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whumblr · 1 month

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hii, can you please write about a whumpee that can’t sleep alone without caretaker, but the caretaker has an urgent business trip thus leaving whumpee alone at night?

Whumpee turned over again, eyes blank, staring at Caretaker's empty side of the bed. A soft sigh, almost a huff, brushed past their lips.

They'd meant it, when they'd said they'd be fine.

Or at least, they thought it would be fine. Just two days. They could certainly manage that, they had assured Caretaker. And they did. Everything went absolutely fine - not great, just fine like they'd said. Until night fell.

They never fully realised it, but just having Caretaker next to them made them feel safe. Even when he was completely conked out, snoring, far from this world. Just watching him, breathing softly, it was comforting. Knowing they weren't alone, knowing they weren't waking up in that cell--

They let their arm fall down, stretched out over the flat duvet.

Yesterday they didn't sleep at all. Just tossed and turned, hoping sleep would finally come. You can't sleep with enemies nearby. There weren't any nearby. Or so Whumpee hoped. But unfortunately, they carried their enemy with them. All the time.

The mocking voice in their head wasn't the only thing keeping them awake, but it certainly made things most difficult.

"I bet Caretaker is having a blast, finally having a day to himself."

Whumpee punched their pillow in frustration and almost threw themself on it, pulling up the blankets. Caretaker wasn't like that.

"I don't know. Maybe he grew tired of you. Scared little mouse to comfort at every little bit."

Deep breaths. Don't think. Don't engage those thoughts-- Okay, yeah, they were a scared little mouse. Even now, willfully ignoring every little sound in the house that made them want to snap up and scour every room every time something creaked. But they didn't. They had to prove that they could do this. That they didn't need Caretaker for everything.

Maybe that's why they had been so adamant in getting Caretaker to accept this business trip. Maybe they just wanted to show him - and themself - that they could do this. Could perfectly stay alone for a weekend and be absolutely fine.

"Are you sure it's a business trip?" the voice crooned and Whumpee's eyes snapped open. "Would make total sense if he just desperately needed a break from you."

No, that--. No, they'd seen the pictures he sent yesterday evening. Large podium. Nice snacks. Meeting room with some Zzz emoji's from Caretaker. It was a business trip. It definitely was!

"He probably volunteered, then. Needing some time away. Awful, really. He knows you can't be alone yet he still went."

"That's not true," Whumpee said out loud. Great, now they actually were arguing with just the darkness in their room. They knew that wasn't true. And they knew that horrible voice only echoed their own horrible thoughts pushed back to the back of their mind. The only one awful here was themself.

"It's okay, darling. You're just uncomfortable. You know why? Because you're doing something that would get you punished. That's why you're all jitters..."

"I'm not--"

"Your shirt. You know I don't like it when you cover your scars."

A chill went through them. The cotton of their oversized shirt snagged around them from all the twisting and turning, uncomfortably pulling at them. That's not it. That's not the reason why they couldn't sleep. No one could punish them anym--

"Take it off."

This is ridiculous, they huffed to themself. They flipped to their side, forced their eyes shut. But the brewing anxiety in their stomach only turned more heavy. And the shirt tangled around them started to feel constricting.

With a snap they sat up. Ripped their shirt over their head. And threw it across the room.

General whump tag list: @firewheeesky @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @whumpawink @painsandconfusion @auroragehenna @chaotic-orphan

#whump #whump drabble #angst #emotional whump #aftermath of whump #whump recovery #caretaker #nightmare whump #well sort of #my writing #listen to the voice whumpee :3

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whumpsoda · 2 months

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imagine malak and nevan sleep in the same bed cause adrastus and darius think it’s adorable like cats sleeping together plus nevan gets to be held by a giant teddy bear.

it’s also when their enthrallments become a bit weaker so malak, after getting comfortable with nevan, tries to mumble in response to nevan’s quiet whispers. like cousins during a sleepover if you will

WOHEO Masterlist

This was to cute… they love each other so much :3 Not my best work but I’m posting it anyways

cw: conditioned/brainwashed whumpees, nightmare, implied forced amnesia/memory loss

———————————————————————

“Goodnight, loves.”

Adrastus hummed quietly, planting a calming peck to each thrall’s forehead. They lifted the pile of a thick duvet up to each man’s neck, tucking both in for sleep and coating them in a simple weight of drowsy warmth.

Malak purred into the back of Nevan’s head as the vampire did so, pulling the smaller man in a tighter embrace and snuggling close.

“Love… love you, Master.” Nevan mumbled, falling deeply into his plush pillow.

Adrastus grinned, stroking down his supple cheek and stirring bliss through his mind. “Aw, I love you too, sweet.” They cooed, giving both thralls a content pat on the head, sending each deepening further into their cushions. “Me and master Darius will be right downstairs, and we’ll be in before the sun is up.”

Nevan buzzed faintly in reply, eyelids threatening to drop. Both thralls were still trailing off from a disorienting high of euphoria, gifted from another extraordinary and mind reeling feeding. Nevan’s bite marks were still throbbing with a pleasurable pulse from underneath the skin, continuing to cloud his mind.

His ears picked up the shuffle of the vampire’s socks to the fuzzy rug as they exited the room to return to their partner. The light switch was flipped with a quick click, turning off the last lit lamp and leaving only a small night light to illuminate the room.

Nevan huffed a deep breath with a satisfied smile. He liked sleeping with Malak. Really liked it.

The two shared a large, fluffy mattress placed right beside the frame of their masters’ bed, and Nevan relished in such delightful softness. He adored the pleasant warmth of a body holding his, listening to the faint push and pull of Malak’s breath as they both drifted to sleep, and the sweet comfort that accompanied his presence. It was almost strange.

A good strange.

Familiar strange.

Which, of course, was strange that such a situation could ever be familiar. He couldn’t recall ever having slept beside someone other than Malak.

Darius had never gone close to doing so much as hugging him, so it was surely out of the question that he would be the source of familiarity. Adrastus wouldn’t have either. Who had done so, then, before Malak? Why was the answer sitting on the tip of his tongue, yet still too far to reach?

Malak sighed thickly, right into the back of Nevan’s head and thus his freshly washed hair, unknowingly stealing him away from confusing thoughts. “Good… good… goooddd…” he slurred, smiling as long strands of hair fell over and tickled his cheeks. “Prettyyy…” Lazily, his thick fingers twirled through soft, shiny locks.

Flushing from kind words, Nevan’s chest pooled with flattered fervor. “Your… your hair, um, is…” he struggled, mind clouding with the call of sleep. “You're pretty… Malak. So pretty.” He nuzzled his face into the fluff of a blanket, muffling his speech.

The man cradling him held an ever widening dozy grin that just beamed bigger from the returned praise. “Pretty… prettyyyy…” Malak parroted, not a single thought in his mind to even think as to what was spilling from his lips.

Nevan was incredibly happy to hear the man speak, ears melted by his lulling voice. With the vampires leaving the two alone more and more often in favor of spending time with just one another, and without Adrastus constantly hovering, their heads were just the tiniest bit clearer. It was especially noticeable when Malak was presenting a smidge more coherently.

“Mmm… umngh… umm… tir…” Malak groaned into Nevan’s ear, lashes fluttering to the other man’s supple skin. “Tire… d…”

“Tired…?” Nevan giggled in a whisper. “Of, of course you are. It’s bed time… and Master made us all… all sleepy…” he trailed off into a wide yawn, one that strained his jaw and left him even further relaxed.

Malak eagerly copied, yawning wide and loud right into Nevan’s ear. “Sleep… sleepyyy…”

“Even… um, even if you’re so tired… you’re… you’re talking a lot… now…” Their eyes met, soft and deep, as Nevan’s voice lowered into a whisper. His lips parted, turning up into a toothy smile. “I like it.”

Beaming, Malak pulled the smaller man closer, holding him similar to how one would a body pillow. With Malak’s chin rested atop his head and arms clasped around him, Nevan was quick to lean right in.

“I, I, I love it when you talk. Lovvvee… it.” Nevan stuttered.

“L… lovvvve…” Malak stumbled over his words, his brain blurring them together. “Nev… Nevvv… Nevan…”

Pressing his chill, slender hands to Malak’s chest, the other thrall continued melting into the plush cushioning that enveloped them “I, I love you. I love you.”

G’night, Nevan. Love you.

He yelped, squeaky and loud, twitching as a seer of hot pain beat over his mind.

He only ever felt such a specific type of ache when his stupid head decided to be bad, and let a memory slip out of the blockade his master had so delicately placed in his mind.

For a second Malak moved off of him, puzzled by his outburst. “Mmngh…?”

“Hurt! Hurt…!” His breath was shaky and uneven, head spinning under the nauseating pound of hurt. He gripped his head urgently, fingernails burrowing into the sides of his skull, attempting to shake the thoughts out. “Forget, forget…” He needed to forget.

Why then? What had he done to deserve the pain that came with breaking the rules? He hadn’t meant to remember. He didn’t want to. He never did.

Forget, forget, forget.

Malak tugged him tighter again, distracting him just enough to subside the throb. Soon enough his breath evened, turning deep and full as he focused only on the heat of the other man’s fingers over his flesh. He was pushing the memory back to the depths of his mind. Right where it belonged. “‘M, ‘m okay… I’m okay. I’m okay.”

He eagerly allowed the memory to slip away, so he could be happy again. So he could be a good boy. Good boys were happy boys, weren’t they? And good boys forgot.

“Shhh… shhh…sleepyy… slee… sleep… sleepyyy…” Malak coaxed, and Nevan weakly giggled as he flopped a hand over the smaller man’s face, almost in an attempt to mimic their vampire masters’ methods of soothing the thralls. “Shhh…”

“Oh, okay, Malak. I’ll be… nice and… nice and sleepy…” Mouth widening in yet another large and pleasurable yawn, Nevan melted further into Malak, eyelids coming to a close and their master’s spell getting the better of the two.

Good. Sleep was good. Nevan was a good boy.

…

“Mom, mommy! Momm… mommy! Momma!”

Helpless wails erupted, striking through the bedroom filled with the silence of sleeping bodies. Malak thrashed arduously under the confines of bedding, flesh sticky with a pool of distraught sweat. “Mommy… mom…!”

Nevan’s previously dead asleep eyes peaked open, prompted by fearful cries and movement. “Ma…lak?”

The other man strangled a whine, crackling deep and raw in his throat. Thick tears filled his glassy eyes, pricking and threatening to spill. “Mmngh! Mom… ma…! Mommy!”

Finally perking up, the beat of Nevan’s heart picked up pace. “Are… are you… something… wrong?” He croaked, thick drool slipping off his chin, struggling with weak muscles to flip over in view of the man in distress.

“Bad… bad! Momma..!”

Adrastus groaned from up in the lavish bed, hair sprawled over the edge and rubbing across their eyes with a feeble fist. “Malak… what’s wrong…?”

He whined again, voice losing momentum as it trailed into a pathetic hiccup, his fists tightly curled around his blanket, holding it close as if for safety. “Nnngh… nnn… nnnight… bad, badd… nngh…” A bead of globby sweat trickled from his forehead, moisture sticking curls to his sickly skin. “Momma…”

“Oh… dear,” Ever so slowly the vampire pushed themself up, back slumping against their plush pillow. “Another nightmare? I thought… I thought we got you over those.” Their voice dripped with drowning exhaustion.

Malak’s lips quivered, hands gripping his arms in the attempt to embrace himself. “Bad, bad… bad…” he whimpered, strained and frail. Nevan, with dizzied and out of sorts vision, lifted an outstretched hand to brush a stray tear from Malak’s slick cheek.

From the other, out of view edge of the mattress, Darius groaned in deep irritation, and with obvious annoyance flipped a pillow over his face to shield himself from the sound of the thrall’s distress.

Adrastus sighed. “It’s alright darling, Master’s here. Everything is fine.” With heavy muscles and a lolling head they pushed themself to a sitting position, sagging against the dark, wooden headboard. “Climb onto the bed, why don’t you. C’mon, up.” They patted their lap, calling their thrall.

Nevan couldn’t help but frown when his palm slipped from Malak’s cheek as he left for his master.

It took a minute for Malak to crawl his way onto the bed with weary limbs, accompanied by little whimpers and sniffles, but he managed. Huddling into a heap over their blanket coated legs, Adrastus sleepily sifted through his curls, whispering sweet nothings like they always did.

Nevan understood why Malak needed his master. Why he required a comfort that Nevan couldn’t give, one that would swiftly quiet his mind and allow him to be good again. He knew he wasn’t as significant.

How could he ever be?

Though, he couldn’t ignore the fact he already missed the heat of Malak’s warm body holding his, and the audible drum of his beating heart heard through his chest.

He brushed his palm over the tussled spot beside him, soaking in the last bit of warmth left behind to soon turn cold once again. The thought hurt, tensing in his belly and the back of his fizzy brain. Nevan scrunched his face, burying it back into the pillow behind him.

Wrapping his arms around himself, fingers gripped however far they would go, he imitated the embrace Malak had given him moments prior.

Good enough.

———————————————————————

Taglist- @softvampirewhump @iys-cloud @battyfantasy @xx-adam-xx

If anyone wants to be removed or added to the taglist, please let me know! :)

#asks :)#we only have each other #my writing #whump #whump writing #whump story #Malak oc #Nevan oc #Adrastus oc #conditioned whumpee #vampire whumper #brainwashing whump #thrall whumpee #nightmare whump

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whiteboywhump · 1 month

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Dean has a nightmare -

the sounds dean makes and the way his younger brother panics and runs to see if he’s okay 🥹🤌

supernatural (Inside Man S10 E17)

#whump #gif #male whump #whump gif #supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #nightmare #nightmare whump

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egg-writes-whump · 10 months

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This just randomly came to me but:

Whumpee having a really vivid fever dream that they were enemies with/against their team/caretaker

Either way, it's so vivid that when they wake up they believe it was real and instantly try to escape when they realise they're in their team's base.

So you can imagine their team/caretaker's panic when they find the feverish and bedbound Whumpee's bed empty

And even more so when they find Whumpee and Whumpee starts acting like they're enemies for seemingly no reason

#egg writes whump #whump #whump prompt #whump prompts #whumpee #fever whump #nightmare whump #delirious whumpee

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em-writes-stuff · 2 months

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"Why won't it stop"

day 8 of @febuwhump

whumpee, caretaker

766 words

warnings: past abuse discussed, cursing, insomnia, nightmares

Caretaker closes Whumpee’s door, making sure to stay quiet as they turn the knob so he stays asleep. They sigh in relief after a few moments of standing still, their ear close to the door. They walk down the hallway and collapse on the sofa, barely able to remember to plug their phone in before falling asleep.

Whumpee wakes with a start, he pushes himself up with his elbows and frantically looks around the room.

The nightmare that woke him is quickly disappearing from his memory and all that remains are the phantom hands tracing over his skin. Through his hair, over his chest, his arms, nails digging into his legs. He pulls his blanket tighter around himself and taps rhythmically over his heart with his thumb.

Slowly, his heartbeat and breathing slows enough to the point where he can convince himself he’s safe. He takes inventory of the room.

A bed, with no one else on it. A small dresser with a few knicknacks displayed on top, all of them his. There’s a jacket wrapped on the back of a desk chair and the curtains are open, letting moonlight filter inside. A pile of his clothes are in the corner and there’s nothing else. He’s safe, alone, and able to relax a little.

Whumpee lays back down, pulling the blanket up to his chin and rolls onto his side and curling his legs up to his chest. He bites on his bottom lip to keep from sobbing and tears well in his eyes.

There’s a knock on his door and he shoots up, wiping the tears from his eyes. “Yes?”

“Hey, it’s Caretaker. Can I come in?” they ask softly.

Whumpee clears his throat and pulls the blanket over himself. “Yeah, sure.”

Caretaker slowly pushes the door open and smiles warmly. They walk into the room and sit on Whumpee’s chair.

“Did you sleep well?”

It’s a useless question, Caretaker knows it, Whumpee knows it, they both fucking know it. But they asked. Maybe he should tell the truth?

“As well as I can. Better than last night, I think.” he says, forcing a smile.

Caretaker tilts their head and bites their cheek, “I thought we agreed on no more lying.”

Whumpee looks at his hands and frowns. “I can handle it. You don’t need to know everything that happened to me.”

And Caretaker wants to believe him, they want to nod and accept him at his word. That he can handle what he’s dealing with alone. But they know him. And from the few things Whumper said before he was arrested…he can’t handle it alone.

Caretaker shakes their head and scoots closer to Whumpee, ignoring the way Whumpee leans back and pulls the blanket tighter around himself.

“You don’t have to tell me everything. Nothing you don’t want to talk about. But if you’re suffering now? I need to know so I can help. Please, just let me help you.” they say, voice breaking.

Whumpee stares at them, brows furrowed. He knows he should tell them about the nightmares. That they’re not just flashes of things that used to happen. That he can’t remember what they’re about for more than a few seconds. That even if he could remember, he definitely wouldn’t want to. But all that comes out of his mouth is, “Why won’t it stop?”

“What stop?” Caretaker asks.

Whumpee takes a shuddering breath and starts picking at the cuticle on his finger. “Everything.” he looks up and Caretaker’s inching closer to him, an infinitely worried expression on their face. “Not like that. I don’t want to- It’s just. I don’t get any sleep because every time I lay still enough, I can feel Whumper’s hands on me. They’re not…it’s always gentle. And Whumper was never gentle. But I know that…I know it’s them. I just know it’s them and I don’t know how I know because-”

He stops and looks at Caretaker and takes a deep breath. Caretaker’s cheeks have tear tracks running down them. “Why didn’t you tell me about this sooner?”

“I’ve been here a week. Before that, there were two places that threw me out as soon as they realized they couldn’t ‘fix’ me with a few days of hard work. I didn’t want to risk it.”

Caretaker leans forward and this time, Whumpee makes an effort not to move. They hold their arms out and Whumpee nods.

He doesn’t hug them back, but for the first time in a very long time, he can feel the warmth of someone else and he doesn’t want to run off.

#febuwhump2024 #febuwhumpday8 #why won't it stop #whumpee #whump #caretaker #nightmare whump #em writes #em writes stuff #my writing #whump fic #whump writing

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whumped4whumplover · 11 months

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Caretaker and Whumpee are roommates. One night, Caretaker is woken up by sobs and screams, and they turn around towards Whumpee's bed to find them, kicking and trashing in their sleep. Caretaker walks over to where they lay, debating whether they should wake them up or not.

They remember how they used to comfort their little sister when she would call them in the middle of the night, crying from fear of a monster hiding under her bed. They remember how they used to lull her back to a peaceful sleep that would last until morning. They remember the words they would say.

Suddenly, another heart-rending scream snaps them out of their thoughts, and they look down to see Whumpee's terrified expression. They crouch down next to their bed and gently start stroking their hair.

"Hey, hey, deep breaths. It's okay, it's just you and me here, no one else, no monsters. I promise. And if one comes along, I'll be here to chase it away. It's okay, I'm here to protect you."

Slowly but surely, Whumpee's trashing ceases and their breathing slows. Caretaker smiles at the sight, keeping on stroking Whumpee's hair.

At last, they were happy that they were able to chase Whumpee's monster away.

#whump stuff #whump community #whump writing #whump thoughts #nightmare whump #tw night terrors #tw nightmares #caretaker x whump #caretaker x whumpee #hurt/comfort #whump fluff #emotional whump #caretaker #whumpee

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galaxywhump · 6 months

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Ghosts of the Past

[SV-240 masterlist]

Timeline: post-captivity, set after A Day of Revelations.

contents: recovery from slavery whump and forced relationship, hospital setting, nightmares, mentioned surgery, torture, branding, therapy and past weight loss, absent parent.

~~~

He must have fallen asleep.

He wakes up with tears in his eyes and the memory of Daniel clear in his mind, in the hospital room, not alone. Blinking, he expects to see steel-gray eyes and a familiar fond smile, feel a hand brushing his hair away from his forehead, hear a voice that tries and fails to be soothing. Instead he sees brown eyes and concern written all over the familiar face of the person leaning over him, their hand still resting on his shoulder after they shook him awake.

“Breathe, Wren. Breathe.”

He doesn’t remember this voice ever being soothing, but it works. Breathing deeply, he nods, his body in a state of panic even though he can hardly remember why. He reaches up to wipe his tears away, and his breath stutters again. There’s no way he can speak in this state.

“Are you okay?” Nathaniel asks, just as, if not more, nervous as his son.

No. Isn’t it obvious?

Wren nods again, and Nathaniel frowns.

“Sorry I had to wake you. You were…” He hesitates, looking for the right word, or maybe considering how much to tell him. “Thrashing.”

Another nod. Wren’s throat is squeezed tight, his heart fluttering in his chest, so he stays silent, focused on breathing.

He had a nightmare, and his father saw it.

It’s a strange realization, as if he had mentally placed a division between the person he was on SV-240 and the person he’s here now. He knew that returning to Earth wouldn’t erase his memories and trauma, but Daniel’s strong presence in his mind is the most striking reminder of that. The captive from SV-240 has been transported to Earth and sticks out like a sore thumb.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “Must’ve had a nightmare.”

It’s Nathaniel’s turn to awkwardly nod. He parts his lips as if to say something, and his grip on Wren’s shoulder tenses, but in the end he lets go and looks away.

Despite knowing better than to expect any comfort, Wren’s disappointment is almost painful, and he barely stops himself from reaching out to grab his father’s hand, begging him to care.

“I brought you some things,” Nathaniel says, and when Wren follows his gaze, he notices a large bag by the wall - his bag, one he hasn’t used in years, but seeing something that belongs to him fills him with warmth, a feeling so strong he can’t believe it’s caused by something as mundane as an old object.

“Thanks.” Smiling requires a shocking amount of effort even when it’s for the most part genuine.

“Have you thought about where you want to stay?” Nathaniel pulls a chair closer to sit down. “I’ve found some places for sale or for rent, I can send you the offers.”

“Can I stay at your place?” Wren blurts out before he can stop himself. It’s a terrible idea, he knows it is, but the thought of having to choose is overwhelming. His recent nightmare also causes him to tense up and his mind to protest when he imagines being alone. Just him and a ghost, and nobody else.

“Of course.” Nathaniel’s response is immediate despite the look of surprise on his face. “It’s still your home too.”

This time there’s nothing forced about Wren’s smile.

“Thanks. I won’t stay long, just until… I get back on my feet.”

“You can stay as long as you like.”

That’s a relief when Wren has no idea how long it will take him to get back on his feet, if that’s even possible. What does that even mean? Functioning on his own, probably; the thought makes him anxious, so he drops it for now.

“Thank you. Really.”

Nathaniel nods, and they both fall silent, with too many unsaid words ringing in the air. There has always been a barrier between them that Wren couldn’t get through, and even now, when Nathaniel’s being more vulnerable than Wren’s ever seen him, the barrier is standing strong, intimidating and stifling. Worst of all, it prevents him from telling his father about anything, really. He should at least mention the tracker that’s going to be removed shortly, but even that fills him with deep shame. And then, of course, there’s the relationship Daniel had forced him into, the affection and intimacy that affected him more than anything else did, which is the last thing he wants to reveal to anyone, period.

Bearing it alone makes it hard to breathe, but he can’t imagine choosing the alternative.

---

The bag contains clothes, his clothes: familiar flannel shirts, plain t-shirts and relaxed pants, all ironed out and neatly folded. He reaches inside the bag and rests his fingertips on the clothes, and the feel of the fabric is familiar too. He clears his throat and blinks rapidly when tears threaten to gather in his eyes, and pulls out one of the shirts, unfolding it and holding it in the air, staring at it while his mind is racing.

It’s been years since he was allowed to choose what to wear. The clothes chosen by Daniel weren’t bad, they were comfortable and practical, but that was the problem - they couldn’t get in the way of Daniel’s sadistic ideas, and it wasn’t much of an issue if they ended up stained with blood. He was a plaything, a blank canvas, dressed accordingly, even when Daniel tried to convince him that they could be close to equals if he only gave in.

Now, he can finally make a choice, even one as seemingly inconsequential as this.

Once he’s dressed, he stands in front of the mirror and chokes on his breath.

The clothes still fit him well; they would’ve been noticeably more baggy if he’d stayed malnourished like he was during the first few weeks on SV-240, but since his starvation ended and Daniel allowed him to start working out again, he’s gone back to looking like himself, the person he used to be. It’s all the more jarring as he stares in the mirror at someone from over two years ago.

Someone he no longer is.

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath when tears come back, this time impossible to stop. He shoves his hands into his pockets and looks up at the ceiling, away from the mirror. “I’ll get used to it,” he whispers, closing his eyes. “It’s just clothes, and they should make me feel better, for fuck’s sake.”

Wearing them does help, but seeing them does the exact opposite, so he ends up walking away from the mirror, and avoids looking into it if he can help it.

---

He spends a few more days in the hospital, and every single morning he wakes up from a nightmare. While it might be better than waking up to a nightmare, it’s exhausting in its own right, and leaves him a mess.

Reality doesn’t help as much as he hoped it would. He’s free, but everything feels like too much.

Someone visits him and introduces herself as a therapist; that information alone makes him so anxious he fails to catch her name. She talks to him, and he’s tense the whole time, mentally building walls around his mind as if the therapist could read it and learn about everything he went through. His input is limited to nodding along, waiting for the conversation to be over. He doubts therapy will help when his plan is to take the full scope of his trauma to the grave.

Later that day he’s scheduled for surgery. Something in him flares up in protest when he slowly slips into unconsciousness, a scared part of him that doesn’t want him to be defenseless, at someone else’s mercy, with no guarantee that they won’t hurt him or tie him up, but there’s nothing he can do at this point. When he wakes up, everything is alright, his shoulder is bandaged and the tracker is… gone. He can’t help but think that it would feel more significant if he wasn’t still branded - and he can see the sympathetic looks on the faces of the doctors who saw his back. He stays silent.

His father visits him again, they talk about nothing in particular. With the visible bandage on his shoulder Wren can’t hide the truth any longer. He had a chip. A tracker. It was nothing, and it’s gone now.

“That’s good.” Their conversation dies down.

Another night, another nightmare, which a nurse wakes him up from. His face burns with embarrassment, and he doesn’t know how to explain himself. Thankfully, they don’t pry.

He’s sitting in an armchair by the window, looking outside, when raised voices out in the corridor make him flinch. He looks in the direction of the door with a frown, and recognizes one of the voices as his father’s, but the other one he’s never heard before. It’s probably a hospital worker, but the conversation certainly sounds… heated, though he can’t make out enough words for it to make sense. The voices get calmer eventually, and he can hear footsteps getting closer. Then a moment of silence - and someone knocks on the door. His father and the hospital staff have used knocking as a mere formality, letting themselves in unless he tells them to wait, but this person doesn’t open the door.

“You can come in!” he says.

He doesn’t recognize the person that enters the room, but there’s something about the way she looks him up and down and her eyes widen that gives him the impression that she recognizes him.

“Hi,” he says, standing up.

“Hi,” she responds and clears her throat when her voice trembles. “Wren, right?”

“Yeah. Wren Rackham.” Who is she? He narrows his eyes when he considers all the options and lands on one he’s not excited about in the slightest - that the person in front of him is a journalist, here to ask him about everything he went through. That would explain the heated discussion, too, but he really hopes that’s not the case. “Do I know you?”

There’s a flash of emotion on her face, too brief for him to try and understand it before she speaks.

“No, I suppose not,” she lets out a soft sigh. “I’m… My name is Jonna Schulte.”

Should that tell him something? She looks at him expectantly, but no matter how hard he tries to place the name in his memory, he fails.

“I’m sorry, I don’t…” He shakes his head helplessly.

“So he never… okay.” Jonna clears her throat again. “How do I even say this… You… you’re my son, Wren.” Her words feel like a punch to the face, and Wren’s eyes go wide. He doesn’t get to say anything to that - and he has no idea what he could say anyway - as she continues, clenching her fists to hide the trembling of her hands. “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, Wren. I never wanted to abandon you, but I was forced to, and I regret it every single day. I-I know I can’t make up for my absence, and I’m sorry I’m visiting you out of nowhere, but when I heard what happened to you I… I had to see you.”

Wren puts his hand against the wall to steady himself when his legs threaten to buckle under him. As he’s staring at Jonna’s face in disbelief, he can’t help but notice that there is some physical resemblance between them, which means… she might not be lying.

The thought turns his world upside down to the point where the memories plaguing him are overshadowed for a short moment.

His mother was never in the picture, and he was used to it. Nathaniel didn’t seem to like talking about her and avoided the topic until Wren gave up and dropped it. All he knew was that she left him when he was three, and since he couldn’t remember her at all, he just… never had a mother. As hard as it was sometimes, he had to accept it.

And now she’s here. A complete stranger, appearing in his life when he’s already overwhelmed and her presence feels like an explosion that only destabilizes him further, his mind racing, torn between confusion and… anger. He takes a deep breath to calm himself down, not wanting to say something he’ll regret later.

“I’m sorry,” Jonna repeats. “I shouldn’t have- You’re already going through a lot and I- I’ll leave you alone.” She turns to leave, but before taking a single step she pauses and hesitantly takes out a small notepad and a pen. “We can pretend this never happened, but if, um, you’d like to get in touch someday…” She writes something down and sets the note on an end table. “Here’s my number. You don’t have to do anything with it, I just… thought I’d leave it here.” When he doesn’t respond, she swallows and looks away. “Goodbye, and… I hope you make a good recovery.”

Does he want to pretend this never happened? Maybe. It would be easier not to have this bomb of a revelation on his mind, but he can’t just forget about it. He used to think his mother had decided to abandon him, but if she hadn’t, and she seems to really regret it… it changes everything.

“Wait,” he says, stopping her in her tracks.

“Yes?” She looks so tense, like she’s waiting for him to start screaming at her, and a tiny part of him almost wants to do that, to vent his frustrating confusion, but he nips that thought in the bud.

“I-I’ll think about it. It’s a lot right now, but I’m… not saying no. I just need some time.”

She nods and relaxes her shoulders.

“Of course. I’m not going to push, it’s your decision.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

The corners of Jonna’s lips rise in a slight smile of relief, and Wren can’t help but wonder if their smiles are similar too.

When the door closes behind her, Wren can finally breathe again. He sits down and works his fingers into his hair, and sits motionless in the quiet room - too quiet, oppressively so - for a long while, until reality becomes blurred enough that he’s not sure if Jonna Schulte had actually visited him. Maybe it was another dream, a weird one that’s still preferable to the nightmares tormenting him every time he falls asleep, but…

He lifts his head and his gaze lands on the note left on the end table near the door. It’s real without a doubt; he confirms it when he picks it up. He reads the number several times until he’s memorized it, and hides the note in his pocket.

For the rest of the day it’s all he can think about, and he wouldn’t be surprised if the note somehow burned through his pocket with how aware he is of it at all times.

At least, no matter how he feels about it, it’s a welcome distraction until Daniel inevitably visits him in his dreams again.

~~~

[next]

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#recovery whump #hospital setting #slavery whump #forced relationship whump #nightmare whump #weight loss mention #wren rackham #nathaniel rackham #jonna schulte #sv-240 #my writing #i've had a big part of this written for ages #but i finally found the motivation to finish and edit it #so here you go #jonna finally appears again #as always pls let me know if the tag worked

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