#assassin whump

[whumppromptoftheday]

assassin whumpee has been training since the day whumper took them home. their kills don't even bother them anymore (of course they do. whumpee can't sleep without seeing dead eyes staring at them). but this hit? someone from whumpee's life before-they can't do it

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Familiar at a Distance

cw: alcoholism, child soldier/institutional whump reference, vague death wish, death mentions

previous // Wildefire Masterlist

•°•°•

The morning after his…incident, he had a conversation with Spyglass (Sarah). About what came next. About the meantime. It was better than nothing, he supposed, but not by much. Not when he couldn't give her what she wanted.

She couldn't have expected him to be barely functional and jumping at shadows when she told him their door was always open. She'd been hoping for a weapon, he knew it. An asset and not a liability, and Lex was one hell of a liability.

She wanted him to contact old associates. Talk to people. Reveal himself.

“I'm not much of a conversationalist,” he'd said, not even scratching the surface on how they'd probably sound the alarm at worst and gossip at best. Fox would find him. Right now, there was still a chance that Fox thought he was dead, but if he wasn't careful, if anyone said anything, he would find him and drag him back.

Could he give her names? Contacts?

“I need to think about it.” Even fearful of being sold out himself, loyalty ran deep between contractors. You didn't just name them to anyone. One snitch could crumble Neath’s carefully crafted networks.

Well… alright. What do you want to do?

“I can kill.”

We don't have anyone who needs…killed. Not yet.

“My work is in destruction. I'm not as practiced in other arts.”

Cinder…

She'd been quiet for a moment. He couldn't blame her. Even if they had their similarities, their mutual enemies, he was a mismatch in this house. A fire in their forest. A wolf that had found itself adopted by a flock of lambs.

No, that wasn't quite fair. The lambs had teeth. Even part of a system that called itself good, heroic, they'd all seem their share of combat. Of death. Akeela was as much a child soldier as he'd been. He wondered if she'd ever had to kill anyone, if she'd been cornered and forced to lash out. With powers like hers, like theirs, it wasn't hard, and even if Corp made a big show of putting the kids in ‘sidekick’ roles, he'd seen too many fighting in the dark to ever believe that was the case.

Can you scout? 

The question came after a silent minute.

“Scout?”

You've been around Corp. Titanium. You know layouts. Can you find weak points? Things we can sabotage?

“Scout…”

I don't want to make you go back there if you—

“I'll do it.”

That night, he left for the first time in a week.

Being out in the dark, mask on, eyes sharp, felt almost like old times. And almost like new times, like moving through the city on Uriah’s orders. He had to keep feeling for the lack of the collar, had to remind himself that he had no deadline, no one listening in on or tracking him. 

Scouting. It was different than tracking a target. Felt more meandering, casual. Like an evening stroll without a set destination. Lex knew plenty of Uriah's trusted agents. What they brought to Titanium. Where they lived.

No killing.

He'd have to think about other forms of destruction instead. 

What could help the rogues? Disrupting Titanium's servers would deal a heavy blow, but those were deep in the facility, and he wasn't ready to get so close yet. But there were other avenues. 

He tracked down the company's primary bank like he was honing in on a mystery target. Follow an employee around at a distance. Tail a well-known hero. Pick up trash and receipts, cross reference the material. He wasn't sure the boy—Hugo—could do anything about accounts, but sparking a glitch that hit Titanium employees in the wallet would at the very least cause a headache for Uriah. Would divert his focus and efforts until Spyglass (Sarah) gave Lex the go-ahead to kill him. 

It took three days to lay the groundwork and pass on a plan, and it felt good to be doing something, even if by the end of the night his skin was crawling and his palm was pressed into his throat to ensure the collar wouldn't reappear and every quiet stranger was another spy for Fox. And even if he told himself to stop, even if he tried to ignore the ache and the fear and pour all his effort into his new missions, he always found himself reaching for a bottle.

Against his better judgement, he’d built up a stash in his room. A few times now, he'd trashed it all. Shattered bottles in an empty dumpster or melted the glass in his hand and watched it drain. Never stuck for long. He always went back for more.

Probably didn't matter. He could still do his work, he could still drag himself out of bed and get whatever he needed to do done. Function wasn't the issue, it was shame. He didn't like being sloppy drunk in a house full of ex-heroes, especially when half of them were still teenagers. Made him feel like a piece of shit.

Not like he was trying to be a role model. Not like he'd asked for the nightmares or the endless fear.

You should be better.

He didn't want to have to be anything.

It was an odd night when Lex found himself spending the evening downstairs instead of retreating from everyone else, but when he slipped into the kitchen for something to eat, the next room over was… warm, in a way. Akeela and Hugo and the other one, Rosie, lounging on the old sofa, watching cartoons or something. Sarah wasn't with them. Upstairs, maybe, or working on her own side of the greater-scope mission.

The scene was only familiar at a distance. Outside looking in. The younger rogues just… being young. Hugo and Akeela arguing about what to watch next after the episode of their show ended, Akeela wrestling for the remote and cackling madly when she got it away from the boy, then Hugo reigning triumphant anyway when he changed the channel with his powers.

This is how it's supposed to be, isn't it? This is what they're supposed to have?

It was difficult to reconcile that with their situation—laughter felt out of place when Corp would drag any of them to the Tower without hesitation—but Lex couldn't deny that it felt…

“Cinderrr,” came Akeela’s singsong voice. “Tell Hugo to stop being a dick.”

“Tell Kee that she's not the queen of the tv!”

Lex flinched back. In one place for too long, spotted. He hadn't meant to just sit and watch them all, like he was scoping them out, like they were still his targets—

“Okay, so let Cinder pick what to watch then.”

Three pairs of eyes on him. Lex clenched his jaw, fists scraping slightly as they squeezed at nothing. Did they really want an answer from him, or was it just an extension of their argument?

“One Piece, right?” Akeela said, after he probably spent too long just staring at them, silent. Good enough. He only had a vague idea of what One Piece was, but he nodded anyway, already moving towards the stairs.

Warm. Familiar. But only at a distance. He was glad they could have it, but it could never be his, not when the world had shaped him into something like this. He didn't warm, he only ever burned.

“You don't wanna come watch?”

Years of practice kept his feet under him as Lex spun around, hands half-raised, ready to fend off whoever was trying to sneak up behind him. Akeela managed to only look startled for an instant before she crossed her arms and leaned against the wall like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Lex’s face felt hot, stomach turning, mouth dry and yearning for something to take the edge off.

“Never had time for cartoons,” he said.

Akeela shrugged. “They let us watch on Saturdays. If we were doing good in training.”

“Yeah.” He turned away, trying not to grimace, like he could pretend he didn't know who they were. 

I need a drink.

The stairs creaked behind him.

“How'd you do it anyway?” Akeela called after him, her voice a little lower, a little less bold.

This kid. He didn't need to ask what she meant. How did you stay away from Corp for so long? How did you avoid ending up like me?

“My mother is an assassin you've never heard of,” he answered after a moment. “She kept me hidden, called in favors, trained me.”

“I had the same with Corp,” Akeela said. “Training since I was four.”

That long? “Guess it didn't make a difference either way.” He could sense that she wasn't done as he tried to turn around, could sense that that wasn't what she wanted to hear.

“How can you say there's no difference? You had freedom.”

“I had my own missions.” The answer was already on his tongue. “Contracts. Always the danger of being caught. It's not… it's not as good as you're picturing.” Freedom didn't exist as long as Corp was around. You were either with them or against them, and either choice had its own costs. Evade. Run. Live in hiding, live in fear. Never let yourself slip up, never let yourself rest. Or live as a drone at Corp’s beck and call.

“So what? There's no other choice for kids like us?” Every time he bumped into the kid it seemed like she was looking for a way to argue with him, or rile him up, or get a rise out of him for whatever reason, but right now she just looked… She looked too young for all of this. Distraught, almost.

Why? Why did it matter, if it was already all said and done for both of them? Why did he care? There was nothing they could do about it now. Lex could die getting revenge, the kid could maybe live to see a day where she wasn't hunted or owned, and that was all they could really hope for.

But he couldn't say that. Couldn't bring himself to.

I need a drink.

“Maybe not,” he said. It felt like lying. “Maybe there's some kid out there who can hide. Never got detected at all. Maybe they'll grow up without all this bullshit.” It was a fairytale. Akeela seemed like she should be too smart to believe something like that, but the look in her eyes had calmed down a little when he met them. She nodded.

“Um. How's your neck and stuff?”

From her, Lex would usually take that as a sort of jab, but her tone didn't have the note of challenge he'd come to expect. Responding to a genuine check-up like that didn't come easily to him, so he just nodded.

“Healing.”

Didn't seem to come easily to her, either. She shifted in place. “Well, I gotta go make sure Hugo put on the right show. You can come if you want, or you can just go do whatever.”

Drink alone in your room. Did she know? It probably wasn't too hard to see.

“Oh, and Cinder?” Her usual bravado crept back in as she reached the bottom of the stairs and called up to him one last time. “When we kill Fox, there'll be a lot more of those kids, yeah?”

No. When they killed Fox, someone would just take his place, and even if they didn't, there were a dozen other hero corporations in the city that would fill the void.

“Yeah,” Lex said. Akeela gave him a satisfied smirk and disappeared around the corner. 

Too late for her to grow up like a kid should, but that didn't stop her from… Fuck. Had he ever been like that? Everything he did was always so single-minded. Survive, survive, survive. He'd never wanted more than that. There was more out there, he was sure of it, but it didn't belong to him, it had never been on his path. 

Could it be? Was this all there was? Survive. Fight or submit. Survive.

Maybe. But somewhere behind him there were three kids laughing and play-fighting while cartoons played in the background, and fuck. Fuck.

His head hurt. His throat was burning, heart beating too fast. Fuck.

They were all he could reach for right now, survival and revenge. The only things he'd really wanted since he could remember wanting something in the first place.

Was there more than that? No. Not right now.

But maybe…

Maybe there could be.

•°•°•

@whumpacabra  @enteredin2eternity  @kixngiggles  @whumpsday  @kiichu  @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump  @shywhumpauthor  @distinctlywhumpthing , @bloodinkandashes , @fleur-alise , @whumpy-daydreams , @whumpwillow , @honeycollectswhump ,  @snakebites-and-ink , @chiswhumpcorner , @knappend

[thewhumpcaretaker]

Vincent tending to Chidi’s wounds when a medical professional isn’t near (with Vincent surprisingly having good knowledge on wounds) has always been on my mind and I thought to share with you ^_^

Anyways here’s a crappy screenshot of them because aaaaaaaaaaaaaa Chidi looks so small😭

Thank you so much for this ask! This ended up being almost chapter-length and I may use snippets of it in Those Who Have Something to Live For later on, oops!!

Also, small hearts for small chidi: 💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

-⚜- I Want to Be Next to You -⚜-

TW: gunshot wound, discussion of self-sacrifice

The first thing Chidi noticed was the red pouring out of Vincent’s shoulder. The second thing he noticed was how fast he was breathing.

He didn’t say anything, just staggered back against the wall with alarmingly wide eyes almost rolling back in his head - that look of unspeakable terror that Chidi had seen only a few times in his service with Vincent.

Chidi was across the balcony and in contact with Vincent almost instantly, gripping both arms to slow his fall and guide him to the ground. Their legs folded under them in unison, almost gracefully, like two swans landing on water. And they both felt they were drifting on something like water, suddenly floating above a terrible, murky depth. Their eyes were locked together, mirroring each other’s desperation. “C'est bon [It’s okay],” he whispered, low enough to reach only Vincent.

He didn’t respond at first. Then, as if without breathing, “Non, ce n'est pas le cas, ils putain… ils… [No it’s not, they fucking…they…]”

Chidi couldn’t contradict him. They had been ambushed. A particularly crucial client had insisted on meeting Vincent on “neutral ground,” without much backup, in a remote villa. As he had feared, it was merely a ruse to make an attempt on Vincent’s life. And Chidi hadn’t stopped it…they’d laid hands on Vincent, they’d put metal in him…

“Get a medic, and arrange evacuation,” he barked over his shoulder, without breaking eye contact with Vincent. Chidi was scary like this.

The ground around them was littered with bodies. Only two other guards survived – and the enemy was demolished. One of those guards hesitated. “What should I tell them about the deal, sir? And the ambush?”

“I don’t care! I’m going to stay with my ward! GO!” My ward. Vincent was the ward of all the bodyguards, but Chidi didn’t say our. No, at moments like this, it became clearer than ever that Vincent was his responsibility in a way that none of the other Myrmadons shared.

In another moment, they were alone.

“Chidi…” It wasn’t the beginning of a question, it was an inarticulate plea. Vincent’s head was lolling from one side to the other against the wall, in danger of knocking against it from how badly he was shaking.

“Je suis là. [I’m here.]” He lowered him the rest of the way down, not against the hard marble, but into his lap, elevating the wounded shoulder above the rest of his body. Overwhelmed by the mixture of shock and human contact, he clenched his teeth and closed his eyes for half a second before staring desperately up at Chidi again. It was a magnetic look, impossible to break away from. Help me, it was saying. Chidi obeyed.

“Je vais vous attacher un garrot maintenant, monsieur. Cela signifie que je vais attacher un morceau de tissu autour de votre épaule. Cela pourrait faire mal mais je vais essayer d’être rapide. [I’m going to tie you a tourniquet now, sir. This means I’m going to tie a piece of cloth around your shoulder. It might hurt but I’ll try to be quick.]” For once, he was the one chattering away, trying to fill the silence, to keep Vincent’s mind from running away with him. He kept his breathing as steady as he could, and his face expressionless. He had to be the rock right now, something to hold onto.

He took off his suitcoat and then ripped off his shirt sleeve from underneath, tying it around Vincent’s shoulder. As it squeezed the muscles around the wound, Vincent went even paler, panting in an effort not to scream. Even at a time like this, he didn’t want to look weak. It made Chidi’s heart twist. “Vous allez bien, monsieur. [You’re doing well, sir.]” He wasn’t. He was starting to hyperventilate, and it really concerned Chidi. “Peux-tu respirer avec moi, lentement ? De la même manière que je respire. [Can you breathe with me, slowly? The same way I’m breathing.]”

The Marquis struggled for a moment, staring at Chidi’s chest. He saw another wave of fear rise up behind Vincent’s eyes as he lost control. “Je – je ne peux pas – [I – I can’t – ]”

“Ce n'est pas grave alors. Continuez simplement d’essayer et concentrez-vous sur ma voix. Je vais faire pression sur toi pour arrêter le saignement maintenant, d'accord ? Et je continuerai à faire ça jusqu’à ce que l’aide arrive. [That’s okay then. Just keep trying and focus on my voice. I’m going to press on you to stop the bleeding now, okay? And I’ll keep doing that until help comes.]” Chidi did his best not to talk too fast, not to let the panic affect his voice. He felt like breaking down – seeing Vincent like this was too much. But he had to be reassuring for him.

“…d’accord… ça prend combien de temps? […okay…how long with that take?]”

“Je ne sais pas, monsieur. Pas longtemps. [I don’t know, sir. Not long.]” He lowered his hands over the wound and pressed down as hard as he could. Vincent made an awful, strangled sound. Even through the pressure, Chidi could feel how badly he was shivering. “Attendez, faisons ça aussi. [Wait, let’s do this too.]” He took his hands off the wound long enough to throw his coat over Vincent’s chest, and then pressed down again. Vincent snuggled involuntarily into the warmth, the shivering subsiding a little. After the initial pain of Chidi’s strength against his shoulder again, he relaxed into it. Then, following a long moment of hesitance, his hand rested on top of Chidi’s.

“Merci.” He stroked along Chidi’s hand just the way he would if they were just resting in bed together after making love.

“Bien sûr. [Of course.]”

His eyes were closed again and suddenly Chidi worried he might lose consciousness.

“Hé, pouvez-vous continuer à me regarder monsieur ? Reste éveillé s'il te plait. [Hey, can you keep looking at me sir? Stay awake please.]”

Vincent wrenched his eyelids open with what seemed a very great effort. “Parlez-moi alors. [Talk to me then.]” It was an order, but spoken so quietly, so vulnerably.

“D’accord.” Chidi thought for a moment. “Tu sais, j'ai appris la médecine de campagne pour toi. J'ai pris des cours le soir, pendant mon temps libre. Parce que si jamais tu étais bloqué comme ça, je voulais être sûr de pouvoir t'aider. [You know, I learned field medicine for you. I took lessons in the evenings, during my leisure time. Because if you were ever stranded like this, I wanted to make sure I could help you.]”

Vincent swallowed. “Je ne le savais pas. Je…te remercie. [I didn’t know that. I…thank you.]” His hand was stroking idly against Chidi’s, with deep affection, soothing both himself and his lover at once. He was getting into that zoned out space that he entered sometimes, when he was hurt or very sick. A space that forced his deeply defended heart to open a little.

“Ce n'était pas un problème, monsieur. Je suis content de l’avoir fait. [It was no trouble, sir. I’m glad I did.]”

“Je suis… je suis content que tu sois là. Peut-être… peut-être que je dramatise mais… [I’m…I’m glad you’re here. Maybe…maybe I’m being dramatic but…]” He went silent for a long time, so long that Chidi almost thought he was passing out. But he wasn’t. “Si je meurs, je veux qu'il soit à côté de toi. [If I die, I want it be next to you.]”

Chidi’s throat tightened. He looked away at the sunset, waves of pink and gold crashing down over jagged mountains. But it wasn’t half as beautiful as Vincent, so he looked back. “Si je meurs, je veux que ce soit pour vous, monsieur. Mais je préfère que nous vivions tous les deux. [If I die, I want it to be for you, sir. But I’d rather we both live.]”

Vincent didn’t answer for a long time, and when he did, it was in a rush, with his voice dropping quieter and quieter until Chidi could barely hear him.  “Je préfère ça aussi, ces jours-ci. Il y a quelques instants, quand on m'a tiré dessus, j'ai réalisé que… Pour une fois, je n'avais pas peur parce que j'étais seule, mais parce que je voulais continuer à vivre. Je veux être à côté de toi. [I’d rather that too, these days. A few moments ago, when I was shot, I realized that…For once, I wasn’t scared because I was alone, but because I want to keep living. I want to be next to you.]”

You will. You always will. “Je serai toujours à vos côtés, monsieur. [I will always be by your side, sir.]” Chidi wrapped himself around Vincent’s body, giving him all of his warmth, all of his presence, all of himself. For life.

[whumperoni-and-wheeze]

[A] and [B] are career assassins. [A] is mortally wounded during a hit, [B] agrees to drive them to the hospital and leave them there. [B] is bad at comforting [A] and barely fighting hysterics, instead just repeating the same lines with increasing desperation:

"I swear to God, [A], you're not gonna die."

"You're gonna be fine bud, just stay with me, it's just a few miles."

"How're you doing back there?"

"Tell me what's happening [A]"

"I'm not gonna live with myself if you die back there [A]."

(Bonus points if [C] and [B] keep yelling back and forth while [A] bleeds out.)

"Step on it [B] we're losin 'em!"

"Shut the FUCK up, I'm gettin us there!"

[chaotic-orphan]

The Assassin’s Hamartia

“Ah… I see it now,” Bounty Hunter said. Assassin kept her gaze fixed ahead of her, which just so happened to be into the fire that they were camped around for the evening. Bounty Hunter bound her wrists behind her back, and while they were camping, bound her wrists to her ankles so she couldn’t get away too quickly without causing a commotion.

Bounty Hunter propped her chin up with the tip of his boot that made Assassin physically recoil. Bounty Hunter laughed. A loud, harsh sound. “The terrifying Assassin, the scourge of the Kingdom, is afraid of dirt?”

Assassin wanted to level Bounty Hunter with a glare. Tell him he was a fool and an idiot for suggesting such a ridiculous notion. Instead, she tried to look away, her cheeks heated with a pink shame.

“Hold on, Darlin’,” Bounty Hunter said as he crouched down and took her chin between his calloused, dirty fingers and forced her to look up into his smiling brown eyes. “The Queen of blood is afraid of not having a shower?”

“You’re just reciting all my titles from bards,” Assassin spat. “You must be a fan.”

“And you’re not denying you’re a little princess, darlin’.”

“Don’t call me that,” Assassin hissed, struggling to free her arms. “Aren’t you just supposed to bring me back to the King? Not talk me to death.”

“I can do whatever I like to you, sweetheart,” he said and the threat hung in the air like one of Assassin’s knives; poised over the jugular, ready to strike. “Oh yes. Which means…”

Without finishing his sentence, Bounty Hunter slapped a pile of mud against Assassin’s cheek and she gasped, her head flinging to the side. “I can do that.”

“No,” Assassin said, shrugging, trying to get the dirt off her cheek. This is ridiculous. How the fuck had he seen that after only being with her for a few hours?! Not even her closest confidants knew that, nevermind her enemies— he… “Please, please. Get it off.”

Bounty Hunter laughed and got to his feet, walking back over to his tree and with a satisfied sigh he dropped and reclined against the bark, smirking at Assassin over the flames.

“I like to get down and dirty, darlin’. You just have to put up and shut up. But I do like to see how you squirm with a bit of mud. I may as well have shot your dog or summat.”

Assassin glared at him. Bounty Hunter smirked. “Well, have fun with that. We ride at dawn.”

[whumpwillow]

here have a thing

warnings: past torture, death mention, bugs mention (mosquitos), blood, associated misery

—

They were, in theory, alone.

The group made their way through what they’d thought was a deserted mangrove. That was the primary reason they’d chosen it as the landing pad for their airship, as the sonar array hadn’t detected any other vessels in the area, nor were there any nearby settlements. They planned it this way so they could avoid coming into contact with any other people.

That was, until they came across the man stumbling through the forest, covered in blood. Leader drew the stun gun from his waist belt and pointed it at the man, who took no notice of them. Friend subtly positioned himself in front of Caretaker, but she could still see the gory images played out in front of her.

The man was alone, and wearing nothing but a tattered pair of work slacks. His chest and feet were bare, save for the grievous wounds that marred them. His body bent forward at the waist, head hanging low, and his muscles contorted with each strangled breath. He’d put his forearm to a tree next to him and seemed to be trying to regain balance or stability or energy or something—Caretaker couldn’t tell. She didn’t know how he was even alive right now.

His head was downturned and his hair, wet and sticky with blood, was so plastered to his skin that his face was indiscernible. Blood streamed down it, as well as from numerous other wounds on his body.

They were…not the sort of wounds one would get from being lost in the forest. They were too precise. Intentional.

“Stay back,” Leader said, in his usual stern but smooth baritone.

The injured man flinched, having registered the sound, but all it did was quicken his breathing. Leader took a step toward him.

Caretaker couldn’t stop staring. Eyes wide, she observed every gash, every burn, every bruise. The wounds were fresh and weeping, but it had to have been a few days at least that the man had been wandering through the forest. He was covered in mud that mixed with the crimson that dripped from his wounds, likely having infected them already. Little red dots scattered across his skin showed that he’d been food for the mosquitos, and small scratches on his arms and legs looked more like the injuries gotten from foliage rather than…direct intent.

How he got the other wounds…Caretaker didn’t want to think too hard about it.

“Who are you?” Leader asked.

The injured man didn’t respond. His arms and legs shook something fierce, and had been the entire time. Whether it was from exhaustion or fear, Caretaker didn’t know.

“Looks like he got pretty fucked up,” Friend chimed in. “He one of ours?”

Leader grumbled something under his breath. “Blackdoor would do that.”

Caretaker pushed herself out from behind Friend and moved quickly up to where Leader was standing. She put a hand on his arm and looked him in the eyes.

“Come on,” she said. “Put the gun down. He’s clearly hurt.”

Leader eyed her stonily. His gaze flicked from Caretaker’s face to the nearly doubled-over body of the injured man and back, though the hand holding the gun never wavered or shook.

“It could be a trap,” he said.

Caretaker put a hand on her hip and used the other to gesture to the mysterious man. “Does it fucking look like one?”

Leader didn’t respond, except to reach to her as she moved forward to go to the injured man. He lifted his head minutely, but with the blood and his hair plastered to his face, she couldn’t make out what he looked like. But she knew he was watching her.

“Hey,” she said. “Do you need help?”

She raised a hand to touch him but he flinched back, stumbling over a root and falling to the ground. Leader shouted and darted forward, and Caretaker felt herself being pulled away from the spot before she could even blink.

She fumbled with the roots and leaves for a bit, but Friend came up behind her and put his arms on her shoulders to steady her. Leader had one foot on the injured man’s chest and was pointing the stun gun directly at his face.

“What are you doing here, Whumpee?” he shouted.

Whumpee. the assassin.

Caretaker shivered. She’d only encountered him once, but she’d been through enough danger at the hands of Blackdoor to know they didn’t mess around and they didn’t hold back.

Whumpee held up his hands over his face. “Pl-please, please, please—you can’t—I’m not—please—I’m—,” he begged, words coming out in short gasps.

His hands shook as he tried to protect himself from whatever he thought was coming. Caretaker could still barely see his face through the blood. Leader didn’t relent, trying to question him on his intentions, but they all already knew what his objective was.

To kill Caretaker.

She stepped up beside him, ignoring Leader’s protests. “What happened to you?”

Whumpee didn’t respond. The begging seemed to take precedence and Caretaker turned to look at Leader, wondering if she had enough persuasion skills to get him to put the gun away.

“You’re hurting him,” she said.

“He was sent to kill you,” Leader said. His eyes blazed with something dark and obsessive. “He fucking killed my brother.”

Caretaker knew Leader had been consumed with revenge ever since the attack that had killed his brother, orchestrated by none other than Blackdoor’s very own assassin. She’d seen the way he stared out the window of the airship as they moved through the sky, the light in his eyes giving way to something else entirely as he talked about how he’d get his revenge. But this wasn’t the way.

She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose to relieve the building tension. “Yes, I know. I was there. I saw him die on that operating table too,” she began. “But we can’t kill Whumpee here. We can get vital information from him about Blackdoor.”

Friend drew up behind Caretaker and peered around her shoulder to look up at Leader. “And about Team Member! I need to know what he did with Team Member!”

Whumpee groaned, writhing in the mud under Leader’s boot still placed on his sternum. Caretaker glanced down at him and then back at Leader, not wanting to think about how much it must have hurt those bruises staining every inch of skin she could see that wasn’t already covered in mud and blood. Deep purples, blues, greens, and browns made him look more like a piece of abstract art rather than a person.

“…scaped…” Whumpee murmured, almost inaudibly.

Friend crouched down. “What’d you say?”

Whumpee turned his head weakly in Friend’s direction. “He escaped…she let him go…when she caught me.”

He panted heavily, drawing in breaths with great effort. It seemed speaking even this little bit had exhausted him.

Caretaker gave Leader a look that she hoped conveyed to him that he should at least take his foot off the assassin’s chest. Leader understood and acquiesced, stepping back. He didn’t holster the stun gun.

Whumpee took in a deep breath once Leader’s weight was off him, but then immediately whinged in pain. His face crumbled like paper. Friend twisted his mouth to the side, a look of displeased understanding on his face.

“His ribs are probably broken. Sucks to take in a breath when it feels like you’re getting stabbed,” he noted.

Caretaker crouched down next to him. “Who caught you? Did the Eighth Chasm do this?”

The Eighth Chasm leader had a temper to match her fiery red hair. Caretaker would never have expected her to do something like this, but she also had never actually met the woman, so she supposed she couldn’t make such snap judgments. Leader had been the one to feed the information to her, and as much as he liked to think of himself as rational and stoic, he often let his emotions color his perception of things.

Whumpee shook his head, creating a sloshing noise of his hair going back and forth in the mud. “Montrose family,” was all he said before letting the silence hang in the air between the four of them.

Caretaker looked up at Leader, wondering if this was someone new he would tell her about, but his face displayed as much confusion as hers likely did. Leader’s eyebrows knitted together in concentration, but he finally shook his head.

“Is that part of Blackdoor?” Friend asked.

“Why would Blackdoor do this to their own operative?” Caretaker responded to Friend’s question with another question. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

Whumpee heaved another strained breath. His eyelids fluttered, closed, and then opened again after a long pause.

“They didn’t like Blackdoor operating out of New York City…said it was their territory,” Whumpee said. His bottom lip trembled, but he didn’t seem to realize. His eyes glazed over for a moment before he spoke again.

“They sent one of their operatives to kill me and Septimus…hah, and all this,” he gestured at his battered body. “This was just for fun.”

[whumpinthepot]

@whumpmasinjuly-archive 2024, Day 3.

“___ Deserved it”

Oc’s Haa and Clarence (Silly Sally)

[mercys-whump-blog]

whump math

werewolf whump + assassin whump + living weapon whump = the impostor from among us and their crewmate friend