Its-my-whump

I'm ... age is just a numbre. I like to watch, read and write whump. Feel free to comment. I hope, you'll enjoy! And a little content warning: There'll probably always be some cursing and typos, oh so many typos, sorry.

[its-my-whump]

Hello there,

I needed to rearrange my block, again. It's been a while. I got older, but my fondness of whump never diminished.

Actually, it probably increased cause of the obstacles of life itself.

I love being here. This place changed my life.

Have fun. I'm in the midst of it already.

Not a native speaker, so a little warning, that I'm probably going to manhandle this language brutally at some point.🤷‍♀️

These are my crimes: masterlist

[its-my-whump]

Chronic pain 04

At last he had lost consciousness and the shivering just stopped. His lifeless, hardly covered body was sprawled over the edge of the shower. His form bend awkwardly, definitely a broken back from the sight of it. The floor of the shower was completely red from the blood of his headwound. An disburbing piece of art had formed, leaving dark and light red lines, where it had flown in the direction of the sink.

Emily had put a towel half under, half around his head. It was completely soaked too, but seemed to have helped to slow or stop the bleeding. The actual result wasn't obvious at first sight.

A femal EMT just put her stethoscope down. "Heartbeat is rapid, but... 'in range' for now. Right lung is free, left blocked." She was already pushing an oxygenmask over his nose and mouse, very carefully pulling the strings around his ears. And grapped for her penlight.

The chief kept standing in the door and let his team work, overlooking the situation. A young male had just finished applying the bloodpressure cuff and checking the vitals. "BP is 80/55."

His colleague had already applied the wires, attached them to the heartmonitor and put the oximeter on. A fast and steady beat suddenly filled the room.

"TBI. Both pupiles slow. Left worse than right. " She stated, after her colleague had stated his numbers. "Pulse 132, Oxi 90."

"He is ... stable enough for now. I'd recommand, that we wrap him, as long he's out. If he spirals down, we can't do much in this position without doing more damage anyway." The male stated.

"Good call. Let's wrap him asap. But watch as anything changes."

He got to work with his team.

Little wheels rattled through the flat. Another male nurse pushed the stretcher forward and came to a halt in front of the open bathroom door.

The man gave tools to his team. A neck brace and more boardlike things.

The femal EMT was fast and professionally putting the neck brace around the young mans neck, while the chief was gently lifting the bloody head.

The young male had just put in the IV port in the crook of the pale lifeless arm.

He started wrapping the definitely broken arm, while the other two lifted the towel from the patients head. The wound was still ozzing little blood, but the makeshift wrap had definitely helped. The chief handed desinfection, stapels and fresh bandages. The femal colleague, Jenny, had bloody gloves aready.

"Bob." The young male made eyecontact with the man in the hallway. "Can you run and grab me a brace of his right leg. That looks ugly too." Bob gave a nod and was gone.

The chief was satisfied with his teammates work and took a look to where Jimmy had been refering. The knee was thick and blue. An extrem contrast to the white skin.

A slight movement went through the otherwise limp body. A groan came as a soft whimper.

"Damn, sorry!" Jimmy stated, but didn't let go of the swollen knee, he was probing a second ago. "Somethings wrong here too." He said calmly. The body went still again.

"We need to get roll'n." The chief worried as a beep indicated, that the oxygenlevel dropped to 88.

"I think, we have him almost ready for the wrap." Jimmy was already on his legs and was carrying a big rubber boot thing and brining it alongside. Jenny and the chief had stepped a bit to the side in the tiny room.

Jimmy stepped into the bloody shower, his shoes showing kinds white prints, where the drying blood stuck to his soles.

"Fuck, we need more hands."

"Yeah. SAM!" The chief stated and called for the cop. "WE NEED MORE HANDS."

TBC

Masterlist

[its-my-whump]

Whump Gift Swap

this is for @glazedmercury

for the @whumpgiftswap event

Russian Roulette

It was his first undercover. Not really an undercover, just a little gathering of information, but in a really expensive and nice tux actually. He had finished training hardly 2 months ago. This was it. This was, what he had ever dreamed of.

He was exited, roaming amongst all these fancy dressed people, feeling like one of the big players already.

A warning voice inside his earpiece reminded him to stay focused.

He was literally psyched.

Yeah, he was, right to the point the barrel of a gun pierced between his rips out of nowhere. Someone was much too close all of a sudden. Hot breath against the back of his ear, made the hairs on his arms stand up and let run a shower of goosebumps down his spin.

"Move!" A foreign accent, no sympathy in that low voice.

His whole body stiffened, his mind was racing. Suddenly all his training seemed forgotten. Blood rushed in his ears and a little tremor went through him.

The pressure of the metal between his rips got worse. It was building more and more, while he couldn't think or move, right to the point, his feet just stumbled forward all by themselves.

This was bad. He was pushed towards the backroom. The earpiece had gone still, not even a static noise was there anymore. They were probably blocking it. He needed to act now or this was gonna end bad.

Would they shot him right in front of all these people?

These people!? All of them participating in an illigal gambling ring! He needed to try.

His training finally kicked in and overrun his brain and every possibility, of what could go wrong.

His body turned in a swift motion, moving away from the big guy behind him, hands up for a possibly needed block. He wasn't out for a fight, just a chance to get out of this asap.

The imaginary weight on his chest lifted for a brief second, when he got out of the grip and away from the perp.

This halfhearted light feeling vanished the moment, pain exploded in his skull. The handle of a gun from someone else, somewhere behind, went down on the back of his head. White stars exploded in his vision like fireworks and suddenly darkness consumed him.

-------------------------------------------------------

A hard slap made his ears ring and pulled him back to reality. A groan, his own. Another slap.

"Wake up sleepy head." Another low voice somewhere to his right, russian accent. "Wakee, wakee." Despite the sweet words, that voice was heavy, intimidating and something dangerous swung in it.

Slowly the events of the evening came back.

But yet not fast enough. Another blow hit him straight to his face. Something bit in his neck, it was tight. Swallowing was hard, additionally to all the pain exploding in his skull.

There was no denying that reality now really had caught up to him again.

Some russian words. He didn't understand them, but could tell it was russian at least.

"What do you know?" A straight forward question, a thick foreign accent and another punch to his stomach before he was even aware, that the language had changed. All air was pressed out of his lungs, he jackknifed in the range of his bindings.

Bindings?!

He wasn't even able to take stock of his situation till now.

Bound hands, behind him, rope biting in his wrists. The fancy jacket was gone. Just his shirt and pants. He was sitting on a chair, metal. His own legs strapped to the legs of the chair, probably with ziptie. No shoes. A blindfold. A split lip, some ringing in his ears, a bad... no really bad headache. There was something around his neck. A collar?

And yes the newly received bruises on his rips.

'What was the question?'

His head was driven to the right side, more pain and the undeniable sound of skin hitting skin, a fist trying to break his skull open. The thing around his neck, pressed against his Adam's apple. Air was getting scarce.

More stars dancing in his darkened vision. Despite the pain, he tried to turn his head, so breathing was getting a bit easier. He kept quiet.

"What do you know?" The question was repeated again and again, only interruped by punches. Pain flaired up in different parts of his body. Head, face, leg, neck, tight, rips, temple, arms, hands, cheek. 'What did he know?...Not much!'

The question was repeated, interruped by his own grunts and outcries of pain. The blindfold had shifted, but he didn't dare to look where the next hit, punch, slap, fist was coming from. He just pressed his eyes together in the hope, that this was just a bad dream and he would wake up any moment, covered just in sweat, instead of his own blood. 2 month, and he had already ended up in such a bad situation.

This couldn't be real. But the pain undoubtedly was.

He didn't wake, cause it wasn't a dream.

The ordeal went on for seconds, minutes, hours. He didn't know. His world was divided in punches and the trickling of blood from his mouth and nose by now. Punch, question, punch, question...

He hadn't said a word, despite the occasional grunts. He tried to focus on his training, not the pain. But punch after punch kept coming. His world was eaten up by pain and terror. Thinking was impossible.

-------------------------------------------------------

Suddenly, at some point it just stopped. A curse. His ears were ringing so bad, he could heardly understand a thing, but it was the sound and anger, not the words themselves, that assured him it was a curse.

A heavy steel door was opened with a loud, intimidating squeak somewhere in front of him and pulled shut with an even louder, unholy bang.

-------------------------------------------------------

He shrugged in his bindings, prepared for another blow. But nothing happened. Yet, he didn't dare to take one breath.

Moments passed and silence fell over the room like a thick blanket.

His ... his all just hurt. He wanted to crawl in on himself, but his restraints made it impossible. The collar and bindings were too tight.

Still holding his breath, he tried to establish, if he was alone or if they were playing him.

His rips hurt, his jaw was a mess, his head was about to explode. His wrists were bloody, as was his whole face, he believed. If it wasn't for the blindfold being half over his eyes, he probably still would have seen shit anyway, cause his left eye was swollen shut.

Holding his breath was straining due to his bruised, probably broken rips and the pain, that was coming from everywhere. After a while he let out the air, that had been constricted in his lungs. And for the first time in quite a while, he really took a deep breath in relief.

It hurt like hell!

'Maybe, they were done for the night? ... or whatever the time it was.' He had no clue, when he was taken or where he actually was. How much time had passed and how long he could withstand their hospitility.

The earpiece was surely gone. He just hoped, that his teammates were already on their way.

'Wait? Where they?' Suddenly his brain had a moment to think. It made no sense, that the connection between them was gone so fast, the earpiece jammed. It made even less sense, that he was spotted so quickly, even if he didn't blend in the group. His cover was a young billionars son, that was exited to gamble.

Suddenly nothing made sense anymore. He couldn't answer this man's questions, even if he wanted to. He was in this chase hardly for a few weeks, while the operation was going on for over a year.

He wasn't as good an analyst or with weapons, or with camouflage or any other skill... so why him?

He was just average. So why did the bureau recruit him at all? Yes, it was what he always wanted, but...

And, why did they asked him to take the spot of Agent Whateverhisnamewas, who had so many years of experience in the field?

What did he really know, really know about the bureau, the chase, all of this?...

He was bait! Not more.

He was never supposed to be a valuable asset to that team. He was supposed to become another faceless name on the bill of indictment for these guys here. Fuck!

His spirit sunk. He was a mere playball between the big guns. Swallowing against the ring around his neck made him even more present to his fucked-up situation. He couldn't even let his jaw sink to his chest in dispair, cause it constricted his breathing too much, just after a few seconds. He felt misable, lost, alone, betrayed and hopeless, all at once.

Fuck, everything hurt. He needed to keep it together. So the chaos of feelings was overwritten by concentrating on something else, anything else. Even if it was just the pain. That was annoyingly present anyway.

It felt like he would be pissing blood for at least a week. Huh! If he'd be alive in a week.

His head was spinning, the taste of old blood was disgustingly present. His arms felt like they would fall off in a matter of minutes and also would just get separated from his hands. His fingers had stopped tingling, they were numb for some time now. The bindings around his wrists were cutting off his bloodflow. Ziptie was leaving bloody marks around his pantlegs, biting in his flesh.

He really needed to asses his situation and his options, but his brain was working much too slow. Pain was taking most of his attention. Every breath he took, the uncomfortable restraint of the metal collar was brushing against his neck. Every time he swallowed, the disgusting taste of his own blood was overwhelming and he needed to fight it down along the metal around his neck in pain.

But, for now, he was alone and could breathe and think just for a moment, at least in the range of his possibilities. He was tired, but still tried to focus. It could be worse.

-------------------------------------------------------

His breath kept stuck as the heavy door flew open a second later.

They weren't done!

"You don't cooperate, we try something new."

That was about all he could hear, before another blow hit him right between the rips. He bowed forward in pain, trying to breathe, while coughing and groaning at the same time.

The poorly sitting blindfold was ripped from his head, almost taking his ears and pulling on his swollen eye. He grunted in pain, not only from that, but as he was also made to sit up straight again. Big hands pulling from behind. His bruised rips were straightend, while his back was pressed against the back of the chair.

Breathing was getting worse. Even, if he was willing or informed enough to answer one damn question, he wouldn't be able to form a decent word in his position with all the pain running haywire throughout his body.

Another pair of much too big and strong hands guided his head towards the only person, that had spoken to him the entire time.

His vision was blurry, his left eye useless. But by all he could make out, that thick russian accent belonged to that musclar middleaged man right in front of him. Than the hands keeping him in place, were gone. Yet, he didn't dare to look away or alter his position more than he needed to, just to get in enough air to breathe.

That grey haired man had a revolver in his hand. It was actually golden, like from a klichee mobster or a James Bond movie, but never the less his heart sunk even more. No, it actually just dropped 3 floors down. He swallowd against a big lump in his throat, that wasn't there a moment ago.

"You ever heard of famous russian game?"

Oh, fuck he had! Even without knowing, what that guy was saying next, he knew, what he was about to do.

His eyes closed in dispair, as the distinct sound of a barrel being emptied into a hand, bullets clicking against each other, appeared. They made that same sound again, as a few of them vanished into that guys pocket.

He had opened his eyes, without even wanting to. Thick, but agil fingers loaded the remaining round into the barrel and gave it a spin just before throwing it close with a swift motion of his hand.

The lump in his throat just doubled.

The gun was much too close to his face the whole time, but the feeling of being a lamp on its way to the shambles got even worse, when the russian mobster directed it towards his temple.

He couldn't take a real glimpse of the revolver, couldn't tell were the bullet stuck. If that guy needed to pull the trigger just once or more often to end his life.

Tears were just coming from out of nowhere mixing with the blood on his face.

The Russian was a man of few words.

"Last chance!"

Even if he knew what to say, his tongue would have been much too heavy.

He swallowed and closed his eyes. The gun was merely an inch from his head. He could hear the mechanics inside. He held his breath and even the rushing of blood in his own ears seemed to have stopped. There were only tiny, but overly present sounds of metal scratching against metal. The trigger being moved in slow motion, the barrel turning. Every second now, a shot would echo through the room and he would be dead.

Metal scraped, and suddenly the sound of an empty shamber being hit, echoed overly loud in his head. 'Oh God!'

He took in a painful breath, not sure, if he just pissed himself. His brain overturned itself, but he didn't feel any kind of relieve. His heart was hammering like a steam engine.

His eyes flew open and he turned his head, staring at his perpetrator in utter fear. Badly trembling all over. The Russian looked unimpressed, much too calm, while his victim was panting, fearing for his life.

All pain in the rest of his body was pushed in the background as his head started pounding more badly again. He was panting, his shirt was clinging to his body, while sweat was trickling down his temples.

But there was no time to cope. The barrel was spun again and the gun pointed at his head. His eyes closed, instinctively he turtlenecked in the range of his possibilities, holding his breath.

Everything happened exactly like before. The sounds so overly loud, metal on metal. The trigger pulled so slowly, he believed his heart had stopped.

An empty shamber, again. 'No, no, no, hell no.' His head was screaming. He couldn't take this any longer. But he had nothing to contribute to make this man stop.

Someone chuckled to his other side. His head was moved, a big hand painfully digging in his skull.

No words needed, he was made to face the man with the golden revolver again, eyes still pressed together. A gentle touch with barrel to his cheek, that was so intimidating, his eyes opened all by themselves.

A vicious smirk around the man's lips. He could see the barrel now, could see the round. This was it. He couldn't stand to look. Metal scraping, the trigger moving. He stopped breathing, his jaw tight as a vice. Any moment now.

Another empty shamber. 'Oh God. Oh God.' He was panting so bad, he was about to fall into a panic attack, just before, he was about to die. His vision was blurry and full of tears, his heart hammering so fast, it hurt. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't do this any longer. 'Maybe... maybe the next one... just should...?! At least, it would be over, then!'

The man did it again. The barrel moved simultaneously slowly with the trigger. Metal on metal. 'Dear God!'

Suddenly an enormous bang ripped through the room. Heat and burning pain on/in his head. Skin ripped and burned and his earsdrum burst. The smell of burned flesh and hair all too present stinging in his nose for an agonising second. White hot pain, but his vision covered in dark red for a heartbeat. Unimaginal pain and an instant one note sound ripped through his skull. It felt like his brain was squeezed into a tiny ball.

Everything went dark.

-------------------------------------------------------

The mobster had turned the gun, so it was sideways to his captive's head, when it went off.

The side of his head, hair and skin were burned and his earsdrum probably shattered. The young man instinctively tried to flee, so he fell to the other side, bond to the chair, knocking himself out, but he was still alive. The bullet didn't even grace him on its way into the wall behind them. It was the fire from the muzzleflash, that did all the damage.

One of the henchmean came down to his hunches slapping the victims face to wake him. A few moments and more eager slaps later, a bloodshot eye blink open. It was wide and fearful, the disbelieve of still being alive was wrotten all over his ghostly white, yet bloody face.

His head was ringing so bad. He tasted more, fresh blood in his mouth.Yet, his throat was dry like sandpaper and he felt the unshaking urge to puke. All while he was trying to cope, that despite the pain in his head, he actually wasn't dead.

Another ugly russian face in front of him, younger. But unfortunately an undeniable sign, that he actually was still 'here'. It didn't feel like a relief.

The guy in front of him opened his mouth. But he couldn't hear a thing. His head felt like it would split open. His right side felt wrong ans wet, bloody, painful and kinda burned and it was pulsing like a jackhammer. Additionally blood was coming out of his ears, but that he didn't realize. There was just this high pitched sound. He wanted to cover his ears with his hands and stop his head from falling apart. But he couldn't. Instead more pain ripped through his arm, the shoulder, he was laying on. He was on the floor?! The movement agitated his cut wrists even more. He screamed, but nothing came. It was like being underwater.

Another slap. His head! Urrgg. Stars in his vision.

Some relief on his arms. His fingers tingled, again. He was freed from his bindings and the chair underneath him.

His hands instantly went up to his ears, while he rolled to his side, eyes closed. His right hand felt wet and hot, the pain underneath almost made him black out again.

But holding his own head (together) gave him back a tiny bit of controll. Yet it didn't do anything for the noise and pain inside his skull.

Warm fingers, big and raw brushed over his cheek. The touch was almost gentle, but suddenly a bad poke to his swollen eye. He cried in pain.

His goodbeye flew open and he looked up again. The guy laught, he couldn't hear it. Just saw it in his face, lips were moving and even if he had heard anything, he couldn't care less at this very moment. Another mild slap to his cheek, like you would give a child as an encouragment. In this moment it was an intimidating gesture and a warning.

His head spun and the urge to puke spiked. He pressed his eyes together, hoping to fall into some relieving darkness. But instead a slight kick to his stomach made him open his good eye again. His hands still trying to keep his skull from breaking in two.

-------------------------------------------------------

Like someone had cut a movie, he had skipped a few soconds. All 3 were by the door, all of a sudden. He couldn't really make out a real door, just a hole and more light from the hall, due to his swimming vision. They looked like ghosts disappearing.

The guy, that had just been talking to him was the last to leave. He turned one more time and repeaded his words. They never reached the captive's attention, but the bang of the closing door echoed in his head so bad, that bile finally crepted up his tube.

-------------------------------------------------------

Alone in the hall, the younger Russian smiled to himself as he heard the distinctive sounds of someone puking his guts out, while lying in his own blood.

He hummed to himself and repeated, what he always use to say to these poor bastards.

"Welcome to hell my friend!"

[glazedmercury]

Whump Gift Swap Story

For @its-my-whump

CWs: Gore, blood, physical injury

Whumpee wakes up to the open expanse of blue sky. They blink a few times before frowning. This isn’t where they remember falling asleep, and it’s definitely not where they expected to wake up.

They turn over, feeling several dull objects poking into them uncomfortably. Beneath them are broken-off twigs and a few rocks, rustling on the forest floor. Brown leaves frame the edges of their vision as they take in the towering trees. 

With a groan, Whumpee rises to their feet, feeling their joints creak. They take a few stumbling steps forward, conscious of the crunching leaves underfoot. Their plaid pajamas lay comfortably on their skin, a sharp contrast to the pain throbbing in their head.

“Ah! You’re awake!” A familiar voice calls out behind them.

Whumpee whips around to see their best friend, Whumper. They’re by the edge of their favorite lake and wielding a sledgehammer. It takes up the entire length of their torso and it’s covered in blood, as is their long-sleeved shirt and jeans. Droplets of blood coat their face. Whumper smiles cheerfully in contrast to their appearance, and Whumpee gulps.

Instinct is telling them to run, to get away as fast as they can. Their heart jackrabbits in their chest as they move to leave.

“You can’t leave yet,” Whumper pouts. “The fun’s just getting started!”

“What fun?” Whumpee asks warily, still trying to inch past the dead leaves. 

“Whumpee,” Whumper warns, dropping the head of the sledgehammer to the floor.

Whumpee takes off running into the forest, chest heaving as they go.

They can hear Whumper rushing behind them, moving even faster than Whumpee can go. Whumper was the one on the track and sprint teams when they were younger. Whumpee knows they hardly have a chance, but adrenaline keeps them pushing through the thick forest, blood pumping in their veins. If they stop, they’re dead.

Whumpee hears a whoosh of air and a thwack behind them. White hot pain encompasses their entire leg, sending them falling to the forest floor. They shoot a terrified look back at Whumper, who’s letting out huffy breaths of disappointment.

“Now why did you have to do that?”

Whumpee tries to scramble away, leg dragging on the forest floor, and they can feel blood dripping from where they were hit. Whumper steps forward and stomps their boot into the wound. Whumpee screams, the sound echoing in the empty forest with no one to hear but Whumper.

Their chin wobbles as their eyes fill with tears. Sparing a glance at their leg, Whumpee can see it’s completely mangled. It’s twisted at an unnatural angle, and blood is gushing from the open wound. They can see the tip of white bone sticking out of their skin. Whumpee feels dizzy with pain and nausea. They brace themself on trembling arms, trying to get to a seated position.

Whumper crouches down and prods the area, still holding the sledgehammer. Whumpee hisses in pain, unable to back away.

“Hmm. At least now we’ve got that little issue out of the way!” Whumper says, standing back up.

Whumpee glares at them with as much anger as they can muster, barely managing the constant pain reverberating throughout their body. They try to ignore the hurt coursing through their veins at the thought of their best friend betraying them. Whumpee still has no idea what they did to land them here.

“Whumper, what the hell is wrong with you? Look what you did to my leg!” Whumpee gestures wildly, still very aware of the tight grip Whumper has on their sledgehammer.

“Want me to do a lot worse?” Whumper asks. They lift up their boot and it comes back down on Whumpee’s other leg. Whumpee whimpers at the force, watching as a soon-to-be bruise starts to bloom in the shape of a boot print.

“Whumper, please, just stop,” Whumpee begs, tears filling their eyes. Their bloody leg continues to drip on the forest floor, drenching their favorite pajama pants. Blistering pain shoots through their quickly swelling ankle.

“You want me to stop?” Whumper asks. Their face contorts into something akin to anger, features blurry through Whumpee’s tears. “Why didn’t you stop?”

“W-why are you doing this?” Whumpee stutters out.

Whumper’s face shutters. “You know exactly why, Whumpee. I can only give you a fraction of the pain I felt, but I'm going to make it count.”

They lift up the sledgehammer and swing it down in Whumpee’s direction. Whumpee puts their arms up in an x to protect themselves.

The sledgehammer lands on the forest floor beside Whumpee, causing them to yelp in fear. They slowly open their eyes, watching in terror as Whumper stalks toward them.

“I was going to drown you, but I think I’d rather do this with my hands,” Whumper growls out.

They lift Whumpee up by the front of their shirt, raising their top half off the ground before roughly throwing them into the forest floor. Pain blooms in Whumpee’s skull and a trickle of blood runs down their head.

Whumper stands over Whumpee’s body, casting a shadow over their limp form. Whumpee groans lowly as Whumper cocks their fist back before sending it flying into Whumpee’s nose. They feel their nose shift and crack, can smell the iron in the air.

It feels like the end.

Whumper seems absolutely feral as they continue their assault, pounding blow after blow into Whumpee’s face. Whumpee thrashes around, desperate to evade, but Whumper won’t let them go that easy. Using their right arm, Whumpee sweeps across the layer of leaves on the ground, searching for something, anything, to stop Whumper. 

At last, Whumpee finds what they were looking for.

They ignore the torrent of agony, the swelling of their eye, and the continuous streams of blood drizzling off their face. Whumpee grips a rock as tightly as they can, ignoring the dust on their hand. They swing it toward Whumper’s head with all their might, knocking them off balance.

Whumper falls over, slumping over like dead weight on Whumpee’s left arm. Whumpee prods them with the bloodied rock. 

They don’t move.

Whumpee grits their teeth and slides out from under Whumper. Their face feels like it’s been beaten to a pulp, but it’s not even close to matching the sharp pain in their leg.

The forest floor is coated with their blood, and Whumpee’s, the dark sticky red liquid mixing with the dark ground, splattered across the leaves.

Whumpee can feel tiredness in their bones, the urge to simply fall asleep and let the pain fade away. They squeeze their eyes shut as best they can, trying to ignore the constant aching in their face.

It would be so easy to just…

Sleep.

The last thing Whumpee sees is the bright blue sky overhead, shadowed by darkness at the edges of their vision.

[its-my-whump]

Chronic Pain 04

At last he had lost consciousness and the shivering just stopped. His lifeless, hardly covered body was sprawled over the edge of the shower. His form bend awkwardly, definitely a broken back from the sight of it. The floor of the shower was completely red from his blood. Emily had put a towel half under, half around his head. It was completely soaked too, but seemed to have helped to slow or stop the bleeding. The actual result wasn't obvious at first sight.

A femal EMT just put her stethoscope down. "Heartbeat is rapid, but in range. Right lung is free, left blocked." She was already pushing an oxygenmask over his nose and mouth, very carefully pullen the strings around his ears. And grapped for her penlight.

The chief kept standing in the door and let his team work, overlooking the situation. A young male had just finished applying the bloodpressure cuff and checking the vitals. "BP is 80/55."

His colleague had already applied the wires, attached them to the heartmonitor and put the oximeter on. A fast and steady beat suddenly filled the room.

"TBI. Both pupiles slow. Left worse than right. " She stated, after her colleague had announced his numbers. "Pulse 132, Oxi 90."

"He is stable...enough for now. I'd recommand, that we wrap him, as long he's out." The male stated.

"Good call. Let's do it. But watch as anything changes."

He got to work with his team.

Little wheels rattle through the flat. Another male paramedic pushed the stretcher forward and came to a halt in front of the open bathroom door.

The man handed a neck brace over as the other male leaned over and took a hold of it, passing it on.

The femal EMT was fast and professionally putting the brace around the young mans neck, while the chief was gently lifting the bloody head.

The young male had just put in the IV port in the crook of the pale lifeless arm.

He started wrapping the definitely broken arm, while the other two lifted the blood towel from his head. The wound was still ozzing little blood, but the makeshift wrap had definitely helped. The chief handed desinfection, stapels and fresh bandages. The femal colleague, Jenny, had bloody gloves aready.

"Bob." The young male made eyecontact with the man in the hall. "Can you run and grab me another brace for his leg. The right one looks ugly too." Bob gave a quick nod and was gone.

The chief was satisfied with his teammates' work and took a look to where Jimmy had been refering. The knee was thick and blue. An extrem contrast to the white skin.

A slight movement went through the limp body. A groan came as a soft whimper.

"Damn, sorry!" Jimmy cursed, but didn't let go of the swollen knee, he was probing a second ago. "Something's wrong here too." He said calmly. The body went still again.

"We need to get roll'n." The chief worried as a beep indicated, that the oxygenlevel dropped to 88.

"I think, we have him ready for the wrap." Jimmy was already on his legs and was carrying a big rubber boot thing and bringing it alongside the body. Jenny and the chief had stepped a bit to the side in that tiny room, to give the most possible amount of space.

Jimmy stepped into the bloody shower, his shoes leaving white signs, where the drying blood stuck to his soles.

"Fuck, we need more hands."

"Yeah!" The chief stated and called for the cop. "SAM, WE NEED MORE HANDS."

A visible tremor run through Emilys body as the male voice thundered through the little flat. She almost jumped.

Till this moment, she had been a tiny heap on the couch.

The cop put her notebook away. "You've been through at lot, but do you think, you can help?" She asked softly, already moving her feet.

Emily was standing without really thinking about it. It felt like the right thing to do, even though she wanted to crawl in bed and forget all she had seen and heard in the last... how long had it been?

She stepped into the bathroom behind the lady cop, actually not knowing how she came here. A man was standing in all that blood, leaving shoeprints in the shower. So many people.

Rick, Richard, her neighbor, looked dead. His skin was so pale. He looked like a puppet. Yes, a puppet, the strings been cut.

A hand had gone up to her mouth. Her whole body was shaking.

"Okay honey, you stand here." The cop took a gentle hold of her hand to guide her. The chief gave orders to all, Emily just followed.

Richard's neck and leg were in some kind of brace, when he was packed up. His arm and head were bandaged, his vitals shown on different devices.

They opened some big rubber sheet. Than they kinda moved the limp body, keeping head and spin steady and very carefully lifted his dead weight.

Suddenly that lifeboat thing flaired up, wrapping the man, looking just dead with that translucent skin, in some kind of airfilled thing.

Emily took the sight in, when they were finished -like they called it- wrapping him.

He was a nearly naked, limp -no lifeless- heap, so far away from a living being. She saw, but her head didn't understand.

And suddenly everything went quiet. The stretcher with her "wrapped" neighbour was just...gone.

The cop was still there, but Emily couldn't understand a word, she was actually saying to her.

A warm hand guided her... until the chief took her hand and he helped her into the ambulance. She hardly recognized, her vision was swimming. The adrealine was slowly wearing off and finally the shock took this chance to manifest.

Out of the blue, tears started to form and freely trailed down her cheeks. She took a stuttering breath, just before the sobbing overtook her whole body.

Masterlist

[its-my-whump]

Chronic Pain 03

Cold was the first thing he felt and uncomfortable was right jumping in front of the first feeling.

Uncomfortable was a big understatement. 'Fuuuuck' He wanted to state, but only a groan came out of his lips. It hurt his throat and neck and actually so much more just hurt.

"...oooof." Some sounds reached his ears, but he wasn't sure, what or why or...

His eyes slowly prayed open only partly. Everything was blurry and the light, oh god, everything was so bright. He pressed his eyes together again. The "movement" hurt his head.

Another moan. His mouth was dry and tasted... ugly.

Something was working inside his head. He thought he had a glimpse of...

His eyes slowly and painfully prayed open a small slit. So not so much of that burning brightness would irritate his pulsing skull, but his curiosity just made him.

Yeah, there was a blurry glimps of... someone. Could be a face, but his head was working too slow.

"Don't oooove. ..p is on ...way." Words only partly made it inside. Something was wrong with his ears and his head and everything else. Something definitely was very wrong with all of him.

Haha.

No seriously.

Not so funny!

He wanted to move, because his back hurt just as bad as his head.

He tried the first thing, that seemed doable and lifted his right arm about a misable inch. He was laying...wrong. Fuck, heavy, fuck a jolt of pain ran from his fingertips to his shoulder, spin and neck. "Urgg."

"DON'T MOVE!" Oh fuck, that was a woman's voice, an agitated woman's voice. No matter his condition, those noises always brought him back to reality. His head kinda jiggled. He wanted to ...

"Pleeeease, don't move." Her voice was hardly half as loud, softer and very worried.

"It's probably broken... like...like so much more.

Help is on the way. Please lay as still as you can. I know... I imagine it's hard. But you will only make it worse."

What, why. He didn't understand. His ... his all just hurt. Pain seemed to br spiking by every minute he was ...awake.

Why was he awake and in pain.

"Wha...why." His heavy tongue tried to phrase. Forming words hurt his head. Moving some muscle pulled at the back of his skull. It felt like being pressed into cement, that had already dried.

His left arm rose. It was easier to move than the other. But pain exploded in his lower back by every inch it lifted.

"Ahhh, fuuu..k."

Warm skin, so warm, that he suddenly realised how cold he was, softly took his hand and guided it back down, just before it fell on its own.

"Sto...ppp! ..mov'n." His eyes were closed.

Since when?

He opened them again. The light was still hurting the inside of his head, but he seemed to look in a worried blurry face.

"You always so stubborn?"

Oh, they probably hadn't met. A laugh from his insides crawled up and was absoluty stiffled, when his insides started burning all of a sudden.

"HaUrrrg. ...n'idea." He stammered and pressed out more air to deal with the searing agony in his back and stomach.

Fuck, it was bad. He couldn't put a finger on it. But he was in a shitload of pain, hid head felt like splitted concrete, he couldn't move his arm, he definitely didn't want to move his legs. He was probably laying on something... hard, fucking uncomfortable. And he was cold, damn cold. He was taking inventory, in the slim range his pounding head let him.

"Hey.. hey." The warm hand again, on his nacked shoulder. "Don't you die on me. I can already hear the sirens."

"Whh..?" He wasn't able to talk, his tongue was unsually heavy and he was really really tired.

But why would he die? He didn't feel like... dying... was he? Maybe...

His body started shivering all of a sudden, he was so cold, but also so tried. How could his body build up this strength to do that.

Agonising pain exploded just everywhere. "Fuuu....ahhh...mp...grrr" He couldn't, he just couldn't. It felt like his spin was breaking in different pieces. White hot pain flaired through his whole. Dots were dancing over his vision, like everyone was the result of the different pain running through his nerves and exploded before his eyes.

His feet were bouncing on the titles, his hands awkwardly dangling in midair due to his position half in and out of the shower.

Emily the upstairs neightbour could just kneel by his side and watch in horror.

The towel, she put over his naked body to keep his dignity in takt, was slowly slipping by his violently shaking form. He made these animalistic, unearthly sounds, that she could only imagine in how much pain he was.

Finally, finally heavy footsteps. Strong arms kinda lifted her from her spot by his side. She wasn't aware, that she had grapped his hand. Only when they separated and that cold piece of his existent slipped away.

A woman's face in front of her. A police woman she just understood. "You okay honey. Help's here." She was guided out of the room backwards. People squealing in the tiny bathroom. EMT's, big jackets, all kind of equipment.

She was guided to a small couch in another room and the sounds from the bathroom became hushed.

Masterlist

TBC

[its-my-whump]

Chronic Pain 02

His spin connected with the rim of the shower while his neck snapped back so far, that the back of his head hit hard on the showerfloor. The sound of cracking wood echoed in his exploding skull while air was pressed out of his lungs.

Blood instandly spread under his head and from his nose. A grunt slipped from his lips, while the sickening moist sound spread inside that tiny room.

'Maybe, he wasn't going to work today anyway.' He thought as the world finally stopped spinning. The edges of his vision were turning darker, but he fought it. He couldn't lose consciousness, right here, right now. He'd probably never wake up again. He would die a misable lonely death and rot away, till the stench was so disgusting, that someone would call the cops.

He couldn't fade out.

But he did.

TBC

Masterlist

[its-my-whump]

Chronic Pain 01

The ache was his companion for a long time now. But it was demanding a painful lot of attention on some days, or nights.

His leg was sour. It always was. He couldn't remember the day it didn't hurt. But the last weeks it was worse than usual.

Especially at night or when he was trying to rest. He was able to walk around all day, taking stairs and getting to his hunches. It was unpleasend, but when he was busy and just had to move, he did, mostly with some help of his little friends called painkillers.

But the bill came after. Sitting down, the pain flaired up and then he needed to put his leg up. The nights were even worse. When the next charge of painkillers wore off, he used to wake up, no matter how late or early.

Mostly it wasn't a shooting pain, nothing to put a hold on. It was just sour, like a bad muscle ache, but in his knee.

It was warm and the whole leg felt heavy like an anvil, as he woke. Still kinda dazed and tired as a log.

He didn't want to move it, but the ache was bad. Usually when he bend his knee and made it straight again, something popped and the pain was relevened from highly unbearable to just impossible to ignore.

But, just trying to lift it enough to bend his knee, felt almost impossible from the start. It was so heavy and felt thick, like it was swollen and about to burst.

It didn't popp, the movement just made it worse. A low groan came over his lips, when he bend it as much as possible, but nothing happened.

He had turned from his back to his right side. The leg stretched out. The pain inside his joint was so bad, it felt stiff after his fruitless attempt to ease the ache.

His eyes were squeezed shut from the pain and discomfort. Sweat was glistening on his head in the dim light of his bedroom. The curtains half open, the sky was grey with a touch pink just before the sun was about to rise.

He wanted to curl in on himself, wrap his arms around himself and cherrish his misable situation, just drowning in selfpity.

But he couldn't. It wasn't his style, not even when he was alone.

He squeesed his eyes even more together, trying to get his bearings to get enough energy together to battle the pain and get up.

It was Tuesday, he needed to get to work. It was 20 past 5 and he knew, he needed every extra minute to get himself together, still silently wishing to crawl in on himself and spend the day in bed.

But... yeah... fuck but why couldn't he..?

Because, it wasn't him. He was used to keep a stiff upper lip, of keeping it together, of biting down on the pain, the torment, the humiliation.

He didn't know the concept of breaking down and actually staying down. He never learned to give in for good or to seek help.

He always made it up with himself. He stiffled every sound, he swallowed every remark, he had just learned to live with it...all.

And so he did.

Getting out of bed was hard and painful.

But he managed, under a lot of strain and half swallowed grunts.

Today was bad, real bad. The first pill was swallowed dry. He didn't even bother to close the bottle and just left it on the sink.

He knew, he needed more before he even would take a sip of his coffee.

The shower was ... not at all comfortable. Standing up under a hot stream of water was as straining as training for a marathon.

A hand against wet tiltes was keeping him up. The pain was becoming more unbearable by the minute, painkillers doing shit.

He hadn't noticed, that he started panting. It was actually hard to breath. The world started spinning. It felt like he was in a merry-go-round, that was going faster and faster.

Suddenly, he felt like throwing up, but he couldn't do anything about it.

He needed to get out. Only muscle memory made him turn of the shower, the door swung open, water dripping down the glass. The titles wet, but he needed to get away. A cold breeze hit him, while the steamy air inside suddenly mixed with the room temperature.

His head spun even more and an overwhelming wave of dizzyness hit him, while the cool air implied, that his head should be getting clearer. Goosebumps ran up and down his nacked body.

His leg was still heavy, when he lifted it above the edge of the shower. But he needed to move the bad leg first, so he could stand on his good one, till he wasn't shaking so much anymore. It was a reflex, not an actual decision. As were his arms jumping up, when he slipped. The wet titles had no grid and his unsteady leg just gave way.

His arms were useless, as he fell backwards. The pain in his leg made him cry out in agony, as it bend in an awkward angle.

TBC

Masterlist

[its-my-whump]

Had another run and got carried away a tiny bit:

Thankyou @pvtashby for letting me use your prompt:

Waking up in a field hospital, disoriented and panicked, pulling out the IV before being restrained by a firm but gentle voice.

Privious

...

The doctor interupted his assistant and yelled:

"6 GSW, TBI, pulse is 180 and BP 40/82. We need to hustle, guys."

It was tough and go the following day, but whumpee pulled through.

In the evening he started to stirr, his eyes were moving under closed lids, his fingers twiched and there were some little muscle movement throughout his otherwise unmoving body. He was patched up, his head thickly bandaged.

There was also a bandage on his left shoulder, more on his chest and belly, one on his right tight. The bandages on his chest and tight had a bloody spot and were about to be changed.

He had a tube down his throat, that was supposed to be removed first thing in the morning. A bunch of IV lines came from the crook of his arm and the outside of his hand, wires from his chest were connected to the heartmonitor.

The nightnurse just finished up the bandage change and threw away her used gloves. Whumpee was a bit agitated, like he could come around at some point. But he went still again, after the nurse stopped touching him and fumbling with the bandages.

She skribbled down a few notes and put his patient sheet away. An alarm went off a few beds down and she left with brisk steps.

With the alarm starting whumpees heartbeat stepped up a notch, his hands started moving more, muscles throughout his whole body twitched. A cough slipped between the tube and his lips. He started moving, his vitals spiked, his eyes flew open. Everything was fuzzy, he couldn't breath, he couldn't think. Right out of unconsciousness his body went into survival mode. 'He was somewhere behind enemylines. He was wounded, he could feel the all consuming weakness in his bones. Maybe they tortures him. He couldn't remember. All he could remember was the scared face of his fellow soldier looking down at him. But when? And that guy wasn't the one to be scared in battle, either. He was scared because of something else. It was making no sence. His companions, he needed to find them. They needed to get out of here.'

All of these thoughts rushed in a brief second. His head felt mushy and bursting at the same time. His eyes were closed again. He couldn't see anything anyway.

But he was a trained Soldier, he didn't need a grip on his brain to survive, he was trained for it. His body just reacted.

He couldn't breath. He needed air. Something was obstracting his airways. His body jolted, his arms flew up. Uff, they were heavy, like being made out of lead. His movements were slow, pain ripped through his whole body. He tried to muffel the scream. His chest felt like bursting, as his head did. His fingers were kinda numb and he hardly felt the things underneath them. His grip was to weak and he slipped. Something was piercing through his neck, from the inside. He cought, his whole body was involved and pain seared through him. Dots exploded before his closed lids, someone was driving a knife into his skull and at least 3 more in his chest and tight and shoulder.

Courageously his fingers curled around the tube and he pulled. It felt like ripping his lungs out. So many beeping sounds were blaring in his head. He wanted to puke, but first he needed to fucking breath.

Finally he could, the bitter taste of iron in his throat, it was raw and dry. Vital air was finally getting in, but he couldn't breath, cause he was just coughing his lungs out. His eyes were open somewhere during his agony. All was blurry and only dimly lit, but he could still identify the spray of blood, that was flying out of his mouth with every cough.

There were white patches on him and also more bigger red dots there on them.

Even though, he couldn't make out anything really, it felt like he was trapped, maybe in a spiderweb. There were lines all over him.

The soggy, bloody tube still in hand, cause he held on to it for dear life, while his lungs turned inside out. He could finally breath, but it hurt. It hurt in his throat and deep down in his chest, like he was moving a bunch of nails up and down with every breath.

He let go of the tube and just ripped the pinching thing in his arm out. 'An IV?! Maybe drugs, to keep him compliant.' Warmth spread over his arm, even before the pain started to subside. Then he just went on and grapped for the wires on his chest and pulled. There was no burning pain like before, but pulling the sticky things away, also pulled on all his wounds and stiches.

He whimpered and bite down on his own teeth in pain.

The hectic beeping, that he really didn't notice over the rushing in his ears suddenly turned into a shrill one note sound.

Something clicked in his head and he finally went completely haywire. He jumped out of bed and ... just fell down like a bag of potatos. There was no strength in his muscles whatsoever. He had no controll of his limbs. While he was falling his head felt like being filled with bowlingballs additionally pulling him down.

His weak hands hardly stopping the fall. Pain, agonising pain exploded in all parts of his body and he felt like running through a brickwall headfirst, while he was seeing the floor rushing towards him. He faceplanted. The room was dimply lighted, but in his field of vision an explosion of little dots danced in every direction.

His lips rubbed against the floor while sounds of his agony slipped through his bloody lips. Breathing was too hard, he just wanted to stay in this spot and let darkness take him.

But he fought it, even though the pain was so grave, he hoped he hadn't had to. But his fellow men needed him. He needed to get information base and find a way out of here. The dots were fading, but the edges of his vision stayed dark. He needed to keep it together and get on his feet.

With sheer willpower he mobilized some hidden resources and started crawling. Painfully slowly, he only was a pathetic heap on the floor. While he tried to get away from the enemy, the small figure jumped the distance between them with 2 big steps.

A blurry figure appeared like a ghost. 'Fuck. They found him.' He was in no condition to fight, but he wouldn't give up either.

Noise, commotion, yelling, all hell broke lose around them. Everything was so loud. Blood was ruhsing in his ears like a big stream. He tried to raise his arms up in defence, but they were just too heavy and fell back limply. Instead he tried to curl in on himself, just expecting a blast of kicks, fists, shoes, a pron, a bad or any other form of violence, but all there was, was a warm steady hand on his shoulder. It was grounding, not dangerous or painful. Actually this place probably was the only one on his body, that didn't hurt at the moment. Warmth was kinda radiating from it througout his whole.

The nurse was on her hunches beside the bloody figure. 2 more nurses and a Doctor standing nearby, she made them stop in their tracks by her raised arm. He already had calmed down and semmed to pass out any moment, but still unpredictable in this situation.

The young Soldier apparently had woken up, disorientated, in pain and to the unpleased feeling of a ventilator, while the last he saw was gunfire and battle before he was rushed here. His head probably hadn't relocated jet.

He looked almost as bad as the day his halfdead form had arrived in the field hospital. The amount of blood, he was coved in, was equally bad. The bandage on his head had a bloody spot on the side and blood was running out of his left ear.

His pale face was pressed in the floor, his lips bloody, his facial expression full of pain. He was laying on the bad shoulder, a pool of blood already on the floor.

The originally white patches over the wounds in his upper chest were completely red and wet from too much of his blood. It was sticking to his chest and stomach, from where the bandages were literally filled. The patches on his back, where the rounds had gone through also bloody.

Her hand brushed a tiny circle on his shoulder and her voice was soothing but firm. "You got out. You're safe now. There is no enemy here, only friends."

He blinked weakly, his face tried to make a grimace, as if he was starting to understand.

"You're in bad shape. Is it okay, when my friends get over here and take a look at you?"

He was pulling in air strainly, but still tried to give her a little nod. The movement made the pain in his head worse. A whimper slipped out and suddenly more people were around him. Panic flaired up again, he tried to speak, but only weak grunts came out, when they carefully turned him around. His eyes were darting around the blurry room. He started trembling again.

Her hands were against the sides of his head all of a sudden. It was not only to steady his neck, but to sooth him. It was working.

Their eyes locked and a smile and a little reassuring nod let him calm.

"It's going to be alright. I'm not leaving." She took a sideglace at the Doctor. He had already admitted the sedative.

Their eyes found each other again and her lips formed the words, that followed him into soothing darkness. "You're safe now."

Masterlist

[its-my-whump]

I was kindly allowed by @pvtashby to use this prompt, so I'm really nervous if it's even good enough to post at all.

And yet my brain just says "That's all you gonna get out of me. I know all your crazy ideas, but NOPE, not today, maybe next week. Now, bugger off!"

So here it comes:

"I'm gonna give you something for the pain. You'll get a little wuzzy and..."

"NO!" Whumpee tried to get up from the stretcher and fell back with a grunt, that sounded like it was taking up all his strength. "...o. C.n't"

A firm hand prevented him from trying to get up again. Still, painfully he pressed out the words.

"Need t.. stay sharp. No .. meds."

"You need to rest. Meds will help." Whumpees arm was roaming around to his hip, searching for his gun. "No!..team needs.. me to be...a...alert. Can't."

He was mimicking to use his rifle, that wasn't there. His hands were searching, his breath strained.

His movements were slow, sluggish and accompanied with painfull grunts.

"Your team's safe. All are accounted for. All are safe, you inclueded. You can rest now."

Whumpee's adam apple boobed strainly, another grunt turning into a little whimper as the assistant pressed down more firmly.

Her eyes searching for the doctor's. "We need to hurry." She whispered.

Whumpees face was gray, his vitals falling even though he was getting more agitated by the second. Another male nurse was just nodding, while holding a bandage down on the gushing wound on the side of whumpees head. His hands simultaneously were keeping his head steady.

Whumpee was trembling all over, his breath coming in strained puffs. "No... oo. Need.. to protect th... family." His hands were uselessly tugging at his uniform, when the femal nurse used her free palm to hold his right hand down.

The doctor was doing the same to his left, while his calm voice was ensuring the soldier, that he was in a safe place. Safe enough to let them take care of him.

But he wouldn't believe.

"Need..to stay al..."

His words became silent. His eyes slowly rolled back into his head and he just went still.

"Dear Lord. Poor bastard finally lost consciousness." The male nurse stated while every member of staff grapped the sheet under the slack form and put him on the operation table.

The doctor interupted his assistant and yelled:

"6 GSW, TBI, pulse is 180 and BP 40/82. We need to hustle, guys."

Part 2

Masterlist

[its-my-whump]

Scissors 14

The male nurse was pushing his bodyweight into the lifeless form again and again.

He had finished his round of compression for the third time, when the attending demanded for a status check again.

A femal voice, eager and loudly shouting: "He's in vfib!"

The Doc was already set up to shock his patient. "Shocking!" He barked and put the paddles down on a broken, purple sternum.

The body jerked, unnaturally. Arms and legs reaching to the sky, just to fall back a second later.

...

Pain, unimaginable pain. So grave, it was consuming all his being. Every fibre of his body was in searing agony. He didn't even realise, that he was a being or had a body. There was just white hot pain, throbbing pain, freezing, burning, heavy, crushing, black pain. It was his whole world.

He couldn't think, he couldn't move, he couldn't see, he couldn't breath.

It felt like he had been thrown out of a deep pit of darkness, just to land in a world of agony.

He neither felt alive, nor dead, but he almost wished for the later, just to flee from the pain.

It kinda felt like being somewhere in between. Yeah, it kinda felt like being trapped in a half closed door, that was crushing him. Not, that he knew what a door was, in this very moment.

He was drifting somewhere under the surface to another space of existence. Or maybe he was trapped in a fire, being burned to death.

There was so much pressure, coming from within him, maybe from without too.

His body was producing whimpering sounds and weakly groans to find a little hole to release some of the pressure. He wasn't aware of the sounds slipping out through his slightly open mouth around the tube in this throat.

But Caretaker was. He jumped from his chair right next to Whumpees bed and leaned over him.

For the third time today.

After 4 days, these little whimpers were the first lifesign coming from Whumpee at all.

But he still wouldn't wake up.

Tbc

Scissors all parts

Masterlist

[its-my-whump]

Scissors 13

I'm sorry for taking so long and actually only delivering unsatisfying snippets. I feel bad and want this story to continue, as much, as you do, but my head is too fucked up at the moment.

Scissors 13

A battalion of medics were on their way, a stretcher being pushed forward, between them.

A small nurse sitting on the dead patient, performing CPR.

Voices, beepings, that just sounded wrong, orders barked and feet, rushing through the almost empty hallway, aiming for bay 6. The sounds mixing into a cacophony of death being challenged by the professionals.

The stretcher was stopped harshly. Many hands pulling at the sheet. The patient was lifted, his extremities still kinda dangling in the sheets.

The stretcher from the ambulance was gone a moment later. Nurses already cutting down the rest of his few clothes.

A pale lifeless body covered in cold sweat. Electrodes, tubes, needles sticking in and out of his body.

"Male, mid 30s, sepsis confirmed. No pulse. His heart stopped 12 minutes ago, ongoing cpr."

Someone shouted through the bay, overturing all the sounds of equipment, that were saying the same.

The attenting was listing through his stethoscope, while a short male nurse had his hands still on the patients purple sternum, waiting to start counting again.

"Fuck." The Doc cursed.

"Continue!"

...

Tbc

Scissors all parts

Masterlist

[its-my-whump]

Scissors 12

Caretaker's hands seemed enormous on Whumpee's fragile chest. Yes, he was almost a head taller and heavier, more muscles. But now, there was hardly any flesh above Whumpee's rips. Caretakers hands were pushing down, the whole sternum just giving way, so easily.

Whumpee's skin was cold and kinda sticky slick, from the sweat that had dried. Caretaker felt the few hairs, that damn 'kid' had on his chest.

He wasn't a kid, but in Caretaker's head a voice was screaming "Please, don't die on me, kiddo."

Rips bent in so easily, something shifted and a bone just broke. He had to swallow a wave of bile crawling up his neck.

Big tears just crept out of Caretaker's eyes and were freely falling on the dead body under his hands.

A warm presence, a small hand on his arm. The femal medic was searching his eyes, her mouth was moving. "It's okay. We're here."

He hadn't noticed, that the ambulance had stopped, had backed up to the emergency wing, that the doors had been opened and a bunch of people were standing by to get the patient off his hands.

He was pushed out of the way, the stretcher just literally dissappeared from under his hands.

The feeling of dead, cool, sticky skin stayed, as the world suddenly turned silent.

All commotion was gone, when the double doors to the emergency wing closed.

Caretaker stayed behind, alone, lost in the overwhelming quite with the weight of what he just had to do to his little brother.

He stared at his own big paws, they felt so heavy. Every fibre of his body was being pushed down by gravity.

He wanted to follow them, wanted to know, how Whumpee was doing, wanted to leave this damn craped space of the ambulance, but he couldn't.

His feet wouldn't move, actually not a muscle was obeying his desperat attempt to move.

He was just standing there, staring at his palms, still feeling how Whumpee's rip so easily gave way under his hands and snapped like a twig.

A cold shower of fear, loss and utter desperation ran down his spin. His legs wanted to crumble, but his whole body was even too stiff to falter. So, he kept standing, forgot to breath and was just staring at his own hands.

Scissors all parts

Tbc

Masterlist

[its-my-whump]

Scissors 11

"Shit!" The femal medic cursed. Without taking her eyes from Whumpee, she yelled to the front. "The kid's coding."

All hell broke lose. The sounds, many different one's playing their own symphony turned into an ear pircing jumble.

'The kid?' Caretaker couldn't comprehend. 'Whumpee wasn't a kid. The girl just ripping the blanket away from his pale chest was hardly as old as him. At least a few years younger.

He was all but a child. Whumpee was holding a job down, he hated, for years. And he actually could have been a successful businessman, if it wasn't for his illness. He had a car, that should have been on the junk yard years ago. He had his own flat and was living his own life. Whumpee wasn't a damn child.

But in this very moment Whumpee really looked like one. His helpless figure on the stretcher, dying. You would think, one would look old and worn, if all life was leaving his body. But not Whumpee, he looked as young as the day of his graduation. Yes, his skin was gray, his lips blue, the purple bruise on his chest had turned darker, but still years younger than he was.

His lifeless fingers were half bent, his fingertips touching the surface of the stretcher, as if his dying body was clinging to life, just holding on to something.

There was an undecipherable expression on his face. Or was it just death, smiling at Caretaker?

He looked away for a second, his eyes ran over the cut on Whumpees arm and stayed on the bandage around his tight.

He should have noticed, before it was too late.

Yes, Whumpee really looked like a damn kid. One, that just drowned and was pulled out of the water. His boxers were actually soaked in sweat. He was covered in sweat. Even though he was dying, this very moment... again.

Maybe, he was a kid right now. He was his best friend, they grew up together. And Caretaker always kinda thought of him as his little brother. Maybe not from blood, but from heart.

'Yes! The kid was coding.'

The medic was roaming around. Caretaker had merely been lost in though for a few seconds and yet, it felt like a lifetime, when she yelled at him.

"Come here and help."

Remotly controlled he got on his feet. His head couldn't comprehend, what she was talking about, but all of a sudden his arms were straight, his hands interlooked and he just bent the rips of his little brother in.

There was some kind of resistance from his sternum, but it was much too easy.

Caretaker wanted to puke. It felt like his hands were kind of inside Whumpees body. It was so easy, the kid was so fragile. His head was bobbing around with every push.

That tube just dangling out of his mouth, his whole body moving with every push.

Caretaker was sweating in this much too damn cramped space, but a chill of fear was running down his spin and every single hair was standing formation on his arms, while he was pumping the heart of his best friend with his mere hands.

Tbc

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[its-my-whump]

Scissors 10

The male medic was driving, while his colleague had a close eye on Whumpee. She was pushing meds, controlling IV lines and writing things down. Caretaker only sat there, in this much too craped space and couldn't stop staring at his friend.

He had been dead. Like... gone. If the paramedics hadn't arrived when they did...

If police hadn't opened the door...

If they had been there only a few minutes later...

If he hadn't answered his phone in the middle of the night...

Caretaker felt tiny and helpless. All he could do, was sit here and stare.

He had no clue, what she was doing. He had no clue, what was going on, actually. It made no sense, that Whumpee was just laying there, being ventilated.

It made no sense at all.

So much noise, so many different beeps and sounds. Sounds, that said: Whumpee was still around. Whumpee was still in this world, still fighting to stay.

Those sounds made a cacophony of life, Whumpee's life.

But suddenly something in the notes changed. The constant beeps and clicks and dings were off, out of order.

"Shit!" The femal medic cursed just as that constant beat, that had been there since the elevator turned into a freight train.

Tbc

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Masterlist

[its-my-whump]

Scissors 9

Caretaker jumped as he saw the stretcher being pushed out of the bedroom. The conversation with the police woman, he had no real active part in, was over.

He was already walking alongside. The sight he took in, while they were on the move, was devasting. Whumpees face looked like it belonged to a lifesize doll.

His skin was ghostly white, it looked almost translucent. His dark lashes even darker now. His hair was messy, it had definitly been wet. There was a dent on his forehead, right above his left eye, a bit red still. And a little cut, but it was hardly visable, if one wouldn't look too close.

Whumpee was so ...small, seemed so fragile. But for Caretaker the most disturbing part was that tube, that was sticking out of his mouth. So the other end was... actually inside his body. A damn tube. And it was attached to a ventilator and it was making him breath.

Caretaker swallowed hard.

His shirt, if he had one, was gone. A dark red, no purple spot was brightly shining in the middle of his chest. All kinds of wires and other, smaller tubes were running from different parts of him to different machinery and medical bags.

There was a dark red cut on his left upper arm, that was probably even more present, just because he looked like a ghost. Whumpees chest was moving up and down constantly. Or was it being moved? Caretaker didn't want to think about it actively.

But looking at the wound, he noticed, that there was also sticking another tube in Whumpees neck. Or more out of it. It was smaller, but it was there. The bitter taste of bile crept up Caretakers throat.

Whumpees knuckles looked irritated. A bit red and swallen and there were little lacerations too.

But that wasn't all. A fresh bandage had been wrapped around Whumpees upper right leg. Oh, it wasn't really fresh anymore actually, because it was already stained. No red from blood, just kinda brown or yellow.

Caretaker felt the contense of his stomach rising. What the fuck happened here? How did Whumpee end up like this, on the way to hospital, no one sure, if he'd every reach it?

Whumpee was only wearing boxers, when they pushed the stretcher to the front door. His belly had sunken in and only now, Caretaker saw and understood, what he should have realised some time ago. Whumpee had lost weight. Not as much, as the right clothes couldn't hide, but still more than enough. In this form, there was nothing to hide anymore.

He was in a bad place for a while now. Caretaker felt a literal slap in his face and a fist to his stomach, for being so ignorant. And now, Whumpee was on the brink of death, probably because of his ignorance.

"Ey you!" The femal medic, holding the bag attached to Whumpees IV, was shouting at Caretaker. He came out of his trance, the moment she pushed the bag in his hands. "Keep walking." She ordered, while she threw a blanket over Whumpees half naked body.

A cold breath hit Caretakers face, when they left the apartment. The older male medic was making a turn behind the door, pushing the stretcher skillfully towards the elevator. Caretaker felt a chill in his bone, not sure, if it was the cold of this night in April, at 4 o'clock or the depth of the situation.

He might lose his friend tonight. Fuck. He might actually lose his friend tonight. He tried to concentrate on the bag in his hand and the need to put one foot infront of the other, as fast as they did, without stumbling. He tried to push that thought away, but it didn't help.

Tbc

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Masterlist

[its-my-whump]

Scissors 8

Two paramedics were fighting for the young man on the brink of death. Sepsis had entered his bloodstream. His vitals were all over the room and his chances slim to none.

His heart had stopped beating 2 minutes ago. The slack form was only moved by the man's weight being pushed into his chest. Multiple rips already broken under the strain of bending his chest in.

A little plastic tube sneaked out of the corner of his half opened mouth. An ambu bag attached to it, hanging down and slightly pulling at his bluish lips.

Dark lashes were in big contrast to his ghostly white skin.

A femal medic just announced. "Pushing epi." She grabbed for a prefilled syringe and got to work. Her indexfinger and thumb found hold on the limp left arm, holding the port in the crook of his arm to let the needle enter. She was fast and professional pushing the plunger, emptying its contense

Meanwhile her colleague was doing cpr, counting the numbers.

The thin limp body was violently shaken by the procedure. His arms and legs made little jumps whenever his chest was craved in. His head rolled to the side and his eyelids kind of fluttered.

The male paramedic leaned back on his hunches and threw a desperate look to the aed. But nothing had changed. There was only a stubborn line crawling over the monitor.

The medic was breathing hard and sweat was glistening on his forehead. "Change." He more ordered than asked and his colleague let go of the ambu bag and took over. She straightened her arms, interlocked her fingers and put them on the middle of the nakes chest. The wet shirt was cut of and hanging right and left from his body. There was already a purple spot showing her targer on his sternum.

She has fresh energy and eagerly put her weight into every push, starting to count. "1, 2, 3..."

Half way through, he ordered: "Vital check." She stopped in her movement and leaned back, panting. The machine suddenly announced many bouncing sparks. "He's in vfib." The femal breathed out. The pads were already put on the man's chest, so all they needed to do, was push the button on the aed.

"Stand back." The male medic ordered and shocked.

The body jolted into the air. Hands and feet looked like he was reaching to the sky for a brief second. His head lolled to the other side, the tube awkwardly pulling at his mouth.

Then gravity got the upper hand again and all what went up fell back with a dull thud.

Nothing moved.

The medic had his stethoscope in hand and already aimed for the cool chest. His colleague was picking up the ambu bag again, while she focused on the monitor of the aed.

A single spike came out of nowhere. Her heart also jumped and her colleague gave her an encouraging smile. "Good job." He had his professional face again and was already reaching for stabilising meds from the medbag.

The femal paramedic was eagerly watching spike after spike magically appearing on the monitor turning into a steady rhythm, while she was pumping the ambu bag constantly.

Tbc

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