#PTSD whumpee | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ashintheairlikesnow · 1 month

Note

ash i love vince so much he is my number 2 babygirl (antoni number 1 babygirl forever)

i would like to formally request some vince having a Bad Time, either past stuff with owen or present with recovery being a bitch

because there is nothing better than lovely characters having bad times that they absolutely do not deserve

CW: Alcoholism, withdrawal/cravings, alcoholic anger, Vince and Jameson both PTSD-ing all over the place, guilt

Oh, poor Vince. Takes place post-the Same Bed Arc, after Vince is living with Nat and Jameson.

Vince doesn't even look up when he hears Jameson stop in the doorway. He just pours a few shots worth of the gin into the glass, staring fixedly down at it. The liquid, clear as water but with the herbal scent washing over him like a welcome spring rain, spreads over the ice with those gentle cracks he knows better than his own heartbeat.

God, it looks good.

His hands don't shake, now. His heart doesn't race. He doesn't feel sweaty, or upset, or like he'll be sick.

He just feels like he's staring at the solution to all his problems, and all he has to do is swallow it down.

This should feel awful - he knows it should. It should taste awful, there should be something to remind him of the damage he does to himself every time he drinks again. He should hear his sponsor speaking in the back of his mind, he should hear the voices of the others at the meetings he goes to - one for alcoholism, one for survivors of sexual assault, twice a week there's movie star Vincent goddamn Shield among the normal people and admitting he's barely human, just a wreck that only survived Owen Grant because Nat decided she gave a fuck about him for reasons Vince still doesn't understand.

Here he stands, a hollow shell wearing a nice face who let someone else suffer in his place and was grateful for it for far too long.

Kauri hates him but it's nothing compared to how much he hates himself.

Vince lifts the glass, hesitating at the last second with the cool rim just touching his lower lip. Gin smells like blacking out and right now he could use the blessed darkness, hangover be damned.

He can worry about that when the headache kicks in tomorrow morning.

He realizes he's waiting for the sickening crawl of guilt at letting Nat down, at-... at letting himself down. Maybe that will come later, but right now... He feels goddamn good. Settled. Calm.

He and Jameson meet eyes just as he tosses the drink back, three large swallows of juniper-scented gin down his throat like water, leaving only the ice cubes behind.

The burn is perfect.

He pours himself another drink, feeling the warmth slowly spread through his chest to his shoulders, eyes briefly closing. God, it feels like goddamn heaven.

He looks up.

Jameson is still standing there in the doorway, looking oddly soft in a loose sweater that's far too big for him and a pair of old jeans that probably cost a dollar at a yard sale and even that was too much. Vince has jeans that distressed, somewhere.

His cost more than five hundred dollars.

He chokes on the next drink from trying not to laugh.

Jameson's eyes narrow. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Vince takes another sip, eyes half-closed, letting himself take it slow this time and really enjoy the taste.

He'd honestly been surprised the little liquor store down the block even carried this brand of gin. Not that he wouldn't have bought whatever he could get, when he stood there feeling like he would die if he had to go another day, but still. It's nice to have seen his favorite stuff, top shelf, pricier than it had any right to be. It's not even that good, but it's still his favorite. It still tastes, to him, like the nights he sleeps without nightmares, few and far between.

Gin tastes like those nights he gets to sleep at all.

The cashier had looked surprised as she wiped off the dust and rang it up for him. Then, with a shy smile, she'd asked him if anyone ever told him he looked a lot like Vincent Shield. He'd been kind of sad she didn't card him - it would have been nice to see the look on her face when she saw his name.

Instead, he paid in cash, laughed, and told her the standard I get that a lot, actually.

Jameson doesn't move closer, or leave. "It looks like you're fucking yourself up," He says, lingering in the doorway. "You can't just start drinking again. You know that, right?"

"Oh, I sure as hell can." Vince laughs, but it's a bitter sound. He licks the gin lingering on his lips, then gestures at the bottle. "Have some with me."

He's caught, for just a moment, when he sees Jameson wearing an expression Vince has never seen on him before. He looks... nervous. Afraid, almost, instead of angry.

"I-I don't want to," Jameson says, but there's a way he says it that makes Vince think he'd drink if he offers again. Maybe he wants to, or maybe he just doesn't want to make Vince mad.

If he commanded it, if he gave an order... Jameson would be as he's told, wouldn't he? Damn, that would be some power to have over someone.

This must be why Owen liked it so much.

No.

He won't think about Owen right now.

Vince gulps down liquid until he's breathless, almost panting. The warmth is like the familiar cradle of a softer reality settling in. He makes himself slow down this time, picking up an ice cube and sucking the juniper taste right off it before crunching it with his teeth.

"Vince." Jameson's voice gets harsher, and something seems to break his brief paralysis. He moves closer, grabbing the bottle and pulling it away when Vince puts a hand out to pour the third drink. "Fucking... look at me. What the fuck?"

Vince's hand just... hangs out there, reaching for a bottle that isn't where it was. He stares at the empty space, and feels that dark inside of him threaten to well up yet again. "What?"

Jameson swallows, his eyes moving to the glass, back to Vince's face. He steps backwards, and Vince watches the bottle go with him with a piercing need that could easily knock him off his feet if he weren't holding onto the back of a chair. Jameson clears his throat. "Aren't you... like, sober now?"

"Mmmn. Was. Got the like... three month chip thing and everything." He's gotten thoroughly wasted so many times in his life. Nothing relaxes him better than enough alcohol to force his body to stop living in constant, unending fear of who might hurt him next. "Right now, I am tipsy instead. In about an hour, I'm going to be absolutely fucked up. Give me back my gin."

Jameson's hand moves - then he jerks it back, taking a few steps backwards until he's back in the doorway. His eyes are on Vince's face, watching him with a total focus that Vince recognizes from the others he's worked with over the years - Jameson's just a trained pet, in this moment, watching to see if the master will be angry.

It makes him laugh again, more bitterly this time. Is he the master? Has he ever been his own master, let alone anyone else's?

"I... I can't do that," Jameson says, and Vince hears that he doesn't say no. When Vince moves towards him, he backs up a little more, and Vince comes to a stop just a foot or so away.

"Am... am I scaring you?" He asks, suddenly.

It wasn't what he meant to say, he meant to demand his drink again. Instead, this question that... that just sort of falls out of him like a waterfall.

Jameson's jaw sets and his eyes narrow. "You're not doing shit to me," He snaps, but Vince knows he's really saying yes.

Is this why people buy pets? So they can see something pretend not to be scared, and know they're the monster not just under the bed, but in it?

"Oh," He whispers. "What is it? Why are you scared? I'm just a drunk asshole, why are you scared of me?"

Jameson bristles, but then he offers - as if it's pulled out of him against his will - the softest explanation. "Brute and Robert got drunk all the time. I know what happens when-... when people get this kind of drunk."

There's a look in his eyes Vince has seen before in Kauri's. Not fear of him, not directly, but fear of someone like him, maybe. Fear of having demands made that can't be denied.

Is this how Owen felt, every time Kauri had to playact the loving boyfriend with bruises on his wrists and terror making his heart race? Is this how it feels to have power over somebody else when you can't even control yourself?

It's... it's good, almost.

It feels better than he thought it would.

"Back up, Shield," Jameson hisses, like a cat spitting and arching its back, ready to attack with claws and sharp teeth not because it's confident in victory but because it's so small it has to fight to have even the slightest chance to survive.

Vince looks him over, reading with an actor's expertise how he's projecting a confident swagger he never feels, how the irritation layers itself so carefully over a vulnerability that he sees as weakness. Vince has lived that way, too, since he was twenty-one, since his best friend turned out to be a rapist who wanted Vince to himself, since he started drinking to forget every single night and putting on the perfect face during his days.

They both survived, didn't they?

Jameson just did it by fighting his way out, and Vince by pretending to be someone he wasn't until nobody knew who he actually was, and that's a way of surviving, too. Wear another face, and make sure no one sees the fear in your real one, so they can't refuse to help you... because you've never asked.

"No." At least one of them can say it. Although that makes Vince's heart twist with ugly guilt, the petty cruelty of the thought. "Give me my gin," Vince says, pitching his voice low, and holds out his hand. "Now, Jameson. Give it to me."

"I can't." The strength is gone from Jameson's voice, and he looks at Vince with those dark eyes searching his own, trying to make himself understood. "If you drink, your-... your body's not used to it anymore, if you drink the same amount you'll fucking kill your stupid liver."

"What do you care about my liver?" Vince's voice drops low, almost a whisper. "What do you care about me, about my goddamn joke of a life, huh? What the fuck do you care? Why should anyone care?"

There's a flicker of something in Jameson's eyes - recognition, maybe. Something that lights up, just for a second, before the other man shoves Vince to the side with sudden violent strength and stalks to the sink, turning the bottle over and pouring that expensive artisan gin right down the drain.

"No!" Vince's voice is a ragged shout as he lunges after him, but it's too little too late.

Jameson's foot kicks out and slams into Vince's calf, sending him stumbling, clawing desperately as the gin is gone, glug glug glug, down into the pipes, disappearing towards the ocean.

Rage and terror fight in Vince's mind in a sudden white noise and he gets to his feet, grabbing Jameson by the arms and squeezing as hard as he can, shoving him back across the room. He hears Jameson hit one of the chairs, the clatter of wood and Jameson's grunt of pain as both hit the ground hard. The bottle is in the sink, and even when Vince scrambles to pick it back up, there's less than an inch of gin left.

He sucks it down, and only once he's gotten that final drop does he suddenly go still.

Oh.

There's the guilt and the horror and feeling sick at himself, just... twenty minutes too late. He sets the empty bottle carefully down, and then turns slowly around to look at Jameson.

Jameson sits on the kitchen floor, staring up at him with wide eyes. His face is pale, making the scar that twists the corner of his mouth stand out even more. His hair is nearly grown back in now, the bald patches hidden by the rest.

Vince exhales in a rush. "Oh, hell. Jameson-" He holds out a hand.

Jameson flinches.

Vince pulls his hand back, backing up until his back hits the edge of the sink. "Right. Okay. I'm-... I'm sorry Jameson-"

"Yeah." Jameson's voice is gruff, all the vulnerability and fear wiped away as soon as he realizes it's showing. He gets to his feet, shoulders protectively hunched, arms crossed in front of himself defensively. "Whatever. Sure you are. Drink yourself to death, shitbag, if that's what you want."

"I'm so sorry."

Jameson's jaw works. "... Everybody's always sorry. Then I get fucking hit again." Then he turns and walks - limps, really, his knees threatening to give out with every step - away. Vince stands there, frozen, listening as he makes his slow, painful way up the stairs.

Vince stares at the place he was for a while - he isn't sure how long. The gin is sinking its velvet claws into his mind, and he's drunker than he should be after only two drinks.

But then, it's been months.

Months, he made it without taking even a sip.

He swallows, again and again, and then pulls his cell phone out of his pocket, finds a contact, and presses the button to make the call.

The phone rings until he's certain it'll go to voicemail, before a voice he knows as well as his own is in his ear.

"What the hell do you want?"

"I-I need to talk to you," He stammers, his heart cold. "Please. Please. I-I've been drinking. I need... I need help."

There's a pause.

"From... me?"

"Yeah... yeah. You'll-... I need somebody who won't be nice to me-"

"Oh, well, if there's anything I love it's the chance to be mean to you, let me drop my entire life to come listen to you whine about yours."

"Please."

An exhale. "Whatever. Yeah, okay. I'll be over there in like... half an hour? An hour, maybe. Drink some water and I'll be there as soon as I can. Don't leave the house."

"Thanks... thank you, Kauri."

Kauri hangs up.

Vince pours himself a glass of water over the leftover gin-soaked ice, sipping it, barely flavored with a hint of the liquor he wants so badly. He rights the chair he'd accidentally shoved Jameson into, and listens to the creaking floorboards and muffled cursing above him as Jameson makes his halting painful way from stairway to his room, a couple thumps when he clearly falls and had to force himself back upright, until the pacing abruptly stops when he must have collapsed into his bed.

He hears the gentle patting of Trash Cat's paws as she leaves her place on the living room couch and follows him, too, her soft meowing until Jameson opens his door to let her come in after him. Then silence again.

Vince sits back down at the table, leaning over with his head in his hand, staring as the ice slowly melts, cooling the water around it.

He should have called his sponsor instead.

Whatever Kauri is about to say can only make this worse.

But he deserves it, anyway.

Vince doesn't move a muscle until he hears the sound of Jake's truck pulling into the driveway, crunching briefly over gravel before it's on the pavement again, when he raises his head.

Kauri walks in without knocking, stops in the doorway to the kitchen, and looks at him like his younger self ashamed of what he's grown into. Vince knows Jake must have driven him, but he's nowhere to be seen - maybe just staying outside, for now. He's clearly dressed for bed in a matching navy blue silk button-up and pajama pants, barefoot even.

"Hey," Vince says, weakly. The alcohol feels like poison now, not the soothing warmth it had been before. "I... I fucked up, Kauri."

"Yeah, I can tell just by looking at you, you're a goddamn mess." Kauri looks at Vince head-on, even though it still hurts him to do it, and Vince can see the flinch he suppresses as the headache kicks in. His blue eyes are identical to Vince's in nearly every way, except that Kauri's gaze has always been stronger. "What the hell did you do?"

"I got... I drank."

"Yep. I can see the gin bottle. Did you drink all of it?" Kauri's voice is flat and businesslike. It's like having his own younger self dressing him down, and somehow that feels... really good. Better than he thought it would.

"... No. Just a couple drinks. Jameson poured the rest out."

"Good for him." Kauri flickers a smile. "Where is he?"

"I-... I scared him."

"... you scared him?"

"Yeah. I was-... I wasn't-... I didn't mean to, but-"

"Shut up. All right. Tell me what you did. I'll fix it. This time, taking your place so I suffer for years while you run off and become obscenely wealthy is off the table, got it?"

Vince looks at him in horror only to see a surprising warmth in Kauri's smile. Not... not affection, but something like it. A wry compassion, maybe. Something else he doesn't deserve. "I don't know. I don't know if I can fix this, Kauri. I don't know."

"Well... I happen to the resident expert in trying to avoid dealing with your problems while making them all worse, so talk to me. Tell me what you did, start to finish. We'll figure out what comes next."

Vince lowers his head into his arms.

"Thank you," He says, muffled.

"Not enough thanks in the world, dumbass. Lucky for you I'm an amazing person who just happens to have spent most of my twenties making stupid drunk mistakes. So stop stalling and start talking."

@finder-of-rings @endless-whump @arlin-always-writing @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @whumpyourdamnpears @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @outofangband @hackles-up @grizzlie70 @mylifeisonthebookshelf @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @autophagay

#whump #ptsd tw #alcholism tw #withdrawal tw #alcoholic whumpee #recovering whumpee #recovery whump #vincent shield is not a hero #erase to control #since kauri makes an appearance #jameson bb #box boy universe #drunk whumpee #whumpee turned whumper #briefly and not on purpose

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jordanstrophe · 1 year

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Hi! Would you write some comfort whump? The prompt is that Whumpee’s sick and very delirious, imagining *things* that aren’t true and recalling past traumas. Surely, Caretaker’s there to help them to get through the tiny episode of madness…

Hello there! You had me at ･ﾟ:✧comfort✧:･ﾟ

CW: Blood, injuries, hallucinations, fever, hurt/comfort, splashed with some soft caretaking

Whumpee stood in front of the steamed bathroom mirror clutching the sides of the sink.

After being captured, they brought home a fever that was stubborn to shake. Caretaker was worried sick about it, checking their temperature nearly every hour.

With the side of their hand, they wiped a streak of steam from the mirror. Their eyes suddenly widened and they stepped back from their own reflection.

Staring back was not what they are; but what they were once before - Hallow soulless eyes, dark rims telling days of restless nights, bruises on their lip, cheek and brow. Blood splatter across their face; their own blood.

They recoiled and tried to wipe it, but nothing seemed to want to come off. Their eyes grew more frantic as they whimpered, scrubbing their face harder and harder until the bridge of their nose turned red and the bruising turned black.

Their ears rang and they swore they could hear whumper's voice behind it. They could hear their blood splattering, their heart pounding in their head, pain from every wound like they were being torn open-

The ringing came to a halt when a gentle knock rattled on the door.

"Whumpee? You've been in there for awhile. No rush! I'm just checking to see if you're alright." Their voice rang.

"I can't get it off!" Whumpee sobbed, crumpling to the floor on their knees. "I keep trying and it's not coming off! Why won't it come off!?" Whumpee sobbed.

The door immediately burst with almost brute force. Whumpee felt themselves be scooped into caretaker's arms and their face get cupped by either side of their jaw. Whumpee was practically clawing at their face, still desperate to wash the blood off.

"Whumpee it's okay, I'm here, look at me," Caretaker pushed the panic to the back of their throat and pulled whumpee's hands away from their face. Whumpee held their breath and squeezed their eyes shut. They violently trembled and gasped for air.

"Whumpee, sweetheart..." Caretaker quietly muttered, their voice full of sadness. "You're alright. Hey, hey look at me, you're alright. Deep breaths." Caretaker cupped their face more comfortingly, their fear morphing into concern.

"Wh-what?" Whumpee blinked their eyes open. It was only then did they realize they were on their knees shaking on the floor. They quickly wiped sweat off their forehead and let Caretaker pull them to their feet.

"Look." Caretaker nodded to the mirror. Whumpee glanced at caretaker nervously, before hesitantly approaching the mirror afraid of what was in it.

Inside the streak was their face, maybe a bit red and feverish still, but not a drop of blood, not a single bruise (although there were a few smalls ones to form soon) and a healthy-nourished complexion thanks to caretaker nursing them with breakfast every morning and dinner every night.

They swayed on their feet as caretaker stood behind them and clutched the back of their arms. "Easy, you're still healing... Are you in pain?" They asked.

"N-... No." Whumpee breathed, touching their face with their fingertips. "No, not at all..." They repeated, sounding more confused than relieved.

"Why don't we go back to bed and I'll bring you a tea, okay?" Caretaker coaxed, already pulling them away from their reflection without waiting for an answer. Whumpee nodded and let themself be led and tucked into bed. Caretaker checked their temperature and sighed.

"Ah, that explains it, your fever went up again. I'll get you some medicine and an icepack." They spoke matter-of-factly. They were about to rush off before they were stopped by whumpee grabbing their hand.

"Caretaker?" Whumpee tried to speak up, but their voice came out weak. Caretaker looked back with a flash of worry.

"Thank you..." They spoke with a small genuine smile.

Caretaker gave them a watery smile and squeezed their hand back.

"Of course, of course." They responded, like they would do it again a thousand times.

The drabble group- @lave-whump @amethysts-sideblog @whump-it-like-its-hot @thingsthatgowhumpinthenight @yet-another-heathen @whatwhumpcomments @hamiltonwhumpdump @as-a-matter-of-whump @lonesome–hunter @digitalart-dwa @mabledonut @melancholy-in-the-morning @anonintrovert @sunflower1000 @shywhumpauthor @dont-touch-my-soup @batfacedliar-yetagain @uvanuva @princessofonwardsworld @bluesoulpeace @whumpkitty @veyroswin

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whump-queen · 2 years

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Break their ankles

An intrusive whump thought of the day

Content: broken bones, intimate whumper, medical whump, ptsd, brief needle & drug mention.

A whumpee with broken ankles desperately crawling for the door, clawing at it uselessly after whumper has slammed it shut, sobbing and begging to be let go.

Or trying to crawl away from whumper, painfully dragging their limp, broken bones along the floor behind them.

An amused whumper sitting and watching it happen, laughing at whumpee’s pathetic attempts to get away, knowing that whenever they’ve decided their captive has gotten far enough, they can yank them back by the chain around their neck and drag them back over with ease. What’re they gonna do, fight back?

Whumpee being forced to rely on whumper for every little thing despite loathing them with every fiber of their being.

Whumper having to carry them everywhere (bridal style)

Bonus points if it’s an intimate whumper and they scoop them up and coo sweet things into whumpee’s ear all “aw, poor sweet thing, don’t worry, I’ve got you,” While whumpee sobs hopelessly into their captor’s chest, disgusted with the closeness and absolutely horrified and ashamed at how helpless they feel like this.

Or maybe whumpee tries to claw their way out of their captor’s arms, and whumper just drops them, laughing at how useless and pathetic they look when they collapse in a crying heap on the floor, unable to go anywhere without whumper’s help.

More bonus points if the bones don’t heal properly and they can never walk quite right again, or if standing or walking for too long causes sharp pains to shoot up through their ankles and they collapse from the agony.

If they ever get a recovery arc, having to get their ankles rebroken and reset to heal properly— The sensation of their ankles breaking all over again bringing back horribly traumatic flashbacks, feeling like they’re back with whumper again, that they’re being tortured again, until they’re screaming and begging and calling the doctors sir and sobbing desperately to be let go. The medical staff is horrified.

And maybe they’re writhing around and thrashing so much that they have to be restrained and sedated in order for the medical staff to reset their freshly broken bones.

A nurse jamming a needle into their neck and emptying an entire syringe into their bloodstream with an “It’s alright, sweetheart, this is for your own good.”

Whumpee in a full-scale flashback begging through tears when they feel the needle, “please, please no— please sir, please don’t, please don’t do this— I— I’ve been good— please I— I can’t—please-“ until the sedative kicks in and their head lolls to the side.

Feel free to add your own prompts/ thoughts! this trope won’t leave my head rn

More prompts like this

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whump-about-it · 1 year

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Red Alert/ Distress Call/ Panic Attack

@whumpril day 1 (few days late)

CW: panic attacks, brief mention of blood, implied suicidal ideation, concern about self harm, dissociation, PTSD

Caretaker knew something was wrong as soon as they saw Whumpee’s name pop up on their phone. Whumpee never called. They hated talking on the phone. Even when something actually warranted a call Whumpee was more likely to send a text. Which more often than not Caretaker wouldn’t see for hours.

“Whumpee?” They said a little too loudly when they picked up the phone, causing a few of their co-workers to look up at them annoyed. On the other end of the phone Whumpee didn’t respond. All Caretaker could hear was heavy, ragged breathing, like Whumpee was running from something.

“Whumpee?” Caretaker repeated “Whumpee are you there? Is everything okay?”

“Caretaker.” Whumpee finally spoke. They sounded out of breathe and their voice lacked its usual force “Caretaker. I - I” They paused for several breathes as Caretaker held their phone in a white knuckle grip, trying not to speak over Whumpee. Trying to let them get the words out on their own.

“Red” Whumpee finally said with a gasp.

Caretaker was up and moving before Whumpee had finished the word. Rushing through their office and towards the exit.

“I’m on my way. Where are you?”

Whumpee wasn’t good at talking about their feelings. Even before Whumper it was something they didn’t like doing, and preferred to keep an emotionless mask at all times. Since Whumper though, holding that mask had gotten harder and somehow more important to them. When they couldn’t hold the mask anymore though, and it cracked, Whumpee struggled to explain what was going on. Their emotions came out in violent outbursts and debilitating panic attacks that they couldn’t control or explain. Overtime Whumpee and Caretaker had managed to come up with a code that Whumpee could use to explain to Caretaker what was going on inside their head.

Green meant everything was okay, and Caretaker was misinterpreting the situation. Yellow meant Whumpee was on edge, but still in control. Orange was for panic attacks. And red? Red meant Caretaker needed to drop everything and get to Whumpee quick.

“Whumpee? Where are you?” Caretaker repeated when Whumpee didn’t respond to them the first time.

“I’m sorry” Whumpee gasped, their voice was sounding more and more distanced, like they were falling into a trance. Caretaker began to panic a little, imagining Whumpee lost someplace and totally dissociating. Doing something stupid or dangerous, and Caretaker not being able to get to them in time.

“Just tell me where you are Whumpee” They insisted in a forced calm voice.

“Home.” Whumpee said and Caretaker breathed a sigh of relief.

“Okay. I’m on my way. I’m already in the car. Just stay on the phone with me okay?”

“I broke the mirror.”

“Alright. We’ll deal with that. Are you hurt?”

“I’m sorry”

“I don’t care about the mirror Whumpee. Did you hurt yourself?” There was a long pause. before Whumpee responded.

“I don’t know.” They breathed “There’s blood”

Caretaker’s heartrate leapt.

“I’m five minutes away. Just hang on and stay on the phone with me.”

Whumpee didn’t respond. Caretaker kept trying to talk to them but they feared Whumpee wasn’t hearing them anymore.

Caretaker finally pulled into the driveway and jumped out of their car, running into the house. Thankfully they found Whumpee exactly where they thought they would be.

They were sitting on the floor of the downstairs bathroom with their knees up to their chest and starring ahead of them without seeing. Their back was against the vanity and they were surrounded by shards of glass from the shattered mirror above them. In one hand, they were still holding their phone up to their ear even though Caretaker had hung up when they had come through the door. In the other they were holding one of the shards of broken mirror with such an iron grip their hand was shaking. Caretaker could see blood pooling between their fingers and there was a trail dripping down their wrist.

“Whumpee!” Caretaker ran into the bathroom and fell to their knees in front of Whumpee ignoring the bits of glass pushing into their knees through their pants. They grabbed both of Whumpee’s wrists and shook them until they dropped both the phone and the glass shard. With their hands now empty Caretaker examined Whumpee’s arms and wrists for injuries. Their fingers and knuckles were cut on their dominant hand from having punched the mirror, and there were deep cuts on their palm from where they had been gripping the shard of glass. But otherwise they were uninjured, and none of the injuries they had seemed to be intentional.

Caretaker breathed a shaky sigh of relief and looked up at Whumpee’s face. They were white as a sheet and Caretaker could see tear stains running down their cheeks. But they were surprised to find that Whumpee was looking back at them with at least some level of awareness that Caretaker was there.

“Caretaker?”

Caretaker reached forward and put their hands of Whumpee’s cheeks, wiping away the last of the tears.

“Yeah Whumpee I’m here now. How are you doing?”

“Red” Whumpee replied after a moment, and their eyes filled with tears again. Their face twisting to try to keep from crying.

“I can’t even look at myself” They sobbed. “Why did Whumper do that to me? What did I do to deserve it?”

“Oh, Honey” Caretaker knew Whumpee would scold them for the pet name later, but now they didn’t seem to notice. Caretaker pulled them into a hug and let Whumpee cry into their shoulder shaking and gripping at the back of their shirt with their non-bloody hand, as they stroked their hair and tried to hold back their own tears.

“You didn’t do anything to deserve this. Whumper is a monster, and they were going to hurt someone no matter what. But I’m so, so, sorry it was you. Never believe though that it was your fault. Please never believe that.”

They stayed there on the floor of the bathroom for a long time. Whumpee crying into Caretaker’s shoulder and Caretaker doing what they could to comfort them. It had been such a long road for both of them since Whumpee had been rescued from Whumper, and they had a long way to go before Whumpee would even start to be okay again. But Caretaker was proud of Whumpee for today. For calling. For asking for help before they were too far gone. They were glad the code system had worked.

They would tell Whumpee all this later. But now wasn’t the time. Now Whumpee just needed a shoulder to cry on.

#whump #whump drabble #whumpril2023 #whumprilday1 #caretaker x whumpee #whumpee x caretaker #panic attack #distress call #red alert #ptsd #calling for help #recovering whumpee

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serickswrites · 1 year

Text

Walls

Warnings: referenced captivity, referenced torture, referenced restraints, panic attack, PTSD, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery, hurt/comfort, caretaker and whumpee

Whumpee could feel the shackles around their wrist. Could feel the pain of Whumper’s touch. Could smell them even. They were trapped. The walls were closing in and they couldn’t get out.

Whumpee thrashed and screamed. They couldn’t be a prisoner again. They couldn’t! They had to get away. Had to get away from the feeling. From the pain. From the terror.

But they couldn’t. They were trapped in a room. Restrained. Stuck. Their absolute worst nightmare.

“Shhhh, shhh,” Caretaker’s voice came suddenly in Whumpee’s waking nightmare. “It’s ok. It’s ok. You’re ok.”

“T-t-trapped,” Whumpee managed to squeak out.

Caretaker’s hand was suddenly in theirs. “Love, you have to stay in the bed. You’re too hurt. They need to help you.”

“C-c-can’t. Whumper,” Whumpee began, squeezing their eyes shut even tighter.

“Whumper is gone. They can’t get you. Please, love, they need to treat your injuries. I...I almost lost you,” Caretaker’s voice broke suddenly.

Whumpee wrenched their eyes open. “Caretaker?” They were in a hospital. There were no shackles on their wrists. Just soft padded restraints keeping them to the bed. They were hooked up to various machines and covered in bandages. They were safe.

Caretaker squeezed Whumpee’s hand tightly. “I’m right here, love, I’m right here.”

Whumpee began to sob. “I’m...I’m sorry.”

Caretaker leaned in close to Whumpee, trying to wrap their body around Whumpee despite all of the medical machinery. “Don’t be love. I’m right here. You’re safe. You’re safe.”

#serickswrites #whump #whumpblr #whump writing #whump community #tw referenced captivity #tw referenced torture #tw referenced restraints #tw panic attack #tw PTSD #hurt/comfort #hurt/recovery #hurt/aftermath #caretaker and whumpee #whumpcember 2022 #day 22 #prompt: closing in #queue

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thatgenderfluidmonstrosity · 1 year

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When Whumpees first words since being saved from Whumper are pleas and cries for help while they are stuck in a nightmare-

#whump #whumpee #whumper #whump things #whump stuff #whump scene #ptsd whumpee #whumpee is stuck in an endless nightmare~#caretaker #whump community #whumpblr #whumblr

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chaotic-orphan · 10 months

Text

Delirious Villain x Hero, part 2:

Read first part here

*~*~*~*~*

Hero didn’t sleep that night. They just stayed awake, staring at Villain’s gentle rise and fall of their chest. The poor thing was probably exhausted and Hero didn’t know what to do. They felt so useless.

Villain woke up screaming in the middle of the night, fighting whatever monster was in their head. Arms flailing and legs kicking at everything trying to escape, Hero took one of the cloths from the water bucket beside their bed, still cold, and pressed it gently to Villain’s forehead.

Villain gasped awake, sitting straight up in the bed and then curling in on themselves and apologising. Hero jumped off the bed and ran around to Villain’s side, getting on their knees and taking Villain’s face in their hands.

“Villain, Villain, shhh, ssshhhh. It’s me, it’s Hero. You’re home, it was just a nightmare, Vil. It’s okay. It’s okay, I’m here. I’m right here.”

Wide frightened eyes searched Hero’s face and found a stranger at first, pulling away from Hero’s hands.

“Villain, it’s Hero. You’re sick. You have a fever, you let me help you to bed last night. It’s me, it’s Hero, your Hero, please,” Villain entire body was shivering like they had just been dunked into a pool of ice, sweat running off their face as if they had just surfaced from the sea.

But slowly, very slowly, realisation dawned in their eyes and they let out a choked: “Hero,” through chattering teeth.

“Yeah, it’s me, Vil. Okay, I’m gonna put you on the chair okay?”

Villain just sucked in a breath and nodded, pliant and obedient as they took Hero’s outstretched hand. Tentatively they shifted their body towards Hero and hung their feet over the edge of the bed when all they wanted to do was curl up and cry.

“You’re soaking, Villain,” Hero said sadly and Villain mumbled out a shaky sorry. Hero shook their head. “No, no. It’s not your fault, Villain. I just think we should get you out of your wet clothes, okay?”

Villain just nodded. Hero said: “I’ll grab a towel for you, one second.”

When they left Villain’s hand felt unnatural and cold, so they tucked it back into their armpit shuddering as waves and waves of painful tremors shot through their body.

Hero was back in a matter of seconds, but it felt like years to Villain and they wanted Hero to just hold them and tell them they loved them. Hero would never do that again, though, A snide voice said in Villain’s head that sounded a lot like their brother, Not after seeing Villain like this. Pathetic. Weak. Useless.

“Can you put your arms up for me?” Hero asked gently and Villain obeyed. Arms going straight up.

It’s better in the long run if they just obey.

Hero peeled the sweat soaked shirt off of Villain and wrapped the warm fluffy towel around their shoulders. It was so warm and so soft, and dry, and it smelled a little like Hero. They choked back the sob that wanted to escape their throat.

Hero was too kind. Too nice to them. Loving them, doing this for them. It was too much.

They didn’t deserve this kindness. They deserved to be sick and rotting and shivering in their own sweat because they were nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

“Villain,” Hero asked, voice quiet and soft. Villain’s eyes focused on Hero like they could see them again and Hero smiled. “There you are, you wandered off. I need you to stand up and I can take your pants off.”

Villain nodded numb and stood and swayed. “Woah, Villain. Hold onto my shoulders okay?”

Villain did as they were told and soon their wet pyjamas were discarded too. “Okay, good. You’re doing great Villain. Come here to the chair and I can strip the bed, okay?”

“No,” Villain mumbled, shaking their head despite the rush it caused them. “No. It’s… it’s too much. Too much work. Not… not… not worth it. ‘M… not—“

“Yes, you are worth it. You are worth this, Villain. It’s not a problem. I’m doing this because I want to. I want you to be comfortable, so really, if you let me strip the bed, you’re doing this for me,” Hero coaxed, as they guided Villain to the dry towel covered chair, letting them mull over Hero’s request.

“Okay,” Villain said as they sat on the chair. “I candoit for Hero.”

Hero smiled their radiant smile and Villain’s heart melted as they placed a kiss to Villain’s sweat covered hair. “Thank you Villain.”

Hero stripped the bed with swift sure movements, leaving and returning momentarily with another two towels that they put on Villain’s side of the mattress and redressing the bed with a new sheet and pillow case for Villain. Villain watched them work through bleary eyes, their body so heavy and sagging against the chair, enveloped in soft towels.

“Okay, see? Thank you Villain. You’ll be more comfortable now.”

“‘Mkay,” said Villain and Hero smiled at them again. They walked over to Villain and took a spare towel, drying Villain’s face and wringing out their hair. It felt so good, that little gesture. They weren’t as sticky and they felt they could breathe again. They leaned into Hero’s touch as they towel dried their neck and their torso.

“Brother would never do this,” Villain hummed happily, closing their eyes. Hero’s lips drew into a frown at the name. That horrible strange name that they hated hearing from Villain’s fever hazed lips.

“Brother isn’t here right now, Villain. They’re gone. I won’t let him hurt you again.”

Villain’s eyes opened wide and fixed on Hero, before softening, a lazy grin on their face as they said: “you’re so good to me Hero. You’re my Hero.”

Hero laughed. That was all the medicine they needed to get better. Then Villain’s hand shot out, fingers loosely holding Hero’s wrist hostage.

“You don’t have to save me, Hero,” Villain told them. “I’m not… ‘mnot a victim. ‘Mnot your job.”

“No,” said Hero, leaning in close and wrapping a hand over Villain’s. “You’re not my job,” Hero said, pressing a kiss to Villain’s knuckles and tucking them back into the towel they were wrapped in. “You’re my partner. My friend. My lover. My caretaker, my everything, Villain. My everything. If you think there’s not a thing I would do to protect you and keep you safe you are dead wrong, and I’ll spend everyday of my life proving how much you mean to me. That includes right now. I’m doing this because I love you, not because I have to. Understand?”

“They’re lying to you, Vil,” said Brother from across the room, looking out the window into the street below. They turned their head to Villain, a horrible grin on his face as he said: “Understand?”

“Yes,” Villain said quietly, eyes glazed over and unfocused. “I understand.”

“Good,” said Hero with a happy smile and kissed Villain on the cheek. Then they stood and went to their dresser, pulling out a fresh shirt and shorts. Hero’s clothes. “Let me dress you and we can get back into bed, okay?”

“Okay,” said Villain. Hero’s scent enveloped Villain as Hero put their shirt over Villain’s head and put their arms through. “You always smell good,” said Villain, keenly aware of how bad they probably smelled to their perfect Hero. Villain probably repulsed Hero right now and they were just being nice about it. As soon as Villain fell asleep Hero would leave them and it would be all Villain’s fault.

“You’re right there, Vil,” said Brother, this time beside Villain, looking at Hero as they put their shorts on Villain. “Just wait until you wake up and it’s just me and you again. Would you like that? Maybe you can throw up for me again. Just the two of us. I do so love that gagging sound you make when you retch—”

“Hero don’t leave,” Villain yelled, grasping onto Hero’s shoulders tighter. Hero’s hands were on Villain’s waist stabilising them, but they moved one hand up to brush the hair from Villain’s eyes.

“I’m not going anywhere, Villain. I’m taking a couple days off. I’m staying with you. It’s okay. I’ll stay with you until you’re better.”

“Lies.”

“Okay,” Villain sighed, sagging against Hero. Hero wrapped their arms around Villain, and just held them there for a moment. When Villain squeezed tighter, Hero did too just to let them know that Hero was there. In front of them. With them.

“Let’s get back to bed,” said Hero. Villain didn’t move.

“I don’t want to sleep,” Villain mumbled against Hero’s shoulder. “I don’t want to go to sleep again.”

“You don’t want to see me again? I’m hurt.” Brother asked, right behind Villain’s ear. Villain shivered in Hero’s arms and Hero held them tighter.

“Okay,” Hero said. “So how about we just lie down then and talk?”

Villain didn’t move for a minute before sighing and nodding against Hero’s shoulder. Hero smiled and helped Villain back into the freshly made bed. Villain let out a soft sigh as Hero walked around the other side of the bed.

As soon as Hero climbed in, they had their arms around Villain, resting their head against Villain’s shoulder as Villain lay on their back staring at the ceiling. Hero wrapped their leg around Villain’s and lay a hand on their chest, feeling the soft heartbeat within.

Villain put their hand over Hero’s and squeezed it gently. “Thank you Hero.”

“You’re welcome Villain.”

They just stayed like that. Huddled together in bed, Hero not letting up or letting go for even a moment. Neither of them knew when Villain’s fever broke, but it did and for the first time in the last 24 hours that felt more like 24 days Villain was coherent. Or at least, coherent enough.

“Hey Villain?” Hero asked, voice small. Villain hummed in reply, the rumbling reverberating from their throat to their chest and Hero felt it echo under their palm. “Who’s Brother?”

Villain stiffened under Hero at the name, and Hero nearly wished they didn’t ask them. This could have waited until they were better. Until they were fully better, but Hero didn’t know if Villain would tell them when they were fully better.

Brother came into view, standing over Villain as they stared into the ceiling, a wide grin on their face and cruelty pulling at every feature.

“Yeah, Vil. Tell them about me. About me, and what I did to you. Then they’ll definitely run in the morning.”

“Listen,” Hero said, breaking the heavy eye contact Villain was making with Brother’s phantom and closed their eyes. “I know he did something bad to you. I just— you never tell me about your past.”

“There’s a reason for that Hero.”

“It’s because they were pathetic in the past,” said Brother to Hero but Hero couldn’t hear them. Only Villain could, and they knew that Brother wasn’t really here. Wasn’t real. They hadn’t seen them in years, they probably don’t even look like how Villain saw them anymore. Tall and broad and dark and hiding cruelty behind a mask of virtue.

Sometimes when Villain looked in the mirror, they saw Brother’s eyes peering back at them. Black and void and endless. Villain hated how alike they looked, had always looked. They couldn’t escape him even to this day.

“Brother…” Villain began, trailing off with a heavy sigh. Not knowing how Hero was going to take this. How does someone react to someone when they find out they were abused? How do you look at them and not see a victim? Villain didn’t want to be a victim. Didn’t want Hero to see them like that. “If I tell you…”

“They’ll run.”

“You’ll run.”

“They’ll look at you differently.”

“You’ll look at me differently.”

Hero sat up looking down at Villain. “I won’t,” they said in earnest. “Villain I would never see you as anything more than I see you now. Or anything less. I love you. I want to know you, even the dark parts. All of you.”

“They will, Vil,” Brother said, this time going to sit in the chair that Villain was in while Hero dressed them. “But go ahead. Tell them how broken and damaged you are. Go on.”

“Brother is—“ Villain began again, then sighed and ran a hand down their face, pinching the bridge of their nose. Their eyes closed as they said: “Brother is the name of my older brother.”

The silence settled heavy around them. Like the fall of a guillotine that separated the life of Villain with Hero now, and the past they tried so hard to run from. So hard to hide from.

It was out now, in the open between them. Permeating the silence. Filling every atom of the room and dragging it down. Making the air thick and sticky, and hard to breathe through.

“Fuck Villain,” is all Hero said.

Villain let out a small humourless laugh. “Yeah, fuck is right. He was awful to me. Not at first. He was a good brother when we were kids, I mean younger kids. He was brilliant,” Villain said.

“I’m touched.”

Villain ignored the phantom of their Brother.

“I mean like, he was perfect. Smart. Funny. Charming. Compassionate. Every kid loved him, every parent thought he was the perfect child. My parents adored him, which is okay, because I did too. He stuck up for kids being bullied, everyone said he was a good kid. A hero. Kind and good, and smart, so when I came along everyone expected someone like him.”

Hero’s face was drawn, worrying their lip between their teeth and their thumb absently trailing their lips. Villain let out another soft laugh.

“You’re like him,” said Villain, reading Hero’s mind, squeezing Hero’s hand on their chest in theirs reassuring. “But not in the superficial way that he was good. You’re actually good.”

“So… everyone thought he was good, but he wasn’t?”

“H— He was good. That’s the killer. He was good to everyone. A hero. A kind, smart kid. Adored by all. He was just a monster to me.”

“So poetic, Villain. You’re making me shiver. Go on.”

Villain let out a heavy sigh.

“Villain you don’t have to—“

“No,” Villain said with a forced smile. “It’s fine, Hero. I want you to know.”

Hero nodded, cautious eyes wide, catching every movement of Villain. Looking for any tell that they actually wanted Hero to stop. To stop questioning and looking for an answer, but they… they wanted to know. They wanted to know what made Villain so upset about being sick.

“So, I guess it all started after I got into a fight at school. Some idiot kid was talking bad about Brother in front of me and I wanted so badly to be like him. To prove myself that I was like him. So I defended him. Then the kid got even more lippy and we got into a fight. Brother came to break it up and when he realised it was me in the fight, I had never seen him look at anyone like that,” Villain whispered, eyes haunted by the same stare that he saw when he looked in the mirror everyday.

“Like I was worthless, and beyond saving. He defended me, like I did him and he made it up to the other boy. Turns out the other boy was just jealous and actually wanted to be friends with Brother.”

“That was at lunch… then after school when we were walking home, Brother went a different direction and I followed, because obviously I followed him. He was my older brother and we always walked home together. I thought it was just a new way—“

“But it wasn’t, was it?” Hero asked. Villain heard Brother giggle in the chair and turned their head to see him leaning forward, hands on his knees. Eyes alight with vicious glee.

“This is my favourite part, Villain. Continue.”

“No,” said Villain. “It wasn’t. He brought me into the woods, sat me down on a felled tree trunk and asked me what happened at lunch. I told him. I told him I was defending him. That I did it for him.”

“You didn’t do it for me, though, Villain. If you’re honest with me right now, you didn’t do it for me,” Brother said.

Villain stood up and protested. “I did, Brother. I swear I did.”

“No you didn’t. If you were thinking of me you wouldn’t have done it at all. You embarrassed me today, and now I have to talk to stupid, fat, ugly Tyler Tobins just so the fight doesn’t get reported to the principal.”

“I had never heard him call anyone names before,” Villain said in awe. As if the name calling shocked them still to this day. “Ever. And three names in quick succession I thought maybe he was just angry and didn’t like Tyler. No one really liked Tyler anyways.”

“So what did you do?”

“I did nothing,” said Villain. “I said sorry. Tried to explain myself again but he didn’t appreciate that. He just walked over to me very slow. Stood over me and stared me down with his black eyes, no smile or happiness of kindness anywhere near him… he looked at me with hatred and said:—“

“You’re not sorry,” Brother said along with Villain. “Not yet. But you will be.”

“Then he beat the shit out of me. Tore at my clothes. Kicked me in the ribs, the chin, the face, the nose. Stomped on my back, then when I cried out for him to stop, he kicked me over to my back and got on top of me and just started wailing on me. I couldn’t breathe with the blood and I’m pretty sure I blacked out half way through, but when I woke up my body was so sore. I remember being surprised at being alive. I think I thought I died.”

“But Brother knew I was awake when I woke up. He stood over me and said to get up and come with him to the stream so he can clean my blood off of him. He even said he would clean me up a little too. He didn’t say sorry. I was eight at the time. He was eleven. Since then the beatings only got worse, more creative, more invasive.”

“Villain…” Hero breathed, putting a hand on Villain’s cheek. Villain turned to face them, unshed tears glistening in their eyes. Forcing a small smile onto their lips. “I’m so sorry. You— you didn’t deserve that. I— I don’t know what to say.”

“I know Hero,” said Villain, tracing figures on Hero’s hand still on their chest. “I know that. I’ve dealt with it over the years. Got away as soon as I could and never looked back.”

“What about your parents?”

“Oooh, that one’s gonna sting.”

“They didn’t care. When they found out, they didn’t care. They loved Brother more, it was always like that. It hurt, but they’re not in my life anymore.”

“How can a parent just sit back and let that happen to their child?” Hero demanded hotly, eyes burning with righteous fury. “Why didn’t you report them for neglect? Or— or abuse, or something!”

“Because I just wanted to cut ties, Hero. Brother was making a name for himself in the world, and if I tarnished his reputation with a lawsuit against our parents I’m sure he would’ve tracked me down and killed me, or worse.”

“Bet your ass I would’ve,” Brother said from the chair. “But it’s okay, Villain. I don’t need to find you again. I’m already here, in your mind, still frying your noodles whenever I want.”

“But it’s not fair,” Hero said, frustrated tears forming behind their eyes. Villain cooed and reached a hand up to wipe the tears away from Hero, a fond smile on their face. “I shouldn’t be crying, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” said Villain. “I don’t know how many times I’ve cried over it, Hero. It’s okay. I changed my name when I left them. Moved towns, moved here. Met a certain crime fighting badass and flirted my ass off with them until they fell for me.”

Hero laughed through the tears, sniffing.

“And I fell for them,” Villain continued. “They won’t ever find me, Hero. They will never bother us again, so let’s just… be happy together and forget about them, okay?”

“Okay,” Hero sniffed with a watery smile.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

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jump-in-the-whump · 10 months

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They start to cry. Their breath is coming short, and they are feeling dizzy. Their heart thumps in their chest and hammers their temples.

Oh dear lord, no, they don’t want to be tortured again.

They tug at their chest and fall to their side, crying and gasping. They are terrified, in pain and alone. They try to call out, but can't find their voice. Eventually, they hear someone calling them, but they can't see anybody and can't move. They simply lie there, shaking on the floor, tugging at their shirt, hoping that the uneasiness in their chest will go away. It doesn't.

Oh dear lord, please let this be a dream.

Then a hand suddenly grabs them. "Hey!" A desperate voice says, "Can you hear me?"

They sucked out a wheeze, flinching from the touch and backing away. ”Pl-please...I...i don't...w-want... this..." They panted, barely managing to squeak out the words.

"Don’t worry, I don't wanna do anything bad." The voice says, as a person looms over them. "You are safe here with me."

"N-no....never...s-safe...." They cry as the hand touches their face. It's a warm, soft hand, it's not the hand of a torturer. "Please, I...I don't want to g-go back th-there... Please." They beg.

Oh dear lord, please let this be a nightmare.

#whump #whumpee #caretaker #whumpee x caretaker #whumpee caretaker #hurt/comfort #ptsd #panic attack #torture #fear #weak #whump scenario #whump prompt #whump drabble #whump community #nightmare #jump-in-the-writing

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whumpalicious08 · 2 years

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Caretaker/whumpee h/c or post-whump comfort!

You know for someone who professes love for h/c I write surprisingly little of it. Let's change that;

Sidekick! Whumpee, recently rescued from Villain Whumper. Superhero/mentor Caretaker does his best to put him back together.

SOME PRETTY INTENSE TWS FOR THIS ONE : NIGHTMARES, PTSD, SELF HARM, ANXIETY ATTACKS

Whumpee forced to strip so Caretaker can treat his injuries. Whumpee is perched on the edge of the bathroom counter, hunched forward. Beside him, Caretaker fills the sink with water. "Can you lift your shirt?" He says, as gently as he can. Whumpee swallows the lump in his throat, begins to pull the blood-soaked fabric over his head. Caretaker inhales sharply, not even trying to hide his concern. Cuts, gashes, bruising around Whumpee's ribs ... he'd been beaten, burned, tortured, over and over and over again. But the worst of it all, the thing that makes Caretaker sick to his stomach, are the four little letters cut deep into the skin under Whumpee's collarbone. Mine. "Oh god- what's he done to you..." Caretaker's never seen the Villain be this bad, not with him. "Caretaker-" Whumpee interrupts his train of thought. His voice borders on pleading. "I'm begging you; don't make me talk about it."

Follow up : Whumpee disgusted with Whumper's mark. The sound of smashing glass from Whumpee's bedroom makes Caretaker spring into action immediately. The door is locked, but he throws his shoulder into it over and over again until the wood gives way and he stumbles into the room. Whumpee's stood in front of his mirror, fingers curled around a piece of broken glass. He's cutting around the carving. "Whumpee, stop!" Caretaker wrestles with his mentee, the latter fighting tooth and nail to resist his hold. "Let me go! Let me- I need to get rid of it- I need-" Whumpee's injuries slowly get the better of him, and he begins to break down, slumping against Caretaker. "No, no, no- I -I need to cut it out- please, Caretaker, let me cut it out, I need to-" Whumpee is in hysterics, still meekly thrashing against his mentor. Caretaker's eyes fill with tears. "It's going to be okay, Whumpee. You're going to be okay." He doesn't know who he's trying to convince more.

Whumpee's having a nightmare. He's moaning and twitching in his sleep, unintelligible cries for mercy passing his lips. Caretaker is awake before his protégé even stirs, knelt by his bedside, panic making his heart jackhammer against his chest. "Whumpee! Wake up!" Whumpee wakes before his mind does, blindly swinging his fists at Caretaker instinctively. "No! No! Please- don't touch me!" Caretaker grabs his wrists, pins them in front of him. "Whumpee, it's me. It's Caretaker, you're safe." Whumpee's blurry eyes pick out Caretaker's form, and his face crumples along with his body, arms thrown around Caretaker's neck. "M'sorry. I'm so sorry." He sobs into his shirt. Caretaker hushes him, rubs circles into his back. "You're not the one who has anything to apologise for, Whumpee. Not one thing."

Whumpee flinching accidentally when Caretaker startles them. Caretaker fixes them with a concerned look. Whumpee sniffs irritably, looks away. "I'm okay." Caretaker huffs a humourless laugh. "No, Whumpee. You're not." His tone is too gentle, too compassionate. Something inside of Whumpee breaks.

Whumper used to call whumpee the same nicknames his team mates would. Team mate casually slaps Whumpee on the back at the end of a mission, gives him an easy going smile. "Nice work today, Pretty boy." He says nonchalantly, tossing the phrase over his shoulder as he leaves. Whumpee freezes, rooted in place even as his other team members clear out. Two little words and he's back there again. Abandoned, broken. Would be completely alone if not for... Whumpee stuffs his hand in his mouth, wrangles down a sob. Mentor/Leader notices from across the room, is by his side in an instant. "Whumpee," he says, placatingly. Whumpee turns his startled eyes to his, tense as a wire. "Caretaker-" He murmurs, panicked. "I can't- I can't breathe." Caretaker makes slow movements, curls his hand around the back of his neck because he knows it calms the younger boy down. "It's okay. Just focus on my voice, okay? You're not there anymore. You're not with him." Whumpee shakes his head, trembling. "You're wrong, Caretaker." He was naive to think he could just jump back into missions like nothing happened. Like his life wasn't over the day he was taken from his team, from Caretaker. "He's always with me."

EDIT: SO, NOT SUPER IMPORTANT, BUT I WAS READING OVER THIS POST AND REALISED HOW MANY SMALL SPELLING ERRORS AND STUFF I MADE BC IT WAS LIKE, 1AM. WOULD LOVE TO HAVE A BETA READER OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT, NOT EVEN JUST FOR SPELL CHECKS BUT ALSO FOR JUST BOUNCING OF IDEAS AND STUFF (BE MY FRIEND PLEASE 😭). ANYWAY, INBOX IS OPEN FOR ANYONE TO CHAT, BETA PROSPECTIVE OR NOT!

#emotional whump #whump #whump fic #whump prompt #whump scenario #whump writing #whumpee #caretaking #hurt/comfort #team dynamics #nightmare #angst #ptsd tw #trauma #trauma recovery #caretaker

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