#and Ghostbur was ADORABLE for the entire thing and made me smile a lot | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dr3amofagame · 3 years

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more of the ghost!dream au!! still no good names for it, sorry (feel free to give me recs? maybe?) - picking off right where we left off here [x]. i’ve gotten quite a bit of this pre-written already as well as quite a bit planned - it’s definitely one of my favorite universes at the minute and something im really excited to show yall !!

tw: death, memory loss (?), grief, unhealthy coping mechanisms, unhealthy relationship, grief, emotional distress, implied torture/abuse, aftermath of prison arc/pandora’s vault, dark(ish?) portrayal of c!sam (he’s one of the main figures of this au lmao but it grapples quite a bit w/ what he did in pandora)

Sam had only met Ghostbur once.

He never knew the former president well, had been busy with his own base during the Revolution and came back to the server in chaos after an ill-fated election and the man exiled. It hadn’t mattered, much, at the time; Wilbur was an imposing man, even in others’ recollections of him, and their words left very very little to the imagination. From what he knew, Wilbur was a smart man, cunning and silver-tongued, brimming with an unending fountain of belief that he could change the world with his words and his words alone; the server, overrun with memories of scuffles and battles and wars and countries Sam had not been around to remember, only seemed to serve as proof that he could. The few glimpses of the man that he managed to catch showed dark, tired eyes, a figure that stood almost as tall as he did, lips twisted in a perpetual tight-lipped smile.

Even as he spiraled, unexplainably, whispers of madness chasing the wind and landing in choppy fragments in the Badlands meetings held over Skeppy and Bad’s dinner table, those eyes never became less piercing, never failed to seem like they were burning through whatever and whoever they looked at. Sam hadn’t been the subject of that stare many times, but he remembers the bone-deep anxiety from having those eyes on him, even now.

Ghostbur, somehow, was the complete opposite; where his eyes had once been all-too knowing, belying their owners’ intelligence, a ruthless penchant for analysis that would split bone from marrow with a single sharp-edged glance, the phantom’s eyes were completely vacant. Instead of the glossy whites and rings of brown that would flicker warm to cool and warm again without warning, there was only an empty, all-encompassing blue.

He had floated over to Sam following a particularly difficult- session, with the prisoner, greeting him with an airy call of his name as Sam set off to his base for the night. He’d startled, then, still fresh off the adrenaline that was sent coursing through his veins each time he entered those blackstone walls, and started a sort of easy, unfocused conversation as they went along the path to the nether portal.

Ghostbur was - off, for the lack of a better word, even with Sam’s lack of familiarity of either side of the man - who he’d been before and what he’d become. His memories slipped through his mind like water seeping through fingers, and his attention span didn’t seem much better. Still, Sam listened to that echoing, otherworldly voice, nodded along as he eagerly recounted his day - or what he could recall from it, at least, until his feet had brought him along the same well-worn path to the nether portal, spitting purple sparks into the night.

“I’ll have to be going, Ghostbur,” he’d said through a thin smile, muscles aching under netherite as he pulled his shoulders back. The ghost’s head had cocked to the side, watching him with empty eyes, hands outstretched in front of him, palms up.

“Sam-” the ghost blinked slowly, “Are you sad?”

Sam froze. Ghostbur stared at him, face still kept in that same blank expression, eyes still an endless blanket of blue, but something - in his stance, perhaps, in the echoes of his words as they reverberated off of nothing, felt familiar, felt like looking up expecting a window and coming face to face with a shattered mirror - before the phantom’s face broke out in a weightless smile.

“Have some blue!”

The blue was dropped unceremoniously into his hands as he fumbled the catch and nearly let it fall to the ground; the clear, glassy surface of it tainted blue by his fingertips, the color swirling and darkening in his hands. He watched it, mesmerized, as blossoms of blue bloomed beneath his skin; his feelings, sharp-edged, became sea glass tossed in its shifting waves, smoothed, numbed, slowly sucked away in a pulsing chorus of blue blue blue-

“That’s quite a lot of blue,” Ghostbur chirped, and Sam blinked at the thing in his hands - navy, the same color as the sky above their heads clinging to the last remnants of twilight - “Would you like some more?”

“...no thanks, Ghostbur,” Sam looked back up, feeling through the new, blue-tinged fog in his brain, memories blurred at the edges but lacking the same burning sting of regret, “Good night.”

“Good night, Sam!” Wilbur smiled, blank blue eyes trained on his face even as Sam stepped into the portal and the world swirled away. “See you soon!”

---

“Sammy,” Dream walked - no, floated, forwards as Sam took a step back, unresponsive, “is there something wrong?”

Sam swallowed, mouth suddenly dry.

He was a spitting image to Dream as he first knew him; the same tousled hair, freckled face, down to the ratty old jacket that he’d insisted on wearing at all times, made of a garish shade of lime-green and covered in customized patches that Bad - unable to resist his puppy eyes - had always ended up fixing the thing with. He had a gap in his teeth that had left him with a lisp for weeks back then, prompting Sapnap’s teasing much to Dream’s annoyance; his head tipped to the side, curious, familiar, and something deep inside Sam’s chest ached.

“Dream-” he tried, chest tightening further when the ghost’s face broke out into a brilliant smile, “why are you here?”

Why do you remember me?

He hadn’t talked to Ghostbur much, but he’d heard, to some degree, about how the ghost operated, how his memories were inconsistent at best, seemingly dependent on the emotions he’d attached to them while alive. How he went through the world in a state of unshakable bliss at the cost of his mind. Dream’s memories of him should’ve been anything but happy; why was he here?

“What do you mean?” Dream blinked at him, eyebrows scrunched, lips set in a small frown. His eyes, black and vacant, seemed to swallow all light, even with the sun streaming through the branches. “Where am I suppos’d to go?”

“Don’t you want to be with George and Sapnap?”

Dream’s face was blank, and the pit in Sam’s gut grew deeper. “Who’s that?”

“George?” Sam could feel his voice begin to tremble, eyes widening. “Sapnap? You know them, right?”

“No?” Dream drew out the word, looking at him like he’d grown another head. “Should I know them?”

“Should you- Dream, this isn’t funny- they’re your best friends! They were your best friends- Pandas? Do you know Pandas?”

“You mean like in the jungles? I haven’t been in a jungle before, Sam, d’you think we could visit one?”

“No- Pandas, do you-” Dream only looked at him with the same confused, uncomprehending expression, not even a flicker of recognition in his face; Sam could hear his heart thudding in his ears, a distant horror growing and wrapping around his throat, “How about Ponk? Alyssa? Calla? Bad?”

Each name did nothing to change the blankness on Dream’s face, the screaming thoughts in Sam’s head growing to a fever pitch when the ghost in front of him shook his head, hair whipping back and forth.

“Nope!” His hands tugged at his hoodie sleeves, the movement familiar in a way that had echoes of long-forgotten memories drifting to the surface, holding his heart in a chokehold and squeezing tight. “Are they your friends?”

“Dream,” he stepped forward - felt a shadow of a pickaxe held in his fists, the shape of the name in his mouth bringing forth the taste of iron and smoke and painting the inside of his eyelids red - and stopped in his tracks. The images melted away, left just a kid standing in front of him, rocking back and forth on nothing, and Sam was going to be sick.

“Who do you remember?”

Dream smiled as the question registered, directing a look of such open, unadulterated adoration his way that it stole all of the air from Sam’s lungs.

“You, dummy!” He laughed, airy and light. “Who else?”

---

He brought him to his base, because what else was he supposed to do?

Dream skipped behind him, entirely enamoured with Fran; he watched as she melted under his enthusiastic scratches at the tufts of fur at her neck. He’d always been a soft touch with animals, had brought home stray mobs more than a few times as a kid; Sam swallowed around his unease and trudged forward.

“Puppy!” He nearly screeched with laughter, and Sam looked back to see Dream with his arms wrapped around Fran’s neck, face buried in her fur as giggles made his shoulders shake. Fran gave him a sloppy lick on the cheek, making him break out into a new round of high-pitched wheezes, “Good girl! Good puppy!”

“Hurry up, Dream,” Sam turned away. “We don’t have all day.”

“Oh- m’sorry,” Dream’s voice quieted, almost seemed to wobble, and Sam bit down on his tongue as they continued to walk back. He- didn’t know what to do, not with this version of Dream, not the little kid he’d half-forgotten instead of the masked monster he’d become so accustomed to. It was so much easier to slip into the mask, let his voice drop cold and deep and empty, the role of the Warden heavy and comfortable like a set of netherite armor. He pointedly kept his eyes staring forward, looking for the edge of the forest they’d ended up stuck in so he could finally see.

A sudden, yipping bark came from behind, thoroughly startling him and sending a sword appearing in a flash of white. He huffed at Fran, looking at him with faux innocent eyes, really?

Unfortunately, both she and Dream had somehow fallen ridiculously behind, the ghost having lowered to the ground at some point as Fran sat and wagged her tail. He rolled his eyes, making his way back towards the duo, feeling irritation press in the form of a headache against the front of his skull.

“Come on,” he muttered, wincing at how clipped his words sounded, even in his own ears. Not the same Dream, Sam. You’re not in the prison anymore. He shoved his hands into his pockets, eyes narrowing as he came closer; Dream hadn’t just stopped because of some distraction, as he first assumed. The kid was leaning against Fran, hands twisted loosely in her fur, head tipped forward and leaning against her body.

“Dream?”

The ghost looked up at his voice, one hand going to rub at his eye. His hair seemed to be moving around less than earlier, lips twisted in a small frown.

“M’sleepy, Sammy,” he mumbled around a yawn, bottom lip jutting out in a pout. He reached both hands up, palms facing the sky, as he stared expectantly. “Up.”

Aren’t you a little big to be carried? The retort came to mind as easily as breathing, echoed in his own head by his own voice, younger, exasperated but fond. His arms shook with the memory of a kid wrapping his arms around his neck and fumbling with his crown, with the feeling of a dead weight resting against the crook of his elbows, tall and lanky and far too light for its size, held in his arms one final time-

“Please?”

Sam shook his head.

“We’re walking to my base. Come on.”

#tw death #tw grief #tw torture #tw abuse #prison arc #pandora's vault #tw unhealthy coping mechanisms #tw unhealthy relationship #tw emotional distress #tw memory loss #ghost!dream au #queue <3 #long post #my writing :D #my asks !!

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dramaticsnakes · 3 years

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The Revived - Chapter 11: A walk

This is chapter 11 of the Dream SMP multichapter fic @rainbowbutterfrosting and I wrote together! I hope you’ll enjoy!

AO3

Read in order (on Tumblr)

Characters in this chapter: Wilbur, Ghostbur, Tubbo, Ranboo, Michael

Word count: 3205

Cw: guilt, mentions of violence, worry, mentions of death, mentions of bruises, mentions of food

Fic summary: Wilbur was alive, and it was such a magnificent feeling, that made his mind spark with anticipation. It didn’t take long, however, for Wilbur to realize that this new breath of life, was not just his own. An echo-y voice hides in the back of his mind, and before he knows it, the transparent version of him he saw at the endless train station, is a lot more ingrained than he’d expected him to be.

And Wilbur really shouldn’t care. Because he’d be damned, if he spent the life he’d awaited for so long, babysitting a lost cause of a ghost, stuck in the very same limbo Wilbur spent so long in. It was an even exchange, and one Wilbur wasn’t going to mess with. Why exactly he ends up setting out to get the ghost out of his mind, in order to save the both of them, however, is beyond him. And perhaps Wilbur’s past isn’t as easy to leave behind, as he’d hoped it would be.

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.”

#dream smp #dsmp #wilbur soot #c!wilbur #ghostbur #revivedbur #alivebur #tubbo #c!tubbo #ranboo #c!ranboo #michael_beloved #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #The Revived

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rainbowbutterfrosting · 3 years

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The Revived - Chapter 10: Far Away Memories

This is chapter 10 of the Dream SMP multichapter fic @dramaticsnakes and I wrote together! I hope you’ll enjoy! Discord link here.

AO3

Read in order (on Tumblr)

Characters in this chapter: Wilbur, Ghostbur, Tommy, Friend

Word count: 2,847

Content Warnings: mentions of food, yelling, begging, inflicting pain, not being able to breathe, guilt, violence, uhh manipulation in general

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.”

#dream smp #dream smp fic #dream smp fanfic #c!wilbur #ghostbur #c!tommy #alivebur #dsmp #dsmp fic

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