The Caretaker enters into the small apartment they and the Whumpee live in, calling out that they’re home. When they don’t get the usual, immediate response, they get nervous, calling the Whumpee’s name.
Walking into the living room, the Caretaker finds the Whumpee face down on the floor, not moving. The Caretaker rushes to their side, trying to get the Whumpee to open their eyes.
What they don’t hear is the Whumper’s footsteps right behind them.
“Take a rest, Caretaker,” the Caretaker whirls around, only to have a metal bat connect with the side of their head, knocking them out. The Whumper laughs as they put down their bat and pick up the Whumpee, “You deserve it for taking such good care of my [Whumpee’s nickname].”
c.w. dreaming of killing whumper to escape, some description of violence, forced to lie to protect whumper, mentions of past torture, psychological captivity
AO3
—
He had the stool ready, waiting under the staircase.
Waiting for those footsteps and the shadows they dragged with them, the wall braced him as he waited and waited, inhaling dust from the skirtboards in staccato breaths that were too loud. He would hear. He would know.
Sweat was starting to build between his palms and the metal but he couldn’t bring himself to loosen the grip. To make matters worse, a sneeze was coming on, his eyes were watering from the hollow dust and-
A mute gasp shot out as the stool clattered to the ground. His hands shot to shield his face as the blow of metal rang out into the room, pressing against his entire body as if it had been the impact of an explosion. Fuck. Terror locked his limbs until the walls had absorbed every echo and it was quiet again but even then he knew it wouldn’t be long before the lock flipped. He just knew.
Click. And that would be the last one he would ever have to hear again.
Fear crawled back up his throat when he reached down and grabbed it again, trembling so violently that his breathing felt louder than the footsteps coming down the stairs. The darkness, now his ally, hid him well.
Before he knew it, Nick had moved to the bottom of the stairs, scanning the room for him and Hayko wanted to laugh because for once, he wouldn’t get what he wanted. His captor made a noise of distaste until he seemed to stop, making sense of what was playing out.
Now.
Nick turned around according to script and before Hayko lunged, he caught a glimpse of fear in his eye just before the stool came down with such a clean weight onto his skull that the impact shook the air.
It was there and over so fast that he had fallen with the same fear he stood with and when there was no more movement, a choked sob fell into the pitch-black room, looking brighter by each second now.
He was free. He was fucking free and the basement, his tattered clothes, the fresh blood soiling his hands and the metal stool were all gone, vanished. But where had they gone to?
Hayko wished with his whole being that it didn’t matter but uneasiness began wrapping around him at the question because it suffocated his newfound freedom. There was no peace until he knew how everything was back to normal. It couldn’t be-
“Rise and shine, love. You are up, aren’t you?”
No. No, it had to be-
But it was too late to salvage it. The dream was gone.
Hayko blinked the tears and sleep out of his eyes and let the headrest of the car cushion the pain that always came back in pulses when he woke up. What he was expecting to feel - cold, hardwood flooring, crates, ropes - were all gone and an unfamiliar softness was in its place.
It was then that he realized he was in a car. Interestingly enough, not in the trunk.
He took a second to breathe in the ventilated air, feel it scrape down his throat and dig his fingers into the cushioned seat just to feel it. Just to make sure it was real.
“Where are we going?” he whispered with a voice hoarse from dehydration after the initial shock had worn off. “...I-I just want to know.”
They were cruising down the interstate in what looked like the west if it wasn’t so dark to make out the buildings. Nick drove with one hand draped over the steering wheel, disappointingly alive as he answered “Where I picked you up from” without even a look.
If he hadn’t been handcuffed, Hayko would have made sure they were both swerving into a tree just about then but the relief of being out of that shithole was almost too much to process. He didn’t know whether to prod the psychopath for answers or thank him.
No, that was no good. Don’t fucking thank him for the bare minimum. He kidnapped you and beat you and carved his fucking name-
He took a shivering breath, quiet enough that the ventilation overpowered it and one that Nick hopefully didn’t hear as he watched the road. It zipped by smoothly, markings on the road curving here and there in a way that was calming. God, how he had missed it. He didn’t know just how much he would miss the dance of road markings from a moving car until he saw them again. They were so simple, so inoffensive and a little faded but he had missed it still.
“What’s that you’re watching?” Nick asked, irritatingly curious.
“Road.”
“Again?”
“The road,” he repeated, careful with the tone.
“What’s so interesting about it, love?”
Nick glanced over with an eyebrow pricked curiously that Hayko missed but felt even as his eyes were turned to the pavement. The vibrations made him a bit nauseous but he didn’t want to look away because the alternative was worse. He didn’t know how to respond and felt no obligation to play his game now.
If only he could know the way his skull had split in half when the stool had come down onto it.
As the road zipped by, he felt his eyelids getting heavier with each bump and wanted to keep himself awake for if he was dropped off but there was always something else that could happen. He preferred to be asleep if that was the case.
“That’s it. Just close your eyes, Hayko. And...remember who you belong to now.” That voice lulled him too gently to ignore and the world was black again.
Voices. Real human voices.
“Holy shit. Jesus Christ is he-?...”
“I-I think he’s still breathing.”
“We need to call someone, oh my god.”
Why were they so distraught? He couldn’t look that bad. Though from unconsciousness, it was hard to tell just how bad the damage was. There had been head trauma, - too much of it - and he just fucking hoped it hadn’t caused any permanent damage.
After that, it was glimpses of a building, tall and public looking. Muddled pressure of hands all over, pulling, carrying, dragging. Flashes of fluorescents behind eyelids that pierced too much and they just went on and on for what seemed like a hallway.
Sounds of metallic tools and small punctures that weren’t in him, whirring around the room mixed with sharp orders and sounds of other patients, so far away that they brushed his ear. Hayko hadn’t been in a hospital for some time now, not since the last time he had swerved into a tree in high school but it hadn’t been as bad then and he hadn’t had to consider the consequences of telling the truth.
Eventually, his lungs expanded to undertones of bleach, eyes fluttering open to white tiled ceiling and voices mixed and low outside the room. The heart monitor’s rhythmic beeps brought him to quicker until he heard it speed up and propped himself back on his elbows to see plastic signs, a couple of trolleys, and- bandages. A lot of them too.
“I think he’s awake.” A hushed, frantic voice came from close to him where he hadn’t noticed a nurse standing and she looked shocked that he was even breathing.
He didn’t want to startle her anymore so he croaked out a small “Hey” before laying back against the pillow. He could have melted into the softness too. It wasn’t every day that he went around cherishing how a bed felt but nobody could know just how good one felt after four fucking days of sleeping on the ground.
“How are you feeling?” she asked softly, twisting the cap off a small medicine bottle with thin fingers. “I really hate to bug you more right now… You look like you could use the alone time but there are a few questions I need to ask and ones that the police have as well.”
“P-...police?” His eyebrows furrowed at her, ignoring the first question and watching her give an apologetic nod as she dropped a few tablets into her palm.
“Yeah, I’m sorry that they’re going to heckle you a little bit but we were really concerned because of how you were...erm...dropped off here.” She handed him the tablets softly, motioning to the glass of water on the nightstand when he took them. “It looks like whoever did this to you took off a few blocks from the hospital after they dropped you there.”
He didn’t like how she swallowed nervously as she explained the ordeal. It made him feel seen-through and he never had liked making people worried, even for his sake. What could the cops want to ask him? There was nothing to ask since they couldn’t know about it, right?
The nurse’s questions of medical history and what he could remember went one after another with cautious pauses in case he couldn’t keep up but his stiff answers seemed satisfactory enough. It was when she finished the list and left that he prepared himself to face whatever the second barrage of can you give us a name? and can you recall the events of the past few days? was lined up for him.
The first woman through the door though made him do a double-take and it was when he felt something familiar about how she carried herself that he pushed himself further up until he was sitting against the pillow for a better look.
“Afternoon sir.” Blanca’s voice was firm, a little jaded but it was clear she felt something looking at the state of him or at least something moved behind her dark eyes. “I hope this isn’t a hassle but there are a few questions we need to ask you.”
He took a deep breath as he nodded, keeping a look fixed on her and trying to figure out where he had last heard that smooth Cuban lilt from. “Yeah, um...sounds good. Sorry, ma’am, What’s your name? If you don’t mind.”
She looked a bit surprised but cleared her throat and answered “Just call me ASAC Iglesias” like it was automated at that point.
He gaped a bit, startled enough to sit quietly for a moment, putting together Iglesias and the man she was probably looking for now. Really, what are the odds? There were some instances that couldn’t just be a coincidence.
“Hey, do I know you from somewhere?” She crossed her arms over her chest, giving him a second look with narrow eyes as if he was hiding something but it was quickly replaced with a softer and less threatening smile. “I remember touring some kid volunteering a couple of years ago and I could have sworn he looked just like-”
“Like me. The volunteer parole officer, right?”
“Right. Say, that guy you were in charge of was a pain in the ass, wasn’t he? Hopefully, he didn’t give you too much grief because my memory’s running short here.”
He could have laughed hysterically or even a grim you have no idea but the creeping cold dread that washed over him as he was about to speak made him think twice. He didn’t have the luxury of joking freely about that time in his life or him anymore because the game of who could know had changed. As she was taking a seat with her set of questions lined up, Hayko’s heart began to race in preparation to make up a truth that would be comfortable for him.
“I’ve just got a few things to ask since we’ve been seeing increased gang activity in the city over the past few weeks and we suspect this might have to do with-”
He wasn’t listening but when asked if ready, swallowed hard and nodded, reaching to the glass of water with a barely disguisable shake in his hand.
Fic: Okay in the End
Fandom: Spider-Man (PS4 Video Game), Spider-Man (All Media Types)
Rating: T for dark subtext
Tags: Withdrawal, Angst, whump, hurt!Peter, traumatized!Peter, Dark, Post-Captivity, Little is said but a lot is implied
Summary: He hadn't wanted this. None of this was his fault. Not a moment went by that she didn't pity him.
A few days before the Whumpee is released from the hospital, the Caretaker paints their bedroom a soft shade of yellow in hopes that it will lift the Whumpee’s spirits while they’re still in the recovery process.
