child whumpee has recently been rescued, they knew nothing of comfort or kindness before. it's been a busy, busy month— so they don't notice the day creeping up on them until it's quite suddenly just... there. the calendar seems to be mocking them for their ignorance.
everything goes a little hazy around the edges, and they tongue at their cheeks, reaching out to taste metal that's not there, shoulders hunched in against invisible ropes. they crawl beneath the wide-legged bed. they're small enough to do so.
when caretaker comes looking for them, it doesn't really register. someone's there, and it has to be whumper. someone's screaming nearby.
whumper leaves. the scream fades away as they realise that they're the one who's been tearing their throat out. they curl into themselves. whumper will come again, soon. maybe with the hot poker. they shudder at the thought, unsaid apologies stinging their tongue as they crawl out. they don't want to be hurt even worse due to struggling. whumper would probably make it a game— a twisted version of whack-a-mole involving lots of burns.
when someone enters the room again, they don't scream. they remain pressed up to the furthest corner, knees folded to their chest. whumper is saying something, in strange soft tones. they can't hear any of it.
when whumper reaches out to grab them, instead of a bruising grip they're met with a hesitant touch. whumpee looks up. caretaker is crouched in front of them, looking wildly concerned. whumpee blinks. breathes. breaks down crying, eagerly climbing into caretaker's lap, held close and cradled tight as they smear tears and snot all over caretaker's nice, clean clothes. they aren't told off for it.
later when they've calmed down, caretaker asks them, "what happened, dear?" and they don't want to be hurt but it's out before they can stop it, "it's my birthday."
caretaker looks bemused, before they smile wide and wish them a very happy birthday. whumpee is taken aback. "would you like to bake a cake?" caretaker offers, careful not to push, to not break the fragile peace.
whumpee was expecting to be told what a misfortunate day today is. they were expecting a muzzle tight over their face to thwart screaming and biting and crying, ropes to prevent their kicking and scratching. they were expecting to be shoved in some closet, for the shame of being born.
they stare at caretaker, waiting for some forthcoming joke. when none comes, they agree, wary.
so, caretaker bakes a cake with them. it is sweet and soft and delicious. they're given a set of crayons as a "birthday gift". they draw and draw and draw, confused and marveling at the colors.
it's the best day of their life, they tell caretaker before the clock strikes midnight. they miss the tears brimming in caretaker's eyes as they are put to sleep, beneath warm blankets and with a goodnight kiss pressed to their forehead.
