Work Text:
Sunlight cut through the trees, landing on Schlatt’s mud and blood covered eyelids. Cracking them open, he groaned. He hated the damn sun. It was too bright. His gaze flickered around the forest surrounding him. Where the hell was he? Raising an arm to cover his face, he tried to remember what had happened the night before. He’d gotten drunk in his office, nothing unusual there, but everything else was a blur. Had he gone for a walk? Was that it? One thing was for certain, he had a killer hangover. Everything hurt.
Shifting a little on the squishy forest floor, Schlatt finally registered the makeshift blanket lying across him. Peeling his eyes open again, he looked down at it. A red cape. It looked suspiciously like a certain anarchist’s cape. Oddly, his stomach dropped at the sight. He almost remembered something, almost. Shoving the dark thoughts down as he always did, Schlatt struggled to get on his feet. Not quite knowing why, he couldn’t stand to be there another second. He needed to leave, get somewhere safe. If such a place existed for him.
-
Being dead hardly lived up to its reputation, Schlatt had discovered. It wasn’t full of dramatic fanfare, or teary-eyed relatives standing over you as you drifted away into the night. Sometimes, you just have a heart attack while surrounded by all the people who hate you. One moment you’re desperately clawing to keep it all together, and the next you don’t exist anymore.
It was hard to say how long exactly Schlatt “lived” in peaceful nothingness before his rude awakening, but it was long enough for everyone else to move on. He woke up in the middle of the forest, dressed in the same comfy blue sweater he used to wear as a kid, with absolutely no one in sight. Despite being a ghost who couldn’t feel temperature, he’d shivered at the familiarity of the situation. But it wasn’t just temperature he couldn’t feel, he was numb to everything. Everything except himself.
Schlatt remembered it all. He remembered every damn detail of his whole miserable life down to the cereal he’d eaten for breakfast on December 3rd, 2015. It was overwhelming, to remember more than he ever had when he was alive. All the sensations and emotions in his memories were more vivid to him now than the things he was currently feeling.
He just sat there for some time, remembering. Until he got to that night. The night Wilbur had really lost it, in that little cave during that giant rainstorm. Those memories had been lost to him while he was alive, due to no small amount of alcohol and a good deal of denial. Not anymore. If Schlatt had still had a psychical stomach, he would’ve vomited. The memories felt just as, if not more, real than they had that night.
“Wilbur…” Schlatt spat out between clenched teeth, fingers digging into the grass. “You bastard.”
It became clear to him then, why he was sitting at that very spot in the forest, why he was back from the dead. He was going to find Wilbur and make his life a living hell. Standing up, Schlatt took off in the direction of Manburg. Wilbur didn’t get to live peacefully. Schlatt was going to be his fucking karma, and he was much obliged to be it.
-
“Fuck those guys…” Schlatt slurred to himself as he stumbled through the forest. “Nothing I do is ever good enough for them, is it?”
Clutching several beer bottles to his chest, Schlatt wandered along the edge of the border between Manburg and no man’s land. He was pissed, upset, and lonely like he was most days. That day particularly it seemed that no one wanted to respect him, and he was sick of it. He was the president, wasn’t he? They didn’t have any right to even look him in the eye, let alone glare at him as he walked by. He stopped briefly to stare at himself in a puddle.
“You won fair and square, didn’t ya?” He asked the reflection.
It just stared back at him with hollow eyes. He kept walking, thinking about how he was going to take out this frustration out on the first fucker he ran into when he got back. But he wouldn’t get back that day, of course. When the sky grew dark with angry rainclouds, he started to worry just as much. Still, when the rain started pelting his face, he just stood there for a while. Cold, harsh droplets ran over his face as he looked upwards. Schlatt liked the rain.
-
Everything was different. Schlatt wasn’t sure why this startled him as much as it did, because of course things were different. But he could barely recognize that this place was where Manburg had once been. Wooden walkways spread across deep craters in the earth. Cozy looking houses stretched up toward the evening sky. Colorful lanterns drifted aimlessly in the air. It looked like a home.
How long had it been since Schlatt died? Why did it look as if there had been a whole other war here? Why did it seem like they’d already moved on from it? Anxiously, he crept a little closer. There didn’t seem to be any people around at the moment, but he needed to make sure he wasn't seen by anyone. Who knows how they would react to him suddenly appearing again... if they even remembered him.
Trying to push down the idea that it been years since he’d died, Schlatt drifted over to the houses in search of Wilbur. The first one he came to had a little plaque that read ‘Philza’s house.’ He stared at it in a disbelieving daze. No way Philza had come to the SMP, not after all this time. Picking at the translucent skin around his fingernails, Schlatt tried to pull himself out of the onslaught of memories from his childhood. He fucking hated Philza.
He moved on to the next house, shaking his head a little. Before he could read the name plaque, the door swung open. Schlatt stumbled backward. A kid he’d never seen before sauntered out, muttering to himself. He wasn’t human, that much was clear from the split between pitch black and pale white on his face. Not to mention the glowing eyes and the way he absolutely towered over Schlatt.
“S-shit.” The word slipped out before Schlatt could stop himself.
Raising his arms defensively, he expected the kid to take one look at him and sound the alarms. Surprisingly, the kid didn’t even glance in his direction, simply jogging down the stairs and away across the plaza. Schlatt watched him in disbelief. Was he blind or something? Deciding not to push his luck, he tried to continue with his search. But once again, he didn't make it very far.
“Ranboo!” A familiar voice broke the silence of the warm summer air. “Hey, Ranboo!”
Both Schlatt and the kid spun around. Tubbo was stumbling out of Philza’s house, a dopey grin plastered on his face. Waving an enchanted book in the air, he looked happy. Unable to move, Schlatt watched in horror as Tubbo ran straight up to him and then directly through him. Not once did he acknowledge Schlatt’s presence. Finally, it hit him. Oh… they couldn’t see him.
Eyes following the two boys as they walked off together, Schlatt felt a horrible coldness wash over him. Of course they couldn’t see him. That should have been a good thing. It would make it easier to torture Wilbur without being seen. It was an advantage. He should have been happy. He wasn’t.
Suddenly Schlatt didn’t want to be there anymore. He took off towards the forest, sprinting recklessly along the path and past buildings. No longer giving a shit if anyone was around, he tried to push Tubbo’s expression out of his head. Why did it hurt to see him so happy? Not only that, but he was wearing a suit. Why the hell was he wearing a suit?
-
Everything hurt. Schlatt hurt in places he didn’t know it was possible to hurt. Not from a hangover anyway. He bent off the path to vomit. Pulling uncomfortably at the dried mud on his shirt, Schlatt prayed no one was around to see him looking this shitty. He had absolutely no idea what happened to his jacket or tie, not to mention why he was so filthy. Raising a shaking hand to his pounding head, he continued stumbling towards his office. All he wanted was to lie down and just… sleep forever.
“Aghh!” A frustrated scream nearly made Schlatt collapse.
Catching himself on the side of a building, he looked around for the source of the entirely too loud sound. Sitting a little ways off the path, Tubbo was yanking at the tie around his neck hard enough to decapitate himself. Even in his hungover haze, Schlatt could see the frustrated tears building in his eyes. He hiccupped another weak scream. At last, the knot broke, and the tie slid off.
“F-finally.” Tubbo chucked the piece of clothing away. “I hate this… I w-want Tommy to come back…”
Silently, Schlatt watched him rip off his jacket as well. He felt numb. Wasn’t this kid supposed to be on his side? Despite having his suspicions for quite some time now, the scene before him made him feel more betrayed than anything else. Schlatt looked down at the ground as it swam beneath him. Something about that private display of aggravation stung worse than anything anyone had said to his face. He’d said a million times that no one liked him. It felt real in that moment.
Morphing the horrible ache of loneliness into the more comfortable burn of anger, Schlatt continued staggering on his way. He was going to make them all pay. They never gave a shit about him or the things he was trying to do. All they wanted was to have their own power. Schlatt had won fair and square but none of that mattered to them. They were abandoning him, like always. If they were going to hate him, he was going to give them good reason to. Whether they liked it or not, Schlatt was going to do what he damn well pleased. He was the motherfucking president after all.
-
Schlatt was starting to hate this forest. It felt ugly and unwelcoming, like it was teetering on the edge of consuming him whole. There had been a time he’d loved the forest. Exploring every tiny secret it had to offer was one of the few memories still warm in his mind. He had always run away to the forest when he was upset. It felt like a prison now as he wandered aimlessly through the foliage. He had no idea where he was going or why.
In many ways, Schlatt no longer felt like the same person he was when he died. Sure, he knew he had done all the things he remembered and recognized this was the same consciousness he’d always had. But being able to see your entire life in all of its ugly details changes you’re perspective, even if only a little. When he had died, he’d been completely apathetic to his situation. It was hard not to be when you’re constantly off your ass. He didn’t feel numb anymore.
Slowing down until he came to a complete stop, Schlatt finally realized where he was. An unnervingly familiar cave stood in front of him. It didn’t look any different. Schlatt sneered at it as if it could see him and had feelings to be hurt. He wished it didn’t exist. After using several rude gestures to tell it just as much, Schlatt couldn’t help but question what the hell he was doing with himself at this point. It wasn’t that hard to figure out the answer. He was running away like he always did.
“Hello!”
Terror rooted Schlatt to the spot the instant the familiar voice reached his ears. He didn’t turn at first, as if the speaker would cease to exist if he ignored them. But he could feel a presence approaching. Staring into the darkness of the cave as if it were a mirror, he saw a faint glow come to join his own. In a pang of indescribable anguish, he understood.
Schlatt turned. “Wilbur.”
-
You never quite realize what a truly pitch black place looks like until you’re enveloped in it. Even after sitting in that damp little cave for who knows how long, Schlatt still couldn’t see shit. His cold fingers slipped and fumbled with the top to yet another bottle. There was nothing to distract him in that little cave, and Schlatt very much needed to be distracted. Even with the drumming of the rain, he could hear himself crying.
As if to answer the prayer he would never admit to praying, a very distracting figure stumbled into the cave. To say they had been less than subtle was an understatement. Schlatt paused, fingers freezing where they were. Whoever it was slammed their back into the wall, panting heavily. Unsure of what to do, Schlatt’s foggy mind chugged through the possible outcomes for this situation. He didn’t particularly like any of them. That cave wasn’t a bad place to assassinate someone. Unable to come up with a better idea, Schlatt elected to hold his breath.
Still, being drunk, Schlatt wasn’t particularly proficient in anything, and that included holding his breath. When the figure quit being as loud as an elephant in church, they noticed. They started to hold their breath too, listening. For what felt like a lifetime, the two of them sat in tense silence. Schlatt knew he had no control over the situation. It was a terrible feeling. Truthfully, he couldn’t imagine anyone who he would be relieved to see was there with him. Maybe Technoblade. But even that was pushing it. Sure, they had a history, but the man was all ‘Down with the government!’ nowadays. Which, y’know… the whole assassination thing.
Long after Schlatt’s eyes had adjusted and become complacent in the total darkness surrounding him, an explosion of light completely blinded him the instant it appeared. His hands flew to his eyes in an attempt to block it out and the bottle once clasped between them fell into his lap.
“Jesus Christ!” He cried, partially in surprise and partially out of pain.
Unable to open his eyes more than a crack, Schlatt prayed whoever this was didn’t have an immunity to sudden supernovas and was just as incapacitated as he was. He hadn’t exactly hidden his position or identity with that shout.
Schlatt’s shoulders relaxed ever so slightly at the voice that echoed to him from across the cave. “Schlatt?”
Oh. It was only Wilbur.
“Wilbur, you asshole!” Schlatt barely managed to open his eyes enough to see the disheveled man. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been in the dark? You can’t just go lighting a fucking sun in here without any warning.”
“Sorry. If I’d known there was a little bitch in here, I would’ve given a more courteous warning.” Wilbur sneered, acting like as much of a dick as ever.
Finally finding his eyes had readjusted enough to see properly, Schlatt lowered his hands. “Laugh it up, outcast. Laugh it up all the way to jail, why don’t you?”
Despite the slight visual impairment, Schlatt could still see Wilbur roll his eyes. Good god, he couldn’t fucking stand Wilbur sometimes. They both just stared at each other then, unpleasantly silent. A familiar feeling crept into Schlatt’s skin as he watched Wilbur look him up and down. There was judgment in those eyes. As if Wilbur having a stupidly pretty face gave him the right to look at Schlatt that way. The revolutionary deserved to be taken down a few pegs in Schlatt’s opinion. It wasn’t fair, the way Wilbur could make him self-conscious.
Schlatt knew he looked like shit, drenched clothes and puffy eyes from crying the alcohol. But when Wilbur’s lip curled in disgust, he actually felt like shit. Subconsciously, his hand returned to the bottle in his lap, as if it could save him. It couldn’t. Realistically, it only made things worse and fucked him over. Schlatt usually had a hard time controlling his tongue and the alcohol made it worse. Maybe if he hadn’t drunk so much, he wouldn’t have said-
-
“You’re blue!” Wilbur’s ghost grinned at him, pointing at his sweater like a child.
Schlatt had no idea how to react to that. Quite frankly, he didn’t know how to react to any of what he was seeing. Wilbur, the man he’d been intent on haunting, stood before him. His skin was a pale grey and his whole body was just as translucent as Schlatt’s. He was wearing the worn yellow sweater he used to wear back in the day before everything went to shit. Most disturbing of all was the brilliant and carefree smile he was sporting. He was clearly a ghost, yet it looked as though he didn’t carry an ounce of the baggage he’d had in life. It pissed Schlatt off.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” He smacked Wilbur’s hand away.
Seeming unbothered, Wilbur pulled something out of his pocket. “I love blue, always carry some on me. Here, have some. Calm yourself.”
He pushed a small pile of light blue crystals into Schlatt’s hands. The instant they touched his fingers, they darkened in color until they were nearly black. Raising an eyebrow, Wilbur looked up at Schlatt. For a split second, Schlatt almost felt a little better. But the feeling went away just as fast as it had come. He tossed the crystals away as if they had burnt him. They shattered on the forest floor, dissolving into the wind.
“Oh… my blue.” Wilbur’s hands fell to his sides glumly.
“Wilbur.” Schlatt clenched his fists, taking an aggressive step towards the other ghost when he didn’t answer. “Wilbur, why are you dead? What happened, huh? What made you think you could just go and die before I came back?”
Wilbur blinked at him. “Wilbur? No, no I’m not Wilbur.”
“Shut the fuck up.” Schlatt grabbed him by the sweater. “I hope you realize I’m still gonna make you pay even if you’re dead. I remember everything, alright?”
“Remember everything?”
“Everything.” He choked on the word.
They stared at each other, Schlatt shaking in barely controlled anger, Wilbur watching him with a disturbed expression. He couldn’t stand him; Schlatt couldn’t fucking stand him. He was going to fucking- He was going to- He… wait... What could he do? It occurred to him then he didn’t have any way to ‘make Wilbur pay’ if they were both ghosts. He couldn’t haunt him, turn his days into nightmares, slowly drive him insane. Worst of all, he couldn’t kill Wilbur himself, drop an anvil on his head or something. He couldn’t do anything.
Several emotions flickered through him, frustration, despair, determination. Until he landed on apathy, as he was so prone to do. Why did he think this would turn out any different? He almost wanted to laugh at himself for thinking the universe had brought him back to get revenge. Maybe he just existed to suffer.
Wilbur seemed to come to his own realization, shaking his head and breaking back into a smile. “I-I’m sorry you must be confused. That’s okay. Trust me, I know how confusing it is to wake up like this. But I can help you!”
“I don’t want your help-”
“We don’t know each other.” He continued undeterred. “I’m not Wilbur. Wilbur was a bad person who died, and he’s very much gone now. Whatever he did to you, it wasn’t me. I’m Ghostbur, okay? Not Alivebur.”
Schlatt had no idea how to respond to that. Weakly, he let go of Wilbur and rubbed his fingers over his eyes. Whatever happened to Wilbur when he died seemed to have really fucked him up in the head. (Not that he wasn’t already fucked in the head) Schlatt sighed shakily. What was he supposed to do? It always went like this. He’d try to do something only for it all to turn out pointless in the end. Damn, he hoped Ghosts could drink.
“D-do you mind telling me your name, friend?” Wilbur lightly grabbed his wrist, trying to pull one of his hands from his face.
The slender fingers felt like fire on his skin, bringing back memories Schlatt wished would disappear. He ripped his hand away, staggering back. Wilbur only tilted his head a little.
“You know my name, bitch,” Schlatt snarled.
Wilbur raised his hands. “I really don’t! I don’t remember a lot of things. If Alivebur knew you, you must not have gotten along well because I only remember good things. That’s why me and Alivebur are different. I’m good and he was bad!”
“Ohhh, you don’t remember the bad things. Well, that fixes everything, doesn’t it?” Schlatt pushed past him, beginning to walk away. “I definitely forgive you now. Glad to know forgetting all the shitty things you did makes it all okay.”
Wilbur jogged to catch up with him. “I didn’t do anything, it was all Alivebur. Can you tell me your name now please?”
“Fuck off.”
“Okay, how about I try and guess it? Danielle? Martin? Robert Downey? Elizabeth? Adele? Oh, you look like a Jonathan. Is it Jonathan? Or maybe James?”
Deciding to just ignore him for the time being, Schlatt marched angrily back in the direction of Manburg. If he couldn’t get revenge on Wilbur, he could still get revenge on the others. It wasn’t as though any of them had ever been good to him. They’d all abandoned him when he’d needed them most. None of them had ever given a shit about him. They only cared about Wilbur because he was fun and cute, and he told them what they wanted to hear. Even when he didn’t, they just ignored it because it was Wilbur. Bunch of blind fucking idiots.
Maybe that was how Schlatt could get his revenge on Wilbur, by fucking with them. He could make them hate Wilbur and each other, destroy all that Wilbur had worked to build one last time. It was all bullshit anyway. The entire SMP had never been anything but a power trip for everyone involved the whole time. But as soon as Schlatt got in on it, then suddenly he was a horrible person for wanting power and freedom to do whatever he wanted. Suddenly everyone could just abandon him. Suddenly he deserved to die.
-
Schlatt was so fucking tired. The world swam lazily around his eyes as he sat in that shitty old camarvan. There was supposed to be some bullshit happening today, another war or something. Everyone wanted him dead, which was nothing new. Even after he’d gone through all the trouble to get Dream on his side, Schlatt found that he didn’t care anymore. He felt sick. In his condition, there was no point in fighting. So he did what he always did, drank until he couldn’t even tell what was going on anymore.
Ears beating with the sound of explosions and distant shouting, Schlatt let whatever bottle was closest to him slip its cool liquid down his throat. He coughed weakly at the way it burned his insides. It wasn’t fair. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. He was supposed to prove his dad wrong, be different. Was he crying? He couldn’t tell anymore. It wasn’t as though he cared.
It became eerily silent then, he noticed. Perhaps Dream had finally killed them all. Of course, that must’ve been it. There was no way that Dream would lose. Distantly, Schlatt wished they would all just come back to Manburg and live together. He wanted to workout and party with his friends. Laughing faintly, he tried to ignore the thought that they had never been his friends. The thought that using fear to keep people from abandoning him probably wasn’t the best idea disappeared into the fog of yet another bottle.
Then he was surrounded by people. Were they here to surprise him? He looked around at all the blurring faces. Finally, they’d come back. They’d come back. They’d come back… He fucking hated them for leaving in the first place.
Everyone started yelling. Schlatt was yelling too, although he couldn’t even really tell what about. He was just so angry. They were all so fucking worthless in comparison to him. The country was nothing without him. He didn’t need them, they needed him. Even as he shouted those things, he couldn’t ignore the burning sensation that twisted around in his soul. Or was that just his heart? Fuck, he felt terrible. Just one more drink… just one more…
-
“Is it Schlatt?”
The two of them stopped at the border of Manburg. Schlatt turned to look at the other ghost. Seriously, what was his deal? Why was he acting like he didn’t know anything? There was no way he’d forgotten. Schlatt could remember everything in excruciating detail. Was it just to fuck with him? Was it just because he knew Schlatt couldn’t do anything about it? Well, not anything to Wilbur directly.
“Why the fuck would you guess that name?”
“Because you kind of look like the guy on the grave!” Wilbur pointed off into the distance. “That would make sense since you’re a ghost like me. I got it right, didn’t I?”
Schlatt didn’t answer, simply narrowing his eyes and continuing down the path. He ignored the idea that they’d made a grave for him. Wilbur continued rambling to him as they went, but he quickly stopped listening. The biggest thing he needed to do was figure out what had happened since he’d died. If he could get a proper read on the current situation, he could start thinking of ways to pull the whole SMP apart at the seams.
Several people stood in the distance now, Tubbo, Fundy, Tommy, and that kid, Ranboo or something. They were discussing something, fairly seriously it seemed. As their voices grew louder, Wilbur seemed to finally take notice of them. He put an arm out in front of Schlatt, coming to an abrupt halt himself.
“What the f-”
“They’re upset.” Wilbur whispered, getting entirely too close. “I want to give them blue. Do you have any left from what I gave you?”
Schlatt shoved his arm away. “Wilbur, you are so fucked in the head. They can’t see you; how would you give them anything?”
“What do you mean they can’t see me?”
Before Schlatt could respond, Wilbur was waving his arms in the air and jumping up and down. Impossibly, Fundy glanced over to where they were standing. His eyes widened and he covered his face in embarrassment. This caused the other three to look over as well. They all smiled.
“See? They can see me.”
Wilbur started towards them, shooting Schlatt a strange look as he did so. It was almost… smug. Standing completely frozen, Schlatt watched them. His stomach seemed to sink lower with each possible moment as they all greeted the ghostly Wilbur with open arms. None of them even turned an eye in Schlatt’s direction. He felt sick.
“Wil, who were you talking to?” Tommy’s annoyingly loud voice broke the trance he was in. “You haven’t gone all screwy in the head, have you?”
Wilbur laughed. “Who was I talking to?”
He turned to look at Schlatt, beginning to raise a finger to point. Then he saw Schlatt’s expression. Tilting his head ever so slightly, Wilbur examined the hatred in Schlatt’s eyes. The two of them stared at each other, as they were so accustomed to doing. Something changed, ever so slightly, in Wilbur’s posture as he turned back to his friends.
“I was talking to myself!”
Just like that, they were back to chatting away, as if Schlatt didn’t exist. The one person Schlatt hated more than anyone else, had everything he’d ever wanted. A family, friends, political power, he had it all. Even in death, he had everything. And Schlatt didn’t have anything. As he had so many times in his life, Schlatt stood alone, watching other people laugh together.
-
Everything was fine. Schlatt stood at his window, watching the figures of his citizens mingle in the distance. He was fine. Even as he thought this, he could feel his hand shaking where he’d shoved it into his jacket pocket. More than anything, he wanted to grab the bottle he knew was under his desk and start drinking. But Quackity had been insisting he lessen his alcohol intake, going on about some ‘your family has a history’ bullshit. After the… incident a few weeks prior, Quackity had been a lot more anal about Schlatt drinking. He had to make sure he looked good, right?
Feeling all too warm, Schlatt shrugged his jacket off and tossed it onto his desk. It didn’t fit right anyway, not like his old jacket had. He wished he hadn’t lost that old thing. Truthfully, he had a small inkling as to where it might have been but… he didn’t really want to go back there. Maybe he should’ve made a new jacket out of Techno’s cape instead of leaving it in the forest. As much as the idea amused him, he’d felt it was only right to leave it there. He couldn’t take it with him. Dimly, he hoped Techno had found it.
The sound of distant cheering made Schlatt turn away from his window. Bunch of fucking losers. Whatever they were up to, he didn’t want to know. Sitting down at his desk, he glanced over the plans for his festival. What a show it would be. He laughed to himself, just the thought cheering him up. Things would be different after the festival; he could feel it. No more bullshit. People would respect him. They would all think twice about running off with Wilbur. No one should be anywhere near Wilbur. It wasn’t right.
-
Without realizing his body was moving, Schlatt started walking over to them. Whatever they had been talking about so seriously was forgotten as they began joking together. It seemed like Wilbur had really lightened the mood. They were acting like everything he’d done while he was alive never happened. Not only that, but they were all playing into the whole ‘I forgot everything’ bullshit, calling him Ghostbur and treating him so gently. It wasn’t fair.
Despite standing in the center of their group, they all looked straight through him. Wilbur only cast him the occasional glance, looking as though he really just wanted to talk to them in peace. He didn’t deserve peace, so Schlatt didn’t move. Reaching out an arm, he let his fingers ghost through Tubbo’s shoulder. None of this was right. He would burn this whole SMP to the ground if it meant destroying this.
“Oh, Ghostbur that reminds me!” Tubbo stepped away, leaving Schlatt’s arm hanging in midair. “I got this book for you, I thought it might be good for your library.”
Wilbur gasped, grabbing it and grinning like a child on Christmas. “Thank you Tubbo! You’re such a wonderful president, giving me books and everything!”
“President?” Schlatt turned slowly towards where Tubbo was now standing.
“Thank you. That, um, means a lot.” Tubbo laughed.
“When did you become president?” Schlatt asked, feeling as though someone had just punched him in the gut. “Why… are you thanking Wilbur? Why are you helping him?”
Wilbur’s smile twitched, his eyes landing on Schlatt only long enough for him to shake his head slightly. Why the hell was he acting like he didn’t want Schlatt to embarrass him? Curling his hands into a fist, Schlatt felt burning air start to rise out of his lungs.
“What the fuck is wrong with you people?” He shouted, startling Wilbur.
No one else even batted an eye. Usually, when he started shouted people shut up. Yet this time, none of them were listening. Feeling his heart rate pick up, Schlatt tried to push Tommy but he only stumbling straight through him.
“Why are you treating that bastard like an old friend?” Again, he tried to shove into Tommy and Fundy. “Why did you make a kid president? Why would you put that on him?”
Nothing.
“You’re all fucking crazy! Can’t you tell that there’s something wrong with this? Don’t you care?” He was practically flinging himself at them now, anything to get a reaction.
Tommy choked on laughter at something Wilbur said.
“How can you forgive him so easily? Couldn’t any of you see what he was doing? What he’s like?” The hot air in his lungs was suffocating him now. “Please just- I’m not crazy! I-I don’t- if you just-”
Another round of laughter.
“Why?” Schlatt screamed at their smiling faces. “Why was I a hopeless monster? Why is he redeemable? It’s not fair!”
It was clear Wilbur was intentionally trying to ignore him, strained smile not hiding the uneasiness in his eyes. But the rest of them, they didn’t even know Schlatt was there. They couldn’t care less. Tears that burned like fire began to slip down Schlatt’s cheeks. He stopped moving, arms falling to his side in defeat.
“Why can’t you hear me?” He choked out.
“Be quiet, Schlatt.”
Everyone went silent at the name, wide eyes turning to Wilbur. He was still smiling as if he hadn’t said anything unusual at all. The others tried to follow his eyeline, but they looked straight through Schlatt. He couldn’t breathe. Wilbur continued, voice as light as ever.
“They didn’t even hear you back then, did they?”
Suddenly Schlatt was there again, scrambling to get off the ground, covered in mud. He’d screamed so loud his throat had burned. Every spare breath was used to scream someone’s name, someone he trusted, someone he wanted to come running. Yet his voice may as well have vanished into the night. No one came to save him that night.
They had no idea.
“What? Ghostbur, what are you talking about?” Tubbo asked, chuckling a little uncomfortably.
Wilbur didn’t answer, simply maintaining eye contact with Schlatt. His smile grew more condescending with each moment as if to ask ‘What, little one? What are you going to do?’ Schlatt started shaking violently. He’d never wanted to kill someone so badly before. Yet he couldn’t. They were both already dead. When Tommy reached a concerned hand towards Wilbur, Schlatt decided he didn’t give a shit anymore.
For the first time since they’d come back to Manburg, Schlatt was able to touch another person as his fist made contact with Wilbur’s face. They both toppled to the ground. Scrambling on top of him, Schlatt punched Wilbur over and over again. Sure, Schlatt had never fought in any wars but he’d been in plenty of bar fights. Tactical fighting techniques don’t mean jack when someone pins you and starts pummeling the shit out of your face. It was the most satisfying feeling Schlatt had ever felt.
It was satisfying until Schlatt realized Wilbur wasn’t fighting back. He was completely silent, barely raising his arms in defense. Everyone else was shouting now, scrambling around them in confusion. For barely an instant, Schlatt paused. His heart felt like it stopped with him. This was just like- Wilbur was scrambling to get out from underneath him all of a sudden.
“S-stop!” He shoved at Schlatt’s chest.
“Stop?” Schlatt grabbed him by the collar. “Since when did stop mean anything to you?”
There wasn’t a drop of blood on Wilbur’s face. In fact, he didn’t look injured at all. It wasn’t all that surprising, considering they were ghosts. What was surprising was the fear on his face. It was confusing. But it wasn’t confusing enough to quell the horrible wrath Schlatt felt. He slammed Wilbur’s skull into the wooden path, hoping it hurt.
“Wilbur!” Tommy had his sword out, looking around frantically for whatever was attacking his brother. “Wilbur, what’s happening? W-what do I do?”
“Tell them!” Schlatt screamed, hitting so hard he felt as though his fingers broke with each punch. “Tell them what you did! They shouldn’t love you, they-”
“Don’t hurt him!”
Schlatt stopped, fists frozen above his head. Tubbo had thrown himself over Wilbur, teary eyes searching the air for an attacker. He looked desperate and afraid. Only a few minutes ago, he’d been so happy but…
“Please, whoever you are, don’t hurt him anymore!” Tubbo begged.
Feeling as though he had just died for a second time, Schlatt fell backward. He stared at Tubbo, desperately sucking down air. Why did things always turn out like this? Wilbur sat up. There was no small amount of contempt behind the wide eyes he looked to Schlatt with. All the rest of them saw was a poor frightened ghost. Tubbo followed his eyeline. For the first time, it was like he was actually looking at Schlatt. Without a second thought, Schlatt ran.
-
He was so close. Only a few more feet and he’d be able to collapse onto his couch, probably vomit all over the carpet. He’d sleep the next day and a half away and then he’d think about why he’d been out in the middle of the woods. Yes, he’d just deal with it later. Whenever his head finally cleared up, he’d think about why Techno’s cape had been over him. He’d think about why he was covered in blood... and why he didn’t want to think about either of those things. Later. He’d do it later.
“Schlatt?”
Just as he opened the door to his office, Schlatt noticed the person standing at the end of the hallway. His vice president of all people. Of course, it had to be him who saw Schlatt like this. Quackity’s eyes darted up and down Schlatt’s figure, eyebrows knit together. Surprisingly, there was very little judgment in his eyes, only confusion. Still, Schlatt didn’t want to deal with it. Not yet.
“Just fuck off, Alex,” Schlatt slurred, stumbling into his office.
Making a disgruntled noise, Quackity followed him. “No, what the hell happened to you? You’ve been gone all night.”
Stopping for a moment to vomit into his trash can, Schlatt made his way to the couch. He offered no explanation as he had none to give. But it wasn’t as though he would ever admit to such a thing. He flopped down on the couch, letting out a deep groan. Fuck, why was every movement so damn painful?
“Fine, be like that.” Quackity stood in the doorway, arms crossed. “But you gotta understand that you can’t keep doing this stuff, okay? It doesn’t look good.”
Schlatt choked out a laugh. “Right, because I care so much what I look like.”
“It’s not just you, Schlatt. You’re making me look bad too, man.” He paused. “Just get your act together. Please.”
Without another word, Quackity left. Schlatt swung an arm over his eyes to block out the sun. He shivered. Obviously, Quackity only cared about how this made him look. It wasn’t worth asking him for help trying to figure out what happened. Maybe it wasn’t even worth figuring out what happened. He didn’t want to know anymore. He didn’t want to remember. He didn’t… care.
That was easier.
-
Schlatt didn’t know where he was going. That wasn’t really anything new though. So many of his memories were of him running away from things. Yet no matter how far he ran, how tough he appeared, or who pretended to be on his side, those things always caught up to him. Honestly, he was so tired of running.
Stumbling to a stop, he finally realized he was sobbing. The tears burned and each hiccupped breath made him feel like he was going to vomit. He didn’t of course, but that almost made the feeling worse. If he had known how, he probably would have gone back to the nothingness of death at that moment. It felt like he’d only been dragged back to be tortured. Seriously, how the hell was he supposed to get revenge like this? He didn’t even know if he wanted revenge anymore.
“S-Schlatt?”
For the first time since stopping, he looked up. A painfully familiar face was watching him. His vice president. Not only that, but the man was standing next to what appeared to be Schlatt’s own grave. It was clearly designed to be a menacing grave, which was more than a little insulting. But Schlatt gave very little thought to that, because Quackity was staring straight at him, looking (quite literally) as if he’d seen a ghost. It was strangely… relieving.
“No fuckin’ way…” He gaped.
Schlatt lowered his head, chuckling a little. “Damn, Alex. You really know how to find me at my worst moments.”
“You’re supposed to be dead.” Quackity stumbled backward. “How the hell are you here?”
“Isn’t Wilbur supposed to be dead too? Or does that bastard get a free pass with everything?”
“Free pass? What-” Quackity shook his head, clearly struggling to calm himself down. “No, no. What are you doing here? What do you want?”
Schlatt didn’t answer at first, straightening up to look up at the slowly darkening sky. He wasn’t sure he had an answer to give. There didn’t seem to be any clear reason as to why he was back. On the other hand, there were so many things that he wanted. The past few hours had been such a rollercoaster it had been hard to know what he was doing. He still didn’t know. But here was a tiny sliver of possibility. Damn it. If there was one thing Schlatt couldn't afford to do anymore, it was run when things got hard.
“It’s simple.” Schlatt smiled at the other man. “I want to fucking destroy everything Wilbur Soot built.”