Chapter Text
Wilbur opened his eyes.
Wilbur was dead.
At least, he was supposed to be dead. He turned his head and scanned the dark void around him, grey static brushing his legs and curling around his cheeks. It was empty.
In Wilbur's opinion, death was more boring than he thought it would be. Was he just supposed to exist in this black hole for the rest of eternity? With a sigh, he dropped his arms to his side from where they were crossed on his chest. That was anti-climactic.
He firmly ignored the gaping gash in his midsection, still dripping red- now blue- and staining his dirty trenchcoat.
The silence became unnerving after, well, Wilbur had no clue how long. But he guessed it had to have been more than a day. Once in a while, he’d hear the sounds train station, muffled as if hearing it underwater. But other than that, it had been deathly silent, not even the sound of his breathing to keep him company.
He hummed under his breath and sang a little melody that turned his mouth bitter when he realized it was about L’manburg(his symphony, it was was gone now wasn’t it, he’d gone and blown it up-). He screamed into the void until his throat felt like sandpaper coated the inside, and it hurt to talk. When his throat wasn’t ripped to shreds, he talked. About anything and everything, he talked and talked until it felt like maybe he wasn’t alone.
But he was, wasn’t he. He thought bitterly, watching warm blue drip down and splatter on his shoes. When had he ever not been alone, everybody always left, and in the end, he left them too-
He stopped talking after that.
But after a long time, Wilbur heard a murmuring voice, echoing and sweet like wintry nights spent by the fireplace, cuddled up with his family(before Phil left, left to go and explore-) and drinking hot chocolate. It was comforting, and against his inhibitions, Wilbur relaxed and closed his eyes.
Was he going insane? Had the silence messed with his head? Well, it didn’t really make a difference. He’d been insane for quite a while before his death, so it didn’t really matter, now did it?
Wilbur got so lost in his own thoughts, he almost missed what the voice said next, this time echoing even louder and clearer than before.
“Hello Wilbur”
“...Hello?” he called back, glancing around as if some lady would pop into existence somehow.
“I’ve been watching you, dear child, and you’ve had a very difficult life,” the voice said sadly, and the entire void seemed to rumble slightly. Wilbur raised his eyebrow and crossed his arms over his bloody chest as if to say 'no shit'.
“Usually I don’t do things like this,” she continued, “ but this is a special case so I think I can make an exception”. The Lady sounded amused, and Wilbur looked out into the void warily, not quite sure where to direct his gaze.
“Who are you, exactly? I don’t think we’ve met.”
The Lady laughed brightly. “I am Lady Death, and you, my sweet child,” the ghost of a hand caressed his cheek and Wilbur shivered. “You are getting a second chance.”
The man stumbled back, eyes wide, and his hands started trembling. He-he didn’t quite know how to feel about that. He didn’t really want to go back to a world where he was hated(rightfully so, he was a villain, he blew up a country, people’s homes-) but he also didn’t want to stay in this blank hellhole for the rest of eternity.
“I, um, sure” he managed, his voice fading out. He subconsciously reached into his pocket for his pack of matches and fiddled with them, almost nervously(like he had so many times, in a room with a single button and a choice-). But he wasn’t nervous, he’d literally blown up his nation, been betrayed by everyone he knows and he’d made his choice-
He let out a deep breath when Lady Death started speaking again. “Don’t worry, Wilbur. It’ll-”
He cut her off. “But why?” he asked, a little desperation lacing his words. Why would anyone want to revive a villain? What did he do to deserve this?
But Lady Death didn’t give him a response, softly laughing as the sounds of a train suddenly sharpened into focus. Wilbur whipped around, eyes widening even more as an actual train barreled toward him. “OH-” he managed before the behemoth of metal hit him head-on.
Wilbur blinked into existence in a brightly lit train car. He blinked again, rapidly against the lights that were practically blinding after spending so long in the dark. When the rest of the room came into focus and his eyes weren’t being actively assaulted anymore, Wilbur noted 2 things.
One, the trains as moving at a very fast speed and speeding up.
Two, a ram-horned man was sitting on the other side of the train car, his normally neat hair haphazardly covering his eyes and a shattered beer bottle clutched loosely in one hand. His suit was rumpled and torn, and his eyes were vacant. Wilbur barely had time to absorb all of this before the world flashed white, the train screeched in pain and metal crunched and-
Wilbur woke up in a wreckage of a room, in a pool of blood(It wasn’t his right? Oh god, oh god surely not) with a horrible ringing in his ears. He flailed upward, quickly looking around like dad always told him to do if he was somewhere new. And, this was certainly new.
He didn’t really want to admit it, but Wilbur was scared. Where was his dad, he had been with him just yesterday, they were going to go camping today but, he stumbled to his feet, this wasn’t the campsite. Where was his dad?
Even though he was panicked, Wilbur tried to think. His dad always told him he was good at thinking his way out of situations, like that one time that he convinced the entire village that the goats had worked together to climb over the fence and escaped, and no he had nothing to do with it.
So, first, Wilbur needed to find out where he was. He’d done that, and he was nowhere he’d ever seen before. But it seemed like something bad happened here. Grey dust coated the floor and the debris around him. It looked like that stuff that dad told him not to touch because it was explodable or something. Yeah, or something.
Suddenly, a sharp cry cut the air, and Wilbur whipped his head toward the sound.
There- there was a baby. Just sitting there. He was wrapped in a onesie and crying his head off. Slowly, Wilbur picked up the baby and held him to his big yellow sweater which dad told him he would grow into in a few years.
The baby quieted and stared at Wilbur with big brown eyes, and Wilbur noticed stubby little horns peeking out of his thick black hair. “Who are you?” he whispered softly, and the baby gurgled loudly and said something that sounded like ‘no <3’
Wilbur blinked at the baby.
The baby blinked back.
Suddenly, as if a little voice was whispering in his ear, Wilbur knew the baby’s name. “Schlatt, huh?” The little baby grinned and Wilbur grinned shakily back.
“Well Schlatt, I think we’ll be okay”
Wilbur hoped that if he said it enough, he could believe it.