Disclaimer: I don't own Soul Eater. Only two characters in this chapter are from Soul Eater. All others were created by Jay Jay (I have yet to make her a fanfic writer) and I.

Warning: Mention of rape may be a trigger for some people. The story doesn't revolve around it, nor is there any description.

A child, barely into adolescence, huffed with pain as another contraction took her breath from her. Her hands clenched, coated in sweat, but no strong hand held them in a comforting gesture. She had no support here other than the nurses who had to deal with childbirth almost all day.

The door opened, long enough for a voice to state, "They'll be here in ten minutes."

The girl managed a nod, concentrating too much on the commands of the nurses rushing about in the room. Another contraction gripped her, and she was brought back by wrinkled hands clamping over her own.

Five hours later, the child lay collapsed in the hospital bed, nurses fussing over her young age. An infant was cleaned tenderly by wrinkled hands.

"What now?" Her voice was raspy from crying. She ran a finger through the black baby hair.

A gruff voice replied, "I refuse to let my child raise the child of a rapist."

The mother, now a grandmother, glanced at him. "He's our daughter's child, too."

"Still. A child, raising a child? She needs to finish school. We can't add the burden of childcare onto that. She doesn't even have someone to take care of a child with. We can't financially support an infant."

"Then what do we do with him? She's just break to be reminded of that horrifying event every day."

"Adoption," the grandfather said, voice wavering, betraying his distraught heart. "We give him to the orphanage and tell her he died."

Hours later, when the girl awoke crying for her child, she was informed that he died moments after his first breath. She cried herself back to sleep. Her parents cried with her, assuring themselves it was for the best.

It started with a cough. No one took any heed of it, as many kids at the orphanage developed sore throats and colds as winter dragged on. The coughs grew to phlegmy hacks and took his breath away, but the caretakers gave him a cough drop and sent him back to play. When he focused less on his obsession, the caretakers were proud, and lavished him with praise. He laughed as he wobbled across the room, drawing giggles from the female caretakers. The tossing and turning in bed went undisturbed. He foregoed playing tag to sit and read. It was when he fainted during lunch did anyone notice the high fever.

Jerry sighed again as the child broke into another fit of coughs in his sleep. He hacked and tore at his lungs until Jerry began to massage his throat. The child's breathing slowed back to ragged intakes of air.

"Nick," Jerry whispered. "You were such a quiet child. Your parents would have been lucky to have you."

Voices drifted from the entrance hall. This was an unusual occurance, as the whole orphanage had gone quiet when the doctor proclaimed that nothing could be done for Nick.

"Hello." No emotion, barely heard over Nick's breathing. Simply common courtesy.

"Good morning! My my, why are you so sad?"

Jerry sat straight up in his chair as he always did when he heard that voice.

"It's..it's nothing for you to worry about, Lord Death."

"Oh? Go ahead, tell me. Get it off your chest."

A sigh, not of relief, but of pain and heartbreak.

"It's one of the children. He...he'll be coming to you soon. I don't need to explain more."

Silence. Jerry tucked in Nick's sheet where it had wrinkled in his fit and straightened the pillow as he would have liked it. He slid Nick's arms back in place at his sides. His heart broke when he heard Lord Death.

"Take me to him."

Jerry resigned himself to Nick's death. It had come earlier than the doctor expected, if Lord Death was coming to take him away.

He had his head down when the door opened. There was a long, pregnant pause as Jerry waited for Nick's breathing to cease.

"How do I go about adopting a child?"

Those were the last words thgat Jerry would have expected at that moment. His head shot up and he stared at Lord Death. The other caretaker's glasses had fallen off in shock.

"W-what?" Jerry finally got out.

Lord Death tilted his head. "I want to adopt this child. Can we do this quickly? I have things to do."

The female caretaker picked up her glasses, having recovered first. "Of-of course, Lord Death. I need you to sign a few forms, but we can forego some of the other documents."

She ran out to retrieve the papers. Jerry gaped like a fish. Lord Death, adopt an orphan? The idea of it was inconceivable in his mind.

The caretaker came back, and Jerry watched, numb, as Lord Death signed several papers, and pondered over another before he said, "Aha!" and wrote something else.

Lord Death scooped Nick into his arms, the child looking no better than a corpse. Jerry watched them leave, too numb with shock to do anything else.

Aw, so sad. In my opinion, the irony of so much of it was unbearable. The 'child' mother was 12 when she gave birth, and was 16 when her child was adopted. She could have been kissing her future husband while her kid was dying. Plus, we came across so many ironic titles. Our second option for a title was Negative Fate.