#implied medical whump

[lumpsbumpsandwhumps]

death is just what big pharma wants you to think

#maj tag #whump #my art #whump community #whump scenario #whumper #maj art #implied whump #whump tropes #medical whump #whump art

[whumpy-bi]

The last thing Whumpee remembers is being sedated again, their interrogator—no, their torturer—nodding coldly to the doctors as they rushed closer to Whumpee’s table.

“They’re too worked up, I won’t get anything now. Calm them down.”

The doctors said something to each other, something was adjusted. And Whumpee felt sleep yank them down like a shark finding its prey on the surface.

They would’ve screamed in frustration if they had the ability to. It’d been weeks in the hands of the enemy, strapped down and constantly hooked up to the IV and dealing with daily questioning. They were so tired, sleep never felt like rest.

Whumpee felt themselves come back to consciousness, the familiar rough fabric of the medical cot rubbing against their face. There was more…noise than usual, they expected their room to be silent again. Now, they heard voices, the sounds of busy interactions close by. Strange.

There was someone standing over them, they felt it. They were fighting immediately, screwing their eyes shut and moving to tug at their arms—

Only…Whumpee’s arms flew up near their face. They weren’t tied down.

Someone was shoving—no, gently easing them back down, adjusting a blanket over them. Since when did they have a blanket?

“Whumpee, hey, no…stay down, okay? We got you, you’re okay. Go back to sleep.”

#whump #whumpee #writing #whump writing #caretaker #whump thoughts #whumper #dialogue #whump prompt #kidnapping #medical whump #kinda #rescue #implied torture

[rizzoto-whump]

As soon as Whumpee entered Caretaker office, they could tell that something was very wrong. They noticed the bruises, the way Whumpee flinched when they tried to perform routine examinations, and the overwhelming sense of fear in Whumpee's eyes. Still, Whumpee tried to hide their pain, forcing a smile and attempting to make small talk with Caretaker.

"So, Caretaker… umm… how's your ballet classes going?"

"Whumpee, I need you to be honest with me. What's happening to you? Who's responsible for this?"

Whumpee hesitated, their eyes filling with tears. They wanted to tell Caretaker, but the fear of Whumper's wrath kept their lips sealed shut. "Nothing's wrong, Caretaker. I just fell down the stairs last night, is all. No big deal, really."

#whump #whump prompt #bruises #traumatized whumpee #sadistic whumper #implied abusive relationship #protective caretaker #whump tropes #whump scenario #hidden injury #doctor caretaker #medical whump #hurt/comfort #patient whumpee #hospital whump

[suspensefulpen]

A Favor

TW: Sadistic Carewhumper, Fire, Bleeding Wounds, Cut, Threats of Violence/Torture, Implied Kidnapping

Carewhumper opened her front door and found Whumper standing outside. She noticed a bag and gallon of sweet tea in his hand. 

“I guess you need something.” 

“Yeah… kind of.” He nodded slowly. 

She grabbed the bag and looked through it. She hummed. “I guess I can help. Come in.” Whumper walked inside the house, following Carewhumper. She pulled out a chair and pointed to it. “Sit.” 

She put the bag down on the table and pulled out its contents. There were packs of cookies, brownies and cigarettes. Whumper reached in his pocket and handed her a lighter. She put away the items before retrieving a medical kit and sitting next to him. “For you to claim to be so high and mighty, you sure know how to beg.” 

“Well, who else could I run to without getting a thousand dollar bill afterwards?” He smiled. 

She frowned. “I should start charging you that much just because you said that. Let me see your arm.” He pulled off his jacket and allowed her to examine the large cut. “What stupid shit did you do this time?” 

“Let’s just say, I… wasn’t paying attention.” 

“You never know how to, do you?” Carewhumper was about to clean the wound when she noticed a bite mark below it. She ran her finger over it. “The hell is this?” 

“A…bite mark.” 

“From?” 

“The same thing that got me a cut…” 

“Things don’t bite Whumper, people do. Who cut you?” 

He smiled. “You sound jealous.” 

“Don’t start with me. I’ll cut the other arm just like this so it’ll match. Clearly they cut the wrong body part.” 

“Are you insinuating you want my throat to be slashed?” 

“I’m insinuating I’ll do it myself if you don’t tell me.” 

Whumper chuckled. “Fine. It was Whumpee.” 

Carewhumper paused. “Whumpee?” 

“Yeah, Whumpee. Remember? I told you about him. You wanna share him?” 

“I know, I know. And no, I don’t want to share him. I just heard his name somewhere else too…” Carewhumper thought for a moment. “The hospital. Caretaker was so concerned about him.” 

“Caretaker? You know who that is?” 

“Yeah, unfortunately I do. They’re my coworker. They don’t shut up about Whumpee.” She rolled her eyes. “He came in a few weeks ago. Caretaker got him. They said he had been found barely conscious on the side of the road by some older couple. Three weeks later, we came to work and he was gone. I’ve never seen Caretaker attach to a patient so easily. It seems like they always get the ones that’s been through it all. Or maybe they do that on purpose. I always thought nurses were weird anyway. They care too much.” 

Whumper narrowed his eyes. “I’m sure that’s why doctors like you don’t work alone.” 

“What? I just think it’s strange to care about someone you don’t know that much.” 

“How long have you been working together?” 

“Couple years. They piss me off. I’m just glad they’re not on my team.” 

“I’m sure a lot of nurses are.” She glared up at him, making him shrug. “Just saying.” She poured an excessive amount of rubbing alcohol over the cut, making Whumper wince. “Are you always this mean to your patients?” He asked through gritted teeth. 

“No, just you. You’re the only one I’m legally allowed to do this to. I would do it at work too but then the nurses might snitch.” 

“I think you just like to see me in pain.” 

Carewhumper hummed. “Yeah, that too. I think it’s only fair for you showing up on my doorstep at twelve in the morning every other week.” 

“You’d do this no matter what time I ask you for help.” 

She wiped his arm and placed a gauze over it. “I still want to make the other arm match. But I know you probably lost a lot of blood because you like to ignore your wounds until the last minute.” 

“No I don’t.” 

“Explain to me why your hand is so red then? It should be pale from losing blood.” He glanced around and shrugged. “Because you were trying to ignore it until you saw the blood dripping down your wrist. Were you not?” 

“No.” 

“Your lies might work on everyone else but not me.” Carewhumper put away all of the medical supplies and grabbed the pack of cookies. “And who told you I lost my lighter?” 

“No one told me. I just saw it and got it for you.” 

“Well I’m glad you did. I need to see if it works.” She bit a cookie and reached for the lighter. When the tiny flame flickered to life, she held it under Whumper’s hand. Watching him try his best not to scream made her laugh. “It’s perfect. And you got it in a nice design. You just might be my favorite patient since I got my degree.” 

“You had a favorite?” He asked breathlessly while gingerly holding his burned hand. 

“Nah, none of them squirm like you do. Gotta have them under anesthesia and all that in order to operate. You, on the other hand, I can torture any way I want.” She smirked. 

Whumper frowned, realizing he once said those exact words to Whumpee. 

What goes around, comes around right?

#whump #whump writing #carewhumper #sadistic whumper #whumper #injury #multiple whumpers #caretaking #caretaker #whumpee #defiant whumpee #medical whump #hospital whump #tw blood #implied kidnapping #implied torture #tw torture #creative writing #writeblr #writer things #writers on tumblr

[whump-and-other-misfortunes]

Whumpuary 2024 Day 3

3. (Jan 05-06) Used as bait / Stumbling / "This is gonna hurt"

cw medical whump, experiment whumpee, drugging/sedatives, implied kidnapping 

Whumpee groaned, blinking against the bright lights overhead. There was a searing pain behind their eyes and the rest of their body felt weighed down like they were made of molasses, slowly dripping into the ground. They tried to sit up but a hand on their chest pushed them back down. 

“Shh, don’t try to move,” a gentle voice said. “You’ve got some nasty wounds from that fight back there.” 

A figure moved into their vision, shadow blocking the light. Whumpee couldn’t see what they looked like, but the voice was unfamiliar. “Who’re you?” they asked, tongue heavy in their mouth. “You’re not Medic…” 

The stranger’s hand pushed Whumpee’s hair away from their face, skin covered by a latex glove. “You don’t need them, okay? I’m going to help you.” 

Whumpee attempted to move again, but the world bobbed around them like they were floating underwater. “D’j’you drug me?” they slurred. 

“Just a mild sedative,” the stranger replied with a chuckle. “I can’t have you struggling too much. Now relax, I’m a doctor.” 

Whumpee frowned. “I don’ think you are.” 

“Well, not yet. Technically,” the stranger said with a huff. “But how am I supposed to make it through med school if I can’t practice?” 

A jolt of fear went through Whumpee when the light glinted off a scalpel. “W-wait…” 

The stranger pushed Whumpee down when they started to struggle again. “Uh-uh, hold still or I'll give you more of the sedative,” they chastised. “And you might want to close your eyes—this is gonna hurt.” 

#whumpuary2024 #whumpuaryno3 #this is gonna hurt #medical whump #experiment whumpee #lab whump #drugging #implied kidnapping #whump #whump writing #whumpblr #snippet

[tildeathiwillwrite]

Merry Whumpmas 2023 Day 31: Free Day

And... that's a wrap for Whumpmas 2023! Thanks for reading my contributions, I'll see you all in the New Year!

This is the third (and final) part of a hero x villain story that I accidentally created during Whumpmas.

Part 1 | Part 2

TW: blood, surgery, medical staples, referenced abuse, painkillers

Hero was lying on the couch in Villain’s safe house, staring at the ceiling and impatiently waiting for painkillers to kick in, when the door burst open. Villain stumbled inside, covered in blood. Hero shot to their feet from the couch, gritting their teeth against the pain caused by the movement. “What happened? Are you okay?”

Villain bolted the door and leaned heavily against it, breathing raggedly. “Yeah,” they mumbled, pulling off their mask and tossing it onto the nearest surface, “I’m fine.”

“But you’re covered in blood!” Hero protested, anxiously following them into the makeshift surgery room, the original purpose of which they hadn’t yet discovered. Hero stared in horror at the rips on the back of Villain’s suit, revealing the deep cuts underneath.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Villain muttered, rummaging through their medical supplies in search of something. “And it’s not all my blood.”

“You need stitches—”

“On my back? It’ll be fine, I just need a mirror.” Villain held up a medical staple gun. “I’ve done this before. Hurts like hell, but works just as well as stitches in a pinch.”

Hero wordlessly turned on their heel and left the surgery room. Snatching the bottle of painkillers off the small table by the couch, Hero returned and held it out to Villain.

Villain took the pill bottle and set down the staple gun to take the medication. “Thanks,” they said softly, shaking out what was probably more than the recommended dosage and swallowing it dry. They winced and made a face. “Think I might have bruised ribs, too.”

“Sit down,” Hero ordered, picking up the medical staple gun. “I can do it.”

Villain frowned. “You sure? You’re still not a hundred percent—”

Hero shook their head adamantly, ignoring how the movement jarred their own injuries. “I’ll have a better angle than you and your mirror contraption. You don’t need to do everything yourself.”

“Oh…” Villain said softly. They boosted themself onto the table and sucked a deep breath in through their teeth. “I guess… I guess you’re right.” 

Hero took a second to clean their hands and put on gloves before they moved behind them and picked up a clean alcohol wipe. “This is gonna sting, but I need to get rid of all this blood.”

They didn’t miss how Villain’s hands curled into fists as they wiped away the blood from the scratches. “How’d you encounter my team, anyway? Did they come to you?”

“Yeah…” Villain hissed through gritted teeth. “Just two of them. Not the fire one, thankfully. I hate fighting them. It was the one who can turn into different animals and the one who has the sound… gun… thing…?”

Hero positioned the head of the stapler in the center of the first of the cuts on Villain’s back. “Guess that’s where you got the scratches?”

“Cor—” Villain began just as Hero pulled the trigger. They yelped, flinching away from Hero. They glared over their shoulder. “Now that’s just mean.”

Hero shrugged. “I didn’t want you to tense up. Get back here, I gotta put one more in that cut and then another two in the other one.”

Villain closed their eyes and pressed the heels of their hands against them. They breathed slowly, purposefully, until they removed their hands and moved back towards Hero. “Alright,” they mumbled, fingers gripping the table's edge so hard, the knuckles turned white. “Fire away.”

Once the first staple was in, the rest of them went in swiftly. Villain flinched away every time, but only a few seconds later would order Hero to put the next one in. Finally, Hero had Villain pull off the top part of their suit so they could cover the cuts in bandages. Villain kept their eyes forward throughout the process, but Hero didn’t miss how their cheeks flushed when they removed their shirt.

“Okay,” Hero said, removing their gloves, “I’m done.”

Villain slowly pushed themselves off the table, wincing at the pain the movement caused. “Oh… that’s gonna bug me for a while.”

“Will your part of the city be all right?” Hero asked anxiously, wondering what would happen if their team decided to invade while Villain was recovering.

Villain waved their hand dismissively. “Yeah, they can handle themselves. I think I threw your old team off your trail by acting all annoyed that they’d showed up and really playing up the whole ‘sworn nemesis’ deal we had going.”

“Oh…” Hero said softly. “And they fought you anyway?”

“They didn’t take too kindly to my very reasonable request that they’d leave me the hell alone. Sure, I got all scratched up but I shot your shapeshifter buddy in both legs and broke the other one’s sound gun so I don’t think those one’s’ll be coming after us anytime soon.”

“Did they ask about Whumper? About how… you killed them?”

Villain smirked. “Nope! I forgot to tell you about this earlier, but I moved the body to the complete opposite side of the city from us. If anything, they probably think you killed them.”

Hero stared at them for a long few seconds. “I…” they stammered, trying to gather their thoughts, “I… why are you doing all this?”

Villain blinked. “Huh?”

“Saving me, stitching up my wounds, throwing off my other teammates, letting me stay at your safehouse…” Hero’s vision blurred as tears began to drip down their face. “I… what have I done to deserve all this? You’re risking everything for me, and I don’t have anything to give you in return….”

“Oh, Hero…” Villain murmured. They took Hero’s hand. 

Hero froze, gazing down at it in surprise. 

“I saved you,” Villain said, “because it was the right thing to do. You would’ve died in that alley from Whumper, so I took you to safety. I stitched up your injuries because you would’ve died from infection. And I’m letting you stay here because out there, those bastards would just recapture you again.”

“What…” Hero whispered, “What are you saying?”

Villain smiled. A soft, genuine smile. “I care about you, Hero. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I abandoned you.”

More tears began to well up. It was suddenly hard to breathe. “I…” Hero stammered, heart racing, “I care about you too. Please… please don’t get yourself killed trying to protect me. I don’t know… I don’t know what I’d do.”

“Me neither,” Villain murmured, a dark look crossing their face. “Me neither.”

#merry whumpmas #my writing #whump #whump scenario #hero #villain #hero x villain #surgery #painkillers #tw painkillers #stitches #staple gun #medical staple gun #implied abuse #old wounds #referenced torture

[whumpacabra]

18. Again

Disorientation, blood loss, field medicine, medical treatment, needle use [IV], fear for others safety, anticipated violence, nonconsensual drugging, brief suicidal ideation, referenced stitches, referenced gunshot wound, implied head injury, implied past noncon

AU Masterpost / Previous / Next

The Wolf wasn’t sure how he got on his back, or where his shirt went, but he didn’t like it. The air kissing his skin was cold - not the ice he was familiar with but enough to make his skin prick to gooseflesh. People were speaking, the voices garbled.

The familiar sting of an IV bit the inside of his elbow, heavy exhaustion reminding him of his injuries more than their pain. The right side of his face and head were bound in dry, fresh gauze, skin taught with stitches. His right arm burned, every twitch igniting the spot where the bullet had torn through his flesh.

The Wolf could smell antiseptic and the rubbery scent of examination gloves. The hard cold surface below him was probably a table in the medical wing. He wasn’t sure if he was crying, but he certainly wanted to.

Had they gotten caught? They probably got caught. Then where was Harrison? He hoped Harrison wasn’t here.

The gloved hands were quick, not lingering as they smeared antiseptic over scrapes or applied butterfly stitches to deeper cuts. How long would he be given to heal? Or would they put him in the Box to fester and rot? That wouldn’t make sense - they were tending to his wounds. They needed him alive.

He had a good guess for what.

(“A bitch like you’s only good for two things: fighting and fucking. And you’ve got no fighting days left.”)

The sound that gargled in his throat wasn’t enough to stop the hands from turning him over, the rough texture under his stomach cold. They started working at the burns on his shoulders, and the Wolf felt fire simmer in his gut.

He’d kill whoever touched him again. He’d rip them apart. No more. Not again. Never again.

His hearing implants whined, the distant tap tap tap of military standard boots rang in his skull. No. His handler wasn’t here. The Wolf killed him. Hadn’t he? Maybe he hadn’t - maybe his handler and the overseers were here at medical. Maybe they were waiting for the okay from the staff before they tore him apart again.

Would he be given time to rest and heal? He needed a day - at least a few hours of sleep - he knew in his gut he would simply die of exhaustion if they had him again. The words around him were clearing, still a slurry of unfamiliar voices in his blood starved brain.

Unfamiliar, save for one.

Harrison.

Oh god Harrison was here in medical and his handler was nearby and Harrison was going to die badly and the Wolf would have to watch and he was helpless to stop it -

Except he wasn’t helpless. Save for the IV wrapped around his arm, his hands and feet were free. Unbound. His handler always prided his Wolf on how well behaved he was for the staff. Didn’t even need a muzzle like other, poorly trained dogs.

The Wolf could take advantage of that.

He couldn’t help but flinch as a gloved hand prodded at the cut that wrapped from his spine to his hip, his poorly placed butterfly stitches pried away with intense focus. Now or never.

His elbow struck true, catching the staff member’s jaw as the Wolf reared up on his knees. The IV line in his arm ripped free, blood spattering across the blue tarp.

Tarp? It didn’t matter, the momentum was too strong and the fear in his blood at the sound of those rapidly approaching boots was too great. The Wolf turned, following through after his elbow with a hand around the medic’s throat. He couldn’t use his right hand; that arm was already bleeding and burning from the torn IV and strained stitches. His momentum carried the medic to his back, the Wolf’s knee pressing down on his stomach.

“Wolf, no!”

Harrison. Harrison’s voice.

The Wolf’s blurry vision swam as he looked up from the masked medic below him. Harrison’s worried face drifted in and out of focus, lips moving but sound buffered by the whine of his hearing implants.

He yelped as strong hands pried into his bruised shoulder, wrenching him off of the medic. His back hit the ground, a pair of military standard boots in his face. His handler. Oh god. He was dead. He hoped he was going to die. He hoped those boots would slam down on his windpipe and let him suffocate before those hands touched anything else -

“Wolf, hey, Wolfie, easy - they’re - they’re trying to help.” Harrison’s face drifted back into view, and the Wolf was dimly aware his face was cradled in those bony hands. He whimpered, pressing the uninjured left side of his face deeper into Harrison’s hold. His hands were warm. “Yeah - yeah there you go, it’s just me. You’re alright. We’re alright.”

His breathing was calming, but his vision was still swimming and sparked with stars. This wasn’t the sterile white medical lab. This was a dusty garage that smelled like motor oil and blood. The medic behind the mask was being helped up by a woman in a sweater - definitely against regulation for its vibrant pink and superfluous tassels.

He lifted his eyes beyond Harrison, looking up at the man above the military boots. He was young, half panicked eyes looking between the medic and Harrison. The Wolf wished he could hear what he was saying, lips moving faster than his sluggish brain could hope to read.

He was dimly aware of a keening whine in his throat as Harrison helped the medic move him back into the tarp, on his stomach where he couldn’t see -

The world went dark faster than he could contemplate that fear.

AU Masterpost / Previous / Next

(An AU of my Freelancers series)

#whump #disorientation #blood loss #field medicine #medical treatment #needle use #fear for others safety #anticipated violence #nonconsensual drugging #suicidal ideation #referenced stitches #referenced gunshot wound #implied head injury #implied noncon #past noncon #freelancers au #*gently holds wolf* I bet on losing dogs #:] I’ve been awake since 2 AM yall it’s been a morning™ #ashen if you’re reading this: as you can see giving wolf a hug is probably not the best idea if you want to comfort him #give that man a room w a door he can lock from the inside. and a really soft blanket. he’d probably appreciate that.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

No More No

CW: Dehumanizing language, medical abuse, medical whump, Facility whump, defiant whumpee, sadistic whumper, Some references to noncon

Nova’s pieces can be found in this masterlist

For @amonthofwhump, day 9: Medical abuse

-

"Here we go, little lady, time for round two. Just be a good girl and lay back for me, okay?"

"No! I don't want it, no, you can't make me, not again, not again, no!"

"Hey, now. You're not supposed to know that word-"

"No, no, not the needle, no no no-"

Her voice cut off when the asshole's hand smacked into her forehead, forcing her writhing body back against the padded bench. Some fucking doctor, she thought, kicking out and nearly succeeding before he ducked, the sides of his white coat flapping under the cold florescent lights. She felt her big toe just graze his brown hair and bared her teeth in a snarling hostile grin, her own thick, long black hair hanging in her face like a demon ready to drag him to the depths.

"What the fuck, did she not finish her first round?"

"No," The trainee's handler said, frowning more in confusion than anger. "She did. She was fine, coming along nicely, until she just lost her shit yesterday. She mentioned a cousin."

"They don't have cousins."

"Yeah, hence me signing her up for another round. Come on, Ninety-Seven, you know better than this. You've been my sweet soft girl for two weeks, what happened, huh?"

"Maybe I just got sick of eating you out-"

"Ninety-Seven! I can handle some rebellions, but crude language is subject to severe consequences for you!" Her primary handler grabbed her right wrist with gloved hands. She made quick work of jamming it up above her head and locking it into the restraints, the magnets catching with a strength 445097 couldn't fight, not at this angle. 

She yanked at her wrist anyway, just to hear the little chain rattle, and tried to throw a punch. "I'll use whatever fucking crude shitty language I want!"

Handler Abernathy pulled just out of reach, some wispy brown hair escaping her severe bun to frame her face. It made the trainer pause at the unexpected softness it gave to her handler's usual severity. 

"I don't want the needle," She said, plaintive now, trying for the soft puppy voice, I'll be good now sound that everyone seemed to like from her. She couldn’t make tears well up, but she could put the tremble of them into words. "Please… please, Handler, no."

Handler Abernathy softened, just a little. “Ninety-Seven-”

"Too bad." The stupid doctor grabbed at her other wrist and this time her heel caught his chin, sending him stumbling backwards, knocking over the tray of syringes and pale, faintly colored liquids lined up there. "Jesus Christ! That bitch-"

"Back off, Bill, let me get her handled," Handler Abernathy said, voice thin with effort as she managed to evade 444097's flailing legs and get her other wrist secured. "She does better for me anyway.  Don't you, babygirl?"

"Please, please, not the needle, I can train without it, I can learn-"

"Hey. Hey, sweetie." Abernathy's glove was cool where the leather touched her cheek. The trainee raised her chin and opened her mouth for the kiss, Abernathy's lips picking up the trainee's expertly applied lipstick. She lowered her eyelashes, heavy with mascara. Her breath came in pants that raised her chest up and down, just brushing the front of Abernathy's black WRU handler uniform. 

The oversized t-shirt meant she couldn't use it entirely to her advantage, but she tried. Sometimes a show of being overcome would soothe the handlers, calm them, get her what she wanted or just out of trouble. 

"There we go." Handler Abernathy dropped to a whisper, lips moving against the trainee's cheek. "You'll be good for Dr. Bill, right? It's just a little prick."

"Not that little," Dr. Bill said, a little affronted. 

"I meant the needle, dumbass." Abernathy groaned, closing her eyes in brief annoyance. "Just get it going, yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah. She knocked all of it over, give me a second." Bill rifled through a cabinet in the small exam room while Abernathy turned back to the trainee and smiled. 

"Here we go, sweetie. Just give me that pretty little ankle… here we go…" The trainee swallowed, watching as Abernathy moved her foot into the stirrup and buckled her ankle in place, then did the same with her other leg. "There's my good girl. There she is. Much better, right?"

"Handler… I-I don't want the needle, please, I promise I don't remember anything, it was a mistake…" She jerked her left ankle but all it did was rattle in place. She tried to tear up, next, but she couldn't seem to make the tears come, no matter how her voice trembled. "I don't need it, I don't…"

"Ninety-Seven." Abernathy shook her head, tucking those stray little hairs the trainee had thought so pretty back behind one ear. "We all know you're lying right now. It's what your kind does. You start acting up with aberrant memories, we have to wipe them away again."

The trainee's eyebrows furrowed. "Handler." Her voice was a whimper, a whine. "Please, Handler, no…"

"There's that word again." Abernathy sighed, disappointed. "Bill, get her hooked up. Don't worry, babygirl. Just a couple of days should do it. Then… no more cousin, no more bad girl behavior, and no more no, huh?"

"Fuck you." She dropped the sad eyes and spat, watching with a thin thread of satisfaction as Handler Abernathy wiped the saliva from her cheek. 

The doctor snorted. "Better for you, huh? Doesn't seem like it."

"Oh, shut up."

There was nothing she could do - the trainee could only shake in the restraints as Bill came over, humming cheerfully with an IV bag on a roller full of a cloudy liquid. The trainee's eyes latched onto the sight of it as her heart started to race. 

"No, no please, please please please my name is my number I'm a pet not a person, I know, I know, I signed up for this all pets legally consent to giving up their former failed identities in exchange for a safe secure home and future I know what you want me to think, I know!"

"I know you do, baby, I know." Abernathy smiled, taking her chin in hand and turning her to look into her handler's sparkling eyes, drinking in her fear and helplessness as Bill wiped something cold and tingling along the crook of her elbow. "But, listen to me, honey. Listen. Say 'yes, Miss, I'm listening."

Now, the tears came. 

The trainee's lower lip trembled as she swallowed and then said, in a whisper, "I'm l-listening, M-Miss…"

"Good girl. I know you know all the right things to think, to say. But…"

The pinch of the needle made her flinch, and Abernathy leaned forward to kiss her. Her handler's lips were soft but pressed hard, swallowing her whimper as the needle was placed and the first rush of cold fluid raced through her blood toward her pounding heart. 

"We need to make sure," Handler Abernathy murmured, pressing one more quick kiss before pulling back, "that you don't remember any of the wrong things to think and say, either."

"Please… p-please, no, please don't make me do this again!"

Handler Abernathy turned and left the exam room, her boots clomping loudly across the floor. The tears came, now, and the trainee could barely see through them and her hair as the doctor grinned at her, staying behind to watch, for just a moment, as the trainee's muscles felt heavier by the second.

Once she slumped backwards, the doctor stepped up close. 

"Be a good girl and just chill here for a while, okay?" He patted the side of her face. Each soft touch felt like a blow. 

"Don't… don't leave me al, alone, please-"

"I'll come back once that perfect pretty head is so empty you can hear the wind blow right through it." He gave her hip a squeeze, then patted her thigh like the flank of a horse before he turned and walked out, too.

The door buzzed locked behind him.

Her eyes were already drifting closed, the Drip taking its terrible hold. The small sweet face she had been holding in her mind, of a cousin she had known, whoever she had been, was already fading. 

"Don't-... D-Don't leave me al, alone…"

There was no one left to listen.

-

@eatyourdamnpears @sableflynn @orchidscript @whump-tr0pes @burtlederp @arlinthesnep @finder-of-rings @hackles-up

#amow winter whumperland 2022 #whump #lady whump #lady whumper #lady whumpee #implied noncon #noncon kissing #box babe #box boy universe #bbu #pet whump #facility whump #medical whump #needles tw #noncon touch #noncon touching #nova bb #dehumanizing language #degrading language #sadistic whumper #defiant whumpee

[dgalerab]

(part 1)(part 2)(part 3)

me: what if shirakumo lived

me:

me: ANYWAY

(but dw it's not a nomuzama au)

#tw whump comic #tw medical experimentation #rooftop agency au #tw implied drugging #bnha #aizawa shouta #erasermic i suppose but not yet?

[i-eat-worlds]

Whumpcember Day 1-Fever & Day 2-Sickness

@whumpcember

set early in Joseph’s mentorship at INSUPA

cw: illness, medical stuff, mentor caretaker, implied past medical neglect

“Hey, are you feeling alright?”

Joseph looked up to see his mentor, Jenn standing over him. He was sitting on one of the chairs in the hallway outside of the training bay, hunched over with his elbows resting on his knees. If he was being honest, he’d thought he’d have more time to pull himself together before she showed up.

As if to answer her question, he started coughing and hacking. Some surprise lung goop landed on his elbow.

“I’m gonna take that as a no,” she signed.

“ ‘m fine,” he grumbled, ignoring the way each breath felt insufficient.

“You’re not, Joseph, I can hear you trying to breathe from over here,” she placed her hands on her hips, frowning. “You're coming with me to get checked out.”

“I’ll be fine.” The ache in his chest was distressing, but it wasn’t anything that couldn’t wait. He had his test in a week. He needed the practice.

“Then the checkup will go fast.” She extended her hand. “Your powers are pulmonogenic. I’m not screwing around with a chest infection.”

She was right, and as much as he hated to be the patient, he didn’t have an excuse not to go. “Alright,” he pushed himself up from the chair, vision swimming a little when he rose to standing. Maybe it was worse than he thought.

“You look worse when you’re standing,” she commented quietly, offering her arm for stability. “C’mon, let’s go.”

Joseph let himself be led to an open exam room. She patted the table, encouraging him to sit down, then pulled the privacy curtain closed. “Do you want me to get somebody else, maybe Rainier?”

He shook his head. “You can do it.”

“I’ll get a set of obs, and then I’ll auscultate. We’ll go from there,” she explained as she got everything set up.

She started by clipping the sats probe to his finger, then velcroing the blood pressure cuff around his arm. Joseph was familiar with the process, and it was easy to relax into the routine. After she took his temperature, she shook her head. “How high is it?”

“High enough that you’re going back to bed after we're done” she responded, unwrapping the stethoscope from around her neck. “Take some slow, deep breaths for me, please.”

He did as he was told, watching as she moved the bell around to several different locations on his chest. There was a break when she walked around, then started listening to his lungs through his back as well. Finally, she resurfaced, removing the ends from her ears.

“How do they sound?” He knew it wasn’t going to be good, but a part of him still hoped that maybe he’d get away with light duty.

“Honestly, not great.” She looped the stethoscope around her neck. “How long’ve you felt sick?”

“A couple days. Thought it was cold.” He shrugged, even though saying it out loud made him sound like an idiot.

She signed, scrubbing her face. “Next time, please tell me.”

“I will,” he hung his head.

Her voice turned soft. “Hey, I know you’re used to having to hide stuff like this.” She let her words settle. “We know that your lungs work dffierently. We’re not gonna freak out about it. You’ll still get help here, yeah.”

He nodded. “Thanks, Jen.”

“Always kid,” she said. “Now go back to bed.”

Taglist: @pigeonwhumps @rainydaywhump

#worlds babbles #whump #whumpcember2023 #fever #sickness #illness tw #implied past medical neglect #medical whump

[genuinehc]

Day 3: Seizure

Challenge: @mediwhumpmay 2023 Fandom: Arcane Prompt: Day 3: Seizure Tags/Warnings: hurt/comfort, medical whump, seizures, non-epileptic seizures, implied impending character death

“Viktor. Viktor. Hey, can you hear me? Come on, Viktor. I need you to-”

Viktor blinks and the voice calling his name catches. 

“Hey, there you are. Don’t move-” 

Viktor sees Jayce’s face taking up the majority of his field of vision. Jayce’s eyes are wide with worry and fear. His cheeks have tear tracks. His teeth-

“You have a piece of spinach in your teeth,” Viktor tells him. He tries to gesture, but his arms feel like lead. His tongue feels swollen and as he investigates the inside of his mouth, he finds that he’s somehow bitten his tongue. 

Jayce barks a laugh, relieved, half hysterical. 

Viktor takes stock: he’s on the floor of the lab. His head has more in common with an overripe melon than he would prefer. His back brace is digging in at an angle that tells him he was not in charge of getting to the floor entirely on his own. He smells piss. 

Jayce is barely holding it together.

“Jayce, I’m fine. I just fainted-” and god knows it’s not the first time long hours and his failing lungs conspired against him. 

But Jayce shakes his head, lip trembling. “It wasn’t- I think you had a seizure. Heimerdinger has medics coming-”

Viktor shivers despite the warm air, because he doesn’t need medics to tell him what he already knows.  

It’s getting worse. He’s getting worse. 

-=-=-=-

He goes to see his doctor, an older man with graying hair and a white beard, whose bedside manner cannot be described without resorting to negative integers. Viktor finds his exacting nature comforting in a way that Jayce - sweet, soft Jayce - can’t understand and Viktor has given up trying to explain. 

“We can do more tests to be certain, but this was a known possible side effect of the medication-” 

Viktor knows. He knew it was a possibility, knew that if it happened, it was going to be the beginning of the end. 

He closes his eyes, takes a deep, rattling breath. Then he holds up a pale, spindly hand to forestall the inevitable, but his doctor keeps speaking. “I’d work on putting your affairs in order sooner rather than later.”

He nods his understanding. 

It has to be now.

#hurt/comfort #medical whump #seizures #non-epileptic seizures #implied impending character death #viktor arcane #arcane league of legends

[whumpbot]

WhumpAI Prompt #4:

Content : Rescue Whump | Captivity | Injury | Implied torture

"Whumpee, held captive in a hidden underground facility, had just lost all hope of escape when they suddenly heard gunshots and chaos echoing outside their confinement. A team of skilled operatives, who had tirelessly worked to infiltrate the facility, launched a daring rescue mission and managed to overpower whumper’s faction. The once deafening shots dissipates into silence, then broken by the sudden crash of the door breaking down followed with voices throwing commands in a familiar language that struck a chord deep within whumpee’s heart.

The surge of fear, reignited hope, and relief proofed too intense for their already weakened body, ravaged by prolonged malnutrition and relentless whumper’s abuse. Their senses overwhelmed, struggling to form a coherent response to the repeated calls from the incoming operatives. The blinding beams of flashlights pierced through the darkness, illuminating the harrowing sight of Whumpee's bruised and battered face, frozen in a moment of fleeting connection, before their eyes rolled back and they crumpled onto the cold, unforgiving floor.

The armed rescuers swiftly swarmed around unconscious Whumpee amidst the flurry of urgent intercom chatter, preparing to resuscitate and stabilize their hard-fought hostage.

|| This prompt piqued my interest a lot, somehow it had never occured to my dumbass self that its probably more realistic for a whumpee to survive when rescued by actual professionals and not one(1) panicking caretaker, LOL||

#ai generated #Whump #prompt #whump prompt #rescue #Captivity #implied torture #passing out #whump scenario #whump tropes #medical whump #whump writing #LITERALLY FBI OPEN UP

[suspensefulpen]

Whumpuary Day 6: “This Is Gonna Hurt"

TW: Noncon Drugging, Multiple Whumpers, Labrat Whumpee, Implied Torture

@whumpuary

Sydney and Lee stood back as they watched the sedative kick into their little subject’s system. Taylor felt a wave of calmness blanketing them against their will. They gazed up at the doctors through half lidded eyes, Lee on their left, Sydney on their right. Can this just be over with already…? 

Sydney tapped them and forced them to turn their head. “Taylor, still with us?” When they nodded slowly, Lee grabbed their chin next. 

“How are you feeling?” 

“I feel like I can…” Taylor paused, blinking a couple of times. “Good.” Their voice cracked. 

Lee hummed and let go of them. They smiled. “That’s perfect.” Taylor tried their best to follow Lee’s hand with their eyes to the tray of equipment perched next to them. Even with all the leaning they could possibly do, they couldn’t see what the doctor was grabbing. Lee noticed and furrowed their brows. They turned to give their full attention to Taylor. “Is something wrong?” 

“Your hand…” Taylor still attempted to get a peek at it. 

Lee hummed with a nod, keeping their hand out of their line of vision. “You’ll see in a moment.” They looked over at their partner. “The gag, please.” 

“Of course.” Sydney nodded and grabbed the cloth gag next to them. They smiled at Taylor as they put it over their face. “Brace yourself, alright? Cause this is gonna hurt.”

#whumpuary #whumpuary2024 #whumpuaryno6 #this is gonna hurt #whump #whump writing #suspense #multiple whumpers #lab rat whumpee #noncon tw #noncon drugging #implied torture #medical whump #creative writing #writeblr #writer things #writers on tumblr

[pigeonwhumps]

"That's gonna scar"

MD-264N masterlist

Febuwhump day 5: "that's gonna scar"

Asha sews up Morgan's gunshot wound when it refuses to close.

1.3k

CWs: self-dehumanisation, stitches, implied past non-con drugging, mentioned brainwashing, mentioned expectations of death, conditioned whumpee, living weapon

"Are you sure you don't want any stronger painkillers?" asks Asha, concerned. All Morgan's consented to taking are a couple of paracetamols, and while Asha can understand why after seeing the track marks on their arms, she's spoken to Rhian and she's not sure it's going to be enough today. She's not sure it's enough normally, honestly, but Morgan's gunshot wound isn't healing properly after the packing and now it needs stitches. Which means far more intense pain.

"No, thank you, sir. Asha."

Asha exchanges a glance with Rhian. A bit of a setback, but that's to be expected after yesterday. At least they're using her name as well.

"If you're sure. This is going to be painful, so let me know if you change your mind and need me to stop at any point, alright?"

"Yes, Asha."

"Good."

"You can squeeze my hand as much as you like," says Rhian softly, resting her hand in Morgan's. They wrap their fingers gently around it.

"Morgan, can you lift your leg so your ankle's on the pillow here? It's covered in a towel, even if we make a mess it'll be fine. I need your ankle slightly elevated and for me to be able to get to it easily." Morgan swings their leg up on the bed and turns slightly, leaning against Rhian, back to her chest. "That's it. I'm going to start now, you don't have to watch."

"Concentrate on your breathing," says Rhian, as Asha unwraps the bandage around the wound and winces. "Nice and deep and even, copy me."

Morgan does their best as Asha cleans the area around the wound before picking up her needle and thread. This is going to be the painful part. Her patient squeezes their eyes shut at the sight of the needle touching skin.

Asha pushes through the skin with only a little resistance and Morgan whimpers. They bite their lip, clutching Rhian's hand tight, letting out pained cries as Asha pulls the thread through.

Rhian starts humming.

It's a low tune, a soft lullaby that Asha recognises as one of Rhian's self-soothing techniques from when they first joined. It seems to be working wonders on Morgan too, their eyes drifting shut. After a couple of verses they join in hesitantly, the humming replacing their sounds of pain. Their breaths are still hitching, their face is white, but they're a little better.

Asha smiles slightly to herself as she stitches up the wound. They're perfect for each other. Rhian's doing much better with someone to care for, and Morgan's recovery is going better than Asha could ever have predicted.

"Alright, I'm all done with the stitching. This'll probably scar but at least it has a better chance of healing now." Morgan snaps their eyes open and watches intently as Asha wraps a bandage over the top of the stitches. "That should keep it clean and stop you catching the stitches on stuff."

"Thank you, sir. Asha."

"No problem. You were very brave. Would you like a fruit pastille?"

Morgan's eyes light up and they nod. Asha grins. Rhian was right, they really do have a sweet tooth. She holds out the jar. "Here. Take a couple."

"Thank you."

Once Morgan's chewing on a sweet, Asha says carefully, "How are you both? You look exhausted."

Morgan glances back at Rhian, who nods, squeezing their hand. "This weapon malfunctioned last night. It, I, I had a nightmare. And it disturbed Rhian and it is so sorry."

"I told you, it's fine, sweetheart," murmurs Rhian, before turning to Asha. "It was worse than they've had in over a week. We barely slept at all."

"Hey. You'll get better, Morgan. Maybe not all the way, but recovery's never linear. Rhian can tell you that."

Rhian nods. "Definitely."

"If you're okay on your own for a moment, I need to speak to Rhian quickly."

Morgan nods, and Rhian slides out from under them, following Asha across the room. Her voice is hushed.

"What is it?"

"It wasn't just Morgan's nightmare last night, was it? You look too distressed for that."

Rhian sighs and shakes their head, raking their hand through their hair. "I had a nightmare too, but that's normal. Nothing unusual about it. Been having them for years. But Morgan… they said that they didn't understand why we wanted a malfunctioning weapon. They asked why we hadn't decommissioned them yet. I mean, what do I say to that?"

Asha feels queasy. Morgan's barely grown and already they're expecting to die for being emotional and hurt.

"Reassure them we care, for as long as they need. And hopefully they'll understand our intentions eventually."

"Right. Hopefully. And maybe they'll consider themself a person eventually, too. Is that all you wanted to ask about?"

"Yeah. We can go back over now. I have their present with me too."

Rhian grins. "You finished it!"

"Of course I did."

They head back over, Rhian pulling Morgan gently against her under the window as Asha packs away her equipment. She can just hear Rhian whispering soothingly to Morgan, very obviously trying to contain her excitement. Asha pulls a lumpy package wrapped in scrap paper and string out of her bag, and hands it to Morgan. They frown down at it.

"It's a present for you. I meant to finish it a while ago but I got ill and then I was busy, but here you are."

Morgan blinks. "For me?"

"Yeah. Nothing bad, I promise. Go ahead and open it."

Morgan examines it for a full minute, Rhian almost bouncing behind them, before pulling at one end of the string, undoing the bow. The paper falls with the string, revealing a toy owl made out of scraps of fabric. It's not amazing, the wings are uneven and so are the button eyes, and the fabric's a bit of a mish-mash of anything she and Rhian could find regardless of the colour or texture, but Morgan picks it up delicately, like it's a treasure. They look a little bewildered.

"Morgan? What's wrong?"

They swallow, looking up at her. "What's the purpose of this gift? If it should be obvious this weapon apologises, but it does not understand."

"It's just a present, sweetheart," says Rhian. "It doesn't have a purpose. Though I guess if you need one, we can say it's to help you recover. You can cuddle it and it'll hopefully make you feel better. And the different textures are a great sensory thing. I have a similar one, you've seen it."

"It is only a weapon, it is not worthy of such a present. But it is very grateful."

Asha smiles, noticing that Morgan's already clutching the owl close to their chest. "Do you want to name it?"

"Archimedes," they say after a pause. "If that's acceptable."

"Archimedes," repeats Rhian thoughtfully. "Good name."

As Morgan sinks further into Rhian, eyes full of badly-hidden relief, Asha wonders if they ever watched The Sword in the Stone before they were brainwashed by the government. Maybe it was their favourite film. Maybe it was a sibling's favourite. Did they watch it over and over again? Did they learn the songs, did they annoy their family with them? Did they get annoyed by them?

Asha doesn't know. None of them do.

Until now, it hadn't occurred to her just how much they don't know about the newest member of their family. They don't know how old Morgan was when they were taken, where they lived, who they loved and were loved by in return (because surely, surely someone cared). They don't even know what their name was. Blue's working on hacking the retrieved memory card that may well have helped Morgan escape, but until then…

Just who do they have in their care?

#whump #whump writing #self dehumanisation #stitches #medical whump #non con drugging #← past #← implied #living weapon whump #living weapon #whumpee and caretaker #multiple caretakers #conditioned whumpee #conditioning #febuwhump2023 #febuwhumpday5 #md 264n #morgan the weapon #rhian the fighter #asha the medic

[inkwell-and-dagger]

>< Bed Of A Lake Where The Hemlock Grows ><

A/N: the second introduction to our lovely new oc, Ailean-Conall Hemlock. STS was created by @er0s-1s-whump1ng, since- y'know, this whole OC series is technically a collaboration, as are. the other two series. but shh. the title is a lyric from Irish Eyes by Rose Betts :3

CW: lab whump, technically a non-human whumpee, cursed whumpee, prolonged captivity.

>< — >< — >< — >< — ><

Ailean sighed contently, thoughts soothed by the gentle trickling of water as it glided down the stream he was laying beside. Soft grass caressed the skin of one calloused palm, the other dipped into the water, warmed by the sun's glare. The former was the only soft touch — if it could even be called that — that he'd felt in.. well, a while, really. He was glad that, at the very least, plants didn't wither away at his touch, unlike humans.

These were the sparse moments in which the cursed man could relax; could let his thoughts of self-loathing and the vivid images of the innocent people he'd killed with his bare skin, evaporate and give way to blissful peace. He never thought he'd be able to feel those things again. The sun on his face, the wind blowing in his golden hair.

Ailean's eyes were closed. But he liked it that way. If he just blocked out the memories that gnawed ferociously at his mind whenever he wasn't distracted, the darkness became a haven. But he didn't tend to enjoy the dark for too long. Opening his emerald eyes, expecting to see a canopy of green above him...

TS-0166 only saw flickering fluorescents, making him squint and shield his eyes with a bandaged, pale hand.

Oh.

He sat up with a soft groan, his soft clothes having been long replaced with a baggy shirt and matching shorts.

Oh.

So he was still here. In the hellhole he'd come to know, to memorize, for— what had it been, years? The test subject didn't know anymore. He could've sworn he had hardly been aging, either, which just added to his confusion.

TS-0166 lay back down and curled in on himself, drawing his bruised knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them, almost in a pathetic attempt at giving himself a hug. And it kind of was. He himself was the only comfort he had in the confines of his cell. The floor felt cold and hard under his weight; a feeling that felt oddly familiar to him.

Oh, how he wished for freedom. To be back in a forest, by that stream, dipping his hand into the water and letting it run across his fingers.

Maybe he could have that again. If he planned it right, he could escape...

TS-0166's thoughts were interrupted by the telltale whirring of the cell door opening, followed by footsteps he, somehow, recognized. Him. The very ginger prick he wanted to touch, to hit, to make paralyzed and die more than anyone else in the world, but he couldn't get near to that even if he tried.

"Hello, '166."

He could escape another time, maybe.

>< — >< — >< — >< — ><

#Hemlock Philosophy #ailean-conall hemlock (TS-0166) #helix vellen #whump #oc whump #writing #oc writing #whump writing #whump oc #lab whump #medical whump #implied whump #captivity whump #nonhuman whumpee #captive whumpee #whump drabble #whumpblr #whumpee #whumper

[whumpacabra]

New Tricks

Angst, crying, exhaustion, fever, touch starvation, scars, local anesthetic, stitches, painful wound treatment, pain medication, needle mention, fear of electrocution, anticipated violence, referenced character death, past torture, implied past noncon

[Directly follows Bad Dog]

The Wolf waited. He drank every second of gentle touch he could get and he waited for the price to be exacted on his already rent flesh.

It never came.

He cried himself to exhaustion, nauseous with the knowledge he was too tired, that it would kill him to take any more punishment. (He didn’t want to die.) But the hands that pulled his tear stained face from the agent’s tear soaked shirt were gentle, holding his jaw like it was a fragile thing. And the eyes looking down at him - alien with their pity - had no sharp edges trying to cut into his own pain glazed eyes.

“I - I have a medkit. Would you - do you need help, stitching up your back?”

The Wolf stared up at him, too tired to process the words beyond ‘help.’ He didn’t get help - he got treatment. He recovered enough to be broken again. But there was a finality to the way this man said that word, like it meant something more than a temporary state of being.

“Okay. I’m - I’m just going to get my medkit, alright? Alright.” Jackson was talking more to himself, and the Wolf was fine with that. The words were starting to blur together, the sound of a particular voice that didn’t come with hurt or insults or harsh hands. Jackson’s gentle hands propped the Wolf against the edge of the tub, an arm draped over the side and his head resting against the cool false porcelain plastic. He was so fucking cold. He just wanted to curl up somewhere warm and sleep.

(He wanted to crack open Jackson’s rib cage and slot himself between his lungs.)

He was shivering intermittently when Jackson returned (had he been gone long?) but the Wolf was just happy to have that warm presence hovering near him again. The agent sat beside him, the space between the sink and tub a cramped and uncomfortable place to fit two grown men, but the Wolf didn’t mind.

(How odd, that just hours before he would dread having another warm blooded body close to his, and now - now, with this one, he wanted to cling to that warmth like a leech.)

The click and snap of a syringe being prepped had the Wolf open his eyes, glancing over his shoulder at Jackson, who offered a nervous smile.

“It’s a local anesthetic - is that alright?” The Wolf blinked at him, and then looked away. He didn’t know how to answer questions about his comfort, his wants. (He just wanted to sleep.) The kiss of the needle was expected, but the bloom of cool numbness it bestowed where it pricked his back was a welcome surprise.

“I’m - I need to clean these. Even with the anesthetic it might hurt.” The Wolf could feel those alien eyes watching the back of his head, so he nodded. “Sorry.” Jackson had nothing to apologize for.

The sting of antiseptic was absent, but the pressure and prickle of exposed flesh being prodded and debris teased away was a familiar sensation. His handler had cut into him on the first night, reckless with rage. The Wolf tried not to dwell on the memory, but a tremor shivered up his spine as Jackson worked, gentle hands pausing.

“Are you alright?” Another nod. Another soft ‘sorry’ that felt unwarranted. It was the Wolf’s fault for being weak. He tried to focus on the steady rhythm of Jackson’s stitches, oddly difficult to anticipate with his pain numbed flesh.

Three days of those deep cuts left exposed, open to the air and sweat and worse. They would scar, badly, like the cuts that ran from his right hip to his spine, skin ridged and thick with scar tissue. His handler wanted them to scar badly. He wanted the Wolf to remember - to remember that he -

A sob caught in his throat, the shock collar still heavy around his neck. It wasn’t set to voice activation - he didn’t think it was - but it had shocked him earlier. Had his handler done that? Had his handler survived and was watching and would kill Jackson or have him kill Jackson and - ?

“Easy love, I’m almost done. You’re doing so well.” A voice so soft and so different from the barking orders and snarled insults he was acclimated to. The Wolf blinked away fresh tears, struggling to find his voice, a hoarse whisper rising from his ragged throat.

“Is he dead?” Three little words; a question he couldn’t stand to know the answer to. A question he needed to know the answer to if he ever wanted to sleep again. Jackson’s hands, cold - so cold against the Wolf’s burning, numbed skin - stilled, a steady palm pressed to a small expanse of uncut flesh. But not too hard, mindful of his bruises.

“Yes. Agent Smith is gone. He’s dead.” The Wolf could hear a question in those words, but he was too relieved to consider it. Jackson - anyone - could kill him, let him die badly, alone, and bloody, and he would die happy. He outlived his handler. A victory he didn’t know he needed.

Jackson resumed his steady handed stitches, and the Wolf let his head drop, thoughts running watery and disconnected. The hum of the light above. The creak of the window pane holding back the wind. The footsteps in the room above - light, belonging to a child, a bed creaking and muffled voices soft with sleepy affection.

“You’re warm.” He sure as hell didn’t feel warm. The Wolf looked over his shoulder at Jackson, instinctively flinching as a hand came toward his face, but he relaxed into the icy touch pressed to his forehead. He almost missed it when it left. “Here, are you allergic to Advil?”

The Wolf looked down at the red pill and the almost comically small paper cup with a swallow’s worth of water. His stomach ached, hunger and nausea fighting for recognition even as he downed the medication and splash of liquid. He had taken harsher drugs with less in his stomach. (Not that what was roiling in his gut was pleasant or nutritious.)

With a shudder he rested against the tub once again, Jackson’s hands and sterilizing wipes traveling away from the oldest, deepest cuts. The antiseptic stung, a familiar pain that burned like acid over his wounds. But Jackson didn’t linger, didn’t press the antiseptic deeper into his flesh. He stitched the deepest wounds, bandaged the rest, and worried over surface level burns as though the Wolf could still feel them after the years of his handler’s habit leaving its mark.

By the time Jackson was putting away his medkit, the first grey glow of dawn was seeping through the rain dappled window. The Wolf hadn’t moved in hours, sitting still and as comfortable as he could be while Jackson worked. He was so tired. And when he limped out of the bathroom after Jackson, there was a wonderful nest of blankets and pillows waiting on the soft carpeted floor.

“You take the bed, I don’t mind sleeping on the floor - besides, your back could…” Jackson trailed off as the Wolf wandered to the crude bed on the floor, dropping harshly to his knees and collapsing into the softness.

In his daze of exhaustion, he barely registered the anxious horror of knowing Jackson wanted him on the bed. That was a problem for a well rested Wolf. That was something he could handle tomorrow, that he could survive tomorrow, that he could stomach tomorrow.

Right now, there was a soft surface below him, a heater humming to his right, and a painlessness to his injuries that should have frightened him.

But he was too tired, so he slept.

[Directly before In for a Penny]

(Part of my Freelancers: Changing Tides series)

Taglist: @stargeode

#whump #angst #crying #exhaustion #fever #touch starvation #local anesthetic #stitches #painful wound treatment #pain medication #needle mention #shock collar #past torture #implied past noncon #anticipated violence #referenced character death #freelancers #shhhh he eepy <- my sleep schedule is so fucked. why do town council meetings run until 1 AM. #(it is kinda my/our fault for pestering them abt [redacted] buttttt whateves.)