Febuwhump 28th
‘Presumed Dead.’
TW’s :: Uhh, death mentioned ofc, Gun, blood, scars, bruises, cuts, starved.
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Caretaker sat by themselves in the running car. They couldn’t go in. They couldn’t make themselves.
The rest of the team was in the building. Whumper’s home. Looking for what Whumper could have left behind.
They had received, just a day earlier, a recording.
[Whumper] Hello, dear Caretaker. This is a message for your team, yes, but mostly you. See, I am... How do I put this.. Leaving. No longer will you have an enemy. I’ve become... bored of all of you. I am well aware that this is a happy occasion for you! So I must put a stop to that. Whumpee? Say hi.
[Whumpee, whispering] Hi Caretaker.
[Whumper] Now say goodbye.
[Whumpee, alarmed] What, why-
[Whumpee, panicked] No! please, please don’t- Master, I’ll be good, I swear.
[Whumper, sharper now] I said. Say. Goodbye.
[Whumpee, quietly. Sounding hopeless.] Goodbye.
[A chuckles. A Gunshot. End of Recording]
A tear ran down Caretakers cheek. They lay their head against the steering wheel, and let themselves cry. This was their first moment of peace, where they weren’t frantically trying to find Whumper’s home, trying to find where they could have gone.
It had finally sunk in the Whumpee was gone forever.
Their body was in their somewhere. Caretaker tried not to picture it, but failed. Their tears fell faster. Poor, poor Whumpee..
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The rest of the team was packing anything they could find into boxes, and loading them into the van. Politely ignoring Caretakers crying. Caretaker had never liked people to see them cry.
Teammate One had found their way into the basement. Wishing instantly that they hadn’t. There Whumpee was. On the floor, sounded by a pool of blood. Teammate One closed their eyes, they couldn’t do this, they couldn’t-
They had too.
They couldn’t just leave Whumpee here.
They made themselves open their eyes, and walked slowly to Whumpee, and looked down at them. They gasped quietly. Whumpee was barely recognizable. A healing cut ran down the side of their face, their hair was cut short. Their pale face lined with bruises, waist naturally small. A gunshot wound in their leg, and scars along their arms.
Their leg. They had been shot in the leg. Teammate One knelt down, not caring about getting blood on their pants. And checked Whumpee’s pulse.
A gunshot wound to the leg wasn’t fatal.
For a long moment, Teammate one felt nothing. And then, they felt it. A small, almost non-existent pulse. “Help! Guys, I need help in here, someone call 911!” They shouted instantly.
There was hope after all.