Chapter Text
Tommy is not much of what he used to be. A shell of himself.
He doesn’t feel much these days, instead life drags on as he goes through the motions. Things that once excited him now feel like a chore, and there is emptiness behind every corner.
His house is empty, friends long gone. Tubbo doesn’t talk to him anymore. Not since he exiled him. It hurts, in ways nothing should ever hurt. It makes him feel hollow on the inside.
And then Ranboo was gone, and now Tubbo is left empty too, just like Tommy. Maybe they’d be good friends again because of that, Tommy thinks to himself, laughing dryly.
It seems like his only companion in this life is Friend, and even the sight of the little blue sheep invokes a strange, sad feeling. Everyday, every time he sees Friend, it only reminds him of Wilbur, of Ghostbur, of what he’s lost.
Today he is walking out to Friend’s pasture outside of his small house. Sometimes he doesn’t want to do this. Most days he doesn’t want to get out of bed. (Why would he, when there’s nothing left to live for?) But he knows he has too. So on go his boots and coat, and the chill morning air hits him right in the face, as it does every morning, as it has always done for what seems like forever, but is really only a few months.
A heavy bucket of water and bushels of hay are tucked under his arm. The sky is gray, the color of dove, and the chilly morning air bites at his fingers. He reminds himself to make a pair of gloves soon. For now, steam floats up from the bucket, keeping his hands somewhat warm. IIt feels strangely comforting. He always heats Friend’s water before taking it out, so it doesn’t freeze immediately in the colder months.
The grass crunches beneath his feet- it must have frosted the night before- and he can see his breath in the air. He reaches Friend’s pasture, and opens it, setting the bucket down.
He calls for Friend, raspy voice carrying slowly through the cold air. He waits. A minute or so, and then Friend wanders sleepily out through the doors of the small barn Tommy has built for him, and walks over to him.
Tommy pats him on the head, fingers sinking through Friend’s shorn coat that is already growing back, soft and squishy, cornflower blue. Friend bleats happily, nosing the hay with his little snout as Tommy kneels down to grab the bucket. He lifts it, and pours it into Friend’s water bucket. Friend, distracted from his hay already, stumbles over to the water trough, sniffs it suspiciously, and then begins to drink.
Tommy stands for a minute, watching Friend drink and then slides down against the fence and sits down. He’s only just woken up and he’s already bored and exhausted. That’s how it is everyday. Every day, he wakes up, and sees Friend, and every day it is a painful reminder of what he’s lost. First he loses Wilbur, and then he loses Ghostbur. The universe decided to take from him, and it took everything he had.
Sometimes he sings. It’s the only thing that makes him feel better. Songs that Wilbur used to play on his guitar, ancient songs that Philza taught him, years and years ago, sung around campfires. His voice is still scratchy, it was never quite the same after the smoke and explosions and screaming of L’manburg, but it always carried nicely through the air as he rebuilt the shattered world around him.
Someone had once told him that birds sing in the early morning as a way of telling each other “I’m alive, I made it through the night”, and maybe, maybe this is just Tommy’s way of saying “I’m alive. I made it.”
Tommy is seventeen and he is too old. Where did the time go? It’s slipping through his fingers like sand in an hourglass and all he can remember is war, war and smoke and blood and broken brotherhood. He tries desperately to remember the days when he was twelve and sparred with Techno and sat on the porch in the muggy June heat while Wilbur strummed his guitar but he cannot remember, and that is what scares him most.
Tommy is seventeen and he is too young. He is too young to have these scars on his hands, and too young to have known so much war, and too young to be trying to heal.
He misses Ghostbur, his naivety and endless happiness. He remembers when he was that way too. When sadness had never touched him, and he was always motivated, excited for life, leading revolutions, fighting in wars. He was just a kid.
But something else about Ghostbur reminds him of himself. He’s been thinking about this for a while, the past couple of months. It’s a feeling that nags at his soul. It’s been there, it’s always been there, from the day he first saw the ghost of Wilbur, to the day Wilbur showed back up, flesh and bones, fully alive, under the ruins of the control room with a white streak in his hair.
Friend finishes up drinking his water, and wanders over, sitting beside Tommy. Instinctively, he runs his fingers over Friend’s soft ears, and Friend curls up next to him.
Ghostbur wasn’t completely Wilbur, Tommy thinks to himself. He was like a part of Wilbur. (Just like Tommy is a shell of himself, missing emotions and memories, beaten, broken, but alive)
Ghostbur is like a shell of Wilbur too. Only happy memories, only happiness. No memory of any of the bad things, incapable of feeling pain or bad feelings.
Ghostbur is only the good things. None of the bad. Maybe that’s why Tommy likes him. (liked him, not likes him) Ghostbur was some sort of comfort to Tommy- the one last piece of Wilbur he could hold on to.
Friend bleats and curls up closer to him. Tommy closes his eyes and goes back to the memory of when Wilbur was first revived. It’s not something he likes to do often, but something about it is grounding, and real.
“Friend? Who the fuck is that?”
He takes a deep breath, almost choking on how frozen the air is. He can hear Wilbur sneer.
And then it hits Tommy. He’s been wandering through his life the last few months, muddling through the clouds, without realizing this. He understands now. It hits him like the cold winter breeze that is blowing all around him right now
Revivebur can’t remember. Just like Ghostbur. But he can’t remember the happy things. That’s why he didn’t remember Friend. It’s why he doesn’t seem to care about Niki anymore. It’s why he doesn’t remember all of the halcyon memories of the past, of singing songs around the campfire, strumming his guitar while Tommy, Tubbo, Fundy, Niki, and Jack sang along. They are two halves of the same person, Ghostbur and Revivebur.
He looks down at Friend, and Friend looks back up at him. He scratches between Friend’s ears, and Friend bleats happily, once again. “Friend, big man, I think- I think I might’ve just figured something out.”
He has to tell someone about this, and not just a sheep. He loves Friend, but Friend can’t understand him. He stands up so suddenly, his vision goes a little black and spotty. He knows what to do. He’s going to get Wilbur back.
It then hits him that he has no friends (besides Friend) to tell this to. Tubbo won’t talk to him, and is probably busy mourning his best friend anyway. Maybe Puffy? But he’s not sure Puffy is the right person to talk to.
He’s going to have to go to the only people who will understand this. They’re not on good terms, but they were, once, long ago. Technoblade and Philza.
Scratch that, they are definitely not on good terms. But Philza is old, and wise, and other shit. He knows how this kind of thing works. Probably. He might help Tommy.
Technoblade is another story. Tommy knows he helped Dream escape from Pandora’s Vault. He also knows that it wasn’t because they were friends, it was simply a matter of favors. But there are other reasons they aren’t on good terms, reasons that Tommy does not want to think of right now.
Tommy scratches Friend’s head one more time. “I gotta go.” He jumps back up. His fingers are still cold, but now he doesn’t care. He flings open the fence gate and walks out.
He turns and looks back to the little blue sheep, giving him a wave. He musters up as much courage as he can, trying to sound happy, even if it’s just for a sheep. Puffy always said animals could feel your emotions though, so he’ll do it anyway. “Bye Friend! I’ll miss you big man!” He slams the fence gate, and then breaks into a run, on his way to his house.
He opens his oak door. It’s warm inside his house, he got his stove going this morning. He begins to pack what he’s going to need for his plan.
Tommy rummages around in his chests, pulling out food, old armor that he has no use for, blue dye.
He’s not sure exactly what he’s gonna do, but it’s alright. He’ll figure it out. If Technoblade and Philza won’t help him, he’ll do it himself.
He is Tommyinnit, Big Man and he is going to get Wilbur back. Not just Ghostbur. But all of Wilbur. All of him.
He’s going to get his brother back.
And so he opens the door, and the sun behind the clouds and the chilly air feels harsh on his skin, but it’s a challenge he’s ready to take on.