Sleepy Bois Inc. Angst Oneshots

Death Part 1

TW: death, blood and mentions of a corpse and ghosts, voices and insanity, knife, violence, mourning, suicide/ sacrifice
AN: What if Techno wasn't the only one who struggled with voices- or rather a voice- in his head telling him to kill things?
I read Passerine, and this is the idea that sparked from it. If you haven't read it yet, you really should! I don't think this story will spoil anything because I just used the idea of Wilbur's voices and not much else. Sorry for the long intro :]
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Wilbur was always infatuated with death.

It came as a given when his twin was the god of blood and his younger brother was a harbinger of chaos.

His father was an immortal. He lived for centuries, and he'd live for centuries more. Wilbur would be merely a passing moment in the vastness of his father's life, a drop in the ocean.

Wilbur envied him. Philza never felt the harsh reality of death looming over his shoulder. He could never understand the cold presence Wilbur felt.

His mother was mortal. She had lived for only a few decades, not nearly as many as she deserved or as Wilbur would've liked, before her final sunrise, one she shared with her family as she took her final breaths. Her death was the root of Wilbur's obsession. The second she had stopped breathing was the second he began wondering how many years until he would meet Death, too, and be with his mother.

Death was also infatuated with him.

Death followed the trio of siblings wherever they went, leaving blackened leaves and mourning families in their wake. He could always feel her cold presence behind him, beside him, and inside him. It was like a shadow he never truly shed even when the sun went down. She created a cavern inside of him, empty and freezing, where his heart was supposed to be. She filled that pit with suffocating fear and Arctic air.

Her presence, as well as his mother's death, left him with so many questions, none of which anyone had an answer to.

He'd ask Philza, "Where do we go when we die?" He'd stare at his father with big, round eyes, brown like his mother's, filled with curiosity and fear, too much fear for a boy that young, praying Phil would have an answer. "When will I die?" he asked with the childhood foolishness that adults always have the answers.

Phil could only shake his head at the young boy, much too young to worry about such boundless concepts. Wilbur would then ask his shadow only to be met with silence, as if not even the voices that echoed around him could answer.

No, not voices.

Voice.

Her voice.

She whispered to him during the long, sleepless nights after his mother's death. She told him to do things: sometimes strange things, sometimes bad things, but never good things.

He'd be forced to answer her call. If he ignored it, the thought would pester him until it consumed him, and he'd comply stiffly and hastily, as if his body wasn't his own anymore.

As Wilbur grew, so did the strength of the voice. The voice made Wilbur weak. Some days, he could hardly leave his room. He was exhausted. It was as if she was sucking his life force from him and using it to fuel her desires.

Her commands became more and more terrible with each passing day, each one more taxing to ever-tired Wilbur, who had to carry out her desires.

Steal Techno's crown, she had whispered once as Wilbur babysat his brothers. He stared at the gold crown sitting on his little brother's head. If he took it, Techno would cry until Phil got home, and Phil would punish him.

He shouldn't take it.

But the voice demanded it, clapping at the mere thought of seeing the tears of his younger brother. Each clap sounded like a nail being hammered into a coffin. So, with a regretful heart and shaky hands, he reached out and snapped up the crown in his greedy fingers.