Whumpee’s hands were shaking as they wrapped them around the door handle. Free. They were free.
Sure, their ribs ached like the fiery craters of Jugnus, and they couldn’t really feel their fingers anymore, but they were free. How long had they been down there, they wondered. How long had they been tied up, sustaining hit after hit from a monster they’d once considered a friend?
They knew one thing for sure, though: Caretaker wouldn’t hear a word of this. If only Caretaker wasn’t one of only two doctors working on the ship. It was fine. They could go to Medic. Medic was cool. Medic let them calm down little kids who’d seen far too much in their war-torn homes. Whumpee liked helping with that. It gave them something to do rather than wander around, only allowed on the rescue vessel because their sibling worked on it.
Medic had a habit of tattling on Whumpee, though. Better to not tell them about Whumper, either. Easy enough. Whumpee would rather swallow hot coals than talk about that monster ever again.
Medic was having a rough day.
They’d just landed on a new planet, and then Whumpee had to go run off to who-knows-where. Not that Whumpee were obliged to help Medic out—the kid was still, well, a kid, after all—but usually Whumpee agreed to help without much urging. Not today, though. Whumpee was nowhere to be found that morning, leaving Medic alone to deal with half of the injured population of Urding. Great. They could do that. This was what they were paid for, after all.
They were tending to an old person when the door swung open. They took a deep breath, put on their best calm-understanding-doctor face, and turned around to tell whatever injured citizen had just walked in to wait their turn.
It wasn’t a citizen, though. It was Whumpee.
Medic’s shoulders slumped with relief. “Whumpee, hey, thank the stars,” they sighed, managing not to wince as their patient pursed their lips at the show of unprofessionalism. Whatever. Medic was done with this crap, and they needed their crowd-pleaser.
“I need help,” Whumpee said, and Medic bit back the urge to groan. Old Person probably wouldn’t be too pleased to see that, after all.
“Not right now. It’s really fucking busy,” a hmph from their patient, “And I need you working the waiting room.”
Whumpee faltered, and Medic prayed that the kid wasn’t in a dramatic mood today. Normally, they treated Whumpee’s eccentricity with all the patience they could manage, but that amount had exponentially dropped after working for 12 hours straight.
“Whumpee,” Medic snapped, and thankfully that seemed to get the kid in line.
“I’ll… see what I can do,” Whumpee said, voice far fainter than it usually would be.
Medic had been too harsh. But then Whumpee was walking out to the waiting room, and Medic didn’t have the time to apologize for hurting their friend’s feelings.
Whumpee spent the next few hours comforting a planet’s worth of people as they waited for their turns. Half a planet’s worth, they reminded themself, since Caretaker would be taking the other half.
It was a small planet. Barely ten thousand people. But five thousand people feels a lot bigger when everyone’s stuck in an albeit large waiting room built for smaller rotations. It was weird to have everyone on board. Hadn’t they just gotten there? Or had they been there for months? The whole kidnapping thing had screwed with their sense of time.
Everything finally wrapped up about nine hours later. Whumpee could see the sun rising through the ship’s reinforced windows. Their head was spinning, and the numbness had spread from their fingers to the better part of their arms, but everyone had either been seen or decided to get attention tomorrow.
Whumpee hobbled to Medic’s office. They fumbled with the handle, muscle memory failing them as their muscles called them out on their shit, but eventually got the door open.
Medic was slouched over their computer logs. They looked on the brink of death. They certainly didn’t seem to be in the mood to help another needy patient.
But Whumpee had never been good at keeping their mouth shut.
“What?” Medic snapped. Their voice wasn’t filled with anger but exhaustion, but it made Whumpee flinch all the same.
Not Whumper. Not Whumper. Not Whumper.
“Could you… maybe look at me now?” they asked, far meeker than they’d usually whine. The room was beginning to tilt, and Whumpee wasn’t sure if they could feel… anything at this point.
“I told you, Whumpee, I don’t have time for this right now.” Medic ran their hands over their face. “Why don’t you go see Caretaker?”
Whumpee’s heart sank, and they somehow managed to go even more numb.
They couldn’t go to Caretaker. Caretaker would freak out, and then Whumpee would have to talk about it, and they just couldn’t do that. Not now, with the hurt so fresh. Not ever.
“Are you on the brink of death?” Medic asked, tone clipped. They turned so they were facing Whumpee. They looked so tired.
Medic groaned and looked away like Whumpee had told a bad joke. Then they got up and trudged to the sink to start washing up.
Whumpee watched in a dazed stupor. Was the faucet really loud, or were their ears ringing? They got the sudden urge to let themself collapse into a pile of hurt right here on the floor.
They realized, not with any small amount of delirium, that Medic would get annoyed by that.
They went to their sleeping quarters, then. Best Friend glanced up at them with a smile that quickly turned into a frown as Whumpee stumbled onto their bed.
“Whumpee?” they asked. Or… had they asked that? Maybe they’d said something different. Something smarter. Best Friend was smart.
Maybe they hadn’t said anything at all.
Whumpee fell asleep around then.
Whumpee couldn’t breathe.
They woke up and they couldn’t breathe. Every time they tried to inhale, their chest would refuse, squeezing so tight their eyes began to water. It was like being crushed, but there was nothing on them.
If they didn’t go to someone, they were going to die.
They supposed that that would be harder to explain than the bruising.
It felt as though it took them years to stagger to their feet, and even then, they had to hug the wall to make it to the door. Every step sent a dull burning through their bones. They felt like they were melting from the inside.
Everything sort of… fazed out from there. They didn’t remember walking through the hallway. They didn’t remember navigating through a busy waiting room far quieter than the one they’d been in yesterday. They didn’t remember forcing a door open.
They just remembered Caretaker’s startled look at the bang that followed.
“Whumpee,” Caretaker said, their expression lacking its usual fondness. They looked tired. Just like Medic. Just like Whumpee. “Now is not the time.”
“I’m hurt,” they croaked out, and a twinge of concern pulled the corners of their sibling’s mouth downwards.
“What is it? Eat something funny?”
They hesitated. Had they eaten something funny? No. No, they didn’t remember Whumper feeding them anything. The bastard would’ve had to force it down their throat, and they were fairly certain they’d remember something like that.
But as they opened their mouth to correct them, they felt the overwhelming nausea at the thought of Caretaker knowing.
Caretaker didn’t need to know. They could just treat the symptoms, couldn’t they? Yeah. Yeah, that would work.
“Guess so,” they said, jaw aching with the blatancy of the lie.
“Take some Ibuprofen. It should be in the same place as usual.”
“Caretaker,” Whumpee whined, and they could see by the tension lining their sibling’s frame that this was not the time.
“Whumpee, please. I’m busy.” They gestured to a little kid sitting on the examination table. The kid had their pant leg rolled up, revealing a terrible burn on their knee that seemed to be covered in dust.
Whumpee swallowed. Yeah. Okay. They could wait.
“Sorry,” they muttered, and that was all it took for Caretaker’s gaze to slide off of them.
Whumpee didn’t leave their bed that much for the next few days. Best Friend gave them worried glances, but Whumpee wasn’t in the mood to comfort anyone. They could only manage to curl up and wish for oblivion.
“Y’know, maybe you should see a medic,” Best Friend said one day. They were sitting on their bed, tinkering with some spare parts. Probably making a really cool contraption that would revolutionize the ship. Like a third medical wing. That would be nice.
Whumpee processed what their friend had suggested 10 seconds after they suggested it.
“Nahhhhhh,” they said, voice cracking from disuse. Best Friend straightened up, startled at the disjointed sound.
“I’m serious, dude,” they said, voice a few notes higher. “You’re not yourself.”
Maybe that’s a good thing, Whumpee thought bitterly. “Themself” had gotten kidnapped and beaten by a deranged sadist. They thought that at least if they were lying still, they couldn’t get any more hurt.
Maybe that’s why they weren't the medic.
They woke up in the middle of the night to a sharp pain in their side. It was unlike anything they had ever felt before. It was worse than the beatings, worse than the palms and fists that had done this to them in the first place. Those were aching, but this? This was dying.
They didn’t remember standing up. Their mind blanked out after their fifth failed attempt, but at some point, they were up on their own two feet. That point was very brief, though. They didn’t remember the fall. Didn’t remember much of anything after that point.
All they could recall was the terrible, awful pain that ate away at their bones and organs.
Leaving Urding had lessened the workload, they were ashamed to say. Not at first, but without the constant stream of people, Caretaker was able to make their way through the rescued population as quickly as was reasonable.
They weren't done. They were never done. But all of the most terrible wounds had been tended to, and finally their waiting room was empty.
The ship didn’t have any wood to knock on, unfortunately.
The door slid open with the metallic whoosh Caretaker had grown to dread. Feeling very much on the brink of passing out, Caretaker forced themself to their feet and trudged out to see who it was.
Caretaker startled. It was Best Friend. The engineer looked harried in a way Caretaker had never seen before. Best Friend was known for staying up for days on end working on their projects, yes. And they never quite managed to look completely sane, no. But the kid had always exuded an eccentric kind of composure that they were painfully lacking now.
Wrenched from their sleep-deprived stupor, Caretaker tensed, heart beating fast. “What is it?”
“It’s Whumpee,” Best Friend rushed out, and Caretaker felt their heart sink.
They tried to think back to the last time they’d seen their sibling. They remembered the kid saying they were going out to meet a friend on Urding (should probably check in and see if the friend was dead), but that was right after they’d landed. Everything after was rapid-fire diagnoses and stitches and balms. Caretaker couldn’t remember a single patient’s face from the last week, and they were usually good about stuff like that.
“What’s wrong with them?” they asked, hoping and praying to whoever was out there that their little sibling was fine.
“You gotta come,” Best Friend said, and—and they were crying.
They found them lying on their bedroom floor, a puddle of blood under them. Caretaker froze, their mind blanking, utter confusion seeping into their nerves.
“I’m hurt,” Whumpee had said.
Caretaker managed not to throw up as they and Best Friend carried the pale child down to Medical, but it was a near thing.
Medic got the message just as they were dozing off for the first time in days. They snapped to attention, panic easing back into exhausted exasperation as they checked their communicator. It was a message from Caretaker:
Medic made their way across the ship with a distinct mix of annoyance and concern. The doors whirred open, and both emotions blinked out as a wave of disbelief crashed over them.
Whumpee was lying down shirtless on a medical bed, the sheets stained scarlet. Caretaker looked up at them as they walked in, eyes crazed.
“Get over here,” they barked, and Medic did as commanded.
Whumpee awoke with the vague notion that they were dead. The pain was still present, still excruciating, but it had eased off as soon as they’d passed the currently-dying stage to the already-dead one.
“Whumpee?” Caretaker asked.
At least it sounded like Caretaker. Except Caretaker wasn’t dead, so Whumpee must be mistaken.
“Whumpee, hey, I know you’re awake.” Whoever it was sounded desperate. There was a hand on their cheek, then, and all Whumpee could manage was a discomforted squeak. The hand withdrew immediately.
“Alright, alright,” it said, now a chastised whisper. “You can rest.”
The next time Whumpee awoke, they felt like they were dying again.
I thought we finished this part, they thought as their ribs burned and their skin stung.
Footsteps, quick footsteps. They went step, step, step, but faster, like step-step-step. Then there were more voices talking, but Whumpee couldn’t make out what they were saying for some reason. They realized belatedly that it was because of the incessant beeping coming from somewhere in the room.
Hands on them again. Their eyes fluttered open as red-hot pain stabbed through their stomach, and they howled just as they had when they were with Whumper. Were they back with Whumper? Surely not. They’d escaped. They’d lost a part of themself in the process, sure, but they’d done it.
The hands didn’t go away, though. They tried to squirm out of their reach, but the hands were too strong and Whumpee was too weak.
“‘top—” they sobbed, their lips numb and useless.
But the hands didn’t stop, and soon the pain was too much, and they fell into darkness once more.
The next time, they were back to a normal pain level, and their head felt a lot clearer than it had before. Not just before in the dark—they felt better than they had before they died.
Being a little more lucid, they began to question how realistic that thought was.
They opened their eyes. The room was dark. Dark, dark, dark. Light enough to tell that they were indoors, though.
They were… in bed. A bed stained red. Had they made all that mess? They felt their cheeks begin to heat, but they were quickly distracted by the person asleep in a chair at the bedside.
Not dead, then. Unless something had gone wrong with Urding’s evac.
“Caretaker?” they croaked, and Caretaker’s head shot up.
They looked at Whumpee with red-rimmed eyes that widened impressively as they took in their injured sibling, awake and somewhat aware.
“Whumpee,” they said, more of an exhale than a word, like anything else would shatter the kid lying in front of them.
Caretaker’s expression crumbled even more, and they reached out for their sibling before hesitating and drawing back. Whumpee shifted uncomfortably. Had they done something wrong?
“How’re you feeling?” Caretaker asked, voice strained with more terror than Whumpee had ever heard before.
Their mind blanked on the question. They were in a lot of pain, yes, but relatively speaking, they were alright.
“Been better,” they settled on, trying to smile convincingly.
Caretaker worried their lip between their teeth, eyes intense as if they were trying to memorize Whumpee’s very essence. “How much do you remember?”
Whumpee’s body stuttered like a scratched record. The memories surfaced just as quickly as they blotted out, ink spilling across anything too graphic. They shrugged. Caretaker grimaced.
“Whumpee,” they pleaded, and Whumpee shrank under the guilt of it all.
“Tell me what happened?” Whumpee asked, their request as selfish as it was necessary.
Now it was Caretaker’s turn to tense. “You…” they started, voice cracking horribly on their first word. They tried again, “You passed out, Whumpee. Best Friend found you, but, uh… we’re not sure how long it took them to.”
Passed out. That was probably the “dying” part they remembered.
“I’m sorry,” Whumpee mumbled, their ears warm from Caretaker’s burning gaze.
“Whumpee,” Caretaker said, aghast. “Do not—no. No, just—please, Whumpee, tell me what happened.”
Whumpee shook their head, vision blackening for a few seconds at the very idea. Caretaker looked destroyed, and Whumpee knew it was their fault, but they were too weak to give their sibling what they wanted.
“How long have you been hurting?” Caretaker asked.
Whumpee knew this one. They knew it, they knew it, they knew it, but they still had to dig deep into the depths to retrieve the information.
“Why didn’t you—” Caretaker cut themself off, somehow managing to look even more pained. “No, no, you did, you…”
Whumpee frowned in confusion. Caretaker looked away.
“You came to me. I remember.”
“I turned you away.” Caretaker’s voice caught on every word, forever brittle. “Whumpee, I—Whumpee…”
“Don’t. Don’t do that, please—”
Caretaker hugged them, desperate but gentle, and Whumpee managed to bite down the sound of hurt fighting to get out of them. To rip their sibling apart even more than they already had.
“I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry, I’m—” Caretaker whispered into their hair, every apology a stab to their heart.
“Stop, stop, stop—” Whumpee gasped, curling further into Caretaker, who obediently fell quiet.
Whumpee was shaking, and they needed to stop shaking because it was really hurting them, but they weren't in control of their body anymore. Whumper had taken that control away and abused it until Whumpee was nothing but a broken toy, forever doomed to be theirs.
Caretaker ran their hand through Whumpee’s hair, and Whumpee did their best to ignore the fact that it was shaking.
