This is based in the Protoverse, and my idea of Wily's death.
Disclaimer: I own no character, nor the songs I used, "No One Mourns the Wicked" from the musical Wicked, and "Airplanes" by B.O.B.
Wily laughed a little, before inhaling sharply as the motion caused pain to rip through his body. He was finally finished, finally defeated. "At last…" he muttered.
Just a few minutes ago- that seemed like hours ago, really- Light and his son and daughter had stormed in there, destroying everything. A misfire had been what had ended the 'Good Doctor', something that caused him to feel ironic amusement.
And now, here he was, left to die alone. No one would mourn him, miss him. "No one mourns the wicked," he rasped out quietly. He had lost everything- his empire, his army…his life.
"That isn't true at all, my friend," a voice answered back. A voice strong, warm, and…sad. Dimming cobalt eyes met warm amber eyes.
He wasn't surprised that Light was there. Licking his dry lips, "Oh, but it is," he replied. His voice was weak. An attempt to clear his voice caused a coughing fit that ended with blood splattering the man's gray beard.
Light didn't reply as he knelt next to his dying friend. He ignored the blood soaking into his pants as he gripped the cooling hand of the man who had once been his most formidable opponent.
"I will miss you," Light said quietly.
Wily was quiet and stared up at the sky for a long moment, admiring the stars. "If only we could pretend that the airplanes in the sky were shooting stars…as we once did. I could really use a wish right now." One side of his mouth tilted up in a half-smile.
"It isn't too late for wishes," Light said, his voice thick with repressed emotion. Footsteps were heard, before they stopped by Light.
"Father, it's time to leave." said Megaman.
"Go on without me, son," was all Light replied. Nothing could convince him of leaving.
"…" The Son of Light left without another word.
"No one mourns the wicked," Wily whispered once more, his eyes slipping closed. A single tear slipped down the man's pale, wrinkled face.
"…Are you perhaps regretting your actions, old friend?" Light asked rhetorically.
"Not at all. I had a good running, as did you. I know I did wrong things. My actions were my own and no one else's. If I have to burn in hell because of my actions, then so be it." He chuckled once more, ignoring the pain. He was slowly going numb around the edges of the wound. The strange sense of numbness was spreading through his veins, and he imagined he could feel his organs failing from the lack of blood.
The two lapsed into silence, no more words were needed. Light knelt next to his dying friend for the next hour, ignoring the blood, his legs falling asleep, and that his friend's hand was cooling. It had taken only two hours to kill the once untouchable man, and Light could barely stand to watch his strong friend wan before his eyes.
Finally the light left the man's eyes, and Light closed the dim cobalt orbs for the last time. They would never open again. He slowly stood and stared down at the man who was once a brother, turned enemy, yet still dear friend. He allowed a single tear to streak down his cheek, before turning and walking away without a backwards glance. What was done was done, it had to have been done, or things would have been much worse. And even though his dear friend was dead, Light knew that the people would be celebrating. That is, the people who knew what to do with themselves. He was pretty sure that most people would be in their houses, just staring around dumbly after hearing the news.
Pushing his thoughts away, he continued on, willing himself to ignore the urge to glace back. They had a mess to right, and a new way of life to start.
"No one mourns the wicked?" Light asked to himself, as he heard cheering ahead of him. "If only that were true. That would make things so much easier…"