Mule Isn't Real, God is a Man

                                    

                                          
((Went searching and found this song, oddly fitting))
                          
((Remember, I am very thorough with the warnings. They might not be all super prevalent, but I want to be sure))

                          
((Warnings: child abuse, animal death,  killing/slaughter, manipulation, implied brainwashing/delusion, cult, suicide, sacrifice, kidnapping, reference to self harm))
                          


                          
Following Wilbur into the shack the man had constructed out in the field, Tubbo had no way of knowing that he wouldn't be leaving that day. Or even that year, for that matter. If he had, maybe he would have taken a moment more to bask in the sunlight, to appreciate life as it had been. At that point, when he still knew himself, he might not have gone in at all. By now... he couldn't imagine having done anything else.
                          
"That was a test. You can't come outside," Wilbur spoke, calculated and calm. "I was testing you, you failed the test. Now I have to trap you."
                          
It was dark. Just him and mule, in the dark. Yet it still took a week for Tubbo to rebel, if only to chip away at the edge of some planks to catch a glimpse of the sky. The stars had never been so alluring, never beckoned him like they did that night. Listening to Wilbur felt natural, but freedom still sang to him like sirens.
                          
"It's raining again," Tubbo mused, staring out into the night sky. It was pouring. He wanted to feel the rain again.
                          
"How do you know it's raining, Tubbo?"
                          
Misty eyed and trembling, 3 months into his captivity, Tubbo watched something die for the first time. He knew he was at Wilbur's mercy, but it wasn't until then that he realized how absolutely powerless he truly was. Scream, cry, beg; it didn't matter. And yet he couldn't seem to give up. Every time Wilbur brought in a new mule, grinning widely as he offered Tubbo that scrap of companionship, he found himself hoping beyond anything that it would be different this time... but no.
                          
His cries echoed through the building as he begged Wilbur to stop, but the man didn't even hesitate. His strikes were certain, and it didn't take long for the mule's cries to cease and for it to go limp. Wilbur cut off the piece Jack had requested smoothly and handed it out of the window, shoving Tubbo over on his way.
                          
"An ear! For you, my friend," he smiled welcomingly, laughing as he saw Jack's disturbed expression. He leaned over to block the interior of the shed from view, but Jack could still easily see Tubbo hunched over the dead body, sobbing. "Don't look in there."
                          
Tubbo fumbled with the axe, hands shaking as he stared down at the worn blade. Wilbur sighed heavily from behind him, stepping over and resting his own hands, rough and calloused, over Tubbo's.
                          
"Hands like this," he instructed as he adjusted Tubbo's grip. "Hold it tighter, don't want to be dropping it," he laughed dryly. He took a step back, glancing over the scene with detached amusement. "There you are, that'll do."
                          
He knew there would come a day he'd be expected to use it, but he hadn't known it had been so soon. That Phil would be coming over not long after, and that it would be his turn to take that life.
                          
Tubbo sniffled, knuckles white, fingers wrapped painfully around the wood. He swallowed dryly, heart pounding in his chest. Each beat seemed to accentuate the dizzying panic overcoming him. Wilbur's eyes were still on him. He raised the axe above his head, whispering a prayer of an apology as he swung.
                          
It screamed.
                          
"No, I don't want to!"
                          
"Do it. Do it," Wilbur's voice was firm, angry even, leaving no room for argument.