Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tommy couldn’t deny the truth, no matter how many times he insisted he was perfectly content living alone in exile.

His feelings were hidden in plain sight. He’d been caught staring longingly into lava pools, fighting an internal war on whether to finally bask in the warm, comfortable heat of the burning embers. Recklessness was common for him, but he’d been getting more and more careless, wearing little to no armor, bringing weaker tools, ‘forgetting’ his shield conveniently - it was obvious, really. The way he spoke had changed too, leaving more walls of silence between conversations, disregarding any compliments he got and ‘joking’ about death. In fact, he’d straight up said over the communicators that he didn’t think he had long left, but there was no response, and everyone else continued their conversations. He’d been allowing himself to be attacked by mobs, standing still and laughing as his health slowly deteriorated, a disappointed expression sculpted into his face when they died. Everyone he knew was beginning to leave too, no one greeting him whenever he woke up, no one even sending a message through their communicator, nothing. Tommy had thrown it away months ago, right after his message that was practically a suicide note was ignored, watching it with rage as it began crackling and glitching at the bottom of the ocean.

He was surprised no one had picked up on it yet, well, to be truthful, he knew they noticed, and that they just didn’t care enough.

Every time he woke up, he’d usually be visited by someone- at least Dream, and they’d hang out for a while before Tommy was back to being alone in his tent, slowly descending to madness as he skipped out on yet another day of sleep. Eventually, he’d gotten to the point that he’d wake up, and not even Ghostbur would be there. He’d sit by the water, patiently waiting for someone to remember him, to think “Oh, Tommy lived over here, right? Let’s drop in and say hi!” or even just to leave a sign on his wall like Puffy did. There was no one else. Even the people he’d built out of stray materials had gotten broken, either falling apart due to the harsh rain that attacked Logstedshire or burned by Tommy’s own hands as his brain made him believe there had been yet another betrayal by the clay figures he’d used as company. 

If his pride hadn’t gotten in the way, he would’ve asked for help months ago, whispering a message to Ghostbur over his communicator and asking him to visit, telling Dream that he was lonely and asking him to visit more, attempting to patch things up with Techno, but no. Every time he got even an inch closer to attempting to reach out, his brain distracted him with something else- anything else, until he forgot.

To pass time, he’d begun watching the swirling purple hues within the Nether portals, or staring into the lava, making bets with himself on which bubble would pop first, or how close he could get before it began spitting drops of scorching magma at his legs. 

It was all he could do on his little island alone.

Well, he’d considered attempting to find Techno’s home again, but he’d lost the notebook he’d hastily scribbled the coordinates in, and he’d grown accustomed to the comforting heat of the Nether. If he suddenly went from burning temperatures to the glacial weather within the biome Techno lived in, he was convinced his already-weakened body would just collapse on itself, and he’d die a mortifying death in the middle of a blanket of snow, alone and freezing.

But he was a hero, and if he was going to die, it wasn’t going to be a measly, humiliating, accidental death, he would go out heroically, by his own hand, if he had to .

It had been three weeks, five days and two hours since he’d last been visited, according to the journal he’d decided to keep. Well, it could’ve been ten months and he wouldn’t know the difference, the weather was impossible to tell in the Nether.

If he had to guess, he hadn’t left the Nether in around two weeks, possibly more. The boredom controlled him, making him stare endlessly in the lava, wondering how long it would hurt for before it would all just...stop.

Tommy had been considering that for a while, and he’d guessed it was around two minutes of pure, raw agony before the numbness came and took over. That was what he’d been considering for three days- were the two minutes worth it?

He decided not.

With an exhausted body and eyelids that felt like cinder blocks, he staggered home, well, not home , per se, more like a temporary housing. After stepping through the portal, he fell to his knees, barely able to keep walking. His hands dug harshly into the netherrack beneath him, the warm heat comforting him as he struggled to keep himself awake. Forcing himself to stand, he stumbled across the makeshift path towards his tent, leaning against trees and taking breaks constantly. Eventually, he grasped onto the doorway of Logstedshire, relief flooding his body as he finally collapsed onto his bed.

He didn’t end up sleeping. 

Despite the exhaustion that fueled him, his eyes wouldn’t shut for more than two seconds. He ended up just laying there, watching the wind rustle the trees outside. The jukebox he’d turned on had stopped playing, but he didn’t have the energy to move. The only times he ‘slept’ was when his body shut down and he passed out for a while, he called it ‘nap time’.

Eventually, a familiar voice had spoken from not too far away, and he dismissed it as a sleep-deprivation hallucination. Then it spoke again, so Tommy tilted his head, and saw Ghostbur stood by their campfire.

“Tommy?”  He asked quietly, “Are you asleep?” 

He sat up, shaking his head silently. Ghostbur looked happy, happier than the last time he’d seen him, weeks ago, or years, he wasn’t sure.

“Good,” He grinned, digging into the satchel over his shoulder, pulling out a small box. “I brought you a gift to say sorry that I was in L’Manberg and didn’t visit for so long,” he dropped it into Tommy’s hands.

“Thanks,” he muttered, opening the box to see none other than the actual Mellohi disk sat in it. Ghostbur was practically bouncing with excitement as he waited for Tommy’s face to break out into a smile.

But it never came. Instead, Tommy just stared down into the box, giving Ghostbur a weak nod before thanking him quietly again. 

“Are you not excited? I thought you loved your discs? I can get you something else as a present, don’t worry!” 

“No, it’s fine, I love the disc, thank you, don’t worry about me, Big G,” Tommy forced the casual nickname out, seeing the relief on Ghostburs face. 

“Good! Good! I’m going to be moving some of my stuff from L’Manberg back over here now that I’m finished helping out over there!” Ghostbur announced proudly. 

Tommy knew he should feel happy, even relieved that his brother was finally returning, and he wouldn’t be alone, but he knew it made no difference. As Ghostbur talked, he fidgeted with the sewn up front-section of his jumper, the area which had been torn by the sword when he died.

An idea sparked in his mind, but he pushed it to the back of his brain, remembering it for the time being. “That’s good, Ghostbur, so I’ll see you more then?”

“Yep!” Ghostbur beamed, “I’m gonna build a second Logstedshire on the beach, so I’ll be over there if you need me! Have fun listening to your disc!” He waved kindly before walking out of the archway. Tommy watched him as his figure shrunk in the distance as he got further and further away. 

Ghostbur stuck to his promise, slowly moving into a house identical to Tommy’s. It had been a week since he moved in, and he only stepped foot off of the island to get his things from L’Manberg.

He’d left once again, and Tommy knew this was his last chance. Ghostbur had one final journey to make to collect his items before he permanently stayed in Logstedshire. The moon illuminated the sky, glinting off of the diamond sword Tommy had hung on the wall. He sat up slowly, pushing Mellohi to the side as he unhooked the sword, putting it into its sheath before placing the sheath on his back. He picked up Mellohi, grasping the cool disc in his hand and admiring the purple swirls and designs on the middle. The cold vinyl felt like an ice cube against his warm hands, but he still clutched it as if his life depended on it. 

He heard the waves splashing in the distance as he walked towards the Nether portal. As he stepped in, he felt the heat welcome him home.

Chapter Text

Instantly, he felt the chill from Logstedshire melt away, being replaced with the feeling of a burning hug instead. Not a nice, comforting hug, not like the ones Phil, Techno and Wilbur Ghostbur gave, no, more like a weak attempt at suffocation. The heat was overwhelming, but the Nether was practically his home, so the heat was cold to him. Still, he felt the smoke catch in his throat, forcing him to cough. He didn’t care though. 

Tommy glanced down to Mellohi every few seconds, knuckles white as he gripped it tightly to his chest as he walked. The cold vinyl in his hand kept bumping against his shirt, hands trembling violently. Navigating through the messy buildings and tightrope-like-bridges was hard, but it was even harder with hot tears burning his vision, and while staring down at a disc.

The trip was normal to him though, so he managed to perfectly swerve through the hordes of angry pigmen, and ghasts and Nether castles. Making his way through the Nether was routine to him, even more of a routine than waking up and simply existing. 

He made it to the portal to L’Manberg, and stood staring at it momentarily. Tommy knew it was trapped to raise an alarm if he went through it, so he didn’t even risk it. Though he did consider it. He was going to die anyway, wouldn’t it be better if he got to die in his own home? The one he and his family built?

Then the realisation that Dream would most likely be the one to send him 6 feet under hit, and Tommy sneered at the swirling purples in the portal. 

There was no way in hell he was letting Dream have the satisfaction of taking his last life.

Absolutely no way.

He would take it himself.

With a calm expression, he turned to the fiery magna pools beneath him, bubbling in a certain way to welcome him home. He sat down on the edge, staring into the spewing lava for longer than he meant to. Shaking his head, he busied himself in finding a stray, heavy rock and placing it on top of the notes he’d left, making sure they didn’t fly down with him. Mellohi was sitting beside him, and he latched it onto the mini harness on his leg.

The sword on his back got heavier by the second. It was screaming into his mind, scrambling his thoughts, and when he stood up, he unsheathed it, watching his reflection in the shiny material of the sword. He looked sicklier than he remembered, almost black eyebags, red-tinted eyes, hollowed out cheeks and angular bones, but he reminded himself that it was okay, because no one would have to see him again. 

His hands were outstretched, grasping the handle of the sword. He stared down at the lava, the sharp tip of the sword pointed directly at his heart, piercing the fabric slightly. 

Squeezing his eyes shut, he braced for the impact. It wasn’t until he felt the blood matting his shirt that he’d registered the sharp pain that spread through his body like wildfire. His breath hitched, and he refused to look down, the pain was bearable currently, and he knew if he looked down at the wound, it’d be worse. Instead, he settled for chucking the sword to the side, letting it clatter against the ground. 

He took a deep breath,

smiled for the first time in months,

and he dived head-first towards the lava. 

If he’d only waited mere seconds, Ghostbur’s hand would’ve caught him.

Ghostbur had been nervous on his way back. Something felt wrong when he left Tommy alone. He dismissed it as his big brother instincts kicking in, but he knew it wasn't that. Mellohi was something Tommy had loved ever since he was just born, Ghostbur could vaguely remember Philza having to play it every time he wanted Tommy to stop crying. So when he’d given it to Tommy, and he’d responded monotonously with a blank face, Ghostbur could tell something was up. When Ghostbur got his first guitar, Tommy had insisted he make up a tune to go along with Mellohi. He knew Mellohi was precious to Tommy, something he’d treasured forever, so seeing his unenthusiastic reaction unnerved him.

He shoved his worry down, reminding himself calmly that he would be back in a minute. He’d leave the boat, and greet Tommy with a hug and a grin, and Tommy could help him finish off the decorations for his home, and then the brothers would be reunited. 

Well, two of them, at least.

The moment the boat docked, Ghostbur noticed a faint glowing coming from the portal, getting brighter and brighter by the second. He clambered out of the boat just in time to see Tommy entering the Nether, sword sheathed and Mellohi gripped tightly.

Ghostbur tilted his head, brain racing to figure out what was happening. 

Tommy could’ve just been going to his screaming station, Ghostbur told himself, but then why would he have a sword?

He could be fighting off mobs? Ghostbur shook his head, No, why would he have Mellohi then?

Then Ghostburs mind drifted back to earlier that day, when he’d seen a stack of papers beneath Tommy’s bed. He didn’t want to pry, so he left them alone, pretending as if he had never seen them, although he could’ve sworn he saw Tubbo’s name on the top paper. Months ago, he had suggested Tommy kept a diary to help him manage his loneliness, and he just assumed that it was said diary, so he pushed it fully under the bed and left.

Ghostbur’s worry was slowly morphing into guilt, and he couldn’t figure out why. He crept over to the portal, entering silently. The first thing he felt was the immense burning temperatures, contrasting the snow that had begun falling in L’Manberg. He’d stayed longer than he had to in order to take some polaroids of the buildings as they were covered in snow. He knew Tommy would love to see them.

But he didn’t have time to think about the heat, because out of the corner of his eye he could see Tommy crossing a bridge towards the portal leading to none other than L’Manberg. 

Ghostbur was concerned, didn’t Tommy remember that he was exiled? 

No, he must have, Tommy’s memory had always been good… So what IS he doing then?

He followed silently, staying far enough behind that he would be just a dot to Tommy. The journey was silent, and Ghostbur was on edge. Usually, Tommy would be talking to himself, cracking jokes or laughing at anything he could find that was merely funny. Instead, it was pure silence. Ghostbur kept reminding himself that his eyes weren’t the most reliable, so he dismissed his thoughts. Despite that, he was running, no, sprinting towards his little brother.

Tommy had just put the papers beneath a rock, and clipped Mellohi to his harness. In his hands was a sword that he’d unsheathed, the warm glow of the lava tinting it. A sword which Ghostbur watched turn red.

The horrific sight had made his speed increase, and he was mere meters away when he heard Tommy’s breath hitch, and then the sword tumble to the side, stained crimson. 

He felt sick, but he knew if he gave up now, it would be at Tommy’s expense.

The moment of hesitation Tommy showed was just enough for Ghostbur to get a meter behind him. 

He reached, hand outstretched towards the back of Tommy’s shirt, hoping to be able to grab him last minute and yank him backwards. 

Instead, Tommy sank towards the lava, arms outstretched, his laughter still echoing even after he was submerged.

Ghostbur didn’t know what to do, so he Ş̷̡̨̧̨̘̗̱̖͈̙̭̗̗̞͔̫͉̪̲̳̺̯̥̠̪͈̺̺̹͍̳̣̩͉̻̜̂͌̎͂͜ͅͅͅC̴̛̜̮̺͇͇͉̄̒̐̃̈́̀͌̿̽̍̆͂̂͗̊̆̀͛͒̆̍̓̔̈́̈̔̅͒̊̆͘̕̚̕͝R̵̨̡͎̹̙̩̟̜̠̩̫̪̳̱̩͈̞̹̘̥̦̂͋̃̂̐̍̍́̕͘̚͜E̸̬͔̭͚̯̗̟͕̥̓͂̇͛̒̒̈̊̆̇̊́̀͒̓̇͒͗̊͒̆͘͠Ä̶̡̧̛̬̦͉̘͉̘̤̯͔̮̅͐̆̋̒̇̈́̃̋͛̍͒͒̐̾̓̀̈́̔̌̈́̓̈́̅̆̈́̑̍͠͝͝M̵̢̢̙̗̲͉̥͕̟͙̝͕͇̜̻̼͈̖̜̏̃͂̄͊͒̾̿̂̒̅͌̈͒͜͜͜͝È̶̢̨̖̮̮̭̞̞̠̔͆͐̈́̉̋̋́͌̾͋̏̐̉͊̈́͋̊͊͘͜͜͝D̴̺̠̲̤̼̘̗̮̝̲̤͋̀̆͑̊́̿͗͌̇̌̿͗̀̓̍͛̃̔̋̋̄̾̋͑̂̚ͅͅͅ

Chapter Text

Tubbo had been sitting on the floor of the city centre, staring out at the sunset alone. The empty space next to him felt wrong without his loud best friend's presence. The jukebox next to him was eerily silent. The flowers around the bench were wilted, leaves dead and crisp on the ground.

His mind was racing. Had Tommy been exiled long enough that he learnt his lesson? If he was allowed to return -hypothetically, of course- would he be less of a threat to their country? Could Tubbo allow him to come back? 

Tubbo had been internally debating it for the last hour, his compass gripped tightly in his hand. It had been moving ever so slightly over the last few minutes, and Tubbo wondered why Tommy was going somewhere so late at night. 

That’s when he heard i̶̭̱̞̾͗͒t̵̬̂̈͂ . 

A sharp, piercing s̴̱̺̎̓c̴̱̺͔̔͝ṙ̷̕͘͜e̷͔̦͋͛͝͝ǎ̸̪̱m̵̲̐̓̿͝ sounded through the air. It sounded demonic, a deep echo following it as it reverberated in the air. The raspy, nightmarish s̴̱̺̎̓c̴̱̺͔̔͝ṙ̷̕͘͜e̷͔̦͋͛͝͝ǎ̸̪̱m̵̲̐̓̿͝ seemed to surround them.

He leapt to his feet, sword drawn, prepared to attack. His eyes darted around the area, seeing people slowly leave their houses, weapons grasped in their hands. Soon enough, there was a reasonably large crowd, all gathered with weapons, confused. Their eyes were glued to Tubbo, exhaustion obvious on their faces.

“Hey, Tubbo, the fuck is happening?” Fundy called out from the back of the group. In his hands was a bow, a quiver stuffed with arrows on his back. Sleepiness riddled his face, 

Tubbo furrowed his eyebrows, “I...don’t know,” he admitted, grip tightening on the handle of the blade. He wasn’t sure if he should be scared or not. The scream could be someone in danger, someone under attack who wanted to send out a warning. Or it could’ve just been someone fighting off mobs.

The chatter grew louder, panic setting in the air.

Tubbo cleared his throat, gaining the attention of the group, “Everyone go to the White House, now!” He demanded, worry still settling in his stomach. He grabbed Niki’s arm silently, nodding for the two of them to go aside as the group trudged towards the White House.

“Tubbo? What’s going on?” Niki asked, the handle of her axe grasped in her hand. Despite her being clearly exhausted, she was prepared to fight.

Tubbo narrowed his eyes, “I don’t know, there was a scream, and I’m trying to make sure everyone’s here and that we’re not under attack again,” He rubbed his eyes, forcing himself to stay awake. He glanced to the side, seeing everyone shuffling their way over to the White House. “I need to make sure everyone’s here. You and Fundy go patrol the borders,” Tubbo stated. 

Niki nodded, “I’ll go get him now, sound the alarms if anyones missing, Tubbo” and with that, her and Tubbo headed to the White House.

Tubbo stood up on the stairs, seeing Niki within the crowd pulling Fundy aside. “Everyone, stay calm,” he announced, silencing the muttering in the group. “I think we’re under attack once again. No, no, don’t panic, we’ve got the borders covered,” he added, hearing the uproar from the crowd. “We just need to check everyone’s here,” He insisted. The crowd seemed to calm at that.

As a fairly new president, Tubbo had never experienced a dire problem. The whole Tommy exile issue had lasted several days. This, however, was immediate, and Tubbo couldn’t let it wait. His own people could be in danger, and a sense of urgency sent shivers down his spine, hands trembling. 

The record of citizens within the book in his shaky hands got slowly read out, and Tubbo eventually counted every citizen as present. Some of the nerves got eased, but he was still severely on edge.

“Okay, uh, it seems everyone is here, please remain here for a bit,” Tubbo pushed the microphone away, turning to Quackity, who was stood beside him. “Keep them here, I’m going to talk to Niki and Fundy, they’re by the borders, keep a lookout. I’ll come back with updates in a minute,” Tubbo nodded, rushing towards the borders before Quackity even got a chance to respond. 

He was still troubled, hands trembling as he fought against the wind, trudging towards the borders. Distress riddled his body, practically shaking with anxiety. 

The moment he reached the border, he stumbled into Fundy, who looked equally as nervous. “Tubbo! Oh thank god, man, there’s this fuckin’ noise, listen,” Fundy rushed out, before silencing himself, allowing the rumbling of the ground and the crackling of the sky to fill Tubbo’s ears. “Me and Niki searched for shit and we couldn’t find anything,” Fundy admitted, fidgeting with his hands as he spoke. Niki came up behind him, just as scared as Fundy.

“It’s okay, shit, uh, everyone’s here, and neither you or Niki found anyone attacking, right?” Tubbo questioned, getting a head shake in return, “Alright, so no one’s missing, no one’s attacking, so what the fuck was that scream?” 

Niki’s shaky voice came from behind Fundy, “I think I’ve found out,” she admitted, gaining their attention. She pointed to the opposite direction.

A sharp yell caught their attention. They spun around to see Dream racing towards them. They raised their weapons instinctively.

Except he was just as distressed as them.

His mask was splattered with blood, and it was tilted to the side to reveal his face, which was twisted in fear. His knuckles were bleeding, bruised and battered. His armor was nowhere to be seen, instead donning a torn green hoodie.

“Weapons down! Weapons down!” Dream demanded as he ran, “I’m not here to fight!” He insisted, wheezing as he approached them. “I swear I’m not here to fight,” he raised his hands as a sign of surrender.

“Then why are you here?” Tubbo asked, eyes narrowed. There was a scream, and now suddenly Dream was here? Something didn’t add up.

“I needed to warn you all. Wilbur’s back,” Dream hurried out, still catching his breath.

“You mean Ghostbur? We know, he was here yesterday,” Niki’s axe was grasped tightly, raised ever so slightly. She was prepared to fight.

“Technically, but he’s acting like Alive-Wilbur,” He stated, wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth, “He threatened to blow up L’Manberg again. We fought and he was actually able to hit things, like my face,” Dream gestured to the blossoming bruise on his cheek.

“If this was even true, why would you tell us?” Fundy interrogated, arms crossed, stepping backwards slowly.

Dream shook his head, exasperation clear on his face, he wiped a hand over his face, smearing the blood and dirt accidentally, “Wilbur was living with Tommy. Wilbur is now insane again, he won’t say what happened and Tommy is missing. Connect the dots!” 

Tubbo shook his head as he rummaged in his pockets, “No, he can’t be missing, I have this! It leads me to....him...” Tubbo trailed off, staring down at the compass, which was whirring around in a circle, glitching and twitching madly. The writing on the back was smeared around Tommy’s name.

“See? Wilbur’s done something, and I’m not about to let fucking Tommy die to get immunity as a ghost,” Dream ran his hands through his hair nervously, streaking the blood through the blond strands.

“You’re only doing this to make sure you can still hurt Tommy?” Niki questioned, rage evident on her face.

A deep l̴̙͇̼͔̯̭͒͝a̸̡͇̺͓̎ṵ̴̘͑̍g̶̺͖̈́̈́̓́͜h̸̡̞͈̺̣̹̻̬̒̄̍̾̌̿ͅ came from behind them.

Chapter Text

When Tommy awoke, he didn’t know where he was. His back was laid against the beach, staring up at the almost black sky above him. There was freezing sand beneath him, and the wind that brushed over him felt glacial. He didn’t know why everything felt so cold now.

With shaky arms, he managed to push himself up into a sitting position, hunched over. His limbs felt frail as if the icy breeze that swept over him would snap him in half. His body was weak as if he had been ready to drop at any moment. Tommy held a hand to his head, striving to muffle the aching that seemed to course through his body, starting at his head. 

He tried to remember what he’d last done, but the moment he started exploring his memories, wrath filled his mind and his vision went red. 

“No, no,” Tommy muttered, voice scratchy and hoarse, he lifted the hand that he had previously put on his head, and clenched it into a fist before hitting the side of his own head. It seemed to be enough to knock him out of the blind fury his memories seemed to give him. 

The first memory he picked up before diving into fury was vague, but he had seen it for enough moments to remember it. He was wearing the clothes he wore in the remembrance, except in the memory, they weren’t torn and ripped. Across from him was someone who’s image almost sent him back into the resentful mind space, but he clenched his fists more pinchingly, and it halted. The person he was staring at wore a sharp suit, a cold green tie dangling from his white, collared shirt. He opened his mouth to talk, but his words faltered, collapsing in the air. The smartly dressed person grimaced and began lecturing, but at the sound of his voice, Tommy’s mind went black, fragments of the conversation filtering through the anger and overlapping one another.

 “SELFISH!”’

“You are a LIABILITY, Tommy,”

“You are hereby exiled.”

“YOU COULDN’T DO ONE THING FOR ME?!”

“Please detain and escort Tommy out of MY country.”

“THE DISCS DON’T MATTER!”

“Mhm, the one thing you care about?!”

“MAYBE ADD A COUPLE OUNCES OF RESPECT!”

“There’s one difference between you and Dream.”

“YOU’VE MESSED THIS UP FOR NO ONE BUT YOURSELF!”

“The most logical thing to do...for Tommy to be exiled.”

“YOU PROBABLY WOULDN'T HAVE EXILED ME BECAUSE I WOULD’VE LISTENED!”

Tommy hurled his fists into the sand, jolting him out of the suffocating quotes that filled his mind. He shivered violently, not just from the screeching words that echoed in his mind, but from the fact that he seemed to be permanently frozen.

He glanced down at his hands, seeing a mini array of scratches due to how hard he slammed his hands into the sand. Not only that, but his skin was a muted grey mixed with a dull blue, the bruises on his skin fading into a deep blue-ish purple-y colour. There were deep red burns scattered across his body, fading into almost black. Tommy caught his reflection in the water and realised his face didn’t look much better than his injured body. There were pitch black tear streaks leading from his eyes, down his cheeks and a few running down his neck, most of the lines ending at his jawline.

His previous glistening blue eyes had been completely replaced, instead, his whole eyes were filled with what seemed to be lava, trapped behind invisible barriers, keeping it within his eye sockets. It swirled and mixed within his eyes, yet no heat seemed to be coming from them. There was a huge black burn going from his left collarbone, covering half of his neck, ending at his jawline. It matched the small circular burns that were dispersed across his face. His hair seemed to be more grown out than he remembered, no longer swooped back, now hanging limply in his face. 

He took a few moments to register what he was seeing before his heart dropped. He was...dead? 

Well, his mind supplied, Dead people can't be hurt...or exiled.

Tommy pushed that thought away...for now.

He glanced down at his hands once again, and finally realised that he was holding a small compass, the label shrivelled up and burnt half-way through, now reading ‘YOUR’. It was the only warm thing he had, shielding him against the freezing temperatures that suffocated him. The compass felt burning hot, and he held it closer to him. Tommy had never seen the compass before, but he watched in fascination as the slightly melted, dented glass encased the shaking arrow.

Stumbling to his feet, he realised he wasn’t exactly standing. His body was slightly see-through, and his lower legs seemed to be wispy and almost fully invisible. He seemed to be floating off of the ground, which he decided he’d use to his advantage.

He tightened his grip on the compass and began floating towards wherever it was pointing. The label read ‘YOUR’, so it must be his, and why else would he have a compass if it didn’t lead him to something important?

He set off his journey, exhausted by half-way through, but still following the needle as it pointed straight ahead.

It had taken him twenty minutes to cross the ocean while floating, and a distant memory of him screaming “WHY DIDN’T THEY SHOW UP?! IS THE JOURNEY TOO LONG?!” resurfaced. He decided not to open that can of worms and pushed it down momentarily as he approached short obsidian walls that seemed to be in the process of removal. 

He looked down at the compass and saw it was pointing directly at the archway in the walls. Tommy looked up, furrowed his brows and headed towards the gap. 

The moment he saw L’Manberg, memories flooded back, but one thing stuck out to him.

They were all horrible. 

He couldn’t even assign the voices to some people, yet the fire behind all of their words pained him.

“It stays in the pit.”

“-IS TO REVOKE... THE CITIZENSHIP… OF WILBUR SOOT...AND TOMMY INNIT.”

"Down with the revolution, boys. It was never meant to be.”

“IF WE CAN’T HAVE MANBERG, NO ONE CAN HAVE MANBERG.”

“Tommy, let’s be the bad guys.”

“I WANT TO SEE WHITE FLAGS! WHITE FLAGS, OUTSIDE YOUR BASE BY DAWN TOMORROW, OTHERWISE YOU ARE DEAD!”

“When a man has nothing to lose, d'ya know what that means, Tommy? It means we can do what we want.”

“HOW COULD YOU?! YOU KILLED HIM! You... killed him!”

“...Are we the bad guys, Tommy?”

“YOU WANT TO BE A HERO, TOMMY? THEN DIE LIKE ONE!”

“Do you know what happens to traitors, Tubbo?”

“PHIL, STAB ME WITH THE SWORD! MURDER ME NOW! KILL ME!”

Tommy shook his head forcefully, pushing those memories down once again stepping through the archway. He didn’t want to be dragged into that crater of memories that would just enrage him. He clenched his fists harder, listening out for any sign of people.

Shouting filled his ears. It was loud and violent, and he could hear at least two or three people screaming at each other, and it seemed to be coming from the direction that his compass was pointing to, so he set a determined expression on his face, and began sprinting.

Chapter Text

Dream noticed him first, and the words lodged in his throat, staring idly at the wispy form of the dead boy. Everyone else had their backs to him, so no one else had noticed his presence.

“-YOU KILLED MY BROTHER!” Ghostbur screamed, going to shove Dream before realising his hands had just sunk through, merely giving him a cold shiver. “YOU ARE ALL THE FUCKING REASON HE IS DEAD! YOU ARE ALL RESPONSIBLE! YOU DID THIS TO HIM!”

Dream wasn’t listening, everything had gone static in his ears. He saw the confused look on the dead teenager's face, eyebrows knitted in concern as he glanced up from his compass, to the group, and back to the compass. His head was tilted curiously. Guilt filled Dream’s mind, the innocent look on Tommy’s face reminding him that the person he was fighting...was actually just a kid. He joked about it often, but he’d never genuinely thought about the fact that Tommy was just a kid.

“YOU DON’T EVEN HAVE THE FUCKING DECENCY TO LOOK AT ME? FUCK YOU, YOU… ” Ghostbur poured his heart out in his words, rage welling up inside of him when he realised Dream wasn’t even listening. He whirled around, eyes immediately falling onto the see-through form of Tommy. His words were left hanging in the tense air.

Suddenly all the eyes were on Tommy, who barely recognised most of the people. Fear clutched at his heart. He gulped, throat burning as he did so, beginning to scan the crowd.

There was some sort of fox-human hybrid, who he had no memories of, along with the blonde woman who wielded an axe beside him. He assumed they were good, because the only people he remembered were the ones who made him angry, or so he assumed, judging by the flashes of memories that sped by. The teenager in a suit who stood between them, however, made his vision flash with black once again. Tommy managed to tie the screaming memories from earlier to him, and he clenched his fists.

A man in a mask with guilt painted on his face had also been linked to the memories, Tommy’s mind supplied helpfully. He could vaguely remember a feeling of dread at the thought of the man.

The one in the trenchcoat, however, was the final kicker. A flood of memories came in all at once. Tommy remembered an explosion, screaming, and blood, oh god, so much blood. His mind was racing, but he could pick out a few blurry details. There were swords and fighting and yelling. He remembered being terrified, no, petrified of the man. A vague memory resurfaced of him breaking down just at the sight of the man in the trenchcoat. Then there were the soft sounds of plucked guitar strings mixed with humming and laughter that washed away the violence.

His mind supplied him with a broken up sentence before it calmed down. ‘ Not his fault. Brother. Forgiveness.’

Tommy opened his mouth, mind clearing up as he spoke. “W...il...bur?” He spoke slowly, carefully attempting to remember the name belonging to the man in front of him. His throat burned as he spoke, but judging by the stunned look on the man’s face, if he didn’t speak, then no one would.

The one in the trenchcoat, Ghostbur, his mind supplied, flung himself at Tommy, wrapping his arms around him and burying his face in the ash-covered, scorched, messy hair on top of Tommy’s head. A relieved smile graced his face, the dirt seemingly fading away slightly. Ghostbur hadn't been able to touch anyone since he died, simply floating through them, but the relief of seeing his little brother again mixed with his first hug in months had sent tears streaming down his cheeks, not that he'd ever admit it.

“ Toms- Holy shit- How- I- '' The echo had lessened, although the scratchy, demonic tone remained as he hugged his younger brother tightly. Dark tears welled up in Ghostbur’s eyes as he clutched onto Tommy like a lifeline.

“Hi…” Tommy trailed off, still not used to the scorching pain in his throat whenever he spoke. He sniffled, pressing his face into the shoulder of Ghostbur’s trench coat. For some reason, the boiling, lava-like tears that ran down his cheeks mixed with the relief from seeing his brother again were the only things keeping his freezing body temperature at bay.

The others were silent, taking in the array of wounds that covered the dead teenager in front of them. What unsettled them most was the black tear stains coming from his eyes, which seemed to be made from magma. 

“Tommy?” Niki’s voice was quiet, almost silent as she breathed out the single word. She covered her mouth, unable to take her eyes away from the harsh burns that covered the newer ghost. Her and Tommy had fought side by side, and the amount of injuries he had repaired for her was insane, so seeing him so...frail and vulnerable was almost scary.

Fundy found himself rendered speechless, not trusting himself to speak without a wobbly voice or tears, simply watching Tommy as he clutched onto his brother, or, rather, Fundy’s dad. His expression made it obvious he was trying (and failing) to hold back tears as he saw the interaction.

Even Dream looked horrified, hands trembling violently and face morphed into terror as he stared at the young ghost. "I-" He broke off, finding himself unable to speak without his words crumbling mid-air and refusing to continue.

But Tubbo? Tubbo’s face was blank, having not even registered the situation yet.

“ Tommy- I- Holy fuck, how did you get here? ” Ghostbur’s eyebrows were knotted in surprise and relief, deciding to ignore the tears that splashed down his cheeks as he spoke. His hands rested on Tommy’s shoulders, forcing himself to block out the burns, scars and bones that jutted out that he felt beneath the shirt. He stared down at his brother’s face, taking in all of the injuries and the hurt expression that was permantly etched on, vowing to get him justice.

He began speaking slowly, unsure of how to start or what to say. “I...woke up with this...I assumed it was important so I followed it,” he explained carefully, gradually getting used to the burning pain that seared in his throat as he used his voice. Clutched tightly in his hands was the battered compass he’d clutched onto since he’d woken up.

And that’s when Tubbo finally broke.

Chapter Text

Tubbo’s eyes were glued to the swirling pools of lava within the ghosts eyes, spilling down the teens ashy cheeks, emitting a warm glow. The singed green bandana around the phantoms' wrist once belonged to him, Tubbo vaguely remembered giving it to him right before the exile trial. He watched as the burning sparks mixed with the ash that emitted from the dead teen. Guilt twisted his stomach painfully, 

“To-” Tubbo’s voice broke off, heart twisting in his chest, gulping, “Tommy- I-” He choked out, voice thick with tears. His hands shook violently, the compass feeling like a brick in his pocket. He reached out to Tommy, before he faltered, clutching it into a fist and bringing it back to himself.

Tommy looked down at him, head tilted. The molten lava in his eyes faded to a deep grey. “Oh...it’s...you…” His happy expression melted away, leaving nothing more than an emotionless face, clearly disappointed to see the suited boy.

Tubbo’s heart sunk, “Tommy- I-” He broke off once again, the ghost clearly not listening, zoned out. “Tommy?”

There was a moment of silence as the younger ghost seemed to come back to reality, Ghostbur now standing protectively in front of him. Tommy didn’t care though, stepping around Ghostbur to get in Tubbo’s face, expression twisted with rage. 

“Why di-did you exi-exi-ex-exile me?? W̶̮̺͛̅ḩ̵͋y̷̥̠̆̓? W̸̛̟̙̟̜̬̫̱̦̱̠̭̉͌̀̌̿̔̇͆͑͛̑̉̚͘̚̕͠ͅH̵̛̪͕͍͓̻̣̦̘̰͔̺͖̫̲̝̹͌͋̒̎̋͆̐̏͒͊̚Y̵̖̺̞̙̼͋̽͂̈́͋̓͒̇̈́̂̎̔̑͝͠?” Tommy screamed, words stumbling together due to the burns in his throat, fury evident on his face as smog and sparks began surrounding them. The lava in his eyes began moving quicker, darkening to a shade of black. 

“I-I didn’t want to-” Tubbo fumbled over his words, stumbling backwards, away from the raging ghost.

“The-the-then why did you fu-fuck-fu-fucking do it?! ” Tommy begged, desperate to know the reasoning behind making the teen feel so hurt. If his memories were serving him right, then he and the suited boy had some friendship in the past, evident as the swarm of memories all gave him one main emotion, betrayal.

“I had to! For L’Manberg!” Tubbo defended himself, flinching at the sound of the echo in the new ghosts voice.

“ W-Wh-wh-wha-what, the country we he-he-help-helped you b-build? The one WE had to convi-convin-con-convince you to fight fo-fo-for? ” Tommy gestured furiously to him and Ghostbur. “Ex-exil-ex-exi-exiling me because of a fuc-fu-fucking accid-accident? Really? I di-di-d-didn’t think you coul-co-coul-could be so...S̸̗̦̪̼̒̽̇E̷̢̺͚̰̹̜̗͙̍͒͒Ḷ̵̡͇͇̯̖͚̮̩̋̀̾F̵̦̃̈̅̏̈̂̓̾͘Į̶̞̦̭̠͓̒ͅS̸̨̺͕͍͋͋͒̄̓̊H̶͖̲͕̪̳̘͈̓͛̈́͑͝͝”

Tubbo clenched his fists, the word sparking a flame inside him, “I was not selfish . I did what I had to!” He yelled right back, staring directly into the ghosts eyes. Guilt swarmed inside of him, the cold, lava-filled eye sockets reminding him that Tommy was dead. He was a ghost. And it was all his fault.

 Tommy looked exasperated, turning and walking back towards Ghostbur. Tubbo’s shoulders slumped, relieved the fighting was over. Tomy reached his brothers side, and Wilbur turned around to hug him briefly. Tubbo sighed, thankful that the situation had calmed down. Just as he thought that, Wilbur whirled back around and slammed his fist into Tubbo’s face.

Niki decided it was her time to interfere, jumping between the now-fallen Tubbo and the furious Tommy. 

“What-what the fuck?!” Tubbo yelled, holding his sleeve to his nose in an attempt to stop the blood flow. Surprise leaked out of his voice, not expecting a ghost to be able to hit, despite Dream’s warnings earlier.

“You deserved it, don’t act so shocked,” Niki looked down at Tubbo with a disappointed expression, “He’s dead, Tubbo. Tommy’s fucking dead and you’re still trying to defend yourself? He hasn’t even gotten a chance to say how he’s died and you’re already picking a fight? You’re just as bad as him,” Niki’s words were harsh, but her tone was calm, voice steady and quiet. She nodded towards Dream with her last words, seeing the hurt look on Tubbo’s face and not regretting it one bit. She turned around to face Tommy, who looked grateful. “Tommy?”

“I d-do-don’t...remember you,” Tommy admitted quietly, all viciousness and echo gone from his voice, “Or h-hi-him,” he nodded towards Fundy, who looked proud of Niki as he moved forward to stand by her side. 

Fundy felt disappointed, knowing that the only people Ghostbur remembered were the ones he liked, but then he remembered how Tommy remembered Tubbo’s betrayal, and he wondered if the circumstances were different. 

Tubbo had stumbled to his feet during the conversation, now sporting a harsh bruise along with a bloody nose as he watched them talk.

Fundy spoke up, “That’s okay, Tommy. My name's Fundy, she's Niki, with a K. If you don’t mind answering, how’d you die?”  Niki elbowed him subtly, but she was clearly interested too.

Tommy shook his head, “I would an-an-ans-answe-ans-answer, but… Sorry, I-I...don’t remem-re-rem-reme-remem....remember,” he whispered, only remembering the feeling of raw pain, burning heat and then just blackness.

Ghostbur, who’d been silent until this point, finally spoke up, hand resting on Tommy’s shoulder comfortingly, “I do. I saw it happen.”

“You did?” Dream was surprised, though he knew he shouldn’t be. He’d considered the possibility that something had happened to Tommy and it had turned Ghostbur distraught, but he’d never thought that Ghostbur had watched his little brother die. 

“How did he die, Ghostbur?” Niki prompted, realising Ghostbur was stalling. She could understand why, though. Ghostbur had watched the youngest of the brothers die. Technoblade was the only remaining member of the siblings, and Niki was already debating on how to tell him that his only remaining brother had died too.

“ Suicide. He stabbed himself and then jumped into a sea of lava ,” Ghostbur spoke sharply, choosing to ignore the sorrow on the faces around him. He could hear the sharp intake of breath from Tommy, but he focused on the guilt-ridden expression on Tubbo’s face. “Burned to death as he bled out. Right next to the L’Manberg portal. In fact, I have the notes he left right here ,” Ghostbur dug around in the pockets of the trenchcoat before pulling out a wad of papers, turning back to the group with a pissed off expression, dropping the papers to the ground.

Chapter Text

There was a sickening silence in the air as everyone read through the letters Tommy had left behind. 

Niki stared down at hers with trembling hands, letting it fall to the floor as she covered her mouth, tears spilling down her cheeks, staring at the ghost with a sorrowful expression. 

Fundy was gaping down at his letter, teardrops staining the page, blurring the ink in some areas, regret painted onto his face.

Dream had scrunched up his paper, refusing to read it, attempting to force himself to feel guilt as he watched the ghost stare up at his younger brother.

Tubbo, however, was stuck on the last line of his letter. ‘I don’t know if I’m able to forgive you, but I can try...maybe .’ Unlike Dream, real guilt suffocated him, forcing his breathing to come out as shaky, uneven hyperventilation. 

His brain was a loop, repeating one screaming message, ‘YOUR FAULT YOUR FAULT YOUR FAULT YOUR FAULT YOUR FAULT YOUR FAULT YOUR FAULT YOUR-’ He raised a hand, grasping his hair and tugging harshly, desperate to make his brain stop. He knew it wasn’t wrong though, it WAS his fault, he was the one to exile his best friend, if he’d let Tommy stay, he wouldn’t have…

Tubbo shook his head, stumbling backwards, “I-I-” He made eye contact with the ghost before he stared down at his trembling hands before turning around and sprinting away, burning tears streaming down his face. 

Fundy put a hand on Niki’s shoulder, gesturing after Tubbo, silently communicating with a shrug and a nod. Niki shook her head in response, “Someone else can deal with him right now,” she clenched her fists, jealous that she hadn’t gotten a chance to give Tubbo a good punch as well. 

“Tommy, we- we’re sorry, we never-” Fundy began, paper clutched tightly in his fist. Him and Tommy had fought side by side in the first war, in fact, Tommy had clasped him on the shoulder and wished him good luck moments before they’d been betrayed by Eret. 

The ghost shook his head, turning back around to face them, “It’s okay, th-the-t-th-the only people I remember hu-h-hur-hurt me, and I don’t re-remem-re-r-reme-remember either of you, so I gu-g-guess alive me liked you two,” he gave them a smile,  “I re-reme-remember the pe-p-peop-p-people I forgave too,” he added, glancing back at Ghostbur, who gave him a grateful nod.

“Do...Do you remember me?” Dream, who had been watching on in silence, finally spoke up, words coming out shaky as he spoke. He was surprised at the lack of guilt he felt. He thought he’d at least feel a little sorry that he’d gaslit a teen and manipulated him to the point he committed suicide, but no, there was nothing but pride inside of Dream.

Ghostbur interfered, “ No, no, you don’t get to act all innocent now, ” he held a hand up, “ Unless you wanna go again ?” He teased, showing off the bruises littering his knuckles.

“Let him speak for himself, Wilbur,” Dream interfered, an idea sparking in his mind, forcing an innocent look onto his face, making eye contact with the confused ghost hidden behind Ghostbur. He intentionally used Ghostburs name, grinning internally when he saw anger flash upon the ghosts face.

“Oh, and that’s what you did, isn’t it? Let him speak for himself? Yeah, because I remember so vividly all the times you allowed him to make his own decisions and definitely didn’t control him ,” Ghostbur spat, rage and sarcasm radiating from his words.

Dream decided to go with the playing dumb route, tilting his head, confused as he spoke, “That’s exactly what I did. He was fine. Tommy did whatever he wanted, I had no input. What are you talking about?” 

Oh no, you let him be independent, didn’t you? You never stole the invites then? Never locked me up during the party so I couldn’t tell people to go? Never bribed people not to show up to the party? Never drugged his food to make him hallucinate and then treated him like he was psychotic?” Ghostbur clenched his fists, yelling as he shielded a frozen Tommy from Dream.

Dream froze, “Who told you about that?” 

“Ghostbur? What are you talking about?” Fundy asked, horrified by what he was hearing. L’Manberg had been kept in the dark about Tommy’s exile, the most they knew was that he had been sent far away and they were to notify Tubbo if he was found in or near L’Manberg. No one had been told about Dream toying with Tommy’s mind using his manipulation.

“ Tommy, here, tried to throw a party a few weeks into his exile. In fact, me and Dream helped him set it up. I was given the invitations to hand out, but surprise surprise, Dream decided to interfere. He burnt the invites and locked me in a prison cell for a week, said if I told Tommy then he’d kill him. So when I got back, I didn’t say anything, and Tommy said during that time, he’d started hallucinating and that no one but Dream showed up to his party. It wasn’t too hard to connect the dots,” Ghostbur sneered the last part, turning to face Dream.

There was a horrible silence as Fundy and Niki let the information sink in, Dream stood by the side, shaken by the intelligence of the ghost. Even his own team hadn’t noticed what he was doing, so Ghostbur figuring it out single handedly was enough to scramble his mind long enough for the others to spring into action,

Within seconds after Ghostbur’s mini speech, Niki had her axe to Dream’s throat, a furious expression on her face, “Consider this a friendly warning. Get out,” she threatened, nodding for Fundy to stand behind Dream, blocking the only other exit. Fundy obliged, bow drawn, the tip of the arrow centimeters away from the back of Dream’s head.

“You can’t seriously believe the word of two dead people over me?” He scoffed, pretending to be unfazed by the blade that dug into his throat, dots of blood rising to the surface. 

“Now.” Niki insisted, axe digging in further. Dream winced at the pain, realising he was unarmed, already injured and surrounded.

“I’ll leave for now, but this isn’t over,” he warned, ignoring the beads of blood that lined his neck. He trudged off, walking through the exit and to the left, limping slightly from the injuries Ghostbur had inflicted earlier. If he’d had his sword, he would’ve been fine, he would’ve fought and won, but no, Ghostbur had knocked it out of his hands during their fight and he’d been forced to flee, leaving himself unarmed. 

“We’ll go and let Quackity know that Dream’s a danger to L’Manberg, now,” Niki turned her head slightly, whispering to Fundy.

“What about Tubbo? He’s president, surely we have to tell him first,” He objected, putting the arrows back into the quiver, bow held loosely at his side.

“Quackity can handle this better, and Tubbo doesn’t seem ready to possibly go to war right now,” Niki explained, recieving a nod from Fundy, “We’re going to talk to Quackity. Do you two want to come?” 

“Tommy?” Ghostbur asked quietly, hand resting on Tommy’s shoulder comfortingly. 

The ghost nodded, glancing up at the three with a soft smile, “Yeah, yeah, I’ll come.”

Chapter Text

“Fundy? I thought you were at the borders with Niki?” Quackity questioned, standing at the top of the steps, speaking quietly. He’d been waiting for what felt like hours as he tried to keep the crowd under control, telling them that any possible dangers wouldn’t get in. Despite that, there had been a Dream sighting no less than ten minutes ago, and Quackity had been waiting, sword strapped to his back, lying to the crowd that they didn’t know what the issue was yet.

“We found what the scream was,” Fundy began talking. Niki, Tommy and Ghostbur had all decided that Fundy should have the job of telling the vice president, as Niki was never taken seriously, Ghostbur looking like Alivebur would have alarmed everyone and the ghost of Tommy coming on stage would’ve sparked chaos within the crowd. So he’d gotten the delightful job of explaining the problem to Quackity, although he got interrupted quickly.

“Oh, no, we know, Ranboo saw Dream leaving. We think Dream’s planning an attack, but he didn’t have any weapons with him when he was sighted, so no one’s really too sure. Just in case, we’ve called in Philza and Techno for backup,” Quackity spoke over Fundy, “Is Tubbo with you? He said he would go check outside.”

“He was but-”

“Where did he go? He’s meant to be the president and I’m the one stuck here trying to calm this lot,” he complained, adjusting the edge of his beanie. 

“Quackity, I’m going to need you to shut up,” Fundy clenched his fists, taking the shocked silence as an opportunity to talk, “There’s a lot of problems right now. Ghostbur’s starting to go back to how Wilbur was when he was insane, Tommy’s dead and has returned as a ghost with only bad memories, Tubbo ran off after fighting with Tommy’s ghost, and Dream might declare war.” Fundy paused, taking a breath, “And you would’ve known that if you listened to me for once.”

The vice president was stunned into silence, “Fuck.” His shoulders slumped, “One problem at a time,” he muttered under his breath, “Ghostbur’s freaking out now?” 

“Tommy’s managed to calm him a little but he’s still acting like Wilbur and has gone back to wearing the trenchcoat he died in,” Fundy responded, still mildly pissed off that Quackity hadn’t let him speak.

“Shit, okay, there’s nothing we can do about that, he’s a ghost. Second problem, you said Tommy’s dead?” 

Fundy nodded, a sorrowful look crossing his face, “Jumped into the lava in the Nether. Left everyone a note,” he handed the stack of neatly tied papers to Quackity. “Ghostbur saw, that’s what’s driven him crazy.”

Quackity was silent as he read the letter on top of the paper bundle, addressed to him, “You said he jumped?” his voice was shaky, but he was still determined.

“Yeah.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” Quackity removed his beanie, running a hand through his hair, “Is he still here?”

“He’s waiting behind the White House right now, he thought he might freak out the crowd by just walking right in,” Fundy explained.

“Probably a good decision,” Quackity glanced down at the restless group, “You said Tubbo ran off?”

“He started fighting with Tommy, said he didn’t do anything wrong by exiling Tommy. Ghostbur punched him pretty hard, his nose was bleeding and he fell over, then Tubbo found out that Tommy committed suicide, read his note, then ran off,” Fundy could tell Quackity was just as stressed as him. 

“Puta madre,” Quackity cursed under his breath, “We need to go find Tubbo, quick,” he paused, glancing back at the crowd, “Alright, Ranboo? Can you come up here please?” He called into the crowd, seeing the enderman hybrid approach them. “We need your help.”

“Yeah, sure, what’s going on guys?” He asked calmly, sword grasped tightly in his gloved hand, “Is this about the Dream sighting again? Because I’ve told you twice all I saw was him running out of L’Manberg, nothing else, he didn’t even-”

“No, no, not that, Tubbo’s...upset, and he ran off, we thought you might be able to help find him?” Quackity decided to soften the blow, choosing not to mention Tommy’s death, knowing Ranboo and Tommy were close. If they needed his help right now, telling him that his best friend committed suicide wouldn’t be helpful.

“Why’s he upset?” Ranboo questioned, narrowing his heterochromatic eyes. He could tell the two knew what was going on, and he didn’t like being left in the dark. 

“Tommy killed himself,” Fundy spoke carefully, not going into details, yet still ruining Quackity's plan. He was vague, knowing of Ranboo and Tommy’s friendship. “They argued, and Tubbo ran away.”

Ranboo froze, “Tommy what?” His voice was almost silent, the grip on his sword loosening. “No, no time for that now,” he shook his head, clearly forcing the words out of him, “I’ll try and find Tubbo. What do I do once I’ve found him?” Despite the calmness of Ranboo’s words, misery flooded him, and hot tears welled up in his eyes.

Quackity was silent, thinking over the opportunities, “Send me a message over the communicators, say where you are and I’ll come sort it out. Thanks, Ranboo,” he forced himself to ignore the sorrow on Ranboo’s face, putting on the business facade.

Ranboo nodded silently and set off to find Tubbo. 

“Now,” Quackity cleared his throat, “You said Dream’s thinking of declaring war?”

“Me, Niki and Tubbo saw Dream and Ghostbur run in. Ghostbur started fighting Dream right before Tommy showed up, and then Ghostbur started fighting Dream again . Niki put an axe to his throat and I threatened to shoot him with this,” Fundy held up the bow in his hands, “And we made him run off, but he said it wasn’t over, so we think he’s planning an attack on L’Manberg,” Fundy explained all in one breath.

Quackity stared at him in a shocked rage, “So you, Ghostbur and Niki threatened our number one enemy?” 

Fundy blinked, “You don’t think we had a good reason? Me and Niki have fought for this country from the start, before even you joined this side. We have been in every L'Manberg war since the start, fighting for freedom. I stayed as Schlatts spy by your side for months, Niki stayed despite being robbed of her money just to give inside information. We have always been soldiers for L'Manberg, yet you think we’re morons? We know not to threaten the enemy without valid reason, but the shit Dream was trying to pull was worthy of being scared,” he growled, fists clenched, nails digging in to his palms.

“I’m the Vice President here, I’ll be the judge of that,” Quackity fought back, “What did he do?”

“According to Ghostbur, Dream isolated Tommy, stole the invites he sent out, burned them and locked Ghostbur in a prison for a week, threatened him to stay silent, drugged Tommy’s food to make him hallucinate and then said Tommy was insane.”

Quackity stayed silent momentarily, regretting his choice to scold Fundy earlier, “Okay, once we get Tubbo, we’ll raise the alarms, tell everyone what’s happening. For now, we’ll just have to let them go back, let everyone know to stay alert,” he took a deep breath. “I’ll sort that out, you go back to the others, let them know what’s happening.”

Fundy nodded and walked away with a mission once again.

Chapter Text

Tubbo’s hands trembled as he stared down at them, guilt gnawing at his insides. It was his fault! He exiled Tommy, ignoring the warnings that he wouldn’t be able to handle isolation, and even after two years of exile, he never reversed it, never made an exception day for his ‘best friend’ to return. Even when Ghostbur begged him to allow Tommy to return for christmas, just for christmas, he’d said no, despite Ghostbur telling him that Tommy had been unstable.  He ignored Ghostbur when he told Tubbo how Dream had been manipulating Tommy into becoming his puppet, not trusting the words of a dead man. 

Hell, he’d even ignored the time he had gotten to the shore of Logstedshire and seen Tommy cowering on the ground, hands covering his ears as some sort of explosion occurred beside him. Dream stood still, watching it before placing a hand on Tommy’s shoulder, helping the teen stand before hugging him. He’d turned around and returned, assuming the best, despite the bruises covering Tommy, despite the burning smell in the air, despite how Tommy’s shaking increased the moment Dream touched his shoulder. But no, he assumed the best.  Assuming they were...friends.

“It sucks realising you’re the villain, huh?” A familiar, crackly voice interrupted his thoughts, coming from behind him.

Tubbo whipped his head around, seeing the translucent grey form of an old friend. 

A leather suit jacket covered his arms, not matching the soft, woolen, blue jumper beneath it, torn in a few minor places, hastily sewn up with dark blue string. Black stains came from his mouth and eyes, matching the black gradients on his fingertips, fading out into the grey of his skin by his knuckles. His eyes were a startling yellow, seemingly glowing in the dawn. Messy, short brown hair was pushed back, black stains dotted around in it. Ram horns protruded from his head, parting his hair slightly, golden chains dangling from the end of the horns to the centre of his head. An empty bottle was clasped tightly in his hand, showing off his leather fingerless gloves. 

“I mean, I wouldn’t know, I don’t remember shit,” the ghost laughed to himself, “But I mean, according to what I’ve been told by this ugly ass voice in my head, I did some fucked up shit, but I got no clue man,” he snickered again, settling the bottle down on the wooden floor of the docks. 

Tubbo was frozen, staring at the ghost in horror, “Schlatt?” 

“Bingo, buddy,” Schlatt clicked his tongue, winking, floating over to sit by Tubbo’s side, splashing the water with his fingertips as he flew, “Who’re you?” He paused, seeing the conflicted look on Tubbo’s face before laughing and waving his hand, “Just joking, man. Tubbo, right? So, Mr President, what’s your problem?” 

Tubbo stayed silent, guilt taking his voice away. Not only had he been the cause of his best friend's death, but now the ghost of the man he spied on was attempting to comfort him?

He gulped, staring down into the ripples of the water beneath him, completely out of it. He could barely feel the wooden platform beneath him or the hot tears that spilled down his face.
“Hellooo? Tubbo?” Schlatt waved his hand in front of Tubbo’s face. “You there man?” Schlatt moved so he could see beneath the curtain of hair covering Tubbo’s face. “Oh shit, you got a nosebleed, here,” he pulled out a packet of tissues from his jacket pocket, placing them in the open hand of Tubbo.

Instead of taking them, Tubbo continued to zone out, the tissues resting on his hand. 

Schlatt huffed, “Dude!” He waved his hand in front of Tubbo’s face once again, finally snapping Tubbo out of it, relief flooding him when Tubbo looked up at him, confused. 

“Why-” He finally noticed Schlatt, jumping back, clenching his fists in surprise. He finally noticed the packet of tissues Schlatt gave him and looked down at them in shock.

“Damn, you must’ve been out of it,” Schlatt chuckled, “They’re for that nosebleed you got there,” He gestured to the blood still dribbling from his nose.

Tubbo was silent as he opened the packet, holding a tissue to his nose and nodding in a show of thanks. 

“Tubbo!”

Schlatt looked behind them after noticing Tubbo had zoned out once again, seeing some sort of half black half white hybrid with glowing eyes stood behind them. He was dressed like a business man, but there was a golden crown sat wonkily on his monochromatic hair, and golden jewlery draped over him. “What the fuck are you?” 

“I’m Ranboo?” The hybrid answered, black and white hair bouncing as he ran over to them, sitting down on Tubbo’s other side.

“What the fuck is a Ranboo?” Schlatt muttered to himself as Ranboo continued speaking.

“Tubbo, dude, why are you here? They’re all looking for you. Quackity’s worried,” He pulled out the communicator from his pocket, typing a message furiously. (“Quackity?” Schlatt echoed, a few memories resurfacing, “Oh. Him.”) Ranboo brushed him off, sending the hurried message, “Why are you out here? With this... ghost?” 

“The name’s Schlatt, dickhead,” Schlatt rebutted.

“As in dictator Schlatt?” He muttered to Tubbo, only getting a subtle response in return. “And why are you here too?”

“Hey, a man can’t help his past second in command?” Schlatt laughed to himself, picking up the empty bottle once again. “Eh, to be true, I got no fuckin’ clue man. I woke up here like an hour ago and decided fuck it, let’s just sit here. He’s the first to show up.”

Ranboo shook his head, electing to ignore the ghost, “Tubbo, man, you gotta come back, L’Manberg’s in danger.!” ( “L ’Manberg?” Schlatt echoed) “They need you back there, they need Mr President back!” He attempted to be encouraging, pumping his fist in the air. Despite his encouraging demenaor, he was fighting off tears, knowing he had to help Tubbo right now, he had no time to mourn over his friend. His efforts fell flat as Tubbo continued to hold the bloody tissue up to his face. “Tubbo, listen, I know you’re upset about Tommy, I am too, and- Did you get punched?” He interrupted himself, noticing the tissue turning red.

Tubbo nodded. 

“By who?”

Tubbo stayed quiet momentarily, “Wilbur,” he admitted. 

Ranboo’s eyes widened, getting interrupted by the immature ghost on the other side of Tubbo. “Wilbur did that? Damn, you must’ve really fucked up. Or said you liked anteaters, he’s punched someone for that before, I’m pretty sure,” Schlatt laughed loudly to himself, swirling the empty remains of the bottle.

“Ignore him. I’m sure Ghostbur didn’t mean to hurt you, I’m sure he’s not got anything against you, he’s just...upset right now-” 

“I killed his brother, Ranboo!” Tubbo exclaimed, face flushed as tears streamed down his cheeks, “I basically killed Tommy! He’s pissed! He hates me! They all do! And once Quackity announces Tommy’s death to L’Manberg, they’ll all hate me too,” his shoulders slumped, running his spare hand through his hair. 

Ranboo bit his lip, thinking over a response, silently thanking the ghost for staying silent. He knew the longer he stayed quiet the more likely he was to start crying too, so he decided to just make up a response on the spot, “Tubbo, dude, they don’t hate you. They just found out about Tommy’s death, they’re all a little vulnerable right now. I’m sure that if you gave it a few hours for them to process the news, they’d apologise for hurting you,” He spoke slowly, carefully picking his words as he talked. 

Tubbo shook his head, attempting to stifle the tears that begun soaking the collar of his shirt, “No, you don’t understand, in Tommy’s letter even he said he doesn’t forgive me,” he pulled out the crumpled letter, shoving it in Ranboo’s hands. 

Schlatt watched on in silence, racking his brain for any memory of anyone named Ranboo or Tommy. Nothing seemed to come up though, only muffled yelling like usual. Or as usual as things can be since he’d only existed for nothing more than an hour.

“I’m...I’m sorry, dude. All I can think of right now is taking Tommy aside and talking to him calmly, without Ghostbur there,” he added, voice hoarse as he attempted to fight away tears, seeing Tubbo still holding the bloodied tissue with his spare hand.

“Ghostbur is Wilbur, right?” Schlatt interrupted, getting a confused nod, “I’m sure I could distract him for a few hours. We used to be friends...I think,” he added with a chuckle. 

“That’d be helpful, thanks,” Ranboo nodded towards the ghost, “Alright, Tubbo, do you want me to go and get Tommy? Not right now, obviously, wait until later.”

Tubbo nodded silently.

“Quackity’s coming by the way. I called him over as soon as I found you. After you’ve spoken to Tommy, you and Quackity have to do some speech thing about Dream possibly attacking,” Ranboo explained, “but I bet Quackity could do it alone if you wanted to spend longer talking to Tommy, I don’t think he’d mind.”

“You got speech duty? Ah, that sucks,” Schlatt laughed to himself once again. 

“I’ll do the speech with him before I speak to Tommy, I wanna give it a while before talking to him,” Tubbo muttered, sniffling and wiping his eyes with the edge of his sleeve.

“You do you, man, I wanna go speak to Wilbur,” Schlatt grinned, floating up and leaving them behind without a second thought, oblivious to the situation.

Ranboo glanced behind them, watching Schlatt leave and seeing Quackity approach them. He gestured for him to come over.

Chapter Text

Technoblade had been nervous returning to L’Manberg. The last time he’d stumbled across them, they’d attempted to execute him, and then they took Phil hostage for almost two weeks. He’d been tracked down again and again and again.

It had been two entire months after his failed execution when they’d made a peace deal. Technoblade was to be banned from L’Manberg and executed if he stepped inside, but if they met outside of the walls, they were to act as friends rather than enemies. If Technoblade ever needed their help, they were to give it, and vice versa.

Despite the threat of execution, he knew Dream was a genuine threat, and if they needed his help, who was he to say no?

Well, to be truthful, he did say no, he ignored the message on the communicators. He wasn’t a moron, he knew he’d be killed if he entered L’Manberg. He assumed it was some intricate plot to get through the loophole in the peace deal so they could kill him. Phil had come rushing in moments later, having received the same message, and managed to convince Techno to go. 

The basement filled with armor and weapons had come in useful.

Phil opted to keep his hat on instead of a helmet, the green and white pattern matching his fingerless gloves. His deep grey robe was untied, acting more as a cape than a coat. Moonlight glistened off of his wings as the feathers rustled in the wind. The sheath on his back enclosed his sharpened sword, and the holster on his leg held one of Techno’s old daggers. 

Techno had his long pink hair tied back in a ponytail, a few loose strands falling into his face, across the boar skull mask strapped to his head. The crimson material of his cape fluttered behind him as he walked, black leather boots clicking against the ground. Light bounced off of his slanted golden crown, glistening in the dark sky. The shiny netherite material of his axe was more reflective than he remembered, the rays of light turning the axe almost white.

The two ventured into the Nether, the burning air feeling more suffocating than usual. There didn’t seem to be any reason for it, so the duo ignored it. However, they made sure to hurry up, arriving at the L’Manberg portal within minutes.

As soon as they stepped through, they glanced at each other in worry, seeing a sea of people flooding the paths, filtering back into their homes. They navigated their way through them, reaching the front of the White House where they were told to go. 

Quackity saw them first, despite being kneeling on the floor, doing his laces up. He got to his feet, brushing off his jeans and welcoming them. “Alright, I don’t have time to explain, but Fundy does, he should be somewhere behind there,” he gestured to the huge White House, “Sorry, I’ve really gotta go,” he began hurrying off.

“What a warm welcome,” Techno muttered bitterly, adjusting his grip on his axe as he watched the Vice President run off. Despite his cape and thick shirt, a chill ran down his spine due to the suffocating tension in the air. Phil patted his shoulder.

“I’m sure he’s just busy right now, L’Manberg is preparing for war,” he reasoned with a sympathetic smile as they began walking to the back of the White House. Techno scoffed, but some of the tension seemed to ease from his expression, although it was hard to tell due to everything but his mouth being covered by the skull mask. 

The two were silent as they walked, finding Fundy within seconds.

“Philza! Technoblade! Quackity said you were coming, hi,” Fundy waved at them, his grip on the bow loosening as he saw the familiar faces.

Techno looked away, arms crossed as Phil took over the talking, “Quackity didn’t have time to explain, what’s going on?” 

Fundy bit his lip nervously, “Well, uh, there was a really loud scream and me and Niki were sent to look for it, and uh, Dream came in, said Ghostbur lost his shit and beat him up-”

Techno finally glanced over, eyes narrowed, “Ghostbur did what?”

“Dream wasn’t lying either, he was covered in blood, but then Ghostbur came too and explained. He saw- he- he- shit,” Fundy paused, attempting to figure out how to tell them what had happened, “He saw Tommy...die, and he went insane and started fighting Dream, and Dream ran over to warn us that he’d gone crazy again, and then Tommy’s ghost showed up and Tubbo ran away and Ghostbur, Niki and I made Dream leave and he threatened us so Quackity’s gone to-“

“Tommy died?” Phil interrupted, face devoid of colour, eyes wide. He inched closer to Techno, holding his only surviving son’s wrist. It felt as if all of the oxygen in the air had dissolved, leaving his lungs aching. There was a pit in his stomach, making him feel like nothing more than a shell. He’d failed two of his sons, two out of three. Phil’s legs felt as if they were about to collapse, and he tightened the grip.

Techno ignored the squeezing hold on his wrist, his heart sinking as he stared at Fundy. The voices had gone from mild whispers to screams that echoed around his head, scratching and tearing at his skull. Burning tears welled up in his eyes, and he was thankful for the mask blocking them.

Fundy gulped, staring at his family, “I’m- I’m sorry, he- he jumped- his ghost is still here if you want to talk to him?“ He offered, the misery on their faces becoming too much to handle. He and Tommy had been close too, Tommy being the brother of Fundy’s dad, but they were nowhere near as close as Tommy and his brothers. 

Techno spoke first, “Yeah, yeah okay, that’d...that’d be good,” he forced his voice to remain emotionless and not go as wobbly as it wanted to. 

Fundy nodded silently, “Just a...fair warning, he’s quite burned and- and he looks injured. He only remembers bad things too, so if he mentions not remembering you two, that-that’s why,” he explained before gesturing for them to wait before beginning to walk away.

Techno nodded, taking a deep breath as he fought back tears, clenching his jaw. As much as he wanted to scream and start stabbing shit, he knew what Ghostbur was like when he first formed, confused and scared with little to no memories, and if Tommy was the same, he didn’t want to freak him out.

Phil seemed to have the same realization, dropping his grip and attempting to calm his breathing. He scratched the back of his neck, blinking harshly before shoving his hands in his pockets. 

It was only moments later that Fundy walked around the corner with two others. Niki was with him, axe loosely grasped, moving alongside the ghost beside her.

The duo hadn’t registered Fundy’s warnings before they saw the burnt and bloodied form of Tommy, eyes scanning the area with wonder. There were bandages and bruises covering his grey body, the burns tinted a sickening black colour, matching the tear stains on his cheeks. His appearance mixed with the lava swirling in his eyes made him an intimidating figure to see, but him laughing and joking around with Niki reduced the threatening factors significantly.

Then his eyes settled on the duo, and his expression changed.

Chapter Text

Tommy stared, head tilted in confusion. The men stood in front of him were nothing more than fuzzy memories and barely decipherable words. A vague feeling of forgiveness lingered in his mind, though Tommy couldn’t tell which man it was who he’d forgiven.

The pink haired one made eye contact, and Tommy’s mind was filled with the sound of fireworks, screams and deep laughter. There were flashes of painfully bright lights and gut-wrenching sobs and boiling temperatures. Then the feeling he’d gotten with Ghostbur kicked in, his brain reminding him that he was forgiven, but they weren’t friends, Tommy could tell. He didn’t know how, but he knew they were merely allies. Tommy struggled with figuring out the name, stuck between four options, ‘The Blade’, ‘Techno’, ‘Techie’, and ‘Technoblade’. He decided not to mention the name and hope someone else did it for him.

He looked over to the winged one, who looked right back at him. The dark wings behind him cast shadows upon the group, giving Tommy something to focus on rather than the words flying past his mind at a terrifying rate. Somehow, Tommy managed to decipher a few, telling him that it was his dad, and that he was forgiven. The moment his brain focused on the word forgiveness, a scene began playing out in front of him, including the blond one, Phil, his mind supplied, with a sword in Wilburs stomach. He watched as Wilbur collapsed onto the floor, eyes fluttering shut before he hit the ground. Phil turned and began staring out at the crowd with a hardened expression, shaky hands and slumped shoulders.

“Tommy?” Phil breathed out shakily, staring at his beaten and battered son's ghost with wide eyes. He hadn’t listened to Fundy’s warnings, the burns making his heart drop.

He didn’t know what came over him, but he ran forward, tackling Phil into a tight hug, arms wrapped tightly around his torso, head tucked beneath his dads. For the first time since he’d awoken, the cold seemed to be fought away, replaced by a small flicker of warmth. It wasn’t enough to stop the ghosts shivering, not at all, merely giving him a faint sense of heat. A grin broke out on his face as he spoke, voice muffled by the fabric of Phil’s coat. “Hi, D-Da-D-D-Dad.”

Phil hugged back just as tight, resting his chin on top of Tommy’s head, holding his son close. He pulled away after a moment, holding his son at arms length, looking up at him, “It’s...It’s good to see you, mate,” he paused, “Not the way I was expecting, though,” he added with a considerate head tilt, an attempt at humour that seemed to work, as the ghost started laughing. Phil smiled, watching as Tommy began turning to the pink haired one at Phil’s side. 

There was a pause as Tommy surveyed him in silence, eyes narrowed. The two waited in tense silence, hoping Tommy wasn’t going to start freaking out over the festival events like he had when he was still breathing.

Instead, Tommy smirked,  “Nice ca-c-ca-c-cap-cape, nerd,” he snickered, watching as the pink haired one fumbled out a response.

“That’s my insult!” He defended, arms crossed, a relieved smile poking out from the bottom of his mask. 

It was easy for the ghost to get back into the teasing routine with his brother, shooting jokes back and forth easily, “Not any m-mo-more, bit-bi-b-b-bitc-bitch boy,” Tommy grinned, earning a chuckle out of the pink haired one, who opened his arms for a hug instead of rebutting.

Despite being dead, Tommy could vaguely remember that being allowed to touch his brother was a rare occurrence, so he practically dived forward as he hugged the pink haired one tightly, leaning his head against the silky fabric of his brothers shirt, the one who he still didn’t know the name of. 

Well, that wasn’t fully true. He’d remembered it mere seconds after speaking.

Something Tommy had noticed was that a few good memories had leaked in with the bad ones. It wasn’t with everyone, no, he still couldn’t think of any good memories with Tubbo, but with Techno (Tommy hoped he remembered the name correctly), a few memories had resurfaced from them being kids. 

The first one being Techno hidden under the stairs, a wooden sword in hand as he hid from the boogeyman, declaring that ‘the sand monster was everywhere’, Tommy sat on his shoulders with a pringles lid as a shield, cheering, accidentally giving their position away to Phil, who laughed and agreed to help them hunt down the boogeyman.

The next included Ghostbur, or Wilbur, technically, as he was alive then, featuring the three of them play fighting in a vast green field, twigs snapping as they were swung around in the air as a sword substitute. Phil was sat at the side, watching his sons with a faint smile. Tommy could vaguely remember that Techno only won the battle against him as he spread the cape and tackled Tommy to the ground.

But the good memories weren’t just with his brothers, no, when he’d been laughing and joking around with Niki, he vaguely remembered the times he would help her in her bakery, not baking, of course, no, he was banned from being near ovens, but he would measure the ingredients and set everything up for her.

He could also faintly remember him dragging Fundy along when he was going shopping for shirts after Fundy first came out, pretending to just want company instead of wanting Fundy to finally let himself shop in the males section without feeling guilty for dragging anyone along, making a point to ignore the grateful look on Fundys face as Tommy kept picking up clothes that looked like they'd suit him.

Tommy had noticed the happy memories only came if he was talking to the person in the moment and he was feeling happy, which explained why he couldn’t think of a single positive thing about Tubbo when they had fought. 

The happy memories had made talking to his family significantly easier, giving him a faint idea of how they’d been when he was alive.

Chapter Text

Schlatt was rather happy about his return. Of course, he was barely visible, had absolutely no memories and every time he put down the glass bottle he’d get a headache, but still, at least he didn’t have an awful stab wound like Ghostbur did.

The moment he’d popped up behind Ghostbur with a grin, the first thing he’d seen was the blood coating the ghosts stomach, a large wound going all the way through him. 

Ghostbur, however, didn’t seem to be affected by the large hole in his torso, instead, jumping back slightly and staring at Schlatt in shock. It had taken him a few moments to take in the appearance, the blackened fingers and black goo dribbling from Schlatts mouth shaking him long enough that there was nothing more than a thick, tense silence. He paused, glancing at the group, “I’m gonna go for a minute,” he spoke calmly, getting a nod from the blonde before wrapping his fingers around the other ghosts wrist harshly and dragging him away, far enough for them not to be overheard.

“Schlatt? How the fuck-”

“Surprise!” Schlatt beamed, shaking his hands in the air, the glass bottle almost slipping from his grip, grinning even more when Ghostbur did nothing but gape. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” he joked, nudging Ghostbur’s shoulder, expecting a laugh. Instead, Ghostbur stopped him, grasping Schlatt’s shoulder tightly.

“How. You died years ago, how the fuck are you back.” He demanded an answer.

Schlatt laughed, pulling his shoulder out of Ghostburs grip, “Dunno, I just woke up on the docks next to Tubbo, spoke to him and this weird lanky ying yang lookin ass for a while and decided to come see you!” He seemed proud of himself as he spoke, rocking back and forth on his heels in excitement, making the chains that hung from his ram horns shake in the wind. 

“You’re telling me… ” Ghostbur paused, trying to wrap his head around the situation, “ You died literal years ago, yet the moment Tommy becomes a ghost you’re here too?” He stared.

Schlatt shrugged, “I don’t know what happened, I just remember being on the floor of that stupid drug van, and then in this dark room for a long time, and then waking up on these docks that I don’t even remember being there,” he answered honestly, just as confused as Ghostbur was, just not caring for specifics as much.

“So...you’ve been in a dark room for what ,” Ghostbur attempted to remember how long it had been, “ Almost three years? And as soon as another ghost comes into existence, you do too ?” He slumped his shoulders, tugging off his beanie and running his hand through his hair, a stressed habit. “ This has to be some fucking cruel joke. I just fucking watched Tommy die, Dream’s threatening war, now this?” 

“Don’t blame me, man, I just happened to wake up today, not my fault,” he held his hands up in surrender, the glass bottle making it seem significantly less sincere. 

Ghostbur sighed, “It's not your fault, I guess,” he agreed with a shrug, still stressed to the point the ash that radiated off of him had become more like smog.

“So, when and how’d you die?” Schlatt could vaguely remember Wilbur being part of the group that saw him die, so there was no point in Ghostbur asking how Schlatt died.

“Not long after you, actually. Tried blowing up Manberg, got stabbed by my dad, the usual,” Ghostbur snickered. He’d forgiven Phil a long time ago, the incident didn’t matter to him anymore. 

Schlatt laughed out of pure shock, “Holy shit man.”

“ Eh, it’s been long enough that I don’t care anymore ,” Ghostbur smirked,  “So, what do you remember? I mean you’ve been dead for basically three years, your memory’s gotta be shit.”

“Literally nothing, dude, there’s nothin up here,” he gestured to his head with the bottle, “There’s like two or three memories but that’s it,” Schlatt shrugged, “I think I was on stage at some point, uh, I remember bottles and that’s it. There’s nothing else.”

“You don’t remember anything else? At all?” Ghostbur narrowed his eyes. Even he remembered more than that when he first appeared as a ghost.

Schlatt looked up at him, “I mean I remember a few people but those are the only memories.”

“ Who do you remember ?”

“Uh, Tubbo, you, some loud blond little bitch, Fundy, some green dick with a mask, George, some traitor dude in blue, Quackity, his name was, I think...I think that’s it,” Schlatt answered honestly, wracking his brain for any others he remembered, coming up with nothing.

“That’s it ?” Ghostbur saw Schlatt nod, “ Alright, there’s no way you’re going around L’Manberg without knowing everyone. Give me a second ,” Ghostbur gestured for Schlatt to wait as he drifted back towards the other group, whispering something to the ginger dude, Fundy, Schlatt’s mind supplied, before returning to Schlatt’s side, grabbing his wrist and beginning to drag him along. “ I’m giving you a tour of new L’Manberg, to see if it helps your memory,” he explained.

Schlatt didn’t object, despite the nagging voice in his head telling him no, telling him that he doesn’t want to remember, that he would regret finding out the awful things he did. Instead, he smiled, thanking Ghostbur as they began walking.

The first place Ghostbur took him was the rebuilt festival stage.

“Remember the podium?” Ghostbur pointed, hoping that the ghost would at least remember his time as president.

“No.”

“The stage?”

“Only a little.”

“Better than nothing,” Ghostbur attempted to lighten the mood, earning a laugh from Schlatt. 

“True, man, true,” Schlatt chuckled, eyes scanning the area. “Hey,” he caught Ghostburs sleeve as they began walking away, staring at the White House, “I think I remember that,” he pointed to the large building.

Ghostbur paused, unsure of whether or not he should tell Schlatt the truth about the incident that had occured in the large building, “Oh, you were president for a while, that might’ve been why,” he lied, but there was a flaw in his logic.

The thing about Ghostbur... was that he was a shit liar.

“No, that’s not it,” Schlatt pressed on, “I remember hating that building.”

Ghostbur pursed his lips, “Do you remember Quackity?”

“Uh, beanie, blue shirt, traitor, right?” 

“Yeah, yeah, that’s him. You see, uh, you two were fiances for a while, and Quackity built this after you two got into the presidency. But you ,” Ghostbur paused, chuckling, “ You hated it. There was no reason, you just hated the stupid building, so you told him to take it down. He said no, obviously, so you started tearing it down, but Quackity didn’t like that. You two had this huge screaming match inside, but it was loud enough for everyone outside to hear too, you called him a pussy and he...took your second life and ran,” Ghostbur hurried the story, not wanting to look down at the expression on the new ghosts face.

“I called him a pussy?” Schlatt paused, “Huh, nice. He sounds like one anyway,” he laughed to himself, unbothered.

Ghostbur was relieved to see the negative emotions had seemed to just roll off of Schlatt. He didn’t want to think of what would’ve happened if Schlatt turned villainous once again, as there was no way to stop a ghost, “You also called him Flatty Patty-”

“Flatty Patty!” Schlatt interrupted, wheezing to himself, face scrunched up in amusement. “Those were my last words, weren’t they? Ha, I’m fucking hilarious.”

“I see death has made no impact on your ego,” Ghostbur commented amusedly, watching as the other ghost laughed his ass off in front of the White House.

“Nothing can impact perfection,” Schlatt rebutted, grinning as he and Ghostbur continued their venture.

Chapter Text

Tubbo glanced at Quackity, nodding for him to begin, nervousness sculpted into both of their faces. Neither of them wanted to be the one to have to announce that the nation was possibly going to war, so they agreed to split the speech into two.

Quackity leaned into the microphone, “Uh, so, citizens of L’Manberg, we have discovered the source of the panic from his morning. We ask you not to panic, but we have some news. Our nation suffers a terrible loss, the loss of Tommy Innit, who passed away some time yesterday night,” he ignored the sharp gasps in the crowd, gulping and forcing himself to continue, “However, we are grateful to inform you that his ghost is here, and everyone is still able to communicate with him.”

“This isn’t the only bad news we have, though,” Tubbo took a deep breath and took over, seeing how Quackity fumbled to get the words out, “We regret to inform you all that we may have to prepare for war with Dream once again,” he allowed the crowd a moment to uproar before holding a hand up to silence them, “Nothing has been confirmed, so please don’t panic, but there has been a threat from Dream towards this nation, and we should all be on our highest alert. If we get any more updates, we swear we will tell you all, but for now, all we can say is keep your guard up and try not to leave L’Manbergian grounds if possible. Thank you,” Tubbo stepped away from the microphone, signalling the end of the speech, the crowd dispersing into their own groups, chattering and gossiping. He began turning to face Quackity with shaky breathing and trembling hands.

“Shit, that was hard,” he ran a hand through his hair, seeing Quackity chuckle weakly. Tubbo could tell how drained his Vice President was, so he kept the news of the new ghost Schlatt hidden for now, promising himself that he’d tell Quackity later, only being able to hope that they didn’t run into each other before Tubbo could tell him.

“Agreed,” Quackity shoved his hands in his pockets, “At least it’s over with now,” he offered with a forced smile.

“True,” Tubbo sighed, nodding. “I think...I think I’m going to go and try and talk to Tommy now,” he struggled to get the words out, not wanting the reality of the situation to hit, but the moment his words came out, he realised that he would actually have to go and find the ghost to talk.

“Really? Shit, dude, I’m proud,” Quackity gave him an encouraging smile, patting Tubbo’s shoulder. 

Tubbo chuckled shakily, “Thanks, man, I’m gonna go find him now, if anything goes wrong, tell me,” he gestured to his communicator, receiving a nod and a joking salute from Quackity as he walked away, a smile settled on his face.

As Tubbo walked and winded his way through the swarm of citizens, he went unnoticed, everyone too busy gossiping to notice him swerving through them. Eventually he reached the bench, where the ghost was sitting, staring off into the sunset. Ranboo had helped Tubbo out and asked Tommy to wait there for him moments before Tubbo got there, and he made a mental note to thank Ranboo later.

“Tubbo,” Tommy greeted with a nod, face void of emotion, eyes not wavering from the spot of the sunset they were glued to.

“Tommy, I- thank you for meeting me here and- and hearing me out,” Tubbo took his place next to the ghost, the bench feeling unfamiliar after all the time away from it. Tommy didn’t respond, continuing to zone out. “There’s- there’s a lot of shit I messed up, I know, and I can’t undo that, but god- if I could,” he chuckled bitterly, fighting back tears already, “I’d go so fucking far back, before all of this, before L’Manberg, before anything, back to when we were kids, do you remember that?” 

Tommy finally looked over, making eye-contact, “Yeah, I do,” he breathed out quietly. It was fuzzy and barely decipherable, but he could remember it, he could remember the sun burning down on them as they giggled and ran, their little legs carrying them across the field, pure joy radiating from them.

“I miss those times,” Tubbo admitted almost silently, “Back when we weren’t forced into all of this political bullshit. Back before we were forced into wars as kids,” he smiled down at the ground, but it wasn’t one of happiness, no, not at all, it was sad and full of emotions barely concealed, “Shit, this really wasn’t how I expected us to turn out. We planned to run away, remember that? We had it all planned out, the place, the times, everything,” he chuckled sadly, glancing back over at the ghost, who was listening intently, the anger melted from his face. 

“Why didn’t we?” Tommy asked, not being able to remember why they hadn’t fled, why they hadn’t packed up and left it all behind.

Shame was written onto Tubbo’s face, “I backed out, like a fucking coward. I was too scared of being caught, but shit, if we had run away then, none of this would’ve happened, huh? Maybe we could’ve been happy for real, maybe,” he let his words hang in the air as he took a deep breath. 

“Tommy, I’m sorry,” his words hadn’t wavered at all, holding sincerity and rawness behind them. Tears burned his eyes as he spoke, looking over to the ghost. “This was all my fault. I understand if you don’t forgive me, hell, I don’t even forgive me, but...hear me out?”

The ghost barely restrained himself from crying, instead, forcing his expression to be blank, looking away from the teen, “Of course.”

Tubbo let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding, “I was- I never wanted to exile you. All of the shit I said earlier, I was wrong. About you being a threat to this country? God, I was so wrong, you were just a kid, and so was I. You were right, by the way. What I did was selfish, and denying it was stupid, because it was the truth, everything I did to you was fucking selfish, and I’m- shit-” Tubbo paused, wiping at his eyes furiously, “I’m so fucking sorry. I never should’ve exiled you, I should’ve fucking listened-”

He paused, trying to control his shaky breathing before continuing, “I should’ve listened when you said it was an accident. I was under pressure, and I know that’s not an excuse, but-but it’s a reason. And I know it’s fucked up, and there’s no excuse for what I did. Fuck, this was all my fucking fault,” he scrubbed at his eyes, tinting his skin red. “I understand if you don’t forgive me, hell, I’d rather you didn’t, I don’t deserve forgiveness, this was my doing. I’m the one responsible, I should’ve stopped you- I should’ve helped! I- Fuck!” Tubbo attempted to stop his hyperventilation, arms wrapped around himself, face flushed, hot tears streaming down his cheeks.

Tommy looked on in silence, placing a freezing hand on top of Tubbo’s shoulder, “I understand. I-I-I-I don’t forgive y-y-you, b-bu-bu-b-b-but, with time, I-I-I think I might b-be-b-be able to, e-ev-eve-ev-e-eventua-eventually. But you’ll have to e-ear-ea-earn forgiveness too, I’m not just going t-t-to-to forgive you out of n-n-no-nowh-nowhere,” Tommy spoke calmly, the unshed tears in his eyes simply blending in with the lava, invisible to the suited teens eye. 

Tubbo looked up at him, meeting his eyes, breathing still heavy and shaky, tears still streaking his face, but he looked painfully grateful. If he was able to, he knew that he’d tackle Tommy into a hug, but he couldn’t. Because Tommy was dead. And it was his fault.

“I- fuck, thank-thank you so much, holy shit, I-I swear, I’ll try, I’ll try and make up for it,” Tubbo promised sincerely, “Thank you so fucking much Tommy.”

Chapter Text

Ghostbur hadn’t meant to, honestly, he was just trying to show Schlatt around, jog his memory, whatever, but he’d stumbled upon Phil and Techno, the two of them stood behind the white house, talking quietly. 

“Wil?” Techno asked, recognising the long, scruffy brown coat. His mouth was agape. He’d never said anything about it, but the innocence of Ghostbur got on his nerves sometimes, however, there was no way in hell that he would’ve asked for Alivebur back. The most prominent memory of Alivebur was one where he could barely recognise his brother, stood inside of the stone room, walls torn up by his insanity, blood dribbling from his laughing mouth, grasping at the sword sticking out of his stomach.

“More people? Really? Why the fuck are you so social?” A voice muttered bitterly from behind the ghost, and the two finally noticed the ghostly form of the last president, black oozing from his mouth, matching his tinted fingertips and neck. His ram horns were a soft grey, golden chains draping off of them. He looked much more approachable than before, even with the demonic black tint to the skin. 

“Wilbur, you’ve got a lot to explain,” Techno crossed his arms, gesturing to the other dead man and in the vague direction of Tommy. “Right fucking now,” he added, the silence pissing him off. The voices were screaming, and he could barely process what everyone else was saying, hoping that the truth would ease the voices anger.

“I’m not Wilbur,” Ghostbur reminded them, smiling at them despite the tense atmosphere, seemingly unbothered by Technos anger,  “And nice to see you too,” he added sincerely,  “What am I meant to be explaining? I thought Fundy explained it all?”

“Ghostbur, your brother is dead and you’re being followed by what, Ghost Schlatt?” Phil gestured towards the floating figure whos face was twisted in confusion. “Fundy explained the basics, sure, but not all of it. And especially not Ghost Schlatt.”

“Ah, that. Right, so, Schlatt has no memory of what happened, like, none at all. He remembers a few people but that’s it; he’s only been a ghost for an hour, woke up on the docks, and he’s surprisingly helpful,” Ghostbur paused, “If you’re looking for Tommy, he’s talking to Tubbo right now.”

Phil pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut, exhaling, “Not what we meant. What the fuck happened with Dream and Tommy?”

Ghostbur turned around with a sorrowful expression, placing a hand on Schlatt’s shoulder to soften the blow, “Schlatt, this is gonna get dark, you might wanna go.”

“Eh, I’ll go talk to that ying yang motherfucker again, I don’t mind. See ya!” Schlatt grinned, unbothered by not having to be involved in family affairs, waving to everyone before floating through the White House.

“Alright, how much do you want to know? Like the fight earlier or during the exile or...?” Ghostbur turned back around, hands shoved in his pockets, fidgeting to distract himself from the worries that gnawed at his insides as he turned to start facing his family.

“Both,” Techno answered monotonously, expression unreadable..

Ghostbur sighed, blowing his hair out of his face before talking, “After Tommy got exiled, both me and Dream went with him. Dream pretended he was Tommy’s friend, waiting for him to hold a beach party before doing anything. I was in charge of invites, but Dream burned them all, and locked me away for a week so I couldn’t tell Tommy. Dream had bribed people not to show up too.”

“When I got back, Tommy had started hallucinating, kept saying he saw Tubbo wherever he went. He wasn’t losing his mind like he said, Dream was drugging him the whole time, telling him he was insane for hallucinating, and Tommy believed him. Then they had this huge fight where Dream just left, never coming back. I think the isolation was what made Tommy jump,” Ghostbur finished his speech, refusing to meet his family's eyes, staring down at the floor. Phil placed a hand on his shoulder calmly, unshed tears burning his eyes as he hugged his younger son into his side.

“Dream drugged him?” Techno interjected, hand inching towards his axe. Despite what he’d been hoping for, the voices only got angrier, screaming into his head, demanding he get his brother justice. Ghostbur nodded solemnly, not seeing Techno wrap his hand around the handle of his axe. “Phil, keep Ghostbur here, don’t tell anyone where I’m going, I’m sure you've figured it out already,” Technos’ voice was steady, but his expression was twisted tightly in rage. 

A sad expression crossed Phil’s face, “I can’t talk you out of this, can I?” he whispered, voice breaking. Techno shook his head solemnly. Phil sighed shakily, “Be safe. I can’t lose all 3 sons,” he confessed quietly. Ghostbur tightened the hug, looking sadly down at his older brother, unaware of what he was planning, but knowing it was dangerous, whatever it was.

“I’ll be back soon, Dad,” Techno promised with a sad smile, nodding before turning, walking out of the tall gates with his head held high and axe glinting in the light. 

“Where’s he going?” Ghostbur questioned, letting go of the hug to look down at Phil. "Techno better not be trying to pull some shit. Where the fuck has he run off to?"

“It doesn’t matter, son, let’s go find Tommy, okay mate?” Phil smiled sadly, worry for his eldest son making it impossible to give him a genuine grin. He could only hope Techno would make it out alive.

Chapter Text

Dream tightened his grip on his sword, knuckles turning white as he began listening to the loud shrieking noise of the sword being sharpened, hunched over. Rage filled his body, his hands shaking with fury.

His breathing came out ragged, fury practically radiating from his body as he watched the sparks bounce off of the glistening edge of his weapon. His plan was almost there, just on the edge of succeeding, but no, that fucking ghost just had to interfere. 

If he’d gotten Tommy’s ghost on his side, that was it, he’d be unstoppable. There’s no way to stop a ghost, and especially not a ghost who’s by the side of one of the greatest fighters to exist. He could’ve finally gotten what he wanted, finally ruled the world, but no, fucking Ghostbur had to stop him. Dream wished he was able to kill a ghost, because he knew damn well if he could, Ghostbur would be gone .

A sharp scraping noise dragged him out of his internal monologue, and he glanced up just in time to see a flurry of pink and red hues sprinting towards him. He leapt to the side, rolling onto his side to soften the blow, barely dodging the swing of the terrifyingly sharp axe that collided with the log he was previously sat on. 

Dream huffed from his place in the snow, looking up to see a furious Technoblade, axe held high in the air. “Wow, sneak attacking someone? Didn’t know you played dirty, old friend ,” he smirked, seeing the conflicted look on his attackers face, pausing long enough for Dream to get to his feet, sword reconnected with his hand.

Technoblade laughed loudly and bitterly, “I am not your friend,” he threatened, barely restraining his anger. The voices cheered him on, screaming and demanding he gets revenge.

“Aw, what changed?” Dream pouted and provoked, shifting around his footwork, the two of them circling like prey preparing to attack. His mask had long gone, buried in the snow somewhere from the dive. 

The axe was gripped tighter, “What changed? What changed ?” Technoblade echoed mockingly, “Really? You hurt my fucking brother, drove him to suicide , and you wonder what changed?” 

Dream sighed, his hold on the sword behind his back becoming looser as he talked, getting carried away in his own lies, “Is this about Tommy? Because really, he deserved what he got, he wouldn’t listen, I did what I had to-” 

He was cut off by the axe slamming into the snow mere millimeters away from where his feet had been seconds ago. 

Dream scoffed, “You really have changed. Playing dirty now, huh?” He pretended not to be afraid of the tall, jewelry covered figure in front of him who had almost amputated his legs. A cocky grin sat on his face, barely masking the fear that coursed through his veins.

“Well, you said it yourself, some people just get what they deserve,” Technoblade’s emotionless face twisted into one of rage that very few people saw, and the ones who did never made it out alive. With a swift hand, his cape fell from his shoulders, and he lept forwards, colliding with Dream in a momentary scuffle.

The snow was colder than he remembered as he laid on it, staring up at the cold face of his enemy as he dug his boot further into Technoblade’s chest, smearing dirt on his silk white shirt. 

“Doesn’t seem like you’ve trained in a while. Retirement’s getting to you, huh?” Dream laughed, the heel of his boot pressing painfully into his opponents skin. His sword had been knocked out of his hand, so he had to improvise, and ended up with his enemy on the floor.

Technoblade feigned fear, pretending to plead. “Dream, really, this isn’t necessary,” he begged for mercy, weakly clawing at Dream’s leg. He wasn’t the best actor, but Dream seemed big-headed enough to believe it, getting caught up in his own confidence long enough for him to twist his face in concentration and push all his energy into his hands.

With all his might, he grabbed at his enemies ankle and threw Dream backwards, rolling forwards and getting to his feet easily. “Now, who was the one who hasn’t trained in a while? That was such a simple error, Dream, really, even a beginner couldn’t have made that,” He brushed off his shirt.

“You haven’t got a weapon, how are you getting out of this one?” Dream teased, falling right beside his opponents axe, grabbing it and pointing it up at Technoblade, still on the floor.

Technoblade wasn’t sure how Dream had managed to miss the holsters clasped to Technoblade’s back, thigh and wrist, but somehow, he had, and assumed Technoblade was unarmed. He held his hands in the air as a sign of surrender, “Now, Dream, I really don’t think assumptions like that ever end well,” he slowly lowered his hands as he spoke, the dagger falling out of his sleeve and into his hand. He moved swiftly, shoving Dream into a tree, axe discarded, dagger at Dream’s throat. 

Still, Dream forced himself to remain unbothered, the fear not showing at all. He laughed in Technoblades face, voice wheezy as his breath got knocked out of him on impact, “You think you can beat me? You ?”

Technoblade smiled sadly, “No, Dream, I don’t think that,” as he spoke, he dropped his arms, pretending to give up, “I know that,” his expression hardened, and he dove forwards, fist colliding with Dream’s shoulder, a sickening crunch in the air. 

The only sound was Dream’s heavy breathing, blood staining his shirt, tinting the green a dark maroon. He was on the floor, defenseless, but he wasn’t giving up, “You owe me a favour, Blade-”

“Don’t call me that,” Technoblade growled, dagger held high. The voices screamed in his ears, ‘ DO IT! BLOOD! BLOOD! BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD! DO IT! FINISH HIM! BLOOD! REVENGE! E! HELP TOMMY! REVENGE !’ His breathing was raggedy, but he was no where near as exhausted as his fallen opponent.

“Alright, Techno-” he was interrupted by another threatening growl, “Fine, Technoblade. You owe me a favour, and you are not a man to go back on your word. So, listen to me, turn around, and leave,” he warned, the pain in his collarbone excruciating, but still determined. There was no way in hell he was dying to Technoblade. 

“Why should I?” He sneered, blood smeared across his face.

“Because there’s no way you’re winning this,” Dream grinned, kicking and sending the dagger flying from his enemies hand, falling straight into his open palm. He jumped forwards, the blade catching on Technoblade’s upper arm, blood pouring down his arm, tinting the snow a sickening red. He kicked again, steel-toed boot colliding with Technoblade’s knee.

Technoblade knew it would be tough, he’d already become dizzy, his legs felt like jelly and his weapons had all been knocked away, but he wasn’t giving in. He fell backwards, hand inching to Dream’s sword which was just behind him. The moment he felt the cold handle, relief flooded him, and his fight relit inside of him.

“Now, are you going to take my offer?” Dream smirked, grabbing the axe with his spare hand from the ground near his leg.

He swung the blade, knocking the dagger from Dream’s hand. During the shock period from Dream, he leapt to his feet, the blade swinging easily through the air, dancing in circles elegantly as it collided with the axe, the metallic sound mixing with the snows loud crunching.

Dream tilted his head up, leaving his neck uncovered, already predicting Technoblades next move. He saw the blade coming, and the moment it got mere inches from his neck, he raised his fist and slammed it into Technoblade’s hand, a gut-wrenching crunching noise filling the air. 

Technoblade glanced down momentarily to assess the damage, seeing his knuckles tinted black and red, clearly broken along with his wrist, blood dribbling down his forearm. He shook his head, throwing his blade into the air and catching it with his uninjured hand, thanking the younger him that he’d forced himself to become ambidextrous. 

The two continued to swing their weapons wildly, bouncing off of each other easily. Technoblade managed to get in a few good hits, not many, but more than Dream, at least. There was now a large gash on Dream’s forehead, the back of Dream’s hand and his shin, all of them bleeding mildly. 

His only extra injuries were a nasty slice going across his nose and another leading from his neck to his jawline. He could still fight with those, hopefully. 

And as that thought arose, he felt the cold ridge of a blade press itself against his throat. He looked, and saw his own axe being used to threaten him, it’s handle being held by a smirking Dream.

“You’re done for,” he laughed, “Bleeding out, barely able to stand, unarmed and exhausted. What’s your next move, ‘Blade’ ?” He mocked, “Gonna pull another sneak attack? Bring in a whole army? Oh, that’s right, I forgot, you’re hated by everyone, right? I heard about your little failed execution a few months ago, sucks being misunderstood, huh?” He pouted, words dripping with mockery as he pressed the shiny blade further against his enemies throat.

Technoblade was glad Dream had gotten too caught up in his own ego to notice his hand slowly moving upwards. He’d assessed the situation, and there was only one way out. He clenched his hand into a fist and slammed it on top of Dream’s knuckles, the handle of the axe slamming into his collarbone, two loud crunching noises echoing in the air.

Pain flamed up in his shoulder, wrapping around to his collarbone, and blood dribbled from that area, but Technoblade knew his plan had worked as the axe fell from Dream’s hand. He fell backwards, and Technoblade followed suit, legs finally giving out. 

Technoblade thanked any god that may have existed for two things. Number one was that Dream had fallen against a tree and had clearly become mildly concussed, and number two was the fallen sword that had rolled through the snow and into Technoblade’s open palm.

He swung it without hesitation, hearing nothing more than a sickening sound of it colliding with something. What it had collided with, he didn’t know, his eyes were squeezed shut. He opened his eyes and saw it pierced through Dream’s middle, yanking it backwards with a flick of his hand. 

Dream grinned weakly, coughing harshly into his hand, blood splattering onto the snow, “I’m still on three lives. You’ve got about an hour to run,” he warned, grabbing the dagger and throwing it with his last ounce of strength. His hand stilled almost immediately after.

Technoblade hadn’t prepared himself for impact as the dagger flew towards his face.

Chapter Text

Ghostbur never considered himself to be a worrier, but from the moment his brother walked out of the gates, fear seemed to consume him. He didn’t know where his brother had gone, or what he was doing, but he was still terrified for what trouble his brother may have gotten himself in. 

To his credit, Phil had tried to help, offering to take a walk alongside the ghost to clear his head. Ghostbur had denied the need for the offer, but shivers still ran down his spine every time he sighted anything pink. Phil had refused to leave his side, so he never got a chance to slip away, being forced to wallow in his own worry for almost an hour.

Then Phil had been requested to come and help out with the war preparations, and Ghostbur left, claiming he wouldn’t be helpful as he couldn’t interact with things, and that he’d just get in the way. Phil looked sad, but he agreed, watching Ghostbur as he floated away, silently praying that his son didn’t do anything rash.

Ghostbur, however, was smarter than given credit for, and followed the almost invisible imprints in the ground. He’d been walking for what felt like hours (but was probably 15 minutes realistically) and had begun to doubt himself, wondering if he was even going the right way, trying to make sure he was following actual footsteps and not some animals tracks. Then he stumbled into the snow biome, and the footprints became clear and crisp. A breath of relief was let out without him even realising.

He followed the imprints once again, humming to himself to fill the blank noise. Then the sound of heavy breathing reached his ears and he froze, listening in to figure out where it was coming from. He whirled around, seeing none other than Techno stumble out of the forest.

Techno was a mess, hair matted with blood, his usual waist-length locks sliced to shoulder-length on his left side, the right side still long but hastily tied up, cape discarded, revealing his silky white shirt that was stained with mud and red. Oh god, there was so much red. It was everywhere, on his leg, covering his shoulder, staining his arm, his face, everything. The most prominent thing to Ghostbur was a harsh red gash going through Techno’s left eye, blood gushing from the cut. His eye was sealed shut by the dried blood, and he didn’t seem to have made much of an effort to unstick it. 

“Ghostbur? Wh-What are you doing here?” His voice was uncharacteristically weak, shaking on every word. Despite the situation, he wasn’t surprised to see his brother, knowing that Ghostbur had a tendency to worry, predicting he’d attempt to find him sooner or later.  

“ Techno? What the fuck- Fucking hell- What the fuck happened ?” Ghostbur rambled, rushing over to his brother’s side, thanking that he’d learned how to interact with real things as he wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

Despite what Techno would say, he practically collapsed into his brother’s side, head leaning against his brother’s shoulder, hair spilling against the soft fabric, “‘M fine, Wil, don’t need your help,” he attempted to push at his brother’s hands, instead just irritating his broken hand. “I c’n walk by m’self.”

Ghostbur was too panicked to correct him, walking as fast as he could back through the plains, allowing his brother to lean against him. “ What the fuck happened ?” He asked softly, attempting to keep the panic out of his voice. The dazed state was obvious, and, despite how oblivious he was, he knew he had to stay calm, screaming and demanding he’d kill Dream like he wanted to would do nothing to help his injured brother right now. His brother simply hummed, “ Techno, you gotta answer me, c’mon man, don’t fall asleep on me now .”

His brother's voice was quiet, too quiet, “Fought Dream. Hes dead, but still got 2 lives left, so there was no point,” he chuckled bitterly, raising a weak hand to wipe away the blood that had dribbled from his mouth, failing and just smearing it across his jawline instead. Ghostbur frowned, subtly beginning to walk faster.

“ There was a point, Tech, you managed to take away Dream’s life, even if it was just one, that’s still one more than anyone else has been able to do, ” He encouraged, attempting to keep his brother awake. There was little medical knowledge in his brain, he didn’t need it as a ghost, but there was some part of his mind demanding he keep his brother awake. Techno smiled faintly, the crusted blood on his lips making it more painful that it should’ve been. 

“Y’ haven’t called me that in years,” he muttered, eyelids heavy, leaning more against his brother’s side, exhaustion increasing. His legs felt ready to collapse, limbs weighing him down like a chain around the legs of someone whos drowning. Techno swayed on his feet as he walked, breathing raggedy, shivering. His shaking was less like a shiver and more like a spasm, hands trembling uncontrollably. He was just so...cold.

Ghostbur felt a smile tug at his mouth, turning to glance at his brother only to see him almost fully passed out, “ No, no, c’mon, Tech, wake up, come on man, only a few minutes before we’re back, stay awake ,” the happiness slipped from his voice, immediately replaced with worry. He knew his brother was incredibly smart, he was the most knowledgeable in the medical field out of all of them, so seeing him completely forgetting everything he knew was painful. “ Tech, please, come on, wake up properly .”

“‘M tired though,” He complained, rubbing his uninjured eye tiredly, black spots beginning to cover his vision. His eyelids slowly felt heavier by the second, turning into what felt like cinder blocks within minutes. Even with more than half of his weight leaning against Ghostbur, with his head leaning against his brothers shoulder, with the arm keeping him upright, he still felt ready to collapse onto the floor.

The pain was unbearable, especially in his eye. Somehow everything felt blistering hot and just so painfully cold. But numbness had started to creep in, and he welcomed it, desperate for the agony to stop. He let his eyes slip shut, and he stopped dragging his feet to walk, instead, falling into blissful sleep against his brother’s shoulder.

Ghostbur shifted his brother slightly, having him be more stood up than leaning, the small action jolting him awake, “ You can sleep soon, promise, just not now. You like medicine stuff, right? You're a nerd, you know you can’t sleep while you're hurt, but we’re...what, 2 minutes away from L’Manberg now? Just stay awake until then, please, Tech, c’mon. You can sleep the moment we get into L’Manberg, promise .”

“Pinkie promise, Wilby?” 

Ghostbur felt his heart break, “ Yeah, pinkie promise, Tech .”

Chapter Text

Dream respawned sooner than he’d expected, eyes struggling to adjust to the bright light of his cabin. A lantern laid directly in front of his face and he groaned, grumbling to himself about figuring out a way to respawn with his mask on. He stumbled to his feet, still dizzy from the attacks Technoblade had inflicted. With a shaky hand he swiped a regen potion from the side, swigging it in seconds. He could feel the few remaining wounds stitch themselves shut, healing over instantly, not that there were many injuries that carried through his respawn.

“Respawn, shit, right,” Dream chucked the bottle behind him, not caring for the shrieking noise as the glass shattered, scattering across the floor. He dug through his drawers, finding the one with the false bottom and dumping its contents onto the side, sliding out the fake bit of wood and finding the large safe. Entering the code, it popped open, revealing hundreds and hundreds of Totems of Undying.

But they weren’t normal ones, no, not at all. Instead of being used whilst dying, he’d mixed a variation of potions ingredients and infused them with something that seemed to work in a way he needed. 

They regenerated lives, and were meant to be used after dying.

You couldn’t go over the max limit of three, no, and if you were on one life when you died, it was too late, but as long as you respawned and used it within a few hours of your death, it should regenerate the lost hearts. 

Dream laughed to himself, allowing himself to be loud, no one was near, hell, no one even knew he had a base, they all believed him to be homeless. But no, his little cabin underground hidden behind hundreds of traps and puzzles remained untouched throughout the many wars, and Dream was rather proud of his work.

He knew L’Manberg would soon catch wind of his little life-regaining stunts, as he’d let slip in his dying moments that he was still on three lives, and that was a blatant lie to anyone who was unaware of the totems. He’d died twice officially, according to L’Manberg’s knowledge, once in the railway accident and another time during his escape from the battle of the lake, although Sapnap was the only one to know about that. But then again, Sapnap was on L’Manberg’s side now, everyone was, for fucks sake.

He scoffed under his breath. Hell, they even had Tommy’s ghost now, and there was nothing he could do to fight against a ghost. 

With a sinister smirk, he reminisced on his time in Logstedshire, watching the teen scramble to cover his ears and distance himself from the explosion in time. Every time he watched Tommy dig through the pit in hysterics in a frantic attempt to retrieve any surviving scraps. It was humorous to him, providing free entertainment as he watched him stand dangerously close to the edge, pulling him back with more force than necessary, sending him tumbling to the ground in pain. 

Dream wouldn’t consider himself a bad guy, no, not at all, though he knew that if you saw it from L’Manberg’s perspective, then he may possibly be confused for a villain, but he knew different. L’Manberg had a tendency to claim any opposition was villany, like they did with Schlatt.

The man was nothing more than a Democratically elected president who suffered betrayals, his alcoholism neglected by everyone claiming to be on his side.

Dream knew he played a role in Schlatt’s death, being the one to casually mention all of the ‘conveniently remaining alcohol left in the Camar van’ and locking Schlatt inside. But still, L’Manberg was at fault.

He went to grasp at his sword on his back before remembering it had been cast aside during the fight, buried beneath feet of snow by now. With a pissed-off groan, he opened the trapdoors, climbing down the ladder and jumping to the floor, brushing the dirt from his jeans as he stood. 

In front of him was a large stretch of room stocked with resources, three sets of fully enchanted, netherite armor hung on stands, another five sets discarded within one of the hundreds of chests. Many masks dangled from the stone walls, and he snatched one down, strapping it onto his face. Beside them on the wall was a scarily large selection of swords, ranging from borderline-daggers all the way to ones that almost resembled spears. Dream hummed as he scanned his selection, settling on a deep purple long blade with a triangle at the top, spiked for maximum attack damage. The handle was uncomfortable, but Dream knew he wouldn’t need it for long.

A plan had already been devised within his mind, only one section undecided on. He knew how he could ruin L’Manberg, knew how he could finally get what he wanted, and it involved the prison he and Sam spent hours and hours on. The only bit he struggled with was the ghosts, how could he stop Tommy and Ghostbur? 

There was no way for him to prevent them unlocking the jail cells and releasing everyone, and his mind raced to scramble up an answer. Could he lock them in the cells too?
“No, they’d float through the walls,” he muttered to himself, practicing whirling the sword around, getting used to its weight. “Fucking hell…” 

He gave up on the plan, making a mental note to ask Sam for help later, hoping he wouldn’t snitch to L’Manberg. 

Instead, he distracted himself with practicing his fighting, twisting the sword roughly, jabbing the air, rolling to dodge imaginary blows. He ducked, imaging Technoblade’s sword slicing through the air above his head like it had been mere hours ago.

He frowned, letting his arm fall to his side, sword loosely grasped. He couldn’t focus on his fighting, with each swing he became more distracted by the half-formed plan in his mind. With a sigh, he slumped to the floor, leaning back against the wall.

“What am I gonna do?”

Chapter Text

Schlatt never ended up talking to Ranboo, finding himself stood outside of the White House, staring up at the old building. Flashes of memories darted past his eyes, only remembering screaming, being pushed, and then a burning ache in his chest and nothing else. He frowned slightly, the glass bottle in his hand begging to grow hot. Squeezing his eyes shut, he shook his head, fighting back the memories. The bottle cooled.

“What- What the fuck, man? Schlatt?” 

He was shaken by the voice, one he didn’t recognise. Then again, he only really knew five voices, Tubbos, Ranboos, Wilburs, Technos and Phil’s. But this wasn’t any of them. With a furrowed brow, he began turning to face the source. 

Stood before him was a man in a beanie and a suit, eyes wide and horrified as he stared up at the ghost. He paled the moment Schlatt turned around, mouth falling agape. 

“Oh, hello! I’m guessing you’re another one of my beloved fans,” Schlatt grinned, floating up and flipping onto his back, tilting his head backwards to see the man. “So? What is it you want? An autograph? A hug? No, wait, I can’t actually give those, but I can do this!” Schlatt threw the bottle up into the air, catching it between his index and middle finger.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” The man breathed, a sickened look painted onto his face falling oblivious to the ghost in front of him.

“I know! Cool, right?” He grinned, faltering at the hurt in the man's eyes. “Are you good?”

“You...don’t remember me?” 

Schlatt’s face fell, “Oh,” he seemed to be struck with realisation, flipping back over to stand normally, even if he hovered a few inches from the ground. “Uh, I don’t really remember anyone, sorry. The only people I remember are ones I’ve spoken to since I became a ghost, like Wilbur and Tubbo. But, I do remember names though! What’s your name?”

The man stayed silent momentarily, scanning the ghosts figure warily, clearly suspicious. He narrowed his eyes, looking to the side before hesitantly speaking, “Quackity.”

“Ohhhh,” Schlatt looked to the side awkwardly, remembering what Wilbur had told him earlier, about their fight, about his second death. “Right, gotcha. I remember you now. You built that, right?” He asked, gesturing towards the White House in front of them. All he got was a subtle nod in response. “And I called you a pussy. I stand by that, by the way,” he joked, smirking slightly. “Even if I did get killed for it once. But hey, I’m a ghost now, you can’t do shit,” he grinned teasingly, hoping for a smile to fall onto the mans face.

Quackity rubbed his eyes harshly, jerking his head away from the ghosts general direction “C’mon man, you don’t have time to go crazy right now, got a war to fight,” he muttered to himself, clenching his fists, turning on his heel and striding away. 

Schlatt stared after him in offence, “Hey! What the fuck, man!” he scoffed, floating after him, groaning when he went ignored. “Dude, if you don’t wanna talk to me, just say it, don’t be a pussy!”

The man continued to blank out the ghost, muttering under his breath and speeding up his pace. He’d gotten so immersed in his own muttering that he almost bumped straight into Ranboo, only getting caught centimeters away by a hands on his shoulders. He looked up, seeing Ranboo with his arms out, holding Quackity at arms length, stopping them colliding. He let his arms fall to his sides after Quackity looked up at him.

“Uh, Quackity? Is there a reason Schlatt’s pissed off and chasing you? ” Ranboo asked amusedly, seeing the ghost speedily floating behind the man, flipping him off behind his back.

“He’s fuckin real? Goddamnit, I thought I was fuckin loosing it, man,” Quackity groaned, running a hand over his face before turning to face the ghost. “What the fuck do you want, Schlatt?”

“Ah! He talks!” Schlatt yelled, beaming, teasing grin on his face, nudging Ranboo’s shoulder (even if nothing happened). “I was wondering why you up and left mid conversation, so I followed you,” he shrugged.

Quackity blinked, “That’s weird as fuck, man.”

“You’re the one who came up to me, said like two fuckin words then bolted,” Schlatt shrugged, “Anyway, you’re a pussy. Ranboo!” Schlatt quickly turned to the teen, who was watching, restraining a laugh, “Ying yang bitch, how’s Tubbo?”

“Why do you care?” Quackity interjected.

Ranboo rolled his eyes amusedly at Quackity’s defensiveness, “He helped out with calming Tubbo earlier. He’s fine now, he went to go speak to Tommy and they got it all sorted, I think,” he shrugged, “I don’t really know though. I just sort of write down shit people tell me and hope it’s true,” he snickered, earning a laugh from Schlatt and a stare from Quackity. 

Schlatt grinned, “So, war time, huh?” 

“Yeah, I bet you’re sick of wars, apparently you had to fight in one when it was Manberg,” Ranboo looked mildly impressed as he spoke, remembering the stories he’d been told of ‘Evil dictator Schlatt who fought with Netherite armor, wielding his weapons high as he mercilessly slaughtered all of his enemies like the villain he was’. He wasn’t expecting Schlatt to burst out into laughter. 

“Who told you that?” Quackity asked, confusion evident on his face.

“Some people in L'Manberg and Dream,” Ranboo answered.

Quackity’s face fell into an expression of pity, realising the boy had already forgotten that Dream wasn’t to be trusted a mere few hours after he'd been reminded. The moment had gotten ruined by another loud cackle from Schlatt.

“Me? Fight? Ha!” Schlatt snorted, “I went and got shitfaced in a van, drank too much, and fuckin kicked the bucket, I didn’t do shit. I did make Dream go get me Netherite armor just so I could waste it, and I did call him Flatty Patty in my last moments, I’m still pretty proud of that,” he grinned, clearly unbothered by the fact that he had died from what was basically suicide. 

“Your last words were Flatty Patty?” Ranboo grinned, eyes sparkling in admiration.

“Hell yeah kid, couldn’t go out without style. And this apparently, I can’t let go of this,” he gestured to the empty bottle. “Buuuut, I can do this!” And with that, he chucked the bottle into the air once again, catching it perfectly between two fingers.

Ranboo looked amazed, “Woah,” he breathed.

Schlatt turned to Quackity with a grin, “Finally, my tricks are appreciated!”

Chapter Text

The moment Ghostbur slipped through the gates of L’Manberg, Techno finally let his eyes slip shut, and he panicked. His breath hitched, hearing his brother’s ragged breathing fall to nothing more than hushed exhales, and he stormed forwards, carrying Techno’s limp form.

The first person he saw was BadBoyHalo, who was sitting beside the walls, books surrounding him, seemingly enchanting them under his breath.

“ Bad !” He called, worry seeping into his voice. He didn’t have time to care about Bad not technically being a citizen, or even being trustworthy in the slightest. But he didn’t care, he was simply wanting help.

The man didn’t turn to look at him at first, pausing his chanting, “Oh, hello, Ghostbur!” He said cheerfully, turning his head after he finished speaking. His eyes immediately fell onto the slumped over man leaning against the ghost, one that was drenched in blood. Bad’s eyes widened, and he jumped to his feet, launching into action without hesitation, “Ghostbur, at the back of Tommy’s base is a secret room, it has a bunch of potions and things. You can get there quicker than me, run, grab the contents of the third chest and bring them all here. I’ll stay here with Technoblade, hurry,” the plan formed in his mind as he spoke it.

Ghostbur was too scared to disagree, carefully sitting Techno against the wall next to where Bad was moments before. As soon as his brother was propped up, he nodded to Bad and ran, well, flew to his brother's base, sinking through the walls and finding the secret room, immediately grabbing everything he could and hurrying back, not pausing to examine what he held.

He was back at Bad’s side in less than a minute, depositing everything he could onto the ground. The demon-hybrid seemed to keep his calm easily, rummaging through the pile and digging out a large box of bandages quickly, turning to face the slumped over man with a focused expression.

“Thank you, Ghostbur. You’re in charge of potions, I’ll do bandages,” he suggested, pulling out a gauze and hesitating, examining the worst injuries evident on the man. The one bleeding most was the large gash going from his cheek, up through his eye and ceasing at his hairline. Blood soaked his shirt, pouring down from the face wound. He held the gauze in place, fastening the fabric in place tightly before moving onto the injury on the arm. He had to cut off a section of the shirt to access the wound, but he simply discarded the muddy red fabric and set to work on the cut.

Ghostbur tilted Techno’s head up, grabbing one of the water bottles from the pile and holding it against Techno’s burning forehead. He didn’t want to splash him, that seemed cruel, especially considering Techno’s battered state. Surprisingly, his plan worked, the chill of the cold bottle making his brother’s eyes flutter open.

“Wha’,” he paused, blinking harshly, fear consuming him at the realisation that his right eye was completely sealed shut, and he couldn’t open it no matter what. He reached to touch it but was met with thick gauze. He gulped nervously, choosing not to focus on that, turning his eyes to his ghostly brother knelt before him.

“Techno, drink this,” Ghostbur spoke quickly, pressing the cool potion into his brother’s hand, only hoping his stubbornness didn’t interfere. Techno liked to do things his own way, and the way he healed wounds was completely incorrect, but he refused to admit it. Ghostbur wasn’t trained like Techno was, but even he knew that a potion of regeneration or healing was not the first thing to give. No. Surprisingly, it was a potion of the turtle master.

Despite it being something he kept hidden, Ghostbur was rather good at potions and knowledge of how to use them to his benefit. The resistance mixed within the liquid helped with blood loss and stopping any possible growing infections. Using strength first would just amplify any negative effects too, healing would close over the wounds on the surface but beneath the skin, any infections would remain prominent, and the internal bleeding was a pain to take care of. Regeneration seemed like a good idea, but that only worked on minor injuries, and, judging by the fact that Techno was literally bathing in his blood, that would do nothing.

His brother ignored the cold bottle in his hand, mustering up as much of an annoyed expression as he could in his drowsy state, “Mm, sleep,” Techno turned his head weakly, pressing his eyes shut in annoyance (ignoring the worry that filled him when he realised he only had to shut one eye.) 

“C’mon, you can sleep in a minute, promise, remember?” Ghostbur’s voice was shaky, but he forced it to remain calm as he pushed the potion further into his brother’s hand.

“After th’ potion?” Techno asked, receiving a quick nod in return. He looked down at the bottle, the mushy, brown-and purple-y colour looking unappealing but familiar. Ghostbur had already removed the cap, so he just drank it, recoiling momentarily from the taste. 

Bad glanced up from where he was knelt, pausing his work in covering the large slash covering most of Techno’s neck with gauze. He could see Ghostbur was panicking, and his form flickered with black smog every few seconds. It was evident he hadn’t worked with blood-loss-induced-disorientation cases before, so Bad stepped in, smiling carefully at Techno. 

“C’mon, just a few more, then you can sleep as long as you want, no one’ll wake you up until you get up. Only three more, which is one less than before, so you’re making progress already, only a minute after you woke up. Surely, within five minutes you can go back to sleep. All you gotta do is drink these three,” Bad spoke sympathetically, returning to securing the medical tape on Techno’s neck. 

That seemed to get through to Techno as he groggily accepted the small potions, downing them all within minutes, looking up at his brother with tired eyes. Despite the evident exhaustion, Ghostbur was relieved to see that his eyes no longer seemed to unwillingly droop shut, instead only closing when Techno forced them to. “C’n I sleep now?”

Ghostbur smiled, tears welling in his eyes, “Yeah, Techno, go to sleep now, buddy,” He saw his brother’s eyes slip shut immediately, breathing turning more into soft snoring. He sighed shakily, glancing over at Bad with a gentle nod, a silent thanking. 

The two worked in silence, covering the wounds with tight gauze first to stop the bleeding. As soon as a wound stopped bleeding, Ghostbur would seal it in the best way he found for the area, as the arm wound was stitched, the face wound was held in place with butterfly tape, the neck wound had to be held in place using butterfly wounds too, and most of the others were simply bandaged.  

None of the injuries looked fatal after the potions, the large gashes becoming less deep, the sickening black bruises lightening slightly to a greenish tint. Still, there was a worrying amount of blood staining Techno.

Bad had cleaned the blood from the wounds before Ghostbur covered them, but his white shirt was almost fully red, and his soft bubblegum-tinted hair looked to be a dark crimson with a few pink stripes. 

It had taken a while, but eventually, the wounds had all been covered. The gash on his throat had to be fully covered in bandages, ones that were difficult to apply, as if they were too tight, the consequences would be fatal, but if they were too loose, it would get infected and the consequences would be fatal too. His face was half-covered in a large plaster that ran down his right eye, a thin piece of gauze sat beneath it over the actual eyelid to prevent sticking. 

The gash on his arm had to have a thick piece of gauze held tightly over it using medical tape, and both his hands were bandaged, but his injuries were healing quickly. The bruises were almost completely gone, and the smaller cuts had already sealed into harsh red scars, but still scars nonetheless.

Chapter Text

Tommy found that Schlatt was surprisingly nice. When he’d looked over at the new ghost and his mind was filled with anger and screaming and fireworks again, he thought he wasn’t going to like him. Then he’d spoken to Big Q, who was complaining about being called a pussy nonstop by the dead man, and suddenly Tommy got the feeling that they’d get on well.

But he was needed with weaponry, so he pushed away the plans to talk to him, instead, settling for floating cross-legged in the air above the chests and sharpening one of the many many axes.

The preparations were all done in Eret’s castle, as offered by the man earlier, who claimed she barely used the ground floor, so they were welcome to stuff as much shit in there as they wanted. Plus, she barely stayed at her castle, so there was no harm in being loud as fuck.

That came in handy as Tommy began rambling about the weirdest shit, each random thought bouncing to another, seeing Phil attempt to stifle a laugh. The others in the room didn’t complain, rather glad that the tense silence was filled with humorous words. They all left for resources within ten minutes, leaving just Tommy and Phil.

Phil sat across from him, beside a table, carefully securing the handle onto a sword, biting his lip in concentration. He, too, was smiling at his son's loud, bizarre rambles, simply glad he had the opportunity to hear his son again, even if most words had been fucked up and stuttered.

“So, fish, ri-ri-r-r-right? None o-of e’em have di-d-d-dic-di-dicks,” Tommy remarked with a laugh, “b-but seahorses, the men c-ca-car-ca-c-carry the kid, b-but they’re both f-fu-f-fuc-fuckin fish!?” 

Phil laughed, “I don’t think either of those facts are true,” he grinned.

“Random, I know, I -ju-j-just remember hearing t-th-t-tha-tha-that once,” Tommy shrugged with a grin, hearing Phil laugh alongside him.

“You thought fish fingers were all severed fish dicks, and Wilbur told you that no fish had dicks so you’d eat your fuckin’ dinner,” Phil grinned, remembering sitting back with Techno and watching the other two dash around the house, throwing food at eachother and screaming ‘fish dick!’ at the top of their lungs.

Tommy wheezed, “Damn, y-you-y-youn-y-younger me was on some shit.”

Phil chuckled, “That’s not even the weirdest shit you did as a kid. You have a whole ass quotebook full of dumb fuckin things you said. It’s in my enderchest, actually, hold on,” he stood up, approaching the dark chest in the corner of the room, digging through it and pulling out an old, wrinkled notebook. He moved to sit beside his son, opening up the book. The first page was old, almost as old as Tommy was, and it was clear it had started out as a book to document his first words, as evident in the cursive font at the top, reading ‘Tommy’s First Words :’.

The words underneath it were not what he was expecting.

In old, smeared crayon, and what looked to be Techno’s handwriting, was ‘Women!’.

“My first wo-w-wor-w-word was women?” Tommy asked, eyebrows raised, grinning.

Phil smiled back, “Yeah, I wasn’t there when it happened, but as soon as I got back home, Wilbur told me about how Techno had tried to teach you to say fuck, and he said, ‘I bet his first word will be women. I bet.’ Apparently, he spent the next hour trying to get you to say women, and it worked, I guess,” he shrugged, laughing.

“I am a f-fu-f-fuc-fucking l-le-leg-legend,” Tommy laughed loudly, throwing his head back as he wheezed, the lava in his eyesockets swirling around quicker the more he grinned.

Phil glanced back at his son, eyes squished as he smiled, just glad that even death hadn’t ruined his son's humour. “There was this one time, you were...5, I think, when Techno had been teaching you to fight behind Wilbur’s back, and you challenged him to a duel in the kitchen at midnight. You won, and you wouldn’t shut up about it for weeks,” he reminisced, the ghost of a grin on his face.

Tommy’s shoulders shook as he laughed, the loud sound echoing throughout the castle. He opened his mouth to speak when the door burst open, too loud and too sudden to be the others. Their eyes shot up to see Ghostbur, panting and drenched in blood. Tears stained his cheeks, and 

He was silent, grabbing Phil’s wrist and pulling him to his feet. The man tried to ignore the blood that smeared over his arm as the ghost grabbed it and began leading him out of the castle, gesturing for Tommy to follow.

“Ghostbur, son? Are you okay?” Phil asked carefully as they got onto the path, glancing back to Tommy with a worried expression. The last time Ghostbur had been that freaked out was right before he told them of Tommy’s death.  

He didn’t respond, instead, continuing to lead them down the path in eerie silence.

Tommy seemed just as concerned as Phil, speeding up to talk by the other ghosts side, “Ghostbur?” He chuckled nervously, “What-wh-wh-w-wha-what’s going on, ma-m-ma-man?” His eyes flickered to the blood every few seconds, the crimson stains attracting a scary amount of attention.

Phil gulped, gesturing for Tommy to stop speaking with a rapid ‘cut it out’ hand shake. He could see the smoke that radiated from the ghost increase, always a sign that Ghostbur was getting stressed. His mind raced with possibilities and reasoning for the blood, analysing every splatter and shape he could. Then his eyes fell onto the handprint on the ghosts face, and he noticed that the hand seemed to have rings covering the fingers, and his heart sank.

Techno was the only one known for wearing rings.

Ranboo did too, he was covered head-to-toe in gold chains, but his blood wasn’t red.

Technos was.

With a nervous glance towards Tommy, Phil spoke up, “Is- Is this about Techno?” He asked softly, hands shaking at the thought. 

The ghost didn’t respond, but Phil could feel the hand on his wrist grow colder and begin trembling more, and that was answer enough.

“Techno?” Tommy’s voice was quiet, wavering and thick with tears, “Is he hurt? Why- Why would he be hurt? What happened? I thought- I thought he was still here, in L’Manberg, how did he get hurt?” 

No one answered any of his questions, and Tommy’s shoulders slumped, the magma in his eyes threatening to spill over his cheeks. 

Within a minute, Ghostbur had led them to the small infirmary around the outskirts of the border, one Puffy had insisted they make. Phil felt like he was going to be sick, if Techno was dead because he let him run off and fight Dream, he knew he’d blame himself. Tommy was shaking, no one was telling him why his brother was hurt, or what had happened. 

Ghostbur opened the door, and the first thing they saw was Fundy, sat in a chair beside a hospital bed. 

Fundy’s green eyes flickered over to them as they entered, and his ears flattened against his head nervously, gulping and returning to sewing up what seemed to be a long red cloak. 

Beside him, laid in the bed was Techno, face bruised and littered with harsh red scars that definitely hadn’t been there when he’d left in the morning. He looked to be a walking mummy with the amount of bandages he had on, covering his entire neck, most of his shoulders and his hands. His eye was completely bandaged, medical tape sealing it shut.

“What the fuck-” Tommy breathed, eyes wide, staring down at his brother. 

Phil let out a sigh of relief, seeing the steady rise and fall of his last living sons chest. At least he was alive, even if he was hurt. 

“ He’s had some potions, he’ll be fine, just a few scars, but, uh, his eye, he- he won’t be able to see too well from that eye anymore ,” Ghostbur’s voice was quiet, and, no matter how hard he tried to hide it, it sounded fucking terrified.

Chapter Text

He healed quickly, thank fuck. Techno was off of bedrest within hours, and he was back to gathering weapons the next day. The potions were a major factor in his recovery, completely stopping the bleeding with his second dose and sealing the wounds with a third. Nasty, red, raised scars were scattered across his body, but they didn’t hurt at all, so he didn’t care too much.

His eye stayed covered by an adhesive patch, keeping it shut and protected from infection until they had real time to focus on it and help. He didn’t care, it didn’t hurt, the gauze just stuck to his skin and pulled on it every time he had to rebandage it, which was every few hours.

When he had spoken to Tommy, he had promised the kid that it wasn’t his fault, and Ghostbur had given the ghost a hug for him, as Tommy still didn’t know how to interact with things.

Dream was left off much better, clearly. 

Security cameras had been set up by Tubbos command, and they had captured a completely uninjured, healthy green-clad figure racing past the walls, entering L’Manberg and sneaking through the blind spots. The lenses captured him running out an entire hour later, and a small group was sent out to try and figure out what he had been doing.

Puffy split off with Fundy, and Niki set off with Ranboo. When they had met up at the gate after the two hour time limit, both pairs had found the same thing. 

L’Manberg was laced with TNT.

Schlatt and Tommy, the only ghosts who could still sink through walls and floors, were sent to look how much there was. Dynamite with timers had been gathered in groups of hundreds and stuck under every building and path. There had to be thousands upon thousands. Enough to completely blow every single building down to bedrock and leave a huge crater miles further where L’Manbergs borders. 

An emergency evacuation was put in place, and they escaped to the closest place to formulate a plan.

Pogtopia.

The tunnels had come in helpful as everyone rushed through the stone hallways, stumbling to the entrance of the ravine. Tommy hadn’t been there in months, and, even as a ghost, the screams and pain that erupted from the ravine were just as harmful as they had been while he was alive. He stuck to Tubbo’s side the entire time.

Ghostbur was in charge of retrieving all their supplies from the castle, and in no more than four trips, everything had been deposited on the floor of the ravine. 

Everyone was on edge, some too upset about the possibility of L’Manberg being blown up to contribute. Sleeping bags were scattered across the ground, a small bundle of the owners items resting upon the blankets. The buttons dotted around the walls always made Phil feel sick every time he saw them.

There had been a fight, unsurprisingly.

Tensions were high, and the atmosphere was tense, so an argument had been expected eventually. 

What was surprising was not the fact that it was George and Sapnap fighting Puffy, but that Puffy was on the edge of siding with Dream.

Everyone had stayed out of it, engaging in quiet conversations and trying not to acknowledge the screaming fest occurring down the end of the ravine. They knew jumping into the fight would do nothing but harm, so they all opted to ignore it unless it got violent.

It didn’t, but Puffy did end up storming out, face flushed bright red, breathing heavily from the yelling,  with Niki trailing behind her. George and Sapnap had been quiet for most of the week, but during the fight the two were yelling as loud as they could to get their point across, which was surprisingly against Dream. 

When she returned, it had been an hour, and tear tracks ran down her cheeks, but she still dragged George and Sapnap over to the corner to quietly apologise.

It wasn’t the only fight they had, Fundy had tried to punch Quackity, Jack and Tubbo had argued, Sapnap broke Sam’s nose, hell, even Bad had yelled at Antfrost. 

Everyone was on edge, and it certainly didn’t help when the ravine began shaking, rocks tumbling down from the ceiling. It wasn’t dangerous, they were still fine to stay there, but something near had definitely exploded.

George went out to look, he was one of the few who could leave unharmed if Dream happened to see him. When he returned, he looked shaken, ash combed through his hair, dirt smeared across his face. With a trembling voice, he uttered the words everyone wished they never had to hear.

“L’Manberg is gone.”

Chapter Text

There was a lot to deal with.

George said that right in the centre of the rubble was a note, saying the real war would begin tomorrow, and that if anyone wished to change sides, that immediately would be the time to do it.

No one had moved, confirming that it was Dream against everyone.

Everyone had been tense, leaping to gather the rest of the supplies.

Beside each sleeping bag was a chest, an armour stand, and a barrel. The armour was lacklustre, the best set belonging to Jack, which was iron, with diamond boots and a netherite helmet. They tried to split the armour equally, but when there was mostly just iron, a few chainmail sets and some leather, no one got the best or the worst, it was all just...eh.

In the barrel was their actual weapons, consisting of either a sword or an axe, a bow or crossbow and a shit ton of enderpearls.

It was tense, and the conversations were hushed and panicked.

Their surroundings didn’t help. Half of Pogtopia had caved in, making it even more cramped than before. Techno's potato farm room had been covered by a large plastic sheet, and used as a storage room, where everyone dumped the thing that they had managed to bring from L’Manberg before it was exploded.

Tommy, Schlatt and Ghostbur had left to salvage the ruins, as they couldn’t contribute much to creating tools or manufacturing armor. Most houses were reduced to complete rubble, but some had managed to survive partially.

Sapnap's underground house had been mostly saved, but only the empty chests had lasted through the explosion. The basement of Eret's castle had barely lasted. The White House had been split in two, the quartz scattered miles from the blast. The bakery was no more than a crater, and the museum was an scorch mark, so there was little to salvage.

They still managed to retrieve a few thing, some diamonds left discarded on the floor of Eret’s basement, a few swords from Techno’s secret weapon room, and a couple of netherite scraps from the barrels in Puffy's house.

Meanwhile, Phil led the riot, doing a check of everyone's armour and weapons before splitting people off into groups to create extras.

They had a lot of work to do.

Chapter Text

The moment they stepped onto the battlefield, the nerves leaked away, quickly replaced by determination. Supplies were hidden throughout the forest behind them, everyone finding a seperate spot for them to hide their backups in case of emergency. 

Thank fuck for Techno and Ranboos preparations, each having six totems in their ender chests and split them between everyone. A few others already had some, like Niki and Tubbo, but the ones who didn’t were supplied one from the backups.

Roles were assigned, and the people remaining on one life were subjected to be healers, staying further to the back and in charge of the over-the shoulder medical bags. Tubbo was desperate to fight, but after being pulled aside by Tommy and being begged tearfully not to become a ghost too, he had to listen. Luckily for him, Bad had one life too, and they were more than happy to be shielded by the wall of other warriors.

Everyone had been split up into small groups, the healers at the back, the main fighters with three lives sent to guard the outskirts alone, the defenders with two lives stuck in pairs around the clearing. 

Respawns took a varied amount of time depending on how gruesome the death was, so they had to be careful. If anyone was left to respawn, they would be rendered useless for, at the very least, five hours.

They had to be careful.

Waiting for Dream was tense, but it didn’t last long. As everyone mumbled things to one another that sounded eerily like goodbyes, there was a rustling, and he dropped from one of the trees, landing skillfully, one hand on the floor, the other on a bow. 

“Ah, good to see everyone again. George, Sapnap, it’s been a while,” he grinned manically, rising to his feet and brushing off the scraps of bark that clung to his clothes. 

Neither of them responded, simply clinging to their weapons tighter.

“Not talkative today, are we?” He taunted, humming lightly and lowering his bow, “Rules for the battlefield must be discussed. Who’s in charge here, because I’m assuming it’s not Wilbur again,” the teasing glint in his eye almost sent the ghost barreling forwards and pummeling his face in, but with a glance from Tommy, he restrained himself.

“I am,” Phil spoke up, stepping through the crowd to stand eye-to-eye with Dream.

He looked amused, “Your best fighter, the one you put your trust in to lead the final war...is an old neglectful father?” He smirked, “Fine by me. No objections over here. So, rules,” he clapped his hands, “Permadeaths are allowed.”

There were multiple quiet gasps in the crowd, more from realisation than shock. They had been expecting the rule, but the severity hadn’t settled in until the words had been uttered by the man himself.

Phil looked displeased as he nodded. “No limits to violence, no fleeing, no surrendering. Fight to the death,” his expression was hardened, eyes narrowed, eyebrows furrowed, but there was a smirk. He had a plan.

“I’m impressed, didn’t think any of you had the balls to die for your country, well…” he trailed off, glancing towards Wilbur with another sneer. “Some of you did, but it’s a bit late now,” he pouted mockingly at Techno before turning back to face Phil. “Count to ten, then we begin.”

The ten second gap was sickeningly tense.

On ten, the axe in Technos hand was gripped tighter.

On nine, the bandages in Bad’s bag felt more like boulders.

On eight, the purple tinted sword gripped by Ranboo had started shaking.

On seven, Wilbur looked over to Tommy, and shared a pitiful smile.

On six, Niki gulped and narrowed her eyes further.

On five, Tubbo mumbled one last goodbye to Schlatt.

On four, Sapnap gingerly touched the lighter in his pocket gifted by Dream.

On three, Sam adjusted the weight of ‘Wardens Will’ in his grip.

On two, George looked back at the shambles of the community house.

On one-

There was no time to wait, Dream had pulled out a miniature vial of a toxically green liquid, burning bright enough to rival the sun, chugging it and discarding the bottle. Within less than a second, he was out of sight, the only traces of him being his laugh echoing behind him and the scraping of metal.

Sapnap and George were the furthest away from the rest of the group, who had scattered themselves across the field.

Dream had lunged for Sapnap first, reaching him at inhumane speeds, shield raised to block the mans first attack, swinging the axe behind him, gaining momentum, and slamming it into the tree where Sapnaps head had been seconds ago. The man had ducked, rolling across the ground and getting to behind Dream, raising his sword, the handle inches away from slamming into the green-clad warriors head. 

Instead, he whirled around, catching the sword, hand clasped over Sapnaps, a grin on his face. There was absolutely no possible way his reflexes could be that fast.

Dream yanked the sword away, mimicking the action of thumping the mans head with the hilt but-

George had interjected, tackling Sapnap to the side, shield raised. Thankfully, the sword was poorly made, and it had split in two, separating into the blade and the handle. Dream’s cocky expression fell, but he quickly recovered it, kicking the arm holding the shield, standing on his wrist, keeping the shield grasped in his outstretched, pinned down arm, rendering it useless.

He had laughed, no remorse for his former friends shown as he unclapsed his crossbow from his belt, drawing an arrow, aimed straight towards Georges head. He had already expected Sapnap to intervene, so he pre-modified the bow to be used one handed, similar to a gun. With his free hand, the blade unsheathed from his back, pressing the point into the centre of Sapnaps chest. Not hard enough to kill, but painful enough to render him useless for long enough for him to take care of George.

What he hadn’t expected, was the quick gathering of a crowd, forming a perfect circle around the man.

They were quiet and quick, forming a half circle behind the man, sending reassuring glances towards George and Sapnap. 

Jack made the first move, drawing an arrow, hands steady, narrowing his eyes and letting it go, piercing Dream’s shoulder.

From there, everyone attacked at the same time, but somehow, despite the twelve swords jabbing at him, the two bows firing constant arrows and the axe swinging at his head, he kept dodging.

It was...too coincidental.

There should’ve been no way he could duck beneath Niki’s sword, swerve Techno’s axe and catch the arrow flying towards himall at the same time.

But he did.

And it got to his head far, far too quick.

When Ponk swung his sword, he was not expecting it to plunge into Dream’s heart. The man yanked himself backwards, blubbering on the blood that dribbled from his mouth. He fell to the ground, and was nothing more than particles within seconds. 

There was a moment of quiet before they began celebrating far, far too soon, too caught up in their joy to notice the lack of dropped items.

“I did it- We killed Dream-” Ponk mumbled, eyes wide, lips tugged into a grin, “Holy shit! He’s gone!” He announced loudly, followed by a series of cheers and whoops from the crowd. It wasn’t clear who had pulled him into a hug first, but eventually everyone was huddled together, screaming with joy.

Niki, who had one arm around Ponk’s back and another in the air, had noticed it first. She was caught up in celebrating, hardly realising Ponk was leaning on her until he completely collapsed forwards onto the ground, reduced to particles and a splatter of blood.

In his place stood Dream, twirling a dagger absentmindedly, “Hm, rather rude, actually. Didn’t think he had the balls to try and kill me, but oh well,” he shrugged, taking advantage of the shocked silence to gloat.

It didn’t take long for them to descend back into fighting. 

Schlatt was sent over to Pogtopia to check over Ponk’s bed and see how long it would take for him to respawn, the man still having two lives left. 

Everyone else was fighting, the healers dragging people aside constantly to bandage them as quickly as possible. Sam had refused to leave the battlefield, alongside Puffy and Jack. The three of them were heavily injured, but they didn’t care, they were on three lives each, all had totems and they were finally tiring out Dream.

“Respawning really is a bitch, I’d rather you didn’t kill me, actually,” Dream spoke as if he was relaxed back on a couch rather than swerving four swords and rounds and rounds of arrows, yet there was sweat beading on his forehead, and his movement were getting shaky. All telltale signs he was getting tired. 

A worrying amount of other fighters had also been killed, left to be watched over by Schlatt as they respawned, including Sapnap, Punz, Callahan, Niki and Skeppy. The protectors did their jobs, making sure to shield the healers to the best of their abilities, not allowing anyone else to lose their last lives. The totems were quickly used up, and the blue glow of the magic became more and more sparse. Then the respawns had started happening.

Tommy had gotten in a few good hits. When Dream had been occupied with jabbing his dagger towards Skeppy, Tommy had risen behind him with Chekovs Gun and sent a shot straight into his head.

That time there was no celebrations, just tense silence as they waited for the masked man to walk from the trees yet again.

And he did.

Everytime.

When Niki had slid a sword through his neck, he walked right back out.

When Tommy had slammed his fist into his head, he walked right back out.

When George had slammed his shield into his head, he walked right back out.

When Puffy launched a stick of tnt towards him, he walked right back out.

When Tubbo had taken a chance with a bow,  he walked right back out.

When Wilbur had swung the axe with intention to decapitate, he walked right back out.

When Phil crashed the hilt of a sword into his skull, he walked right back out.

When Sam caught him with the blade of Wardens Will, he walked right back out.

It was ridiculous, the amount of times they watched him die and return within seconds, uninjured. The general rule of their universe was three lives, then gone, maybe return as a ghost if you have unfinished business, but three was the max. So how had he died over thirty times and left unharmed?

Wilbur had muttered his plan to Phil before slipping into the forest himself, listening to the crunch of leaves as Dream approached the clearing yet again. He followed the noise, hiding between trees as he found Dream’s area, the man just beginning to leave.

On the ground was a small barrel, a sleeping bag and a terrifying array of weapons. He gulped and cracked open the lid of the barrel, and his heart plummeted.

Inside were totems, or what seemed to be totems at least. 

The taupe fabric was a pure black, the green eyes of the voodoo-like doll emitting a toxic glow in the dark. There was some sort of lime goo splattered onto the head, and with a quick glance, Wilbur noticed it was on all of them, in the same spot.

Except the crate was almost filled to the brim with the goo, and Wilbur knew there had to have been at least fifty in there before. At least.

It was clear from the soul-crushing aura of them that they had been modified with some kind of magic, and there was no way it was the good kind. 

Modified totems, strange auras, an abnormal amount of lives…

The puzzle pieces clicked.

Wilbur slammed the crate shut, picking it up and dashing back through the trees, quickly arriving at Pogtopia, stashing the barrel in between the rubble, quickly yelling “Don’t touch it!” To Schlatt before returning to the battlefield.

Within the time he was gone, Dream had died two more times, once to Techno, once to Bad. 

He was getting sloppy, each swing of the sword missing more and more each time. His taunts were weaker, more childish than genuine brags, but the confidence stayed, egging on whoever had dared to take him on. It was clear he was growing nervous now.

Despite wiping out a good chunk of the fighters, sending them to respawn, Dream’s movements were harsh and shaky, each swing more desperate than the last.

He noticed the totems had gone.

None of them were stupid, they could tell he was getting panicked, so they went in stronger than before.

The only people remaining standing were Bad, Tommy, Tubbo, Techno and Phil. After seeing Dream’s movements grow exhausted, Bad and Tubbo had lept in to help, snatching up fallen bows and aiming shots at the man from a safe distance. Phil hadn’t let up despite being on one life, each swing of his sword more vengeful than the prior ones. Techno, despite his screwy depth perception, relied on his hearing, each slight shift reaching his ears, bringing up his shield just in time. Using his axe was muscle memory, and somehow he’d managed to knock Dream down once while still having blurred vision.

Tommy was swinging his sword rapidly. Ghosts didn’t get tired, and he used that to his advantage, taking over whenever the others needed to take a breath.

Dream was surrounded.

That’s why Wilbur was confident enough to yell what he did, “He’s on his last life!” He screamed across the clearing.

It took a second to register it, but quickly the attacks sped up, and within seconds, Dream was on the ground, dizzy and concussed, Techno’s boot digging into his chest

Techno turned his head to the side, meeting Tommy’s eyes and nodding an offer silently.

He paused before a grin rested on his face, floating over to his brother’s side and adjusting Chekovs gun in his hands, aiming it towards Dream’s head and muttering the last words the man would ever hear.

“Rot in hell, bitch.”

Chapter Text

They were scared.

Well, that was just a given, really, after fighting the one thing that had relentlessly plagued them for years. But he was gone now, ashes scattered across the fields once used for manhunts. 

And they were healing.

They weren’t okay in the slightest.

Ponk had awoken by the time they got back, a hand resting over the place a sword had been previously, panting in fear and only calming down once he was told of the mans official demise.

The second Sapnap opened his eyes, he was tackled into a painfully tight hug by George, the two sitting there in silence as they mourned the loss of the man they had grown alongside.

Fundy respawned next, making no effort to sit up, simply tugging off the tight golden band on his ring finger and flinging it across the room. He rolled onto his other side and pulled the sheets over him tighter.

Punz was still slightly shaken when he had woken up, sitting by himself quietly, remembering how he had once been a spy for the man and shivering in disgust.

The next to be brought back to the living world was Niki, who didn’t hesitate to leap out of the cot and head straight towards the others, desperate to know how they had managed to defeat him without a single perma-death.

Skeppy had woken up next, propped up on a pile of pillows and blankets from a combination of Bad and Techno's beds, he had simply waved groggily towards the large gathering, gave them a thumbs up before slipping back into sleep.

Callahan didn’t stay in bed a second longer than he had to, leaping up and joining the others the second his eyes fluttered open.

Puffy had demanded rest for the others, immediately sending Tubbo to go and have a nap, despite the boys protests. He and Bad were sprinting across the fields in a panic, healing everyone the entire time, she insisted he deserved a rest.

So, he practically collapsed atop of the bedsheets and into a finally restful slumber. Tommy’s ghost had sat by his side until he dozed off, then he floated out to join the others.

Karl was sitting with Quackity just outside of the ravine, taking in the fresh air and attempting to talk about anything other than the other war they had fought in.

Sam finally bandaged his arm as he sat within the group, carefully tugging the tight bandages around his upper arm as he delved into the conversation.

Phil had began finally attempting to see what would be best to heal the remains of Techno’s eye, and the two agreed on a minor surgery later, after they were all rested up and their hands were no longer shaking. All that needed to be done was a few stitches, cleaning and an eyepatch that needed to stay on, but they didn’t want to risk anything, so they pushed that back until the next day.

They weren’t okay.

They were healing.

The ghosts? Well, they were planning.

Wilbur had pulled out the crate of totems the second everyone was awake and distracted, dragging Schlatt into a back room, beginning to ramble animatedly about the possibilities of the glowing, modified totems. He was hesitant to try anything too soon, but his mind was racing as his words stumbled to catch up on the ideas that flew from his mouth. Research needed to be done, but they were nothing if not impatient.

“If these are what gave him his extra lives, who’s to say these can’t be used to revive?” Schlatt reasoned. 

Wilbur clicked his fingers, “Exactly, but! We can’t do anything too soon, we don’t know exactly what these will do, so gloves on if you’re gonna touch them,” he gestured to the bundle of leather gloves on the floor.

“I mean, I’ll try it first if you want,” said ghost shrugged, glancing towards the totems, pointedly ignoring the gaping stare coming from Wilbur.

“Again, we don’t know what it’ll d o-” Wilbur reiterated, subconsciously shifting the box away from the mans grasp.

There was a chuckle. “Can’t kill me again, right?” Schlatt shrugged, grabbing one of the green totems and clutching it tightly in his fist. There was a second silence before there was just...nothing.

Schlatt’s body had gone pure white, the colour painfully bright as it glowed through the ravine. Then, almost in no time, he was back to normal.

As in, normal, normal.

Not ‘ink-stained ghost with glass bottle’ normal, but alive normal.

His skin was no longer a haunting grey, returning to its warm tan, rosy cheeks and red-tinted knuckles blossoming once again, all scars disappearing. The black streaks in his hair were gone, the honey-coloured curls falling slightly into his face, no longer slicked back. Within the strands, there was a white section, just a small chunk of strands near the front, but combined, it looked as if someone had painted a section of his hair. 

His presidential suit hadn’t returned, though his ratty blue jumper had disappeared, leaving him in a slightly unbuttoned, silky white shirt, sleeves rolled back to the elbows. The black work trousers were back, just as tailored as before. His stupidly bright red tie had been brought back too, hanging loosely around his neck.

He didn’t look surprised, simply holding a hand out and poking it before looking up with a chuckle, “That was easier than expected,” he mused, hardly bothered by the fact that he had just come back to life. He met Wilbur’s eyes with a grin, sticking his hand forward, sinking through the ghost’s shoulder. “Sucker!” He snorted, amused by his own antics. 

Wilbur was gaping, “How the actual fuck-” he paused, turning to the barrel and grabbing one without hesitation. The effects were the same, turning a blinding white before returning as he had once before.

The trench coat was back, clean, no longer smelling of blood and ash, the L’Manberg patch sewn into the arm not torn off. His bloodied yellow jumper was gone, replaced by the high-collared, white button up of his uniform, tucked neatly into his black, raggedy jeans. His clothes no longer hung off of his scrawny, ghostly frame, now fitting just right, like before he died.

His skin was still pale, but that was just him, no grey tint remaining. The numerous white scars that had once covered him head-to-toe as a result of war were all gone, leaving his skin clean. His curls no longer looked inky black, now back to the cinnamon tone from before. Just as the other ghost did, there was a thick white streak in his hair, hanging into his eyes.

“Holy- holy shit,” he grinned, staring down at his solid hands. No longer see-through. He laughed, shaken by the feeling of warm air coming from his mouth for the first time in what felt like years. He met Schlatt’s eyes, “Fucking hell,” he laughed.

Not the manic laugh he had let out before sinking to the ground with a gaping hole in his stomach, but a genuine, joyful laugh.

“Hey, if we’re alive again, does that mean I can smoke again?” Schlatt smirked, receiving a surprisingly harsh punch on the arm before raising his hands in surrender, “Kidding, kidding!” There was a moment of silence before he hummed, “Y’know, your punches have gotten better.”

Wilbur sent a sarcastic yet amused smile his way in response, “Thank you for your praise, oh so smart President Schlatt,” he snickered to himself, pausing before his eyes lit up, exclaiming “Tommy!”

Before giving an explanation, he darted out of the room, forgetting he couldn’t run through walls anymore and stumbling into the door. Still, he kept running, ignoring Schlatt’s chuckles from behind. 

Luckily, Tommy had been passing by the door at that moment, so Wilbur simply tugged him inside and slammed the door behind them.

“What-” Tommy began, before his words trailed off, noticing the sudden change in appearance. Schlatt gave him a two-fingered salute from the floor. “What the fuck! You’re alive ?”

Wilbur shushed his exclamations, eyes bright and grin glistening, “You can be too, just shh, we wanna surprise everyone,” he whispered, dragging Tommy over to sit on the floor where they had been seconds ago, pointing to the last remaining totem in the barrel. “You just gotta hold it,” he explained, seating himself beside his brother.

Tommy bit his lip as he stared down at it, hesitantly reaching for it.

It happened a third time.

The shockingly bright white glow, then he was back.

His ashy grey curls were back to the dirty blonde of before, the fluff returning to the style. His eyes were no longer pools of lava, back to the vibrant sea of blue and white from before. The grey tint vanished from his skin, returning him to the pinkish tone from before, with flushed cheeks and a red nose. The gory burns and blood that littered his body were gone, along with the harsh red raised scars from the wars.

What stood out most was the lack of smoke in his clothes, now back to the clean, ironed white and red shirt, no tears, no jagged cuts, just as it had been before everything. His jeans were back to their lively blue colour, the dirty faded navy hue gone.

He stared down at himself for a second before laughing, a loud, barking laugh that echoed around the room, “Holy fucking shit!” He exclaimed, jumping to his feet with a wide grin. “I’m- I’m me again!” 

“Come on!” He yelled running from the room alongside the two ghosts men.