A group of friends trying to patch Whumpee’s wounds on their abdomen. Whumpee being either really strong or not human, needing to have all four friends holding them down on the couch.
Two are each holding an arm above Whumpee’s head, while the other two are each seated on their thighs trying to keep them still while they get to work on the wounds. Whumpee a writhing, sweaty, groaning mess.
A character struggling to hold an injured character down so that another can tend to their wounds, going from restraining them with just firmly-grasped hands, maybe only to the affected limb, to leaning more of their weight down upon them, to fully laying across the struggling, bucking, writhing character to pin them to the surface they're laying on with their full weight, pressing them into the mattress or dirt or boards, digging in a shoulder or knee for extra leverage, fighting to hold them still to prevent further injury and allow the other tending character to work.
An ill or injured character who must be strapped or tied down to the bed and restrained for their own good- repeatedly tearing at wounds and dressings when their hands are free; liable to tear delicate stitches or displace a tenuously-set broken bone with the slightest shifting; deliriously attempting to get out of bed with no regard for their condition- whether through delirium or moving in their sleep or stubbornness to the point of a death-wish; no matter the cause or their distress at the sensation, it's outweighed by the physical necessity of preventing them from moving around.
Follows this piece. August has a fever and needs to be held down while the doctor cleans his wound. Painful but necessary caretaking. No one handles it well. @alittlewhump beta read.
Theo stopped at the top of the stairs, favouring the left side of the step to avoid the creak. Shadows of the banister spanned the hallway like Roman columns. Stretching onto the ceiling as though they’d been cast by flame, soot left in their wake. It lent an air of grandeur, as though he might find champions or gladiators reclined after a battle instead of a gaggle of misfits, sloshed and lucky if they made it onto a bed. Door open, closed, or ajar served little indication of the state of what lay beyond.
There wasn’t a room in the house Theo hadn’t stayed in for some length of time over the five years since they’d had it. He was always the one to trade if there were tensions between roommates, happy to give up a room to himself if someone sick or injured needed it, and was usually the first to share with a new addition to help them settle in. Normally, that would have meant August taking the spare bed in the room at the end of the hall with him but nothing about August’s arrival had been normal.
He started at the room next to his. Hugh would already be awake. The youngest in their ranks was the lightest sleeper and the only one who never drank as a hard and fast rule.
“Can you come down?” he whispered, glancing over at Jack to make sure he hadn't disturbed him. Unlikely, given the fact that he smelled like a distillery.
Hugh nodded, brow furrowing but he didn't pause to ask questions.
Finding a second recruit wasn’t as straightforward. Those on the clock would be sober but with posts all over this side of the city, it would take too long to get word to one of them.
Theo jumped when Hugh appeared at his side, dressed and ready. And looking all too proud in his ability to sneak up on others.
“Were you at the pub earlier?” Theo asked, keeping his voice low. “Do you know who else—”
“What going on?” Alfred came out of his room, looking irate at being disturbed even though he was fully awake. “His pacing sounds like a drum line. Did the little spy run off with all the notes from the safe?”
“We need another pair of hands to help with something downstairs.”
“I’ll do it.”
“We need someone sober.”
“Haven’t had a drop,” Alfred said, crossing his fingers over his heart in mock seriousness. “One of us real grown-ups—no offense, Hughey—”
Hugh shrugged, more occupied with what exactly he’d been volunteered for.
“—Had to stay clear-headed with Wyatt gone off the rails.”
“Don’t I count?”
“Thought you’d be catching up on sleep after the docks.”
“Oh…thanks.” Theo couldn’t help but be impressed, though the reason for it was less than ideal.
“Yeah, I’m likely to be sainted any day now. So, what are we doing?”
Downstairs, August lay on the dining table, still dead to the world in his fevered state. Doc was setting out all manner of instruments beside him, bright and sharp. Wyatt’s fists tightened with each addition, his percussive footsteps echoing through the room.
What with the mantle of responsibility he shouldered, Wyatt was never far when someone in the house was hurt. Be it on a job or a foolish mishap, he took pains to stick around for them to get stitched up. A hand on their shoulder, a flask ready at their side. Grim-faced and tense as though he truly shared in their pain. But every time the dining room was transformed into an operating theatre, one would think he’d never seen blood.
Alfred crossed his arms in the doorway. “You’re not fucking serious. This is what you pulled us out of bed for?”
Wyatt stilled with his back turned.
“Take it easy,” Theo warned. To one or both, he wasn’t certain.
Hugh grimaced from behind Alfred, eyes darting to Theo’s.
“Unless this is to pick up where we left off—”
“Where you left off?” Wyatt grated. “If you hadn’t been so heavy-handed, he might not be this bad off.”
“I still think he got off easy.”
“Excuse me?”
As the battle lines were drawn, Hugh ducked through the doorway, seeking neutral ground beside Theo. Or, rather, just slightly behind him.
“We could have gotten a lot more out of him.”
Wyatt whirled. “Of course it didn’t occur to you to simply ask. That all of the scars—” He gestured to the boy in question, prone on the table, looking for all the world to be on his deathbed for how frail he was. “Not to mention the fresh wound bigger than his own hand on his side—might be an indication that he would more than happily flip on Keats.”
“I—well—”
Too slow. “Your impulsivity once again leads to unfavourable consequences. This is becoming a pattern.”
Alfred was still floundering. This was usually the moment—
“And you?” Alfred countered. “This isn’t the first time you’ve shown yourself more loyal to some stranger.”
—things got worse.
Theo held up his hands. “All right, Doc’s—”
“Loyalties?” Wyatt took a step forward, rising to the bait and bringing his voice along with him. “You’re speaking to me of loyalties?”
Alfred held his ground, matching the volume. “You can’t expect us to blindly follow your lead when you’ve been locked in your room with some stray and we don’t know what the fuck’s going on.”
“I have done more than enough to earn your trust.”
“And not a damn thing to keep it.”
“Unbelievable. Do you refuse to see the consequences of your actions before you? In what way would this fill me with confidence? All this has shown me is that you lack any sense of discernment.”
“Fuck off,” Alfred yelled. “I was doing what any of us would have done. You’re the one hiding something! Ever since the warehouse, you’ve been different. Are you working for Keats? Is that why you came down to ‘rescue’ his man?”
Wyatt lunged, shoving Alfred against the wall. “Accuse me of treachery one more time.”
Alfred swallowed, suddenly more selective of his words though he didn’t concede to the threat of Wyatt’s hands so near his throat by raising his own in defence. “You ask us to trust you but you don’t extend that same trust to us,” he spat.
Theo took a step forward. “Why don’t we—”
“Fuck off your high horse,” Alfred said at the same time Wyatt growled, “Stay out of this.”
Theo held up his hands, retreating. Hugh grimaced, looking ready to cut and run. This was absolutely going to make matters worse but fine, let them beat the shit out of each other, see if he cared.
Alfred fists tightened at his sides. “I think—”
“As entertaining as this is,” Doc interrupted, pausing to look at them flatly, demonstrating just how unamused he found it. “Time is of the essence. Can we begin or will we need to find another set of hands?”
“There is no one else,” Alfred said, still glaring at Wyatt. “The boys were doing forfeits tonight.”
Wyatt held his ground one beat longer than necessary before releasing him wordlessly and turning his back to check on August.
Alfred fumed.
So that’s how it was going to be.
“Alright, let’s each of you take hold of him,” Doc instructed. Alfred, the strongest holding his hips. Hugh held his ankles. Wyatt and Theo on either shoulder and wrist.
“Are… are you s-sure this is necessary?” Hugh asked. “He’s o-out c-cold.”
In truth, it felt ridiculous, taking such positions around the ghost of a boy on the table, but August came to immediately, “No, no, no!” He twisted easily out of Theo’s underestimated grip.
“Shit!” Theo narrowly avoided getting bitten trying to catch the boy’s shoulder again.
Hugh and Alfred scrambled to regain a hold as he fought. August would have fallen off the table completely if Wyatt hadn’t caught him by the waist, keeping him still long enough for Alfred to pin his hips again.
“Steady lads.” Doc had his trousers almost to his knees which had the benefit of restricting his movements some, though he fought all the more for what ground he lost.
“Please!” He kicked Hugh squarely in the chest when his ankle was released for the underbreeches to be taken all the way off, sending him staggering backwards.
But as soon as Doc finally pulled away the fabric, he fell still, eerily so. If his breath wasn’t so audibly fast and ragged, Theo would have wanted to check it was there at all.
One by one, they released him, watching his expression closely but his eyes remained closed, limbs as limp as before they’d started. Doc covered him with a sheet, folding one side to the middle to reveal the wound.
Alfred hissed in a breath. “That ain’t pretty.”
Theo made sure not to look.
Wyatt was as white as the aforementioned sheet, which did not bode well. He turned away, putting one hand against the wall and covering his brow.
“All right, Hughey?” Theo asked.
He nodded, expression tight. His gaze was stuck on August’s sleeping face, like he was trying to figure out how someone who looked near death could put up such a fight.
Doc pushed his rolled sleeves up and ran his thumbs under his braces. He met Theo’s gaze and then glanced at Wyatt, eyebrows lifting. “Let’s give him a minute to rest while I step out for a smoke, then we start.”
Alfred and Hugh all but jumped to follow him. Hugh didn’t even smoke but Theo understood his desire to escape this room. He was itching for a cigarette himself but Wyatt needed him more.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t as restful a moment as prescribed.
Every few breaths, August would whimper, tossing his head back and forth. “No more. Please, master. Please, no more.”
And each time, Wyatt would soothe, “Hush, lamb,” and place the boy’s limp hands on the bedsheets that covered him. “Nothing like that’s going to happen.”
No sooner than August recognised himself to be swathed in the sheets, would he fall out of consciousness again. Only to come round once more, moments later and repeat the whole process.
“August, lad, just rest.” Wyatt swept the hair off August’s forehead and the boy’s face crumpled, a sob escaping his lips.
“Please, master,” he whimpered.
Wyatt stopped stroking his temple but the younger boy only sobbed anew at the departure, turning his head to chase the touch.
“For Christ’s sake,” Wyatt breathed, hand hesitating in the space between them. He curled his fingers into a fist but not before Theo saw them tremble. Wyatt’s red-rimmed eyes flicked up to his and then to the door. He sat up straighter, burying his hands in his pockets.
“He’ll not remember,” Theo said, rounding the table and keeping his voice low enough that the others coming down the hall wouldn’t hear. “You’re doing right by him.”
Silent tears started to fall steadily down August’s cheeks, his brow still creased in distress.
Theo wondered if Wyatt was going to make it through this. He would have suggested he step out for some air but they were out of time.
Doc instructed them back to their positions. “Let’s get this over with, lads.”
“Pleasepleaseplease—no-no—” August’s eyes flew open as soon as they laid hands on him again but this time they were more prepared.
The display of force against someone so vulnerable left a bitterness in Theo’s already-sour stomach. His fingers well overlapped the younger boy’s delicate wrist.
“It’s imperative he remain still,” Doc reminded, raising his voice over August’s protests. “I don’t want to cause any more damage than has already been done.”
“This gonna hurt?” Alfred asked, looking to Wyatt.
But Wyatt only had eyes for August.
He was sobbing, pleading only growing more pitiful. “No more, master. Please, I beg of you, I can’t—no more—”
“Ready?” Doc asked.
As ready as they’d ever be, which was to say not in the least. This was considerably worse than any of the times they’d held down a fellow comrade, drunk to his gills, so Doc could dig out a bullet.
August howled when Doc’s blade met his wound. He thrashed against their hands with renewed vigour, twisting and pulling, desperate to find a point of escape. There was no question he’d have bruises for how hard he fought but Theo began to fear he’d wind up with worse, feeling the bones of his wrist twisting and grinding in his grip.
“Fuck fuck fuck—”
“W-why… why hasn’t he p-passed out yet?” Hugh asked, raising his voice to be heard.
“He’s fighting it,” Doc said without looking up.
Alfred snorted. “We’re shit out of luck if it’s as hard as he’s fighting us.”
“Godfuckingdamnit—”
Doc paused to clean the blade and August stilled, breath ragged. He looked into their faces, one by one, as though he were looking for one he recognised. Wyatt took pains to angle his face away, gaze locked on his fingertips, white where he gripped August’s shoulder to keep him immobilised.
August’s eyes were still glassy when they locked onto Alfred’s. “Please, please,” he begged breathlessly. “I’ll tell you anything. Just make it stop—” He screamed when Doc started again, head falling back onto the table with a thud, arching his spine and trying to twist away. “Nnngh—Make it stop!”
“Interesting,” Alfred said, again looking to see what rise he could get out of Wyatt. “What have you got?”
“I’ll not have you turning a medical procedure into an interrogation,” Doc said flatly.
Alfred wouldn’t drop it. “If he’s willing to share…”
“Please, anything you want—” August lifted his head again, gaze settling on Theo this time. “I’ll do anything!”
“I’m sorry,” Theo told him, beginning to feel as though they’d had a hand in the original injury, torturing him so. It was grotesque.
“I’ll make it good—Ah! Fuckk—nnnnghh—I can show you such a good time—”
Hugh made a choked sound in his throat, drawing August’s attention.
“Don’t let them do this—” Tears started running down his face, voice straining as he held back sobs. Hugh looked to Wyatt but he wouldn’t look up. “Please, please, I can’t do this again. I can’t—” August’s words grew incoherent, mangled by cries that sounded as though they might tear his very lungs. He pinched his eyes shut, shaking his head back and forth, fingers clawing at the air with every pass of the blade.
Theo hoped he was reaching his limit, that he might finally lose consciousness, and be saved some suffering. He must ask Wyatt about the chloroform later.
“The infection is deeper than I thought.” Doc paused again, raising his voice to be heard over August’s sobbing. “It’ll be a bit longer.”
“Please, please, sir.” He’d found Wyatt this time. Had to lift his head and crane it back, bearing his whole throat, to catch his gaze. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, rushing to speak before Doc started again. “Please. I’m yours, sir. I don’t need it. I know I’m yours, sir. I’ll never run! I promise, sir. I swear. Please—”
August slammed his head against the table when the blade found him again, his expression twisting in pain. When he opened his eyes again, they were even less focused, tears running steadily down his temples but he still looked in Wyatt’s direction.
Wyatt stared right past him, refusing to engage.
“You promised,” August cried hoarsely. “You can’t even look at me. You lied. You’re just like him.” Alfred had the gall to force a laugh but even that didn’t get a reaction from Wyatt. August sobbed, squeezing his eyes shut as though he couldn’t bear to look at Wyatt anymore either.
Theo hoped he might slip into unconsciousness now but he lifted his head, cracking it down on the table.
Wyatt closed his eyes.
August hit his head against the table again.
And again. And again.
“You’ll need to put a stop to that,” Doc said without looking up.
“Stop him how?” Theo asked. “If we let go—”
“Now!”
As soon as Theo let go of his shoulder, August twisted against the hold on his wrist, lifting more of his right side off the table and using the momentum to slam his head even harder against the table. For a moment he was still, seeing stars.
“Jesus Christ, Theo. That’s definitely worse,” Alfred said.
“Oh, piss off,” Theo snapped, pinning August’s shoulder again while he was still dazed but it was only seconds before August was beating his head against the table again. “Doc, maybe if you give him a break—”
“I’m nearly finished. Just manage it.”
“Wyatt, can you give me a hand?” Theo released August’s wrist instead, clapping his free hand over the boy’s forehead but as soon as he did, August reached up to claw his neck and face.
“Ow! Fuck!” The feral thing managed to draw blood and catch him in the eye. He grabbed August’s wrist again but of course the lad slammed his head into the table again as soon as Theo had let go.
Hugh started shaking his head, eyes flicking between August and Wyatt.
“Wyatt,” Theo shouted. “Fucking do something! Anything!”
He was a statue at August’s side.
“Shit. I think he’s made himself bleed.” Theo leaned over and sure enough, there were splotches on the sheet. “Doc—”
“For fuck’s sake,” Alfred groaned. “I’ll pin him so you can stop him caving his head in. Hold on—” He hooked his foot around one of the chairs and pulled it up to the table.
And Theo had thought this couldn’t possibly get worse for August. “You can’t be serious—Hugh, you gotta hang on. We need you with us.”
Hugh pinched his eyes shut, giving up on any reassurance from Wyatt, his shoulders up to his ears like he wanted to block out the sounds too.
“Wyatt,” Theo tried one more time. “Please, we need you. Help us.”
Alfred already had one knee on the table but before he could straddle August’s thighs, Wyatt caught the back of August’s neck. He took hold of the boy’s hand, bringing his arm up across his chest and using it to keep him down.
“August, look at me. I—” Wyatt cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I know it hurts but we have no choice.”
“I—I don’t—I don’t believe you,” he managed to gasp, breath thin and quick now that he’d doubled his pain.
“I know.” His voice was as hollow as his gaze but August was in no position to notice.
The lad let his eyes fall closed, tears still streaming down his face. Wyatt held him fast and little more than a few whimpers escaped his lips as Doc finished.
“The worst part is over,” Doc finally said. “I’ll just—”
Wyatt let go of August and walked out.
“I—sir—” His eyes swam as he tried to look for Wyatt.
“Unfuckingbelievable,” Alfred grumbled.
Hugh looked even more cross than Alfred.
“Just…hang on—” Theo gingerly released August and, once certain he was staying still, hurried after Wyatt.
It had just begun snowing outside. A dusting of white covered the messy streets, blurring all of the roughness of the city and leaving a clean slate to glow under the street lights.
“Wyatt!” Theo called to stop him before he disappeared into the flurry.
He paused but didn’t turn.
“You can’t leave, not now. Not after that.”
Nothing.
Theo curled his fingers into fists. “Are you so blinded by whatever hold August has on you that you can't see what's going on?” He was yelling but still Wyatt wouldn’t turn. “We’ll be lucky if we see Hugh inside a fortnight and Alfred’s ready to—”
“Go back.” Not a request, a command.
Theo’s blood boiled.
Wyatt pulled his collar up and started walking but paused again. “For me,” he added, half turning toward Theo for a moment.
“This isn’t how we do things,” Theo called back but he was just shouting into the wind.
