Lu_the_rat I was very motivated today, so thanks for the request! I hope it didn't go too dark for you, and I hope you enjoy!
TW: Panic attacks, bullying, claustrophobia, gore + graphic descriptions, suicidal thoughts, mentions of death, mental illness, abuse, and last but not least, swearing
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Tommy just wanted to be a good brother. That's all he ever wanted. To be a good brother, a good son, a good friend, a good vice president. So even when he was tired, even when he was starving, even when he disagreed, even when he was scared, he stayed and he helped - or at least, he always came back. He never left anyone behind; he was always the one left behind.
"Wilbur! Wilbur, help, please!" Tommy called out desperately, already feeling air enter and exit his lungs faster as the pressure from the piston on his spine increased. He heard footsteps come over and a shadow blocked out the sliver of light coming in through the rocks.
"Tommy?!" the voice of his president said, amusement clear. Tommy felt his face heat in embarrassment.
"I'm stuck. Please, Wilbur, could you get me out?"
A moment passed, and then Wilbur started laughing. Great heaps of hysterics fell out of his lungs in waves, his body bending over from the weight of his own laughter. "T-Tubbo! You've got to see this!"
Oh God. Oh no. Why couldn't he just get him out? Why couldn't Wilbur be a good brother, for once?
Tubbo joined Wilbur in laughing. Even Technoblade lumbered over to see what the commotion was about and let out a few chuckles at the pitiful sight of Tommy being crushed under the pistons, shining blue eyes looking up desperately, darting between the three of them.
"Can you please just get me out? I- It's starting to g-get hard to breathe."
"Oh, please," Wilbur said with a snicker. "Stop being so dramatic. You got yourself into this situation; you don't get to make up excuses to get yourself out."
Tubbo, still wiping tears from the corners of his eyes, chimed in. "We should close him in, let him sit under the weight of his own stupidity for a little while."
Technoblade sighed, heavy footfalls signaling his exit.
"Please don't leave me here. Just break the blocks and let me out, please. Please."
"No, Tommy," Wilbur said with a smirk. His deep brown eyes turned almost a shade of red from the dim light and tall shadows of the ravine cast over his face.
Tubbo left, laughter still echoing behind him, yet Wilbur stayed, looking down at Tommy. "W-Wilby. Please just let me out."
"Don't call me that."
Wilbur walked backward a few paces and his face disappeared from view as he placed stone in front of the entrance, blocking out all light.
Panic truly set in.
Tommy's heaving breaths echoed against the walls, coming back at him and reminding him there was only so much air in a place as small as this. Oh God, he was wasting it all. He was wasting it all.
The pressure from the piston had been steadily increasing since he'd fallen underneath it, but it was reaching truly awful levels. Tommy was worried something would snap.
Whenever he gulped enough air into his lungs to get any sound out, he screamed with everything in him for help.
This was what he was reduced to. Stuck in a cave under the weight of his own mistakes. Everything was his fault. He'd probably done something to anger Wilbur in the past few days; it was the only explanation for his treatment of Tommy. Because if there was anything Tommy could use right now, it was an explanation. This couldn't just be happening for no reason. It had to be someone's fault. It had to be his fault.
It was all his fault. Everything; exile, Tubbo's abuse under Schlatt, Wilbur's descent into... whatever he was becoming, Technoblade's ever-increasing coldness, it all tied back to him. Tommy and his pride. Tommy and his insecurities. Tommy and his brashness. Tommy and his annoyingness. Tommy and his protectiveness. Tommy and his misguided intentions. Tommy and his selfishness.
Maybe this was how he deserved to go out. In a dark cave, oxygen levels decreasing with every breathe he took as piston pressure increased with every move he tried to make to escape it. Maybe he deserved it.
That didn't stop him from screaming his lungs out, though.
He was surprised his voice lasted longer than his ribs. Morbidly, he had wondered which would snap first.
It was his ribs. The sound that came out of him as the crack filled his ears was deafening, and if someone didn't come to his aid after that, he truly was unlovable.
Would the rib impale his organs? Had it already? Was it just a waiting game until it did, until the piston pressed hard enough that he felt a pop somewhere under the skin, his lungs or his stomach? Perhaps a kidney.
Which would kill him the fastest? He just wanted it to end. He wanted it to stop hurting. He wanted to get out of this nightmarish hole Wilbur had trapped him in, both the tiny cave and the ravine.
Maybe it's not so bad, Tommy thought as he drifted out of consciousness. Finally.
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Technoblade was worried. He was worried about Wilbur and his clear lack of morality and sympathy. He was going insane; it was apparent.
He was also worried about Tubbo. Tubbo, who didn't have anything left in him after sacrificing himself day after day to creep into Schlatt's office, get used as a metaphorical and literal punching bag, then return as a limp, bloody mess to report to them every bit of information he had gathered.
He was also worried about Tommy. He'd been in that hole for a while now.
Oh God. He'd been in that hole since midday. It was past sunset.
Technoblade rushed to the location of the incident, pulling out his pickaxe and easily opening a new entrance. The torchlight that streamed in cast a haunting spotlight on the sight before him.
At his feet lay bloody hands, fingernails practically gone, tips raw and scraped, scratch marks underneath. He followed them to thin, bruised, pale arms. No muscle. No meat. Only bone. The arms led to shoulders that led to a neck that led to a limp head turned away from him. On his back, the piston sat unnaturally low to the ground, like it had pushed through Tommy to get to rock.
He released the mechanism by destroying everything, until none of it remained and Tommy and his bloody back lay bare on the ground.
The piston had pushed down hard enough to snap his ribs. His ribs had impaled his lungs. Tommy wasn't breathing.
"WILBUR!" Technoblade bellowed, voice echoing off the farthest walls of the ravine.
A minute later, sleepy footsteps shuffled their way towards him, moving faster as their owner realized what was going on.
"Oh shit. I forgot to let him out."
"Let him out? Like a dog receiving punishment? Get a fucking grip, Wil."
"Is he...?"
"What? I want to hear you say it."
"Is he... okay?"
Technoblade looked at him incredulously, hand wildly gesturing to the heap of skin and bone and blond hair tangled on the ground below them.
"Does he look fucking okay?"
Wilbur didn't seem to have the energy to fight back. He walked toward Tommy, as if in a daze -or perhaps, reaching reality for the first time in a while- and knelt down, brushing hair away from the boy's forehead.
"He's not breathing," Wilbur reported quietly.
"The pistons crushed his ribs and they likely punctured his lungs. Possibly other internal organs, too."
"It's okay," Wilbur said.
"Fucking pardon?"
"It's okay," he repeated with emphasis. "He'll come back. He always does."
If Technoblade weren't so numb to the costs of war, he would have mourned losing losing both brothers.
"He's not coming back this time, Wil. He's dead."
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I think I've said before that I would soon publish another long adventure-y one. Still working on it, but I hope this and the other requests I'm working on hold you all over until then. Hope you enjoyed!