DarkWingedDove

They’ve been sleeping for days and Caretaker gets worried every now and again. Should they let them keep sleeping? They’ve tip toed into the room every so often to check Whumpee’s pulse, feed them soup and water, but they just fall right back asleep.

They don’t interfere other than that, though. They know Whumpee must be so tired. They leave a nightlight on, adjust the ceiling fan setting, and leave the door ajar, just in case they happen to wake and need something.

Picture it:

Whumpee crumpled up in a ball on their cell floor, clutching the hilt of a knife buried in their gut, blood seeping from between their teeth.

Whumpee who fell several stories during a buildings collapse and can’t move a muscle to escape the rubble because there’s a rod sticking out of their abdomen, pinning them to the ground.

Whumpee tied up in their seat, unconscious. Rescuer finds them with nails pinning their hands to the arms of the chair.

Whumpee who has been shot and Medic who is frantically looking for the bullet but can’t find it. Caretaker holds Whumpee’s head in their lap, trying to keep them from falling asleep as they slowly bleed out. OR…

Whumpee that’s been shot but has no way to fish the bullet out, whether it be too deep in or they just don’t have the knowledge to do so. They sew up the hole in their abdomen, limb, etc., with nothing more than a prayer that it didn’t hit anything vital.

Whumpee’s who never really move on.

Whumpee’s who stop dreaming about the future. Who stop hoping, even after they’re saved.

Whumpee’s who don’t try and make friends again. Who don’t reconvene with the friends they had before.

Whumpee who everyone knows is beyond helping.

Whumpee who is given comfort at every turn, but still gives up in the end. Everyone knew that they would, but it doesn’t make the guilt go away. It doesn’t make it hurt any less.

But Caretaker B has much experience, whether that be with siblings, their own children, or other whumpees.

Caretaker A watches, stunned, as Caretaker B swoops Whumpee, so small and frail, effortlessly into their arms. Caretaker B cradles Whumpee, a hand laid gently over the back of their head as they burrow and cry into their shoulder, the other arm wrapped securely underneath them, holding them close to their chest. They bob Whumpee up and down softly, whispering comforting words into their ear.

Caretaker who is so grateful Whumpee is home safe. Who would do absolutely anything for them now that they’re back.

Caretaker who has to check on Whumpee every few minutes, even if they’ve been sleeping for days, just to make sure they’re still okay.

Caretaker who tosses blankets in the dryer just so Whumpee can be extra warm.

Caretaker who finds just as much peace in holding Whumpee’s hand as Whumpee does.

Caretaker who gives hugs that last longer than everyone else’s. Who pulls away teary eyed, because they know just how much Whumpee is hurting.

Caretaker who cries themself after Whumpee falls asleep, exhausted from another breakdown.

Caretaker who combs and untangles Whumpee’s hair so gingerly, careful not to tug too hard or rip out any strands by accident.

They still look up longing at the sky, watching birds soar by in a V.

They sit in their cramped cell, imagining the cold draft is the breeze beneath their wings.

Pretends their wings haven’t been clipped as they preen.

Sits up on a ledge—a tree, a roof, a cliff, etc—stretching out their wings, eyes closed, pretending they’re way up in the air flying free.

Asks Caretaker every day when their broken, bandaged wings will heal. Just in case.

Resists the urge to pull out their feathers from stress. Just in case.

~~~

Prompt: Medic turned Whumper

TW: blood & needles

~~~

Whumpee’s been asleep for days, only surfacing close to consciousness every few hours when roused by Caretaker to be fed spoonfuls of soup, and then back into deep sleep they fall. Whumper had held them captive for months, draining Whumpee’s blood for their power and using it for God knows what. They were safe now… but why weren’t they doing any better?

Finally, after day three, Caretaker can’t stand the worrying anymore. They make the wound had been severe, but even Medic agreed they should have bounced back a little more by now. Caretaker knows Medic wouldn’t approve and would tell them to just let Whumpee get their rest while they could, and they agreed to an extent. It had probably been months since Whumpee had slept this peacefully, but something wasn’t right. They could just tell.

They approach the sickbed, Whumpee lay still as death, and not looking much better. Dark circles under their eyes, gaunt features, frail limbs wrapped in bandages. They looked to the door, listening to make sure no one was coming, then turned to face Whumpee again and laid a hand on their wrist.

“Whumpee?” They brushed their thumb over the bandaged. Could they even feel it?

No response.

They moved their hand higher, going to gently shake their shoulders when they felt their fingers brush something on the back of Whumpee’s neck. Whumpee whimpered, their brow furrowing. Their head lolled weakly to the side, and Caretaker glimpsed what it was they had felt.

Towards the back of their neck a port had been installed. A tube led from it behind Whumpee’s back and continued discreetly under the bed, as if whoever had placed it there didn’t want it to be found. Caretaker knelt beside the bed and looked beneath it.

“What…” Caretaker breathed. A blood bag was hooked to the underside of the bed, nearly full. They reached for it, unhooking it from its place. The label read “Sample 3”.

The hiss of the door opening filled the room among the beeping of monitors and screens. Caretaker jumped up, blood bag in hand to find Medic standing in the doorway, holding a syringe of clear liquid.

They locked eyes. Caretakers heart was beating out of their chest. They felt like they could barely breathe.

They had been betrayed.

“It would seem we’ve caught each other red handed.” Medic stepped into the room, locking the door behind them as it drifted shut.

“What are you doing? What have you been doing to Whumpee?” They braced a hand against the bed rail, ready to defend Whumpee with all they had.

Medic’s eyes drifted to the bag in Caretakers hand. “You got a cheat sheet on the test, and you still don’t know the answer?” Their cold gaze snapped back to meet Caretaker’s. “Come on, Caretaker, where’s your pattern recognition skills?”

“You—but…” Caretaker fumbled, at a loss for words. How could they do this to Whumpee? After all they had been through… Caretaker had known Medic for years. They’d trusted them.

“If you knew what kind of shit I’m stuck in, you’d be doing the same.” Medic’s voice was emotionless. It felt foreign—wrong to hear them talk that way.

Caretaker felt something against the wrist. They looked down to find Whumpee’s fingers weakly wrapping around their arm. Their eyes were open, the first time Caretaker had seen them. They were watery and bloodshot. “Pl…please…” their voice was barely more than a rasp. “H…help.”

Then there was a hand around their neck and a stabbing pain, and they felt their limbs go dead with the weight of trying to hold themself up. The last thing they saw before their vision blackened was Whumpee’s terrified expression as they lay helpless in the bed.

~~~

Medic stood over Caretaker’s body, face down on the linoleum floor. They picked up the blood bag and carefully removed the syringe from Caretaker’s neck, now fully empty.

“Great. Now I’ll need another dose.”

They turned to Whumpee who was staring at them horrified. It made their heart twinge with guilt. But it had to be done. They needed this. They needed their blood. It would all be over soon. And then everything would be alright again, so long as they got what they needed.

They reached in a drawer, setting the filled bag and syringe aside, and pulled out a fresh bag and a sharpie. They scribbled on the label “Sample 4” and hooked it up to Whumpee’s tube beneath the bed.

“Please,” Whumpee begged, hands trembling and fisting into the sheets. “Please stop.” Medic could tell they were exhausted. Even now, their eyes were heavy lidded, still feeling the lingering traces of their last dose.

“I’m sorry, Whumpee,” Medic said, forcing their voice to be cool and neutral. “It’ll be over soon.” They stepped over Caretaker’s body and pressed the call button attached to the collar of their white coat. “Medic 2? Could you come lend me a hand? Caretaker’s not feeling so well. Help me move them to a room and have them put on bedrest for the next couple days.”

They let go of the button, finishing the call, and turned back to Whumpee. A tear was trailing its way down their cheek, and Medic stepped to their bedside, brushing it away with their thumb. Whumpee could barely flinch at the movement, their eyes falling closed.

~~~

Whumpee who has no idea who or what Whumper really is. They’re just a loyal servant, and why wouldn’t they be? Whumper’s given them everything! A nice big house, delicious meals three times a day, a comfy bed—everything they could ask for!

Whumpee who doesn’t know they’re a Whumpee… until Caretaker/Team show up. They corner Whumpee, asking so many questions and Whumpee gives panicked, confused answers. Yes of course they’re alright. Who are these people? Why do they look so…familiar?

There’s a pair of hands on their shoulders, gripping tight. Too tight. A pair of eyes they recognize but can’t place staring down into their own.

“Whumpee it’s me! Don’t you know me? Don’t you remember? It’s ________!”

Pain cleaves Whumpee’s head in two—flashes like lightning behind their eyes. They stumble, pressing their hands over their face.

Remember. They can’t remember. They don’t remember anything. Their past, their loved ones…Why don’t they remember anything? What’s going—

Prompt: Whumpee who has managed to escape their captors, and is making their getaway on horseback.

~~~

Whumpee had been riding for hours. Whumper couldn’t be far behind. They had begun their journey in a frantic blur, tearing through the stables in search of a horse—any horse—that looked fast enough to carry them out of Whumper’s vicinity, and was strong enough to hold them.

They weighed more than the average human. Their wings—at one point—could have been enough to lift them up and carry them far from Whumper’s grasp, but now, after years of imprisonment and bindings, the muscles have atrophied and become nearly unusable. There was no way they’d be flying out of here. So, horseback was the way it had to be.

And the horse seemed grateful to be free as well—running wild as soon as the stable door was thrown open. There was no telling what Whumper did to his other pets, but Whumpee knew first hand just how cruel and brutal it could be.

They sat slumped against the horses neck, fingers clutched tightly to its mane. There had been no time to find a saddle or a bridle, and they were paying the price for it. By the time they stopped, if they ever did, their legs would be raw and sore from riding bareback for so long. Their vision was already wavering, their back cramping. The initial adrenaline of the escape had worn off, and they were back to their usual exhausted, weakened state. They were almost thankful for the bonds around their wings now. At least they didn’t have to put in the effort to hold them up.

They had to keep going. No matter how roughly the horses galloping jostled and reopened their wounds. No matter how much blood seeped through their feathers, dripping down the horses side and falling to the ground below, leaving a steady trail behind. They couldn’t let their eyelids fall shut. Not even for a second. They couldn’t risk it, because the thought of their grip loosening, falling to the ground and being left for dead, or worse, for Whumper… it wasn’t an option.

Will they find a safe place to hide for the night? Will Whumper catch up to them? Will they stumble across a shocked and confused stranger and find refuge?

They don’t know. They just have to keep going.

Keep going…