Archive of Our Own ^beta

Sometimes he would remember, if he tried really hard. If he tried really really hard. It took all his focus and so much time, but if he tried really hard, he could remember the truth, however horrible it turned out to be. 

It felt like he was betraying himself when he remembered something bad. It hurt. He felt guilt at the memory. Not just because the bad thing happened and he did nothing to stop it, but because he was remembering when he wasn’t supposed to. It was Ghostbur who saw everything. It was Ghostbur who should have remembered- not him. And Wilbur tried so so hard to separate that thing from himself, but the more he remembered, the more guilt he felt, and he realized he was much more connected to the ghost than he ever wanted to be. 

Which hurt in many ways. Yes, one being that he was there and wasn’t able to stop the bad things from happening, but the other- the biggest one- being that he wasn’t Ghostbur anymore.  

Not that he didn’t want to be alive, though maybe he could argue for it, but the cheerful spirit that was separated from him after death was all he had. He thinks. It was all his graciousness and all his innocence. It was all his kindness and all his love. It was his drive to live, and be better, and look at the world in a better light. It was him in the best sense, but also nothing like him. 

That was the problem. 

And the more Wilbur fought to remember, the more hopeless it all seemed. What was he left with, then? What was he revived into? The very worst of himself? 

He wasn’t a good person. He knew that. Through all stages of life and death, he knew that he wasn’t a good person. He might have been at some point. Maybe before all this, when it was just him and his friends and his sons, but only maybe. Because, while there was no real evidence- not like there was now- Wilbur remembered not even believing he was a good person back then. 

Maybe some people were just broken. Fundamentally. He played with the idea back when he was a small, rotten kid. Maybe he was just broken, not meant to live for far too long. He came out wrong, from skin to bone, maybe Wilbur was just a horrible person who could never live an honest and good life, and maybe this was just what happened when fundamentally broken people were left to grow up. 

So if all his goodness was in Ghostbur, and Ghostbur was left to rot somewhere, what was he left with? He couldn’t believe it was the very very worst of himself. He wasn’t like how he was in Pogtopia, but he was still a mess. He wasn’t angry anymore. Sometimes he was. In the beginning, he thinks he was angry at a lot of things, and even the sole fact that he was alive again. But that anger was short-lived, and now Wilbur was left with something he couldn’t describe well. 

He twisted the threaded thing in between his thumb and index finger, looking into it expressionlessly. It was twisted and bulky. It was loose, but so well knotted at the ends that it wouldn’t fall apart. Colored white and yellow, with a few threads of blue, Tommy gave the bracelet to him without so much as a word. 

What seemed like ages ago, but only an hour before this, Tommy pressed it into Wilbur’s hand almost aggressively, holding it there until he felt Wilbur’s hand slightly curl around his own. That was when he took his own hand back quickly, leaving the bracelet there. 

It was a thing Wilbur would have teased him about at some point in his life. Maybe in Pogtopia, because at some other point in his life, he would have cooed at the gesture and opened his arms. And at some point in his life, Tommy would have run into them. At some other point, he would roll his eyes and tease Wilbur for being so affectionate. Maybe Wilbur would have teased him an hour ago too if he had the mind for it. He didn’t really know why he didn’t. 

But instead, he stared at the bracelet in the palm of his hand wordlessly, mouth slightly agape, like he was confused. He wasn’t though. 

Wilbur saw two bracelets on Tommy’s wrist. One was flatter, but still made from bulky threads- maybe wool- and was blue and white. One was purple and much messier. Much, much worse and much bigger than the one Tommy gave him. But it stayed around his arm, and the two bracelets sat by each other, unmoving. Tommy sometimes hid them under long sleeves but he never took them off. Wilbur had assumed they were from Tubbo and Ranboo, and while he could tease Tommy, he never did. 

Just like he wouldn’t pick at him then. 

Maybe it was because it had been only a few days since they had confronted Dream- since he was told what happened in exile. Wilbur had tried so hard not to think of exile since then. Tommy told him all he had needed or wanted to know. There was no detail in what was explained to him. He didn’t want detail. What could he do with that? Feel worse? 

Doing what he could and giving Tommy his discs without Dream’s attachment didn’t feel like enough, but he had no idea how to go about anything else without endangering others. It wasn’t absolute healing, but it was something. Remembering exile would only make an act that already felt purely symbolic feel useless. He couldn’t protect Tommy. He was right there- or at least some part of him was- and he could protect Tommy at all. 

So for a while, since then, he didn’t want to remember anything about exile. He didn’t want to remember anything about Ghostbur and he didn’t want to remember anything about Dream. He simply would accept it all as a failure. He couldn’t apologize. He couldn’t do anything about it. It wasn’t about him, but he’d only feel worse, and he-

He was just broken. Fundamentally. Wilbur was a terrible, horrible, rotten person, and he deserved to feel worse, but he was amazing at avoiding that feeling.  

Until Tommy pressed so hard into his hand that at first, he thought it was a joke. Maybe Tommy had some kind of bug in there- he used to do that when he was younger, back when Wilbur fucking hated bugs. Not that he was fond of them now either. Tommy would tell him to open his hand, just like he had now, and let go of some worm or beetle just to run away laughing. So Wilbur was ready to roll his eyes and sigh, telling Tommy he was a little too old for this. 

Some part of him would smile, maybe. Or it would want to. Maybe he would as Tommy was running away, laughing like he had just gotten away with some great crime. Some part of him would relish in the fact that, however childish it was, his little boy was laughing at something. Even if it was at his expense. He was laughing. 

But instead, he left a bracelet in Wilbur’s hand, and did not laugh, and wouldn’t make eye contact with him. 

Wilbur had no idea how long he looked into his hand before Tommy left him with his thoughts, but there was no parting goodbye or any other sharp words that they began to tell each other in place of a goodbye. There was nothing. He was just suddenly alone, with no idea how to feel about anything. 

He found himself in what was left of the button room. He had no idea why he kept coming there- it wasn’t particularly pleasant. But he found himself there often, leaning against the cold stone, staring dead into the hole his nation once stood. 

Sometimes, he felt nothing there. Wilbur liked that feeling. Total and complete apathy. When he was younger, he despised it. It was better to be so angry you could destroy worlds and so sad you could fill an ocean than to feel nothing at all. He would walk to his father’s room and lay on the bed, face down, whether or not Phil was there at all. When Phil was there, he’d rub Wilbur’s back until the young boy started to cry, and he would ask no questions about it. Not even when Wilbur was done crying. When Phil wasn’t there, he would just lay, and the feeling would get worse and worse and worse until he wondered if it would be better to die than live with this. 

Now, it felt like the only relief he had. The pit in his stomach that he felt as a child whenever he realized the nothingness was creeping onto him again now felt like comfort, but only in the sense that he knew this meant peace- or the closest thing he could now get to it. 

Sometimes when he looked out there was an overwhelming sense of loss. Sometimes regret and sometimes he mourned, though he really wasn’t sure he had the right to. Didn’t he cast the first stone? He had come to learn the pit wasn’t all his fault, but he had paved the path to the nation’s ultimate destruction, even before the button was pressed. He made it a home. He gave it a name and gave it meaning. And nothing meaningful was built to last. 

But now, finding himself in what was left of the button room, leaned against the cold stone, he was looking at the bracelet in-between his thumb and index finger. It was twisted and bulky. It was loose, but so well knotted at the ends that it wouldn’t fall apart. It was colored white and yellow, with a few threads of blue, and Wilbur’s gut soured the longer he looked at it. 

He was focused. So focused that he remembered handing Tommy a bracelet of his own at one point. One that almost looked like this. Threaded, at least. Something flatter, but still twisted, with wool of white and blue. 

And he remembered- almost- faintly- Tommy handing him a purple one. Something messy and too big and too loose. He remembered trying to put it on with hands that weren’t quite his, and he remembered laughing, though his voice was not his either. It was gentler. And he remembered that it was as warm as it was cold. And he remembered that he was as confused as he was content. And he remembered being so filled with love and filled with happiness that he failed to see what was happening around him. 

He was just so proud of his boy- his little boy. And Tommy, with longer hair and dirtier clothes and a thinner face and darker eyes, was just crying. And despite all his remembering, he couldn’t really remember why.

To keep the thin bracelet from falling through his fingers, Ghostbur twisted it around them and moved it from hand to hand in a constant motion, like he was playing hot potato. In the beginning, he couldn’t hold or touch a single thing. Some part of him knew that the opportunity was there. It was hard to describe, but if he held his hand over an object, it was like he could feel the weight of it. Something in his fingertips itched, and he didn’t quite know what that was until he tried to touch something. 

Now, it was better, though not by much. Things still slipped and felt all too heavy for him, even if they were the lightest things in the world. Glass would fall through him eventually if he held it in one place for too long. But he could hold. He could touch. And the itch he carried in the tips of his fingers was gone almost entirely.

Sometimes he still felt it. Like when he wanted to feel the heat of another person, or hold their hand, or even when he wanted to hold himself. Because while he could still hold and hover, something was missing. It was a strange feeling because he knew something was missing. Touching and feeling was different when he was alive- it must have been- but it was strange to miss it because he couldn’t remember how it was different. 

He tried to remember. He remembered holding. He remembered being held. He remembered the idea of body heat and solid contact. But it was just an idea. It was a concept. He was learning to live with the itch. 

One of the first things he did with his newfound ability was create compasses for both Tommy and Tubbo. It was hard. It took effort and focus to make the compasses, of course, but it took even more to carry the small but heavy item to the two boys. In the end, however, he did it, and he was proud. The looks on both of their faces were worth it. 

Which was one of the reasons he thought to make Tommy the bracelet to cheer him up. He threaded it with blue wool. Lots of blue. The idea was that if Tommy kept it close to his body, it would help boost his mood. The bracelet wasn’t all blue, however. He put in some white to thread pretty patterns where he could.

He remembered when Tommy was little that he liked to make friendship bracelets and weave things together, like flower crowns. And Ghostbur supposed that while it was simply the act of creation that Tommy liked back then, and not as much the outcome, a handmade bracelet would remind him of his childhood. And his childhood was happy. Maybe, alongside all the blue, the memory of it would cheer him up too.

All in all, it was a wonderful idea. 

The bracelet took a bit to make. Sometimes the threads would slip through Ghostbur’s blue-stained fingertips, while other times, he couldn’t manage to pick it up at all. He had made the thing at Philza’s but denied help whenever Philza offered. He was sure his father could make a lovely bracelet, but the bracelet wasn’t supposed to be from Philza and Ghostbur to Tommy. Just Ghostbur to Tommy, and he was determined to do it himself. 

Maybe it had to do with the past, or at least what he could remember of it. At least the good parts of it. He remembered when Tommy discovered how to make pretty things and the first thing he’d do with that knowledge was try to teach Wilbur, who wasn’t nearly as good at making pretty things, even with the boy’s guidance. His things always came out messy and bulky. But he remembered that Tommy loved them all anyway. Tommy loved him for trying. 

So he’d love this. Ghostbur was sure. Even if it wasn’t something as pretty as Tommy himself could come up with. Even if it wasn’t something from Wilbur exactly. 

Ghostbur found Tommy with his shoes and socks off, placed beside him while he sat in the sand, his toes right on the edge of the shore where the least bit of water pulled. The waves never reached past the very tips of his toes. Sometimes, it didn’t even reach that far. He sat with his knees pulled close to his chest, and his arms wrapped around them, staring blankly into the ocean. 

He didn’t understand it sometimes. 

But he knew he should have. Tommy looked so miserable at times- even the best and happiest of times while they were on holiday- and Ghostbur hadn’t a clue why, though he had surely been told before, maybe several times. He wished his brain wasn’t so muddled. He wished he could remember like he used to. All he knew was that Tommy wouldn’t step into L’manburg. Or he couldn’t. One of the two. Maybe vacation was just getting to him. 

While Tommy didn’t exactly look miserable now, he didn’t look happy, and he didn’t look content. He looked tired and worn. He looked lost. Ghostbur really didn’t like to focus on or think about it for too long. Not only because he couldn’t figure it out, but because he couldn’t face Tommy upset. It felt like failure. 

Though, this would fix it. This would cheer him up. At least a little bit. 

He smiled as he approached Tommy, still moving the bracelet between his fingers to make sure it didn’t slip. “Tommy!” he called.

“What?” Tommy replied after a short moment, only turning to look at Ghostbur when he had gotten to his side. His tone was lower than Ghostbur’s, almost sounding disappointed. But Ghostbur quickly shoved it off as exhaustion. 

Ghostbur knelt beside him, hovering his body just a few centimeters over the sand “I made you something!” he said cheerfully, holding out the bracelet to Tommy. 

Tommy looked down with no shift of expression. “Oh yeah?” It took him a second to take the thing from where it rested in Ghostbur’s hand gently, brushing his fingers against his palm. Ghostbur didn’t care for touch, but only because it felt like nothing. Just a small breeze where it should have felt like solid comfort. It felt awkward and misplaced. But he didn’t really mind when it came to Tommy, so he just kept smiling. Tommy’s fingers trembled ever so slightly, though the shore was never really that cold.

When the bracelet left his hands, Ghostbur rested them on his knees. “Yes! With my own two hands!” he answered. He pointed at the bracelet excitedly. “Look!” he called out, even though Tommy was already looking. But as Ghostbur’s smile grew, Tommy still didn’t seem as impressed. “As it turns out, I’m quite the little craftsman,” Ghostbur boasted, taking his hand back to his knee.

A second or two passed as Tommy took and turned the bracelet like Ghostbur had, only much slower, looking at every inch of it. “It’s nice,” he said, voice just a bit above a mumble, still low and unimpressed. Ghostbur wouldn’t take it to heart. He didn’t sound mean about it either, which was a win in his book. He knew Tommy loved him, but he could also sound quite rude. Sometimes even unintentionally. “What is it?”

Ghostbur could almost chuckle. “A bracelet, silly!” he answered happily. “I thought recently you’ve looked rather sad, and I wanted to do something to cheer you up! Look!” He pointed to it again, even if Tommy’s eyes hadn’t moved from it at all. “It has lots of blue in it. And if you wear it, or, you know, keep it close by if you don’t want to wear it- which is always fine, you know- I think it’ll make you a lot happier.”

Tommy didn’t speak. He didn’t even look up. 

After a moment passed, Ghostbur’s smile dipped. He expected Tommy to react at least somewhat to the bracelet, even if his reaction wasn’t one of excitement. But his mouth was tugged into a permanent line. His eyebrows and eyelids were relaxed, giving him an almost lost type of look. “It’s nice,” he just said again. There was no emotion to it. 

“You can tell me if you don’t like it,” Ghostbur amended quickly. He thought it would help. But maybe… Maybe… “I can make you another one, Tommy!” he resolved before having any more time to think about it. “I just want to see you happy.”

At those words, Tommy nodded. Subtly, at first, but then he narrowed his eyes against the bracelet and started moving his head a bit more. “I’m happy with it,” he said quickly thereafter. He looked at Ghostbur then too. “I’m just also really tired, Ghostbur.” 

Ghostbur frowned. “You look a little sick,” he stated upon closer inspection. It was true. Tommy was thinner and paler than he normally was. His eyes looked glazed over, and there were bags under them. “Are you getting enough sleep?”

Tommy nodded. “Yeah,” he answered, though not convincingly. He looked back to the sea like he was done with the conversation. Ghostbur just hummed, letting his shoulders fall. 

“What about eating enough?” he asked, tilting his head.

He nodded again, closing his eyes for a second. “Yes, Ghostbur, I’m eating.” When Tommy opened his eyes, it looked almost forced, like he had to try to keep them open against his will. 

“But enough?” Ghostbur asked. 

Tommy groaned, shutting his eyes again, squeezing them shut this time. “Please stop talking, my head really fuckin’ hurts,” he whined, putting the heel of his hand to his temple and rubbing as his head bobbed downwards. Between his index finger and thumb, held tightly, was the bracelet. 

“Sorry,” Ghostbur apologized quietly, his frown deepening.

After a moment, Tommy’s arm went back around his knees. His grip on the bracelet had moved slightly so he was practically holding it in his fist in hands that shook- always, just ever so slightly, and he hadn’t the slightest clue why. Tommy’s hands never used to shake so badly. Not that he could remember, anyway.

 The ends of the bracelet were poking out from his index finger and thumb, then out over his pinkie. He held it close to his arm but otherwise paid no attention to his gift. Just the sea. 

But Ghostbur couldn’t be mad at him. Not in the slightest. He looked on before getting the idea to check Tommy’s temperature and slowly raising the back of his hand to Tommy’s cheek.

Tommy didn’t get sick a lot when he was a little kid. Out of the three he remembered raising, it was actually Tubbo who was some magnet for illnesses. But he remembered, when any of his little kids were sick, raising the back of his hand to their foreheads or cheeks to get a read on body temperature. He had done it practically out of instinct. 

Unsurprisingly, he had felt nothing. It was the same feeling he got when Tommy’s fingertips brushed along his own hand as he was trying to retrieve the bracelet. It felt like dry water- not quiet air, but there was no real feeling to it. Something was there, and he had barely scraped the surface of it, yet he couldn’t go any further, so the feeling of nothing where something should have been stayed. 

It only grew when Tommy turned slightly to look at him. Ghostbur’s hand did not waver. “What are you doing?” Tommy asked. There was no heat behind the question, only serving to show Ghostbur how tired the kid really was.

“Checking to see if you’re hot,” Ghostbur replied.

Tommy looked at him for a few seconds, letting the silence pass them by. “Is it working?” He asked genuinely, instead of making fun of Ghostbur’s attempt. He sounded almost saddened at the concept.

Ghostbur’s hand slipped, falling slowly from Tommy’s cheek back onto his own knee. “No.” 

A moment passed. Tommy’s eyebrows lifted, curving into something genuinely sorrowful. His eyes drooped, and his lips parted slightly. But only for that moment. And in the next, his expression slowly relaxed into whatever it had been before, though maybe this time, there was a little more disappointment held in his eyes. He turned back to the sea.

Ghostbur moved himself around seconds later and crossed his legs to sit beside Tommy, still hovered above the sand. It felt like nothing there, and the sea was almost still- or much more still than it typically was, which, while wasn’t saying much, still said something. The waves pulled in and retracted calmly, and the sun was setting, pulling semi-light blues into deep oranges and a thin layer of a muted yellow. 

He didn’t know what to think. He didn’t know what to believe. 

Sometimes Tommy confused him. Not like everything didn’t, but Tommy in particular confused him. He used to be so loud and so wild and so outgoing. Whenever Ghostbur looked at him, it was like it wasn’t the same Tommy anymore. He was missing something big, he just couldn’t put a finger on it. He couldn’t even begin to.

In his mind, Tommy was healthy. Tommy was happy. His eyes were bright and always wide, ready for the next best thing, and he had a smile to match. His laughter could fill a room, and Ghostbur would always find himself laughing along with him, even if he didn’t know what they were laughing about, it was just that infectious. He had a bright personality, even if he was a bit snappy and sarcastic. He was just Tommy- a rambunctious, wild, adventurous child. One who was really really good at getting himself in trouble, but horrible at getting himself out of it.   

And it was like every time he looked at Tommy now his world was shattered. It was a genuine surprise, and he wasn’t sure why. He knows he should have known, but he was forgetful. He knew he was forgetful- the simplest of things slipped his mind. And sometimes there were- 

There were memories that weren’t his, and ideas of what there should have been. His brain didn’t feel like a brain should have. It felt like another person, really. Someone small and scared. Someone who he had never met before. Someone who was taking in bits and pieces of his life and tangling them inside other pieces of life. Some that were not his- that were Wilbur’s- and some that he must have only imagined. 

He didn’t know which life controlled how Tommy looked in his head. While Wilbur seemed to love Tommy, and Tommy seemed to love Wilbur, there was always a fear surrounding that topic. A wariness, and an idea that maybe Wilbur wasn’t the kindest to Tommy. Maybe Wilbur made him like this. And maybe the Tommy that Ghostbur wanted wasn’t really Tommy at all. Maybe it was just an idea.

But there were also a few memories that he could associate with Wilbur that gave him this idea of who Tommy was. There was Tommy playing with Wilbur as a little kid, and Tommy listening to Wilbur play guitar, and Tommy helping Wilbur fix his sweater. There was Tommy when he was only a bit younger than he was now, and Tommy as a child who could only say a handful of words. 

So he didn’t really know. And he didn’t know why Tommy was like this now.

And he didn’t know why he couldn’t remember. And he didn’t really know what he could do to fix it. And knowing that he was just forgetful didn’t help how broken he felt by it. He should have been there for Tommy. There was a drive to be there. Something pulling him to protect his boy, even if he didn’t know how to do it. He felt like he was failing. 

While Ghostbur thought about it all for a moment, the two sat in silence. There was the occasional bird and the occasional breath that made Ghostbur glance over, waiting for something that never came before looking back to the sea again. Normally, he wasn’t the kind of person to sit so still and so quietly. It made him antsy. It was awkward and somewhat nerve-wracking, though he couldn’t explain why.

But for now, he would sit. 

“Do you ever think…” Tommy started at some point, his voice was almost as quiet as the waves that pulled in. 

Ghostbur turned to look at him fully. “Hm?”

A few more seconds passed. Tommy didn’t move. “Nothing,” he said in response. Ghostbur’s frown deepened. “I forgot.” 

He waited as well but looked back as soon as Tommy spoke. “Ok,” he accepted. “Will you tell me when you remember?”

“Sure,” Tommy replied. 

They didn’t speak until Tommy announced that he had to go to bed, telling Ghostbur it was time to head off and go wherever he went when Tommy was asleep. He still sounded as emotionless as he did when he was sitting, despite how sharp and cold his words could have been. Ghostbur just sadly watched him trudge to his tent, bracelet in his hand.

Days passed in their normal ways. Tommy was cheerful. Then he wasn’t. Sometimes he looked upset and sometimes he would lash out. Other times he looked dazed and confused whenever Ghostbur approached him with something to say. They talked. They sat in silence. Ghostbur was shooed away and told to stick close to him. It was all just normal. 

Except Tommy was sometimes skittish around Ghostbur. Sometimes Ghostbur thought he was hiding things. He would cut himself off seemingly at random or glance to Ghostbur in an odd way when the silences would grow too long. 

Ghostbur didn’t see him ever wear his bracelet either. Which was ultimately fine, especially when he confronted Tommy about him- once again reassuring him that it was ok if he didn’t like it, saying that he could simply make another one- and Tommy happily pulled it out of his shoe, explaining that it was there so nothing would happen to it. Ghostbur didn’t point out that his shoes were torn to hell, and that the bracelet was no safer in there than his feet were. He also neglected to ask what exactly Tommy meant by that, because the bracelet was meant to be worn. 

But he couldn’t be too concerned. Tommy looked so proud of himself when he told Ghostbur how safe he was keeping the bracelet and how close to his person it actually was. He looked like he had mastered something Ghostbur didn’t quite understand yet. His genuine happiness when talking about the gift made Ghostbur forgive and forget how Tommy acted the first time he saw the bracelet. 

He told Ghostbur how much he genuinely loved the gift and how glad he was that Ghostbur was with him. He also told Ghostbur how much he missed him, which Ghostbur laughed at. He thought it was odd. They were standing right in front of each other. They were talking to each other! How could Tommy miss him when he was right here?

Tommy didn’t elaborate. He just smiled. 

One day Ghostbur was leaving L’manburg to check up on Tommy, and before he could spot the young boy with his own two eyes, he heard from behind him: “Oh, Ghostbur!”

He turned around to see Tommy jogging towards him, waving as soon as he spotted Ghostbur’s eyes on him. Already, he looked happier than the day previous. He sounded better. His steps were faster too. So Ghostbur beamed, waving back. “Tommy!” he called back just as enthusiastically, floating his way.

“Hey,” called Tommy as they approached each other, slowing down. He held out his hands, one under the other, as if it were holding the other for support. Something a dark purple color hung off his outspread fingers. “I made you something! Just like you made me!” 

Ghostbur’s eyes widened ever so slightly as he looked at the object, and Tommy’s hands were raised slightly upwards in his excitement. “Look! A bracelet!” he said, losing a bit more of his breath with each word he spoke, though still sounding just as happy. 

His hands still shook as they always did, but not so violently that Ghostbur couldn’t get a good look at the bracelet. His heart warmed, and he felt a comfort over his entire body. His smile widened just as his eyes softened. The bracelet was bulky and messily put together, with pieces of string and bits of fuzz sticking out of it. There were no patterns- it was one solid color, looking like it had just been dipped in dye after completion instead of each individual thread being dyed. 

“A purple one!” Tommy pointed out, looking down at the bracelet. “It’s purple, not- not blue, because I couldn’t find any blue flowers, but- but purple- it’s kind of like blue- it’s like the poor man’s blue,” he explained somewhat frantically. Ghostbur opened his mouth slightly to tell Tommy to slow down, but he was interrupted before he could even begin. Tommy’s hands started shaking more the more he talked. “And I- I made it all myself! It took a while because- well, my hands-” 

He stopped and gulped, still looking at the bracelet as if he was talking to it instead. Or maybe he was talking to his hands. His shaking hands- covered in nicks and stains and scars. “They aren’t in the best shape. And a few of the first ones got blown up with the rest of my stuff, but- but-!” He took a small breath and looked up at Ghostbur, smiling. “Now you have one too! I’m sorry it’s not blue, I tried, I know you like blue, I’m sorry, but I got you purple.” 

“Purple is just as lovely as a color!” Ghostbur reassured quickly. “I love it!”

A spark in Tommy’s eyes ignited. “Really?”

“I do! I really do, Toms,” he said, looking from Tommy’s face to the bracelet. 

And he did. He loved it so much- he would love anything Tommy made for him, no matter how messy or worn it was. Even if it was a single tattered string, he would find something to love about it. His heart felt full and his eyes could almost water. Ghostbur couldn’t remember the last time he felt so happy, though it was partially because of Tommy’s own surprising excitement to give him the bracelet. And here he was wondering if Tommy even liked his gift. Oh, this was wonderful! And now they could match. 

But-

It was just that…

The longer Ghostbur looked at the bracelet, the more his smile started to fade, and in his peripheral, he could see Tommy’s smile start to fade as well. His eyes started to drop into confusion and his head tilted slightly. “What’s wrong?” Tommy asked. 

Ghostbur looked up at him sadly, holding his hands nervously to his chest. “I just think this is going to be too heavy for me to wear,” he noted. “But I do love it!”

Tommy just blinked. The confusion didn’t leave, instead just turning into a more cutting version of it. “What do you mean?” he asked, a hint of sharpness and heat to his words, just behind them. 

“Well, I-” Ghostbur started but was cut off quickly. 

“You can hold stuff, can’t you?”

“Yes, but-”

“You made my bracelet,” Tommy argued. 

Ghostbur nodded. “I did, Tommy, it’s just that I can’t really wear things.” He had tried. It was a struggle to even keep the threads of Tommy’s bracelet up long enough to weave together- it took him a good while. And wearing something was another realm entirely. 

“What rule is that?” Tommy spit. His eyebrows narrowed- his eyes themselves darkened. “That’s so stupid! Try it on!” he demanded. Ghostbur opened his mouth to protest before he saw Tommy take the bracelet from where it rested and hastily slip it onto Ghostbur’s arm before he could argue. He dropped it where Ghostbur’s skin should have been. 

It fell into the sand almost instantly. Both their eyes were drawn to it, and for three seconds, nobody moved. The warmth and comfort he felt turned slowly to something bitter as he looked back up sadly. But once again, Tommy didn’t let him speak before he bent down to pick up the bracelet. “A- again!”

Ghostbur cooed. “Oh, Tommy,” he said, lowering his voice and his hands. “It’s not going to stay.”

Tommy stood back up, handing the bracelet to him. “Just- just try,” he said frantically, his entire arm trembling as he pushed the bracelet forward.

His gut felt overturned by this. “I appreciate the gesture!” he reassured. “And even if I can’t keep it on me I can keep it safe in L’manburg.” 

“Please, just try it on!” Tommy whined, raising his voice. Ghostbur sighed, taking the bracelet gently. But-  

It slipped through his fingers instantly, hitting the sand again. Ghostbur was sure he had a grip on it. He knew he could at least hold things! Small things like bracelets and flowers and even compasses. But it fell anyway. He looked dead at it, confused and slightly disheartened before Tommy bent down to scoop it up. “No, you can hold things-" Tommy argued. "I’ve seen you do it!” 

“I know," Ghostbur agreed. “I- I can hold light things,” he explained, though the bracelet didn't feel any different from the one he made, or the stem of a flower. It just looked messy. 

When Tommy stood himself back up, his face was almost red. His eyes were glossed. “But this isn’t even heavy!” he argued, his voice wet and weighted with something, cracking at the edges. 

Ghostbur’s heart dropped further. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. 

“You can wear it!” Tommy argued again, shaking the bracelet slightly. 

“I can’t, Tommy, but I do love it,” Ghostbur tried. He wished he could. He really wished. Maybe he wasn’t prepared enough to take the bracelet, cause he could hold it at the very least! He knew how to do that. But still, he wouldn’t know how to keep it as close to him as Tommy kept his, despite how much he wanted to.

Tommy gripped the bracelet, looking up at Ghosbur with tears running down his cheeks. He didn’t acknowledge them, though Ghostbur looked right at them and felt like he could break. This isn’t what he wanted. He wanted to make Tommy happy. Why was he so bad at that? “But I spent days making it!” Tommy protested. 

“I know, and I-”

He interrupted Ghostbur with a shaking gasp- a breath of air- as his eyes moved from Ghostbur’s eyes to his chest. “My hands really fucking hurt, Ghostbur- they really really hurt, and I- I-” 

“Tommy-”

Tommy looked back to Ghostbur’s eyes and held the bracelet towards him again. “Just- just hold it!” he demanded, voice growing louder. Ghostbur started to say something in retaliation, but let out a small breath when he realized he was fighting a losing battle. He tried to take the thing out of Tommy’s hand slowly instead. 

When his first attempt to hold it didn’t follow through and the bracelet slipped back into Tommy’s hand, Tommy whined. Ghsotbur hunched forward slightly, like it would give him better chances, and tried again. It fell again. Now, on top of being heartbroken, Ghostbur was becoming frustrated. The combination gave him a rotten and dizzying feeling. His entire body was hot, like it was being burned from the inside. At any moment, he could break. 

He tried with both hands, putting all his focus on the stupid bracelet that he couldn’t pick up, listening to Tommy’s cries become louder in his head. What was wrong with him? He had done it before- he knew he could do this! He knew, and yet he was failing. He was failing himself and he was failing his boy.

It dropped again, just as soon as he had the slightest bit of control over it too. Ghostbur just looked at Tommy, whose eyes were still on the bracelet. “Tommy, I just can’t,” he said sadly. 

“But that’s not fair!” Tommy breathed. “I spent so long on it! I worked so- so hard, you don’t get it!”

Ghostbur rested both his hands on Tommy’s shoulders, feeling nothing but the way they shook while Tommy turned his eyes down to the bracelet. “Tommy, if I could wear it, I would,” he comforted, keeping his voice low and light. Tommy pulled the bracelet to his chest, taking in shaking breaths like he didn’t understand a word of what Ghostbur was saying.  “I’d wear it all the time. I’d never take it off,” he finished regardless.

Tommy sobbed as Ghostbur rested his forehead on the top of Tommy’s. Again, he felt nothing but the way it shook. Not even the weight of it there. No heat. No chill. Absolutely nothing. “Oh, please don’t be sad, Toms,” he whispered to no avail.  “Please, baby.” He watched Tommy’s eyes squeeze shut, just as he decided to try and touch Tommy’s cheek with the back of his hand again. He wasn’t surprised when there was nothing, but he was disappointed. He wondered if Tommy felt anything there.

“It’s lovely, but it’s slipping through my fingers, Tommy. I don’t know if there’s anything to do about it,” he said softly. Just then, Tommy’s entire body shook, and he collapsed slowly onto his knees, leading Ghostbur with him. “I’m sorry,” Ghostbur apologized as they fell. Tommy only curled into himself, around the bracelet, crying louder. 

For a moment, Ghostbur just rested and sat up as he watched Tommy’s shoulders shake. Then, knowing it wouldn’t help a single bit, he rested himself over Tommy’s back, hovering there like he was holding him. Neither of them could feel a single thing.

Wilbur didn’t look away from the bracelet when he heard footsteps approaching him. He didn’t even look away when they stopped, and whoever it was stood a good bit beside him. He was still twisting the bracelet like he was looking for some hidden meaning in it, listening to pulled breaths above him, like the person who was standing there didn’t want to be caught or disturb the silence. Wilbur didn’t know which would be worse. 

A second passed. Perhaps the longest second Wilbur ever lived. 

“Do you like it?” Tommy asked blankly. It took Wilbur another second- though this time his second was much shorter before he looked over to Tommy. He blinked. 

Tommy looked almost as emotionless as he did, though maybe a little bit more hesitant and reserved than him. He was looking into Wilbur’s eyes, waiting for a proper answer. Not a nod. Not a smile. An answer. And Wilbur looked back to the bracelet. 

“I do,” he said, voice only a bit above quiet, with no hint of anything but sureness. Because he loved it. So he liked it too. “Thank you.” 

A moment flew by with no response. Wilbur still twisted the bracelet. As messy as it was, it was his. He can’t remember the last time Tommy gave him something, even if it was a leftover. Even if it was supposed to go to some ghost of him instead, and he was now the closest Tommy could get to ever giving it to that ghost. 

He didn’t really know what he was expecting. Of course, he didn’t expect Tommy to walk away without another word- he was a bit too loud for that- but he definitely didn’t expect Tommy to sit down beside him either, and especially not so close that Wilbur could feel the heat from his body radiating off him. He watched beside him as Tommy slid down the stone wall. 

Tommy pulled both his knees close to his chest and stared straight ahead, into the opposite stone wall, crossing his arms over his knees and resting his chin. Wilbur didn’t have to look forward to know that Tommy wasn’t only staring at the wall. There were old scorch marks and divots and cracks covering carved lyrics to a song that Wilbur wished he could forget. He wondered if Tommy wished he could forget it too. Or maybe it was a comfort. But he couldn’t tell. Tommy’s eyes would be tinted just the same. 

Wilbur’s shoulders fell as he studied the boy beside him further. That was an odd feeling as well. 

At some point, Tommy was his world. He remembered when it was much easier. When Tommy was young and he was young and they could love each other without all this confusion in between. How could so much change? How could he change? How dare he?

He was rotten from the beginning, but the one thing he did right was raise his boys without his rot. At least, sometime in the beginning. And even now, none of his boys were rotten. In fact, they all grew to despise him in some way, and wasn’t that just a sign of goodness? 

Fundy wanted nothing to do with him, actively resenting and avoiding him. He was the proudest and the most saddened by that. Tubbo was afraid of him, not actively resenting, but mostly avoiding just the same, doing well on his own. He was happy for him. So very happy, and so very excited to see Tubbo live a life that Wilbur would not be a part of. Tommy was somewhere in the middle. Afraid, angry, and sad. But not avoidant. 

Still just as good. As kind and sweet as the others. Just attached. And Wilbur couldn’t understand why. Because he was rotten, and Tommy was not. 

Wilbur looked over to the bracelet in his hand. Twisting it. Turning it. It wasn’t meant for his wrist- so perfectly imperfect. He didn’t deserve anything from Tommy. Tommy had nothing because of him. He was not good. He was not kind. And while he knew that at all times, it hit much harder in the silence, with Tommy sitting beside him. It hit him much harder in the place where he took everything away. The place he died. 

He still loved the bracelet. It just wasn’t for him. Tommy had tried to make the bracelet for a ghost- for all of Wilbur’s kindness and all of his love- and that wasn’t there anymore. He thought of his ghost as a shell. But what if he was? 

Of course, Wilbur still loved Tommy. But Wilbur had wronged him too many times to be properly loved back. He couldn’t accept it. He didn’t know if he could accept the love he craved from anyone ever again. It was Ghostbur who was most deserving of it. The closest thing to Wilbur himself that deserved forgiveness and company, and it wasn’t even Wilbur. If anything, it was an idea of Wilbur. 

His eyes trailed over to the two bracelets on Tommy’s wrist, one blue and white, patterned and pretty, and one a faded purple, bulky and messy. Both were made with love, he can assume, but now the only love he felt was through the purple one, put together with shaking hands, thousands of failed attempts behind it. Did Tommy ever feel like giving up? Did the idea of Ghostbur not being able to wear the item ever run through his mind? 

At some point, he stopped twisting the bracelet between his own fingers, and further down the line, Tommy glanced at him. Wilbur didn’t look away from his wrists, but Tommy didn’t move then in defiance, nor did he ever look away from Wilbur. Out of the corner of his eye, Wilbur could see Tommy’s face had fallen. 

“I made it for you, you know?” Tommy said, breaking the silence.

Wilbur looked at him, almost subtly startled, then the bracelet in his hand, turning it again like he had never stopped or looked away. “I mean, I figured-” he started, his tone light, raising his voice to be a little bit above Tommy’s. He grinned, looking back at the bracelet in his hand before a movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. 

Tommy pointed at the purple bracelet, and Wilbur's mouth shut almost instantly, grin dropping. “This one was for Ghostbur,” he said without changing his expression- a simple statement. He pointed from the purple bracelet to the one between Wilbur’s fingers. “That one is for you.” 

Wilbur’s eyes widened before softening, all the air disappearing from his lungs. There was some pit in his stomach that swirled, only growing bigger with each second that passed. He silently studies Tommy’s eyes just as Tommy was studying his, but unlike Wilbur, who began to realize what Tommy was saying, Tommy looked more and more confused as the seconds passed.

“It- it has some blue in it,” he said eventually, bringing his volume down to something softer, almost reluctant. The pit in Wilbur's gut dropped, if possible- it was eating him alive- because he knew that look and voice all too well. 

Tommy was looking for acceptance. He was looking for approval. He sounded nearly scared, like he was afraid he was going to lose his chance. 

Despite his gut, Wilbur tried his best to smile. It shook just as something poked at his eyes, and he knew he must have looked pathetic, but the small crease between Tommy's brow relaxed. It didn’t mean he looked any less hesitant. It didn't mean he wasn't waiting for some answer. But it meant something. 

He lifted his hand the best he could to Tommy’s cheek, resting the back loosely there. They barely touched, but Wilbur could feel the warmth of his cheeks regardless. He knew the skin of his own hand, and brushed slightly down Tommy’s cheek, like he would to soothe him when he was much younger, before leaning forward. 

Without thinking, he grabbed the back of Tommy’s shirt, pulling him quickly into an embrace, gripping him like he was afraid he'd fall sitting on solid ground. Tommy grabbed back just as quickly, wrapping his arms around Wilbur’s neck, and resting his head against Wilbur’s shoulder. 

They pressed into each other, with one hand of Wilbur's holding the fabric between Tommy’s shoulder blades, and one woven into his hair, holding the back of his head. His eyes were squeezed shut and his nose rested above Tommy’s shoulder. He had tried to be as close as he could. He had tried to feel as much of the pressure as he could, as if it was the only thing that mattered to him. 

He missed holding. He missed being held. 

He missed warmth and he missed human arms and he missed his voice. As much as he wished he was dead, he- 

He really didn’t. 

Instead, he missed this. 

Forgiveness and company and love and acceptance. Pressure and feeling, no matter how much it ached and hurt. He missed holding and he missed being held. He missed his boy. God, he missed his boy- even as he was right there- right in front of faded eyes that both were and weren’t his. All his innocence and kindness could only see so much of him. 

He missed feeling alive.