Whumpee has a terrible fever, and an even worse headache. When they're awake they can't look at or think of anything, else it feels like their skull is crushing their brain. And when they sleep, the headache is gone, only to be replaced by the nightmares
Headache whump is so underrated.. you literally can't do anything. Eyes unfocused, pain spreading from your forehead to framing your eyes, literally can't even think straight. Plus, you can't even take that much medicine for it before it becomes dangerous. Inescapable
Whumpee with a migrane. Their vision goes strange— maybe strange distortions, double vison. And they know that a migrane is imminent. They eat some food, dose up on painkillers, then head to their nice, dark room, to sleep it all off.
Whumpee gets chronic (or magical!) headaches. He keeps them hidden, to not bring attention to his weakness. For the first time Teammate witnesses Whumpee get a sudden, intense attack, and they are a little too under the influence for this.
Teammate and Whumpee are chilling, hanging out together on the couch. Maybe a little high. Maybe a little drunk. After a lapse in conversation, Team Member takes a hit/sip and looks over to see their friend is suddenly very tense. Teammate can actually hear Whumpee’s breathing; his neck is craning slowly downward, his jaw tight, maybe mouth parted, a bit in awe over the sudden burst of pain filling his head. A hand is raised in the air, as if waiting to see whether his head should need it soon.
“What’s up with you?” says Teammate, more taken aback by their friend’s face than they are concerned.
“Ah… goddamn…” Whumpee mumbles. He drops his hand to his knee, gripping his pants.
Teammate thinks this is lightly amusing. “Too much?” he asks. Though, Whumpee hadn’t been coughing before, and they’re usually able to match each other’s pace.
Whumpee cracks a weak smile and huffs. “Yeah. I just need a second.”
“Alright, that’s cool,” says Teammate. They busy themselves with another hit/sip.
The pain has numbed a bit, feeling like a swirling cloud, waiting impatiently to break into a twister. He blinks, and relaxes his body with a sigh.
“You good?”
It’s the urge his body makes to respond to his friend, that one moment of weakness, that does him in.
Suddenly the pain takes back the offensive. Like a shockwave after the explosion, pressure builds, crawling up the back of his neck and scrambling towards any available space it can; inside each fold of the brain, against the walls of his head, swelling and surging with intensity. Whumpee’s face scrunches. He involuntarily cries out. His hand flies to the side of his head, pressing down like it’s an open wound.
Teammate sits up. “Dude!”
Whumpee curls into himself, his free hand gripping the side of the couch. A shaky groan escapes his throat.
“Okay, okay. What’s wrong?”
Whumpee’s breathing is uneven and heavy. His clothes are too warm, everything is touching his skin wrong. “God— my head.”
Like gravity is pulling him down, limb by limb he sinks to the floor. Desperately trying to contain the storm inside.
"You just fainted, Brian," Rebecca says, brows pinched in the middle. "Here, put this on the back of your neck."
She holds out a stack of brown paper towels from the bathroom, dampened with cool water from the tap. He takes it, pressing it to the back of his neck as instructed and grimacing as a shiver runs down his spine.
"Look," he says tiredly. "It's hot today and we've been out in the sun and I just got a little dehydrated. But I had some water—thanks again for that, Mike—and I'm good now. Please, please don't call an ambulance."
He'd gotten his fill of hospitals when his dad was sick. Just the idea of that hospital smell is enough to make his stomach turn, and he's already feeling a little nauseous.
Rebecca makes eye contact with someone over Brian's head. "Naz, what do you think?"
Before Naz can answer, Brian says, "They'll do blood work. I still have a bit of NZT in my system, they'll see it. They'll have questions. I'll go home, drink some more water, and lay down. "
Rebecca shoots him a disapproving look, and behind him Naz heaves a long-suffering sigh.
"I will let you go home-"
"Thank you."
"-one two conditions."
Brian grimaces. He hopes neither of those conditions involves a trip to the doctor. He really does want to just go home and sleep.
"You let Rebecca drive you. And in an hour, you call her and check in so we know you're okay. Deal?"
Brian lets out a small sigh of relief. "Yeah, I can do that. Thank you, Naz."
Rebecca is quiet as he drives him to his apartment. He can tell she's worried, but he's also pretty sure that she can tell that he's embarrassed, so she doesn't press him.
"Do you want me to go up with you?" she asks as they reach his building.
"I've got it," Brian says. "Thanks."
"No problem, Brian. Don't forget to call me in an hour. Or you can call me sooner if you need anything. And I mean anything."
Brian smiles a little. "Yeah, I know. Thank you again for the ride."
He gets out of the car, squinting a little in the bright daylight, and then takes the elevator up to his apartment. He downs half a glass of water, and then goes into his room and flops face down on the bed with a long sigh.
This is all I needed, he thinks, and drifts to sleep.
-
When he wakes up, it's with that groggy, confused sense of lost time that sometimes comes with a too-long afternoon nap. He'd hoped that some rest would act as a kind of reset, but he feels worse than he had before he went to sleep. The nausea and foggy-mindedness persist even as he forces himself to sit up and he lets out a low groan. The lights aren't turned on, but the late afternoon light streaming through the window seems overly bright and he finds himself squinting.
He's a little unsteady as he gets to his feet and makes his way over to the window, where he pulls the curtains shut with a sharp tug. He makes it two steps before the dizziness gets so bad that he thinks he's going to faint again, so instead of going back to his bed he sits heavily on the floor, putting his head down as he waits for the dark static and ringing ears to pass. A minute passes and he tries to sit up, thinking he'll get the rest of the way to his bed, but the second he lifts his head the dizziness returns and he gives up on that.
Damn it.
He's vaguely aware that his breathing sounds strange—loud, heavy, slow breaths. He doesn't know what that means, but he knows it's probably not good.
It's when his left hand starts to tingle, along with the left side of his face, that he starts to get worried. Though he knows there are traces of it left, the NZT has pretty much worn off, but he doesn't need it to know that this is bad.
Stroke is his immediate thought. It's a terrifying one. He's definitely too young to be having a stroke, right? Unless...somehow the immunity shot has worn off? God, he hopes not.
He makes one more attempt at standing, hoping to make it to his bed and his phone so that he can call Rebecca, but the dizziness is overwhelming and he knows there's no way. So instead, he lays down on the floor, squeezing his eyes shut tight as the world spins. It makes him feel like he's going to be sick, and he lets out a groan.
He's still lying there when Rich Girl starts playing from his phone. Rebecca is calling, which means it's probably past the time Brian was supposed to check in. He has no choice but to listen, helpless, as the song plays and then comes to an abrupt end.
xxx
Rebecca takes the stairs two at a time up to Brian's apartment, heart hammering as she tries not to let her mind fixate on a million worst-case scenarios. Probably he'd just fallen asleep deeply enough that he hadn't heard Rebecca call. She's going to walk in and find him conked out on the couch or his bed, and he's going to make a joke or quote a movie at her and it'll all be fine. He's fine.
She knocks on the door of his apartment twice before going in, shutting it behind her as she calls, "Brian?"
There's no answer and so she walks back to his bedroom, where he's going to be asleep on his bed, napping and just fine--
"Brian?" she says gently, cracking open the bedroom door. It's dark, the curtains drawn. He isn't on his bed, and she frowns.
And then there's a groan from the floor.
"Brian!"
Brian is on his side, curled into a ball. She hurries over, kneeling next to him and putting a hand on his shoulder. He doesn't feel warm or feverish, and he isn't clammy either so she doesn't think it's a heat-related illness.
"Hey, Brian, you okay?"
"I...I got really dizzy," he says, but he's speaking slowly and his words are slightly slurred. Rebecca's stomach twists.
"Are you still dizzy?" she asks.
"Uh..." He opens his eyes a crack, forehead wrinkling. "N...no. Not too bad."
The words are slow and slurred. Rebecca's worry grows.
"Did you take anything when you got home, any medication?"
"N...No."
"Are you in any pain?" She doesn't know how much that will actually help, but any additional information has to be better than what she's working with now which is, he fainted a little over an hour ago, he's been really dizzy, he's talking weird, and he doesn't seem to have a fever.
"My...my face and my arm are kinda..." His trails off, the frown lines in his forehead deepening, eyes closing.
"Are what, Brian? Do they hurt?"
He shakes his head once. "Can't...can't think of th' word. They're, um...n...numb."
Rebecca's heart plummets and she pulls out her phone. "I'm calling an ambulance."
She doesn't want to tell them she thinks he's having a stroke, doesn't want to freak Brian out, so she explains the situation as best she can without using that particular word. She's just hung up when Brian suddenly sits up.
"You okay?" Rebecca says. "Brian?"
"'m gonna be sick."
He doubles forward and pukes on the carpet, and Rebecca puts a hand on his back. Her other thought, he fear, is that this is because of the NZT. She really, really hopes that it isn't.
She has no idea what she'll do if it is. What Brian will do.
He gets sick again on the ambulance, and is more confused than ever. One of the paramedics finally gets out of him that his head is hurting. Actually, what he says is, It's killing me.
"Can you give him anything? Can't you help?" Rebecca asks in a low voice, and the paramedic shoots her a sympathetic glance.
"They'll need to run some tests at the hospital and decide the best course of treatment. We're only a couple of minutes out, and they know we're coming. They'll be ready for him."
Rebecca is Brian's emergency contact, and they let her stay with him in the emergency room while they ask questions and get an IV placed and draw blood and check his vitals. Which is good, because if they'd tried to make her leave then she was fully prepared to pull out her FBI badge which is definitely against the rules. But this is Brian.
She does have to stay behind when they take him for the CT scan, so she take a second to call Naz with an update.
"Rebecca? How is he?"
"We're in the emergency room," Rebecca answers, and a lump rises in her throat. She swallows thickly. "They just took him for a CT scan to rule out..."
"A stroke," Naz finishes for her.
"Yeah," Rebecca says, voice barely above a whisper. She swallows again. "If this is because of the NZT--"
"He said the immunity shot was permanent."
"Maybe it isn't." Rebecca closes her eyes as dread washes over her in waves. "Maybe it isn't, and this is happening because he's been taking it on an almost daily basis, because I put him in this position."
"Rebecca." Naz's voice is firm. "This is not your fault."
Rebecca isn't sure she believes that. Is pretty positive, actually, that she doesn't.
"Tell me once you know more, okay?"
"Okay."
"Do you need anything?"
For Brian to be okay, Rebecca thinks. For this to never have happened. But what she says is, "No. Thanks. I'll call you as soon as I have an update."
She hangs up before Naz can try and make her feel better again. Minutes tick by as she waits for Brian to get back from the scan. She's seen the videos in the files. She's seen what happened to other NZT users. It's images from that awful footage that are flashing through her mind now, only with Brian's face on all of it. She tries to push the thoughts away, but without success.
When they bring Brian back, though, there isn't any blood on his teeth or slipping down his cheeks like tears. He's not throwing up anymore, either, thanks to the anti-nausea meds they'd given him earlier. He's still obviously in pain though.
"What did you find out?" Rebecca asks, and the man who'd just pushed the hospital bed back into the room looks over at her with a slight smile how is he smiling at a time like this?) and says, "The doctor will be in in a minute to talk things over."
Rebecca, who has a lot of experience with what in a minute usually means in a medical setting, is pleasantly surprised when the doctor steps in with impressive promptness.
"Well," she says. "I've got good news and good news for you, Brian. You aren't having a stroke."
Rebecca feels her shoulder muscles, which she hadn't even realized were tense, relax.
"I've had a look at your test results and your CT results came back just fine. You're experiencing a complex migraine. The dizziness, the light sensitivity, the speech changes—all of those can be caused by migraine. Your blood work showed that you're pretty dehydrated, so we're going to get some fluids in you. The other good news is now that we've ruled out a stroke, we can get you medication to help with your headache. Do you have any questions?" Brian shakes his head, and the doctor looks over at Rebecca. "What about you?"
"He's gonna be okay?" Rebecca says, and the doctor nods.
"He'll be fine. We'll get this bag of fluids into him and then one more after that, and if his head isn't hurting anymore we can probably get him home tonight."
Rebecca lets out a shaky breath. "That's-that's great! But...what cause the migraine?"
"It could be any number of things, so he'll want to be on the lookout for triggers. My guess, though, is that the heat today and the dehydration just took their toll on him. His GP can prescribe him medication for any future migraines that can hopefully keep him from ending up here again."
Rebecca waits until the pain meds have kicked in and Brian is sleeping before stepping into the hall to give Naz the good news.
whumpee being capture while wearing contacts. Can they take them out without a mirror? If they can then they're left without being able to see. Is it a little fuzzy? Cause ing whumpee to be frustrated with everything they see. Are they practically blind, only navigating their enverment through gauge shapes and colors. The headaches that come with not having your glasses. Maybe whumper wants to give whumpee their sight back but neither of the know whumpee's prescription and whumper cant just take whumpee to the optometrist
Real life whump idea for your OCs to make my suffering worth it for someone:
Multiple days of headaches, sometimes severe and sometimes simply an ongoing nuisance, over my left eye, behind my left ear, down the left side of my neck into my shoulder, because of having sat in a bad slouch for too long while stressed at work. A whumpee trapped in a dungeon or forced into bad posture or positions for hours on end might struggle with this same, seemingly small issue that gets worse and worse...
Pounding pain over my eye, around my eyebrows. Sharper pain up my temple and around my ear. Low ache in the crook of my neck and shoulder. Left eye a little stingy/watery.
Severe muscle knot in my shoulder/back making my left arm feel a little "off" and causing the pain thanks to the tension fucking with my nerves.
It will go for a few days until we can work out the knot completely, and eventually happen again next time I get stuck with a shitty chair on a bad day at work.
Do it to your whumpee, and perhaps this pain will pass from me to them.
Ash pressed his palm to his forehead, the pressure doing little to ease the relentless throb in his skull. His vision blurred momentarily, the room around him flickering as though the very air was vibrating with his pain. What was he doing again? His mind was sluggish, the fog thickening with each breath. Sam's voice cut through the haze, muffled and distant.
"Hey. You good over there?"
Ash’s hand stayed pressed to his forehead, fingers digging in, hoping for some relief that never came. The headache wasn’t new, but today it felt different—worse, like someone was pounding a hammer against the inside of his skull.
"Fine…" His voice cracked, strained, the word barely more than a rasp.
He heard the shuffle of boots, Sam’s crutch tapping softly against the floor. The sound was like a knife, each tap digging into his skull, sending fresh waves of pain through his temples. Sam was moving closer, leaning on the wall beside him. Ash wanted to wave him off, to brush it off as nothing, but the darkness in his vision was starting to spread, making it harder to keep his balance. He couldn’t pretend anymore.
"Pain’s getting worse, huh?" Sam’s voice softened, but there was no mistaking the concern behind it.
Ash squeezed his eyes shut, clenching his jaw against the wave of nausea that threatened to rise with the spinning sensation. The last thing he needed was someone hovering over him, but even his pride couldn’t mask how weak he felt. He let out a breath through his nose, fighting to stay grounded.
"Do I need to get Charlie?" Sam asked, quieter this time.
"No," Ash muttered, the word ragged and forced out like a reflex. He didn’t want Charlie anywhere near him—especially not like this. She’d see him as a malfunctioning tool again, something to be fixed and prodded.
Another crutch tap. Ash sucked in a breath, willing the sound away, but it only made the pressure in his skull spike. His body was already betraying him. His mouth was dry, his pulse pounding in his ears. He wasn’t sure if he could keep pretending.
"Alright. I’m gonna get Charlie," Sam said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument.
Ash’s eyes fluttered open, the room spinning violently. He tried to say something, anything, to stop him, but the words wouldn’t form. His breath caught in his throat, his voice little more than a low rasp. "Don’t," he whispered, but even to his own ears, it sounded weak—hopeless.
Sam didn’t wait for him to protest further. The door opened, and Ash heard him step into the hall, calling for Charlie. The sound of Sam’s footsteps was distant, swallowed by the haze that enveloped him. He wanted to shout, to tell Sam to stay, but his body had other plans. His legs gave out beneath him, and he slumped against the wall, barely holding himself up.
The darkness crept in again, thick and suffocating. Each pulse of pain felt like it might tear him apart from the inside. He couldn’t fight it anymore. His body sagged, surrendering to the blackness that claimed his senses.
He heard the door open again, Sam’s voice faint as he called again. There was an urgency in it, but Ash could barely process it, his body too weak, too consumed by the ache in his head. Charlie was coming. He could hear her now, quieter, deliberate steps as she moved toward him.
His body slid down the wall, his legs too weak to hold him up. He didn’t have the strength to fight it anymore. The pounding in his skull drowned everything else out. The last thing he registered before the world went black was the gentle touch of Charlie’s hand on his shoulder, a soft whisper of her voice as she knelt beside him.
