When listening to Bad's streams in the BG I love just imagining his character walking around and working with the ghosties swirling around him and holding up little messages that he responds to.

I also have a headcanon that other people generally can't see them unless he uses the bell, but Dapper could see them from day 1 (he just had an affinity for it), with some of the other eggs managing to learn to see them up over time. Dragon magic~

IronGolem!Hybrid!Reader - Protector - Part 3

Part 1

Part 2

Male

Pairings: none

Characters included: Quackity, Fundy, Tubbo, Punz, Technoblade, Philza, Dream

Warnings: blood, character death, cursing

Series: Part of my Iron Golem request series! 💙

Summary: Y/N helped the Butcher Army to escort Techno towards his trial only for this trial to turn into a surprise execution. An execution that finally gives Y/N the chance to flee that he was so desperately looking for, all along. Even if others had to push him towards this opening.

Words count: 2684

Authors Note: Woops I thought this would be the last part but there will be a part 4 after all o7

As they begun moving Techno followed along quietly. Never pulling on the chains, just dutifully following behind Y/N. His eyes mostly trained on the horse that Quackity was now riding.

They walked back to where they left their horses and got back up on theirs. Y/N got Quackity’s horse and let Techno on it, leading that horse along as he rode his own black steed. Sometimes petting his horse, his rough hands weaving through the long black mane, more as a way to calm himself down rather than the horse.

Riding between Quackity who was at the front while both Fundy and Tubbo stayed at Techno’s side while Ranboo stayed at the end of the group. Ensuring that Techno didn’t try anything too stupid.

Throughout the whole ride Fundy and Quackity began taunting Techno, Tubbo would occasionally chime in as well while both Y/N and Ranboo stayed quiet.

It surprised Y/N a bit that Techno actually responded to some taunts with his own snide remarks that would usually shut the other party up, for a short moment at least. He certainly had his wits about him.

Y/N couldn’t help but look up to Technoblade in a sense. He himself was escorted away in a similar manner but other than Techno, he immediately gave up and just followed along with his captors. Not even saying a word against them and while Techno did follow them along as well, he still talked back, made them feel stupid about their own thoughtless comments.

And Y/N enjoyed the frustrated exclamations of the group whenever Techno made one of his targeted comments. This was not a good situation for the warrior but he kept his dignity and a part of control and power in this situation.

Technoblade was strong and Y/N was not.

No, Y/N was weak willed and naïve. He should have fought more. Tried to escape or tried to send along a message to his home, to his people. Should have asked Ranboo to maybe check up on the town, after all he seemed to be the most reasonable one of the group but he didn’t. He was too scared and just gave up. What kind of protector was he?

Then again, he couldn’t fight, and he had to work with what he can do. Sometimes staying alive was the best and even most rebellious thing someone can do. Maybe if he was just patient enough, he would find a chance to flee! Though whenever this thought crossed his mind he feared that he had missed his one chance already due to his cowardice.

It didn’t take long for them to reach L’Manberg. Getting off the horses to walk back into the town middle. Y/N still holding the chains that were keeping Techno’s wrists bound.

As they walked further into the town, they passed Philza’s home.

The winged man stood on his upper balcony, staring down with a cold expression “You actually got him.”

“Get inside! You are on house arrest!” Tubbo just yelled back as an answer but Techno turned to face his friend, pulling on the chains in the process. Y/N pulled them back again, scared with what could happen next.

“Phil! Phil! What did they do to you!”

Fundy got his axe back out and pushed the flat side against Techno side, urging him to keep on going. This unspoken threat seemed to be enough for him to ignore his old friend and instead continued to follow Y/N who in return followed Quackity and Tubbo.

Though as Y/N pulled his gaze away from Philza, he could see a fond softness in his eyes. Worry mixed with anger. It was the first time he saw genuine emotion on his face, rather than the forced smiles he portrayed usually.

“Lead him up there, keep the chains around his wrists in there and stand close by.” Tubbo ordered the Iron Golem Hybrid, pointing at what looked like a cage right beneath a strange structure that Y/N couldn’t immediately make out what it was for.

But there was a foreboding feeling in the air.

Y/N opened up the door and without a word Techno just walked inside. The gate crashed shut again.

He could finally let go off the chain that he held on to. Dropping it as soon as he could. But the feeling of disgust stayed or maybe it was guilt. Maybe a mix. The less he thought about it the better, so instead Y/N just concentrated on Tubbo who begun a speech.

What kind of trials does L’Manberg have?

This wasn’t really a trial was it?

“Hey, Y/N, right?”

Y/N didn’t respond but stared at Techno from the corners of his eyes. Why was he talking to him? How should he react? Should he even react? Would the others hurt him if he visibly reacted?

“I know of you. You were-“

Though Technoblade didn’t finish his sentence. Smoke appeared in front of the stage and a person covered in armor appeared. They wore a white hoodie with netherite armor on top. Not even waiting a beat as they begun to attack the Butcher Army with their axe and crossbow.

Tubbo pulled his shield in front of his face, barely catching the arrow that came flying directly towards his face “Pull the lever, Big Q!”

Lever? What lever?

Even Techno seemed surprised letting out a quite frankly comical confused noise.

There was no hesitation on Quackity’s side. He immediately sprinted towards the structure and pulled the lever. Y/N could see a redstone pulse running up the build.

What the hell was going on?

Technoblade pushed his hands into his pocket, pulling out a small golden figure. Y/N couldn’t see it very well, but he immediately knew what it was.

A totem of undying.

Surprised Y/N stared at Techno only to see something black falling down.

He completely tuned out the sound of the fighting and screaming, his senses concentrated on Technoblade. His eyes directed at the black anvil that was flying with incredible speed down towards the cage.

Before Y/N could properly process what was happening, or the implications of this whole ordeal, the anvil was already on his eye level.

It connected with Techno’s skull with a sickening wet crack, immediately followed by an explosion of green light. It was so bright Y/N had to shield his eyes with his arms. Surprised by the warmth that came off the magic that engulfed Technoblade and revitalized his body. Pulling him away from the land of the dead and stitching his broken body back together.

As fast as the light appeared, it was just as fast gone. Y/N removed his arms and saw Techno jumping off the anvil and over the iron bars.

The man literally, just died but he didn’t waste any time to flee once he had the chance. Was it jealousy or admiration Y/N felt? He didn’t know, either way he was impressed.

While Y/N seemed to be a bit dazed, still trying to process this, Techno used the chance in between the chaos all around them to take a look around only to spot a masked man leading his horse away.

“He has Carl!”

He then proceeded to grab Y/N’s forearm and pulled him along. Techno’s grip was strong and unrelenting. Pressing down uncomfortably on a few burns that were just beginning to heal properly hence why Y/N’s first reaction was to pull his arm away, but the Pig Hybrid was holding on. Not giving him a chance to protest.

Why did Techno do this? Why did he tug him along? He clearly knew of Y/N but how? What did he know?

So, the best option was to follow him, right into a little opening at the side of a hill. Inside there was a room, lined with chests and another opening that seemed to lead into tunnels.

But what really caught Y/N’s attention was the man that held the reigns of Carl. A white porcelain mask with a smiling face hid away his face. A cloak hiding his physique and probably weapons.

Once inside the room Techno let go off Y/N to snarl “Dream, give me Carl.”

This masked man was the infamous Dream? His green hood was pulled up, the mask looked already unsettling but with the added shadow of the hood? As he stared at Y/N it felt like he was sizing him up. As if to wager something out.

Once again Y/N felt incredibly small under someone else’s gaze.

Dream slowly got closer and gave Techno the reigns of Carl “You brought him with you? I’m surprised, Techno.”

Techno walked up to Carl and pressed his forehead against that of the horses as a greeting “I don’t think we have the time to talk about this Dream, besides weren’t you the one trying to get him out of there?”

“Yes, I suppose you are correct. We don’t have the time to talk about this though. You two better get going. There should also be some armor and potions in one of the chests. And Y/N?” Dream turned towards him now “We’ll meet again, I promise you. You will get your revenge.” With that he ran off through the opening that Techno previously pulled Y/N in.

Techno rummaged through one of the chests. Letting out a disappointed sigh as he spotted some iron armor. With trained movements he slipped surprisingly fast into the clunky armor. Fastening it around himself and hooking the potions to his belt.

Hooves clicked on the stone ground as Techno lead Carl towards the tunnels “Not to put too much pressure on you but if you want to get out of this mess you better come with me.” Techno’s eyes rested calmly on Y/N. He was serious and looked like he was calculating something but there was something genuine and almost friendly mixed in.

“I- uh, understood.”

This honestly felt unreal. Like a dream. Though Y/N hasn’t decided yet if this was just another nightmare. It felt like a trap. Too convenient but what could he do? Run back out towards the city? He can’t fight like Dream or Techno, he wouldn’t get the chance to flee. Besides they would just capture him again and he didn’t want to think about how he might be treated afterwards.

His best bet really was with Technoblade but why he would do this for him after he escorted him to his own execution, he didn’t know.

Hell, how did he even know of him?

“Now, Y/N.”

Techno just begun moving into the tunnels. Y/N made sure to stay close. A spark of hope inside his chest. Something he hasn’t felt in ages. Is it okay if he takes this spark and holds it close? Just in case it breaks out into a fire?

Almost as if to answer this question both Techno and Y/N heard a voice coming from behind them. It wasn’t Dream’s. No, Y/N knew this voice too well. It was Quackity. Quackity has found him and would bring him back.

That spark seemed to dim after all.

“What the fuck is this? What is this Techno? How the fuck did that Anvil not kill you? And now you are stealing my things? Stealing my blacksmith?”

Techno let out a cackling laugh as he made sure to stand in front of Y/N. Grasping the hilt of his netherite pickaxe in one of his hands.

“Listen here Quackity. I tried telling you that the root of the problems here was government! I fought alongside you to show you! And you used me! So, I retaliated with force, to prove my point but you still formed a government! After that I was content with getting away from it! I tried to retire! I swore off violence! You still hunted me down! You-“

He moved his head around a bit, looking at Y/N from the corner of his eyes only to snap back to Quackity “You hurt my friends!”

Quackity didn’t seem to have noticed this but Y/N did. Techno referred to Y/N as his friend? He somehow felt like he was missing some vital piece of information. Never in his life has he even talked with him before this. Maybe he really just meant the horse, it stood off to the other side but surely, he must have only meant Carl. Perhaps Philza as well? Yes, those he must have meant. No way did he group Y/N in there as well.

Not after he was the one who escorted Techno away from his peaceful life with chains around his wrists.

Quackity bit down on his lip in anger before he answered “Techno, I don’t care about that. All that I care about is that you are on my hit list.”

“Hit list? What kind of Hit list?”

“I’m building up a nation and this nation needs direction, organization and I swear no matter what it fucking takes me, I will fucking kill you.”

Once again Techno laughed “Quackity, do you really think you are enough to kill me? Even unarmored and only in iron armor?”

At this point Y/N was straight up jealous at Techno’s confidence and cockiness. He would have just cowered in fear, given up but Techno did not. He stood strong, calm. Like a boulder between turbulent waters.

That spark that seemed to dim inside of him seemed to flare up again. If he just stayed close to Techno and trusted in him, maybe he is allowed to hope. Just this once.

Obviously Quackity tried to stay calm and collected beforehand but this seemed to push him over the edge “So be it! I’ll fucking kill you right here and now!”

He immediately took his axe out and jumped towards Techno who confidently blocked the attack with his pickaxe. With a simple twist of his arm and body, he hooked Quackity weapon with his own and then used his whole body to pull it out of his hands.

The axe flew through the air, landing with a loud clanging on the ground in front of Y/N. He didn’t think much about it as he slowly stretched his hand out and grabbed it. Holding the weapon close to himself. Seeing how he couldn’t fight, this weapon would be useless in his hands but at least he could ensure that Quackity didn’t pick it up again.

It was the first time he rebelled against him. It was the first time he took some sort of control over this situation. He did not give up. He did something.

As he looked up he could see a shocked Quackity.

“I only have this pickaxe, Quackity, but I’ll put it through your teeth!”

There was this bloodlust to his words. A malice that Y/N expected from Techno before he met him. As his only idea of him was that what the butcher army told him.

He realized that their stories relied on a kernel of truth though in this moment he wasn’t scared of this Techno. No, he saw pain, self-preservation and conviction in his actions right now.

Quackity evaded one of Techno’s attacks only for his second to hit. Hitting his open mouth with the pickaxe and dragging it across his face. Resulting in Quackity to fall down motionless. Blood spilling to the ground as his body slowly dissolved into gold dust. He was respawning.

Technoblade just took Quackity’s first life. Just like that. It went over so fast. Like it was nothing.

Without seemingly missing a beat he turned around to look Y/N dead in the eyes, now calm again “We need to go. Now. I’ll explain everything to you once we are safe. I promise.”

He didn’t even wait for an answer and instead begun leading Carl through the tunnel again.

Y/N took a second to stare at the dissolving Quackity only for Techno to pull him back out of his thoughts “Y/N!”

“Why are you helping me. Just- Just tell me this. I’ll follow you, I promise, but I need to know.”

Techno sighed “Because how couldn’t we? How can you see injustice and not do anything?”

____

Tag: @plaguedoctorsnake

Introductions

Summary: Ghostbur arrives in the Void and meets the half of Alivebur that never returned to the Overworld. It is not always plain sailing. Chapter 1 of Unequal Halves.

Warnings: Implied/referenced self harm, derealisation(?), unreality, death, smoking, alcoholism mention

There is the low hubbub of quiet conversation in the air. All around him is rubble and he can't quite recall how L'Manburg came to look like this. If he asked Phil, his father would likely explain. Something bad must have happened if he can't remember. So... maybe it was for the best that his mind goes blank whenever he thinks about it. It was probably just the result of Alivebur blowing the country up anyway, he didn't get a great vantage point before he died so the theory is feasible. Ghostbur must be misremembering how L'Manberg looked before- Huh, no it got restored at some point, he knows that. Not Alivebur's doing then. Phil would know. Phil knows a lot of things, including how to potentially bring back Alivebur. Speaking of Phil, his father was stood next to Eret, both of them lingering by the little recreation set. Ghostbur isn't paying much attention but his best guess is that the topic revolves around their third resurrection attempt today, the reason they've all gathered here once more. He wonders whether the others like Tommy, Fundy and Tubbo will join them. He wouldn't mind leaving for a few minutes to make absolutely sure he's said his goodbyes to them and others. That said, he has had nearly an entire week between the last attempt and today to do that. Not to mention the few days prior to that after he and Phil had organised the first round of re-enactments. Perhaps if this works out, he could influence Alivebur somehow and say goodbye posthumously. "Well, if we're going to do it, better sooner rather than later. Unless we're waiting for the exact time of day he died." "No, let's do it now. I've got the totem and sword, we're all here... there's no point in waiting for the stars to align." "And if it goes like the last two times?" "Then we deal with it. I'll take the blame for wanting to use our third and final chance." There is a pause and in the corner of his eye, he can sense Phil looking his way. "Ghostbur?" "Hi, Phil." He floats over. "Is it time to try again? I've been going over my lines so nothing can go wrong." "I'm sure you have, mate." Phil takes his arm so it is outstretched with an open palm. Into his awaiting hand, a small figurine is placed. It resembles a villager with tiny wings poking to the sides and eyes made of emerald. He believes the closest he's come into contact with one of these totems is that time some citizens of L'Manburg locked Techno in a cage as a prank. Was that thing he saw Techno use a totem? He can't recall correctly, he's not even sure he was fully paying attention since he was watching Friend sniff around at the time, but the light show had been very pretty. "This is a totem of undying. It's going to help us with resurrecting you. Do not drop it at any point. Hold it as tight as you can, got that mate? You holding on to that totem is more important than any lines you might have rehearsed." He playfully tosses it between his hands. "Okay." "Ghostbur." Phil snatches the item from mid-air. Ghostbur catches a glimpse of his father's scornful expression and instinctively averts his eyes. "This is serious. Do you understand how important it is for you to hold this totem or not?" "I do, Phil. Sorry." The item is returned to him. Like he's been instructed to do, he grips it tightly and refuses to let his hold on it weaken. Their little dramatisation goes well. He says the crucial line, the button gets pressed and even more impressively, Ghostbur doesn't flinch in the slightest when the sword meets his semi-corporeal being. This is the third time he's properly died as himself and the sixth since Alivebur's birth. He's sure that if there's any deity in charge of death, they'll be going 'oh it's you again' in a second. ---- It's an odd thing to see your doppelganger in front of you. Wilbur is certainly not a twin and he's never met anyone he's shared a particularly strong resemblance to either. Even during the genetic mishmash that created him, both sides of his family tree had won their battles yet neither claimed true victory over the other to represent themselves more heavily within him. So sure, there were traits you could see he'd inherited from his mother but it wasn't as if he looked like her. However, he was yet to meet someone whose similarity in appearance took him by surprise. The first time had been a shock. He'd been tolerating Schlatt's company with Mexican Dream making the experience a little easier to endure. The Wilbur duplicate had randomly appeared while the three of them had been sitting around, wasting time at a table. The guy is only there for a matter of seconds but it's enough to register his appearance. There's the matching dull grey skin and the hair that's darkened with death. Wilbur's vaguely aware he used to own a sunflower yellow jumper like that in life. It's certainly not the chequered top he's wearing. It happens again shortly after. Wilbur Two doesn't stay long but he appears at the exact spot where Schlatt was sitting. A flimsy connection seems to form, strong enough for the ex-emperor to speak through the ghost and have an extremely blurred view through his eyes. Wilbur sits there as his political rival talks bullocks about jacking off, protein powder and cigarettes. Wilbur would tell him to cut it out if he had cared enough about his counterpart being used like that. All he says when Schlatt seems present within himself once more is impatient prompting to continue their game. They'd anticipated another visit but his clone hasn't shown up since. By now it's been... months maybe? It was hard to tell with the only natural variables when it came to the passage of time being whether it was day or night, sunny or raining. He's been stuck in what he believes is the transition period between spring and summer ever since he got here. Which is absolutely ridiculous given that he has some creative control of this place. Regardless, he's honestly half forgotten about the incident when they truly reunite. The clone sticks out in his bright jumper. It's one of the days Wilbur's dragged himself away from whatever tree roots he's picked to curl up besides. Upon spotting the other Wilbur, he follows from a distance. He ascends a nearby tree. He swears he's been here before, amongst the highest branches to observe someone who didn't know he was there. It's the kind of deja vu he hates, the one with not even the slightest hint of why he might feel that way. Well, maybe one reason but he'd rather not dwell on that. Listen, he tells himself after travelling through the treetops, he's not going to be whole until the two of them interact so he'd better just get on with it. Well, here goes nothing. He pushes off and hops down with a thump. ---- It's peaceful here. Daisies are dotted around, as are oak trees. Despite not knowing where exactly he is, he appreciates how at ease the occasional sounds of wildlife or the leaves of trees rustling in the wind make him. Well, at least for a while, that is. He swears it's just birds. Honestly, what else would it be if not birds? He's being silly. Although, maybe he should escape from any potential creature's line of sight. A part of him he can't reach urges him to not seek out any dirt walls, to head in the opposite direction of them in fact. He's pretty sure he doesn't have anything to protect here other than himself but the instinct to fool potential pursuers directs his movements. A weighty object impacts the ground behind him and he abandons his efforts. Ghostbur risks peeking over his shoulder. And that is how he finds himself face to face with the man who'd been following his movements. "Well, took you long enough." The stranger was certainly not there a moment ago. The fact they are his mirror image is naturally the most striking detail to notice. Although, he will say Alivebur doesn't look too well. His beanie helps with hiding the full extent of his hair's dishevelment despite said hair potentially being able to somewhat distract onlookers from noticing how permanently exhausted his face was. It doesn't matter to Ghostbur. Regardless of the disapproving crossed arms he is met with, he politely introduces himself. "Hi, I don't think we've met before. My name is Ghostbur! What's yours?" "You know our name." He's rifling through his pockets, seemingly unconcerned by the momentous occasion. "Oh, you're Alivebur then." "Ali-" The other Wilbur's head whips up to glare at him. "Do I look alive to you?! We are both the same person, a person who is very much dead." "Deadbur then." "Wilbur is fine. It's our name so I don't see why you can't use it." "It doesn't matter anyway." Wilbur abandons his quest to locate whatever he was try to find. Instead, he sticks out his hand, offering for it to be shaken. "Since you haven't disappeared 2 seconds after showing up this time, I think it's high time we wrap this little charade up, don't you? My best guess is we need skin contact or something along those lines." "Charade?" The hand's altitude falters slightly, almost as if the disgruntled sigh it was paired with had caused it. "Us being apart. I'm sure you've had your fun but it's time we fused back." He should take Wilbur's hand. He really should. This is what Phil, Eret and the others were working towards. People wanted Alivebur back as it was. So that meant he had to go. Think of all that time and effort to prepare everything for something he suggested they do in the first place, wasted by cold feet. Was he the first one to bring up resurrection? He honestly has no clue. There isn't a guarantee that this will work anyway. Same as... something he's sure has slipped his mind. Oh wait no, the button! He hadn't been sure about whether that would be successful either. But it had been. So this would likely be too, right? Except, he doesn't want to. He's not ready to give up the feeling of sunshine as he strolls around, the aroma of ingredients as he brews potions, the ability to chat with his friends while checking in on them or any of the other things he's enjoyed while himself. It was him who helped make the lanterns that once floated above New L'Manburg, him who attempted to collect enough books to start a history-preserving library and it was him who tried to build Tommy a nice holiday home to cheer his brother up during their time away from their nation. He knows he told Phil he was willing to relinquish his existence to return Alivebur to everybody but... maybe he didn't entirely mean it in his heart. They'll never be enough time, regardless how much the universe may wish to grant him, yet this doesn't feel like it's close to enough. "...No." "No?" "I don't want to go back yet. I..." He isn't too keen on that scowl. Perhaps if he makes up an excuse, things won't be so tense. "I just got here so why would I leave before I um, explored?" Shoulders loosen and Wilbur is back to absentmindedly rummaging through his pockets. "Guess I won't force you. And well, if you're going to be here for the indefinite future, I can give you a tour of this place." "That would be really helpful. Thank you." He breaks into a grateful smile. "Okay so to the north is grass and trees, to the west is grass and trees, same to the south. Oh but the east is actually quite exciting. You'll find trees and grass there." "I... see. Sounds great." Keep smiling, no need to ruin any potential future rapport so early. "I can't wait to look around." "Ghostbur, was it?" "Uh huh!" "Guess I'll be seeing you around." Having finally found his cigarette, the one native to these lands waves him off, the soon-to-be lit stick inbetween his fingers. He begins to stroll off into the cover of forest. He's sure he's being silly but Ghostbur could have sworn the quantity of trees gains density as it conceals the other man. Still, Ghostbur has seemingly been left completely to his own devices so he comes to the decision he will spend the rest of the day exploring. It can't hurt to get a feel for his surroundings. Honestly, how monotonously repetitive could this world really be? --- This is fine. All this is a setback but not one they can't overcome. He'd meant it when he said he wouldn't force Ghostbur to do anything. This was all a waiting game, to be honest. He could win it with the mouth that had long ago rallied people to a cause. He once believed in the phrase 'words over weapons' and how nobody in L'Manburg should wear armour because they shouldn't need that level of protection on a daily basis. The reality of tyrannical violence had proved him wrong. However, it was a negotiation that ultimately won them the war, albeit not one he was part of. He still likes to think Tommy's success that day was potentially due in part to Wilbur rubbing off on his right hand man. So in the pursuit of victory, Wilbur vows to stay civil where possible. --- As Ghostbur wanders, he comes to realise how true Wilbur's summary had been. The longer he explores, the longer the green persists. This world truly seems to be comprised of forests and open fields. It's his third day of checking what each path may offer when he finds himself in the midst of trees. However, the woods here were familiar. All around him was birch bark. They're scattered about and nothing about them indicates a natural path that can be made. Yet, as Ghostbur walks, he seems to know instinctively how to navigate the area and the way in which he should weave through the trees. It surprises him to eventually discover a stream flowing by these woods. Yet, at the same time, he feels like he should have been expecting to find it. Why does this place feel familiar? Oh. This was where Alivebur met Tommy, wasn't it? He could almost picture it. He had been wandering around the area surrounding their latest base. At least this part of the world tended to have fairly warm Aprils. Even better after the two months Phil had made them spend in a tundra during winter. It was completely nonsensical and Wilbur had made sure Phil knew his thoughts on the matter beyond any doubt. But they'd evaded any of nature's potential attempts to make them hypothermic long enough to get through it. Now all Wilbur needed to focus on was enjoying the not-yet-scorching sunshine while Phil was... off collecting resources, he believes. He's sure he's slightly lost. The general direction of their temporary base, that was no problem to discern but the actual way to reach his destination? Who on earth knew. It was just birch tree after dumb birch tree. There weren't any of those markers that he'd been taught about either so it was like he was destined to get lost. But then, a break in the tree line? A stream, actually! He's sure Phil has the essentials like water down already but it wouldn't hurt to gather a bucketful more. Phil did lend him a chest for a reason, after all. It's not the cleanest nor clearest body of water he's ever seen. Who really cares when there's ways of purifying it. It does seem to go on for a great distance, further than Wilbur's eyes can tell. The stream itself isn't particularly wide. He reckons he could easily leap over from one side to the other. On the opposite side of the bank, there's a hole that seems to have been hollowed out by hand amongst all the mud. Rather bizarrely, there's also a random child lingering there. Wilbur was hardly an expert on determining someone's age, especially when it came to younger children. However, he'd soon know with hindsight that the little boy in front of him had been roughly 4 years old at that moment. Blond hair messy to the point it might be easier to shave it all off than attempt brushing it, clothes tattered and dirt visible in several spots of his skin, it was evident from this kid (regardless of their isolated surroundings) wasn't meant to be here. "Hey, are you lost?" "No. Go away." A thin branch makes an attempt at threatening him. "Are you planning to hit me with those sticks?" The little boy glances back at the pile nearby. "They're my Scary Ouchers." "Scary Ouchers. Uh-huh." He forces himself not to laugh. This kid must have undoubtedly been through a lot if he's out here on his own seemingly long term. "And am I scary?" "Maybe." "What if I tell you my name, will that help me be less scary?" "Dunno." "Well, I'm Wilbur. And I promise I'm not here to hurt you." The kid seems to shrink within himself slightly as he weighs whether this 11 year old stranger is worth trusting. "Tommy." "Tommy? Okay. Hi, Tommy. Do you want me to take you home?" "I have a home." "Then let me bring you back there. I'm sure your Mummy and Daddy are worried about you." "Got a home." He repeats, banging the stick in his hand against the earth. "Tommy," Wilbur sighs. "You get that this isn't a good home, right? Come on, I can take you to my camp. Me and my dad will help you out." Tommy's confliction persists until he tentatively raises a hand, all fingers folded inwards except for the smallest one. Wilbur giggles as understanding dawns. One pinky encompasses a much smaller one. "I promise I won't let anything happen to you, Tommy." "You sure?" "Just pinky promised, didn't I?" Tommy considers this then nods with all the solemnness that only a child his age could treat such a practise with. They gather up all of the so called 'Scary Ouchers', god Phil will probably get a kick out of hearing the story tonight, and dump them in the chest. With Tommy tasked with guarding their wares upon the shoddy wagon Wilbur had constructed himself ages ago, the older boy guides them back to camp. Phil is understandably confused when he sees another child by the tents. He quickly resigns himself to their new reality. The conclusion that there are no parents to speak of, at least not anymore, is kind of obvious. Any memory of them will be stolen by time and the inability of a developing mind to store any event for potentially lifelong recollection. It's fine though. The four year old has a new family now, one that will love him for years to come. And after they return home to the little house situated in a valley? Well, Wilbur's little brother only gains volume when he speaks and far too much energy the more comfortable he becomes with his new life. In response to this memory, he longs to have Tommy here, to be the good Alivebur who can be trusted to be on better terms with his little brother. The two of them used to be really close, despite how often they drove each other up the wall. But Ghostbur had seen how Tommy didn't seem too fond of Alivebur anymore. There was also the fact Alivebur had become bad at some point down the line, driving Tommy as well as others away. Because nobody is born bad and Ghostbur struggles to reason that an 11 year old boy who genuinely wished to help a homeless kid approximately a third of his age was bad too. Here, in this secluded area full of birch trees with flowing water as part of its soundtrack, Ghostbur imagines a teenager obnoxiously laying across his lap in the gentlest of ways. Tommy calls him a bitch through chuckles and playfully chastises him for being 'all sappy and shit'. It's reminiscent of moments that truly did come to pass once upon a time. His little brother once made him a daisy chain while in this very position but unfortunately, this was back when Fundy was still tiny and all it took was little hands being allowed to inspect the item before the stemmed links broke as a result of tears. It had still ended well, the remnants were sprinkled in Fundy's then-wispy hair while the baby's giggles joined the laughter of his father and uncle. God he misses Tommy. He hopes that one day, if- when he and Wilbur manage to reform into Alivebur, things will improve and they can have that again. --- By now, he knows not to expect Wilbur to look his way. It's okay, he's used to it. People would talk to him then struggle to continue fully politely hiding their desire for him to leave them to their own affairs. At least Wilbur is more willing to be upfront with it, he supposes. Wilbur has things he wants to do and so must Ghostbur. When the rain descended upon them yesterday, their conversation resulted in them clashing. Wilbur can come out with a spiteful anger without much provocation. It usually lies restrained on the surface but Ghostbur dreads when it is fully unleashed on him. For the most part, there is an understanding that for whatever reason, Ghostbur is not inclined to view him fondly. He wonders if his rejection of the merging request has anything to do with Wilbur's negative bias. Perhaps it is best that Wilbur keeps his distance. He doesn't want to believe that is the case though. It is for this very reason that Wilbur approaching him with an friendly offer takes him by surprise. "I'm going to visit Schlatt and Mexican Dream. Want to come? I think it would be interesting to see how you'd affect our dynamic. Plus, an even number of players means we could do teams." "Of course." A grin bursts onto his face. He follows Wilbur's lead as they traverse the path. He's getting used to the scenery but when he notices a mushroom his eyes had previously missed when passing by, he knows he's far from done yet. There is no time for admiration right now and he's fully aware Wilbur will outwardly make known his frustration otherwise. When they reach their destination, Wilbur tears a section of the bark off from a spruce tree. Instead of revealing more inner layers, a fully lit pathway stretches in front of them. "Well, go on. It's not like I can hold a rip in our reality open forever." "Oh!" He slips past obediently, watching Wilbur join him immediately afterwards. "You must be quite strong then if you do this regularly." "Sure. Became a real bodybuilder out here." The deadpan causes Ghostbur's attention to flick momentarily to the black sleeves that certainly aren't filled, least of all by muscles. The corridor practically belongs in an aquarium. The arching walls are made of glass, allowing for full view of all the dolphins, turtles and large variety of fish on display. The pathway itself is unusually wide but since they were heading to meet with Wilbur's friends, he can only assume they liked spending time here and therefore needed the space. Following each pair of glass panels were strips of wood upon which torches were hung. It created a lovely ambiance along with the shadows from the waves outside. To be fair, his only complaint is the temperature. It's freezing, nearly unbearably so. Perhaps they are in the sea by a tundra, sheets of ice floating above them on the surface. That would seem like a plausible answer. Ghostbur could spend a good long while here if he found a warmer outfit. "It's very pretty." "Yeah. Just wish I didn't keep having to see it for the first time each week." He wants to harness the inquisitiveness of a toddler in order to learn how exactly Wilbur would ever be able to forget a sight like this. But something tells him it's not the time nor place. Maybe the view out of the windows shifted with each visit. That seems like a decent explanation. So instead he comes out with "I like the lighting too." "Ghostbur," He momentarily glances back over his shoulder. "You can't expect me to create a dark single-file pathway. There's no steps to a dead end either, see." It's muttered with such quiet sincerity that Ghostbur questions what happened to the Wilbur who scorned him and carried an air of resentment towards everything. He wishes he had some blue to offer him right now. Whatever Wilbur's issue with dark and narrow corridors was, Ghostbur can tell it's awful, too awful for him to ever understand. As they make their way between areas, Wilbur debriefs him on what to expect. It nothing too elaborate, simply a few rounds of card games. Until they get too bored or fed up with each other. They mostly stuck to solitaire and poker if he's going to be honest. Sometimes they'd pull out board games for the sake of variety. The three of them had promised Monopoly was for when they wanted to watch the world burn which hadn't happened yet but there'd been threats to manifest a game the next time they all met up. First there was Schlatt. When Ghostbur completely blanks at the name, it is begrudgingly explained to him that this was the guy who succeeded Alivebur as president. No effort is made to hide the fact Wilbur does not view Schlatt's continued presence in his post-mortal existence in a positive light. He even admits to the game he played whereby he attempted to guess what the J in JSchlatt stood for. It did nobody any good but it served its purpose of annoying Schlatt quite well. The ex-president was a poker kind of guy which also caused clashes between them. Ghostbur is told to expect alcoholic drinks being available, especially the stronger varieties. The man's fatal heart attack hadn't been helped by his drinking habits so honestly, it seemed pretty much on brand. Either way, the less Ghostbur allowed himself to do with Schlatt, the better in Wilbur's opinion. The other member of the group was Mexican Dream. Ghostbur remembered Quackity, right? Well, Mexican Dream was his cousin. He'd been generous enough to allow Wilbur the opportunity to learn Spanish as a way to pass time. He shrugs when he says it's something to get up for. He wasn't the best student because he frequently missed scheduled meet-ups by accident or simply let practising what he'd learned when he did show up slip his mind. Regardless, Mexican Dream was an alright guy who tended to hang around Schlatt and Wilbur more for the sake of company half the time. You just had to watch out for when he began going on about his love life. Ghostbur's new, Wilbur warns, so as fresh ears he'd be a prime target for the laments regarding Mamacita. The other half of Alivebur wishes him luck if that becomes the case. Oh and before he forgets, don't ask about his death. Touchy subject apparently. The civilities go well. Given the warmth (or lack thereof) he receives, Ghostbur would say Wilbur's assessments of temperament weren't too far off. Ghostbur sticks by Mexican Dream's side throughout their games, chatting as they attempted to ignore the tension ever brewing between the former political leaders of L'Manburg while they played. Wilbur does not take long to lose his temper at Schlatt. "You can't put a joker directly under a king. Also they're both spades so not only are they in the wrong position of the sequence, they're the wrong colour and suit for that move to be legal." "You know, Wilbur, this is why I always say we should start with poker." "Oh you and your poker. If you love poker so much then why don't you make it your vice president so it can leave you the minute you piss it off one too many times." "You don't like poker because it's too hard for you to understand." "Says the one who can't even understand that a black king can't be immediately followed by a black joker." "Well at least I don't have a tell that even a newborn could recognise." "And at least I'm not so untrustworthy that two-faced is an understatement." Wilbur glares before adding an ever so succinct "Wanker." as his closing statement while he collapses back into the chair. "Asshole." "...I have a joker and it's red. Would you like it, Schlatt?" "Thank you, Ghostbur." Schlatt grins in a way that somehow makes Ghostbur wish he wasn't in his company. Wilbur's face gently slams into open palms. When his fingers are finished with their journey down his face, he plucks the offending card out of his counterpart's hold. "Put the card down. We can't start mixing packs like this." Wilbur abruptly rises to his feet. "Actually, you know what? Sod this. Between you and Tweedle Dum here, I feel like he's the lesser evil. Come on, Ghostbur, let's go back." Like a plus one whose only way in and out of the event was their invited friend, he has no choice but to follow Wilbur's lead. He would rather stay and get to know Mexican Dream better but it would seem it wasn't on the cards for today. He waves the pair goodbye. Mexican Dream returns it genuinely. Schlatt's smile comes across as sinister and his attention appeared to be on Wilbur as it was. "...I can see why you like Mexican Dream more." He comments in the tunnel home. "Yes, guy's less of a twat." He distracts himself from this disaster of a meeting with the marine life outside. It doesn't prove as effective as he would hope. --- He doesn't understand why or how but it seems that Wilbur has developed the ability to have a hunch as to where Ghostbur could be found. Today this hunch led him to a peaceful stream. The water flows uninterrupted and he can't recall the last time he was in the presence of such clear water. He suspects it goes on for a while before meeting a larger area of water. Ghostbur himself is seated by the bank, admiring the scenery surrounding them. He periodically remembers himself and returns his focus to a little notebook he was scribbling in. "What's this?" "Wilbur." The ghost lights up at the sight of him for whatever reason. He pats the ground beside him. "Come, sit here. It'll be fun." "I'm... I'm good thanks." "If you're sure." There's that wide smile again. There's no way he can't call major bullshit on it. "Has anyone told you how unnerving your constant good mood is?" "You're just saying that because you like being moody." "I'm saying it because it's the truth." He scrutinises his other half. "Nobody has the ability to be that positive 24/7." "I- Well, I do." There is an argument he could begin having with Ghostbur but he hasn't got the patience for it. "What are you writing about?" "Oh, this is my diary. I don't want to forget what I've been doing while here." Wilbur is struck with the desire- no, the need to discover what Ghostbur has been writing about him. As a general, intel was everything and as a fugitive, every bit of insider information had the potential to prove useful. Ghostbur correctly interprets his extended hand but still hesitates before adhering to the request. It's pointless though as there is nothing regarding himself to analyse. Day 8 (24/1/21) I am in the Void so I think the plan worked. I wish I could tell Phil because he seemed quite worried about the process failing. I have been counting the days at the back of this book because they all look the same and there doesn't seem to be any calendars anywhere. So I'm guessing it's January 24th right now. I think I'm getting used to the Void. Everything is very green but I like it. Exploring has been quite fun and Wilbur introduced me to a couple of his friends for a games night. The tunnel to get to them is beautiful but I think I'll need to craft a few campfires to help combat the cold there if I want to watch the wildlife. I also need more cornflowers to make blue with but they seem to be difficult to find which is a shame. I will have to keep looking but that's okay. Maybe I can convince Wilbur to help me if he's available. I'm at the stream where Alivebur met Tommy right now. I really like it. It reminds me of the picnics Alivebur used "A picnic?" "Yeah! Alivebur used to have lunch on a raft with his mum whenever they could find one. It was fun." "Good for us, I guess. I wouldn't know anything about that." Except maybe, it seems, he might. The feeling of feet bounding against the earth. Excited yelling. Ruffling of hair with something that wasn't an arm around his shoulder. An exasperated chuckle while something sweet was on his tongue. Playing lookout by a window. A contest that ends with a soggy lap. Surrounded by laughter and happy chatter. He realises what this is too late. As it fades, he chases it. No, come back. Don't leave. He needs it, even if it's the vaguest of scraps. Please, please, come back. "Wilbur?" "Sorry, I might have just spaced out for a minute. I was thinking about... about... I don't know, something." "Here." Ghostbur presents blue dye. "I haven't been able to find many cornflowers to make it but I think you should have some." "What's this for?" "You look like you're about to cry. Blue's very good at absorbing all your sadness away. You let it soak it all up and then throw it away. I promise it works. Honestly, try it." "Thanks but I'd rather not stain my hands with blue dye for the sake of humouring you. That shit takes forever to get off. Although... this does explain why your clothes are like that. I thought we'd be smarter than to wear something bright while frequently handling a substance that stains easily." "Well okay then. The offer's always there if you want it though." "I'm fine. Just need a breather. Don't uh... don't wait up for me or whatever." The worst thing is he has no clue why he's suddenly upset. Sitting on top of a hill, he overlooks land with the potential to be built upon, land that had seen construction in a world similar to this one. He's not sure if he's in the exact spot but it's close enough. In his mind's eye, L'Manburg springs into existence, a diagonal line cuts through the wall as it is destroyed by Fundy's pickaxe. Their country had come close to death before but that day had arguably been its last one. The reason why Tommy wasn't by his side in that moment is lost to him. A spark of resentment temporarily roars into a flame as he thinks of how his former right hand man should be present for this in a way more than simply joining in at the end of the anthem over a voice call. Oh who cares anymore? It doesn't matter now. Alone, he witnesses L'Manburg die before him for the... how many times was it now? At least if he's going to be mournful, he should mourn something he actually knows he's lost. --- The entry concludes with a final paragraph. I've also met Wilbur. He's the other part of Alivebur and he wants to fuse so we can be Alivebur again. We will have to eventually but he seems willing to wait. I hope he stays that patient because I don't know how long it will take me to say yes. In the meantime, I want us to become friends. He can be so dismissive and angry but despite how mean he seems, I think we could still get along if we really try. I think getting more blue should be on my list of priorities because he really needs it. Which reminds me, I need to draft a list of priorities. I think I should get on that as soon as I can so goodbye for now. --- Ghostbur makes the decision on the... well he needs to check his memory book to remember exactly what day it is but whatever today was, that was when he sets himself the goal of working on a house. It'll be a nice place, not too fancy (at least not at first, he can add to it later if he so desires) but it can be a lovely base for himself. Maybe Wilbur too, if he can get the other half of Alivebur to join him. The problem was he wasn't sure where to take inspiration from. He built a house for Tommy during their holiday and he really liked how that simple little place turned out. He also recalls Tubbo's house from when he and Tommy were messing around shortly following his arrival in the area. Now that house was very pretty. It would take some more effort to get right, especially when all he had for reference was the memory of it, but he feels it would be worth it if he wanted to go down a similar route in terms of design. Oh! Didn't Techno have a lovely looking cabin too? Perhaps he should keep that building in mind as well. Or he could come up with something new entirely. He wasn't sure yet. He thinks it may be best to experiment first. It's as he is figuring out the size and shape he'd prefer the ground floor to be that Wilbur comes across the soon to be construction site. Arms crossed, he doesn't look too impressed. But then again, when does he? "What is this?" "Oh hi, Wilbur. I thought I could build myself a house. It could be our house if you'd like. Or... Or maybe I could add a bedroom just for you if you already have a house." "I think I'll pass. Though this does explain all the missing oak trees around here." His gaze flicks to the pile of wood Ghostbur has gathered. "Anyway, you're just doing this by hand?" "How else would I be doing it?" "I have my ways. You probably have the same ones." The two of them venture through a taiga until they reach a hill overlooking an empty field of plains. Even before he truly lays eyes on their expanse of their destination, he can sense how far of a drop it would be to reach it without caution. "Wait!" The warning comes too late to have any effect. Wilbur leaps from the edge. Rushing forward instinctively, Ghostbur dreads the scene he is sure will be upsetting to witness. He shuts his eyes but risks a peak regardless. It's to his utter shock that Wilbur stands waiting, perfectly fine. "I know we pretty much have all the time in the world but I'd rather not spend it waiting for you to get on with it and jump already." "You're not hurt?" "What? No, of course not. Why would I-?" Realisation arrives and Wilbur's only reaction to it seems to be an eye roll. "We're dead, you idiot. When was the last time your feet actually touched the ground? In fact, when was the last time you even had feet?" "Oh." "Yeah." Wilbur continues to walk ahead, using an arm to beckon Ghostbur in the right direction. "Now come on." Once they settle on a spot for the demonstration, wooden blocks materialise without warning. They arrange themselves into an empty birch cube that is perhaps twice as tall as they are. It's not a complex structure, pretty non-descript. Ghostbur had been hoping to be a bit more ambitious with his construction work than this. However, he supposes Wilbur is simply only showing him the basics. There's no need to go overboard in an attempt to show off. "It's pretty simple, really. All you have to do is picture what you want and boom," A final block of birch comes into existence. "It shows up without much effort. It saves a lot of time and hassle. Got it? How about you summon a torch to test it out." He imagines a stick. Even a branch will do, he feels. As he does so, a weight grows in his hand with the appearance of a long brown object. The stick he summons is actually fairly substantial once it solidifies. For extra measure, he concentrates on the tip. He devotes his thoughts to warmth and autumnal bonfires and an orange glow then- Oh! Well, next time he should make sure he's careful when causing spontaneous combustion. "See? Easy. Now toss it here." With the rudimentary house completed and torch in hand, Wilbur carelessly allows the flame to linger too close to the wood. Ghostbur is unable to cry out a warning before the building is set alight. It gradually dawns on him that, somehow, this was a deliberate action to achieve this consequence. It leaves Ghostbur more lost regarding the workings of the other man's thoughts than ever. "What is the point in this? I don't... I don't understand." "It's warm." He acts as if this is the obvious answer. "Do you feel it, Ghostbur? Do you feel the cold, the way any and all sources of heat seem to be sapped while you try to make the most of them? You've been here days, you must feel it. Took me a day to recognise what it was. It's the Void, Ghostbur, it's the Void. It- It- It takes the heat from this place. We could be standing in the middle of the fucking desert right now but you'd still feel a chill, like someone left the window open and caused a draft. I... you know, I made this place to get away from it but it followed me regardless. Just... got muted, I guess. I carved out a little bit of the Void. Not even that big. It simply feels that way because it's like in those drama productions where you have the scenery on a rotator or whatever it's called. Not using it? Just poof, gone on standby or- or taped over. Mixing my metaphors here." "Stop standing there before you're on fire." "Hmm? Oh, don't worry about that. Doesn't scar or anything. I can reverse any damage, make it seem like it never happened." "Just get out of it." The ghost reaches out to his friend. Wilbur steps back to avoid him. "Ghostbur, I'm fine. I only want to be warm." "I can make a fire if you want. A normal one, in a pit." "Like I haven't made a bonfire before. You really think I haven't tried that?" "Let's get some water. You just have think about it, don't you?" "Wait, no! I tend to watch it burn. Gives me something to do." "O-Okay." So they witness the structure's demise to fire. Ghostbur mourns the loss of the materials that seem to be going to waste for the sake of entertainment. He can't help but succumb to the desire to be enraptured. The flames dance with curls and bows and sways. He breaks his gaze away to glance at Wilbur, curious to see if he is having a similar experience as him. His companion has only a hardened expression to show, one that pairs a set jaw with calculating eyes. Yet a light, separate to that reflected from the fire, can be spotted dwelling within those same eyes. What one finds aesthetically pleasing albeit wasteful, the other studies as if he can learn how to tame it in order to command it to do his immoral bidding. --- Wilbur thinks of buttons. How technically easy they are to press. How, despite this fact, he'd been getting closer and closer to a dozen attempts before bailing. How one of his last memories (from the ones he'd been oh so generously permitted to keep) was that of burning. Fire is destruction, the chaos of something that aims to consume indiscriminately, a means to an end. But at the same time this is safe, controlled, something he can force to stop if it goes too far. There are 101 reasons why he has every right to hate Ghostbur. More, he'd argue actually. Since they became two, he's been left with the shortest end of the stick. Ghostbur got to go have fun and enjoy himself, got the opportunity to act like everything had always been alright since he'd deliberately discarded the evidence that suggested otherwise. And the personified form of the discarded evidence had simply been forced to endure the nightmares, to desperately avoid triggers he's not willing to confront in any shape or form yet, to attempt to find comfort in familiarity regardless of why an object or location may seem familiar to him. He's done this before. Not every day, mind you. He's not that big of a masochist to pull that shit. Perhaps once or twice in the span of what might be considered a fortnight, if that. Other times he's simply not done anything for a while. But Wilbur has gone through this process before. He has stood in flammable structures and allowed the flames to take their course. He hacks when the smoke increases to the point of becoming overwhelming. It hurts, of course it does (it's fire for crying out loud). Yet when he leaves the scene of arson, any blisters that have begun bubbling on his skin disappear at his command. The main incentive to act so stupidly is to remember. He can recall bombs and the devastation of witnessing his safety being ripped away before his eyes. Over and over, he attempts to confront the things that keep him up at night. The door is always right there, waiting to be flung open the second he decides it is more than enough for that session. In Albert Einstein's eyes, he could qualify to be called insane. He would disagree but then again, they are using different definitions. While alive, he had developed a smoking habit. It began as something to help alleviate stress. Then not inhaling nicotine ironically became a source of stress for him. That's how addictions form, he supposes, with stupid destructive cycles such as his. The inherent need to risk slowly killing his lungs for the sake of feeling relatively decent didn't seem to carry over to Ghostbur. Lucky bastard, always getting the better end of the deal. By his design, most likely. Be civil, he reminds himself, since it will increase his chances of securing victory. Now that Ghostbur is here, he is a step closer to getting what he's wished for since they'd died. It is only a matter of time before he rediscovers the peace of being whole once more. What he hopes will be peace. Wilbur thinks of buttons and fires and explosions. Most importantly though, he thinks of how nice it must be to witness something subjectively beautiful and not question a myriad of life choices. --- Ghostbur didn't appreciate the loneliness. Back down with everyone else, his friends and family either tolerated his company or told him to leave them alone. Even the friendlier ones had a habit of getting tired of him hanging out with them for too long. Sometimes he happened to catch them when they were busy. It was fine and certainly no big deal. Everyone needs alone time. Wilbur, for instance, likes a lot of alone time. Then there were those that Alivebur hurt and struggled to not be reminded of the man they once knew whenever Ghostbur was around, like Phil and Tommy. It was nobody's fault. He did have a striking resemblance to his pre-death counterpart. All this in consideration, Ghostbur could really a friend. Or perhaps more specifically, a Friend. He's seen Wilbur do this practically effortlessly so how hard could this be? He thinks the best way to go about this is to take it slow and begin at the bottom. He brings himself to an open space so he can have as few obstacles during this important moment as possible. Two pairs of hooves appear, already upright on the grass. With them comes four legs then a torso adorned in naturally blue wool which is accompanied by a tail. When the process comes to an end, Ghostbur is met with a familiar face. He wraps his arms around the neck of his closest companion in a hug. "Hi, Friend. I've really missed you. We can hang out whenever Wilbur is being grumpy or wants to be alone. Would you like that? Maybe we can even convince him to like you too. But that might be hard since he doesn't seem to like anyone." He feels it should be common courtesy for Ghostbur to introduce Friend to Wilbur. After all, his twin had already extended that courtesy to him the other day. --- "Wilbur!" There is no need for him to acknowledge the voice calling out his name. Even if he didn't recognise the owner of said voice, there is no-one else it could be. Yet when he does, he isn't sure whether to curse his reflexes for making him see the sight in general or be grateful for the minute's forewarning it grants him. Encouraged to tag along with Ghostbur is an affront to nature. "So..." He begins when the two visitors are near enough. "The sheep." "Yeah! His name is Friend. I had a sheep just like him when I was with everyone else so I thought he could keep me company while I'm here." He's not even sure how to respond to this development. He simply stares at the animal as he attempts to process it. It's so weird because he swears the sheep has one of those rare genetic variations where their wool is quite literally blue naturally. It's obviously not been dyed at all because you can tell with that sort of thing. Somehow, Ghostbur has straight up manifested a sheep with a rare coat colouring. He wants to be more thrown off by it than he is. Yet he struggles to do so. Because, in the several days since he's met the one he shares a face with, he can't truthfully claim he's surprised. "Friend, huh? Well, you really have a knack for coming up with names, don't you?" "I guess." "You asked me the other day what you should call me. You seem to love these cute little versions of our name. Given the way I treat you, I'm surprised you haven't been tempted to call me Meanbur or Sadbur or even Why-The-Fuck-Won't-You-Take-A-Hint-And-Just-Leave-Me-Alonebur?" Ghostbur hesitates, clearly a little shocked by this outburst. He quickly corrects himself, changing his expression instead to something more akin to content thoughtfulness. "Oh, I know! What do you think of Soulbur? I like Soulbur. Because you're half of his soul." "Fine, whatever makes you happy. Though if you really need to bother someone, I'd rather you go to Schlatt or MD." "But do you like Friend?" He glances back at the sheep for the sake of humouring his twin. "I... I suppose it's alright for a sheep. Don't want too much to do with it though. It's your pet." "He is more than a pet." And it comes off as if he's offended him. "He's well, he's Friend." "Gho- It is a sheep. I get that you're attached to it- him so you're hardly planning to serve mutton anytime soon but he's still just a bloody sheep." As he distances himself from Ghostbur to escape this nonsense, his ears catch muttered assurances that 'Soulbur' was not worth listening to. Plus, what kind of name was 'Friend'? His ghostly counterpart sounded like a child who'd decided their stuffed toy deserved a name to fit the role of lifelong companion. He'd retaliate but he's far from in the mood. --- Okay, as it turns out, he does begin to get used to the new moniker. For one thing, it's easier to differentiate himself from their pre-death self (though Ghostbur seems to have that covered thanks to his insistence of using 'Alivebur'). Soulbur likewise continues to tolerate him for the sake of civility. Hence why he's sat by a small fire and performing the absolutely redundant task of eating a meal. No matter how much he attempts to explain neither of them physically need sustenance, Ghostbur remains persistent on his thoughts regarding the issue. "No cows were harmed in the making of this steak." "Oh that's good." Ghostbur beams. "And you made a joke. You don't do that often." "Listen, I might not have a reason to laugh anymore but I do still have a sense of humour." "You know, you sound like Techno when you speak. All serious and bored." "Doesn't surprise me." He mutters. "Besides, you're the one who kept the happier emotions in the split. I'd be worried if I didn't sound like I have the more exhausting ones." "What?" "What are you confused about? You said you can't remember upsetting things, right? Well where did you think they went, the back of your mind, left stranded in the void- no, actually I suppose that one is technically true. Either way, the oversimplified version of events is that you got the good stuff and I got the bad." There is silence but there is also calm. From it, Soulbur gains the courage to put forward one of the questions he's been deliberating on for a good long while. "Ghostbur…" He frowns. "How did we die?" "You don't remember?" "No. For some fucked up reason, we apparently thought so low of ourself that it was a good memory. That or you took it to spite me." "I-" Soulbur holds his hand up. "No excuses, no rambling in the hopes you can beat around the bush. I just want the truth. Because all I can remember is Phil showing up, us getting frustrated then this unbearable pain as if... as if something was cooking us from the inside. I don't know I- it just hurt. A lot. Then we were dead. So what the hell happened to us?" The ghost is focused on fiddling with the sleeves of his yellow jumper. "I don't want to say." "Bad memory then. So... an unnecessary theft. As much as I hate to admit it, that was supposed to be mine if it was traumatic." "Wasn't nice but it was a good moment." "Well, was it good or bad? Make up your mind! I told you, I didn't want any messing around. I'm not expecting an essay from you, only a sentence or two." He groans. "Okay, how about this since you can't give me a straight answer. Did we press the button, yes or no?" "We did." "Brilliant! We got somewhere. I suspected it was burning debris but couldn't be sure. That's all I wanted." Soulbur manages only a handful of steps before his twin's voice is heard once more. "It wasn't debris. The explosion didn't kill us." "Then what did?" If his patience wore any more thin, somebody would have to pull out a microscope to view it. Ghostbur appears conflicted, ever tugging on his sleeves. "Phil was the Saint George to our dragon. He stopped us from hurting anyone else." "Whoa whoa whoa, hang on that's- Phil wasn't always the best parental figure to us, I know that, but he would never... kill us. That is not the kind of guy he is." "We asked him to." "Why would we-" "Don't ask me. You're the one who's always grumpy. You should know." Ghostbur argues back. "Even if we begged him on our hands and knees, as shitty as he could sometimes be, Phil would never cause us deliberate harm." "But he did." Soulbur visibly mulls this over in his mind before a scowl settles on his face. "Can't win, can you? Unbelievable. Couldn't even trust Phil to be on our side." "But he-" "He was supposed to take care of us. I can excuse him not being father of the year because he only took us in out of pity so we wouldn't end up on the streets. But the bare minimum I would have expected from him is to not kill the kid he's raised since they were little." "I don't know what you want me to say. You said you wanted the truth? Well the truth is Phil stabbed us with a sword because we asked him to. It was a... it was a sword with fire aspect, I think. That's why you think it hurt." "I don't think it hurt. I know it hurt." "Can we stop talking about this? I don't like it." "No. No, we are talking about this. I'm not letting you slink off at the first hint of something upsetting, Mr Repression." "I'm not slinking off. I just don't want to think about this." "Well, welcome to my life, every single bloody day since you ran off. At least you have the privilege of avoiding it." "Stop it! Stop it! Why do always have to be so- so- I'm going to find Friend. At least he's nice to me." "You are literally proving my point right now." "I don't care." "Fine! Piss off then. That's what you seem to do best, cry and run away at the slightest bit of trouble. But you can't do this forever, you know. You're going to have to accept we've been through a lot of shit one day." And for the first time in what he believes has been roughly two weeks, Ghostbur frowns. It is not the slight frown from whenever he is unsure or downtrodden, Soulbur's seen that before. Those times had been more akin to a pout. No, this expression has been witnessed by him before. He saw this occasionally in his reflection while alive, especially in the lead up to the festival and war between Manberg and Pogtopia when he'd been steeling himself to play his role in it all. So perhaps frown is not the most accurate word for it. Ghostbur glares, he scowls, he glowers. And then the façade breaks as if the universe cannot permit an angry Ghostbur to exist. Dark blue pools by his eyes and begins to spill down his face. Soulbur doesn't think he's seen his other half cry either actually. It doesn't feel right, watching the one who kept going about everything with a smile cry and descend into sobs while he's at it. The universe doesn't swiftly correct itself at this though so Soulbur will have to make of that what he will. "I'm going to find Friend." Ghostbur repeats. And that is that for the calm dinner between both halves of the same person.