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A caretaker lifting an unconscious/barely conscious whumpee's limp hand to take their pulse - or just to hold it.

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a good whump dialogue word: breathe.

"look at me. breathe. you're safe now."

"c'mon, breathe, breathe, don't you dare die on me. don't you dare--"

"hey. i need your hands steady, i can't stitch this up myself. i can guide you, but you need to breathe."

"it'll all be over soon. you can do this. stay awake and breathe with me, okay? one, two--"

"can't--breathe--"

"i wonder how much more pathetic your screams would be if... say, you couldn't breathe? i've this nice little leash here..."

"he's not breathing, oh god, someone help, he's not--"

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Caretaker Respecting Whumpee's Consent

We all know the trope of Caretaker overpowering Whumpee for their own good - restraining them so they won't hurt themselves, forcing life-saving medical procedures, forcing them to work through trauma, etc. But let's also appreciate the sheer consent-focused kindness on display when Whumpee begs Caretaker not to do something and Caretaker respects their wishes.

Whumpee doesn't want Caretaker to speak to them so Caretaker is silent.

Whumpee doesn't want Caretaker to touch them so Caretaker doesn't, even when they're almost frenzied with the desire to hold Whumpee.

Whumpee doesn't want to be touched OR spoken to. Caretaker just makes themself available nearby, like they're waiting for a feral animal to trust them.

Caretaker wants to ask something but doesn't because they know Whumpee isn't ready to talk about it yet.

Caretaker is the only one who lets Whumpee work through their trauma at their own pace.

"Okay, cope how you need to cope. I know it's not healthy but I trust you not to go too far."

"It's your choice."

"You don't have to trust me."

"You don't have to talk about it. Just know that I'll be here if you ever want to."

"It's okay, I'm not going to touch you."

Caretaker refuses to answer questions about Whumpee from people who have no business asking what happened.

Caretaker covers Whumpee's face and hiding their broken body from view as they rush through a crowd of prying eyes.

"No, I won't tell anyone about this. I will never use this against you."

"This isn't just about what's best for you. I'm asking what you truly want."

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Drugged whumpees my BELOVED. All dizzy and out of it, leaning against whumper for support. Looking at Whumper with hazy-eyed fear, their words slurred when they ask what whumper's done to them <3

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as much as I love whumpees who are just absolutely knocked out by their illness, there's something equally great about whumpees who are just barely there. their eyes are still open a sliver, and when caretaker moves across the room they track their movements lazily. they don't have the energy to speak but they don't need to- the pained look in their eyes and the weak groans they're able to make tell the story well enough.

they're not conscious, but they're not unconscious either. they're just... in between. drifting. too sick to be alert but also too sick to fall asleep comfortably.

all caretaker can do is sit by their side with a washcloth to gently wipe the sheen of sweat from their forehead and soothe them with reassurances that, judging by that glazed look in their eyes, caretaker isn't quite sure they can even understand.

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Shhhh! Keep your voice down and don't be loud. Whumpee is sleeping (or has just fallen asleep).

In Caretaker's arms after being rescued.

In a hospital bed in a recovery ward (or perhaps an ICU) after receiving care and treatment or perhaps emergency surgery.

On a bed in a room in a recovery house. Bonus points for the house are that the house belongs to the Caretaker and the bed BELONGS TO CARETAKER (AND CARETAKER'S BEDROOM)!!!!

In the passenger seat. Sleep on your back in the back seat or sleep in a half-sitting position after the seat is lowered slightly on the driver's side seat. Bonus points Caretaker puts on the jacket or coat to cover Whumpee.

On the sofa in front of the fireplace.

In a wheelchair while taking a leisurely walk.

On the couch on the terrace.

On the Caretaker's lap. Bonus points with the accompaniment of Caretaker's soft voice lulling Whumpee to sleep and caressing Whumpee's hair.

Sleep leaning on the Caretaker's shoulder when sitting side by side. Bonus points when they are in a discussion with the team members and Whumpee suddenly falls asleep exhausted.

Anything you want to add?

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Whumpee awakens curled in the backseat in someone's arms.

They look down, their entire torso is drenched with blood.

They start to panic, but someone holds them tightly. "Shhh, shh sh, it's okay, go back to sleep. Close your eyes." Someone grabs a blanket and covers their chest with it.

"You're going to be fine, I got you. Go back to sleep... Please."

A hand brushes over their face and closes their eyes. Whumpee finds themselves doing what the voice tells them to.

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Hurt/Comfort Dialogue

“You are the closest thing I have to a home.” 

“Please, just hold me for a while.”

“I’ve never thought I deserve this.” 

“You still have all of me, however broken I am.” 

“You can rest now.”

“Let us help you” 

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hiii love your drabbles so much, can you write something where a touch-starved character gets hypothermia and their teammates have to wrap them in a blanket burrito and cuddle them to warm them up? maybe they could take a cozy group nap together too '

thank you! here ya go!! ❄️

“Shhhhhh, bring them in here.”

“They’re blue.”

“I need warm blankets in here as fast as possible.”

“How did they last that long out there?”

“Because they’re a fighter, that’s why.”

B’s far too out of it to know who said what. The only present thought in their mind is cold.

Deep, bone-aching cold.

The fire within them died ages ago as they struggled to stay afloat in the icy water, trying not to sob as they screamed for help. Their limbs had lost all feeling, and their pleas had fallen to soft whimpers as they’d surrendered to their fate.

A fate they’d face alone, like they’d faced most things in their short life.

It was harder to face the end now, because for a brief moment, they’d had a glimmer of what belonging felt like. They were new to the team, lingering on the edges, trying to work up the courage to let themselves get closer and be a part of this complicated tangle of people, so different and yet so accepting, so welcoming, so close. People constantly leaning on one another, scooping each other up and carrying them around, curled up together on a couch watching something together, affectionate shoves and ruffles of hair.

At first, it had all just been too much for them. They’d flinched hard the first time A had reached for a hug, and A had snapped their hand back, face blushing and apologetic. From then on, the team was welcoming, full of kind words, but the offers of physical touch faded as B made their discomfort with it clear.

But lately, something strange had been transpiring in their body. A restlessness in their limbs, a buzzing feeling in their nerve endings, a pressing ache in their chest that felt a little like they were dying inside.

After several weeks, A realized that what they felt in their chest wasn’t fear—it was longing. They were desperate to be a part of the thing they’d cut themselves off from, but they didn’t know how to ask—so they resigned themselves to hugging their knees to their chest, inches apart from everyone else piled together on the couch, wondering if anyone would mind if they leaned their head on their shoulder.

They’d been working so hard to build up their courage. Just that last night, B had been on the verge of asking for a hug—something to soothe the anxious ball of nerves that had risen in their stomach at the thought of the mission at hand. But the mission alarms had sounded, and they’d missed their last chance. And now, they wouldn’t get another.

What would it have felt like? To be held like that? To hear the soft thud of someone’s heartbeat against your ear, the circle of someone’s arms clutching you close to their warmth as they cradled your head and buried their face in your hair?

It was something B would never know, but the thought was nice to dwell on in these last few moments. A hug. A warm, soft, hug, instead of these glass knives stabbing their every limb.

As they felt themselves fading away, they wondered if they were dreaming the shouts they heard.

———————————————

The next moments passed by in snapshots. A flash, then strong arms gripping them, pulling their soaking frame into the boat. Frantic hands tugging at frozen clothes, complicated by B’s stiff limbs. A rattling noise that they’d realize later was the sound of their own teeth chattering. The sound of the boat hitting land.

A few more flashes - out of the boat, in someone’s warm arms, a dry coat placed over them, being transported, cold, cold, cold….

After a while, the snapshots string together into sequences - being eased onto a soft bed, cold wet skin dried and covered in warm blankets, a warm hand pushing frozen hair off of their forehead, the sound of someone crying softly in the distance. And shivering. So much shivering.

When B finally has the strength to lift their heavy eyelids, their first sight is of the faces, several of them tear stained, all of them watching them intently. They’re wrapped in half a dozen blankets, propped up in a large, unfamiliar bed, while a large fire blazes in the nearby fireplace.

B can’t form words between their shivers and chattering teeth, but they’re awake enough to feel the soft, warm pajamas they’re now dressed in and the thick wool socks over their cold feet. Even so, their body’s internal heat seems to be switched off, pure ice in their veins. Under a pile of warmed blankets, hours after being rescued, they don’t feel warm at all. And there’s a constant shiver in their core that they can’t seem to stop. They’re so tired, and so, so cold.

“You scared us, B.” A’s voice cracks, and the other members of the team nod furiously.

B clutches the blankets closer to their chin, trying to hold the warmth closer to their chilled body, when they see A’s hand, white-knuckled and twisted in the top blanket on their bed, inches from their own.

They’re waiting for an invitation.

Slowly, shakily, B reaches their cold hand from under the blankets to place over A’s. A’s vision snaps up, and B tugs at their hand, more than a little desperate.

“Please. C-closer. M’ so c-cold.”

That’s all it takes for A to gently slide into the space next to them on the bed, slipping under the blankets and curling their body next to B’s, cocooning their trembling body in warm arms. The rest of them follow suit, until they’re wreathed in a tangled mess of warm limbs and sleepy bodies, each jostling for a place closer to them. B’s neurons nearly explode at the touch.

A shifts closer, cupping a hand around B’s head and pulling it closer. “This okay?”

B nods furiously, already feeling a warmth unlike anything they’ve ever felt before blooming in their chest and flooding their limbs. They’re totally surrounded by people they care for more than anything in the world, and it’s better than they could’ve ever imagined.

“We’ll warm you up, B. Don’t you worry,” a sleepy C mumbles from somewhere down in the pile.

Despite C’s promise, B’s bone-cold for two more days - a deep, lingering chill that’s only eased by someone’s warm body pressed against theirs - and they stay bundled up in bed to preserve the meager warmth. The rest of the team gets the bright idea to take shifts with them, but the “shift” idea soon fades because no one wants to leave once their turn is up, and the whole team ends up on the bed by the day’s end. Sometimes they talk, or read a book out loud, but mostly B just craves the warmth being held. After years of loneliness, they can’t get enough.

It shouldn’t make any sense. B’s exhausted and weaker than they’ve ever been in their life, and they’ve never been happier.

It’s late now, the remainder of the fire burned down to coals, and everyone’s brought their own pillows and blankets to spend the night. B’s mostly recovered, by now, but they don’t want to say anything out of fear of losing this thing they found.

“Your hands are finally warm,” A mumbles, wrapping their own hands around B’s. B’s stomach drops. Caught.

“Y-yeah…..I guess so. If that means….you want to go back to your own bed…”

A snorts. “Are you kidding? You’re never getting rid of us now.” They shift slightly, allowing B to ease their head on their chest. “Unless you want us to go—“

“No.” B’s hand fists protectively in A’s shirt. “I mean…I don’t mind. This. All this.”

B could be imagining, but they think they hear relief in A’s next sigh as they raise their hand to B’s head, threading their hand through their hair. “We’re never gonna leave you, B.”

B swallows the lump in their throat as they hug A hard, and B feels A’s arms tighten back.

Warm. Safe. Loved. Was there anything better than this?

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16. semi-conscious

...to the surface again, unexpectedly, for some reason.

the sky was faded above them, spun with pale clouds, unfocused in their heavy-lidded eyes. voices around them, the uneven motion of footsteps, rough cloth beneath their cheek and their loose-laid hands.

the battle. the others. where...

what happened they wanted to say, but their throat was dry and their mouth sticky, and breath seemed so difficult to find. the jolting of the stretcher they lay on was enough to drive each thin gasp back out of their lungs as soon as they drew it inwards.

yes. the ambush on the high clifftop road, the enemies rising out of the brush. there had been a fight, and they - they -

the next step jostled the pain in their body back into full waking, kept at bay up till now; a sharp vicious pain radiating from below their ribs, each exhale bringing the taste of dried blood with it.

there was a hand on their face, and Avarie's voice brisk but gentle above them, her cap shoved back off her forehead to leave space for the wrapped bandage there.

"awake now? don't try to move. you were badly hurt, but we're almost back to camp. shh."

their eyes had closed before she finished her words, and so they swam in the mists of pain and exhaustion, lulled by the rocking motion of the stretcher beneath them.

again, awareness, like a weary dawn too early for the headache behind their eyes. the pillow beneath their head was flat, thin, but better than nothing; the cot they lay on rustled as they tried to raise their head.

the pain blossomed again, a different deeper ache than before, but as they blinked down they saw the bandages wrapping their stomach, and the bloodied shreds of their shirt tied together above. the smell of blood, of fear, of sweat and broken bodies, was strong in their nose. the field hospital, likely. they'd managed to stay out of here up until now...

"easy now." one of the healers sat perched on a stool next to them, a bowl in his hands and a wet rag laying across one knee. "I won't bother you long, but we'd better get some water into you. can you drink?"

they spilled half the dipper-full of water brought to their lips, and the healer used the cloth instead, as if they were a kitten needing to be nursed. each breath made their head spin a little with the pain, the high shadow-swallowed tent roof dim above them, the candlelight glinting somewhere off to the side as voices murmured and cried around them.

"there now. you can sleep."

to have their mouth less dry was a gift enough, and exhaustion took over after that.

-

Avarie again, and Kana, talking gravely beside them, and faint sunlight from beyond the tent canvas. they blinked again, and this time there was strength in their eyelids to stay open, at least for the moment. their attempt to lift their head didn't get very far, but Kana leaned over in a hurry and ruffled a hand through their hair.

"you're awake!"

"for now," they managed, their words weak and slurred. "yeah."

"we were worried." Avarie, lips pinched, but her eyes brightening as she grasped their hand. "you're going to stay with us for a bit this time, right?"

they didn't know, but they'd try.

"yes."

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Whumpee hadn’t woken yet.

They were unconscious when Caretaker found them. Finally, after months of searching, they were safe and in their arms. The horrors they’ve endured had come to an end.

And yet they were completely unaware. 

Caretaker had them propped on their chest as they stroked their thumb down their cheekbone. They watched them fast asleep, calmly breathing. 

“I missed you… Everyone did.” Caretaker whispered, cupping their cheek and adjusting their position. 

“I know you’ll be frightened when you wake up. But I’ll be here for you. I’ll make sure of it.” 

They had no plans to leave. No matter how long it took for Whumpee to wake up, days, weeks even. 

They would be here. 

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Whump Snippet Saturday #21

"Are you hurt? Whose blood is that?", whumpee asks, panicking and eyes widened. Trembling hands start searching for the cause of all that blood on caretaker's shirt, but the other just tries to calm them down.

"I am not injured. Whumpee ... Kid, just listen. I am not injured," caretaker insists and cups their face between their hands. Whumpee pulls their hands away and follows caretaker's worried eyes, finally seeing the real cause of all that blood.

"Oh," whumpee mutters when the pain finally catches up to their brain, the adrenaline of seeing caretaker now leaving their body. They hear caretaker talk to them, but are already losing consciousness.

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characters who don’t believe that they deserve to be taken care of. nobody has ever cared for them, so they understand sickness and injury as something to suffer through on their own. and then, someone comes along who truly cares, and at first they don’t believe it. they resist.

slowly, as their situation gets worse, they have to learn that they do deserve to be loved and cared for, and they need to accept help. they realize they don’t have to do this alone.

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Rescuer: “Can you walk?”

Injured yet determined whumpee who clearly can’t: “Yes”

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at first a tentative reach, barely hovering above their unconscious head, fingers outspread as if afraid to alight. then, gently still but with more confidence, fingers brushed against the messy fringe of their hair, and then intertwining with the strands and cupping cautiously against the side of their cheek.

"I ... I don't know if I deserve to ask for it... but...please stay with me."

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Whumptober #31

Trope of the day: “You can rest now”

_

“You need to stay awake for me, whumpee,” the familiar voice says, sounding weirdly muffled and far away. The hand that touches his cheek doesn’t feel too far away, and he’s sure that the voice and the hand belong together … they have to.

But whose voice is that? Whumpee doesn’t know, but he struggles and fights against his lids, begging to be closed. “That’s good, just like that. Fight against it, please. Just a few more minutes,” the voice continues and whumpee finally realises who that is – caretaker.

How does caretaker know where he is? It’s been weeks since they have seen each other, weeks since he’s felt the safety and comfort of the other person. It’s been pain and only pain these past few weeks and he feels his body tremble.

Bright lights flash over his body and he tries to close his eyes, only to be shaken awake again. “No, not yet, whumpee. Stay awake and look me in the face, please,” caretaker begs and whumpee does his best to open his lids again.

“Yes, just like that,” he hears the muffled voice almost sob and feels hands already working on him. A whimper escapes his cracked lips, it hurts in his dry throat, but it seems to be enough to show caretaker that he is alive. Alive and breathing.

Minutes pass that feel like hours, almost entire days and he blinks with heavy lids. All he wants to do is close them … just close them and let the pain wash him away to the soothing sea of unconsciousness. The hand is back on his cheek, the voice closer this time.

“It’s okay now, whumpee. You can rest now. You can rest,” he hears the voice mutter, seemingly less agitated than before. A soft whimper escapes his lips as he tries to nod, only to finally be overtaken by the soothing darkness. He knows that he won’t be in pain when he opens his eyes again.

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What about something with a whumpee who falls through ice?

this turned into some kind of winter epic but I hope you enjoy 😂

One minute, A's standing on the frozen lake, waving at B and C back on the shore. The next, they hear a sharp crack—and they're through the ice and underwater.

The cold feels like a thousand knives—so blinding that A can't see or feel, much less figure out which way is up or down. After a few seconds, they gain their bearings, only to feel the horrifying thud of the solid ice above their head.

Their desperate scream is muted as they hit the ice once, twice, three times, to no avail—

get me out get me out get me OUT

Their lungs burn as they fail to hold their breath any longer, and they suck in a mouthful, then another of water, colors swirling and flashing as their pleas for oxygen go unheard—

—until suddenly their fingers punch through to sharp, clean winter air. A sputters and coughs as their lungs fight to expel water, and they whirl around as they try to get their bearings, then seeing B and C waving and shouting something their ears can’t quite parse out.

A frantically claws at the ice at the edge of the hole, a pained sound escaping from their throat as the thin ice breaks every time they try to grab hold. They feel their muscles seizing up, but force themselves to keep kicking, keep fighting. They can't die. Not like this.

But as the minutes drag on, and B & C are nothing more than moving blurs of color on the shore and their limbs begin to stiffen, the fight within them starts dwindling.

Hold on, A. Come on. Hold on. Don't give in.

“A! Grab on!” A rope suddenly appears a few inches from them, and A kicks toward it with all their might. Their fingers are too numb to hold on very tightly, but they manage to wrap it around their wrist several times and give a weak tug.

“P-p-pull!” It’s a choked whimper, but B and C must hear their small voice because they feel the tug against their skin, then feel their numb, burning limbs scraping over the ragged surface of the ice as they’re dragged back to the blessedly solid shoreline.

As their trembling body meets the cold black rock of the shore, they’re consumed with the terror of what just happened. But when they take a breath to sob, they’re choked by more coughing as their body fights to rid their lungs of the frigid lake water.

B rips off their coat and wraps it around A’s quaking body, hoisting them up in their arms, gently stroking their rapidly freezing hair from their forehead. “Shhh…you’re okay. You’re okay. We’ll warm you up in no time.”

A can’t still their clattering teeth or their gasping breaths enough to respond.

————————

An hour later, A’s still violently shivering despite being wrapped in a blanket, their feet submerged in a steaming bucket of warm water, seated in the chair closest to the fire. They cinch the blanket tighter with cold, aching fingers, pulling it up over their ears and nose. The fire is banked high and crackling, but it does little to displace the bone-deep chill in their core or quiet their rattling teeth.

The first minutes after the rescue were hazy—first jostling and numb as B carried them and sprinted back to the cabin, then cold and dark, and murmuring voices, and frozen clothes peeled away and replaced with warm, dry ones on their ice-cold skin. Slowly, the colored blobs gave way to the forms of their frantic friends, wool blankets, muttered curses and sparks that turned to a healthy flame.

If only warmth would come.

The thought of getting warm was all-consuming for A as they shiver with cold chills. The bucket of hot water was somehow painfully hot and just not warm enough. The blanket around their shoulders was too thin, and they could still feel the icy water on their skin. The fire should be bigger. But none of the thoughts can make it out of their clattering jaw with any semblance of order.

However, as if B heard their thoughts, A feels them gently drape a second blanket around their shoulder, then feels their hands sweep up and down their back to generate warmth.

C watches them from the other side of the hearth, poking at the fire to stir the flames, eyeing A with concern. “How are you feeling?"

An honest answer bubbles up in their mind. I thought I would die down there.

Instead, they force out a weak “J-just c-c-cold,” before coughs steal their voice again. And though not their first thought, it is true. They weakly rub their arms with shaky hands, desperate to try and help B generate a spark of heat. “I c-can’t g-get warm.”

At that, B leaves and then returns to the fire with something wrapped in towels, handing it to A. “Here. This will take the edge off a bit more. You've had quite a chill.”

A clutches the warm bundle closer to their body, desperate for the warmth to permeate their core. “Th-th-thanks.” Another round of coughing burns in their chest, the lake water still unyielding. They feel B’s hand on their shoulder, rubbing gently, and they look up to see B’s concerned frown as their hand traces up to their damp hair.

“We shouldn’t leave your head wet. Don’t want you getting sick.”

A doesn’t have the energy to explain that they just spent a substantial amount of time in a freezing lake, which pretty much negated the benefits of keeping their head warm by now. But they don’t mind the feeling of B gently toweling the melting water droplets out of their hair, and they lean into the soft touch long after their hair is dried.

A figures they must look pitifully cold, because B continues to run their fingers through their hair, and C, who usually avoids most physical touch, hugs A close to them on their other side, helping them sip from the cup of tea since their hands are too shaky to hold it.

Three hours later, A’s still deathly pale, but they can manage an intelligible sentence, and their hands are still enough to curl around another mug of tea, and they’d managed to eat a little soup for dinner. What their friends can’t see is the ice that clings to A’s bones, the superficial heat unable to thaw the chill that had gripped their core. They're out of the danger zone, but they're still just....cold.

Between the exhausting hours of shivering and the events of the day, it's no surprise when their head starts bobbing, and their eyelids start feeling like they’re weighted. They’re not sure when the transition from waking to sleeping happens—they only feel someone gently lifting their bundled form off the couch to take back to their bedroom. B leaves and returns with two more blankets, draping each of them in turn over A and tugging them up to their chin. “You just rest now,” B whispers, gently smoothing down A’s hair before.

Despite the warm layers, A just can’t chase the cold out of their achy bones. Chills crawl across their skin, and they clutch the pouch of hot water closer, trying to envision themselves sinking into a hot spring, or sunning themselves in a field on a hot summer day.

A strange childhood memory resurfaces in a dream—of swimming in a frigid lake too long on a hot summer’s day and emerging blue-lipped and chilled through, of a relative wrapping them in a dry blanket and holding them close in the warm sun.

The memory is full of comfort and they long to re-enter it—but the memory frosts at the edges, and they slip out of the dream-relative’s arms and are plunged back into the lake. The lake freezes over and washes over their ankles, knees, waists as the cold seeps back in, unrelenting, unreleasing, coming from the inside out.

The black water rushes up to their neck now, but A's frozen in place, unable to move or even scream as the water closes over their head—

—and suddenly they're awake, coughing up a lung, unable to take a full breath. Somehow, they’re colder under the blankets than they were in the lake, like the lake had stolen their fire and left them an icy, empty shell. At the same time, they feel sweat prickle on the back of their next, chilling in the cold air, and as A struggles to draw in a full breath, they get the sensation that something is very, very wrong.

The rest of the night consists of hours of restless tossing and turning, sweating and shaking, trying to stifle the relentless coughs. They wake in the early blue dawn feeling chilled and congested, chest heavy like an iron bar is resting across them. A draws the blankets closer and rubs their arms, trying to generate a little warmth in their achy bones. Everything hurts—even the joints in their fingers and toes, and there's a violent cough that burns in their rib cage every time it seizes their lungs.

The fireplace. That's warm.

The thought of heat propels A to jerk to an upright position. As the blankets tumble off their shoulders, the wintry air sends a sudden, violent chill throughout their whole body, rattling their teeth so hard they're scared they chipped a tooth. Bad idea. They scramble for the top quilt, fumbling as they wrap the precious layer back around themselves and dive back under the covers.

But it’s not warm enough—nothing is warm enough. They hug their knees to their chest and huddle under the blankets, too wracked with shudders to embark on the trek to the fireplace, too exhausted to move, chest burning, and so, so scared.

They don’t know how long they lay there, trembling and coughing, alone. They only feel the hand rest on their shoulder, then move up to their forehead to push away the damp hair, a whispered curse floating out into the air that they can see.

Why can I see words?

Why is my hair still damp?

B's face enters their field of vision, their cool hand on A's forehead.

Why is B cold?

Amid the thoughts, A hears pounding footsteps. They barely register that B is gone before B is back, dragging a half-awake C with them.

"B? What's wrong?" C’s voice is hazy from sleep, and A sees them rub the sleep away from their eyes.

"A's caught a bad chill from the cold water. And they're burning up."

"My....my chest...." A gasps out.

C comes closer, leaning against A’s chest to listen more intently to the rattling sound that comes every time A breathes, then lays the back of their hand against A's cheek. When their face is visible again, it's painted with ridges of concern.

"B, get the fire going."

"C, what's wro—"

"B, now." C's tone sends another chill down A's spine. "And get some water boiling, and those herbs from the pantry."

C's voice is so firm that B doesn't question it again, and scurries off to the main room.

Despite B not receiving an answer, A has to know. In their weak, cough-roughened voice, they rasp out two words: “What's.....happening?"

C gives a small smile, meant to comfort, which only confuses A's feverish brain further. "After your little swim yesterday, you’ve come down with a bout of winter fever."

Winter fever. The words alone send an ice pick through their heart. Winter fever makes its way through their village every year during the coldest months, stealing breath and warmth and life from too many to count. It can strike after a bad chill, or getting one’s feet wet, or even if you don’t warm yourself enough by the fire.

“Am…am I gonna die?”

"Shhhh....you'll be fine. I've helped many a relative through winter fever, and you're going to be no exception.”

A nods, still scared, but anchored by C’s confident voice.

Ten minutes later. A is plopped in front of a fire that's even bigger than yesterday, a pot of water giving off steam that casts a cloudy haze in the main sitting room. They’re nested in two warm blankets, hot water bottles at their feet and on their stomach to try and combat the constant fever chills.

C slowly peels away the layers of B’s blankets and pajamas over their upper body, exposing the skin of their chest to the cool air of the room. A grits their teeth to hide the chill that threatens to tear through them as they feel the goosebumps prickle over their whole body, squeezing their eyes shut at the painfully strange sensation.

Then, a pleasant warm feeling spreads across their chest, and A opens their eyes to see C laying a steaming towel soaked in some type of herb-scented mixture. It’s strong and pungent and not particularly good-smelling, but A instantly feels some of the tightness in their chest ease at the warmth and the medicinal scent.

“Old family remedy. It’ll ease the pain a bit and get you breathing better to get your lungs fighting again.” C nods toward B, who’s refilling a bubbling pot over the fire. “The steam will help, too.”

A coughs weakly, a sharp, rattling sound that makes both B and C tense. “Wish…wish I’d never gone on that lake,” they say, bottom lip trembling. On top of feeling awful, they’ve trapped B and C into caring for them. “Now you’re stuck helping me.”

“Hey, hey, none of that.” C’s at their side, carefully thumbing away the tear that’s slipping down their cheek. “You’d do the same for any of us. Who knows, I’ll probably break a leg hunting, or B will accidentally poison themselves with some root they think is edible.”

A tries to laugh, but a cough steals away their breath. “M’sorry for crying. The past couple days…”

“They’ve been rough, I know, love. I know.” C’s hand cups around A’s cheek, then drapes down to squeeze their shoulder. “But we’re with you. You don’t have to do this by yourself, okay?”

A nods readily, not trusting themselves to speak.

C nods back, glancing back at the fire. “It’s time to change the cloth—don’t want you getting chilled.”

A’s too tired to do more than just track C with their eyes as they move to the fire, get a new cloth, and swap out the cooling one with the gentlest of movements all while keeping A nested in blankets. They’re still feverish and achy and so tired, but the fear is evaporating as quickly as the steam from the pot over the fire.

I’m not alone.