposed to hear, but Ghostbur didn’t have anyone else to talk to so it must’ve been to him.

Most of the potion’s pain transitioned to his palms and his chin, the burning out of his throat now. A quiet, ‘fuck’ came out of Wilbur’s lips, tears threatening to spill out of his closed eyes. 

Techno stood up, grabbing his backpack and the bottle from Wilbur’s hand. He looked around the house, a confused look on his face, “Ranboo, isn’t this place a little big for a military base?”

Ranboo’s shoulders slightly went up, “Oh! It’s just uh- just in case we need to store more stuff.“

Techno walked towards the exit of the mansion, “That’s reasonable, but it’s three floors tall. I don’t think we really need that much space.”

Ranboo gave an apologetic glance towards Techno, avoiding looking in his eyes, “Well- I was thinking that we could mimic the look of a woodland mansion so that way people will be like ‘Oh that’s a woodland mansion, not a secret base!’ Y’know?”

Techno chuckled, “Alright, stay safe.” Although he looked at Ranboo when he said it, Wilbur could feel the words piercing through him. 

“We will!” Ghostbur cheered. Technoblade walked through the doors of the mansion and closed them behind him. 

Ranboo seemed to immediately relax, his posture becoming slightly looser than it was during his interaction with Techno. However, when Ranboo looked back at Wilbur some of his uncomfortableness returned. “So uh…” Anything Ranboo might have said died before it could reach Wilbur’s ears. 

A moment of silence stretched between the two before small thuds that sounded like quick steps littered the lack of sound between them. “What’s that?” Wilbur asked as he heard Ghostbur say it in unison.

Ghostbur gasped, “Jinx!”

Ranboo didn’t directly answer Wilbur’s question but muttered, “I should go check on Tubbo.” Wilbur nodded understandably, watching Ranboo go up the stairs two at a time. Seeing Ranboo walk so quickly reminded him that he had been sitting down for most of the exchange, and slowly stood up. However, black spots rippled his vision with his legs slightly shaking under him. He relied on the wall for support as it took seconds before everything felt normal to him again. He waited for anything from Ghostbur, but all he heard was the ghost humming a song to himself, which he took as a good thing. 

However, once he focused on the sound that he previously heard, he heard muffled snorts that he’d heard from Technoblade many times. 

“Is Techie still here? I thought he left.”

“I thought so too,” Wilbur whispered slowly. He walked up the stairs as quietly as he could, cringing when he heard one creak under him. As soon as he finished going up, he saw doors to his right labeled ‘Construction in Progress’ yet the noise seemed to be coming from behind there. He tiptoed next to the door, hearing muffled voices from the other side.

“We have to stop him before he runs off again.” The voice had a familiarity to it, Wilbur assumed it was Tubbo. However, the tone was clear with worry.

“I mean how would we even do it?” The voice was deeper than the previous one, yet it was laced with concern that mimicked the other. It was shakier than the other voice, but not by much. Only enough that Wilbur only noticed when he paid attention to it.

“I have this, but I’ve never tried it out before. I’ve just heard that it works.” 

Ranboo sighed, “Part of me feels like this is the wrong thing to do.” A strange melancholy was hidden behind it.

“It’s for his own good.” There was some kind of fabric rustle heard, two things softly colliding into each other.

“I know…” Wilbur could barely hear it, but he knew he needed to leave sooner rather than later.

“What were they talking about?” Wilbur resisted sighing at Ghostbur’s lack of understanding and settled on an eye roll. 

It had only been a matter of time, before someone would try such a thing, of course. Wilbur had had a big enough impact on history to be worth fighting, it seemed. And while he hadn’t expected it from someone like Tubbo, a lot could happen in thirteen and a half years. It was not the first time someone intended to target Wilbur with the strike of death, and being back for this long was perhaps an achievement on its own. Not that he was going to let them kill him, because he wasn’t easy to get rid of at all. Sneaking around by the door, he attempted to gain any information he could about it. Perhaps avoiding the strike, from one of his previous most trusted companions, was going to be exactly what he needed to regain his force and power. In fact, he was almost a little impressed and proud, that they had enough spine to attempt something so conclusive. That was the kind of certain drive and spirit, Tubbo had lacked back in L’Manberg.

But they weren’t in L’Manberg anymore. Tubbo kept his own secrets, or murder plans, behind closed doors. Wilbur couldn’t let Ranboo nor Tubbo know that he was listening. They were working together after all. He held his breath as he slowly walked down the stairs. Which step was the one that creaked? Wilbur cursed himself for not remembering, and gently pressed onto the step in front of him. He applied slightly more pressure, and finally, put his whole foot on it. He let out a breath when it didn’t creak, but felt it in his gut that the next one would make a sound. As Wilbur skipped the step directly in front of him, the step after that must have been the one that caused a creak as when he pressed most of his weight on it, it made a sound that wouldn’t have usually been loud. Yet, with most of the house remaining quiet it was the only thing to hear other than the whispers upstairs. Even then, those stopped when the sound played aloud. 

Wilbur flinched, as the door opened, Tubbo looking outside. He locked eyes with Wilbur, who wasn’t entirely sure what to do now. Perhaps his best call would’ve been to run, though running was such a dull way to solve anything. Then, despite the thousand reactions Wilbur would’ve expected, Tubbo gave a relieved sigh. “Oh! Hi again, Wilbur. I was a little jumpy there for a moment.”

Wilbur looked at Tubbo with disbelief. “Uh, well-” he said, still standing on the steps when he heard the same snorts from before, and soon, right behind Tubbo’s legs, Wilbur spotted a zombie piglin. And Wilbur truly didn’t have the slightest clue of what to say to that. Ranboo was standing awkwardly behind Tubbo, picking up the little zombie piglin, with a particular gentleness, Wilbur hadn’t quite expected either. “What?” he eventually ended up saying.

Tubbo chuckled nervously, playing with his hair. “I uh, I suppose I haven’t introduced you yet. Sorry for the secrecy we… We didn’t want Techno to… It’s a long story, but,” Tubbo gestured to Ranboo, who was holding the little one, “This is Michael!” Tubbo said, “Our… Our son!”

At the words, little Michael squealed with joy, as he jumped out of Ranboo’s hands rushing to the confused Wilbur, who managed to walk up the rest of the stairs right before the zombie piglin wrapped his arms around Wilbur’s leg. Wilbur stared at the child blankly for a few moments, blinking once or twice. Then, he started laughing, covering his face with his hands. He kept laughing, and as he looked up, he noticed Tubbo and Ranboo, looking at him confusedly.

“What was funny?” Ghostbur asked, interest in his voice, “Did someone tell a funny joke? Oh no, did I miss it? Also, was that Michael? I nearly forgot about the little guy!”

Those words just made Wilbur laugh harder, despite the staring. When he finally stopped, however, the zombie piglin child was looking at Wilbur expectedly. “Hello, Mi- haha- Michael,” Wilbur said, bending down slightly to pat the child on the head. 

“It looks like he likes you,” Ranboo said with a hesitant smile, his voice a little more confident than the other times Wilbur had heard him. 

Wilbur kneeled down while Michael was attached to his leg, but when the child saw the opportunity he ran into Wilbur’s open arms. Wilbur smiled as he reciprocated the hug and picked Michael up. The toddler wrapped his legs around Wilbur’s abdomen as much as he could while Wilbur held his back and bottom, resting his chin over Michael’s shoulder. The boy squeezed the back of Wilbur’s coat, but he couldn’t grab much due to his small hands. Wilbur realized in that moment that he would die for Michael if he had to.

“Aw, almost makes me wish I had a little brother growing up,” Wilbur softly said, hugging Michael to his chest.

Tubbo held a fondness in his eyes that Wilbur didn’t know if he’s seen before, “He’s our little angel.”

Ranboo quietly laughed to himself, “When he’s not trying to run away while we have guests that is.”

Tubbo chuckled, “I would drink to that if I legally could.” A look of realization came across Tubbo’s face, “Hey, little M, are you hungry?” He walked around so he was behind Wilbur and able to see Michael’s face. Part of him impulsively thought that Tubbo was going to stab him in the back, literally. Yet, he continued holding the boy, if he was going to kill him, he was going to go down holding Michael. 

When he felt Michael nod, Tubbo clapped his hands together. “Alright, how’s dinner gonna work tonight?”

“Well, you’re going to eat it, I swear- people can be so silly sometimes,” Ghostbur huffed in annoyance. Wilbur silently laughed knowing Ghostbur probably wasn’t making a joke.

Ranboo diverted his attention from Michael and brought it to Tubbo, “I’m guessing it’s going to be the usual routine of one of us cooking and the other taking care of Michael. We can bring out the steaks tonight since we’ve got a guest.”

Wilbur turned around so he could see Tubbo’s reaction, “Sounds good to me, I’ll get some carrots. Maybe cut a bit of steak for Michael...” Tubbo started to head down the stairs, “I better get started, you three have fun!”

Ghostbur gasped, “He’s finally including me!” 

Wilbur delicately broke the news of who the third person was, “So, Ranboo, is there anywhere Michael usually plays? Or runs around? I’m honestly not sure what kids do nowadays.”

Ranboo laughed, “We’ve got most of his stuff in the room we were just in, but he’s got a different room planned in the long-run.” Ranboo opened the door behind him, holding it open for Wilbur.

Wilbur smiled softly, “Thanks.” 

Wilbur looked inside the room and found a strange nostalgia in it despite it not being from his past at all. The walls were decorated in a mix of crimson and warped wood, some vines dangling from the ceiling, but few were low enough to grab. There was a small yellow bed in the corner of the room with blankets untucked and one of the pillows on the ground. There was a blue kids table in the center of the room, with some books and paper on it. Next to that, there were some wooden cabinets made out of birch. From one of the open drawers he saw a few toys that weren’t organized in any specific way.

Ranboo looked at Wilbur, a little calmer than before, yet he still seemed small. Wilbur had yet to talk to Ranboo alone, and he wondered exactly what kind of person had managed to get that close to Tubbo in all this time. That was not the first question on Wilbur’s mind however. “Before I came in,” he tried, “What were you discussing?”

Ranboo’s cheeks seemed to turn a faint red. “Oh.” he said, “Well, Michael kept running off, so we were uh, thinking about how to keep him near us. Just for his first couple of walks outside, you know?”

Wilbur had the urge to break out in laughter once again, though he managed to stick to a sudden huff and a smile. “Aha,” he said. So, the inevitable betrayal wasn’t coming from Tubbo and Ranboo. 

And Tubbo had a son. That was new. For a brief moment, the thoughts of his own son flashed across Wilbur’s mind. Though the more he let the thought linger, the more the bells of war seemed to ring through his mind, and he cut it off the second he could. Not now. 

Instead, he smiled contemplatively, “Is Techno your enemy?”

Ranboo looked surprised to have been asked such a question. “Huh?”

“Well, you seemed to hide something from him,” Wilbur said, raising his eyebrow, intrigued. His mind was buzzing with excitement, at learning more about the current political situation,  “You said this was a military base. Tubbo was clearly hiding boxes away.”

“Oh! Oh no no no.” Ranboo said quickly, moving his hands back and forth, to deny the claims, “I live with Techno actually, I… I trust him!”

Wilbur chuckled. “But not with the knowledge of your home?” he paused, another thought hitting him as he looked at Michael, “Or with your child?”

“No it’s-”

“Oooh!” Wilbur said, suddenly, perking up, “Unless it’s me, you’re hiding something from? Is it me?” he said, beginning to get a little excited.

Ranboo looked as if he’d been accused of something terrible. “No! It’s uh…” he took a deep breath as if he was calming himself, “It’s nothing like that, it’s just… We’ll tell him eventually, I mean, we have to, but…” he closed his eyes momentarily, and opened them again, “Snowchester is a bit of a government, you know? And Techno doesn’t quite… Like those?”

Oh. Now, that made sense perhaps. “So, he is your enemy?” Wilbur asked for clarification.

“No, we just… I don’t really have any enemies, per se…” Ranboo said quietly, “We just have to find the right way to tell him, is all. At uh…” He cringed, “At some point...”

“You don’t have-” Wilbur was baffled, and he started laughing again, “You don’t have enemies, you say?”

“No no, it’s more than that. Like-” Ranboo frustratedly sighed, “I don’t think enemies should be chosen because they’re on a different side. They should be chosen because they specifically hurt you or someone you care about. Like- Dream is an enemy.” Ranboo shrugged off the last sentence as if it was a universal concept that didn’t need an explanation.

Yet, that wouldn’t align with the facts. For one, that was a rather useless way to look at things. In a perfect world, choosing people would be possible, but this was anything but a perfect world. In truth, Wilbur wondered if Ranboo had the slightest idea what he’d believe in on his own, without the mutual enemy he could pretend was the only issue. And sure, Dream was against L’Manberg, but Wilbur had to admit that the man had proper reasons. He was wrong, but his reasons weren’t. Dream even brought Wilbur back to life despite all the trouble between them. “How can you just say that?” His tone quickly turned defensive as he didn’t realize that he was defending a man who wasn’t even in the room, “Dream revived me, is that something an enemy would do?”

A look of quiet shock came across Ranboo’s face that made him purse his lips and look towards Michael instead of Wilbur. However, this silence was returned back to him as Wilbur looked at him expectantly for an answer. After moments of thinking passed, Ranboo opened his mouth at the same time there were three knocks on the door. The door opened and Tubbo poked his head into the room and opened it, “Dinner’s ready!”

Michael snorted and wiggled out of Wilbur’s grasp. The toddler ran to Tubbo and tried to get past him and downstairs, making soft shoves that were ineffective, but the most he could do. The adorable scene almost distracted Wilbur from the fact that Ranboo didn’t answer him. 

Almost.

Chapter Text

The table was already set before they walked down, three chairs and a hightop were around the table. As Michael sprinted towards the dining room, everyone else walked at a moderate pace. Wilbur found himself sitting at the chair furthest away from the little family. While Wilbur didn’t mind imposing on most things, the domestic scene before him appeared private, as Tubbo gently lifted Michael to the highchair. Everyone sat down, and as Wilbur saw the food on the plate, he realized that it had once again been quite a bit since he ate. He looked at the inviting steak, and cut off a piece of it with his knife and fork, shoving it into his mouth, embracing the taste.

“What’s that?” Ghostbur asked in awe, causing Wilbur to feel a little abashed, as he realized what was going on. Wilbur swallowed. “Mm, this steak is really good,” he said in response, and Ghostbur gasped excitedly.

The steak was actually quite delicious. He didn’t remember tasting Tubbo’s cooking in a while, which of course made sense, all the years at a train station considered and all. Though this was clearly food, made by someone who cooked proper meals frequently, which was an interesting change, from their time in the wars. A change that left a strange stinging sensation in Wilbur’s chest that showed up uninvited every once in a while, but was fairly easy to quench. 

“Thank you!” Tubbo said with a cheerful smile.

“There wasn’t much food in limbo, you know.” Wilbur commented, eating a bigger piece, “In fact, there wasn’t anything. I tried to lick the walls once or twice, but they tasted worse than the walls in this world.”

Tubbo’s face turned slightly pale, and he chuckled awkwardly. “How do you know-” he trailed off and shook his head, “Nevermind.”

At that moment, Wilbur realized that all this time being dead, made people look at Wilbur strangely, and treat his comments with a new sort of hesitance. What would usually have been met with laughter, was met with stares and grim silence. 

But Wilbur’s words were just something everyone else would have to get used to eventually.

Ranboo sat next to Michael, cutting the steak on Michael’s plate into tiny pieces. He tried, to little avail, to put a piece into Michael’s mouth, which Michael looked away from quickly. “Come on, Michael, it’s dinner time,” he said gently.

Tubbo turned to his husband and his child- which was a sentence Wilbur still hadn’t gotten quite used to thinking- and tried to assist. He smiled nervously, as he grabbed another little piece. “It’s good for you, Michael. And delicious!” he took a piece from his own place and ate it, followed by an overexaggerated hum of satisfaction. 

Ranboo took the fork and asked Michael, “Do you want it?”

Michael shook his head no, slightly pouting. Ranboo gasped, “But steak is so good! Well…” he aimed the fork for his mouth instead of Michael’s. “I’ll gladly take it, steak is one of the best things ever.” When Ranboo opened his mouth to eat the steak, Michael made grabby hands towards the fork.

Ranboo barely held back a laugh, “But this is my steak isn’t it?”

Michael shook his head again and moved his head towards the fork. Ranboo smiled, his plan working exactly how he expected it to, “Alright, I’ll let you have a bite.”

Ranboo led the fork to Michael’s mouth as the toddler took it gratefully. Michael even dared to make a face towards his father that could only be described as a pure soul attempting to look evil. Ranboo gasped dramatically, “I thought we taught you better than such manners!”

Michael snorted as he opened his mouth for another bite. Ranboo cut up a small piece of steak when he was casually interrupted by a series of knocks on the door. The specific pattern flew by Wilbur, but he felt instinctively that they were a planned order. Tubbo got up at the same time as Ranboo.

“I’ll get it,” Tubbo assured him.

“You already made dinner. I’ll do it,” Ranboo pushed his chair back in.

Tubbo walked towards the door, “I’ve got it, Boo, spend some time with Michael.” Ranboo’s shoulders noticeably relaxed at the nickname.

“Alright,” Ranboo sat back down and picked up Michael’s fork. He led it towards the toddler as routine, occasionally making comments about how he wished for a bite so Michael wouldn’t get suspicious. 

Wilbur took the moment to remember his recent conversation with Ranboo. Why did Ranboo believe Dream was such an antagonist to imply that it was obvious why he held such distaste for him? There wasn’t blood on Dream’s green hoodie, but Ranboo clearly saw it on his hands in a way Wilbur couldn’t understand. “Why do you hate Dream?”

Ranboo tensed, “I- well, hate isn’t the word I would describe it as…” While Michael was chewing he ate a piece for himself. If Ranboo was actually hungry or trying to delay the conversation, Wilbur would never know.

“Then describe it.” Wilbur was tired of the lack of knowledge he knew. Before he was decently satisfied, but his curiosity demanded more when Ranboo mentioned Dream. 

Ranboo chewed on his steak, clearly longer than he needed to. “It’s not really too important on the word choice, it’s just-” Ranboo looked at Michael with a fondness as he slowly got another bite for the boy. “He’s done a lot of things,” Ranboo’s voice was almost a whisper.

Ghostbur hummed, “ People don’t really like Dream. I can’t recall much of him, but… he did something bad. No, a lot of things bad. He did some bad stuff to… to Tommy! Made him really sad.”

Wilbur nodded from Ghostbur’s explanation as it was more helpful than Ranboo’s. He was about to ask what Dream did to Tommy, but his thoughts were interrupted when Tubbo spoke, “Guess what, Michael, Grandpa’s here!” Wilbur looked over and saw Phil rolling his eyes at Tubbo’s word choice. 

Wilbur remained quiet as Phil’s eyes lingered on him. 

Phil’s expression was akin to concern, and Wilbur wasn’t that fond of it. Once again, he felt as if he was on display, and as if he’d given something away he should’ve kept to himself. “Techno said you’d be here,” Phil said quietly, and he waited for a few moments as if he wanted a response.

Wilbur didn’t know what satisfying response he could give. “Did he?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light, as he jokingly added, “You know, I almost managed to forget how much of a bastard that guy was.” Ghostbur gasped in a worried kind of way, though he didn’t say a thing out loud.

Phil hummed and walked towards Michael. He gave the toddler a fond pat on the head, a gesture that reminded Wilbur far too much of a less tainted past. Phil looked at Ranboo and Tubbo. “He’s grown a bit since the last time I saw him,” he said.

“He has, hasn’t he?” Tubbo said proudly, “He’s been eating well too, mostly. We had to take away the yellow crayons. He has quite a taste for gold.” he chuckled.

Phil laughed, as he continued to pat Michael, who had excited sparks in his eyes. When Phil turned his face towards Wilbur however, it changed from laughter to a simple smile. Wilbur had the urge to walk away, though he stayed put, taking some more bites of his steak. “Listen…” Phil said, after a few casual greetings to the child and the parents, “Can I talk to you for a second, mate?”

Wilbur tensed up because he knew it was directed at him. The word alone hung in the air as well, implying that this would not be where the conversation took place. In short, that meant this was a serious conversation, and unfortunately, Wilbur had a vague idea of what it was going to be about. He nodded, more sheepishly than he would’ve liked to, and stood up from the table. Phil excused the both of them, and the two of them left the room together.

When Phil opened the door to the outside, Wilbur started to wonder if this was the moment he would be backstabbed, though he knew the reasoning was much more emotional and intangible than something like that. A backstabbing would be easy to tackle. A conversation with a concerned father was a lot less simple.

The two stood outside in the snow, and Wilbur was reminded of their first meeting after his revival. “What is it?” Wilbur said sharply.

“Wil…” Phil said softly, “I uh- I was wondering if you’re doing alright.”

Wilbur scoffed at the question, “I clearly am.”

“Wilbur,” Phil said more sternly, though not out of anger but more so out of concern. “I’m worried about your… safety- that might be the best way to put it.”

Wilbur nodded, but he barely meant it, “Understood, Mr. Minecraft, I’ll make sure to look both ways before crossing the street.” The words meant to come out in a playful way, but they were sharp with edges that hurt himself along with Phil.

“No, I-” Phil closed his eyes, focusing on his word choice. He opened them again with a look that lingered in melancholy but tried to look hopeful for Wilbur’s sake. “Techno told me about… your burns and I…” Phil took a deep breath in to try and address the topic directly, “Why did you go into the nether without any armor?” The words were quiet, but solid by themselves. 

Wilbur couldn’t hold back an eye-roll from how many times he’d been asked that today, Phil slightly frowned at this. “I mean, it doesn’t exactly matter much anymore. I’ll be more careful next time I go.”

Phil pursed his lips, “You don’t understand the point.” Phil sighed, “I’m worried about you.”

Although it shouldn’t have, it caught Wilbur off-guard. He didn’t ask why, because he knew he’d get a default answer about how he was a human being and his son and probably a sob fest that he’d heard before. He wasn’t a child anymore. He knew his place in the world. His place didn’t have any room for his father’s concerns. “I don’t need your pity about how it’s hard for me to get used to living again.” Wilbur didn’t even intend for that to slip out. He didn’t need to tell Phil anything. He didn’t need someone to be against him despite acting like they cared.

A part of him painfully thought how that description didn’t fit only one person.

“I know it takes a bit of practice?” Phil awkwardly laughed before his calm tone returned, “But you can’t get better at being alive by being reckless. It would be like saying you can’t use any measuring spoons while baking. I- We’ve got spoons, there’s no need to go through extra pain.”

“What the fuck does me going into the nether and tripping have to do with spoons?”

Phil’s tone softened, “You know what I mean.”

Wilbur looked at the snow around him, not being able to bear Phil’s sad look anymore. “I frankly don’t.”

Silence lingered in the air. It wasn’t a comfortable silence that made you enjoy the moment. It was harsh and uncomfortable to breathe in.

“Wilbur…” The tone of Phil’s voice tugged on a part of him. It was an idiotic part that needed to acknowledge that he wasn’t going to be Phil’s child again. He was just a disaster of a failed nation that everyone seemed wary of. 

A disaster of a son as well.

“You should go home.” Wilbur refused to meet his father’s eyes. Instead, he stared at his white breaths in the frozen air. 

“I don’t want you to leave again without me knowing when you’re coming back,” Wilbur told himself that he didn’t hear the small crack in Phil’s voice. He wanted to go into his father’s arms and have a moment where the two were together in a warm house in front of the fireplace. Instead, he settled on wrapping his own arms around himself. They weren’t warm to his body. They didn’t provide what he needed. Tears formed in his eyes at the thought of going home with Phil and pretending that things weren’t different now.

But everything was different. He hated that. He hated how the only laugh he would get was a small chuckle as everyone assumed he was a child that didn’t know the dangers of the world. He died three times. He knew danger better than anyone else would. He’d been betrayed more times than he could count on both of his hands. What if Phil got the courage to stab him unprompted? To bring a sword in the night and take care of everyone’s problem? “You should go,” Wilbur’s sobs almost escaped him as tears silently slid down his face. 

Phil sighed. “You know where to go if you… yeah…” Phil’s footsteps moved through the snow behind him, slow at first, only a pause stopping them. Phil wanted Wilbur to ask him to come back. Wilbur knew this. He knew he was an asshole, but he needed independence. It was ironic that he fought for L’Manburg’s, yet, it was still out of reach for him. 

After a few seconds of mutual silence, Phil’s steps continued, fading slowly. When they stopped again, Wilbur turned, perhaps to apologize but saw no one in sight. It took him a moment to realize Phil already went through the nether portal. 

Phil was gone.

He wasn’t coming back. Wilbur put a hand over his mouth, he had learned to cry silently during one of the wars. A quite useful skill if you asked him.

But no one would ask him. He was a fucking idiot that couldn’t hold onto anyone, no matter how much they asked him to stay. Yet, no matter how much he held on, he was always alone. They didn’t even leave on day one or two. No, no, no. They had to leave years after he knew them. They had to make Wilbur think he could actually hold onto them before they left.

Wilbur’s legs collapsed as he sobbed into his hand. He put his other hand on top to make sure he didn’t make a noise. He didn’t need Tubbo nor Ranboo to discover how pathetic he was. They had their family. They were happy. They didn’t need Wilbur. No one did. Tommy held a grudge against him, Technoblade thought of him as an annoying child who couldn’t handle himself, and Tubbo only took him in out of pity. 

And that didn’t even touch on Ranboo. Ranboo must’ve hated him by now. He asked a few too many questions, lingered on topics a little too long. 

He supposed that Michael cared about him. But at such an age, the kid probably cared about every little piece of grass. He wasn’t special. He was just another blade of grass that could barely make an impact. His unfinished symphony was a finished crater covered in glass, his name typically regarded out of spite instead of love. The feeling was mutual. 

“I- why did neither of you say goodbye? I thought after 6 months apart you would be constantly talking, since being in here is really lonely…” Ghostbur’s voice started to crack as small cries escaped from him. “I thought time makes the heart grow fonder, not angry and sad. No, bitter. That's a better word for it.”

Wilbur spluttered slightly, as he scoffed through the sobs. “No no, it’s… Thank you, Ghostbur, but it’s-” he stopped, his eyes widening, and his heart seeming to take a break from beating for one fleeting moment. “Excuse me-” he said, his eyebrows suddenly furrowed, “How long did you say we’d been apart?”

“Half a month! No, wait, half a year but also six months since they’re the same. Well, there’s probably a few more days added-”

Ghostbur was cut off by Wilbur’s astonished words, “I- I wasn’t there six months.”

The disbelief rang through his ears louder than Ghostbur could ever speak. Thirteen years hadn’t passed. Thirteen and a half years hadn’t passed.

Six months.

Just six months.

Chapter Text

Wilbur had after this, tried his best to pull himself together. It was one of those things he’d been fairly good at for a while, even if it always left a poor taste in his mouth. He was about to leave, when Ghostbur had added a worried. “What about Tubbo and Ranboo?” which led Wilbur to quietly wander back inside, and mumble an excuse. Though before he left again, he hesitantly added. “How long was I gone?”

“Just now?” Tubbo had asked.

“No no, how long was I dead?” Wilbur said, feeling his own words settling darkly in his throat.

“Oh.” Tubbo said quietly, feeding Michael another fork-full of steak, “About half a year I think.”

The words sent a shiver down Wilbur’s spine, because at least Ghostbur’s grasp on the passage of time was much more unreliable. “Half a year…” Wilbur repeated.

Thirteen and a half years had passed in the train station. He’d been counting the days, so he was certain.

Half a year had passed right here, in the world of the living, because the universe really loved to play cosmic jokes on him.

Right before Wilbur left, Tubbo handed Wilbur some enchanted diamond armor that was battered around the edges. Wilbur absentmindedly accepted without a fuss, because he was a little too frozen to keep any sort of emotional expression. And then he had wandered off once again, despite Tubbo’s protests. That was why he didn’t like telling people when he left. It always provoked protests.

Once Wilbur was finally certain he was alone, standing by a snowbank, he spoke again, “Half a year.” he just said, “I’ve only missed half a year, and yet they’ve missed thirteen and a half of mine.”

“I think it’s been longer, now that I think about it.” Ghostbur pondered.

Wilbur chuckled dryly. “Hm?”

“Yes, I’ve been here for a long time now.” Ghostbur said, “A couple of months I think. Even before you started talking to me.”

Wilbur tasted the bitter words, as he looked as he watched the white snow covering as far as his eyes could see, “Ghostbur…” he near-whispered, “Are my replies ever delayed?”

“Well, it takes you a little while to reply sometimes, but words can be tough! You’ve had problems apologizing, so I figured it was the same for normal words too.” Ghostbur just said.

Wilbur wasn’t sure if what he let out was a sob or intense laughter. It sounded colder than the ice around him, and held only bitter aggravation, and a bit of dry humor. “Time passes differently.” he stated, “Of course time passes fucking differently!” he exclaimed, letting out his arms, gesturing vividly, as he looked down at the ocean. His head was making so much incomprehensible noise that didn’t come from Ghostbur at all. So many thoughts and so many lost causes, that he had no clue how to grasp.

He was Wilbur Soot. Creator and destroyer of L’Manberg. He’d been gone for thirteen and a half years, also known as six months or so, and he had a ghost inside his fucking head. He’d waited so fucking long to get here, and he had so many things to do, and yet all of them appeared to dissolve into incomprehensible nothingness the longer he spent there. 

“Are you okay?” Ghostbur asked, clearly worried. 

Wilbur groaned in frustration, because he didn’t need this. He didn’t need another confrontation, that made him feel his blood pumping uncomfortably through his body. Then, after a moment of silence that must’ve been many more moments to Ghostbur. He laughed again. “I’m fine!” he said, almost unsure if he was sarcastic, “This is grand!”

“Are you sure?” Ghostbur asked, “I-I really don’t mean to doubt you, but when you were on the ground before, and covering your face, I was almost certain something was wrong.”

Wilbur’s laughter ceased. “How did you know that?”

He hadn’t made many sounds. Not too many of them anyhow, but perhaps he’d believe it if Ghostbur had still heard it. What didn’t make sense however, was the specification that Wilbur had been on the ground and had covered his face, because certainly Ghostbur wouldn’t have heard that.

“I… I saw you?” Ghostbur said, as if he was unsure of himself, “Like when you were really cold and Phil gave you that golden apple?”

Pieces began to click together in his mind, and while Wilbur didn’t dislike a good puzzle, this was sort of an unsatisfying kind, “Can you always see me?” Wilbur asked.

“No.” Ghostbur said, “It’s nice when I can, though. I haven’t seen anyone in a long time. People were right when they said you look like me! But, the times I’ve seen you, you didn’t seem very happy.”

“Okay okay okay, let me get this straight...” Wilbur said like a series of huffs, waving his hands vividly to the sides, as if it helped clarify, “So not only can you hear me, and communicate with me… You can also feel what I feel to an extent, and see me sometimes.”

“I think so?” Ghostbur tried, sounding a little more desperate the more Wilbur spoke, “I don’t know why no one else responds when I talk but-”

“Ooh my God, no one can hear you, Ghostbur!” Wilbut exclaimed with more sharpness to the words than he’d intended, “You’re speaking into a void, and somehow I’m picking up on it. Because I guess we’re connected or some shit!” 

Because apparently, Wilbur had to spend more than a decade alone, and Ghostbur was forced to spend an eternity in Wilbur’s head. Both of them drew the short end of the stick. Yet, he didn’t know who’s was shorter. Ghostbur could experience life without having to directly put up with people. Yet, an eternity was much longer than what he went through.

“...oh.” The words were quiet, so quiet that a gust of wind would have covered them easily. “I- Is there a way I can go into their heads? Don’t get me wrong, I love being headbuddies with you! I…” Ghostbur sighed, “I miss them.”

Ghostbur’s loneliness oddly paralleled Wilbur’s. Both couldn’t connect with those that had value to them, and were stuck with each other at the end of the day. Tears managed to come to his eyes, but he wiped them away quickly, “I’ll be there for you.” The words were quick and mumbled to the point where he thought he didn’t even say them, but Ghostbur’s gasp of surprise revealed the contrary. 

“Really?! Oh my gosh we can be experience buddies! Is there an alternative to that, it’s just a bit of a mouthful.” Ghostbur giggled, “It’s sorta like friends, but more right?”

“I suppose so.” Wilbur found a small smile on his face from Ghostbur’s excitement.

“Like friends with benefits! Tommy talked about them once.”

Wilbur almost tripped as he burst out in a laughter that he tried to quiet down, “Gh- Ghostbur-” He could barely get anything out as he laughed. 

“What’s so funny about being friends, Wil?” Ghostbur’s voice was laced with a hint of aggravation that Wilbur found hilarious. The poor ghost really didn’t have his knowledge. 

“No no, it’s a little-” Wilbur tried to calm his laughter and form a straight face, “It’s just a little different than that.” Wilbur was glad Ghostbur couldn’t see his tomato red face.

“Oh, wait, was I supposed to say best friends? Tommy said he used to be that withTubbo! He looked a bit sad afterwards, so maybe best friends aren’t a good thing.” Ghostbur’s discouraged voice hurt Wilbur that it should’ve. 

Wilbur tried to imitate Ghostbur’s usual optimism, “Best friends are really good, but what do you mean that Tommy used to be best friends with him?”

“I don’t remember much of it.” Ghostbur admitted, “It was a bit after he came back from the prison with Dream, I think?” he made a strange noise, “I don’t know, my head is all fuzzy.”

“Oh,” Wilbur said at first, thinking the words through. He tried to look through his own mind, because vague memories of a life that wasn’t truly his, lingered. He thought back to limbo, and those fleeting months, with a familiar face, and tried to connect it with the faded puzzle pieces from Ghostbur’s time among the living. While it made Wilbur’s heart drop, there was a part of him that understood something, and the thought of Tommy returning even after such a short amount of time filled Wilbur with recognition. “After he was revived,” Wilbur stated quietly.

There was a strange silence from Ghostbur, and Wilbur was confused at first, until he heard a small whine from the other, that was covered up quite quickly. “I don’t… I don’t like that word,” Ghostbur said, “I don’t like it anymore.”

“What do you mean?” Wilbur asked, raising an eyebrow, “What’s wrong with it? Isn’t it right? Or-” he stopped himself, but didn’t have time to correct himself before Ghostbur spoke again.

“It’s like death to a ghost.” Ghostbur explained, a hint of melancholy in his tone, “I used to want that! The server needed a strong leader, and you would’ve been perfect for it! But then Tommy returned and…”

“And what?” Wilbur asked after a moment, the words coming out quicker than he’d anticipated.

“I…” Ghostbur tried, the words almost being drowned out by the strained voice, “I don’t remember.” he added, with a little more confidence.

Wilbur’s memories were still hiding from him, yet the implications of Ghostbur’s words left a strange hint of tension in the back of his chest. He tried to shake off the feeling. “Do you forget a lot of things?” Wilbur asked, curiously.

“Oh yes!” Ghostbur said, “I usually… Usually I only remember the happy stuff. Mine and… Mine and yours.”

“Oh?” Wilbur said, even if partially knew that part already. He hadn’t truly considered it much before though. The fact that this ghost was, in fact, made from a part of Wilbur himself, however small. How this was someone that had been shaped by the good alone. That sort of positive outlook wasn't something Wilbur related to at all, and what did that say about him? “Good,” he just said, unsure what else to add, instead just taking note of it for himself.

The two of them remained quiet for a little, or perhaps a lot for Ghostbur, though Wilbur didn’t like thinking about it. He had to, but he didn’t like it. Wilbut Soot, supposedly dead, now back regardless, and with a ghost inside his fucking head. And what was he supposed to do with that?

It was painful in a sense, to have someone there, who he knew was lost. Who he knew he couldn’t save, and who he had told himself he would get rid of somehow. Because Ghostbur wasn’t meant to be there. He was meant to spend eternity alone, just as Wilbur had spent thirteen and a half years. It was the only thing that should’ve been reliable in such a situation, and perhaps Wilbur should stick to it. What choice did he have? “I need to get you out of there.” he said, before realizing he’d said it out loud.

“Huh?” Ghostbur said suddenly, a bit of excitement creeping in, “Do you mean it?”

Wilbur paused, “Well… I…” A million thoughts were creeping through his mind every millisecond of hesitation he went through. All of his past deeds, all of the past betrayals, and all the plans he had for the future, that would happen eventually. The way Wilbur just was, whether he liked it or not. The realization he’d had way back then, that perhaps he was the villain of the story, and perhaps he had no choice in the matter, when his beliefs had settled down where they were. The way Wilbur had promised to be there for Ghostbur, and how he knew that promises were more meaningless than most things in life, but that Ghostbur didn’t have enough experience to know. “I’ll try.” Wilbur said, the words committing to something, though he wasn’t sure what. 

“Do you think I can get out of here?” Ghostbur whispered in awe.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Wilbur said, because a little hope was good, for himself and for the ghost, though too much of it, would only serve to wreck the purpose. “I’ll try to get you out.” he said, hardly believing his own words.

“Does that mean we could talk in person? And I could see everyone again?” Ghostbur asked.

“Maybe.” Wilbur said non committedly. “We’ll have to look for more information about this whole thing. Who knows? Maybe there is a way.”

“That would be amazing!” Ghostbur exclaimed, and Wilbur could practically hear the smile through the words.

Wilbur didn’t smile much, but simply exhaled slowly. “What would you do, Ghostbur? If you came back?” It was a strange question for him to ask, but one that entered his mind nonetheless. For meaningless smalltalk perhaps, though it was something he genuinely wanted to know, because it was a difficult question to answer, wasn’t it?

“Hmm.” Ghostbur said thoughtfully, “Well I guess I would tell Friend I missed him.”

“No no.” Wilbur said, “I mean like long-term.”

“Oh! Well, I suppose I would tell everyone that I missed them!” he exclaimed with twice as much excitement.

Wilbur rolled his eyes. He realized the ghost only ‘lived’ for six months, his definition of long-term was much different than Wilbur’s. “What did you like doing while you were here- other than having friends.” Wilbur quickly said the last bit to avoid an answer he’s already heard.

“Well… I liked taking care of Friend? I’m not sure if that counts as ‘having friends’ though. Music always seemed neat, but people got sad whenever I did it.” Ghostbur’s melancholic tone transitioned to a hopeful joy that was on the edge of denial, “But I’m sure when I’m back I’ll find lots of fun things to do!”

Wilbur shivered. The armor helped protect against the cold, but it wasn’t an ideal situation nonetheless. “Is Friend someone in particular?”

Ghostbur gasped, “Oh, Friend would love you, he’s nice just like you are, even if the both of you have a little bit of attitude.”

Wilbur faked being offended, “I do not have an attitude.”

“Hmm, I haven’t known you for long, but I’ve got the feeling you have one.”

Wilbur sighed quietly. A moment fell silent in the air. Wilbur’s eyes drooped slightly. He couldn’t tell what time it was, but he was tired. Tired enough where he could fall asleep in the snow, but he knew how dangerous that was. “Well, if I’ve got an attitude then you do too.”

Ghostbur was about to counterclaim his point when he continued, “‘Cause you’re in my head, and therefore you’ve got an attitude as well.”

Ghostbur huffed, “But if you think about it, I’m not really in your head. I’m at this weird train place that you don’t like. Wait- why do you not like it? Is it something in particular or do you just not like anything?”

Wilbur wished his silence could speak for him, but Ghostbur continued, “It would make a bunch of sense if you didn’t like stuff in general. You don’t seem very happy and you leave stuff for no reason. Like this weird place! I mean- it’s a bit… empty in here but it’s not as bad when you’re here.”

Wilbur didn’t know why, but something pulled on his chest when Ghostbur said that. He should have scowled and said he didn’t want Ghostbur’s thoughts anywhere near him, but the ghost… the ghost tricked him somehow. The ghost must’ve whispered into his ear when he wasn’t paying attention since he barely acknowledged what he said, “I’m going to get you out of there.” It was said with a warmness and sincerity that surprised Wilbur.

“That would be nice. Maybe then we can be together and do friend stuff?” Ghostbur’s voice held a deepness to it that Wilbur guessed was from his tiredness rubbing onto the ghost.

Wilbur chuckled, “Yeah, friend stuff.”

Ghostbur hummed happily, “Best friend stuff?”

Wilbur exhaled out of his nose as a laugh and continued walking forward. There wasn’t much in front of him, mostly a barren white landscape. The scenery almost reminded him of when he saw Phil for the first time in thirteen and a half years- well, now six months apparently. The idea was still new to him.

“Wilbur?” Ghostbur’s voice held something Wilbur couldn’t identify. Almost a cloudiness of sorts that made his words slightly transparent and muddled. 

“Yeah, Ghostie?”

“Can we do best friend stuff? It’s okay if you want only friend stuff.”

Wilbur quietly giggled, “Yeah yeah, we’ll do ‘best friend stuff.’” Wilbur felt a strange resistance within himself. The words seemed sharp to him despite his tone being soft. It turned and lingered in him in a way that reminded him of an unpleasant nostalgia- one filled with a sorrow that never left. 

Why was Wilbur even agreeing to such a false promise? He didn’t have a clue how to get Ghostbur out, and yet he was promising what to do when the ghost returned to the overworld. He realized he didn’t even think if the ghost returned. Perhaps Ghostbur’s naïveness was rubbing off of Wilbur. 

But Ghostbur didn’t have anyone else, so he might as well pretend for his sake. Wilbur could hear the enthusiasm from Ghostbur’s voice, “Great! I’m so excited to get out!”

Commensalism symbiosis. One species benefits while the other is unaffected.

False hope. Ghostbur benefitted while Wilbur should’ve been unaffected. There shouldn’t be any guilt that got heavier with every step he took. He should’ve been unaffected for Ghostbur’s sake. He should.

But now, there was at the very least a matter at hand to acknowledge. A temporary plan, that Wilbur could work towards, so he could finally get started on all the things he wanted to do. So, Wilbur took a shaky breath, and let it out as if that was enough to clear his mind. “Alright then…” he said, “Do you remember anything we might be able to use? Any places that could help us?” 

Ghostbur hummed in deep thought. “How about L’Manberg? There used to be books, and- oh, isn’t it the place you woke up when you came back? I think I remember something about that!”

Wilbur nodded and smiled widely. “Yes, of course!” he jumped down from a pile of snow he’d been standing on, and looked towards the nether portal. He paused before he spoke, “To L’Manberg it is.” He swallowed something in his throat, not too fond of the idea of entering the nether once more.

Having a purpose again felt nice however, because Wilbur strived so wonderfully when he had one of those. Perhaps he could ignore the dark thoughts, and the grim inevitability. Because Wilbur knew how to get what he wanted. Whether it was to declare an independent nation or to reduce it to a crater in the ground.

Chapter Text

Despite Wilbur’s looming fear from the last trip to the nether, it went a lot more smoothly

this time around. Maybe it was the armor that made him look threatening or the fact that it was more familiar to him. Ghostbur worried about his safety, but Wilbur made sure to give him frequent updates. The ghost relaxed slightly but seemed to still not like the fiery place very much. Wilbur agreed and promised to make his future trips a little quicker. 

He came out to the other side just fine. His bandages felt noticeably uncomfortable from the previous heat when Ghostbur’s voice chimed in, “When can we get these things off? I don’t like them that much.”

“Not yet, probably in a few days though.” Wilbur wasn’t sure how strong the potion Technoblade gave him was. 

“In your world or my world?” 

“A few days in my world,” Wilbur’s voice lowered to a whisper once he realized that someone might see him talking to himself. Yet the second he said the words, he realized the exact weight of them. He remembered screaming, crying, and Ghostbur begging for Wilbur to make it stop. It was strange to speak of it now, as if it was something as simple as a different timezone, and not the cause of so much suffering.

How long had Ghostbur really been crying with pain?

“Ah, alright,” Ghostbur said, sounding mildly disappointed, which stood in contrast to the grim thoughts suddenly plaguing Wilbur’s mind.

Wilbur didn’t focus on the trail ahead as he looked at the sky. A sky Ghostbur couldn’t see. “This will probably sound stupid, but do you want me to describe stuff? Like how I did when I was eating steak.”

Ghostbur immediately seemed more cheerful, “Yeah, that would be really helpful!”

Wilbur smiled, “It’s pretty dark out.” He took a deep breath in, trying to fully notice the details for Ghostbur. “The torches light up the area a bit, but I can still see some skeletons in the distance. The moon looks nice tonight. I mean, it’s… I should’ve paid more attention in high school. It’s the phase of the moon where it sorta looks like a C. I’m not sure if it’s first crescent or third crescent. I’ve heard of both of them though.” Wilbur felt a passive sadness when he couldn’t depict it, but Ghostbur didn’t seem to mind.

“Don’t worry, I don’t know what it’s called either! But I still know what you’re talking about… are there any stars out?”

Wilbur hummed in agreement, “I wouldn’t say there’s lots, but there are quite a few.” Wilbur sighed, “The sky’s got this gradient. It’s not too noticeable unless you look for a while. It’s black to a slightly lighter black. Not exactly a gray, but just a slightly lighter bla-” Wilbur sharply cut himself off when he heard a bird chirp. He turned his head towards the sound and walked closer to it.

“Is everythin’ okay?” Ghostbur’s worried tone reminded Wilbur that he was supposed to describe things to him.

“Yeah yeah, it’s all good. I just thought I heard a bird.”

“Ooh!” Ghostbur exclaimed excitedly , “I love birds! They have such cute little beaks.”

Wilbur laughed lightly, though the sound had still made him a little wary, and he walked a little more cautiously. “We’re in a forest. We shouldn’t be too far from L’Manberg, I think…” Wilbur said, hoping he could count on Ghostbur’s sense of direction in the nether, or on his own vague memories. His head was still a muffled mess. “It’s mostly oak trees.” he heard another chirp, and looked around for the source, but before he found it, he heard another sound that hit him with a great deal more force.

“Meowth! Get back here!” someone yelled, followed by the sound of frantic running. Wilbur froze on the spot. 

“Ooh, who is that? I could barely hear it but someone was speaking. It kind of sounded like-” Ghostbur was cut off, by a relieved sigh from the same voice as before.

“There you are. You can’t keep flying off like this.”

“Niki! It’s Niki! I remember her from your memories. She is so nice and sweet and-”

Wilbur spotted her too, as Ghostbur kept talking, standing behind the trees. Niki, who was holding a red parrot, and who looked so alone and unbothered, completely unaware of Wilbur’s presence. A million thoughts burst through Wilbur’s head. All the memories of L’Manberg, what had led to it, and what it had led to. And as Wilbur listened to her talk, it was at once familiar, and different. As if the voice was tinted with something shakier. Something exhausted. Though Wilbur was tired too, so perhaps his mind was playing tricks on him.

Had Niki been told that Wilbur was back? Perhaps it wouldn’t matter much to her. While Wilbur mostly held fond memories of her, he was uncertain what Niki would make of him now. What Wilbur’s actions had led her to think of him, and whether she even considered him a companion in the first place.

Wilbur stood there, frozen in silence, as he debated whether to hide his presence more or to let it be known. Before he had the chance to make a decision, Niki turned her head, and the silence turned a great deal more deafening and suffocating.

Niki was looking at Wilbur, her face going pale in less than a second, and her mouth gaping. Wilbur noticed that there were bags under her eyes. Her hands loosened from the bird, the bird promptly flapping its wings to land on her shoulder. She didn’t move an inch to show that such a thing had happened.

“What’s happening?” Ghostbur asked confusedly, “Why aren’t you saying hi? You must’ve missed each other so much!”

Perhaps Wilbur would’ve spoken, but the way Niki was looking at him, made the words twist into knots in his throat.

Then, came Niki’s words, quiet and broken, “I thought it stopped.” she said, and she rubbed her eyes, her breathing becoming faster. “It was destroyed. The memories were supposed to be gone, I wasn’t- I’m not supposed to-” she didn’t finish her sentence, instead blinking and shaking her head vigorously.

Wilbur was finally able to speak, “Hey.” The words were quiet, but they were loud enough to fill the silence between them.

Niki turned away muttering a mantra as she walked further into the forest, “You’re real, he isn’t, you’re real, he isn’t.” Her whole body shook as she left.

As she was walking away, Wilbur realized that he needed to go to her. At least clarify that he was back and not Ghostbur instead. He made long steps as he gently called out, “Niki, how have you been?” Though instead of a response, she simply walked quicker, almost quick enough to be a jog. 

Wilbur frowned and called out, slightly louder this time, “Niki, wait up.” He jogged up to where he was only a few steps behind her. She looked back, a startling fear clear in her eyes as she burst into a sprint away from Wilbur.

“Niki!” Wilbur shouted as he ran after her. They both ran between trees, hopping over tree stumps and large sticks. The wind flew by as Wilbur quickly gained ground. The two ran for a few minutes, their lungs and legs burning, but not stopping. Wilbur tried shouting her name again, but he figured it was just a waste of time. 

Niki ran to the left, which Wilbur spotted was an entrance that was decorated with stone bricks and spruce logs. As Niki ran down she missed one of the stairs and tumbled down the rest. Wilbur saw this as a chance to finally catch up and ran down. Niki heard his steps as she tried getting up, her legs shaking to the point where she could barely stand. 

Both of them gasped for air as Niki refused to look in Wilbur’s direction, instead viewing the stone wall in front of her. 

“Niki…” Wilbur breathed out, leaning onto the wall behind him for a moment before he held his hand out to Niki. It took him a few moments to realize Niki wouldn’t even see it unless she looked over. 

“Niki… you need some help getting up?” The only response he received was Niki’s gasps for air. Wilbur knelt down next to her. “Hey I uh…” Wilbur’s mind was blank once again as he searched desperately in his mind for anything he could say. “You come around here often?” That probably wasn’t Wilbur’s best, but he needed something to get them started. 

Niki laughed- or sobbed? Wilbur couldn’t tell, but he hoped it was the former. He placed a hand on Niki’s back, but when she flinched he immediately pulled back. Wilbur put his hands in his lap, unsure of what to exactly do with them. He waited moments with Niki, watching her shaking frame as she tried to get her breath back. It must’ve been from fear rather than exercise.

Was Niki afraid of him? He didn’t think he was that bad of a ruler of L’Manberg, but he supposed so if she thought of him as a monster to run away from. Maybe he was a monster- no, he couldn’t go down that path now. Niki needed him. But what for? The only time she looked at him was out of fear and she couldn’t even look at him now.

Instead, he focused on her bird. Well- at least he assumed it was hers. “I always thought birds were nice. Their wings are soft.” Wilbur forced a chuckle at the end, trying to bring in a light joyful atmosphere that didn’t exist anywhere around them. Sure, the torches brought a warm glow to the stairway, but it didn’t remove the tense air around them.

Niki covered her ears, bending further over in a way that looked like she was hiding from Wilbur, despite him being only a few inches away. Wilbur clearly heard that Niki was sobbing. He looked sympathetically at her but knew she wouldn’t be able to see it. He supposed he would have to wait this out with her.

“Niki sounds sorta like you did earlier, is she okay?” He was apparently waiting this out with Ghostbur as well.

“Are you oka-” Wilbur cut himself off when he realized that Niki probably didn’t even want to hear him. He sighed as he sat back against the wall, the smooth stone supporting him. 

Was Wilbur making things worse for Niki? He wasn’t an idiot, he knew she was scared of him. Yet, he hoped that she was like Tommy, who behind his spite and anger still talked to Wilbur for at least a few hours. But she was her own person. A person so different than the one peacefully baking a pie for when Wilbur and everyone else returned back home. Or when it was someone’s birthday and she would make them a small cake of their favorite flavor. She seemed full of this fear that made Wilbur feel something that resembled pity. 

Wilbur sighed quietly to himself. Not out of annoyance, but the willingness of patience. Despite being recently revived, he hadn’t spent many moments in the quiet. He told himself it would only remind him of limbo, but it was really quite the opposite. It just depended on his surroundings. He tensed when he remembered the stone walls around him were similar to the ones in limbo, but he focused on Niki. He didn’t want her to be hunched over, sobbing and shaking, after running away from Wilbur, but he appreciated her presence nonetheless. 

He pulled his legs to his chest and rested his head onto them. He closed his eyes, but all that filled his mind was Niki’s sobbing next to him. He was never the friend that made everyone happy or wiped away all their tears. But he knew he would be there for Niki when she was ready.

Wilbur opened his eyes, yet the darkness that he saw seconds ago still remained. It took him moments before he figured out that there was some kind of cloth over his eyes. He tried to move his hand, but he found an odd kind of resistance when he did so. The odd feeling of rope around his hands made him realize it was around his ankles as well. They were spread apart about half a foot, each of them tied to something Wilbur couldn’t identify. He shifted against whatever he was sitting on, but his abdomen also felt the familiar pressure around his hands and ankles. 

“Oh, are you awake now?” The echoing voice of Ghostbur was slightly quieter than normal, but Wilbur chose not to focus on it.

“What? I didn’t even fall asleep.” Wilbur tried to squint into the darkness, but it was of no use.

“Oh, I thought you did. You stopped responding for… a week? Probably not in your time though, just my ghost time.” 

“I-” Wilbur’s voice wavered, he didn’t remember falling asleep, he supposed that he was so exhausted that he didn’t feel the passage of time through a dream. “Sorry for leaving you hanging.”

“It’s alright! Someone else was with me for a little bit. That was nice.”

Wilbur sat up slightly, the implications of someone else in Wilbur’s - well Ghostbur’s now as well- limbo were much more frightening than Ghostbur realized. “Who did you see?” Wilbur cleared his throat.

“Didn’t see them. It was sorta muffled? I could’ve sworn that they were in another room but they were talking about you!”

“What were they saying?” Wilbur’s voice returned to being skeptical. 

“I-”

Ghostbur was interrupted by Niki’s voice. “You’re awake.” Her voice was sharp with edges that seemed to cut into Wilbur. 

He slightly frowned before forcing a smile, “Niki! Glad to see you again.” Wilbur awkwardly laughed, “Well, I guess see isn’t the right word. It’s good to hear you though.” Wilbur didn’t know if warmness naturally welcomed itself into Wilbur’s voice or if he forced it to maintain some kind of control over his circumstances.

However, control was desperately out of his hands as he felt the collision of something hitting his face. He could barely process it before the pain stung his cheek. “What the fuck!?” The words came out before Wilbur processed them, but he frankly didn’t mind.

“What’s wrong, what’s wrong, what’s wrong,” Ghostbur’s worried voice spoke quickly to the point where Wilbur wouldn’t be able to catch what he was saying if it was something different.

“Who are you,” Niki growled at Wilbur. The words made Wilbur’s breath catch in his throat.

“Wilbur, my name is Wilbur- what’s going on?” Panic flew into his voice by mistake. Did Niki not remember who he was? He supposed that would make sense as to why she was so scared earlier, but he wasn’t gone that long. After thirteen and a half years, he still remembered her clear as day. 

“Don’t start fucking with me,” another punch came from the other direction. Wilbur hissed in pain along with Ghostbur. “Who the hell are you?” Niki’s normally high voice lowered in a way that made Wilbur subconsciously shiver.

“I- I’m Wilbur Soot. Ex-leader of L’Manberg, uh- son of Phil. Father of Fundy. I-” Wilbur was cut off by another collision to his bottom jaw. Wilbur winced from the pain as it hit a burn that was somehow uncovered. Ghostbur’s mantra of apologizing slipped into Wilbur’s speech, “I’m sorry.”

Niki laughed, “Oh, so now you have the audacity to feel sorry? You come all the way out here, dressed in something he would wear, claim to be him, and you expect me to be nice to you? Oh, perhaps I’ll bake you a pastry and wish you a farewell. Hm, that sounds nice right?” 

Before Wilbur could speak, Niki punched his jaw. “Look, look, please stop, I'm sorry. I just wanted to talk.” While he feared for his own safety, he also worried about the pain Ghostbur was in as well.

“Talk about what?” Niki hissed out.

Wilbur flinched as he expected to be hit again, but found after a few moments that nothing came. “I just saw you and figured we could- I honestly didn’t think it through. I- I saw your bird. Uh… he was red! He was chirping and I followed him into the forest because getting revived still didn’t revive the brain cells I’ve lost over the years. And, and…” Wilbur tried to think about what details were relevant. He didn’t want to get too off-track and upset Niki, but at the same time, if he was too vague he might receive the same consequence. “I saw you, you talked to him… I can’t remember what, but you saw me! And I saw you, and we ran through the forest. I honestly think I chased you.” Wilbur awkwardly laughed, waiting a moment for Niki to respond.

Although it wasn’t with a punch, the way she grabbed the front of his shirt frightened him all the same. “Why are you dressed like him? Sounding exactly like him. Acting like him, even.” The shirt slightly coming off of his chest made him realize he didn’t have his armor on. He hoped Niki didn’t destroy it.

“A-acting like who?” He prepared himself for the impact, but he wasn’t ready for it to happen, hoping she would not hit him again, as he still winced from the impact.

“You fucking know who!” Niki yelled.

Ghostbur’s apologizing interrupted any clear-thinking he would have had. “Please, just shut up and this will stop happening,” he whispered before realizing Niki could still hear him.

“Don’t you dare tell me to shut up, I have control over everything that happens here. I have control over if you’ll eat today or in two weeks. I have several favors from Technoblade that I’ll gladly redeem.  I can make your life here a living hell. Don’t fucking test me.” 

She let go of Wilbur’s shirt, and the chair slightly toppled as she was apparently pulling him up the whole time. He heard the footsteps echo away slowly as he quietly spoke, “Fuck.”

Ghostbur’s murmur waved into his mind. He heard Niki walk away previously and took that as a sign that he could talk. “I- I’m sorry for cursing and shit- wait- I’m sorry for cursing and stuff .” He hoped the slip-up would have made Ghostbur laugh, but he barely got anything as a response.

The still present sting on his cheek reminded him of why. He was about to apologize, but he didn’t know what for. About going to where Niki was? For scaring her? For getting punched? He should probably say something about the last one, but it wasn’t his fault at all. He was tied down and blindfolded, there wasn’t much he could honestly do. He tried to reason with her, but she apparently thought he was someone else.

Instead, he sighed as he shifted slightly. The ropes were still just as tight as before.

“Why did she do that? She knows I’m me right? I told her, but she just didn’t understand somehow.”

Ghostbur thought for a moment, “Maybe… Maybe she doesn’t believe you? I- I’m sorry, I know it’s stupid.” Ghostbur’s voice trailed off as he felt he was already being dismissed.

“ Oh ,” realization struck Wilbur harder than Niki punched. “No no no no, when is she coming back?” He knew Ghostbur didn’t know the answer, but he sought relief regardless.

“I… I think she said tomorrow or two weeks? Sorry, it’s sort of hard to remember.” 

Fear panged through Wilbur’s chest as he shouted, “Niki? Niki, I need to tell you something.” The silence of air filled his ears. “Niki!” Was Niki really going to leave him down here? After all they’d been through, she was going to toss him aside like garbage? No- garbage wasn’t tied down to a chair. Garbage was at least allowed to be outside. 

“Nix! I admit that I’m not Wilbur,”  the lie wouldn’t take him far, but if Niki was in denial it was possible it could get him out of here. After seconds of silence, Wilbur was greeted by quiet steps. They slowly walked closer as Wilbur almost grinned from getting Niki’s attention. Niki moved the cloth around Wilbur’s eyes and took it off. 

He squinted at the sudden brightness and saw that Niki had tears in her eyes. “Niki, what’s wrong?” He tensed thinking he was going to get hurt or perhaps taunted, but Niki collapsed in front of Wilbur, looping her arms around Wilbur’s abdomen. A sob erupted from her throat as Wilbur felt familiar pity in his chest.

“Um- it’s alright, it’s okay?” Wilbur didn’t know how to comfort her, but he still wanted to do something. Niki only sobbed harder, clinging to Wilbur for dear life. “I’m not really sure what you want me to say. How about deep breaths? Just go in one two three four, good, now hold one two three four.” Wilbur continued counting for Niki and felt her trembling slowly decrease. “Nix, are you okay?”

Niki hesitantly stopped holding Wilbur, only to pull a hand over her mouth as she started crying again. She slowly took her hand off to slowly admit, “Wi- Wilbur… it’s-” Niki cut herself off as she awkwardly hugged Wilbur’s neck. Wilbur sat still in the chair, unable to move due to the bonds around him.

Warm tears dripped onto Wilbur’s neck, “Wilbur you’re alive.”

Chapter Text

The minutes that followed were awkward to say the least. Niki had held onto Wilbur for a while, as if he would slip out of her grasp and dissolve into nothingness at any moment. She’d let Wilbur go free shortly after, and then she started staying at a distance, her eyes never quite leaving him. In a matter of minutes, she’d gone from yelling at him and punching him, to treating him like a fragile porcelain vase that would break the second she got too close. In a way, Wilbur wasn’t sure which he preferred.

“I’m sorry.” she’d repeated several times, quietly and broken, almost as if to mimic Ghostbur’s words that had echoed in Wilbur’s mind earlier, “Wilbur, I’m so so sorry.”

Wilbur had said it was okay, because really, Wilbur had expected punches far earlier, and perhaps it was about time.

He had the chance to look at his surroundings properly, now that he was no longer blindfolded. What had previously been stairs leading to an unknown place, and a lonely room he couldn’t see, now resembled something much grander. An underground area with high ceilings, and god knows how many different rooms. It was like an entire city, right underneath the ground, and Niki was walking through it so casually, looking at Wilbur instead of the impressive sights. “What is this place?” Wilbur asked quietly.

It took Niki a few moments to realize she’d even been asked a question. “Oh! It’s my secret city.”

Wilbur hummed. “Not so secret anymore. You led me right to it.” he said, trying to lighten the quiet mood. Niki just laughed awkwardly. “Did you build this?”

“Yeah. I did.” Niki said with a nod, “I originally made it to house refugees from the war, but… Well, now I just kind of live here on my own.”

“Really?” Wilbur said, looking at what looked like the beginning to a farm, “That’s… That’s a lot of space.” he tried to dig through his memories, “Didn’t you have a bakery?”

At that, Niki’s face turned pale again. She shook her head. “L’Manberg’s gone.”

“Oh.” Wilbur said, “Oh, right. Sorry, that was stupid.” he facepalmed, accidentally touching a bruise, and he heard Ghostbur wince. 

He must’ve winced too, because Niki gave him a concerned look. “You… I’m so sorry, but we should find a way to treat the bruises. I didn’t mean to- or well, I did mean to, but not to you, I…” she trailed off, and closed her eyes, as if her own words made her cringe.

“It’s okay.” Wilbur said, walking ahead.

“It’s not okay. I should’ve…” She shook her head, and took a deep breath. After a few moments of nothing but silence and the sound of their steps, she stopped walking. Wilbur looked back, confusedly. “Wilbur… How exactly are you back?”

Ah. Wilbur should’ve expected the question eventually. “Dream.” he said, “Dream revived me.”

A range of subtle emotions seemed to flow down Niki’s face in ripples. She swallowed something in her throat. “Oh.” she said, “That’s what they said happened with Tommy, I thought… I didn’t even think he was…” she looked at the ground for a moment, her eyes closed tightly. “But why would Dream- Are you… You were dead right?”

Wilbur scoffed. “What do you mean? Yeah I seemed pretty fucking dead to me.”

Niki started whispering to herself. “Wilbur died. He was killed by Phil. Dream revived him.” She repeated the words again, and looked up again, with a smile that looked performative at best. “Okay, I suppose that makes sense.”

“Yeah…” Wilbur attempted to shift the conversation, “Why did you stop threatening me? Like are you just gonna punch me again? I’ll understand if I look punchable, I’ve gotten that quite a lot.” Wilbur chuckled. He desperately hoped Niki wasn’t going to hurt him again, yet part of him still said it was going to happen. Part of him said Niki wasn’t going to let him leave alive.

Yet, Niki managed to prove him wrong when she spoke, “No, no I’m not-” She took a shaky breath. “I’m not going to do it- any of that again. I… I realized that you were actually you when… When you called me ‘Nix.’ You were the only person that called me that.” The words were fragile in a way that made it look like Niki’s eyes were watering. He might have been the one to wipe away Niki’s tears moments ago, but he couldn’t attempt to rub away the unshed ones.

“Niki are you oka-”

“You look tired.” Niki interrupted, the words sounding sharp, “Have you had some rest recently?”

Wilbur looked at Niki disbelievingly, “I mean, I was just passed out and tied up for some hours wasn’t I?”

Niki looked apologetic for a moment again, and Wilbur almost wished he hadn’t said that. “That’s not rest.” she proceeded to say, “You should… You can borrow a bed, and lie here for a while. It’s the least I can do.”

Wilbur caught a good look at Niki’s face again. He looked at the bags underneath her eyes, and the way she looked as if years had passed. For a moment, he pondered if perhaps Ranboo and Tubbo had lied to him, about how long Wilbur had been gone. He found himself doubting this was the same Niki, Wilbur last saw thirteen and a half years ago. “How long has it been since you last slept.” Wilbur asked, and it wasn’t meant to be spiteful. In fact, he was uncharacteristically concerned.

Niki’s expression hardly changed, as she simply blinked once. “Last night.” she said, and Wilbur had enough experience with her to know that it was a lie, but he wasn’t going to say anything. He didn’t feel as if he had the right.

Soon enough, Wilbur found himself sitting on a bed. She left the room with a promise that she’d return, and Wilbur suddenly felt exposed and off, as if he had been miscast in the role of someone who needed help, rather than whichever role he previously had. Not that he was confused about his previous role, because Wilbur had gone way too far by now, to qualify as a hero.

“Ghostbur?” Wilbur whispered.

“Yeah, I’m here! Are you alone?” Ghostbur asked.

“Yes. You went quiet for a while.” Wilbur said.

“Oh, did I? Sorry. I love talking, but you usually don’t like it when I talk while you talk to others.”

In a sense, Ghostbur wasn’t wrong. Wilbur had expressed little but distaste towards it, or he’d ignored it completely, because really he had to. It wasn’t as if this was something he could explain, when people were baffled at the revival alone. Furthermore, he wasn’t sure what would happen if he tried to explain. While people held tension and disdain whenever it came to Wilbur, people held everything from fondness to mild annoyance with Ghostbur. Wilbur wasn’t an idiot. Ghostbur was so inextricably good and happy, and those were two things Wilbur had little to nothing of. There was a little part of Wilbur, however small, that felt as if people would rush to get Ghostbur back from the place in limbo he had done nothing to deserve, even at the cost of Wilbur. 

Of course he shouldn’t want Ghostbur to talk all the time. Ghostbur was annoying. Wilbur knew that. For so long, he’d had to face that fact. And yet, Wilbur still found himself saddened at Ghostbur’s words, because a ridiculous part of Wilbur insisted that the silence was worse. That the light echo-y tone, was keeping Wilbur just above the surface of the ocean, that otherwise wouldn’t hesitate to suffocate him.

Wilbur’s time in limbo must’ve done quite a number on him, for him to think such things.

“You can talk if you have something to say.” Wilbur said quietly, “I won’t always be able to respond, but you can talk.”

“Oh.” Ghostbur said, sounding a little uncertain, “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that. You can do what you want, you know. Not like anyone can stop you in there.” Wilbur said, but he regretted the words as soon as he said them, because they were met with the sound of a harsh inhale. Wilbur took a deep breath, closed his eyes, trying to collect his words. “I’m sorry it’s… How are you feeling there? I left you alone for a… For a while.”

“I’m fine, I think.” Ghostbur said, his cheerful tone apparent, but the words ambivalent. “I-I don’t think I like this place very much though.”

Wilbur nodded to himself, feeling his heart drop slightly. “Yeah, I get that. It’s very quiet and enclosed.” he bit his lip, almost hard enough to taste the blood within.

“It’s okay!” Ghostbur said, “I’ll probably forget it soon anyway. You’re here now.”

“Ah. Yes, of course.” Wilbur said, and perhaps the idea that Ghostbur would possibly forget soon enough should’ve been a relief, yet there was something strangely dishonest about the way the memories worked. In a sense, Wilbur related to the way memories seemed out of reach. To the way, certain parts of one's life were muddled. He carried just a bit of sympathy for the ghost, and the way he, despite everything, held on, through the vague fog of remembrance. 

“And you have to sleep sometimes! The living do that when they get tired.” Ghostbur said affirmingly.

“That’s true.” Wilbur said, a small smile on his face as he chuckled. After a moment of silence he added, “Hang in there.” because perhaps he was still cruel enough, to let the ghost fall into the illusion that it was temporary. It wasn’t. It couldn’t be. 

But Wilbur had gone way too far, to qualify as a hero anyway.

Just then, Niki entered the room. She was smiling, though it seemed practiced. She was holding a plate with a pastry that was probably homemade. In her other hand, she held a glass of water. Wilbur realized that his throat was a little dry, as he laid his eyes upon it. “I had this. Are you hungry?”

Once again, Wilbur felt miscast as a victim. “Yes.” he said begrudgingly, and Niki approached, placing the plate on a table next to Wilbur. “Still baking without the bakery?” he asked.

Niki looked a little surprised at the question. “Oh, yeah! I uh- I am now.”

Wilbur nodded, feeling that the response was a bit strained and off, though he didn’t find it in himself to comment on it. “How long have you been staying here?” he asked.

“A while.” Niki said, “A couple of months, I think.”

Wilbur hesitated. “Alone?” he asked.

Niki turned visibly uncomfortable at the question. “Yeah.” she said, “Or well, I’ve had visitors sometimes.”

Wilbur wasn’t sure what he’d imagined the world to be like, after he died. Perhaps a part of him had expected a bustling community, with Niki standing tall as ever. With her smiling while trying out a new recipe. Maybe with Tommy front and center, with Tubbo by his side. Everything continuing on, as if death led to blooming rather than decay.

And perhaps another, much more selfish part of him, had expected the world to die along with him. For everything to fall to the ground along with L’Manberg, until there was nothing but a crater in the ground.

Neither of those seemed to be the case. Though sometimes, expectations had to be set aside, in order to keep a goal clear.

He took a bite of the pastry, familiar flavours filling his mouth. “Oh. This is delicious!” he said, “Prime I haven’t tasted cake at all in forever.”

Niki giggled, and for a moment everything felt normal. Wilbur wasn’t sure what normal meant at all, but it was as if no time had passed. The sound of the giggle seemed like a gateway through the past, and their voices seemed to blend comfortably, as they went on to make some more awkward conversation. 

Apparently Techno had gone as far as to make an anarchist group, though Niki didn’t go into much details of its members, or whether they’d even done anything noteworthy. She mentioned a couple of new faces, and briefly went into how Dream was in prison. Pandora’s box. Wilbur knew of it. He vaguely remembered the huge building, and he remembered vague dread that didn’t come from his own memories. Ghostbur’s breathing turned shakier at the mention, though they quickly moved on from the subject.

Wilbur noticed however, that whenever the subject of L’Manberg was brought up, Niki’s tone had a sharper edge to it. Her words became quicker and harsher, as if the topic itself stuck needles into her chest, that made her hiss, as if she was catching breath. “Did you miss me?” Wilbur asked at one point.

“Of course I did.” Niki said, her voice turning a little softer.

“Are you mad at me?” he asked.

“Of course I am.” Niki said, and she grasped her mouth once she realized she’d said it. She shook her head. “No! It’s not that bad, it’s just… You’re back now, it’s fine.” 

“I destroyed it all, didn’t I?” Wilbur asked, though it wasn’t a real question. He chuckled, “I destroyed your home. I destroyed everyone’s home.”

“Stop.” Niki said, “It’s over now. The memories are gone and-”

“And I did that!” Wilbur said, with a slight smile.

“Stop.” Ghostbur suddenly said.

“And I’m sorry.” Wilbur added, “I’m sorry I did that, but you should be mad at me anyhow.”

“I don’t… I don’t want to be mad at you Wilbur!” Niki said, a little desperation in her voice. She suddenly took his hand, and looked him in the eyes. “You left. You were gone, and now you’re back. I lost you Wilbur. We all did. And you betrayed everything you used to stand for.” She said harshly, “But I don’t want to be mad at you. Everyone here has done bad things, and you’re not the only one who has left in one way or another. Betrayals happen all the time, and now you’re here. I’m here, and I’m not a part of any of it up there, so it doesn’t matter anymore. None of it matters.”

Wilbur sat in silence for a moment, feeling the heat of Niki’s hand on his, that felt all at once comforting and overwhelming. It shouldn’t be there. At most, it should’ve been punching Wilbur again, because the more he thought about everything, the more he hoped someone would take this all out on him. At least it would make him feel alive rather than confused. He wondered exactly when Niki’s outlook became so somber, and he couldn’t help but feel that he perhaps had played a part. The words hadn’t even seemed planned out, and while Wilbur didn’t doubt that they were truthful, he couldn’t help but feel as if there was more truth to be uncovered. “Okay.” he just said, because what the hell was he supposed to say, with Niki looking at him, as if this was the last second he’d spend within her sight?

“It does matter.” Ghostbur said, “There’s a lot going on, but everyone deserves to be happy. That’s important.”

Wilbur wasn’t sure if the sentiment broke his heart or poorly repaired it with some blue duct tape. “I’m sorry, Niki. For what I did.”

“Thank you, Wilbur.” Niki just said, she smiled slightly, though Wilbur wasn’t sure if his apology had gotten through. “Get some rest, alright? You still look exhausted.”

“I can talk a lil’ bit longer,” Wilbur yawned after saying the words. He caused so much pain to Niki that he wanted to at least talk for a few minutes more. Perhaps make those minutes count more than the ones in his past lives. Cherish the moment in a way.

But Niki only looked sympathetically at him. The pity, saying more than she ever could, “Can and should are two different things, Wil.”

“Aww,” Wilbur rolled his eyes. “Fine, I’ll rephrase that. I should stay up a bit longer.”

Niki sighed in a way that could have been considered a melancholic laugh, “You really shouldn’t.” The words were quiet, genuine concern showing through them.

With the waves of exhaustion washing over Wilbur, he laid back in the bed. Although the pillow wasn’t very soft, he leaned into it gratefully, his eyes closing along the way.

“Good night, Wilbur.” Niki sat up from the bed, pulling the blanket slightly more over Wilbur. A small smile came across Wilbur’s face. He thought about returning the good night back to her, but he already fell into a dreamless sleep.

Chapter Text

Wilbur and Niki had eggs and pancakes the next morning. Niki’s baking skills clearly connected to cooking as well. Although at times the tension between them rose, it stayed low through their small talk about the weather and cooking tips. Wilbur knew that Niki would have let him stay a few more hours, but he already felt that he was intruding. The quiet peace of what Niki built made Wilbur want to whisper through the halls instead of his voice filling the room. 

So he made his farewells with Niki through a warm hug. Wilbur pulled away before he was ready, but the warm lingering still stayed for a few more moments before it quickly vanished. Part of him wanted to go back into Niki’s arms and part of him knew he couldn’t stay at these moments. Life was moving and so was he.

He could tell Ghostbur wanted to be around Niki more, and in return, he promised he’d go back. Ghostbur said he trusted him, but there was something off in his voice. Something that was reserved. So Wilbur simply did what he did best, describing things. 

“We’re still in the oak forest right now. It’s a pretty nice day out. Oh- I don’t think I told you, Niki gave me my armor back.”

Wilbur imagined Ghostbur nodding, “Mhm, I can feel it.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot you do that.” Although Ghostbur probably didn’t mind the silence between them to be filled by the chirps of birds and the light crunch of leaves under his boots, he still felt obligated to tell him something .

“It’s pretty hot out, I’m not sure if you feel it much though. I’m trying to stay under the leaves a little bit.” Wilbur sighed, the scenery was quite beautiful. “There’s some flowers every now and then, just red poppies and those yellow flowers I can never remember the name of. There’s some patches of grass around, but most of the area looks well-maintained.”

Wilbur could’ve talked about the clouds in the sky or the rabbit he saw from not too far away, but part of him feared that Ghostbur didn’t care. What was he thinking? Ghostbur had to care. He was forced to care if anything. His personality made him not hate Wilbur, and limbo made him stuck in his mind.

Wilbur spoke hesitantly, “Is there anything you want to do in L’Manberg? Or other places as well, I just don’t know what you like to do.” Wilbur found an odd sense of discomfort when he talked to Ghostbur. Discomfort that wasn’t present before yet felt present in every step he took.

It seemed the feeling wasn’t mutual. “Hmm, I usually talk to my friends, but you’ve been doing that already.”

“It’s alright, Ghostbur. We can do that again. You uh- you wanna visit Tubbo and Ranboo?”

“Yeah! That sounds fun. I always loved seeing little Michael, he’s quite adorable.” Ghostbur’s voice turned dull quickly, “He never got to meet Friend.”

“Who’s… Friend, again?” Ranboo joined after Wilbur died. Perhaps ‘Friend’ did as well.

Ghostbur gasped, “You’ve never met Friend?”

Wilbur shrugged, “I don’t think so.” He came up to the edge of a worn-in path that faded into the grass and walked along with it. He didn’t exactly remember his way back, but he hoped muscle memory would guide him.

“ I really want to see him again. ” Ghostbur said, melancholically, “I miss him so much. ”

“Maybe you will,” Wilbur said, a little softer than he usually did, as he watched the scenery carefully. As it changed, he couldn’t help but feel a bit of relief watching over him. “We’re near L’Manberg. Or well, the crater,” he said. He almost laughed near the end, but he didn’t want to upset the ghost.

They were indeed right by the crater of L’Manberg, a huge portion of it covered in glass. Buildings were half-broken, though some appeared to have been rebuilt, even if it wasn’t enough to create an entire community. It was funny really, how no one had attempted to rebuild it after it was gone. It left Wilbur’s legacy intact though, even if it probably wasn’t a particularly good look for him. 

It was time to look for clues to Wilbur’s revival. That had been their plan coming here, after all. Though Wilbur did take some time, admiring the sight of the blown-up nation. “We’re really here,” he said. He didn’t realize he would’ve missed it, after being gone for just a couple of days. Though being there filled his mind with recognition. A certain level of pride mixed with something that stung, but the pride made it sting in a way that made him want to smile.

As he wandered through, taking in the smells, sights, and sounds, he suddenly heard Ghostbur gasp. “ I can hear his footsteps! ” he said excitedly.

A grip of panic went through Wilbur. “Who’s footsteps?” He asked sharply.

“Friend’s! He is around here, I just know it!”

Frantically, Wilbur looked around to see if he could see anyone, but all he caught sight of was a lonely blue sheep tied to a fence with a lead, near the border to L’Manberg. He thought he’d seen the sheep before, but it was among the blurry thoughts in his mind. The memories of his revival, and of a life that wasn’t his. “I can’t see anyone,” Wilbur whispered. The sheep leaned down to eat a bit of grass. 

Wilbur heard Ghostbur excitedly clap. “He did the thing!” he said, in awe. “He’s so adorable.”

Wilbur looked around, dumbfounded. “Wait, can you physically describe Friend?”

“Cute, adorable, and very blue.”

The blue sheep continued chewing before looking up at Wilbur. It looked like a normal sheep. He stepped around it, looking for a nametag. The only one he could see seemed hazy, transparent almost. He tried to hold it and get a better look, but his fingers passed through. A shiver ran through him.

“Is he… a sheep?”

Ghostbur gasped, “How did you know? Wait- was he your sheep too?”

“No no, I guess it just makes sense now.” Of course, the ghost was friends with a sheep. Ghostbur probably viewed everyone as his friend. Wilbur slowly reached his hand out to Friend and gently ran his hand over Friend’s head.

The sheep bleated quietly and rubbed his head into Wilbur’s hand. Wilbur found a small smile coming across his face.

“What are you doing? It feels nice.” Ghostbur’s soft voice seemed complimentary to the scene.

“I’m petting Friend,” Wilbur answered automatically. An unfortunate realization came to Wilbur, “Oh, you’ve never felt his wool before.” Wilbur shouldn’t have cared about Ghostbur’s ability to feel things or what he’d done in the past. The ghost was his own person- well, in theory, he was at least. 

“Aww,” Ghostbur’s voice melted into a fondness that was distinct from his typical friendliness. “Is he happy?”

Friend let out a cheerful baa. Wilbur didn’t know how Friend correctly responded to the question, but he scratched behind the sheep’s ear- the only way Wilbur could really give praise to him. Ghostbur let out a breath which Wilbur took as the ghost relaxing. He could have spent seconds or minutes there and it all would have felt the same. He was abruptly brought out of it when footsteps came from not far behind him. He froze as he turned around. He visibly relaxed when he saw it was just Tommy, but the tension in his eyes stayed. The boy wasn’t quite fond of him. Wilbur could accept that. The slight distaste couldn’t be permanent either way, because that didn’t make sense. Tommy was still Tommy after all, and even with the glare Wilbur received, it was quite clear that there was something hesitant there as well. And certain questions lingered in his mind that Tommy could answer.

“Big man!” Wilbur pulled a fake grin, looking between Friend and Tommy. “This little guy is cute isn’t he?” His eyes stayed on Tommy as he waited for a response.

Tommy’s posture went rigid as he slightly shifted where he was. “I guess so.” Although Tommy met Wilbur’s eyes a few times, his gaze settled on Friend. A gaze of concern that Tommy didn’t wear often.

Wilbur knew the conversation wasn’t going to last long, so he figured he’d get it out of the way. “Tommy, how did I get revived?”

Tommy winced at the question. The grimace that came from the child didn’t surprise Wilbur in the slightest. “Fuck I…” Tommy’s voice trailed off.

“It doesn’t sound like Tommy wants to talk about it right now. Maybe you should change the topic?” Ghostbur said, sounding a little frightened.

Wilbur rolled his eyes at the words and noticed that Tommy was looking at him strangely. “I’m just curious!” he said, “I only saw Dream coming for me, but I don’t know about the details. I was hoping you could fill me in.”

Tommy looked at Wilbur, as if it was an attempt to make Wilbur feel stupid. Wilbur didn’t like that look at all. There was something else hidden underneath though. Perhaps it was fear, though it probably wasn’t that bad. “Listen, Wilbur I… I don’t wanna talk about this shit right now, okay?”

“See, it’s like I said! We should change the topic. How about we talk about Friend! Tommy seemed to like Friend!”

“Why does this sheep like me so much?” Wilbur asked.

Tommy hesitated. “He… He was Ghostbur’s.”

Wilbur nodded thoughtfully. “Hm. And could you tell me why he’s gone?”

“That’s not how you change topics!” Ghostbur said, sounding panicked, “Do you… Do you not know how to-? See, first of all you have to leave the original topic behind and-“

Tommy took a shaky breath before he spoke, “I don’t have time for this.” Tommy’s gaze was foggy and fixed onto nothing in particular. He walked over to Friend and began undoing the lead around the fence pole.

Wilbur took his hand off of Friend and gently held the lead. “I’m sure it’s not too long of a conversation.” A familiar smile came across Wilbur’s face, and there was a grim recognition in Tommy’s face too, that Wilbur didn’t want to consider for too long.

“I really can’t, Wilbur.” The name was sharp on his lips as he quickly undid the lead on the pole.

Wilbur’s gaze fixed onto only Tommy as he slightly frowned. “Just for a moment or two really.” His hold on the lead tightened slightly. Not to hurt Friend’s throat, but out of worry that Tommy would actually leave before Wilbur got what he wanted.

Tommy narrowed his eyes at Wilbur. While Wilbur knew the action was supposed to intimidate him, he could feel how scared Tommy was. The boy’s hands weren’t exactly noticeably shaking, but as the lead moved left and right, he knew he was much calmer than Tommy. “I don’t have a moment or two for you.”

“Tommy sounds uncomfortable, maybe you should just let him leave.” Wilbur could’ve sworn he heard Ghostbur’s voice hitch.

“Tommy, we’ve been through so much. I’ll be honest with you, you’re all I have left.” Wilbur took the hand that wasn’t holding the lead and gently placed it on Tommy’s arm. He barely realized he’d done so. Because Wilbur needed answers. Desperately. They were something he could cling onto, and of course, Tommy would give them to him eventually. His fingers wrapped around the boy’s arm. “I’m sure you can answer a few questions.”

“No.” Tommy’s voice wavered, but still stood strongly.

Wilbur’s voice was much stronger though. He used to be a commander after all. And Tommy wouldn't mind, because he was Tommy, and Tommy was reckless and resourceful. Perhaps a part of Wilbur felt as if this was a test. As if they were back in the war, and Tommy was being his usual defiant self. “Really?” Wilbur faked genuine confusion. “Because I feel like I have the right to know about my revival.” Wilbur sighed, “Tommy, don’t you know not to be selfish with knowledge? Honest communication is always a good thing.” Wilbur’s grip on Tommy’s arm tightened. It wasn’t enough to injure Tommy in any way. It was just a light pressure that made him remember his place. A simple soldier in war who needed to listen a little better.

And how wonderfully it worked. 

Tommy opened his mouth to speak but fell silent. He stared at the ground.

Wilbur smiled once again, “Good.” So much curiosity was jumbled inside his head, he barely even knew what to ask. “Why did Dream revive me?” A simple starting point. A good transition for the next questions.

Tommy’s gaze went to Wilbur’s eyes before it went to the bruises and burns on Wilbur’s face. “I- I don’t know.” Tommy tried to subtly pull away from Wilbur and as soon as he noticed, he tightened his grip, his fingers lightly digging into Tommy’s arm.

“I’ve fought too many wars with you to believe that bullshit.” He chuckled a little, in an attempt to lighten the strange tension that shouldn’t be there. He was so close. So close. “I’m asking you again, why did Dream revive me?” His face turned blank near the end. Tommy just needed to tell him one thing. Just one.

“Wilbur, let go of me.” Tommy's voice was shaky as he tried to pull his arm away- harder this time. Yet, Wilbur’s grip was stronger this time, causing the younger to wince.

“Tommy, Tommy, Tommy.” Wilbur didn’t dare to lessen his grip on the boy’s arm. Instead, he grabbed it tighter, his knuckles turning white as his hand slightly shook. A part of him felt, as if letting go now, would make Tommy disappear before his eyes, and for an absurd second, he felt as if he understood the way Niki had held onto himself. A strange level of comfort at the control filled Wilbur’s heart, because he hadn’t had control for so long, and this was good! This was good! Wilbur was learning, and Tommy was standing there as if nothing had changed at all. Wilbur could barely feel himself gripping it tighter. All he could notice was his injuries throbbing in pain again. He focused on that instead of the words spilling out of his mouth, “You know what I want. And you also have what I want. Tell me what happened.”

Tommy shoved Wilbur, but instead of letting go, they both fell down. Tommy tried to pull away, thinking Wilbur’s grip was lessened, but he groaned in pain when he felt his arm get pulled back. 

“F-Fucking let go.”

“Tell me.” 

Despite all the plans he’d made for today, he couldn’t plan Tommy punching him in the throat. All of a sudden he couldn’t breathe as he wrapped one of his hands around his throat, letting go of Tommy as well. He only caught glimpses of the boy as he ran away, the most noticeable thing being the dark red crescents in Tommy’s arm. And perhaps he noticed again, like when he first came back, that everything had changed. It might have been slow at first, but Tommy was now out of his sight with Ghostbur’s panicked murmurs in his mind.

After Wilbur managed to breathe again, he felt regret come out of his lungs. Regret that stung his mind more than the regret of asking his father to kill him. He closed his eyes tight, wishing it to go away. The feeling lingered in his chest as he let himself fall onto the glass behind him. Not hard enough that it would crack the glass in any way, but enough for him to exhale from the impact.

“Oh no no no no no, this isn’t good, this isn’t good. You weren’t supposed to do that.”

I know, He responded in his head. Ghostbur couldn’t hear it and he didn’t need him to. What happened to the phrase ‘me, myself, and I’? It seemed to work just fine before. 

“Wilbur- you’ve got to go and apologize and tell him you won’t do it again. Just make things happy again,” Ghostbur pleaded. 

Desperation wasn’t a good sound for Ghostbur’s voice. It was almost like a door that creaked on its hinges. “I can’t make things happy again,” Wilbur whispered. The words were quiet even to himself. “Life doesn’t work like that, Ghostie.” Wilbur almost chuckled at the nickname, but the guilt that sat in his chest stopped him.

“You could- you should try. He might stop being upset if you just tell him you’re sorry,” Ghostbur’s worry made Wilbur frown slightly. He didn’t need to make another person upset again. 

Ghostbur deserved a response yet when opened his mouth to give it, he closed it soon after. Maybe Tommy managed to punch out all of his witty responses stuck in his throat. Even then, it hurt to speak as his voice cracked every now and then. “I’m sorry.” The words didn’t help him feel better, but perhaps they would help Ghostbur.

Wilbur heard Ghostbur’s sniffles. Had Ghostbur started crying? “N-Now to him please.”

Wilbur sighed and sat up. Luckily, Tommy was nowhere in sight. “Can’t see him.” 

“Is he coming back?”

Wilbur’s chest tightened at that. Ghostbur didn’t need to know the truth. Ghostbur enjoyed being locked up in his ignorance. So he’d let him live in his own prison.

“Yeah. He’ll come back real soon.”

Chapter Text

Wilbur considered himself quite the genius when it came to politics and creating whatever he wanted from the ground up. It was one of the things he was proud of, all things considered, and it had left its mark on the world.

Now, Wilbur was standing in said mark and was increasingly uncertain of what to do. His genius encompassed that, but not so much fixing something as fragile as social connections. He didn’t mind this perhaps and had accepted before, that happiness was not the sort of thing he could create. Though Ghostbur, goodhearted Ghostbur, filled Wilbur’s mind with faint whines and cries, that really shouldn’t get to Wilbur the way they did. In short, Ghostbur wasn’t very helpful as of now, and neither was the pit of guilt in his own chest, and the feeling of blood pulsing through his hands.

Wilbur was a genius, but every once in a while when he allowed regret to take a hold, his mind became so foggy, that he couldn’t even hold onto that part of himself. Instead, he was left a numb mess of a person, but he’d tried it so many times, that he knew how to keep such a mess together.

He was walking around, absentmindedly looking at the ruins of the fallen nation, the sight suddenly reminding him of an empty train station that went on forever. Drowning in the lack of air underground, his only escape leaving him behind time and time again.

That was when something slammed into Wilbur’s leg, gripping it tightly. His eyes widened, all instincts telling him that it was time for battle until he looked down to see a familiar toddler.

Although his body didn’t relax much at the sight of Michael, his mind did. He let out a small laugh and kneeled down. “How ya’ doing, little man?”

Michael snorted and rubbed his face into Wilbur’s leg. Wilbur smiled and gently patted the top of the child’s head.

Ghostbur’s quiet voice intruded, “Wait, you didn’t tell me you were going back to the mansion. I- I’m not upset or anything, I just thought… you said you would tell me before you went to the nether.”

Wilbur pursed his lips, but any words he could have spoken were interrupted. “Oh hey, Wilbur!” He looked up and saw Tubbo. He looked slightly out of breath, but fine nonetheless. Ranboo stood next to him, grabbing a red rope from off of the ground. Wilbur tilted his head at this, even more so when he saw it connected to something on Michael.

“Nice to see you again, Tubbo!” Although his voice showed the enthusiasm it normally would have, Tubbo winced from it. Wilbur furrowed his brows in confusion, expecting an explanation.

After a moment of silence, Ranboo spoke, “Where did you get the bruises from?”

Wilbur’s confused expression stayed until he remembered his encounter with Niki. He doubted his interaction with Tommy would have bruised yet, but he still gently held his throat. He didn’t know why, but the action felt reassuring to him.

But what should Wilbur even tell them? ‘I was kidnapped by one of the kindest people I know and she hit me repeatedly because she thought I was someone pretending to be me,’ wasn’t exactly a conversation he wanted to have. After a few seconds he settled on, “It’s a long story.” It wasn’t the answer anyone wanted, but it would have to suffice. Besides, he wasn’t exactly lying to them. Part of him reasoned that it was a lie of omission, but he shoved that part of him deeper than the hole of L’Manberg was. He tried to change the topic, “How have you guys been?” He stopped patting Michael’s head in exchange for rubbing his back gently. Michael looked up at Wilbur, and he almost melted from the adorableness in the toddler’s eyes.

Tubbo answered, “We’ve been good. We were just taking Michael on a bit of a walk, typically no one’s in L’Manberg due to it being all… yeah. You’re welcome to join us if you’d like?”

“Oh… I…” Wilbur wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to that, all things considered. The interaction from before lingered in his mind, but he tried his best to push it aside. “I mean,” he swallowed, “I guess I’ve got fuck-all else to do, huh.” he chuckled, though Ghostbur made a strange noise, that caused it to falter.

“We’re… We’re still by L’Manberg?” he asked, breathing deeply, “Okay.” he still didn’t seem too cheery, though he hadn’t commented on the fact that Tommy hadn’t returned. Perhaps he’d forgotten, and Wilbur wasn’t sure why that thought filled him with all sorts of feelings that weren’t relief.

“Cool!” Tubbo said, and his smile was there, but the hesitance of the time apart was clear, and Wilbur wasn’t too fond of it. There was something grim, and disconcerting about the simple fact, that Tubbo still seemed to believe in him.

Wilbur watched as Michael grunted and smiled at all three of them. The toddler reached out for Wilbur’s hand, and for a mere second, Wilbur felt a strangely comforting feeling rush through his body. He accepted the hand, partially expecting it to be drawn away immediately, but the toddler’s hand lingered.

Wilbur Soot, the genius behind L’Manberg and its destruction, a semi-collected mess of a person, and the one who cheated out of death, was holding the hand of a toddler. Tubbo laughed warmly at the sight. “Michael’s been going on and on about you since you left, you know.”

“What’s this feeling in my hand?” Ghostbur asked curiously, though he let out a calm breath, “It… It feels nice.”

“Has he now?” Wilbur asked softly, his eyes not leaving the child. “I suppose I am a bit unforgettable,” he said slightly louder.

That provoked a laugh from all of them, and perhaps Wilbur could take this moment for his own as if he had the right to something this simple. Just for now, while he was waiting for a chance to continue on with his plans, or until he was left alone to his thoughts again. Or well, as alone as you could be when you had a ghost inside your head.

The three of them walked through L’Manberg, and Wilbur took in the ruins of buildings he had never had the chance to see when they were complete, a strange melancholy stinging his throat. Eventually, they made it to Church Prime, a building Wilbur remembered quite clearly, and that still seemed mostly intact. 

“We were going to go visit Puffy for some flowers,” Tubbo explained, but before Wilbur had the chance to ask who the hell Puffy was, Ranboo butted it.

“Actually… Yikes, some of the flowers might be yellow. It might not be a good idea to bring Michael in for that.” he laughed awkwardly.

“Oh shit, yeah!” Tubbo said, “You may have a point.”

Wilbur exhaled sharply through his nose, as he watched the two ponder the situation.

“I can just go into the flower shop myself.” Ranboo said, with a smile, “You guys catch up!”

Before they knew it Ranboo was heading off to a little building across from Church Prime, that Wilbur hadn’t seen before, and Michael looked distractedly in that direction.

If Wilbur could see his ghost counterpart, he feels like he would have seen friendly waving as Ghostbur spoke, “Bye Ranboo!” Ghostbur gasped in realization, “Oh, he’s probably coming back with Tommy!” Wilbur ignored the second comment.

“Hey hey, Mikey.” Tubbo said, walking into Michael’s line of sight, “Dad’s doing fine, and there’s nothing interesting over there. Uncle Wilbur is right here.”

At the words, Wilbur froze on the spot, almost enough for his hand to slip out of the toddler’s. He let out a disbelieving soft breath. “Uncle?” he said, chuckling lightly, almost as if he was mocking the title, but if someone glanced at him for too long, something genuine would probably show.

“Oooh,” Tubbo giggled a little, “We’ve been calling you that to Michael, just because it felt right, you know? It’s easier for him to understand that way.” he looked at Wilbur, “Do you mind it?”

“I mean, I guess not.” Wilbur looked at Michael, “I would make a very cool uncle.” He felt something in his chest when he said that. It wasn’t the typical regret, but rather a warmness that he welcomed eagerly.

Tubbo scoffed, “You mean the creepy uncle everyone has?”

Ghostbur seemed confused, “Wait, do I have a creepy uncle? I don’t think I’ve ever met him.” Ghostbur’s saddened tone almost made Wilbur laugh.

Wilbur lightly shoved Tubbo, moments from his and Tommy’s interaction flooded his mind, but he pushed them away. “You mean the cool uncle that plans on giving Michael so many presents.” His voice transitioned into a warmer, slightly higher pitch near the end as he gave Michael’s hand a little squeeze. Michael jumped up at that, excitement filling his eyes.

Endearment found its way into Wilbur’s voice, “What kind of stuff does he like?”

Tubbo laughed quietly, “Literally anything yellow. Prime, he goes crazy for anything that’s yellow and metallic.”

“Oh yeah, it probably reminds him of gold right?”

“Yeah- well at least that’s what we think.” Tubbo thought for a moment, “He likes golden carrots or golden apples. But aside from stuff that’s yellow, he really likes books.”

“He also likes doing stories too! What’s the word called…” Ghostbur mumbled some things before snapping his fingers, “Roleplaying! Michael loved pretending he was a dinosaur. Sometimes I was the dinosaur though. It depended on the day.” Wilbur enjoyed the thought of little Michael roaring and trying to be threatening. Perhaps he’d roleplay with Michael one day.

Wilbur found himself releasing a quick noise, that might’ve been amusement, and might’ve been recognized. “Really?” he said. He thought of declarations and nations. He thought of signatures and speeches, and vaguely, somewhere in his mind, where Ghostbur’s memories lurked, he thought of history books, and yearning to understand the world. He thought of writing and observing, and feeling more and more accomplished with each stroke of the pen. “The little man has good taste,” Wilbur said, grinning at the child, who looked up with glee. 

“Takes it after his father.” Wilbur didn’t bother asking which one- the twinkle in Tubbo’s eyes already told him.

Tubbo seemed happy. It wasn’t new of course, Tubbo always had quite a positive demeanor, though there was something different about this happiness. His back was less straightened. While he lacked the suit Wilbur had given him, the clothes he wore seemed to fit him even better, the more Wilbur looked. The two of them walked, and Wilbur occasionally glanced at the boy, who was still young despite everything.

Who was married and had a child. Married to someone, who appeared to have little to no idea what he believed in. But Tubbo was happy. 

“I was a bit worried about Michael when the egg stuff started happening.” Tubbo said, “He isn’t quite as crazy about red, but he sure is fond of it.” he said with a warm chuckle.

Wilbur nodded but paused in the middle of it, his face scrunching up confusedly. “I’m sorry, did you say egg? What egg?”

“Oh, Tubbo likes cooking! Maybe he was making some breakfast earlier?” Wilbur almost felt jealous about Ghostbur’s ability to feel satisfied with his own answers.

“Oh!” Tubbo said, realization spreading across his face, “Shit, you really did miss a beat huh. It was this uh, it’s kind of hard to explain.” he laughed awkwardly, “To be honest, I don’t even think I ever learned what was going on with that.”

“Is it still a problem?” Although it had been implied that not many wars happened without him, images of a new government called “The Egg” flooded his mind. He gripped Michael’s hand a little tighter, but realized it immediately and loosened it. Michael took it as a friendly squeeze and squeezed back. Although Michael was trying his hardest to squeeze, the zombie piglin wasn’t very strong so it came off as reassuring cuteness rather than a hurtful action.

“I don’t think so,” Tubbo thought for a moment. “It uh… I think it controlled people? It’s still sort of messy in my head. I just remember heading down there with Tommy once and… feeling different afterward.”

“What do you mean by different?” Their lighthearted conversation shifted towards Wilbur worrying about this thing that apparently controlled people. Was Tubbo still controlled? The air seemed to grow tense between them.

“I don’t remember any of it myself. Apparently, I was crying and not leaving the egg. If I try really hard I can remember for a bit, but it’s too much stress for too little reward.” Tubbo shrugged it off, “I think it’s mostly handled though.”

Although most of his worries were dealt with, a question lingered in his mind. “Is Tommy alright?” The words were quieter compared to his earlier ones, but not by much. Just enough for Wilbur to notice.

“Yeah! Well- from the egg he’s seemed alright. Right now, I don’t think he’s doing too swell.” Tubbo looked over at a random bush. Wilbur understood the cloudiness of the boy’s mind.

“He seems the same to me.” Sure, the child was quite rude to him, and frequently dismissed him, but Wilbur figured it was from him being a teenager and trying to explore his boundaries of freedom.

Tubbo hummed in acknowledgment, “Maybe it’s just me then. But-” Tubbo cut himself off with a sigh, “Part of me says it’s the Ghostbur stuff getting to him.”

“Wait, what does he mean? I thought you said they couldn’t hear me like you could?” Ghostbur’s confusion collided with the warmness that came across Wilbur’s head.

Not a good warmness, but one that invaded the mind and makes your thoughts mixed together. He quickly stated, “I mean he was only here for six months at most. I’m still him in a way.” Wilbur thought he heard a hurt sound from Ghostbur, but he reasoned with himself that Ghostbur probably didn’t know what they were talking about.

Hesitance showed through Tubbo’s expression. He pursed his lips, “I mean- yeah I guess so. It's mainly... seeing him 'die' in front of him thing, most of it being Tommy's plan as well. It doesn't help that it was him who did it.” Tubbo met Wilbur’s gaze at the end, although the need for approval still shined in his eyes.

Although pity hummed in the back of his mind, most of it from Ghostbur, curiosity consumed his thoughts, “Who’s him?”

Ghostbur whined in his mind, mumbling something he couldn’t quite pick up. Tubbo inhaled deeply. He breathed out, “Dream.” Ghostbur’s breath hitched at the mention.

Wilbur raised an eyebrow, partially at Ghostbur’s reaction and partially at what Ghostbur was reacting to. How much more was the ghost not telling Wilbur? How many more details of his life did he not know? Wilbur couldn’t think of a response, so he simply responded with a hum of acknowledgment.

Tubbo gladly continued, “I… I just feel really bad for him. I somehow feel bad for saying I wish I could take some of it off of him.” Tubbo let out a somber laugh near the end. 

“Yeah, the wars were pretty stressful, to say the least.” An odd chuckle left Wilbur. It wasn’t one that he meant to do, but one that came in because it seemed to fit best.

Tubbo sighed, “No I mean the- I don't even know all the details. I've just heard that Dream did something to Tommy while he was in exile. Then the whole beating him to death thing…” Tubbo’s silence spoke for both of them. “I'm glad the guy is in prison, but at the same time, I feel like he deserves worse. Y'know?” Tubbo held a hand over his mouth with embarrassment, “I mean, I don’t want to sound like a bad person when I say that. Spending the rest of your life in prison sucks- of course it does! It’s just the fact that he’s ruined so many people’s lives.” Tubbo’s quiet voice contradicted Wilbur’s loud thoughts. 

While vague memories from some exile Wilbur barely remembered briefly entered his mind, the loudest thought ran with the words ‘beating him to death,’ but he shouldn’t have been surprised. He saw Tommy in limbo. He played cards and joked with him for months. Yet, he never wanted as tragic of a death for the poor kid. Perhaps a gunshot or a high fall to make it quick and painful instead of the agony he went through. During his first few years in limbo, he got more phantom stabs in his abdomen than he could count with all the hands he’d ever seen.

Tubbo squinted concerningly at Wilbur’s silence, “I’m guessing he didn’t tell you… sorry.”

Wilbur closed his eyes for a moment, “No no, it’s alright. I’m just processing it… it’s a lot to take in.”

Tubbo awkwardly laughed, “Yep.” The air felt constricting to Wilbur, but Tubbo seemed to be breathing fine to him. Perhaps it was the punch Tommy gave him earlier. Finally giving him the understanding it couldn’t before. 

Wilbur couldn’t stand the silence, so he focused his attention on his first thought. Michael. “So what’s the thing around Michael’s chest?” Some kind of red thing was around Michael’s chest. It looked like a vest, but it clashed horribly with his outfit.

“Oh! It’s a… please don’t call us bad parents, it’s a harness for kids that tend to run a lot.” Tubbo avoided Wilbur’s gaze sheepishly.

Wilbur managed to laugh at the situation. Yet, he would never know if he was laughing for Tubbo’s comfort or genuine happiness. He could hear that it sounded drier than it usually would. “A leash? I’ve never seen a leash designed for children.” A small smile found its way onto Wilbur’s face.

Tubbo rolled his eyes, “Ranboo was the one to originally offer the idea. Apparently it was something designed by the Americans. But I do have to admit.” Tubbo looked at Michael with a sense of confused astonishment, “It’s been working pretty well so far. Michael likes taking walks, and we like him not running into a ravine. Plus, he’s not really used to the overworld yet.” When Michael heard his name, he let go of Wilbur’s hand and ran in front of his father, doing ‘grabby’ hands up towards the air. 

Tubbo chuckled, “Alright, M.” Tubbo lifted Michael up, the toddler squealing along the way. Tubbo hugged his son, and looked back to Wilbur. “We even made the harness thingy red so he would be a little happier with his temporary prison.” Wilbur's eyes went to the harness that was connected to a red rope that he saw Ranboo holding earlier. 

Wilbur nodded, “Makes sense.” His gaze drifted towards the direction Ranboo ran off in. “When’s Ranboo gonna be back?”

Tubbo thought for a moment, “I would think soon, but we could check on him.” He gave Wilbur an apologetic glance, “He gets a bit indecisive at times.” Wilbur barely resisted rolling his eyes. 

“Lead the way, Tubster.”

Chapter Text

While a tense knot was still hiding in Wilbur’s stomach, he felt surprisingly calm as he walked by Tubbo’s side back to where they’d left Ranboo in L’Manberg. Michael had almost held his hand consistently all the way through, only letting go once to chase a bee, and another time to pick up a flower for his dad. Tubbo had seemed surprised at how little Michael had been running about, and had blamed it on Wilbur’s presence. It was strange really, how Wilbur somehow managed to bring peace to a child, when his presence usually provoked anything but peace.

They approached what was apparently a new flower shop, set up by the ruins of L’Manberg, while not being in ruins itself. Wilbur quickly spotted Ranboo, who was holding a bouquet of various flowers. Wilbur’s eyes drifted to a blue orchid that felt familiar somehow, though he didn’t have any discernible meaningful memory regarding it. On sight, Michael at last let go of Wilbur’s hand to run to Ranboo. Excitedly, he seemed to sign something with his hands, smiling widely all the way through. Ranboo laughed warmly.

There was another figure in the shop, standing right next to Ranboo. Her eyes had fallen upon Wilbur almost immediately after he got close enough, and she looked uncertain of exactly who she was looking at. Wilbur assumed that this was the Puffy, Tubbo and Ranboo had mentioned earlier.

Wilbur almost felt awkward as he arrived at the scene. He shouldn’t, because Wilbur was good at displaying confidence. Though there was a strange familiarity to the scene, that led him to feel far smaller than he ever would in a political conflict. Less useful than he would with a gun or a sword in the midst of war. “Hello.” Puffy said, directed at Tubbo. She then smiled at Wilbur, though it was hesitant. “And you’re… You’re not Ghostbur.”

Wilbur huffed humorously, and extended his hand. “Wilbur Soot.” he said, “Revived and well.”

“I heard.” Puffy said quietly, though she smiled and reached out, shaking the hand offered to her, “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Captain Puffy.”

“Captain?” Wilbur asked with a raised eyebrow.

Puffy exhaled briefly through her nose. “Yup.” she said, “That’s me.” The words were tinted with faint memories, and Wilbur recognized some loss in her eyes. He wondered exactly what she was captain of, and what had led her to the ruins of L’Manberg, selling flowers, and whatever else she did on the server.

In a moment of grim clarity, Wilbur realized that this was the first person Wilbur had met, aside from Ranboo, who hadn’t known Wilbur before at all. Someone who hadn’t been there to witness the rise of his power, or his fall at the sword.

“Puffy!” Ghostbur exclaimed suddenly, “I remember her! She helped rebuild L’Manberg! She’s really good at that sort of thing.”

Wilbur lost complete track of his own thoughts at the words. He had the urge to ask out loud exactly what Ghostbur meant by rebuilding L’Manberg, though he wasn’t in the right place to comment on it. He realized he’d stayed quiet for too long, when Puffy gave him a nod, and turned back to Ranboo again. With no hesitation, Ranboo handed her payment. “Oh these are good!” Tubbo said to Ranboo, gesturing to the bouquet, “I love the colors.”

Puffy turned to Wilbur, and Wilbur became acutely aware of just how calm her smile was. There was hesitance and suspicion in it, but it didn’t have the same years of memories. There was no personal contempt, and Wilbur wasn’t sure what he thought of that. “I guess I’ll see you around, Wilbur.” she said.

Wilbur nodded. “Oh, I’m sure you will.” he said with a little grin, and soon Wilbur, Tubbo and Ranboo waved goodbye to her.

“You wanna head back to Snowchester with us?” Tubbo asked.

“I…” Wilbur looked at the duo in front of them, and their excited toddler. He looked at the ruins around him, “I think I’ll stay here for a little.”

“Ah, alright, big man!” Tubbo said. He paused as if he remembered something. “Oh, actually! Could you stop by Pogtopia in a little while? I have something to fix up there, so I’ll probably be around. 

“Oh,” Wilbur said. The name was so familiar, on Tubbo’s tongue, and sent shivers through Wilbur’s mind. He let out a breath. “Sure! It’s been a long time since I’ve seen the old place.”

Tubbo smiled. “Yeah!” he said, “Stop by within the next couple of hours if you want.”

“Alright.” Wilbur said, “Stay safe, Tubbo.” 

“You as well, Wilbur.” Tubbo looked to Ranboo, who gave a nod towards Wilbur’s direction. “Give hugs to Uncle Wilbur!” Michael ran towards Wilbur and hugged his leg. He smiled at the scene, bent down, and hugged Michael in return. After a moment, they both pulled away. Tubbo and Ranboo walked away with their son, although walk might have not been the word as the child sprinted to the left, dragging Tubbo with him. 

Wilbur chuckled at the scene, breathing in the moment for himself.

“Aww, is Michael gone now?” 

Well. Maybe not exactly himself. 

“Yep,” Wilbur mumbled, looking around for anyone nearby. Although Ghostbur was a normal part of his routine, he didn’t want him to be a part of anyone else's. The thought passed through his mind without permission. He didn’t care if Ghostbur was in anyone else’s mind. If anything, he’d be thrilled to be alone again.

A black and orange figure in the distance interrupted his thoughts. He squinted, but with little clarification. He slowly walked closer, trying to be discreet where he could. When the figure turned slightly, Wilbur could see the glimpse of a face that seemed too familiar to be real. His son stood in front of him. 

Not even exactly in front of him, but enough to where Wilbur was frozen where he stood.

“Wilby?” The voice in his mind cut him out of his trance.

“I- uh, think I’m gonna talk to Fundy.” The words were dry on his tongue, but when Wilbur swallowed it gave him no relief.

“Oh, I know Fundy! He’s our son!” Wilbur made small steps towards his son. They felt slower than they were, yet it was all too fast for him. Wilbur took a breath, and started walking at an average pace towards his destination. Each step was loud in his ears as he breathed slowly. Fundy seemed to be looking in his backpack, oblivious to his father being so near. 

He eventually stood a few feet away from Fundy, but the fox continued looking in his bag. Wilbur raised his hand slightly as if he was going to wave, but all words escaped him in the moment. Fundy was the one to break the silence as he glanced up. His eyes widened as he dropped what he was holding. Wilbur slowly knelt down and picked up the bright red apple, and handed it back to Fundy.

However, the exchange wasn’t mutual. Fundy stood there, unable to move. Wilbur awkwardly laughed, but it came out as more of a strangled noise. “Um… Is this your apple?” The silence extended further than the time Wilbur spent in limbo. Fundy looked into his bag again, not looking at anything in particular, as he squeezed his eyes shut. He took a breath before closing his backpack and slinging it over his shoulder. The action seemed tense as Fundy took stumbling steps away from Wilbur.

Wilbur pursed his lips as he slowly walked to Fundy, staying by his side. Fundy glanced at him, but refocused his gaze towards the path in front of them. “Fundy?” He held the apple near him again, but the fox still gave him no reaction.

“I don’t remember Fundy being quiet in your memories…” Something that resembled concern laid in Ghostbur’s voice, one that easily mimicked the one running through his mind.

“If you don’t want the apple I’ll just have it.” Wilbur tried to play it off as a joke, but the air was too tense around them. Wilbur gasped in realization, “You remember that time we made apple pies for Primemas?” Wilbur forced a laugh, “Everyone hated them because we put it in for 2 hours instead of 20 minutes.”

Fundy stopped walking, and shut his eyes tight, murmuring something Wilbur couldn’t hear. 

“Hm?” 

Fundy’s words turned into whispers, “I don’t want to be here right now.” When he opened his eyes, Wilbur saw that they were filled with tears. “I thought I was done having these.”

Wilbur’s lack of knowledge seemed out of place in their conversation. “What are ‘these’?”

Fundy looked towards Wilbur before harshly turning his gaze to the ground. “It’s always the same, it’s always the same.” Fundy’s expression turned to one of frustration as he laughed to himself, “Why does it always happen when I’m improving.” His laughs turned to bitter sobs as he sat on the ground, curling himself in a ball.

“Fundy…” Wilbur was about to ask if everything was alright, but he already knew the answer. So instead, he sat on the ground next to Fundy, running his gloved hand through the grass. “Is there anything I can help you with? Like a hug or a distraction of sorts.” Fundy tensed from Wilbur’s voice.

Fundy mumbled to himself, “Puffy was helping me, she was telling me how to do better with them and I did.”

Wilbur nodded as if he understood. Fundy couldn’t see the reaction, but perhaps it would help somehow. “You’re doing good,” the praise slipped out of him. It was an old habit to comfort his son in the midst of war. Although there might not have been a battle outside their walls, there was one in Fundy. “Everything’s gonna be alright.”

Fundy grabbed the grass in clumps and looked up at Wilbur with annoyance, “You’re not even fucking real, why would that help me?!”

Wilbur realized Fundy was in a similar situation to Niki. Not believing he was real, then going into a state of panic. Wilbur hoped he wouldn’t end up tied to a chair again. “I’m real, I promise. Can I touch you?” He held out his hand but the fox only recoiled. 

“No, f-fuck you, let me guess, I let you touch me then the dream restarts? Back to the desert with little old Fundy. How about we have him stab Wilbur! Or I have to fight for my life again-” Fundy was cut off by his own sobs when breaths turned quick, causing Wilbur to realize he truly didn’t know what he was doing. Handling his own emotions and handling Fundy’s were quite different tasks. Still panic rushed through his system all the same.

“Hey, hey, none of that is going to happen. You just have to breathe.” Wilbur couldn’t tell if Fundy was nodding his head or just shaking to the point where all of his subtle movements seemed to blend together. “Breathe in, one two. Good. Out, one two. Great.” Wilbur repeated the pattern with Fundy. Luckily for Wilbur, Ghostbur understood the situation and didn’t distract him. Though the ghost seemed to hiss at each number, Wilbur couldn’t afford to assess that right now.

They sat there in the grass together, counting breaths, and slowly making them a little longer. While Fundy’s shaking hadn’t stopped, he seemed calmer than before. Fundy looked up to Wilbur, his eyes occasionally darting to the surroundings around them. He slowly reached his hand out, before letting it finally rest on Wilbur’s coat.

The fox seemed to untense slightly and Wilbur smiled as a result. “I’m here,” Wilbur whispered. Fundy’s mouth twitched into a smile before settling onto a frown. 

“Leave.” The words hit Wilbur like a truck. 

Yet, Wilbur tried to laugh it off, assuming he was talking about some leaves on the trees or some shit. “What?” He forced a chuckle out of him, making his eyes crinkle to try and comfort his son. 

“I want you to leave .” His glare cut right through Wilbur’s confidence. 

“Oh, Funds, I know it’s been a while, but I’m still me.” Although the words weren’t hurtful by themselves, they still weighed deeply in Wilbur’s chest.

“I know it’s you. Leave .”

Wilbur’s face completely fell. He thought he’d made so much progress. “Fundy…” 

He reached out for his son, but Fundy’s hushed panic stopped him, “I- no no no no, none of this is happening again. You’re just gonna blow up another country. You’re going to pick a different side than I am- who- who’s killing you this time?!” Fundy’s voice raised to a yell near the end, the tears back in his eyes once more.

“Fundy I-” Wilbur reached out once more. Desperation rang through his head, like blades cutting through any ground in reality Wilbur had. He could fix this. He could be the father Fundy needed. He could finally do something good in his life. There weren’t the wars between him, there wasn’t even the government run by Schlatt either. It was in Tubbo’s hands, they could be a happy family again. Perhaps a big family dinner that usually took place during the holidays. The images flooded Wilbur’s mind of Michael and Fundy proudly claiming that they were cousins, along with the family pictures they could take. They could even do a year where everyone wore matching onesies or something else that was equally ridiculous. He could make his new life better than the one before. 

“Just leave me alone.” Fundy’s reserved anger made Wilbur yearn for the past in a way he hadn’t before. He couldn’t make Fundy love him. The thought crushed Wilbur. He tried to shove it out, but it lingered in his mind. Wilbur slowly stood up, his legs shaking slightly along the way. If he was going to have a breakdown, he wasn’t going to do it in front of his son. 

Wilbur took a few steps away before his voice croaked out, “I’m not dying again.” He didn’t dare to mention the thought of being together over the holidays. Fundy couldn’t bear sitting a minute next to him, yet, he yearned for the moments that families would have together. The ones happy families had together. Wilbur knew the thought implied that he didn’t make Fundy happy, but he didn’t exactly contradict it. 

“You lost all your lives to those stupid fucking wars. Save me the pain and just bring Ghostbur back.” Fundy mumbled, “At least he kept his distance from me.” The words made Wilbur want to scream about how Fundy was his son, and he wasn’t going to leave him. Yet, he stayed standing. He stayed on the grass long enough for the stillness to hurt. It hurt his body, but it hurt his core more. 

Is that what everyone was doing? Keeping Wilbur around for a day or two because he shared a resemblance to Ghostbur? Was he truly that insignificant in the grand scheme of things?

Wilbur hated admitting that no one needed him. There wasn’t an enemy to declare war against. There wasn’t an end goal that he aligned with his soldiers. The soldiers that only lasted during the war and now looked at him with pity or fear. 

And even his son. The one he raised himself. The one he taught how to hold a sword and how to cook a steak all the way. The one that hated him more than Wilbur despised himself. How long would it be until everyone else decided they were tired of him? Once they realized how pointless Wilbur’s existence was, they wouldn’t even dare look at Wilbur’s eyes. They would be like Fundy. Correct in every single way and form. 

It didn’t matter if the words made him want to curl up and never wake up again. It was his fault that he felt like that and he just needed to suck it up. A commander doesn’t cry.

But he wasn’t a commander anymore. He was nothing. If he tried a little bit, he could be a monster. But other than that, he didn’t mean anything to anyone. At least a villain, on the wrong side of history, was remembered. But now, the villain was gone, and had been replaced with a shell, and unpleasant muddled memories.  He turned away from Fundy, taking slow steps away, each one making him feel even worse that he even got revived in the first place. Fundy didn’t call for him as he left, and all he heard were Ghostbur’s sobs ringing through his mind.

Wilbur couldn’t pick up any words between the sobs, but they were loud and clear to him. His own heart stood still, as if he was back in limbo among the trains, growing bitter until he grew numb. His arms and legs were shaking, as he clenched his fist tightly. He was about to let his nails dig into his palm, though he remembered Ghostbur would feel it just in time. Instead, he let familiar darkness settle over him, swallowing the feeling of blades in his throat, as he let out a sharp breath. He remembered past betrayals, and the way Fundy had denied Wilbur was his father in the first place. He remembered smiles and happiness, and silent cries in the night. He let all of the memories flood together into a pile, until he was able to stand tall once more.

Chapter Text

The walk to the portal seemed longer than normal, perhaps due to the wails in the back of his mind. Every now and then they would quiet down, only for them to get worse again. He sighed quietly, “‘m going to Pogtopia.” 

Ghostbur tried to compose himself with little luck. Still, through his cries, he said, “Going where?” The words shook like a leaf in the wind but remained understandable. 

“Tubbo.” Although the words weren’t sharp, the meaning of them felt like it. He would’ve apologized, but he frankly didn’t have the energy to care.

Ghostbur sniffled, “Anything bad gonna happen?”

Wilbur shook his head before realizing Ghostbur couldn’t hear him, “Nope.” He barely thought of the response as he stepped onto the path made out of oak slabs.

The walk was quiet. Ghostbur seemed calmer with the promise of Tubbo, and Wilbur wasn’t in a chatty mood. The sound of footsteps filled his walk there.

The road to Pogtopia was ingrained in Wilbur’s muscle memory. While memories were muddled, the times he hid underground planning to take back L’Manberg seemed to remain stuck there. The buttons, calmly lining the walls more and more each day. The way they had appeared to taunt him, every single time he had a look.

It didn’t take long for Wilbur to make it there. The entrance to the ruins wasn’t too obvious to find, but Wilbur vaguely remembered that most people knew about it by now. As he entered and looked at the walls, he felt as if he’d wandered into an old movie that scared you as a child. Something from a past life. The ceiling that went up high, but still wasn’t enough. The remains of glory, and the times he’d wanted to shout at nothing until he finally told himself that it was fine. Wilbur was a genius and a powerful commander, and he wasn’t going to let everything get whisked away. He would get it all back, or no one else would have it.

His L’Manberg waiting for Wilbur to decide its final fate, despite the protests of its remaining people.

Now, Wilbur looked at the dusty paths that looked almost unused now, safe for a few visible footsteps, as if the place was used as nothing but a place to merely pass through once a month. The buttons that every inch of Wilbur’s fingers were tempted to touch, just to feel the way they clicked under his command. He breathed the old air into his lungs, and while it had been ages, it still reached his heart and trapped it in a familiar cage momentarily. It all appeared much smaller now or perhaps haunted by the words, the promises, and the betrayals. Haunted by the time, all of Wilbur’s suspicions had been confirmed, because loyalty was thin, and everyone was only looking out for their own self-interest. He was reminded of Tommy’s anger as they confronted Techno after the festival. Exactly as he predicted, and now everyone had to see it as well. His own laughter from long ago rang through his mind. 

“Hey there, big man!” Tubbo’s voice cut Wilbur out of the undesired nostalgic trance.

Ghostbur gasped, “Tubbo! Is Michael with him?”
Wilbur turned and saw the boy standing there, looking at Wilbur expectantly. “Oh, there you are. I’m guessing Michael’s at home with Ranboo.” Wilbur said. Ghostbur’s passive acknowledgment echoed through his mind. He chuckled, “This place has really let itself go, huh?”

“Ah, a bit.” Tubbo said with a shrug, his tone remaining friendly as ever, “People don’t use it for much anymore, but some people stop by or keep some things here I think.”

Wilbur hummed, “You know, I almost didn’t expect it to still be standing at all.”

Tubbo laughed, “Yeah, that’s pretty impressive.”

Wilbur took another look at the path ahead of them and then turned to Tubbo again. “What did you want me for again?”

“Oh, right!” Tubbo said with a quick nod. He gestured towards the paths, “Follow me.” he said, and started walking.

Wilbur resisted the urge to laugh, though the cage only allowed a huff, “That’s a little suspicious, Tubster.” he added the next words in an overexaggerated tone, “Just follow me into this abandoned place! Come alone!”

Tubbo laughed, “To be fair, I didn’t necessarily ask you to come alone.” He bit his lip, and looked as if he pondered something, “I just… Uhm, I wanted to show you something I’ve been working on.”

Curiosity filled Wilbur’s mind. Had Tubbo really been planning to fix up Pogtopia? To make a new nation now that his leader was back? The thought put a smile on his face, “Ooo, do tell.”

Tubbo seemed slightly tense after Wilbur’s intrigue, “I mean, it’s not really anything too great. More like a side project.

“You really have to stop being so humble!” Wilbur put an arm around Tubbo’s shoulders, ignoring the way Tubbo jumped at the action, moving him slightly closer. “You’ve always been doing great things since the day I met you.”

Tubbo slightly untensed at the praise, but his words still seemed stiff, “No no, it’s really nothing. I don’t want you to get hyped then be disappointed.” They made a turn to the right, going to where Tubbo’s previous bunker was. They crossed over the brief patch of dark oak wood on the floor as they both walked into the room.

“You’ve got too high expectations of yourself, I’m sure it’s great.” Tubbo narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips slightly, but didn’t make any other comment. They walked up the stairs and while the room was mostly the same, there were certainly new renovations. Two chairs, a table, and a large bookshelf that seemed half-full. “What are the books about?”

Confusion came across Tubbo’s face before he realized what Wilbur was talking about, “Oh! So the thing is, I’ve been writing some history books. Figured they would be helpful to anyone new coming here.”

Wilbur exclaimed, “That’s great! People will get to know how great L’Manberg was and the valiant wars we fought. Tubbo, this whole thing is a great idea.”

Apprehension clouded Tubbo’s eyes, causing Wilbur’s grin to drop slightly. Neither of them said anything about it though. Instead, Tubbo spoke hesitantly, “Okay, so the main thing I wanted your help with is… See, I need some recounts to write some books about history, and what we know about things. The whole revival stuff is pretty new to most of us so… I was just wondering if I could ask you a few questions about it?”

Wilbur swallowed something in his throat, and let out a breath. “Oh.” he said, hesitating, “Of course. Sure! Why not.”

“Great!” Tubbo said, almost looking a little surprised at the answer, “You can sit there.” He pointed to one of the chairs Wilbur noticed earlier. He sat down as Tubbo riffled through a barrel. Moments passed before Tubbo came back with a book and quill. 

“Alright, let’s start at the beginning. What do you remember from being revived?” Tubbo sat down in the other chair, opening the book to the first page.

“Wow. That’s a big question.” Wilbur thought for a moment, “I was in limbo and I saw this train coming.”

Tubbo stopped him, “What does limbo look like?”

Wilbur thought it was obvious what limbo looked like, but he spent thirteen and a half years in that place, and the boy in front of him probably never thought about that horrible place. “Well, to me, it’s this train platform. Hm- it was somewhat of a subway station, but trains pulled in, not subways.” Tubbo nodded as he wrote the information down.

“No matter where I looked, no matter where I went. Just concrete walls all around. And a tube with a track running straight along. But- it didn’t matter what I did. I could claw at the walls, bash on the doors, scream for help.” Wilbur let out a melancholic chuckle as his eyes watered, “I screamed ‘till my lungs were sore and my voice was hoarse.”

Wilbur momentarily wiped the tears out of his eyes, glad Tubbo was looking at his book and not him. “Nothing ever changes, nothing ever comes, nothing ever helps you, Tubbo.” Wilbur took a shaky breath as he ran a hand through his hair.

Tubbo nodded, his voice remaining neutral and focused, “You said trains pull in? Did you ever try to get on them?”

Wilbur nodded vaguely, “Only three trains came in. The first pulled away before I even realized it was there, but Tommy was on it! And it was great! But then- he got on a train and left. I couldn’t even move when I saw it, I felt paralyzed. Somehow I knew the train was Tommy’s even though I deserved to get on there.” Bitterness took the end of Wilbur’s voice, but Tubbo didn’t say anything about it. 

Instead, he hummed in acknowledgment, “What did the train look like? Was there anything unusual about it?”

Wilbur tilted the chair back slightly, looking at the ceiling, “I don’t think so? I couldn’t see it very well, I got too euphoric about the idea that I didn’t pay attention. The inside of the train was made out of dark oak. The seats were a dark green- sort of like a forest green.”

“And you got on the third train or a different one?”

“The third one, it’s the only one I could get on. When I saw the train pulling in, I was so thrilled. I could barely even feel my legs as I ran there. There was this weird guy though. When the train stopped, he was thrown on the ground. I saw two people including the weird one on that train. The weird one was a desaturated me. Just rolling into my town! Just browsing in by my limbo.”

Wilbur exhaled, the feeling of being alive coursing through him once again, “It’s weird, his face was steaming with tears. T-They looked like they were burning him?” 

Although he didn’t mean to ask the question, Ghostbur responded with quietness in his voice, “Yeah. I don’t like them very much.”

Wilbur sniffled, “But you know who else was on that train? The one conducting the train, the one who let me out, Tubbo.”

Tubbo momentarily looked up from his book, “Who?”

“Dream.” Although everyone said the masked man was horrible and deserved to rot in an obsidian prison for the rest of his life, a grin slipped on his face when he said his name. “It was Dream. My hero, my fucking hero Dream, saved me!” Ghostbur’s breath hitched and Tubbo tensed. While Wilbur felt like he won the lottery of life. His chest heaved as he continued, “Oh my that decade of waiting, I thought I wanted to die. I thought I wanted to die all those years ago, but now I’ve seen what hell is! Now I’ve seen the other side. I’ve been given a new lease on life! There’s so many things I’m going to do, there’s so many great things, I can’t even begin to describe them.” While Wilbur’s face was beaming with happiness, Tubbo’s showed a worry that gently shook in the silence between them. 

Words were escaping Wilbur almost on instinct, and perhaps he shouldn’t have said as much as he said, but if Tubbo wanted knowledge, knowledge should be shared. And in a sense, saying it all out loud served as a reminder. That perhaps Wilbur’s fragile connections didn’t matter much in the end, because the euphoria of being alive still lingered in his chest.

Tubbo looked back down at his book, scribbling some things for a few moments, flipping the page. “Are there- alright- sorry, one second.” Tubbo took a shaky breath, putting down the quill for a moment. He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his hands over his eyes. After a few seconds passed, Tubbo sat normally. Wilbur slightly wilted at the beginnings of tears in Tubbo’s eyes, but he didn’t bother to say anything about it. Especially when he only momentarily met Wilbur’s gaze, focusing right back onto the book. 

Tubbo inhaled slowly as he fiddled with the page, “Are there any side effects to you coming back? Like- does anything feel different?” He looked towards the book with unsure eyes, but Wilbur shrugged it off. 

“Hm.” There was a fucking ghost in his head, that was a start. Not that he was going to say that. Perhaps an implication, but he wasn’t going to explain it fully. “I’m not really sure. I mean sometimes I think that Ghostbur, the desaturated me… is there with me in spirit if that makes sense?”

Tubbo furrowed his brow, but he remained focused on the book, “Elaborate please.”

“Well, I feel like he’s in my head a little bit. Like as if we’re sharing the same experiences, and he knows what I’m going through.”

Tubbo nodded bluntly stating, “So you’re experiencing a divide in identity. As if your body isn’t your own?”

Wilbur frantically shook his head, “No no, I still control my body. I still have my thoughts to myself. I just feel like Ghostbur’s still here in a way.” His shoulders untensed as he let out a breath. He wasn’t sure what he was trying to say or explain. The words had likely been far too risky in the first place. He’d gotten carried away. “It’s probably just because people talk about him sometimes, you know?”

Tubbo looked up from his book, skepticism filling his eyes, “Oh I gotcha.” He wrote something else down, but Wilbur felt like the boy didn’t understand what he was saying at all.

There was a confused sound in Wilbur’s mind. “But… I’m with you! Aren’t I?” the words came out with a strained melancholy, but Wilbur didn’t respond. 

“On the subject of Ghostbur, do you have any of his memories?” Tubbo asked, “He had some of yours after all.”

Wilbur inhaled through his nose. “Some,” he said shortly, thinking of the vague sensations, and the memories that felt as if he was trapped inside someone else. Trapped inside a cage, unable to do what he wanted. Yet, he didn’t have many. The most detailed ones weren't memories at all, but rather Ghostbur’s own words, provoking images that might’ve been real. “It’s all a bit vague still, but I do remember it. Almost like watching in the third person, or watching as your body moves without you.” As he said the words, he felt quick images flash by in his mind. Anger he couldn’t feel, and words that seemed far off. Watching the people he knew suffer, though he wasn’t sure who or why, and perhaps it didn’t matter. 

“Any specific events?” Tubbo asked.

While the memories were right at the tip of his tongue, there was very little he could recall directly. Though Ghostbur had filled him in at least a little bit, so he should account for that. “They’re not that specific but I feel as if some of them are coming back.” Wilbur said, “I remember the sheep thing. Who was it, Friend?” he let out a quick laugh.

Tubbo nodded and wrote something down again. “I see.” 

There was silence for a bit before Wilbur broke in. “Have you asked Tommy about this whole revival business? He went through it as well after all, and didn’t spend quite as long as I did in limbo.”

Tubbo tensed up. “Ah, a bit.” his professional tone wavered, “He uh… He’s not too fond of talking about it as of now. So, he prefers it when people don’t ask.” he smiled hesitantly, though the boy clearly looked troubled.

“Oh,” Wilbur said quietly. For a brief moment, he recalled the fearful anger in Tommy’s eyes from earlier, but he quickly let the thought dissolve.

“How long did you spend in limbo, again?” Tubbo asked.

“Thirteen and a half years.” Wilbur answered without any hesitation, “I counted the days,”

“How exactly did you do that? Could you see the sun?”

“There was a clock.” Wilbur responded briefly, “I couldn’t see what day it was but I could see the hours. I could feel it. And there was a faint light somewhere in the distance I could never quite reach.” He remembered it clearly, as he watched hours pass. Days upon days, months upon months.

“Okay.” Tubbo said with a nod, “Tommy said two months in limbo were two days here. I’m not sure if it’s still accurate for yours since I can’t really do the math right now, but it could vaguely be a limbo month equals a real day here.”

Wilbur almost pointed out that limbo was real and it was realer than anything Tubbo had ever experienced, but he only squinted as he tried to think. “I think that’s true.” he said, “Tommy mentioned his limbo was just a black void, but I did let him know much time had passed.”

It would be beneficial for Wilbur to know exactly how time passed differently. Perhaps it would help him when he communicated with Ghostbur, or when he tried to find a way to separate them. Then again, the thought of the passage of time, and the lengthy silence Ghostbur experienced, made Wilbur yearn to think of something else, whenever the thought passed his mind. “If you somehow learn anything else I…” he paused, “Tell me. I’m curious,” he said, his mouth curving up. Information. He needed more information, to fix all of it.

Tubbo looked at Wilbur for a little while, before nodding. “Of course.” he said, “Anything else you want to add?”

“Nope, I think that covers all of it,” Wilbur said, unsure what else there was to say.

“I’m here! We can talk and everything. That might be relevant!”

Tubbo wrote a few more lines in the book, “Great! Thanks, big man.” He closed it, putting it in a chest nearby. Wilbur got up and skimmed the bookshelf sleeves. There were quite a decent amount of books. They seemed to be chronological as well. Well- as chronological as they could be. Some of the books on the bottom shelf all seemed to be about science rather than history with titles like, “Hybrids” and “The End”. Wilbur heard ages ago it was some sort of other dimension that was similar to the Nether but had a dragon and creatures that made you float if they hit you. It was probably less scientific than the other books, filled with legended fables and short stories since as far as he knew, the End was only a fairytale world Phil told him about as a kid to help him sleep. 

The shelf above had the names of all the wars they’d been through, with some of them being long enough for two books. Now that he looked at it, all the books seemed to be around four hundred pages. Wilbur let out a surprised noise, causing Tubbo to look over.

He walked to where Wilbur was standing, “Everything alright?”

Wilbur nodded, “I was just looking at all the books you’ve got. Are all of them full?”

Tubbo looked bashfully, despite the proud look in his eyes, “I mean, some more than others, but in general, I just write any information I can find. A lot of the originals were destroyed a while back, so they’re a bit incomplete. Interviews fill up most of it.”

Wilbur’s eyes focused on a book that stood at the end of the middle shelf, titled, ‘The Destruction of L’Manberg’. Wilbur pointed to the book that grabbed most of his attention. He caught a smile across his own face  “Can I read a bit?” He asked, glancing at Tubbo, “I know it’s a bit macabre but… You know that morbid fascination with what people would say about you after you’re dead? I just wanna know what people thought after everything I did.”

Tubbo seemed hesitant but nodded anyway. “I’ll be downstairs if you need me.” He walked downstairs, and as soon as Wilbur couldn’t see him anymore, he felt an odd sense of relief. Information was an old comfort to him. The side that won the war always had more information. Knowing what the other side had for breakfast was almost just as important as finalizing your battle plans. And in truth, the idea of obituaries or requiems from his enemies was something that made him want to laugh.

And now, with so much knowledge in front of him, he grabbed the book that lingered in his mind.

Chapter Text

Wilbur opened the book carefully, almost afraid the knowledge would vanish right in his hands if he didn’t. It felt weightless as he walked to the table, sitting in the same chair he sat in during the interview. The first page was blank, but after turning to the next page, he saw a table of contents. He mostly skimmed it, the idea of reading being much more exciting than the process itself.

“Local opinions on L’Manberg’s end” caught his eye. He flipped to page 138 and read the beginning. It stated the interview each person was given, explaining how everyone received the same questions on (mostly) the same day. Some bits seemed scattered, as if they were just quick notes jotted down, and the writing wasn’t consistent. It was possible Tubbo had gotten some help writing it all down. Wilbur also remembered how some books had apparently been destroyed, so this likely wasn’t an entirely finished product.

They started chronologically of when they were taken, most of the people at the beginning saying that they weren’t affiliated with L’Manberg, but still felt the despair of those who were. A few questioned his motives along with how long it was planned out. 

Wilbur easily skipped over those, the boringness of them making him yawn. A small smirk came across his face when he saw Dream’s name. He read the statement supplied, “I’m not gonna lie or fluff it up, Wilbur was an idiot. He didn’t know how to run a nation at all, but he was so hungry for power that he assumed he could. I would say it’s sad that Wilbur blew it up, but good riddance to that cry for attention.”

Wilbur rolled his eyes. No wonder he declared independence against him. He truly didn’t understand the restrictions the world put on him. It really wouldn’t have been difficult for Dream to let them be their own nation, but instead, he had to childishly declare war. Though regardless of the past, Wilbur didn’t hold many hard feelings against the man. Not after what Dream had done for him. He read the next statement. A small look of disgust came across his face when he saw it was Eret.

“I know my history with L’Manberg, but I still wish it didn’t come to this fate. Wilbur was a good person. Perhaps he slipped off the deep-end near the end there, but he held kindness close to his chest. I know I… betrayed them, but I shouldn’t have. If I could go back and change it I would.” A small supplement at the end added that the confession was taken the day of L’Manberg’s explosion.

Wilbur looked at the words for longer than he should’ve, blinking at them as if they’d been a trick of the light. A good person? They might have interacted so long ago, but he hoped they would at least remember the bare minimum of who he was. A good person, perhaps once, or at the very least an attempt at one. Though Eret’s words were far too hesitant and sympathetic, and Wilbur couldn’t quite get himself to grasp them. He remembered seeing regret in Eret’s eyes, that Wilbur quickly shoved away. He remembered the hope he once had for when Tommy started pursuing other things. Hope that Eret could act as a vice-president in his place. Or even before that happened, they could be a treasurer or anything that would have helped them in the wars. Perhaps they could have even helped in the elections, using his charm and charisma to ‘woo’ the neutral voters. But in the end, Eret had found a better deal, and throughout the 13 and a half years, Wilbur had found it increasingly difficult to blame her for that.

He let his eyes drift across the page, skipping a few nobodies that just happened to be nearby, before reading Tommy’s. A small note was made to the side saying it was taken three days after the explosion. “I can’t fucking believe him. We fought together for- for- I don’t know how long! But he... we had L’Manberg again and he- he’s gone. I wish I felt bad that he’s dead and shit but it was his decision for all of that to happen. Not a single person pushing him towards that. The war- our lives aren’t even over yet, but he had to leave us already.”

Wilbur shut his eyes for a moment, before rereading it once more. The words and their meanings didn’t change. Wilbur had wanted strong words like it, because words of enemies didn’t sting, and Wilbur had effectively made Tommy his enemy. Though he wasn’t certain if these counted as strong words. In fact, he wasn’t entirely certain what he’d expected them to say. If he’d expected Tommy to say anything at all. Tommy hadn’t followed along with Wilbur, despite Wilbur once feeling that he was doing exactly what they needed to do. And it was fine, really. Wilbur had left his impact, and while the action now felt distant to him, Tommy did not need to feel bad for his death. Wilbur didn’t know exactly why he’d returned, but a warm welcome wasn’t to be expected. While Tommy’s words were strange and familiar, talking of Wilbur as if he was a person who left, who died to be mourned, rather than an event, a choice, and a legacy, they were to be expected of the child. Wilbur pursed his lips, fiddling with the corner of the page in his hand. He lingered on Tommy’s section for longer than he should’ve. He didn’t know if seconds or minutes passed but he heard Tubbo’s voice from nearby, “You good?” 

He turned towards Tubbo, slipping on a grin, “Yeah, yeah, it’s all pretty interesting stuff.”

Tubbo hesitantly smiled in return, “Cool, I’ll just be down here if you need anything.” He did finger guns towards the direction of the stairs and awkwardly walked back down them.

Although Wilbur’s mind was blurred, a small part of him was able to focus on Tubbo’s feelings about L’Manberg. He flipped through the pages, names filled his eyes, but none of them were what he was looking for. He frowned and double-checked, but the same results still occurred. He flipped to the last page of the section, figuring that Tubbo must’ve been at the end, if not the beginning. Instead, he found a small portion that read, “Any statements not present are from the people present only after L’Manberg’s original explosion weren’t available.”

Wilbur knew Tubbo was present during the wars, so it didn’t make sense why he pretended like he wasn’t. Especially because the statement implied he only joined after L’Manberg was over and dealt with. Did Tubbo rewrite history so he wasn’t a part of it? That didn’t seem likely to him, but the lack of Tubbo’s opinion on the paper spoke louder than his thoughts. 

He told himself to shrug it off as Ghostbur’s quiet voice popped into his mind, “Hey, Wilbur, can we talk about something?” 

Wilbur looked around, trying to ensure Tubbo couldn’t hear him. He mumbled, “Later.”

Ghostbur took in a deep breath, “That’s okay. Just- make sure that I don’t forget to ask about it.” 

Wilbur absentmindedly nodded as he flipped to one of the earlier pages. His eyes didn’t focus on the paper, but rather on what he wanted to know. He decided his father’s opinion would be the best choice. He flipped the page once again and spotted Phil’s name near the middle of the text. “It’s been a lot to handle. I wasn’t a part of L’Manberg, but- Wilbur being gone. It means more to me than L’Manberg did to him.” 

It was short and sweet in the way Wilbur expected. It washed out most of Tommy’s statement as he flipped around in search of Niki’s. He briefly thought about Ranboo’s opinion, but the book already told him it wouldn’t be there. Even then, the centrist would have probably made something up that would apply to any event. 

Niki’s opinion didn’t focus much on Wilbur, but it was still good nonetheless. “I used to care about L’Manberg a lot. I built the original flag and I felt… I felt so close to everyone there. Even when Schlatt came into power. L’Manberg was all I really had to go to, even if it was technically Manberg at the time. Yet, I feel in a way, like time split us apart. Not Wilbur though. I wished he was still here.”

Wilbur smiled softly. He missed her quite a lot, especially during limbo. He would close his eyes, and pretend he was baking with her again. Nothing in particular either, just tossing flour on each other and bumping shoulders occasionally. There was enough room in the kitchen to avoid the latter, but it brought a closeness to the both of them that Wilbur didn’t know how to describe. Of course, that was during the desperate years. The ones where the concrete of the platform seemed to burn his feet, as he let vulnerability slip in, right before he let it grow into something else.

He searched his mind, thinking of who he met after his revival, and his breath hitched at the thought of Fundy. He sat for a moment, contemplating if he should even do it. He flipped the page carefully, skimming for the name of his son.

He found it quicker than he would have liked to. A dread filling his chest that he forcefully pushed away. He read the segment Fundy spoke about. Reading it over and over again, none of it sticking in his head. Disbelief and confusion hit him like a truck. The only words his son spoke about it were, “I feel ashamed to even call him my father.” 

Wilbur closed the book. The cover seemed to burn him as he did so. He let it sit on the table, his hands resting on his legs. He robotically stood up, his movements feeling stiff and unnatural. He laid a hand on the book that rested so peacefully. He begrudgingly picked it up, the book somehow feeling much heavier than last time. He slowly shuffled towards the bookshelf, putting it back where he thought it was, not paying much mind if it was in the right place or not.

“Wilbur,” Ghostbur said, his voice sounding a bit apprehensive.

“ Yes, what is it?” Wilbur asked, a little sharper than he perhaps intended. 

“Wil, why did you lie?” the words came out, with a certain sadness, yet they seemed almost practiced. They were quick, yet each syllable was dripping with concern or perhaps spite, if Wilbur didn’t know any better.

“Lie about what?” Wilbur asked, huffing.

“Tubbo…” he took a deep breath, “Tubbo asked you if there were any side-effects, and you didn’t mention me. You said I wasn’t there. But I am! I know I am, because we’re talking. So why didn’t you say that?”

Wilbur breathed in sharply, like a hiss. “It’s nothing.” he said, “I wasn’t planning lie much after the revival, but what would you want me to say?”

“That I’m here!”

“I can’t just say that!” Wilbur said, trying to keep his voice down, “They can’t know you’re here, because it’ll make it harder for us to find a way to get you out.”

“They can help! Tubbo would want to help.” Ghostbur said, certainly.

“Tubbo isn’t going to believe me, Ghostbur. It’s going to concern him, and we don’t want Tubbo to be sad, do we?” The last words came out a bit more naturally than what Wilbur had wanted them to.

It did seem to make Ghostbur go quiet, for just a few moments. When Wilbur almost thought Ghostbur had nothing more to say, he spoke, “No no no, you don’t understand!” He said, “Sometimes, sadness can be okay, I think. Lying isn’t good at all. It leads to bad things.” the last sentence, held more melancholy than the rest.

Wilbur wanted to laugh. “It’s not that simple.” he said, “Lying is an excellent tool. Sometimes, you need it to survive, Ghostbur. And right now we do.”

“How do you know that?” Ghostbur asked, beginning to sound slightly panicked, “They told me it wouldn’t be bad, but then they lied, and it was! It was bad.”

Wilbur shook his head confusedly, “Who are you talking about?”

A bit of shock came from Ghostbur’s following gasp. “ I… I don’t know. ” he said, and the confusion told Wilbur it was the truth, “ I’m not sure I… ” he was breathing a little faster, “ I can’t find the memories, but lying is bad Wilbur! It’s not going to lead to anything good, I can feel it.”

“Lying can give you an advantage, and we want to get you out quickly,” Wilbur said. He felt as if the world was momentarily catching fire around him. “It’s just a white lie, Ghostbur. Just to keep everything on track. You’re making a big deal out of nothing.”

“I… I’m sorry, but I just don’t think this is a good idea! We should tell Tubbo. We can trust him, I know it!”

“Who are you to say who I can fucking trust?” Wilbur said, a little louder, “This is none of your business! This is my life, even if you insist on invading it!” 

As the words hung sharply in the air, the silence that followed became blindingly obvious. 

Wilbur could hear his own slow breathing, filling the empty room. “Fuck… Oh fuck, I didn’t mean to say that.”

There was no response.

“Ghostbur, I...” he breathed deeply, closing his eyes for a moment. “I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to say that.”

The silence from the ghost stabbed him in the chest. “Ghostbur, it was just a bit of a slip-up. Y’know like when you get tongue-tied?” Wilbur tried to pull off a playful tone, but the concern behind it was prevalent. Wilbur sighed. It wasn’t one out of aggression, but rather a disappointment in himself. 

He walked away from the bookshelf and towards the stairs, seeing Tubbo harvesting some melons from his farm. He forgot that the boy was even there, his thoughts consuming everything around him. He faintly smiled as he walked to the lower level of the bunker. He didn’t bother ruining the peace and simply mentioned, “I put the book back.”

Tubbo looked down at Wilbur. “Oh! Alright. Are you heading out?”

“I suppose I am,” Wilbur said, a bit quietly, almost hoping that Tubbo’s voice would bring some response from the ghost. 

“Where are you going?” Tubbo asked.

At the words, Wilbur realized he didn’t have a good answer to that. His head was a mess, and it felt emptier than usual. He tried to open any gate in his mind at all, to find a rhyme or reason to his actions and his desires. For some reason, the one purpose he’d assigned to himself, seemed further off than before. It was silly and frivolous of him to bother being affected in such a way. If there was one thing he’d learned as a commander, it was that the war would rage on, whether you felt like it or not. A break, and a moment of silence, was rarely a particularly good sign. Sometimes you needed it to make plans however, and if he couldn’t even do something as simple as that, how could he consider himself powerful anymore? Knowledge. He needed knowledge, and he’d just left all the books behind after looking at one . He breathed in. “I’ll figure it out.”

“You’re welcome to head to the mansion.” Tubbo said with a shrug, “Ranboo and I are sleeping over again tonight, so if you need a place to stay, you’re welcome there.”

Wilbur froze and weighed the suggestion in his mind. He heard a faint and familiar breath from Ghostbur that calmed his heart for a moment. “Sure.” he said, a little too quickly, “That sounds fine.” He accompanied it with a smile, to try to make the exchange seem natural. 

Tubbo’s expression indicated it hadn’t worked entirely, but the frown quickly turned into a similar smile. “Sweet! I’ll be going there soon enough, but you can go ahead if you want.” Just before Wilbur had the chance, Tubbo looked as if he remembered something. “Oh, also! Try not to tell anyone about this place. It’s a secret to most people.”

Wilbur nodded, unsure why Tubbo would’ve told him about it if it was such a secret. “Can I come back here?” 

Tubbo took a moment to respond. “Make sure I’m with you.” he said, “We have some structural problems, so I don’t want anyone to be here without me being aware of it.”

The words reached Wilbur strangely. He swallowed something in his throat and nodded nonetheless. Then, without further response, he wandered outside, into a much more apparent form of silence.

Tubbo nodded and looked slightly dismayed at Wilbur’s sudden exit, “Alright, seeya later.”

Wilbur took long strides away from the bunker, hoping it would help collect his thoughts for Ghostbur. His footsteps echoed through the halls, making him miss the sound of Ghostbur’s voice. He walked towards the entrance of Pogtopia, quickly exiting. The change of scene didn’t help him think. If anything, it only increased his worries about the ghost as his mind ran.

Chapter Text

The walk to the nether portal was even more strained than it had been all the other times combined. It was stupid, because really, not much had changed. Wilbur still knew next to nothing about his situation or how he got there. Most people were dismayed to see he was alive at all, and he was trying his best to get used to his heart beating. He even grabbed some sugarcane along the way, hoping there would be a comment about the strange feeling. Instead, silence rang in his ears that made him disappointedly put it in a jacket pocket. There was a ghost… While he was silent, there was still a ghost inside of Wilbur’s head.

Though the silence was just it. It was the only real change there was, when overlooking some of the strained interactions Wilbur had had in the meantime. But what really changed the situation was the silence, and that for some ungodly reason, managed to get to Wilbur.

“So, we’re going to visit Michael again, huh?” Wilbur tried, his voice cheerful to the point where he almost felt like he was mocking himself, “And Ranboo! You like him, right? Whatever it is he has done.”

No response.

“We can go play with Michael and all that. We can have some food too, maybe.” Wilbur said.

No fucking response.

Wilbur withheld a frustrated sigh. He didn’t want it to be interpreted as if he was angry at Ghostbur. Though maybe that was true. At least that was the simplest explanation for the fire within himself. Angry at everything perhaps. Angry at everything that hadn’t been blown up with himself. “We can talk to all of them. There’s still quite a bit of catching up to do.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be quiet,” Ghostbur suddenly said, his voice hushed. Wilbur’s eyes widened, the sound taking him entirely by surprise.

“No no you don’t have to.” He sounded far too desperate than what he was proud of. He was met with nothing but silence again. 

“I’m going to go in the portal now,” he said, and did exactly as he’d narrated. He felt himself being whisked away to the nether, the warmth once again surprising him. “I’m here,” he said. “There’s pretty much nothing but red netherrack as far as the eye can see. Oh! And there’s a zombie piglin a bit to the left, though it’s not a threat. No match for us, you know.” He added a quick laugh, but it almost sounded like a sob. He took a deep breath as he continued ahead. 

“The nether really is big,” he cleverly observed. “I’m going onto one of the bridges now. I remember the way to the mansion, I think.” He heard a ghast make a sound, and picked up the pace. “And we’re safe, don’t worry. I’m wearing good armor, and it won’t be long.”

For the silent moments until they made it through the portal by Snowchester, Wilbur almost felt as if he was holding his breath along with Ghostbur. It was nice, in a way, and Prime Wilbur despised how that was comforting. How pathetic had he really become, if something as simple as doing something with someone who wasn’t even alive was enough to make him feel at home? The familiarity of Ghostbur’s constant presence had gone to his head.

He stood in the snow, which was a nice change of pace from the time he’d landed there with all the burns and the screaming from within. He once again became aware of his bandages. “We’re out,” he said. There wasn’t a response in words, but he could feel a relieved sigh. 

He started walking in the direction of the mansion, his steps a little slower than they had to be. “We’re in Snowchester now. There are actually a lot of buildings here. I’m not sure what they-”

“Wilbur?” Ghostbur said suddenly.

“Yes?” Wilbur said, a little too quickly.

“I’m sorry.”

“What?” Wilbur said, relief and confusion mixing in his mind, until a quick laugh followed

“I’m sorry for… For invading your life.” Ghostbur said, sounding a lot more serious than he usually did, “When I came here instead of you, I couldn’t quite fill the role you left behind.” He sounded almost defeated, but so unbearably sincere, “This is your chance to do so, and I shouldn’t get in your way like that.” 

Wilbur could hardly comprehend what he was hearing, because it was so unlike his own understanding of events. It was unlike Wilbur’s image of Ghostbur, and completely different from what he’d wanted the ghost to say. “What… What the fuck, no.” Wilbur said, shaking his head, something dark settling around his heart, “Ghostbur, you were nothing like me.”

“I know, and I-”

“And you think that’s a bad thing?” He said, with a huff, “Ghostbur, the last thing I did was blow up a fucking nation, and you think they’d all rather have had someone like me on here? Come on.” It was hilarious really. How Ghostbur was so blind to the fact that everyone was probably dying to get him back in Wilbur’s place now. How everyone would be so sad on passive little Ghostbur’s behalf. Including Wilbur himself for some reason. “For crying out loud, you are so fucking good it hurts.”

“What? I’m sorry I don’t mean to hurt you, I-”

“Shut up!” Wilbur said suddenly, standing in the middle of a solitary street in Snowchester, “No fuck- wait, don’t shut up. Don’t shut up, because it’s honestly really boring without you.” The last few words slipped out before he could stop them. They slipped out quietly enough to be genuine, and perhaps that was an issue on its own.

“What?” Ghostbur tried, sounding confused, “But you don’t always like when I talk, and no one else can hear me anyway. I thought that maybe you’d want some peace and quiet after all that. I’m disturbing you.”

“Perhaps I want you to.” He hissed through his teeth, before shaking his head, “I don’t know I don’t know I just-” he took a deep breath, collecting his words, “Ghostbur, you don’t need to apologize. I slipped up, and I… It gets boring without you here, okay? So you can keep talking.”

Perhaps Wilbur was still a lost soul, stuck at a train station, desperately grasping and wishing for even the slightest hint of interaction. Perhaps it was selfish of Wilbur, to want the only person who was forced to be with him at all times, to continue talking to him. Perhaps Wilbur was being just as cruel as he knew he was, throughout all of this, begging for attention as usual. Begging for someone who had every right to despise him, to keep him company.

And perhaps, he didn’t even care about any of that. Because Ghostbur clearly had it all wrong, and if it took Wilbur’s selfishness to prove it, so be it. “If you want to talk, you can,” he said, hoping that he would no longer feel as if he had to fight to reach the surface of the ocean on his own.

“Oh,” Ghostbur said, sounding uncertain still, but in a different way. “It… It gets lonely without you. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to stay put like this but I don’t want… I don’t want to be alone.”

Wilbur didn’t either, but he knew he couldn’t say that. Wilbur Soot wasn’t lonely, because he couldn’t afford to be, and he was alive. “Then I can keep you company,” he said instead. “You won’t be alone.”

A fondness slipped into Ghostbur’s voice, part of it was quieter than it should’ve been, but Wilbur didn’t mind, “Thank you.”

Wilbur let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He wanted to say how he didn’t need to be thanked for such a simple thing, but he didn’t want to spark a disagreement when Ghostbur was already in a fragile state. “No problem.” He started walking towards the mansion, before quickly adding on, “Headin’ inside the mansion.”

Ghostbur gasped so quietly, Wilbur almost confused it with a gust of wind, “I thought you were just saying that.”

Wilbur stopped walking for a moment. “No I… I wouldn’t lie to you.”

Ghostbur spoke quietly, “You lied to Tub-” He sharply cut himself off. Wilbur winced at the truth Ghostbur knew. 

He couldn’t think of a response as he heard a familiar voice call out, “Oh, Wilbur, you made it here a little earlier than I did.” He turned around and saw Tubbo there. 

Wilbur smiled softly towards him, “Yeah, we must’ve barely missed each other. Didn’t see you in there at all.” And I wasn’t talking to a ghost at all either, part of him wanted to add. 

“Yeah, that’s weird,” Tubbo didn’t seem skeptical of him, but he wouldn’t doubt if the boy was a good actor. He was a spy for part of the war, with a library even he was unaware of. Though he tried to put his thoughts aside.

Tubbo walked up to where Wilbur was, and the both of them moved together towards the front doors of the mansion. The two walked together in silence, something that he typically wouldn’t have even acknowledged. Yet, with the quietness of Ghostbur returning, he couldn’t help the concern in his eyes. Tubbo seemed to look at him slightly differently, but neither of them bothered to comment on it.

Tubbo pulled the door open, the warmness from inside being a nice refresher from the cold. They walked in as Tubbo called out, “Ranboo?” He closed the door behind them. 

A muffled voice came from upstairs, before Ranboo’s head popped out of Michael’s room. He met Tubbo’s gaze, before hesitantly smiling at Wilbur’s presence. “We’re just coloring in here. Did everything go alright?”

Tubbo nodded and made his way up the stairs with Wilbur close behind. “Yep! Of course there’s still a bunch of questions I wouldn’t even know how to find out, but there’s a lot of new info.” Tubbo paused for a moment before continuing, “I’ve got a few theories in my head, but it’s all messy.”

Ranboo nodded understandingly, “I’m glad it went well.” Ranboo looked down from behind the door. A grin came across his face, “Michael, guess who’s here?” Tubbo and Wilbur made it to the top of the stairs, but the latter couldn’t see what was happening behind the door.

“Noo, not grandpa.” Another second passed, “Not Puffy.” A few moments passed before Wilbur heard a frustrated snort. Ranboo chuckled, “I guess I’ll just have to let you see.” He opened the door all the way, and Wilbur’s eyes immediately caught Michael’s. He quickly knelt down as Michael ran into his arms. He reciprocated the hug, his eyes closing for a moment, just holding the presence of warmth in his arms. 

Too long must’ve passed as Tubbo playfully mentioned, “Michael, how did you miss Wilbur that much? You saw him earlier today.” Time must've flown by Wilbur as he quickly let go. Michael smiled and grabbed onto Wilbur’s arm, tugging him toward the room him and his father were recently in.

Wilbur laughed, “Alright, alright, I’m coming.” He stood up slowly, making sure not to accidentally hit Michael, and walked into the room. It looked the same as last time, except now there was a small bin on the table. It seemed full of crayons, with most of them being new. There were small light red chairs around the table, clearly made for children. Wilbur didn’t know if they would collapse under him and decided to sit on the floor, resting his calves under him. 

Michael sat down on the chair next to him, pulling it closer to Wilbur as he grabbed a piece of paper on the table. His left arm was against Wilbur’s as he slid the paper to him.

Wilbur understood the message and looked at the paper. A goofy smile slipped on his face. It was a drawing of what appeared to be Michael. The lines were shaky, but it was some kind of pink blob that wore an orange and black long-shirt with blue overalls over the top. While the image itself didn’t look like it, that’s what the Michael holding his arm was wearing. The drawing had a smile on his face that mimicked the one Michael wore. A higher-pitched cheerfulness flowed easily with his words, “Did you draw this?”

Michael eagerly nodded, his face rubbing against Wilbur’s sleeve. After the moment, Michael proceeded to rub more of his face into it, enjoying the sensation.

Ranboo chuckled, “That must be why he likes you so much.”

Wilbur tilted his head slightly, though his gaze stayed focused on Michael, “Hm?”

Ranboo shifted in his position, “Oh, I mean- he sorta likes certain textures? We don’t really know how it works since it’s a bit difficult to communicate, but he just likes rubbing his face on stuff.”

Wilbur quietly stated, “I’ve noticed.” Though the sentence wasn’t harsh, Ranboo moved slightly away.

“I think I’ll head outside for a second.” The turned his back away from Wilbur and walked out of the room. Tubbo whispered something to him, and with a brief nod, he heard echoing steps down the stairs. Michael propped himself slightly away from Wilbur and grabbed a different paper on the table. It was a few black lines that went up and down, some parts looking almost like black rectangles. There were also some scribbles near the right, that took Wilbur a second to realize it was writing. He squinted at the words, and slowly he realized it was the word, “Dad”. 

Wilbur looked between Michael and the page when realization struck. “Oh, Ran- Dad is alright. He just needed to do something.”

Michael nodded and Wilbur gratefully sighed at the toddler’s lack of overwhelming curiosity. Wilbur grabbed one of the blank papers on the table, his gaze wandering over the container of crayons. He searched the container and put a rainbow of colors in front of himself. He frowned slightly at the lack of yellow, but didn’t take it personally. 

Michael squealed excitedly at the empty paper and grabbed a green crayon. He started making quick jagged lines that formed a semi-straight line near the bottom of the sheet. He quickly scribbled it in, coating the white paper as Wilbur grabbed an orange crayon. 

Wilbur forgot Tubbo was even there as he quietly spoke, “I’m gonna start prepping dinner. Ranboo will probably be back soon.” 

Wilbur nodded, “Sounds good to me. You need any help cooking?” He looked directly at Tubbo for a moment.

Tubbo shook his head, “I’ve got it, you two have fun.” Tubbo smiled as he turned to leave the room. 

Wilbur chuckled, “Said and done.” He looked back at the paper, finding the bottom of the page to be mostly colored in with green. There were white patches at the bottom that littered the area, but he didn’t blame the toddler as he found it quite adorable. 

Wilbur’s hand went to the top right of the page as he started outlining a small circle with his orange crayon. Michael grabbed a gray crayon and continued adding something towards the left side. Wilbur focused on applying less color onto the paper, the orange shifting into an awkward yellow. The yellow-ish circle stood proudly on the page as he added lines around it to show that it was emitting sunlight.

He looked back to Michael’s part of the page. He saw something that resembled a stickman with a smile on its face. There was a clump of gray on top of the person and Michael made grabby hands for the orange that Wilbur held. He quickly gave it to the toddler and grabbed a blue, though his gaze didn’t leave Michael’s portion of the paper. 

The child took the orange and drew it over the stickman, quickly scribbling in an oval over it and looked at Wilbur expectedly. Wilbur furrowed his eyebrows together, “Who’s that?” Michael grabbed the blue from Wilbur’s hand and drew a dog-like figure next to the stickman. But the dog was blue and had a smile that paralleled the other drawing. 

Wilbur tilted his head slightly, still not understanding, but with eyes so bright an innocent, he realized it was a look he'd received before. It was akin to the eyes of a young Fundy, displaying his art for Wilbur to hang on his wall in their little home in L'Manberg. It was much like that of Tommy, when Wilbur told him about the plans to create a nation. It so bitterly reminded him of Tubbo, agreeing to anything and everything Wilbur said. Three times was perhaps a pattern, just as Wilbur had been told. And perhaps, that was all the more reason he should've expected this to happen again. Should've expected young eyes to look to him for guidance. And the bitter truth was, that just as all the other times, it filled him with a strange sort of pride and joy. 

Perhaps Wilbur had barely changed at all. He wasn't surprised at that. In fact he'd known for so long.

What he hadn’t known, and only realized in the moment, was that the drawing in front of him was Ghostbur. The orange oval was probably supposed to be a sweater of sorts, but the orange was too dark for him to recognize sooner. The gray stickman’s skin color looked similar to the ghost he saw before exiting limbo. 

His eyes lingered on the blue dog in the front on the paper. Wilbur facepalmed when he realized that the blue dog was a sheep. He didn’t know why he didn’t recognize it sooner. 

Wilbur was about to open his mouth to say something, when Michael pointed at the drawing, and then pointed at Wilbur. It was almost like a silent question, and the child looked at Wilbur so expectantly.

Oh.

Of course. Wilbur wasn’t sure why he’d expected anything else. No one had probably explained the situation properly to the child. Prime knew that would be one hell of a conversation. Still, Wilbur caught his treacherous heart dropping at the gesture. He frowned, despite himself. “No,” he said briefly, shaking his head.

Michael looked at him for a few moments. Then he nodded back, and turned towards the paper again, his expression barely changing at all.

Still, Wilbur felt misplaced. As if he’d walked inside a war meeting hosted by his enemies, or had put up walls around a nation that turned out not to be his. Every single second Wilbur had known Michael, the toddler hadn’t been aware of exactly who Wilbur was. Perhaps Michael had thought he was hugging Ghostbur. Thought he was smiling with awe at someone he knew positively, rather than an inconvenient stranger, whose presence made very little sense in the first place. The only reason Michael offered to show such basic kindness to him was because of a simple misunderstanding. Even a child who unconditionally loved every soul he met, couldn't love Wilbur without thinking of someone else. 

Wilbur felt an unwelcome tear creeping into his eye. It was likely due to the fact that he was nearly alone, as it provoked the futile vulnerability he preferred to keep at bay. He looked away, trying to keep his face out of view as he listened to Michael continuing to work with the crayons. What else has Wilbur expected? He’d done little to nothing to deserve the child’s affections, and that was alright. It was perfectly alright, because Wilbur was a genius, not an uncle.

He suddenly felt a tug at his arm. He shook his head quickly, trying to grasp the world once more. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Michael, trying to show him something. With a quiet laugh, that came out a little too broken, he turned his head. “What have you got there?” he asked.

Michael was holding the piece of paper from before, proudly displaying it with both hands. Wilbur looked at it for a long time, trying to comprehend exactly what he was looking at. The same figure as before was staring back at him, grey with an orange jumper, and a big smile. The blue sheep was standing in the same spot. Next to the ghost however, Michael had scribbled another figure.

A similar one, but with beige skin and a brown jacket, with fuzzy lines drawn on it. The figure had a white streak in its dark hair, and was smiling as well, brightly.

Oh.

Standing right there, next to the ghost and the sheep, was Wilbur. Wilbur Soot, creator and destroyer of L’Manberg, drawn with such confident crayon lines from a toddler. Wilbur let out a shaky breath, as Michael pointed to the drawing, and then to Wilbur.

Wilbur swallowed something in his throat, his lips curving up as he let out a quiet laugh. “Yes. That’s me.”

Chapter Text

The evening in the mansion was rather quiet and peaceful, all things considered. Michael had immediately handed the drawing to Wilbur, who reluctantly kept it close. He wasn’t sure if he wanted Tubbo or Ranboo to see it. Not so much because of his own appearance in it, but because he realized that the sight of his ghost counterpart would likely bring up some bad memories.

Another thing that was mostly quiet during the evening was the actual ghost counterpart, much to Wilbur’s dismay. It was simpler, to distract himself from it when Ranboo and Tubbo were talking to him during dinner, or when Michael wanted to show him something, but it bothered him nonetheless. Tubbo and Ranboo had let Wilbur stay in a medium-sized bed in an almost empty room, with a couple of boxes in the corner. Wilbur had promptly excused himself to it, once the silence in his mind, and the chaos from outside, became a little overwhelming.

“Ghostbur?” Wilbur asked, once the door was closed safely behind him.

There was a moment of silence before he heard a quiet gasp. “Oh! Hello!” Ghostbur said, sounding excited to be addressed, but disheartened nonetheless.

“Did you have a good day?” Wilbur asked, taking a deep breath, a little relieved to hear the familiar voice again. “You didn’t say much, so I wasn’t sure.”

“Ah, sorry!” Ghostbur said.

“There’s no need,” Wilbur said, gently. “You can talk if you want to, or remain quiet if you want.” He shrugged, because it shouldn’t matter to him after all.

“Right, right…” Ghostbur said, and Wilbur wasn’t entirely sure if it was understanding or defeat.

Wilbur strolled towards the bed, and sat down, at the tempting mattress. His limbs grew heavier at the feeling. He hummed, thinking of what to say. “Did you know Michael drew you?”

“Huh?” Ghostbur asked, a bit of interest creeping into his tone.

“He did! He made a little crayon drawing of you and Friend.” He laughed slightly at the sentence, “And me.”

“He did?” Ghostbur said, familiar excitement slipping into the words, “What does it look like?”

Wilbur went on to explain as many details of the drawings he could reasonably give, despite the minimalist art style. The ghost listened intently. It was strange, the peace Wilbur suddenly felt, as the ghost sounded gradually happier, and he was sitting there alone as the night grew darker outside. Eventually, the inevitability of sleep snuck up on Wilbur. It felt strange, unfair even, to leave Ghostbur hanging like that. Not that Wilbur concerned himself with it of course, but it was a bit sad to think about the silence Ghostbur would experience, as soon as Wilbur drifted off to sleep.

But it happened nonetheless, and the darkness surrounded him, carrying him to rest in a matter of minutes, all the events of the past day slipping away calmly. They wouldn’t bother him until he turned to the waking world again.

The next morning he awoke to the sounds of birds chirping and the sun barely visible, but still visible enough to fill the room with a faint light. He stretched in the bed, before lying there for a few moments. His mind wandered, mostly refreshing his mind of yesterday and if there was anything he was supposed to do again. He remembered Ghostbur’s gloominess from the day before with an awkward feeling in his chest. He mumbled, “Good morning.”

A few moments passed with no response. Wilbur slightly frowned, “Ghostbur?”

“Oh! You were talking to me!” Ghostbur’s tiredness showed through his voice. It wasn't tiredness from a lack of sleep that made your voice gently crack on itself, but rather an exhaustion that couldn’t be fixed with rest. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

“Mhm.” Wilbur sat up from the bed, swinging his legs over so he was sitting normally. “I don’t remember being able to sleep that well in limbo, can you?” 

He hoped it was different for the ghost. That maybe he could also have a copy of Friend there for him instead of only having a faint grip of reality through Wilbur. “Nope. What did you do for fun here?” He heard a sigh from Ghostbur.

Wilbur pursed his lips. “I mean, it wasn’t really the best place in the universe.” He heard a small hum of acknowledgment. “Sometimes I walked down the tunnel. I would go ‘til my legs were tired. Then I tried to go for longer.” The words slipped out effortlessly, yet his voice became quieter the further he got into it, “I timed myself in my head, the quickest I could collapse was… two minutes? There were some seconds added on, but I can’t remember.” 

“Yeah, maybe I’ll try that.” His voice wasn’t enthusiastic- something Wilbur was grateful for.

Wilbur shook his head, “No no no, I’m a bit of a hypocrite. You shouldn't follow in my footsteps.”

“Don’t worry, maybe I’ll run the way you didn’t go! Wait- why shouldn’t I run where you did?”

Wilbur sighed, “I didn’t mean that. I just meant you shouldn’t do what I did. I’m just…” Wilbur wanted to say he wasn’t a good role model because while it certainly was the honest truth, he didn’t care for the truth all that much. Information gives you the upper hand. “It was just a dumb decision and I don’t want to waste your time.”

Ghostbur’s voice was clearly dismayed, “There’s nothing much else to do. I mean- sometimes I can imagine stuff in my head! Like when I would play with Michael!” His excitement picked up at the end, but it wasn’t at the same level it used to be.

Wilbur tried smiling, “Yeah. That’s good. You should continue doing that.”

“I try to, but then it makes me sad. The feeling doesn’t go away anymore.”

Wilbur would’ve stood up from the bed and walked downstairs, but he didn’t want to end the conversation. “Doesn’t go away anymore?”

Ghostbur sighed, “Yeah. When I was alive, I would talk to people. Then- I think something bad would happen. At least that’s what other people said. After it was over, I would be talking with friends again! It was nice because I felt better a lot sooner than other people would.” Ghostbur paused for a moment. “I’ve heard that people get sad for multiple days, and I’m glad that never really happened to me. I wish it didn’t happen in general though. They deserve to be happy.”

“Yeah… being sad isn’t that fun.” Wilbur felt oddly empty at the words, the simplification of them making him remember the past. The days he went without sleep, trying to figure out how to win the election. The look of concern he got when Tommy told him that he should rest. Yet, he supposed those days weren’t exactly sad. They weren’t cheery, but they weren’t sad either. They held an odd sort of void to him, blending together before he even knew they started. 

He’d known about it, partially. About how Ghostbur was shaped by the good and didn’t remember any of the bad things Wilbur had experienced, nor the bad memories he had on his own. Yet it was quite another to hear him say it. To hear him speak of it as if it was something natural. Feeling better faster than others, because the memories slipped away. Wilbur hadn’t realized that wouldn’t be the case anymore. Perhaps forgetting was more merciful.

Wilbur stood up from the bed, “I’m gonna go eat some breakfast.”

Ghostbur seemed excited once more as he clapped. “I love breakfast so much! It’s one of my favorite meals.”

Wilbur nodded as he let out a sound of amusement, “Good choice.”

He walked to the door of the room, opening it slowly, afraid of disturbing any peace inside the house. He peeked his head out and looked both ways, yet he couldn’t see anyone awake. He exited the room, closing the door behind him. He carefully made his way downstairs.

When Wilbur entered the barely set-up dining room, it was as if the entire place hadn’t quite woken up yet. Tubbo was languidly standing on one side of the room, half doing the dishes, and half making breakfast. On the floor on the other side, by an open box of whatever furniture or household items it contained, Ranboo was sitting up against the wall, flipping through a book. Michael was sitting right next to him, once again leaning over a piece of paper, happily doodling on it with crayons.

He walked to where Tubbo was, making his footsteps loud enough to be heard, but not enough to startle him. Tubbo turned around, a welcoming smile on his face, “Good morning.” 

Ghostbur cheerily replied, “Good morning!”

Wilbur stood next to the boy, looking over his shoulder, “Whatcha making?”

Tubbo shrugged. “I’m just cutting up some apples right now. Makin’ pancakes. American ones specifically, because Ranboo says English ones are just sad crepes.”

Wilbur rolled his eyes. He was surprised the centrist even had an opinion on food. He seemed to stay neutral on so many other regards, yet pancakes were where he drew the line, “What a weird guy. What should I start doing?”

Tubbo furrowed his eyebrows for a moment before speaking, “You’re a guest, you aren’t going to be the one cooking.”

Wilbur rolled his eyes as his tone returned gentle, “Like old times.”. He spent so many days making breakfast in L’Manberg that he hadn’t even thought that things were different. Most of those early moments were spent with Tubbo before he went undercover as a spy. They both couldn’t stay asleep or didn’t sleep soon enough and decided to just start the day. They formed the routine of the person in the kitchen, decided what they were making, and the other helped until it was finished.

Tubbo looked away, his posture more rigid. Wilbur pursed his lips, he ruined another moment. Another peaceful moment was torn out of Tubbo’s head by the hands of a person he only invited to his home out of pity. He forced words to roll off his tongue, ones that didn’t belong but had to be placed there, “Just joking, man.”

Tubbo hesitantly laughed, “Yeah,” He returned his gaze to the fruit in front of him. Wilbur slightly narrowed his eyes, not out of anger, but the confusion that persisted ever since his return. Everyone asserted that everything was different, but it all lingered in his head all the same. He could picture L’Manberg in its glory along with the uniforms that fit his soldiers perfectly. Yet no one else could. 

“Michael, no!” a voice from the other side of the room suddenly exclaimed, Wilbur immediately turned his head. He was met by the sight of Ranboo, worriedly trying to pull a piece of paper out of Michael’s mouth. Only a small part of it was stuck in there as if Michael had merely tried to lick it and had decided to chew on it afterward. “Let go, it’s not food.” Ranboo tried. With a sharp pull, Ranboo landed on his back with the paper in hand, and Michael looked disappointed.

Tubbo’s squinted, looking confused and concerned at the same time. “Didn’t we take away the yellow crayons?”

Ranboo sighed deeply, “Orange.”

“Michael doesn’t eat orange though?” Tubbo said.

Ranboo sat up and looked at Tubbo with a completely deadpan expression. “You haven’t considered the implications of light orange.”

Tubbo gasped with realization. “ Oh ,” he rushed towards the packet of crayons, picking out the orange ones hurriedly. Ranboo discarded the paper, and Michael watched with crossed arms, looking a bit annoyed at the whole ordeal. Wilbur couldn’t contain some light laughter as the scene unfolded.

Not too long after, breakfast was served. It was a lot less strained than Wilbur had perhaps feared. They chatted about Michael’s strange habits of eating crayons along with similar childhood stories. Light-hearted chuckles passed around the table, with Michael joining in occasionally. Even when they all finished their plates, they continued to sit. They only started moving when Michael seemed fussy with his high chair. Tubbo quickly took him out, setting him on the floor again. 

Tubbo picked up the dishes from the table. “I’ll clean these up. You and Michael can play for a bit.” Wilbur nodded and got up from his seat at the same time as Ranboo. Wilbur felt a pulling sensation on his pant leg, he goofily smiled when he looked down and realized it was Michael. 

Ranboo took the plates from Tubbo’s hands. “You cooked breakfast, it’s only fair that I wash the dishes.”

Tubbo gently pulled on them back. “And you played with Michael all morning.”

Ranboo rolled his eyes as he set the plates onto the kitchen counter. “Oh my, it’s so hard to be a Dad. Wow, it’s so difficult to just watch a child when the child is still waking up.”

Tubbo groaned, “I can’t believe you.”

Ranboo nodded. “I make such good points that you can’t even try.” While he seemed disinterested in the beginning, a small smile appeared on his face.

Tubbo sighed, “Yeah. I really can’t compete with the world’s best dad and husband. If only I could wash the dishes to pay him back.”

“Awww, I think they’re flirting again,” Ghostbur cooed. 

Ranboo let out a laugh, “Sure sure, maybe tomorrow.” He quickly leaned down and planted a quick kiss on Tubbo’s forehead. 

Tubbo scoffed, “Bitch.” He playfully punched Ranboo’s shoulder before heading off in Wilbur's direction. Wilbur even forgot he was there, wrapped inside the domestic peace of their family. He blinked and looked down at Michael, the child still pulling gently on Wilbur’s pant leg. 

“We’ll be in Michael’s room,” Tubbo called out to Ranboo. Ranboo nodded and continued putting the dishes in the sink. Tubbo started walking up the stairs and Michael quickly followed. Wilbur was walking a bit slower than before. Cautiously perhaps, though he wasn’t certain why. He smiled at Michael.

“Ooh, what are we going to play with Michael?” Ghostbur asked, though it was said in such a way, that he likely didn’t expect a response. Wilbur let out a relieved breath, at least a little comforted by the fact that Ghostbur had been talking this morning. It was going to be alright. Wilbur held on to the faint thread of a connection for now, each word from the ghost feeling like his one chance to take a breath. 

As they returned to Michael’s barely furnished room, Wilbur almost felt as if he’d settled into a routine. It was silly really, having been there for just one night, but the walls seemed familiar. Familiar in a way that was a lot less suffocating than most familiar walls Wilbur could think of. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to settle into that feeling. It wasn’t there to stay, but he could pretend it was for the time being. Though the warmth almost seemed to burn him.

Soon enough, he found himself sitting on the floor, playing with little toys shaped like various animals and other mobs. While Wilbur found it difficult to figure out exactly what they were playing, he released a scream from a toy he’d dubbed the Skeleton King, as Michael played the chicken protagonist, defeating the king for the last time. Ghostbur chimed in every once in a while, despite him knowing even less of what was going on. Ghostbur suggested that the chicken hero had a friend who was a ghost cow, and Wilbur had decided to incorporate it into the story. Partially just to please Ghostbur, though the smile on Michael’s face was priceless.

He looked over in Tubbo’s direction. The boy was feeling the walls when Wilbur realized they had a bit of crayon on them. Not much, but enough to notice if you looked close enough. He gasped quietly at the thought in his mind. He reached in his pocket, feeling the sugar cane in his hand. A small grin slipped onto his face as he discreetly crushed it up, forming a small pile of sugar in his hand. 

He shuffled slightly towards the edge of the table, gesturing for Michael to come along. The toddler tilted his head but walked over to where Wilbur was. Wilbur barely resisted laughing as he put the sugar on the table in a thin line. It wasn’t the neatest one in the world, but it would have to do. 

Wilbur spoke loud enough for Tubbo to hear, “Alright, first you get it in a line. It can be a bit hard to do sometimes, but you can always use the edge of a sword or a piece of paper if you’re really desperate.” Tubbo raised an eyebrow as his eyes widened at the scene. He immediately ran over, picking Michael up as he quickly placed the child farther away from Wilbur. Michael, on the other hand, didn’t understand the situation as he attempted to run back to Wilbur. 

Tubbo grabbed onto Michael’s shoulders before he could go far, turning the zombie piglin around to see him. His voice was tense, but still light enough. “Michael, how about you play tag with Dad for a bit, okay?” 

“Tubbo doesn’t sound okay,” Ghostbur supplemented. Although Wilbur could’ve been able to read the room himself, the ghost’s voice was always a nice echo in his mind.

Michael huffed, looking between Tubbo and Wilbur. Tubbo nodded, showing him the direction of the door. He even slipped a smile into his voice, although the one on his face seemed tense, “You can go down the stairs by yourself.”

Michael squealed excitedly as he ran out of the room, his footsteps heard as he excitedly ran down. Tubbo closed the door behind him as his eyes met Wilbur’s. A foolish grin sat on Wilbur’s face, “Your reaction was priceless!” He cackled as he casually pushed around the sugar on the table.

Tubbo sharply exhaled, “Wilbur.” His voice was sharp and jagged in a way Wilbur didn’t quite expect.

“It’s just some sugar in a line. C’mon, man, you can taste it yourself.” He picked a bit of sugar from off the table and put it in his mouth, making slightly exaggerated expressions as he emphasized that it wasn’t anything bad.

Some of Tubbo’s edge disappeared, but at least half of it remained, “Yeah, I know you wouldn’t hurt Michael it’s just-” He cut himself off with a sigh. He looked away from Wilbur’s gaze and back at the wall with some crayon on it. “L’Manberg.”

Wilbur furrowed his brow, “What about it?”

They waited a few moments in silence before Tubbo hesitantly spoke, “Why did you start L’Manberg?”

Wilbur stated his answer automatically, “To declare independence from Dream. You were there, Tubbo.”

Tubbo shook his head, “No no, what was the original purpose of L’Manberg?”

Wilbur thought for a moment. Tommy’s disks flew into his mind, but L’Manberg was never really centered on them, only Tommy and Dream did. He drifted onto the idea of community, but that was found after the nation was formed. Power maybe? Power seemed like a nice answer, but it somehow didn’t feel right on his tongue. He snapped his fingers as a look of realization came across his face, “Oh! We were gonna set up a drug empir- oh. ”

History really does repeat itself in an ironic way.

Tubbo pursed his lips as he couldn’t meet Wilbur’s gaze, “Yeah.”

“Tubbo…” Wilbur’s voice trailed off before he continued again, “I mean, L’Manberg is over and done with. It’s not too big of a problem.” Wilbur scooped up the remaining sugar on the table and dumped it into his mouth.

Ghostbur seemed flabbergasted, “What are you eating? It seems… good? Is that the right word?” Wilbur nodded but Ghostbur couldn’t see.

Wilbur moved his gloves against each other, removing the rest of the remaining substance from himself. “Sugar never really loses its touch.” He stood up from the table. He slightly frowned when he spotted the cloudy look in Tubbo’s eyes. “You… okay?”

Tubbo met Wilbur’s gaze for a moment before looking towards the door. “I know it was yesterday when you read the destruction of L’Manberg, really, it’s a new day. But-” Tubbo shakily exhaled, “Just because you got to destroy all of your hard work, doesn’t mean you’ll get to destroy mine too.”

Wilbur sympathetically looked at the boy as he walked closer. Tubbo tensed up noticeably. Wilbur stopped a few steps in front of Tubbo. “Tubbo.” A gentle assertiveness filled his voice, “Tubbo look at me.” Tubbo narrowed his eyes for a moment but met Wilbur’s gaze. Tears laced the boy’s eyes, the shine of them giving it away.

Wilbur took a breath, “Dream is in prison. L’Manberg is… gone.” The word felt bitter on his tongue. “I don’t have anything against you. I- I care about you being happy. I wouldn’t do anything to purposely ruin it.” Wilbur opened his arms for a hug.

Tubbo stepped forward as Wilbur’s chest lept and a small grin went across his face, but Tubbo side-stepped at the last moment, opening the door just a bit behind Wilbur. Before the door closed, Tubbo mentioned a whisper into the air, “It’s okay.” The words seemed to waver slightly as if they were meant to comfort himself and not Wilbur. The door clicked and he was alone once more.

Chapter Text

Silence lingered after Tubbo left. It loomed in the air as Wilbur stayed frozen in place. 

He quietly sighed as a familiar ghost wandered into his thoughts, “So the door closing was Tubbo leaving?”

Wilbur quietly muttered, “Yeah.”

“I think we- you should go talk to him.”

Wilbur threw his head back in annoyance. “It’s not that simple.”

Ghostbur sighed, “I know, but they always say trying is half the battle.” The words were quieter than the air around them. Wilbur slumped against the wall for a moment. 

“I think I should just leave.” Wilbur didn’t even think about the words, it was just a universal thought that hovered over his mind.

“You and Tubbo are a little rough right now, but Michael would still miss you.” 

Wilbur let out a dry laugh. Ranboo barely knew him and Michael was just asked to go away from him. He pushed himself away from the wall, “How about we go on a small walk then?” The tiredness in his voice was present. Ghostbur was either too kind to point it out or he simply didn’t notice. Wilbur couldn’t guess which was more likely.

“We’re gonna come back though right?” Wilbur recognized hope in the ghost’s voice, one that he didn’t want to crush.

So instead of the truth, he muttered out, “Yeah.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, more so a slight twist on the answer Ghostbur wanted. Besides, Ghostbur probably didn’t have the attention span to even think about coming back. Wilbur was glad Ghostbur couldn’t hear his thoughts.

He opened the door to Michael’s room and proceeded to walk down the stairs slowly. He noticed the lack of sound in the house, his quiet footsteps echoing slightly. The air felt tight in his chest as he looked around. 

He peaked around the stairs, seeing a distant room that Ranboo was in. His back was turned from Wilbur as two pale arms were wrapped around his torso. He quickly realized it was probably a hug being exchanged between the two. He felt an awkwardness that persisted in his mind any time he saw Ranboo and Tubbo interact. It made him realize just how much he desired the past. Even if it wasn’t as good as now, with all the fighting and arguing, it felt much better than this solitude that lingered around him.

Besides, the quickest way to form a connection with someone was through a shared enemy. He supposed he was the enemy for a lot of people.

He tore his eyes away from the scene as he walked to the front door of the house, closing the door silently behind him.

He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding once he was outside again. The cold was a nice refresher to the stale air that filled the house. He walked peacefully in the snow, not even noticing that he was walking to the nether portal before he was right in front of it. He stopped his actions when he realized, quickly thinking through the pros and cons of just leaving. 

Michael was too little to properly acknowledge who he was. Ranboo wasn’t fond of him. Tubbo couldn’t stand him.

It was all to be expected, and Wilbur had been a fool for letting comfort settle even for just a moment. One of the most important lessons from the wars, and the election, was that things were constantly moving along. Things had been moving along without Wilbur for a long time now, even if it wasn’t for as long as he’d originally anticipated. It occurred to him that he’d sought refuge with Tubbo far too many times since he was revived. A hint of a home that no longer existed. Tubbo had treated Wilbur decently ever since they had their first proper conversation. 

Wilbur, the fool he’d apparently become, had accepted every crumb of it like a starving dog. He’d relied on the friendly banter and the mansion with open doors. He’d relied on the voice of the kind ghost within his mind, that was forced to spend time with him anyhow. Wilbur had taken every bit of kindness from the people who merely tolerated him, and wasn’t that pathetic? That wasn’t what Wilbur Soot was supposed to stand for. He used to be so much stronger than that, holding the world in his own hands, and being the commander of a nation, rather than just a pathetic shell desperately seeking kindness and safety.

He stepped into the nether portal, the whisps of it filling his mind.

He wandered through the scalding heat absentmindedly, before the familiar voice of the ghost chimed in. “Wait, are you in the nether?”

Wilbur slowed down for a moment. “Yeah?”

“Oh…” Ghostbur said, his voice going much quieter, “You didn’t tell me.”

Wilbur inhaled sharply at the realization. He was moments away from cursing but stopped himself in time. He facepalmed and groaned at his own forgetfulness, “Shoot, I forgot.” 

There was hesitance in the air and no immediate response.

“Sorry,” Wilbur said, and he meant it. Promises meant nothing, but apparently, Wilbur couldn’t even hold up the simplest ones. The ones that it would cause nothing constructive to break.

“It’s okay- but…” Ghostbur trailed off slightly.

“Yeah?” Wilbur said, continuing across the bridge.

“Are we…” Ghostbur sounded like he was trying to find the right words, “Are we actually going back to Tubbo and Ranboo?”

Wilbur let out a breath. “I mean, yeah,” he said with a shrug. The truth was, he had little to no idea where exactly he was going, or where he was returning. Everything was a mess in his mind. 

“Then why are you going to the nether?” Ghostbur asked, “Oh, do you just really like walking?”

“Uhhh.” Wilbur rubbed the side of his head with a hand as if it would clear the fog in his mind, and allow him to speak words that made any sort of sense. “I just wanted to check on Friend?” he said, realizing it sounded far too much like a question, and was far too close to a lie, “I was gonna surprise you. But I don’t want you to be worried.” He let a smile slip across his lips on instinct, even if Ghostbur couldn’t see it.

The excited gasp from Ghostbur indicated that Wilbur had said the right thing. That was the most important part. Why exactly it ached in his chest, however, was unknown. “Oh yay! I love him so much.” Ghostbur said happily, sounding relieved, “You’re such a good friend. I don’t know why I didn’t trust you!”

Wilbur hid the grim darkness settling in his throat at those words with a breathless chuckle. “Y-yeah.” he simply said, as he continued walking towards the next portal.

Upon his arrival at the ruins of L’Manberg again, Wilbur realized the promise held little to no weight at all. The sheep wasn’t anywhere to be seen, and that shouldn’t have been surprising to him whatsoever. He gratingly remembered the way Tommy had stayed close to it, trying to drag it away from Wilbur, as the air around them grew more and more desperate. He remembered the fear in the boy’s eyes, and the memory sent a numbing strike of a blade through his stomach. For a moment, the pain on his face seemed almost entirely fresh again.

It was kind of funny too. How out of all the places on the server, one he’d found himself repeatedly returning to, was his own unfinished symphony. Perhaps the thought to finish it remained too loud in his mind.

But he had other priorities, ones that seemed to be fleeing him quickly. The ones that danced around his mind tauntingly. At first, he considered a new nation or even just a community that united under his rule. That required people he didn’t have. He tried to be part of a family or just making friends in general. That required people that he didn’t have. He wanted Ghostbur to still be able to experience life through him. That required people he didn’t fucking have.

As if he needed them. He spent thirteen and a half years in limbo. He could spend some time by himself solving his own problems. 

So he settled on an objective that no one else had, and he didn’t need much help to achieve. Getting Ghostbur out of his mind. He didn’t know if it was even possible, yet it felt nice to have a mission for once instead of wandering aimlessly and interacting with whoever he saw first. 

He laid out the bullet points in his mind. He wanted to start with the library, but Tubbo’s trust in him was already so thin. He thought about Dream, but the man was locked behind bars. He considered the thought of someone who knew Dream, which didn’t seem to have any immediate cons.

He ran through his mind of who knew Dream well. He roughly guessed anyone that was his ally knew him decently, but from there it was the question of who would tell him what they knew.

He decided to walk out of the crater of L’Manberg and closer to the town. The walk was quite nice as he occasionally described the view for Ghostbur. There wasn’t much detail, just the tree leaves gently swaying and how the shapes of shadows the buildings left looked.

“Are there clouds in the sky?”

Wilbur looked up for a moment, turning around slightly. “Not that I can see.” When he looked back down, he saw a person wearing a blue shirt in the distance. He tilted his head as he walked, turned on the path, and walked closer to them. It took him a while to identify them due to the sun in his eyes, but he eventually realized it was George. The George that was very close to Dream and presumably wasn’t on negative terms with Wilbur. The George that could be quite useful. He slipped a small smile onto his face as he jogged towards the man. He muttered towards Ghostbur, the smile showing in his voice, “Slight change of plans, Ghostie. We’re chatting with an old friend.”

Ghostbur gasped, “Oh which one?”

George heard Wilbur’s footsteps and turned towards the sound. A confused smile came across his face, but he did a small wave nonetheless. When Wilbur arrived where George was as he happily exclaimed, “George, it’s been forever!” He held a hand out and when George latched onto it, he pulled them both in for a quick hug. It burned so wonderfully, but Wilbur made himself pull away. “How have you been?”
George still seemed shocked, “I- I’ve been good, but you’re alive!” He ran a hand through his hair, slightly messing it up along the way.

Wilbur grinned at him, “Yeah! I’m back and better than ever.”

“Wow, that’s really great. Glad to see you again,” he said, looking at him with a lot of disbelief, as if he was still processing the sight, but seemingly didn’t intend to question him too much about it. That was a nice change of pace. It wasn’t as if Wilbur understood either.

Wilbur nodded, “You as well. Where you heading?”

George shrugged, “Mostly just taking a walk. You?”

“Same.”

“You wanna catch up? Oh- you’ve gotta see the prank I’m pulling on Tommy.”

“I’ll come along and see it myself.” George started walking again, and Wilbur followed suit. George was on his side- literally and figuratively- all he had to do was to gently bring up Dream and propose a few questions. It didn’t seem too difficult. So he continued with George, the conversation flowing surprisingly easily between them. They ended up at Tommy’s house rather quickly. Perhaps Wilbur was having a pleasant conversation for once.

Tommy’s house was small and made of dirt, something that surprised Wilbur quite a bit. Small and underwhelming, even after so long, and Wilbur wondered why Tommy still lingered there. A strange, very small part of him almost hoped that the house would expand. Wilbur left too much of a remarkable impact for Tommy to reside in somewhere so small and meaningless.

George took off his backpack once they were there, carefully placing it on the floor. He pulled out two cartons of eggs. He snickered as he handed one carton to Wilbur and kept one for himself. He grinned at Wilbur, as he picked up one, throwing it at Tommy’s house with force, as it splattered on the dirt wall. 

Wilbur furrowed his eyebrows with slight surprise as he opened the carton, picking out an egg from inside when he had a bad feeling in his chest. It almost stabbed him out of nowhere, a pang of strong guilt about an action he hadn’t even committed yet. 

Yet, what had Tommy done for him? 

The thought settled like his own grip on a gun that he knew he knew exactly how to use. A familiar lack of faith in those around him, because they knew Wilbur was a villain, just as he knew himself. Once everything went wrong they would inevitably turn against him. He knew as much. It had been proven to him time and time again. He clenched the egg for a moment, accidentally creating a small crack in its surface, as George was already halfway through his carton. He turned to Wilbur, a big grin on his face. “Come on! The guy’ll be furious, it’ll be hilarious.”

George looked at Wilbur for a long moment, the grin barely fading, but wavering just a little. Wilbur huffed, and threw the egg towards the house. It landed with a faint ‘crack’, splattering all over the bottom of the wall. A smirk lingered on Wilbur’s lips, as George laughed.

Though the feeling in his chest stayed just the same, because what exactly was Wilbur trying to gain? He remembered the sting of Tommy’s eyes, glaring at him, as if Wilbur was everything that was wrong in the world.

We were like family.

A lot of good that did them.

He picked up another egg, and threw it at the house with a little more force, though as it cracked against the wall, he noticed his hand was shaking. George shouted over to him, “Yeah, like that!”

“What are you doing?” Ghostbur asked. Wilbur was thankful he couldn’t reply.

He held another egg, his gaze settling on George for a moment. He stared for a second too long as he soon released it. The throw coming off weaker than he intended. George’s voice was one parallel to an eye roll, “Oh, C’mon. The leader of L’Manberg can throw better than that.” George moved closer to Wilbur, standing right next to him. He raised his eyebrows, “Do I seriously need to teach you how to throw something?”

Wilbur scoffed, “Oh you wish.” On impulse, he threw the egg directly at George’s shirt. He felt that familiar guilt for a moment. The one that foreshadowed George leaving just like everyone else. But in the moment, everything was fine. 

George just chuckled as he dramatically complained, “My favorite shirt!” He took an egg from his carton and smashed it on Wilbur’s face.  Wilbur wiped off the egg yolk and cracked shell, starting to slowly approach George.

“Wilbur, no,” George’s laugh swirled in Wilbur’s mind. Wilbur quickly ran up to him, effectively tackling him as he was pinned. Wilbur didn’t hesitate to smash the egg in George’s face. 

George groaned, “Dream, why do you always have to do this?” He chuckled near the end as Wilbur’s grin dimed. 

“Dream?”

George stopped smiling instantly, a look of recoil coming across his face. “Sorry, sorry, I just saw the fingerless gloves for a moment. I…” George gently sighed, “Let’s just pretend it never happened.” Wilbur distantly nodded. Another person was only around him because of someone he was not. Wilbur tried to hide how hurt he felt instead grabbing another egg and gently handing it to George. The man with goggles nodded and threw the egg hard on the front wall.

It almost reminded Wilbur of simpler times. Where pranks were pulled in good fun, with mild anger following, soon to be forgotten. When grudges were minor and actions didn’t turn into blood feuds. Though there was something in the way George looked at the house, that made Wilbur feel that this wasn’t just done in good fun. Few things were anymore. That was one thing that had been different, even last time Wilbur was alive. “What are you standing around for?” George asked, “I’m colorblind and I can see several eggs left in your carton.”

George was looking at Wilbur as if it was a test. If there was anything Wilbur fucking hated it was being tested. It indicated that someone else had the upper hand, and was going to use it against him, if he didn’t live up to their expectations. Wilbur caught himself scowling for a moment, before smiling lightly. “Yeah, sure.” He said, “Though I actually had something I wanted to ask you.”

George threw his last egg, cracking it against the window with no hesitation. “Yeah? What is it?” he asked absentmindedly. 

Wilbur let out a sharp breath, clenching the carton in his hand. He liked the way it slowly broke under his command. “You know how I was… Revived?”

George raised an eyebrow, dropping the empty carton on the ground. He laughed, “Yeah? I’m looking at you right now.”

“Right,” Wilbur said, straightening his back, and cracking his neck, as he threw his cartoon towards the house, most of the eggs breaking on the ground. George watched confusedly. “And I suppose you are aware that Dream was the one who did it?”

George frowned, the look in his eyes changing abruptly. “He did?”

It was the look of someone who’d suffered a loss, and it was strange, to see that in regards to Dream. It was strange because the look was given because of a person everyone else seemed to have agreed to hate with little hesitation. “Yes,” Wilbur confirmed, stepping a bit closer. George stood his ground. “Are you sure you didn’t know?”

George shook his head and shrugged, “How should I know? The guy’s in jail.”

Wilbur knew enough about George, to recognize when he was on the defensive. He huffed. “Even if you didn’t know that, I was just wondering if you knew anything else?” He watched George take a step back, and it sparked something in Wilbur’s chest. Wilbur being in control. The powerful commander, who won back L’Manberg, and declared it independent. The one whose voice everyone listened to during the war meetings. “Dream was your friend, wasn’t he? If anyone knew about his ability to revive people beforehand, surely it’d be you?”

Hurt settled on George’s face. He shook his head. “I didn’t know anything.”

“Have you visited him yet?” Wilbur asked, barely acknowledging George’s words. Information. He needed information, and he would get it this time around. “I’m sure he misses you.”

That seemed to strike a nerve, as George’s eyes widened for a moment. He closed them and shook his head against the ground. “No,” he said, sounding far too much like someone who tried to sound like they didn’t care.

The realization that George was uncomfortable, hit Wilbur early on. It reminded him of the way Tommy scowled at him. The quiet dismissal of Wilbur’s questions.

Yet what did Wilbur care about exactly? 

He’d been desperately cowering for so long, seeking approval, and any crumb of tolerance of his presence. And George had tolerated him, even if some of it was just a moment of remembering someone he lost. It was funny how George, his old enemy, seemed to have any respect left for Wilbur.

Though it wasn’t respect. Not really. George was testing Wilbur, and Wilbur was going to test him back. Wilbur was no longer going to rely on those who tried to care about the new him. About the him, who had spent thirteen and a half years at a train station, yet hadn’t changed at all. They were expecting someone else, and that was fine. Perhaps Wilbur shouldn't have expected them to even care in the first place. It was too naïve of a goal and much too optimistic for his liking. It was almost similar to the blinded confidence he possessed in Pogtopia, allowing help to be given to him with nothing to be given in return, only to be unsurprisingly betrayed in the end. The cycle repeated until he betrayed himself. A tragic flaw, a dramatic end, an end to a life-long monologue- call it what it was, but he was alone.

In Pogtopia, Wilbur had realized he was alone too far in.

In the ruins of L’Manberg, by the house of his old right hand man, years and months later, Wilbur had gotten used to that feeling.

“Why don’t you let me know what happened while I was gone? Fill me in from another side of history! Because the wars don’t matter anymore, George. I just want to know what I missed.” Wilbur smirked, as he watched George shake just slightly. Wilbur stepped closer, George walking backwards towards Tommy’s house. “Surely that isn’t so hard?”

“I have nothing to do with him anymore, you understand? He’s in prison, and you’re alive.” George said, the words sounding sharp, “That’s all I know.”

“Come on, surely I’m not that untrustworthy?” Wilbur tried to make it sound like a joke, “Tell me, was it a relief when I was gone? Did it lift any weights off your shoulders? Off of Dream’s?” The comment was barely related, though it came out of Wilbur, as if it had been urging to for years. A little requiem from an enemy. Not that Wilbur had considered George much of an enemy back then, but perhaps to the other side it was different. 

He was surprised when George looked him straight in the eyes. While George looked so small as he stood there, and despite how his voice wavered, for a moment he almost looked confident. “I didn’t want you to die. You were a good guy,” George said. “I can tell you that much.”

Wilbur almost didn’t comprehend the words. His face twisting strangely, as he watched George standing right by the wall, caught up in a corner. The words made no sense at all, because that wasn’t how anyone was supposed to view him. Not someone from another side. It was almost laughable, that George knew so very little about Wilbur. Yet, for a brief moment, he was at a loss of words.

“What the fuck is happening?” a new voice chimed in.

Wilbur turned his head abruptly, surprised that anyone was around. He was met by the sight of Sapnap, looking at the scene with confusion and concern.

Chapter Text

Sapnap stood in the entryway of Tommy’s house, expecting an answer.

Wilbur smiled in a way that didn’t reach his eyes. His voice remained passively cheery with something reserved behind it, “We were just having a talk. A private one.”

Sapnap took another step into the home, “I’m not leaving you here with him. You're looking super… off right now." Something was held back in Sapnap’s words. 

Wilbur took a second to reflect on the moment. The moment wasn’t that abnormal by itself. He pulled a fun harmless prank with George and the two were simply chatting inside a vacant home. It wasn’t necessarily his fault George had too many attachments to his Dream and refused to tell him anything as a result. Wilbur growled out, "It's nothing that concerns you. Leave." 

Sapnap kept his eyes centered on Wilbur. "George, come over here." Wilbur flickered his eyes back for a moment, seeing George try to side-step out of his way. His mind momentarily switched him with Tubbo as their actions mirrored each other. He wasn’t letting another person leave him. He wasn’t letting more information slip through his hands. He couldn’t afford it.

Wilbur harshly exhaled, “We just need to finish this up, then both of you can go do whatever." He really despised how difficult people could be. Simply blinded by a lack of understanding- one Wilbur shared- that was destructive if not properly taken care of.

And how Sapnap was a destructive fool. So easily swayed by his emotions. He pulled out a loaded crossbow, aiming it at Wilbur. His finger rested gently over the trigger, twitching occasionally. “Step the fuck away from him. Hands where I can see them.”

Annoyance filled Wilbur’s eyes. “Sapnap, don’t do anything rash. We can talk this out.” Wilbur gestured to the man in front of him, “I haven’t done a single thing wrong, isn’t that right, George?”

He looked back towards George, who immediately refused to meet Wilbur’s gaze. George was painting him as a villain. The one that cornered him until the heroic Sapnap came to save the day. The one that needed to be taken care of. The one that died to his own flaws. Heroes never died to their flaws. Heroes loaded a crossbow to protect the ‘innocent.’ 

Wasn’t Wilbur just as innocent himself? All he needed was answers to fix the mind of his. The one that insisted to be nicer and embrace the little parts of life. The child in his brain who could be removed if he simply knew a little more. Just a few more minutes of conversation and he would have all he ever needed. But with Sapnap present? He had to turn those minutes into quick moments that would pass before the man holding the crossbow even blinked. 

He placed his hand firmly on George’s shoulder, slightly pushing him back into the wall. He didn’t even intend to. He didn’t apply much pressure. “George-” He was sharply cut off by the stabbing pain in his leg. He jumped onto the other leg to avoid the painful pressure as he was tackled down by someone he couldn’t see.

A punch hit him square in the jaw, landing on top of a bruise he received from Niki not too long ago. He hissed out in pain and tried to throw the person off of him. When he caught a second to look, it was Sapnap on him, but the moment it took to realize that, he whipped his head to the side after getting punched again. 

He wiggled his arms from underneath him and weakly punched him back, unable to move his body into the motion. After more hits that made Wilbur almost dizzy, he knew he couldn’t play fair. He took his fingers and poked them into Sapnap’s eyes, making the man on top of him stop for a moment. Wilbur took the opportunity and punched him as hard as he could, flipping their position and making him on top. 

He prepared to hit Sapnap again, not even thinking about why. All he knew was he was getting attacked, and he wasn’t going to be on the losing side of history. Just as he was going to hit the man under him, a blue blur pushed him off, Wilbur’s curled up fist connecting with George’s arm with half the force he aimed for Sapnap. 

Still, he made a grunt from the impact and muttered something Wilbur couldn’t hear. George seemed to take a small, hesitant step away, but Sapnap didn’t follow suit as he rolled over and grabbed the collar of Wilbur's shirt. Sapnap must’ve pushed on the pulsing pain in his leg as he groaned from the dizzying sensation. Sapnap took it as his chance to hit Wilbur again. It didn’t just happen once, but Wilbur lost track. He just felt his head jerk back and forth and he closed his eyes from the pain. 

When the punches stopped, he opened his eyes slightly. He saw George telling Sapnap something, holding his shoulders firmly. He felt like he could see Sapnap pulling against George’s pull with an anger in his eyes. 

“He’s not worth it,” He heard George mumble. 

Despite being on the floor and writhing in pain, he hissed out at George, “Fuck you.” He felt pain connect with his face once more. He laughed bitterly. The day was saved. The hero put the villain in his spot. He wouldn't do anything bad now. The innocent people could finally live in peace.

The peace that thrived off of the villain being put to a permanent retirement. The stories he heard from a young age painted it so simply. If only he could have a permanent rest. A permanent rest from this routine he lived in. Besides, everyone else needed a break from him anyway. Just a couple of days alive, and they already needed a break.

Sapnap got off of him. Kicking the place where the pain lay in his leg as Wilbur curled up. “Shit,” he whispered, barely able to acknowledge the people still in the room as the pain throbbed once more. He whimpered quietly to himself as he heard footsteps slowly grow fainter and fainter. There was a distinct sound of voices but he didn’t bother paying attention as he closed his eyes.

“-bur! Wilbur?! Please, please respond, Wil.” Panicked whispers filled his mind. “Oh no, oh no, he’s dead. What happens if he’s dead? Do I die and get put into limbo two: electric boogaloo? Does he get put in limbo? Oh no, this is bad.” 

A moment of silence was followed by a slightly calmer tone, “No trains coming. That’s good.” Ghostbur cried out in pain, “Wilbur, what did you do this time?” The question wasn’t meant directly to Wilbur, despite him being the subject of it.

Wilbur only managed a groan in response as Ghostbur excitedly gasped, “Wilbur! Can you hear me?”

Wilbur pushed himself up to where he was sitting up. His head spinned as he mumbled, “Yeah, I can hear you.”

“That’s great, because I’d like an explanation of everything that just happened. I thought you said George was your friend! And George didn’t even try to stop all of that. While I don’t think I’ve personally met him, he sounds a little rude.” 

Wilbur tried to stand up but he cried out in pain along with Ghostbur at the sensation in his leg. He muttered, “Oh shit.”

“Language,” Ghostbur bitterly mentioned.

“I got shot with Sapnap’s crossbow.” He frankly should have connected the dots earlier, but he just assumed he got kicked really hard. The blood trickled down his leg, slightly staining his pants along the way.

“Oh! Okay… how- how do we fix this?”

“Prime, Ghostbur, I have no fucking clue.” Wilbur sighed quietly to himself, “I’m not cursing at you or anything. I’m just upset that all of it happened.”

“The feeling is mutual.” 

The comment took Wilbur off-guard, “What did you say?”

“I said the feeling is mutual. Do you not know what that means? It means when-”

Wilbur cut him off, “I know what it means. I just- I really didn’t expect that out of you.” A light astonishment slipped into Wilbur’s voice.

Ghostbur sighed, “That doesn’t really matter right now. We need to focus on your- well I suppose it would be our- leg.”

Wilbur nodded vaguely. “Right. Okay step one…” Wilbur’s voice died as he tried to think of a vague-ish rule that would apply to any injury. “Get out of immediate danger.”

Ghostbur asked, “Is anyone with you?”

Wilbur shook his head, “It’s just you and me. And me and you. We got the whole place to ourselves.” Wilbur chuckled at the familiar jingle. 

Ghostbur didn’t laugh though. His voice stayed firm in a way that frightened Wilbur more than Sapnap did. “What’s step two?”

Wilbur let out a shaky breath, “Um… assess the damage taken.” Wilbur thought for a moment, “There’s gonna be swelling in the face and eventual bruises. There’s also the arrow in my right calf. The injury is on the exterior, about the middle of the leg.” He slightly moved his leg closer, making him wince in pain in company to Ghostbur’s hiss. “It doesn’t seem too deep.”

“You’re doing good so far,” The praise sounded dull, as if it was just supposed to keep Wilbur busy as his mind ran. “Now step three.”

“I’m guessing that would be taking inventory on your medical aid and equipment. As far as medical aid, I-” It was quite pathetic to say that he didn’t have anyone, so he settled on an alternative, “I don’t think anyone is nearby to help.”

“We could go to someone and get help?”

Wilbur quickly feigned an excuse, “I don’t want Sapnap or George seeing me again.”

Ghostbur hummed in acknowledgment, “Good point.” He thought for a moment. “We can’t go to Tubbo or Ranboo either?”

“George or Sapnap might see me and I don’t want to risk going into the nether.”

Ghostbur frustratedly sighed, “So no one wants to help us.” It was stated so matter of factly that Wilbur almost agreed. Instead, he slid himself up one of Tommy’s walls, standing mostly on the leg that wasn’t injured.

Wilbur tried to sugarcoat the situation the best he could, “I’m sure people want to. They’re just…” Only helping him out of pity. “Unavailable.” 

“Sure. Alright, what supplies do you have?”

“I doubt I’d find much, most of the useful stuff Tommy had was transferred to Pogtopia.” Before Ghostbur could speak again, he added on, “Ghostie, are you alright?”

“It’s-” Ghostbur took a shaky breath, “You need medical attention. Focus on that first.”

“You’re just as important as I am,” Wilbur reassured.

Wilbur hated the silent response more than the arrow in his leg.

He restated, “You are just as important as me.”

The quiet voice filled his mind once more. It was hesitant and small compared to the pain that persisted in Wilbur’s head. He could hardly focus on the words themselves. "I'm not. I'm really not.”

Wilbur furrowed his brow, "Woah, where is this coming from?"

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I just don't feel happy right now." The voice lingered in a dull disappointment that stabbed Wilbur in the heart.

Wilbur pulled a cheery voice, "Uh, you can think about Friend?"

He expected a happy rant about the shade of his wool, or the time of day the little sheep ate. He couldn’t expect anything else out of the happy little ghost. He couldn’t expect Ghostbur’s actual answer. "But then I think about things I shouldn't."

"Like what?"

"I…” Ghostbur took a shaky breath, “I feel like you lied again. No- I know you did. I just don't like to think about it too much."

“I didn’t li-” Wilbur cut himself off at the realization that he promised Ghostbur they were going to see Friend. The talk was still fresh in his mind, remembering the exact part of the cobblestone bridge he was on along with how he shifted in his clothes uncomfortably. “Oh shi- shoot. Ghostie, I'm sorry. I forgot to tell you that I didn't see Friend. I tried looking for him, but he wasn't at L'Manberg like last time."

Ghostbur bitterly laughed, "Do you really think that's all you've lied about?" Wilbur thought for a moment before Ghostbur continued, " I know I have memory problems from time to time. But I've been remembering things really clearly ever since you got revived. And nothing makes sense anymore. You said we would go to Tubbo, but now we can't. You- you said Tommy was coming back, but he never did. And- And you rarely tell me things anymore!" Ghostbur’s voice wavered with a saddened anger. It teetered in a way that made him sound like he was crying, "I thought you were my friend." Wilbur’s vision seemed to messily blur at the final words.

Somehow the ghost that loved everyone he met and named a sheep ‘Friend’ was against him. 

One could easily look at Wilbur and see him in those history books. Slightly tint the photos of him a dark gray color or a crimson red if it was recent. State so loudly that no one could stand him. Source all the lives he ruined, and explain how Ghostbur should be in the overworld instead. Let the innocent person run free as the villain rots, cold and alone. Stuck in a train station. That was where Wilbur belonged.

While part of him thought he wasn’t the villain, he was just on the wrong side of history, he knew he was lying to himself, because the two were much the same. It was a habit he developed years ago. He had to believe the best would happen and it would come. So he tried to believe the best, his tone coming off as sarcastic and uncaring, "Oh, we totally are friends! Best friends forever, y'know?" 

Ghostbur’s voice shook with such confidence and resentment, "A best friend would tell me things and stop the pain from constantly hurting." A melancholic gray filled his vision for a moment, before flickering away.

Wilbur shifted on his uninjured leg and hobbled towards the entrance of Tommy’s house. Ghostbur wanted to be told the perspective of the world. Simple. There was the wretched villain looking out of an abandoned home, squinting into sun, attempting to help a ghost trapped in his mind. Wilbur spoke in a hushed tone, “I can tell you things. There's an apple on the ground. It’s bright red-"

Ghostbur cut him off, his words rushed and eager to escape him, "Tell me the important things! The details about clouds and trees mean nothing if I'm in pain!"

Wilbur hummed in acknowledgement, “You’re right.” He hopped once more out of Tommy’s house, using the exterior of the wall to act as a support as he limped towards a familiar direction. The world was closing in on him, when he realized who he was once more. Wilbur Soot. Creator and destroyer of L’Manberg. The villain who had been slayed yet again. A repressed genius, who had been holding back for far too long. He let out a breath as he felt his entire being soaring towards the sky, out of the pain, and into the sky that belonged to him as much as his sunrise. “We’re- I’m going to Pogtopia.”

He heard sniffles echo through his mind accompanied by hisses of pains and quick apologies. It turned into white noise as he centered his mind on his throbbing leg, well- as he tried to center the pain there. His mind still ran, telling him about all the things he grinned at. 

It felt nice to be above it all. He was simply a mastermind, a work of art that no one else understood. The walk was moderately quick, but peaceful. The adrenaline must have been kicking in as his limp lessened. 

He coughed once, as he supported himself on the walls of Pogtopia. His hand ran over the buttons, and while he didn’t press them, he could hear them clicking faintly. They weren’t mocking him anymore, he thought. They were shaking underneath his grasp, and it sent a laugh through his body. “I’m here,” he said out loud.

“ Great ,” Ghostbur said sharply, though it was clear he had a hard time saying it.

He threw back his head a little, as if he was bored. “I’m not sure where they put the medical equipment.” He thought about his last trip to this place. “Ah, perhaps Tubbo brought it to that little bunker of his.” The name seemed to sting his tongue, but everything else stung him more, so it was hardly relevant.

“We…” Ghostbur tried with a shaky voice, “We’re not allowed to go in there without him. H- he said-”

“You were the one who said medical attention was the first priority,” Wilbur reminded the ghost, continuing to walk ahead. He received no response.

Whatever.

He remembered where the bunker was, fortunately. He soon found himself in there, and while it felt forbidden just before he walked inside, Wilbur never cared much about what he was supposed to do. The world wasn’t going to keep him down. He had been staying at the train station, with little to no light, and hours, days, years ticking ahead. He had let the comfort of tolerance, and connection that would be broken at the slightest misstep, overwhelm him. He had forgotten everything he had learned last time he was in Pogtopia. A silly little shell, who was far too easy to keep down. But Wilbur wasn’t anyone’s shell anymore.

He looked at the books and the little farms for food. One could stay there for months or longer, and remain perfectly intact. “Huh, I could do some reading while I’m down here,” he said.

“ Please- please take… ” Ghostbur’s voice wavered, though the next part came out harshly, “ Please take care of the wounds. ”

Wilbur rolled his eyes. “Yeah yeah, I will.”

Ghostbur responded to that with a hiss of pain, but Wilbur barely noticed as he walked to the nearest chest to pick up some bandages. There was thankfully a potion of regeneration, and something that would disinfect the wound. He wished it was an instant health instead, or even just having more potions in general. 

Regardless, he sat down on a chair, feeling the pain slightly more as his leg changed position. He looked at the arrow. “I’m going to remove the arrow now. Brace yourself I guess.”

Ghostbur held his breath, and Wilbur ripped it out with as much quick force as he could, knowing full well that it would be less painful to get it done quickly. “There we go.” His smile wavered for a moment, though he settled on the most confident expression he could muster. He’d done this countless times before. Ghostbur sobbed, and Wilbur huffed. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Ghostbur didn’t respond though. Instead, Wilbur heard the sound of muffled cries and whimpers echoing through his mind.

Chapter Text

Tending to his own wounds was once a routine. It was something that he had to do frequently during the wars, and it hadn’t taken too long for him back then to grow desensitized to the feeling. As repetitive as loading a crossbow, which could cause someone else to go through the same repetitive action.

Though as Wilbur tried to recall the steps, his memory seemed to fail him. He hadn’t had treatable injuries in limbo after all. The ones he had since he was revived, other people had treated for him. Now he was out of practice. Great.

He ripped the fabric off the wound to free it. As bleeding started to come out from his wound, he remembered that the arrow ideally should be removed after the first bit of the immediate treatment.

Ah, shit.

With a piece of cloth he’d picked up, he applied as much pressure as he could to the wound. It stung, but it was better than nothing. “Now I’m going to rinse it,” Wilbur narrated. 

Ghostbur’s whimpers became clearer every time the wound was touched, and Wilbur was starting to grow tired of it. Every single time he heard it, he was momentarily brought back into the pain. It was pathetic to let himself be affected by it.

He took a water bucket and slowly poured some on the wound. Suddenly he heard Ghostbur scream.

“What’s going on, what’s going on, what’s going on?” Ghostbur pleaded.

“Huh?” Wilbur said confusedly, “I’m rinsing the wound, I just told you.”

The words were unclear through the quick breaths. “With- with what?”

“Uhh, water?” Wilbur said, confused at the question.

“O-oh-” Ghostbur said, “It- Water burns me. I’m sorry I just didn’t expect it this time.”

“Water burns you?” Wilbur asked. Abruptly, he remembered the tears steaming on the figure’s face. As if they were burning him. 

They were burning him.

“That didn’t happen last time,” he said, remembering when his wound had been rinsed way back then.

“It does now,” Ghostbur said quickly, and if it had been anyone else, Wilbur would almost have assumed it was with slight annoyance.

Wilbur hummed with acknowledgement as he picked his brain to remember if anything was different. He remembered how Ghostbur had been able to taste the consistency of the steak. The touch on the hand. The fur on the sheep. “I guess you feel things more clearly now.”

“O-okay. Please-” Ghostbur cut himself off.

“Please what?”

“W-warn me next time?” It was asked like a question. Uncertainty dripping off every syllable. It was familiar in a sense.

“Sure,” Wilbur said with a nod. “I’m supposed to be rinsing it for a couple of minutes though. To avoid infection.”

“Your time or my time?”

“My time.” Wilbur said, and the words tasted bitterly in his mouth.

“Okay,” Ghostbur whispered, his voice so hushed, that Wilbur could’ve easily missed it.

Wilbur continued to rinse the wound with water, Ghostbur’s whimpers coming through every once in a while, though they turned quieter and quieter. He thought of the way the tears had burned the ghost. He thought of the sobs, the pleas and the cries.

For how long had Ghostbur been crying?

Wilbur pushed the thought away as fast as he could, because he didn’t need it right now. It attempted to drag him towards the ground, and he was so so close to taking off. He was so close to letting his mind wander into the comforting freedom that came with the control he’d gained. He disinfected the wound, inhaling sharply at the feeling.

“I’m done rinsing it,” he said after a little while, and the ghost stopped whimpering. He took the bandages off the surface of the chest next to him, and wrapped them around his leg. He took a big sip from the potion of regeneration, the pinkish purple mixture making it into his veins. It felt a lot more comfortable than an instant health one. It settled, as if everything was being stitched together with a grip as gentle as water. 

Or well, perhaps not water in everyone’s case. 

There was silence from Ghostbur, and Wilbur hummed, satisfied with his work. “See? I’ve taken care of the wound, just like you wanted.” He chuckled lightly, “How do you feel?”

The ghost swallowed something in his throat. “Better,” he said, though the words sounded choked.

Wilbur remembered the buttons underneath his fingers, and the satisfaction that came with breaking something in his hands. He thought of George, backed up into a corner. “Hmm? Are you happy now?” he said, and somehow it didn’t feel like he was the one saying it. It was, of course. It was something he would say.

Ghostbur sounded like he was about to sob again, though it was hindered. After a few moments of silence, he spoke, “...thank you.”

Wilbur felt his shoulders fall into a relaxed position, as he looked straight ahead onto the books on the shelves. “You’re welcome,” he said. It came out quieter than he intended.

Once the potion had done some more work, he could go have a look at the books. Figure out his next course of action. But there was no rush. Not really. That was another pro to working alone. He decided when he was working, without the weight of expectations keeping him down.

Ghostbur sobbed, before cutting himself off again. “Wilby, ‘m sorry.” he said. It didn’t mix in with the rest of the pleas. It was intended for Wilbur properly this time.

“For what?” Wilbur asked, a bit of confusion slipping in with the nonchalance. 

Ghostbur’s breathing wavered. “Sorry for it hurting too much.”

It took Wilbur a moment to comprehend the words, and when he did he wasn’t sure whether to frown or to laugh. An apology. The ghost was apologizing to Wilbur for feeling pain. It was just like the other times, and it truly dawned upon Wilbur just how apologetic the ghost was. How the ghost would go silent just for feeling unwanted.

How easy it was, to make the ghost go silent.

The thoughts came to Wilbur like little gusts of wind. Like the button underneath his fingertips. Ghostbur couldn’t do anything, and Wilbur held every ounce of power to do whatever he wanted. The pure water didn’t harm Wilbur in the slightest. He imagined letting the water stream down himself, hearing the ghost’s pleas and faint apologies. He would beg Wilbur to stop, and Wilbur could touch his old wounds, and jump in a tank until he was entirely covered in water. The ghost’s apologies would fill his mind, and Wilbur would encourage them fully. He would take them at face value.
He could have Ghostbur never talk again. He could finally be alone. Because breathing at the surface of the ocean was hardly necessary when you were brilliant enough to breathe underneath it.

As the thoughts appeared, he had a difficult time pushing them out. They lingered there, temptingly.  They shouldn’t, Wilbur realized. That didn’t make sense at all. He shook his head quickly.

Wilbur spent so long feeling like nothing. Feeling pathetic. Prime, how he yearned for the freedom. Wanted to be everything he knew he had the potential to be. Wanted to ride that high, that led him to the button that destroyed everything he’d created.

And yet, a faint hint of the ground he was standing on before, tried to drag him back. Tried to push the familiar high away. 

What the hell was he thinking? What did all of those thoughts mean?

He needed control. He really really needed control.

It was strange to have a ghost in his mind that lacked control whatsoever. Any knowledge was given by Wilbur, and even then, the poor thing still needed an explanation at times. The ghost spoke in the back of his mind, “I heard from Phil that when you get an injury you should use rice. Not the food though, he told me not to use actual rice.” Ghostbur chuckled somberly, “It’s an acronym. Tells you that you should rest, ice, compression, and elevate something when it hurts. I- I know that we don’t have ice, but can you- if it’s not a bother- elevate it?” Ghostbur quickly added, “Just a bit please.”

How far could he push the kind soul? How much would he take before nodding along to what Wilbur said. “It is a bother,” he said dully, the words seeming automatic. They tasted wrong as he continued to speak, “You’re lucky I’m kind enough to take care of you.” He grabbed the chair near him and laid his leg onto it, shifting it slightly so it wouldn’t hurt as much.

“Thank you,” the words were strained, almost a whisper that slightly shook.

You’re welcome, stayed on his tongue. It tasted more and more bitter the more he considered it. Silence lingered between them. He barely had the words to say what he wanted to say.

A small part of him said to apologize. Perhaps that part was infected by Ghostbur as the rest of him was so boldly different. The thoughts reoccurred, louder this time, swarming him with all the ways he could make Ghostbur silent. “Shut up,” he muttered to nothing in particular. 

A muffled whimper filled his ears. He couldn’t tell if it was his mind or Ghostbur as the ghost’s screams echoed in his mind. He moved the chair under him slightly, making it so he could reach the bookshelf in Tubbo’s bunker. Perhaps light reading would take his mind off of things.

He skimmed the titles with his eyes. Most of them were about L’Manberg and Schlatt2020, but a few stood out. He thought carefully before picking the book that read, “Pandora’s Box”. The name felt familiar. Someone must’ve told him about it, but he couldn’t remember a name. 

He leaned over, barely grabbed the book as it was near the end, and put it onto the table in front of him. He opened it, skimmed through the index, and flipped to the first page.

“Pandora’s Box, is a massive prison, commissioned by Dream on the 6th of December 2020. It was primarily built by Awesamdude, with the help of BadBoyHalo, Antfrost, and Dream. The prison is said to be entirely inescapable.”

Wilbur nodded along with the words, and flipped to a page that detailed the captives. 

“Current prisoners: Dream, imprisoned on February 7th 2021”

Wilbur chuckled to himself. Oh the irony. Trapped in one's own prison. Truly the fate for someone considered a villain.

Wilbur’s mind was silent. There were barely any whimpers. Wilbur hated how his heart seemed to jump to his throat for a moment at the realization. He turned the page back to the part detailing the entry protocol.

“To gain access to the prison, the guest must summon the warden by clicking the button at the entrance hall and travel through the portal grid controlled by the warden.”

Silence. Wilbur felt his heart rate increasing.

“Upon entering, the warden at the desk has the visitor sign waivers waiving the prison's responsibility and gives the prisoner the responsibility for all risks.”

Wilbur tried to absorb the information, as he became increasingly aware of his own breathing. 
“In addition, the guest is vetted through interrogation with questions regarding the visitor's visit history, relationship with the prisoner, and the location of residence.”

Wilbur remembered the faint apologies. Sorry for it hurting too much. Yet there was barely a sound in his head, and all he could hear was his heart, and his breathing, and he had one foot on the ground, and the other elevated. He was no longer about to fly. His mind wanted to, but it couldn’t seem to find a place to take off. The click of buttons seemed foreign to him. He wanted to throw the book away to make sense of his mind, and all the desires blasting through it at miles a second. The desires he didn’t want to have, the desires he was supposed to have, the doubts he thought he shook off long ago. 

Pathetic. Pathetic shell with nothing to offer for his time. A legacy, a crater in the ground. He wasn’t going to be pathetic anymore. He knew he could do so much more. He could affect miles worth of land. Could fill so many pages in history directly and indirectly. Wilbur was a genius! A work of art, and no one else knew. No one else understood. No one else could truly see the big picture the way he could.

Control. He really really needed control.

Wilbur shut the book abruptly. “Ghostbur, do you want me to read something out loud to you?” The words came out so quickly, that he barely realized he was the one who’d said them.

“Huh?” a moment of hesitation followed, “I-I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I- I don’t know.”

“There are quite a few books here,” Wilbur said, his voice softening.

“I…” A few confused silent breaths came out, “What- what am I supposed to answer?”

“Hm?” 

“I’m sorry, this is hard, I don’t… I don’t know. What do you want me to respond? You said I shouldn’t-” There were some quiet unintelligible mumbles.

Wilbur’s hand shook on the cover of the book, his back suddenly straightened. It had worked. Just a few words, slipping out as a small test, and the ghost was right there, trying to please Wilbur’s every whim. The ghost was in his head, and the ghost was desperate. The ghost feared him, and Wilbur wasn’t even sure if the ghost knew how much more Wilbur was capable of or not. Just how little Wilbur had to do, for the pleas to never cease, or for the silence to extend forever. 

And perhaps, there was a little bit of influence lingering elsewhere, because the thought made Wilbur feel sick. Dizzy from the power, yet lacking any sort of grasp or control when it came to his own thoughts.

“I’m sorry,” Wilbur said out loud, the words echoing the ghost’s own muffled apologies.

“Huh?” Ghostbur said.

“There is no right answer,” Wilbur said. “Just uh… Pick what you want.”

“Would it… Would either bother you?” Ghostbur asked, his voice choked.

Wilbur shook his head, though the ghost couldn’t see it. “No. Reading brings me information regardless and reading some out loud would just… Help me memorize it.”

Yes. Wilbur didn’t care either way. What did Wilbur care about anyway?

“Oh.” Ghostbur said, taking a deep breath, “R-reading is calming. If it isn’t any trouble I wouldn’t mind listening for a bit. Sorry.”

Wilbur flinched slightly at the apology. “No reason to be sorry,” Wilbur said. “What do you wanna hear about?” He asked, looking at the shelves, “Oooh, how about all this Egg stuff? I don’t know much about that.”

Ghostbur made a small hum of agreement, “Whatever you’d like.”

Wilbur insisted on Ghostbur’s opinions to be heard, the persisting guilt pressing onto him painfully, “Do you not have a preference or do you secretly want a certain book?”

Ghostbur’s voice wavered, “I- I’m sorry. Just um- whatever you want.”

Wilbur hated that he could tell Ghostbur had a preferred book. Yet, he knew the ghost was distressed enough as it was and decided to force himself to not dwell on it too long. Of course it lingered in the back of his mind, but he pulled a book titled “The Egg” off of the bookshelf. He took a shaky breath as he opened the book. 

He didn’t bother looking at the table of contents as he cleared his voice, “The Crimson, also known as The Egg, is a strange large red egg that was discovered by BadBoyHalo while mining out his statue room before December 6, 2020.”

The silence was present, but it wasn’t as loud as before. It slightly irritated him as it taunted him in the back of his mind.

“Since then, it has grown much larger and exhibits a strange phenomenon of weeping vines and tendrils that have been found across different locations. The Egg appears to be sentient, talking to the infected in a strange language.”

Wilbur awkwardly laughed, “That’s sorta cool.”

He hoped for a passive agreement that was tinged with melancholy, but instead, silence greeted him. No- it wasn’t a greeting. It was a harsh intrusion that played on repeat.

“The vines, also ca- called Blood Vines appear to be slowly growing across populated areas. The v- vines reek of iron, and taste like metal.” 

Wilbur’s hands shook the book as he looked up at the ceiling. He almost expected the stone surface to morph into Ghostbur himself, and proceed to tell him how horrible of a person he was. It was welcomed more than the silence. He knew he didn’t deserve Ghostbur’s voice, but he wanted to hear him laugh again. He just needed the reassurance he would be okay.

The thought made him look back at the book. He shouldn’t be so soft. The ghost had done nothing for him. He only knew him for a few days. He shouldn’t care. He really shouldn’t. 

Ghostbur probably didn't care either. He probably pretended to, for a way out of limbo. Yet, part of him knew Ghostbur wouldn’t be silent if that was his goal. He would ask questions about Dream or the train, instead of leaving him alone in his own mind.

“Ghostbur, please just-” Wilbur didn’t even acknowledge what he was saying. He screwed his eyes shut as he put his head down on the table. He felt his eyes water despite being closed. He wasn’t crying if he didn’t let the tears fall, was he?

He didn’t even know what he wanted Ghostbur to say, but it certainly wasn’t what the ghost said. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to read it if you don’t want to.”

A sob reached out of Wilbur’s throat. He constantly ruined everything. It wasn’t any wonder why everyone preferred Ghostbur over him. Apart from the occasional person that preferred Dream over him. The one written down to be the villain that everyone regarded out of malice. He couldn’t have a moment without someone wishing he was gone and it killed him.

Not literally, even if he wished so. He didn’t stop his cries from tumbling out. He went to cover his mouth with a hand, but he couldn’t see a point anymore. The worst that could happen was the villain finally reaching the end of his story. A story that finished months ago, but now the creators of life were releasing the sequel that nobody asked for. 

“Wilbur? Is there something I can help you with?” Ghostbur’s voice was so small and hesitant compared to all the thoughts in his head. He got up from his seat, just to curl himself up under the table, moving his leg slightly. He winced from the pain, but he kept it stretched straight to make it hurt a little less.

“G- Ghostie?” Wilbur stuttered through sobs.

Ghostbur’s voice had a fondness that shined through it slightly. A pang of guilt roughly hit him at the gentleness he didn’t deserve. “I’m here.”

Wilbur’s mind ran as he blurted, “Ghostie, please don’t stop talking. I- I can’t stand it. I can’t stand the train station anymore. I need someone else. Please.” Wilbur’s voice cracked on itself as he grabbed part of his hair. He hated the fucking train station, the silence that constantly rang in his ears. The gray walls and ceiling taunted him as if freedom was on the other side. If he ran far enough, he would find the end of the tunnel. If he ran quick enough, no one would even notice he was gone.

It took him a while to hear the thoughts in the back of his mind, “-t was a silly idea! B- but Tommy insisted. So we took a bag with us with some potions in it. They weren’t for me but just Tommy. We ran out into the snow, it was so much fun!”

Wilbur put his head between his knees as he felt the wall against his back. Tommy. Snow. Potions. Ghostbur. No train station. He was out. He tried to count his breathing, but it only worked so well as his breath kept on hitching.

“He was wearing three layers and I was wearing… I guess one? Phil said he needed more layers to feel warm, but I always felt warm since I was a ghost and stuff. So I just wore my normal outfit.”

Wilbur nodded as his voice shook, “Mhm. P- Phil is really nice.”

“Yeah. Phil is part bird, I think? Or angel maybe, some people have said. He has wings and he makes little chirping noises when he’s happy. Sometimes he makes higher ones if he’s worried.” Wilbur already knew all of it, but he felt familiarity with the information that comforted him.

Ghostbur continued to talk and Wilbur was appreciative of it. He’d add small comments occasionally. It took longer than it should have for Wilbur to stop crying, but at the end, in a smaller voice than he wanted, he muttered a quick, “Thank you.”

Ghostbur sighed peacefully, “You’re welcome.”

“Tired,” Wilbur’s eyes desperately wanted to close but he made sure to keep them open. He didn’t want to leave Ghostbur. Not right now.

“Go to sleep, Wil. I’ll be here in the morning.” Wilbur could barely hear the rest, nonetheless debate that he didn’t want to leave Ghostur alone, as he passed out under the table without another word.

Chapter Text

It was not an entirely pleasant experience to wake up, lying on the floor with his leg in a strange elevated position. In fact, he wouldn’t have been entirely convinced he’d woken up at all, if it wasn’t for the wave of pain bursting through his head. It was pounding, and his vision was blurry enough for him to almost believe he was sitting on a chair, blindfolded again.

There was no one around to punch him though. Just a huge empty bunker, and a smell of scattered paper. He didn’t have the slightest clue what time it was, or for how long he’d slept. As he squinted at his surroundings, there wasn’t the slightest hint of natural light. Just the torches above him.

There was silence.

“Ghostbur?” he said, his voice hushed.

“Oh! You’re awake! Good morning.” The ghost’s words were quick, though tinted with relief. There was something exhausted about them too, however. Wilbur got up from the floor, crawling back to the chair. He sat down on it, getting a better view of the room. “ How are you feeling? ”

Wilbur cracked his neck, stretching his arms. “Wonderful,” he said.

“Actually?”

Wilbur tensed up, closing his eyes momentarily. He took a deep breath. “No. Not really.”

There was a sigh from Ghostbur, but it wasn’t one of annoyance. It was rather melancholic. Relieved, perhaps. “ Yeah… Me neither. ”

While the words weren’t exactly good news, Wilbur’s lips curved up just slightly. Perhaps it was just the honesty. There was something silent and intimate about the words, breaking through the silence. The mutual pain. Not that that was too comforting in the long run. “Shit, my head hurts,” he noted, not necessarily to anyone but the empty room, placing a hand on his forehead.

“Mhm...” Ghostbur said, and everything indicated he was feeling it too.

They sat there in a less uncomfortable silence, Wilbur’s limbs heavy, as he looked at his bandaged leg. The regeneration potion had helped quite a bit, he realized as he tried to move it, but he still doubted he’d be able to stand on it confidently. He noticed some dryness leftover from a few tears right underneath his eye. He froze. “Ghostbur?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you… If I cry, do you feel it?” It was a risky and perhaps vulnerable question. The mention of the tears only seemed to make his head pound more. For a moment he was almost thankful everything was far too blurry for him to think properly.

“ I don’t know.” Ghostbur said, with far more nonchalance than what was probably deserved, “My face often burns anyway.” He paused, as if he only just then realized what he was saying, “I mean, that’s okay though! It doesn’t feel so bad when it’s on the face anymore.”

The words sent an unwelcome shiver down Wilbur’s spine. He went quiet for a few breaths, unsure what to say. I’m sorry, he felt he should say, but it didn’t taste familiar enough. I can help you, he considered, but he realized it was yet another empty promise. Thank you, he wanted to say, but it was far too vague, and far too broad, and he wasn’t thanking Ghostbur for feeling pain. None of it sat right with him. He shook his head. “Is there anything you wanna do?” he asked instead. 

Ghostbur let out a breath. “What can we do?”

And wasn’t that an excellent question? Wilbur closed his eyes.

“Should we… Should we find someone?” Ghostbur asked.

Wilbur looked at his leg. He looked to the books, filled to the brim with information. He looked at the food readily available to him. He bit his lip. “I… I don’t think it’d be safe while my leg is still healing.”

“Oh, right, right,” Ghostbur said, sounding mildly disappointed, but it wasn’t too noticeable.

“There are some books we could read,” Wilbur tried, feeling as if it was a bit of a weak offer.

“I like books,” Ghostbur said, and Wilbur wasn’t sure if it was entirely sincere or not. Then, the tone turned softer. As if a pleasant memory passed by. “I used to write books.”

“Really?” Wilbur asked, tilting his head.

“I had a library! I wrote things down, and I read all the history books I could find. Tried to organize it all,” Ghostbur explained, sounding a little more excited at each word.

As Ghostbur spoke about it, Wilbur found some faint memories in the back of his mind. Organizing books, and writing down new information. Searching for something . “Did you like history?” Wilbur asked, and for an absurd moment he felt like an actor, asking someone if they enjoyed their latest movie. He huffed at the thought.

“I did. I tried to figure out what you did when you were alive. Everyone looked at me in different ways, and I-” he trailed off for a moment, “I don’t know, but I did enjoy reading.”

“I wonder if there is anything you wrote in here,” Wilbur mused, trying to ignore his own curiosity. 

“I don’t think so. Most of them were destroyed when-” He abruptly stopped talking, the last syllable sounding strained.

“When what?”

“My head hurts,” Ghostbur simply replied.

Wilbur slowly nodded, not quite sure what to make of the lack of an answer. “So… To pass the time, how about we read some books here? We can find some information about the revival too, and try to figure out how to get you- how to free you, in the process,” he looked at a different spot in the air, realizing there was nowhere to make eye contact with the ghost. “How does that sound?”

“Okay!” Ghostbur said, “That sounds good.”

He could finally get started on the work. It was something Wilbur was itching to do. He was itching to occupy his hands and his mind with something . His mind was still simultaneously going at thousands of miles a second, and carrying thousands of pounds with each thought. He needed something tangible. Something he could keep in his grasp.

At first, he grabbed the nearest book on the shelf. Quite a big one titled “Governments and Communities of History”. He almost dropped it as he held it in one hand, but he shakily moved it over to the table.

“Governments and Communities of History,” he told Ghostbur. He flipped inside and into the table of contents. He skimmed most of it. It started with the beginning of everything and continued to list political parties that he vaguely recognized. He flipped towards the end, hoping to find the knowledge he missed over the months he was gone. His eyes lingered onto “Eggpire” as he flipped to the corresponding page. 

He cleared his throat, “Ready, Ghostie?”

“Yep!”

“This section is about the Eggpire. ‘The Eggpire is an alliance between BadBoyHalo, Antfrost, Punz, Ponk, Hannahxxrose, and Skeppy.’ Huh, I don’t really know most of them. ‘The alliance was formed on January 14, 2021 between the founders, Bad, Ant, Punz and CaptainPuffy. However Puffy is the only founder to leave. She joined Anti-Eggpire (also known as Pro-Omelette) due to a disagreement in views.’” Wilbur chuckled as his head throbbed in response, “The second name is way better.”

Ghostbur made a sound of agreement. Just as Wilbur was about to read again, he had a realization, “I think this is the same Puffy from the flower shop, but I’m not sure.”

“I think so.” Ghostbur paused. “I mean, I can’t imagine a lot of people are named Puffy.” 

Wilbur nodded, “Good point.” He took a breath before continuing, “The keystone of the alliance is the crimson red egg located in Badboyhalo’s statue room. The Egg is meant to be a source of chaos and a way to subdue the rest of the server. Despite the Eggpire being formed as a military coalition by Bad with Ant, Puffy, and Punz, most members of the Eggpire have joined due to being corrupted by the Egg.” 

Wilbur cringed, “Are they that bad at commanding that they couldn’t genuinely recruit people? Wait- where did the egg even come from?”

“I don’t know. Maybe there was a big red chicken that laid the red egg?”

Wilbur exhaled out of his nose to resemble a laugh, “These guys are fucking losers, who else tried to resemble me while I was gone?” 

He flipped to the beginning of the book as Ghostbur chided him, “Language.”

Wilbur rolled his eyes, but his headache seemed to worsen from the action, “Pardon my French, I speak it like a bitch.” Wilbur smirked to himself as he heard Ghostbur’s upset noises.

His eyes glossed the table of contents, as he barely focused on the words. He exhaled sharply as his mind settled on L’Sandberg? No- that couldn’t be right. It was L’ Man berg and it was long gone. 

He flipped to the page to verify it, before seeing the text that he mumbled out loud, “L'Sandberg (formerly L'Puffyberg and L'Puffberg) is a nation created by BadBoyHalo weeks after the end of the Eggpire.” It oddly reminded him of himself. Starting L’Manberg then creating Pogtopia because it was taken away. L’Sandberg was even named in an odd reference to L’Manberg, perhaps he would have to check the place out.

He was about to read the next part as he reread the previous lines. A strange familiarity ran through his mind. “I’ve heard of this Badboyhalo guy, but there’s no way he’s the same dude that would create a nation along with a cult-y alliance.” The only person he could picture as he read the name was a demon that dressed in red and black. He saw him bumbling around the streets with a blue man with shining skin. 

While they’d had small conversations before, he wasn’t even a hundred percent sure about his name. Part of him wanted to call him SaintsofGames, which he assumed might’ve been his actual name, or perhaps an older title.

He tried to imagine the friendly demon who cooked muffins on Saturdays being a general, but all he got out of return was the throb in his head to increase. “Have you ever heard of Badboyhalo?”

Ghostbur thought for a moment, “Yeah, I think Tommy mentioned him once? I don’t really remember all the details though.”

Wilbur hummed, “He seems neat.”

“Wilby?”

Wilbur looked up from the book and into thin air, “Yeah?”

Ghostbur whined out, “My head hurts.”

Wilbur nodded, but winced as it somehow worsened the headache. “Mine as well.” 

“Do we got any… I don’t know what it’s called but it’s sweet drink.”

At Ghostbur’s words, Wilbur’s stomach growled. “I don’t know, but I’m gonna see if I can find something to eat.” Wilbur faintly chuckled, “That’s probably why I’ve got this killer headache.”

Ghostbur made a small hum of agreement as Wilbur awkwardly realized that he would have to walk to get food. He moved from the chair, hissing in pain as positioned himself to stand on his uninjured leg. He slightly toppled from the unbalance, but didn’t have too many problems staying steady. 

“Alright, I’m gonna warn you now that it might hurt.”

Ghostbur’s voice was laced with panic, “Wait, what are you doing now?”

“Don’t worry too much. I’m just walking around in the bunker,” Wilbur reassured. “My leg still hurts so I might fall or something.” 

Ghostbur sounded displeased, “Okay, just make sure to be careful.”

“I will.” His eyes searched the room for possible food. He smiled as he remembered the carrots and melons growing downstairs. That smile quickly faded when he thought about the idea of stairs.

He hopped over to the general direction of the stairs, occasionally stopping to maintain his balance once again. At the final step he nearly stumbled, but caught himself just in time by grasping at the nearest wall. He was reminded of the exhaustion that followed his trip to Phil’s house when he’d just returned. It seemed like ages ago by now. He tried not to let the thought linger.

His leg ached slightly as he limped along to the crops. He licked his lips, as he looked at the melons that only served to remind him of his hunger much more. It occurred to him that it had been a while since he last ate. In fact, he had no clue exactly how long it had been at this point, the amount of sleep he’d gotten remaining a mystery to him. Instead of dwelling on that, he reached down at a melon, carving it into several pieces. He didn’t do a particularly great job at it, but it hardly mattered. 

He saw himself down on the nearest chair, eating each piece at an impressive pace. The sweet taste seemed to get to his entire body, working almost as many wonders as a potion would.

For a strange moment, Wilbur wondered if the water in the watermelon would cause any harm to the ghost. He couldn’t hear any screams nor pleas, which was fortunate. Being able to consume anything at all was most certainly a plus. To be fair, if the water there was enough, saliva likely would too, and that was a can of worms that Wilbur didn’t have the brainpower to consider even the hypothetical of.

Once Wilbur had devoured the entire melon, he felt just a little more at ease. He felt less dizzy, and his body and mind seemed more connected than before.

While the throbbing in his head had ended, he noticed the pain in his leg. He closed his eyes for a small moment as he tried to think of a solution. He did all the medical treatment he really could at this stage. He fiddled with the rind of one of the melons before he realized he could make a potion of instant health.

Attempting to start a drug empire turned out to be helpful after all. 

He ran through the materials he needed in his head. Netherwart, blaze power, and a glistening melon. He stood up but his vision swarmed with black spots for a few moments. His stable leg shook as he leaned against the wall. It stopped seconds later, but he was filled with exhaustion that told him to forget about the potion.

Yet, he hopped to a chest near the farm. It wasn’t far away, but the action by itself seemed laborious. He shuffled through it, but found nothing of use. He hopped over to the stairs, quickly grabbing two nether warts from the farm before he started going up.

It was a long process, but he eventually made it up the stairs. He took a shaky breath as Ghostbur chimed in, “We’re still in the bunker right?”

Wilbur nodded, “Yeah, back up the stairs.”

“So are we doing more reading?” A slight boredom filled Ghostbur’s voice, but Wilbur couldn’t tell if it just arrived or if it had been there for the whole day.

Wilbur hopped to Tubbo’s chest before leaning against the wall once more. “Makin’ potions.”

Ghostbur softly gasped, “Oh, I’ve never done that before! I saw Phil and Techie doing it once though.”

“Sounds neat,” Wilbur responded, half-paying attention while looking through the chest. He pushed around some of the items in there before finding three blaze rods with a few stacks of cobblestone shuffled around. He spotted the crafting table next to the chest and he quickly melded the items together into a brewing stand. He held the brewing stand normally as he put the spare blaze rods in his coat pocket. 

He closed the chest and opened the one next to it. Twenty iron ore, random concrete blocks, and miscellaneous mob drops. He was about to close it when he saw a yellow shine under some rotten flesh. Wilbur let out an exhale of relief, “We’ve got all the stuff we need.”

Ghostbur excitedly clapped, “How do you make potions?”

Wilbur put the brewing stand down on the crafting table. “Well, you start with oh fu- n! Fun, fun, yes.” He didn’t know why he censored the swear in front of Ghostbur, but it somehow felt better than letting out a curse. “I forgot the glass bottles.”

“That doesn’t sound very fun.”

Wilbur let out a dry chuckle, “You’re right.” Wilbur thought for a moment, “There might be some in the chest next to that cauldron.” His eyes ran over the cauldron that he didn’t even know was filled or not. He pursed his lips. His uninjured leg was shaking slightly, but he didn’t exactly have another option. Well- he could always suffer. Yet that would mean the suffering of Ghostbur as well. 

He didn’t exactly care about the ghost, but he generally preferred not hearing his pleas. He quickly hopped over to the cauldron, only to collapse at the wall behind it. He closed his eyes tightly, wishing to any possible deity out there that there was water in the iron container. 

He swung his hand inside the cauldron, not daring to look inside, as if the water would disappear if he did. He felt water about half-way into the swing as he smiled. However, the instant he did that, he heard a cry of agony in his mind that instantly made him open his eyes and recoil, immediately taking his hand out of the water. “Ghostbur what’s-” Ghostbur’s previous words ran through his mind quicker than he could even process them.

It- Water burns me. I’m sorry I just didn’t expect it.

As regret plagued his mind, Ghostbur’s whimpers followed alongside them. The whimpers that reminded him of his agreement with the ghost.

W-warn me next time?

Sure.

Although he hadn’t intended to hurt Ghostbur, guilt overtook him. “Ghostbur, I-” forgot about the really important thing that hurts you if I forget! I just don’t care about you at all!

The familiar cynicism made him externally cringe. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I- I know. It- it hurts, Wil.”

Wilbur somberly nodded, “I know, I can’t do anything about it right now.” Wilbur hated how pathetic his words sounded.

Ghostbur’s typical pleas filled his mind before the pattern was interrupted, “ C- could you dry it off?” It took a second for Wilbur to realize what the ghost was saying with the sobs intertwined in the shaky words. But as soon as he deciphered it, he immediately took his hand to his pants, rubbing it to make sure most of the water was off.

It didn’t take long for all of the water to be gone as he hesitantly spoke, “How does it feel now?”

“Better than before.”

Wilbur weakly pulled his body up against the wall. He opened the chest next to him to find it was full of glass bottles. He grabbed three of them out as he closed the chest and put the brewing stand on top. He tried to fill the bottles up in the cauldron, but found that his usual method involved dunking his whole hand into the water. 

He attempted to just tip the bottle so more water would enter, but upon pulling the glass bottle back up, he sighed. He knew from his early days that you needed a certain amount of water in order for the potion to properly work. Too much water made the solution diluted, causing the effect to be much more muted than it should be. Too little water made your body feel off the rest of the day, assuming the potion even works in the first place.

“Ghostbur?” He felt an odd pressure on his chest as he imagined the ghost’s whispers from before.

“Yeah?”

“I’ve… I’ve gotta dunk my hand in water again.” He could feel the ghost recoil.

“Alright,” Ghostbur took a shaky breath. “Make it quick if you can.”

“I will.” Wilbur exhaled slowly himself. Although it wouldn’t hurt Wilbur, he felt a sense of unease as he quickly dipped his hand in the water. A muffled groan echoed in his mind. He looked towards the other empty bottles in his hand as he slightly frowned.

“Ghostie, I won’t make you do anything, but I’ve gotta ask you something.” Wilbur didn’t wait for a response as he continued, “The pain you felt was from me filling up one bottle. I could just brew with this bottle and drink the potion.” Wilbur momentarily closed his eyes as the words on his tongue tasted bitter to him, “Or I can fill up the other two bottles in case of emergencies. I won’t pressure you for either option but-”

“Wilbur, I know I should choose the extra two bottles.”

Wilbur cringed at the truth. “I mean- you don’t really have to choose that option. We could just start brewing if you’d like.”

Ghostbur sighed, “I can take it.”

Wilbur despised the words, but he responded, “Alright, my hand is going in.” He quickly filled both of the bottles, trying to ignore the muffled scream that ringed in his mind.

He forced himself to block it out as he turned back to the brewing stand, filling it with the three full bottles as Ghostbur’s noises died down. He rubbed his hand on his pants before taking the nether wart he had and putting it in at the top. Only silence greeted his ears as he remembered he needed some blaze powder to power the machine overall. 

He crushed the blaze rod with ease, putting it in as the rest of the process seemed automated to him. He barely processed his movements as he soon watched as the mixture turned into a bright red, He took the glass bottle away from the stand, as he swirled the liquid around, watching it carefully. It was almost hypnotic. He held the bottle to his lips and took a deep breath. “I… I’m going to drink a health potion for my leg.” He bit his lip, “It might hurt a bit.”

“Oh.” Ghostbur said, his voice sounded a little quiet, “Okay, I’m ready.”

Wilbur nodded even if the ghost couldn’t see him, and took a large sip from the bottle. He kept drinking, not removing the bottle from his lips. His throat was burning at the sensation. He closed his eyes tightly, feeling the pain spread through his body, as if the headache from before had decided to pound in his leg instead of his head. His blood felt as if it had momentarily been replaced by the burning potion, removing his attention from anything but it. He tried to breathe his way through it, each breath coming through as a quick hiss.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed, before the pain transitioned into a comforting warmth. He opened his eyes again, trying to step down on his leg. The pain had decreased significantly. He let out a relieved breath, and gave an accomplished smile. “It’s much easier to walk now,” he said.

“Is your leg better?” Ghostbur asked hopefully, “Are you going to leave the bunker soon?”

Wilbur frowned. He shook his head. “Not yet,” he said. “The leg could still use some time to heal and…” he looked at the bookshelves above, “There might still be some information we can use here.”

“Right.” Ghostbur said, suddenly sounding determined, “That makes sense.”

Wilbur tried to chuckle, though it came out so silently and breathlessly, that it was hardly a noise at all. He took a step on his much more useful leg, feeling relieved as he could walk more or less without limping. He walked to some chests he hadn’t looked at yet, and rummaged through them. If he was planning on staying in the bunker for longer, it would be optimal to know what supplies he had available to him. He was reminded of his exile, before Pogtopia was built, as he and Tommy assessed their remaining supplies, to figure out what they had to work with. His heart became just a little heavier at the thought, and he decided to put the thought away, for as long as he could.

Among the most noteworthy items he found was a clock at the bottom of one of the chests. It looked old, as if someone had forgotten they’d put it there in the first place. Wilbur picked it up, inspecting each side of it. The hands of the clock moved ahead each second, making a rhythmic little ‘tick’ at each step. The sound was comforting to him somehow, ringing through the silence of the solitary bunker.

It read 5am.

It took Wilbur a few moments to figure out if the clock was functional and accurate, though he eventually concluded that it was highly probable. He wasn’t sure when he’d fallen asleep, nor for how long, but at least this would let him keep track of the now. Slowly, he walked up the stairs again, much more successfully this time.

As he reached the bookshelves, he stopped, staring at the nearest empty wall. There was a faint ticking from the clock in his hands, and he felt as if he was staring into nothingness. Staring at a silent wall. A half-bent nail was firmly placed on it. Gently, Wilbur placed the clock on it, until it was hanging there safely. He sat down on the chair, and allowed his eyes to close, as he centered his mind. He had a goal in mind, and as soon as possible, a plan would be shaped from the muddled thoughts.

It was time to get to work.

Chapter Text

The ticking of the clock became a constant to Wilbur, in the days that followed. It filled the silence when there was no dialogue between the two. The stacks of books next to him grew, as he tried to sort through them. The information wasn’t very useful for the most part, but there were always more books. More incomplete notes and recounts to look through.

Occasionally he would venture downstairs, to harvest some crops and settle his growling stomach. Once he took some of the remaining blaze rods and made some strength potions that joined their place next to the remaining instant health ones. He placed a finger on the glass bottles of potions, just to make sure they were still there, and then he would return to his seat.

He read whatever he found out loud, perhaps to remind Ghostbur of his presence. To fill the train station with something other than emptiness. He let out a quick breath, whenever the silence was broken by the ticking of the clock, that reminded him to get back to work, instead of letting his mind drift off into prime knows where. Into the void, and to the walls, that he could claw at all he wanted to no avail. 

The ghost spoke less and less as he read, and Wilbur’s hands shook, as he tried to pay attention to the way the arms of the clock moved. The words seemed to flow off the page as he read each one, incomprehensible to him aside from their sound. Information. Work. He needed to do something. Anything.

“Ghostbur, you said you liked writing books?” Wilbur had asked, once his mind had nearly succumbed to the silence.

“Oh, yeah?” Ghostbur had said quietly, a bit of curiosity creeping in. “It helped me remember and understand things better.”

Wilbur had smiled to the best of his ability. “How about we write one! We should keep track of what we know about everything somehow.” he said, finding that the words made more sense than he had originally anticipated, “We could write down what we know about our connection, and eventually figure out how to… Separate us.”

The ghost had gasped, “That’s a great idea!” he said, sounding a little more excited, even if  he still seemed tired.

And so, that was exactly what they’d done. In a chest downstairs, Wilbur had managed to find a dusty old empty book and quill, and had set it down on the nearest table. It dawned upon him that it had been quite a while since he’d written anything at all. Memories of declarations, and lighthearted words of victory, flooded his mind momentarily, until he managed to make sense of the quill’s movements. 

Ghostbur can communicate verbally with me, and I with him. The words seem to be clearer once they are directed at Ghostbur, though it is possible that the connection has simply become clearer over time. In addition to this, Ghostbur can hear the words and sounds of anyone and anything nearby, including muffled versions of them while I am unconscious.

As they wrote down more observations, the ghost seemed a lot more excited by his inclusion in something. By having a project to work on.

Wilbur thought, the self-centered bastard that he was, that perhaps this partially came from himself. That perhaps the ghost’s interest in keeping track of information in a library, or having a plan or something to complete, were some of the remains of Wilbur’s presence. Whichever part of Wilbur’s soul, however faint, that had stayed behind, upon his exit from this world. 

“You should mention that I see you sometimes too!” Ghostbur had chimed in.

Wilbur’s grip tightened around the pen, as he tried his best to remember some of his past interactions with Ghostbur regarding that. “Right…” he said quietly, “When have you seen me, again?”

“First time was right before Phil gave you that gapple, when you were really cold,” Ghostbur began, “Then after Phil left the mansion and you were on the ground shaking a little bit, then that one time with Niki,” Wilbur found his limbs turning heavier at each instance the ghost listed, and Ghostbur’s voice seemed to gain a tint of uncomfortable realization as he spoke as well, “During that conversation with Tommy where he… Got upset, shortly after you were shot, and uh… Under the table in the bunker a few month- days ago.”

Wilbur swallowed something in his throat, pressing the quill harder against the paper than he intended. “Got it.”

Ghostbur is apparently able to see me when I am experiencing intense emotions or experiences. We are uncertain if this works both ways.

Wasn’t that pathetic? That all those times, Wilbur hadn’t even looked up, or paid attention to his surroundings enough, to catch a certain glimpse of the one he had been speaking to ever since he returned? Did it work when Ghostbur was feeling intense feelings as well? Had he been so dense, as to not even pay attention to that?

Wilbur shook the thoughts off, and added a side note at Ghostbur’s request, detailing how it felt to pet Friend. It made Wilbur smile, ever so slightly, that that was something that was considered of utmost importance. 

Ghostbur feels what I feel physically to a certain degree. It seems to be related to the feeling’s intensity, however the longer I’ve stayed alive, the connection to touch seems to have grown stronger. Once again, we are uncertain if this works two ways.

With shaking hands, he added:

If it does work two ways, water appears to be an exception, as it burns Ghostbur regardless of which world it touches us in, without burning me.

He hardly punctuated the last sentence, before he shut the book, memories of pleas and apologies filling his mind. The addictive feeling of control, that was so incredibly unearned, yet appealing nonetheless. Submerging himself in water, until silence was all he would ever hear, and he would be alone. Alone in his mind, alone with his thoughts, and the ghost would never stop feeling the pain.

He kept his hand on the cover of the book, and his other tightly wrapped around the quill, until it felt too much as if both were burning him.

Instead, Wilbur sought out the bookcases, and the information that wouldn’t make Wilbur’s mind overflow with thoughts of the control he had. Because if Wilbur was always mere moments away from grasping at said control, the least he could do was postpone it, until such would only affect himself. Not that he cared particularly, but he could weave a few fragile threads of something that resembled it. Just for the time being.

And when even that became too much, he would lie down on a mattress, or lay his head down at the table, tossing and turning as he tried to drift into oblivion. The comforting darkness, that seemed more and more inaccessible to him each moment, and all the more tempting each day. He would eventually succeed, and would wake up to read a new time on the clock. Sometimes minutes later, sometimes hours, but always enough for him to hesitantly get up and keep going.

Totems weren’t any good for revivals. Apparently they’d tried using them to get Wilbur back. Nearly finding it in himself to ignore the strange improbable fact that there had been attempts to bring him back at all. Was his revival Dream’s own doing? Or the doing of wishes from others? If it was the latter, why had the reaction he’d gotten been so tense?

It was funny that, despite the attempts to revive him, everyone looked to him as if he brought himself back into the world. As if they didn’t spend hours if not days trying to bring him back. How their plans had changed and shifted constantly, and how the universe didn’t care.

There was also a bit of irony placed in Dream and how he hadn’t given a direct account on any historical events, since before L’Manberg. He found a few from George, but none of them were about Dream himself.

So that was what it had taken to take that perspective away from history, Wilbur had thought, ignoring that anything he might’ve said on the matters himself, had likely been blown up along with the nation in question.

Absent-mindedly, Wilbur had reread the parts of the book on Pandora’s box, about how he could gain access.

Not that anyone would let him. Not that the gist of memories didn’t fill him with dread that wasn’t his own. Not that it wasn’t a last resort. Though he latched onto the information nonetheless.

He was about to flip the page when the familiar echoing whisper filled his mind, “Wilbur?”

His voice was hoarse when he first tried to speak. He cleared his throat before responding once again, “Yeah?”

A hesitance lingered in the back of his mind. It oddly didn’t feel like his though. It was a soft blue contrary to his warm browns and occasional reds. 

“So…” Ghostbur took a deep breath, “Y’know how we aren’t going outside and stuff like that?”

Wilbur nodded, though confusion was portrayed on his face, “Mhm, why do you bring it up?”

“Oh! I- well, I was thinking about us going outside again?” Although it was a suggestion, the tilt at the end made it sound like a confirmation of thought. 

“Why would we do that? There’s enough food in here to last a while.” His eyes flickered across the page, “I would read to you again, but this book is about Dream.”

Ghostbur’s breath hitched as he stayed silent for a moment. “That’s fine. I was just wondering about seeing someone again.” Ghostbur quietly added near the end, “It’s been a while.”

“Don’t you want to get out of limbo?” Wilbur felt his words come off as disinterested with a hint of annoyance, but he frankly didn’t mind.

“I mean- yeah, but that doesn’t have to be our main priority right now. You can still enjoy your life.”

The life that no one wanted to be in. The life without a purpose. Well- he wouldn’t necessarily say that. His goal was to get the ghost out of his mind. Preferably, out of limbo as well.

“My life can be put on hold temporarily.”

Ghostbur hummed in a slight agreement, but it oddly lingered in distaste, “What if I want you to live your life?”

Wilbur rolled his eyes, “Living my life won’t give me information.”

“Interacting with people gives you information.”

“I can’t interact with people when there’s a ghost in my head constantly asking what I’m doing.” 

The moment he said the words, he was about to apologize when Ghostbur sharply spoke, “Maybe you could interact with people if you stopped running away and talked it out.”

A scowl melted onto Wilbur’s face with ease, “You haven’t even spent a day in my shoes so don’t act like you know everything.”

“Well- maybe I would know things if you talked to me more!”

“There’s nothing to talk about. Wow, Ghostbur, feeling upset right now. Wow, Ghostbur, feeling pain again.” He mocked Ghostbur’s voice as if he was imitating a small child, “Oh no, what’s that feeling? I have to react to absolutely everything because I’ve got nothing better to do!”

“I-” Ghostbur sharply cut himself off before taking a sharp inhale, “Maybe I don’t have anything better to do! Especially when you keep on throwing yourself directly into danger without even trying to give me a warning.”

Images flashed through Wilbur’s mind to dunk his hand in the cauldron that was only a few long strides away. Screams that echoed through his mind. The pain would be longer for Ghostbur as well since time passes differently in limbo. Just a few quick moments. Just a few seconds of his time and Ghostbur would finally shut up. 

His legs stood up automatically before he forced himself to sit down again. “Maybe it’s hard to give you a warning. Surprise, surprise, I don’t know when someone is going to shoot me!”

“It’s not about knowing when the moment comes! It’s about you putting yourself in dangerous situations that hurts us.”

“Oh. My. Fucking. Prime. Have you ever thought of why I stay in this bunker? I’ve found a place that’s safe and you just keep on complaining about it. We’ve only been here- what a few days?” Wilbur exhaled out of his nose in astonishment, “I’m trying to do something to help the both of us and you’re just whining like a toddler would.” All he had to do was walk to the cauldron. Just a few seconds of his time. It would be so easy. 

Ghostbur’s astonished voice cut through his thoughts, “Whining?” Ghostbur bitterly laughed once, “I’m just offering a suggestion to you, and you’re not even bothering to listen. If anything you’re- you’re the one acting childish!”

“I’m not!” His eyes focused on the cauldron, no longer looking at the air as he usually would when talking to Ghostbur.

“If you really aren’t childish, then go to someone and genuinely apologize!” Wilbur couldn’t even get a word in as Ghostbur continued, “You’ve constantly been running place to place without even thinking how others feel. That includes me! It includes the fact that you don’t tell me what you’re doing and you keep on hurting me with your recklessness!” 

Silence. 

But the silence was oddly different this time. It lingered on Wilbur’s end more than it did Ghostbur’s. He blinked a few times, attempting to pull his thoughts together before they wrapped around the cauldron. It would be so easy to pull a few screams out of Ghostbur. His breath hitched when he imagined pretending to injure himself, just to wash it off with water. The ghost would believe him too. He would believe Wilbur was hurt and willingly let the water be put on him.

Yet, it gave a much different feeling to not warn him. He wanted to hold an ice cube in his hand, explaining it to Ghostbur as he did it. The naive ghost wouldn’t even know what would happen. There would only be the faint burning as the ice cube melted. Even more so if he squeezed it. Sure, Wilbur would feel a bit of pain from the action, but he could always switch hands. He’d hear some new pleas if he did that. More crying if he continued doing it. The ghost would become so incoherent near the end, just begging for it to-

“Wilbur?” A voice made him jump as he looked over to see the source of it. The one and only Ranboo was staring near him, his hands were wrapped around a book he held to his chest. It looked similar to the other books Wilbur had been flipping through, but the cover seemed newer than the other ones. Slightly thinner as well.

“Ah- yes, I suppose that is me,” Wilbur stated.

“I… thought Tubbo didn’t really want anyone down here?” 

Wilbur slowly nodded, “Oh. Yeah, I guess he did say that.”

Ranboo awkwardly bounced on the balls of his feet, “Do you need help leaving?”

Wilbur glanced at the books remaining on the bookshelf, “I’m good.”

Ranboo laughed for a few moments. The sound filling the air rather than joining a joke, “Are you though? This place is a bit funny.” Ranboo quickly added, “I mean, not funny as in a joke kind of funny. But I guess I mean funky in a way, like it’s just sort of weird if you get what I’m saying. When I said funny, I just meant that it was funny the way it messes with your head, not that it’s actually-” Ranboo cut his own rambles off as he appeared uncomfortable, hunching slightly over his book.

“Don’t worry, I’ve gotcha.”

“Yeah, cool.” Ranboo met Wilbur’s eyes for a quick moment, the green one almost mesmerizing Wilbur. “So, is Tubbo asking you to help out?”

Wilbur raised an eyebrow before his eyes flickered to the book Ranboo was holding. A look of realization came across Wilbur’s face as he pieced together that Ranboo was probably helping Tubbo with the library. The boy seemed rather reserved, so he supposed that made sense. “Not exactly.” Wilbur continued after a few seconds of the clock next to him ticking, “I just figured I’d stay here a few days.”

Ranboo tilted his head slightly, “You don’t have a house? I thought you ran a nation and all of that stuff.”

Wilbur shrugged, “I don’t know, man. Houses aren’t really my thing.”

Ranboo exhaled sharply in a way that could have been interpreted as a laugh, “So you’ve been sleeping here for how long?”

“I’d say a few days now? Not sure, I haven’t really been keeping track.”

Ranboo nodded, “What do you do for food though? I don’t really see a pantry anywhere around here.” Ranboo inspected his surroundings once more as if a magical kitchen was going to appear right behind him.

“There’s some carrots and melons downstairs. I did see some wheat seeds in one of the chests though. I might start making bread.”

A confused expression came across Ranboo’s face, “Do you know how many rooms our mansion has? You can just go into one of the hundreds and we wouldn't know for weeks.”

Wilbur’s astonishment bounced off of Ranboo’s, “I didn't know I was supposed to break into your home and sleep in a random room?”

Ranboo was speechless for a moment as he starting talking and then cutting himself off before he simply stated, “Or you could have asked?”

Wilbur’s mind went back to Tubbo. The failed comfort as he went downstairs. He shaky arms around Ranboo’s torso as he left. The uncomfortableness that radiated whenever Ranboo was alone with Wilbur. 

Yeah, he’d rather pass on their fake smiles.

“I’m alright.”

Ranboo stayed in silence with him for a moment. It took a few seconds before Ranboo changed the topic, “So you know Michael right?” Wilbur nodded. “Well, we were just inviting some people to our house since we’re throwing a little party for him. Would you like to come?”

Wilbur seemed surprised that he would even get an invitation as Ghostbur quickly chimed in, “Okay, I don’t want to stay quiet anymore. Can we please go? Please, please, please, we’ll get to see everyone again!” Ghostbur’s pleas hit differently this time as they were colored with bright yellow excitement that he hadn’t heard from the ghost in awhile. 

Almost automatically he responded, “Sounds fun, we’ll go.”

“We?”

Embarrassment shot through Wilbur. “I meant I’ll go, my apologies.” He could hardly hear his own words as the back of his neck felt warm and Ghostbur cheered in excitement. 

Ranboo seemed slightly lost in his mind as well, as he quietly mumbled, “Right, yeah…” His face perked up when he added on, “It’s at our house- y’know the whole mansion thingy that you’ve been to a few times- at about noon.”

Wilbur looked to the clock subconsciously as if it was about to turn noon at that moment. He strangely found it was four o’clock in the morning. “Wait, what are you doing here so early in the morning?”

Panic glazed Ranboo’s eyes before he quickly mentioned, “I could ask you the same thing.”

Confusion filled Wilbur’s mind. He felt like the living embodiment of a question mark as he asked, “I already told you I don’t have a house. You have one though. That’s why I’m asking why you’re here since we established I’m technically homeless.”

Ranboo nodded, the movements seeming jerky. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

Wilbur was about to press more about the topic until he saw Ranboo’s shifting movements along with the raw fear evident on his face. Perhaps that was a side-effect of being a centrist- never explaining yourself or your views properly. Wilbur awkwardly supplemented, “It’s whatever. Thanks for inviting me to the party.”

Ranboo seemed to immediately relax, “No problem.”

“Is it noon as in six hours from now, or noon as in tomorrow?”

Ranboo looked at the clock. “I didn’t even realize it was four in the morning- wow- but yeah, six hours from now. Wait- four plus six is ten and that’s not noon.”

Wilbur felt like an idiot, but in the kind that made him laugh gently at his mistake, “Oh, fuck, you’re right.”

Ranboo let out a short laugh, “Mood.”

Wilbur nodded, “But, yeah that time works for me.” After a short sigh, he realized how exhausted both of them were. The eye bags were present on Ranboo’s face after he looked for a moment. The boy seemed to constantly shift as Wilbur looked away with a yawn.

Ranboo yawned as well, but an enderman vwoop came out instead of the typical human noise. Wilbur wanted to ask why the strange sounds came out of him, but he felt his eyes droop slightly. 

Ranboo noted the energy in the room as he started walking towards downstairs, “Alright, I’m gonna head out.”

“Good night- or rather good morning.”

Ranboo chuckled, “Good morning to you as well, Wilbur.” Ghostbur chuckled along in the back of his mind, seeming much happier than before.

Chapter Text

Wilbur was somewhat thankful that the early morning interaction had been disheveled enough, for Wilbur not to have been asked to leave. It was kind of funny really, that even though Wilbur had been caught trespassing where he shouldn’t, the young boy had been far too distracted to kick him out. Far too confused and awkward. It seemed to be a general trend whenever Ranboo was talking to him.

Though perhaps Wilbur couldn’t act as if he was above that awkwardness, as he hadn’t even gotten around to asking exactly what kind of party it was. He assumed however, for natural reasons, that if it was a party for a toddler, presents for said toddler would be involved. Regardless, Wilbur didn’t think giving a present to a child would be looked down upon in any case. If anything, it might repair what he previously damaged. Even if it was an infinitesimal amount, it could still help.

“Oh oh oh! What should we get him?” Ghostbur asked excitedly, “What does he like? Red, gold, nether things, books…” He chuckled as he jokingly added, “Us! We could wrap ourselves in a present.”

Wilbur chuckled despite himself. “We could,” he said with a smile, feeling a bit of exhaustion dragging at him, but finding it easier and easier to ignore. “Let’s see if there’s anything we can use in these chests.”

Wilbur rummaged through them for a while, only managing to find four gold ingots that could perhaps interest the child. He briskly crafted them into a pair of gold boots that he figured would suit Michael’s size. He narrated the action to Ghostbur as he did it.

“They’re like rubber boots!” Ghostbur had commented excitedly.

“Mhm.”

“Oh, I have an idea!” 

“Shoot,” a smile lingered in his voice as he grabbed a dark gray satchel nearby. It was light-weight and durable. Perfect for a gift or two. He carefully put the golden boots inside it as Ghostbur rambled on cheerfully.

“So, hear me out. I’ve got the best idea ever in the whole universe. We should make him a card! He can hold and look at it, and you can be nice in it too!”

Wilbur walked downstairs, grabbing some sugar cane from the farm as he quickly pressed it into paper. A quill sat nearby as he picked it up. “Alright, so a simple message…” Wilbur’s voice trailed off.

“Okay, how about, ‘Oh, Michael, you are the most amazing person to exist and I hope you continue existing forever.’”  

Wilbur looked into the air as if he was on The Office. “Or we could go with something more general.”

“I gotcha! We can do ‘You are the most amazing person to exist and you are so cool that I hope you continue existing forever.’”

“First of all, I thought I said more general, not less.”

“I did make it more general! I removed Michael’s name from it.”

Wilbur facepalmed gently so it wouldn’t hurt Ghostbur. “I meant for it to be less… emotional? I don’t think that’s the right word, but I want the card to be neutral.”

Ghostbur hummed in agreement. “Okay. We can say ‘I feel neutral about your existence, but I do agree that you chose to exist at this current time, and by the way, you are also very cool.’”

Wilbur sighed, “I’ll take over the writing.” He narrated the words on the paper, “Dear Michael, The world will be at your feet someday! But for now, it's just these gold boots.” A smile slipped on his face at the words replaying in his mind in company with Ghostbur’s noises of approval.

“Oh can we do a drawing at the bottom? Michael likes drawings.”

Wilbur nodded, “Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

Ghostbur excitedly squealed, “Can we- oh my, I have so many good ideas.”

Wilbur chuckled, pleased to hear the ghost being his typical self again. “I can start with drawing Michael?”

Ghostbur clapped, “Yeah! And- and holding hands with him?”

“Sure, just give me one second.” He might have been a leader of a nation and a general for many soldiers, but Wilbur certainly was not an artist. He tried genuinely drawing a face, only for him to scratch it out and get a new paper out and transfer his original message onto it. Instead, he imitated Michael’s drawing style- stick figures. 

He drew playful lines across the bottom of the paper. He eventually formed a small stick person with little pig ears, a big smile, and black boots. He would have colored them, but he didn’t want to risk Michael eating the paper as he did just days ago. 

Next to Michael, he drew a slightly bigger person. Curly hair at the top and a rough trenchcoat around the body. He hesitantly finished the picture with a small smile on his own face. It felt a bit silly to draw like that. To be making a card for a child after everything, drawing handholding and smiles. Yet Ghostbur’s excitement was strangely infectious. It was sort of relieving in a sense, even if Wilbur wasn’t the type to fall for such bright positivity.

“Alright, the drawings are finished.” 

He was about to fold the paper into his pocket when Ghostbur called out, “Wait, did you put any stars on there?”

“No?”

“What kind of drawing is it if there’s no stars?!”

Wilbur sighed quietly as he quickly scribbled some stars in the corners. “Alright, I’m putting it away now-”

“Wait! Did you sign it?”

Wilbur furrowed his brow, “I’m giving it to him. He knows it’s from me.”

Ghostbur pleaded, “But cards always look better if they’re signed. Just a quick, ‘Love, Wilbur and Ghostbur’ makes the card a thousand times better! No- a billion!”

Wilbur sighed as he remained frozen in place before the words settled in. His mind easily processed the ridiculous request, but not the fact that Ghostbur wanted to be signed on the card too. Wilbur should have probably assumed it, but the idea didn’t fully settle with him. “Alright.” The words were quiet as he quickly wrote down, ‘Sincerely, Uncle Wilbur’.

"Is there anything else I need to add?"

"Hmm, I don't think so."

Wilbur gently placed the card in the satchel as he quickly ran up to see the clock once more, but he slightly frowned to see the hour hand still lingering between the four and five. He brushed it off though. He could easily occupy himself anyway. His eyes glazed over the books on the table before he internally groaned at the thought of hitting the books once again. 

He walked over to the table, placing the satchel onto it, before grabbing one of the books before Ghostbur spoke, "Oh, we're reading again?" His voice sounded slightly dismayed.

Wilbur shook his head, "Nah, I'm just putting away some books." Ghostbur made a pleased sound  as Wilbur quietly pushed the leather-bound book back into its spot. 

He sighed quietly at the odd silence of the room. He focused on the ticking of the clock. It

was a nice sound to focus on. It was a constant reminder he was still alive. Even if he wasn't the happiest in his position, he was alive. 

An alive man that was going to attend a toddler's party with a homemade card that had poorly drawn stickmen inside.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, as he finished putting some of the books away. Most of them held no useful information anyhow, and perhaps leaving them out would appear suspicious, should Tubbo return.

He wondered for a brief moment if Ranboo intended on telling Tubbo about Wilbur’s presence in the bunker. He imagined Tubbo insisting on having a talk as soon as Wilbur arrived. Prime, Wilbur despised talks . He just hoped the awkwardness of the interaction, and Ranboo’s apparent secrecy, was enough for Ranboo to leave it out.

Wilbur walked downstairs, finding that his leg had almost healed during his days in the bunker. He was going to harvest some watermelon, simply to pass the time. As he was about to do so, his eyes fell upon something dusty, peeking out of a chest he hadn’t bothered looking much at before. He knew what it was. He closed his eyes momentarily, to get a hold of his thoughts, before walking to the chest, and taking out a dusty mirror. 

He rubbed the shiny end of it with his sleeve. The mirror was still vaguely cloudy, but it still showed him nonetheless. Well- not exactly him , but rather his body. The man who stared back was nearly unrecognizable with gray bruises scattered along his face that easily complemented the bags under his eyes.

Complement was a rather strong word as all of his features seemed off-putting to him. His greasy hair hung close to his pale-ish skin. He squished his face with one of his hands, truly making sure that his reflection was his own. Of course, the mirror version moved along with him, but he strangely wished it didn’t. 

His mind drifted back to his encounter with Ranboo. Had they really intended on inviting Wilbur to the party in the first place? Or had that been done out of pity?

The only good thing about his reflection was that he couldn’t see the burns along his chin anymore. He touched it gently, finding the skin to be a little softer than before. 

He automatically put the mirror down as he headed towards the shower that laid in the bunker. He stopped two steps away as Ghostbur chimed in, “What time is it over there?”

“Oh… I don’t know.” He was pulled out of his thoughts quite easily as he stayed frozen in place.

Confusion laced Ghostbur’s voice, “You can’t check?”

Wilbur shut his eyes tightly for a moment before taking a sharp breath, “I could, but I have to ask you something.”

Wilbur despised the cheeriness in Ghostbur’s response. “Ask away!”

Images of Wilbur’s face flashed through his own mind as he hesitantly asked, “Alright, Ghostie, there’s not an easy way to bring this up.” Ghostbur hummed in acknowledgement, not wanting to interrupt Wilbur. Despite Wilbur not wanting to continue on, he forced the words out of him, “So- do you know what a shower is?”

“Yeah! It’s one of those plants on the ground with pretty petals.”

A dry chuckle left Wilbur, “No, that’s a flower.”

“Oh. Is it what Tubbo uses in baking?”

Wilbur sighed this time, “No, that’s wheat flour.” As Ghostbur was about to give another guess, Wilbur cut him off, “I’ll just tell you.”

Ghostbur sounded slightly dismayed at his refused answers, “Alright.”

“Alright. Alright,” the words were quiet in his mind as he forced himself back on track. “A shower is something people do to get clean. They use soap and… water to do this.”

“Aww, I was about to guess that too.”

“Right.” It was now or never. “I think I need to take a shower.”

“Okay!”

Wilbur furrowed his brow, “You’re… okay with me taking a shower? You know it’s going to require water, right?”

Ghostbur’s breath hitched at the realization. “Ah. I thought you meant soap or water.”

Wilbur exhaled, the tension flowing through his body. “Yeah.”

“So why do you need to take one? I know people in general do it, but you can explain to him that water hurts me.”

Wilbur shook his head, “He can’t know about you.”

Child-like curiosity filled Ghostbur’s voice, but it was slightly dimmer than what it should have been, “Why?”

Wilbur pursed his lips. It was too risky to describe in words. With how little trust Tubbo had in Wilbur, it would most likely foil their plans of Ghostbur’s escape. The suspicion and worry in Tubbo’s eyes wouldn’t temporarily go away at a joke. There wouldn’t be a moment alone with his thoughts as everyone whispered about the mind of his. They wouldn’t say anything bad either, just harsh truths that hurt more than he’d like to imagine. The truths he thought he could escape by finishing his unfinished symphony. 

Wilbur’s failed nation transitioned to a mind that couldn’t go a day without the desperate need to talk to someone again. The need for someone to reassure him he was alive and he wasn’t imagining something in the train station again. He was quite imaginative in there. He made fantasy worlds with so many new people, but at the end of the day, he imagined Tommy by his side laughing or cooking breakfast with Tubbo again. 

On the rougher days, he would imagine Fundy there. Sometimes he talked about his problems to him, only to cry harder when he remembered his son wasn’t actually there. Or he would imagine Niki running a hand through his hair, telling him all the things he needed. He’d been without that real warm touch for thirteen years that holding himself made a shaky sob leave. It had been pathetic of him to imagine such things, but the silence got to you after a few years, after he had spent a long time growing bitter. No one could see him anyway, so maybe it hadn’t counted at all, as he thought about those potential blissful moments.

The moments he never got. Perhaps he was still at the train station after all, the slight buzz of the lights being the only noise he could hear. No one laughed with him when he came back. The most he got was a dry chuckle that he happened to witness. There was no one to hold or listen to him. Not a single person smiled at his return. He was alone in the train station he thought he escaped days ago.

Tears blurred his vision as he wrapped his arms around himself. He pushed his body against a wall as he slid down it. The gray wall that accompanied the gray floors and flickering fluorescent lights. The tunnel that didn’t stop seemed to stop his mind. It blocked him in every direction that led to happiness before his murmuring thoughts entered.

It took a moment to realize it wasn’t his thoughts, but rather an echoy version of them. “Wilbur? Is everything okay?”

Wilbur swallowed back a cry. “Yeah,” his voice shook for a moment as he tried to breathe normally. “Sorry I spaced out for a second.” There wasn’t a train station. He wasn’t back there. He was in the bunker. “What were you saying?”

Ghostbur quietly answered, “Nothing. Oh- earlier you said you wanted to take a shower?”

The words brought Wilbur back to a more tangible reality. “Right…” he said with a nod, pushing himself up from the ground, his posture wavering slightly. He swallowed something in his throat. “Are you… Are you okay with that?” he quickly added, “I’ll make it as brisk as I can I promise! It’ll mostly be to wash my hair, and to look and smell just a little more presentable.”

Ghostbur had very little reason to trust him. Wilbur was incredibly aware of that at this point, his promises losing all meaning at his forgetfulness, or plain dishonesty. “Of course. Just- Just don’t take too long please.”

“I won’t,” Wilbur said. “I promise,” he repeated, trying to add as much weight to the words as he could. Engrave them, so his mind wouldn’t drift away from it. To keep his mind from drifting away in general.

Gently he put his clothes aside, placing the familiar old trenchcoat and blouse in a little pile. He had associated the outfit with himself for so long, that looking at it apart from him, was almost surreal. Slowly, he walked into the shower. He put the temperature to be as cold as he could, unsure if there would even be hot water in a bunker like this. It would serve as a good reminder that he should make this quick. “I am going to turn it on now. It’ll… It’ll probably reach my entire body.” 

“Okay…” Ghostbur said. Wilbur caught himself missing the excitement from when they were making the card together. Frivolous. 

He placed his hand on the shower knob and turned it, careful not to let his hand too much under the water. It proved to be a rather needless endeavor though, as his face and body were immediately drenched in cold water. He immediately shivered from the feeling as he felt his movements become jittery and robotic. He heard hurried breaths from his mind, and whimpers of pain, though it was surprisingly silent this time around.

Wilbur let his hand through his hair, massaging his scalp. He grasped some soap next to the shower, and mixed some into his hair and on his body, quickly using the water to wash it off. His heart was beating fast, as he rushed to turn the knob once more, some soap still lingering on a few strands of hair. He bolted to the other side of the room, to dry all the remaining water off with a towel, almost as if the uncomfortably cold water was burning him too. The second he could no longer find a drop he let out a few breaths. “There we go. Done.”

Ghostbur took a moment before he replied, his own breathing calming down as well. “Okay… Okay, that’s good! T-thank you.”

Wilbur cringed slightly at the gratitude, not entirely certain what he was being thanked for. “Of course,” he said quietly, his breathing quite obvious and echo-y in the empty room. He suddenly realized that he missed the ticking of the clock. He shook his head, and put on his clothes again, unsure if the warmth they brought was comfort or something that settled heavier in his chest. He didn’t have time to dwell on it.

He walked out of the room, grabbing the satchel with Michael’s present in it. He glanced at the clock once more, finding that it was only around 5:30am. He stood in the middle of the bunker for a good minute, closing his eyes tightly, and holding on to the sound of the clock. When he opened his eyes once more, they settled on the potions he brewed over the past few days. There weren’t many, but they comforted him nonetheless. He absent-mindedly packed three strength potions into the satchel, perhaps planning on giving some to Tubbo and Ranboo as a gift. 

Then, with determined steps he started walking towards the exit. It felt as if a weight was slightly lifted as he walked out the bunker, though he had grown so used to the weight that he wasn’t sure if that was comforting to him or not. Once he found himself in Pogtopia, he decided to focus on the ground beneath his feet, rather than the buttons lining the walls.

When the sun reached Wilbur’s face, the rays seemed to make his vision less blurry in a sense. The darkness that was so welcoming before, and still called to him, was shoved away in favor of the sunrise. He remembered right then, when he had declared the first sunrise he saw when he returned, his sunrise. A reminder of life, and opportunity. He stared at the bright sky for a little while. Gently, he placed the satchel on the ground, the glass bottles quietly clinging against each other, and sat down in the grass next to it. He breathed the air into his lungs, as his shoulders untensed. He watched the sunrise intently, as he waited for the party to approach.

Chapter Text

Wilbur took his time walking to the nether portal. Although his previous shower was freezing cold and less than five minutes, it still made him feel refreshed. He occasionally shifted the satchel against his shoulder, the pressure of the action bringing back a familiar nostalgia that made him grin. He saw a person or two walking along the streets, but he didn’t pay them any mind. 

He let out a peaceful sigh as he made it to the nether portal. It whispered loudly to him, but Wilbur still mentioned, “I’m heading to the nether.”

Ghostbur gasped, “Is it to go to the party?”

Wilbur nodded as he quietly chuckled, “Yep. We’re heading to the party.” He took a step into the nether portal, the purple flooding his vision before red faded into it. He took a step out, the heat feeling vaguely oppressive, but in a way he could handle.

He walked quietly for a few moments, the sound of his boots against the netherrack being oddly satisfying when put together with the occasional sounds of lava dripping. 

The netherrack soon transitioned into the gray cobblestone that had occasional bumps in it. As he carefully walked along the bridge, he heard footsteps that were certainly not his own. He stopped walking for a moment, trying to tell himself it was just the lava popping in a lower pitch, but the noise was too familiar to hide away from it. He waited for a few silent moments as he tried to decipher who was walking near him.

That was when he realized that he hadn’t heard many people walk from his recent isolation and somewhat recent thirteen and a half years in limbo. The footsteps were at a moderate sound level. Although he couldn’t hear armor clinking, he knew boots made out of diamond or netherite because of how much louder they were than the worn-in leather he preferred. 

He held his breath for the extended moments as he quickly remembered he had no kind of weapon on him. The thought made his heart drop. Just a simple shove into the lava and he was gone. 

He took a careful step back onto the cobblestone path before seeing a red and white shirt he could never forget. Relief flooded his system, but Tommy didn’t seem to notice him as the boy continued walking. It likely wasn’t out of anger though as  Tommy kept his head forward with seemingly nothing on his mind. The red backpack slinged over his shoulder shifted slightly. 

“Oh, Tommy,” Wilbur gently called out. Tommy jumped where he was, before turning around to see Wilbur with frightened eyes. It mimicked the expression he saw ages ago. The encounter where Tommy ran off after Wilbur pushed too hard on him. When he saw Tommy’s breathing become uneven, he quickly blurted out, “I’m really sorry.”

A slight confusion transferred onto Tommy’s face as Wilbur continued, “I… I shouldn’t have pushed you to talk about the… revival stuff. You were obviously uncomfortable and I just-” Wilbur cut off the thought of I just needed to know . “I was an asshole.”

Tommy looked away from Wilbur, his gaze focusing on the lava that hung below him. The words he spoke were quiet, but firm, “You’re right about one thing.”

A chuckle somehow escaped Wilbur, “Yeah, yeah.” He moved one of his legs in front of him as he looked at Tommy. It was the unspoken question of asking to be in his company. Tommy nodded as he walked forward himself. As the cobblestone paths met, they walked side by side. “Are you… Are you headed to the party?”

Tommy exhaled through his nose, as if Wilbur had just told a joke, and it eased Ghostbur’s mind. “Yeah I am.” He looked up at Wilbur, the eye contact a little less strained, “Have you been talking to Tubbo recently?”

“A bit,” Wilbur said, and Tommy responded with a hum, continuing ahead without much further comment. The silence filled the space between them, and the bubbling lava and fire wasn’t enough to avert Wilbur’s attention from it. The words stumbled out of Wilbur’s mouth, “How did-” He couldn’t push Tommy away again. He had to fix things this time. “Nevermind it’s stupid.”

Tommy shrugged as if it didn’t cause him any worry, but his eyes refused to meet Wilbur’s. “Nah, just go ahead and say it.”

The small amount of reassurance didn’t let Wilbur think, “How did I get revived?” He refused to say anything else as he kept his gaze straight-forward. His mind ran with the thoughts of all the ways Tommy hated him as they both stayed in silence. 

He must’ve spaced out without noticing as the nether portal stood a minute away. A ridiculous part of him pushed the question again, as if the first time didn’t go horribly, “I know I was an asshole last time, and of course- you don’t have to answer but… Tommy, I’ve been looking for answers for- for as long as I’ve been back. No one explains anything to me anymore. I just need to know.” The words were forcefully soft as he didn’t want to frighten Tommy again.

Tommy’s quiet words were sharper this time, “You don’t need to know.”

Wilbur’s voice turned gentle at Tommy’s tone, “Tommy.” He didn’t feel himself grab Tommy’s shoulder. They both stopped walking naturally as Wilbur made himself not grab the boy’s shoulder tight. He just needed to play nice and he would get all the information he needed. The moment Tommy struggled, he would simply remove his hand. He would do it right this time.

“You know me. I would never force you to tell me anything.” Wilbur didn’t even know if the words were true. “Imagine being in my shoes. You want knowledge about a simple question and you’ve got this best friend. This best friend, Prime, he lights up your life and he's just the nicest guy you've met.” Wilbur sighed as his voice dimmed, “Then you die. Then you're gone for thirteen and a half years. He visits for two months, and you're glad for that, really." He tried to push softness into his voice, but the thoughts themselves were too rigid for that.

Tommy seemed to notice as he tensed under his hand.

Wilbur pushed the topic along, “Then he’s gone again. You think he left because he can’t stand your company anymore.” Wilbur let out a bitter laugh that was too real for him to process. Instead of maintaining a neutral face after the laugh, he found a small smile in its place instead.

“Out of nowhere, this train comes. You get on that train and you’re standing right in front of him again.” He was almost back at the revival. The adrenaline running through him. The reminder of his sunrise telling him all the ways he was alive and here and not at that train station. 

His smile turned into a grin, “And you’re so excited! You instantly think about the good times between you guys.” Wilbur could feel his grin falter slightly as he let it fall. His voice must’ve turned stern, but he didn’t process that until the words were out. “Then you’ve got this thought. It wasn’t loud at first, but it’s all you can really think of. You tried asking everyone, but all they do is throw you to the curb.” He closed his eyes for a moment, the memory of the warmness from people’s homes filled his mind. Yet, his mind also focused on the shitty feeling afterwards. The realization of being alone once more. 

But he couldn’t think about that now. This was about Tommy. 

“And then- and then! You find out your best friend knows. In fact, he's one of the only people who does know."

Tommy tightly closed his eyes, pursing his lips for a moment, “Wilbur-”

“Then after all those years of friendship, he just abandons you.” Wilbur ignored the way his voice slightly cracked. He hoped Tommy did too.

He got the vague feeling that he didn’t when he saw the sympathetic look on Tommy’s face. “I didn’t abandon you.”

Wilbur took a sharp inhale, “Tommy, I want one thing.” He gently squeezed Tommy’s shoulder, hoping it came off as a friendly gesture rather than a threat. “It’s really really simple. You know it, I know it. Let’s not beat around the bush.” 

The warmth under Wilbur’s hand was quickly pulled away as Tommy glared at Wilbur.

He couldn’t let this information get away from him this time. “Do you remember that time- I don’t even remember who did it-  but that time someone shot you with a crossbow? Do you remember how I was the only one that helped you walk back to L'Manberg?"

Hurt spread across Tommy’s face. “I don't want to talk about it. I... I don't like to think about L'Manberg.”

He didn’t want to think about L’Manberg? His L’Manberg? The unfinished symphony, forever unfinished. The nation, the wonderful tool, that they built from nothing. The nation they built together . The nation that apparently meant nothing to the boy. Yet, he knew he didn’t spend so many sleepless nights building their walls higher or keeping watch just to have Tommy throw it all away from boredom.

He scoffed, “Fine. If you don't want to talk about what I’ve put my whole life towards, we can talk about Manberg. You remember when Schlatt threw us out? As if we were just scum of the Earth?”

Tommy looked away from Wilbur, but his silence spoke volumes.

Malice and disbelief filled Wilbur’s voice, “I could have abandoned you. Could've just ran through the trees and never looked back. I had no reason to run slower so you could catch up.”

Tommy took a few steps towards the nether portal as Wilbur’s breathing turned uneven. “I didn’t leave you behind, because you were lost and alone. Yet, while I’m trying to figure out why the hell I’m even back on this Earth- you’re abandoning me!”

Tommy stopped walking as his shoulders went up. Wilbur took this opportunity to take a few steps forward, “Back in my shoes Tommy. You were dead for what was over thirteen years to you, and your best friend hates you.” The final words came out a lot shakier than what Wilbur had initially thought they would. Fading out at the last vowel, because perhaps he hadn’t even intended to say them.

Tommy stood still, completely frozen by the nether portal. Wilbur noticed that Tommy was shaking. Just slightly. Wilbur could clearly hear his own breathing, and the uncomfortable warmth of the nether felt as if it was keeping him in place. Slowly, Tommy turned his head, a look in his eyes, that was far too familiar and far too distant all at once.

Then, Tommy rushed towards Wilbur, running closer and closer, and Wilbur stood still as ever, as Tommy ran into his arms. Tommy’s arms settled around Wilbur’s waist, and instinctually, Wilbur placed his own on Tommy’s back. Wilbur’s breath shook at the sudden contact that seemed to activate multiple sensations Wilbur had somehow been denied.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It was stupid. All of it was,” Tommy mumbled, rushed and vulnerable.

Apologies for things he wasn't at fault for. Apologies to Wilbur, because of Wilbur’s stinging words, that should’ve stayed in his throat. Pleas. Pleas resembling those of the ghost in his mind. Wilbur’s eyes widened. “Wait, Tommy-”

“I was so lost after you died,” Tommy said into Wilbur’s chest. The feeling reminded Wilbur of a bygone era, and nights of dependancy and dread, where Wilbur was the only one the child could hold onto, “You died with all those fucking boring-ass plans all locked in your head.” He laughed bitterly, and Wilbur realized with unexpected certainty that Tommy was crying.

And Wilbur knew, with all his heart and mind, that this was terribly, terribly wrong. His heart rate increased at the mix of the sudden familiar warmth, that was oh so appealing and so wonderfully familiar. As if everything was okay again. As if happiness was within reach. Yet Wilbur was not blind to what he had just done, because this was forgiveness. Tommy was showing a hint of forgiveness to Wilbur, and Wilbur knew that wasn't deserved. He knew that it was something Wilbur had done with his words, and his display of remorse.

And how wonderfully it worked.

He wanted to shout. Scream at the top of his lungs that Tommy should run. Follow whatever instinct of survival he had, and run away from the man that had taken so much, and done so many terrible things.

But Tommy was crying, and Tommy was seeking comfort, and wasn’t that something Wilbur had messed up in the past? His chance at comforting someone who so desperately needed it. Who so desperately needed the touch and the reassurance. Wilbur ran his hand through Tommy’s hair. “I- it’s okay. It’s alright. No one is upset at you.”

“They all fucking are,” Tommy said, as if he was telling a joke, but all that came out was choked laughter. “So much shit happened when you weren’t here. I did so many- I prioritized the wrong things.”

Wilbur swallowed something in his throat, at the words. It sounded as if it had been building up. The words fragile and carefully placed. “It’s okay. You’re safe.” Wilbur said, despite himself. Run away while you still can because you are safe anywhere but in my arms. 

“You’re back,” Tommy whispered, as if he had only realized it right then. He laughed. “You’re such an asshole, you know that?” he said, but it was said fondly and jokingly, as if they were merely children, playing and enjoying each other’s presence. Children who didn’t make independent nations and start wars.

Wilbur tried to laugh too but he could barely choke out a single word. “Sure,” he said quietly. “Yeah.”

“Don’t leave again,” Tommy choked out. Although it could’ve sounded like a request, Wilbur knew it was more of a question.

“I- I’m here.” It was wrong, it was all wrong. Tommy deserved better than this. He didn’t deserve any of Wilbur’s words after what happened between them. The touch between the two burned him. It burned in a way that almost felt good. The warmness encompassed his mind as it spun his thoughts around, but he knew Tommy deserved much better than him. He was just a child. He should be telling Wilbur to fuck off or pulling pranks, not crying in his arms.

He tensed as he pulled away from the interaction. He didn’t exactly mean to, but he let out a breath of relief once he did. Tommy pulled away once Wilbur did, though a mix of hurt and confusion rested on his face. Wilbur muttered, “I forgot something. I’ll be right back.” He tried to smile at Tommy, but he knew how flimsy and distracted it came out. He fully pulled away, immediately turning around and walking the other direction. 

He turned behind a netherrack wall as he let himself close his eyes tightly. The tension in his body still remained as Ghostbur spoke, “Wait, what did we forget?”

Wilbur whispered, “What? Oh- we didn’t forget anything. I just needed a moment.” He sharply exhaled as he opened his eyes again. He tried smiling, but knew it was even shakier than last time. 

Five things he could see. Lava. Netherrack. A red forest. Red grass. His gray satchel.

He closed his eyes, taking in another breath. 

Four things he could feel. He moved his fingers around. He walked backwards for a step, feeling the wall peacefully collide with him. He moved his hand to the wall, running it over the bumps in the wall. The handle of his satchel was gently worn-in but durable. His coat was slightly rough to feel, but in a way that comforted him. The roughness persisted no matter where he was. He ran a hand over one of his gloves. The cloth stuck to his hand from how hot the nether was, but he could still feel the softness of it.

Three things he could hear. The popping lava. His shaky breath. A piglin grunting in a way that almost reminded him of Michael. Although it seemed much lower than-

His eyes immediately flew open at the pain in his abdomen. When he looked down, he saw a gold sword that the piglin in front of him had lodged into his stomach. 

For a second, he could have sworn it was Phil with his diamond sword, but the gold had a distinct feeling that he focused on. 

The piglin pulled the sword out of him and Wilbur punched the hostile mob in the face. The piglin didn’t seem to react much, but Wilbur took it as his chance to run further into the red forest that remained at his right. He climbed up one of the trees, before realizing how much blood had already left him. 

The white shirt that laid under his trench coat was now a dark crimson that seemed stuck to his abdomen. He coughed roughly, not caring much before he saw red droplets against his hand.

His racing mind finally decided to tune into the ghost’s pleas. “Wilbur, Wilbur, Wilbur. What’s happening? Where’s Tommy?”

Although he meant to explain that he got stabbed and Tommy already went through the nether portal, all that came out was a shaky, “Fuck.” 

He opened up his satchel, trying to avoid blood getting on it as he opened it. He pulled out one of the strength potions, uncapped it, and chugged all of it down with one tip. When he finished, he was still panting from the stress that laid around him, but the extra adrenaline in his system made him ignore the pain that he would have typically felt.

He looked under his shirt where the stab wound was, the potion was already healing it with a form of fake-skin that would dissipate once the potion’s effects were over. It should last at least a few hours in his system. 

Enough time for a party.

Chapter Text

Tension lingered in his mind as he carefully trudged back towards the portal. His head was muddled. Wilbur tried to explain the situation to Ghostbur, though the ghost responded with confusion. “It’s fine.” Wilbur said, “I fixed it for now. It doesn’t hurt anymore, does it?”

“Well, not really but… What do you mean by ‘for now’?”

“I used a strength potion.” Wilbur explained, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, “It’ll keep us safe for a few hours, so we can enjoy the party.”

If the ghost had further protests he didn’t say anything about it, instead making a series of small noises of acknowledgement, as if he was still considering the situation. Wilbur closed his eyes, pausing for a moment, before turning around the same corner he had previously, walking towards the portal absent-mindedly.

He froze, when he noticed Tommy still standing there. Shifting around and standing his ground. Waiting.

Waiting for Wilbur.

Wilbur started breathing faster, as Tommy made eye contact with him. Tommy waved awkwardly, and Wilbur had very little time to think, so he tried his best to react with a smile. Tommy, standing still and waiting for Wilbur’s input and arrival. A little soldier awaiting commands. While Tommy was always so defiant, all it took was a word from Wilbur, and the boy would be standing by his side in seconds. 

Wilbur tried to walk, but only managed a small step. It had to look incredibly awkward, so he tried to look as if he spotted something in the distance, to get a grip on his thoughts before he had to try to perform any sort of serenity.

Why had it taken so little to get Tommy to look at Wilbur like that? His last encounter with the boy had ended with Wilbur getting punched and Tommy looking at Wilbur as if he was a glitch or a monster. This one had ended with Tommy looking at Wilbur, as if he was the most natural thing in existence.

Wilbur despised how good it felt, because it was so terribly wrong.

He took a deep breath, and started walking in Tommy’s direction, smiling to the best of his ability. Tommy sent him a wry smile. “Forgetting things at your old age?” he said jokingly.

Wilbur tried to scoff, but it was a rather pathetic excuse for one. “Waiting for someone to hold your hand while you cross the street?” he retorted, though any proper grasp of his words were overwhelmed by his pounding heart.

Tommy laughed, and looked away. “Shut the fuck up,” he said, though Wilbur took advantage of the lack of eyes on him, to let his own smile fade. “Let’s head to the party before they get cross with us.”

“Are we late?” Ghostbur suddenly said worriedly.

“It’s not like we’re late or anything,” Wilbur said quietly.

“Well yeah, but married couples with a kid have a messed up sense of time, probably. With all those- diaper changings or whatever kids need, I don’t fucking know,” Tommy said.

Wilbur nodded without saying much else, or really picking up on the words. He was focusing on looking as collected as possible, as the two were teleported to Snowchester, the contrast between the snowy area and the nether, once again taking Wilbur by surprise. It apparently shocked Tommy too as started to shiver almost immediately. “Man, why did Tubbo have to live in such a snowy place. He knows I hate the cold.” He stubbornly walked towards the mansion as Wilbur stayed at his side.

“Pure spite,” Wilbur joked.

Tommy threw his hands in the air with a smile, “Someone can finally agree with me on how much of a bastard he is. See, Ranboo- his husband and stuff- always takes up Tubbo’s time and attention, y’know, good for them. But I was Tubbo’s best friend first! I should at least get some kind of priority.”

Wilbur scoffed, “Sure.”

“It’s ridiculous, he even-” Before Tommy could say anything else, Wilbur knocked on the door to the mansion. 

The door opened rather quickly revealing Ranboo wearing one black party hat and one white. He seemed relieved by their appearance. A small smile slipped onto his face, “A big welcome to the party to both of you! Wow, I didn’t expect two people at once. I’ve only got one party hat in my hand, but there’s more in the-”

Ranboo was cut off by Tommy’s cackle, “A battle to the death I see. C’mon, Wilbur, forfeit now or forever hold your peace- through death!”

Ranboo quietly sighed, “Tommy, there’s more hats ins-”

Wilbur faked shock. “Oh you think you can defeat me? I made a nation and started an uprising, there’s no way a teenage boy could beat my wit and strength.”

Ranboo pleaded, “Guys, we have m-”

Tommy stood in a fighting stance as he playfully punched Wilbur in the chest. There was a slight sting at first, but the pain faded almost instantly. He punched Tommy in return as the younger yelled out, “Oh, fuck, okay you actually tried, that’s not fair.”

A confused expression came across Wilbur’s face before he remembered the strength potion he drank not too long ago. A twinge of guilt settled in his chest, but he shook it off as quickly as he could. He chuckled before turning to Ranboo, “I would like my hat please.”

Ranboo handed Wilbur a light blue party hat as he jogged to somewhere inside the house. Tommy gasped dramatically, “He left just like that.”

“That centrist.” Wilbur pulled the string around his head and let the hat rest on the top of his head.

Tommy nodded, barely holding back a laugh as he turned away, “Amen.” Ranboo came back with a light purple hat.

Tommy immediately snatched the hat out of Ranboo’s hands, despite the fact that it was already being handed directly to him. He quickly fastened the hat onto his head. “Man I’m gonna get so many more ladies than you, Wilbur. Just you watch. Purple is the color for royalty, while blue is just the color of the sky which is where birds poop.”

There was a sudden gasp from inside Wilbur’s mind. “That’s not what blue is! It’s more than that!”

There was a strange attachment to the color that didn’t belong to Wilbur. The ghost kept mentioning it, and Wilbur wasn’t sure how to interpret that. Instead he rolled his eyes as he entered the mansion, “Purple is the color for royalty. Prince Philip died. Coincidence? I think not.” He didn’t bother to listen to Tommy’s response as he saw Tubbo standing on a stepladder right in front of the stairs. He was holding a long piece of paper with tape on the ends. He could vaguely see the drawing of a bee on one of the corners, but the rest was draped over itself.

Ranboo worriedly rushed in behind them, positioning himself next to Tubbo, “Bee, I said I would help you.”

Tubbo went on his tippy toes, despite already being at the top of the step-ladder. “And I said I should legally be taller than y-” Tubbo was cut off as the step-ladder tipped over under him. A mix of purple particles were seen as Ranboo caught Tubbo and held him bridal style. Tubbo started to wrap his arms around Ranboo’s neck before crossing them. He bitterly stated, “This doesn’t prove anything.”

Ranboo sighed as he gently lowered Tubbo so he could stand again. “It proves I’m right.”

Tubbo scoffed, but his words were gentle, “I know.” His eyes wandered over to Tommy and Wilbur, “Welcome to the party!”

Tommy quickly mumbled to Wilbur, “I swear, those idiots are made for eachother. Right?” 

Wilbur was brought out of the moment, vaguely stumbling through his words, “Oh, uh-”

Tubbo quickly intervened, “Ranboo isn’t an idiot!”

Ranboo nodded in agreement, “Yeah, I’m not an idiot!”

Tubbo shot Ranboo an astonished look as Ranboo simply raised his eyebrows in response. After a few moments of silence, Tubbo spoke up, “You were supposed to defend me.”

Confusion spread across Ranboo’s face, “But you are an idiot?”

Tubbo responded with a scandalized expression. Wilbur took the opportunity to step just a little bit away from Tommy. He was trying to go against the familiar burning pull towards the boy. The smiles and the joking around, was enough to shoot Wilbur’s mind momentarily through time.

He was distracted from his own mind at the sound of piglin grunts. For a second he flinched at the memory of the nether, though once he turned his head and saw the little Michael running towards him, he let out a breath. The toddler was wearing a mustard yellow suit, with a dark blue shirt underneath. There was a small bee pin on his left chest. He wrapped his arms around Wilbur’s leg.

Tommy let out an offended noise, “How do you get a hug before me? I’m objectively cooler than you.” 

Wilbur raised an eyebrow, “Objectively?”

Tommy nodded before he kneeled down, curling his hand into a fist. “Hey, Michael.”

Michael’s eyes lit up as let go of Wilbur’s leg. He curled his small hand into a fist and fist-bumped Tommy. The both of them made explosion noises as Wilbur let out a dry laugh. “Alright, I can agree with that.”

Wilbur heard some shuffling as he averted his gaze from Tommy and Michael. His eyes fell upon Tubbo, gesturing towards the banner hanging from the ceiling. “Ta-da!” he exclaimed, followed by Ranboo walking down from the ladder, and clapping to add to the moment. 

The banner was white with small bees and stars decorating the middle of it. In black text, the banner read, “Happy Spawn Day!” There were some stickmen near the bottom middle. Wilbur could tell Michael didn’t draw it as the lines were sturdy and clear. It also didn’t take much time to figure out, from left to right, there was Wilbur, Tommy, Tubbo, Michael, Ranboo, and Phil. Part of him felt happy to be the first, but a small part of him knew that he could’ve been placed at the end because they momentarily forgot about him.

Tommy looked over, confusion entering his voice, “Wait, I thought you guys got Michael on Valentine’s Day or something.”

Tubbo tilted his head slightly before nodding, “Yeah, but we found him back in November when Ranboo arrived.”

Tommy’s confusion must have been contagious as it shined through Wilbur’s voice, “I may have not been alive for very long, but it’s definitely not November.”

Ranboo collapsed the step ladder and picked it up with one arm. “Yeah. It’s his spawn day, not his adoption day. I thought the banner made that obvious?” He gestured to the banner that hung above the stairwell.

Tommy shook his head. “I’m not an idiot. I understand that part. But how do you know his spawn date?”

Ranboo and Tubbo spoke in unison, "We guessed." They both laughed for a moment as Tubbo called out, “Jinx!” He grabbed the step-ladder from Ranboo and put it in a closet nearby. 

Ranboo smiled, looking at his husband walk away before returning his gaze to Tommy. "Well it wasn't exactly a guess.”

Tubbo’s voice joined in once again, "Yeah, we just estimated."

Tommy groaned from frustration. “No! That’s not even close to what I’m asking! How the fuck did you estimate?”

Just as Tommy finished his sentence there was a knock at the door, and Tubbo rushed to open it, a green party hat in hand. Tommy watched with annoyance as the door opened, and Phil stepped in.

Oh.

Wilbur froze where he was standing, as he tried to take in the sight of his father. Phil was smiling at Tubbo as he was greeted, and Wilbur tried to pry his eyes away so it didn’t look as if he was staring.

“Who’s that?” Ghostbur asked curiously.

“Phil’s here,” Wilbur whispered under his breath, hoping it could be played off as just some incoherent mumbling.

Worry slipped into Ghostbur’s voice, “Oh, how is he doing? He seemed kind of sad last time we talked to him.”

Phil didn’t look sad, but it was hardly a good estimate for his actual emotions. Phil was quite skilled at attempting to hide the constant layer of melancholy there was to everything he said and did. It was almost exhausting to witness.

Michael rushed towards Phil and hugged him, and after Phil had given the boy a quick pat on the head, Phil looked at Wilbur. Wilbur immediately looked away, cursing internally at his own instinctual reaction. 

He could feel the pity radiating from Phil’s gaze as Tommy’s voice boomed in, “Hey, old man. How have you been? Feels like it’s been ages.” 

Phil gently chuckled, “Good, mate. How are you?”

“Pogchamp.”

When Wilbur hesitantly looked up, he saw the two of them going in for a side-hug that sent a pang of something to his chest. It made him slightly cringe, but he quickly recovered by flashing a grin. “So are we getting this party started or what?”

Tubbo smiled, “Yeah!” He handed Phil a dark green party hat as he gestured to the nearby table that was covered in white tablecloth. “You guys can put stuff over there if you need to.” 

Phil was the first one to head over there, placing a medium-sized box wrapped in bright red paper. Tommy gently placed his backpack on the table before Wilbur realized he was only watching the situation as he took off his satchel and placed it near the pile of stuff. 

Ranboo hesitantly spoke, “So, I’ve been to birthday parties and that kind of stuff before, but what do we do?” Ranboo fiddled with one of his gloves as he spoke.

Tubbo let out a dry laugh, “We can start with cake.” 

Ranboo nodded, “I’ll get that.” He walked towards the direction of the kitchen.

“I can get the flint and steel,” Tubbo added. As he walked towards a direction opposite from Ranboo, Wilbur quickly realized the three of them were mostly alone.

Wilbur awkwardly shifted before Phil cleared his throat, “How old is Michael now?” Wilbur and Tommy both shrugged. Wilbur tensed up slightly at the synchronized movement.

Tommy guessed, but Wilbur felt like it was a want to fill the silence instead of a genuine thought, “I think he’s three?”

“I never was any good at paying attention to ages.” Phil said, a little quietly, though it sounded as if he was telling a joke, “You know, Techno never counted his age either.”

Wilbur felt as if everyone held their breath at once as the name was mentioned, and cleared his throat in an attempt to overpower it. He was about to remark how he himself was probably in his forties or something by now, should limbo time be counted, but was interrupted when Ranboo entered, holding a cake. Likely for the best, because as he thought about it further, he figured his death and revival wouldn't be the best topic for smalltalk in a room with the two people who had experienced each of them up close.

Tubbo gently placed the cake on one side of the table, making sure any bags or gifts were at the other end. He grabbed some of the plates that were on the nearby counter as he passed them out. Wilbur smiled softly at the cute pastel red that colored the paper plates.  

Ranboo picked up Michael, and placed the excited toddler in the high chair. Michael moved his arms around excitedly, as Phil sat down nearby. Tubbo and Ranboo sat down right next to Michael. As Wilbur stood still for a moment longer, he came to the realization that Tommy had not sat down yet. He closed his eyes tightly, as he listened to his own heartbeat. 

Waiting for Wilbur.

Slowly, Wilbur walked to the table, picking the chair by the other end of the table. Tommy sat down in between Wilbur and Tubbo, and Wilbur tried his best to keep his distance. Tommy looked around. “Was anyone else invited?”

“I asked Jack, I think, but he was too busy with his hotel,” Ranboo said.

Jack. That was a name Wilbur hadn’t heard in a while. A few memories came back to him, from the war to claim back L’Manberg, and from the boy’s attempt at a small nation.

“ My hotel,” Tommy said with a scowl, and that caught Wilbur’s attention for a moment.

“What hotel?” he asked despite himself.

Tommy looked a bit surprised to have been asked the question. “I made a hotel,” he said, “Then Jack took it.”

Wilbur furrowed his eyebrows with confusion, trying to dig through his mind for any memories from Ghostbur’s time there. A project at Tommy’s own hands. Why had it been taken away? It was exhausting to have missed so many events.

“In retrospect, it probably wasn’t the best plan to invite him,” Tubbo said, frowning slightly. “We were going to invite more, but most people are busy with their own things.”

“Hey, I’m busy too!” Tommy said, sounding a little offended. 

Wilbur didn’t listen too much to what was said after that. It was as if something remained unsaid between everyone in the room, but the mood seemed to lighten up, as Tubbo lit the candle on the cake with flint and steel. Michael smiled, making overjoyed grunts, and Wilbur was let out of his mind momentarily, as he chuckled at the sight. “Time to sing!” Tubbo said, and Wilbur caught a smile on Phil’s face. One of pride, that Wilbur remembered bitterly and fondly all at once. He shoved the thoughts of letters, false promises, and misplaced hope away. Today was a day for Michael, and for what remained of temporary peace.

Tubbo was the first to start singing, and Phil and Ranboo joined in right away. Tommy looked as if he was feeling stupid for the first few words, but started mumbling along with the song nonetheless. Michael grunted melodically.

Wilbur was singing too, though he hardly felt as if he was the one doing it. He realized right then, that it had been a long time since he’d sung. It had been a long time since a single note left him in a place that wasn’t an empty train station, that just made each of the notes dissolve to remind him of his solitude. 

He was pushed back into a more comfortable reality, when he heard the echo-y voice in his head, singing along excitedly. His shoulder untensed, and he couldn’t restrain himself from laughing. 

“I love this song! I’ve heard it before!” Ghostbur said happily, “From your memories too. Birthdays are nice.”

Wilbur hummed, and echoed, “Nice,” he said, and he noticed that people were looking at his smile, and they started laughing too. Ranboo picked up the cake, and held it up to Michael, who blew out the candle immediately.

“Time to cut the cake,” Tubbo said, holding up a knife with a gleeful expression.

“Careful with that!” Ranboo said, reaching for it.

Wilbur let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, as the couple both held onto the knife to cut the first piece.

Chapter Text

The cake was passed out with relative ease. Ranboo cut it for everyone as Tubbo grabbed some drinks. The cake ran low at one point from its small-ish size, but he quickly replenished it. Wilbur was confused and assumed it was a party trick, but he was even more confused when no one bothered to call him out on it. Either way, the purple particles danced around the cake moments after it was replenished.

The yellow frosting was sweet as the main cake was light and well-baked. The flavors inside the cake ranged from vanilla on the top layer and lemon on the bottom. Wilbur took a small break from eating the cake as he quickly mentioned, “Oh my fucking Prime, compliments to the chef.”

“Compliments to the baker, indeed.” He realized with those words that Ghostbur could taste the cake he was eating as well. While it shouldn’t have been surprising, Wilbur basically assumed that the Ghost would only feel things. He wondered if the ghost could smell things now as well.

Everyone nodded in agreement about the quality of the cake as Tubbo bashfully replied, “Ah- it’s just cake. It’s hard to really screw up.”

Tommy shook his head, “There’s a strong difference between ‘not screwing up’ and ‘I would like to kidnap you so you make more cake for me.’”

Phil nodded, “Reminds me of what Niki baked a while back for Tech’s birthday party.”

Ranboo nodded hesitantly, almost as if he didn’t want to be seen, though everyone else vaguely looked around the table for context. After a few seconds passed, Wilbur shrugged towards Tommy and Tubbo and continued eating. 

Tommy gasped in the middle of eating, “M-” He quickly closed his mouth, swallowing the slice of cake in his mouth before continuing, “Ranboo, you are now my new favorite person.”

Ranboo raised an eyebrow as he awkwardly laughed, “Thank you?”

Tommy looked around at everyone as if he made a dramatic revelation, “I just realized you can make an infinite amount of Tubbo’s cake.”

There was laughter around the table, and Wilbur realized that his smile was still lingering on his face, even when he wasn’t actively making it so. He tried his best to avoid eye-contact as he chuckled along with the jokes and with Ghostbur’s laughter in his mind. Ghostbur at the very least, seemed a great deal brighter due to the company.

Once most of the cake had been eaten, it appeared that Michael could no longer contain his excitement for the presents. Tubbo giggled as he went to pick up the first one. The wrapped box from Phil.

As Ranboo took Michael out of his high-chair, Tubbo gently placed the box onto the floor. Michael squealed excitedly as he ran over and hugged the box. Phil chuckled, “I would say ‘you’re welcome,’ but he doesn’t even know what’s in the box.” His gaze caught Tubbo’s as the parent nodded. 

Tubbo called out to Michael, “Rip the red paper!” 

Michael looked over for a moment before grabbing some of the red wrapping paper with his small hand and dragging it towards him. He jumped up at the rip as he continued taking the paper apart. After half of the paper was torn off, Ranboo asked, “Michael, do you know what it is?”

Michael tilted his head before squealing. He ran upstairs quickly as Ranboo followed him. The two appeared relatively quickly as Michael held a drawing that was scribbled with black and a red line at the bottom- most likely to resemble ground. Phil exclaimed, “Yeah, it’s a bastion!”

The box in question looked like it was bought at a store with its comercial labeling. It showed a human toddler dressed in a blaze outfit playing in the black structure with someone who could be assumed as his mother. Tubbo furrowed his brow, his focus moving from Michael and the gift to Phil, “A bastion?”

Phil nodded, “Black plastic pieces and instructions. It’s supposed to be… a meter by a meter? Pretty decent size, I’m guessing it takes a day to construct.”

Ranboo smiled though confusion lingered in his eyes, “Wait- how long is a meter?” Laughter quickly filled the room due to Ranboo’s unpopular system of measurement. After a few moments he spoke again, “I swear- I’ll never understand British people.”

The sight of the bastion reminded Wilbur of vague memories from his childhood. The wooden sword Phil had helped him train with. Perhaps it was meant to be, that the way of the sword and weapons, ended up influencing Wilbur’s life so much. Most of all however, it reminded Wilbur of the bliss that hung in the air back then. When the sword was for playing a game, and when his father laughed and looked at him with pride.

Perhaps it was good that Michael got to see that. That the toddler got to play with his grandfather, or whichever familial role Phil had been assigned. And Wilbur didn’t mind of course. That would be silly and counter-productive. Michael’s excited grunts were infectious nonetheless. 

For an absurd moment, Wilbur found himself hoping that the ways of war would somehow remain nothing but a game to the toddler.

As Michael looked at all the pieces and Ranboo was picking some up to show the child, Michael started chewing on his sleeve. Wilbur half-expected someone to rush to rescue the yellow suit, but Ranboo simply laughed.

“That suit was a good call,” Tubbo said, grinning.

“Is he fucking eating it?” Tommy asked, raising an eyebrow confusedly.

“He always wants to chew on yellow so I gave him a chewable suit. It doesn’t tear and it’s nontoxic,” Ranboo explained.

Wilbur caught himself exhaling amusedly at that. Michael sat down on the ground, some of the sleeve still in his mouth as he looked at the bastillion. 

Tommy froze. “Ah shit, maybe Michael shouldn’t be the one to open my present.”

Everyone gave him a confused look.

“I mean, it’s the best present ever, don’t get me wrong, but uh- yeah.” He scratched the side of his head. “Someone else should open it just in case.”

Tubbo raised an eyebrow. “Alright then, I’ll do it,” he said, picking up the backpack Tommy had left on the table. Tommy sent a confident look, though Wilbur could see a hint of nervousness underneath it, that you learned to recognize after spending sufficient time with the boy.

Tubbo looked at the backpack, and carefully opened it. He took out a flat, square packaging, and inspected it in his hands. Suddenly his mouth gaped. “Hold on a second-” gently, he took out a disc from the packaging. A large black disc, with a yellow layer in the middle. Tubbo looked at it as if he could hardly believe it. “Is this-”
“Pigstep yeah.” Tommy said, holding his head high proudly, with hands in his pockets, “I had two of them, so one of them might as well go to- you know.” He laughed awkwardly, “Best gift ever, innit?”

“Thank you!” Tubbo said, as if he was still surprised, “I uh- It’s appreciated! I’m sure Michael will enjoy it too when he grows out of his yellow-eating phase.”

Michael seemed to reach for the disc that Tubbo was holding in the air, and Tubbo giggled, letting the toddler touch the side of the disc. “Careful with that,” Ranboo said, as he went to pick up a present that was already standing by the table when they arrived. It was a decently sized rectangular package, with clumsily wrapped white paper with little bees on it. Wilbur guessed it was from Tubbo, and was quickly confirmed to be right. “See, this one’s from your dad,” Ranboo explained.

“Me!” Tubbo clarified with a big smile on his face.

Wilbur watched the interaction faintly, when his stomach started to hurt. It wasn’t bad to begin with. At first he assumed he’d eaten too much cake or something along those lines. As Michael began unwrapping the present, Wilbur felt a sharp twinge of pain in his gut, and his eyes widened when he realized what was happening.

“Wilbur! Oh no oh no oh no-” Ghostbur suddenly said, and Wilbur cursed underneath his breath. 

“I’ll be right back,” Wilbur said hurriedly. Only Tommy turned his head for a moment. “Uh, bathroom,” Wilbur tried, and so he walked away.

He once again realized, at the worst possible moment, that the mansion was incredibly big. He walked down the nearest hall, holding on to where he knew his wound was about to appear. “Shit,” he cursed.

“You said it’d last the party!” Ghostbur pleaded.

“Apparently not!” Wilbur said, sounding more aggravated than he intended. He took a deep breath, “Sorry, I really thought it would. I don’t know if it’s been longer than I thought or if the potion wasn’t that powerful,” he whispered.

Luckily, he did manage to find a bathroom, and quickly turned into it, locking the door firmly behind him. He leaned against it, the pain growing more and more intense by the minute. Ghostbur hissed out in pain. His voice shook when he spoke, “Wilbur-”

“Ghostie- fuck.” He slid down the bathroom door as his legs felt like they were going to give out. He quickly opened the cabinet under the sink. After pushing around some miscellaneous cleaning supplies, he found a small white medkit. He almost sighed in relief, but it came out as more of a groan. He pulled out the medkit and quickly opened it. 

Disbelief struck him as he realized it was a medkit for kids. The bandaids with smiley faces seemed to taunt him as he tried to figure out what to do. 

Step one of fixing yourself up; get out of immediate danger. Check.

Step two of stopping the pain that made Wilbur dizzy; assess the damage taken. A fucking stab wound. Wilbur held his stomach as he slowly sat himself onto the floor, small spots flooding his vision.

Step three of not bleeding out in a bathroom; take inventory of your medical aid and equipment. As he heard laughter echo from downstairs, he knew he couldn’t walk down there. He might’ve ruined almost every other moment in their lives, but he wouldn’t ruin this one. 

A strong pain was sent to his abdomen as he groaned through gritted teeth, tears entering his eyes. He realized the adrenaline from fighting the piglin was out of his system, leaving him to experience everything. 

He looked at the small medkit yet again, before his eyes settled on the small vials of red and pink. He didn’t focus on the nostalgia of Phil giving him those when he had the flu as he grabbed them. He opened all of them as quickly as he could and dumped all of them down his throat. They might’ve been one potion overall if he was lucky. He squeezed his eyes shut as he continued holding to his abdomen, shifting slightly in hopes that the pain would go away.

He whimpered without even knowing, lying there for minutes before the pain was mostly gone. It felt more like a stomach ache now. 

Ghostbur groaned, “Feels a bit better, but we should probably tell someone. Still hurts.” The last words were a bit quieter as Wilbur blinked out the unshed tears, feeling them fall down his face. A knock at the door pulled him out of his mind as he instinctively jumped from the sudden sound as he stood up. Blood dripped from the bottom of his shirt and onto the clean wooden floor. 

He grabbed a random towel nearby as he called out, “Yeah?”

Tommy spoke from the other side, “You good? You’ve been in there awhile.”

Ghostbur’s voice seemed excited, but pain was buried into it, “Tommy can help!”

Wilbur didn’t have time to explain the idea of ruining a special day, but he did have the time to curse himself for accidentally letting too much time pass. He turned the sink on and splashed water onto his face, before remembering that the ghost felt it too. Ghostbur’s breath instantly hitched as he let out a muffled scream. He muttered, “Shit” as he grabbed the towel on the floor and quickly wiped his face of the tears and water. 

Worry creeped into Tommy’s voice, “Wilbur, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” 

“Wilbur, there’s lots of things wrong!” A sob escaped Ghostbur.

Wilbur flashed a smile to himself in the mirror as he desperately hoped that it was convincing enough to soothe any worries. He opened the door, forcing the smile to stay on his face.

He was met with the sight of Tommy furrowing his eyebrows, before it quickly changed to a nonchalant expression. “Michael doesn’t wanna wait for his gifts.”

Wilbur rolled his eyes, “Alright, alright, I’ll give it to him.”

Tommy chuckled, but there was something reserved in his voice that wasn’t light-hearted humor, “I bet what you got for him was so lame.” 

Wilbur didn’t bother responding as he walked towards the direction of the muffled talking as Tommy followed by his side. He ignored the feeling he got when he realized Tommy was the one who stopped his fun to go get Wilbur. Wilbur sighed unknowingly as Tommy hesitantly spoke, “You good? You’re looking a bit pale.”

Wilbur nodded automatically. He sent Tommy a wry smile, “You know me, just touching up my make-up during the party.” He chuckled at himself at the end, but the action sent another stabbing pain to his abdomen. 

Strained curiosity shined in Ghostbur’s voice, “You never told me you were wearing make-up? Did you do that while you were in the shower?”

Tommy laughed along, but it seemed even faker than Wilbur’s, “Thought you weren’t into that shit.” He quickly realized the meaning of his words and continued, “It’s definitely okay if you are! I didn’t mean it that way, I just remember you saying you didn’t like wearing make-up.”

Wilbur nodded, turning the corner as he was met with the familiar sight of the party. “I’m trying something new,” the words were only to Tommy as he dramatically entered the room. “Your favorite person has returned!” 

Everyone shared a quick laugh as Michael ran to him. The toddler wrapped his arms around Wilbur’s leg for a moment before tugging on his pants to the gift table.

Wilbur let out a sound he hoped was close enough to laughter as he walked over to the gift table with Michael. 

Phil asked, “Hey, mate, you alright?” 

Wilbur laid a hand on the opening of his satchel before looking over at his father. He quickly realized everyone was looking at him as he responded, “Oh yeah! Yeah, yeah, it’s all good.”

Phil raised an eyebrow, “You don’t seem good.”

Wilbur shrugged it off, “I’m good.” He grabbed the satchel from the gift table as he carefully opened it up. He wondered why the satchel was shaking before realizing it was his hand shaking. He grabbed the golden pair of boots and note card out as he handed them to Michael.

Ranboo quickly grabbed the boots the moment they entered Michael’s hands as he asked Wilbur, “Are these pure gold boots?”

Wilbur furrowed his brow as he nodded, “I’m not giving Michael fake shit.”

Ranboo awkwardly laughed, “I believe that, I just want you to know he’s going to eat them.”

Wilbur shrugged, turning to his satchel as he got another stab of pain. He hid a wince and forced himself to speak, “I also got you and Tubbo something.” He carefully grabbed both of the potions in his bag. He ignored the way his legs felt like jelly. He just needed a few more moments then he could sit again. 

Tubbo’s voice shined with hidden glee, “Wilbur, this is Michael’s party, not ours.”

Wilbur nodded, parts of his fake smile turning real, “But to be a parent, you might need some extra strength.” He pulled the bottles out as images of drinking one flashed through his mind. He wished he could’ve taken one right now, but he handed them to Ranboo before he could. 

Ranboo passed the other to Tubbo who inspected the bottle. “Oh shit, freshly brewed as well.”

Wilbur nodded, “Mhm.” 

He noticed black little spots flooding his vision at the same time Ghostbur whispered, “Wilbur? What- what's going on?”

Wilbur could mostly see. He just had to focus a little longer. It was just a minor obstacle, that’s all. He forced himself to chuckle as he brought out the card he made earlier. “I made this little card, but it’s a little stupid.” 

Ranboo rolled his eyes, “We’re hosting a party since we guessed a day Michael spawned. Stupid doesn’t really exist here.”

Wilbur was about to hand it to Ranboo as the boy quickly continued, “Oh you could read it if you’d like?”

Wilbur’s smile dimmered, but he shakily kept it up. “You sure?” His own voice sounded faint to him as everything seemed quieter. It must’ve started a while ago, but he couldn’t tell exactly when.

He heard some kind of affirmative noise as he looked at the card. It all seemed fake to him, the black spots in his vision increasing to the point where he could barely see what he was holding. He narrowed his eyes at the card, but they only caused a pain in his head to try harder to look. Instead, he recited it the best he could from memory, “Someday you will carry the world, for now, you have these gold boots. Sincerely, Uncle Wilbur.”

There wasn’t any kind of laughter or applause as someone’s voice heavily cut through the ringing in his ears. It was a deeper voice that he couldn’t pick out. “Wilbur, I think you should sit down.” 

He vaguely nodded but his legs collapsed under him. There was some kind of pressure on his left arm that kept him from hitting the floor. He squinted as he stumbled to where he thought the shape of the chairs were as someone looped their arm under Wilbur’s. He let out a noise that was a mix of a groan and a scream as he could feel himself become barely supported by his own legs. 

All the sounds blended together as the sharp pain hit him once more. He squeezed his eyes tight, but it resulted in the same outcome as keeping his eyes open with the black spots that completely filled his vision. He gasped sharply from the stabbing pain right before he stopped feeling anything around him.

Chapter Text

Wilbur opened his eyes slowly, staring at the ceiling for a few moments. His eyes widened when he realized he wasn’t in the bunker he’d grown so used to. He sat up quickly, groaning at the pain in his abdomen. 

Ghostbur forced the words out through his mutual pain, “Oh, Wilbur, it’s nice to have you back again.”

Wilbur was so focused on the pain that he jumped when he noticed Phil looking at him with something in his eyes that he couldn’t decipher. Now that he looked around, he realized he was in his father’s house, laying on the bed that he slept in when he first came back.

Phil walked over to where Wilbur was, a strange sharpness coexisting with the gentleness in his voice, “Lay back down, mate.”

He would’ve come up with a witty response, but the pain spoke for him as he laid back down again. Phil muttered, “Hold on, lean up for a second.” Wilbur did so, wincing at the pain as he wrapped an arm around his stomach. Phil quickly propped the pillows up behind Wilbur and nodded when Wilbur could go back down. 

Wilbur sighed from relief when he felt the pain in his abdomen mostly go away. Phil grabbed a glass bottle filled with a light pink liquid that he assumed to be regeneration. “Can you use your arms to drink this? They didn’t look injured to me, but you also managed to hide a stab wound from four people.”

Wilbur nodded, barely able to sense the bitterness the words could’ve possesed, “My arms are fine.”

Phil narrowed his eyes a bit, but still handed the potion to Wilbur. He drank it down, savoring the sweet taste it brought. Although Wilbur rarely drank regeneration potions, he noticed that they seemed to taste differently every time. This one tasted like warm apple pie, but he remembered one from long ago tasting like vanilla ice cream. 

Ghostbur gasped quietly at the taste, “Mmm, this one is good.”

Phil closely watched Wilbur drink the potion, grabbing the empty bottle from Wilbur when it was done. Wilbur closed his eyes for a moment, the flavor still lasting on his tongue. Yet, the flavor reminded him of the potion itself as he asked, “That was regeneration right?”

Phil seemed slightly confused but he nodded. “Yeah, did it taste off or something?”

Wilbur shook his head, “Nah, I just thought instant health would be more effective.”

Phil’s eyes filled with worry right before he turned away. He shuffled through one of the chests as he spoke, “For serious injuries it can be better to use regen. If you use instant health over and over the body forgets how to go through… I can’t remember the exact word but it’s when the body duplicates cells because some of the other ones were damaged.”

“Oh, I think I know about that! Ranboo was studying and told me about… mitosis! Or maybe it was meiosis.”

Wilbur nodded along with Ghostbur’s words, “Mitosis? Or maybe meiosis, I can’t really remember.”

Phil chuckled, but it didn’t seem natural in the slightest, “Probably.” Wilbur’s stomach growled and Phil quickly caught Wilbur’s gaze. There was something clouded in his father’s eyes that he couldn’t pick out. “I’ll get you some food. Don’t get up.” 

Wilbur nodded as he rested his eyes with Ghostbur’s quiet voice filling his mind, “Wilby?” Wilbur hummed in acknowledgement, not exactly ready to socialize from his disorientation. “So um, I think you should have told someone about the injury thing.”

Sarcasm dripped over Wilbur’s words, “Wow, I never thought of that.”

“I know, but that’s okay! Now we can be honest and everything can be good again.”

Wilbur’s mind went to the letters he wrote to Phil with lies littered in them. He sighed as he quietly whispered, “It’s too complicated.”

Ghostbur let out a frustrated noise as Wilbur heard footsteps coming back upstairs. He held a plate with cut up cooked chicken and scrambled eggs on the side. He grabbed a spare pillow next to the bed as he laid it on Wilbur’s lap under the plate. Phil grabbed the chair he previously sat in and dragged it closer to Wilbur’s bed. “I know it’s not your favorite meal, but you need some protein and chicken lasts longer than steak.” His father sat down on the chair next to him. 

Wilbur nodded as he quickly ate a few pieces. After finishing another bite, he mentioned, “I could have gotten myself something to eat. You didn’t have to prep an entire meal.”

Phil shook his head, “I just figured you would be hungry when you woke up.”

“How long was I out?” Wilbur put some of the scrambled eggs onto the fork and into his mouth.

“About a day,” Phil said, and there was something sharp to his tone, as if he wanted Wilbur to hear each word. Wilbur looked at Phil, noticing some bags under his eyes. It was not uncommon for Phil to be tired, though Wilbur recognized that he looked more so than usual. He didn’t quite let the thought translate into anything in his head, but he could feel that it stung. Phil looked at him expectantly, and Wilbur continued to eat some of the food.

There was a look in his father’s eyes, as if this was not the end of their interaction. Wilbur knew it all too well, but it was as if lingered. As if Wilbur would run off the second they left him. Wilbur didn’t like it. He was being treated like a disobedient child.

Once Wilbur had swallowed the last bit of chicken he put down the plate. He looked at his surroundings and at his father. “When can I leave?” he asked.

“Not for a while,” Phil said, zero hesitation behind the words.

Ghostbur whined, “Aww, why?”

Wilbur furrowed his eyebrows. His confusion paralleled Ghostbur’s. “Why?”

“You know why.” A rough sharpness entered Phil’s voice.

Wilbur let out a breath. “Okay, if this is about the party-”

“There is no if about the party,” Phil said harshly.

“Alright, alright…”

When Wilbur’s voice trailed off, Ghostbur quickly spoke, “While you were asleep I heard someone say they wanted to have a ‘serious talk’ with you. I don’t really know what that means, but it sounded bad.” Ghostbur took a breath, “So, I’ll stay quiet for a bit and let you focus and stuff like that.”

Wilbur noted to thank the ghost later for his understanding as he focused his attention back to Phil, “Do you want me to be honest or nice?”

Phil looked baffled and frustrated at the same time. “Wilbur why-” He took a deep breath, “Okay, honest answers. When did you get stabbed?”

Wilbur clenched the bedsheets in his hand. “On the way to the party.”

“How did it happen?” Phil asked, sounding as if he was attempting to keep his tone calm, clear frustration hiding underneath.

“A zombie piglin,” Wilbur replied.

“This conversation is going to be much longer than you’d like if you continue giving me one-sentence answers,” Phil said sharply.

Wilbur shook his head and gestured with one of arms. “Well, what do you want me to answer then?”

“You can’t just-” Phil rubbed his forehead with his hand, “Wil, you just went to a birthday party with an untreated stab wound, and you expect me to take those for an answer? If you get stabbed, there are several ways to deal with that! Not to mention that if you were wearing gold, you wouldn’t have been in danger in the first place!”

“Well, I’m being honest!” Wilbur stated. A passive anger filled his system at the belittlement in his father’s words. As if wearing gold would have been easy, he made child-sized boots out of the only gold in the bunker. He couldn’t predict the path he took on the way to the party. It was- he hesitated to admit it was Tommy’s fault he got stabbed, but it felt like an honest truth to him. The fault of unearned forgiveness.

Phil bit his lip and exhaled frustratedly through his nose. He closed his eyes for a moment. “Wil, you can’t keep doing this.”

“Doing what?” Wilbur asked, though he likely knew the answer.

“You have to stop this- this recklessness!” Phil said, and there was a shimmer of concern in his eyes, “You went to the nether without the proper equipment, and you didn’t even treat the wound properly.” He let out what could’ve been confused as laughter, there wasn’t a hint of amusement in it, “And then you passed out in front of a child and everyone else without any kind of warning that you were severely injured.”

Wilbur froze. “Shit, I forgot Michael was even there.”

“It doesn’t matter if Michael was there! You should’ve told us you were injured. I always carry golden apples on me for this exact reason.” Wilbur was about to reply, when Phil continued, “There was blood on the floor! Do you know how hard that was to explain to Michael?”

Wilbur thought of the toddler, a strange heaviness settling in his heart. He flinched. “I thought my strength potion would last a bit longer.”

Phil’s eyes widened. “You didn’t even use regeneration? Or instant health? Or anything even resembling medical care?”

“I didn’t have anything else on me.” Wilbur elaborated.

“Then you should’ve-”

“I should’ve told you. Yes, I fucking get it! Next time I’ll run to you like a fucking child who got a big bad boo-boo and needs a kiss to make it better.”

Phil scowled just slightly. “You’re the one acting irresponsibly like a child!” He rubbed the sides of his face, “And this isn’t the first time you’ve done something like this since you’ve been back.”

Wilbur realized his own breathing was wavering slightly, as he looked down, feeling his father’s disappointment drill through him. He was no stranger to it, and he despised how much it still got to him. He clenched the sheets harder with both of his hands.

There was a moment of silence before Phil spoke again, “For Prime’s sake- have you considered the thought that we care about you? Maybe I can understand your doubts with Ranboo, and Tubbo to a lesser degree. It’s even harder for me to understand not telling Tommy, but I’m your father! You should’ve told me.” 

“And ruin the fun you all had?” Tears began to form in his eyes, but he was not going to be the sensitive child he used to be growing up. The child that cried at being called an idiot or sobbed after messing up a small detail. He was better than that child. He refused to let the tears fall, “Fuck- they all looked so happy in there.” He looked down, avoiding his father’s gaze, “It’s been so long since I’ve seen them like that.” Sincerity and unwelcome vulnerability tinted the last words.

Phil’s tone softened, which only made Wilbur clench harder. “But we all felt the same dreadful panic when I told them that you got stabbed.”

“I’m sorry alright?” He hissed out, “I don’t wanna talk about it. I know I did something wrong. Just ground me for a week or something and we’ll move on from there.”

Phil furrowed his eyebrows. "Wilbur, this is your fucking life you're talking about. This isn't you stealing or something like that. I would have actually welcomed you stealing a potion from my chest over what actually happened."

Wilbur sighed roughly, his voice wavering slightly as he quietly said, “Sorry.”

“Look mate, I’m not pissed about you getting stabbed. I’m just-”

“Pissed that I didn’t tell you I got stabbed,” Wilbur intruded. “Same difference.”

Phil shook his head. “It’s not even that. It’s the fact that you don’t think we care about you!”

Wilbur felt fire in his chest. It was the same fire that burned when Schlatt exiled him and Tommy. Not even just that- but the fact that he somehow made new rules to combine his party with Quackity’s. If he had known that was possible, him and Tommy would have run separately. Perhaps staged a fight to make it seem they were on opposite sides. But no, Schlatt had to act like a stubborn kid that stole money during Monopoly. It was his nation. It belonged to him. 

In the same way, his body belonged to himself as well. He could give himself a potion and a few bandaids. He could fix his own issues. “It’s not my fault the only time you show you care is if I’m a problem that needs to be fixed!” He spat, barely realizing what he was saying until the words hung in the air.

Phil’s expression became gentler. Careful and worried, as if he was dealing with a frightened animal. Wilbur tried his best to ignore it, as Phil reached for his arm. The touch sent a shiver through him. “Wil…” Phil said.

Wilbur hated how he couldn’t get himself to shove Phil’s hand away. The fire in his chest was still lit, but it dimmed at the action. Instead, the warmth of the spark was replaced by Phil’s hand. It warmed him more than he would have liked. “Don’t,” He said like a quiet shiver.

Phil’s hand remained there for a few breaths, as if time stopped between them. As if Phil was afraid to let go. Slowly he let his hand slide down, leaving Wilbur’s arm cold and alone again. And wasn’t it pathetic that it felt like that? “Wilbur, I…” Phil swallowed something in his throat, “I’m giving you two options.” Wilbur nodded absent-mindedly as Phil continued talking. “There’s the first option which is… Wow this isn’t the easiest thing to say.” Phil took a breath, rushing the word out of his mouth, “Therapy.”

Wilbur raised an eyebrow. “Therapy?”

Phil nodded. “I know someone who does sessions. I’m guessing it’s a twenty minute walk since we’ve got the portals. I’ll help walk you there and all that.”

Wilbur chuckled, “I don’t need my dad to hold my hand as I cross the street.”

Phil didn’t share the laughter as he hesitantly spoke, “It’s not… It’s more than that. It’s also not up for debate if I walk with you.”

“Then why propose the idea in the first place?”

Phil shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I wasn’t proposing walking with you. I was proposing the idea of therapy.”

Wilbur rolled his eyes, “I don’t need that. I can go walk outside to prove I’m stable.”

Pity hung in Phil’s eyes. It was worse than anger. At least Wilbur could focus his anger back on his father. But with that pity, all he could do was sit in it and hope a distraction would come by and take it away. The feeling only seemed to increase as Phil spoke, “You walked outside the day you blew up L’Manberg.”

Wilbur’s face turned to one of genuine confusion, “You know I’m better than I was back then.”

“I know.” Phil’s tone was tinted with uncertainty. “Either way, you don’t have the best mental health.” Wilbur opened his mouth to speak but Phil cut him off, “Try to reason with me about how a one hundred percent mentally well person would hide a deadly injury. Even if you claim to be fine, there are still some habits you have that concern me.”

Wilbur looked away for a moment. He couldn’t debate the situation. He logically knew Phil was right, but something in his chest disagreed. Perhaps it was the fire. The fire that roamed as it pleased and ultimately caused him to be hurt. It ultimately caused other people to be hurt. Wilbur’s voice came out as a whisper, “What’s option two?”

Confusion entered Phil’s voice, “What?”

Wilbur met eye contact with Phil once again. “You said there were two options.”

Realization filled his father’s eyes. “Ah- that. It’s where you’re under house arrest.”

Wilbur accidentally let out a laugh at the thought of him not having a house to even stay at. He forced a smile off of his face, “Alright, I’ll head home.” He started to sit up when Phil pressed onto Wilbur’s chest, making him stay where he was.

Phil laughed, “Oh, you’re funny.” Phil shook his head towards the ground before making eye contact with Wilbur again. “I know you don’t have a house, mate.”

Wilbur’s face dropped. How would Phil even know he didn’t have a hou- oh - that dirty centrist ratted on him. He let out a frustrated sound as he fully laid back onto the bed.

Phil nodded, a wry smile on his face, “Yeah, nice try.” Phil stopped smiling and removed his hand from Wilbur when he said, “Wilbur.”

Wilbur cringed from the serious tone, “Yeah?”

“When I told you that you would be under house arrest, you agreed to it.” After a few seconds of silence, Wilbur furrowed his brow in confusion, silently asking Phil to continue. Phil sighed slowly before going on, “You- quite heavily- implied that you had a house.” Wilbur nodded slowly, unsure of where Phil was going with it. Any happiness on Phil’s face was gone when he stated, “You were going to lie to me.”

Oh.

The realization hit Wilbur like a brick. He opened his mouth to disagree with a clever response, but he was left with silence. 

Phil nodded, “Yeah.” After a few seconds, he spoke again. “You’re going to live with me until you get a house. I’ll help build it or help pay for someone to build it- but you’re going to live here. And if you go for the house arrest option, you’ll be monitored 24/7 by me or Techno till it’s done.”

Wilbur frustratedly sighed as he looked up at the ceiling. He dug himself into a deep hole with this one. He imagined the daily tension. He felt an odd pang of dread at the fact he probably wouldn’t be able to talk to Ghostbur if he was constantly monitored.

“So, I’ll ask again. You’re either going to therapy. Three times a week. One hour sessions. We can make them less frequent when you show improvement. Or you could stay in this room for however long it takes to make your house.”

Wilbur pursed his lips, “What if I die from vitamin D deficiency?”

Phil raised an eyebrow, but still answered the question, “I’m sure you could chop some wood with Techno.”

Wilbur sighed. Therapy or complete lack of freedom. Although he died several times in the pursuit of freedom, it seemed much harder now. There wasn’t a person to shoot at or supply lines to cut. There was just his father being stern, yet patient with him.

He hesitantly spoke, “Three times a week?”

Phil nodded, “I’ll lower it to two after your first week.”

Wilbur narrowed his eyes as he looked away. “Fine I’ll-” He spoke the final words quieter, as if he was afraid of someone other than Phil hearing it, “I’ll do the therapy thing.”

Phil let out a sigh of relief. “Good.” He let a few seconds pass before asking him, “You’ll rest today and I’ll take you there tomorrow.”

Wilbur cringed as he turned away from his father. “Alright.”

He heard the soft noises of footsteps, before Phil called out, “Oh, you’ve got some blood on your clothes. There’s a chest with your name on it that has some old stuff from your closet, but I’m pretty sure most of it fits you still.” A moment lingered between the two. “Please don’t leave the house. I’ve got some extra potions brewing for you.”

Wilbur rolled over, yelling down to Phil, “I’ve got it, goodnight.”

Phil seemed much more relieved as he yelled back, “Goodnight, Wil.” 

“Oh, you’re going to bed? Goodnight!”

He softly chuckled at the ghost, because he didn’t have the energy left to do much else, as he closed his eyes and fell into a dreamless slumber.

Chapter Text

Wilbur slowly opened his eyes, letting them rest onto the ceiling for a few moments. He looked around and once he saw no one there, he whispered, “Ghostie?”

“Wilbur! Hi!” A tired cheeriness echoed through Wilbur’s mind. “How did you sleep?”

“Alright.” He leaned up from the bed and winced at the pain, but it seemed more manageable now. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and slowly stood up. Pain pulsed through his abdomen as he held it with one of his arms. He was about to head downstairs for some food when he remembered Phil telling him about some of his old clothes hidden in a chest. 

He slowly shuffled over to a chest with a piece of paper labeled ‘Wilbur’. He crouched in front of it as the sensation in his abdomen made him quietly groan. “So what are we doing today?” Ghostbur quickly added, “If you’re going back to sleep that’s alright.”

Wilbur shook his head as he opened the chest. “Just looking for some clothes right now. If Phil lets me, I’ll stay awake today.”

“Ah, nice! Are we going to hang out with Phil later?” Ghostbur asked curiously.

“I don’t know,” Wilbur answered honestly. It was likely, perhaps. He had his doubts he could get away without consequences. He looked inside of the chest and was met with the sight of a trenchcoat, similar to the one he was wearing. It was older. Cleaner. Just a little darker. Wilbur recognized it, though not too well. He picked it up, and examined it, stretched it between his hands. There was a mustard yellow pattern by the top, that nearly matched the light yellow sweater tucked underneath in the chest. He noted that there were blue buttons and strings that could be used to close the trenchcoat. The last time he wore this coat, the buttons had mostly fallen off, so perhaps they were new ones sloppily stitched on there.

Wilbur wondered for a moment why someone would bother stitching new buttons onto his coat after he’d been gone for so long. Perhaps it was something Phil had put together the night before.

He changed into the clothes, feeling thankful that he’d always worn trenchcoats that were just a little too big, as it slipped on nicely over the sweater and black jeans. He looked in the full-length mirror in the room, taking in the sight of himself.

The bags under his eyes weren’t too big. It was possibly the doing of the day of sleep. His hair was messy, likely for the same reason. Though the clothes, that he recognized from even before L’Manberg, made his face seem younger somehow. They felt as if they were strikingly fitting, and ridiculously off at the same time. He broke his softened astonished expression with a little laugh.

“What are you laughing at now?” Ghostbur asked.

“I just put on the clothes Phil prepared for me.” Wilbur explained, “I haven’t worn these in ages, so I suppose I was just a bit surprised at the sight.”

“Oooh!” Ghostbur said excitedly, “I wish I could see you.”

Wilbur hummed contemplatively. “Well, it appears you can see me sometimes when I experience… Intense emotions.” he cleared his throat, “Perhaps we should test out the limits of what you can do. Who knows? Perhaps you’ll start seeing me more frequently over time.”

It was a possibility, Wilbur realized. It seemed that Ghostbur’s connection to the Overworld had grown more and more the longer they’d kept in contact. “Oh yeah!” Ghostbur said, “I started tasting things too, you know. I was wondering if you’d done something!”

Wilbur quietly chuckled. “I don’t think it was my doing.”

Ghostbur’s voice lingered in sweetness. “You’re really smart, I’m sure you figured it out and just don’t know it.”

An odd hesitation filled Wilbur’s chest. The praise should’ve warmed his heart as he nodded along, but he awkwardly stood there, watching himself in the mirror.

Was he smart?

He thought he was. He built up a nation and commanded several wars. Smart people persisted and he definitely did. Yet, smart people knew their place. They would go open a book and immediately understand what was in front of them. He could argue he was smart with the premise that he stayed in Tubbo’s bunker for a few days, reading whatever seemed interesting. But he didn’t feel smart as a result. He just felt drained in a way that was barely fixed from sleeping all day.

The faint eyebags resembled that. They were light enough that no one else really pointed them out or probably even notice, but they were dark enough that Wilbur constantly saw them. He let out a sigh as he gently ran a hand over them.

“Are you okay?”

He jumped slightly from the sudden noise and immediately took his hand off his face. “Yeah, wait- did you see me or something?”

“No no, you were just a little quiet.”

Wilbur nodded. Ghostbur couldn’t read his mind, he had to stop acting like he could. “No worries over here, I’m just checking out how hot I am in this.” The joke slipped in at the end, perhaps the clothes making him fall back into his old habits. 

Ghostbur chuckled along, “I bet you look so cool in it.”

Wilbur stared at the man in the mirror. He wasn’t the one he used to be, but he wasn’t someone new either. The man could seem happy, but he wasn’t that at default. It felt weird for Wilbur to see his vague disgust reflected in the mirror. He quickly looked away from it, his eyes landing on the stairs.

He walked down a step, partially expecting his father to show up right away. He didn’t feel quite ready for another interaction with Phil, as he thought back to the one last time he was awake.

Therapy. Wilbur scoffed. Who on the server even gave therapy? What stranger would Wilbur have to sit down with? Good luck to whoever that was. Good luck breaking into Wilbur’s fucking head, trying to make any sense of it. Wilbur was holding himself together just fine anyhow. He was alive. He didn’t need someone with no grasp on what was going on in his life to tell him what to do. Though if that was what it took to step out of his dad’s sight for a bit these days, he could at least show up. Not that he had much of a choice at this point.

He continued walking down the stairs, reaching the main room. It was rather small and quaint. “How’d you sleep, mate?” Phil said. Wilbur tensed up and turned around, seeing his father looking at him. There was a questioning look in his eyes that Wilbur didn’t like. 

“Fine,” Wilbur said, a little faster and sharper than he intended, as he tried to look his father in the eyes to make it seem as genuine as possible. 

“You weren’t going to head out, were you?” Phil asked, and there was something resembling concern in his expression. Sadness. It made Wilbur clench his fists. 

Wouldn’t miss another lecture for the world, a spiteful part of him wanted to sarcastically remark. “No,” he said instead, shaking his head. It was true. He would’ve loved to say that there was no reason for Phil to believe otherwise. “Not as if I could avoid the gaze of the angel of death in his own house,” he added with a joking smile.

That made Phil’s lips curve up just a little, though the same hesitant concern lingered in his eyes. “How’s the pain?”

Wilbur hummed. “Existent.”

Phil raised an eyebrow as his eyes scanned Wilbur’s body. In a warning tone, he prompted, “Wilbur.”

Wilbur rolled his eyes. “It’s not gone but I’m fine.”

Phil pursed his lips as he nodded. “I was just about to make some scrambled eggs. You want two or three?”

“Three.”

They both stayed quiet after that. While Phil was busy with the stove, Wilbur was stuck on any possible way to get out of the therapy session. He knew it wasn’t possible, but he enjoyed the idea of a puzzle. Perhaps it was an escape room that his father was surprising him with. Oh, he could hope.

Breakfast went by quickly with Wilbur eating as Phil packed a bag in the corner. He took glances at it, but he couldn’t see much. He shrugged it off as he cleared his plate. After he finished up, he placed it in the sink. When Phil walked out the door moments afterward, he followed suit. The walk to the nether portal was slow, but it eventually came by. He thought about telling Ghostbur but decided not to. 

The first part of their journey remained quiet, Phil inching just a little closer as they reached the nether. Wilbur tried his best to ignore it by breaking the silence, “So who am I seeing?”

“Hm?”

Wilbur awkwardly looked away, “For the therapy stuff.”

Minor realization spread across Phil’s face. “Oh, right. Her name is Puffy. I don’t think you two formally met.”

Ghostbur gasped, “Sailor Puffy? She seemed so cool! I never really talked to her when I was alive, but when you two talked I realized what I missed out on.” A wave of sadness took Ghostbur’s final words.

“Puffy owns the flower shop, right?”

Phil nodded, “Yeah. Do you know her?”

Wilbur shrugged. He read bits and pieces from the history books, vaguely associating her name with Bad’s. It was difficult to remember which nation she was a part of, but he could recall basic information that she was mostly a side character of sorts. A paragraph or two in the textbooks he read, but not much overall “We briefly spoke. Once, I think.” 

He wondered if he could even tell Phil about his days in the bunker. His mind flashed to those moments, from when he first started killing zombies, or drew something worthy of being put on the fridge. Of course, the latter memories were when he was a small child, but those pictures remained nonetheless. The tasks ranged in difficulty, but it was the satisfaction of his father giving him a smile and a pat on the back for his hard work that made it worth it.

Was his time in the bunker even worth it? Part of him reasoned it was, but it felt odd to him overall. He could barely remember the time there, all of it stretched under the categories of eating melons and reading more books. He knew multiple days passed, but it was weird to perceive in his thoughts.

Phil spoke, bringing him back to reality, “Something on your mind?”

“I am! Been here for a while in fact,” Ghostbur exclaimed, and Wilbur made a strange facial expression as he forced himself not to laugh.

Wilbur hummed to hesitantly get back into the more serious tone, “Why do you ask?

“Oh, you’ve just been a bit quiet so I thought something was up.”

The words oddly paralleled Ghostbur’s as Wilbur shrugged. “I don’t know.” He felt bad about the half-lie as he continued, “My mind is sorta cloudy I guess.”

Ghostbur sighed slightly, “I sort of wish it was. It’s been a while since I’ve actually seen clouds.” Wilbur frowned unintentionally. Not a trace of sky. Just the tracks stretching on forever.

Phil furrowed his brow, “Did you get a concussion or is it something else?”

Wilbur let out a sharp exhale. It was too easy to start talking, but it really shouldn’t have been. Perhaps it was the idea of going to therapy that let the vulnerability pass through. “I don’t think I got a concussion.”

Pity that was intertwined with worry lingered from his father. He didn’t have the patience to dissolve it as they made it to the nether portal. His father was still just a little closer than before they’d entered the nether. Wilbur swallowed something in his throat and corrected his posture to appear both confident and nonchalant. Neither of them said anything, as Wilbur watched the crater of L’Manberg unfold before him. He had been led back to it once again. He tried not to look around too much as Phil guided him to a little quaint office by the end of a road. 

It looked relatively new. It was strange how new buildings had been constructed even after the destruction of L’Manberg. Wilbur almost thought time would stop after he died. “Here it is,” Phil said and Wilbur let out a breath at the words.

“Alright then.” He said, keeping his eyes on the door as the two of them entered. The waiting room was small, with a little couch at the edge of the room, and a small table with pieces of wrapped candy in a bowl. Wilbur exhaled through his nose, because of the sight. It seemed frivolous as if he was a child going to the dentist. There was a strange silence and attempted comfort in the room, that felt almost suffocating the second he came in. 

The silence was broken with a quiet door opening. Wilbur tensed at the sound. He looked over and saw Captain Puffy. She had a semi-casual look, the kind of outfit that you would wear to visit a friend on a Tuesday afternoon. Perhaps it was Tuesday, Wilbur hadn’t bothered to look at a calendar recently.

Puffy beamed at him, “Wilbur! It’s nice to see you again.” Her eyes moved from Wilbur to Phil and back to Wilbur. “Is he staying with us or the waiting room?”

Wilbur awkwardly shifted as discomfort filled his eyes. He didn’t want Phil to hear all the shit he was overreacting about- that was Ghostbur’s role- yet the idea of telling his father to leave seemed much worse. He could feel the possible disappointment from here. It reflected the kind of feeling one would receive as a kid that had misbehaved. The awkward statement about how someone they loved wasn't upset, just deeply disappointed in a way that made you want to curl up and cry.

After a few seconds slowly passed, Wilbur realized he didn’t even say anything to the question. He felt small when he opened his mouth to speak. “Um- I guess he can stay out here.”

Phil nodded. “Alright.” He turned to walk towards a chair before putting a gentle hand on Wilbur’s shoulder. “I’m proud of you, okay?”

Wilbur could barely process the words as the warmth pulsed through him. He could go into his father’s arms and sit there for an hour or two. He didn’t even need a hand gently going through his hair, though he wouldn’t stop it if it was here. But as soon the hand landed on his shoulder, it was off again. Wilbur turned at the sudden loss of contact but Phil was already walking towards one of the chairs.

Wilbur pursed his lips as he turned to Puffy. As he did so, Puffy said, “Right this way.” She walked towards an open door that Wilbur followed her into. The room seemed calm. There was a lamp in the corner that was lit with a passive yellow-orange glow. The room was carpeted with oddly patterned chairs inside. They had swirls and circles on them- all in muted colors that matched the room.

Puffy closed the door and gestured to the chair on the other side of the small room. “You can sit there.” The two of them took a seat. Wilbur rubbed one of the swirls and felt the soft pattern on top.

Puffy’s voice fit into the room nicely. Her voice seemed a little clearer somehow, but it was probably the lack of distractions that did that. “As you know, my name is Captain Puffy, but you can call me Puffy.” She pulled out a paper from under her chair with a pen in her hand. “But I’m afraid I don’t know you very well. Could you tell me a bit about yourself?”

Ghostbur excitedly clapped, though his voice seemed dimmer than usual. “Oh, where to even start… wait can she know I’m here too? She seems trustworthy but I can’t really see her.”

The situation reminded him of Tubbo and his interview. Both of them wanted information with their pen and paper ready, but one of them was probably paid to care about him. At least he saw a practical use for his answers to Tubbo. He almost laughed at the thought of Puffy making detailed notes about the dog he had when he was four. 

A strange difference stood out to him. While Tubbo mainly looked at his book the whole time, Puffy looked directly at him with a gentle smile.

Wilbur faked an offended expression, “What do you mean you don’t know much about me?” He slipped a wry smile on his face to show the playfulness.

It bounced off of Puffy as well as she let out a small laugh. “Well, I wouldn’t mind a small reminder.”

“A little about me, alright…” He let his voice trail off as he thought about what to even say. 

“Oh, we could start with L’Manberg! You really loved that place.” Ghostbur chimed in.

He vaguely nodded at the idea of his nation and the elections. He could transition to the battles he fought from there. 

But fuck therapy. He didn’t need it. If Puffy wanted to know about him she could just ask Phil.

“I suppose we could start with the women I fuck daily. Ten out of ten, all of them. I also can’t die, that’s really neat. I’ve been voted ‘The Best Person in the Universe’ quite a few times. It’s crazy, they made the award just for me! No competition every year since everyone knows who I am, y’know?”

Puffy reached over to a cup on a small table next to her. She took a slow sip as she raised an eyebrow. After a few moments, she put the drink back down again. When Wilbur peeked, he saw it was a light brown liquid of sorts. It was most likely coffee with a decent amount of milk added.

Puffy spoke again, “I see you enjoy being playful with others.”

Wilbur rolled his eyes, “And honest. They even made an award for the most honest person in the universe. Of course, I win it almost every time.”

“How could you win it if you’ve been lying to people a lot?”

“Almost every time? When do you believe you were dishonest?”

Wilbur tensed at the question and Ghostbur’s comment as he forced a harsh laugh out of himself. “Ah… they sort of stopped doing the award when I was stuck in limbo for thirteen and a half years.”

Puffy raised an eyebrow, “Do you want to tell me more about limbo?”

Ghostbur made a quiet noise of discomfort as Wilbur narrowed his eyes at the question. How could she get so on-topic so quickly? “Well, it’s a game you play with a bar and you go under it.”

Confusion entered Ghostbur’s voice, “Wait, I thought you said it wasn’t that?”

Puffy nodded, “I’m familiar with that version, but from what I’ve heard, you’ve been dead for a certain period of time. Is that correct?”

Wilbur scoffed, “I’m too sexy to die.”

Puffy took a sip of her coffee. “How about we start over with something lighter?” Wilbur nodded as if he agreed, but he couldn’t care less about where the session went.

Chapter Text

Wilbur watched the clock at the other side of the room, realizing with dread that there was quite a lot of time left of the session. Puffy placed her mug on the table. “Let’s try from the beginning again. Could you tell me a bit about yourself?”

Wilbur rolled his eyes and leaned back in the chair. “Why? I’m sure you’ve already read plenty in the history books.” He huffed, “Just open one and you’ll have all the information about my achievements you need right there.”

Ghostbur asked, “Blowing something up is an achievement?” Wilbur resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 

Puffy nodded. “Well yes, you were quite influential during your time, but that wasn’t exactly what I meant,” she said, her tone remaining neutral, “History brings a third-person perspective on the more grand-scale impact of individuals, but it hardly tells me much about you as a person.”

Wilbur raised an eyebrow confusedly.  That was a strange way of looking at it. What was a person beyond their achievements? Beyond what was seen and worth writing down or speaking of? “What do you want then? A list of my favorite foods?” He remarked dryly.

“Phil’s scrambled eggs better be on the list.” Wilbur realized the poor ghost hadn’t had much variety of meal options.

“Could be.” Puffy said, a slight smile creeping onto her face, “It doesn’t have to be anything big. Could be a trait or something you enjoy. A hobby perhaps.”

Wilbur scoffed. A hobby? He hadn’t had any time to get into pottery, painting, or anything interesting since he defied death itself. He thought for a moment. There had to be a minor honest detail somewhere that a therapist couldn’t make a big deal out of. Writing? No, he would probably get the suggestion of writing letters or poetry about his deep feelings or some shit like that. “I like making potions,” he said with a shrug. Puffy nodded encouragingly. His lips quirked up, “That’s what I used to start the drug empire I built L’Manberg upon.”

Puffy frowned slightly and Wilbur got the sudden feeling that he’d said something wrong. Not that it mattered. He was biding his time. “L’Manberg meant a lot to you?”

Wilbur chuckled. “I mean I made it everything it was. Everything it is.” He looked at the blank wall as if he could see through it. He knew the crater of his creation rested on the other side. He couldn't believe how close he was to his origins. “What did you expect?”

Puffy nodded understandingly, although Wilbur doubted she truly understood. “While I don’t doubt that L’Manberg is relevant, perhaps we should talk about you instead. Anything other than potions you occupy your time with?”

“You like reading, right?” Ghostbur tried.

“I like reading.” Wilbur repeated nonchalantly, “I’ve done a bit of that.” Perhaps more than a bit, but if he went into details, he dreaded the questions that followed. 

“I see!” Puffy said, smiling, and writing something down. Wilbur clenched his fist slightly at the sound of the pen. “And what prompted you to seek therapy?”

Wilbur huffed. “I honestly didn’t prompt shit. My dad made me.”

Puffy made a hum of acknowledgment. “Do you agree with his choice?”

“No.” Wilbur responded instantly, “I don’t need to be here.”

Puffy smiled in an approachable sort of way that was bound to be practiced, “Well, a lot of people don’t need therapy, but it can always help to have someone to talk to.”

Wilbur rolled his eyes. “And that someone should be you… Why ?” he said a bit spitefully.

“Well, the legal agreement that I can't say any of the details spoken between us in this room, can create a sense of trust that could be hard to replicate with others.” Puffy explained, “It can also offer a third person's perspective as friends or family might be wrapped into it already.”

Wilbur furrowed his eyebrows considering the words. There was a part of him, however small, that found comfort in the idea of talking to someone who couldn’t tell on him. “...okay, you make a decent- You’re not right, but you’re not exactly wrong either.”

Puffy smiled, and for some reason, it appeared comforting. Wilbur didn’t let himself slip into it, however. “Do you have any specific expectations or goals when it comes to therapy?”

“I expect Phil to get off my back,” Wilbur responded with a shrug.

“That’s a start.” Puffy said, “Have you experienced any major changes in the last weeks or so?” 

Wilbur abruptly broke into laughter. “Well, I’m alive for one!”

Ghostbur laughed, “And I’m-” He cut himself off as he remained quiet for a moment. Wilbur didn’t need to prompt the ghost to know what he was going to say.

“Oh, yes.” Puffy said, “I would say that counts.” It took her a few moments to speak again as if she was waiting for Wilbur to have anything to add. He didn’t. “How did you feel about coming back?”

“It was alright,” Wilbur said, chuckling to himself. At least this topic was one he’d already been over twice, “It was a rather magnificent feeling actually. I’d waited for it for a long time.”

“Had you expected to return?”

“Expect is a big word.” Wilbur said quietly, “There wasn’t much to expect. Just some constant waiting.”

“Was anyone expecting you?” Puffy inquired, as she wrote something down.

Wilbur thought back to the day he was revived. He thought of the three faces, looking at him. The fear in Tommy’s eyes, and a quiet ‘oh no’. It hadn’t mattered to Wilbur back then. “Tommy, Tubbo and… That Ranboo guy. They came to see me afterward.”

“How did they react?”

Wilbur’s memories from the day were muddled, though the reactions were hidden behind his overpowering excitement. “Fine.”

Puffy nodded as she looked down at the paper before meeting Wilbur’s eyes again. “So Tommy, Tubbo, and Ranboo were all there. Have you talked to them about your revival?”

Wilbur shrugged. “We’ve talked in general.”

“I imagine it must’ve been slightly awkward at times. To have been gone so long.”

Wilbur let out a sharp exhale. Worried glances and stiff laughs passed through his mind. There was also the weirdness of having a ghost in his head. The one reminding him of everything he should be doing better on. Less cursing, more apologies, and absolute honesty sprinkled on top. A small smile went onto his face when he thought of the words he was going to say, “Yeah, it hasn’t been too bad though. Everyone loved me from the start. They couldn’t stop thinking about me since they missed me so much. There’s even a ghost in my head. The dead love me as well.”

Ghostbur gasped. “Wait, I thought no one was supposed to know about me?”

Puffy skeptically looked at Wilbur, though kindness was deep inside her gaze. “Throughout our session, I’ve noticed a bit of a pattern.” Wilbur remained unusually quiet as Puffy continued, “Every time you tell an... exaggerated truth. It typically centers around people appreciating you or spending time with you in general. It’s alright if you don’t want to go into this today as it’s certainly a heavy topic, but do you believe people don’t care about you?”

Wilbur scoffed as he hoped he didn’t let the realization slip onto his face for a moment, “Oh don’t take that so seriously . I’m just joking around.”

Puffy wrote something down as Wilbur quickly looked away. He wondered what she was writing. Puffy’s voice rang through his mind as he imagined her possible words, ‘I wish this session would be over. I can’t believe I have to put up with this bullshit. He can’t even process the fact that everyone-’ He didn’t know why the thought cut itself off or why he felt a pang of loneliness at the fact. 

The real Puffy in front of him spoke clearly, “So, tell me your daily routine or habits.”

Wilbur looked away as he slightly cringed at the question. He bothered someone then left to bother someone else. Insert some traveling or talking to Ghostbur in the middle. “I don’t really have one of those.”

Puffy raised an eyebrow, “There aren’t any habits you have?”

Wilbur shrugged. “I guess I have those. Sometimes I talk to my-” Friends. “Well, no one in particular, just whoever is in the area.”

Puffy nodded. “Socializing is good. Do you socialize the whole day?”

Wilbur shook his head. “Some of the day is wandering or stuff like that.”

Puffy quickly wrote something down before looking up again at Wilbur. “Do you feel satisfied with your routine?” Either Ghostbur let out a quick bitter laugh or he was hearing things.

Wilbur awkwardly shifted in his seat. Satisfied was a weird term for him. Satisfied felt like the equivalent of ‘good enough.’ Nothing was good enough, it’s all or nothing. Especially if you’re fighting a war. The war in his mind was constant with Ghostbur asking to do things. Yet, he couldn’t blame the poor ghost either. He knew what limbo was like as well. He was surprised the ghost didn’t have a major breakdown already. “I mean sometimes I have this…” Ghost in my head. “Voice… of reason? Or some fuckery I don’t really know. It’s sort of nicer and happier than me and…” 

Ghostbur quickly gasped, “Wait is the voice me? I don’t think I’m nicer than you, but you can just tell her who I am! Oh, we never talked. Maybe you could explain who I am?” Wilbur made sure to remember to explain properly that no one was supposed to know about him.

As Wilbur let his voice trail off, Puffy supplemented. “I understand. This voice of yours. You say that it’s nicer and happier than you, could you elaborate on that?”

Wilbur hummed as a quiet hesitation filled his voice, “I don’t know… he’s just good overall? Like he doesn’t want to curse and he wants me to apologize to people. Just weird shit.”

“Oh, the voice is me!” Ghostbur huffed, “I mean- you can curse and stuff, I just believe there’s better supplements.”

Puffy nodded. “You said he doesn’t like you cursing, yet you just cursed?”

Wilbur laughed, “Yeah.” It felt like he had extra oxygen in his lungs. He could finally relax a bit as a strange honesty crept into the conversation. Not that it would ever be truly honest of course. Because Puffy didn’t know, and Puffy couldn’t know. That much was certain.

“So in a sense, you are separating what you see as your kinder traits, from yourself as a whole?” Puffy asked.

“Sure that sounds right.” Wilbur agreed a little too quickly, “That’s probably it.” He tried his best to divert the topic from one that would reveal too much, “So I might not be completely satisfied.” He shrugged, “Don’t know what else is to be expected when you return from the dead to a world that’s been developing without you.”

Puffy nodded, “If I remember correctly, though I never properly talked to him myself, there was a ghost counterpart to you while you were gone. Do you recall any of his memories?”

“I wish we did talk! It was fun to build stuff while you were around though.” Ghostbur said, directed at Puffy, though it was clear he knew she wouldn’t hear it.

“Vaguely.” Wilbur replied, a little sharply, “But it didn’t have much to do with me.”

“Understandable.” Puffy simply said, “Are there any constants in your routine?”

Wilbur was a little thankful to be back on a lighter topic. “I mean, I usually go to sleep somewhere.” 

Usually.

“What do you mean somewhere? At home?” Puffy inquired with a curious expression.

“You try getting revived and having the time to build a fucking house.” Wilbur replied with a huff, “Honestly, houses are overrated.”

Puffy furrowed her eyebrows, and Wilbur awaited some signs of disappointment. "A house could potentially bring you a sense of consistency and a constant in your new everyday life. It would be a good place to start.”

Wilbur chuckled humorlessly. "Did my dad pay you to say that?" he rolled his eyes, "Actually scratch that, he pays you to be here."

Puffy frowned slightly. “It’s not quite-”

“Yeah yeah, save it.” Wilbur said, “It’s fine. You’re probably right.” Wilbur looked up at the clock. “What time does the session exactly end?”

Puffy pursed her lips. “It doesn’t have an exact end time, but we could end it now if you’d like. I don’t want our sessions to cause you intense discomfort.”

Wilbur stood up from the chair. “Yeah, we’ll end it now.”

Puffy nodded as she took her paper and placed it under her chair. She stood up and opened the door for Wilbur. He quickly exited the room, his eyes landing on Phil sitting in the waiting room. His father immediately looked up as a small smile landed on his face.

Puffy spoke from behind him, “Is Thursday at ten o’clock still good?” 

Phil nodded. Wilbur didn’t even bother asking what day it was as he walked through the door to exit the building. Phil followed behind him. The smile was prevalent in his voice. “So, how did it go?”

Wilbur shrugged. “Alright.” Despite the fact he already answered, Wilbur’s mind lingered on his talk with Puffy. He tried to figure out if he learned anything from it, but all that came to mind was his lack of hobbies and how great Puffy was at getting things back on track. Before the words had entered his mind, they went through his voice, “I think I’m gonna start getting some resources to make my house.” 

Excitement slivered into Ghostbur’s voice, “Oh, I had a house once! It was in a hill. Haven’t seen it in a while though...”

“Sounds good,” Phil said. “I’ve got some cobble at my house if you need it.”

Wilbur shook his head, “I’m good.”

“I don’t have much planned today. I’ll help you out.” 

As they made it through the nether portal once more, Wilbur’s voice turned sharp and jagged without his permission. “I thought part of our deal was that if I went to therapy I wouldn’t be constantly monitored.”

Phil winced for a fraction of a second as he ended up nodding to Wilbur’s words. “Ah, yeah. That was part of it. You need any tools for it?”

“An axe would be nice but I can probably craft my own.”

Phil shrugged, “I’ll give you one at the house.”

Wilbur rolled his eyes. “Phil, it’s fine.” He’d already taken too much, given back too little, it was only a matter of time before someone clearly pointed it out.

“Nonsense. I’ve got a spare.”

Wilbur felt a wave of tension go through him as he forced out the small words, “If you insist.” It felt like the best thing to possibly say, nothing filled with his typical arrogance, but nothing to alarm his father if anything was wrong. He already made him worry too much.

A flint of recognition went through Phil’s eyes. “There’s also a potion at the house for you to help with your stomach. Oh- and make sure to not do anything intense. You’re still recovering.” There was something reserved and bitter in the last words, but nothing sharp enough to actually point out.

Wilbur nodded once. “I will.”

They walked home without another meaningful word. Phil sent him a caring smile, with something familiarly melancholic in it and handed him a potion. Wilbur tilted it as he drank all of it in one go. He felt a slight burn in his throat from the action. 

“Oh, I brought your bag from the party here.” Phil picked it up, going through the items in there for a brief moment. “I packed you some stuff.” He fished out a diamond axe and handed it to Wilbur.

Wilbur nodded as he inspected the axe. He gently ran his hand along the blade as he realized it had efficiency and unbreaking on it. It was hard to tell what exact level, but it must’ve been a high one. It seemed almost new.

Phil continued, “There’s just some of the basics. A regen potion in there if you need it.” Phil held out the gray satchel before sternly looking at Wilbur. “I’m only letting you go out because of our agreement. If you get severely hurt again, it all goes out the window. Do you understand?”

Wilbur nodded, uncomfortable with the pressure of his father’s gaze. As Wilbur grabbed the strap, Phil let go of it. He felt it weigh down into his hand an odd amount as he looked inside. Wilbur let out a short laugh at the contents inside. “Yeah, no.” He walked to a mostly empty chest as he shuffled through the satchel.

“What do you mean no?” Wilbur pulled out an enchanted diamond helmet, chestplate, pants, and boots as he put them into the chest. 

“I already have armor,” Wilbur answered. 

Phil walked over to the chest, holding the chestplate with one hand. “What if it breaks?”

Wilbur shrugged. “It’s good durability right now.” He pulled out a handful of arrows as he dumped them into the chest. He estimated that a stack was in the chest as another stack remained in the satchel. “I don’t even have a bow, why would I need arrows?”

Phil huffed in annoyance, “If you looked in there for more than a second you’d see the crossbow in there.” Phil pulled out a shining crossbow that Wilbur grabbed back from him. 

“I don’t need two stacks of arrows though.”  He put the crossbow back into the bag. “Prime- how many golden apples are in here?” He tried to count them, but his numbers were slightly off from the sheer quantity of them.

“Half a stack, but you’ll probably need them.” Wilbur rolled his eyes, gently tossing half of them into the chest. Phil exhaled sharply, “I’m just trying to help you.”

Wilbur nodded. “If I didn’t need these last time I was alive, then I don’t need them now.”

Phil pursed his lips as he looked at Wilbur. Wilbur slightly cringed but tried to distract himself by taking out half of the baked potatoes in there. He estimated he had around thirty left as he quickly reorganized the bag. Wilbur sighed quietly, “I’ll keep the potion and shield in here if it makes you happy.”

Phil let out a sharp exhale. “Alright. Come back by sundown. I’m trusting you, Wilbur.” 

Wilbur instantly looked away from the worry in his father’s eyes as he headed out the front door. “I’ll be back.” His face shifted into one of cringe that mixed with the afterthought that he should have handled the situation differently. He didn’t mean to come off as rude in any way, he just knew he could handle any situation that came to him without miscellaneous items weighing him down.

He didn’t need Phil weighing him down either.

He felt the tension slip off of him as he ventured to a spruce forest.

Chapter Text

Wilbur found it somewhat relieving, as he was finally left to his own devices again. The sun was shining brightly as he headed towards the nearest spruce forest, his axe at the ready. It was strange to hold an axe again, after all this time, but something was comforting about it. He used to use one frequently after all, and it laid comfortably in his hands as if it was made to be there.

There was no one around him either, which finally gave him the chance to talk to Ghostbur. Or well, finally was a bit of a strong word. It was mostly just the thought of the ghost remaining unoccupied and alone for so long, that made Wilbur sort of agitated.

“It was really nice of Phil to give us all those things!” Ghostbur said.

Wilbur exhaled through his nose. “Sure. Yeah,” he said, “It was helpful.” He looked at the nearest tree, assessing where the best place to start chopping would be.

“I’m glad everything is fixed up now.” Ghostbur said, and Wilbur could almost hear a pleased nod, “There isn’t really anything that’s hurting at the moment. And it’s nice to talk to people again.”

A tiny sting of guilt slipped through Wilbur’s skin, though he shook it off with the first beat of the axe. “It’s alright,” he said, though he added with a hint of annoyance, “Didn’t expect for it to mean I’d get bedtimes implemented again.”

When Ghostbur made a somewhat concerned noise, Wilbur regretted the statement a bit. “I’m not sure what that means, but it sounds like it’s good for us.”

Wilbur huffed and grabbed some of the spruce he’d chopped down. “Yeah, maybe,” he reluctantly said. It was perhaps insensitive for Wilbur to complain about Phil’s intentions to make sure Wilbur was in a safe house at sundown, when Ghostbur didn’t have anywhere to sleep at all. When Ghostbur never really had the chance to truly rest.

Wilbur would get his own house however, and perhaps it would be comforting not to have to sleep in whichever home would let him stay for a night. It could potentially be relieving to have somewhere to be by himself. Somewhere to collect his muddled thoughts.

Though somehow, it felt like a failure to settle down. As if Wilbur was admitting to himself, that any plans he had locked up in his head, would never come to be. If he settled down, there were no nations being built, or any factions to join. No sides pitted against each other, nor projects he could contribute to.

He swallowed something in his throat, as he tried to convince that part of his mind that the projects were simply being put on hold. Once the ghost was out, he could get to work. Even if he wasn’t entirely sure what that work would be yet.

But in the meantime, things were calm. 

He kept chopping at the trees, finding it nice to take some of his thoughts out. It was nice to impact something. Even if it was something as small as a tree. “Oh! And we’re doing the thing with Puffy. What was it called again?” Ghostbur tried.

“Therapy,” Wilbur replied with a light chuckle. Three times a week for now. That would be quite the chore. He didn’t know what he was supposed to say there, or what list of things Puffy had written down was wrong with him as of now. He didn’t need that perspective.

There was some hesitation from Ghostbur. “What exactly… Is therapy? I mean Puffy started to explain, I think, but it didn’t really make sense.”

“Oh,” Wilbur said. Of course, the ghost didn’t know of that. “So, it’s when you go to someone to talk about your problems.”

Pure confusion showed clearly in Ghostbur’s voice, “I thought that was a conversation?”

Wilbur laughed unintentionally, taking a short break from chopping, “No no, this person is specialized in talking to you about your problems.

“A professional conversationalist?” Ghostbur asked, completely abashed.

Wilbur rolled his eyes a little, but a smile lingered on his face. “I mean, sort of? I don’t know how else to say it. It’s someone who is hired so they can like, help you understand yourself and shit. I don’t know.”

Ghostbur hummed in acknowledgment as Wilbur continued to swing his axe at the trees. His mind drifted, as he thought of the fact that Puffy couldn’t say anything about what Wilbur told her. Perhaps it was somewhat freeing. 

A rather ridiculous thought came to his mind. He could tell Puffy about Ghostbur, and there wouldn’t be any lasting consequences. The most likely scenario was that Puffy wouldn’t believe a word he was saying, but even if she did, it wasn’t as if anyone else would know. Puffy hardly seemed to know Ghostbur at all, so she wasn’t likely to jump to the ghost’s rescue at the cost of Wilbur.

Though something cautious crept into his mind at the thought. Perhaps it was better to leave Puffy in the dark. Therapy wasn’t Wilbur’s own choice or desire. If Puffy knew more than the half-truths that were simple to share, it would give her a more correct picture. It would make it more difficult to get through the sessions unscathed.

“It’s hurting a little bit, can we take a break?” Ghostbur asked quietly. 

Wilbur stopped in his tracks, as he realized his arms had gone sore from chopping at the trees. He must’ve gone weak after so long without working. The thought annoyed him, though he put the axe away. “Of course.” 

“Thank you,” Ghostbur said with a relieved sigh, and Wilbur noted the relief sounded a lot less exhausted and fearful than some of the other times he’d heard it. He looked at the trees around him, finding the wind calming as he listened. It was rare for him to embrace moments like that. Doing nothing often left him unsatisfied and uncomfortable, but it was alright. He sat down in the grass, leaning against an unchopped tree. He hummed in thought, before he asked, “Should Puffy know about you?”

“She doesn’t have to know about me if that’s what you’re asking.”

Wilbur shook his head. Ghostbur’s words felt odd in his mind. Typically there was a simple answer followed with some explanation, but never such a brief remark. “You're a really big part of me though," he said, and the admission felt odd, vulnerable

"You deserve to have your problems discussed and feel happy. She can help with that."

He fiddled with the axe’s handle, feeling the smooth wood. “You deserve to feel good though.”

The excitement in Ghostbur’s voice seemed flimsy and fragile. “Oh, what are you holding?”

Wilbur narrowed his eyes. “Just the axe Phil gave me.”

“It feels nice.” A few moments of silence followed that.

Wilbur nodded, but a thought lingered in his mind. “With what I was saying before… you do deserve to feel good. Even if it’s my therapy, it can help you at the same time.” He didn’t know why he bothered to put in the part at the end. Ghostbur probably didn’t need therapy or anything like that. Not much happened in the ghost’s life.

Yet, he knew how crumbling solitude could be. The gray walls and gray floor that stretched only the slightest bit more than he could comprehend. Fluorescent lights flickering occasionally. He tried to jump up and smash it, but it was out of reach by just a few inches. Everything seemed out of his grasp, but almost in his hands at the same time. Days of that passive feeling, turned to months of insistence, to finally rest at the years of acceptance. 

Ghostbur’s voice brought him out of his thoughts, “You should probably feel good first.”

Wilbur responded without any hesitation, “Ghostbur, you’re equally as important.”

“No no, I know that.” A quick pause filled the air. “I just like your happiness more than mine.”

Wilbur shifted uncomfortably. The ghost somehow found the most direct way to show the pure selflessness he had and it didn’t sit right with him. He should’ve been grateful for the ghost’s hesitance as he moved on to chopping some more trees again, but he let concern slip into his voice. “Have you been feeling happy recently?”

He couldn’t tell if he heard a gust of wind or Ghostbur’s quiet sigh. “I… I don’t know.” Ghostbur must’ve felt Wilbur’s instinctual pity as he quickly continued, “I’m trying to be though!”

Wilbur frowned slightly. “You don’t need to try and be happy.”

“Ah- you see, it’s sort of like a game, right? And this game is really fun! I love it so much, and I never want to stop playing. It’s just… the game isn’t easy anymore.”

Wilbur nodded along as if he understood. “So, what do you get if you win the game?”

“To be happy.” The answer was quick enough to almost surprise Wilbur. “Because it starts with me at the beginning. And I’m happy there! I move along the game board and do some of the events. Sometimes I get blue tokens, sometimes I don’t. But I always move along the board and end up at the end.”

“What do the blue tokens do?”

Ghostbur’s voice seemed tighter somehow. It was similar to the sound of someone on the verge of tears, but there was no shakiness in Ghostbur’s words. “They… they allow me to keep on moving.”

“And when you win you just get happy.”

“Bingo! Wait- that’s a different game.” Ghostbur added an awkward laugh at the end but it failed to soothe Wilbur’s worried mind.

“When you said the game is hard now, did you mean you don’t win as often or you need more blue tokens?”

“I don’t-” Ghostbur frustratedly sighed. “The blue tokens- I don’t have them anymore. I always had some on me before but they’re gone. And I really wanna win the game, I promise I’m trying. It-” Ghostbur’s voice shook, “It’s just hard. I didn’t have to try before.”

Wilbur tried to piece together what to say, his words slightly slower than usual to make their clarity clear. “You… don’t have to always win. You’re allowed to be sad.”

“That’s just what I- I don’t like about it!” A wave of anger burst from the words. “If I was sad, I would get the blue tokens and I would just be happy already.” Something that sounded like a broken sob escaped from Ghostbur. “But I’m not sad. Not sad, not mad. I’m just not happy.”

Wilbur related more than he’d like to at the final words. They tugged at a certain numbness in his chest, which he’d grown all too familiar with over the years. How happiness appeared forever out of reach, and how the choice was between coming to terms with it or seeking the unattainable. He thought back to his time in limbo, where the silence had gone on for ages, interrupted by nothing but his own mind, that only seemed to amplify it. The years had gone by as he went from confused, to angry, to a version of himself he wasn’t proud of. His mind had been plagued with thoughts of the war and betrayals, and how he was glad to have gone out like that. 

The thoughts had slowly drifted elsewhere, to the grief and anger of having landed at the train station, instead of merely fading out of existence as he’d composed the midway finale. The grief and anger had switched to bitter spite, that his father had heeded Wilbur’s final idiotic pleas of death, which had proved to be much more volatile now that he knew the true cost. The few moments that weren’t entirely joyless, had been filled by the presence of Tommy until Tommy was taken away before his eyes because of course, Tommy would get to leave, when Wilbur was supposed to rot for all eternity.

The thoughts had kept overflowing his mind until he had no choice in the silence and solitude, but to let them reach their climax, so he could finally let them fade. And as they faded on their own, they’d turn to numbness, until there was nothing left but memories of happiness that seemed too long ago to have actually happened.

He heard a faint sob from his mind. Wilbur tensed up slightly, unsure how to handle the vulnerability that had apparently been provoked within the ghost. Especially when Wilbur’s own heart was threatening to let his memories overflow at any moment. A small part of Wilbur knew that this was likely the time to reassure the ghost that it was completely alright to cry, but Wilbur felt silly and like a hypocrite when he felt a weak and silent sob hanging in his own throat. “Hey Ghostbur?” he said instead.

“Yeah?” Ghostbur said, clearly trying to keep his tone as clear of negative emotions as possible.

“I… I never got this exactly specified. When we’ve been eating food, do you feel just the texture, or do you taste it as well?” Wilbur asked. It wasn’t his best attempt at changing a subject, but it was a thought that had been hanging in his mind for a while nonetheless.

Ghostbur sniffled. “Um- it started with just the texture. Like when you first got back and stuff. When you went to the… the place where we did all the reading, I could taste a little bit. It was one of the potions that made me realize that. It was sweet, but I couldn’t taste the other stuff you were eating.”

“Back in the bunker, it could’ve been that you could only taste things that were… I’m not even sure how to phrase it myself. But either things that are technically magic or have a really strong taste.”

Ghostbur let out a shaky breath as he continued, “Makes sense. I can taste stuff now though. Like Tubbo’s cake and Phil’s breakfast.” Ghostbur quickly added, “Why do you eat?”

Wilbur almost laughed at the question, “What?”

“You… humans-” The word was almost said in a derogatory sense. “-eat every day, but I don’t know why.”

Wilbur rolled his eyes. “Humans need food to live. It helps our bodies do its normal functions.”

Confusion still vaguely lingered in Ghostbur’s voice. “But why three times a day? Shouldn’t you combine it all into one meal?”

“We can’t combine it since we can only eat so much.”

“But you guys sleep all at once, so why can’t you eat all at once too?”

Wilbur let out a short chuckle. “The short answer is that humans are weird. The long answer is how stomachs are a certain size.”

“That answer didn’t seem very long.” There was something inside the tone that had a playful meaning to it. It wasn’t quite where it should be, but it was better than before.

Wilbur put down the diamond axe next to him as he got an idea. “Ghostie, have you ever tasted a golden apple before?” 

He looked through his satchel as Ghostbur mumbled a few things before officially responding, “I don’t think so.”

Wilbur pulled out one of the several apples Phil packed. “Well, today is your lucky day.”

Excitement filled Ghostbur’s gasp, “You didn’t!”

Wilbur didn’t mind the smile on his face. “I did, you wanna try it?”

“Yeah!”

Wilbur let out a relaxed sigh before taking a bite out of it. He closed his eyes at the sweetness of the apple. He let the sun wash over his face with a familiar warmness that hit his core. Any soreness in his arms slowly dissolved, in favor of the taste, as he continued to take bites one after one. Ghostbur made delighted and excited noises at each of them. 

“This is so- I don’t know how to describe it!” Ghostbur said, “It’s like… Homely. It’s like I remember it, even though I’ve never had it before.”

Wilbur hummed, feeling any unpleasantness inside of him, lie temporarily dormant. “They’re pretty special,” he said with a small smile.

“It’s so delicious! I think it kind of makes sense that humans have to eat this much when it tastes this good!” Ghostbur exclaimed as if he’d just arrived at a scientifically accurate conclusion.

Wilbur laughed in response, as he finished up the apple, savoring the last bits of taste. “There’s a lot of food you haven’t tried, isn’t there?” he asked, though he was fairly sure he knew the answer.

“I suppose there is.” Ghostbur said, “I don’t think I could taste it while I was around.”

Wilbur nodded. “I guess we’ll have to try out some more food. Not that there’s much of a choice in the matter if you taste everything I taste, but perhaps it would be relevant… Research.” he said, trying to keep his tone encouraging. Ghostbur’s excitement was pleasant, Wilbur had realized. It was just a part of the ghost’s demeanor, of course. Wilbur figured Ghostbur had the same effect on anyone else.

“That sounds fun!” Ghostbur said. Wilbur took a deep breath that held a hint of relief. “Wilbur?”

“Yes?” Wilbur replied.

“I might not have blue tokens to push me forward but thank you for being my… What’s your favorite color?”

Wilbur sat completely still as he quietly responded, “Red.”

“Thank you for being my red token, Wilbur,” Ghostbur said, with a fondness that was misplaced and genuine all at once.

Wilbur’s mouth gaped, as the words seemed to amplify the sweet taste of the golden apple and turn it into something brighter. Something that didn’t quite belong, but which his heart longed to welcome nonetheless. As the sun shone through the trees and birds chirped, he took the moment to sit in silence with his ghost.

Chapter Text

Easy tranquility settled in Wilbur’s mind. He exhaled softly as he opened his eyes again. Nothing changed around him, and perhaps that’s what allowed him to notice the sun slowly descending into the horizon. It wasn’t necessarily sunset, but it would be within a half-hour. He stood up from the grass as he looked at the scene. 

He didn’t do much. Five trees were down with some of the saplings replanted already. 

Yet, those five trees made him five steps closer to building a house and getting out of Phil’s worried gaze. He packed up some of the leftover logs into his satchel as he mentioned to Ghostbur, “We’re heading back to Phil’s house now.”

Intrigued danced in Ghostbur’s voice, “Oh cool! What are we doing there?”

Wilbur shrugged as he started walking in the general direction of Phil’s house. “It’s near curfew ,” He mocked the word, “So I’m guessing it’s dinner and sleep.”

“I’m excited.”

Wilbur furrowed his brow. “Why?”

“We get to eat again!”

Wilbur let a chuckle leave him. “It’s not gonna be a golden apple.”

“I know, but Phil always makes really good food.”

“Oh, you haven’t tasted some of the stuff he made for Primemas. I’ll admit, most of it is good, but there’s always something he screws up every year.” Before Ghostbur could ask an example, Wilbur continued, “There was this one year that he wanted to use food coloring to make everything purple and white.” He laughed at the memory. “Somehow, for one of the meals, he used green. Which would have been fine if he didn’t drop the whole bottle inside.”

Ghostbur gasped, “He didn’t.”

“He did! And there wasn’t enough time to make another batch so he just served that. He just had white cookies and purple turkey sitting next to some green noodles. It looked so weird- it wasn’t even a pastel green either, it was almost like a forest green. No one touched it so we ended up eating it for a few days as leftovers.”

“Did they taste like green?”

“Nah, just noodles.” Wilbur felt himself smile, “It’s really stupid because they were just normal noodles and no one even tried them.” When the sight of Phil’s house came into view, Wilbur lowered his voice to a whisper, “Now he dyes the noodles green out of spite.”

Ghostbur giggled. “We should try them sometime.”

Wilbur found himself nodding along. “I might get some this Primemas.” It was odd to say. To imagine the future so simply. 

As he walked closer, he heard some talking that he doubted was aimed at him with how hushed it was. “I told him to be back by sunset.” It was Phil’s voice, laced with worry.

“There’s still a bit more time, but if you need me to, I can and will hunt him down.” It was Technoblade responding to him. It was the same monotone voice that the man typically used, but it somehow felt stronger than before.

Wilbur grimaced at the thought of talking to Techno again, but he let out a quick exhale before slipping on a friendly smile. He jogged for a moment to get to where the voices were coming from. “Hey, what’s up?”

Relief and calmness washed away his father’s worried expression before he stated, “Oh, we were just about to have dinner.” Techno nodded, but his gaze was fixed on Phil. 

Wilbur didn’t take the time to analyze what that meant as he said, “Nice.”

“The table is already set, you should join us,” Phil commented. Although the words seemed like a suggestion or even a request, Wilbur knew they were a gentle order. He didn’t bother to try and decline, since Phil would insist he needed the proper nutrients to recover. 

“Sounds good to me. Wait- you guys have a table?” Wilbur couldn’t remember seeing a table in Phil’s house and he didn’t see one in the windows of Techno’s.

Slight surprise entered Phil’s voice, “Yeah, it’s just in the backyard.” Phil walked towards the back of the house where Wilbur followed. As Wilbur looked over, he realized there was a medium-sized round spruce table near the back of Techno’s house. 

“Huh, would you look at that,” he said quietly. His eyes drifted towards Technoblade, who didn’t bother making eye contact with Wilbur, his expression nonchalant as ever. 

“Sit down,” Phil said with an encouraging smile, that made Wilbur feel like he was a distracted five-year-old. Sheepishly, he walked to the table and sat down in a chair around the same time as Techno and Phil. The chairs were spread just a bit apart, Techno sitting by the end of the table, Phil and one side, and Wilbur on the other. Wilbur appreciated the distance because he highly doubted closeness would do anything but amplify the tension tenfold, in an attempt to pretend it didn’t exist. 

On the table, there was a plate of baked potatoes for each of them, with a bit of salad on the side. Techno took one look and grunted with satisfaction. Phil seemed pleased by the reaction, and Wilbur scoffed slightly. “Baked potatoes. Looks good,” he said, not so much to contribute to the conversation, but more so for Ghostbur to know.

“I haven’t had that before!” Ghostbur said excitedly. Wilbur smiled just slightly, though he tried his best to hide it.

“I tried my best,” Phil said, as he lifted a fork to indicate they could start eating.

“Is it green?” Ghostbur whispered as if he was in on a secret.

Wilbur was about to whisper back but quickly stopped himself. Being alone for a little had made him let his guard down. He needed to remain cautious.

“How did getting materials go?” Phil asked, cutting off a piece of the potato and eating it.

“It went alright. Got some spruce,” Wilbur replied shortly.

“And managed not to get yourself killed this time. That’s impressive,” Techno chimed in.

Wilbur clenched his hand around the fork as Phil sent Techno a warning glance. Techno rolled his eyes.

Well, that was one potential conversation topic down. Wilbur wondered if any other words would be exchanged between them, before the pleasantries of leaving the table. Wilbur took a bite of the potato. It was delicious, to say the least, and was nicely seasoned. 

“Ooh, I like this,” Ghostbur said with a pleased sigh.

The sounds of cutlery clicks filled the air. Wilbur wondered if Techno had gotten a talk of sorts before interacting with Wilbur again. The protectiveness was suffocating.

“Have you thought of where to build your house yet, Wil?” Phil asked, tilting his head slightly.

Wilbur paused, considering the question. “Not really no,” he said, realizing it along with his words. That was probably something he should’ve considered. He wasn’t sure where it would be customary to place his home, or whether he’d be intruding anywhere. Not that he cared particularly if he was intruding, but he was trying to lay low for the time being.

“There are plenty of spots on the server I think.” Phil said thoughtfully, “There’s some space near what remains of… You know.”

An instinctual part of Wilbur had imagined living by L’Manberg, but he wasn’t sure if anyone even built by the crater anymore. There was plenty of empty space around the area though, so he could probably find something. “I’ll go look tomorrow,” he said absent-mindedly.

“You know I just realized,” Techno remarked, sounding a bit amused, “If Dream was here, we’d have the whole ‘Blew up L’Manberg’ squad.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Wilbur could see Phil nodding cautiously. Wilbur tensed up. The grip on his fork loosened and he heard it clink against his plate. “What?”

Techno looked at Wilbur for a second before he explained. “Oh you weren’t here for it, but we got some withers there and it was a blast .” 

There was an audible gasp from within Wilbur’s mind as Ghostbur let out a strained sound.

That couldn’t be right at all. Wilbur didn’t recall anyone attempting to blow up the nation before Wilbur finished it. “No… I blew it up, right?” Wilbur asked.

“They rebuilt it again,” Phil said, and Wilbur turned his head towards his father immediately. Wilbur narrowed his eyes, and he felt as if he saw Phil for the first time at that moment.

L’Manberg, Wilbur’s unfinished symphony, had not remained unfinished after his death. It had been continuously composed, by the people who remained. No. L’Manberg had received its finale, and it hadn’t been at Wilbur’s hand. It had been at the hands of Technoblade, whose view on governments perhaps explained such foolish behavior. It had been at the hands of Dream, Wilbur’s hero, who had his qualms with L’Manberg, and who was an enemy Wilbur could stand behind. The one that stuck the most, was that it had also been at the hands of Wilbur’s own father.

“Oh… No one told you?” Techno asked confusedly, his tone a lot more hesitant than it usually was.

Wilbur looked at his father’s features. Tired and melancholic as ever, yet carrying a hint of pity, that Wilbur had come to recognize. Though there was something else, constantly lurking underneath that layer of pity and attempted kindness: Guilt. Guilt that Wilbur had previously connected back to the sword that had gone through his own back, after the explosion. Though right then, Wilbur seemed to trace several other sources that guilt could come from.

“I’ll admit, that was my bad. I thought someone already explained what he missed,” Techno said apologetically. 

Wilbur barely listened. “Phil… Why?” He asked instead, a part of him genuinely curious as to what possible reason his father could’ve found to destroy everything Wilbur left behind.

“I remember…” Ghostbur suddenly said, his voice quiet and broken, “He-” he cut himself off with a couple of rushed breaths.

Phil closed his eyes for a moment as if he was looking for words. “I didn’t want to blow it up Wil, but…” he hesitated, before he determinedly continued, “Everything that happened with L’Manberg… All the tensions and the governments and the people in power. It worked fine for a moment, but eventually, it all crashed. I was forced to kill my own son because of it. I couldn’t let it stay like that.”

Wilbur abruptly let out a shaky laugh, because Phil was generally a smart man with his years of experience, but what he described right then was nothing but a desperate attempt at justifying a ridiculous action. There was no way Phil could truly believe what he was saying. The implications were too clear, for Phil not to have thought about them. 

Wilbur Soot. Creator and temporary destroyer of L’Manberg. Leaving behind a legacy that his own father would erase in his name.

Wilbur scowled, “ I did all of those things, Phil.” Wilbur explained, as clearly as he possibly could, “ I was L’Manberg. I started the tensions and the governments.” he laughed once more, humorlessly, “And it was me who made you kill your son.” 

Hurt spread across Phil’s face but his voice stood firm. “It would’ve killed Tommy or Tubbo if no one put a stop to it.” Although the guilt behind the actions was clear, any regret seemed transparent as he continued, “Too much happened while you were gone for you to understand.”

You’re just a kid, you’ll understand when you’re older.

The words rang loudly in his head. Too loud for him to think about Phil’s debates. All he could hear was his father admitting to desecrating his nation while he was dead. Phil hadn’t expected him to come back and see it. The truth came out when no one was around.

Phil’s truths came out when Wilbur wasn’t around. It resembled how he really felt about the nation, believing it was a failed science project instead of the nation it rose to.

Wilbur’s tone was harsher than he could focus on, the words tumbling out with his train of thought, “So instead of being an adult and handling it, you destroyed all of it?”

Techno finished chewing on his food as he spoke up, “I mean, you also blew up L’Manberg. It isn’t Phil’s fault the crater is that deep.”

Wilbur quickly stood up from the table, yelling out, “Shut up, Techno!” He didn’t bother to excuse himself as he stormed off from the area, his chest heaving as he went. His mind jumped from the idea of Phil being an idiot to blaming himself for being so naive and accepting Phil’s warm food and supplies without thinking it was because of something even greater. He knew he didn’t plant enough TNT for that big of an explosion, yet he nodded along because that was all he thought he should do.

He was back to the familiar spruce forest when he rested his back against a tree. Over his heavy breaths, he could hear hyperventilating from his mind, which he found difficult to filter out. He closed his eyes harshly, and punched at the tree behind him with his fist, to get all of the thoughts overflowing to reach a climactic standstill. 

Ghostbur hissed in pain at the impact and Wilbur’s breath hitched, “Shit. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Ghostbur said, seeming entirely preoccupied with incoherent mumbles. 

Wilbur took a shaky breath as his mind ran. Out of everyone to blow up L’Manberg, his own father did it. The one who raised him and wished him luck in the election through letters- he was the one to destroy his unfinished symphony. “I can’t-” I can’t believe he would do such a thing, I can’t believe he pretended like everything was fine, I can’t believe Techno was the one to tell me. 

He couldn’t pick out any of the scattered thoughts as Ghostbur spoke, “He-” he was cut off by his own sob. “In your memories he was good. He was supposed to be good.”

Wilbur let out a bitter laugh. “He was supposed to be. He was supposed to be my-” hero. The thought struck Wilbur harshly as he recalled moments from his childhood. The ones where Phil left the house late at night, but still had breakfast on the table the next morning. He remembered the diamond sword that shined so brightly with a used handle and recently sharpened blade. Interesting items appeared on the shelves, and in return, Wilbur didn’t ask about them. A creeper head in the living room, an emerald block in the kitchen. Wilbur admired how his father would get such great things. 

“I thought he was one of the good guys.”

Wilbur nodded before realizing the meaning of the words. Wilbur and Ghostbur both knew that Phil was largely good. It was simple and matter-of-fact because every instinctual part of Wilbur’s mind knew that throughout Phil’s life, and to the very end of Wilbur’s, Phil had aided the forces of the heroes. He’d eventually slayed the person working against the forces of good and had likely been rendered a hero because of it. It was a natural point of view, though hearing it out of Ghostbur’s mouth made it taste differently on Wilbur’s tongue. Phil was, to put it simply-

“The Saint George of the Dream SMP,” Ghostbur suddenly whispered.

Wilbur tensed up as his thoughts were interrupted by a strangely profound wording, he had not come to expect from the ghost. “What?”

  “I remember him doing it now. I remember what happened to L’Manberg.” There was something dark in his tone. Something bitter, that Wilbur hadn’t quite heard before, “He knew- he knew everything everyone owned was in that town, and then he destroyed it. He told me why.”

Wilbur narrowed his eyes, a bit confusedly, as he tried to decipher exactly what Ghostbur was saying. The ghost who forgot everything unpleasant. A memory had reappeared. Something Wilbur hadn’t been there to witness. “What did he say?”

“To send a message,” Ghostbur said. There was a faint sob, before he repeated, “Sending a message! People had been rebuilding it. I helped build it. I watched it blow up just as I did with Logstedshire.”

“Wait, what’s-” Wilbur tried, but he was cut off quickly.

“How could he… How could he do that and still see himself as a hero?” Ghostbur said quietly, yet with more determination than most things he had ever said. The words hung in the air, leaving everything silent, yet they carried so much with him.

The hero, Phil, had gone against everything he was supposed to be. The hurt was clear in Ghostbur’s voice and sobs, and Wilbur found his resentment towards Phil growing just a little with each hint of it. He’d never heard Ghostbur distressed in this way before. Wilbur’s mind was racing with fire and dark memories of betrayal. Phil had done something that he wasn’t supposed to do. Phil was a hero, and blowing up L’Manberg was...

Something the villain would do. Something Wilbur did.

The realization settled uncomfortably well in Wilbur’s chest, but there was something more hesitant about it this time around. Phil had blown up L’Manberg, thinking he was the hero. Yet it was so clear, from every narrative viewpoint, that doing that would take away so much from the heroes. From the people remaining, after Wilbur finished his curtain call. Wilbur had blown up L’Manberg, knowing he was the villain.

There was a strange, bitter part of Wilbur, who believed that made him better. Was it not better to recognize your role? To know what impact you would have on those around you, and how you would be written down in history? What was a person if not a legacy? As long as you were at least aware of your legacy, you had just a bit of power over it.

Ghostbur was crying, but Wilbur could tell there was something reserved in it. It came out in a way that made the cries quieter than they should’ve been. “He knew Friend was in his house,” he whispered.

Wilbur attempted to keep his own rapidly beating heart in check because with everything spinning around him, the ghost’s voice still came through to him so much clearer. “What do you mean?”

“Can we-” Ghostbur cut himself off with a sob, as he swallowed thickly, “Can we go check on Friend, please?” he pleaded.

Wilbur nodded, though not in response as the ghost wouldn’t be able to see. He looked in the direction of Phil’s house, something becoming heavier in his chest as he did so. He closed his eyes harshly and paid close attention to how his feet touched the ground. Phil would perhaps be cross with him if he didn’t return, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care right then. “Yeah,” he said, his voice hushed, “Let’s go find Friend.”

Chapter Text

Wilbur briskly walked to the portal near his father’s house. He hid behind trees for as long as he could, but when they quickly thinned out, he had no other option than to just walk there normally. Which didn’t necessarily bother him, it just avoided the possible discomfort of seeing someone who blew up his pride and joy- his legacy.

The sun was completely down when he saw the portal. It wasn’t too far away, he estimated about a minute walk. The dark sky would help him stay in the shadows, but he was already at a disadvantage with the white snow. Before making his way to the nether portal, he quickly whispered, “Hey, Ghostie.”

“Hm?”

“Heading over to the nether portal now. I just wanted to let you know that I can’t talk for a bit”

Ghostbur sounded slightly dismayed, but he didn’t put up any argument, “Alright, see ya on the other side, Wilby.”

Wilbur smiled fondly at the nickname. “I’ll see ya on the other side as well, Ghostie.” He felt an odd tension lying in his chest. He wouldn’t say he was scared or worried to go to the nether portal, yet, dread lingered in his mind. After a few seconds, Wilbur took a few steps towards the portal. They were baby steps at first, but he made long strides after the realization. He quietly exhaled, more than halfway at the nether portal as he somehow dared to look at Phil’s house. 

He froze in his tracks when he saw his father looking at him. Or maybe it wasn’t exactly that, maybe he was looking at the fence that stood in the window. He tried to make himself believe that as he stood there for a few moments. Neither of them tried to move or make any communication. Even Phil’s facial expression was non-descriptive. It wasn’t necessarily regret or anger, but the face someone made when they were about to say something. 

But there was nothing mouthed from the other side. There was nothing his father could say.

Wilbur was pulled out of his trance when he gently shivered. It almost seemed like a reminder from the world that he should do something instead of standing and waiting there. He nodded to no one in particular as he made a few steps closer to the nether portal. His eyes stayed locked on his father’s as he soon made it to the front of the portal.

The whispers from the obsidian creation swam through his mind as he half-knowingly stepped through. The purple swirls distracted him from Phil’s gaze as he soon took another step forward to find himself in a familiar red environment. Wilbur let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as he fiddled with his satchel’s handle. 

“Alright, I’m good now.”

“Are we in L’Manberg now?”

Wilbur shook his head. “In the nether, but we’re heading to where Friend might be.” He walked forward on the cobblestone path as he only just realized the severity of the situation. Wilbur tried to push the thought aside, but it kept on insisting that Phil wouldn’t offer him a home anymore. As if he finally pulled too hard the last straw, and it was only a matter of time before he got kicked out. 

Wilbur forced a question out in the hopes of forcing his thoughts out as well, “What’s your favorite thing about Friend?”

Ghostbur let out a quiet excited noise. “I really like…” Ghostbur thought for a moment. “Well, I like it when he does the thing.”

“The thing?”

“The thing! When he makes the grass into dirt and makes a little happy noise when he’s done.”

Wilbur nodded once he realized what Ghostbur was talking about, “When he eats grass?”

“Yeah, that!”

Wilbur lightly chuckled as comfortable silence stretched between the two. Right as Wilbur made it to the nether portal, Ghostbur spoke again, “I like Friend’s fur too.

“It certainly feels nice.” Wilbur added on, “I’m heading through the portal now.”

“Yay, Friend time!” Wilbur let out a short laugh at the ghost’s excitement. He stepped into the portal. It didn’t take long for Wilbur to make it to the crater of L’Manberg again. The sky was dark, and the shadows loomed above the glass which someone had placed to protect people from what Technoblade, Phil, and Dream had apparently done. The sight of L’Manberg appeared much less bittersweet to Wilbur now. It no longer seemed quite as much like his proud work, but more so like an empty broken shell. The ruins were no longer his legacy. His legacy was in ruins. 

He knew it was a little too dramatic, and he tried to get rid of the thought. L’Manberg was still his symphony. Even if it had been finished off by a different composer, that would never change. 

He needed to focus on the task at hand. The last time he saw the sheep was around the crater. It was when he was with-

When he was with Tommy. Right. That was why he’d gone there in the first place. It dawned upon him that he’d barely thought that through. Tommy was the last person Wilbur had seen with Friend, so the clearest course of action would be to seek out Tommy’s home. A foggy memory of the last time he was there entered his mind, filling him with a sense of dread as he thought of the eggs and the way George looked at him. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

He stepped onto the Prime path and let his muscle memory take over. He remembered the early days of moving resources from there to different places around L'Manberg and cracking lighthearted jokes about the underwhelming home. Tommy and Wilbur played it off as individual work, but had a tendency to linger there longer than strictly necessary. When the house came into his view, he found an old smile falling back onto his face.

The home was intact after the prank, even if something in Wilbur’s chest still stung from it. He shoved it away quickly. His eyes fell upon a blue sheep, tied with a lead to a nearby fence. Friend looked at Wilbur with a blank stare, and Wilbur smiled lightly. “I found him,” he whispered. There was no sign of Tommy, which perhaps was a good thing all things considered. Wilbur wasn’t sure why there was a part of him insisting that Tommy should be there. That the presence was needed, to settle Wilbur’s racing mind. 

“He is?” Ghostbur gasped excitedly, the sobs turning into small cries of happiness, “Friend! Friend it’s me, Ghostbur!”

Wilbur approached, and there was a small baa, almost in response. Wilbur huffed, finding that it somehow settled his beating heart. He calmly walked close to the sheep and placed his hand in its fur. The blue fur surrounded Wilbur’s hand comfortably, and he took a deep breath simultaneously with the ghost.

He ran his hand along the wool texture. It was rough, but gentle at the same time. When he reached behind Friend’s ear, the sheep baaed happily as he rubbed against the hand. Wilbur spent a few moments- perhaps a moment too long petting the sheep. It brought him an odd exhaustion that he didn’t realize was there. The golden apple he ate in the forest must’ve worn off. Wilbur quietly sighed as he spoke to the sheep, “You look happy.”

“He does?” Ghostbur said, and it sounded like he was crying tears of relief, “I’m so glad. I missed him so much.”

For the first time in a little while, Wilbur’s mind lingered on the thought of how time passed in limbo. He didn’t dare to calculate exactly how long it had been to Ghostbur since the last time they saw Friend, but he pondered the concept nonetheless.

“Wilbur?”

Wilbur turned his head, his hand tensing in the middle of petting the sheep, as he was met by the sight of Tommy, looking at him confusedly. The boy’s posture was a little cautious in the dark as if he wasn’t entirely certain what was going to happen next. There was something about the posture and the look in Tommy’s eyes that both seemed to agitatedly add new embers to the fire lying dormant in Wilbur’s mind, while also making him desperately want to go closer as if it was the only thing that could put it out. 

Wilbur’s voice hardly sounded like his own as he quietly spoke, “Tommy.”

It was truly remarkable, how of all the places Wilbur could’ve gone after the argument with his father, he had somehow managed to end up right at the doorsteps of Tommy’s house, which a small part of him had otherwise sworn to avoid.

“Wilbur, what are you- Are you okay?” Tommy said, his face glimpsing with something a bit more lighthearted, though the concern still loomed, “You gave us a bit of a fucking scare at the party.”

“Oh,” Wilbur said, swallowing something in his throat. He let go of the sheep, provoking a dismayed gasp from Ghostbur. “Yes, I’m fine. The wound’s treated.”

Tommy nodded and smiled slightly. “Right. That’s good.” he looked from Wilbur’s hand to Friend for a moment, before he asked, “What are you doing here? Phil said he was keeping you at his house for a little.”

Wilbur let out a sharp breath. Of course, he would’ve told them. He wondered what else Phil had told. If everyone else knew the full extent of the pathetic situation Wilbur was in. He threw the thought away, and spoke in a joking tone, “I’m not a child, Tommy. He didn’t ground me or some shit like that.”

Tommy rolled his eyes, but the motion didn’t seem natural. “I know that, Big Man. I was just asking.” Silence extended between the two before Tommy continued, “So, where are you staying?”

Wilbur shrugged. “Wherever the wind takes me.”

Tommy laughed. “You’ve always been a dramatic bitch.”

Wilbur smiled in return. “I’ve got a reputation to uphold, don’t I?”

“Yeah. Oh man, I remember all those fucking monologues you would give out. Didn’t even matter what it was- the next battle plan, how potions are made, the valuableness of cobblestone.” Tommy shook his head. “You always had a word count to hit when it came to your thoughts.”

Wilbur let out a dry laugh. “I’m older and therefore wiser.”

“Well, I’m wiser and therefore older.”

Wilbur furrowed his brow. “That’s not how that works.”

Tommy only mocked him in return, lowering his voice dramatically, “That’s not how that works.”

Wilbur scoffed. “Child.”

“Elder.”

“I am not an elder! I’m a young and fresh spirit, thank you very much.”

“The word ‘spirit’ is always used by old people.”

“Is not!”

“Is too!”

Wilbur broke out into familiar laughter. He didn’t even realize how much he missed these moments. “So what are you up to?”

“Heading home.” Tommy said, gesturing with his head to the house Wilbur was standing by, “You know, into the property you’re standing on.”

“Oh right.” Wilbur said, feeling sort of awkward and aimless in the silence, “I was just uh-” he swallowed something in his throat, “Passing by.”

“Petting Friend?” Tommy said, with a raised eyebrow. It came out as a remarkable mix of teasing and being cautious. Wilbur felt a sting in his gut, as he thought of the last time Tommy had found Wilbur in the process of petting the sheep. The situation made his head dizzy with control, but the idea's aftermath left him with nausea that unwelcomely lingered. 

“Yeah. He’s… a cute sheep.” Wilbur looked back to the sheep. He was peacefully bent down in the grass. 

Tommy nodded. “Yeah, he is.” The words were quiet in a way that quickly brought silence. Tommy looked as if he was considering something for a moment. Attempting to inspect Wilbur’s expression, without making it seem like he was watching. “Are you sure you’re alright? Like, I don’t know, you seem like something happened.” The words were tinted with something apologetic.

Wilbur shrugged as parts of the truth slipped in, “I’m a bit tired. The potions helped a lot.” He paused for a moment as he pursed his lips. Images of Phil flashed through his mind. Images of Phil destroying L’Manberg. “Phil destroyed L’Manberg.” He hadn’t even intended for it to slip out as some part of him wanted Tommy to tell him how it was all a joke.

But Tommy’s face darkening at the statement solidified the fact. “Oh. Yeah,” Tommy said, swallowing something in his throat, “Him, Techno and… Dream.”

Wilbur wanted to aggravatedly say that he didn’t care so much about the other two, but something in the significance Tommy held in his voice, kept Wilbur from doing so. This wasn’t Tommy’s fault. Tommy was the one breath of fresh air in a world that was against Wilbur. That was how it had always been. Wilbur knew that wasn’t right either, but a part of him still insisted it was the case. That the pull he felt towards Tommy was good. A necessity. “I didn’t think-” Wilbur cut himself off with a deep breath, trying to collect his thoughts, “I didn’t think Phil would do that.” It was probably far too honest of a comment, but words seemed to stream out at the mere acknowledgement Tommy showed, “I thought that-” he groaned, “Forget it. It’s fine.”

Wilbur caught a glimpse of Tommy’s eyes that lingered on Wilbur with a far too familiar concern. Tommy closed his mouth, looking to Friend and the door to his house. His eyes fell on Wilbur again, as he spoke, “Do you wanna come inside, Wil? It gets fucking cold in the evening,” he shrugged, “You don’t have to or anything, but you’re welcome to. A great honor to be invited into my home, y’know.” The last words were portrayed as more of a joke than the rest.

Wilbur weighed the offering. It was played off as if it wasn’t serious, like most things Tommy did. It was hesitant, but Wilbur found himself seeking out even the hesitant ones. It was an invitation to talk too, Wilbur knew. An acknowledgment that Wilbur had something to get off his chest, and while every bone in Wilbur’s body told him not to speak of it, he felt the pull just as strong as ever. “Sure,” he said because he figured it wouldn’t do much harm. “I’ll come into your grand abode,” he added, trying to mimic Tommy’s tone.

Relief came across Tommy’s face and slipped into his tone, “Pog.” He walked into the home before quickly looking back to make sure Wilbur was coming. Wilbur nodded subtly as he walked inside with Friend following behind. Wilbur closed the door to the house, but the chill still remained in the air. 

When Wilbur shivered once, Tommy spoke, “Where are you staying tonight?”

Wilbur pursed his lips. He was supposed to be at Phil’s, but he frankly didn’t mind being on his own either. “Not exactly sure.”

Tommy’s eyes brightened for a fraction of a moment. “You can stay here for the night. Besides, we haven’t gotten to talk much since…” the party. “So what’ve you been up to?”

“Not much really. I was thinking about building a house somewhere.”

Tommy sent a wry grin to Wilbur, “I bet it’ll look like shit.”

Wilbur rolled his eyes, “An improvement from yours.”

Tommy gaped at Wilbur as he let out an offended noise. “You take that back!”

A small smile came across Wilbur’s face. “Tommy, you’re living in a dirt house. If there was a bar for the quality of a house, you went below the bar and you’re playing limbo in the deepest layer of hell.” Wilbur almost took a second to debate if hell actually did exist, beyond the nether, but he didn’t have the time nor patience to think about that complex of a topic. He considered the solitude of limbo to be worse than anything a hell could offer.

Tommy playfully punched Wilbur’s shoulder, “Bitch.” Wilbur hummed in agreement before Tommy continued, “It’s uh… nice to have you back and alive again.”

Wilbur let out a soft sigh. “It’s nice to be back as well.”

Tommy nodded before his face barely shifted into one of hesitance before going back to confidence. “So, you remember the party Michael had, right?”

He remembered too vividly. The way a passive ringing filled his ears that made everyone too quiet. The dots that filled his vision and caused an intense headache to even try to see anything. Even the feeling of his own body falling to the floor. “Hard to exactly forget.”

“How did you get stabbed and stuff?” Tommy’s question was tinted with a glittering curiosity- one that made Wilbur internally cringe.

He pursed his lips as he thought about a possible answer. He could pull it off as a joke, one where he threw his gold boots at the piglin for self-defense. Or it could be a heroic tale about how he was cornered and saved an innocent civilian from a hundred piglins. Or he could tell the truth. The last option made Wilbur begrudgingly answer, “Too long of a story.”

“I’ve got time.”

Wilbur narrowed his eyes towards Tommy as venom slipped into his voice, “You’re still as annoying as when I died.”

He was about to reword his sentence when Tommy nodded with caution lingering in his eyes, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to push. Is there anything you’re comfortable talking about?”

Wilbur exhaled, but it did little to soothe the tension in the air. “How about we talk about Phil? Tommy, he took away everything we built.”

Tommy spoke quietly, “...So did you.”

Wilbur felt any confidence about the topic immediately vanish. “I-”

Tommy continued where Wilbur couldn’t, “Tubbo built the new L'Manberg. I wasn't even there to see it most of the time because of exile.” The last word seemed forced out as Tommy momentarily looked away.

The thought of Tommy’s exile seemed so wrong to him. The only exile that could neatly fit in his head was the one he had with Tommy. The sprint away from Schlatt’s booming voice, the potions that weren’t effective enough, the oak forest where they ended up; all of it was too familiar in his mind. He couldn’t imagine Tubbo taking L’Manberg and creating it again. Or, at least Tubbo failed where he didn’t. The place was still a crater, while Wilbur left a mark on his- was the land even his anymore? If someone could go in so easily and make it all into ruin, it wasn’t protected in the way he would’ve kept it. Wilbur tried to silence the part of his mind that reminded him that he did the same. He was only protecting his legacy. “It's been years to me. It's been so long since I felt safe in L'Manberg. Everyone on the server seems to be against me.” The last part felt familiar on his tongue but distasteful in his mind at the same time.

Tommy nodded along with Wilbur’s words as he put a comforting hand on Wilbur’s shoulder. Wilbur closed his eyes for a brief second as the warmth passed through him. “It's been so long since…” Wilbur continued, as he opened his eyes to look at Tommy. He couldn’t pick out a carefree smile or a L’Manberg uniform. All he could see was the tenseness in Tommy’s expression as it was covered in a cross of worry, regret, and acceptance. The bags under Tommy’s eyes seemed darker, but Wilbur doubted it was from the lights. The child just seemed exhausted. Exhausted in a way Wilbur was used to. “How long has it been since you last felt safe?”

A flash of surprise quickly appeared on Tommy’s face before the hand on Wilbur’s shoulder seemed to tense up. Instead of lying there in support, it was now grabbing the area where it was. It wasn’t rough or even very noticeable, but the observation ran through Wilbur’s mind as he continued, “They took so much from you didn't they? Phil, Techno... Dream.” Wilbur chuckled humorlessly, “And me.”

Tommy furrowed his eyebrows as he shook his head. “No…” Tommy’s voice trailed off as he swallowed something in his throat. “Not you.” The words were strained in the space between them.

Wilbur nodded, but he didn’t quite believe Tommy. “You can want so much, you know? There's so much you can take.” Wilbur observed Tommy’s hesitant movements. Faint memories flashed through his mind, of a place far from the rest of civilization. The world against Tommy, with nothing safe to hold onto. There was a distant desire in Wilbur’s mind, to protect the boy. To make sure Tommy knew just how much power he had on his own. Something dark slipped into his tone as he spoke, “Don't you want to see them hurt too?”

Tommy’s eyes widened, his grip loosening, though not quite letting go. A part of Wilbur wanted him to grasp tighter. To let his presence be known, and to keep channeling the all too familiar warmth. He shook his head, “Wil, I- I’ve already been over this by myself,” Tommy said, his voice shaking slightly, “I wanted to get revenge. I wanted him dead but I- I don’t want to talk about-”

“You wanted Dream dead?” Wilbur said, tilting his head to the side. Wilbur didn’t want that himself. Dream was Wilbur’s hero, though that said very little about what was for the best. Tommy wanted Dream dead, and if there was anything good and familiar left in the world, it was Tommy and all that came with him. “What’s stopping you from doing it? Everyone is against him anyway. Everyone thinks he is the enemy now.” It all made sense. Every single conflict lined up perfectly with it. Had Tommy, the hero, ever attempted to take down Dream, the villain? Wilbur’s right-hand man, left behind and abandoned by everyone. What would it take for Tommy to reclaim a place in power? 

Tommy’s hand slipped down, and he looked away, his fists clenched. “Listen, Wil-”

“You could take him,” Wilbur said, because it was true. Tommy had been through so much and he looked exhausted, but experience glimmered behind it all, “You’ve gotten stronger since the last time I saw you.” He smiled encouragingly.

For a mere second, Tommy’s eyes met Wilbur’s. Tommy’s shoulders untensed as he looked at Wilbur cautiously. As if he was surprised to hear anything Wilbur was saying. Then he looked at Wilbur with an expression that reminded Wilbur far too much of Phil. “...Are you okay?”

Wilbur furrowed his eyebrows with sudden confusion. “What? Yes, I am.”

“I’m uh- I’m sorry,” Tommy said, rubbing his face with his hand. “I’m tired. I think I’m going to have to head to bed- if that’s alright with you?”

A request. As if Wilbur had been granted the power to refuse Tommy to sleep in his own house. “Of course,” Wilbur said quietly, his voice hardly sounding like his own.

Tommy nodded, a bit of relief in his expression, “I’ll get a bed ready for you too.”

Wilbur nodded absent-mindedly, as Tommy took the familiar warmth with him elsewhere. Wilbur was momentarily left alone in the small dirt house. 

Ghostbur’s soft voice wormed into Wilbur’s head, “Sleep time?”

Wilbur waited for a moment when Tommy was far enough away to not hear anything. “Yeah.”

“M’kay. Goodnight, Wilby.”

Wilbur’s gaze was fixed on the exit of the dirt home. “Goodnight to you as well, Ghostbur.” His voice was a mere whisper compared to the silence that filled the air. 

Chapter Text

The next morning was easy. There were so many mornings together in Pogtopia that it came back like second nature. Tommy grabbed some eggs from a chest as Wilbur helped cook them up. Breakfast itself was filled with a comfortable silence as they both ate their food. The eggs weren’t as good as Phil’s, but they were edible nonetheless.

Tommy chuckled after he finished his last bite, “You’ll never guess how I got these eggs.” Wilbur raised an eyebrow as he continued eating. Tommy gladly continued, “So a lot of shit happened when you were gone and Gogy and I are in the middle of a prank war, right?” Wilbur nodded as he stood up from the table to collect the dishes. He took a second to commit Tommy’s smile to memory. It was bright and sturdy, like the way it used to be before L’Manberg.

“It’s been a long hard battle between us, but I think I’m winning.” Tommy stood up and opened the chest that seemed mostly full of eggs. “There’s a lot of context about what happened, but basically, George took some of my redstone for his chicken farm and I took the redstone back along with all the eggs my chest could hold. However-” Tommy closed the chest. “The colorblind bitch decided to egg my house.”

“Wait, didn’t you ‘egg’ Tommy’s house too?” Wilbur turned away to put the plates away as he cringed. He tried to believe that if Ghostbur didn’t bring it up, he would simply forget, yet remembered the scene far too easily. Getting shot near the end probably didn’t help with that.

Tommy filled the silence, “You’re really good at fighting strategies, so what should I do to get him back?”

Wilbur tensed, but he tried to roll it off with forced laughter, “Oh... I don't really know.”

“C'mon. You fought in how many wars? You definitely got at least one prank idea.”

The wars mentioned so casually almost caught Wilbur off guard. He frowned. “Wars and prank wars are different.”

“Wars are just like-” he gestured with his hands, “Super escalated prank wars.”

That provoked a bit of laughter from Wilbur, “Really?”

Tommy smiled brightly, “Yeah! George even ran against us in the election. Let’s prank him together!”

Wilbur rolled his eyes, “Correction. George barely ran in the election. He slept through the end of it.”

Tommy shrugged, the smile not fading, “Tomato, tomato.” Wilbur couldn’t help but smile, when Tommy didn’t even bother pronouncing the words differently, “He was nominated for the ballot, and therefore, he isn’t on our side.”

Sides were something Wilbur had quite a good understanding of. Though the sides Tommy spoke of were long gone. There wasn’t an ongoing election anymore. No independence war, or war to win back their grand nation. Everything those sides had been centered around was gone now. There were new sides, constantly in motion, and surely Tommy knew. “I don’t know.” Wilbur said, his voice turning a bit quiet, “The server has seemed so… Peaceful without me causing chaos on it. Ignoring whatever was going on about that egg, I suppose.”

Tommy frowned, his expression suddenly stern, “It’s… It’s not you. It’s someone else’s fault.”

The name of Tommy’s enemy remained unspoken, though it didn’t take Wilbur long to realize who it was. The spite in Tommy’s voice always seemed reserved for that man. A part of Wilbur had the audacity to be a little offended almost. That Wilbur’s chaos had meant so little, that it was all blamed on someone else. Everyone against Dream, appeared to be the only consistent side-based conflict, possibly with some exceptions Wilbur had yet to discover.

Tommy attempted to smile again, his voice following suit, “Us against George, what do you say?”

Wilbur and Tommy with a mutual enemy. George who already had every reason to despise Wilbur. It was so much like old times, that Wilbur could almost taste the air of old L’Manberg. See the buildings slowly being built around him, as Tommy remained by his side. Wilbur and his right-hand man, taking on the world, unafraid. Wilbur and his right-hand man, running away from danger together, and ending up underground. The darkness slowly poisoning the air, and the buttons taunting Wilbur. Tommy frightened and seeking comfort with someone, who took everything else from the boy in exchange. 

“I uhm…” Wilbur swallowed something in his throat, and tried to appear more confident in his words, “Look, there’s no reason for me to make enemies here yet,” As if he hadn’t already , “This is your headache alone, Tommy. If you truly want a tip or two I can give it, but I don’t have time for petty squabbles.”

The last part was a lie, and Tommy likely knew as well, because he replied with a raised eyebrow. Then he huffed, smiled, and shrugged, “Aight sure. But you’ll help me figure out my next move, yeah?”

“Sure,” Wilbur said, letting out a breath.

“Great! Let’s brainstorm for a bit. Wanna go for a walk and talk about it? We could catch up and stuff.” The last request was hesitant, in a way that made Wilbur’s chest feel heavy.

“I’ve got nothing else planned.”

Ghostbur gasped excitedly, “Tommy and I were so close. I’m happy you’re spending time with him.”

Wilbur quickly swallowed down the feeling he got when he heard that, as Tommy was already walking out the door. Wilbur picked up his nearby satchel and followed along. He didn’t have to worry about small talk as Tommy rambled, “I’ve been considering a few things. Number one, pouring wet concrete onto his base. I think I would do red and white so it’s sorta like my shirt.” Tommy gestured to the fabric in question. “But, I could also get some rockets, but try to put paint in them? Like make the rockets that do the sphere shape- that way, when I shoot it out of the crossbow, paint splatters everywhere .”

Wilbur nodded absent-mindedly. “Any other ideas?”

Tommy thought for a moment. “Anything that makes a big fucking mess. I’ve been thinking of spilling flour all over his floors, but it doesn’t exactly have a good feel to it, y’know?”

“Yeah, yeah. Not much effort kind of thing?”

“Yeah! But it would be really easy since Tubbo’s got a bunch of flour from after the birthday party.”

Wilbur smiled. “Speaking of, when did Tubbo get so good at baking?”

Tommy’s eyes brightened. “Thank you, I was thinking the exact same thing!”

Wilbur chuckled warmly. Aside from almost dying, the birthday party was enjoyable overall. The laughter passed around the table along with the delicious cake Tubbo served. Ghostbur also got to join in too, even if he wasn’t physically there. When Wilbur remembered he needed to write down that Ghostbur could taste things, a dreadful panic took the front of his mind. He didn’t have the book about Ghostbur on him. While the information in the book could be rewritten easily, someone else could find the book.

The thought alone shouldn’t have sent Wilbur’s mind running, but it did anyway. He quickly rushed some words out to Tommy, “I need to go get something really quick.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow, “Is everything alright- did you get stabbed again?”

Ghostbur joined in, “Wait, what’s wrong?”

“I just need to get something.” Wilbur broke away from Tommy’s side as he walked quickly towards the direction of Pogtopia. 

Wilbur despised the steps that came running next to him. “What are you getting?” He didn’t focus on the concern in Tommy’s voice.

Instead, he shrugged. “Just some boring shit, don’t worry about it.”

Tommy roughly grabbed the back of Wilbur’s arm, causing them both to stop. The energy pulsed through Wilbur in a constant vibration. He needed to move, he needed to get the book, he needed to know that no one read it. He didn’t need Tommy to speak. “I'm accustomed to people lying to me.”

Wilbur’s shoulders tensed at the words. Surprise ran through him for a moment, but the previous feelings of panic covered it soon enough. “What?”

Tommy furrowed his brow. His voice was quiet and hesitant, yet it held confidence that made it sturdy. “I... I know you're lying to me.”

Wilbur pursed his lips as he tore his gaze away from Tommy. He needed to go back into Pogtopia, into that bunker, and hold the book in his hands. The smell of ink spun his mind as Tommy continued with a small laugh, “I don't really care too much, but I'd just prefer you to tell me the truth and shit.” He gently punched Wilbur’s shoulder. “You can trust me. I was sort of your right-hand man for a reason, y’know.”

Wilbur forced himself to nod as he looked into Tommy’s eyes. He couldn’t stand the worry in the boy’s gaze, so he spoke, “Alright, let’s go.”

“Where to?”

“I just need to get something in Pogtopia.” Wilbur said non committedly, sincerely hoping it was answer enough. Tommy simply nodded.

Wilbur started moving before Tommy did, but the child kept pace next to him. Wilbur was grateful for the lack of conversation as he tried to remember if there was anything distinct about his book. From what he knew, it was covered in simple brown leather, just like any other book. No markings, no words written on the side, nothing.

He didn’t know if that was a blessing or a curse.

On one hand, it wasn’t a target for anyone to look at. The book could easily blend into the background. On the other hand, the book could easily blend into the background. While Wilbur didn’t necessarily doubt his abilities, Tubbo had so many books in the bunker that it could take him a while to find it. Time wouldn’t have been a problem if Tommy stayed behind. Enough time passing would lead to concern which would lead to Tommy asking questions about what he was looking for. Wilbur didn’t need help looking for normal looking books, he needed his book. The only way he could find his book was by skimming through the contents, which he would not let Tommy do. 

Luckily, Wilbur and Tommy made it to the entrance of Pogtopia quite quickly. Wilbur hurriedly went through the entrance as Tommy stayed close behind. When his eyes fell on the walls, combined with the realization that Tommy was right next to him, his thoughts came to a momentary halt. Tommy, following his general into exile underground. Where Wilbur barely saw him, because everything else seemed so much louder. “So, what are we looking for?” Tommy asked.

“Yes I would like to know that too! What do we need? You were having such a nice conversation before,” Ghostbur said confusedly. There was a certain dread hiding in the tone. Wilbur realized with a sudden sting, that Ghostbur had seen Wilbur get derailed several times at this point, and that it almost always ended up harming the both of them. Ghostbur didn’t forget, and thus Ghostbur had just enough memories to recognize a pattern.

“It’s nothing important, really.” Wilbur reassured, and with fear of Tommy picking up on the mild lie that came out effortlessly he added, “I just left something in Tubbo’s bunker.”

Tommy’s eyes widened slightly, “You’ve been going to Tubbo’s bunker?” he furrowed his eyebrows, “Why?”

Wilbur shrugged, “He asked me questions about limbo and death. For his library project.”

Tommy tensed up slightly, “Right, yeah. I’ve heard about the library stuff. What a nerd, honestly.”

It was lighthearted, though Wilbur vaguely remembered Tubbo’s remarks about Tommy. How Tubbo had refrained from asking Tommy too many things about the revival, because Tommy didn’t like to talk about it. He briefly wondered how much of the library Tommy had seen. If Tommy had even been led to the bunker in the first place, or was exempt from Tubbo’s rules of being escorted there.

Wilbur walked towards the direction of Tubbo’s bunker as he called out, “Don’t come with me, it’ll be quick.” He heard a groan from behind him, but he didn’t care to comment about it as he picked up the pace towards the library. It took longer than Wilbur would’ve liked to get there with his surrounding thoughts reminding him of every second. When he turned into the bunker, his eyes darted around the room. 

It looked the same as when he left it. He took that as a good sign as he went up the stairs. The dim lightning of the bunker felt quite familiar to him. The familiarity reminded him of an extended silence that he preferred not to linger on. The loud ticking of the clock made him let out a breath almost on instinct, as he opened the chest he remembered leaving the book in, relieved to see that it was still there and fully intact.

He flipped through the pages a few times. While he didn’t expect any of the contents of the book to be damaged, it was nice to see the information written down. He grabbed a nearby quill and quickly jotted down: 

While Ghostbur used to only be able to feel the textures of food, he can now taste things as well. I am unfamiliar of the date of which we realized it, but it was about a week and a half after my arrival. 

His mind ran through any new information as Ghostbur chimed in, “If you’re alone right now, can we talk?”

Wilbur nodded absent-mindedly. “Sure, what’s up?”

“Why are we back in here?”

Wilbur confusedly looked around, “You can see the room?”

“No no, there’s a clock in the bunker, right?”

“Yeah, that makes more sense.” There was an excitement Wilbur held that was gently quieted from the sentence. He almost hoped that Ghostbur’s senses had evolved even more, but perhaps gaining vision was a slower process. 

After a few moments of silence, Ghostbur hesitantly spoke, “So why are we here?”

Wilbur noticed something off in Ghostbur’s tone. He shrugged, “I just had to pick up the book we started making. You know, about what we know about you and your senses.”

Ghostbur let out a shaky breath, “We are… We’re leaving again soon then, right?”

“Oh,” Wilbur said, “Yes of course.”

“Okay,” Ghostbur said, clear relief showing, though his voice still hesitant, “So Tommy is still nearby?”

Wilbur breathed, his hands clenching around the book, “Yeah… He is.” 

A double-edged sword in a sense, Wilbur realized. On one hand, Wilbur dreaded going out there again, Tommy looking at him with those expectant eyes. He dreaded the far too familiar surroundings, and discussions of things each of them had both similar and different relations to. Things that could be poison for one to speak of, and healing to the other.

On the other hand, Ghostbur’s relieved sigh at the revelation, hit Wilbur with a wave of uncomfortable feelings, at the thought of going out to an empty area. Ghostbur enjoyed spending time with Tommy, which made Wilbur wonder exactly how big of an impact Ghostbur had had on the boy’s life, while Wilbur was dead. What smiles and tears, Wilbur had missed. And Ghostbur’s hesitance and silence as he’d questioned Wilbur’s return to the bunker, made Wilbur feel smaller and far too powerful all at once. If Tommy wasn’t in Pogtopia when Wilbur exited the bunker, perhaps it wouldn’t serve anyone at all.

He supposed that none of it mattered when he walked along the path and saw the boy again. Tommy was sitting in a patch of smooth stone, the area was slightly elevated and allowed him to swing his legs from off of the side. Tommy’s eyes brightened from Wilbur’s return as he quickly got up. “Oh, Wilbur. I was about to die of boredom, did you get what you needed?”

Wilbur could hear the smile in Ghostbur’s voice. “Hi, Tommy!”

Wilbur nodded. “We can go now.” The air around him was almost suffocating in nostalgia. It wasn’t the kind of nostalgia that made you cherish the past, but the kind that made you narrow your eyes as your nose crinkled. 

Tommy shook his head. “There’s no rush, and I was thinking. Y’know all these stupid buttons?” Tommy gestured to the buttons on the walls around them.

Wilbur pursed his lips when his gaze transferred over. He had blocked them out before, but they were certainly there. The buttons seemed to taunt him in a way, about L’Manberg, about his death, about everything. His hand twitched as Tommy continued, “You remember when we’d have competitions of who could click the most buttons?”

Wilbur let out a tense breath. “Yeah… how about we head out of here?” He forced his focus to transfer over to Tommy. His gut coiled at the excitement on the child’s face. There was strain in it that represented the wars and battles, but it seemed to be lifted slightly. He couldn’t take that away, he couldn’t take another thing away from Tommy.

Tommy took a step as he gently pushed one of the buttons. Wilbur’s breath hitched at the quiet sound, but Tommy didn’t seem to notice. “Let’s do one final round. To determine the ultimate winner.”

Ghostbur excitedly clapped. “I’m rooting for the both of you!”

Wilbur tossed on a thin smile as he pushed competitiveness in his voice, “Y- you’re going down!” Wilbur was glad Tommy didn’t notice Wilbur’s hesitation- or at least he didn’t comment on it. Wilbur felt himself walk to the other wall as his gaze fixed onto a singular button in front of him.

This wasn’t like old times. Wilbur didn’t widen his stance to make himself have more range, his sleeves weren’t rolled up, and only one of his hands hovered over the button. While it was only a few inches from his view, his mind felt dizzyingly close to it. Tommy’s voice called out, “Three, two, one, go!”

He heard Tommy take off almost immediately, though his eyes were fixed on the button in front of him. He heard clicks from the buttons around him being pressed, and each one sent a rush down his spine that he recognized all too well. His hand shook as he let it get closer to the button. It wasn’t a difficult task. He just had to press it, and move on to the next one. Just a little bit of friendly competition, that wouldn’t do anyone any harm. 

His hand reached the button, and as it lingered on it, it was as if his surroundings became less and less distinguishable. The feeling of the button underneath his hand, so easy to affect. A button that would move at his command, and cause everything to be over. Leave his mark, by breaking down what he created in a matter of seconds, until there was nothing left but dust. 

He shook his head and his breathing turned shaky as his hand fiddled with the button. This wasn’t L’Manberg. Of course it wasn’t. He was just in the remains of Pogtopia, playing around with Tommy. He wasn’t about to destroy anything at all. It was fine it was fine.

This wasn’t L’Manberg because L’Manberg was over, and there was nothing left of it. Nothing at all, and the buttons that taunted him, taunted him with nothing but a memory, of something he once thought he could control. Prime, was he an idiot to ever think he could control anything. That everything wasn’t going to slip away from him, and leave him cold and alone in the end, without a purpose. Without anything to create or destroy, which was all he was good for anyhow.

He heard a faint voice, that he couldn’t quite make out at first, as his own breathing picked up. L’Manberg was over. L’Manberg was over, and Wilbur was nothing. The buttons meant nothing, and yet they affected him so much. 

“Shit, Wilbur-” He made out. It was Tommy. And Wilbur felt a comforting hand on his shoulder, that was so warm, and so familiar. The warmth spread to his entire body, yet refused to settle his mind. “Okay, Wilbur. Breathe with me, alright?”

Tommy was there. Tommy was right there at Wilbur’s side, to comfort him in his time of need. A soldier trying to ease his general, when they weren’t even in battle. Tommy throwing his excitement and life aside in favor of Wilbur, who was barely holding himself together.

That was what Wilbur did. He fed on kindness like a parasite, and weaponized it for his own gain. He drained Tommy from every ounce of good that was somehow, despite everything, still there. He had taken everything from Tommy and left the boy to be abandoned and exiled by those he cared for. And there Tommy was, once again offering his all, as if Wilbur wasn't bound to corrupt and destroy it, until there was nothing left but a crater. 

Tommy should be anywhere but here. Anywhere but Wilbur’s side. He should be running around with Tubbo, playing and smiling, and finally getting the chance to rest. Finally getting the chance to be happy, and Wilbur couldn’t provide that.

Wilbur tried to get his breathing under control, vaguely hearing Tommy’s. Calm and practiced, yet tinted with concern. Wilbur needed to get himself together. It took too much time to get it back to somewhat normal. It occasionally hitched, but it was the most he could do with his racing thoughts. He sat down somewhere in the middle. Or perhaps Tommy sat him down. All he felt was his legs going down along with Tommy’s comforting words. 

Tommy was hugging him now. The warmth made him close his eyes as he clutched the back of Tommy’s shirt. He could feel his body shake as the same thought ran through his mind that Tommy deserved better than him. He deserved a friend who would eagerly jump into prank wars and laugh along at all the games they played. Not a disaster that could barely click a button. Tommy fought in too many wars to end up here. He fought in enough wars to deserve better than this place. 

Wilbur forced himself to let go of Tommy’s shirt as he gently pulled away. He felt Tommy nod over his shoulder as he pulled back from the embrace. Wilbur imagined his body with disgust littering around the edges. A shaking frame, tears in his eyes, relying on a teenager for his emotional stability.

Tommy hesitantly spoke, the sound almost startling Wilbur, “S- sorry. I wasn’t thinking about… yeah. All of it.” The apology was too sincere to be said in such a situation where he wasn’t at a true fault. 

He stood up slowly, wobbling as he did so. Tommy did the same, causing Wilbur to frown with how Tommy followed in his footsteps. Even with small actions, the boy constantly followed his path. 

Wilbur opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out. When he saw the buttons that laid on the opposite wall, he harshly closed his eyes. It all flooded back to him, as he tried to breathe normally once again. Tommy’s voice was in there somewhere, guiding him, but the words weren’t going through his mind despite how clear they were in the surrounding air.

Then he was moving. He didn’t know when he started but his chest burned for air as the ground he stood on wasn’t the smooth stone nor cobble from Pogtopia. It was grass. Green grass. The sun shined on it as he felt himself continue walking. There was something in his mind. Something that wasn’t him. It might’ve been Tommy whispering reassurances, Ghostbur trying to distract him, or maybe it was the part of him that knew he didn’t deserve either of them.

Chapter Text

Wilbur ran for a while, as if the rapid beating of his heart would block out both his mind and his surroundings, so he could disappear for just a moment. It hardly succeeded, and perhaps it only served to make his legs sore, and to remind him that he had miles to run and nowhere to go.

When he noticed his surroundings changing, and the ruins of L’Manberg taking shape before him he stopped, leaning against a wall to catch his breath. It was difficult, his mind still refusing to settle, though his surroundings slowly became more prominent.

“...and then Tubbo said that bees could dance, and I decided I wanted to see a performance from them, but Tubbo said they didn’t sell any tickets.” Ghostbur finished, and it striked Wilbur as odd, as he hadn’t heard Ghostbur start in the first place.

“Hm?”

“Oh you’re back!” Ghostbur said excitedly, “You- you weren’t responding for a while so I thought maybe you wanted me to talk again?”

Wilbur’s back straightened with surprise, and his breathing became much more quiet. That sort of gesture was not one Wilbur had expected, and perhaps it was silly, how it made him feel just a little warmer. “Oh. Thank you.” he said, surprised and genuine all at once, despite the dark thoughts plaguing his mind.

“I think Tommy was hugging us before. He really cares about you.” Ghostbur said.

Wilbur closed his eyes, thoughts of the pitiful encounter rushing back. “Yes,” he bitterly admitted, “Yes he does.”

And that was exactly the problem, because Tommy really shouldn’t. One of the thousands of problems that Wilbur was the root of, that were impossible to tackle, because Wilbur was a disaster through and through. A bit of TNT just waiting to be set off.

“Where are we going now?” Ghostbur asked, a bit of concern still lingering.

Wilbur was about to respond that he didn’t know, when he saw a familiar face on the Prime path that made him tense up immediately. His father was there. He didn’t seem to notice Wilbur yet as he was still quite far off, but it was only a matter of time before he looked over to the giant crater. “Shit.” Wilbur whispered under his breath, “I don’t- I’ll…” he swallowed thickly, “Hold on.”

Wilbur rushed to the other side of the building he was leaning against, and started briskly running in a different direction, trying his best to hide as he did so. He couldn’t be seen. Not now. Not like this. He was nothing, but took up far too much space. Shaking, weak, and pathetic.

He ran into the first building that got him completely out of sight, and closed the door behind him. He leaned against it, catching his breath again. “Okay.”

“Are we alone?” Ghostbur asked, in a way where Wilbur wasn’t sure which answer he preferred.

“Yeah, we’re-” Wilbur looked around, realizing that he had been in this room before. A couch at the edge, and a small table to accompany it. Wrapped candies in a bowl. A door, leading into a separate room. He froze. “We’re in Puffy’s therapy place.” He hardly believed the words as he said them, and it filled him with dread and relief all at once, even though neither made much sense. 

“Oh! Are we going to go hang out with her? Is today your therapy day?”

It was possible Puffy wasn’t even there, of course. It was a decent place to lay low, and Wilbur highly doubted Phil would come in there. Wilbur’s breathing was still uneven. His mind was a mess beyond comprehension, and he was strangely aware of the lack of Tommy’s embrace. He thought of the buttons in Pogtopia, and how the mere thought made his heart rate increase. Wilbur was stuck in an impossible position. Nowhere to turn, and barely aware of where he was. Wilbur rubbed his face, as if the pressure would bring him back into one thought pattern instead of a million at once.

Increasingly aware of the silence and solitude the room provided, he started walking towards the door to the separate room. He stood tall on instinct, though his legs shook underneath him. Then, he gave the door two brisk knocks, barely aware that he was doing it. He didn’t quite expect an answer. He wasn’t sure if he really wanted one, even if he was actively provoking it.

Then, he heard steps from within, and the door opened. He was met by the sight of Puffy, who furrowed her eyebrows, looking quite shocked. “Wilbur?”

“Fix me,” Wilbur said, his voice shaky and quiet, but determined nonetheless. As if the words were all he could muster.

“Huh?” Puffy said.

“My session is like- around today, I think?” He rubbed his eyes, blinking Puffy into focus again, “Shit I don’t know, but this is like your job, to make me feel better- isn’t it?” He paused for two breaths, “So fix me.”

Puffy looked caught off guard, but slowly nodded. “Come inside.” She opened the door for Wilbur and Wilbur didn’t hesitate to go inside and sit in the chair he previously sat in. Puffy’s gaze rested on Wilbur a moment longer than it should’ve before she took a long black foam piece to stick under the door. Once she kicked it into place, she sat in her own chair, taking out a clipboard from underneath. 

Puffy’s voice was calculated and precise, her words coming out slower as a result. “So, Wilbur, how have you been since our last session?”

“Shit.” Wilbur shifted in his seat. Somehow any position in the chair felt wrong despite it not being that way previously. 

“Why was it ‘shit’?”

Wilbur chuckled humorlessly, “I thought therapists aren’t supposed to curse.”

Puffy nodded, “Typically professionalism is ideal, but I want to make you feel comfortable here. You can always tell me anything.” Wilbur let out a shaky breath as Puffy continued talking, “Would you like to try a breathing exercise? It might help you calm down a bit.”

Wilbur tried to take in another breath, “Yeah.” His chest burned and his head was dizzy. He didn’t need difficulty breathing on the list as well.

“Alright. Breathe in- one, two, three, four. Hold- one, two. Breathe out- one, two, three, four.” Wilbur couldn’t hold his breath to four as he quickly inhaled. “You’re doing good, let’s do it again. Wilbur exhaled and nodded to Puffy as she went through the same numbers again. When he managed to do it properly, Puffy let out a simple praise as she repeated the instructions.

It didn’t take long for him to breathe comfortably again. He took a few moments to himself, counting out the breaths in his head. He rubbed some of the remaining tears out of his eyes as Puffy spoke, “How are you feeling?”

“Not good, but better than before.”

Puffy nodded. “Would you like to talk about what caused you to feel like this?”

Wilbur tensed. Pogtopia, Tommy, the click of a button. They flew through his mind as he pursed his lips. “Not really.” He knew he was being selfish. Puffy took her time to help him, and in return, he should’ve provided some kind of insight about what was wrong. It wasn’t hard to remember either, all of the events still fresh in his mind.

Yet Puffy didn’t show any sign of anger or spite, her voice remained neutral and slightly lifted as she spoke. “That’s okay.” Puffy looked on the clipboard in front of her as she continued, “What happened since our last session that has made your recent time shit?”

Wilbur drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. He said the first thing that came to mind, “Oh, my father apparently blew up L'Manberg! That was news to me.”

Puffy’s eyebrows were knitted with concern. “I’d imagine that was distressing to hear. How did you find out?”

“I was having dinner with him and Technoblade.”

“How did you react to it?”

Wilbur cringed from the question. “Well, I wouldn’t say bad, but…” Wilbur frustratedly gestured his hands in the air as he let out a harsh sigh. “He shouldn’t have done that.”

“Have you told your father how you feel about his actions?”

Wilbur looked away from Puffy. “I haven’t really had the chance to talk to him.” He also wasn’t walking on the Prime path in front of Phil just moments ago. He also didn’t run into the nearest building at the sight of him. 

“I thought you were living with him?”

Wilbur nodded. “I was.”

“Why aren’t you living with him anymore?”

Wilbur shrugged. “He keeps trying to help me when he shouldn't. It’s just- It’s okay that he helps me, but I can’t stand the constant fucking pity that follows.”

Puffy jotted something down. “In what way does he pity you?”

Wilbur exhaled. “I guess the easiest way to explain it is that he constantly- worries? Like I’ll go get some wood then he’ll establish a curfew for around dinner time and give me half a stack of golden apples.”

Puffy nodded as she tilted her head. “And why do you connect this action to pity?”

Wilbur narrowed his eyes. “Because it is?”

“From my perspective- correct me if I’m wrong- he’s establishing a figurative safety net around you to prevent something from going wrong.”

“Ding ding, collect two-hundred as you pass go.”

“So you connect him providing safety for you with the emotion of pity?”

Wilbur pursed his lips, “It’s more complicated than that. He constantly babies me because I died and he reckons I’m not a functioning person anymore.”

“I’m assuming you haven’t told him about these feelings either?”

Wilbur shook his head. “I did. Everytime I do, it just seems to go wrong. I raise my voice a bit. I get meaner than I should. But he doesn’t seem to listen if I do it any other way.”

Puffy glanced at her paper as she looked back to Wilbur, “Last time you were here, you talked about a certain voice of reason in your head. How does this voice feel when you talk that way to your father?”

“I don’t know. Mostly it tries to help me I guess.”

Puffy nodded, “So there’s a part of you that wants to help yourself have a better relationship with your father, but a part of you that doesn’t exactly know how to do that.”

“I mean it’s not exactly a part of me, it’s a ghost trapped in forever limbo that I can somehow communicate with, but go off I guess.” Wilbur half-heartedly chuckled to alleviate any seriousness of the statement. 

But Puffy didn’t seem to catch onto the laugh. “A ghost?”

“She knows?” Ghostbur’s voice almost seemed worried, but there was a clear layer of glee behind it.

Wilbur rolled his eyes. “Yeah, because I can totally communicate with the dead.”

Ghostbur gasped, “Can I say ‘hi’ to her? It’s been so long since I’ve done that!”

Wilbur tossed on a wry smile, “The ghost said ‘hi.’” His smile became genuine when he heard Ghostbur’s squeals of pure happiness.

Puffy stared at Wilbur. She wasn’t shocked or in disbelief. She simply stared at Wilbur as she spoke, “Does the ghost have a name?”

Wilbur furrowed his brow. “Ghosts probably can’t even have names, they're ghosts.”

“Rude.” Ghostbur’s voice was tinted with playfulness that showed a smile Wilbur couldn’t see.

Puffy shrugged. “Ghost’s policies about having names is a bit outside my knowledge level. Do you believe your ghost has a name?”

Wilbur narrowed his eyes. “Why are you… why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

Wilbur tilted his head slightly. “This-” Wilbur gestured to Puffy, “-whole thing. Acting like you wanna know what I’m talking about.”

“Do you not want me to know?”

Wilbur rolled his eyes. “It- it was just a joke. You just missed the joke.” Anxiety coursed through his body, oddly on edge from the idea of Puffy being aware of what he said out loud.

“It’s okay if you don’t want me to know about him. I just want to help you, and if I know him, it could help me help you.”

Wilbur let out a long breath as a few moments passed between them. Ghostbur broke the silence, “I trust her.” The words were quiet and determined. 

Wilbur nodded as he slowly spoke. “His name is... Ghostbur.” Wilbur heard many excited words that he couldn’t pick up on.

Puffy nodded as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “You said you can communicate with him, correct?”

Wilbur felt a smile creep across his face. “What the fuck are you doing? You’re taking me seriously. I thought you would just roll your eyes and move on.”

Puffy gently smiled in return. “You won’t be made fun of while you’re here with me. Anything and everything you’re going through is valid. I remember when Ghostbur was here, even if I didn’t know him well myself. He was a product of your death was he not?”

Wilbur narrowed his eyes, “Yeah, I guess he was.” He leaned back in the chair, feeling his tension leave him during the process. He let out a laugh. “You actually think Ghostbur is in my head.”

“You don’t sound like you’re lying, so I’d like to understand it more. I’m not your enemy Wilbur. I’m not looking for every opportunity to call you out on things.” Puffy’s gaze felt comforting as it gently hovered over Wilbur. “So how do you communicate with Ghostbur?”

Wilbur blinked slowly, disbelief still having rein over his system. “I just talk and he hears me. Well- he can hear everything I can hear so he sometimes knows why I don’t talk to him.”

“So he can hear me right now?”

“Yep.”

“Well, I suppose I should introduce myself again.” Puffy sat up a bit straighter. “Hello, Ghostbur, my name is Puffy. How are you doing?”

Wilbur shook his head slightly, “He probably won’t respon-”

Wilbur cut his own words off when he heard Ghostbur’s response, “I’m doing good, how are you?” Ghostbur giggled. “I can’t believe I’m talking to someone right now.”

Wilbur looked back at Puffy. “He’s… doing good. How are you doing?”

“I’m doing good. Wilbur, thank you for trusting me enough to tell me about Ghostbur. I can’t even begin to imagine the courage it takes to tell someone about that. Who else have you told?”

“Just you.”

That made Puffy raise an eyebrow, “How long has this been going on?”

Wilbur tapped his fingers on the side of the chair, “I don’t know. I started hearing him shortly after I came back. I sort of recognized the voice from when I saw him enter the train station,” he paused, realizing he hadn’t gone into details about that, “My limbo was a train station, and when I was revived, Ghostbur and I switched places.”

Puffy nodded, “So, a side-effect of the revival, established a link between you two, that made it possible for you to communicate with each other?” 

It was odd, to hear someone else say that out loud. To hear someone ponder it with such sincerity. Wilbur had expected the comment to be shrugged off. Perhaps jotted down as something entirely different, that would make sure Wilbur wouldn’t speak sincerely at all anymore, to make everything feel simpler. Though as Puffy put it into words, it all seemed simple. Like something logical. “I suppose so. That’s what I was thinking anyhow.”

“That seems like a rather prominent fact, that affects your daily life greatly. Is there a reason you haven’t told anyone else?” Puffy asked.

Wilbur clenched his fist, “It would- it would make things more complicated. Things are already complicated.”

“What do you mean by ‘complicated?’”

Wilbur looked away. “I don’t wanna talk about this today.”

Puffy nodded kindly. “That’s alright. Is there anything else you would like to talk about?” Wilbur thought for a few moments before shaking his head. Puffy smiled, “Well I believe that’ll wrap up our session then. Is that okay with you?”

“Yeah.” Wilbur stood up at the same time Puffy did. 

When Puffy moved the black foam in front of the door, Wilbur spoke up, “This all stays between us, right?”

Puffy let out an affirmative noise. “It all stays in here.”

“Thank you.”

Puffy opened the door for Wilbur. “I’m glad to help.” Wilbur walked through the door and into the waiting room. He almost expected Phil to be sitting on the small couch in there, but no one else was present. 

Wilbur turned to face Puffy as he pointed to the exit, “I’m gonna leave, it was nice talking though.”

Puffy nodded. “When should I expect you to come back?”

Wilbur’s face flashed with confusion. “If I’m being a hundred percent honest, I don’t even know what day it is.”

Puffy’s lips quirked into a hidden laugh. “That’s too relatable. Today is a Wednesday.”

“Is there a day I should come in?”

“How about Saturday, around this time?”

Wilbur nodded once. “That works, I’ll seeya later Puffy.”

“I’ll see you soon, Wilbur.” With that, Wilbur walked out of the building.

He froze almost immediately when he stood in the sun.

That was the absolute last way he had expected his day to go, and he wasn’t sure if it was good, because while his mind had momentarily stopped racing with dark thoughts, dread still lingered. New concerns burst through the ground, because Puffy knew. Wilbur had let far too much of himself show. Had spoken of something he’d partially sworn to keep to himself, and he hadn’t expected it to go like this.

“Puffy knows!” Ghostbur exclaimed with excitement, that almost served to take Wilbur back to reality, “I talked to someone, Wilby!”

“You did,” Wilbur said, a bit quietly, though he smiled despite himself. Even if the excitement from the ghost was heartbreaking in its own right, because it highlighted more clearly than ever, how the ghost was stuck with him. It also made him realize how kind the ghost was by nature. Quietness when Wilbur was busy, telling stories without any kind of response, and even the unfiltered glee about having someone new to talk to. 

“So what are we doing now?”

Wilbur shrugged. He thought about going back to Tommy, but he couldn’t while tensions were high. An answer stumbled through his mind as a neutral territory, “I might get some resources for the house.” No way of seeing anyone he didn’t want to, but it would still keep him busy.

Ghostbur let out an excited noise. “What’s the house gonna look like?”

“I suppose it’ll have some spruce and stone. I’ll figure it out.” We’ll figure it out lingered in the back of his mind.

Chapter Text

About two days passed of Wilbur getting various materials. It wasn’t a challenge since he vaguely knew where things were. Guilt settled in his hands whenever he grabbed a tool, but he pushed it aside and chatted with Ghostbur throughout it. They talked about the small things and joked around, but moments of sincerity were still present. 

And now, Wilbur stood in the center of L’Manberg. Or perhaps the crater of L’Manberg. To him, the place was still alive and thriving. It didn’t have anyone living in it, but it thrived in the way a forest did without people chopping down trees. 

His gray satchel pressed down on his shoulder with a surprising weight. It had all of the supplies for the house, but it still seemed slightly heavier than it should’ve been. Cobblestone, spruce wood, and polished deepslate filled up his bag with about a stack or more of each. There were small things too, like flower pots and glass. 

He exhaled as he took a few steps on the glass that covered his creation. He didn’t exactly want to build on L’Manberg- he wasn’t that much of a fool. While the glass cover was sturdy, he had his doubts about how much it could support. When he walked away, he noticed the general drift to Pogtopia. The steps to the place felt familiar as he walked from his past symphony to where he might create his new one.

Not that it was truly a symphony. It was a temporary sort of thing. It wasn’t meant to distract him from his plans, even if something odd tugged at his mind and told him that this was a new beginning. He wasn’t in the right position for new beginnings, but he was allowing him and Ghostbur to breathe for a moment.

He found a simple grassy plot of land that could fit a house just fine. It had the view of the crater, which Wilbur found it difficult to stray too far from, and near the bitter road to Pogtopia. Yet most of the sunlight came from a third direction, and the plot seemed to have a certain glow to it. It was pleasant and new, with a few hints of what once was, and perhaps that was too flattering a picture to suit Wilbur entirely, but he decided that didn’t matter. There was no reason to overthink it, when he only planned it to be a minor dot in his story.

While his mind was brainstorming, Ghostbur popped in. The sound of the ghost startled him slightly. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, I think I found the area where I want to build.” He imagined a cozy house sitting on the land as his sunset would cast an orange glow. Perhaps he could have some flowers on the left and a storage system on the right. He could build himself a whole empire if he wanted to. 

“What does it look like?” The ghost’s voice was relaxed, but it was in a way that made him seem tired. Wilbur himself wasn't too exhausted, but the lack of a bed hindered his sleep significantly. 

He remembered the night from the day before, including the slow realization that he didn’t have a place to stay. When a cave nearby taunted him, he begrudgingly decided to stay there until it was daylight once again. He blocked some of the entrance as he settled down with a campfire and some herbs he picked from the forest. Wilbur’s cooking skills must’ve gone rusty since even Ghostbur politely complained about the poor quality mushroom soup.

Wilbur inhaled the crisp air as he shuffled through his satchel to get some polished deepslate in his hands. “The place looks… quaint in a way. There’s not much here. There’s the grass with some overgrown patches with poppies and dandelions. There’s a lot of clouds in the sky today. Most of them are long and stretched out, but a few are puffy and light.”

“Puffy is in the clouds?! Hi, Puffy!”

Wilbur smiled to himself as he placed down some of the deepslate. “No no, I mean the… it’s big and circular? Like the cloud itself seems really soft.”

“Oh.” Ghostbur didn’t let his half-hearted disappointment linger for long. “When are we seeing Puffy again?”

Wilbur furrowed his brow. The day he visited Puffy was a Wednesday and he was supposed to go in on a Saturday. He slept twice, so he would most likely be visiting her tomorrow. He should ask if she had a spare calendar lying around. “Probably tomorrow.”

“That’s good.” Wilbur found himself nodding along as he continued working on his house. It wasn’t going to be too big. Just enough for a place to sleep and decent storage. The foundation was filled with cobblestone and calm spruce wood walls sat peacefully on top. He was in the middle of placing some scaffolding for the roof when he heard a voice call out to him. 

“Wilbur!”

Wilbur turned around to see Tubbo's familiar face only a few feet away from him.

Wilbur smiled. “Hey!”

Ghostbur excitedly gasped, “Hi, Tubbo!”

Tubbo quickly jogged to where Wilbur was standing. “How've you been, dude?”

Wilbur shrugged. “Same old, same old.”

Tubbo gestured to the half-finished building behind Wilbur. “What's all that for then?”

Wilbur nodded expectantly. “Ah, just working on a house. Never really had one of those before.”

“Oh, so that's why you lived in L'Manberg?”

“Yeah.” As the conversation quickly died between the two, Wilbur spoke up again, “Has anything been new with you?”

Tubbo gave a non-committal hum. “Nothing too new. Oh! We started setting up a mini-bastion for Michael.”

Wilbur heard an excited whisper at the child's name. Wilbur tilted his head as his voice filled with intrigue. “Really?”

“Yeah, the one Phil gave us at the party.”

“That did seem pretty cool.” Wilbur chuckled to fill the air. Yet, it seemed to not be enough as silence quickly took the two. Other than an occasional gust of wind, there wasn't anything to focus on.

“Speaking of the party…” Tubbo’s voice trailed off as he momentarily looked away. 

Wilbur pursed his lips at the memory. “I'm fine now,” Wilbur said, perhaps too quickly as Tubbo’s brow furrowed with concern at the words.

“I know you're fine, I just wanna know what happened in the first place.”

“Ah, got stabbed.” The nonchalant tone made Tubbo’s eyes widen. 

“When? Like- did someone stab you while you were at the party?”

Wilbur shook his head. He was about to respond when he frankly realized that he didn't even want to have the conversation in the first place. He inhaled slowly before he spoke, “It doesn't matter too much. Look- if you came here for an apology, I’m a bit busy. So I’m sorry to have worried you, can we drop it?” Wilbur almost cringed at the sharpness that weaved its way into his voice. 

Tubbo sent Wilbur an apologetic look. “Of course. Of course. Can I just one question before I go?” After receiving Wilbur’s nod, he continued, "Didn't we have a rule that back in L'Manberg that we had to tell people if we were injured?"

Wilbur's shoulders stiffened at that. He knew where the boy was going with this. Honesty in the past led to honesty in the present, but the two were much different. If one soldier was down during the battle, the whole team had to cover them. If Wilbur was down, overwhelming pity swarmed him like bugs to a bug zapper. “I mean, L'Manberg isn’t exactly here anymore. So I suppose that it doesn't apply as much.”

“Wilbur-” Tubbo cut himself off with a sigh. “Do I have to explain why you put that rule in place?” Wilbur didn't bother to respond as he looked for the dark oak logs in his satchel. Pity flew into Tubbo's voice, “I'm- I'm not refusing your apology per se. Just... just tell us next time something happens, alright?”

Wilbur nodded, wanting anything to stop the conversation. "I will."

Tubbo let out a slow exhale. "You should come over soon. Michael needs to know you're okay."

Wilbur cringed at the toddler worrying over him. It somehow felt more impactful for Michael to worry about him rather than someone who knew him for several years. He didn't bother to analyze the fact as he stated, "Sounds good to me."

Tubbo flashed Wilbur a small reassuring smile, but he didn't know who it was supposed to comfort. "Alright, I'll seeya later- wait is that Niki?" Tubbo's small smile shifted into a grin. "I haven't seen her in forever!" 

Tubbo ran over to the woman in question and Wilbur for some reason decided to follow along. He saw their casual conversation that was littered with hesitant laughs and smiles and how it was shattered once Niki caught sight of Wilbur. Her face instantly dropped to a slight frown. Her eyes narrowed towards Wilbur, but he didn't bother to hesitate entering the conversation. 

"Niki, how have you been?" 

Tubbo jumped at Wilbur's voice, but turned slightly towards him. A silent cue in a way, about how Wilbur wasn't exactly supposed to be here, but he was anyway. Most interactions went like that ever since he was revived. He didn't bother to point it out as the realization slowly simmered in his mind.

Niki's voice was quiet, yet sturdy. "I've been alright."

Wilbur nodded once. "I'm glad."

There was a quiet beep that came from Tubbo. He furrowed his brow as he pulled out a sleek black tablet from his bag. Wilbur realized that it must've been a communicator. He hadn't seen one in ages. Tubbo quickly tapped the screen a few times before speaking, "This sucks, but I've gotta go... do stuff! Yeah stuff, boring stuff. Gotta go do it. I'll catch you two later though!" 

With a wave, he sprinted over the grass and away from the conversation. As Wilbur watched Tubbo walk away, Niki had started walking along the Prime path in the opposite direction. Wilbur quickly walked up to her side as simple confusion lingered on why she didn't bother to even say goodbye. Wilbur cleared his throat, "So-"

Venom laced Niki's voice, "Don't."

Questions danced around Wilbur's head. He barely managed to get out a few words, "I'm sorry, what?" 

"Tubbo has been kind to you." The statement seemed almost like a question, yet the assertiveness told Wilbur that it was a fact.

"He has." He forced any confusion out of his voice. It was a fact, but why did Niki saying it make it feel false to him?

Niki tore her gaze away from the path in front of her and towards Wilbur's eyes, "And what are you going to use that for?"

"What do you mean?"

"Don't play dumb with me. What's your plan now? What empty promises have you made to him?" 

Wilbur felt emotional whiplash at the change of conversation. The careful concern from Tubbo compared to Niki's defensiveness was an odd transition for him. He could typically deal with both perfectly fine, but having the two together made his thoughts a blur. He settled on a response after a few moments, "Is something wrong?"

Niki's voice rose, "Everything is wrong, Wilbur! For one, you were supposed to be gone."

"I thought you-" Wilbur's mind flashed with memories of having breakfast with Niki while she explained some recent events. The quiet voice that guided him to understand Pandora's Box and her underground city. 

Yet, the same memories were tinted with how she punched him several times before getting to those peaceful moments.  Perhaps it was another case of that- Niki was in simple disbelief that he was back. All he had to do was prove the moments they had together, "What happened? Everything seemed fine between us a week ago."

"That was a week ago, this is now."

Wilbur took a shot in the dark as he slipped in an old nickname, "C'mon, Nix. You know I've changed."

"No, Wilbur. I really don't!" Wilbur was taken back by her yelling. "Knowing you, you haven't changed a single bit. All you've done is pretend you have so everyone trusts you again, but I know better than that. I still see that glint in your eye that shows you just want it to be all about you."

Wilbur opened his mouth to respond, but only silence greeted him. His thoughts were loud with confusion and perhaps a bitter anger, but he couldn't formulate a response with either swirling in his mind.

Niki took that moment to scoff. "And you know I'm right."

Something gripped at his chest at the words. Something he couldn't swallow down. He ran a hand through his hair. "Fuck, Niki-"

"Don't pull that card against me! You came into my home with this little look on your face that you knew I couldn't say no to." Niki let out a sad laugh. A bitter noise that made Wilbur cringe. "I was doing so much better right before you came. Even started baking again. But as soon as you enter my vision, I’m right back where I started six months ago."

Wilbur's voice was hesitant and quiet compared to Niki's. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry doesn't bring back L'Manberg."

"I know."

When Niki moved her hand, Wilbur followed it with his eyes. She set her hand on her netherite axe's handle. "I should just kill you out of spite. For everything you've done. Make your death even slower than when Phil did it."

Wilbur felt the air along with any response knocked out of him. "I..." Wilbur struggled for a good response, almost afraid that if he didn't give a good one that Niki would kill him instantly. Yet, with her promise to make it slow, forced certain images into his head that he preferred not to linger on. "I would prefer if you didn't do that."

Unlike Wilbur, Niki didn't hesitate for a response, "I would prefer it if you never got revived."

The words stung harshly in Wilbur’s chest. He pursed his lips. "I didn't decide to come back."

"I know. But you wanted to." 

Wilbur narrowed his eyes at Niki. Not out of anger, but the realization that she was right. It hadn’t taken long, even if the nuances in his mentality had changed. There wouldn't be any hesitation about running into a train and riding away from that isolating place. 

And a part of him was bitter that Niki would blame him for that, because how could Wilbur not want to return from hell? He knew he didn’t deserve to be back, but wanting to be back was one of the most natural, most powerful desires Wilbur had ever had.

Niki's voice either became slightly softer or Wilbur wished it to be. "Don't talk to me." With that, Niki continued her walk along the Prime path. Wilbur could've followed her. He could've run behind her and demanded or asked for something . But he knew he could die at her hands. He had an axe on him, he could take Niki in a battle. Yet he went thirteen and a half years out of combat and the threat of Ghostbur being hurt held him back.

At the thought of him, he tuned into what the ghost was saying. "None of this makes sense.” 

Wilbur didn't bother to ask what confused Ghostbur. If he somehow came up with an answer that Wilbur wasn't already thinking about, he would just have another worry on his plate. "I don't know why either." It seemed like the simplest answer to give, yet it felt complex to think about the true meaning of any of it.

Ghostbur sighed in the back of his mind as Wilbur stood alone on the Prime path. He didn't bother looking for Niki or even Tubbo who left long ago. Instead, he moved his legs to where his previous building was. It really wasn't much. Foundation, some walls, and scaffolding that traced the roof. 

Still, he shuffled around in his satchel for stripped dark oak logs, but he didn't have to look for long since they were already near the top. He let out a shaky breath as he grabbed one of them and his shovel. 

He replaced the dirt ground in his house for the pleasant wood. He originally planned to have spruce along the floor, but stripped dark oak oddly felt better to him. It was dark like spruce, yet it was slightly tinted in the way that made it seem cleaner overall. He tried imagining the floor with stripped spruce, but it seemed too light for his decorating plans.

It was quite easy to finish the floor as he quickly assembled a ladder that climbed to the top of one of the walls. He wiped his forehead from sweat as he shedded of his brown coat. He took a deep breath as a burst of cool wind hit his face.

"You feel..." Ghostbur's voice trailed off for a quick moment. "Different."

"I suppose so."

"What did you do?" The question was soft and light which Wilbur was thankful for.

"It was a bit hot so I took off my coat."

Ghostbur hummed. “I forgot you wore one of those.”

Wilbur almost chastised the ghost before remembering that time worked so differently for him. The six months dead meant thirteen and a half years of limbo. If Ghostbur had the same ratio, the quick math led him to believe a day for him was an entire month of the ghost. He let his legs hang off the edge of one of his walls. "I'm sorry, Ghostbur."  He didn't mean to say the words, but he wasn't surprised by them either.

"Why are you apologizing?"

Wilbur sighed. "You... you're in limbo."

"But that isn't your fault." 

Wilbur vaguely nodded. "I know." Easy silence rested between them. "You don't deserve to be in there."

Ghostbur made a noncommittal noise. 

Wilbur repeated himself with a stronger tone, "You don't deserve that place."

"Deserve is a weird word."

"Why do you say that?"

"It- It's hard to explain. People take the word 'deserve' as if everyone thinks it. As if everyone agrees. But no one really thinks the same way." 

Wilbur was almost surprised that Ghostbur came up with an answer like that. "I wish everyone thought the same way." There wouldn't be miscommunications or hurt feelings, just pure understanding. Yet, there wouldn't be any fun arguments or surprises in life. He quickly added, "To a point."

"To a point," Ghostbur repeated. Wilbur quietly exhaled before Ghostbur continued, "Wilbur?"

"Yeah, Ghostie?"

"Niki seemed upset at you."

Wilbur let out a dry chuckle. "That's an understatement."

" Even though she's upset at you, I don't think you deserve her being upset."

"You... don't know what she was upset about."

"You're right." Ghostbur's voice stood with confidence. "But I know you. And you're... undeserving of that."

Wilbur stared at the sky with the clouds drifting by. He didn't bother debating with Ghostbur. But the words didn't exactly settle with him either.

Chapter Text

The night had been unexpectedly calm despite everything. Wilbur had placed a bed in one of the finished rooms and slept as soundly as he could, even if his mind was still racing. It wasn’t as if his mind would ever truly quiet down, and his interaction with Niki lingered vividly in his mind. 

I still see that glint in your eye that shows you just want it to be all about you.

He slept through it eventually and woke up in the morning, blinking at the ceiling.

"Morning, Ghostbur."

"Good morning! Today is Puffy Day, right?"

Wilbur burrowed his brow as he sat up in bed. "I think so," he groggily replied. An excited giggled passed through his mind. Wilbur rolled his eyes at the ghosts excitement and slowly got out of bed. As he walked through the hallway, he got the realization that he should at least attempt to manage some of his hygiene before going there.

He walked to the bathroom and closed the door behind him, cringing when he caught his reflection in the mirror. It was himself, and Wilbur supposed that’s what he didn’t care for. Sure, there were the bags under his eyes and oily hair that seemed flat against his skin, but the reminder that he was there made him turn away from the mirror and conveniently to a shower. 

“Oh, Ghostbur.” The words were slightly strained, but he knew he had to tell the poor ghost.

“What’s wrong? Is it not Puffy Day?”

Wilbur shook his head. “It’s Puffy Day. I just… gotta take a shower before I go there.”

Ghostbur hummed in acknowledgement. “Alright.” Wilbur felt his chest tighten at the ghost’s disappointment, but he shrugged it off as he quickly took his clothes off and set them to the side. He took a deep breath as he turned the shower onto one of the colder settings. Wilbur didn’t know if he heard Ghostbur’s breath hitch or the water start moving through the shower head, but he knew which was more likely.

“I’m going in on three, okay? One, two-”

Ghostbur’s breath stopped as his words ran together, “No no no, please no. He- he said-”

Wilbur leaned his body back from the shower, taking a step back from it despite none of the water hitting him before. “Hey, hey, you’re safe, Ghostbur. What’s wrong?”

Ghostbur whimpered, “Not the- not the numbers.”

“Why don’t you like numbers?”

“T- Tommy liked numbers.”

Wilbur tilted his head towards the empty air as he ran a hand along the wall. “I thought you and Tommy were friends?”

“We- we are.”

“Then why-”

Ghostbur rushed his words in before Wilbur’s. Almost as if he was afraid of not being heard, despite being the subject of the conversation. “Just please don’t count.”

Wilbur nodded slowly as he let out a long exhale. “Alright… is there another way I can prepare you for it? I still want to warn you if something is gonna hurt.”

Ghostbur’s voice was quiet in the air, the water in the shower almost being louder than it. “I… I don’t know.”

Wilbur’s voice coated itself with gentleness. “It’s alright.” While they could use specific words as cues, the word cloud also slip into an everyday conversation if they weren’t careful. Anything with numbers wasn’t allowed either. “How about colors?”

Ghostbur sniffled. “I like colors.”

Wilbur smiled hesitantly. “That’s good, that’s good. What’s your least favorite color?”
“I don’t think I have a least favorite color. They all look nice.”

Wilbur pursed his lips. “Okay… how about black is the color that I go into the shower?”

“Yeah that sounds good.”

Even if they couldn’t count with numbers, they could perhaps count with colors. The idea almost seemed childish to Wilbur, but he still let his words drift in the air, “We can go by blue, purple, then black.”

Wilbur heard a small smile in Ghostbur’s voice, “Purple is a nice color.”

Wilbur nodded as he looked back at the shower. “So will that system work?”

Ghostbur seemed happier with his words. Not as excited as before, but still cheerful in a quiet way. “Yeah! Let’s do it.”

Wilbur took a step towards the shower as he opened up the shower curtain. He put spaces between the words as he counted, “Blue, purple, black.” He stepped into the shower at the last word. He heard a muffled groan in the back of his mind, but he didn’t bother to ask about it when he quickly grabbed the soap and went to work. 

The shower went by briskly, as the cold water hardly made him want to stay longer. He exhaled with relief, simultaneously with Ghostbur, the second he stepped out and dried off the water. “How are you feeling?” Wilbur asked, figuring that asking directly if the ghost was alright, was inefficient at best. 

“Not really bad.” Ghostbur replied, and Wilbur let a faint smile linger on his lips, simply because it was more honesty than he’d expected. He put on his clothes and went out the bathroom door.

Wilbur’s mind briefly drifted back to Ghostbur’s apparent aversion to counting. He couldn’t quite figure out what the source of that might be, and didn’t feel as if he had the right to ask, or if the ghost was even aware. He tried to look through his own mind for any memories related to it, but found only an unsorted mess of sad glances and buried shades of blue.

He looked around his house, which was yet mostly unfurnished. Empty rooms, that made him consider the potential in each one. Briefly, he felt as if he was standing on the empty plot of land that would become L’Manberg, ready to take on a new project.

But the house was not his project. He did not know what was, but whatever it was going to be, he had yet to start it. Instead, he let his eyes drift to a clock he’d placed on the wall. It was around 9am in the morning, which was a more precise time to be ready than what he’d been used to for a while. And his session was going to happen in-

When had Puffy said his session was again? “Fuck.” Wilbur whispered underneath his breath.

“What?” Ghostbur said.

Wilbur swallowed something in his throat. Time seemed to slip between his fingers like dry sand, regardless of what he was doing. Mixing in with the thoughts and dragged out emotions, that never seemed to cease entirely. “I’m just not sure what time my session is, is all.” Wilbur said, shaking his head.

“Oh! That’s alright. I almost never knew what time it was when I was around either.” Ghostbur said, “I’m sure Puffy will understand.”

Wilbur let out a small laugh, looking out the window. The sun had been in a similar position the last time he went, hadn’t it? Thinking back on that day at all made him feel slightly dizzy. After a deep breath, he walked towards the door with certain steps, “Ah, better early than late, right?”

“Are you leaving?” Ghostbur asked.

“Yeah. Might as well.”

“Don’t… Don’t humans usually eat after waking up?” Ghostbur asked, a bit hesitant.

Wilbur tensed up, not expecting the careful comment from the ghost at all. He’d barely even considered getting any food, though he supposed that was another one of those things therapists likely encouraged you to do. “Right.” he said, walking towards his things and taking out a few potatoes, “I’ll eat on the way.” he said, and Ghostbur let out a satisfied hum.

Then, Wilbur opened the door to his unfurnished house, with yet unfinished rooms lying dormant, and went on his way to therapy. He felt entirely different from the other two times he’d gone, one where he was forced, and one where it was barely intentional. In fact, he was somewhat embarrassed at how willingly he was walking along. Wilbur had likely given far too much away during his last session, and part of him dreaded the idea of being in the same room as someone who knew about Ghostbur. Someone who would attempt to analyze everything Wilbur said, as if there was something there that wasn’t quite right. Phil would’ve taken Wilbur going on his own as a sign of growth, and that thought made him feel bitter.

Though Ghostbur was so undeniably excited, chattering happily about whichever observation Wilbur made about their surroundings. Occasionally he’d mention Puffy in there, looking forward to talking to her, as if she was a great friend he hadn’t seen in forever, despite the two of them barely having talked.

Perhaps that was part of what made Wilbur continue to walk with very little hesitation. An act of sympathy for the ghost who had no one but Wilbur to talk to, the only alternative being numbing solitude, Wilbur wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy.

He lingered outside the therapy building for a moment, his hand hovering above the handle. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and entered the waiting room carefully. There was no sign of Puffy waiting for him. He wondered if he was supposed to knock, or if he’d be intruding if he did so.

Feeling rather ridiculous, he took a seat in the waiting room, hoping that no one else was going to step in and see him being there. It took him a while to find a position to sit in, that he felt seemed casual and confident enough to suit him.

He took a slow exhale before he carefully whispered, “We’re here.” 

Ghostbur gasped excitedly, “Hi, Puffy!”

Wilbur bit back a smile with little luck. “Not yet,” he quietly reminded. 

Ghostbur’s cheerfulness didn’t falter. “We’re here, we’re here, we’re here!” Ghostbur’s excitement mimicked the happiness of a child being told they’re going to Disneyland. Except it was a therapy office that Ghostbur couldn’t even see.

He laid back in the chair as he patiently waited. The dread about talking to Puffy settled in his chest with ease. What would he even tell her? What had happened since they’d been apart?

Well for one, plenty of stuff had happened even before they last saw one another that Wilbur had yet to mention. The idea of being interrogated about it still filled Wilbur with dread. All things considered however, Wilbur had done a couple of things that therapists probably liked you doing. He had a house now. Tubbo had talked to him after the party. Wilbur cringed at the thought of the party again, trying to keep it inside. Though instead, he was plagued by the images of Niki, who in what seemed like an instant had turned against him. Someone who had previously offered him breakfast and care, now looked at Wilbur as if he was a mistake. As if he’d come back to destroy everything good.

Another thought that Wilbur didn’t care to speak out loud was that she wasn’t wrong. He had brought little but pain with him, and he’d yet to turn the pain into anything worthwhile. Had yet to get rid of the useless pit in his stomach it left, that kept any productive thinking at bay. Niki was right to resent him. Wilbur didn’t blame her at all for that.

“Is she coming soon?” Ghostbur asked.

Wilbur let out a breath at the ghost’s excitement, “I’m not-”

Right in that second, the door Wilbur had entered into the waiting room opened. Puffy stood in the door, wearing a dark jacket and a calm expression. The moment she saw Wilbur, recognition flashed in her eyes, and she looked a tiny bit surprised. “Oh, Wilbur,” she said. “You’re early.”

“Puffy Puffy Puffy! Hello, it’s me, Ghostbur!” Ghostbur said excitedly, and Wilbur was almost certain that he could hear the ghost jumping up and down. 

Wilbur smiled slightly, though with an awkward hesitance to it all, “Is it?” He paused, “Yes I’m sure it is. Better early than late, right?”

“You’re my first appointment, so if you’d like to start now that’s perfectly alright.” Puffy said, not seeming too bothered.

Wilbur ran a hand through his hair, suddenly feeling as if the room was closing in on him. He blinked and straightened his back as if it would regain his confidence, though it only made him feel more awkward and out of place. “Sure,” he forced out, standing up, and untensing his shoulders.

“Hi, Puffy!” Ghostbur said, since his first hello had yet to be acknowledged.

“Ghostbur says hi.” Wilbur said a bit quietly, because a part of his mind still told him that Ghostbur’s words shouldn’t be said out loud at all. 

“Hello, Ghostbur.” Puffy said with an affirming nod. Wilbur bit back a grin at the squeal Ghostbur let out. The two moved towards the room Puffy walked to, his dread shifting into a familiar embarrassment. Not that he was used to the feeling- but it felt usual in the way it tainted his memories tied to the idea of therapy. 

Therapy wasn’t a bad thing. He knew that. But the concerned glances and worried looks he got from talking about his problems were something he generally planned to avoid. The irony of how he planned for today would’ve made him laugh in a different context.

Wilbur took a seat as he was prompted, and Puffy sat down in the chair across holding her clipboard. Wilbur avoided eye contact, silently leaning on the armrest. “So, Wilbur… Is there anything in particular you’d like to talk about today?”

Wilbur shrugged. “I’m mostly here because Ghostbur wanted to see you again.”

“What? I mean yes of course I do! But that’s not why you came, right?” Ghostbur said, and there was a lingering concern that made Wilbur tense up and reconsider his words.

“Or well, it’s not that I’m just doing it for Ghostbur but I’m not doing it because-” Wilbur rubbed his face, “Look, I’m just sorry about the whole… thing last session.”

Puffy looked at him for a few moments before she spoke, “The whole thing where you came to me and asked for emotional support from a professional source when you needed it?”

Wilbur bit his lip and sat completely still for a few beats. He looked away, “Just shut up.” His eyes widened, “I mean, don’t shut up. Just- I don’t know.” he cringed at his own words.

“Ask her how her day was!” Ghostbur said, sounding as if he was trying to help.

Wilbur let out a helpless laugh, “Ghostbur wants to know how your day was.”

A smile of either enjoyment or confusion slipped onto her face, “It’s been alright so far. How was your day?”

“Good! Well- except for- no, it’s been good.” Wilbur frowned at the ghost’s answer. His day probably was good, but the hesitance in the answer was too noticeable to just forget about. Regardless, he repeated the answer for Puffy.

“Is it alright if I talk to Ghostbur while in here?” Puffy nodded as Wilbur exhaled. “Are you sure, Ghostbur?”

“Today’s been a good day.” Wilbur could hear a smile behind the words, but he couldn’t see if it was a strained one.

“It’s been a good day.” Wilbur raised an eyebrow with the words. 

Puffy skimmed her clipboard. “So last time you were here, you seemed very distressed over a certain event, is that right?”

Wilbur thought back to his last session before tensing at the memories that occurred before it. Tommy and Pogtopia. He bitterly laughed, “Distressed is a way to put it.”

“Would you like to discuss what happened before our talk?”

Wilbur shrugged. As he breathed in the air surrounding him, he found that he didn’t quite feel like putting any of it into words. It filled him with an odd darkness, and uncomfortably memories he preferred not to linger on. He took a deep breath, “It was stupid.”

“I highly doubt it was, if it prompted a reaction like that,” Puffy stated.

“Well that’s just it. It wasn’t that big of a deal,” Wilbur said. He closed his eyes and rubbed his face before continuing, “No, I know what you’re going to say if I tell you. I was just doing a thing, and it reminded me of a thing I did right before I died, and it triggered some memories. You’re gonna tell me it’s a big deal, and maybe it was. I’m not stupid.”

“I never said you were,” Puffy said.

“No, but if I just said it wasn’t a big deal, and then went on to explain what happened, you would’ve explained that to me as if I didn’t know already. And I would have to sit here and go ‘Wow what a marvelous observation I’m all fixed now’.”

“I’m afraid it’s not as simple as that.” Puffy held an almost apologetic smile. “So you were doing something that triggered traumatic memories?”

“I was just…” Wilbur swallowed and groaned with frustration, “I was just about to press a button.” he regretted saying it almost immediately, because he realized it opened up another list of questions, he couldn’t get himself to answer.

“Ah. I see.” Puffy said, “And it reminded you of-”

“It reminded me of blowing up a fucking nation and then getting stabbed, yes that’s right.” Wilbur interrupted a little too quickly. 

Puffy closed her mouth, considering her next words. “And those memories prompted you to go here?”

Wilbur ran a hand through his hair, “It was more than just that.” He breathed, “There was someone there with me. Comforting me.”

“Well, I’m glad you weren’t alone while it happened.”

Wilbur frustratedly sighed, “No you don’t understand. There was someone there comforting me and they-” Wilbur swallowed, but it still felt difficult to push the words out, “They shouldn’t have been.”

Puffy either didn’t acknowledge the tension or decided not to comment on it. “What do you mean?”

“I…” Wilbur’s voice trailed off as he slowly moved his hand over one of the patterns on the chair. “I’ve done- I’m not the best person, and this particular person is someone…” Someone who’s always been there for him. Someone he treated like family. Someone that he treated like shit. “Someone I’ve hurt.”

Puffy nodded as she quietly spoke, “I see.”

“When I caught my breath again I- I just… I didn’t want them to be there because…” He really didn’t deserve Tommy, he should be happy and pulling pranks and not around a hot mess that used to be a general- but at least he was still hot. “Shit. It reminded me of something and I- I just sort of ran off.”

Puffy fiddled with her pen, “You felt guilty?”

“I guess.”

Puffy paused for a moment, deciding her words carefully. “Does this person know you feel this way?”

Wilbur shook his head, “No, they- they don’t act like they’re bothered by what I did anymore.”

“So they’ve forgiven you?” Puffy asked.

Wilbur thought back to Tommy’s eyes. To the concern, and the touch. He thought back to lonely nights in Pogtopia, wars, shouting, and asking Tommy to stay with him because everyone was against him, but not Tommy. Never Tommy. Wilbur placed his hands on his lap. “They shouldn’t.” he quietly said.

“So the guilt of those you’ve hurt, largely comes from within yourself?” Puffy asked.

Wilbur shrugged.

“It could show a desire to grow past those actions. Have others ever tried to blame you for these things?” Puffy asked.

Wilbur let out something between a breath and a laugh.

Save me the pain and just bring Ghostbur back.

I would prefer it if you never got revived.

 “Why yes, since I came back at least two people have told me how much they hate me to my face, thank you,” he calmly admitted.

For a brief moment, Puffy looked at least a little surprised at this, though her expression became calm and professional in record time. “Would you like to elaborate?”

“It was deserved.” Wilbur said, “Puffy, I’ve hurt a lot of people. I don’t think that comes as a surprise to anyone. And they have every right to hate me for it. Prime, they should hate me for it.” He bit his lip, “Some of them are forgiving me far too quickly. They’re probably- they’re scared I’ll hurt them again. I hope they are, because I probably will.” 

He already had. 

This was the type of thought he should’ve kept to himself, of course. The type of thought that taunted him. A thought that sparked from all the energy in his mind, about how easy it was to hurt. How easy it was to affect the world around him. How easy it was to press the button, when the pieces were laid out. The pleading of the ghost inside his mind who deserved so much better, and the attempts to help him from the boy he’d harmed more than most. And then the son, who’d already denied being so before. The people who wanted him dead, but Wilbur was alive, and it was such a terrifying feeling, that made his mind spark with pain and unclear desires.

It took Puffy a little while to respond to his words. As if she wanted to make sure he’d said what he wanted to say. “You know, Wilbur… Guilt is a confusing sort of thing, and it’s generally a good sign that you feel it. It shows you recognize the hurt you’ve caused, which is a good first step.” Wilbur wanted to ask, what it was a step towards, before Puffy continued, “However there’s a difference between guilt and self-loathing, and sometimes one can cross into the other.”

Wilbur narrowed his eyes, “What do you mean?”

“It’s good to recognize when an action has hurt someone. It is less good, when that recognition leads you to believe you aren’t capable of change.”

Wilbur let out a breath, looking away. He wasn’t entirely sure what the words meant. He rolled his eyes. “And what would you have me do about it?”

“There’s a process, in understanding and using guilt for the better. It’s not something I can give you an easy answer to, as with most things regarding mental health. Would you like an exercise you can try?”

Wilbur closed his eyes for a moment. “Sure.” he said briefly.

“I suggest you try to write a letter to someone you feel you’ve harmed. They never have to see the letter, nor do I have to see it, but the letter can be used to explore your past actions, and recognize what can possibly be done moving forward.”

Wilbur looked at Puffy skeptically. “You want me to write an apology?”

“Yes. Something like that,” Puffy said with a hesitant smile.

Well, that was stupid. As if words on a page only he could see, would change anything. As if anything he could apologize for wasn’t already beyond repair. L’Manberg hadn’t been beyond repair when he destroyed it, but it was destroyed again, and Wilbur felt as if anything else he could do was much the same.

But Puffy was trying to help, and Wilbur had asked her to continue. She’d seen more vulnerability than Wilbur should’ve ever shown.

“I like writing!” Ghostbur said, as if he’d been containing his words for a long time,  “If you need it I can try to help.”

Wilbur let out a sudden sputter of a laugh, “No, Ghostbur.” 

“What’s he saying?” Puffy asked. 

Wilbur looked up at her. He swallowed. “He said he can help if I want him to.”

“That’s terribly nice of you, Ghostbur, but I think this works better as an individual exercise.” Puffy said, and Wilbur nodded once he heard a hum of acknowledgement in his head. “Though speaking of you, is there anything you’d like to talk about?”

Chapter Text

“Not really.”

Wilbur waited for Puffy to respond before he realized Puffy couldn’t hear him. “Nothing really.”

Puffy nodded. “So, Ghostbur, are you still in Wilbur’s limbo or are you somewhere else?

“Same place. Train station and all.” The words seemed dull, but he could hear a smile through Ghostbur’s voice. He couldn’t figure out how strained it was though.

And Puffy couldn’t even pick up on it. “He’s still there.”

“Do you like limbo?”

“Of course! Do you like your... Wilbur, what's the place called?”

Wilbur looked around for a moment, before guessing what Ghostbur was talking about. “It's called an office.” He redirected his attention back to Puffy instead of the wall behind her. “He likes it, do you like your office?” A small smile slipped onto his face from the ridiculous question he had to say out loud.

Puffy sent a small smile in return, but something in it wasn’t genuine. “I suppose so. How long has Ghostbur been in limbo?”

Wilbur stiffened at the question, as he dug through his mind for the answer. Some days appeared blurry, blending together seamlessly, while specific moments occurred to him far clearer than he wanted them two. He narrowed his eyes. “I think about two weeks- wait, a month is like a day there. So…” He flinched at the thought, “Just over a year.”

The first thought that occurred to him after he said it, was perhaps much more frivolous than it should’ve been. He remembered counting the days on his own, and the emptiness at every recognizable unit. Each week, each month, each year, and a strange guilt settled in, because he could’ve acknowledged Ghostbur’s limbo anniversary. The thought was silly, and he was uncertain what he would’ve done even if he had remembered. A selfish part of him didn’t want to count Ghostbur’s days at all.

Puffy’s eyes widened just slightly, “Over a year?”

“Yeah.” He swallowed thickly before he started speaking again, “Ghostbur, are you actually okay? I-” No. He didn’t need to care about the ghost. He really didn’t. Yet, his voice grew quieter anyway, “I know how rough that place can be.”

“Of course!” The typical cheeriness returned back with no anomalies, but Wilbur didn’t find any comfort along with it. “I mean. You were there for thirteen years. You should probably talk to Puffy about that.”

A bitter thought ran through his mind about how it was thirteen and a half years, but the feeling quickly washed away as concern overtook its place. “It doesn’t matter how long you’re there for, it’s still shit.”

“I’m fine, Wil. You don’t have to worry about me.”

Wilbur was about to interject when he remembered Puffy’s presence in the room. “He’s fine.”

“Speaking of limbo, how was your limbo?”

Wilbur opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He already gave a speech about it, but the words didn’t seem to come to him. Maybe it wasn’t meant to be. “It was just where I spent my time for a while. Lonely. Trains. Stone walls.” Silence rang through his mind. “Not much to describe.”

Puffy nodded. “And is the experience roughly the same for you, Ghostbur?”

“It’s not too lonely since Wilbur and I are connected.” Ghostbur’s voice lost some of the previous cheeriness, instead sounding disinterested. Wilbur briefly wondered if Ghostbur was getting bored with all of this. How many days had passed for the ghost as Wilbur sat in Puffy’s office? He didn’t want to measure how long an hour was for limbo. If he did, he’d be wasting even more of Ghostbur’s time.

Wilbur furrowed his brow. “What about… when I’m trying to sleep?”

“Hm?” Ghostbur said.

Puffy looked at Wilbur curiously, and Wilbur knew she could only hear half of the conversation, though he couldn’t get himself to consider it too much right then. Thinking about the silence Ghostbur would experience every time he went to sleep was something he’d purposefully tried to shove out of his mind, though he felt he needed to say it right then. Wilbur couldn’t handle the thought productively, but there was a therapist right in front of him, and this seemed like the type of thing she could much more helpfully address. “When I’m asleep you’re- you’re alone for a while.” He took a deep breath, “How does that feel?”

“I-I can sometimes hear things,” Ghostbur said, but there was something quietly reflective lingering in his tone.

“You can’t talk to anyone,” Wilbur said quietly.

“That’s fine. You need rest!” Ghostbur said, clear emotion behind the words, though it was hard to distinguish which.

Wilbur felt as if something was burning his throat as he tried to push the subject. “Yes, yes, I know but… That doesn’t mean it can’t hurt .”

“I haven’t gotten hurt in a while since we took the potions and-”

“ Emotionally hurt,” Wilbur specified firmly. Silence followed, and Wilbur made eye contact with Puffy, who was looking at him as if she was waiting for him to explain what was going on, despite likely already getting the gist.

“It’s really all fine. I’m getting used to it,” Ghostbur said.

Getting used to it. That was something Wilbur had told himself many times before, but even when it had been partially true, it still wasn’t a pleasant reality to face. “He says it’s less lonely when I’m here. When I go to sleep though, he’s usually alone for a while. Shit, I don’t know, you tell me what that means for him.”Wilbur didn’t want to talk about this. He didn’t want to think about Ghostbur’s loneliness, because he had once hoped with all his heart that the loneliness of limbo would never become relevant to him again. Now it was, and he wasn’t even the one facing it, and he wished, he desperately wished that he didn’t care. That he could just let it not matter, fading away in the background, like the sound of explosions as a sword was stabbed through his back.

Puffy nodded. “Limbo sounds like a very rough place. You spent thirteen and a half years there, correct?”

“I’m not there anymore, can we focus on Ghostbur?” Wilbur said, quietly and rushed, before he even realized he’d said it. 

Puffy furrowed her eyebrows. “We absolutely can, but you must be aware that being isolated for that long has a lot of lingering effects.” She regarded Wilbur, a hint of new realization in her eyes, that showed more emotion than she previously had, “I am almost kind of amazed you’re still able to have a conversation. That’s… Beyond impressive. From any research I’ve done on isolation, being alone for that long could very much have-”

“Can we focus on Ghostbur?” Wilbur repeated, in one breath. He clenched his hands around his knees, trying to ignore the dark feeling encapsulating his mind. “Please,” he added quietly.

A playful chuckle echoed in his mind as if he missed some kind of joke. “I’m really fine, Wilbur. You honestly don’t have to worry. You should- you should focus on yourself. Self-care is good for you.” A smile that appeared for no reason shined too loudly in his voice. Wilbur despised the inconsistency through the ghost’s words and tone. One minute he was trying his best to get by and the other he was grinning brighter than ever.

Wilbur didn’t bother to respond as Puffy did for him. “If you’d prefer to focus on Ghostbur for this part of the session we can.” Her tone held some hesitance, clearly taking note of how quickly Wilbur had attempted to change the topic. 

Wilbur let out a quick exhale of frustration before he nodded. “He’s in a much more immediately dire situation. You said you’d done research on isolation, right? So you must have an idea of what he can do to make it… Easier.” The final word didn’t sit right on his tongue.

Puffy nodded, but not necessarily one of agreement. “I can do my best, but I don’t have any personal experience on the matter. I can relay things I’ve read, but your situation is so unique that I doubt I’d be able to give anything all that specific. You’re the one who has the most experience being in a situation like Ghostbur’s. Perhaps you have some methods yourself?”

Wilbur’s thoughts darted towards the repetitive days, where his mind was as foggy and unclear as his surroundings. He thought of running until he collapsed, and of thinking of who had once been his friends so vividly, that it only made his entire body either ache or go numb once he remembered that they weren’t there. That they’d never be there. That they hadn’t been there for him in the first place. That Wilbur had broken everything, and perhaps that had either started with himself or would end with himself, he no longer knew-

“Not a good call,” Wilbur said, before realizing what the statement implied. He quickly added, “Nothing I haven’t already said anyway.”

Puffy nodded, though there was something thoughtful behind it. Wilbur felt watched and exposed, and he hated every single part of that feeling. “Very well,” she said, writing something in her notepad, as she sent Wilbur a small smile that he somehow felt was directed at Ghostbur instead of him. “First off, I think you and Ghostbur talking to each other is an excellent way to alleviate some of the feelings of isolation. Socializing is incredibly important.”

Wilbur nodded along. “Right.”

“If possible, expanding Ghostbur’s social circle would also be helpful.” Wilbur felt a sting in his chest as that was said. Somehow Puffy must have noticed as she added, “If not by communicating his presence, then at the very least by letting him have some input and agency in your daily life.”

“I… I try to,” Wilbur remarked quietly, but any word he wanted to say to follow it up, immediately died on his tongue. What was he meant to add to it? That it was impossible, when several of Ghostbur’s suggestions involved saying and doing things Wilbur would never say and do? That it was difficult, when Wilbur’s entire body ached to feel alive, and when the only way to feel alive was to do something worthwhile, and when everything worthwhile seemed to involve putting both of himself in danger? No war could be won simply by standing idly by.

But there was no war, and Wilbur was acutely aware of it every single day. People hated him- or, he tried to correct the thought to something else. Guilt and self-loathing, why should there be a difference, when guilt came from all the reasons people should despise him? Though the ghost didn’t. For some fucking unexplainable reason, the ghost didn’t, and the ghost found comfort in him, perhaps because he was the only person around, but found comfort in him nonetheless. “I don’t want him to… You know…” I don’t want him to be in actual hell, yeah, good person of the fucking year. 

“I know.” Puffy said, sending Wilbur a warm smile, “I can tell you care about him.”

Wilbur froze. Care was a word that implied so many things, all of which Wilbur wasn’t sure could be applied. All of which shouldn’t be applied. “I mean it’s- it’s more convenient when he’s- I don’t want him to be in pain is all.”

That wasn’t care. That was the bare minimum, and sometimes more than Wilbur could even muster.

“I care about you too.” Ghostbur said, sounding a bit excited, “We’re friends! Like you said.”

Like he said when he was lying. Making a promise that meant nothing, that didn’t mean what Ghostbur was led to believe it did. When Wilbur wanted nothing more than to rip Ghostbur out of his mind, and wander without the voice constantly chiming in. When he’d told Ghostbur that he wanted to get him out, and when Ghostbur was so sure it meant that Wilbur wanted to get him out of limbo. Wilbur could suddenly hear his own breathing far too clearly. He swallowed. “We are friends,” he said out loud, not sure if it was a statement, or simply repeating the words in his mind.

What did it even mean, to have a friend? Wilbur wasn’t sure he knew anymore. Loyalty, perhaps, but loyalty wasn’t always earned. Was sometimes taken with force, or with well-placed words.

“That’s good. From what you’ve told me, he might need one while being in that place.” Puffy said with an affirming nod, “And… Company might be helpful to you as well, after that long.”

Wilbur thought of silence. Silence, extending on forever. He rolled his eyes, “I don’t mind it.” It wasn’t a lie, or a truth, but it was all he could get himself to say.

“If I may ask, how would you characterize your interactions with Ghostbur? Mostly positive, somewhat neutral, or…” Puffy’s voice trailed off as she studied Wilbur.

Wilbur pondered the question for a moment but a few answers rang clearly in his mind. Negative, poor, inconsistent; but the last seemed to fit the most. It felt strange to go back and forth between giving the ghost comfort to not accepting care- which he still didn’t know if he had. Perhaps it was feigned to gain something in return, or maybe it was part of his grand plan that he still couldn’t wrap his head around. “I’d say we interacted.”

Puffy furrowed her brow a little. “Often?”

Wilbur shrugged. “Hard to stop him.”

“Do you want me to? I thought with what you said before that-”

“You’re fine,” Wilbur quickly responded, trying to keep the sudden dread at bay.

Puffy waited for a moment as if Wilbur would continue talking to Ghostbur before she started speaking again, “There’s two things I’d recommend in order to help build a relationship. Clear communication and to treat each other well. I’m not trying to imply you haven’t done either, but both can be important to note.”

Wilbur felt his chest tighten. “What do you mean by… the whole treating each other well part?”

Puffy twirled her pen as she spoke. “Perhaps I should say civilly. I mostly mean being able to have conversations or express gratitude or respect. I’d imagine it’s difficult to express affection in certain ways considering how you two currently interact, but there’s still other options like spending time with each other or having genuine, deep conversations.”

“We spend time with each other all the time.” Wilbur said with a shrug, “What part of him being in my head do you not understand?”

“I’m certain you do spend time with him.” Puffy said, and Wilbur felt much like a little child, getting the obvious spelled out to him, “Though making sure your interactions are mutually beneficial and friendly when they can be, would be optimal, don’t you think?”

“I know.” Wilbur said, thinking of silence and of burning tears, “Of course I know that.” It was practical, when Ghostbur was happy. Practical when there was no burning sadness, and no silence. Practical when Ghostbur was talking excitedly, telling stories of when he was alive, and thus reassuring Wilbur it wasn’t over. Practical, to feel like happiness wasn’t unattainable, even if Wilbur felt in his gut that was a lie.

“Is there something I’m misunderstanding then?”

Wilbur’s mind came up with a thousand rebuttals of how his words never made the same impact that they had in his head than outloud, or how the quiet breaths that echoed as background noise changed how he spoke when he noticed them. There was too much to point out for any of it to make a true impact. So he shook his head, signaling defeat with small words, “I get what you’re saying.” 

Puffy continued to look at Wilbur for a few moments, as if she was waiting for Wilbur to say something else. Mention another part of him that needed fixing, or whatever you called it. He was about to open his mouth to say something even if it likely would’ve been an unproductive quip, when the ghost suddenly spoke, hesitantly.

“Can I ask you a question, Puffy?” the words came out as if they’d been building up for a while, but only then dared to escape him. 

“Uh, Ghostbur wants to ask a question,” Wilbur said out loud.

“Of course.” Puffy said with an encouraging nod, “What is it, Ghostbur?”

“How do I- how do I make people less sad?” Wilbur was about to repeat the words on behalf of Ghostbur when he continued, “Because I really do try to! But- but even when I was around, I never really knew how to make them feel better, even though I did try to give them as much blue as I could. And now I can’t even talk to them, and even when I can talk to Wilbur he still gets sad, and I don’t mind of course, but whenever people sound sad it makes me feel- I don’t know, but I just thought that since your job is to- I thought maybe you’d know how to…” he trailed off, almost defeatedly, “I’m sorry.”

Wilbur sat still, biting his lip and taking a deep breath. Every single word seemed to make his chest feel heavier, and there was something disgustingly familiar about parts of it, and other parts that overwhelmed him with guilt. He swallowed something in his throat, barely able to get himself to repeat anything out loud.

But this wasn’t about Wilbur. This was about Ghostbur, and Ghostbur was finally opening up, even if Wilbur wasn’t sure it was from the right perspective.

“He… Wants to know if you know how to make people feel happier.” Wilbur tried, feeling a bit ridiculous as he spoke, “He says he really wants to help when he can, but that his attempts seem to sort of… Fall flat? And it makes him feel bad too, I think.”

“Oh.” Puffy said, her smile faltering, “Well…” she seemed to think for a moment, “First of all, Ghostbur, it’s not your responsibility to keep other people happy. There are many things in the world that are entirely beyond your and most people’s control.”

“Yeah I- I know…” Ghostbur said quietly.

“And as of now I’d suggest that you don’t let that be your top priority. You are not responsible for anyone else’s happiness. For now, I suggest you focus on your own.”

“But… I am happy…” Ghostbur said. Wilbur shut his eyes tightly for a moment.

“You are your own person, Ghostbur, and you deserve to be cared for just as anyone else does.”

Genuine surprise suddenly rang in Ghostbur’s voice, “My… Own person?” his voiced turned shakier, “I don’t know if that’s tru-”

There was a knock on the door, and it seemed to make Ghostbur go quiet. Wilbur turned his attention towards it too.

Puffy hummed, “That must be my next appointment. Anything else you want to talk about?”

“No… No, we’re good.” Wilbur said. He didn’t think it was really true, but he’d taken up quite  a bit of time anyway. “Uh, thank you for the…” he chuckles to himself, remembering Ghostbur’s words, “For the professional conversing.”

Puffy chuckled back, “Of course.” She stood up from the chair and walked to the door, opening it, “Hello, Tommy.”

Ghostbur excitedly gasped, even if the sound was duller than usual. “Tommy!” Wilbur tensed slightly, but he didn’t know why. He forced his shoulders to go back down as he took a few small steps towards the door. He met Tommy’s gaze almost instantly and let a casual smile flow into the face in the hopes of soothing his nerves. 

Tommy awkwardly laughed as partly uncomfortable air filled the room. It swirled into a controlling mess that went beyond either of them. “Oh you- you go here too?”

Wilbur nodded. “Yeah, I was just heading out.”

“That makes sense. I guess- I don’t know, just good on you for…” The words died on Tommy’s tongue, but Wilbur knew them well. Direct, genuine praise always made him go quiet in a way he couldn’t understand. The teenager could mock someone loudly all day, but the moment sincerity entered his mind, there was an odd, sharp change. 

“You too.” Wilbur walked towards the door where Tommy quickly got out of his way and let him walk by. 

Yet, the moment wasn’t over as there were quick words fainted tinted with desperation- or perhaps distress. “We’ll see each other again, right?”

Wilbur shrugged, his tongue feeling like lead in his mouth. “Yeah, of course.” 

He didn’t push enthusiasm into his voice as Tommy’s eyes lit up a little too much for his liking. “I mean, we could possibly do something right now.” Puffy cleared her throat, causing Tommy to let his gaze drift to one of the pale walls. “Actually uh- maybe later, Wil.”

Wilbur fondly chuckled, but he didn’t know at what. Tommy’s excitement to make a plan didn’t gently touch his heart as it instead drove a sword through his stomach that he could remember all too well. He looked at Tommy for a few moments before realizing the boy was uncomfortably shifting under his stare. “I’ll seeya later, Toms.”

The nickname might’ve lightened the mood or it might’ve not as he walked away from the conversation and the oppressive internal pressure at making sure he didn’t do something wrong again. He heard two farewells, one more calculated and precise than the other as he quickly left the building.

Chapter Text

Wilbur went directly back to his home after that. It was more pleasant than he’d initially dared to admit, to have a home to securely return to, instead of wandering around aimlessly. Ghostbur had started excitedly talking the moment they were alone again, which Wilbur was thankful for, though he couldn’t help but think about the unfinished conversation Tommy’s knock had put a stop to. Once they’d left, any attempt to bring it up again seemed to die on his tongue, and part of him felt it wasn’t his place. It had been something Ghostbur had entrusted with Puffy, which wasn’t Wilbur’s place to pry in, even if it might’ve had everything to do with him.

Wilbur truly was self-centered, wasn’t he? Whenever he dared to let his mind slip back to the appointment, it was momentarily overpowered by the image of Tommy too. It really shouldn't, because most of all he was glad Tommy was there. If anyone deserved to be there it would be him. Wilbur wasn't sure why he hadn't expected it, because a part of him must've already known.

But Wilbur, the self-centered bastard, couldn't help but wonder if Tommy was there to talk about him.

He tried to shove the thoughts away, remarking on the limited decor of his own home, his eyes shifting towards a chest with a blank book and quill.

I suggest you write a letter to someone you feel you’ve harmed.

Who the fuck would that be? The list was long, and even if no one ever saw the apology, Wilbur couldn’t help but feel it was ridiculous to write out something that had no reasonable reason to be accepted. Like a little child, playing pretend.

But a small part of Wilbur had made a decision to try. Not that he was certain what he was trying to do, but he’d promised to try nonetheless, so he opened the chest and placed the book on the table, the quill right next to it.

He stood next to it and stared for a few moments, but he couldn’t get himself to move further.

Well, that was attempt number one to do therapy successfully. What was next?

Oh right. Quality time with the ghost who was stuck with him. Not that Wilbur knew exactly what that would entail.

Though as he went to close the chest he’d taken the book and quill out of, he spotted another book, that reminded him of days spent in a quiet bunker, and looking for any sort of outlet to lead himself through it effectively.

There was so much about Ghostbur and his connection with him that he didn’t know, and Wilbur was fairly confident the connection had grown more powerful overtime, regardless of why.

So perhaps, this was an opportunity.

“So, Ghostbur…” Wilbur tried to think for a few moments as he searched his mind for something to discuss. “You know how you can feel everything I do?”

“Mhm.”

“Does it work the other way around too?” He skimmed the information in the book once again in case the answer was hidden between the lines, but the page was mostly barren.

“I don’t think so.” Wilbur felt smooth concrete under his palm as he tried to pull his hand back, but the sensation still followed. His breath caught in his chest. The feeling was too rough to be fake, but he wasn’t in the train station either. He was in his house. 

Or maybe he wasn’t. Perhaps this was all some elaborate joke the universe played on him to give him just a taste of what life used to be, only to send him into the dark abyss with trains. Wilbur closed his eyes tightly, but all he could see was the gray walls that towered over him and flickering luminescent lights.

“G- Ghostbur-” The feeling went away as soon as it came. 

“Wait, can you feel it?”

Wilbur nodded, letting out a shaky breath as he tried to look at his surroundings. He wasn’t dead anymore. “Yeah. I can.” The words were coated in thick syrup that made them difficult to swallow as he continued with an empty chuckle, “Feels the same as it used to.”

“In a good way?” Poor optimistic Ghostbur. But especially poor Wilbur as he had to shatter the ghost’s bright, pure confidence. 

He could lie. The thought ran through him quickly as he considered it for a moment. Ghostbur probably wouldn’t find out, but if he did, it probably wouldn’t escalate far. Perhaps a raised voice, but that would most likely shift into playing the quiet game until something came along to distract both of them. 

And he was good at lying. Sometimes, it didn’t even feel like a task on the list as words slipped from his mouth with ease. The sickly sweet words dripped into the world like fresh ink on a new page that ended up writing his story. And as history was written, the ink blurred somewhere. Not as obvious as a water stain or crease, but somewhere that indicated a note in the margins was erased. The words were too light to read, but it was enough to know something was there before you. That the errors in everything you’ve known were there before you even considered learning the ‘truth’ of harsh reality.

But Wilbur didn’t believe that lies were the same as a mistake that needed to be erased. Lies were good. Lies were beneficial. Yet something stopped him. Ghostbur stopped him. For some unconventional reason, he was stopped. Not completely; no one could do that. He was an unstoppable force, met by something that wasn’t an immovable object. Ghostbur frequently wavered with his ideas and his assertiveness over them, so why did the ghost make such an impact on him?

“I’m assuming that’s a no?”

Wilbur blinked a few times as he remembered his surroundings again. “What?”

“Oh! I guess you didn’t hear me, but I asked if the wall feeling the same was good or not.” Ghostbur’s voice hinged on being apologetic with politeness. 

Wilbur nodded, trying to pull himself out of his twirling thoughts filled with questions he had no answer to. “It was a wall.” He shrugged. “Nothing new.”

“You… Don’t like limbo, right? So it’s in a bad way. Not that I want to put words in your mouth-”

“Yeah, sure you’re probably right.” Wilbur said, a little too quickly. Ghostbur was getting good at noticing things, though a part of Wilbur felt that perhaps he’d always been. He’d just been good at hiding it. “But it’s… Interesting. We should write that down in our book.”

“Our book. Right! I almost forgot about it.” Ghostbur said, “We have a book.” the last words came out, tinted with something almost relieved.

“We do.” Wilbur said, “I think… We could spend some time testing out how our… Connection works. Fill in the blanks, you know?”

“Yeah!” Tranquil enthusiasm picked up in the words and Wilbur relished in the enjoyment Ghostbur found. Perhaps Puffy was right about how quality time would be beneficial.

Wilbur jotted into the book, erasing the past uncertainty of how they were unsure if sensations worked both ways. 

It works both ways, me being able to feel what Ghostbur touches.

Something was missing, Wilbur thought, reading over the past words again. Ghostbur felt what Wilbur could touch, or was touched by, and it was somewhat related to the feeling’s intensity. However, the touch of a wall wasn’t particularly intense, and Wilbur vaguely recalled how early on, Ghostbur had been able to feel when Wilbur was touching something, but he was never sure how detailed it was. Whether Ghostbur too could feel the cracks in a wall as if the wall was right there underneath his hand. 

He’d never asked.

“When I touch things…” he tried, “How vivid does it feel?”

“It… It’s hard to describe.” 

Wilbur waited a moment for Ghostbur to possibly continue before reassurance filled his voice, “It’s okay.” He moved his hand along the wall, making sure to feel the unevenness of it himself. 

“I can feel this,” Ghostbur said in a calculated tone. “I… can’t- I don’t know exactly what it is.”

Wilbur nodded as he ran a thumb over a specific part, hoping it would help. “It’s a wall too. Can you…” Wilbur’s voice died out as a sudden burst of insecurity went through him. He hesitated as he pressed his hand a little further against the wall. It wasn’t exactly hard to keep up a conversation with Ghostbur, but it wasn’t the easiest thing either. There were quick moments of doubt where it was hard to tell if there was a secret vested interest he had for the ghost and if it was already in play. 

Wilbur shook his head as a quiet breath left him. “I’m…” A silent apology drifted into the air as he mouthed the final word. It didn’t feel right to say out loud, yet it still deserved a place in his mind. 

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” The response was too quick, but he changed topics even quicker, “Can you feel pain?”

Ghostbur’s voice turned a little quieter from confusion, “Yeah? I thought we already established that.”

Wilbur nodded. “We did, but I don’t know if you can feel pain in limbo. Like- try punching the wall.”

“What?! No, that would hurt!” 

“Right, yeah…” Wilbur said quietly. Ghostbur being assertive was strangely relieving, but Wilbur’s mind was circling with his lack of information, “How about… Just pressing a little harder on the wall. It doesn’t have to be very painful.”

There was a moment of hesitation, but soon, Wilbur felt a slight pressing in his fingertips. “A little harder…” Wilbur added, almost feeling a pang of guilt at the suggestion. Though once there was a slight pinching in his hand Wilbur quickly said “Okay, that’s good. Did you feel that?”

“I… did.” Ghostbur said, and added with slight blankness, “I did that.”

Wilbur wasn’t sure if there was pride in the words. If there was disbelief, guilt. A joy in making an impact, though there was some disconcertingly familiar about the tone, that made Wilbur excited and afraid on Ghostbur’s behalf all at once. The ghost hadn’t felt the extent of impacting something with his own touch, whether it was inflicting pain to himself or others, or if it was feeling every part of the books he wrote in.

“You did.” Wilbur said quietly, though he grinned moments after, “That’s excellent! I’ll write it down right away.”

And thus, the experiments progressed. It started off rather awkward, Ghostbur hesitantly agreeing or disagreeing to requests, though as they gradually continued, the ghost grew increasingly daring. The book soon had far more information than before, and Wilbur felt relieved each time he wrote something new down.

They tested how well Ghostbur could taste things Wilbur tasted, if he could smell things, how well he could hear things.

Ghostbur can taste, hear, smell and feel the same things as I can. Sense of smell seems less intense than the others, and what he hears sounds like an echo in his head much like when I hear him. 

He tried to test them both ways too. There weren’t many sounds in limbo but when he focused he could hear Ghostbur’s words echo into emptiness. There weren’t many smells either, but Wilbur felt slightly sick as he tried to focus his attention on Ghostbur and caught a vague scent of something familiarly suffocating.

Wilbur hadn’t intended on testing out taste, but Ghostbur excitedly remarked that he could attempt to lick the wall in limbo. Wilbur gently told him there was no need, but he realized rules about bacteria and the like probably didn’t apply, and scientific curiosity shined through for both of them soon enough.

All three of those senses seem to work both ways, though it is harder for me to experience what Ghostbur experiences than the other way around. We theorize that it’s due to Ghostbur’s situation providing less sensory input, and limbo being more disconnected from something physically tangible.

Ghostbur tried hitting the wall after they got more used to testing things out, and Wilbur felt the pain along with him, though to Wilbur the sensation seemed to have ended as soon as it began. A side effect Wilbur had barely considered beforehand.

In addition to Ghostbur feeling my pain, I can also feel his. Sensory input from Ghostbur seems to end much quicker for me than pain from me does to Ghostbur, due the difference in time.

Water is still a mystery.

Water. The simplest yet most complex exemption. Wilbur wished there was at least some water in limbo that they could use to test if he also felt some kind of pain, but he also wished there were a lot more things in limbo with no luck. 

Ghostbur’s quiet voice intruded, “You there?” 

Wilbur looked up at the blank air. “Yeah, is something wrong?”

“No, no, it’s… the silence just felt really long so I figured I’d say something,” Ghostbur mumbled the last part with a twinge of regret, almost as if he had intruded on a private scene and an apology was the next thought lingering on his lips.

Wilbur shrugged, not entirely sure what to say. “That’s alright. You’re allowed to check if I’m here- or even talk to me. I’m not that intimidating, I promise.” An awkward mix between a laugh and a series of sharp inhales filled the air as Wilbur looked back down to the book. “I uh- was thinking about what we already know.”

Ghostbur let out an uncomfortable giggle, though it seemed much more strained and forced than Wilbur’s. “I’ll let you get back to it.” A partial, incomplete sadness settled into the words in a way that made Wilbur speak with little thought.

“Even if I’m not sure about the whole situation, I think we could have at least have a good discussion about if-” He sharply cut himself off as he heard a knock at the door. Or rather a specific order that he couldn’t forget. Two knocks, a pause, and a final knock that came out louder than the others. He established the system during L’Manberg to know who was an ally and who was trespassing onto his land. 

Of course, the enemies didn’t have an exact knock order, but it was at least nice to know the person at the other side of the door didn’t want to kill you.

As Wilbur hesitantly made his way over to the door, he realized that the person knocking was the first visitor he had ever had for the new house. He felt some odd mix of muted emotions that could only be described as passive yet persistent as he opened the entrance of his home.

Tommy stood there. Expecting, waiting, staring at some small detail that Wilbur didn’t have the time to even ask about as Tommy’s eyes lit up in a painfully familiar way and beamed, “Wil! I almost thought you wouldn’t answer the door.” 

A mix of excitement from Ghostbur echoed and became pleasant background noise as he raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Why would I not?”

“Uh-” Tommy shrugged. “I don’t know, you’re probably going deaf from how old you are.” He looked off to the side and ran a hand through his hair. There was tenseness within his body, and Wilbur couldn’t tell if there was something on Tommy’s mind or if it was his presence ruining the boy’s mood. But if Wilbur was the problem, why was Tommy going directly to him for-

“Sure sure, Toms. Though I have to ask why you’re even here?” Wilbur quickly added on as he tilted his head slightly. “And how did you find my house? It wasn’t built long ago.”

Tommy laughed. “I could spot your horrible builds from a mile away. And I...” Tommy trailed off before snapping his fingers a few times. “Oh! Tubbo, his cent- century husband, and maybe a few others were thinking about going to the beach tomorrow. It’s stupid, but-”
Wilbur let out a small scoff. “Did you mean centrist?”

Tommy tilted his head a little. “What?”
“You said Ranboo was… a century. A century is a period of time while a centrist is a wishy-washy political view that honestly doesn’t help anyone.”

Tommy narrowed his eyes. “Well it’s your fault for using those dumb words.” His voice rose slightly with irritation flowing into his words, “Who even- oh my prime, I just wanted to ask if you wanted to go kick some sandcastles with me.”

Wilbur could’ve sworn that time stopped for a moment.

Because he just received an invitation. Not excitement about what will happen in the future, but an invitation. And it was one to Wilbur. Out of all people. The one who ended a future guaranteed by his nation, he was getting invited. It even seemed too intimate and personal with the way it came from Tommy and how he was seeked out for it to happen.

“I…” Wilbur’s mouth was dry, as he grabbed for any kind of word he could hold on to. “Yeah.”

A small spark of excitement lit in Tommy’s eyes. “Really?”

Wilbur gave him a small nod. “Sounds interesting enough.”

“Cool. Cool.” Tommy looked away from Wilbur and let calm silence drift in the air. 

Wilbur desperately wanted things to be as simple as the request had felt. He desperately wished for the pull he felt towards Tommy, not to feel so shaky. He thought back to the last time he’d seen Tommy, to the hectic therapy session, to the guilt that plagued his mind, every time he saw Tommy look at him as if he was worth it.

There’s a difference between guilt and self-loathing, and sometimes one can cross into the other.

How could that possibly apply to someone like him? To something like this? He could apologize to no end, but the last time Tommy saw him, Wilbur was falling apart. The last time Tommy saw him, Wilbur was running from his very core.

“I’m sorry.” Wilbur said, “About- about last time. I shouldn’t have run off like that.”

Tommy looked at him, with a shimmer of recognition in his eyes. That look he had when he was attempting to reach an understanding. A conclusion within himself. The look Wilbur had ignored more times than he could count. “It’s alright,” Tommy said with a shrug.

“It wasn’t about you,” Wilbur said, and the words reached the air differently from the ones before. It caused a million other admissions to dance at the tip of his tongue. It’s all me. I’m the reason I’m like this, and I want you to be here oh how I want you to be here, but you shouldn’t be. Don’t you understand you shouldn’t be? “I was overwhelmed.”

“I know,” Tommy said, a stinging honesty easily disclosable in his tone. It made Wilbur’s heart sink, because Tommy had seen it before. So many times before, and yet Wilbur was at the very least not convinced that Tommy fully understood how it really wasn’t Tommy’s fault. His responsibility. 

“I appreciated it.” Wilbur said instead, because none of it seemed to be something he could articulare, “But yeah, I shouldn’t have done that. You’re fine.”

Tommy nodded, but he seemed absent. “Sure, yeah.” He hesitated, and smiled, the lighthearted playfulness back in his expression, “Did you wanna come to the beach now? I don’t want them to start kissing or something, that’d be gross.”

Wilbur tried his best to keep his shoulders untensed. He mustered a smile, “Right. Let’s go.”

Chapter Text

The walk to the beach wasn’t the easiest, yet it wasn’t difficult either. Tommy didn’t seem to hold any grudge against Wilbur as he energetically bounced on the way there, but Wilbur still felt like there was something wrong between them. It wasn’t quite namable or visible in the atmosphere, but his mind lingered on it nonetheless.

Not all of his mind though as Ghostbur happily rambled about how excited he was about it. The ghost’s persistent voice distracted him from his doubts- whether that was a blessing or a curse, he would never know.

“What’s up?” Wilbur looked over at Tommy, a little surprised to have him talk to him, despite being invited.

“Oh… nothing really. Why do you ask?”

“You seem…” Tommy trailed off for a moment as he studied Wilbur. Wilbur wondered what he saw. A failed war general, a dead man walking, someone worthy of an invitation. Wilbur had received many invitations in the past, however it still seemed impossible to comprehend him obtaining one that was so innocent after he hadn’t done anything to earn it. “You haven’t bugged me with your voice yet.”

Wilbur smiled at him. “It’s all in due time, just you wait.”

Tommy’s lips quirked upwards. “Are you sure?”

Wilbur let out a short laugh. 

One day, Tommy, you’ll look back at this and see how it was all worth it. L’Manberg will be the greatest nation of all time.

Are you sure?

He pursed his lips at the memory but still nodded. “I’m sure.”

The silence extended for longer than expected after that. Wilbur thought about where to mention something, anything. How pleasing the weather was, an old story from childhood, or perhaps a small discussion about their matching white-striped hair. As he tried to string the words together, Tommy gave him a shove. A quizzical expression came across Wilbur’s face.

“Seriously, what has gotten into you?”

Wilbur shook his head a little, trying to put himself back in the moment. “Nothing, nothing.”

“Don’t nothing me. Something is clearly wrong.”

“Nothing is wrong, Toms.”

“Then you would’ve noticed that we’re already here!” Wilbur scanned their surroundings, noticing that Tommy was right. He opened his mouth to speak before Tommy interjected, “I don’t want some bullshit excuse. I… I want-” Tommy groaned. “I don’t know. Just fucking- enjoy yourself. Get some sun. You look paler than a vampire.”

Wilbur rolled his eyes. “I just got revived, give me a break.”

“Didn’t want a bullshit excuse,” Tommy mumbled. Wilbur opened his mouth to retort, though with what, he did not know, when Tommy lifted his head in an entirely different direction, and ran off. “Tubbo, don’t you dare do anything without us! We both know you can’t have more fun with Ranboo than you can with me!”

Tubbo looked up at Tommy immediately with that particular smile he had whenever he was looking at him. That smile of slight annoyance, of familiarity. That smile, that would be a reminder of how young the two of them were, had it not been for the lingering layer of melancholy and exhaustion.

Though Wilbur hardly had the time to feel anything from the observation, when Tubbo’s eyes landed on him instead, uncertainty clearly looming in the glance. As if Wilbur had just as much of a chance of being a person, as being an ember about to light the nearest trees on fire.

“Hi Wi- wait!” Tubbo was interrupted by the little Michael, who rushed towards Wilbur on sight. Tubbo held out his arm, like a knee-jerk reaction, but moved it back after a moment of staring in Wilbur’s direction. 

Michael stopped in front of Wilbur, looking up and down as if searching for something. After a moment he let out a grunt, and wrapped his arms around Wilbur’s leg protectively. 

“Oh h- hello, little Michael,” Wilbur said awkwardly.

Ranboo hesitantly walked forward. “Hi, Wilbur,” he said, a bit nervously… Cautiously.

Wilbur turned to Ranboo, who was looking at him in a similar way Tubbo did, though it wasn’t quite the same. He couldn’t place why, until he realized that Tubbo’s eyes had not only carried a strange caution but also a hint of anger. The thought made Wilbur’s chest ache strangely, but not in a way it hadn’t before.

Ranboo wasn’t looking at him like that, not entirely, and he feared for a brief moment, that perhaps he’d simply confirmed Ranboo’s suspicions about him, back at that party. Though he found it hard to read.

And why would Wilbur even care? It wasn’t as if Ranboo was going to take a stand against him anyway. He hadn’t shown any spine for it. Was that rude? Should he be thinking rude things when others would never know if he did? Prime, why couldn’t Puffy just have given him some simple rules to follow? Society thrived when there were rules that were easy to understand. The same for everyone. Wilbur had often thought himself above them. The one to make the rules, but not the one to follow them, but for a moment he felt he understood the appeal of being in a different position.

Not that he was a follower, like Ranboo.

Oh yes, Ranboo. Who Wilbur had been staring without saying a word. “Hello!” he said, a little too loudly, probably, but he hoped it wasn’t too suspicious.

“I uh- I was just checking on Michael,” Ranboo said, without looking Wilbur in the eyes. That was a thing, Ranboo not looking people in the eyes, Wilbur realized. “He was a bit scared something happened to you…”

“I’m… I’m fine.” He blinked, thinking, considering, “I’m sorry about all that. I’ve- I’ve already said that to Tubbo I think, but it… I’m sorry for the whole… almost bleeding out thing.” A part of him felt the more correct thing to say would be I shouldn’t have done that , and perhaps that was true, but he felt that would only spiral into a different unwanted conversation where he could only resolve it by promising sweet nothings.

And he wasn’t supposed to lie.

“That’s… Good.” Ranboo said, “He was- he was pretty scared.” He looked more directly at Wilbur then, though still not in the eyes, and there was something else sneaking into his eyes at the words. For some reason Wilbur couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever that shimmer of something was, it was more positive than negative, and he didn’t know how to interpret that at all.

Wilbur looked back, “If you don’t want me to be here, I can go.” And it was an odd thing for him to offer, he knew, because he wasn’t the type to directly ask if he was unwanted, because he often was , he just couldn’t bring himself to care.

“You can stay.” Ranboo said, “It’s good for him to see you again.”

That was where the interaction supposedly ended, though as Wilbur looked over, he noticed that Tubbo and Tommy were throwing sand at each other, hardly paying Wilbur any mind. Michael didn’t have his arms around Wilbur’s leg anymore, instead building something in the sand that didn’t stick together for very long.

But Ranboo was still lingering.

What was that supposed to mean?

Hesitantly, Wilbur started walking towards the edge of the ocean, watching as it stretched out before him. Just a few moments later, he heard steps following behind him, and he was almost certain it was Ranboo, and Wilbur wanted to turn around to ask what the fuck Ranboo even wanted from him so-

He felt a sudden shove from the other side, and immediately stumbled right into the water.

He heard faint laughter but it was distant, immediately pushed into the background by Ghostbur’s sudden screams of pain. He pleaded, his voice strained through the words, “No no no, stop it stop it-”

Wilbur’s eyes widened as he looked around confusedly, pushing himself up from the water as fast as he could. He spotted Tommy, standing right by the shore.

Tommy had pushed him in, and Tommy was smiling, but as Wilbur ran out of the water full-speed, barely granting the boy a glance, Tommy’s smile faded with some confusion. “Why…” The question was left unspoken as Wilbur quickly grabbed a nearby towel and dried himself as quickly as he could. Ghostbur’s whimpers slowly faded, but he still heard a faint sob somewhere in the mix.

“Y’know you can enjoy yourself, right?” Tommy’s question made Wilbur furrow his brow before he realized the weirdness of the situation. Going to a beach then immediately getting out of the water for no apparent reason. His mind scrambled for an excuse, but failed to find one as Tommy spoke again, “You’re… fuck- you’re reminding me of how you were in Pogtopia.”

You’re scaring me. 

Wilbur blinked once, twice before he shrugged. “What about this reminds you of that? Just didn’t want to get wet right away.” He almost wanted to ramble about how he didn’t enjoy how salt water smelled after an hour on his clothes or the way water could get into his eyes, but he resisted any additions for the fear that Tommy already knew everything- even if Wilbur himself didn’t know what everything was.

“I don’t know.” Tommy’s voice was smaller than it should have been. “I guess you’ve been closed off? You- you don’t even make fun of me back the way you used to. In Pogtopia…” Tommy looked off into the blank sand for a moment before returning Wilbur’s gaze. “You spaced out a lot.”

“I was deep in thought.”

“Are you planning something?”

“Not really,” Wilbur answered. “Depends how you really define ‘planning.’”

“Well- okay,” minor frustration flowed into Tommy’s voice easily as if it was some sort of fight that was brewing in his mind for ages. “What were you thinking about on our walk here?”

Wilbur responded with honesty, “Nothing.” Most of the time he was listening to Ghostbur anyway. Even in that moment, he was half-paying attention as the ghost muttered quietly.

But that apparently wasn’t the answer that Tommy wanted. Maybe he desired to know where TNT was planted or some kind of 20-year plan of world domination, but quite frankly, other than immediate thoughts, he never spent much time thinking about it. He thought about every hypothetical in limbo, but some of those obsessive habits seemed to have left him when he was revived- or maybe generally over time. The transition was difficult to spot.

Tommy sighed. He opened his mouth to say something, just to close it and swallow thickly. “You,” he slowly started, cautiousness dripping from the quiet words, “can talk to me. Even if I think something is stupid, I won’t judge you.”

The way Tommy said the final word, stung so much worse than what Tommy meant to. Because it was meant to be a compliment, meant to signify some strong bond between them, and it shouldn’t hurt , but it did , and Wilbur didn’t know what he could possibly say to convey that. Or rather, he knew that he wasn’t going to attempt to convey it at all, but he needed something else that settled it, “I know,” he said, hating how compliant it sounded.

“Hey Wilbur, could you help me with something?” someone- Ranboo said.

Wilbur’s eyes widened with some confusion, because why the fuck would Ranboo ask for his help? Why would he interrupt a situation he had no part in anyway?

And well, a situation Wilbur needed to get out of, so perhaps it wasn’t too bad. Wilbur nodded at nothing in particular, and gave Tommy a final glance. The look in Tommy’s eyes was a mix of a lot of things. Desperate, defeated, confused, but in the end, he simply avoided his gaze.

And wasn’t that unfair? Wilbur had wanted Tommy to stay away from him as his instincts had likely already told him, and had told Puffy about just how little Wilbur deserved him. Yet, now Tommy was looking at him as if Wilbur hadn’t already fallen far enough for disappointment not to be inevitable.

Ranboo was sitting next to a chest, sorting through it and Wilbur narrowed his eyes, skeptical, waiting for Ranboo to provide an explanation. Ranboo looked up at him, and his voice sounded as if the words simply tumbled out of him beyond his control as he spoke, “Right W- Wilbur, could you go get some extra wood? See, I want to make a better chair for-”

“What the fuck?” Wilbur finally just said out loud.

Ranboo blinked, “Hm?”

“I... Why are you asking me to do that?”

“Well, you…” Ranboo stuttered out a few incomprehensible sounds before he said, “You looked like you could use something else to do.”

Wilbur felt as if he should be offended at that. 

He wasn’t, and he wasn’t sure why. 

“I… I can go with you,” Ranboo added after Wilbur had likely remained silent for a little too long.

“I can get wood myself,” Wilbur said on instinct, as if he was proving anything to anyone by saying that.

“It was more if- if you wanted some company, or someone to talk to or- or something,” Ranboo tried.

Wilbur smiled in the way he sometimes smiled when he was wondering what the fuck was going on. “Sure,” he said after a moment too long, and started walking promptly. He was unsure what Ranboo was trying to do, but he couldn’t help but wonder if this was a part of some plan. Prime, hopefully it was part of some plan, at least that would be a much more familiar part of all of this shit he had to endure to get better .

Ranboo awkwardly followed him with long steps (As if it could be avoided with that ridiculous height. Try-hard.) and there was silence between them until Ranboo finally broke it, “Does water hurt you?”

Wilbur tensed. “No.”

“Yes,” Ghostbur rushed out at almost the same time, and Wilbur was lucky he didn’t accidentally steal his words on a whim of surprise.

“Cool,” Ranboo said promptly, but it was said with such a mix of certainty and uncertainty that Wilbur couldn’t help but go on.

“Why are you asking?”

“It’s just- you got out of the water really quickly.” He paused, as if to ensure he was getting his words through before getting ahead of himself, “And I know what it feels like to have water hurt, so I guess I just sort of noticed how fast you did it. And you know, since Ghostbur-”

“Since water hurt Ghostbur you think that might’ve transferred to me during the whole revival business,” Wilbur said quickly, because for whichever reason he couldn’t handle the thought of Ranboo finishing that sentence.

“Yes,” Ranboo said, barely pausing.

“That’s not a terrible theory.” Wilbur said, “It’s not true, but it’s not bad.”

“Thanks- I think.”

“Is that why you’re following me? Am I some kind of waking science experience to you and those books?”

Ranboo tensed, “Books?”

“The library in the bunker.”

“Oh. Yeah,” Ranboo nodded. His eyes widened, “Not that you’re a science experiment. Just that those were the books you were referring to.”

Wilbur wasn’t sure if he counted on getting an answer to his actual question as he gave a nearby tree a whack with the axe. “Well, you’re out of luck following me if you want an answer for anything, because I’m busy trying to find those myself.”

“Answers for what?”

“The revival .” Wilbur emphasized, “Prime, I-” he took a deep breath, “I’m dealing with a lot here so unless you’ve actually done any experiments that can make sense of that part of it, then I don’t need your help.”

Ranboo seemed to quiver a bit uncertainly at the words, but then he tilted his head, the motion appearing almost eerie, “Do you… want help?”

Wilbur let out a shaky breath. He hesitated and prepared to whack the axe at the tree again, “That’s why I’m seeing a therapist isn’t it?” he muttered.

“What?” Ranboo asked.  

Wilbur sighed frustratedly, “Just… Listen,” he tried, “What I’m saying, is that I’m really busy trying to figure out how not to ruin a fucking trip to the beach , by freaking out after a swim and running off to chop wood with the weird former neighbour kid, when my concerns used to be war, elections, and whether or not to press a button.”

That… Was more than Wilbur meant to say but hopefully it would get the point across. Whichever point he was trying to make.

Not that it mattered. Wilbur didn’t even know this boy anyway, and he was fairly certain a well-placed threat could easily keep his mouth shut. Fuck, he wasn’t meant to be thinking like that. He didn’t need to think like that unless there was war and Ranboo was the enemy, and Ranboo didn’t even have the common decency to be that.

“You’re… Trying to be better,” Ranboo said.

Wilbur looked at Ranboo a bit confusedly, unable to get any words out.

“I mean that- that must be really hard when everyone remembers an old you who since then had thirteen and a half years of time to- to think, yeah?” Ranboo stuttered out.

“I… Suppose.” Wilbur said carefully, “They have every right not to trust me though.”

“I don’t,” Ranboo said suddenly.

“What?” 

“I- I don’t have a righ- or well, reason not to trust you. Because I don’t actually know you.” Ranboo stated.

“Are you kidding?” Wilbur asked.

“No.” 

“Okay.” Wilbur blinked, “Are you scared of me?”

“I don’t… Think so?” Ranboo tried.

“You’re shaking a little.”

Ranboo shrugged, “I do that with most people.”

Wilbur suddenly noticed that Ranboo was holding a block of grass. He didn’t comment on it.

“You’re a neurotic one,” Wilbur said.

Ranboo hummed.

“Me too,” Wilbur added after a moment.

Ranboo opened his mouth as if he was going to say something, but nothing was spoken into the empty air. Wilbur watched the enderman hybrid intently as if there was some secret hiding in plain sight. A plan, an opinion, any kind of objection. Yet Wilbur knew nothing would come from the centrist. He was quiet. A good personality trait to have.

So Wilbur took a few minutes to reciprocate it, chopping down trees as he stayed stuck in his mind. Perhaps Tommy was right and he- no. He wasn’t right at all. He was only a concerned kid who looked up to Wilbur for all the wrong reasons. He quietly exhaled as he let his gaze linger on the chopped down wood. “This enough?”

Ranboo slightly jumped from the sudden speech. “Ah- yeah, I think so. I can help you carry it back.”

Wilbur was about to assert himself above Ranboo’s request when he shrugged. “Knock yourself out.”

Ranboo took a decent amount of the logs, maybe even more than he should’ve, but Wilbur didn’t bother complaining at the lesser load for himself, only giving a small concerned glance before continuing to walk back to the others.

Chapter Text

“So it’s been better?” Puffy asked.

“I- I don’t know about better,” Wilbur tried. The therapy office had become increasingly familiar to him. He’d been there a couple of times now, and despite not being entirely sure if he liked it, it was becoming easier and easier to air things out there. “I’ve just been- I’m… We’re talking to more people but I’m not sure if that’s making it worse.”

“I think it’s nice,” Ghostbur said, almost a little concerned.

“Ghostbur thinks it’s nice.” Wilbur repeated, “And- and so do I sometimes but it’s just that… the more time that passes the more it feels like it’s all…” he paused, his voice growing quieter, “Like it’s all forgotten.”

“What’s forgotten? Your life before?”

“Yes!” Wilbur said, “Or well, not even like it’s forgotten. It still feels like people are seeing someone else, and now- now people… Tommy is trying to get close to me again and I don’t deserve that. I’m ruining that.”

“You’ve mentioned Tommy now, a couple of times,” Puffy said, “Do you want to elaborate on your relationship to him?”

“He…” Wilbur’s mind was running a thousand miles a second as he tried to grasp onto the thoughts that seemed most relevant. Like an endless string he desperately wanted to find a beginning to, because with Tommy it didn’t seem like there was a beginning or an end in the first place. “He was my right hand man, when we fought for L’Manberg’s independence, but it goes back further than that. We built the nation together, side by side. We worked towards winning the election together. We were exiled together. No matter what I’ve done he’s always just been there, you know? An extra pair of hands, a friend… A brother, I sometimes say.”

“So you’re quite close,” Puffy said, and Wilbur couldn’t tell if the glimmer in her eyes was a hint of surprise or the exact opposite.

“We- we were.” Wilbur said, “When…” he felt his face draining in color, “When I was in limbo, he visited briefly. He died, I think, and then he left. When I came back I tried to approach him and he didn’t seem to want to be near me but then- then after some time he… He seemed to forgive me. Just like that.”

“Do you feel as if you’ve wronged Tommy?” Puffy asked.

Wilbur let out a sudden laugh, “Do I- of course I’ve wronged Tommy. If there’s anyone on this server who shouldn’t forgive me, it’s him. But see, I don’t know why, but I’m not sure what I’d do with myself if he hadn’t forgiven me. Because he’s always been there, like I said. And if he’s not, then… I don’t know…”

“How do you think you’ve wronged him?”

“Prime, everything. Puffy, everything I’ve ever done has been with him by my side, and if there’s anything I know about the vast majority of the things I’ve done is that they’ve brought a lot of harm with them. And Tommy who’s been by my side through all of it- I don’t know if I always noticed, but he always seemed to get the first blow. And he… I think he’s a little scared of me, still. He’s pretending not to be, but I recognize that look in his eyes. What does that say, that I recognize how he looks when he’s scared of me? It’s the same one he had in Pogtopia. And whenever I’m anywhere near falling apart, which seems to happen consistently, he’s still always there trying to comfort me and support me.”

Puffy seemed to realize Wilbur was talking on his own, simply nodding along. Wilbur almost felt as if he was giving a speech. He’d always considered rhetoric one of his strongest suits, but he wasn’t sure that applied now.

“He always comes running to my side but he’s… He’s on the verge of breaking himself all the time, and I haven’t been there for any of it.” His breath shook. “I’ve seen glimpses of what happened to him while I was gone, and the more I’m around him, the more I remember exactly what happened while I was still around. He shouldn’t be around me. It’s not good for him.”

There were a few moments of silence where Puffy looked at Wilbur contemplatively. Wilbur felt awkward, increasingly aware of how much he’d said, suddenly wanting to take it all back. Yet, he was too tired to come up with a proper way to segue into something else, so he just stared back, awaiting her response or verdict.

“That’s considerate of you,” Puffy said, as if it was the most logical response.

“What?”

“You clearly care about him. You don’t want him to take on more than he can handle for you, and that’s a good thing to consider,” Puffy stated.

“So… Now my thoughts are rational?” Wilbur said disbelievingly.

“I believe they always were. We all view things through a biased lense, and there are probably still parts of your view that cross into some self-loathing, but it seems you’re getting closer to understanding that you’re not necessarily the definite root of problems like this.” 

“But… I mean, I kind of am,” Wilbur said, awkwardly tilting his head.

“You’re acknowledging that you don’t think Tommy is presently equipped to carry the weight of the things you’re going through on his shoulders, despite how it seems he’d like to. You’re also acknowledging that not all of his pain originates from something you were in control of, as well as the fact that him being around you is actively making it harder for the both of you to heal individually,” she said calmly, “From my perspective, it seems that forgiveness is not necessarily the main problem, as much as it’s a friendship that clearly means a lot to the both of you, that might need some time to redefine itself, since you’ve both changed.”

Wilbur tensed, baffled that Puffy could say things like that so casually, so easily. Baffled at how it clicked in his mind, as if what she was saying truly was logical. “What… Do you suggest I do with those acknowledgements then?” he tried, a near-whisper.

“If you think it’s necessary, it’s not unreasonable to set some boundaries.” Puffy said.

“Boundaries?”

“Tell him some of what you told me, and you can both take a step away from each other. Not as an end to your friendship, but to figure out where to take it next. That’s all up to you.”

“But how-” Wilbur let out a breath. But how would he actually mention all of it to Tommy without him thinking that it was part of some kind of isolation-fueled spiral? Maybe through enough explanation, but explanation would require deep thought and it was clear that he was partially unsettled when Wilbur was quiet. There seemed to be no winning throughout it. 

Puffy prompted, “But how?”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

There were too many reasons. The weight of all of them could never be held by his small voice in the room. His mind seemed to bounce back and forth between them, echoing which one- any one- that he should tell Puffy. “It’s a lot?” He weakly threw a hand in the air before letting it sadly fall down again. “I’m sorry. I know the whole point of all of this is to talk to you, but…” He trailed off, only a small sigh exiting him.

Puffy shook her head gently, “Nono, you don’t have to apologize. Is the topic distressing you?”

Wilbur nodded.

“Then perhaps it would be easier to talk about something else.” Puffy thought for a moment before continuing, “Have any of the exercises I’ve given you been helpful since our last session?”

The topic still lingered in the air, and Wilbur’s mind was buzzing with thoughts of Tommy, with thoughts of his past and his future. “I… I mean, some of the breathing exercises have been good,” Wilbur informed. He felt a bit smaller than before, but with the change in subject it was nice to get his mind back on a simpler path. “I'm still working on the letter.” He hadn’t touched it since he placed the piece of paper on the table where it still remained, but at least that made it feel like it was in progress.

Puffy nodded, “That’s good to hear.”

“I’ve… I’ve still been having some- some issues though. With my mind.” Wilbur looked at Puffy, annoying hesitance coating his words.

“Would you like to elaborate?”

“It- it takes very little sometimes… For it all to spiral out of my control, if you can put it like that. Like, I’ll be touching a wall that reminds me a little too much of the train station, or I’ll stand somewhere that reminds me of a bad memory. Hell, sometimes I’m just wandering aimlessly and suddenly I’ll be miles deep into Prime knows what kind of thoughts. It’s like- like something’s missing. Does that make sense?” Wilbur always felt awkward and wrong when he asked if what he was saying made sense. When he didn’t trust his eloquence beyond any of his other abilities.

“I see,” Puffy hummed in thought, “It’s not at all uncommon. Thoughts come and go faster than anyone can control. What do you usually do during spiraling like that?”
“It depends,” Wilbur admitted awkwardly, shrugging. He thought of days in the bunker, of running to a therapy office, barely having caught his breath yet, begging Puffy to fix him, of wanting to hold an ice cube in his hand until he could make his mind go quiet, of detailed descriptions in his mind of how to make someone break to his wishes. His voice shook darkly, “Usually nothing good.”

“Have you dealt with things like that before, as well? Or is it recent?”

“Both before and after my death.” he huffed quietly, not mentioning how it happened during limbo as well, because of course it did, but he couldn’t get it out of his mind that it didn’t count. It was too endless to count, “Before I tried to distract myself with things like L’Manberg. Now that doesn’t exist anymore.”

Puffy looked at Wilbur, as if she was picking her words carefully, “Do you sometimes feel as if you lack a purpose?”

Wilbur tensed with some surprise. He swallowed, “Maybe.” He replied, briefly.

“I’ve noticed that you’re… how do I phrase it- a goal-oriented person? Where having projects tends to give you guidance through your daily life and perhaps gives you enjoyment when you make progress. Is that correct?”

Wilbur felt some tension leaving him. Familiar goals, familiar allies, everyone agreeing and small disagreements remaining insignificant throughout the whole process. Waking up with purpose and going to sleep with plans. Even dreaming about it on occasion. “It is.”

“Then maybe a new project would help. Of course, overworking and using it as your only relief from thoughts like that isn’t a good call, but maybe having something to make progress on, could help you regain some sense of purpose. While I… don’t have any specific ideas that might suit your interests, I can brainstorm with you if that option seems appealing.”

“That…” Wilbur found a slow smile growing on his face. “Actually sounds really nice.”

Puffy beamed in response, parts of her worry about the suggestion fading away. “Perfect! Are there any ideas you have at the moment?”

Wilbur smirked and bit back a laugh. “Hot dog van.”

“Oh ha ha.” Puffy rolled her eyes and continued, “Is there some kind of general idea you have? Building, resource gathering- or perhaps a shop as a combination.”

Wilbur thought for a moment before responding. “I think a shop sounds nice. If I can’t control a nation, I might as well control the economy.” Wilbur chuckled to himself. “It’s an easy enough task.”

“Of course it is.” Puffy’s gaze easily rested on Wilbur. “Is there a specific product you’re thinking about selling?” 

“I mean, I'm not good at anything special- like painting or something like that? I don’t know, I don't think it’s easy to get a monopoly on anything anymore.”

Puffy hummed in thought as she took a sip from a coffee.

As Wilbur observed this action, his mind momentarily landed on a question he hadn’t even realized had been there in the first place, “Wait, how do you have coffee anyway? Literally no one else has coffee??”

“Oh!” Puffy perked up, “I brew it myself. I think someone told me a long time ago, before I remember it properly, but it must’ve stuck with me.”

Wilbur blinked, a thought coming to mind, “Does anyone else know how to make coffee?”

“I don’t believe so.” Puffy responded.

Immediately, Wilbur felt more awake than he had in ages, almost wanting to stand up from the chair, “I have an idea!” He exclaimed with a momentous gesture.

Puffy jumped a bit back with some surprise, “Excuse me?”

“I can make a coffee shop!” He explained, “It can have tables and all sorts of different flavors. Maybe they can even be numbered individually to make each customer feel like they’re getting a coffee edition that’s one of a kind! It’s an untapped market, Puffy!” he near-shouted, “An untapped market!”

“I admire your enthusiasm Wilbur, but you should take it one step at a time.” Puffy tried gently, though she didn’t stop one of her sparing genuine smiles from appearing on her lips.

Wilbur couldn’t stop a laugh as he took a breath, “I am. I will. Do you think you could teach me how to brew coffee?”

“I can make you a recipe,” Puffy agreed.

“Wonderful, wonderful.” Wilbur’s mind ran with possibilities. He hid his beaming grin for a mere moment, but he gave up as he looked at Puffy with excitement. “Instead of doing the normal therapy, can you just give me ideas like this?”

“You could say that I’m giving you ideas about how to go through your daily life.”

“You know what I mean, Puff.” Part of Wilbur’s body screamed with electricity as he shifted in his seat. He was buzzing, he was burning, he was alive. Yet it was different than when he was first revived. He didn’t desire the entire world to bend to his will- even though that would be a nice feeling- but he rather wanted something else. Not control nor power, but something else. Something exhilarating and new. 

He stood up with a start, the energy flowing through him within the quick motion. “I’ve got to get started.”

Puffy stood up as well, though in a calmer way. “I’ll leave you to it, but Wilbur?”

“Hm?”

“Remember to take breaks every now and then, okay?”

Wilbur nodded, though he somewhat rolled his eyes at the sentiment. She only viewed him as an excited child running with some scissors. A handful, a hassle, a harmful threat that would blow up a nation. Perhaps the last was more directed, but he still thought about it nonetheless. 

She was like Phil in a way. Caring, compassionate- no. She wasn’t like Phil at all. He didn’t know why the connection started forming despite nothing being present.

His own voice shocked him to a certain degree, “I- I’ll get going now.”

Puffy opened the door for Wilbur. “I’ll see you soon, Wilbur. I hope it all goes well.”

“Bye, Puffy!”

“Bye and goodbye.” He wore a traditional smile. Even past his insecurities, there was still a constant humming coursing through his veins.

He quickly walked out the door. Perhaps quicker than usual, but he was unsure if it was due to his long strides or his racing mind. He considered running to keep up to pace with his thoughts, but that would only tire him out. He could wait. For only a second, but he could wait. 

After turning across a few paths, he was finally able to hold a conversation with his ghost. “Is it like the potions?”

“What?”

“Coffee! It’s pretty much a speed potion right?”

Wilbur thought for a moment as he saw his small house in the distance. After clearing his satchel, he was bound to start collecting materials for his new project. A project. It warmed his heart to have one of those again.
“Wil?”

“Oh- sorry, what?” Before Ghostbur could speak, Wilbur remembered the original prompt. “Right! I suppose coffee’s similar, but I’d say it’s- more organic? It’s not made with blaze powder or anything like that.” Wilbur shrugged. “All I know is that it’s unique. And people want unique.”

The ghost’s voice was calculated and controlled as he was in deep thought. “This… feels familiar.” 

“In what way?”

“Somewhere in your memories. I-” Ghostbur let out a slow breath. “I can’t really describe it, but I know it.”

Wilbur swallowed thickly. “You’re thinking of L’Manberg. Or at least something similar to that.” He didn’t know why his voice choked up at the end. So he continued, “I was really excited to start that up. And I guess I am now too.” They say history repeats itself. They mostly say it for bad situations, the ones with bold arrogance and clear failure that goes down with their legacy. 

But this was different. At least it hopefully was. It wasn’t as big as L’Manberg, it was only a simple shop. Yet- L’Manberg didn’t start out so big either. It was something for his friends to rest, a simple meeting place. Luckily Ghostbur’s voice cut in, “I think I like L’Manberg. It seemed nice.”

“It was,” Wilbur replied with very little hesitation, though his voice shook in the process.

L’Manberg was at once the best and worst thing that had ever happened to Wilbur, to the point where it sometimes felt as if it was the only thing that had ever happened at all.

And towards the end, L’Manberg didn’t feel nice, didn’t feel like his, but perhaps the nation hadn’t been beyond saving. Perhaps it hadn’t needed to be his to thrive, even if it had ended up as a crater after all.

In truth, despite Wilbur’s initial certainty, he wasn’t quite sure what to think anymore. He’d once believed the nation had been poisoned, by himself, by the world, the world against him. That the only way to get rid of the poison was to take away the nation and himself along with it.

Wilbur continued walking until their home came into view. Back when he was building the house he’d placed a small mailbox just a few meters away from it. He’d hardly expected it to be much in use, but as he approached, he noticed that there was a mark on the side of it.

There was a letter for him.

Chapter Text

Wilbur cautiously stepped towards the mailbox, almost as if something would jump out and attack him if his actions weren’t slow and precise. It had been so long since he had received a letter, mixed memories flooded back to him in a flurry. There were the accomplishments he shared, there were the fake accomplishments he shared. Between the forgery and genuine pride, the letter in the mailbox seemed to stare at him with a mocking glare.

But who was Wilbur if he couldn’t open this? Not a commander, nor president, but rather- “I’ve got a letter.” The words fell near silent to the air, somewhat expecting to discuss the matter with himself rather than his persistent friend.

“Oooh! From who?”

“I… haven’t opened it yet.” Wilbur reached forward and grabbed it from inside. He inspected the front, clear, bolded writing on the front as it read, From Tubbo and Ranboo. He relaxed at that, the familiar names coming across. He didn’t know what else to expect, so why had he been expecting something else? “It’s uh- from Tubbo and Ranboo.” He fidgeted with the edge of the envelope, not making any clear attempt to actually open it.

He didn’t know if Ghostbur knew that or not, but his excited encouragement tasted more sour than it should have as he egged Wilbur on, “Open it, open it, open it.”

Wilbur complied, gently separating the two parts of the sealed parchment. He took out the letter and unfolded it, scanning the writing inside. It didn’t look like Tubbo’s organized messy handwriting from L’Manberg’s era, so he assumed it was his husband’s with the strange round letters greeting him so formally. 

Hello Wilbur,

We hope this finds you well. 

Tubbo and I are needing to go away, but we can't take Michael with us. It’s mostly political, and we hope you understand from there. Given how young he is and all, we need someone to look over him while we are gone. It’ll only be a day, possibly extending into the afternoon. Yet if it’s too much of a hassle with it being so last minute, we’ll understand with no blame placed. 

Wishing you the best and for a reply,

Tubbo & Ranboo

Wilbur repeated the words to Ghostbur and received an excited squeal. “It’s been forever since we’ve seen Michael.”

Wilbur chuckled. “It hasn’t been that long.” His small smile harshly froze. He didn’t want to figure out how many months had passed for Ghostbur. 

“I suppose it hasn’t,” Ghostbur agreed, and there was a heartbreaking mix of relief and melancholy in his voice, that Wilbur found it difficult to decipher. He decided against attempting to, instead letting the reality of the letter settle in.

Tubbo and Ranboo had asked Wilbur to babysit Michael. His eyes narrowed as he looked at the word “political”. What political reasons did Ranboo and Tubbo have to go away? 

Did they assume Wilbur has nothing better to do? That nothing of importance was happening in his life?

Wilbur Soot, former president and revolutionary, had been sidelined from whatever politics was happening on the server, in favor of babysitting a child.

A child who Wilbur, all things considered, shouldn’t even be trusted to protect.

He briefly thought about how it seemed Ranboo had penned the letter. Had Wilbur’s conversation with Ranboo made a good impression on the boy?

A part of Wilbur couldn’t help but feel as if this was a test, but that was one hell of a thing to sacrifice for a test.

“Are we going soon?”

Wilbur inhaled sharply, every part of him pulling in different directions. He was offended, he was relieved, he was terrified, he was ecstatic, he should run, he should-

Wilbur folded the letter and walked into his house. Before he knew it, he had formulated a response, and sent it off to Snowchester.

And that was how Wilbur, a mere two days later, found himself humbly standing in front of the grand mansion once more, hugging himself in the snow and wondering what paths in life had led him there.

For the past few days he had made blueprints for the foundation for his coffee shop, trying his best to take those breaks Puffy had recommended. Fresh air, walks, but very few conversations with anyone but Ghostbur.

Right then, he wished they had, because as he saw young Tubbo, gently waving at him to come closer, he felt as if he needed a refresher on how to speak at all.

“Wilbur, hello!” Tubbo said, a great deal more happiness paving his tone than the last time they had spoken. That was good. Wilbur hadn’t crushed it all completely. Though something still lingered between them. 

“Hello Tubs,” Wilbur said, his own voice almost surprising him.

“I’m really happy you could come with such short notice.”

Wilbur shrugged. Not for politeness, but rather a genuine motion. “No worries, big man. Is Michael inside?”

“Yep!” Tubbo slowly walked into the house, opening the large doors for Wilbur as well. Warmth flooded outside before the entrance was closed once again.

“What made you choose to live in such a cold place?” Even with his trenchcoat, the cold still bit at him angrily. The snow had always felt freezing, but maybe the constant temperature in limbo made him weaker. The thought that limbo made him weaker in any way did something to him.

“It’s away from everyone.” Tubbo furrowed his brow then continued, “Not that everyone is bad. But- it’s… it’s safer.” Tubbo’s voice softened. “Especially for Michael.”

Wilbur nodded once. He felt that pushing the topic would go into unwanted territory where he made everyone hate him again. But they must’ve been on good terms, right? To be trusted with Tubbo and Ranboo’s son- he hoped it was a good sign.

Tubbo called out into the house, “Ranboo! We should start heading out.”
It took a few moments for any kind of response, but a door from upstairs opened with the quiet reveal of piglin grunts. Ranboo made his way to the stairs, but with a small child wrapped around his leg. “C’mon, Michael. You’ve gotta get off now.” 

He tried gently shaking his head, but the toddler only grabbed the fabric tighter. Ranboo sighed and met Tubbo’s gaze for a moment before cautiously making his way down the stairs with the toddler attached to him.

Tubbo knelt down to Michael’s level, running a soft hand across his back. “Don’t worry, M, we’ll be back before you know it.” Michael shook his head into Ranboo’s pant leg. “You won’t be alone either. Uncle Wilbur can keep you company.”

Michael pulled away from his father, sparing a glance at Wilbur. A sad look still remained in his eyes, but he let go of Ranboo. Tubbo sympathetically opened his arms, to which Michael didn’t hesitate to hug him. “We’ll be back by tomorrow.” He leaned in and whispered. “If you’re good, Wil might give you some golden carrots.” 

Michael gave no response, but Tubbo still pulled away after a few moments. “Can you be a big man for me?” He offered a fist to Michael, and Wilbur watched distantly as the small piglin gave Tubbo a fistbump, the weakest smile going onto his face. 

Tubbo grinned in return, standing up and stretching his back in the process. “Let’s hit the road.” He bumped Ranboo’s shoulder as he walked by, the small action encouraging the enderman hybrid to walk with him.

Wilbur intently watched as they left, mentally preparing himself to keep a child safe, when he heard steps from outside the door. Someone was running towards it. Tubbo and Ranboo both quickly and awkwardly stepped aside, as Wilbur was met with the sight of a rushed Tommy, catching his breath. “Prime, I’m here now, you don’t have to leave already,” Tommy insisted with his usual brand of annoyed banter.

“Oh, hello Tommy,” Tubbo said with a small smile, “I’m glad you could make it.”

Glad he could make it?

“Right. Can’t abandon you in your hour of child-abandonment, or whatever,” he stated firmly.

Tubbo laughed, quickly and quietly. “The list of things to remember is on the fridge,” he said, looking from Wilbur to Tommy. Wilbur couldn’t help but feel as if it was only then, Tubbo remembered he was there. As if he was looking at Wilbur to remind himself. “Wilbur, Tommy’s here too. Michael can be a handful for just one person.

It was then Wilbur realized that Tubbo had been completely aware that Tommy was going to babysit along with Wilbur. That he had not intended to leave Michael in Wilbur’s hands alone. And perhaps that was responsible, all things considered.

But it gave Wilbur a sinking feeling that Tommy was just as much there to babysit Wilbur as Michael. He was still being treated as a child. He shouldn’t be surprised. It was quite standard at this point. Yet something between calm betrayal and melancholic understanding still weighed heavily in his chest. 

Tommy cheerfully spoke and nudged Wilbur’s shoulder. The action seemed to burn. “We can handle him though, right?”

Wilbur blinked at him, before remembering the previous conversation and nodding with a small smile. “Of course. He’s in safe hands.”

Soon enough, both Tubbo and Ranboo were gone, and Wilbur was left in the huge mansion, with Tommy and a toddler by his side. Tommy turned to him, with his usual grin, hiding a hint of something deeper. There was always something deeper these days.

Tell him some of what you told me, and you can both take a step away from each other.

Nope. Seeing him right there had only confirmed yet again, that that was not simply something he could do.

Besides, he had a different child to worry about, even if he wasn’t entirely his responsibility.

Wilbur started to speak with a small noise that Tommy coincidentally followed. They both stopped themselves and waited a moment in silence before Tommy quietly continued, “You can go first.”

Wilbur shook his head, because he really didn’t have an idea what he was going to say in the first place and he wasn’t going to let a teenager have more manners than him. “It’s fine. What were you going to say?”

Tommy let out a small laugh and Wilbur could practically hear the words before they even left him. “If you w-”

Harshness erupted in his voice, “Just speak, Tom.” Tommy flinched.

Flinched.

Wilbur took in a breath and tried to continue as if he didn’t say anything before. As if the days of Pogtopia weren’t haunting him with every syllable. “Say what you want to.” It still seemed like a command, an instruction meant for Tommy, but he didn’t want that. They were equals, not soldiers. They were babysitting. That was their shared goal, but it wasn’t down to life or death.

Tommy looked a bit off for a brief moment before she just shrugged, a bit of his usual smile teasing its arrival. He gave Michael a pat on the head, Michael grunting excitedly. It seemed to relieve some of the tension, but Wilbur could still sense it, like an uncut, thin line. “Just figured we should tour the cool house. See what things we can steal.”

Wilbur laughed, somewhat to relieve the tension, “Maybe we should look at their list first.”

Tommy groaned, “Parents and their lists.”

Wilbur himself, was quite fond of lists. He was just always unsure, when he wasn’t the one making them. Quite logically, it brought order and order generally brings calmness. But there was something else about it. A constant goal perhaps. A constant mission, a persistent thought- maybe not such passionate wording, but it brought expectations to an unpredictable world.

Wilbur easily walked to the fridge with Michael making light, quick steps to follow and Tommy another moment to join them. The list really wasn’t much, more-so some reminders about the color yellow, what to do in an emergency, and the general routine put into the household. Wilbur felt not exactly surprised, but almost disappointed at how lackluster the information on the piece of parchment was. Half of it he already knew, and the other half was easily guessed. 

But he supposed having it on paper was nice as well. 

Tommy spoke aloud some of the contents in a half-mumble, “Keep him inside, we have grass and bonemeal in some chests if he wants a flower- what the fuck?”

Wilbur defended the parents automatically. “I think he’s really active or something.”

Tommy scoffed, “Well if he’s active, he needs to go outside to burn it off.”

Wilbur raised an eyebrow, “To-”

“C’mon! It seems like a prison!” Tommy explained.

“I’ve seen them take Michael on walks.”

“Parole,” Tommy said somberly.

Wilbur laughed lightly. He opened his mouth, intending to say he missed hanging out with Tommy, but omissive words slithered out instead, “Mhm. You finally found out the secret agenda!” Wilbur threw on an evil look, overdramatized with a grand grin, “And to what will you do with such information, Tommyinnit?”

The full name felt weird to say, and it reflected through a flash in Tommy’s eyes as he looked down at Michael. “Oh my Prime- Michael, do you know what this means?!”

Michael looked from Wilbur to Tommy with an alarmed squeal. He jumped once, grabbed the teenager’s hand, and led him away. Tommy laughed on impulse, “I- I can’t run as fast as you when you’re pulling me down to your level!” But still, Tommy persisted to try to keep up with the excited toddler.

Wilbur shook his head to himself, the action not visible to anyone. “You can run, but you can’t hide!” He loudly stomped towards the direction they went, far-away, echoing footsteps giving away their path. 

Wilbur yelled a few miscellaneous things, some being vague threats, while others were outright silly. He even found Ghostbur laughing at some points. Wilbur took a small breath. He was enjoying himself. He was actually enjoying himself. The thought was new, but he didn’t have time to analyze it as he went into the room he knew the two boys were in. “Oh,Tommyyyy. Michaeeeeel.” 

He quickly opened a closet, “Aha! I-” He stopped himself when he realized it was just junk tossed in instead of the two missing criminals. Is that even what they were? They never exactly had time to establish characters, but Wilbur always enjoyed improvisation.

“Hmmm, and where could they be,” he said to the empty room- well, not exactly empty. He did know they were in there.

In fact, an amused grunt gave it away, the second he had spoken. He grinned as he walked to a box, items clumsily taken out of it. He opened it, finding Tommy with his back against it, holding little Michael with a finger on his mouth for him to be quiet. He made eye contact with Wilbur, the second the mischievous villain had opened it. “Fuck-” Tommy exclaimed, first with conviction after which it dissolved into a giggle.

“Don’t curse in front of the child, Tommy,” Wilbur chuckled, as Michael jumped up with an excited grunt at the sight of Wilbur, trying to climb out of the box to little avail until Wilbur lifted him up.

“Ha!” Tommy said, standing up inside of the box, “You are acknowledging that I am legally an adult who can curse and has responsibilities and shit.”

“No,” Wilbur said with a laugh, “You are a child, cursing in front of a child. Shouldn’t even be possible.”

“I’m Built Different,” Tommy nodded somberly.

The rest of the day progressed easier than Wilbur expected of anything these days. The two of them had played with Michael’s bastillion, with Wilbur, of all the ironies of fate, acting as the general. Halfway through the game he’d promoted Michael to act in his place, while Tommy had crossed his arms declaring the unfairness of it all. Michael, on the other hand, had ended up becoming distracted by drawing with a red crayon on a piece of paper shortly after his promotion. 

Wilbur had started cooking for all of them, Tommy demanding to be included for some of the process. It eerily reminded Wilbur of the few communal dinners back at the beginning of L’Manberg, that had become less and less frequent overtime. Soon enough however, Tommy had to leave the uncut vegetables be, in order to save Michael from chewing on one of the books Tommy had taken out of the box for hide and seek. 

All in all, Michael was just as tired as his parents had recommended he should be, when Wilbur carried him to bed. He still stubbornly refused that it was bedtime (despite the language barrier, those gestures seemed rather universal), but he beamed when Tommy pointed out that the list had talked about bedtime stories in picture books, which Wilbur soon discovered at the bedside.

Wilbur opened the book, finding clearly hand drawn art inside of them, some with contributions from Michael himself. He recognized Tubbo’s penmanship, and potentially Ranboo’s too. He remembered the handwriting from the books in the bunker, if more playfully clumsy. As he flipped through one of the books (“Blaze and his Big Bad Day”), it was clear that this was a homemade children’s story. Most of the stories children were told didn’t include creatures from the nether as it tended to scare children upon the first encounter. 

But as Wilbur looked to Michael, he supposed it made sense. The small child was far from his original home and such a transition must have been difficult. Maybe the books helped bring a sense of peace, or maybe they only discomforted him. It’s not like he could really ask. 

Even if he could, what kind of answer would he have expected? If the toddler truly felt torn away from his homeland, exiled from everything he knew then wh-

Tommy cleared his throat, effectively interrupting Wilbur’s thoughts. Maybe that was for the best. 

Wilbur began reading from the book, it was quite simple in style and structure, causing easy nostalgia to flow through the pages. He noticed how Michael first eagerly wanted to look at the pictures, then slowly transitioned to closing his eyes and somewhere after, he fell into a deep slumber. Wilbur still read the book for an extra minute or two, waiting a spare second to ask if the toddler was still awake.

Silence settled into the house.

Peaceful silence. 

Chapter Text

Peace rarely ever lasted. Wilbur had been aware of this for years, both in life and in death. It came in waves of concern, and fear, and Wilbur was not the sort to let his guard down, even in moments of peace. And perhaps, more often than not, his very intention of being prepared for the worst, was occasionally what ended the peace in the first place.

He was unsure what was the case, when he saw Tommy grinning so widely, joking about the children’s book with such a simplistic plot and many loopholes. A grin directed at Wilbur, that indicated some bond between them, that perhaps Wilbur could sense too. One that proved so sincerely that Tommy was a child. Maybe it was his tendency to ruin peace, to blow it into pieces. Or perhaps, it was the fact that the bond Tommy was sensing in that moment wasn’t quite reaching. The fact that Wilbur wanted so desperately to hold onto the thing Tommy wanted to have there. The fact that Wilbur felt as if he could rely on Tommy’s loyalty, and how perhaps that wasn’t good in the end. Maybe it was therapy.

Regardless, Wilbur soon caught words escaping him, falling from his tongue like sandpaper, “Tommy. Today- today has been nice.”

And that triggered something in Tommy’s eyes. Something hesitant, his guard going back up even if he tried his best to hide it. It only served to tug at Wilbur’s chest. To remind him of what he was trying to do, and why he was trying to do it, because why would such a peaceful statement be worthy of putting one's guard up for? “I mean, yeah I guess so.” Tommy said, something teasing entering his tone, “What, are you going soft now?”

Wilbur wanted to joke back. Wanted to take the statement as a challenge, and throw away everything he was going to say. And yet, his mind drifted back to Puffy’s words, drifted back to when Tommy hit him, drifted back to Wilbur placing his hand firmly on Tommy and demanding answers. He thought of the days in the bunker, and of the thoughts that consistently crept into his mind and spread all throughout until he couldn’t grasp anything consistent. He thought of getting shot, of rushing into danger, of the sound of tnt, the touch of his hand on a button, and a child always ready to be at his side. Of guilt, of unearned forgiveness, and the unproductive thoughts about irredeemability. “Tommy I-” he cut himself off, taking a quick breath and avoiding eye contact for a moment, “Tommy when I’m here, it’s very easy to feel as if things are back to the way they were.”

“I mean Tubbo has a fucking child, but go on,” Tommy jabbed jokingly.

Wilbur didn't have the time to laugh if he wanted to say the things that needed to be said. “No yes, I mean, things have changed, but… When we talk and joke around it feels like old times and Tommy…” he felt his breath turning shaky, as he for a brief second dared to meet Tommy’s eyes, “Those old times… They weren’t- they weren’t good .”

Tommy frowned, something darker showing up in his expression abruptly. Wilbur wondered if he was thinking of times that had been good. Perhaps he was thinking of early L’Manberg, or perhaps he too, received flashes of Pogtopia. 

More than anything, Wilbur saw a hint of guilt in his eyes and he was quick to add, “It’s not your fault, Toms, that’s not what I’m saying. But I…” his voice faltered, like the sound after you were stabbed. As if something was stabbing him, making it harder for him to speak. “Tommy, I’m not well,” he just said, quick and quiet.

The words hung in the air for what felt like longer than it probably was, before Tommy retorted, “What do you mean?” He sounded angry, perhaps sad, betrayed. It was difficult to place, but it was a demand for something regardless.

“The last thing I did before I died was blow up a fucking nation.” Wilbur said, the words tumbling out of him, “I spent more than thirteen years in total isolation. Tommy, since I’ve been back, I’ve been spiraling like crazy!”

Tommy was reacting to the words with confusion rather than responses then, something vaguely sympathetic appearing in his expression. Wilbur could tell that Tommy was associating this with some of Wilbur’s other breakdowns. It almost seemed as if what he heard was someone asking for help, which was the opposite of what Wilbur was trying to do.

“I can put it aside sometimes.” Wilbur added, “And it’s getting better, I promise it is. But Tommy, it’s really not your responsibility.”