Chapter Text
Tommy could count the times he had a bloodthirsty yearning to witness his family’s painful demise with both hands. But, the feeling never belonged to him.
“We’ve got another vengeful ghost who wants us to join its army of the dead!” Tommy warned. He disgruntledly realized he was all out of fingers and looked to his feet, continuing the count on his toes.
Perks of being a spirit empath: Tommy always knew what kind of ghost they were dealing with.
Downfalls of being a spirit empath: The dead weren’t usually in the best of moods. Despair, fury, vengeful, grief-Tommy got to experience it all. He’d give almost anything to have a job where they were being paid to vanquish a happy ghost.
From a room down the hall, Wilbur called, “I’ve got sight of it!”
Tommy huffed in annoyance. Wilbur had it so easy-he had ghost vision. His eyes could see not just color, but heat. Spirits were colder than the physical world and its residents, and thus were walking freezer alarms in Wilbur’s eyes.
He followed the eldest team member and his pseudo father, Philza, an aging man who Tommy had never seen without his green striped bucket hat, down the hallway to where Wilbur had caught sight of their ghoul. Tommy wasn’t too worried about being swayed to murder his team. He could feel the heat of anger scorching his veins, but it was manageable. Tommy knew this feeling wasn’t his, and that repeated mantra dwindled down the resentment to vexation.
The room Tommy and Philza entered was bare besides a few empty cardboard boxes and dust bunnies gathered in the corners. The wallpaper was peeling and the room had an underlying foul odor. The emptiness made sense, since they were hired to rid the rumored haunted residence of any spirits so that someone would finally move into the abandoned house. The last couple spoke feverishly of things moving in the night and footsteps tapping in the attic, and the small town quickly latched onto their fear.
Wilbur didn’t acknowledge their entrance, his eyes trained on the corner of the room. Technoblade, his eldest brother, stood beside Wilbur staring at the same corner, though all Techno would be able to see is air. He, however, turned around at their entry.
“Is it going to be an easy containment, Phil?” Techno asked.
Tommy scoffed, “It’s Philza fucking Minecraft. Of course it’s an easy containment.”
Philza was key in making sure their ghost didn’t escape. He could trap a ghost in any place so that they could get rid of it, as long as he had the energy and was in the same location. They were always in the same place as the ghost they had to catch, so location was never a concern. All Philza had to do was keep his energy up, and Tommy had never once seen him run out of strength.
Philza chuckled in amusement, “I got this, mate. Tommy doesn’t seem like he actually wants to murder us, so the ghost can’t be too powerful.”
“The ghost isn’t weak. I’m just incredibly strong.” Tommy said as his gut twisted in aggravation. He took a deep breath to calm the rising anger. It came with getting in closer proximity with the ghost-the closer the spirit, the stronger their link in emotions became.
Philza closed his eyes and gripped the splintered door frame, standing as a barrier in front of the open door. His lips moved silently, mouthing words in a language Tommy did not understand. There were no noticeable changes in the room, but when Philza’s eyelids opened, his irises illuminated a luminescent blue, as light as arctic ice.
A spike of fear jumped in Tommy’s chest as Philza finished his incantation. Their ghost was intimidated by the astral barrier Philza created. Despite their shared anxiety, Tommy grinned.
“Our ghost is officially trapped in the room.” Phil announced as the group gave a small cheer. “Finish it off, Techno.”
Technoblade was a sturdy man with long, pink hair that contrasted his stoic face. Out of the four of them, he had the coolest job. Tommy, Wilbur, and Philza identified, found, and trapped ghouls. But, Technoblade got to beat shit up.
Techno lowered to the dusty ground and sat on his knees, the wood softly groaning under his weight. He straightened his back and inhaled deeply as he turned his head up to look at the ceiling. As Techno exhaled and shut his eyes, it was as if a switch was flipped. His rigid posture folded as he collapsed onto himself, resting his torso on his knees.
The first time Tommy had seen Technoblade’s ritual, it frightened him. The way Techno’s large figure could fit so tightly together, making the man so small, was a contrast to the way Technoblade carried himself. Techno looked vulnerable, as he breathing shallowed and he fell unresponsive to the physical world.
Now, Tommy knew better than to be scared. While small and unconscious in Tommy’s world, Technoblade was a warrior in the ghost’s world-the astral plane.
Technoblade could remove his consciousness and project his astral body away from his physical body and into the astral plane, where spirits reside. Tommy could only see glimpses of ghosts from the physical plane he, and everyone else, was stuck on. They had no access to ghosts, but Techno did. Ghost hunters and priests could temporarily vanquish or put a barrier on spirits appearing in this world. But, the only way to truly get rid of them was to take them out in the astral plane. That’s where Technoblade came in.
It’s what made them such esteemed ghost hunters-at least, in the small town where they received all their jobs.
Tommy never learned exactly what went on when Technoblade left to the astral plane. Despite how fascinating travelling to the spirit world to beat up ghosts sounded, Techno never seemed eager to speak about his experiences. But, at the very least, Tommy knew Techno was good at what he did.
“I think Techno’s got it,” Wilbur announced. “The ghost keeps fading in and fading out-it’s getting weaker.” His eyes darted wildly across the room, witnessing vague tellings of Techno’s battle.
Techno’s body remained motionless and silent on the floor, showing no signs of a struggle. With Wilbur’s eyes and hints from the physical plane, it was easy to interpret what was happening behind the scenes. Victory seemed to be in their favor.
It was no shock when Technoblade slowly opened his eyes, blinking himself back to reality. He stretched out his arms and flexed his fingers with a lazy look in his eyes. Tommy felt irritation slowly fade from his system.
Philza waited a few seconds to allow Techno to collect his bearings before extending him a hand, helping lift him from the ground. Phil’s hands hovered around Techno, ready to hold him steady, as Techno regained stability on wobbly legs. It must be disorienting, travelling from one plane of existence to another so quickly. Yet, Techno never complained.’
“So, Blade, how was it?” Tommy asked excitedly.
Technoblade shrugged, dismissive as ever. “It was easy. Barely a fight.”
“You did good, mate,” Philza praised. “All of you.”
Once Techno recovered, the four made their way out of the room and towards the front door of the compact house. As they exited the doorway where Phil had casted the astral barrier, Phil’s eyes dulled back to their azure hue. With Phil’s presence gone, the barrier lifted.
As Tommy stepped outside, he was greeted by the sun beaming brightly, its rays shimmering in the sky.
Wilbur raised his head towards the sun and extended his arms out, taking in a deep breath of the warm air. “I love it when we finish a job quick and easy. It’s nice to be done when the sun is still out.”
Tommy had to agree. This job was one of their smoother undertakings. The pinpricks of anger he felt in the house had already dissipated. Tommy never realized until it was over, but there was a tenseness that came with sharing the sensations of the dead, even when he was certain he had it under control. He basked in the relief of releasing the housed emotions of spirits from his system.
“Are you chilly, Will? Can’t handle the side effect of ghost vision?” Tommy teased.
Wilbur could see spirits at the expense of his own body. His eyes extracted heat from his body, which was what allowed him to view the world around him in temperature and track the spirits. Tommy didn’t see the big fuss about it. Wilbur always wore a heavy yellow jumper over an excessive amount of layers. Tommy was sure that if Wilbur decided he wanted to climb Everest at this moment, he’d be prepared.
“I don’t get ‘chilly,’ Tommy,” Wilbur defended. “My insides feel like they’re going to freeze over. It’s painful!”
“Sorry, Will. I couldn’t hear you complain about the draft in the house-I’m trying to control the murderous urge the ghost gave me and not kill you.”
Philza stepped between Wilbur and him and raised his hands to silence them. “Both of you have a very difficult life being paid to be Ghostbusters with superpowers. Now, let’s go home.”
Tommy glared at Wilbur, but let the subject drop. Philza led them to the car, sliding in through the front door and starting the ignition. Tommy and Wilbur followed, about to enter into the passenger seats, when Techno sneaked behind them and whispered,
“My power is both the coolest and hardest to deal with.”
Tommy let out a strident squawk of disagreement, quickly climbing in the car as Techno settled in the front next to Phil. A heated argument ranking powers and their consequences filled up the car ride home. Tommy had a stronger urge to beat up his brothers over their stubborness to admit he was the “biggest man” than the ghost ever gave him.
Being a ghost hunter never left much free time.
In a town where rumors spread fast and story-telling was its residents’ favorite pastime, there always seemed to be a new cause for investigation. Most of the time, it was nothing but fiction mixed with superstition. But, they were being paid to investigate, which meant checking it out anyway.
It also meant doing hours worth of research. Checking the background of any potential ghosts in the house, such as how its residents died and if they were sinister, allowed Tommy to anticipate what he would be feeling. However, a lot of the time, they stumbled upon dead ends or mistellings. Other times, there was no information at all. Technoblabe preached never to go into a job unprepared. He was right, but researching was a tedious, time-consuming chore, and it never benefitted them as much as Tommy wished it would.
Investigations were often unpredictable, and always draining. But, it was Tommy’s job. They were always on the clock.
It was no surprise when mere hours after they arrived to their apartment, lounging on the couch with the television idly playing in the background, that Philza’s phone rang. Still, Tommy clenched his fist in fatigued annoyance.
“Let it ring. We just got home.” Tommy whined.
Phil let the device sing for a moment before shooting him a sympathetic glance and reaching out to grab it. As Philza tapped to answer the phone, Wilbur shifted his body away from the television and trained his eyes towards Phil, carefully watching the phone in his hand. Technoblade stayed quiet, resting his eyes as he sat still, pressed into the corner of the sofa. He fell into an easily aggravated mood after entering the astral plane, and Tommy learned to let him sort it out quietly.
Phil nodded as he chatted with the caller. He always kept his voice calm and casual, despite typically receiving callers in hysterics.
“Uh-huh. Okay. Don’t worry mate, we’ll be there,” Phil assured, wishing the caller his best. Tommy shot a glance at Wilbur. His eyes never left Phil’s phone.
“I’m not going.” Wilbur stated quickly as Phil set down his phone, not giving him a chance to speak. “If the job’s tomorrow, I mean.”
As Phil’s expression fell, Tommy immediately knew Wilbur was out of luck.
Apparently, Wilbur did too, as he hastily continued, “My band has a gig tomorrow. It’s important.”
Wilbur had always loved music and recently put together a band, Lovejoy, with a few of his mates. For a while, they only played music for themselves. Although recently, they had started gaining recognition in their small town and had been asked to play at a couple of bars and cafes.
“Wilbur, don’t start,” Phil said. “You know what I’m going to say.”
“It’s for the Beebox Music Festival. This could be the gig.” Wilbur pleaded. “Everyone’s going to be there.”
Philza sighed, rubbing his temples, as if they had this conversation dozens of times. They sort of did. “Are you going to be making money from performing?”
Wilbur hesitated briefly, messily running his hand through his curly hair. “No. But, I’ll make connections.”
Phil looked up at Wilbur sullenly. “You know that’s not good enough. Not when we have a job, a paying one, that we need to go to.”
Wilbur looked down dejectedly, fists clenched and eyebrows pinched together. Tommy gnawed at his bottle lip anxiously as the tension in the room thickened, eyes flickering from Philza to Wilbur. This argument was not a one-time occurrence. Wilbur never showed much fondness to the idea of ghost hunting, and as word of Lovejoy spread, any pinpricks of interest he had were quickly diminishing. But, Wilbur was essential to getting the job done. He was the only one he could see the ghosts in the physical plane, and it was near impossible to track down spirits without him.
Tommy thought Wilbur had conceded to Philza’s verdict when suddenly he rose from his position next to Tommy. His dejection had been replaced by a determined look in his eyes. “I’m going. So either postpone the investigation or go without me.”
Phil stood and grasped Wilbur’s arm as Wilbur moved to step away from the living room. “I’m serious, Wilbur,” Philza warned, his voice rising dangerously. “Be responsible. Don’t make me be the bad guy and force you to go.”
Wilbur laughed incredulously, ripping his arm from Phil’s hold and using it to gesture wildly. “So you see it then? You’re being a bad guy.”
“I’m being an adult!” Philza asserted. “Something you clearly don’t understand yet.”
Crash!
A large smash, followed by a vibrating clatter, suddenly echoed in the room. The two quickly fell silent. Technoblade stood by the television, hands digging into his hair. Across the room on the floor laid a hurled television remote, its back unlatched. The remote’s batteries spun across the floor before slowly coming to a halt between Philza’s and Wilbur’s feet.
“Shut up.” Techno growled. “Both of you.”
Techno was visibly controlling his breathing as he glared at the yelling figures. Fingers still digging into his scalp, Technoblade staggered out of the room and through the front door, disappearing into the night.
Philza and Wilbur wordlessly watched him escape. They briefly spared one another a glance before trudging off to their respective rooms, spreading the tension throughout the entire apartment.
All who remained in the room was Tommy, who hadn’t moved a muscle since the argument began. He sat in silence, staring blankly ahead of him before Philza’s phone rang loudly, vibrating on the wooden coffee table.
Huffing, Tommy grabbed the phone and slammed his finger on the screen’s red X, hanging up on the caller. He flung the phone at the wall and watched it clunk to the floor, lying next to the remote.
It was grueling, feeling more exhausted around ghost hunters than ghosts.