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dramaticsnakes · 3 years

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The Revived - Chapter 19: Unwelcome Thoughts

This is chapter 19 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

Word count: 3603

Cw: blood, treating wounds, lots of pain, detailed intrusive thoughts about hurting others, tensions between characters, manipulation, spiralling, crying

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.

Tending to his own wounds was once a routine. It was something that he had to do frequently during the wars, and it hadn’t taken too long for him back then to grow desensitized to the feeling. As repetitive as loading a crossbow, which could cause someone else to go through the same repetitive action.

Though as Wilbur tried to recall the steps, his memory seemed to fail him. He hadn’t had treatable injuries in limbo after all. The ones he had since he was revived, other people had treated for him. Now he was out of practice. Great.

He ripped the fabric off the wound to free it. As bleeding started to come out from his wound, he remembered that the arrow ideally should be removed after the first bit of the immediate treatment.

Ah, shit.

With a piece of cloth he’d picked up, he applied as much pressure as he could to the wound. It stung, but it was better than nothing. “Now I’m going to rinse it,” Wilbur narrated.

Ghostbur’s whimpers became clearer every time the wound was touched, and Wilbur was starting to grow tired of it. Every single time he heard it, he was momentarily brought back into the pain. It was pathetic to let himself be affected by it.

He took a water bucket and slowly poured some on the wound. Suddenly he heard Ghostbur scream.

“What’s going on, what’s going on, what’s going on?” Ghostbur pleaded.

“Huh?” Wilbur said confusedly, “I’m rinsing the wound, I just told you.”

The words were unclear through the quick breaths. “With- with what?”

“Uhh, water?” Wilbur said, confused at the question.

“O-oh-” Ghostbur said, “It- Water burns me. I’m sorry I just didn’t expect it this time.”

“Water burns you?” Wilbur asked. Abruptly, he remembered the tears steaming on the figure’s face. As if they were burning him.

They were burning him.

“That didn’t happen last time,” he said, remembering when his wound had been rinsed way back then.

“It does now,” Ghostbur said quickly, and if it had been anyone else, Wilbur would almost have assumed it was with slight annoyance.

Wilbur hummed with acknowledgement as he picked his brain to remember if anything was different. He remembered how Ghostbur had been able to taste the consistency of the steak. The touch on the hand. The fur on the sheep. “I guess you feel things more clearly now.”

“O-okay. Please-” Ghostbur cut himself off.

“Please what?”

“W-warn me next time?” It was asked like a question. Uncertainty dripping off every syllable. It was familiar in a sense.

“Sure,” Wilbur said with a nod. “I’m supposed to be rinsing it for a couple of minutes though. To avoid infection.”

“Your time or my time?”

“My time.” Wilbur said, and the words tasted bitterly in his mouth.

“Okay,” Ghostbur whispered, his voice so hushed, that Wilbur could’ve easily missed it.

Wilbur continued to rinse the wound with water, Ghostbur’s whimpers coming through every once in a while, though they turned quieter and quieter. He thought of the way the tears had burned the ghost. He thought of the sobs, the pleas and the cries.

For how long had Ghostbur been crying?

Wilbur pushed the thought away as fast as he could, because he didn’t need it right now. It attempted to drag him towards the ground, and he was so so close to taking off. He was so close to letting his mind wander into the comforting freedom that came with the control he’d gained. He disinfected the wound, inhaling sharply at the feeling.

“I’m done rinsing it,” he said after a little while, and the ghost stopped whimpering. He took the bandages off the surface of the chest next to him, and wrapped them around his leg. He took a big sip from the potion of regeneration, the pinkish purple mixture making it into his veins. It felt a lot more comfortable than an instant health one. It settled, as if everything was being stitched together with a grip as gentle as water.

Or well, perhaps not water in everyone’s case.

There was silence from Ghostbur, and Wilbur hummed, satisfied with his work. “See? I’ve taken care of the wound, just like you wanted.” He chuckled lightly, “How do you feel?”

The ghost swallowed something in his throat. “Better,” he said, though the words sounded choked.

Wilbur remembered the buttons underneath his fingers, and the satisfaction that came with breaking something in his hands. He thought of George, backed up into a corner. “Hmm? Are you happy now?” he said, and somehow it didn’t feel like he was the one saying it. It was, of course. It was something he would say.

Ghostbur sounded like he was about to sob again, though it was hindered. After a few moments of silence, he spoke, “...thank you.”

Wilbur felt his shoulders fall into a relaxed position, as he looked straight ahead onto the books on the shelves. “You’re welcome,” he said. It came out quieter than he intended.

Once the potion had done some more work, he could go have a look at the books. Figure out his next course of action. But there was no rush. Not really. That was another pro to working alone. He decided when he was working, without the weight of expectations keeping him down.

Ghostbur sobbed, before cutting himself off again. “Wilby, ‘m sorry.” he said. It didn’t mix in with the rest of the pleas. It was intended for Wilbur properly this time.

“For what?” Wilbur asked, a bit of confusion slipping in with the nonchalance.

Ghostbur’s breathing wavered. “Sorry for it hurting too much.”

It took Wilbur a moment to comprehend the words, and when he did he wasn’t sure whether to frown or to laugh. An apology. The ghost was apologizing to Wilbur for feeling pain. It was just like the other times, and it truly dawned upon Wilbur just how apologetic the ghost was. How the ghost would go silent just for feeling unwanted.

How easy it was, to make the ghost go silent.

The thoughts came to Wilbur like little gusts of wind. Like the button underneath his fingertips. Ghostbur couldn’t do anything, and Wilbur held every ounce of power to do whatever he wanted. The pure water didn’t harm Wilbur in the slightest. He imagined letting the water stream down himself, hearing the ghost’s pleas and faint apologies. He would beg Wilbur to stop, and Wilbur could touch his old wounds, and jump in a tank until he was entirely covered in water. The ghost’s apologies would fill his mind, and Wilbur would encourage them fully. He would take them at face value. He could have Ghostbur never talk again. He could finally be alone. Because breathing at the surface of the ocean was hardly necessary when you were brilliant enough to breathe underneath it.

As the thoughts appeared, he had a difficult time pushing them out. They lingered there, temptingly. They shouldn’t, Wilbur realized. That didn’t make sense at all. He shook his head quickly.

Wilbur spent so long feeling like nothing. Feeling pathetic. Prime, how he yearned for the freedom. Wanted to be everything he knew he had the potential to be. Wanted to ride that high, that led him to the button that destroyed everything he’d created.

And yet, a faint hint of the ground he was standing on before, tried to drag him back. Tried to push the familiar high away.

What the hell was he thinking? What did all of those thoughts mean?

He needed control. He really really needed control.

It was strange to have a ghost in his mind that lacked control whatsoever. Any knowledge was given by Wilbur, and even then, the poor thing still needed an explanation at times. The ghost spoke in the back of his mind, “I heard from Phil that when you get an injury you should use rice. Not the food though, he told me not to use actual rice.” Ghostbur chuckled somberly, “It’s an acronym. Tells you that you should rest, ice, compression, and elevate something when it hurts. I- I know that we don’t have ice, but can you- if it’s not a bother- elevate it?” Ghostbur quickly added, “Just a bit please.”

How far could he push the kind soul? How much would he take before nodding along to what Wilbur said. “It is a bother,” he said dully, the words seeming automatic. They tasted wrong as he continued to speak, “You’re lucky I’m kind enough to take care of you.” He grabbed the chair near him and laid his leg onto it, shifting it slightly so it wouldn’t hurt as much.

“Thank you,” the words were strained, almost a whisper that slightly shook.

You’re welcome, stayed on his tongue. It tasted more and more bitter the more he considered it. Silence lingered between them. He barely had the words to say what he wanted to say.

A small part of him said to apologize. Perhaps that part was infected by Ghostbur as the rest of him was so boldly different. The thoughts reoccurred, louder this time, swarming him with all the ways he could make Ghostbur silent. “Shut up,” he muttered to nothing in particular.

A muffled whimper filled his ears. He couldn’t tell if it was his mind or Ghostbur as the ghost’s screams echoed in his mind. He moved the chair under him slightly, making it so he could reach the bookshelf in Tubbo’s bunker. Perhaps light reading would take his mind off of things.

He skimmed the titles with his eyes. Most of them were about L’Manberg and Schlatt2020, but a few stood out. He thought carefully before picking the book that read, “Pandora’s Box”. The name felt familiar. Someone must’ve told him about it, but he couldn’t remember a name.

He leaned over, barely grabbed the book as it was near the end, and put it onto the table in front of him. He opened it, skimmed through the index, and flipped to the first page.

“Pandora’s Box, is a massive prison, commissioned by Dream on the 6th of December 2020. It was primarily built by Awesamdude, with the help of BadBoyHalo, Antfrost, and Dream. The prison is said to be entirely inescapable.”

Wilbur nodded along with the words, and flipped to a page that detailed the captives.

“Current prisoners: Dream, imprisoned on February 7th 2021”

Wilbur chuckled to himself. Oh the irony. Trapped in one's own prison. Truly the fate for someone considered a villain.

Wilbur’s mind was silent. There were barely any whimpers. Wilbur hated how his heart seemed to jump to his throat for a moment at the realization. He turned the page back to the part detailing the entry protocol.

“To gain access to the prison, the guest must summon the warden by clicking the button at the entrance hall and travel through the portal grid controlled by the warden.”

Silence. Wilbur felt his heart rate increasing.

“Upon entering, the warden at the desk has the visitor sign waivers waiving the prison's responsibility and gives the prisoner the responsibility for all risks.”

Wilbur tried to absorb the information, as he became increasingly aware of his own breathing. “In addition, the guest is vetted through interrogation with questions regarding the visitor's visit history, relationship with the prisoner, and the location of residence.”

Wilbur remembered the faint apologies. Sorry for it hurting too much. Yet there was barely a sound in his head, and all he could hear was his heart, and his breathing, and he had one foot on the ground, and the other elevated. He was no longer about to fly. His mind wanted to, but it couldn’t seem to find a place to take off. The click of buttons seemed foreign to him. He wanted to throw the book away to make sense of his mind, and all the desires blasting through it at miles a second. The desires he didn’t want to have, the desires he was supposed to have, the doubts he thought he shook off long ago.

Pathetic. Pathetic shell with nothing to offer for his time. A legacy, a crater in the ground. He wasn’t going to be pathetic anymore. He knew he could do so much more. He could affect miles worth of land. Could fill so many pages in history directly and indirectly. Wilbur was a genius! A work of art, and no one else knew. No one else understood. No one else could truly see the big picture the way he could.

Control. He really really needed control.

Wilbur shut the book abruptly. “Ghostbur, do you want me to read something out loud to you?” The words came out so quickly, that he barely realized he was the one who’d said them.

“Huh?” a moment of hesitation followed, “I-I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I- I don’t know.”

“There are quite a few books here,” Wilbur said, his voice softening.

“I…” A few confused silent breaths came out, “What- what am I supposed to answer?”

“Hm?”

“I’m sorry, this is hard, I don’t… I don’t know. What do you want me to respond? You said I shouldn’t-” There were some quiet unintelligible mumbles.

Wilbur’s hand shook on the cover of the book, his back suddenly straightened. It had worked. Just a few words, slipping out as a small test, and the ghost was right there, trying to please Wilbur’s every whim. The ghost was in his head, and the ghost was desperate. The ghost feared him, and Wilbur wasn’t even sure if the ghost knew how much more Wilbur was capable of or not. Just how little Wilbur had to do, for the pleas to never cease, or for the silence to extend forever.

And perhaps, there was a little bit of influence lingering elsewhere, because the thought made Wilbur feel sick. Dizzy from the power, yet lacking any sort of grasp or control when it came to his own thoughts.

“I’m sorry,” Wilbur said out loud, the words echoing the ghost’s own muffled apologies.

“Huh?” Ghostbur said.

“There is no right answer,” Wilbur said. “Just uh… Pick what you want.”

“Would it… Would either bother you?” Ghostbur asked, his voice choked.

Wilbur shook his head, though the ghost couldn’t see it. “No. Reading brings me information regardless and reading some out loud would just… Help me memorize it.”

Yes. Wilbur didn’t care either way. What did Wilbur care about anyway?

“Oh.” Ghostbur said, taking a deep breath, “R-reading is calming. If it isn’t any trouble I wouldn’t mind listening for a bit. Sorry.”

Wilbur flinched slightly at the apology. “No reason to be sorry,” Wilbur said. “What do you wanna hear about?” He asked, looking at the shelves, “Oooh, how about all this Egg stuff? I don’t know much about that.”

Ghostbur made a small hum of agreement, “Whatever you’d like.”

Wilbur insisted on Ghostbur’s opinions to be heard, the persisting guilt pressing onto him painfully, “Do you not have a preference or do you secretly want a certain book?”

Ghostbur’s voice wavered, “I- I’m sorry. Just um- whatever you want.”

Wilbur hated that he could tell Ghostbur had a preferred book. Yet, he knew the ghost was distressed enough as it was and decided to force himself to not dwell on it too long. Of course it lingered in the back of his mind, but he pulled a book titled “The Egg” off of the bookshelf. He took a shaky breath as he opened the book.

He didn’t bother looking at the table of contents as he cleared his voice, “The Crimson, also known as The Egg, is a strange large red egg that was discovered by BadBoyHalo while mining out his statue room before December 6, 2020.”

The silence was present, but it wasn’t as loud as before. It slightly irritated him as it taunted him in the back of his mind.

“Since then, it has grown much larger and exhibits a strange phenomenon of weeping vines and tendrils that have been found across different locations. The Egg appears to be sentient, talking to the infected in a strange language.”

Wilbur awkwardly laughed, “That’s sorta cool.”

He hoped for a passive agreement that was tinged with melancholy, but instead, silence greeted him. No- it wasn’t a greeting. It was a harsh intrusion that played on repeat.

“The vines, also ca- called Blood Vines appear to be slowly growing across populated areas. The v- vines reek of iron, and taste like metal.”

Wilbur’s hands shook the book as he looked up at the ceiling. He almost expected the stone surface to morph into Ghostbur himself, and proceed to tell him how horrible of a person he was. It was welcomed more than the silence. He knew he didn’t deserve Ghostbur’s voice, but he wanted to hear him laugh again. He just needed the reassurance he would be okay.

The thought made him look back at the book. He shouldn’t be so soft. The ghost had done nothing for him. He only knew him for a few days. He shouldn’t care. He really shouldn’t.

Ghostbur probably didn't care either. He probably pretended to, for a way out of limbo. Yet, part of him knew Ghostbur wouldn’t be silent if that was his goal. He would ask questions about Dream or the train, instead of leaving him alone in his own mind.

“Ghostbur, please just-” Wilbur didn’t even acknowledge what he was saying. He screwed his eyes shut as he put his head down on the table. He felt his eyes water despite being closed. He wasn’t crying if he didn’t let the tears fall, was he?

He didn’t even know what he wanted Ghostbur to say, but it certainly wasn’t what the ghost said. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to read it if you don’t want to.”

A sob reached out of Wilbur’s throat. He constantly ruined everything. It wasn’t any wonder why everyone preferred Ghostbur over him. Apart from the occasional person that preferred Dream over him. The one written down to be the villain that everyone regarded out of malice. He couldn’t have a moment without someone wishing he was gone and it killed him.

Not literally, even if he wished so. He didn’t stop his cries from tumbling out. He went to cover his mouth with a hand, but he couldn’t see a point anymore. The worst that could happen was the villain finally reaching the end of his story. A story that finished months ago, but now the creators of life were releasing the sequel that nobody asked for.

“Wilbur? Is there something I can help you with?” Ghostbur’s voice was so small and hesitant compared to all the thoughts in his head. He got up from his seat, just to curl himself up under the table, moving his leg slightly. He winced from the pain, but he kept it stretched straight to make it hurt a little less.

“G- Ghostie?” Wilbur stuttered through sobs.

Ghostbur’s voice had a fondness that shined through it slightly. A pang of guilt roughly hit him at the gentleness he didn’t deserve. “I’m here.”

Wilbur’s mind ran as he blurted, “Ghostie, please don’t stop talking. I- I can’t stand it. I can’t stand the train station anymore. I need someone else. Please.” Wilbur’s voice cracked on itself as he grabbed part of his hair. He hated the fucking train station, the silence that constantly rang in his ears. The gray walls and ceiling taunted him as if freedom was on the other side. If he ran far enough, he would find the end of the tunnel. If he ran quick enough, no one would even notice he was gone.

It took him a while to hear the thoughts in the back of his mind, “-t was a silly idea! B- but Tommy insisted. So we took a bag with us with some potions in it. They weren’t for me but just Tommy. We ran out into the snow, it was so much fun!”

Wilbur put his head between his knees as he felt the wall against his back. Tommy. Snow. Potions. Ghostbur. No train station. He was out. He tried to count his breathing, but it only worked so well as his breath kept on hitching.

“He was wearing three layers and I was wearing… I guess one? Phil said he needed more layers to feel warm, but I always felt warm since I was a ghost and stuff. So I just wore my normal outfit.”

Wilbur nodded as his voice shook, “Mhm. P- Phil is really nice.”

“Yeah. Phil is part bird, I think? Or angel maybe, some people have said. He has wings and he makes little chirping noises when he’s happy. Sometimes he makes higher ones if he’s worried.” Wilbur already knew all of it, but he felt familiarity with the information that comforted him.

Ghostbur continued to talk and Wilbur was appreciative of it. He’d add small comments occasionally. It took longer than it should have for Wilbur to stop crying, but at the end, in a smaller voice than he wanted, he muttered a quick, “Thank you.”

Ghostbur sighed peacefully, “You’re welcome.”

“Tired,” Wilbur’s eyes desperately wanted to close but he made sure to keep them open. He didn’t want to leave Ghostbur. Not right now.

“Go to sleep, Wil. I’ll be here in the morning.” Wilbur could barely hear the rest, nonetheless debate that he didn’t want to leave Ghostur alone, as he passed out under the table without another word.

#dream smp #dsmp #c!wilbur #revivedbur #ghostbur #fic #The Revived

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casualcatte · 4 years

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RP Journal 8/24 and 8/25/2020

08/24/2020

The Bounty Call Elite Hunt was today and I was /severely/ disappointed in my own performance. Everyone else that came along with us was splendid, but for my own part -- Gods, I think my parents are turning over in their graves in shame. I’ve lived and breathed the Hunt since I could walk, yet I couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn today if my life depended on it. It was likely the fault of the aetheric blast I took immediately after I drew first blood on the beast, so I really shouldn’t be so hard on myself. Nan’to Vaadrage told me as much when we returned to Headquarters.

(Courtesy cut for length -- and for you to get your tissues!)

Regardless of my poor performance, we managed to take down the Elite Hunt with only a modicum of trouble. For a short while, it seemed like no one could get a blow to land on the beast until I landed that attack. After that, the others seemed to rally and fight all the harder -- while I mostly stayed behind a rock and tried not to puke my guts out like Zanshin Kutabare.

It was curious to see Loksia Grimheart with a bow, considering that when we’d gone hunting for coral she’d opted for a sword and shield. A woman of many talents, that. The others, Azazel Hasegawa and Ryza Eclipse I’d never before met, but they both did well between their various magicks. Still, I was glad to finally see the beast go down.

I stayed long enough to have a celebratory drink with everyone, then I stumbled off home. I wasn’t badly injured, but aetheric bullshit always messes with me. Gods, to say nothing of the two aetheryte trips. I know I’m trying to learn Astromancy and all, but some days I really, really hate aetherical magic.

I’m not sure how, but I managed to make it home, get cleaned up and changed out of my hunting leathers before falling face-first in my couch. Lorrendor, I knew, had gone back to Ul’dah, but I had no idea where that dragoon, Edgard Beaumont had gone. All I knew was that I was exhausted and had to rest.

The remainder of the night, I’m told, was passed in a fevered haze as the after-effects of the aether poisoning got to me. I don’t know what I said or what I did, but I have a feeling that I was a lot of trouble for Ardi. Between you and I, journal, I was touched that he stayed right next to me, sitting on the floor beside the sofa, watching over me all night.

Wilbur, a porxie familiar that was gifted to me by Rae-Hann, apparently put in an appearance when I started to have nightmares. He siphoned away the excess aether and that seemed to help me a fair bit. I’m sure that it was just a fever-dream, but I recall waking at one point with Edgard’s arms around me as he held me close, telling me that everything was going to be okay, that I was safe at home in my cabin. My face was wet from tears and I felt like I’d been screaming. The nightmares Wilbur took away must have been severe. I don’t remember much else except for a pink book that Ardi kept hiding. Why would he need to hide a book?

I slept. And this time I didn’t dream.

8/25/2020

When next I awoke, I sent Edgard off to get some fresh air and to stretch his muscles. As I mentioned, he’d sat on the floor all night watching over me as I slept. No doubt that man was achy and in need of some activity. While he was gone, I gingerly made my way to the bath and gave myself the promised soak I’d meant to have when I got home, but skipped in deference to sleep. Once more dressed and ready to face the world, I settled back into my comforter nest on the sofa that Edgard had made me and read one of the books he’d left to keep me entertained, along with a cup of tea and some medicine to help with the nausea.

It was thus that I was found by Lorrendor Hauland when he came to visit. I was surprised to see him come all the way from Ul’dah, given that our last encounter had been… unsettling to say the least. I can’t really tell you what happened between then and now, but this Lorrendor was a different man entirely.

Have I not said before that every encounter with this man feels like it’s with a different person? Today was no different. This was a Lorrendor who was stiff and austere, emotionless save for the one point he laughed when I proclaimed him an automaton. He fetched me tea, he was exceedingly polite and complimentary. I told him at one point I half expected to hear him replying with “Yes, Mistress” and “Whatever you wish, Mistress” to everything I said ere long.

He kept saying that he was “Lorrendor as he should have been instead of the Lorrendor he became.” So this was another version, another mask, as he tried to tamp down his love for me and simply be my friend. Sometimes it makes me wonder if the man has ever lived an honest life and if anyone knows who he truly is? The many Lorrendors I know may be nothing at all like the Lorrendor that Loksia knows or anyone else among his friends. There’s really no telling and there’s really no comparing notes. I don’t know the man. I’m not sure I ever will. He doesn’t trust me enough to be himself around me and I don’t trust him enough /because/ he chooses to hide.

Still, I owe it to him to bring him with me into Dusk Vigil when I go. We’d tracked the Saurotaun to the ruin and think that it may be a lair for it, so that alone is worth investigating. He suggested I bring along people I trust. Naturally, Edgard as my hunting partner, and Rae-Hann as my closest friend, and after some debate, Lorrendor. He’d brought me this information to begin with, the least I could let him do was see it through to the end with me.

Somewhere during this conversation, Ardi returned from his walk. When I queried why he’d been gone so long, he said he’d gotten “distracted” then he tried to hide the same pink book he’d had yesterday behind his back. I tried to get it from him a number of times, even tried to get Lorrendor to fetch it when Ardi threw it across the room, alas. Neither of us could foil that wily dragoon when he’s of a mind he has a secret to keep.

With Edgard present, we discussed the plan for Dusk Vigil again and the dragoon recommended we make it a scouting mission in case the monstrosity was at home. If we saw it, we would retreat and come back with a more tactical plan. Part of me rankled at being made to wait, especially if it was /right there/ but I knew better than to argue. Certainly not with /both/ he and Lorrendor there.

Eventually, Ardi and I settled into our usual banter with Lorrendor chastizing us both as children -- though this time we /were/ being pretty childish -- but all of us laughed and had some fun, I think. Lorrendor needed to catch the last flight from Ishgard to Ul’dah, so he took his leave.

Which left just Edgard and I. Again, I tried to get the secret of the pink book out of him, but he refused to tell. He made me another cup of tea and we talked, as we often do. I pointed out to him that he seemed much more relaxed that he had when he first arrived in Kugane after his fight with Edmond. He seemed more at peace with himself, that whatever chains holding him down had broken and now he had a chance to soar -- but had no idea how to use his wings.

He told me that I’d helped him a great deal, that he’s actually excited when he wakes up in the morning. And in this excitement he gave me a linkpearl, so that we could talk even when we’re apart. It’s a silly, common thing that everyone uses, but it felt meaningful coming from him. Naturally, I had to tease him about it, though, saying that he just wanted to whisper sweet nothings into my ear whenever he wanted.

He inferred then that Something Happened last night in my fevered delirium. He refused to tell me though, saying that something so /intimate/ was meant to be kept a secret. It worried me. Had I said or done something inappropriate? I think I would know, physically, if I’d slept with him and I didn’t really feel that was the case. Idiot, of course he’d delight in worrying me like that.

Still, when I demurred that I didn’t do much of anything for him, he said that I was one of few people who took him seriously, outside of his brother. I listen to him and he feels like he can talk to me about anything. That I could be trusted with his problems. It was heartwarming to be so trusted and I reassured him that I would always be there for him as long as he wanted.

It was then that his mood shifted somewhat and he told me that he was finally ready to go to Valentina’s graveside, to finally find the closure with her that his heart and his soul both needed. He asked me again if I would still go with him. And my answer was of course, I’d promised him that I would. For the first time since I’d know him, I saw fear ripple through Edgard. Fear, uncertainty, and a vulnerability that made my heart ache for him.

I sat next to him, leaning into his side, just to give him a real, living presence to comfort him in such a troubled moment. I reassured him that he wasn’t alone. He would never be, so long as I drew breath. When next he looked at me, his eyes captured and held me within their blue crystalline depths. It was in those depths that I could see … longing. Like a moth to a flame I was drawn to it, enchanted by it -- for a moment, I reached out to that flame…

Before I came to my godsdamned senses! I made my excuses to leave, claiming I needed sleep in my own bed and I left the room. Ardi seemed bewildered and confused, it made my heart ache. I couldn’t believe I’d gotten that close to going against my own expectations. I can’t. I can’t do to him what Tristane did to me. I don’t want to hurt him. I was angry and disappointed in myself for not minding my /own/ boundaries.

As I sat in my room, rebuking myself for my behavior. I heard him talking to himself on the other side of the wall. What I heard, what he said, made my heart hurt all the more. Part of me wanted to go to him, to reassure him, but I knew it was better for us both to remain silent. The Hunt must always be first in my heart. Until it is done, I can’t… I won’t put anyone in the position to love me only for me to die. I knew that pain once and I swore I would never inflict it on anyone else.

What do I do now? How do I act? I never meant for things to get this far. Somewhere, somehow… what wasn’t serious became serious. If I deny his feelings like I did Lorrendor, will he do the same thing? Turn into some emotionless marionette, just going through the song and dance of friendship? I don’t know that I could take that. Ardi is a source of joy to me and a good partner. I don’t… I don’t want to have to be without him.

Why does making the right choice have to be so goddamned hard?

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dramaticsnakes · 3 years

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The Revived - Chapter 5: Domestic Peace

This is chapter 5 of the Dream SMP multichapter fic @rainbowbutterfrosting and I wrote together! I hope you’ll enjoy!

Also! We recently started up a discord server for the fic just for fun, so if anyone reading wants to come hang out with us and get updates on the writing and new chapters, here's a link!

Thank you to @ r0w3n-1n-d0ugh for beta-reading this chapter.

AO3

Read in order (on Tumblr)

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

Word count: 3651

Cw: medical treatment, pain, injuries, uncomfortableness, mentions of begging, mentions of burns, worry, cursing, implied anxiety, light discussions of food

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Could you repeat that?” Techno asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ghostbur gasped, “Jinx!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wilbur smiled softly, “Thanks.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No it’s-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Almost.

#dream smp #dsmp #wilbur soot #tubbo #ranboo #c!tubbo #c!ranboo #c!wilbur #technoblade #c!technoblade #ghostbur #revivedbur #fic #The Revived

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