MCYT Oneshots And Other Random Stuff

Alive

So, a while ago, I wrote this for some reason. Basically, pretext: Ghostbur gets stabbed by Dream, and then this happens.

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"How's he doing?"

Tubbo looked up when he heard Tommy's question. "I don't know. I mean, how do you heal a ghost? We can hand him things when he's awake, but we can't give him medicine or even treat his wounds ourselves when he's unconscious. I think..."

Tubbo hesitated, his ice-blue eyes filled with pain. "Tommy, I think we're losing him. For good this time."

"No!" Tommy raced forward and kneeled by the bedside. "Will? Ghostbur? Wilbur Soot, can you hear me?!" No response.

"Come on Will. You can't die. You're a survivor. Look at you now; you died, but you came back! Remember what you promised, the day before I was exiled? You promised you'd always take care of me. Wake up." Tommy reached out to shake Wilbur's shoulders, but his fingers passed straight through the spirit's body.

"Tommy, I've been trying to wake him for the past hour," Tubbo admitted. "He's barely stirred at all. His breathing is slowing, his vitals are weak— I-I don't know how much time he has left, but he's not getting better." "I can't," Tommy whispered, cold tears running down his cheeks. "I can't lose him again, Tubbo. I just can't."

"I'm going to get Fundy and Phil," Tubbo said quietly, slipping from the room. Tommy didn't move, staring at Ghostbur's translucent gray face.

He remembered crying the night of November 16th. He remembered thinking that nothing he could ever do could bring Wilbur back. Then Ghostbur showed up. Only a shell of his former self, but still Tommy's big brother.

Tommy heard the door open behind him, but he didn't take his eyes off from Ghostbur's barely-breathing form. He felt a warm hand rest on his shoulder: Phil. Even though he was way too old to cry on his father's shoulder, Tommy found that he still wanted to.

Suddenly he felt an intense wave of sympathy for Phil. If watching Will die from a wound inflicted by the enemy was this painful, he couldn't begin to imagine what Phil would have felt, having dealt the fatal blow himself.

"Wilbur!" An orange blur shot past Tommy. Fundy stared at the face of his dead father, dying again. "Don't die. Please don't die. Don't abandon me again. Not again. I can't lose another person."

"Neither can I," Tubbo confessed, kneeling next to Tommy. "Neither can any of us. But the universe doesn't always work that way," Phil spoke suddenly. "I was there the first time he died. It was— there's a reason I don't discuss it. But the world's not going to stop moving for him."

"Dream," Tommy spat. "This is Dream's fault, all of it! As if I didn't have enough reasons to want him dead already. If I see him again—"

"You'll rush at him and get yourself beheaded, courtesy of his axe. We know," Tubbo finished. "If he dared to try—" Tommy began furiously.

"Guys!" Fundy's shout snapped them out of it. "Guys, his breathing— I can barely see his chest moving anymore—" Tommy turned back just as he saw Ghostbur's chest fall still with a final breath so quiet only Fundy, with his canine ears, could hear it. The body was unmoving. Final. Soulless. Gone.

Tommy was never speechless. As far as he could remember, he'd only been at a loss for words exactly nine times in his sixteen years on the planet. Well. Ten times, now. Because Wilbur Soot, Tommy's former role model, mentor, and older brother, was lying motionless on a bed in a makeshift clinic.

The world began to blur behind a curtain of tears, sealing his eyes from the world. But his thoughts weren't for himself. Tubbo. Was Tubbo crying? Was anyone comforting him? Tommy took a few unsteady steps towards his friend, reaching out and pulling him close. Tubbo didn't resist, falling into Tommy's embrace and soaking his shirt with tears.