#ghost!tommyinnit

[silver-embersss]

Ghostly Bois inc

idfk okay, I saw a thing, I wrote, don't ask me where the idea came from this shit just appears in my brain sometimes ngl

Ages for reference:

Wilbur = Died at 20, would be 24 now

Techno = 21 now, was 17 when Wilbur died and 18 when Tommy died

Tommy = Died at 15, would be 18 now

Tubbo = 18 now, was 14 when Wilbur died and 15 when Tommy died

(Please note these are ages in the fic and not their real life ages ;D )

Techno stretched as he surveyed his room, cardboard boxes strewn around it.They’d lived here before, when he was small - him, Phil, and his brothers. It was just him and Phil now. The two of them had travelled around for a while after Tommy died, but his best friend Tubbo had written, asking them to come back. The teen had been there a couple of times to check up on the property while they’d been gone, since he’d practically lived there before - love not being one of the things he got from his abusive uncle Schlatt. He’d become almost the 5th member of their family, even spending nights there when his only living relative was off his head drunk (which happened quite often).

However, they’d been informed that Schlatt had died of a heart attack while yelling at the teen, and now Tubbo lived alone in his uncle’s house, missing his found family. He’d also mentioned that there was something wrong with their old house, but Techno hadn’t really been paying attention if he was honest.

“Techno!” Phil called up the stairs.

“What do you want for dinner?”

He halted mid-stretch, thinking.

“I’ll cook!”

The 21-year-old yelled back, stepping over boxes to get to the door. His dad stood at the bottom of the stairs, leaning on the banister.

“What ingredients should I leave out then?”

The man asked, lowering his voice from a yell now that the other was in earshot. As Techno rattled off a list of ingredients, he felt something, like fingers carding through his long hair from behind. He was reminded eerily of the way his older brother Wilbur used to play with his hair, plaiting or just combing through it with his hands, but Techno just shivered and continued listing the things he would need for his spagbol - a family favourite. Tommy especially used to love his homemade garlic bread…

“And spaghetti, obviously.”

He finished.

“Gotcha. When are you gonna start cooking? It is getting kinda late...”

Philza glanced at his watch, remembered it had stopped working and pulled out his phone to check the time instead.

“Well, I’ve still got some stuff to unpack, so… maybe half an hour?”

“Alright, that’ll give me time to get the kitchen done. See you in a bit!”

Techno had barely turned around than Phil was back again, a confused expression on his face.

“Did you call me?”

The 21-year-old faced his father figure, equally bewildered.

“Hehh? No…”

“Oh… I could of sworn I heard… Nevermind.”

The blonde man left abruptly, shaking his head.

Confused, Techno shrugged, wondering if there was some kind of social cue he’d missed, or if he’d been inadvertently rude. He headed back upstairs continuing to search through various boxes for what he needed.

“All I wanted was a toothbrush, how hard is it?!”

He hissed angrily, rummaging through a box of clothes. A strand of light pink hair fell in his face and Techno brushed it away, reaching for the hair tie he remembered dropping on the bed earlier.

But instead of a hairband, Techno’s fingers closed on a long, hard object, with soft bristles at one end - his toothbrush!

“How the hell did that get there?!”

He was 250% sure it was not there 2 seconds ago, but whatever. It was the last thing he needed, so Techno seized the hairband and left.

Stepping carefully down the stairs, hands behind his head tying his hair, Techno barely had the time to react as he felt someone shove him forward, hands between his shoulder blades - and then he was falling. He tumbled down the stairs head first, and cried out as his back slammed into the floor with a nasty crack. For a moment, all he could do was lay there, hyperventilating, and scanning the empty stairwell for who pushed him.

Philza ran through from the kitchen, gasping in horror. Ignoring everything else, Techno sat up, tearing off his shirt and twisting around to check his back. It hurt like hell, but Techno was more interested in the mark there.

For right between his shoulder blades, bruising rapidly, were two, perfectly formed, 15-year-old boy’s handprints.

[silver-embersss]

Part two of ghost hunter Wilbur thing I wrote lol

Part 1 is here

That night, they attempted to contact the ghost, having experienced some of what the owners had reported. Niki thought she’d seen Wilbur at the end of the second floor corridor when he was actually outside, and could barely spend ten seconds in the headache-inducing bedroom. Wilbur didn’t go in – the sight of Tommy’s bedroom would have been too much.

The two ghost hunters set up a small red box in the hallway outside Tommy’s the bedroom. The device would amplify any sounds the spirit made when they attempted to contact it. Niki turned it on, cleared her throat and asked:

“Is there any spirits here who would like to speak to us?”

Nothing.

“Hello?”

“…fuck…”

A voice came faintly through the speakers, barely audible through the static.

Niki looked up at Wilbur, who was trying not to smile.

He knew that voice.

“Let me try.”

He said, glancing around the empty room out of the corner of his eyes, a good tactic for seeing ghosts. He spotted a flash of blonde hair, and his face broke out in a grin.

“T- Tommy?”

Then, through the speaker, as clear as he’d ever heard in his 5 years of ghost hunting:

“Wilbur I love you I love you- love you I love y- Wilby I love-”

It broke up into static for a moment, then came back, slightly fainter.

“In my room- my room Wil- I love yo- love you- check my room- please Wilby now- love- Phil love Techno-”

Niki’s eyes were wide with shock as Wilbur burst through the door of the bedroom, bracing himself for the symptoms that the others had described, but he felt nothing. Niki winced as she passed through the doorway, then stepped back into the corridor.

Tommy sat on his old bed, slightly see-through, greyed out, and apparently frozen staring out the window, but his voice still poured through the device.

“Wil- bed- *cshhhh* -you fucking- idiot Wilbur you- *crackle* -an arsehole- under the bed!”

Wilbur knelt down on the dusty floorboards, carefully avoiding his brother’s apparition, and flung his arm under the bed, drawing out a small cardboard box, coated with 8 years of dust. The ghost hunter blew it away, carefully lifting the top off.

Inside was a small toy compass with ‘Your Tubbo’ in sharpie on it, a family photo, and a letter.

Tears stung Will’s eyes as he saw the items, kept safe by the ghost for so long. He looked up, and the apparition on the bed had moved, instead crouching next to him, looking at the box.

“Tommy I never-” Wilbur’s words were broken up by sobs.

“I never said- I’m sorry, Toms, I’m so sorry-”

The little box he held crackled with stactic.

“I love you, Wilby…”

Then he was gone, the ghostly figure by his side fading away.

Tears dripped down Will’s face as he flipped the envelope over, seeing ‘To Wilbur, Techno, Phil and Tubbo’ written in Tommy’s terrible handwriting on the back. He opened it with shaking hands, imagining he could almost hear Tommy’s obnoxious voice reading it out.

Dear Phil, Wilbur, Tubbo and Techno,

I know I’ll never give this to you, but it’s the best draft I’ve got so far, so here goes.

I know I’m not good with words, and I try and cover things up with bluster and swearing, but I love all of you. You’re my family, and I love the way Phil tries to pretend like he doesn’t have favourites, or the way Techno nerds out about greek mythology and calls me ‘Theseus’ all the time. I love the way Tubbo can’t talk about anything but bees, and I love listening to Wilbur’s emo songs. You’re all annoying, and you’re all complete dipshits, but for some reason I love you anyway.

Love,

Tommy

Fuck shit that’s so soppy and teerrible shitttt fukc meee

Wilbur couldn’t help but smile at the scribbled out message at the bottom of the short letter, even though he was still crying.

“I love you too, Toms.”