A quick thought for whumpees in recovery: When they don't have a panic attack.
Something happens to set them off, and it gets close. They end up on the floor, forcing themselves to take deep breaths. Maybe a caretaker is nearby to talk them through it. Maybe there's a course of action they can take. Maybe they have a fluffy cat to cuddle. Either way, they manage to stop the panic attack before it starts.
Once they're fully calm, Whumpee is incredibly proud of themself. Once upon a time, that situation would have been debilitating. But now they're finally starting to get control over their own brain. It feels really good.
content: came back wrong, past trauma, panic attack whump
It was obvious. The fact that they had changed. Whumpee was acutely aware of it, even if Caretaker was too nice to point it out. Every breath they drew, every heartbeat, they were different now. Flinchier. More agitated.
"Whumpee?"
They jumped at the voice. They never used to jump at a simple call. They were broken now. Forever changed, no matter how much they tried to go back to before.
"Sorry," Caretaker said with a little, awkward laugh. "Didn't mean to scare you."
Everything scares me now.
"You didn't," they lied, and it was just as obvious as the fact that they had changed. "What's up?"
"I'm going to watch a movie, wanna join me?"
"Yeah, sure. What movie?"
"I found some old thriller. It's likely not very good."
I used to love thrillers.
"Okay. Let's see."
Whumpee couldn't make it past the first scene with blood in it. It started with their breathing picking up, followed by their racing heart. They had to look away because the room started spinning, blackness creeping in on the edges of their vision. Suddenly, they were back there. With Whumper.
"Stop the movie," they choked out. Caretaker obliged immediately.
"Are you okay?"
"Do I look okay?" they snapped.
"Whumpee, I'm so sorry. Hey, look at me. You're okay. It's just a movie."
Just a movie. Just a movie. Just a movie.
It took half an hour of rocking back and forth before they were ready to talk more. Caretaker stayed with them the entire time. It was humiliating.
"Sorry," Whumpee muttered once they'd calmed down. "I don't think I can watch that movie anymore."
"That's okay," they said gently. "Hey… You know I don't mind, right?"
"Don't mind what?"
Don't say I changed.
"Nothing. Forget I said anything. I'm just glad you're here."
Obsessed with the scenario of whumpee being told news (whumper's alive, escaped, ect) as their response is a calm "Okay," before quickly exiting the room.
Caretaker follows them, knowing despite their demeanor, they didn't take the news well. It didn't take long to find whumpee had only made it ten yards and was clinging to the wall in a panic attack.
Caretaker skids across the floor on their knees and scoops them up, quickly carrying them to a quiet room to calm down.
a imprisoned (possibly feral?) whumpee having a panic attack after waking up in the cell. Thrashing around in a blind panic, maybe hitting their head if in a tiny space. Maybe screaming for help. Caretaker finally being allowed to come in and calm them down.
“Hey, hey look at me. You’re okay, it’s okay. We’re gonna be okay. J-just breathe for me for a second, okay?”
Villain’s mouth curls into a smile as Hero presses him against the wall, one arm against his throat and the other holding a knife to his chest. Blood drips from the cut on his forehead into his eyes as he tries to take a breath in. Hero lets up just enough for him to fill his lungs before leaning into him again.
He bites his lip and tilts his head, “Feels good, doesn’t it?” he taunts hoarsely, baring his teeth. “Big man in the fight. Superhero didn’t train you…well enough because…I always have something up my sleeve.”
And in one swift movement, Villain pierces Hero’s stomach with a dagger.
She wails and pulls away from him, hand flying to her stomach. She doubles over and stares up at him.
Her blood coats his arm and soaks into his sleeve. He takes deep breaths and chuckles. He circles her and shoves her from behind.
Hero stumbles and falls against the wall. She leans against it, letting the concrete cool her down. She manages to raise her head and glare at Villain.
He smiles cruelly at her, wiping the blood from his eyes. He takes a step back and stands on the railing of the building. Tilting his head, he holds his arms out, “I’ll see you around.”
He leans back, staring at the sky and lets himself fall back as a fit of laughter explodes from his mouth.
Hero cries out and crawls to the edge of the building. She looks over the edge and sees Villain being pulled into one of the windows. She curses softly and looks down at her stomach.
The knife Villain plunged into her abdomen catches the light of the sun. If it were anywhere else, she would admire it. Groaning, Hero wraps her hand around the base of the blade and pushes herself to her feet.
The blade twists inside of her and she moans in pain. With too much effort, she unzips her inside breast pocket and pulls her phone out. The red battery icon flashes at her and she curses again, remembering back to that morning when Superhero reminded her to charge her phone.
She closes her eyes and sends a silent plea out, “Please let me have enough battery to make a call.”
She dials Superhero’s number and he picks up on the second ring. “Hellooo~!” He says in a singsong voice. “Are you going to be late to dinner?”
She inhales shakily and looks down at the dagger. The tone changes and Superhero clears his throat. “Hero? What’s wrong?”
She sniffles and slides down the concrete wall, watching as the blade’s hilt glistens in the dying sunset. The concrete is warm on her back and she closes her eyes. “I need you to come pick me up.”
Superhero pauses, waiting for her to say anything else. “What’s wrong?”
“I was…you were wrong. I wasn’t ready for Villain. He…uh, he stabbed me.”
“Fuck,” Superhero whispers. There’s some rustling and a door slams, “I’m on my way. Stay on the phone with me, Hero. Don’t hang up.”
She nods and looks at the battery again, “My phone’s almost dead.”
“I told you to charge it.” he says in a tone that could almost make her forget about the current situation. Where she’s bleeding out. With a knife in her stomach. Almost.
“Sorry,” she says, sliding down the wall further. “I forgot.”
Frowning, Hero waits for him to answer, but he doesn’t. Biting the inside of her cheek, Hero stares at the sky and finds her lucky star. The one she always looks for when things are bad and wishes for them to get better.
She closes her eyes and lowers her hand to her lap, letting the phone slip out from her fingers. She inhales deeply and sighs, “Please don’t let me die.”
“You’re not dying,” Superhero snaps, panic edging into his voice. “You’ll be fine.”
Hero almost laughs. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”
“Who was?” full blown panic now. “Is there someone there?”
Hero looks in front of her and then down at her stomach. There’s too much blood. “I’m talking to the star.”
Her head feels heavy. Her thoughts are slow and it’s too hard to stay sitting up. She lets herself slump over and the skin around the dagger stretches, letting more blood spill out of her.
“Superhero?” she whispers, looking down at the phone.
“I’m still here.”
“...”
She hears his rapid breathing over the phone and she feels bad, but her mouth won’t open. Tears spill from her eyes and she stares back at the sky. The last rays of sun shine warmly on her face and she closes her eyes.
“Hero!?” Superhero’s voice is frantic. He’s running up stairs, she can tell. “Hero, I'm almost there, stay awake!”
She wants to.
The door gets pushed open and Superhero’s boots clunk on the rooftop. He scans the roof and rushes up to Hero.
Her phone falls from her lap into the puddle of blood around her, the screen dark.
“Fuck!” He shouts, laying her down on her back.
The blade protrudes from her stomach and her shirt around it is soaked in blood. He stares at her chest, looking for any movement to show she’s still breathing.
“Come on, Hero. You’re fine.” he insists. “You’re fine.” He scoops her up in his arms and stands, her arms dangle limply below her.
Without much effort, Superhero runs back down the staircase to his car. He places Hero gently in the back seat and jumps in the driver’s seat.
The tires squeal as he hurries to the hospital, constantly looking back at her.
He jumps out of the car and pulls her from the back of his car, ignoring the blood stains now in his seat.
The doors to the Emergency Room open slower than they ever have. He shouts at the woman behind the desk at the entrance, “I need some help over here!”
She jumps to her feet and shouts something behind her.
“What happened?” she asks, hand hovering over the dagger.
Before he can answer, someone runs up with a gurney and helps him set her down on it. They cart her off with promises to keep him updated.
He wants to follow them, he should.
But his feet are glued to the floor.
Blinking rapidly, Superhero looks at the woman from the desk as his chest heaves. She takes a deep breath and smiles warmly.
“They’ll take good care of her. Are you up for some paperwork?”
His brows furrow and she must take it as a yes, because she takes his arm and sits him down in one of the uncomfortable hospital waiting room chairs before disappearing behind her desk.
She reappears with a small stack of papers on a clipboard, “Take as long as you need. There’s coffee and a charging station right around the corner and I’ll be up at my desk if you have any questions.”
Superhero frowns and stares at the sheet in front of him and blinks a few times. He clicks the pen and starts to conquer the stack.
~
Someone taps Superhero’s shoulder and he bolts awake. The nurse that took Hero back stands in front of him. He nods and Superhero stands up. “She’ll be alright with a lot of rest. There was quite a lot of blood loss, we’re lucky we got her back.”
“Got her back?” he repeats.
The nurse nods, “We lost her for a minute, but she’s a fighter. You can come sit in her room, if you want.”
Nodding, Superhero follows the nurse to the elevator and stares silently at the lit up arrow above the door as the number increases.
Finally, the elevator stops and the door opens. The nurse leads him to a room and opens the door.
“She’ll be sleeping for a while, but it’ll be good for her to wake up to a familiar face.” he says, flipping a dim lamp on. “Push the call button if you need anything. Nurses will be in and out all night to check in with her and the doctor should be in early this morning.”
Superhero falls onto the couch in front of the window and stares at Hero, smaller than ever and drowning in the hospital blankets. Machines in the room beep every few seconds. He sighs and pulls his legs up onto the couch, “You’re fine.” he says. “You’re gonna be fine. They got her back and she’s fine.”
He can’t catch his breath.
“Calm down,” he snaps at himself, trying to slow his heart. “She’s fine, you’re fine. They got her back. She’s gonna be fine.”
His hands cover his face and he stares at her through his fingers, “She’s fine.”
He thinks back to their conversation. She was so scared, she wasn’t ready.
He sent her out to fight Villain and she wasn’t ready.
“Stop.” He scolds himself and hits the side of his head. “She’s fine. You’re fine.”
He inhales sharply and stares at Hero. “They got her back.”
Slowly, he exhales and closes his eyes. His hands tangle in his hair and he pulls it taut, his scalp pulls and he inhales deeply.
“You’re fine.” Another deep breath.
He opens his eyes and watches the steady rise and fall of her chest. “She’s fine.”
I've got another Project Hail Mary fic that I've been working on. This one is a standalone that I wrote specifically for this event. I'll probably post it on AO3 at some point.
Summary: The Eridian scientists manage to alter the weather in the dome to include a thunderstorm. For Grace, it brings up memories of the incident at Adrian. (Fic under the cut.)
Grace didn’t know how the Eridians did it. Yes, they had succeeded in creating fog and rolling tides and sunny days and starry nights – those last two weren’t all that hard, of course, but it still amazed Grace that they could do it at all. But today, they’d outdone themselves.
It was raining.
Starting light, sprinkling and intensifying to heavy, torrential. A downpour. It hammered on the roof of his house as Grace sat on the couch, trying to ignore the lurking memories of Adrian.
Where…is that noise…coming from?
Noise is from all around! It’s loudest at portside of bedroom.
He breathed in, deep and steadying. The smell of petrichor through the open window filled his nose. The simulated sky was dark, clouded over. Grace wasn’t sure if it was just a projection or if the Eridians somehow found a way to produce the thick cumulonimbus clouds that now loomed overhead. Either way, it was convincing.
A knock at the door startled him from his thoughts.
“It’s open.” Grace called out.
The door opened and shut, and he looked over to see Rocky standing there, rain sparkling like crystals on his xenonite suit. Rocky shook himself like a dog, water droplets scattering everywhere.
Grace groaned. “Really? Do you have to do that inside? Come on, man.”
“If shake outside, will still be wet.” Rocky sang, as if that was the most logical thing in the world.
“Yeah, but now the house is wet.”
Rocky tapped his foot on the floor. “House seems fine.”
Grace rolled his eyes and sighed. “I can just get you a towel. That way, you won’t—”
Thunder rumbled.
Grace flinched. Stared wide-eyed out the window.
“Grace, question? Heart is too fast. Why distressed, question?”
Trying to catch his breath, Grace shut his eyes for a moment. Inhale, exhale. He bit his lip and opened his eyes.
“Uh, I-I’m okay.” Before Rocky could call him out on his blatant lie, Grace said, “The Eridians made a thunderstorm. Th-That’s…new.”
Rocky stood straighter. “Yes, yes, yes.” He bounced with every musical note. “We find on Earth thinking machine. You like, question?”
Another roll of thunder stole his answer. This one was louder, longer. Threatening. Every part of him tensed. Grace whimpered.
Rocky squeaked. “You are hurt, question?” He climbed up onto the couch, one foot tapping against the cushions.
Grace couldn’t get the reassuring words to form past the lump in his throat, the hammering of his heart. Another crash of thunder. A flash of green. Violent thumping, rumbling.
Gravity is tearing the ship apart!
Lightning snaked across the sky. Sparks flying. His seat throwing him forward. Grace felt the scream rip from his throat. Raw and burning. His arms flew up to cover his head. The ship spinning and spinning, plummeting. He curled into a ball. His head pounding. LCD screens flashing their warnings through a straight streak of blood.
Adrian, their emerald beacon of hope, stealing away their fuel.
Rocky’s voice shrieking his name. A terrified chorus, a desperate litany. His claw touched Grace’s arm, smooth xenonite on tense skin. Not quite the same place. Grace yelped. Expected his flesh to sizzle. Static crept in at the edges of his vision.
“Grace, breathe breathe breathe.”
His breaths were too shallow. Panting. Chest tight as he trembled.
“Stop thunderstorm! Grace is distressed. No more storm. Bad bad bad.”
Through the flashes of the Hail Mary’s damaged control room, Grace could hear the thunder stop mid-rumble, the rain slow to a soft patter then vanish into the fog that rolled through in its place. The sun didn’t exactly shine through, but it was lighter outside.
And silent.
With the thunder gone, Grace sucked in a breath through gritted teeth with greedy lungs. It shuddered and hitched, but one breath led to another. To another. Chasing away the memories of crushing gravity and rhythmic pounding and Rocky’s screams. He was still shaking, still curled up. But he lowered his arms and wrapped them around himself.
Rocky took a tentative step forward. “You are back, question?”
Grace nodded. He squeezed his eyes shut against the tears forming. One slipped free.
“You are leaking. You need hug, question?”
Again, he nodded.
He felt Rocky climb into his lap, pushing his knees so he wasn’t so curled up, and slipped under Grace’s arms. Instead of hugging himself, he was now hugging Rocky. The sobs tore free from his control, wracking through him. Grace pressed his forehead to the warm xenonite suit, trying to focus on the weight holding him together, anchoring him here, as he shook. He wasn’t on the Hail Mary anymore, no longer adrift in space. The gravity, while a little heavier than what he was used to, wasn’t trapping him against the console, wasn’t dragging him back to the planet Adrian. He was in his house in his dome on Erid. Home. Safe.
As his sobs died down, Grace realized Rocky was singing. It was a song he always hummed when Grace was distressed. A gentle melody, soft and steady. Grace fought to match his panting breaths to the rhythm, slowing down to keep pace through the sharp pains of overworked lungs.
Rocky paused his singing, and Grace mourned the loss of the calming metronome. “You are okay now, question?”
“Y-Yeah. Sorry.”
Rocky cocked his carapace. “Why sorry, question?”
“I didn’t mean to f-freak out. You and the scientists did a nice thing for me, and I… I ruined it.” He looked away and tried not to think of his mad dash across the compound, of Stratt’s disappointment, of Carl’s final words to him. “Just like I ruin everything.”
“You no ruin. Thunderstorm bad bad bad. Distresses you. I make sure they no make thunderstorm again. Only fog. Fog is calm and good.”
Grace chewed his lip. “Can you, um, can you keep the rain? I don’t mind the rain. Just…maybe not so hard?”
“Yes yes yes.” Rocky let out a trill. “We keep rain. I talk with scientists about altering. No loud weather.” There was a short pause before Rocky, sounding more subdued, asked, “You want to talk about fear of storm, question?”
Grace hunched his shoulders. “I-It’s the noise. It…reminds me. Of Adrian. The planet. The fuel…” He shook his head.
Rocky held him tighter, a tremor coursing through his carapace. “Bad bad bad memory.”
“Yeah.”
“Just a memory. We are on Erid. We are safe.”
They remained curled around each other as Rocky resumed his serene song. Grace shifted down until his head rested on a throw pillow, his back to the window. He shivered against the memories. Rocky kept him warm.
