The Adventures of Ghostbur & Glatt - Dream SMP fanfic

Learning

He couldn't remember how long Schlatt led him through the darkness, or where they went, or how they got there. But eventually it stopped being so dark, and as they continued to move forwards or backwards or up or down (he wasn't quite sure which) it got brighter and brighter until there was a sucking feeling and a moment of weightlessness, and then they were standing in tall grass, the sun above them and the earth below. 

He looked at Schlatt.

Schlatt looked at him. 

He didn't know where he was or who he was. 

Schlatt did. 

It was confusing initially. Ghostbur learned lots of things that first day. 

He learned that people could see and hear him but not Schlatt, who would hover off to the side, watching. 

He learned that he used to be a man called Wilbur, who was not a nice man, and who destroyed the town that these people lived in. Nobody liked Wilbur. That was ok. He wasn't Wilbur anymore; he was Ghostbur. Ghostbur was different. 

He learned that he could touch and hold things, which Schlatt couldn't do either.

He learned about L'Manberg and the revolution and wars and Dream and Tommy and Tubbo and all sorts of other interesting things. 

When the sun started to set, Ghostbur found a ladder inside a windmill, leading downwards to an underground sewer. He wandered through the stone tunnel, looking for somewhere to stay.

Ghostbur wasn't tired, but he wanted to have a place to sit and think about everything he had learned, and the people in the town thought he resembled Wilbur too much to let him stay inside their homes. That was ok. He'd show them that he was different. 

Clear water flowed through the middle of the sewer, and Ghostbur dipped a finger into it, pleasantly surprised when it began to hiss. He stuck another finger into the water, giggling at the funny sound it made. When he pulled his fingers out, they were the same pale gray as before, but now they were much shorter, the water having melted away the first knuckle. Ghostbur smiled, happy with himself for learning another new thing. 

He continued on his way, and soon thereafter found a roughly hewn cave. He didn't know who had made it, but it was uninhabited and smelled like rain and ash, so he stayed. 

Ghostbur found a comfy nook and settled into it, pulling out a torn and stained journal and a pen with no cap. He had found the journal lying abandoned in the street, a few pages ripped and scattered on the cobble, and had carefully tucked it away before anyone else saw it. The pen belonged to Tubbo, but Ghostbur had stolen it when he wasn't looking so he would have something to write with. Schlatt hadn't wanted to go into the sewers and instead was probably wandering L'Manberg's streets, meaning that Ghostbur was all alone. He opened the journal to a blank page, and held the pen over the paper, excited to document all of what he had learned. 

Ghostbur wrote late into the night, trying his best to recall every detail, and when he ran out of things to write he changed topics, making lists of things he remembered or had seen. 

The pen ran out of ink eventually, and Ghostbur was forced to put the now heavily-used journal down. He drifted out of the cave and peered at the sky through the grate at the end of the sewer. Water slowly trickled out, quietly splashing into a small pond below. The stars and moon had left, but the sky was light gray, and no one would be awake. 

Ghostbur sighed. He wanted nothing more than to keep writing; he liked how the paper smelt, and the way each word he scrawled was true and real. He promised himself that he would find another pen tomorrow, and keep writing. Ghostbur glided back towards the cave. It was emptier than he remembered. And darker. He frowned. It looked so uninviting, damp and molded, a place where rats or snails might take up residence. While Ghostbur liked snails, other people surely wouldn't and he wanted visitors. Writing would be much easier with a lantern or torch hung from the ceiling by the alcove, and maybe a table in that corner, with chairs for guests. A bookshelf would look nice behind the lantern, flush with the back wall, and he could turn the nook into a couch with some pillows and a blanket. A shelf could be fitted to the right wall, near the table, and perhaps a chest underneath it. He didn't need a kitchen or bed, seeing as he hadn't felt tired or hungry once since becoming a ghost, and though he wasn't entirely sure about the tasting part of things, he was convinced that he wouldn't be able to digest any food. Ghostbur's cheeks flushed a darker gray with excitement. 

He was sure he could find most of these things scattered around L'Manberg, and what he couldn't find he could permanently borrow from Philza's house. Ghostbur liked Phil, even though Phil treated him a bit strangely. It was probably because Phil had stabbed Wilbur, something Ghostbur had learned yesterday. It made him sad that Phil still thought of him as Wilbur, when he was so very clearly a different person. 

Ghostbur brushed away the gloomy thoughts. Sadness wasn't something he wanted to feel; it was too oddly familiar, and he didn't like that he was experiencing a thing he had felt before, when 'before' almost certainly meant in his past life as Wilbur. Ghostbur tried to cheer up; he promised himself that tomorrow he would find a way to get rid of the pesky sadness. For now, he contented himself with planning more interior decorating, creating a mental list of everything he would need to collect tomorrow.

It would be a busy day.