things i remember ; wilbur soot

prologue

"So you're saying...you don't remember anything?"

Wilbur shakes his head. The air shimmers. "No, no. I remember some things."

"But not this?" He gestures to the gaping grey crater where L'Manberg once stood. His eyes seem desperate, almost angry.

"Not this," he says, quietly. "I'm sorry Tubbo, I don't know what Wilbur did, but I really don't remember it."

The boy sighs. You can't reason with dead men.  "Look, Will—"

"Ghostbur."

"What?"

"Ghostbur. That's my name. Please don't call me Wilbur anymore."

Tubbo isn't used to this, this strange formality, this stiff politeness, as if they had never met before. "Sorry. Ghostbur." He sighs, closing his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose the way Phil used to do when he was at his wits' end. "Look, why don't you write down what you do remember? And that way we can figure out how to get your memory back."

"I'm not sure if I want my memories back," the ghost mumbles, his eyes sad and silvery. "From what I can tell, alive Wilbur wasn't the best."

Tubbo pauses. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Well...I don't know, maybe just do it anyway. Just to see if there's any patterns or something. It could be good for you."

Ghostbur nods solemnly. "Okay Tubbo." 

"Look, here's a book and quill," he says, rummaging through a supplies chest. "Why don't you get started now, let's call it a project."