MCYT One-Shots (Mostly Hybrid AU)

Who Lives, Who Dies (Wilbur Angst)

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⚠️warning!! this story involves death, blood, violence, some gore n other sad stuff!! please read with caution!!⚠️

there's also some mentions of like childbirth n stuff but it's not really that graphic so you'll probably be fine

had this idea and got sad, so now y'all can be sad with me :]]]
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When the Goddess of Death and her angel found out they were expecting a child, they were so happy. They'd tried for so long, century after century, yet still failed. They were meant to take life, not give it, but something about this child - this small, barely formed little thing in the goddess's uterus - just...worked.

The angel held his wife's hand as their child came into the world, nearly in tears himself; they finally had a child, a son, in fact. Too tired to hold the newborn, the goddess handed him over to her husband, smiling weakly. As she fell asleep, the angel admired his son for hours, memorizing every small detail of the child's face and gently rubbing the soft tufts of brown hair on his head.

They named that child Wilbur, and they adored him every day that he was in their lives. Their beautiful, talented son who played guitar and was so friendly, had an adorable crush on a girl in town, strong-willed and intelligent. However, by time he was four, they knew that he was different.

They are immortal.
Wilbur was not.

They never got sick, got cuts that healed in hours, bruises that healed in minutes. However, when Wilbur was three, they discovered that he could get sick. His cuts scarred, his bruises not healing for days. The goddess crumbled to her knees when her husband told her the unfortunate news, and nearly every crop in a ten mile radius wilted right then.

And the worst part was that Wilbur knew.

He knew he was destined to die, for his bones to crumble and flesh to decay like any other mortal; his parents talked rather loudly considering the fact they didn't want him to know. He caught every worried glance, knew why his father refused to let him on the battlefield despite his praise of Wilbur's strategizing skills.

But he didn't listen. Defied his father's wishes, got a good luck kiss from the baker's daughter and left for the battle, red in the cheeks and as confident as he always acted. Even amongst the chaos of clashing swords and tangled bodies, it wasn't hard to pick Wilbur out, considering his height and slim features, not made for the fight.

But the enemy knew that too.

A scream, a blood-curdling, painful, sorrowful scream rang out through all of the fighting, shocking all of the soldiers still or for those close enough, dead where they stood. The Angel of Death managed to catch one last glance with his son before Wilbur's body hit the ground.

And then he was gone.

It's said that crops in that field still wilt no matter what or when or how they're planted, that anyone who crosses it will die, right where they stand.

And that Angel of Death has to return there to collect their soul, eyes as dead as his son buried beneath his feet.
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:,]

(541 words)
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