"does it hurt?" caretaker asks whumpee, carefully prodding at their skin. it does— agony whites their vision out for a second as they blink hard and breath deep. their tongue is tucked neatly behind their teeth so they don't bite it through.
"no," whumpee answers. they hope they didn't exhibit any outward sign of pain, of weakness. when they used to, whumper would sneer at them, poke harder, snick at the skin, dig their nails in— until their cries would quieten and they would be stiff as a statue, muscles locked and mind elsewhere.
caretaker shoots them a dubious look, as if they don't know what to make of it. as if it should hurt.
so they keep prodding. whumpee wonders what are they being punished for, their shoulders rising a little further with every new touch, their words slipping away and out of their reach. they silently pray for caretaker to miss the patch where it smarts the worst— they are sure that that would be unbearable, sure that they won't be able to curb the pained whimpers.
but then caretaker's finger catches at the dreaded part, digging in with more force than expected—and they jerk away from the pain.
whumpee's eyes widen when they realise what they did, forcing themselves to reacquaint with caretaker's touch, exposing their weakness so caretaker can dig their nails in, even as they want to hide away, away, away— curl up tight and fall unconscious, miles far from their stinging wounds and unwanted memories.
caretaker immediately pulls back, the apology on the tip of their tongue cut short as they take in whumpee's state— the sweat on the bridge of their nose, hands clenched into fists, lips pressed tight.
"does it... hurt?" caretaker asks, the same question carrying an entirely different weight.
they feel their heart clench at the harried shake of whumpee's head. guilt is a physical thing that piggybacks on their shoulders as they put the ointment on. how could they have missed it? they think, watching as whumpee struggles to stay alert and awake, stiff muscles giving way to an exhausted tremble that ripples through them. how could they have been so ignorant?
the numbing sensation isn't what whumpee was expecting. but the lack of pain quickly drains the adrenaline out of them and they slump against caretaker, half asleep. "thank you," they whisper absently.
caretaker feels tears burning in their eyes. "anytime, buddy," they whisper back, wrapping a blanket firmly around whumpee's shoulders.