omggg can i break into the top secret lab where you’re being held and sneak into your test chamber and unhook you from the machines and carefully pull the needles from your body and carry you out and try not to think about how much weight you’ve lost even though you’re sooo light in my arms. can i smuggle you into a crappy pay-by-month motel room with the last bit of cash i can track down and wash you up in the chipped shower stall and tuck you into the cheap motel blankets as your body starts to flush with fever. can i stay with you as your body burns off the last of what they did to you. can i steal from vending machines and the continental breakfast and bring food home to you and coax you just to eat a little, a little more. watered down tea kept warm at the kitchenette. can i sleep next to you every night to keep you from going cold again, wait breathlessly for your eyes to open again. can i be there when they do
Whumpee just wanted to go back to normal. That was all they wanted. After months in a stranger's basement, months of beatings and torture, months of the most horrific things, they just wanted to be, to feel normal.
They started small. They asked for a takeout meal at the hospital, and Caretaker provided. They hadn't had takeout since the day of their kidnapping, and while the food was greasy and gross, it was the best meal they'd ever had.
Then they asked for their own clothes, from their home. They switched out the hospital gown for — at first — sweatpants and a hoodie. Then, on their release day, they went a little more adventurous, with clothes that let them pass as a normal person when they stepped out the door.
The only thing that was still a telltale sign, a flashing neon light above their head that they'd been severely neglected, was their matted hair. The nurses didn't even want to touch it. Honestly? Whumpee kind of didn't want them to touch it either. With how kinky and curly their hair was, they would've just torn it all out with a comb. But now that they were home…
"Caretaker?"
"Yes?"
"Would it be okay — you can say no, you can always say no — would it be okay if I asked… I mean… My— my hair…"
Caretaker lit up. "You want me to do your hair for you?"
The reaction didn't make sense. It was going to be a tedious process, if not entirely impossible. "If that's okay."
"It's more than okay! I'll bring a chair into the bathroom and you can sit down. I have anti-tangle conditioner somewhere in my box, we can use that. It's supposed to make the hair slippery enough that a comb can go through it. Or a detangling brush! I think I have one of those as well, somewhere…"
Whumpee wanted to cry. Here they were, beat-up and worn down, neglected, disgusting… And Caretaker was excited. They were excited to help. "Are you sure?"
Caretaker stopped. "Sure of what?"
"That you want to do this. It's going to take hours. Now that I'm thinking about it, maybe it'd be better to… to…" They couldn't say it. Their hair was their pride and joy, to think of cutting it all off was much too painful.
Their friend grabbed them by the shoulders, looking into their eyes all serious. "Whumpee. We'll save your hair."
Still teary, Whumpee nodded. "Okay."
"I'll bring that chair."
So Whumpee sat down in the bathroom, hair wet and conditioned, and Caretaker started the agonisingly slow process of detangling from ends to roots. One lock at a time. Chatting away joyfully, like they weren't about to work until their hands cramped up. Like it wasn't a bother. Like Whumpee was worth it.
And Whumpee sat there, in front of the mirror, and slowly, they started to see their natural curls again. Inch by inch, lock by lock, they were getting their life back. They weren't erasing the trauma they'd gone through, but they were healing it.
"Did that all come from my head?" they asked, horrified, when they saw Caretaker holding a handful of dead hair.
"Don't freak out," they said with a smile. "It only seems like a lot because you haven't had the chance to brush your hair in ages. It accumulated. There's hardly any real breakage."
"Oh," they breathed. "Okay."
Hours later, Whumpee's hair was almost back to normal. They just had to wash it to get all the blood and debris out, which they could finally do on their own, without Caretaker in the room with them. When they'd first been rescued, the nurses had to help them bathe, and it was some of the most humiliating stuff they'd endured.
Once done, they stepped out of the shower and looked in the foggy mirror. They swiped their hand across it to reveal their reflection; their hair was… normal. In need of a trim, maybe, but not matted. Not bloody. Not dusty. Normal. Beautiful. They were beautiful again.
The sight made them break down in tears.
"Whumpee?" came a concerned voice from the other side of the door. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah," they sniffled. "Yeah. Sorry. I— These are happy tears, I promise." They opened the door and smiled at their friend. "Thank you for taking care of my hair. It means the absolute world."
Caretaker smiled back. "You're gonna be okay, Whumpee. You're strong. You'll be fine."
Casual admission of illness with just the slightest hint of neediness will never not slay me.
Someone's huddled up on their sofa in their pajamas, wrapped in a blanket and quietly nursing a cup of tea while someone else stands behind the back of the sofa, silently inquiring "What the hell happened to you?".
"I don't feel well..."
"My throat hurts..."
"I feel hot/cold/dizzy..."
even just the simplest "I'm sick..."
Very matter-of-fact, straight to the point, but said in a way that yanks violently on the heartstrings.
Needy without being whiny, the slight inflection that spills all of the pathetic-sounding details they left out:
"I don't feel well...and I'm all alone, and cold, and lonely. I can barely stand... I could really use a glass of water and another blanket...maybe someone to rub my back until I fall asleep."
Mm, especially if it’s a character that would NEVER ask for those things, never ever ever, but they know Caretaker, and Caretaker knows them, so they don’t have to ask. The simple “I’m sick” is enough of an admission.
need That character absolutely delirious with fear. recoiling from everything. unable to parse what's happening around them, their mind stuck in fight or flight. shaking and hyperventilating. completely unconsolable even as they're wrapped in a crushing hug.
Almost every dish in the house was dirty. Laundry had sat in the washer for too long and now it smelled weird, and the clothes in the dryer were fine but wrinklier than a raisin. The cats litter box needed cleaning.
Bills were due in a week and they had pretty much nothing to pay them with. Their job had ground to a halt, with everything going on.
They were almost out of their own medications, but what were they going to do about that? Meds cost money, and the doctor would need to see them to write a new prescription. More money that they didn’t have.
Plus, leaving the house took so much more effort than they had to give. They hadn’t showered in days, and their hair was starting to get nearly matted. Unlike Whumpee’s, who’s hair was brushed daily.
There was ramen noodles and oatmeal in the pantry, but the effort of washing a pot to cook them wasn’t worth it for themselves, and Whumpee had fallen asleep hours ago.
It took sleeping pills to get them to rest now. Most of the time they just…drifted around the house. Already dead but still walking.
Nothing was moving but time. Deadlines piling up, dishes piling up, laundry and errands and cat shit, all piled up too high for Caretaker to handle it.
But if they didn’t, who would?
And so, with a sigh, they dragged themselves up, away from the table covered in unpaid bills and trash and therapy worksheets, and cleaned the litter box.
Exhausting in a way they had never experienced before and hoped to never experience again.
The faint hum of the dryer was barely audible from the other room as Caretaker put the last of the dishes in the drying rack. They wiped their hands on the towel hanging over the oven handle as the cat wound its way around their ankles.
Dinner was done and put away, leftovers boxed up for tomorrow, the tomorrow that always came.
They wandered into the living room and sank down onto the couch with a sigh. They were still tired, they probably would be tired for a few more years, maybe for life, but…it was a better tired.
Like a weighted blanket over their shoulders, instead of boulders.
From their pocket, they pulled a crumpled to do list, and checked a few things off, then added a couple more. Pharmacy pick up, out of milk, cat box needed cleaning again.
It was never all done at the same time but it was getting done.
The shower turned on down the hall, and they checked that off too. Soon Whumpee would pad into the room, in pajamas and wet hair, and they’d sit on the couch together. Watch the show they finally started, laugh at sitcom antics and nod along to the opening credits.
Then they’d go to bed, and sleep would actually make a difference now, instead of just time passing.
They let their head fall back, closing their eyes. The cat jumped up and into their lap, tucking itself under their hand, waiting just as they were.
Then, only barely heard through the running water and dryers rumble, they heard it.
Singing.
Whumpee was singing…
It was a sad song, slow and melodic, but it was still Whumpee singing, no longer haunting the house, half dead and dying further.
It had happened achingly slowly, two steps forward and one step back, but they were living again. They were both living again.
Caretaker knew it wasn’t “healthy” per se, that any psychologist worth the paper their degree was printed on would say so, but… they needed to care for someone in order to care for themself.
Without Whumpee stumbling into their life, they would have probably continued on their slow, apathetic downward spiral till they landed softly at rock bottom and rotted there.
Nothing seemed worth the effort for themselves, but for Whumpee?
Sheets that had gone unwashed for a frighteningly long time were suddenly laundered, a bed that had never been made was now crisp and clean and neat.
Instead of instant ramen in the microwave when Caretaker actually remembered that they needed more than energy drinks and cigarettes, they cooked actual food, with vegetables and protein and all the things you’re supposed to eat.
It’s like caring for whumpee had unlocked a secret stash of energy, of purpose, and they could do things again.
Their sheets got washed too, and they ate the same as Whumpee did, and they cleaned and cooked and did the laundry and read the books and did the homework to make sure Whumpee was taken care of and accidentally “fixed” themselves too.
Now they knew what was wrong with them, the self esteem, the self neglect, depression felt like a strong word for what felt like really nothingness, but…
Still, some days, the only thing that got them up and out of bed was that they were useful. But other days, routine was enough.
Yes, it was probably not healthy. They’d work on it, eventually. When whumpee needed them to.
omggg can i break into the top secret lab where you’re being held and sneak into your test chamber and unhook you from the machines and carefully pull the needles from your body and carry you out and try not to think about how much weight you’ve lost even though you’re sooo light in my arms. can i smuggle you into a crappy pay-by-month motel room with the last bit of cash i can track down and wash you up in the chipped shower stall and tuck you into the cheap motel blankets as your body starts to flush with fever. can i stay with you as your body burns off the last of what they did to you. can i steal from vending machines and the continental breakfast and bring food home to you and coax you just to eat a little, a little more. watered down tea kept warm at the kitchenette. can i sleep next to you every night to keep you from going cold again, wait breathlessly for your eyes to open again. can i be there when they do
love the idea of a caretaker having vicarious trauma from being so wrapped up in supporting whumpee, or a caretaker spiraling after whumpee goes missing, or a carewhumpee struggling in their own way after going through something awful with whumpee, etc, and needing their own caretaker to help them through it. Just a network of blorbos being there for each other through The Horrors
whumpee who has to become a caretaker because of circumstances
whumpee who has to look after a fellow whumpee because the other has it so much worse
whumpee who has to look after an injured whumper because "you don't get to fucking die before I drag your sorry ass to a courtroom"
whumpee who has to look after themselves, shaking and quietly whispering to themselves that they're okay, they're so brave, they're not gonna let anything else happen...
whumpee who is tasked to care for other whumpees by whumper so whumper doesn't have to replace them, under threat of injury
whumpee who's been out of the dangerous situation for years and suddenly finds out another whumpee has just emerged from a similar situation, and they do everything in their power to make things hurt less for this new whumpee
whumpee who underwent highly specific circumstances (eg: poisoning with a rare poison) and is the only one who knows how to treat it, and so it's their obligation to help out others who are suffering in the same way
whumpee who decides to look after an injured/traumatised whumpee because the whumper used them as bait / they feel guilty about the situation the other whumpee is in
multiple whumpees in recovery taking it in turns to care for each other because no one else understands
defiant whumpee taking care of / covering for compliant whumpee or vice versa ..
a whumpee who’s bone-chillingly tired after their experiences.
after it’s all over, the moment they lie down in their bed they’re out like a light, and it usually takes caretaker several attempts to even get a reaction out of them when they fall asleep.
occasionally they’ll wake up and get out of bed, but that’s only when they need to eat, bathe, or use the bathroom. And even then caretaker usually has to help feed them, bathe them, or make sure they don’t pass out on their way to the whenever they’re walking around.
other than that, whumpee is asleep, and stays asleep for a good while, maybe even over a week or two.
characters who seem okay until they reach a safe situation and crash so hard that they physically collapse or get sick or inexplicably lose their voice or go catatonic or break down or just suddenly have about a thousand ailments that no one can quite explain or understand but all they know is its hurting their friend very, very badly and there is nothing or very little that they can do about it 💜
i raise you: whumpee who doesn't even notice how exhausted they are anymore, claiming their body got used to the life they lead. then caretaker appears and whumpee's body collapses on itself. (whether they actually collapse or it's just a metaphor is up to you 👀)
best trope is the one where the character’s godlike power is also killing them btw. they don’t even lift a hand to kill the monster but now they’re delirious with fever. they save a friend’s life and said friend immediately finds them emergency medical care. they raze the enemy to nothing and it takes far too long to find their pulse with all the bruising. their friends just constantly having to patch them up and worrying over which feat will be their last. et cetera
The air hung heavy with the smell of antiseptic and the faint hum of a ceiling fan. Whumpee was lying in the bed, barely recognizable beneath the mound of blankets. They were shivering uncontrollably, their breaths shallow and ragged, eyes fluttering between closed and barely open. A persistent fever had left them in a state of near-delirium, and every movement seemed to take immense effort.
They barely managed to lift a trembling hand towards the glass of water on the bedside table, but their fingers wouldn’t cooperate, their grip failing as the glass nearly tipped over.
Caretaker, watching with a mix of concern and tenderness, moved swiftly to the bedside. They gently took the glass from Whumpee’s weak, unsteady hands and sat down beside them. Their presence was a comforting contrast to the chaos of illness.
“Wait, let me help,” Caretaker said softly, their voice a soothing balm against the tension of the room. With careful movements, they took the glass from Whumpee’s unsteady grasp, and they placed one hand behind Whumpee’s head, gently lifting it just enough to allow them to drink.
Whumpee’s eyes were half-closed, their lips parting slightly. They managed a weak, almost inaudible, “Th-thank you…” Their voice was barely more than a whisper, the words strained and fragile.
Caretaker responded with a warm smile, though their eyes held a deep sadness. “It’s okay. Just take small sips. You need to stay hydrated.”
They watched intently, ready to steady the glass if needed as Whumpee’s eyes fluttered open again, and they took a tentative sip. Their mouth moved weakly, and they tried to swallow, but their efforts were almost too feeble to be effective.
After a few sips, Whumpee’s head fell back onto the pillow, their body sinking into the mattress as exhaustion took over once more. Caretaker set the glass down and gently adjusted the blanket, smoothing it around their shivering form.
“You’re doing great,” they said softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from Whumpee’s forehead. “Just rest now. I’m here.”
There was a brief, almost imperceptible smile on Whumpee’s lips, a silent expression of gratitude, then almost soon after, their eyes closed. They were still in the throes of fever, and every breath and moving was agony, but at least they weren’t alone.
Thinking about whump where caretaker just can't do anything :(
Everything's been done to deal with the injured/sick character's condition, they've been given the pain meds they're allowed (maybe none at all, depending on the condition) and there's nothing left to do but wait out their suffering. And it sucks. They're uncomfortable, poisoned, sick, hurting, whatever; but there's nothing to be done about it and they just have to sit there with a frown on their face or tears slowly sliding down their cheeks. Maybe they try to sleep restlessly. Maybe they're grumpy and irritable and just want to go home. Maybe they're in the hospital and they hate the constant monitoring. All caretaker can do is hold their hand or stroke their hair, hushing them with soothing reassurances that 'it'll be over soon' and 'I'm here' or even an 'I know, I know.'
Everything sucks, but at least they have someone there to wait it out with them :')
