Chapter Text
His freefall ended abruptly with him flat on his back as though he’d actually fallen. He laid there completely still for a long moment until his entire being seized with a burning that he couldn’t comprehend.
Luckily, the body he was in wasn’t as stupid as he was in that moment and forcibly shut his brain down long enough to force a rasping breath into its lungs. The sudden movement of the chest brought into sharp focus the fact that something was on top of him, weighing him down and scratching at the skin. He sat up abruptly and threw the offending item off. The sheet fluttered innocently to the floor.
He…
What?
It was mostly dark in the room, but there was a train shaped nightlight plugged into an outlet by the door which allowed him to see the vague shape of things at least. There was a nightstand with a lamp next to him. He reached for it, the fingers easily finding the button to turn it on through muscle memory alone.
He blinked as the bedroom came into focus. There was a white bookshelf next to a matching dresser on the wall nearest to the closet. The toy chest was flung open on the opposite wall, more of its contents spilled out onto the floor than packed away inside it.
The mouth felt dry, and he automatically reached for a bottle of water left on the nightstand without really thinking about it. The water was room temperature and a little stale, but he didn’t care.
He had… not expected this. This was, of course, theoretically possible when dealing with time travel powers, but the thought had never crossed his mind. He’d been long dead before Technoblade and Dad had met. No one had even known Techno’s powers were capable of overwriting so much time. Maybe they hadn’t been until Dad fell from the sky.
He pulled more air into the lungs as he set the water bottle aside. Annoyingly, while the body seemed capable of automatically breathing most of the time, whenever he thought about it, the lungs stilled, and he had to manually force them to move again.
He was unsure what to do now. He sat at the edge of the bed. It was strange to feel something pressing back up from underneath him. He thought he could hear a heart beating, but it might have been his imagination.
He studied the room. It was familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. It had been taken apart long ago, but now it was back to what it had been before. The last he’d seen most of this furniture was in an old warehouse. The last he’d seen this room; it had felt like he was going insane.
His eyes fell on the closet. That had been the only thing that hadn’t changed when Dad had moved out. He remembered sitting there staring at it for days once. Right now, it was slightly open, and he could see the shadow of clothing inside.
The impulse that came upon him was as irrational as it was irresistible. He needed to do one thing before he did anything else.
He stood. His legs were steady underneath him though they felt unnaturally tired. Maybe that was just him forgetting how legs felt, maybe not. He flicked on the main light on his way to the closet.
The sweater was near the front of the closet. It was odd to see it intact and unstained. And corporal. The lion face on it sneered at him and he ripped the garment off its hanger. For good measure, he dug the trousers out of the dresser as well.
He walked to the kitchen with purpose. He knew exactly where Dad kept the matches, safely out of reach of an 8-year-old in a cabinet above the refrigerator. He grabbed a chair to climb up onto the counter with. It was strange not being able to just float up to his desired height.
He was very, very careful as he opened the cabinet door above the fridge. He had to stretch perilously on tippy toes to grab the pack of matches deep in the cabinet. Once done, he hopped down off the counter and put the chair back in place.
He grabbed the small pile of clothing from where he’d left it on the floor and marched into the back yard. The neighbors had a fire pit, he recalled, stealing into their yard.
Technically, he knew how matches worked. Functionally, it took him a few tries before one actually lit. He dropped it abruptly onto a pile of dry leaves he’d gathered and piled on top of the sweater.
It was slow to burn and it more melted than properly burned since it was made of polyester. Still, with the addition of some extra firewood, both pieces of clothing burned well enough.
He watched it as it burned. The fire was almost too warm on his face, but he moved his hand closer to the flames anyway to chase the sensation.
Was he Wilbur now?
He didn’t think so. Wilbur was a memory. He wasn’t a person anymore. There were traces of him that lingered certainly. Perhaps all of him was here, just in scattered pieces. However, Ghostbur knew as much about where to start putting Wilbur back together as he would know where to start putting the sweater burning in the fire pit back together. Even now parts of it burned unpleasantly in his lungs.
When he was satisfied that the sweater was nothing but ash, he put the lid on the fire pit to smother the dying flames.
Then, he went back inside.
He didn’t bother putting the matches back where they’d been. He just stuck them by Dad’s keys on the counter.
His body seemed to drag with exhaustion. Which, to be fair, it was the middle of the night. It was 3:35am to be exact. He should probably go back to sleep, but the thought made his unfamiliar heart beat harder. He was irrationally afraid that if he went to sleep, his soul would slip out of his body once again.
Instead, he decided with the smell of burning lion sweater still lingering on his current clothes, that he wanted a sweater, a better sweater. He wanted a big sweater.
His feet knew where to go to get such a sweater even if it took his mind a second to catch up. His Dad’s bedroom door was opening with a soft creak before he realized it.
A snore startled Ghostbur more than it should have, and he looked over to see a man sleeping peacefully on the bed.
He stilled. He’d forgotten, well no, that wasn’t true. He hadn’t forgotten, he’d just decided to force himself to not think about that. His quest for an adequate sweater quickly fled his mind and he ended up standing at the side of the bed.
There was another dimension to agony when you had a body. It hit much, much harder, and this eight-year-old body that had never felt anything of the like almost crumbled underneath it. The stab of grief not yet confronted was as sharp as the stab of a blade, he knew for sure. His heart hurt even though Dad was breathing, calm and safe right here. He put his hands on the bed, dizzy with it.
“Dad,” he said. His voice was unfamiliar in his ears, and it startled him to hear it crack. A twitch ran across Dad’s brow. “Dad,” he said a bit louder. He bounced the bed slightly with his hands. “Wake up.”
“Mmm?” Dad hummed, still very much asleep. “Techno?”
The smallest bit of the unfamiliar pressure in his chest eased at hearing the name. It had seemed like Dad was being taken along by Techno’s powers too when he’d stayed as the world turned back, but it had been a painful possibility that he wouldn’t remember. The pain of having seen him die, at having seen him fall from the sky, remained, but at least he was here now. At least he hadn’t been erased.
“No, Dad,” Ghostbur said. “It’s me.”
Dad’s eyes opened slightly then, and he squinted up at Ghostbur. “Will?” he asked, his voice quiet and still dazed. A large hand came up to touch his cheek, warm in a way the fire could have never been. It seemed to burn the name into his skin the barest amount.
“Hi,” he said. There was another arm on him then, scooping him off the floor.
Dad was still not awake, awake, Ghostbur noted. He curled his body around Ghostbur’s as much as he could and used his wings to hide him away from the world the rest of way.
“Dad?” Ghostbur asked.
A kiss was pressed to his brow. “My boy,” Dad whispered and seemed to fall asleep immediately. Ghostbur looked up at him, fondness prickling at the tip of his fingers in an unfamiliar way.
He thought he’d watch his dad sleep for a while, but after only a few moments, he slipped away into sleep too.
