Chapter Text
It's been three months since the incident that caused the one-in-a-lifetime event in which all the heroes, vigilantes and villains of L'Manberg fought together.
The #1 Hero lays in a hospital bed. His mask and suit are gone, but his identity is effectively hidden by the bandages and breathing apparatus on his face. In three months, he has yet to wake from his coma.
Phil wonders if it wouldn't be better to kill him. Wouldn't he come back just like he did every time before, good as new?
The villain stares down at the hero and sighs. It really is one thing to kill a resurrecting hero when he's awake and fighting back, but when he's unconscious is another story. “You really broke every fucking bone in your body, mate,” he says, glancing down at the medical chart he ‘borrowed’, as Tommy would call it.
The list of injuries is extensive, to say the least. Even the Heroes’ strongest healer (retired) couldn't fix the majority of it in the span of several months. The fact that Wraith fought the Egg in that state would impress even Technoblade.
Phil can't help but wonder what drove him. That kind of unyielding perseverance doesn't come from pride or arrogance. It doesn't belong to a Commercial Hero who works only for wealth and glory.
So, the question then is: who is the real Wraith?
The sound of footsteps approaches from down the hall.
When the doctor steps into the room, all they see is the #1 Hero laying unmoving in his bed, a single black feather on the floor, and a ‘Get Well Soon’ card.
Ghostbur feels odd. It's almost like he's more solid than usual. And several times, he's started breathing without noticing. He's never done that before.
It makes him strangely nervous, and he finds himself clinging to his blue more often than usual. And that's strange too, because he's usually worse with telling time, so normally he wouldn't even know what ‘more often than usual’ even is.
He almost goes to Niki's Bakery. But thanks to his new time-telling abilities, he knows it's Sunday, and Niki's Bakery is closed on Sundays. So instead he goes to Quackity's garden. Maybe that will calm him down. The blue isn't doing such a good job right now.
The sun shows how long he stays there with its path across the sky. For a while, he simply drifts, but eventually he decides to gather flowers and make flower crowns. He doesn't know who they're for yet, but he'll know them when he sees them.
He hums a song he doesn't quite remember as he starts twisting the stems. His hands leave streaks of blue on the flowers, which he personally thinks looks quite nice.
Someone approaches. A person in suspenders and white shirt with his sleeves rolled up, a jacket balled up in his fist. His dark left eye looks down at him, his scarred right glazed over and unseeing. “Ghostbur, hey. How are you? I haven't seen you in a while.”
“Hi, Quackity. I'm good, I'm–I think I'm good, I don't know. I've been feeling somewhat strange lately.” Ghostbur holds out a flower crown. “Here, this is for you.”
“For me? Thanks.” Quackity takes a seat on the grass across from him. “You said you're feeling strange? Strange how?”
“I breathe sometimes.”
“You breathe sometimes,” the villain repeats. He doesn't put on the flower crown, but instead absently runs his thumb over one of the petals. “Okay, that's— you're a ghost, why would you breathe?”
“I don't know. Do you think I might be sick?”
“A sickness that makes you breathe.” Quackity makes a face like he's not sure whether to laugh or not. “Uh, I don't know. I'm not exactly…knowledgeable about ghost stuff.”
“Me neither,” Ghostbur says glumly.
Now he does laugh. “You didn't get a manual or something when you…” His laughter fades and he clears his throat. “Uh…when you became a ghost?”
Ghostbur brightens. “No. That would be very useful, wouldn't it?”
“Yeah…” Quackity frowns down at his flower crown. He traces a finger over the blue dye left on the stems. “You don't have to answer, but when did you die, anyway? It's been a couple years since I started hearing about the Ghost of L'Manberg.”
“The first time?” Ghostbur picks up some more flowers, idly twisting them together. “Oh…it has been years, hasn't it?”
“Can you remember that far back with your…memory issues?”
“I don't…” The ghost's movements slow and then still. “...no…I remember. I remember…it was spring. I woke up…it was such a beautiful day…the sky was so blue…” He lifts his head, but doesn't quite see the person watching him.
“Do you remember what happened before that?”
“Before that…”
What happened before that?
Ghostbur remembers:
A beautiful spring day. The air was cool, in the way it was before it started sliding towards summer. It had rained the day before, and the scent of petrichor lingered in the crisp morning air.
Ghostbur remembers:
He looked up at that blue sky as he bled. He felt, for a moment, not fear, but wonder. He felt as if he was seeing it for the first time. He wondered, Was it always like this?
“I died looking at the sky,” Ghostbur says dreamily, smiling.
Quackity stares at him, seeming frozen for a second. “Are you…is that...good?”
“It's a good memory.”
“Oh.” The villain falls silent as Ghostbur goes back to the flower crown in progress. When Quackity does speak again, his voice is hesitant in a way it never is. “Ghostbur…did you…”
“Hmm?” Ghostbur twists another flower into the circle.
“...Never mind.”
“Okay.” He lifts the new crown. “Who should this one go to?”
Quackity covers up his odd mood with a smirk. “I'm sure Purpled could use a flower crown.”
Ghostbur nods thoughtfully. “He's too serious, maybe some flowers would help with that!”
Quackity's cough weirdly. Maybe he has something in his throat. “I bet it would, Ghostbur. I bet it would.”
In the hospital, a machine beeps.
The #1 Hero wakes up.