The Whispering Whumper

Just a fellow whumper. I mostly reblog but I do write whump with my own OCs.

[libraryofwhump]

Crybaby

Whumpril day 28 - Sobbing Uncontrollably

CWs: Past panic attack, hurt/no comfort

Kevin was crying. That's all he does. He just cries and cries and cries. While the rest of his friends dealt with stress in more healthy ways, Kevin just holed himself in his room and sobbed.

His parents asked him if he was okay, but he didn't want to tell them. It was stupid. He was crying over something stupid.

It was just a party. He was supposed to be having fun. Sure, he got overwhelmed and anxious, but he should've calmed down and had fun with everyone, right? Why did he have to ruin it with his obnoxious crying?

He tried to take deep breaths. He tried to calm down, but he couldn't. He couldn't control the heaving gasps. He couldn't control his racing heart, the nausea, the shaking... Why was he so weak?

Why weren't his friends there for him?

Why couldn't he control himself at that party? Why couldn't he be normal like them?

[stars-hide-our-fires]

Dangerous Whumpee

CW: Restraints, muzzled, collared

Whumper keeps Whumpee in an excessive amount of restraints (can’t move an inch for chains, collared, muzzled) to ensure that they won’t break out - even if Whumpee is completely cooperative

Whumpee who does fight back, who bites, claws, scratches, does everything they can to cause as much damage to Whumper as possible

Whumper who “has to” keep Whumpee constantly sedated

Whumpee is a danger to themself, intentionally or not, so Whumper has to protect them before they fatally injure themselves

Nonhuman Whumpee is percieved as dangerous and muzzled/shock collared before they can plead their case, if they even can

Caretaker who is scared of Whumpee!

Stranger Caretaker arriving to rescue Whumpee after defeating Whumper but hesitating when they realise who or what Whumpee is

Whumpee’s hope turning to dread as they see this, and silently begging for mercy

Whumpee who lashes out at Caretaker, who hurts then one day, and guilt hits them at full force

Whumpee who believes they’re a danger to Caretaker and takes it upon themself to remove themself from the equation

Caretsker who flinches when Whumpee moves suddenly

Whumpee wakes up after being rescued, filled with relief - only when they try to move they notice the chains, and the muzzle

Or Whumpee wakes up in a hospital but is restrained to the bed “for their own safety”

Whumpee is a living weapon or villain and everyone is scared of them - except Caretaker’s child

Whumpee who tries to be gentle and unassuming to win the favour of those around them

[chiharuuu22]

How to Make Caretaker's Heart Sink

Something that made Caretaker's chest sink and feel heavy and painful

When Caretaker saw Whumpee for the first time after disappearing for a long time, he was very weak and even unconscious,

When Caretaker saw Whumpee lying still on his bed, too sick and tired to even open his eyes and make a sound,

When Caretaker saw Whumpee's weak hand, he moved around looking for Caretaker's hand because he didn't want to leave it,

When Caretaker saw Whumpee, who struggled because he was uncomfortable, he tried to remove the medical device while he was in a semi-conscious phase,

When Caretaker saw Whumpee, who had to be helped even just to drink,

When Caretaker saw Whumpee screaming in fear in the middle of the night,

When Caretaker saw Whumpee, who was uncomfortable while sleeping, moving restlessly in his delirium

When Caretaker saw Whumpee's blank stare,

When Caretaker bathing and putting clean clothes on Whumpee,

When Caretaker saw Whumpee crying silently,

When Caretaker saw Whumpee, who was confused about the things he had forgotten due to trauma,

When Caretaker heard Whumpee groan in pain while sleeping,

When Caretaker heard weak words from Whumpee's mouth, like "Hurt" "Water "Help me" "I can't breathe" "My body feels heavy" "My head feels spinning",

When Caretaker felt Whumpee's weak and thin body in her arms,

When Caretaker saw Whumpee's body, which was covered in bandages and bruises,

Is there anything else to add?

[ncutis-special-human-being]

Whumper has been arrested but there’s no sign of Whumpee. They’ve been locked away somewhere that only whumper knows, but whumper isn’t talking. But with whumper in jail, there’s nobody feeding whumpee. Nobody bringing them just enough water to survive. It becomes a race against time against an unknown clock, to find whumpee before they die of starvation or dehydration

Consider combining with the trope where Whumpee is in a secret place where they can hear their rescuers searching for them but can’t draw attention to themselves and where they are almost found but caretaker gives up moments before they would have found them

[whump-about-it]

Whumpee should have known not to push Whumper's buttons. Their eyes had had a wild, uneasy look in them since that morning. They had a hair trigger temper as it was. But Whumpee had been so good recently. And they thought they could get away with some mischief. had struck a nerve this time. In the end, Whumper had given them the works.

When the beating was over, Whumper dragged them to the basement by their hair and deposited them in The Box. The punishment reserved for only the worst transgressions.

Whumpee’s hands were bound behind their back. The handcuffs were standard. But after Whumpee had once scratched their fingers so raw on the hardwood walls that Whumper had been forced to take them to an actual hospital afterwards, they had started wrapping their hands in duct tape as well. The gag was more typical. The kind that most people used for more desirable activities. But still adequate enough for Whumper’s purposes. They claimed they couldn’t hear Whumpee’s screams through the floorboards when they had it on.

Whumpee had never completely believed that. They could hear everything that went on outside The Box when they were in it after all. Except for the time that Whumper had stuffed cotton in their ears and tapped over them to throw them into total sensory deprivation. But that had only happened once. Even Whumper had admit they'd gone too far that time.

This time, Whumpee had only been in The Box for a few hours (or so they assumed) before the typical sounds of Whumper walking around and talking on the phone were broken by crashing and yelling, and sirens.

Whumpee was free! It was finally over! The police had come and Whumper was gone! And they were going to find Whumpee, and rescue them, and take them home!

Home.

That singular thought had run in Whumpee's head like the steady bong of a church bell. Constant and all consuming. A feeling that filled their chest and shook the last tendrils of their energy into focus around one singular mission.

They did the best they could. Kicked against the walls of their tiny prison. Screamed through the gag at the top of their lungs until their throat was raw and they couldn't swallow for lack of moisture. They kicked. Screamed. Shook. Sobbed.

But it seemed Whumper hadn't been lying after all. The original noise of the invasion died down. Decreasing foot steps shook the floor. The frantic talking started to die down. And then pick up again. And then die down. In an eb and flow Whumpee couldn't predict or follow.

People were looking for them. They couldn't hear entire conversations. But their name stuck out often. At first people had been calling it. Screaming as loudly as Whumpee thought they were. But after a while the voices grew quieter, and they could understand less of what was being said besides their own name.

At first the conversations were calm. But were growing more desperate by the minute. Hour? Day?

Whumpee had no idea how long had passed. Their limbs had cramped a long time ago. Gone numb from lack of blood flow and movement. Then their stomach began to grumble, then cramp, then go silent.

All that they were used to. Pain. Starvation. In barely registered as a problem in the confines of their well trained mind.

It was the thirst that made them spiral. They had been thirsty before. But this was all consuming. They could barely think of anything else but their all consuming need for water. Even a glass of it would do.

They could barely keep their eyes open now. Not that it helped anyway in the pitch black of The Box. They didn't have the energy to kick the walls anymore. And no voice to yell with. The chiming of that hopeful bell in their chest had grown so silent they could barely hear it anymore over the subtle beating of their fluttering heart.

They'd always known that The Box was well hidden. And had long now accepted that their would-be rescuers had not heard their cries for help. But surely Whumper had told them where they were.

No matter how mad Whumpee had ever made them, no matter how bad the punishment got, they'd never forgotten to give them water. Starved them? Yes. Beat them within and inch of their lives? More times than Whumpee could count. But Whumper had never let Whumpee get to this level of dehydration. They'd always been so careful about that.

Even now. They would never let this get this far.

Why would the police leave them here? Why weren't they resucing them and letting them out? What had Whumpee done to make the police so mad that they deserved to be punsihed like this? To be left in here for so long?

The bell in their chest stopped chiming as Whumpee realized with a sinking feeling that they were never going to be let out of here. They were going to die in this coffin. And their body wasn't going to be found until long after they'd been mummified by the arid air and dust. Or else eaten by the insects and mice that crawled on the other side of the floorboards. They'd become nothing more than a curiosity to put in a museum, for passers by to read about and wonder: What did they do so bad that they deserved this?

Maybe that answer would be put on display for onlookers. Maybe it was obvious to the rest of the world. But as Whumpee's consious slipped ever closer into oblivion, only one explaination could swirl in the drain at the center of their reality.

I shouldn't have pissed Whumper off.

[whump-about-it]

Tired Dad ™️ Team leader when everyone on the team gets sick:

• Boxes of disposable masks start passive aggressively showing up by the entrances of all common areas.

• “next person to get sick is just getting chicken broth. I’m all out of noodles and I refuse to spend any more of my paycheck on you idiots than I already do.”

• *heavy this-is-why-we-can’t-have-nice-things sigh as they lovely brush damp hair out of a teammate’s face and physically hold them up so they don’t collapse face first into the trash can they’re puking in*

• “Nah-ah! I don’t want to see your face more than an inch from a pillow until it’s not sporting Pantone’s color of the year.”

• “Go. The. Fuck. Home.”

• *glaring at the team in silence after getting interrupted for the third time before being able to finish the sentence by separate people having coughing fits*

• Shows up to work one day in a full hazmat suit. Proceeds to tell everyone they have a spare and are willing to share.

• more than one sick teammate wakes up after falling asleep at their desk to find Team Leader’s jacket draped over their shoulders.

• “for the last time: yes it is hard to operate when someone goes out sick. But it is infinitely harder to get anything done when three of you are on your death beds! You all have plenty of sick leave. Please, for the love of God, use it and stop spreading around your gross sick germs!”

[for-the-ouchies]

Whumper takes their time, has planned in hours to reduce their usually rather stoic whumpee to a crying, trembling mess.

When whumper leaves them, whumpee, exhausted, thinks it's finally over. But whumper has only gone to open the door. The guests are here... now the party can begin.

[for-the-ouchies]

Whumpee biting their own hand to keep themselves from screaming.

[whump-about-it]

“It’s okay. We’ll do the work. You rest now.” Being the last thing an injured Whumpee hears before passing out.

[comfort-questing]

the leader tightened their grip on their struggling teammate's shoulders, where they lay across the leader's lap. "stay still, just a moment more."

"it hurts," the other gasped, too breathless for more than a whisper of words. "please make it stop - "

the leader looked from their teammate's wan face to the bloodstained mess of their clothes, and the worried expression of the medic who was still tending to them.

"it'll be over soon," they said. they leaned down, pressed their cheek to the sweaty forehead of the other, wished there was more they could have done.

all they could do now was hold their teammate and wait, their mind racing in a frantic prayer and desperate hope - let them be all right, please, please.

"it'll be over soon," they said again.

their teammate's ragged breathing was the only answer, but their hands grabbed the leader's tightly, and did not let go.

[whispers-whump]

love a good forehead fever check as much as the next gal but like we’re sleeping on so much fever checking potential here

overly warm hands, palms just beginning to sweat

a rapid pulse throbbing under glistening skin

feeling the warmth radiating off of whumpee through a thin t-shirt

even better, cool hands against the overheated skin of a bare, aching back

grabbing whumpee’s forearm and finding the unnatural heat there

a loved whumpee’s legs resting across caretaker’s lap, limbs hot on their thighs

the top of a head, hair damp and scalp burning when caretaker rests their chin on whumpee’s head

the back of a flushed neck, cupped tenderly in a hand

overheated thighs, maybe gripped through loose sweatpants or mostly bare because whumpee felt too hot for anything but shorts

squeezing a shoulder comfortingly and discovering the warmth there

feel free to add on!

[whump-about-it]

Return Dead Man

CW: dehumanization, ptsd, derealization

"You don't have to do this." Caretaker urged as they followed Whumpee down the hall towards the holding cells. Leader tried to give them a death glare without Whumpee catching on But they saw the flash of Leader's hardening expression in their periphery anyway.

It didn't matter. Leader had given them the option too, when they had called them to their office earlier that day.

"We caught someone." They had said sullenly. "From Whumper's organization. But we can't identify them. It's none of Whumper's known henchmen and they won't talk to us no matter how we ask them to."

Whumpee was under no illusion about how Leader had been "asking" the prisoner to identify themselves. But it was hard to feel bad when the mention of Whumper's name still sent chills of fear throughout their whole body. Even all these years later.

"Some of their equipment is old. From around the time we rescued you. Would you be willing to take a look? See if you know them?"

This guy must have been bad. Leader was grasping at straws asking Whumpee to try and identify them. They knew how scared Whumpee still got of Whumper. How knowing they had been dealing with them, or captured one of their henchmen never failed to send Whumpee into a spiral of nightmares and panic attacks for days, sometimes weeks. They were usually so careful to keep Whumpee out of that end of the business. And anyway, Whumpee had already given them the names of all the people in Whumper's organization that they knew about. Names, descriptions, everything they would need to identify someone. This couldn't have been someone Whumpee encountered in those days. They would have figured out who they were already.

But Whumpee agreed anyway. Maybe it was an attempt to face their fears. To try and heal something still left broken inside their mind from all those years as Whumper's lab rat. Maybe they were scared that if they didn't Leader would loose their patience and start "asking questions" the way they did with their prisoners (Caretaker wouldn't let that happen. Caretaker would kill Leader before they let Whumpee get hurt again. But still, the fear was always there). There was something inside Whumpee that just told them they needed to do this.

"It's fine." Whumpee lied as they all came to a stop outside the room where the prisoner was being held.

There was no way Caretaker and Leader couldn't see the way Whumpee's hands were shaking. Or the sweat beading on their forehead and the back of their neck. Leader chose to ignore the signs that Whumpee wasn't as okay with this as they claimed, but Caretaker looked them up and down with a concerned expression. They opened their mouth to speak but Whumpee continued before they could.

"Let's get this over with."

The interrogation room was purposefully warm. With obnoxiously flickering florescent lights. There was a square of bars in the center of the room, coming up from the floor and disappearing into the ceiling only an inch or two apart. Too close together for someone to squeeze through. They surrounded a heavy, metal table with two chairs on either side. All three were bolted to the floor.

Whumpee hadn't been in one of these rooms in years. They reminded them too much of some of the rooms Whumper used to keep them in, and that only made their hands shake more as they entered.

The figures in the room made their hands shake too. Two heavily armed guards standing on either side of what appeared to be a humanoid shaped bruise sitting in one of the chairs. The bruise's ankles were locked to the chair legs with heavy rings, and its wrists to the table with the same contraptions. Its head was resting on the table top obscuring their face and showing only tufts of hair so matted with dried blood you couldn't tell the color. If it weren't for audible, ragged breathing emitting from the thing at the table, Whumpee would have thought it was dead.

Whumpee had been in similar situations to that thing before. Imprisioned. Tied down. Barely alive. Broken. Whumper had done that too them. Sometimes with their own hands. Sometimes through ordering their henchmen to. Henchmen like the thing in the chair.

Whumpee clung onto that thought to keep themselves from feeling sympathy for the thing. It was in Whumpee's place now. A place it had put Whumpee. It was broken, and scared, and couldn't hurt anyone.

After taking a deep breathe, Whumpee indicated to Leader that they were ready to see the bruise's face. Leader nodded to the guards and one of them grabbed the bruise by the hair and yanked it's head back.

At first, Whumpee thought there was nothing to recognize. The face was too bruised and swollen to look like anything, much less someone Whumpee hadn't seen in years. And so bruised and hurt themselves when they had that they couldn't have focused on remembering. But then the thing in the chair let out a pained grunt in protest to their treatment, and was Whumpee crazy, or did it sound familiar? Then Whumpee noticed a cut trickling out of the bruise's hairline. Or was it already a scar? One Whumpee never thought they'd see again.

A chill ran down Whumpee's spine and their stomach twisted into an anxious knot. Despite themselves, they stepped forward and pressed their face against the bars to get a closer look. Over either of their shoulders both Leader and Caretaker made small noises of protest.

In the chair, the prisoner tried to blink one of their eyes open. They were only successful for a second but it was enough for Whumpee to see a flash of blue standing out against the blood shot sclera.

"Can I get a closer look?" They didn't expect their voice to be so steady given the circumstances. An anxious pit was forming in their stomach and they could feel an all too familiar sense of unreality poking at the edges of their thoughts. The kind they got when they woke up from their nightmares and couldn't quite convince themselves that they were awake, and all the good things that had happened to them actually had. Behind the bars. the bruised prisoner was turning towards the sound of their voice and trying to open their eye again.

"I don't think that would be a good idea," Leader said lowly. "they've already escaped their restraints twice. And -"

"I know," Whumpee cut Leader off with a certainty of their statement that they didn't even realize they felt until the words were out of their mouth. Leader was probably going to say that the prisoner had beat someone half to death when they escaped. Or maybe even killed someone. But they had turned their head in such a way that Whumpee could see that that cut on their head was definitely a scar. And they just couldn't believe it.

"I'll be okay."

Begrudgingly, Leader lowered a few of the bars so Whumpee could go to the table the prisoner was restrained at. Caretaker offered to go in with them, but Whumpee needed to do this on their own. The fear was waning, slowly, But their heartrate was increasing with every step they took. And the sense of unreality was threatening to engulf them.

The prisoner had finally managed to keep one of those blue eyes open. And followed Whumpee with it as they made their way to the table and sat across from them leaning all the way forward in the cold metal chair to get as close to them as they could. Both of the guards drew their hand guns. One pressed theirs to the back of the prisoner's head when they tried to slide their hands ever so slightly closer to Whumpee in their tight restraints. Blood oozed from underneath the rough metal. Neither Whumpee, nor the captive noticed the fresh blood, or the gun.

The captive managed to crack a smile. It was a terrifying expression. But that was just because the action had reopened a split in their lip, and their teeth were covered in blood. Probably from biting their cheek or breaking a molar during the ruthless beatings they'd endured over the past few hours. Miraculously, their canines were still intact though. They had prominent eye teeth. But it was the snaggled front two that made Whumpee's heart stutter to a stop for a few sinking seconds.

"I never... thought I'd see you again," Living Weapon rasped in a weak, labored voice. "You look good... safe."

The room thrummed with a nervous energy. Leader and Caretaker were whispering to each other on the other side of the bars. Now both the guards had their guns pressed to Living Weapon's head. Whumpee's heart had started to beat again. But they thought it was going to jump out of their chest. The unreality had washed over them completely now and they had to vigorously fight the urge to reach out and run their hands over the face to prove to themselves that they weren't dreaming. The scar on their hairline. The sad, watery blue eye. The toothy grin that rarely held any emotion in it now flashing with something almost like actual happiness.

Whumpee felt their own eyes prickling with tears.

"They told me you were dead."

Living Weapon's smile faded.

"I know," They rasped. "I'm sorry."

[whump-about-it]

I know most people don't like female whump (which is completely understandable). But whenever I see female whumpees I imagine this specific scenario:

Whumpee has been captured for a couple of days/weeks before she escapes or is rescued. Of course once Caretaker (male) gets to her, he is extremely worried about Whumpee and desperately trying to help with her wounds, even as she refuses to let him investigate the blood stain on her pants.

"Caretaker, not all blood comes from wounds." she tries to hint gently, but Caretaker just doesn't get it.

"What the hell are you talking about? That blood stain is huge! Just let me take a look please. I promise I'll be discreet."

"For the love of God Caretaker, I'm on my period! Just get me a tampon and lets move on!"

[ncutis-special-human-being]

When whumpee is captured by whumper they see caretaker shot. They’re dead and it’s Whumpee’s fault. All the torture that whumper can heap on them is nothing compared to the torture they heap on themselves.

When the door opens one day and caretaker walks in, whumpee is sure they must be dead. Caretaker’s being so soft and gentle and telling them they’re safe and it wasn’t their fault. They don’t deserve it but whumpee appreciates caretaker being here to take them to the afterlife. It never crosses their mind that caretaker might be real and here to rescue them (and doesn’t that just break caretaker’s heart)

((I will never be normal about this trope))

[whumporama]

Caretaker and Whumpee are somewhere where they can't get help. Whumpee is poisoned, and Caretaker has the antidotes. The problem is that it needs to be given every few hours, until Whumpee is getting better again.

And they hurt.

Whumpee has finally calmed down from the last shot. They're weak, pale, and trembling slightly. They're not even fully awake, just lying there all sweaty and with eyes half-lidded. But it's time for the next shot.

Caretaker takes another vial and a syringe, and gets closer to Whumpee again. They don't try to get Whumpee's attention, it would honestly better if Whumpee is out of it for this.

But as they gently take Whumpee's arm, they feel Whumpee trying to pull away. Looking up, they find Whumpee staring at them, eyes glassy but wide open. "Please," Whumpee begs softly. "No more."

Caretaker would love to give in. They hate putting Whumpee through this. But if they stop, Whumpee will die. And they can't allow that to happen.

"I'm sorry," they whisper back, "just a few more."

Without giving Whumpee a chance to reply, they push the needle in their skin and give them the next dose. They've only just pulled back when Whumpee starts trashing in pain.

It's helping them, buring away the poison. Caretaker knows that.

But fuck, they feel so guilty.

[whump-about-it]

CW: SH

It wasn't like Caretaker didn't know what they were going to find when they walked into Whumpee's apartment. Friend had called twenty minutes earlier. They'd had a huge fight and Whumpee had run out crying.

"They won't want to talk to me." Friend had said. "I'll just make things worse. But someone should go check on them."

It had been easy to miss the first couple of weeks after Whumpee had come home. Every part of their body was so raw and marred from what Whumper had done to them that it was impossible to distinguish between the old and the new wounds. But as the months wore on and most of the injuries healed and the worst of the scabs began to fade to scars, the fresh wounds still appeared.

It hadn't been what this fight was about. But they had fought with Whumpee about it before. The screams and threats and pleas had done nothing so far. So it was time to take another approach.

Caretaker found Whumpee in their bathroom, hunched over the sink with a box cutter in one hand and a steady drip drip drip of crimson dropping into the bowl from their opposite arm. They startled when Caretaker said their name. Turning towards them with wide, terrified eyes. Their hands curled around the box cutter tighter as though they were preparing for battle, and their wrist curled just so, so that the deep red line on their skin was obscured. They weren't crying anymore, but their eyes had a glassy, distant quality to them that told Caretaker that they weren't entirely there with them.

"I'm not going to yell." Caretaker held up their hands in submission and leaned on the door jam to tell Whumpee that they had no plans of moving, either closer, nor farther away.

"Can I stay?" They asked anyway. After a moment, Whumpee nodded defeatedly. And then, almost in defiance to Caretaker's noseyness, they turned back to the sink and began to resume what they had been doing before with a disjointed, mechanical presition.

Caretaker balled their hands into fists and resisted the overwhelming urge to leap forward and wrestle the boxcutter away as they watched it inch closer to Whumpee's arm. It wasn't like they didn't know how the the wounds appeared on Whumpee all the time. But they'd never actually seen it happen before; and really wasn't eager to see if happen again.

They elected instead to stare at their shoes and toe at a broken piece of bathroom tile.

"Friend asked me to come." They said when Whumpee didn't ask why they were there. "They're sorry about the fight, and want to make it up to you when you're ready to talk to them again."

"It was my fault." Whumpee responded in a distant monotone. "I'm really tired, and it's making me irritable. The nightmares are getting worse again. It's like every time I close my eye - even to blink - there's something awful in the shadows. I haven't slept in three days. I think I'm starting to loose track between asleep and awake."

"You know you're awake right now right?"

Caretaker had to look up carefully through their eyelashes to see Whumpee nod their understanding. After a tense pause Whumpee added:

"You can't feel pain in dreams."

Caretaker's stomach twisted, and they again, resisted the urge to grab Whumpee and wrestle them to the floor for their own safety. If they had to stand like this any longer they were probably going to be sick. The sink was turning very red.

"Is that why you're doing this?"

Whumpee didn't answer for a very long time. Long enough that they would no longer be able to pull off lying to Caretaker if they tried to.

"No." They finally said. Then after a pause during which Caretaker again had to resist the urge to tackle them, they actually began to explain.

"When I was with Whumper, they would make me punish myself sometimes. I'd do something wrong, or something would go wrong and it would be my fault. And they'd punish me for it. Sometimes for days. It would hurt. Sometimes I'd think they were going to kill me. And then sometimes they'd hand me a knife and tell me I needed to atone. The first few times I they did it I was really confused, and angry. But the thing was, every time I "atoned" that would be the end of it. The punishments would stop afterwards and things would go back to normal. Well, you know- as normal as they could be."

"I actually started to hope they would make me do it sometimes. It was better than dying, or wondering when the pain was going to stop. I would actually be happy when they handed me the knife. It's comforting to know when the pain is going to stop. "

"I know that's awful. And I know it's stupid now that Whumper's not here. And that's not how life works. But I got so used to it. And everything always seemed to be my fault. So now, even though I'm out, when things are bad and I did something wrong I feel like I need to atone. And then maybe all the bad things will stop. I know it doesn't work like that in the real world. But it's all I know how to do to stop the pain."

Caretaker had to close their eyes and focus on their breathing for a few beats so that they wouldn't be sick. Or worse, fly into a rage. Whumpee had told them what Whumper had done to them before. Including that. The "atonements" as Whumpee called them. But Caretaker had never made the connection. It made them feel like they needed to atone too. They'd done everything they could to help Whumpee heal. How could they have missed such an obvious wound and let it literally bleed all over for so long?

When Caretaker got control of themselves again they closed they opened their eyes and forced themselves to look at Whumpee's reflection in the mirror. Their eyes were still glassy and distant, and their still weren't crying. But their face was getting paler and both of their hands were starting to shake.

"Have you atoned enough for today?"

After a few seconds of silence Whumpee slowly nodded, and put down the box cutter. Caretaker felt like oxygen had entered the room again.

"Can I help clean you up?"

"I can do it myself."

"I want to help. Please?"

Caretaker would have stayed in the doorway if Whumpee said no. They would have continued to stand there and watch Whumpee fall apart and do nothing but observe and let if happen if that's what Whumpee needed them to do in that moment. But they hoped that their tone conveyed just how much they needed Whumpee to let them help. To let them feel useful and take care of their friend.

After another long moment Whumpee nodded and Caretaker was stepping into the room before the movement could even stop. In the time span of Whumpee's surprised gasp Caretaker had whisked them away from the sink and onto the edge of the bathtub, pressing a no-longer-white hand towel to their arm with enough pressure it made Whumpee wince.

The room was quiet for several minutes except for the sounds of Caretaker rummaging around for the first-aid kit, cotton balls, and alcohol swabs. The wound was deep. It was definitely going to scar. It probably needed stitches, but Caretaker knew Whumpee was never going to agree to that, and they had got the bleeding to stop so for now they could let it slide.

Neither of them talked, or even made eye contact as Caretaker worked. It wasn't until Caretaker was wrapping bandages around their wounds that they noticed Whumpee's hands starting to shake again that they finally looked up at them to see silent tears streaming down their face. Their eyes were no longer glassy and distant. And Caretaker got the feeling that they were only now realizing that Caretaker was there with them. That they had seen everything. And Whumpee had no where to hide.

"Thank you for letting me stay."

Caretaker couldn't bring themselves to force emotion into their voice. Because "thank you" was to strange a thing to say to this already. And they couldn't fathom how they could be thankful for any of what they saw. But they had seen. And more importantly they had learned. And they knew what might actually help Whumpee now.

"I'm not going to tell you that you shouldn't do that again because I know that's not how these things work. Especially now. But if I ever see you doing it again I'm going to stop you. That was to hard for me to watch. I want to help you though. I want to help you find a way to heal from this. Next time you feel you need to atone for something, can you promise you'll tell me? I would prefer if you did it before hand so we could find a different way to do it. But if you do it during or after I'll still come. I'll still help. I just - please?"

"Okay." Whumpee nodded. Their eyes were turning red and a flush was rising in their cheeks. When they spoke their voice came out in a shaky whisper. They sounded exhausted, and terrified, and like they were in so much pain. But they cracked the shadow of a smile as they continued to nod to Caretaker vigorously and wipe the tears out of their eyes with the back of their uninjured hand.

"Okay. I'll tell you next time. I promise."

[sleepy-dog-boy]

Best place for a whumpee to be: jail cell separate from but visible to a friend.

Medic and whumpee captured together, medic desperately trying to walk Whumpee through first aid before they pass out from blood loss, unable to get to them.

Leader whumpee getting beat to shit in clear view of their team and none of them can help.

Rivals/enemies captured together, watching the other get hurt and realizing in the worst way possible that some part of them cares for the other.

Holding hands through the bars.

Blood going cold when the other hand goes limp.

[whump-about-it]

Whumper: “Good morning Whumpee.”

Whumpee: “Morning dick head. And before you start. I know I’m not getting food today. You fed me yesterday. Just remember you need to give me water because you didn’t yesterday and statically I only have about 36 more hours to live without it. Now let’s cut the boring monologue. What hare brained excuse did you come up with to “punish” me for today. And how are you planning on doing?”

Whumper: …

Whumper: “You know? Sometimes I think that when your team comes to rescue you I’m just going to hand you over without a fight. But then I can’t fathom why they would want you back.”