hyperventilating | waking up disoriented | "I just need a hug"
april is the cruelest month day 30
characters: hero and villain
warnings: cursing, captive whumpee, nightmare
675 words
~
Hero stares at the ceiling, hand under her head as she watches the ceiling fan spin. She blinks slowly and turns her head to look at the clock.
With a sigh, she runs a hand over her face and mumbles, “It’s too damn late to still be awake. Come on, fall asleep.”
As soon as she says it, she looks at Villain, sleeping next to her, and watches for any signs of him waking up.
After deciding he’s still deep asleep, Hero smiles softly and rolls over onto her side and stares at him. Her fingers ghost over freshly-pink scars on his arms as she watches his chest rise and fall slowly.
His brow furrows and he shakes his head, Hero curses herself, she did wake him up.
“Stop,” he mutters, hand curling into a fist at his side. “Stop it.”
He’s having a nightmare. What’s Hero supposed to do? Let him sleep through it? Isn’t it dangerous to wake someone up when they’re having a nightmare? No, that’s sleepwalking. Right?
She could look it up, that might work. But after a few seconds of trying to turn her phone on, including holding down the power button, a red battery icon shows up and Hero groans in frustration.
She gently puts a hand on his arm, hoping it would offer comfort. Should she wake him up?
He shakes his head and the rise and fall of his chest starts to quicken.
Fuck it.
She sits up and turns on her side, propping herself up with her elbow and puts a hand on his chest.
“Villain,” She whispers, tapping his chest softly with her thumb. “Wake up, you’re having a nightmare.”
“No,” He mumbles, pushing her hand off of him. “No stop.”
Her fingers wrap around his arm and she shakes him gently, “You’re having a nightmare. You’re in bed with me, it’s alright.”
Villain springs up, ripping his arm out of Hero’s grip and he struggles to get a breath in. His knees draw up to his chest and he holds his head in his hands.
“Supervillain?” He manages, tucking his chin to his chest. “Where-where are we?”
Hero sits up and scoots up next to him in the bed, leaning her head on his shoulder. He tenses and curls more into himself, slowly gaining control of his breathing.
“It’s me,” She says, snaking her arm around him and pulling him closer to her, “You’re with me, not Supervillain. Don’t worry, you’ll never see her again.”
Villain makes a strangled sound and he tries to pull away from Hero, but she tenses her arm around him, making it nearly impossible for him to get away.
“Stop it,” He whimpers, barely loud enough for her to hear. “Let me go.”
Instead, she wraps her other arm around his front and presses herself against him. She inhales deeply and sighs.
Villain cries softly, chest heaving with every hurried breath between sobs.
“Shhh, you’re alright,” She says, rubbing his shoulder with her thumb. “I just need a hug, then I’ll let go.”
Every muscle in his body tenses and he screws his eyes shut, “Please stop,” he whispers, voice shaking. “Please let me go-” he cuts himself off.
‘Let me go home.’ The word feels sour in his mouth, like him saying it would ruin its meaning, so he doesn’t.
Hero slowly releases him, pulling her arms away from him and into her lap. She leans her head on his shoulder again and sighs.
“Bad dream?” She asks.
Villain takes a shaky breath and shakes his head. He screws his eyes shut and swallows a sob. “No.”
Hero hums softly and lays back down, then pulls him down next to her with the collar of his shirt and curls up next to him, a soft smile on her face.
Tears well in Villain’s eyes, blurring his vision. His heart aches as he thinks of Supervillain, alone at home, nobody to yell at the T.V. with, nobody to try her…eccentric food experiments. All alone, worried and hopefully looking for him.
A whumpee wakes up in a comfortable bed, quilts piled atop their body, their injuries bandaged up. They blink away the smudged hazes from their vision as they groan. They piece together what had happened, no matter how traumatic it was, trying to remember what they had been through, but how did they end up being so fortunate to survive and end up in a soft, cozy bed?
Machines are beeping, footsteps walking in and out of the room. Someone talks to another person, but they can't hear out anything they are saying.
Whumpee remembers the coldness in the cell they had been sitting in for weeks. Their body throbbed and hurt with every breath they took, now they are warm and ... painless.
Is this death?
It takes a few more moments for them to finally open their heavy lids, the room is not as bright as they anticipated. The talking stops and someone rushes to their sides.
There are hands on them, warm and gentle. Whumpee's throat hurts as they open their mouth and croak “What happened to me?”
Your character is awoken from a simulated dream. They’re scared and disorientated and keep asking for the best friend/partner that existed in the simulation. Is this character:
A) Dead. B) Doesn’t exist in the real world. C) A stranger the friend was modelled on or D) not wanting anything to do with your character after an argument they had in the past.
Could you write a prompt with a whumpee with a leg injury (maybe a stabbing or something) who has to completely act like nothing’s wrong because they’re walking back home with their friend who is already suspicious and they can’t let them know (for some reason)? Sorry that this is uber-specific.
No 4. Dead on Your Feet
Hidden Injury | Waking Up Disoriented | Can’t Pass Out
The night air hit Whumpee’s face in a rush. Their eyes flickered close, soaking in the warmth for a single moment before they had to keep moving. Whumpee followed Caretaker into the street, sprinting to a nearby alley that they could only barely see through the tears blurring their vision.
Their leg was a cacophony of pain. Blood had seeped down a good half of their pant leg, blessedly invisible against the black fabric in the dark night. Each step felt like it sent shards of glass into their bone, as though the knife was still embedded there. It wasn’t, which created more problems, as now they were bleeding out a lot faster.
“Whumpee, hurry up,” Caretaker hissed. Whumpee winced at how strained their voice was, even in a whisper. Maybe now that they’d finally gotten the job done, Caretaker would get some rest.
“Sorry,” they breathed back, fighting against a limp as they reached their friend.
Caretaker glanced back at Whumper’s base where it loomed behind them, jaw twitching in the dim light the street lamps provided. “If no alarm has been raised by now, we probably have until that guard you knocked out wakes back up. Are you okay walking back home?”
Whumpee furrowed their eyebrows. “Yes? Why wouldn’t I be?” They took another step and briefly found themselves unable to breathe. Lovely.
“Just making sure,” Caretaker said slowly, eyes just a little too perceptive. Whumpee stayed on the inside as they moved into the street, hugging the buildings and the shadows that clung to them. Their ragged breaths seemed to give life to the walls towering on either side, making them tilt and sway, the ground swelling.
Their shoulder hit the brick wall hard.
Caretaker turned towards them, face shadowed in the hazy streetlight. “Whumpee?”
Whumpee screwed their eyes shut, using the wall to push themself back upright. “Yeah. I’m good. Just tired, I guess.”
They didn’t get a response from that, only Caretaker watching them, a silhouette in the dark that Whumpee would give up everything for. Their leg was a dead weight beneath them now, heavy like lead and filled with glass that bit deep into their skin, their muscle, their bones, with each hesitant movement. Whumpee locked their knee when putting weight on it (wouldn’t want to be caught limping, would they?).
The world was still spinning. Whumpee leaned their head back and looked at the sky for a moment to try and disguise it, to hide the tears building in their eyes as sure as the headache embedded in their skull. “The sky is beautiful tonight,” they whispered. Not that they could see it.
Caretaker let out a small breath. “Yes, it is.” Their tone was softer now, and something gentle stirred in Whumpee’s chest.
“We should get home before Whumper wakes up,” Whumpee continued in that same soft tone. “You need sleep.”
“Is that honestly what you’re worried about right now?” Caretaker snorted, but there was no malice behind it. “You look exhausted yourself. But we deserve to celebrate tonight.”
Whumpee’s tears receded and they dropped their head back down. Their throat burned with the effort when they spoke. “Yeah. You’re right.”
Caretaker deserved to have a night of celebration more than anyone else. Whumpee wouldn’t take that away from them for the world. They walked on in silence, Whumpee’s hands burrowed deep in their pockets. Their fists were clenched against the pain, but beyond that, their extremities were getting very, very cold. They were almost surprised there wasn’t ice crusting along their fingertips, despite the warm night. Best to just keep moving.
Their vision was shifting in and out of focus, flashes of black coming in when they were certain they hadn’t blinked. They were shaking from the effort of keeping their leg moving, now. Their muscles were growing stiff around the weeping wound. Still, they kept their back straight. They kept their knees locked. Their breaths grew more and more labored, burning their lungs, but their breaths were there.
Then their leg buckled underneath them, and none of it mattered.
The world swung back into place slowly above them, circling and circling like water going down the drain, long after Whumpee had gone still. A muffled ringing filled their head. A noise was lingering beneath that, thick and soft like whoever it was was yelling through a mattress.
Why did it all hurt so much?
A face appeared right above them, blocking out the golden streetlights. Whumpee stared blankly. They were terrible at reading lips, and for some reason Caretaker was just mouthing words. Or—no, they were speaking. Whumpee just couldn’t hear them.
After a moment, Caretaker seemed to realize this. Their face was creased deeply in worry, and Whumpee felt a spear of guilt thrust into them at the realization that that was their fault.
“‘m sorry,” they forced out. Caretaker froze. Their expression changed, tightening. When they spoke again, it was very deliberate, so that Whumpee could make out what they were saying.
“Can you hear me?” The lips said. Whumpee shook their head, closing their eyes as the world dipped around them. Caretaker waited until they were looking again. “Where are you hurt?”
Whumpee hesitated, tears rising to their eyes again. They didn’t want Caretaker to have to deal with it.
Something like anger swelled in Caretaker’s eyes. They grabbed onto Whumpee’s chin, forcing their gazes to meet. The intensity of Caretaker’s expression cowed them, and one of their shaking hands reached down towards their leg, then slumped down in defeat.
Instantly Caretaker was down beside it, ripping away the soaked pant leg. Whumpee was pretty sure they screamed as it came away from the wound. They didn’t have time to think about it, though, because they promptly passed out.
When Whumpee woke up, their hands were warm, and their clothes were dry. It took them a moment to process anything else.
Slowly, they opened their eyes, rubbing the sleep from them. They didn’t remember going to bed.
“You’re awake,” a strained voice said. Whumpee sat up, wincing at a pain in their leg. Caretaker was sitting at their bedside, face like stone and eyes red and bloodshot.
Another sleepless night on their part. Whumpee could have drowned in their guilt. Their hands felt out the lump in the covers where their bandages were.
“I passed out,” they remembered. Their voice was weak.
Caretaker took a deep breath. “Yes.”
“I don’t—” they started, then deflated under Caretaker’s hard eyes. “I thought I could make it.”
“Clearly.”
“I’m sorry.”
“…I don’t understand.” Caretaker crossed their arms over their chest. They hadn’t accepted Whumpee’s apology. Whumpee waited for them to continue. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Whumpee’s eyes dropped. “I. I didn’t want you to worry.”
“I’m worried now, Whumpee.” Their voice was sharp as a dagger. Something dark flared across Caretaker’s face, receding just as quickly. Whumpee knew it was still there. They just nodded, morose.
A thin silence stretched between them. Whumpee’s head started pounding, and they leaned back against their pillows.
“I went for a walk this morning,” Caretaker said suddenly. “When you were still asleep. I was tired of sitting here.” They swallowed, brows lowering over their eyes. “You left a trail of blood last night, did you know that? I could follow your footprints all the way back to Whumper’s. And last night I didn’t even notice.” Their voice broke off suddenly, and for the first time Whumpee noticed tears in their eyes. “Why didn’t I notice?”
Whumpee hugged themself. “It’s not your fault.”
“No, it’s not my fault that you decided to just ignore your stab wound. It is my fault that I noticed something was wrong and I didn’t do anything until you were bleeding out on the ground.” Caretaker’s voice was raised now, and they cut themself off with a grimace. Their voice was soft the next time they spoke, but still shimmering with anger. “Were you going to tell me?”
“Caretaker…”
“No. Answer the question, Whumpee.”
“…no.”
All the air seemed to leave Caretaker at once. They slumped over, elbows resting on their knees and face in their hands. Whumpee had never seen them brought so low.
“Why?” they asked again, and it sounded almost begging.
Whumpee didn’t have an answer. They just sat there battling back their tears, because Caretaker deserved to feel upset without Whumpee stealing the moment again.
When Caretaker lifted their head up, their eyes were wet. “Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do. I am going to go get you some food and medicine. When I get back, I am going to be calm, and you are going to have some damn good answers for me.”
They stood up while Whumpee cringed and nodded. As they got to the door, Caretaker looked back.
